(Updated 23/08/2017)

Chapter Two: To be or not to be, that is his Question

The missing gear was the first thing Jack noted, as his feet touched the ground, that and the darkness, which hid his surroundings. A shiver ran down his spine, for he could be anywhere, stuck in some environment with no support, and defenceless. Whereas the enemy had the advantage of a surprise attack, something he simply could not defend against. O'Neill understood his predicament clearly – he was up a creek without a paddle.

He shook free from the reverie and concentrated on the absent gear instead.

"Dang it! I really hate it when that happens."

An abrupt gasp followed as a certain heightened awareness moved through his muscles. Some kind of drug might had been administered without his knowledge. His skin flinched and muscles tightened with excitement and angst. His emotions too were stronger than before. He had to find a way out, had to ignore the chaos gushing inside, had to channel his warrior veneer before the drug transformed him into an unhinged commanding officer.

After a few seconds delay, the Colonel extended his arms and walked forward in search of a wall. His boots waded in two-foot deep water, soaking his socks and feet. A grimace succeeded this, until the lingering weight of his sidearm strapped to his right thigh, suddenly drew his attention. Ignoring the oddity for the moment, Jack trudged on with boiling annoyance.

"For crying out loud!" The soldier exclaimed in a livid manner. "These scouting missions are never easy. Are they? I can't remember a mission ever going to plan."

Successful in his blind pursuit, the wall felt jagged, and moist underneath his fingers. Its temperature sent a shiver running down his spine. Next, he positioned himself into a side stance and moved clockwise, his fingers trailing behind on the uneven surface, while his right hand held on to the holstered sidearm.

"After seven years, one would know that alien planets entail unknown threat."

Jack forced himself to relax; however, his senses detested the current predicament vividly, shuddering and flinching like horse flies from its skin.

It was dark, moist, and cold with no light filtering into the space.

Oy! This is turning out to be a very bad day. I hate bad days – no evil cliché snakehead to make fun of, no team to annoy – there's some irony for ya.

There has to be a way out! Jack shouted within.

His fingers suddenly moved over the cold edge of a metal doorframe. Jack used both hands then, until finally, he found the door's elongated handle.

There was a high probability that the door was locked, but it did not withhold him from trying. His heart raced in anticipation, while his fingers curled around the lever. Gently forcing it down, a soft click followed and the door released. Sighing in relief, the Colonel knew it should not have worked, there was simply no way he would be caged like a bird just for the door to be unlocked.

Maybe they just forgot to lock their secret entrance to their very secret facility, and decided to go on holiday. Wouldn't it be great? Yeah right, wishful thinking Jack. Nothing off-world is this easy.

The General would never have tolerated this negligence. I mean I get scolded for not closing his office door properly. Du'oh! What wouldn't these folks do to me if they caught me in the act?

Cautiously, he slid it open. Rustic hinges cringed in response shrieking in his ears. Bright daylight gradually streamed into the room, and his forearm moved to shield his eyes upon the sharp glint.

This is it! One step for O'Neill, many more for the enemy.

With mustered boldness, he cautiously took a step over the threshold and walked forward into the unknown. Behind him, the door with its frame disappeared into thin air, leaving him amidst a large field.

"Okay, don't know how this is possible Toto, but I'm definitely in Kansas."

The Colonel stood motionless, shocked to find his environment had changed to that of a wide-open region of the Great Plains. Like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, he had been transported from one place to another in a bizarre way. Which he knew was impossible without the use of Thor's beaming technology, the Stargate or Goa'uld Rings.

His eyes combed the broad expanse of the flat land concealed with tall prairie grass. A sickening feeling settled within, while his legs stood ramrod straight. He wanted to move the one foot in front of the other, but from what he'd just witnessed, he was afraid he'd step into another world.

It's not that he appreciated this to the confined space provided by the room, but this environment gave him no comfort . . . at all. His team was MIA – an indicator they were either trapped or they were held somewhere else.

On the other hand, maybe . . . they never succumbed to the same predicament.

Regardless of the outcome, he had to analyse this. Jack could not remain rooted to the spot forever, nor could he risk detection. His mind, however, screamed alien influence or some kind of mind manipulation. Whatever it was, it just was not normal. First instincts told him he needed to find something remotely close to civilization, and then there was the issue about what would happen if he found none.

Little-by-painstaking-little, his feet moved forward. No other signs of life, presented itself for miles on end, fuelling his already bewildered mind.

He could go without food for days. The water was the pressing matter, especially with the heat and uncomfortable trek. He had nothing to navigate with, considering that, there were no clear signs of human or wild alike, to help him figure out where the nearest water supply situated.

Furthermore, and to O'Neill's misery, his beige shirt stuck to his shoulders, chest, and belly – sweat streamed down his body in bucket loads.

He used his shirt's sleeve to wipe the excessive perspiration from his forehead. His hair, nape, and neck would have to get used to being damp, there was nothing else available to rid him of the stickiness. He was lost, alone and frustrated – the only viable truths he could cling to as reality. The rest seemed so unnatural and out of place, it made him stop mid-stride and do another evaluation of his surroundings. Possibly, even think it through, it was certainly a rare occasion, considering that his team would have had conjured theories and possible solutions for this hot-forsaken predicament within seconds of its existence.

"Dammit! Now why did I have to go and think like that?"

He missed them, their prattling voices, and lack thereof.

He, Colonel O'Neill, was the glue that held them together; making sure each member added their share to balance their strengths and to equalize their weaknesses. He may be a sarcastic, irreverent soldier, but his heart went out to those in need of rescue, change, and loyalty. He thought on his feet and presented hope.

Teal'c, ever the stoic warrior and long-suffering friend, constantly prepared for whatever might befall them, remained tight-lipped – only giving one-liners as he deemed it necessary. It was words with enough wisdom to last for a century. Moreover, his presence was soothing and his skills as solid as a rock on and off the battlefield.

Daniel always had a third sense when it came to tracking down either a dead civilization or a living one. Both findings usually got him into trouble, and then SG1 would soon feel the brunt of that misfortune. Jack snorted at the thought. Often the two of them would argue over nothing in particular, until Major Carter stepped in and ruined it with her scientific discoveries. Her doohickeys coupled with her brilliant mind had the notion of getting them out of said trouble.

A faint smile lined the man's lips as the memories of the Air Force Major flooded his mind. She sure was a puzzle herself and he wondered if he could ever solve the mystery behind her scientific babbles.

An unexpected long-lost nostalgia overwhelmed him, while his heart ached a little more than it should. He yearned for her company– apparent, because it was her duty to remain at his side during the duration of a mission, and vital, due to his innocent reliance upon her talents and gifts. Carter's natural flare just had the ability to turn every day into a beautiful day, irrespective of looming danger.

Jack shook his head freeing himself from the mesmerising reverie. Inwardly cursing the hold she still had on him over the years. It was regulations alone that withheld them from pursuing anything and he had made peace that they could never be. Now . . . Major Carter belonged to someone else.

The memories, however, failed to quench the loneliness. He was still on a deserted landscape. Vulnerable and confused as to what had happened and why he had to be here without their support and backup. Ironic, once upon a time, he had sought after the solitude – to end the guilt and shame that accompanied the death of his son. Albeit an accident – it certainly was a cruel way to lose someone you loved and held close to your heart.

A blood-loss; a grief none could really identify with.

"Aw c'mon, stop being so sentimental!"

What happened had done so many years ago. I should not be so . . . susceptible.

Dang, this planet has a familiar ring to it, excluding the Great Plains look-alike. Similar to when I was stuck on that forsaken moon, where Harry was on the verge of killing me. Now that is a memory, I hate recalling. It has the same type of desperation and feeling of irrelevance, hauling, enveloping, swallowing me whole. It's a damn thorn in my side.

O'Neill came to an abrupt halt. Desperation overpowered his inner most being, his body wanted, no, screamed for him to panic.

Jack O'Neill doesn't panic. I don't cower either.

"You can deal with this panic and fear strangling the life outta you." The mysterious voice tempted.

As on cue, his breath came through shallow along with the feeling of tremendous pressure against his chest. He gaped like a fish, for his lungs felt deprived of oxygen and his head ached terribly. Frantically, his eyes scanned the barren horizon. No life, therefore no hope of evading whatever this was. He wanted an escape route; wanted a solution, not this hopeless, miserable stretch of land, which seemed to have no end in sight.

O'Neill gripped the sides of his head in frustration. Its dampness disgusted him, just as the landscape disgusted him. His facial features revealed as such, creasing in irritation, while his brown eyes squeezed tightly shut, fighting against the rush of emotions and unwelcome thoughts.

Uncontrolled laughter rattled deep within his chest as weary muscles shook with the action. Insanity loomed, and he wanted no part in it. So much was at stake; a team he cared for, a job he loved.

O'Neill's fingers retracted into his skull, and felt like miniscule pins forcing their way into his flesh. Recoiling forward, the pain of the action rippled down his neck and forehead. It was a desperate effort to draw his attention away from the unfamiliar feelings flooding his psyche.

"What's wrong with me?"

"One way, Jack, there's one way to stop this insanity."

The Colonel's hands fell from their place, leaving behind tiny lesions where his fingers had torn through his skin. Laughter started up again, softly rippling through his chest. His shoulders uncurled his stooped posture, and once upright, his eyelids opened to gaze at the empty scenery.

A gust of wind moved through the grass, its sound making his skin flinch. For no apparent reason, his senses maxed out and it annoyed him to the core.

"Take the sidearm and end it!" The voice shrieked. "You'll be free, taken away from this hell hole. You won't have to face another snakehead, Replicator or any threat ever again."

Fear suddenly seized his body draining energy like a flashlight a battery. Shaky knees collapsed underneath him, while his hands countered his weight on the red soil. His back coiled with the strain. Gasping, as every fibre of his being screamed for release, for comfort and for peace. He was helpless and tired like a fish on dry land struggling to stay alive. He had always wondered how those scaly creatures felt, when their world under the sea transformed to one they could not survive in. Now he knew – it wasn't a pleasant feeling. In fact, it was horrible, terrifying.

Nevertheless, somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, a thought yelled loudly that this was just a mind game, and that he just needed to break its hold on him. Perhaps if he thought hard enough, he would leave this place.

It was hopelessness pinned against survival – fear versus hope; escape versus ending his life. He had been there once before – staring down the barrel of a gun; knew the feeling of remorse that came with it.

In that moment, depression sucked the life out of him, paralysing him. Even with this confusion, there was a deep resistance countering the voice of suicide – confidence, that if he could find something worthwhile, the struggle to live would continue.

This . . . it feels unusual, forced even. My life now compared to then, it's not the same. I have something to live for. I have friends, teammates. A directive: to save my planet from aliens both foreign and domestic.

The tall grass swayed more than usual, and an annoying cringe rippled through his muscles, enabling a lingering sentence to shatter his self-assured thought pattern.

"I want to kill myself . . ."

Suddenly, his right hand moved down to the holstered weapon, slender long fingers unclipping the flap that secured the M9 Beretta in place. His mind shouted in anguish for the hand to stop, but the weapon drifted from its hiding place in slow fluent motion. Disappointment flooded his insides as the gun lifted into view and moved towards his temple. Eyes closed at the touch, as its cold metal barrel sent a chill down his spine. Heavy breathing and immobilising fear accompanied this action; contrary to the absurdness, he should be feeling. He was no longer master of his actions and thoughts. A ludicrous state to be in, seeing that the current environment should not have compelled him to this extreme deed.

"Colonel O'Neill, I believe we will find a way." A familiar voice declared.

Jack revelled in the comfort of Sam Carter's words. Continually, she would fight her way out of situations, life threatening or not – just to save the team. That thought alone helped soothe his current crippling anxiety.

"Jack, why do you have to go to the extreme, every time things turn sideways? Everything is not a threat, you know."

Daniel, ever the diplomat, saw the bright side to life and always seemed to calm his military mind.

"You're a formidable warrior, O'Neill," Teal'c's deep restful voice reverberated in his mind, "Undomesticated equines would never prevent your success. Of that, I am sure."

The holster softly sounded off, as the Beretta returned to its place. A sigh of relief echoed, whilst the Colonel rested his hands on his knees, making him seem as if he bowed down in thankfulness. He felt queasy, swallowing the threatening bile in the back of his throat, slowly comforting the lingering nausea. His whole body shook in response to the internal external war, while a shaky laugh followed suit. His anxiety faded away like footprints in the sand.

It felt good to know that death would be postponed for another time, considering that the world still needed saving, and that he still needed to escape this confounded scene, get far away from this dreadful and eerie landscape.

Precariously and unbalanced, Jack managed to ascend to his full height, and it was during this action that understanding dawned on him. Reality had struck too late– how could he have failed to remember the room he had emerged from. It was never an option; not once did he think about it as an escape. Hastily, Jack turned on his heels.

The empty doorframe stood plastered in the middle of the field, exactly where he had walked through it. It was indeed a peculiar sight.

That wasn't there earlier. I could have sworn it disappeared the moment I stepped over its threshold. Dammit.

I swear I will get the guys behind this sick joke.

The veteran soldier stomped in the direction of the door, fuming inside, angry that he had allowed himself to succumb to such a stupid and idiotic ploy.

You are better than this.

The thought alone propelled him forward, closing the gap in record time. His knees protested, while muscles worked extra hard to navigate through the uncomfortable, abundant grass.

Finally, with the door within his grasp, he stopped rigidly, considering his next line of action. If he stepped through, he might not end where he had begun on PM6-324, but rather transported into another scenario. On the other hand, he might wake up in a cell held captive by the folks, who had caused this chaos in the first place. Either way, he had to do something, anything to get away from this death defining landscape.

Fortunately, he had a gun: which may also be an illusion. I hate it when my mind's scrambled. I do know I'm being scammed. I hope that the team has come to the same conclusion; otherwise, I am so screwed!

Jack grabbed the handle, heart racing in his ears. Pressed it down, inwardly wishing he were back with the team, and then the door opened with little resistance, light disbanding his confident façade.