Disclaimer not mine, still.
Still earning no money for this
***WARNING - A bit on the gruesome side
Thanks to CT xx
Thanks again for your reviews guys xxx
Lyrics used:-
WHITE RABBIT -- Jefferson Airplane - I know that they don't have Alice In Wonderland on Kelowna (the planet) but the song is so haunting and was great to use for the mad hooker.
59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy) - Simon and Garfunkel
Ah, you may leave here, for four days in space,
but when your return, it's the same old place,
the poundin' of the drums, the pride and disgrace,
you can bury your dead, but don't leave a trace,
hate your next-door-neighbour, but don't forget to say grace
Eve Of Destruction By Barry McGuire 1965
==========
The unkempt boy led Jonas through the labyrinth of the catacombs. He moved quickly, eager to get his task over with so he could get back on the streets, above, and join in the sporadic fighting with his friends; Jonas followed on behind, limping slightly. He judged the boy's age at about fourteen or fifteen, although when Wolf had introduced him, in the light of the pump room, he could see that the young face was already showing the ravages of someone old before their time.
There was no light in these narrowing and claustrophobic tunnels so both Jonas and the boy, Llodi, carried a torch strapped, clumsily to their wrists. As they navigated the darkness, Llodi talked breathlessly, in Andari slang, hoping to impress the Ambassador with his numerous intrepid tales of daring and bloodshed to prove he was more than the years of his body.
Llodi stopped at an intersection and peered into the grey gloom. Jonas joined him, shining his light to mirror the boy's, to help him find his bearings. Llodi pointed a tattooed arm, full of black and white gang art and crudely drawn symbols of courage, "marked above way," he whispered, his torch illuminating an old street placard, "stoop to go through, smaller way. Turn towards red light at the manhole cover, at the end is steps up to old storeroom."
"Is that it?" Jonas asked, puzzled, "my way back into Parliamentary building?"
He looked at the opening, which had been walled up some time ago, but an entrance had recently been chiselled into the brickwork small enough for a boy to slip through.
Llodi turned his light to Jonas and nodded his grubby head, "I go no more on, not down there, there be whispers in the dark," he replied, in a voice of faltering maturity.
Jonas raised his head to the entrance and listen to the drip of water and the odd flurry of movement from a rodent, sorting its way through the disorderly piles of old bones from long forgotten burials.
Llodi continued, "the loose ones hide in the walls down there," he shined his torch at a 'smiling' skull, "the fresh ones, the ones that gets head sick and dead; they bad people. Guards dump their bodies for rat's food but they carry on with their whisperings, even though their mouths are all bone, they still call in the dark and laugh; I not go down there any more. Some do, some boys who think they brave but they comes back changed and shaking, talking of loose ones floating in the darkness, like cobwebs with faces."
The boy's eyes were wide and spoke of fear and Jonas's senses tingled with foreboding, "I help you loosen the bricks," Llodi said, "but then I go."
Jonas nodded and they began to dislodge the damp blocks making a gap wide enough for him to get through.
The air from the other side was cold like an early morning sigh in a graveyard full of frost and Jonas felt there was something watching from the shadows with black and heartless eyes. The boy took a step back and Jonas eased his way through the opening, finding the tunnel, on the other side, slightly lower making him stoop. He turned back to thank Llodi but the boy had already disappeared except for the echo of his footsteps thrashing through the stream of water that ran along the floor of the passageways.
Jonas shone his light back into the void but there was nothing ahead of him but darkness and.
He heard voices, soft, indistinct, words that hissed, spiralling off the curvature of the walls. He began to wade forward, the murky water almost covering his knees, his movement disturbing the filth that had lain rotting for centuries. He bit back the urge to vomit at the heavy fist of stench that had balled down the back of his throat, squeezing his tonsils. He used a lip of stones, along the side, to hold onto, not wanting to lose his footing and fall into the mire.
His palm blinked with light as manic laughter flew at him like a fireball down the tunnel, making his heart bounce against his ribcage. A cloak of perspiration covered his body as he sensed the presence of many souls, lost in a maze of madness and homing in on his light.
Again the laughter, this time a woman's, calling to him with sugar, coated, words that would rot a body of its innocence. He smelt her harsh perfume, its aggressive scent making his nosebleed, showing him her true nature, the murderess behind the whore in the white dress and silk slippers.
An orb of light came towards him, burying itself onto his chest with electrical stems of blue sparks. Jonas was thrown from his body, his mind taken over by the energy's memories, trapped in its playback loop.
He was led on a bed in a squalled room decorated in grime. The dark, midnight, sheets were still warm and smelt of overuse and something, something, dry and heavy, while a small, dusty, window let in the air from a back street full of decaying rubbish. He felt groggy, was it from alcohol? An open bottle lay on its side, winking at him like a cheap hooker displaying her wares.
A woman's voice made him turn his head, which seemed weighty and cumbersome and he saw a figure sat at a dresser raking a comb through her abundant, dark, curls. He could hear the gruelling sound of the movement as she pulled large strands from her head in an attempt unsnarl her hair and make it straight. He felt sick, his breathing became laboured, he felt like he was suffocating or drowning, he wasn't sure which.
The woman turned to face him, smearing her plumb lipstick from left to right with the back of her hand. She was naked from the waist up, her skin pale, and deep cuts scared her body, an ugly contrast shining against the network of delicate, blue, lace veins.
She seemed not to notice him lying there; instead she danced to a tune in her head smiling like her lips were frozen. She turned towards the bed and curled a length of hair round her fingers, "one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small, and the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all," she laughed, like she was intoxicated but it was madness that inspired her thoughts. She sat down on the bed, putting her head on his chest, adorning his torso in a raven's wing of hair.
She listen to his breathing, closing her eyes, "and if you go chasing rabbits, and you know you're going to fall, tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar, has given you the call."
She lifted her head, from under its shroud of black and shifted her body to straddle him, ripping her tight skirt to do so. She studied him, her head twitching at angles as it moved almost robotically on the glass of her neck. Her eyes were a mix of colours and they burnt with detachment as she began to rock on his hips. She smiled, biting her bottom lip and reached under the embroidered bedspread to pull out a large carving knife that glinted sharp and silver in this blunt and grubby masque. She began to use it to slice through her own skin near the top of the breast, touching the blood, that oozed dark like pitch, with her fingertip and spreading it over her lips.
"When men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go, and you've just had some kind of mushroom and your mind is moving low," she laughed again and walked her bloody fingers up his sternum to his lips.
She leant over and kissed him and Jonas tasted the acidity of her blood. "When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead, and the White Knight is talking backwards, and the Red Queen's 'off with her head!' Remember what the dormouse said: 'Feed your head, feed your head, feed your head'"
She lifted the knife above her head, gripping the handle with both hands, and brought it down to crack open his chest. Jonas felt his body jerk up with the force of the blow, driving his mind out of the dying shell, throwing him from the room back to the catacombs.
The orb was pushed from his chest and he felt a watery hand stroke his face, "we'll feed your head", the voice hissed with malice, "we have plenty of nightmares waiting in the darkness for you."
Jonas tasted blood in his mouth and wiped his sleeve across his lips. He spread his hand and propelled a sphere of light, from the eye, down the tunnel. Cries of mass panic ricochet like a thousand shots around him and then silence.
He inhaled deeply and leaned against the side, rubbing his temples. He shone the torch in front of him, the circle of light shuddering with the jump of his nerves. He began to walk cautiously forward, the slurp of his footsteps, through the water, the only sound.
A cold draught brushed passed his right side making him twist as he followed its movement. Something struck his outstretched arm, knocking the torch from its bindings and sending it into the muddy waters.
Darkness.
He slowly crouched down, holding his breath, to scared to release it, as he felt around, under the water, in the thick sludge that layered the floor.
A laugh trickled through the cement along the walls and corkscrewed around him, disappearing into the roof.
The eye opened and Jonas began to frantically search for the torch with his other hand. He let out an involuntary sigh when his fingertips located it and pulled it from the water. The light flickered, mischievously and then smiled with illumination.
Forms moved in the distance, but they were not solid or living, they were phantoms creeping in the twilight of their death.
Jonas went to stand but something seized his ankle from beneath. He felt the touch of icy fingers lock around his leg and he heard the knuckles click shut, one by one. He pushed the torch into his pocket and grabbed at the object restraining him pulling it away from his leg. The water parted and a festering corpse rose into the tunnel like a drowning man gasping for air. Its broken neck snapped, as it turned round to stare at Jonas with hollow sockets that once contained eyes. It grimaced, the jellified chunks of grey flesh that clung to its skeletal face, quivered and its lips ripped, "we've been waiting for you," it ventured, with its extinct voice. "You see us, feel us, hear our dark thoughts, stay with us, let us reach out to you and live within you."
Jonas felt the hatred, the darkness, of each one of these souls, surround him like a hungry spider's embrace. They did not want the eye to weight their hearts, to be judged, they wanted to use it, to feed off his fear and gain strength.
He let go of the decaying arm, with a mighty shove, sending its owner back into the depths. A deep laughter bubbled from below and Jonas moved back until his spine met with the brickwork. He used the eye to shield himself from their evil but he was weary, fatigued and they were strong, the madness of their minds fierce and determined, he would not be able to withstand them for long.
"That's it," a voice jeered, "cower in the corner, you're good at that!"
Tick, tock, tick, tock, Jonas Quinn," another one mocked. "Your friends are counting on you," the voice began to cackle, "they're doomed."
Another transparent balloon of light floated towards him, graceful like a jellyfish caught on the tide. Electrical impulses, of disconnected thought, sparkled lilac around the gossamer of its being as it tried to break through his defence with poisoned tentacles, full of hatred, that splayed from its underside. He needed to block them out somehow, so their voices, their feelings, would just be a mummer and not imprint themselves on his soul. He needed to get through this, to warn the SGC, his friends and then it came to him, with a slap of understanding and he began to smile at the sunlight of memory.
There had been a power outage at the SCG and Jonas had been stuck in the lift, with Colonel O'Neill, for over an hour. Luckily, Jonas had, had his notes with him so he'd settled down to read through them and use the time constructively. The Colonel, however, had paced the confined space impatiently, annoyed at being stuck and helpless and not being able to control the situation. Jonas had tried to relax but felt slightly uncomfortable as he sensed the Colonel's irritation, as he watched him read. Jonas tried to ignore him and concentrate on his work but O'Neill began to drum out a tune on the metal of the walls, then he whistled it, then he hummed it and then he finally threw in a few words and sang it, again and again. In the end Jonas closed the book up in resigned defeat and found the Colonel smiling at him in victory just before the elevator started to move again.
Jonas smiled again knowing that there are always some things you can control in any given situation. He cleared his mind and bit his lip. He concentrated on calming his breathing and pacing his heart. He could still hear the voices but only vaguely, their words becoming inaudible sounds.
He counted up, "one, two, three, four," then began his mantra, "slow down, you move too fast, you got to make the morning last. Just kicking down the cobble stones, looking for fun and feelin' groovy."
He closed the shield and stood up, shining the torch ahead of him and began to wade forward through the soup of decaying malice. He closed his mind listening only to the words on his lips, "hello lamp-post, what cha knowin'? I've come to watch your flowers growin'. Ain't cha got no rhymes for me? Doot-in' doo-doo, feelin' groovy."
He felt them cloud around him, their vigour weakening as they reached out with hands of mist to try and grab at him, but they were unable to connect, unable to torment him and nourish themselves on his suffering.
The voices quickly dissolve into the uneven shadows of the brickwork but one remained, watching Jonas turned the corner, "come back lover," the woman pleaded, "I have so much to share with you, so much blood for us to bathe in."
But Jonas wasn't listening.
+++++
Jonas let out a sigh of relief as he stooped round the corner, as he felt those unwashed souls fade back into the bowels of the earth.
There was a scraping noise ahead of him. Jonas turned his torch off and pushed himself into the side of the chamber.
The manhole cover, further down the tunnel was removed and light spilled into the gloom. Jonas covered his eyes as the brightness of the early morning burnt his sight. He heard muffled voices overhead and then something was deposited into the tunnel and the cover replaced. Jonas paused momentarily and then flicked on the torch and froze in shock at the pile of bodies, in various stages of decomposition that lay in front of him. He was unable to look away, his soul cataloguing the horror of the elongated, wax like figures, randomly strewn en mass, surreal and diverse in their arias of death.
Water cascaded over them, from the streets above, as if it was a blessing, washing the trauma of their wounds, preparing them for burial but it wasn't the only mortician at work in the tunnels. Rats moved like labourers working on a great skyscraper, burrowing and raking through mound, making it seem almost alive with their movement.
Jonas wanted to cry out, above the chatter of the hungry rodents, but the only thing that escaped him was a thick bile of revulsion.
He steadied himself and focused on the glow of the red light to the left of the pyramid of corpses. He carefully pushed his way through the ever thickening water which had risen up to his thighs, stepping around the picked over remains that floated passed him. He balled the eye into his fist and tried not to look at the faces as he manoeuvred himself around the mass bodies, recognizing some were dressed in Ambassadorial robes.
A sudden shift, caught in the light from his torch, made him swing his head round just as a large rat launched itself at him. Its teeth and the curl of its claws connected with the flesh of his shoulder making him tumble backward under the water. He was only submerged for a few seconds but it seemed like the rest of his life as his wake disturbed a few of the corpses that were poise precariously on the fringes and they plummeted to join him in the depths. There were stiff limbs and broken bodies everywhere, pinning him under the water, making him struggle for is freedom. His mind wandered to another instance, when he had been created, when he had fought for air in a laboratory tank and won the right to live. With this strength he pushed himself free again and ran for the red light without looking back.
He didn't even try the door; he wasn't thinking clearly, he just needed to keep on running, to get away. The adrenaline flowing through his body propelled enough energy from the eye to knock it off its hinges with a loud crash. A City Guard came into the storeroom from an opposing door but Jonas was too quick for him. A bolt of blue light flew from his palm and sent the guard crashing into some shelves. Jonas picked the man up by his collar and threw him against the wall. The guard slumped to the floor but Jonas wasn't finished, he picked him up again and began pounding his face with his fist, expending the emotion that was burning red raw through his body. The man tried to block the unleashed fury by making a grab at his assailant and caught the chain around Jonas's neck, causing it to break and the ring to fall to the floor.
Jonas stopped his attack, letting the man collapse to the ground and stepped back. He hugged himself, a self-loathing replacing the anger he had felt. He crouched down, daring himself to touch the other man's skin, to feel the pump of his heart through his veins. He was reminded of Chufa words, like a voice of reason on his shoulder "we're at war, boy, this isn't some game, there is no time for misplaced sentiment. Do you think either of these, these carrion, would have shown you any mercy? They were going to kill you and they would have enjoyed doing it. Save your protests for those who need it, the innocents caught in this vast web of political intrigue."
He wiped his hand across his face and his eyes fell upon the discarded ring. He picked it up; it felt warm in his grasp and placed it back on his finger like it was his conscience.
He quickly stripped the guard and put on his uniform, realising, for the first time, that his was sodden and smelt of death. It was a little big for him but he hoped, in the chaos of the coupe, that no one would pay too much attention to his attire.
He put the microfiche in his breast pocket and took the other man's sidearm and made his way to the door. He placed the cap down on his head and put his palm to the door, stretching his mind outside into the corridor, sensing it was empty.
Jonas put a fingertip to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to loosen the tension that was curling inside of him. He seized the door handle pushing it open and walked out into the corridor.
========
Hope you were ok with the gruesome stuff, until next time, take care, thanks for stopping by.
:o)
Still earning no money for this
***WARNING - A bit on the gruesome side
Thanks to CT xx
Thanks again for your reviews guys xxx
Lyrics used:-
WHITE RABBIT -- Jefferson Airplane - I know that they don't have Alice In Wonderland on Kelowna (the planet) but the song is so haunting and was great to use for the mad hooker.
59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy) - Simon and Garfunkel
Ah, you may leave here, for four days in space,
but when your return, it's the same old place,
the poundin' of the drums, the pride and disgrace,
you can bury your dead, but don't leave a trace,
hate your next-door-neighbour, but don't forget to say grace
Eve Of Destruction By Barry McGuire 1965
==========
The unkempt boy led Jonas through the labyrinth of the catacombs. He moved quickly, eager to get his task over with so he could get back on the streets, above, and join in the sporadic fighting with his friends; Jonas followed on behind, limping slightly. He judged the boy's age at about fourteen or fifteen, although when Wolf had introduced him, in the light of the pump room, he could see that the young face was already showing the ravages of someone old before their time.
There was no light in these narrowing and claustrophobic tunnels so both Jonas and the boy, Llodi, carried a torch strapped, clumsily to their wrists. As they navigated the darkness, Llodi talked breathlessly, in Andari slang, hoping to impress the Ambassador with his numerous intrepid tales of daring and bloodshed to prove he was more than the years of his body.
Llodi stopped at an intersection and peered into the grey gloom. Jonas joined him, shining his light to mirror the boy's, to help him find his bearings. Llodi pointed a tattooed arm, full of black and white gang art and crudely drawn symbols of courage, "marked above way," he whispered, his torch illuminating an old street placard, "stoop to go through, smaller way. Turn towards red light at the manhole cover, at the end is steps up to old storeroom."
"Is that it?" Jonas asked, puzzled, "my way back into Parliamentary building?"
He looked at the opening, which had been walled up some time ago, but an entrance had recently been chiselled into the brickwork small enough for a boy to slip through.
Llodi turned his light to Jonas and nodded his grubby head, "I go no more on, not down there, there be whispers in the dark," he replied, in a voice of faltering maturity.
Jonas raised his head to the entrance and listen to the drip of water and the odd flurry of movement from a rodent, sorting its way through the disorderly piles of old bones from long forgotten burials.
Llodi continued, "the loose ones hide in the walls down there," he shined his torch at a 'smiling' skull, "the fresh ones, the ones that gets head sick and dead; they bad people. Guards dump their bodies for rat's food but they carry on with their whisperings, even though their mouths are all bone, they still call in the dark and laugh; I not go down there any more. Some do, some boys who think they brave but they comes back changed and shaking, talking of loose ones floating in the darkness, like cobwebs with faces."
The boy's eyes were wide and spoke of fear and Jonas's senses tingled with foreboding, "I help you loosen the bricks," Llodi said, "but then I go."
Jonas nodded and they began to dislodge the damp blocks making a gap wide enough for him to get through.
The air from the other side was cold like an early morning sigh in a graveyard full of frost and Jonas felt there was something watching from the shadows with black and heartless eyes. The boy took a step back and Jonas eased his way through the opening, finding the tunnel, on the other side, slightly lower making him stoop. He turned back to thank Llodi but the boy had already disappeared except for the echo of his footsteps thrashing through the stream of water that ran along the floor of the passageways.
Jonas shone his light back into the void but there was nothing ahead of him but darkness and.
He heard voices, soft, indistinct, words that hissed, spiralling off the curvature of the walls. He began to wade forward, the murky water almost covering his knees, his movement disturbing the filth that had lain rotting for centuries. He bit back the urge to vomit at the heavy fist of stench that had balled down the back of his throat, squeezing his tonsils. He used a lip of stones, along the side, to hold onto, not wanting to lose his footing and fall into the mire.
His palm blinked with light as manic laughter flew at him like a fireball down the tunnel, making his heart bounce against his ribcage. A cloak of perspiration covered his body as he sensed the presence of many souls, lost in a maze of madness and homing in on his light.
Again the laughter, this time a woman's, calling to him with sugar, coated, words that would rot a body of its innocence. He smelt her harsh perfume, its aggressive scent making his nosebleed, showing him her true nature, the murderess behind the whore in the white dress and silk slippers.
An orb of light came towards him, burying itself onto his chest with electrical stems of blue sparks. Jonas was thrown from his body, his mind taken over by the energy's memories, trapped in its playback loop.
He was led on a bed in a squalled room decorated in grime. The dark, midnight, sheets were still warm and smelt of overuse and something, something, dry and heavy, while a small, dusty, window let in the air from a back street full of decaying rubbish. He felt groggy, was it from alcohol? An open bottle lay on its side, winking at him like a cheap hooker displaying her wares.
A woman's voice made him turn his head, which seemed weighty and cumbersome and he saw a figure sat at a dresser raking a comb through her abundant, dark, curls. He could hear the gruelling sound of the movement as she pulled large strands from her head in an attempt unsnarl her hair and make it straight. He felt sick, his breathing became laboured, he felt like he was suffocating or drowning, he wasn't sure which.
The woman turned to face him, smearing her plumb lipstick from left to right with the back of her hand. She was naked from the waist up, her skin pale, and deep cuts scared her body, an ugly contrast shining against the network of delicate, blue, lace veins.
She seemed not to notice him lying there; instead she danced to a tune in her head smiling like her lips were frozen. She turned towards the bed and curled a length of hair round her fingers, "one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small, and the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all," she laughed, like she was intoxicated but it was madness that inspired her thoughts. She sat down on the bed, putting her head on his chest, adorning his torso in a raven's wing of hair.
She listen to his breathing, closing her eyes, "and if you go chasing rabbits, and you know you're going to fall, tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar, has given you the call."
She lifted her head, from under its shroud of black and shifted her body to straddle him, ripping her tight skirt to do so. She studied him, her head twitching at angles as it moved almost robotically on the glass of her neck. Her eyes were a mix of colours and they burnt with detachment as she began to rock on his hips. She smiled, biting her bottom lip and reached under the embroidered bedspread to pull out a large carving knife that glinted sharp and silver in this blunt and grubby masque. She began to use it to slice through her own skin near the top of the breast, touching the blood, that oozed dark like pitch, with her fingertip and spreading it over her lips.
"When men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go, and you've just had some kind of mushroom and your mind is moving low," she laughed again and walked her bloody fingers up his sternum to his lips.
She leant over and kissed him and Jonas tasted the acidity of her blood. "When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead, and the White Knight is talking backwards, and the Red Queen's 'off with her head!' Remember what the dormouse said: 'Feed your head, feed your head, feed your head'"
She lifted the knife above her head, gripping the handle with both hands, and brought it down to crack open his chest. Jonas felt his body jerk up with the force of the blow, driving his mind out of the dying shell, throwing him from the room back to the catacombs.
The orb was pushed from his chest and he felt a watery hand stroke his face, "we'll feed your head", the voice hissed with malice, "we have plenty of nightmares waiting in the darkness for you."
Jonas tasted blood in his mouth and wiped his sleeve across his lips. He spread his hand and propelled a sphere of light, from the eye, down the tunnel. Cries of mass panic ricochet like a thousand shots around him and then silence.
He inhaled deeply and leaned against the side, rubbing his temples. He shone the torch in front of him, the circle of light shuddering with the jump of his nerves. He began to walk cautiously forward, the slurp of his footsteps, through the water, the only sound.
A cold draught brushed passed his right side making him twist as he followed its movement. Something struck his outstretched arm, knocking the torch from its bindings and sending it into the muddy waters.
Darkness.
He slowly crouched down, holding his breath, to scared to release it, as he felt around, under the water, in the thick sludge that layered the floor.
A laugh trickled through the cement along the walls and corkscrewed around him, disappearing into the roof.
The eye opened and Jonas began to frantically search for the torch with his other hand. He let out an involuntary sigh when his fingertips located it and pulled it from the water. The light flickered, mischievously and then smiled with illumination.
Forms moved in the distance, but they were not solid or living, they were phantoms creeping in the twilight of their death.
Jonas went to stand but something seized his ankle from beneath. He felt the touch of icy fingers lock around his leg and he heard the knuckles click shut, one by one. He pushed the torch into his pocket and grabbed at the object restraining him pulling it away from his leg. The water parted and a festering corpse rose into the tunnel like a drowning man gasping for air. Its broken neck snapped, as it turned round to stare at Jonas with hollow sockets that once contained eyes. It grimaced, the jellified chunks of grey flesh that clung to its skeletal face, quivered and its lips ripped, "we've been waiting for you," it ventured, with its extinct voice. "You see us, feel us, hear our dark thoughts, stay with us, let us reach out to you and live within you."
Jonas felt the hatred, the darkness, of each one of these souls, surround him like a hungry spider's embrace. They did not want the eye to weight their hearts, to be judged, they wanted to use it, to feed off his fear and gain strength.
He let go of the decaying arm, with a mighty shove, sending its owner back into the depths. A deep laughter bubbled from below and Jonas moved back until his spine met with the brickwork. He used the eye to shield himself from their evil but he was weary, fatigued and they were strong, the madness of their minds fierce and determined, he would not be able to withstand them for long.
"That's it," a voice jeered, "cower in the corner, you're good at that!"
Tick, tock, tick, tock, Jonas Quinn," another one mocked. "Your friends are counting on you," the voice began to cackle, "they're doomed."
Another transparent balloon of light floated towards him, graceful like a jellyfish caught on the tide. Electrical impulses, of disconnected thought, sparkled lilac around the gossamer of its being as it tried to break through his defence with poisoned tentacles, full of hatred, that splayed from its underside. He needed to block them out somehow, so their voices, their feelings, would just be a mummer and not imprint themselves on his soul. He needed to get through this, to warn the SGC, his friends and then it came to him, with a slap of understanding and he began to smile at the sunlight of memory.
There had been a power outage at the SCG and Jonas had been stuck in the lift, with Colonel O'Neill, for over an hour. Luckily, Jonas had, had his notes with him so he'd settled down to read through them and use the time constructively. The Colonel, however, had paced the confined space impatiently, annoyed at being stuck and helpless and not being able to control the situation. Jonas had tried to relax but felt slightly uncomfortable as he sensed the Colonel's irritation, as he watched him read. Jonas tried to ignore him and concentrate on his work but O'Neill began to drum out a tune on the metal of the walls, then he whistled it, then he hummed it and then he finally threw in a few words and sang it, again and again. In the end Jonas closed the book up in resigned defeat and found the Colonel smiling at him in victory just before the elevator started to move again.
Jonas smiled again knowing that there are always some things you can control in any given situation. He cleared his mind and bit his lip. He concentrated on calming his breathing and pacing his heart. He could still hear the voices but only vaguely, their words becoming inaudible sounds.
He counted up, "one, two, three, four," then began his mantra, "slow down, you move too fast, you got to make the morning last. Just kicking down the cobble stones, looking for fun and feelin' groovy."
He closed the shield and stood up, shining the torch ahead of him and began to wade forward through the soup of decaying malice. He closed his mind listening only to the words on his lips, "hello lamp-post, what cha knowin'? I've come to watch your flowers growin'. Ain't cha got no rhymes for me? Doot-in' doo-doo, feelin' groovy."
He felt them cloud around him, their vigour weakening as they reached out with hands of mist to try and grab at him, but they were unable to connect, unable to torment him and nourish themselves on his suffering.
The voices quickly dissolve into the uneven shadows of the brickwork but one remained, watching Jonas turned the corner, "come back lover," the woman pleaded, "I have so much to share with you, so much blood for us to bathe in."
But Jonas wasn't listening.
+++++
Jonas let out a sigh of relief as he stooped round the corner, as he felt those unwashed souls fade back into the bowels of the earth.
There was a scraping noise ahead of him. Jonas turned his torch off and pushed himself into the side of the chamber.
The manhole cover, further down the tunnel was removed and light spilled into the gloom. Jonas covered his eyes as the brightness of the early morning burnt his sight. He heard muffled voices overhead and then something was deposited into the tunnel and the cover replaced. Jonas paused momentarily and then flicked on the torch and froze in shock at the pile of bodies, in various stages of decomposition that lay in front of him. He was unable to look away, his soul cataloguing the horror of the elongated, wax like figures, randomly strewn en mass, surreal and diverse in their arias of death.
Water cascaded over them, from the streets above, as if it was a blessing, washing the trauma of their wounds, preparing them for burial but it wasn't the only mortician at work in the tunnels. Rats moved like labourers working on a great skyscraper, burrowing and raking through mound, making it seem almost alive with their movement.
Jonas wanted to cry out, above the chatter of the hungry rodents, but the only thing that escaped him was a thick bile of revulsion.
He steadied himself and focused on the glow of the red light to the left of the pyramid of corpses. He carefully pushed his way through the ever thickening water which had risen up to his thighs, stepping around the picked over remains that floated passed him. He balled the eye into his fist and tried not to look at the faces as he manoeuvred himself around the mass bodies, recognizing some were dressed in Ambassadorial robes.
A sudden shift, caught in the light from his torch, made him swing his head round just as a large rat launched itself at him. Its teeth and the curl of its claws connected with the flesh of his shoulder making him tumble backward under the water. He was only submerged for a few seconds but it seemed like the rest of his life as his wake disturbed a few of the corpses that were poise precariously on the fringes and they plummeted to join him in the depths. There were stiff limbs and broken bodies everywhere, pinning him under the water, making him struggle for is freedom. His mind wandered to another instance, when he had been created, when he had fought for air in a laboratory tank and won the right to live. With this strength he pushed himself free again and ran for the red light without looking back.
He didn't even try the door; he wasn't thinking clearly, he just needed to keep on running, to get away. The adrenaline flowing through his body propelled enough energy from the eye to knock it off its hinges with a loud crash. A City Guard came into the storeroom from an opposing door but Jonas was too quick for him. A bolt of blue light flew from his palm and sent the guard crashing into some shelves. Jonas picked the man up by his collar and threw him against the wall. The guard slumped to the floor but Jonas wasn't finished, he picked him up again and began pounding his face with his fist, expending the emotion that was burning red raw through his body. The man tried to block the unleashed fury by making a grab at his assailant and caught the chain around Jonas's neck, causing it to break and the ring to fall to the floor.
Jonas stopped his attack, letting the man collapse to the ground and stepped back. He hugged himself, a self-loathing replacing the anger he had felt. He crouched down, daring himself to touch the other man's skin, to feel the pump of his heart through his veins. He was reminded of Chufa words, like a voice of reason on his shoulder "we're at war, boy, this isn't some game, there is no time for misplaced sentiment. Do you think either of these, these carrion, would have shown you any mercy? They were going to kill you and they would have enjoyed doing it. Save your protests for those who need it, the innocents caught in this vast web of political intrigue."
He wiped his hand across his face and his eyes fell upon the discarded ring. He picked it up; it felt warm in his grasp and placed it back on his finger like it was his conscience.
He quickly stripped the guard and put on his uniform, realising, for the first time, that his was sodden and smelt of death. It was a little big for him but he hoped, in the chaos of the coupe, that no one would pay too much attention to his attire.
He put the microfiche in his breast pocket and took the other man's sidearm and made his way to the door. He placed the cap down on his head and put his palm to the door, stretching his mind outside into the corridor, sensing it was empty.
Jonas put a fingertip to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to loosen the tension that was curling inside of him. He seized the door handle pushing it open and walked out into the corridor.
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Hope you were ok with the gruesome stuff, until next time, take care, thanks for stopping by.
:o)