Dark Element
Creep Factor

A dark world leads to the discovery of an Ancient long imprisoned by his own people. Atlantis is placed in grave danger when Beckett sets him free.

The place where Teyla and Ronon appeared was not so open. It was dark and cold. There were no windows and no doors leading to the outside world. The Athosian suspected they were, in fact, under ground. This fact was later confirmed when they came to an elevator marked with the Ancient word for 'surface'. How far they were down they had no way of knowing, for the elevator would not open. It stood abandoned in the wake of their exploration.

They were now in an armory. There were weapons of different styles here and there, mounted on the walls and standing on pedestals. It was like a collection rather than any sort of supply for groups of people.

Ronon had a sword pulled off its place on the far wall. He held it aloft, his muscles taut with tension as he tested the weight and movement of the blade. It was heavy; a weapon made for death, not for speed. He swung it around a few times, then stopped with a challenging look at his companion.

She had foreseen this. Her weapon was already chosen. By the time he swung the heavy sword at her she had already ducked and rolled. As she rose from the floor her palm claimed the handle of a warhammer. It came from its stand freely and warded off another blow from the large warrior who had closed in on her. Teyla held the handle in both hands, pushing back his slash until he was forced to move off.

Ronon thrust the blade towards her relentlessly. She threw herself to the side, doubled over as the weapon sailed over her in a rough swing, then smacked the end of her hammer into his wrist without mercy. He dropped the heavy sword, but his reaction was swift. Twisting so her back was to his front, he pulled her into him. Teyla let out a hiss as he said, "Do you concede?"

"Yes," she answered grudgingly, her breath coming fast. He let her go and they returned the weapons to their rightful places. "An impressive collection."

"Yeah," he agreed simply, wiping his forehead with his arm.

She offered him a smile as he ran his fingers along a mounted rifle. "Such an extensive collection of different types of weapons." Teyla picked up something metal and round that she had no idea the purpose of. "They must have been great warriors."

Ronon held up what looked like a set of iron claws that attached to the wearer's hand. There were poison sacks along the underside of each blade. "Or fond of pain."

His response made her purse her lips in thought. "I cannot imagine the Ancestors fond of causing pain." She lifted a dagger from a stationary sheath. "Still, it does make me wonder what sort of people lived here. This is very different from Atlantis."

"They can't have all been the same," he reasoned. He held her gaze for a long moment. "You enjoy it here." It wasn't a question.

The two of them wandered from the armory to continue their search. "I find it fascinating," she confessed with a sidelong glance. "To study the Ancestors, to explore who they were as a people."

"Fair enough." Ronon nodded thoughtfully, and then smiled his quiet smile. "But I think you crave the adventure, too."

She turned, backing into a door to open it, replying only with a secretive, "Perhaps."

They were thrown into darkness on the other side of the door. It was strange, for the rest of this part of the complex had been illuminated enough for easy navigation. Teyla flipped the light of her P-90 on and pointed it towards the black expanse before them. The beams fell upon steel bars blocking the path to an easy death. They were on a landing that overlooked a very long drop. A set of stairs wound into the deep. Ronon stepped down onto the first and looked at her curiously. "Shall we?"

Teyla joined him and together they descended into the pitch black with only her light to guide them. The walls were mute gray and plain, no decorations or indications of where they were going or what they would find at the bottom. Their feet and the sound of an insistent drip, drip, dripping from below were the only noises echoing in the stairwell.

When they reached the bottom Ronon was the first off the stairs, his gun poised despite Dr. McKay's assurance that there was no one else here. The very atmosphere of the place bred uneasiness and Teyla had to agree she felt the need to be ready for anything.

There was only one way to go. Ahead of them were two steel doors side by side. Ronon pushed one of them open, slipping inside as silent as a predator. He listened and then allowed her passage. Teyla entered and gasped at how cold it was. She directed her light into the new section, wondering what could possibly be down in this inhospitable place.

She didn't wonder long. There were cells lining the walls, locked with heavy, metal doors. Each of them had a large window that would allow any passer to see within. Observation windows. Teyla walked up to one and peered inside, gasping at what met her vision. Bones and blood. She knit her brow, following a hand's bloody trail on up the wall on the opposite side of where she was standing. Ronon looked over her shoulder.

"There is a fine line between adventure and danger," she commented softly. She brushed past the large warrior to peer into another cell. It bore similar signs of suffering within. "What sort of people would mistreat their prisoners like this?"

Ronon hefted his gun onto his shoulder. "I don't know. If those prisoners were Wraith…" He trailed off, having no need to finish his thought. She knew what he meant. He peered into the cell near her. "Perhaps it wasn't the jailers, but the prisoners themselves that were violent."

"One can hope." Though she didn't take comfort from that thought. She didn't like this place. "We should report this to Colonel Sheppard." Teyla turned her radio on and was greated by the sound of static.

Ronon tried his and got the same result. "We must be too from the place where he and Beckett are. We should go back to McKay, then try again."

Teyla nodded her agreement, eager to be out of this suffocating place. The darkness smothered her senses and that which the dark hid made her feel cold. Together they approached the steel doors leading towards the stairwell.

Only the doors wouldn't open. Ronon tried to push, but it remained steadfastly shut. "Did you feel a lock when you came in?" he asked.

"No." Teyla ran her light along the metal. There was no evidence of a locking mechanism or even a security panel on either side of the threshold. The Athosian looked into Ronon's face gravely. "Perhaps there is another way out."

They examined the prison extensively. There were about thirty cells or more, but no other exits than the one barred from them. The terminals had all been outside the cell room, so even that option was taken from them. Ronon pointed towards the door. "Light," he told her and she did as he asked.

With all his might he threw himself at the door, but it did no good. From what she could see it did not even budge with his attempt. He exhaled and met her worried gaze. "Looks like we got ourselves an adventure."

On the other side of the complex Sheppard and Beckett had appeared in a room filled with soft light. Windows surrounded them with panes touched by the delicate drips of the rain's first offerings. The men gazed out at a storm approaching in the distance. The dark clouds hovered over a large body of water they hadn't seen from the other building. Waves crashed upon rocky shores.

"This would make a nice beach house," Sheppard conceded. "You know, minus the creep factor we run into every now and then."

Beckett nodded and walked to a chair overlooking the sea. He ran his fingers along the cloth arm where it had been torn. There were five rips along each arm, drawn back as if the person seated had done so out of anger or malice. "Take a look at this, lad."

"What's that?" Sheppard said, approaching. He looked down and raised an eyebrow.

"Another one o'your creep factors." Carson mimicked the path of the claw marks. "Not sure I'd want ta meet the person that did this."

John scratched his temple. "Maybe he had a really bad itch he just couldn't reach," he speculated playfully. He shrugged at the doctor, who laughed.

Beckett picked up a book that had fallen open and been left lying between the chair and a table at its side. He smoothed the bent pages, but they remained irreparably marred. The words were written in Ancient, but judging from the hasty, haphazard markings he thought it might be a journal or some such. He turned one of the pages and saw a drawing of what looked like a solar system and meridians crossing specific places. It was a mystery.

He turned another page and widened his eyes, startled by what he saw. "Colonel," he said, then handed the book to his companion.

Sheppard peered at the page. The letters were angry, written in a fit of rage. Written in dark red ink. The Colonel whistled. "Yeah, that's a good omen."

Before Beckett could reply Sheppard's radio came to life, transmitting Teyla's voice. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Teyla. Are you there?"

He put the device to his mouth. "Roger that. I assume you made it all right."

"Yes. The transport rings have not been shielded." Her voice sounded choppy and distant. "We're in what…like…prison…"

Sheppard hit the transmitter. "Say again? You're breaking up."

"…up as well. We…sort of cells. N…indic…of life, but…is locked…Colonel?"

He let out a frustrated breath as the signal fizzled. "Be careful, Teyla. Don't take any chances. Go back to McKay if you run into anything dangerous. Sheppard out." John shared a look with Beckett. "I'm liking this place less and less."

"It isn't a place I'd care to frequent, at any rate. Not without givin' it a thorough go-over for nasty surprises." The two men exited the ring room and were met with several hallways branching off in different directions. "A'right, lad. Which way we goin' ta go first?"

The Colonel peered down each, trying to see what they might walk into before they walked into it. They all looked the same—dark, windowed and dusty. "I suppose 'eeny meeny miney mo' would lessen your opinion of me," he commented, pointing to the hallway on his left.

Beckett shrugged. "I might have ta ask Dr. Heightmeyer to reassess what cognitive developmental stage you're currently workin' on, an' share that information with Dr. Weir, but I wouldn't say no to any hearin' about, er…alternative solutions."

"Bribes?" Sheppard guessed, smirking at his friend. "Doc, I'm astounded. Are you really that devious?"

"You have no idea," Carson replied with a completely straight face.

The conversation was going to take a turn. Beckett could sense it a mile away and wondered if this was how others felt about his own pestering as Sheppard said, "Now as long as we're alone and talking, why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"What d'ya mean?" Carson asked, trying to play ignorant as long as he could.

It wasn't going to work long. "I mean why have you been so bothered lately? It's more than just sleep, Doc. I can tell you've been uneasy."

"Are ya my therapist now?"

"Just think of me as a concerned friend, 'cause well, that's what I am."

Carson sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I don't rightly know what's wrong with me. Nothin' physical. And no, that isn't an evasion." He gave Sheppard a sidelong look. "I think I'm just goin' through a stressful period."

"Fair enough." Sheppard nodded in concession. "Just don't want you to go it alone, that's all. I'd like to think if something was wrong and you needed to talk, you feel you can come to me."

"I will. I appreciate it, lad. Really I do. I think things are just happenin' so fast lately, and my body is havin' trouble catchin' up ta what all my mind's takin' in." He hoped that didn't sound as lame to Sheppard as it did to him. But it was true. He just didn't know what was wrong with him and didn't want to make an issue of it when it was probably nothing.

Without knowing the 'why' or the 'where' the duo wandered through the deserted halls, passing some doors and peeking through others briefly just to feel the place out. It looked to be some sort of private living area. Most of the rooms were covered in dust, having been abandoned long ago. Others showed some wear and tear of use despite the evidence of self-maintenance on the complex. All in all, the place showed its age.

And then they came to a certain door that caused Beckett to pause. It was tall and forged of ornately designed dark wood. He ran his fingers along a carved symbol near the heavy, metal door handle. "I'll say this for whoever used ta live here, they certainly had different taste than yer run o'the mill Ancient. Kind of old-worldy, isn't it?"

"Maybe he didn't design it," Sheppard murmured, trying to see beyond as Carson pushed the door open. "Maybe this place belonged to someone else before."

Inside was a private office that was somewhat different than the library they had entered from the Stargate's direction. There was a large desk at the far end of the room, back-dropped by windows and draperies of midnight blue. The rain was really coming down, he saw. Lighting streaked the sky in the distance.

There were shelves filled with databases, papers flung here and there, and lab equipment on the left side of the room where a broken beaker lay on its shattered side. It was impressive and that wasn't all there was to the room. On the other side there was a large curtain drawn around a table; Beckett could see stainless steel legs beneath the tasseled ending of it. He moved to examine it further and pulled a rope hanging from the ceiling on the end of the structure.

"I've suddenly got a bad feelin' about this place," he said, turning to give Sheppard a grave look.

The Colonel stopped with his hand on a door handle near the table Carson was motioning towards. He moved to join him and looked down. There before them was a steel bed with an overhead lamp dangling above and a tray with medical tools at the head of it. The surface was marred by dried blood in spatters and pools. "Maybe he was a doctor?" Sheppard suggested. "Don't you guys dissect corpses in medical school?"

Beckett cocked his head. "Lad, we don't do it in the professor's neatly furnished office. And generally speakin', we don't need cuffs to hold the bodies down." He pointed at wrist and ankle cuffs that showed definite signs of use.

"Point taken." Sheppard wandered to the large desk and plopped down in the chair. Objects on the desk had been scattered as if someone had looked for something in a hurry. His attention was snared and the doctor looked in interest to see what he had found. From beneath the debris a steadily blinking light beckoned their eyes. The Colonel cleared away the papers and books, tossing them to the floor without regard.

It was a recording device. McKay had found several of them on Atlantis, having been abandoned by their previous owners. On its face was a black panel that Sheppard pressed his thumb against while thinking the simple command to playback. The voice of a somber male shattered the quiet.

They're coming back. I don't have much time. They will kill me when they find out I have escaped their prison. I must hide. Aila, I will return for you.

The recording went dead. Both men shared a quizzical look between them before John said, "Looks like someone else didn't like it here either."

Beckett sat on the edge of the desk. "And so the plot thickens. Still, doesn't lead us any closer to our ZPM."

"No, it doesn't," Sheppard agreed, getting up from the desk. "Whoever he was, I hope he got her. As for me, I'm gonna go across the hall and have a look. Why don't you try looking around in here? See if you can find anything useful, maybe even a map of the compound in the database if you're feeling ambitious."

"You're leavin' me alone in here?" Beckett asked nervously.

"Well, yeah."

"In Dr. Psycho's office?"

The Colonel grinned at his tone. "Shouldn't be too different than being in McKay's office. Don't worry about it. If you need me just scream like you're being murdered."

"Oh, you're a real barrel o'laughs." Carson rolled his eyes as Sheppard disappeared. He pushed himself off the desk to explore his surroundings. It wasn't what he would call an inviting room, to be sure. And though he tried not to prejudge anyone, he just couldn't imagine what sort of person would dissect bodies in their own office. Surely the Ancients had a laboratory somewhere around here where such work could be done, perhaps an infirmary.

With that in mind he decided he most likely wouldn't find what he was looking for in here. He strolled to the door Sheppard had been about to open and took up where the Colonel had left off.

He had found the infirmary, if one could call it that. There were the usual beds lined up, medical tools and diagnostic machines. And opposite the door was the most chilling. A wall separated the final portion of the room. There were two cells, and through the barred windows on each he could see they weren't very big. Carson wondered if he dare peek inside one.

The rest of the infirmary was in disarray and for an absent-minded moment Beckett went about picking up this and that, examining it and discarding what he couldn't discern the use of. He picked up a fallen glass jar at the end of a bed and looked inside at the honey-colored plasma inside. Of course he would not open it here, for fear of some sort of germ, but it drove him to wonder what had gone on here so long ago.

He could almost feel fear and suffering permeating the atmosphere, could almost hear whimpers and cries. Carson exhaled and set the jar down. Had the doctors here been causing the pain, or trying to cure it?

"You're imaginin' things," Carson breathed, stepping over to a computer terminal nearby. Perhaps he merely saw through the mirror of his own melancholy, for indeed he had been feeling it for longer than he could recall. Not that he had lied. He didn't know what was wrong with him lately. But things were happening fast and sometimes he felt his own innocence was fading with the time that disappeared so quickly.

He rolled his eyes at himself, growled, "Melodramatic jessie," and decided he was going to have to get back to sleeping regularly again. His eyes fell upon the task at hand—the Ancient computer where he would hopefully find some answers. "You can do this, lad. No one's goin' ta die."

He set his hand on the panel before him and pondered what to concentrate on. "Map," he muttered as if the computer had ears to hear. "Show me a map."

Technically the computer did follow his instructions. It did look like a very basic map, but of what he could not hazard a guess. There was a straight road leading to a sizeable squared off area—which spawned roads in other directions—and this area had several distinctive features, none of which he could identify with any certainty. I don't suppose a more detailed map is possible, he thought irritably.

The image changed before his eyes. What he thought was a road was, in fact, a small pathway leading towards a stone courtyard. He cocked his head and watched plants spring up into 3D, a glass roof materialize, and as in the center a dormant fountain appeared. It was the fountain that kept his attention. It was highlighted in soft light and he wondered at the significance.

Whatever it was it had nothing to do with what he was trying to do, though. He let out a breath and tried to envision what the whole complex might look like, tried asking mentally if the computer would please be so nice as to share it without a technical fuss. After all, the chair on Atlantis wasn't this finicky.

Nothing happened. He stared blankly at the screen, watching a leaf blow across the courtyard. "Let's try something else," he told the unruly machine, thinking of the entire planet, what he knew of the surrounding system. Nothing. He thought of Atlantis. Nothing, but the screen did flicker. It excited him for a brief two minutes as he thought maybe the computer was catching on.

Yet despite that lapse it remained on the same scene as before.

Carson groaned and muttered, "Oh, bloody hell. I hate machines." He stood there and tried a few more times, then sighed. It was no good. He had no idea why it was stuck on this silly courtyard or what the computer was trying to tell him. He pulled his hand off the terminal and turned around.

And jumped nearly out of his skin. Carson raced a hand to his chest, glaring as Sheppard started laughing. "What're ya sneakin' up on me for, son?" he asked moodily.

"Hey, I was just about to say something," he defended himself. "You're the one that turned around and freaked out. Did you find anything?"

The doctor glanced at the now darkened screen, then shook his head. "Nothin' really. Stupid computer won't respond. You?"

"Yeah, I actually found a door leading outside. I touched a panel on the wall and lights lit up the way. I thought we'd take a look around." Sheppard motioned Beckett out of the lab. "Come on. You look like you could use some fresh air. It's pretty relaxing out there."

"And the rain?"

The Colonel shook his head. "Glass roof over the path. I walked it and came back as dry as a bone. Coming?"

"Aye," he agreed as his friend disappeared from the door. He rubbed his temples, sparing the monitor one final glance that stopped him dead in his tracks. Without his touching the panel writing had appeared on the screen.

Help me.

Carson looked away momentarily to call for Sheppard, but when his eyes hit the screen again the message was gone. The computer had gone black again. He stared, startled and bewildered. "Are you coming?" Sheppard yelled from the other room.

The doctor nodded his head slowly even though his friend wasn't there to see, calling, "Aye, lad!" He waited a moment longer, but nothing happened, and so he left the infirmary thinking maybe he needed fresh air and a nice, comfy bed to go along with it. "I'm goin' daft," he chided himself as he exited the room.

Sheppard was waiting, seated on the desk with a smirk. "Can't go somewhere when you're already there, now, can you?"

Beckett glared at him.

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