Disclaimer in previous chapter.

I watched this one is half horror and tried to figure out who could voice the frustration I felt at the end of the show. Who else but the straight laced Walter Harriman, the man who sees all, knows all. Should mention that I do have a fondness for drooling puppies that jump on furniture.

Insiders

The elevator doors shut and began its ascent to the surface.

This was one of those days when Walter did not get his job and the people he worked with. If one was able to take the great leap of imagination that a wormhole could, and did, take people to others planets and that a super secret military group did just that, then his job was about as interesting as warm soy milk. But, man, some days were outside even his norm.

And having enough Ba'als to stage an incredibly twisted version of "Red Light Green Light" was just such a day. And that no one took it as seriously as they should have. Walter was use to the teams of the SG laughing off their terror and cracking jokes while going off to die, but this was different. They had the Kinko's special version of the vilest System Lord stashed in separate rooms and they got away! With classified information! Walter Harriman, mild mannered gate technician, was seriously resisting the urge to ping everyone in the head.

Why wasn't anyone considering draw and quartering that Barrett guy? It was a legit punishment for traitors in England (Hah! You aren't the only who watches the History Channel, Dr, Jackson!), it should work in the US Air Force for instances of sheer stupidity.

Speaking of sheer stupidity, even he knew that when a gun is held to your head and you are ordered by the bad guy to give him information, you always enter the wrong code or give them the wrong information! Like secret code words so Mr. Big Pimp'n System Lord can finally beat Super Mario Brothers. Walter worshiped Lt. Col. Carter. He truly did, but he was starting to wonder if he was the only one who developed contingency plans for these types of situations. Maybe he could type them up and slip them under her lab door.

Situation A: If man who wear gold metallic turtleneck orders you to hand over classified information or he will shoot the idiot who started this whole mess, shrug shoulders and mentally plan out size of flower arrangement for funeral.

Situation B: If a megalomaniac holds a gun to head and insists you hand over classified information, keep him or her monologue-ing until help arrives. If need be, ask about plans for world/galaxy/universe domination and if you can get a position. With better benefits then current job. Like free Arby's jamocha shakes for life.

And while he was mentally sticking his tongue out at his superior officers, someone needed to thwack Mitchell on the head with a rolled up newspaper. The man was like a drooling St. Bernard puppy that keeps jumping on the sofa. Plus his baseball jokes were not funny, at all.

The doors slid open at the top and Walter walked out of the mountain towards his Hybrid Civic. After a day like this, all he wanted was a plate of nachos, a beer, and hope his DVR had recorded All My Children. At least their lives were normal.