Please be forewarned that for a bulk of this fanfic Sheppard's going to be way out of character. Blame it on the water. ;)

CHAPTER 6: Bare Feet

The soles of his feet were blistered, cracked, and bleeding profusely. He had been running further and longer than he had ever ran in basic training. Yet his body craved more. The rush of the wind by his face, the racing of his heart, the rushing of blood to his extremities…he craved it all.

And he was getting closer. He could just make out the sound of lungs exchanging air in a hastened pace. Heavy panting. His targets were still running.

Ever since that revitalizing little stop by the river, Sheppard had been enjoying the equivalent of an extreme adrenaline high. He no longer felt pain. In fact, he felt better than he had ever felt in his entire life. Clear. Focused. Any memories of a past life either no longer mattered, or simply didn't exist. His mind was a blank slate.

Vegetation being disturbed disrupted his pace. In the dense forest around him, sounds were oddly amplified. Coming to an abrupt stop, he tilted his head, listening intently.

Two, three…five in all: five grown men, by the heavy sounds of the footfalls. He could take them. Tensing his muscles, narrowing his gaze, he scanned the trees around him, spinning in a slow circle. Clenching his fists, Sheppard allowed a smile to creep onto his face. His eyes flashed dangerously from left to right.

In the wild flutter of a heartbeat, he was surrounded. Five dark-skinned men with bulging chests ragged material draping down their legs, and bare feet. Their chests were heaving, their glares matching Sheppard's. The five stared at him in eager anticipation of a confrontation.

Sheppard made no move, but his eyes studied his opponents. Nothing set them apart from one another…there were only mild differences in hair and facial features. They carried many scars and bruises upon their naked flesh. These were battle-hardy men: probably the last ones standing more often than not.

Sheppard flashed them all a cocky smile, stretching his neck from side to side, bone and cartilage protesting his movement. It was then that he noticed something odd about the third man, slightly smaller than the others, standing a few yards to his left. Upon his bare ankle was Sheppard's knife sheath. It wasn't attached very well as the strap hung at an odd angle with the hilt of the knife threatening to spill out at any moment. His glare traveled to the man's face. There was a menacing glee in the man's eyes.

Sheppard turned his attention to the others, scanning them until his gaze rested upon the very last man's feet. They weren't bare. That man was wearing Sheppard's boots. The strings were frayed and torn to about half the length they used to be. No longer standard issue. That boiled Sheppard even more than the knife sheath. Swallowing hard, his nostrils flaring, Sheppard stole a step forward, keeping all five men within his peripheral vision.

The first strike was surprisingly stupid. The man to his immediate right had swung his fist towards Sheppard's face. Only Sheppard had been anticipating it and ducked. The blow landed in the face of the man who had been creeping up behind Sheppard. This action alone set off an almost comical chain reaction amongst all six men. While the first two began to engage in a fistfight with each other, Sheppard swiped his legs into the man with the knife sheath, successfully knocking him off his feet. The last two men joined in the fray striking at any exposed flesh they laid eyes upon, only to discover that half the time, they were striking each other and not their initial target.

Fists flew. Feet kicked. Mouths spat. Teeth sank into flesh and growls grew deep within achingly dry throats. The heat of the muggy jungle bore down on the men, their slick skin drenched in sweat. The six men fought as animals. Instinct overrode reason. No one was winning. Exhaustion set in and the men began to slow in their actions.

Sheppard sensed this, as he protected his head from another blow directed his way. He was determined to get his knife and boots back, even if it killed him. Yet, he didn't really know why they were so important to him to begin with. Hell, he couldn't even remember when he had lost them. Gathering in as much air as his sore torso would allow, he puffed himself up. With an air of sudden confidence, he rolled to his right and escaped the menagerie. He knew he'd be the only one walking away from this fight.

A muscle twitched underneath his eye. Damn thing had been doing that for the last half hour now. It was annoying. Kinda reminded him of someone familiar…someone whose name started with an…M? Or was it a K? He couldn't remember. Not that it mattered really. That damn muscle twitch was just the thing to set him on edge. His heart raced as he sized up his components. Funnily enough, they were still consumed with each other, beating away at bare flesh, grabbing fistfuls of hair, and biting on appendages.

Just as he was going to barrel his shoulder into the mass of men tangled together before him, something stepped into his vision from his far right. His already abused heart stumbled over itself and he began to pant harder from the exertion it tolled upon his weary body. His mouth hung agape.

He was staring at a ghost. Had to be, anyway, as it was a very familiar man whom had gotten in his way just an hour or two earlier.

Deep hazel eyes bore into him accompanied by a smirk so slimy it made Sheppard's skin crawl. The man stared him down, nostrils flaring.

"They stole your boots and your knife. You're not going to let them get away with that now are you?" The man patronized him.

Sheppard snarled, clenching his fists so hard that his nails began to dig into his sweaty palms. Hot stinging followed by slick trails of liquid told him he'd dug a little too deep. He turned his attention to the still fighting men before him. So far they hadn't taken notice. One man actually stumbled at that moment and fell heavily to the ground. He did not get up.

"Whoo! Ha ha!" The man - his father his mind suddenly supplied - whooped. His father clasped his hands together loudly and bounced on the balls of his feet. He was actually enjoying this. That alone dug into Sheppard's core bringing up such disgust that he lowered his gaze and set it upon those men before him.

With a strangled cry, Sheppard attacked.

His left arm wrapped around the neck of one man while bringing up his knee to slam it into the face of another. He used both men to knock the other two off balance. As those two stumbled, he slammed his elbow into the first man's face, sending him to the ground. The next opponent went down just as easily when Sheppard thrust the base of his palm upward into the man's nose. He could smell the rich copper scent of blood as it spilled and sprayed about him. He could even taste it.

Two men were still standing, attacking with everything they had left in them. The other three remained on the ground; either winded, unconscious, or dead. None of that really fazed the colonel. He focused his rage on the final threats.

Sheppard noticed that one of them still wore his boots. He didn't dare look now, but he was sure one of those on the ground bore his knife and sheath.

A fist pummeled into his right eye and almost sent him sprawling onto the ground. But in his heightened state, Sheppard was more agile than ever. He planted both feet and hands on the ground, using the backward thrust to push himself up and into the chest of one of the men. As the other continued to pummel fists into his lower back, Sheppard drove the man in his grasp forward and into the trunk of a nearby tree. A loud smack sent both the tree and men rattling. The man in his grasp instantly relaxed.

His spine had snapped.

The man still beating on Sheppard was gaining ground and Sheppard fell to the darkened soil bringing up his legs and crouching into a ball. Holding his arms out to protect his head from each blow, he could hear his father cackling in the background.

"Come on!" He shouted in disgust. "Get up you coward! Fight back!"

Anger boiled and rolled within him. He had always hated when his father hackled him like that. The rage consumed him then and he sprung upwards, plowing himself into the final man. He wrapped his arm around the man's throat, holding his body against his own. The man choked and gasped for air. Fingers dug into his arm painfully while the other free hand reached out into nothingness, fingers splayed out in panic. The man was fading quickly. Sheppard began to apply more pressure, placing one hand upon the man's purpling face.

"That's it, my boy." His father called, as if it were a spectator sport. "Twist…twist until you feel the snap."

Sheppard could take it no longer. He was growing angrier, not realizing that he was actually complying. He was out of control. In reality, he did not realize the damage he was inflicting. Not until it was too late.

Crunch.

It was a more muffled sound, not so clear and distinct as he thought it'd be. In fact, he had barely heard it over his own hammering heart.

"Satisfying, wasn't it?" The voice was grating into his nerves. He couldn't take it any more. He released the still body from his grasp and it crumpled to the ground.

Spinning around, fists clenched at his sides, he shouted with all his might.

"SHUT UP!!!" Spittle flew from his mouth, his breathing was erratic, and the veins in his neck pulsated. His face was already red from the exertion of the kill.

There was a gleam in his father's eye. Unsettling. When next he spoke, it was a quiet, almost awed voice…approving.

"I knew you had it in ya. Like father like son."

And then, as if his father had never been there at all, he vanished.

Taking in huge lungfuls of air, Sheppard allowed his hateful gaze to fall back upon the litter of bodies at his feet. He spied his knife sheath and boots instantly.

Reclaiming his prized possessions, Sheppard returned his watchful gaze to the forest around him. He listened intently for any more immediate threats and found none. He wrapped his knife sheath around his bruising ankle and buckled it. Next, he gingerly stepped into the worn boots. They were still warm from their previous owner. Sheppard flinched as a distant pain told him his feet were beyond spared from injury.

Wiping his forehead with his forearm to clear the beading sweat, Sheppard reflected on the battle with the five men lying at his now booted feet. They hadn't fought with as much valor as he had expected. In fact, they had already seemed slow and winded. It bothered him but he couldn't fathom why. Even in their lessened state, the men had still fought valiantly. Sheppard licked his lips and smiled a bloody-toothed smile, in anticipation for the next confrontation. He wasn't here to admire fighting tactics.

He was here to kill.

-------tbc-------