Daniel woke slowly. He was immediately aware that all was not good, but it took him a few seconds to remember that he wasn't off-world and that the danger was all too terrestrial in nature. He groaned as he maneuvered himself into a sitting position unsurprised to find his view slightly blurry. He sighed thinking of the expense of replacing yet another pair of glasses then sobered as he realized he might never get the chance to replace those glasses.

Daniel placed his hand against the stone wall behind his back using it for leverage as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Whatever was about to happen, he intended to face it on his feet. The pain in various parts of his body caused by his movements made him realize that his attackers had meted out a bit more damage after he'd collapsed. Daniel pushed the thought of revenge out of his mind though as he turned his attention to examining his environment. By now this procedure had become so ingrained he no longer even thought about it. Step one, get captured. Step two, wake up in a cell somewhere. Step three, examine your surroundings. Step four, escape. This was different though. Normally he wasn't alone. He and Jack even joked about living in some twisted re-run of "Hogan's Heroes" at times. To which Sam would reply that she preferred "The Great Escape." Daniel was sure that had something to do with the way Hillis's hair resembled a certain colonel's.

His hands traced the rough contours of the stone walls noting with his archaeologist's expertise the chisel marks on the stones showing they were hand cut a very long time ago. 'Definitely not in Colorado,' Daniel confirmed to himself. It was only then that he realized they'd left him his watch. He checked the time and date on the digital display only to realize that he had been unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours. 'Jack's gonna be so pissed,' Daniel thought. There were no windows in the room he noted not even a ventilation shaft penetrated the stone walls and ceiling. Kneeling on the floor, Daniel noted there was about an inch gap between the bottom of the door and the stone floor. It probably wouldn't help him escape, he thought, but at least he could be sure of sufficient air in the room. Having confirmed there was no way out of the cell on his own, he moved on to the next step in SG-1's "How to Escape" playbook: get the guards to open the door and attempt to try to over-power them. This usually didn't work with jaffa, but when they were captured by the local primitives, it quite often did especially if Teal'c was in the lead.

"Hey!" he shouted as he pounded a fist on the heavy wooden door. "Let me out of here! Can anyone hear me! Let me out!" He continued to shout his demand for release for another five minutes before he finally heard footsteps coming towards his makeshift cell. He immediately braced himself against the wall beside the door ready to grab whoever came to open it. Daniel knew from experience that for this maneuver to work he would have to act quickly. He listened to the scrape of metal on metal as the lock on the door was opened then the click of the door handle turning. Daniel waited until the door had opened about a foot before grabbing the shoulder that appeared in front of him. He pushed the man back out the door with as much strength as he could muster slamming him into a second man. Both men hit the opposite wall of the corridor before Daniel let go of the first man's shoulder to grab for the gun in the second man's hand.

It was then that he heard the familiar click of a safety being flipped off. Daniel sighed as he raised his hands in surrender. 'Moving on then,' he thought to himself acknowledging that this try at escape had just ended. "I give up," he said aloud. "Don't shoot."

A voice behind him said, "Turn around."

He slowly complied wary of spooking the person with the gun. The man wore his left arm in a sling but steadily held a Berretta pointed at Daniel in his right hand. It was the sling on the man's arm that jarred Daniel's memory of slashing one of his attackers with a sword. "Sorry about the arm," Daniel smirked channeling the spirit of Jack O'Neill at his most idiotically sarcastic. Daniel watched the man's scowl deepen and indulged himself with a mental pat on the back.

"Move," the man ordered gesturing with the gun like the best B movie bad guy revealing how little he understood about the reality of moving prisoners. It gave Daniel a boost of hope that escape would be possible if he just bided his time.

He led the way down the hall with the three men following him. They directed him down a corridor to the right that opened up onto a large open storage area. In the center of the room stood a large wooden table with three people sitting behind it. Placed in front of the table was a simple cane chair. One of the guards grabbed Daniel by the arm and roughly guided him to this chair. "Sit," he was told as the guard suited action to words and pushed him into the chair.

Daniel complied using the time to study the three figures seated at the large wooden table. All three wore clothing of such quality to show they were "important" people. Daniel suspected he was supposed to be impressed and probably afraid of them. The strong-arm tactics they'd used to bring him here were also, at least in part, supposed to impress upon him the seriousness of the matter though the practical matter of getting an unwilling man through customs most likely had dictated those tactics. On the right sat an older woman with graying red hair and a dour expression on her face. The man in the center was a large black man with a steely look about him that reminded Daniel of Senator Kinsey's power at any cost attitude. The third person at the table was a middle-aged man of wiry strength.

"Dr. Daniel Jackson, you've been brought here to stand trial," the black man informed him.

"Trial for what?" Daniel asked.

"That is what we must determine," the woman informed him.

At her nod, Daniel found himself being held down in the chair by a man on each side as two others worked to secure his hands and feet to it. He struggled against them, but their combined weight made it a futile effort. His struggles increased as he saw the man with the injured arm wheel a cart into the room. On the cart, Daniel saw a car battery, jumper cables, and various other items whose uses he knew only too well from listening to a drunken Jack O'Neill relive his captivity in Iraq one night after the death of Frank Cromwell years ago.