A/N: It happened again. Another story inspired by my American McGee's Alice game. I haven't been able to play any of my computer games thanks to Windows ME being such crap, so I'm going through a smidgen of withdrawl. I find computer games a good way to clear the head and get into writing mode. Anywho, the inspiration for this came from the remark Griffin makes about the Mad Hatter's obsession with turning everyone into clockwork machines, and how he's like the mathematician trying to square the circle. No, this isn't a crossover, I'm not big on doing those kinds of crossovers. The plot is all mine. This is just some craziness I felt like writing. So be warned, it's a strange one. Not to mention a little sad.

I would also like to give credit to Drufan. Having Sheppard go nutty in her story motivated me. So thanks.

Squaring the Circle

by

Stealth Dragon

Rating T for violence and disturbing content. Yum. :p

Disclaimer: Don't own this, don't have any affiliation with the people who create Stargate, because if I did, Sheppard would get whumped more and I doubt he'd like that.

Synopsis: There's always a price to pay when being on the wrong end of an experiment. There's really no such thing as a healthy obsession. Possible spoilers for Epiphany, The Gift, Duet, and whatever else pops up. Takes place after my story Jabberwocky, not that you have to read it or anything. Critter John will not be making an appearance though, sorry.

SGA

John was conditioned to expecting certain sounds and smells when coming back around to awareness after the darkness. Beeping of the heart monitor, the stinging scent of disinfectant, and the occasional mumbled conversation or clacking of a laptop keyboard. Always sounds first, then sensations. But it must have been opposite day with no sound to show for waking, only the feel of a useless thin mattress that might as well be wood for all the good it was doing. He assumed he had kicked the blanket away, because he was freezing.

Now where were the sounds?

This change in something he'd rather not consider to be routine made his heart lurch hard in his chest, snatching his breath away. There was a smell, vague but monumentally unpleasant, like a cross between urine and stale body oder.

Definitely not infirmary smell, and he was starting to desperately miss it.

Confusion settled on him like the cold, making him half afraid to open his eyes, yet at the same time prodding him to find out what the hell was going on. So he settled for in between by slowly peeling his eyelids open. The usual blur of sleep-film obscured everything until he blinked it away, revealing very off white walls verging on a kind of putrid yellow coloring. They were solid, smooth, but stained with what looked to be smears and splotches of rust colored water marks.

This confirmed it once and for all – not the infirmary.

John rolled his eyes up to a single light dangling from a cord directly over his head. The light spasmed for three seconds, but struggled back to its wan existence that barely lit the room as it was. Shadows continued maintaining a strong presence in the corners.

John then rolled his eyes down at himself, looking for spots of blood indicating possible injuries. He was wearing what seemed to be thin scrubs colored a light blue-gray, extra large by the way they hung loose on his slender frame. The collar was wide and low to go past his collar bones and allow in an extra amount of cool air to brush along his chest, making him shiver.

Taking in his surroundings allowed the rest of John to rejoin the waking world. He found strength enough in his limbs to prop himself up on his shaky elbows and give the room the full three sixty cursory glance. Four dingy walls, with the bed in the middle against the back wall, a grate in the corner most likely to use in taking care of certain bodily functions, and an iron door with a small barred window across from the foot of the bed.

John stared at the door, narrow eyed, then dropped himself back onto the nearly unrelenting mattress.

" Son of a..." he mumbled through clenched teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Captured. He'd been captured, again. Maybe just him alone, or maybe him and his team, but he couldn't remember. Hell, all he remembered was stepping out of the jumper onto a grassy meadow stretching to the horizon, interrupted by a few hills and tree copes, with mountains rising jagged as teeth in the hazy distance. Rodney had said something about massive energy readings coming from an area marked by well placed stones that had at one time been a massive structure, now could barely qualify as being Stone Henge in likeness. There had been little to see, little to do, and John had occupied himself with wandering around the crumbling edifices, looking without actually seeing, which had probably been a mistake, because then... then...

John rose then tossed himself onto his back with a grunt of frustration. He couldn't remember anything, and more than pissing him off, it was scaring him. Usually he recalled by now some flash of light or enemies jumping out of the wood works to surround them all, then clocking him over the head for good measure. Events should have flooded back into his brain by now, leaving him nothing but furious. But it was opposite day, of course, and fear was starting to drown pissed out. He was used to crappy, filthy cells but this... John couldn't place exactly how or why, but it was different from all the places he'd been held. Surfing and being laid back didn't make John as one being deep into Zen, chi, and the metaphysical, but this place had an aura to it that he couldn't shake off, like something harboring a dark secret rather than blatantly shouting portents of doom. It was too damn quiet, and that silence was pushing against him like plastic being wrapped around his head, making his breathing harsh in his ears, and allowing him to hear his own hammering heart beat.

To his further detriment, he felt suddenly small, and very, very much alone. Not the alone of simply not having his team present, but a solitude that would have him believing that he was the only living being left anywhere in the entire universe, and it was a heavy feeling that could have easily crushed him had it been tangible. Instead, he rolled onto his side and curled into himself, placating his ego by assuring it that he was only trying to get warm. But who was he kidding? He was terrified, like a child in a strange place with parents far, far away.

Very pathetic.

Awareness of how weak he was being came like a smack to the side of the head, and he used that to toss wood to the fire that was his anger, and stoke the sucker until it grew enough to get his body into motion. He bolted upright, then off the bed to start pacing erratically like a caged tiger. He went to the massive iron door, and even his height didn't allow him a view out the small window unless he stood on tip-toe. He grabbed the bars, gripping them tight to haul himself up a little further, turning and angling his head to see as far as the tiny window would allow.

Outside was some sort of corridor with walls made of dark gray stone, and a black and white tile checkered floor that was looking more black and gray. There was another cell door across from his own, with the window black. A few feet to the right and the left were more doors, with the right one the only one showing a lighted window. Also on the right, John caught the edge of what appeared to be a wooden door, maybe the entrance to this place. Looking left, the corridor continued on a ways, with two more doors, then turned right.

It was taking more effort than it should have for John to hold himself up for his look-see. His arms were shaking, and his legs joined them, and with the weakness came the realization that he was hungry. No, starving, his stomach grumbling harshly in the stifling silence. Joining that was a dry mouth and an increasingly parched throat. He lowered himself back to the flat of his feet and turned to search his surroundings for a plate of food or cup of water. He went to the bed, crouched, looked under it, and on finding nothing swallowed nervously with no saliva to moisten is mouth.

Torture tactics; starve them, dehydrate them, beat them, then drug them until they're giving everything away including their mother's maiden name and social security number. Except John was quite adept at never going past name, rank and serial number. Although on occasion he might let his blood type slip and his opinion concerning his tormentors. Painful in the end but fun while it lasted.

John turned back to the door, standing three feet away, and cupped his hands over his mouth.

" He..." he was interrupted by a burning itch in his throat and lungs that had him partially doubled over coughing hard. Sucking in a deep breath, he straightened and tried again.

" He-ey," his voice cracked like a thirteen year old hitting puberty, and he coughed again. He rubbed his throat despite the itch being inside, and worked his tongue trying to gather whatever drops of saliva he could. Instead, he managed to coat his mouth and throat with a stickier substance that rendered talking impossible. Backing up, he lowered himself onto the edge of the foot of the bed with hands clasped in his lap. He had no choice but to wait. Granted, he could have pounded on the door until his hands bled, but wanted to save his strength for the inevitable.

John laid himself back onto the bed, then pushed himself further onto it using his elbows and feet. He lay with hands resting on his chest, staring at the grimy ceiling and pathetic excuse for illumination. Cold crept through the flimsy material of the scrub, down the wide collar, forcing John back on his side wrapping his hands around his middle and bringing his legs up to his chest to conserve warmth for real this time. But the cold merely focused its assault on his back, like arctic breath puffing against his spine and making his flesh goose up. John breathed out a tired sigh. One would think himself accustomed to this by now, except that he didn't want to grow accustomed to it. A human body and mind wasn't supposed to, unless a serious mental flaw had finally developed, and John didn't want to go there.

Yet he could sense a growing feeling of indifference subjugating the usual unease and anger, subduing them down to background emotions rather than his dominant state of mind. Or perhaps it was the hunger and thirst making him too tired to deal with them, and he sincerely hoped that was the case. Were his team here, should they be tortured in order to force him to talk, he didn't want to become one of those soldiers who built up walls around the heart until living a numb existence.

Gee, McKay, I'd loved to get all upset about you being mutilated and all, but I really don't care anymore and I like it that way. Oh look, some of your blood's got on my face. How interesting.

John curled even tighter into himself. It was a hell of a lot easier to give into that state of mind than most people thought – when it came to whatever crap was happening to him especially, concerning the pain of others very much so. It pushed when it was others on the receiving end of punches and kicks. Give in to the numb, the cold, the uncaring, and then it wouldn't hurt so damn much later. And it did hurt, way more than any physical pain. Physical pain he would take any day of the week, but mental made him want to rip his own heart out to put a halt to the agony.

It was the helplessness, that was the worst of it. Being right there, and not being able to do a thing about it. But then came the moment of retribution when the calvary charged in, blowing holes into walls, pulling John from the brink, and giving him a chance at payback that eased the anguish enough to keep him from becoming a basket case. And he never killed for revenge. Oh no. One must never do that, because one must never become the thing they hate, or darkness comes full circle with John being the bastard dishing out the agony.

But there were breaking points, and that's what made John shrink shivering further into the fetal position.

It also had him realizing that the urine/body oder smell was strongest when laying on the mattress. But, hey, at least he had a mattress. Chances were, infections from beatings would get him long before whatever germs were crawling on this mattress did.

A high pitched whine, like hinges in need of a can of WD-40, pierced the silence and John's ears far louder than it should have. He snapped his head up to the door and lifted both eyebrows in wary curiosity. His door had opened, just a fraction as though it hadn't been shut properly and a small breeze had nudged it inward. John stared at it, decreasing his breathing, with nerves singing and muscles quivering. But no one shoved the door the rest of the way open with a bang to come stomping in. No burly guards to drag him away, no haughty figure to taunt him before the torture. Just a door teasing him with possible freedom, like a snake hypnotizing the mouse before the strike.

John had been trying to avoid the mouse analogy. It was bad enough with the glorified guinea pig metaphor McKay was so fond of using.

John waited another ten heartbeats before finally rising to slip from the bed and creep in a crouch with back curved and leg muscles bunched for either a charge forward in a tackle or leap back in alarm. On reaching the barrier, he hunkered down beside it, and gingerly moved his head around to peer out. He looked left, right, up, down, then down again on a double take on seeing a tin plate holding a crust of bread and a tin cup of water within easy reach just outside the threshold. Too easy reach, and John didn't like that. Thoughts of tainted food and tainted drink screamed in his mind. Hunger screamed back, wide and yawning like a bottomless pit in the base of his stomach, snarling to be filled in. Thirst had his tongue fusing to the roof of his mouth.

A measly crust of bread and a stupid cup of water - might as well be the instigators to the downfall of societies with the potency they carried. Leave the food, wait the tormentors out, and be drug free when rescued. Considering if a rescue was being mounted, which John did consider since he would have been dead a long time ago if it hadn't been for his team. So, in better consideration, if this place could even be found. Most rescue efforts always cut it close thanks to the prisons being in some obscure location. In which case, John will have either starved to death, or be so weak from hunger that drugs wouldn't be needed. Captors were always slick that way. Option two was a no-brainer – take the food, get doped up, get it all over with – unless his team had a location after all and were heading over even now.

And that's why a crust of bread and cup of water were always such a pain in the ass. Too many possibilities when all John wanted to do was end his hunger and thirst. John licked dry, cracked lips, watching the food as though it were an iratus bug waiting to jump, but interchanging with longing to get his stomach to shut up already. Indecision, fatigue, and fear increased John's trembling along with his heart rate. He did another nervous search of the empty hallway, lingering his sights on the doors hiding unimaginable surprises he would regret being surprised by.

Mind games were just as much a torture tactic (probably the most favorite) as physical torment, and one way or another, something bad was bound to happen eventually, so it was always best just to get it over with and deny his captors the satisfaction of watching him squirm.

" The hell with it," he mumbled, and leaned around the door to snatch the plate and cup quick as a mouse jumping back from the striking snake. He placed the cup beside him, then took the bread from the plate and stuck the plate between the door and the jam for future access. Scooting back, John took the water and downed it all in several gulps, then devoured the bread as though someone would take it away if he didn't finish it fast. It didn't fill him, not that he expected it to, but the pit was less bottomless and more like a really deep pot hole. Good enough. What was even better was now he had his voice back. He crawled back to the door, still keeping behind it, and peered around out into the dimly lit hall.

" Hello?" His voice echoed sharp and brief, and he winced. Silence answered him, still suffocatingly thick.

" Hello!" He tried again when no one burly or inhuman came barreling around the corner. " McKay? Teyla? Ronon? Anyone?"

Silence refused to budge.

" McKay! Teyla! Ronon!"

Still nothing, but John wasn't naïve to go sighing in relief about it. And neither was he stupid as to think that the absence of anyone nasty showing up meant it was okay to step out of the cell for a little walk.

Definitely not stupid, but occasionally foolish. If his teammates were still passed out then no amount of calling was going to bring them around. He saw only one other cell that was seemingly occupied, and close enough by for a quick check that didn't involve an escape attempt to be used to against him. So John made sure the tin plate remained positioned as a door stop should the doors work by remote. He gripped the edge of the door, shifting into position for a mad dash, then flung the door open and ran out to the cell diagonal to him. He skidded to a stop before colliding into the door, then jumped up, gripping the bars and pulling himself enough to see into the room.

Only to see nothing but another bed and dingy walls. He twisted himself, angling himself to snatch a glance at the darkened corners. Still nothing.

John's body flooded with ice. " Ah crap."

A gutteral, throaty kind of purr resounded toward him from somewhere beyond the bend in the hall. John's head turned hesitantly toward the sound, and his heart could have broke a rib the way that it slammed. A shadow filled the wall where the corridor turned, and kept growing, something clacking and scratching on the tiled floor.

" Idiot!" John snarled to himself. He dropped to the floor, stumbling and scrambling back to his cell. Once inside he did another skidding stop to kick the plate away, then slammed his body into the door that banged shut like an explosion. He pressed against it with the throaty purr rhythmic like breathing getting closer. John instinctively stepped back from the door, only to slam against it again when it started inching open.

The clacking stopped outside his door. John closed his eyes.

" No, no, no, no, no, no..." Torture he would take, a quick death with a bullet to the brain he could handle, but the idea of dieing being torn apart by a ravenous monster was a way to go he'd rather avoid. Too slow and too painful.

There was a snort. " Hmph. Took you long enough to awake." The voice was unmistakably female, with an echoing quality to it like the voice of a female wraith, but heavy on the bored sarcasm, something a wraith could never pull off.

John tilted his head back to look up at the small window, and looking back down at him was a large, almond shaped eye solid blue without iris or pupil, surrounded by midnight black, leathery flesh with strands of wiry gray hair trailing across it. It narrowed at John, and there came another snort.

" Move," the female... thing... snapped. John felt the door shift toward open. He pushed away from it and scuttled back, around the bed to the back wall. The door swung open with a protesting whine. What entered was... disturbing, to say the least, causing John's stomach to clench nauseatingly.

The black, leathery skin was like a mask pulled and stretched over the elongated skull with a lipless, narrow snout, like a cheap, quick way to cover the bones. That emaciated head should had been a contrast to the rest of the body rippling with ropey, sinewy muscles, but the size made up for it. The head lifted on a long, curving neck to look down on John. Muscles quivered, vibrating the mane of long, limp gray hair starting from the top of the skull and extending to the base of the neck, so long that even with the head lifted it was only inches away from brushing the floor. Its limbs were long, with the forelegs longer and thinner than the powerful hind legs, like bat arms; which made sense since they appeared to be sporting the same style of wing membrane folded tight against the arms. The tail curled at the feet looked as though it would be the same length as the hind legs.

Bat body, dragon neck, and horse skull-head with mane; John's second reaction was for his heart to sink at the thought of genetic manipulation. He honestly didn't think he'd be able to handle any more Frankenstein spawn and their patchwork children anymore.

John pressed his back into the wall. Experience had him already knowing this creature had no intention of taking his head off – yet - but experience wasn't keeping him from reacting out of instinctual fear. The creature reminded him of a wraith; had the iratus bugs made a DNA cocktail with an animal rather than an Ancient.

The creature snaked it's neck out to bring its bony face in close to John's. It puffed out a breath of air through the long slits of its nostrils, its permanently bared teeth almost transparent up close, as though formed from glass. Thin eyelids blinked over the solid blue eyes that regarded Sheppard in tired interest, then the head snaked away.

" Follow me," came the echoing female voice. " And I suggest you comply since I really don't think you'd enjoy being carried. I know I wouldn't enjoy carrying you." With that flatly stated, the creature turned and slipped from the cell moving with ribbony grace that would make a cat jealous. Having no intentions of letting that wraith simile carrying him, John followed. It turned right toward the massive wooden doors and shoved them open by butting its head into them. The doors opened onto a metal platform with a rusty, grated floor. Turning right again, the thing practically slid up metal stairs that creaked, moaned and rang.

Stepping out onto the platform was also stepping into an endless stairwell with walls lined by stairs and platforms, all leading up, with none leading down from the platform where John stood. All John could see beneath him was endless black, and all he could see above was more black but offset by the stairs and landings. With a shudder, he followed the creature to the next platform, then to the next, three platforms up until they finally came to one with a solid metal door, no window. The creature wrapped its wing claw around the handle and yanked it open, revealing an endless corridor with boarded up, narrow arched windows on one side,and a blank stretch of wall on the other. The creature led him through the barely lit hall thick with shadows, following the yawning darkness that always stayed ahead of them. They passed a single wooden door, then several yards later another door, and the hall kept going like a bad dream.

The doors were nothing really remarkable, all clones of eachother, probably leading to easy to forget rooms that were either full of junk or nothing at all. Or at least that was the impression John got. It was the fifth door that had him twisting his head around wanting a better look. It was another of solid metal, large, dented, and smeared with rust.

Except rust usually drips or flecks, not smears, and not form patterns remarkably similar to handprints and claw marks. Dents bulged out from the door as though a massive sledge hammer had been taken to it from the inside. Again, John couldn't suppress a shudder.

Curiosity compelled him to ask about it, but dread shut him up.

Two more doors later and they came to a set of double doors that the creature head-butted open. Walking in, John was met with the sight of a large chamber like a massive dining hall and sitting room rolled into one. Dominating the center was a long table of dark brown wood, intricately carved, along with red padded chairs surrounding it. It sat on a massive ornate carpet of blue, violet, and red in swirling, curved designs. On either side of the chamber were high bookshelves packed with books, and massive round rugs where easy chairs of what John guessed to be maroon leather – four in all – surrounded small coffee tables (or whatever people of this world drank when reading.) On the other side of the dining table was a huge fireplace with a wide mantle held up by kneeling statues with human figures but heads similar to the creature's. Above the mantle was a mirror, a dingy mirror that barely reflected anything.

It would have been quite the cozy, opulent setting had there been a fire going, and if everything say for certain dining chairs and spots on the table wasn't covered in a thick layer of dust. The padding of the chairs and easy chairs were cracked, frayed, split, spilling out off-white padding like guts. The carpets and padding were dulled with dust and age, the stone floors beneath cracked and textured from wear. The creature's claws clacked until it stepped onto the thick rug, moving around the table to the other side where it sat back on its haunches to pull out a chair. It then pointed its wingclaw straight down.

" Sit," she ordered.

John was quite ready to retort about not being critter-chick's lapdog, but thought it best to bite his tongue until the full severity of the situation made itself known. Sheppard moved to the chair and dropped himself into it, raising a small cloud of dust that had him coughing. The creature moved off to the side on Sheppard's left, just at the end of the table, and sat back like a well-trained Doberman.

For being dusty and cracked, the chair wasn't all that bad to sit in. John let himself slouch into it with arms folded across his chest. Seconds ticked by like minutes, and John felt himself begin to fidget with unease. He glanced at the creature, stoic and still as a statue.

" So, uh..." he began, and when the creature didn't retaliate at the sound of his voice, felt it safe to continue. " You, uh, got a name?"

" Alasia," she promptly replied in that same flat tone.

John nodded thoughtfully. " Alasia. Pretty. So, um, what can I expect here, Alasia? Torture, blackmail, bad food...?"

Alasia twitched her head to look at John askance. " Ient's yet to have a reason for blackmail. Torture depends on what he has in mind this time around." She said the last part rather caustically, ending with a half-snort, half-laugh. " He jumps into the projects these days and isn't keen on taking the time to map them out before hand."

Now John was squirming. " Projects?"

" Are you deaf? Yes, projects. I'm assuming he's finished his last seeing as he wanted me to bring you up as soon as possible. Must be another long one seeing as how he hasn't pulled in a sentient being for months. And I'm warning you now, you're probably not going to like whatever he's got in store for you. I've yet to meet anyone who's all smiles about Ient's projects. Well, the mad ones but it's not as though they can tell their nose from their backside anyways. Idiots even die with a smile on their face. Painful one but still a smile." Alasia's entire body shivered, and she shook in a rustle of wiry mane to clear it.

John gulped, going tense as a fiddle string and fighting to maintain his appearance of nonchalance. He was nervous verging on scared, but refused to be scared yet. He could handle this, he knew he could. Mad scientists were a regular occurrence for him – McKay for example, though he had a knack for descending out of his God-like complex from time to time. Normally pissing him off helped, as it helped with every other mad scientist John had the misfortune to run across. Usually long after the fact and the pain, though.

John wasn't fooling himself, he was scared. He had it up to the stratosphere with mad scientists, but those same scientists were good at keeping John from doing anything about it, mostly because they kept him guessing on what dastardly plan involving twisting nature they had next. Plus they didn't care. At least with enemies like the Genii and the wraith, John had a chance to ascertain his enemies, especially since reasons for killing him were narrowed down to either vengeance or hunger. Scientists were neither vengeful or hungry, just obsessive, and obsessions could grow to be quite unhealthy, especially for the test subject.

" So I guess it's pointless to ask what Ient has in store for me?"

" If you're asking me, then yes. Although I doubt even Ient will answer you. Always busy, busy, busy that Ient." Again, John noted a hint of bitterness to her words. Possible ally, that Alasia, but John was careful to store that notion into his mental file of possibilities only. It would be worth a try to do a little digging into this bitterness, but he wasn't going to rest all hope on it. Not if something simpler presented itself. Still, it was a start.

" So," John said to start the digging off. " What does your kind call themselves?"

Alasia snorted, hissing out a sardonic chuckle, then glaring at John.

" Incarcerated," she snarled.

What the hell's that supposed to mean? But John didn't press. Nothing like prodding the grouchy lion with a stick to get it ripping one's own head off sooner than later.

John settled deeper into his chair, even with all comfort lost. His heart was going at a runner's rate, and sweat was tickling over his ribs and down his spine, soaking into the thin scrub and making him twitch with shivers. Minutes past, building up toward an hour. John crossed one bare ankle over the other and began twitching his foot to ease some of the agitation from his body.

Making him sweat and making him wait; simplest torture tactic of them all, if John were actually being tortured. Maybe this was all a part of Ient's project to see how he would react to long, arduous, pointless waiting.

He was proved wrong when the door burst open and a figure a foot taller than John hidden head to toe in a thick, heavy but fading dark blue robe with a massively large cowl strode in, slow but purposeful. Perhaps it was the robe's thickness adding on the bulk, but the figure was impressively built, like a wrestler, making John feeling positively scrawny with the figure still several feet away.

" Ient, I presume?" John said, already too tense to tense any further. Alasia rose to move just behind John. The figure approached the table, and lifted pale, clawed hands to the cowl, hands that looked unnervingly familiar. The figure brushed back the cowl with a flick of its wrists, and the sight of the face had John jumping from his seat and attempting to back away, only to be halted by Alasia's wing claws on both his shoulders. Even knowing what Alasia was, he still shrank back against her chest, shaking hard.

" Oh hell, no, no freakin' way!"

The wraith smiled baring a mouthful of small, sharp teeth. Slitted eyes flicked up and down John's body as the wraith moved around the table deliberately, savoring its approach toward its terrified prey. John's breathing labored as fast as his heart. He tried to jerk from Alasia's grip, which had her curling her claws to prick him just below the collar bones.

The wraith neared, and reached out with its feeding hand.

" No!" John screamed, jerking, writhing, then trying to kick at the wraith. Alasia dug her claws in sharper until blood was drawn. She pulled him back hard, distracting him enough for the wraith's hand to move in toward his chest... and veer to his shoulder. The wraith then proceeded to squeeze John's shoulder, then down his arm. Taking John's wrist, he pulled him forward from Alasia's grasp. Still hanging on, he felt John's forehead with the back of his hand. After that, he lifted the scrub shirt, looking John over again, then leaning in to place his cold ear against John's chest.

" Heart rate high but not unexpected," the wraith said. He pulled his head away, and still keeping the shirt lifted, turned Sheppard around. John cringed when he felt the cold, clawed hands groping along his spine. He looked at Alasia, asking with his eyes what the hell was going on. Alasia answered him with a roll of her own blue orbs as though to say 'humiliating, isn't it.'

More like creepy.

When the wraith finished feeling John up like a butcher examining the quality of a side of beef, it lowered the scrub shirt, took John by both shoulders, and spun him around. The wraith then stepped back with hand to chin, looking humanly thoughtful.

" Scrawny," he stated, driving back enough of John's terrified confusion to prickle with slight irritation.

" But in good physical condition," it went on to say. " Excellent muscle tone and posture, no back problems like the last one." It nodded, then smiled. " This could work. Blood samples first, though."

The wraith – Ient, John was safe to assume – pulled a small metal box from his robe and set it on the table. Opening, inside were syringes, small squares of cloth, and a small metal bottle of something. Ient poured that something onto the cloth, and taking Sheppard's wrist, pulling his arm straight, wiped the stuff on the crook of his arm. It then grabbed a syringe, plunged it in, and pulled out some of Sheppard's blood. It then grabbed another needle, taking out another small pint, then a third.

" Geez, Dracula, save some for me." John couldn't help it. He was officially freaked out enough to feel justified to say whatever the hell he wanted. Ient didn't respond. He placed the filled needles back in the case and closed it with a snap.

" You're a spirited one," Ient said at last, looking back to Sheppard. " No one has ever spoken on the first meeting."

John met the wraith's gaze, pouring out his suspicion, mistrust, and loathing. " Probably because they're too busy wondering when you're gonna eat them."

Ient smiled his ghastly wraith smile. " Which is why I don't hold it against them. Needless to say the temptation to feed is there, but it is counterproductive, and I prefer meals that do not fight back. I admire you already Mr..."

" Lt. Colonel John Sheppard United States Air Force."

Ient's brow lifted. " My, that is quite a name."

Focusing on his loathing, John smirked. " I'd let you call me John, but I don't get personal with wraith. Colonel or Sheppard, take your pick."

Ient lifted his chin, still grinning like a death's head. " Mr... Sheppard then. I admire you already Mr. Sheppard. Your resolve, courage, though the scent of fear is strong on you, and your heart beats loud. I imagine you will be trouble for me."

" It's a proven fact I tend to be trouble for anyone. Just ask a few of your wraith pals. They'll vouch."

Ient's chest jerked in a breathy chuckle. " My brothers and I... are not on common ground. So I will take your word for it. No matter though, easily dealt with. Alasia, deliver his rations only once a day, water twice to play it safe. I wish him subdued, not dead."

" Yes, Ient."

Ient turned and started striding away, grabbing the metal box and slipping it back into his robe pocket. " I am finished with him for today. Return him to his cell. When finished, return Meyon to her cell as well. She needs to rest."

" Yes Ient," Alasia answered. She started head butting John in the back to get him moving. John complied like an automaton, being too numb with shock to act in any other way. He was supposed to be dead, plain and simple... and when did wraith start using names for themselves? The name thing struck John as being far more odd than him being alive. His brain contributed his continuing existence to the fact that wraith liked to play with their food before snacking. But the name thing John couldn't digest.

Back out of the dining/reading hall, back down the rickety metal stairs that creaked and rang loud over the abyss, and back into the cell block to be head butted back into his cell. The door whine shut behind him, just as he snapped from his stupor to whirl around.

" Alasia, wait!"

The cell door clunked loudly. " What?" Alasia snapped.

John's mouth worked without any words forming. So many questions were packed into his mind that he couldn't sift through them properly to find one to start with. The one question that finally did squeeze through his addled brain made him want to kick himself.

" What's going on!"

Silence, then a snort. " Your door is not locked, so you may move about if you wish for exercise purposes. I suggest you take advantage of it before Meyon returns. She's at her most cranky after her sessions."

John heard the clacking of claws, then the groan of a door, followed by the thunder of it being slammed shut. John remained glued to the spot, staring at the cell door that slowly inched back open.

Then John backed up until his legs met the bed, and he dropped himself down on the edge. But he didn't remain there long. Given the opportunity to explore, he might as well take it. Better than giving his thoughts free reign to start tearing him apart.

SGA

Grass and twigs crunched under Rodney's booted feet. He skirted around the ruins with careful steps in case what he was looking for was literally right under his nose. The young marine beside him didn't hold as much regard to what could be underfoot as the physicist. His attention was on their surroundings, left, right, up but never down. Of course never down since most danger in the Pegasus Galaxy came from above. But what was an alien galaxy without a few surprises?

" You really should consider watching where you step," Rodney mumbled. " Since we've yet to determine how Colonel Sheppard vanished, the very act of breathing could have any one of us vanishing into thin air. Though we're more likely to step on something that could have us disintegrated."

The marine gave Rodney a heavy-lidded look, but still didn't include the ground in his scrutiny.

Ah, the naivety of youth. Idiot.

With each crumbling edifice they passed with the largest only coming a little passed Rodney's head, Rodney would pass his scanner over it, then along the ground. The area where he'd last seen Sheppard step was behind one of these taller structures. Stepped in but didn't step out. Rodney had seen the stepping in part, only to become distracted by a massive energy fluctuation that swiftly declined, then vanished. It was after calling for Sheppard and not seeing him emerge that had gotten Rodney's heart to cram into his own throat.

His heart was still in his throat even with this being day two of the search. Since yesterday's search didn't involve any more disappearances, Weir had stamped her approval on Rodney bringing in more scientists to expand the search, each with a soldier assigned to them like a shadow. As Rodney rounded the structure, he passed Zelenka rounding another nearby structure.

" Anything yet?" Rodney asked without looking up.

" Rock, grass, and more rock," Zelenka replied. " No energy readings."

A thousand possibilities for this now lack of fluctuation raced through Rodney's mind. Perhaps it had been a one time thing. Perhaps it was seasonal, or only came about during certain times of the day, or had been remote controlled... or had been some sort of land mine after all and Sheppard was nothing more than atom particles floating through the air. Rodney, however, refused to give into the latter mode of thinking. Sheppard was too much of a phoenix to be passed off as dead.

Although Rodney had never denied that the day might come...

No, he would give Sheppard the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.

Rodney paused , looking up. Wow, so this is what it's like to think positive. Except it wasn't really thinking positive, just handling the situation one step at a time. He wouldn't call it denial, just procrastination until he had no choice but to except that Sheppard, this time around, might really be gone.

One step at a time though.

The search dragged on through the day, into the waning light as the blazingly white sun made its decent toward the horizon. Rodney wasn't ready to call it quits, but Major Lorne was, what with this being an unknown planet with unknown dangers that could very well prefer the dark. He called a halt to the rescue and had everyone gather in the center of the ruins for a head count.

Rodney would have protested quitting with enough light left to see the silhouettes of the structures, but his mind had zipped off to other matters, namely setting up up scanners throughout the structures, maybe on tripods or sticking them to the walls, to record any energy readings that might pop up during the night.

" Spread them around," he told Zelenka as they headed to the center of the ruins. " Within the area and outside it. With so many scans going at once we should get better readings and therefore a better idea of what we're dealing with."

" Has doctor Weir given consideration to having a few stay behind to catch sight of what created this anomaly?" Radek asked.

Rodney set his mouth in a straight line and shook his head. " No. Until we know more, it's too dangerous. To which... I suppose... she has a point."

Zelenka lifted his brow. " I must say you are taking this quite well. Normally you are more..." Radek waved his hand in a circular motion through the air. " What is the word... Obsessed, about such matters."

Rodney shrugged. " Blame Sheppard. I think his disappearing acts are starting to desensitize me. Besides, you know Colonel Sheppard. The man's like a jack in the box. Even with the music you never expect the jack to pop up. Same with Sheppard. He makes good on those last minute reentries. Either that or it's us being the ones to pull him out of some hole or prison."

" Yes, but never in a pleasant state. Returning in body is all well and good, but there are times when I wonder what it must do to his mental state. He has survived many strange... uh, mishaps, many of which have nearly killed him. I do not doubt that he could return, but it is his manner of return that is cause for worry."

Radek would have had Rodney there, except Rodney was fifty miles ahead of the Czek in that line of thinking.

Rodney had perfected his mask of outer calm, because inside he was raging with panic, and for the very reasons Zelenka had just mentioned. It was the what ifs that were killing Rodney. What if, while the rest of Atlantis slept in warm beds, Sheppard was out there somewhere freezing to death, or starving, or getting eaten by wild animals. What if he was being tortured, mutilated, turned mentally upside down and inside out. Wouldn't be the first time.

What if he couldn't take it any more?

Rodney's fingers twitched; a tick that had formed the other day after the first search for the energy fluctuation. Although at the time it had only been his pinky finger moving against Rodney's will. Today, pinky, middle, and thumb.

Once reaching the middle of the structures, Lorne did a roll call, checked off names, then bellowed the orders to head back to the jumpers. Once piled inside the three ships, the jumpers rose and positioned themselves single file on heading back to the gate. Heavy twilight had covered the land in thick shadows, stretching to the horizon with darkness halting abruptly to give way to blazing yellow, orange, pink, and violet fading into starry night. The lead jumper dialed the gate, and the event horizon exploded outward, then inward, to cast shimmering, dancing light on the ink dark ground. The jumpers entered, zipping through the wormhole, and slipping out gently on the other side to rise into the jumper bay.

On stepping out, Rodney was met by Dr. Weir and several breathless, wide eyed, and smiling scientists. The looks on their faces had Rodney halting on the ramp.

" Please tell me you found something related to finding Sheppard. Because if you didn't then I already don't care..."

" One of the jumpers doing a planet wide search found something," Weir said, stiff with agitation, but tempered enough not to be smiling and giving into what could be false hope. " It's in the lab. I didn't want anyone one touching it until you returned."

Gaping, Rodney nearly stumbled hurrying off the ramp. " Why didn't you alert us?"

" They brought it in only thirty minutes ago and we didn't want to call you back if you'd found something yourselves," Weir explained as they started off for the lab, Zelenka, Ronon, Teyla, and several other scientists following. They moved quick through the halls, Rodney trying not to break into a run. On entering the lab, a gaggle of scientists quickly parted from around the object they'd been huddled over like vultures.

The device on the table was round and large, about the size of a jumper pod, give or take, covered in blunt ended spikes and circular blue crystal plates. Rodney's first thought was how the hell they got the massive thing into the lab. He got his answer when the table was bumped, and the thing started rocking as though it had been shoved. Probably weighed about as much as Styrofoam.

Rodney went straight to it and looked it over. " Seems to be wraith in design."

A tall, thin balding man – Dr. Fredricks – nodded, then pointed to one of the blue crystal face plates. " We confirmed it when we noticed writing around the edges of these panels. Wraith language we're still trying to translate. The jumper picked up a small energy reading that led us straight to the thing. We found it darting over a forest, but it immediately changed course to come straight at us when we landed. It didn't really do anything at first, just do that darting thing around us for a minute before Lt. Micheals stunned it."

Rodney looked at Fredrick's in alarm. " He stunned it? How many times? Until it sparked and died?"

Fredrick's swallowed nervously. " Just once. B-but it's still working. You can feel it vibrating. We think it just needs a moment to reboot."

Rodney nodded, his shock forgotten. " Then we'd better get to know this thing to make sure it doesn't want to self destruct and take us all with it. I suggest massive precaution, namely keeping this thing from leaving the room. So we'll need stunners and lots of them. Oh, and I suggest putting the city on lock down. Don't want anyone accidentally opening a door in case this thing wants to take a stroll."

Weir nodded. " Agreed. Anything else?"

Rodney grimaced, then looked at Elizabeth. " Personal shield would be nice if we've got a few extra."

SGA

John's cell block was nothing even close to spectacular. Around the bend were more cells, all empty, and around the next bend more cells and a blank wall of block stone. Empty... empty, empty, empty. John tried the door at his end of anti-paradise, but it was bolted tight and hardly budged. He kicked it in frustration, which is always a bad idea, and now suffered the pain of a bruised toe.

With nothing left to do and see, John and dragged his now heavily depressed carcass to his cell and foul smelling mattress. He curled up on his side and forced his brain to focus on possible escapes rather than his predicament. He didn't have much intel to go on except for the obvious telling him that he was screwed. Even if Ient didn't eat him, John had no doubts that the wraith mad scientist was going to make his life a living hell to the point of wishing he were dead. Wraith were beautifully adept at making their victims pray for death.

Alasia John wasn't certain about. Her bitterness toward Ient he kept in mind, but for all he knew Alasia was bitter in general, and could be a sadist who liked to watch others suffer as a way to vent for all John knew. People, creatures, whatever, could be multifaceted that way. Still, this was only day one of him being awake and taking in his surroundings. As long as Ient's plans for him didn't involve John dead by sunup, then John still had time to observe and discover something that could be taken advantage of.

Either that, or buy time enough for him to get rescued.

If rescue is possible. John just didn't know enough as of yet to be hopeful. But holding back on hope left too much room for fear, and the unknown was feeding it. Thus far, the only wraith scientist he'd ever heard of had been working on a way to make humans more tasty. So what did that leave for a wraith reject shunned by his own kind? Perfecting the last wraith scientist's genetic spaghetti sauce to win back his brethren's love?

John closed his eyes and let out a quavering breath. Too much of the unknown, too many what ifs. And John was hungry again with that cold bottomless pit gaping open at the bottom of his stomach. His thoughts meandered toward food – steaks, eggs, ice-cream, turkey sandwiches. Even MREs and Powerbars were making his mouth water. Wouldn't McKay and Ronon be proud. Their twiggy friend was all prepped and ready to eat anything and everything. He only hoped Ient wasn't going through similar hunger pains.

Flashes of food gave way to a single image of McKay and Ronon sitting across a mess hall table from John, shoving a tray with a turkey sandwich and potato chips toward him. But when John tried to grab the sandwich, his hands past straight through. Ronon and Rodney laughed.

" Apparently he doesn't want it bad enough," Rodney said, and pulled the tray away.

John looked from the tray to Rodeny desperately. " Yes I do!" He made a lunge for the food, but his hands passed through again. Then, suddenly, he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and lifted from his chair to be slammed into the floor at Ient's feet. John looked to Rodney and Ronon for help, but they were too busy pounding the table in a mad fit of laughter.

Ient crouched beside John. " Scrawney," he said, then smiled baring his mouth full of small, sharp teeth. " But he will do." He ripped John's shirt, exposing his chest, then slammed his feeding hand right into Sheppard's sternum.

John gasped and snapped his eyes open, panting and shivering, his hand going straight to his chest still covered by the thin shirt and unmarred flesh. Feeling no wound or wrinkled skin, John sighed out in relief. He lay on the putrid bed breathing through his mouth until his heart rate descended, feeling it do so with his hand still on his chest. Sweat covered his skin and soaked into his clothes, making him shiver from cold more than nerves. He lifted his head to look at the cell door, still stubbornly remaining open at an inch.

In the thick silence, he caught a sound, a strange, breathy sound that pulled him from the bed to the cell door. Peeking through the small gap, he saw no sign of Alasia, no shadow or hint of mane or leathery skin. He pulled the door open enough to stick his head out and strain his hearing into the silence.

The noise was coming from his left, a kind of whimpering, or maybe weeping. Either way, the voice sounded human or at least human like.

Curiosity and solitude compelled John to check it out. And since the sound seemed to be coming from the lighted cell, he saw no real harm in it. He shoved his own cell door open enough to slip out without causing it to whine and startle whoever was in the adjacent cell. He crept to the cell for the same reason, and straightened to stand on tip-toe and peer though the barred window.

A figure was huddled at the foot of the bed, wearing what looked to be a thin, plain brown dress with a darker brown scarf covering the head like a hood. The body twitched and jerked with quiet, shuddering sobs that sounded somewhat strange, almost musical, not quite real, and that was what kept John from alerting the figure to his presence.

But he wanted to alert, not so much because the figure screamed poor pauper damsel in distress, but simply out of sheer longing to hear another human voice and see another human face.

Wait, didn't Alasia mention something about a Meyon? Meyon, who was cranky, or something like that. Was this Meyon? And how much of a threat could she be when cranky behind a cell door.

Meyon or whoever this was suddenly stopped crying and lifted her head without turning it. John flinched, almost pulling back, but forced himself to stay put in hopes of seeing Meyon's face – a human face, psychotic, cranky, or otherwise.

Meyon's head moved like a cat following a spiraling dust mote. Then, suddenly, she whipped her head around to look directly at John.

John's blood turned to veins of ice. That was no human face, or anything John would call a living being for that matter.

Two points of blue light flared like azure fire from the slitted sockets of a dark gray metal skull, dented and spotted in rust. Instead of flat human teeth, the skull grin bared needle sharp fangs that made wraith teeth look like push pins. The jaws parted in a shriek of metal that melded into an inhuman vocal shriek, piercing and vicious, sending a shock of cold racing down John's spine. The metal creature moved fast as a whip, bunching together then lunging at the cell door with fanged jaws gaping and flaming blue eyes burning.

John screamed in terror and leaped back just as the creature impacted; with the door flying open and smashing into the wall, the creature clinging to with it seven inch long fingers narrowing at the tips into claws. The skull head swiveled around on its metal neck, and hissed.

John's terror didn't allow him to get back to his feet. He scrabbled backward, falling, then turning enough to bolt into his own cell, falling again onto his chest with mind enough to kick out with his leg and slam the door shut, only to have the creature slam into it and send a shockwave of pain up John's leg. He shoved again, but the creature shoved back, enough to slip its bony arm through and grab his ankle with its clawed hand. It then pulled him away as though he weighed little more than straw, allowing the thing to open the door the rest of the way and start pulling John out. John stretched both his arms out in time to grab the legs of the bed, only to have it pulled along with him. Without really thinking about it, he snapped his body around from front to back, bringing up his other leg and striking the metal creature across its metal jaw.

The skull head barely twitched, but the pain tearing through John's foot and up his leg wouldn't let him hold back a scream. He tried, and it ripped from his throat all the same. He attempted to bring his leg to his chest and grab his foot, but in the process had it tugged back by the creature. The creature, moving seamlessly on all fours, crept like a prowling panther into John's cell, coming up on his left side. Once there, it sat back on its haunches, and wrapped one claw around John's throat to pin him in place. It didn't look at John's face. It's focus was on his chest, with his jaws wide and its eyes small pinpoints of blue.

It turned its head and lowered it to rest on John's chest, right over his psychotically hammering heart. Its other hand it placed beside its head with the tips of each claw resting on the bars of John's ribcage. The sharp pin pricks against the flesh made John's stomach coil and shrink, and his breaths turn uneven and unsteady. John closed his eyes, preferring not having to see along with feeling. He waited for the claws to puncture and snap his ribs like splintered wood, waited for the left clawed hand to squeeze until his neck snapped, or for the metal fangs to tear into his throat. He waited, and tears stung his eyes with the agony that wait was causing.

One claw began tapping on one rib to the rhythm and pace of John's heart.

" So fast," the thing breathed in a lilting, echoing voice, like a female wraith, ending with a drawn out sigh of contentment. " So strong. I have not heard it's music for countless ages. It is sooooo beautiful." She sounded as though she were about to weep. " Sooooo... delectable. Your life would taste sweet to me, like my first kill. It would linger, sustain me, if I could just have – one – taste..."

The claws against his flank shuddered until the pressure increased, piercing cloth and flesh to scrap against the bones. John's breath caught in his throat, and the tears slid from his eyes. He had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from screaming, which would send the creature into a rage, of that John was sure.

" I'm so hungry," the creature whimpered. " Just a taste, one taste."

John felt the weight of the head lift away, then cringed at cool metal against his cheek, wiping a tear away. " Look at me, my dish."

Gulping, John squeezed his eyes shut tighter, until the tip of one of the claws wrapped around his throat touched the skin over his jugular.

" I said look at me!" the creature snarled. John pried his eyelids apart and looked up into the pin hole blue dots of light from deep within the slitted sockets. The jaws parted in the grotesque equivalent of a smile.

" You are trembling, my dish," it said. It brought its face in close to John's. " I like fear. It taste so sweet."

John curled his lip in a sneer. " Kind of hard to taste anything with no tongue, isn't it? Bet that's nothing but a recording I'm hearing. You probably say the same thing to all the guys you eat."

The eyes flared, and the creature gasped. " Defiance!" then the eyes shrank. " Even more delectable."

The creature lifted her face away, then her hand from John's throat. With one effortless tug, she ripped the front of John's shirt to expose his chest. Carefully, as though relishing the movement, she placed her cold metal hand on his chest with fingers spread and claw tips pointed at his collar bones and throat. The metal creature stared at the hand, and gradually its body began to shudder, the eye lights growing brighter and brighter until they filled the sockets. The hand pressed harder into John's chest against his sternum until his ribs creaked and his lungs had no room to expand. The hand shook like the body, and the claws curled just below the collar bones. In the speed of an eye blink, the creature raked John across the chest. John screamed, which was cut off abruptly by a strike across the face hard enough for stars to erupt and have him hovering on the edge of blacking out, but not hard enough to send him into blessed oblivion.

" Silence!" the creature shrieked. " You will be silent human! I will have you! I will! I will taste your fear, I will taste your defiance! I will, I will, I will! I will rip out your heart and devour it...!" and so saying, lifted her claws in ready to bring it down on John's chest.

Only to have her metal wrist grabbed and her metal body torn away to be dragged kicking, writhing, and leaping about like a pissed off wild cat.

John was free, so he took the opportunity to scrabble back into the shadowed corner, huddled and trembling like a terrified child, with both arms wrapped around his bleeding chest, and drawn up legs pressed against his arms. The creature's shrieks of rage were constant, and John barely caught the report of a cell door banging shut on squeaking hinges. Fifteen rapid heartbeats later, Alasia entered John's cell.

" You're fortunate you're both so loud," she said. " Or I would have never known to come."

John wanted to spout the usual questions – what was that? Why did it try to eat me? And so on, but his throat seemed to have closed up. And even if it hadn't, John's breathing wouldn't slow enough to allow him to form words.

Alasia moved closer, and John shrank further back.

" Did she hurt you?" the beast asked, monotone. " Come on, let me see." Along with not being able to talk, John was finding it difficult to move. It took effort for him to lower his legs enough, then move his arms enough, for Alasia to see.

The claw marks went the length of John's sternum, coating his chest with blood that was already soaking into his ripped shirt. Outside the cell, the metal creature shrieked and hammered against the door with each resounding thud making John flinch.

" Wait here," Alasia said. " I need to clean you up."

John almost begged her not to go. The metal creature seemed to be increasing its efforts, and began calling out to John.

" I will taste you, my dish! I will taste you...!"

John would have puked had he had anything in his stomach to puke. Alasia came back several agonizingly long minutes later carrying a basket in her mouth containing a large metal box and another shirt. She set the basket down beside her and brought out the box, opening it so that John was unable to see the contents. Taking out a rag, she poured a bottle of clear liquid onto it until it was soaked. She then reached forward and lightly dabbed the cuts. The liquid stung, cold and biting, making John wince and his arms snapping back around his chest. Alasia pried his arms apart using both wing claws, then pinned one arm to the wall with one wing, and the other arm to the wall with her foot. Yet even in that seeming precarious angle, she dealt with the gashes without wavering.

The stinging grew to being unbearable, sending John back into panting, with breath exhaling on a whimper. When the cuts were cleaned, Alasia released John's arms in order to place a large pad of gauze over the wounds that she taped in place with a light gray adhesive. After that, she pulled John's shirt off over his head and handed him the new one.

John just stared at the shirt, then looked up at Alasia preparing to leave. But before departing, she snaked her head around to look back at John.

" Anything else...? Besides food. No meal until tomorrow."

Numbly, John shook his head. " Lock..." he licked suddenly dry lips. " Lock the door."

Alasia snorted like an impatient horse. " I was planning to." Then she left. The cell door thunked closed, and the lock clunked into place.

" Next time," Alasia said, " Don't go near Meyon's cell and she won't know you're here."

Another door thundered close.

John couldn't stop shivering. He rose up, slow, stiff, and unsteady, stumbling his way to the putrid bed, dropping the shirt along the way. Lingering adrenaline gave him strength enough to push the bed against the wall, away from the sight of the window and whatever wanted to take a peek through it. Once against the wall, John pulled his shivering, bruised, and cold body onto the thin mattress where he curled into a tight ball, and promptly leaned to the side to puke up acid.

SGA

A/N: The verdict? Good, bad, disturbing? Confused yet? There will be answers, so have patience. It's a short fic, pretty much complete, so I'll probably be posting daily except for Sunday of course.