Consciousness came slowly, through flashes of memory, sounds, and images.

He was being dragged through a long, dark corridor. Shadows surrounded him, large, hulking, soundless shapes.

His head was throbbing, his lungs, shoulders, and ribs screaming in pain. Or was it he that was screaming?

The corridor turned into a room with a glass coffin in the center. He caught his image in the reflection, covered in sooty black dust, the left side of his head caked in blood, wild eyes and disheveled black hair. A man he did not recognize.

Hands pulling his vest and jacket off.

Hands he tried to fight and was then sent spinning back into blackness roaring with sound that didn't make sense.

Hands taking his weapons and finding even the knives he had hidden in his boots and the sleeves of his uniform.

Hands holding him down in the glass coffin as he kicked and fought, then blessed blackness once again.

Then the memories and images began to solidify and he blinked, finding himself in an empty room, lying on his side on the floor. Blinking didn't hurt. But his entire body was sore and still throbbing in pain.

After a moment, he twitched blackened and bloodied fingers, then moved his outstretched arm. Moving hurt, but it told him he was alive.

He pressed one hand into the floor, finding it solid, and slowly pushed himself up, fighting back little gasps of pain.

His vest and jacket were gone, as were his weapons. But something had changed. When they had taken him, he was sure he was going to die. Something was broken inside during the fight. Something that couldn't be fixed.

He was still in pain, but it wasn't mortal pain. It was the pain of a long sparring session with Ronon. It was pain from scrapes and bruises. But the deep, internal, mortal pain was gone.

He touched a hand to his head and found it still sticky with blood, his left eye sealed shut with the volume. He spat on his hand and swiped at his eyelid, trying to clean off the tackiness so he could see, then blinked, feeling stiff blood cracking around his eye with the motion. There was a long cut from his temple into his hairline that was still oozing blood, and the skin around his eye felt tender to the touch. He was sure he'd have a shiner underneath the grime and blood.

He pressed his hand back into the floor, leaving a red smudge on the grey metal.

This was real. This was no dream. He had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the 'gate. There was no DHD, and he was weaponless and captured by strange aliens.

He knew the chances that his team would find him were slim. But he also knew that McKay could do the impossible, and that Teyla and Ronon would stop at nothing to find him. Woolsey was another matter, but the guy was beginning to grow on him. Maybe he would put protocol to the side for once to try and get him back. And if he didn't, he knew his team would never give up the search.

"Never leave a man behind," he murmured to himself.

Even if he knew this truth, and he knew that if it were Ronon or McKay or Teyla who had somehow not stepped back through the Stargate with him, he would move heaven and earth to get them back. He had to hope that his team would do the same and he needed to survive until they found him.

But who the hell were these guys? Where had they come from and why had Atlantis never encountered them until now? Was there a reason they were on a planet with a Stargate but no DHD? Had they been stranded here on purpose, or was this their planet? Did they have the ability to travel through space to other planets instead of use the 'gate? Or were they a primitive race?

Sheppard pressed his back against the wall behind him, finding comfort in its solidity. He had to think. There was nothing in the Stargate Command database about these aliens. He was sure of it. Although he liked to play the nonchalant act and let McKay use his brains, Sheppard had done his research. He had read all of the Stargate Command reports. There were four races that Earth had encountered and that everyone knew about. With the discovery of the Wraith in the Pegasus Galaxy, there were now five - not including the Terrans, of course. Unless these new aliens were just an offshoot of a race they already knew, they would be the sixth race, to Sheppard's knowledge.

He wasn't absolutely sure, though. Everything had happened so fast. Were they actually Wraith? They didn't fight like Wraith, and none of them had tried to feed on him. Their weapons were different. And what were those blinking lights on their heads?

Suddenly, the door in front of him softly swished open, and the shadowy forms of the aliens were there. Scrambling to his feet, Sheppard didn't even have time to open his mouth and demand to know what the hell was going on before they had grabbed him and were bodily carrying him out of the room into the corridor.

After following a maze of hallways that all looked the same, Sheppard wasn't quite sure if he would remember the way back. They finally stepped into a square room about as big as a basketball court, but far less furnished. It was completely empty except for the aliens lining the walls and a small platform at the very center of the room.

Sheppard was dragged to the platform where a waiting alien grabbed his arms and forced them together behind his back. He fastened heavy metal restraints around his wrists and then forced Sheppard to his knees on the platform.

An alien stepped forward with something in his hand and held it in front of Sheppard. It glowed green, and Sheppard saw that it was an Ancient's personal shield.

Damn. They wanted to know if he had the gene.

The alien looked him up and down disdainfully, and Sheppard responded with a cocky grin.

"Helluva welcome."

When the alien didn't reply, Sheppard continued, "Who are you guys?"

Another long silence as the alien regarded him, so Sheppard tried again, "Do you make it a habit of kidnapping your guests?"

"Silence," the alien finally boomed.

Sheppard froze. So he hadn't imagined that they could speak.

"You have been deemed worthy by Janus," the alien continued. "You will join us in our fight against the Wraith."

"Oh." Sheppard shook his head. "See, we're already fighting the Wraith. I don't need to join you. I have my own guys."

"You will join us, or you will die."

There was a motion to Sheppard's side, and hands grasped his arms and shoulders, holding him firmly in place. He was sure he was going to have bruises on his biceps after this — in addition to the plethora of bruises he was already aching from.

The alien brought forth something that looked very much like the blinking light that the aliens had implanted on their foreheads.

With impending dread, Sheppard struggled against the hands holding him. Were they going to stick that on his head, too?

The alien shook his hand and the light, as far as Sheppard could see, had something that looked like spindly legs. There was an unspoken communication, and one of the aliens holding his arms grabbed his hair, pulling his head down to expose the back of his neck to the approaching alien. He placed cool fingers on Sheppard's spine, pulling the neck of his shirt down, and then there was a sharp pinch. Something grabbed the upper part of his back and stabbed into the skin. Sheppard couldn't help the gasp of pain before he was released. He swayed, swallowing and feeling sick to his stomach as he felt something shifting with the movement of his spine. The restraints kept him from grabbing at his neck to relieve the pain.

"What, you give all your guests pretty lights?" he snapped, feeling his body start to tremble involuntarily.

"You are not our guest," the alien replied. "You are our brother." He turned to the aliens lining the walls. "He trains with us. He eats with us. He sleeps with us. He is one of us."

And then the world faded to white.