[05/09/2017]
Chapter Fourteen: A Fiery Spectacle
"Welcome back, Samantha." Haran spoke with a gentle purr as he stood, gazing down at the Major.
Sam Carter's eyelids remained tightly shut. She tried to pull herself from the haze within her mind, yet she felt lost, confused, and for some reason, she felt a deep longing.
Footfalls echoed around the room as the clan leader circled her position, and then a sudden pitch jerked her awake, his clapping resonating in the room. It gently faded away as boots approached and he peered into her confused eyes.
"I must say, you played your part quite brilliantly." He stated chaffed.
"Colonel?" Carter's query came through gravelly, causing her to swallow a few times.
His broad smile fell, unsatisfied that she had failed to acknowledge him. "No, my dear, O'Neill's not here. However, I am . . . very satisfied with your progress. I have never seen your man so . . . distraught."
A light bulb exploded in her mind, and with it came clear comprehension. A thirty something soldier had stood over her, aiming his weapon at her head. The Colonel with his back to her, having clearly surrendered, had not noticed the movement. He had certainly heard the gunshot, heard her groaning disappear. In his mind, she was dead. Nevertheless, she was awake, alive, and well, still tied to the metal slab, and at Haran's mercy.
Oh no! Holy Hannah, that's bad. The Colonel thinks I'm dead. Not fake dead, really, really dead. Gone for good. Oh boy! He's been pushed over the brink. You know what that means Sam, that's just what Haran wanted.
"It is remarkable to see that once you plant a deceitful seed within someone's mind, how quickly it takes root. It subtly grows, wrapping its tendrils around their mind. It changes his or her perspective, blinding them from accepting another person's true view on the same journey. You can scream, present your findings, but ultimately, that person will remain steadfast in the lie. This, Samantha, is Deception at its finest form. Something you encountered within O'Neill's world."
"It's not a seed, Haran. It's a poison. Never in our years as a team together, has he questioned my credibility. Never."
Sam regarded the Colonel and sadness slowly cascaded through her soul. She refused to imagine what he was dealing with inside his mind.
"You've stripped him of something you care nothing about. You've stolen his will to live, his reason for being." She stated sad.
"Haa, I have waited for your confession, Major." Haran's eyes sparkled with recognition, yet within he was envious. He continued. "You care about him, would die for him, as he would for you. There is no question that you share a deep bond. No question you would go to extreme lengths for one another." His gaze flitted from the silent Major who had turned her head away from him, and gazed towards the monitors. "A bond shared by your team."
She ignored his candid statements, instead protested. "We've done nothing to deserve this. He's done nothing to deserve this torture."
"You are mistaken. You are also mistaken that I see him as a warrior stronger than what I am, wrong that I loathe him. The Colonel was chosen, unwillingly, like my own, to endure an assortment of trials, testing his abilities, strengths, weaknesses, and mentality as a soldier and warrior. What good does it do to train your people in arenas such as you have seen, but they lack application? And when the Goa'uld come, they are powerless to defeat them. Therefore, we have this technology, pushing us to the brink so that we know no fear, no grieve and no weakness." He paused, eyes scanning the close up frame of O'Neill's facial expression. "In fact, I honour his integrity and vigour."
"I've seen enough to know the Goa'uld would destroy you before you even had the opportunity of displaying these profound skills. Assassins are the least of their problems."
Haran remained quiet, scrutinizing her demeanour.
Sam kept her eyes on the wall, away from him, away from O'Neill and away from the screens. She could not bear what was transpiring.
The warrior's words echoed in her mind a few times before her emotional state suddenly made sense. She was not lost or confused; she was not the one yearning. Jack experienced these things, and as his second-in-command, she was supposed to shout in anger, demanding his release, that the team be sent on their way. Instead, she wanted to weep a deep heartfelt cry, beg Haran to retract the Colonel so she could prove to him that she was alive, that the lie he believed was a ploy.
"Samantha, look how O'Neill endures your death." Haran said, jerking her from her thoughts. "His will has not been stolen as you claim. Look!"
His voice resounded carefully composed as his hand gently tilted her head towards the display. Her tear filled eyes observed the same close up frame of O'Neill's countenance.
Rage exploded in her ribcage, burned like a violent fire, whilst an overwhelming mixture of emotions danced like an eager wedding party. Sam stifled an angry moan, instead scrutinized Jack's demeanour with concerned intensity.
His chin rested upon his chest, while his hands balled up into fists. Tears streamed down his cheeks and the rhythm of his breathing gradually escalated. Recognizing his seething appearance, her fear, for the first time, instantly repressed Jack's. For instead of shock and grief, her death had turned him into a ferocious lion.
A faint breath slipped through her lips, drawing Haran's attention. Her response had elicited a bout of excitement, as he now had a peripheral view of the Major and the screens.
The Colonel had closed his eyes, face turning a dark shade of red. His body quaked with fury.
Good, it appears as if Jack has gone beyond his tolerance level. He's about to crack.
"I would've rather died myself than lose Carter."
The familiar confession burst through the darkness in Jack's mind like a flashlight's beam, and then everything else faded into a blur. It felt like he was breathing in his own sphere, and whatever surrounded him, simply had no meaning, his life included.
O'Neill's eyes suddenly opened, head snapping up to glare at the soldier before him. Rage boiled within and he used it as a propellant. He jettisoned his kneeling position, startling the soldier as he tackled him around the belly, lifted him off the ground as if a pillow, and hauled him for a few feet. He dropped him like a sack of rocks on his spine and proceeded to batter the soldier's ribcage with his right foot twice in procession. With his left foot, he kicked against the soldier's temple, earning a painful moan in reply and the sign of a blackout soon thereafter.
Behind him, soldiers peered in astonished, then faltered in their demeanour as they grabbed for their rifles. However, O'Neill snatched for and cocked the fallen warrior's sidearm in his turnabout. Pulled the trigger. Two soldiers, aligned with one another, fell to the ground like rag dolls as the bullet had penetrated through their chests.
A few warriors remained.
In his blind fury, O'Neill tossed the handgun at the approaching assailant, whilst he darted for the soldier to his left. The quick blow to his windpipe and the gun hitting the assailant's head echoed in accordance, triggering a devious smile on the Colonel's lips.
Shocked, the soldier gripped his throat with both hands, falling down to his rump disorientated, and tipped over onto his side, desperately gasping for breath. O'Neill casually seized the discarded rifle beside him, aimed, and fired one slug at his heart. Next, he targeted the assailant clutching his head positioned to his right. A loud bang resonated as the bullet tore through his chest, a brief groan following suit.
Jack's calm gaze sought after the three soldier's he knew had opted out and tilted in their direction. They had retreated towards the treeline and had covered twenty metres.
Inhaling deeply, he raised the rifle, placing the fleeing men in its crosshairs, and fired three slugs in succession. Upon his exhale, they fell like dead flies down amongst the peat.
Metres before him, the door leisurely materialized as if pleased with his vicious display, and without assessing the damage done, Jack walked forward unperturbed, rifle dangling from his right hand, cocky in swagger, demeanour as cold as ice and mind as blank as a page. The Minnesotan looked like a bounty hunter, undaunted as to what awaited; all that mattered was that he got the bastard who did this to him and Carter. There was no turning back, only moving forward.
Upon approach, O'Neill tilted his body into a side stance and kicked at the door. It flew off its hinges; spewing wood splinters in all directions, and without hesitation, he stepped through and disappeared into the unknown.
Sam stared at the black screens as the last few minutes spun in her mind.
She had seen Jack lose control before, but never like this. He had taken down eight soldiers as if they were nothing more than annoying mosquitoes.
A breath hitched in her throat as looming nausea tugged at her stomach. Bile lined her mouth and she swallowed hard, fighting back tears at the same time. Neither could she help the anxiety tightening in her chest.
Her equilibrium suddenly shifted as the clan leader tilted the metal slab, so that she had a proper view of the displays. This movement shattered her reverie and reminded her of her current predicament. She was still . . . stuck.
"Samantha, you perceive what your death has done to him?" His satisfied tone echoed in the room, sending a shiver down her spine. He continued steadfast. "Killed eight of my men as if they were but hindrances. If only he'd remained composed, he would have seen your body along with theirs, disappear . . . into thin air. He's fuelled by rage, grief, impulsiveness . . ." He regarded the Major's stagnant appearance. She had clearly stopped listening. He came from behind and stepped into her view, placing his lips next to her right ear. He felt her shiver and this elicited a wry smile.
"You hide behind your military complexion." His soft words tickled her ear. "Keep yourself from enjoying pleasures, withdrawing into your beautiful mind as a means to distract yourself from what you cannot have." He positioned his forehead against hers, Sam tilting away, but his hand prevented the movement.
"Your need for Jack is impressive." She felt and smelled his breath and scowled a horrid scowl. This fuelled his discourse. "Desire to be with him. Yearning for his embrace, his love and soothing declarations. He knows you like no other, yet you deprive yourself the satisfaction of having him as your own. You are split between a man you hold dear and an impersonator who only fills the emptiness."
Revelling in her repulsion, Haran's lips moved towards her left ear, his whisper triggering a spell of gooseflesh. He coaxed tenderly.
"Impulsiveness Samantha, you lack impulsiveness – the boldness to jump off the cliff into the river down below, the joy of dancing around the fire with those you care for without fear of consequences. Free, Samantha, freedom to be yourself. However, you are too afraid to explore uncharted waters, methodical – always following the rules like a well-trained warrior . . . when you should be leaping shamelessly into the arms of your lover whenever you see him."
His lips moved along her jawline until they halted before hers.
"Go on and taste it." He whispered. "Feel how exhilaration erupts within and triggers a spell of ecstasy. Do something . . . impulsive . . ." Her soft lips smothered the rest of his statement. "Reckless . . . thoughtless . . . spontaneous."
Carter eagerly caught the warrior's lips after each word until finally deepening the kiss. Haran was lost in euphoria, mind swimming in pleasure.
He had awaited the Major's submission and now tasted the aftermath with a mischievous delight. Their lips parted and he suddenly felt thwarted, and before he could reiterate the enjoyable activity, his skull exploded with pain as her forehead collided with his. Staggering back, his hands instantly covered his nose, whilst numb-like throbbing cobwebbed within his head.
"How's that impulsiveness treating ya, Haran? Agonizing enough?" Sam taunted.
Laughter emitted from his lips, as he replied, "I see O'Neill's mocking is not lost on you."
He lowered his hands, glad no blood poured from his bruised nose, but the joyous expression soon fell as he sighted the broad sardonic smile curling the Major's lips. She had used his seduction against him, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.
It was well worth it!
His dark eyes drifted from Carter. "Michal, are you ready?"
The scientist's green eyes stared from the shadows, unaffected by the event. "Yes, Commander."
"Excellent! Two guards will watch over this fiery woman, while I meet with her companions."
Sam's smile disappeared at the mention, goring Haran with blazing eyes. "What?"
"Sadly, yes, I will have to leave you behind my beauty."
Her expression darkened, revealing her hatred.
Smiling wolfishly, Haran explained, "Your Daniel has requested my presence, an appointment I will gladly fulfil, whereas, you will have the pleasure of viewing your lover as he fulfils his next trial."
"You'll pay for this Haran."
Carter shouted after him as he exited the room, leaving her with two posted guards, Michal, and the screens displaying O'Neill's current position.
The moment the entrance vanished from view, the Colonel's world shifted into a stone walkway. The feel and its smell impersonating the first scenario, as a thin sheet of water filtered its way across the floor. To the left and right, garden vines like spider legs traversed their way up and over the twelve-foot walls.
It had an eerie ring to it, reminding Jack of the pyramid they had infiltrated in pursuit of the Russians. Yet, this appeared to be a maze, minus the flesh eating Goa'uld. He would really appreciate it, if this were just a straightforward puzzle to figure out, vacant of concealed traps and grotesque creatures, as he was in no mood to play Indiana Jones.
Involuntary gooseflesh trickled down his forearms, while his eyes combed the absent air above. It was void, unfilled, and pitch-black. There was no telling what awaited up there or what could make itself known.
He pushed the thought aside and rather focussed on the dimly lit passageway. Another anomaly. Where was the light coming from? Jack shrugged, stepped forward, rifle swinging towards his right shoulder, and rested it there, while his gaze panned the creepy crawly plant life – an observation that fared well to repress his actions of the previous setting.
The corridor reached a dead-end and exited into a horizontal one coming from the left. He turned in its direction, walking impassively for a while until it morphed into a corridor moving back towards the entrance. A slight scowl creased his forehead, but he kept going. This was a maze after all; there was no telling how it worked. Thankfully, it had remained a single corridor and not a few confusing corridors that would eventually turn into a dead-end. Then he would have to return to the starting point, not receive his two-hundred dollar reward, and begin again.
His feet stopped abruptly when he reached another barrier, forcing him into a parallel corridor extending from the right. What would happen if this passageway did eventually split into a few other corridors?
His mind struggled to focus on the task. It refused to strategize, just like his soul refused to accept the unemotional behaviour. He desired to surrender, to mourn for Carter's loss. However, he had manipulated himself into thinking that she had somehow survived, transported back to the room she had mentioned, irrespective of what Protector had said about dying in this world. He had to believe Major Carter was alive; otherwise, he would suffer dreadfully in order to keep up with this charade as melting into a heap would be the result.
He had to conquer this world, get to the man who did this, if it was the last thing, he did.
An exasperated sigh echoed in the vicinity, soon preceded by echoing footfalls, as he turned right. Walked a few paces before turning right again, and later left. O'Neill had progressed forward for ten minutes until a triangular corner stopped his trek. This time a diagonal passage met the vertical one from his eight o'clock.
It was the weirdest maze ever experienced, and pulled his mood down even more. It felt as if he was wearing a hefty garment, even the rifle resting against his shoulder felt like dead weight, and he let it slide down his arm until it dangled by his fingers. His steps slackened as his boots became like anchors instead of feathers, whilst the composed emotions slowly seeped through his raised barrier, insistent to break through.
Nevertheless, military discipline kept the threatening overflow in place, and his feet moved with determination, when suddenly he broke into a sprint, trying hard to escape both his swirling soul and the mindless puzzle. As he scurried down the maze, flesh, bone, and metal resounded against the barbed vines and rugged walls, until he rushed through the exit like a runner over the finishing line into a wide-open space.
The soles of his boots slide over the floor as he came to a hasty halt, outstretched hands keeping him from losing his balance. Jack found himself within the eye of the storm, which truly represented a twenty-by-twenty metre cement surface, walls lining its borders, while eight similar exits (or entrances) situated in random places within said walls.
His current location placed him to the north, while he knew the door located to the south.
Light, three times brighter than what the passageway provided, shone within the spacious room. If he recalled correctly, factory issued fluorescent bulbs were the reason for the display. The sharp glint, however, prevented him from confirming the opinion.
"Jonathan." The conceited call made his hair stand on end, especially due to its familiar tone.
Crap! That's Royal's voice.
Jack's hand fell from his forehead, lowered his chin from its elevated position down towards where the voice had spoken. Confusion quickly settled in as he observed the warrior who gracefully emerged from an opening not too far from the corridor he had come by.
"Royal? My, what unusual appearance you have." Humour dripped from the sarcastic statement, whilst he contained the urge to lash out at the intruder.
A throaty chuckle bounced off the walls, causing O'Neill to turn fully in his direction.
"You are quite the treat Colonel O'Neill." The intruder stated conceited.
Jack examined the visitor, eyes coming to rest on the man's head. "The hair's . . . changed. So's the clothing, beard, scar . . . well it's like you've endured a complete makeover." His left hand gestured vaguely as he continued the mocking, "Quite the soldier, I see. Not the high and mighty arrogant little snob, who thought I would roll out the red carpet every time I saw him. Grown up all of a sudden, hey. Time goes by so fast." A sly smile quirked Jack's lips, enjoying the long-lost antagonizing he thrived on.
"I am Haran, just as I was Royal and just as I was the voice within the forest."
"Haran . . ." The familiar name rolled over his tongue. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and elicited a deep agonizing anger within his chest.
Furious brown eyes dipped from the warrior to the floor, and then slowly rose to meet the man's casual demeanour. If Jack's gaze could kill, the warrior would have died ten times over, without a finger lifted.
He had been waiting for this man, this warrior, suffered deceptive worlds to get to this time and place, and endured torturous truths so that he could find an end to this.
His hand tightened around the rifle's grip, while his left hand balled up into a fist. Heat travelled up his spine and spread over his torso, moved along his neck until it reached his ears. Muscles slightly trembled as his heart raced like a greyhound. The rage returned in its full glory, and it was by sheer self-control that prevented O'Neill from jettisoning his position.
"Why?" It was a low growl, its fierceness rebounding off the walls.
Haran replied nonchalantly, "It's straightforward actually." His lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "Only mending what's broken."
"Some mending bucko!" Jack exclaimed furious. "I've been torn asunder. No thanks to you . . . sick bastard."
His posture moved into defensive one, mimicking the stance of a bull ready to charge a matador. Breaking his legs would be a joy, if only to make him suffer for this idiotic game.
"Now Jack, it is understandable that you see me as the enemy. I am far from it. More of a keeper than a killer."
The patronizing tone irritated the Colonel's rage even more, yet he kept it in check, casually replying with a wolfish smile.
"I don't care, Haran. A caretaker's just as guilty as the one in charge." His forefinger pointed at the warrior. "You my friend are both."
"Not as obtuse as you claim to be." Haran clapped appraisingly. "Well done!"
O'Neill raised the rifle in accordance, aiming for Haran's head, who stood untroubled smirking wickedly.
"Tell me what the hell is going on or the first bullet goes through your skull." Jack shouted.
"I would be careful if I were you." The warrior playfully warned. "What you do in here will make or break your escape."
A thunderclap resounded in the arena, preceded by a bullet piercing the wall behind him. Haran slowly tilted his head so, gazing at the hole, and then looked at the Colonel. His stance was strong, and expression thunderous.
"It is not up to me Jack, unfortunately, but to Alfahis – whether you will remain or leave this place."
"I said explain not lecture in riddles." Jack stated lividly, lowering his weapon. "Get to the point dammit!" He called out irritated.
"Alfahis translated into your language means Assayer – a technology that is set on knowing and testing your way through various trials." Haran explained coolly.
"Okay . . . how so?" Jack asked incredulous.
"When you stepped through the Gate, it scanned your team, and determined that you and your Major had the same kind of brokenness. It fashioned a baited trap, shaping a setting according to the interests of your companions both individually and collectively. Once you accepted the false information, it lured you in to what you call a virtual reality, when it is really an Alttariq 'iilaa Aiktishaf."
O'Neill processed the information, expression flinching as his mind cited Carter's name. He concentrated on the Arabic sentence instead, commanding gruffly, "Translate."
"The Pathway to Discovery." Came the simple reply.
"Discovery to what? I've been subjected to turmoil – that's not . . ." Jack stopped, realization dawning. "Wait, what brokenness? What do I have in common with . . ." A pained expression creased his facial features as he swallowed the discomfort. "Major Carter? And why did I get the short end of the stick?"
Haran's brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the last question. He was unfamiliar with the saying. Ignoring it, he simply replied, "You and Samantha." Her name melted in his mouth, and Jack quickly noted the pleasure in his tone. Neither did he miss the satisfied smile on the Arab's lips. "You both have experienced loss."
"So what? Name one person who hasn't. It's nothing new."
"True. Yet, how many individuals have a mutual heartache and a yearning love for one another?" He paused briefly, and then added as an afterthought, "You do not seem to converse about this in public nor do you so secretly."
Surprise lined Jack's expression, and he replied, "That's why I had to endure this hell, because we care about one another like friends and colleagues do? 'Cause we've both lost a loved one? This is the most absurd thing I've ever heard. I think your machine is broken, Harry."
"Haran." He corrected arrogantly.
"Whatever." Jack replied dismissively. "Do you know what I really think of this business?" His eyebrow raised in question, the warrior tilting his head in anticipation. "You're a coward. Your entire race just a bunch of chickens, hiding behind a simulation instead of standing your ground like real warriors. No better than those egocentric, over-the-top, pompous Gould's. Hypocrites . . ."
"No!" The shout exploded in anger, startling the Colonel.
Then his expression morphed into satisfaction, for his patience had been rewarded, as he had finally found the man's triggering point. Across from him, the warrior calmed down, his wicked smile returning in full vigour.
"Everyone suffers flaws; Alfahis perfects them, helping individuals discover what they're capable of by forcing them to face their worst nightmares. You emerge stronger. Mentally and emotionally established. Not intermittent or feeble, yet capable of confronting a seemingly unsurmountable challenge without fearing it."
"You'll make a good salesperson. I almost bought your act Steve."
"Haran!" The warrior shouted in cold anger. "Get it through your thick skull."
The warrior turned a light shade of red, his scar appearing as if a candle's flame, while Jack's devious smile grew in size, genuinely enjoying the exchange.
The former not so much as he revealed his fist with thumb raised, and recited. "Fear of being alone; not being in control; fear of death, of surrendering; love, vulnerability and loss; lack of trust; fear of losing your sanity." His six fingers raised to emphasize the main mentioned issues. "These are the things you fear the most. The same ones you endured in the world of your making."
The Colonel glared at Haran, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. The information relayed struck a chord in his mind and regretfully had to agree that it was the truth. No way am I telling this smug bastard. "So I take it, you're the last fear?"
"You are nothing but predictable, O'Neill. As they say, you are what you think."
Silence enveloped the arena as the two soldiers stared at one another, until Haran's expression gradually morphed into a mysterious wryness.
"How did it feel to lose the woman you loved?"
"Stop . . . right there!" A furious outburst Haran simply ignored.
"It must be eating you alive Jack – you failed to protect Samantha. She died in your negligence. The little I have spent with her – even I am devastated." His eyes closed as he pictured Carter in his mind. Knowing it infuriated the Colonel, he spoke teasingly, "Her beauty, intelligence, fiery spirit." A Cheshire smile curled his lips. "Aah, her succulent lips." His eyes opened and gaze levelled with the fuming soldier. "Who in their right mind could forget those?"
Jack's mind and emotions shut down systematically, as he permitted blinding fury to consume him. He acted like a Skynet Terminator, rifle clunking on the stone floor as he rushed for the gloating Arab who had been goading him for this very reaction. A cliché standoff between opposing soldiers, when it should have had entailed Jack's unjust treatment, something that mimicked surviving the lion's den, and not about the Samantha Carter.