"That's funny," smugly remarks the colonel, arms folded over his broad chest, "that's what Thor and Boch said, too. I guess there's weight behind the words."

That response raises the pack's attention, and they frown at him.

"Explain, O'Neill," requests the Jaffa, and Sam and Daniel nod in agreeance. Boch held them captive when he told Jack of his dealings throughout the Galaxy, but they weren't present during the encounter with Thor. This isn't good. Doh.

The Cyrian respectfully steps to the side, recognizing momentous that don't pertain to her, and the colonel sighs and turns towards his campers. "It's what Thor told me before I could finish my speech at the ceremony when he beamed me up," he starts, catching Sam's intense gaze, her undivided attention on him. He resumes and unsuccessfully attempts to reassure them, "Basically, there's a bounty or something out for me, especially now that I've . . . eradicated . . . Hathor. It's nothing new; I knew this after Ra, my bouts with Apophis, and ending Klorel. The irritating, slimy snake is probably the one who circulates my name through the grapevine."

First Thor, then Boch, and now Isteno. Who's next, all stating the same thing? Sam shakes her head in displeasure, saying, "Sir, this is actually very concerning."

The Jaffa concurs, and Daniel is in shock-silence. He was a member of Jack's former team, yet he never suspected that the consequence would be this disastrous. Is his name out and about? Is Ferretti's? Would Kawalsky's name be if he were still alive? On paper, it's clean-cut: Ra and Hathor, the mighty and immoral Lords, are defeated by a Human.

"Hey, I've yet to get the entire family. Two down, two to go. Don't count me out just yet," Jack nonchalantly shrugs. Slaying has never been a problem for him. Their apprehension about the situation is going over his head. With a function in the military, notably at Area 52, and vacating the planet regularly to go off-world and encounter aliens on planets believed to be nonexistent throughout the Galaxy, one is bound to step on a few toes unwillingly accumulate foes. Hell, Sam, Daniel, and the shol'va more than likely has a list matching his adversaries. Why is it a problem that he has them?

Now that he ponders it, maybe not as many, but close. Kind-of. For crying out loud, he may have a world record with his extensive list of aliens who detest him. Perhaps even more than the former First Prime. He may even have more casualties under his name than the three combined, but that comes with the profession, doesn't it? Or is it strictly him?

"And when you get Apophis and Heru'ur, what, you suppose there will be a celebration? Maybe some cake and a barbecue? Come on, Jack, this is serious, and we need to discuss this. You are a Wanted man," remarks Daniel in a futile of getting through to the colonel. He scowls as the man nods at the mention of food. Of course.

Jack jests to lighten the disposition in the only way he knows best. "Hey, Boch said I'm a 'pain in the mikta.' Now, there's is truth in that, here—" he gestures around them and assumingly the location of off-world, "—and back home. This isn't my first rodeo; I know where this will go."

"And where's that?" asks Sam, not actually wanting an answer.

He wickedly grins.

It's non-verbal yet reveals everything. Sam closes her eyes in pang as he alludes to his past life's occupation. He's come this far, and that's somewhere she doesn't want him to retreat to. Please, no more blood. Thinking fast, she pivots towards a side panel, retrieves her GDO from her leg pouch, and begins typing a message to Command.

SG-1 SG-1-9 = 1 = 672.

Impressive as to what you can accomplish with the device.

Enough of that. Jack performs a calming three-tap on his thigh to clear his potential spiral downwards, then claps his hands and twirls to face Isteno, willing to ignore any more of the conversation with his team. "So, Isteno, let's chat about technology. The word through the 'gate is that the Cyrians have exquisite apparel."

The dark-skinned woman chuckles and agrees, saying, "Indeed, we do, Jack O'Neill. Please follow me to Decontamination, then we shall confer our opportunities of bartering and allyship."

A/N: A 672 doesn't exist. Or, at least, I don't think it does because I'm sure it'll have the opposite meaning of my code (which I'll explain later). This is how I imagine codes/messages look on an updated GDO.