Author's Note: Hehe, I'm a child psychologist; I work through aggressions for a living!

OOOOOOOOO

At the same moment that Moore and Chambers were finding themselves confined to one of the small cells in an impossible manner, the other three members of the unit were being treated in the exact same fashion. Clay, who was already in the cell that had held Shawn Adams didn't get transferred at all; he simply watched in amazement as two more of his men joined him – Payne and a Staff Sergeant named Ben Graf.

"What the hell?"

Stunned at the sudden appearance and the flash of light, Clay reached for his gun – only to find that even though he hadn't been moved anywhere, his weapons had still been taken away. The other two reacted in a similar manner, but neither of them had a weapon, either. Just a pair of empty holsters. There was another brilliant flash which drew all their attention, and out of nowhere appeared a stranger, barefoot and standing right in front of the open door of the cell with a gun pointed right at them.

"Who the hell are you?" Clay demanded, taking a step forward.

Jack cocked the Beretta, and the noise rang through the cell ominously.

"Step back."

His voice was as soft as Major Clay's had been loud, but there was no mistaking what he'd said, and there was no hiding the glint of anger in his dark eyes – not as close as they were to each other. Clay stopped instantly, his hands coming up just slightly to show the stranger that he wasn't armed – and how the hell had that happened?

"Easy, buddy... we don't want any trouble-"

"Oh, you have trouble," Jack told him. "More trouble than you'll ever be able to handle." He looked at the three, instantly sizing Clay up as the leader – at least of these three. Ian had been told to shout if he needed help, and Jack hadn't heard anything, so he was assuming that between the cadet and the formidable presence of Jaffer, the two were doing all right on their own.

"Who are-"

"Get undressed," Jack said. "All of you. Now."

"What? I'm not-"

Jack pointed Sam's Beretta at Clay, and the Major could actually see the finger on the trigger start to tighten. The cold look in the brown eyes of the man told him that there was no remorse that he was going to kill him, and Clay knew instantly and without a doubt that he'd shoot him.

"Wait!"

The finger relaxed marginally, but the look never compromised.

"Look, buddy... we-"

"Last chance." He turned the gun slightly, pointing it at Payne, and the Captain's fingers went to his shirt buttons. A move that was almost immediately followed by Graf. Clay took only a moment longer, but with a scowl, he, too, began undressing.

Forcing them to undress had more than one purpose. First of all he had to make sure they didn't have the keys to the cells on them, and the best way to do that was to remove any pockets. Second of all, and even more important, it would give Jack a definite psychological advantage when he started asking questions. A mostly naked man has a lot of trouble trying to stand up to you and would be far more compliant than one in full uniform.

As he watched them, making sure that they didn't take anything – like keys or anything that might be used as a weapon – out of their pants and shirts while taking them off, Jack sized up each man, debating which one to start with. He recognized their uniforms as Army special ops, but that didn't actually mean they were in the Army – you could buy those uniforms at any surplus store. On the other hand, they had Military bearings about them that told Jack they probably were in the Military – and almost definitely were Army Rangers.

"Toss your clothes out of the cell," Jack told them, moving slightly out of the way so they couldn't try to throw them at him and then rush him. The Beretta in his hand never wavered, and didn't stop tracking the closest of the men – the one Jack had pegged as the leader.

Clay did as he was told; standing in just his underwear as he carefully tossed his uniform and boots out of the door. Then he moved aside so Graf and Payne could do the same. Jack watched them carefully, more than ready for them to do something stupid and brave – and more than willing to shoot one of them for doing it. He wouldn't kill them – he still wanted to know what was going on – and he wanted to find out which one of them had hit Shawn, but he'd drop any of them or all of them if he needed to. A man with a bullet in his knee will still be able to tell you what you want to know.

When he had a pile of clothes outside the cell, he simply reached over with his free hand and shut the cell door. He heard a click, and double-check it by pulling on it. It was locked. Kicking the clothes well out of reach, Jack finally lowered the Beretta and nodded.

"I'll be back."

He turned and headed for the other hall, where Ian and Jaffer were.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Clay yelled, practically sputtering in anger at being forced to undress and then being left in the cell like he had been. It was a lot easier to be righteously indignant when you didn't have a gun pointed at you, after all. When he didn't get an answer, he tried even louder. "Hey!"

Jack vanished around the corner, and a moment later came to where Jaffer and Ian were standing guard over two very sullen men who looked like they were probably the youngest of the five.

"Any troubles?" Jack asked, noting that one of the two men was clutching a bleeding hand. Almost definitely compliments of Jaffer. The other one was sporting a nasty bruise on his jaw, which was swollen and disfigured. That couldn't have been done by Jaffer, and it was swollen enough that it hadn't been done in the last ten minutes or so.

Ian shook his head.

"No, Sir. They're not going anywhere."

He'd had a few minutes now to get his own equilibrium back, and being on the other side of a cell door and able to stare down the people that had attacked you for no discernable reason was good therapy for him. His anger was mostly gone, now, replaced by a desire for vengeance. Which he was going to get, he was certain.

Jack nodded, and looked over at the two men.

"Get undressed."

Moore's eyes went wide.

"What? Fuck-"

Jack pulled the Beretta from his pants and pointed it through the bars at the Sergeant, who paled.

"Get undressed this minute or I'm going turn the dog loose on you."

Chambers was reaching for his belt in an instant. He didn't want anything more to do with that dog that was for sure. Moore hesitated a moment longer, obviously debating whether or not he could try something and how successful it'd be. Of course, since he wasn't holding a gun and the other guy was, he was pretty sure he wouldn't succeed at whatever he might try.

"Hand your clothes through the bars," Jack ordered, gesturing for Ian to take them. When the cadet moved, Jack was pleased to see he didn't have to tell him not to step between himself and the men. Ian stayed out of the way, giving Jack a clear line of fire – either that or he didn't want to step in front of that weapon himself, which was entirely possible. He moved over to the cell wall, which was comprised of bars just like he'd described to Jack, and piece by piece he took the clothing the men passed through the bars to him. Soon they, too, were standing in the small room wearing nothing but their underwear, and not feeling quite so confident.

"What now?" Ian asked.

"Do you recognize either of them?"

The cadet pointed at Moore, who felt his stomach clenching and suddenly needed to use a bathroom in the worst way.

"He's one of them, I know."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Sir." Ian nodded. "He's the one I was wrestling with."

"The one who hit Shawn?"

"I don't think so... it was dark, though, but I-"

"I didn't hit that kid!" Moore said quickly, pretty sure what they were talking about, and definitely wanting that burden off his shoulders.

Jack pointed the Beretta at him.

"Who did?"

Moore hesitated. There was denying it himself, and then there was ratting out someone else. A fellow teammate. Moore wasn't quite so ready to do that.

Jack sighed and cocked the gun, looking like he was really going to regret the fact that he was going to have to kill this one. Moore noticed the look instantly, and he lost all desire to protect the Captain.

"Payne!" he said, closing his eyes and wishing he were anywhere but where he was. "It was Captain Payne!"

Jack looked at the other occupant in the room, and the young man paled as well, shaking his head furiously.

"Not me, I swear!"

If he'd been in a better mood, Ian might have laughed to see the two men shaking like they were, but he'd been watching Jack O'Neill intently, and knew there was a reason for them to be afraid. The Colonel was more than ready to shoot either of them to get the information he wanted from them, and even Ian could see it. He shivered slightly, too.

Jack turned to Ian, but if he noticed that the cadet was suddenly covered in goose bumps, he didn't say anything. Lowering the Beretta, he reached over and picked up one of the discarded uniform jackets.

"Put that on before you catch cold."

He was, after all, still only wearing sweats and the basement was chilly.

As Ian did what he was told, Jack turned to the captives once more.

"Who's your Commanding officer? Captain Payne?"

Chambers shook his head.

"Major Clay."

"Ian, you come with me," Jack said once the cadet had managed to get his arms through the arms of the jacket. "We're going to sort a few things out. Jaffer, guard."

The black lab turned from Jack, whom he'd been watching, and put his full attention on the two men in the cell.

"Don't try to leave the cell, gentlemen," Jack warned them almost companionably. "It'd be a big mistake."

Without a backwards glance, he moved to the other hallway once more, trailed by Ian, who wondered what was going to happen next.