[Updated 24/08/2017]

Chapter Four: Swallowed Whole

Intense energy pulsed within Jack's inert body and he jerked awake, jumping to his feet without contemplating why. His body felt numb, as if he had fought in a war and recently realized it needed a respite. Which was strange, because he had hardly woken up, with an electrifying startle.

O'Neill's hands found the wall and he rested his weary forehead against it, while his mind rushed with questions, he knew he could not answer. He wanted to return to the planet, walk through the Stargate, take a long shower, and go to bed. That wasn't wishful thinking. This corridor was – it was a fake. Like the room, the prairie and Toskiya. Everything was false, but it all felt very real. The attacker, Royal, the Bladed Craft, and the explosion – what he had experienced lingered in his muscles, lingered in his senses and mind. The emotions too, were very much alive.

A deep groan reverberated in his chest, worked its way to his throat, and then spilled from his mouth. He poured his heart into that deep growl, the veins in his neck throbbing with the release. Adrenaline pulsed within and anger rose to a new height.

His hands balled up into fists and slammed against the wall. Open palms followed suit, and then O'Neill stagnated. Anger not tempered, but silently awakened. Death normally succeeded such emotion, yet he channelled it in the direction of the door he had arrived by.

Jack tilted in the direction he knew he had come from. Gradually, his feet shuffled forward, speed slightly increasing until he sprinted. Fuelled by anger, driven by truth, and accelerated by this fraudulent world, he ran without stopping until the door appeared.

After thirty minutes, the object presented itself, his goal now a certainty.

Jack halted.

I should be bursting through that door not stopping.

Nevertheless, his feet felt cemented to the floor as he observed his exit.

Okay, so maybe if I walk through it, I won't be transported back to my team. Maybe I'll walk into something . . . else. Which would be what exactly? Seriously, have I not faced enough already?

The door keeps disappearing once I enter a different environment, but always comes back when I realize it's a fake. Possibly, there's a purpose behind this. Perhaps I should submit to this cruel joke and find out what it really wants from me.

All I know is until now, I have faced every obstacle without the support of my team, and it sucks. It stinks. With them here, I wouldn't be facing these things on my own. Not even Royal's presence soothed their absence, only intensified my need for them.

Jack's eyes closed and chin drooped the minute understanding dawned on him.

From the beginning, he had faced familiar obstacles. Things he normally struggled with inside his mind and heart, had come to life, and each time he had dominated it. Each time he had come out stronger. So maybe the right decision was rather to embrace the madness rather than fight it.

His feet moved on their own accord, whilst his heart beat like the hoofs of a racing horse against his ribcage. He despised this, but he had to do it. Jonathan of old would never back down from any challenge; he would have thrived on it. Even now, he still accepted them, but his age prevented him from presenting his true potential as an adrenaline junkie.

Wisdom had replaced impulsiveness. He now chose his battles wisely, preying rather on the enemy's arrogance by antagonizing them. The thought formed a wry smile on his lips.

O'Neill halted once more as the door was within reach. He took a deep breath, silencing any stray nostalgic thoughts and exhaled as his hand extended towards the handle.

Let's hope it's not another corridor or that grassland. Wide-open spaces will forever haunt my dreams thanks to that prairie.

Without further ado, the handle shifted and the door creaked open, white light filtering into the corridor. Jack O'Neill closed his eyes and walked through.

Air replaced solidity and he plummeted, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Jack O'Neill's boots cut through the water like a hot knife through butter. Nostrils quickly filled with salt water, which burned unremittingly. The sensation made him flinch as it entered his throat; his eyes too, were feeling the effects so he closed them immediately. It was an intolerable action– he was not up to feeling like a blind mole. He rather favoured sight, it meant he could plot his escape, yet this was an ocean, which only contained its creatures – only drowning threatened him now.

The Colonel descended deeper and deeper into the depths below, and once stationary, large water bubbles enveloped his body with a horrendous force, squeezing against flesh, muscle, and bone. Hands and arms flailed wildly, mimicking a bird in flight, while his legs pushed against the apparent pull.

He looked like a kick-boxer fighting the air, whilst he fought for air. With each action, there was an equal reaction, which only resulted in him sinking further.

Within, Jack screamed loudly, fiercely and anxiously. He did not expect to find this when he exited through the door.

His thoughts mulled repeatedly, he could not seem to find the precise thought to fight against something that frankly desired to drag him into oblivion.

Fear prowled like a leopard leering at its prey. It was undetectable, the magnificent formidable beast had power and it had the element of surprise. His fear mirrored this, creeping through his system and latching onto anything in its way. Happily, it fed his mind and emotions, and they absorbed it, invited it in, and entertained it with great pleasure.

His body responded in kind, hysterically thrashing underneath the weight of the ocean, his vision set on the light reflecting off its surface up above. He needed to get there, but he was stuck, like a vehicle in thick mud. The wheels were spinning; but its effort only dug it deeper, swallowed by the sludge – helpless with nowhere to go.

Like that vehicle, he needed someone to pull him free; however, it was he and the ocean, no one to reach out and pull him to safety. He was alone without backup, yet again.

He would die alone without somebody to love as he had Sara and his son Charlie. The insight penetrated through the angst, overpowering the fear playing with his mind and emotions. Instantly, the fear grew distant, no longer posed as a threat.

Now the only thing that remained unconquered was the water.

Jack stilled.

His lungs sought for oxygen, but he stayed the course. This world would not take him – this was his advantage, his playing card. It had purpose as long as he submitted to it, regardless of what his mind screamed, regardless of what his body wanted.

The waiting felt like a decade, but only a few seconds had passed. Jack did not know how long he would have to keep still before the pressure stopped, not to mention that he was still sinking. His lungs were struggling, desperately seeking for oxygen.

The battle commenced as he writhed like a snake. He could feel his limbs going numb, his muscles contracting and his heart fighting to stay alive. His mind fogged up and felt like it was about to explode. He wanted, so desperately, to give in to the panic that went with oxygen deprivation, but he did not. As a good soldier, he stood on his reasoning – this realm would not take him.

He slipped into unconsciousness, while a certain weightlessness occupied this. He was floating like a cloud with nothing but darkness pulling him away from existence.

Jack was dying with only one regret, his world disappearing as his body gave in to the darkness.