And now we move on to the next chapter. Before I forget, thanks to the person who beta'd Chapter 5 for me, but it seems I've forgotten your name here. So please, for the love of god, remind me so I can properly thank you!

Chapter 6

It was a simple room, purely functional, as was it was intended to be. Still, you'd think that with all the money the faction had, they could afford to spruce up the warehouse a little, make it a bit more livable.

Or at the very least install soundproof doors for the closets.

"Just how long has he been making that racket?" Dylan asked his partner, resting his arms on the card table and rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers. Watching a potential alien threat was never easy, but this was becoming painful.

Peter checked his watch, "About ten minutes now. Why, is it bothering you?" Ah, the lord of the understatement.

Dylan glared, "Gee, yah think? You know what, never mind, just play." The guard proceeded to pick up a hand of playing cards and study his options.

"Don't rush me," Peter said, running his hand though his thinning hair, which Dylan often remarked was falling out by the minute.

Moments passed, if not silently, thanks to the alien, and Peter laid his cards down face up, "Gin."

The other guard tossed his cards in the air, fed up with the situation. "Why the hell do I even try?" he said, standing up and pacing the room.

"Well, if you don't like rummy we can play poker," Peter placated.

But Dylan was having none of it. "It's not the cards," he began, slamming his palms down on the table. "It's everything. It's being stuck in this damn warehouse for four hours straight babysitting an alien that won't SHUT UP!" he shouted the last part at the closet door.

"You know what?" the irritated guard continued, "I'm getting a little tired of putting up with that little orange piece of …." His eyes drifted over the 9-mm berretta that Dylan had left on the table, next to an empty can of beer.

Peter recognized that look in his partner's eye. "Whoa, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, watching the other man pick up the gun.

"Calm down," Dylan spoke, loading a bullet into the chamber of the semi-automatic, "I'm not going to kill him, just scare him into shutting up."

"Well how do you know he'll even know what a gun is?"

"Oh, you mean besides the fact that he speaks English?" the sarcasm was dripping from Dylan's voice, "I'm just giving him what he deserves."

He crept over to the closet door, pulling a key out of his back pocket and inserting it in the lock. With one swift movement, he flung the door open and aimed the pistol down near the alien, catching him mid-scream.

"We gonna have any more problems?" Dylan asked.

…………………..

Outside the warehouse stood a lone man next to an entrance to the building, doing his best to keep warm against the cold breeze. Pretty uninteresting work, watching a door, but then again, being the new guy, this particular grunt always got the crap assignments.

Well, at least until now.

He noticed her ten minutes before she did, her blond hair and hazel eyes one the many highlights that he first noticed. And highlights did she have. Oh, if he wasn't on duty…

"Excuse me," Gorgeous asked, striding her amazing legs up to him. God, he really needed to get out more. "My husband and I are a bit lost, and I was wondering if you could give me directions to the nearest gas station," she finished.

Crap. Well, what the hell was he thinking anyway? Of course someone as beautiful as her would be hitched already. Already he could feel his mood growing sour.

"Yeah, you go North and take the third-" the watchman began before he heard the familiar hum of a Zat gun activating. But it was too late, by the time he spun around and began to draw his gun, the blue beam struck him dead in the chest, knocking him out.

Colonel O'Neill stood over the warehouse watchman, kicking him over so he lay on his back. "Hmm. Is it just me, or are these NID operatives getting younger and younger?"

Major Carter looked back at him, pulling out a Zat gun of her own, "Well to be fair, sir, we still haven't determined who these men work for."

"Call it a gut feeling," O'Neill offered, moving past the downed guard and reaching for the door.