A/N: John's going to mention the near past, as in that day, so that's going to be noted by '' instead of italics.

The Green room - John

The sheets smelled musty, and John idly wondered who had slept in them before him. His leg was thankfully numb again, but his migraine was full force. He shifted on his side a bit, ignoring the nausea as best he could, and he heard Jennifer's worried voice.

"John? You awake?" He muttered something, which she took as hello. "You've been out for at least half an hour."

"How do you know?" Rodney piped up. "There's no clock in here."

"I have a good internal clock. Wakes me up the same time every morning, no matter how tired I am."

"Really? Mine get's screwed up if I don't sleep, or I go somewhere with a time difference…" Hello? He's lying there in pain, and they'd just started up a full blown discussion on their internal clocks. Teyla cleared her throat to gain their attention.

Good ol' Teyla… John's thoughts were random and haphazard, dream like. His hearing wavered in and out of focus. Ronon was talking this time.

"Hey, Sheppard, what'd they do to you? What do they want?"

"I think…" He needed to take a deep breath to stop from gagging. "The people th- they have here aren't strong when it comes to the Ancient… Ancient gene." His voice kept losing strength, and dammit, it was pissing him off. "They believe that these… hallucin..ogenic.. drugs they have will…" What was it they had said? " 'Open me up to the Ancient's way of thinking'." Rodney looked nonplussed.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Doesn't matter what it means. How we getting out of here?" Ronon looked at Teyla.

"I believe we have been gone long enough for Atlantis to know something is wrong. Perhaps they have already started a rescue attempt."

"Do you think we're close to the gate?" No one had an answer. "Sheppard, what happened to you?"

'The lighting here was terrible. Shortly on the heels of that thought; where the hell am I? John Sheppard was currently held up by a guard on either side, being dragged down a narrow corridor. The floor was of rough hewn stone, and there were puddles of water everywhere, coupled with the smell of damp. The lighting was a weak yellow, the corridors a green colouring. Looks like something out of the X-Files. He couldn't lift his head to see who held him. He couldn't get his legs under him. He was completely supported by who ever held him.

Clank.

Another metal door was opened and John was pulled through, the tips of his boots catching on the bottom of the doorway. They pulled him free roughly, and John stumbled, for the first time since he woke up he could get his legs beneath himself. He felt a little stronger. Strong enough to lift his head.

Weird. This was defiantly something out of a sci-fi film, crossed with some of those basement experiment labs you saw on shows about World War I. The floor was layered with grit, dark stains pooled underneath a long metal table that included restraints at wrist and ankle. What looked like an IV stand was placed beside the head of the table, a needle dripping at the end. Monitors were placed along one side of the smallish room. The lighting in here was no better than the lighting out in the corridor. John felt a drip land on the back of his neck and he looked at the ceiling. Mould and dry rot painted patterns on the whitish-grey ceiling, spidery threads that travelled from one wall to the other. Water leaked at points, one of which he stood under. He noticed a metal pan at his feet, partially filled. His legs were still too weak to support a run for it. Metal implements rested on portable tables, a bit like in a dentist's room. The instruments looked just as appealing.

Someone cleared their throat, and John watched as a thin man entered through a door on the opposite wall. It was shut behind him, disappearing into the wall like the door at the negotiation meeting. Authority bled off the man, and he closed his eyes and breathed deep, his expression rapturous.

"Smell that?" he smiled at John. "No? It's glorious." he had a strange way of rolling his 'or's 'til they almost sounded like an 'l'. His clothing was similar to everyone else's, except a light grey where he now noticed the two guards who had brought him in wore green. He had pips on his collar, and John assumed they denoted his rank. He also had a red and gold ribbon on his lapel. "Smells of… suffering, don't you think?" John tried to laugh at his pathetic attempt to intimidate him, but he was promptly clubbed in the chest by the butt of a guard's rifle. He sank to his knees. "Now, now. No need to be facetious."

"What do you want?" It came out choked, as John was gritting his teeth. That had been one hard hit. Might have cracked a rib.

"More than you can give, but it's a start. Strap him." The guards on either side moved to grab him, but Sheppard had his wits about him. He ducked under their arms and lunged across the room. He still wasn't at peak efficiency, and his lunge was weak. He ended up beside the man with the pips on his shoulder, who promptly stepped back, his hands coming up in front of him, even though John hadn't tried to attack him. John lost his footing, his legs still weak. A guard came up from behind and rammed into him. His left leg gave way, and he fell, hard, onto an overturned table. He cried out when his leg impaled on one of the sharp metal instruments. It sank into the thick muscle of his calf, exiting on the other side.

He tried to get up, but he couldn't support his own weight on his leg. The two guards levered him up roughly. John struggled, catching one man on the nose with the back his fist, the other was jabbed in the throat by his elbow. No matter how hard he struggled, in his weakened state he was easily overwhelmed. They shoved him ruthlessly to the ground and kicked him in the side mercilessly. He struggled to catch his breath, his hands up in front of his face. They stopped suddenly; he didn't see the silent signal from their boss. Dragging him to his feet, they quickly strapped him onto the table.

"Sigh, Mr. Sheppard. That was unnecessary. Now, stay still." He had a syringe in his hand containing a milky fluid. A guard held his arm still as he was injected with the mixture. "Relax, you'll feel the effects soon enough." Coldness seemed to flood John's body. As he stared at the ceiling the spidery patterns on the ceiling, he noticed the images began to sway, almost reach out towards him. He tried to shake his head, but things just got worse. The colours bled into each other. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, his breathing harsh. He became disconnected from his body.

He became disconnected from himself…

A/N: This was so short because I knackered myself out reading non stop. I'm completely brain dead at the moment, but it was worth it.