A/N: Hiya! Thanks for joining me on my journey in writing this story! I'm still learning the ins and outs of 'the net, so bear with me. :)

*SUMMARY: Ra and Hathor are recent casualties in Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill's list of slain marks with the consequence of foes pursuing retribution. As such, he's undisturbed for an individual with Black Ops connections, especially since he possesses an uncommon duo genetic code that's admirable through the Galaxy. An utterance surrounding O'Neill haunts the Galaxy and the realms beyond. As SG-1 voyages to a planet the colonel previously entered into Command's database when he had the Knowledge, the grade of significance regarding his conquest of the two immoral Gods heightens as one of the planet's leaders identifies him (and not the other way around). The colonel's casualness with the issue unsettles everyone, particularly the campers on the front-line team, chiefly as he's displaying negative signs of reverting to his past demeanor and occupations.

What you know about 'gate history doesn't apply here. Well, some do, but the time skips/jumps heavily disturb the chronological order of events so that it may become useless. Plus, this is an AU/Divergence.

As per the title, it is character-centric around JO and his idiosyncrasies, a characteristic, habit, mannerism, or the like peculiar to an individual. Oh, and it's in the conversational writing style and is in the present tense. Please hop over to AO3 to view more clarifying tags, but I believe I included the most important ones in the summary box here.

J-CUBED: JONATHAN, JACK, JONAH

Jonathan: known only on official, governmental papers — and to estranged family.

Jack: a middle-name-turned-first-name etched with much blood and sacrifice.

Jonah: a man in another life.

He has additional names and titles, but let's reserve that discussion for later. Because right now, as in this literal second, Jack O'Neill and his fellow three campers on the front-line team of SG-1 are off-world, arriving on planet 81-F6Q, or Cyria.

A new, freaky-looking address, huh? Yeah, Jack thought so, too, of course, and Sam gaily announced to him during their briefing earlier that he was the culprit for Cyria, an address outside of the Galaxy that he entered from the Ancient database. Interestingly, it bore trials for Sam and Walter to enter the code because it requires nine thorny glyphs, and they've never dialed that far. So, that was that, and Jack and Teal'c sat in chairs eating crunchy potato chips and attempted unsuccessfully to stay out of the way; Daniel was, to no surprise, in his lab. The archeologist still tries to discover everything in such a short window. Bless his heart.

The expedition isn't extreme, more of a diplomatic milk-run, though they bear their semi-automatics and zat'nik'tels (which, at least once, must be spelled entirely). As it turns out, from deep, deep-diving research to what can be the underbelly of the internet and tiny fine print of dusty historical texts, the Cyrians are second-tier companions of the Ancients, known for their modified garments. It's kind-of all that is presented, and it's likely to assume that it demands intelligence alongside an original Race, and they've served the role with their uncommon fabrics.

There may be similarities between Humans and Cyrians.

The up-and-rising Tau'ri, within a few months and years, have put their name out in the universe and dominated and defeated some significant goa'uld entities with their not-so-primitive-but-advanced-and-effective projectile artillery; they have acquired numerous allies. They've met the Nox and recently the Asgard and are now presented in the Protected Planet Treaty. The colonel and the captain met with Nafrayu, the youthful and developing Noxian, following Anteaus, allowing him to befriend them. The Asgardians have an uncanny appreciation and fondness for the senior original 'gate traveler, and so does a Reetou (who survived, thank you very much).

And so on.

Like, who can top that?

The team walks down the stairs as the wormhole disengages behind them. Based on the aerial outlook via MALP, the planet's weather would be what the Tau'ri back home would consider a 'cloudy sky,' so they're dressed loosely and comfortably. Unbeknownst, Sam has been incapable of not gazing at her leader as he's deliciously adoring half of the newly-introduced dark-scarlet BDU set primarily for the Mountain that stuns with his brown tone; his shirt is classically crisp, steamed, shoulder-sleeve rolled and tucked neatly into his new black pants. Unlike his civvies, which always seem to be a size or two too big, these pants are figure-forming, and his plush backside and thighs are captivating.

Thank the heavens for this straightforward mission, Sam considers, because she probably would've never been able to see the sculpted physique of the colonel if not for this excursion. The old BDU sets only sometimes allowed for such scrutinization, especially with all his weaponry on his person and no aid from his civvies being oversized and sagging. He's no Teal'c, which isn't ridicule, yet he has the perfect mixture of muscle and meat, even for a man his years, alongside injury and triumph.

Sam, Teal'c, and Daniel contrast with dark-scarlet bottoms and black shirts. She isn't sure if he intended to counter with the rest of the crew when he exited last from the locker room and met them at the armory, yet here they are. Prior, he had a follow-up with Hammond regarding their mission, so he instructed them to change without him. It might seem silly, but the crew has always dressed together, so it was a pause in their routine. It's his turn to decide the team BDU color, so last night, he texted: Add grey to pure hue; mono; off-world tomorrow, and kept it pushing.

The campers goggled at the message for what felt like an eternity until an honorary member — Teal'c — replied with his Nokia (which he refuses to upgrade): Understood, O'Neill, but, really, he didn't, and neither did Daniel or Sam. One would assume they're adapted to their leader and his perceptive mastership of ROYGBIV, but perhaps not yet.

At the armory, he had eyed his wear, then theirs, and shrugged. Close enough. At least it's the correct set of BDUs.

Cyria is dreamy and enchanting. The stargate is connected to a mysterious establishment with an endless passageway, and SG-1 is taking in its surroundings. There are windows coated with what could be the equivalent of frosted glass, and movement can be detected on the other side. The location resembles the overall setting of a poor, underfunded, and underdeveloped Tau'ri sci-fi movie or television show, though it is considerably more promising and advanced. Its foundation is glaringly ultra-pure against lustrous walls, ceiling, and floor, merging with blues worldwide, such as primary blue, cyan, blue screen of death, and cornflower blue, to name a few. Don't fret: the team's artist-in-disguise knows all the color codes and values.

Suddenly diverted, Jack strides to a side panel and regards its construction. "A8," he mutters. Correct, shortly; the total value is 0319A8. Automatically, the color pops into his visual cortex. It's a memorization ruse of his only to recognize and acknowledge the code's last two or so entries. This can be said for the 'gate, too. Sure, he can retain all of it, but then his brain may become overstimulated mush, and he doesn't want that.

So, if it wasn't evident before, here it is: He comprehends Color Theory. And not only that, but he is also an artist.

Mrs. Romaine Magnier, one of his primary school art teachers in his home city of Chicago, apprised him of the gift of art acuity. He was always given free rein in art class and compelled to showcase his creations in school and club competitions. When he had the Knowledge downloaded into his brain and was quickly incapable of communicating or assimilating with his surroundings, his solution was arts and crafts. In detail, he sketched the power device for the 'gate and later its blueprint; he engineered a powerful machine seemingly out of nothing that would change history.

Oh, and his favorite color is peridot, not green. Though his team is diminishing the definition of the title, he would always classify himself as an artist-in-disguise, with no thanks given to the invalid moment he had with the head-sucking gizmo.

It's not that he doesn't want to showcase his dexterity. Far from it, especially considering how some cannot be locked and suppressed. If anything, it keeps him and those around him active and inquiring. And, on many occasions, he observes and relishes the comfort provided to others. For example, when he's in Carter's lab, he willingly lowers his IQ and scrutinizes her fascination with her new-and-improved doohickeys, whatnots, and the theoretical science behind it. He lets her have that expertise. He wouldn't put himself on her level, but sure, he interprets a little bit of it. In a sense, he has to, being a skillful pilot and on-the-side engineer. The same can be said with Daniel and his historical texts and languages. The archeologist isn't the only polyglot on the team.

Maybe it's a procedure from his Black Ops occupations, or perhaps it stemmed earlier and can be debated that it developed from playing hockey and basketball. Either way, it's something that's morally him and is unchangeable.

"You would know," comments Daniel candidly with a soft smile. Ever since the colonel's artistic side surfaced as an everyday specialty with the team, he hasn't been able to let it go. Really, can you blame him? He's known the man far longer than Sam and Teal'c combined, and not for one second would he have reckoned Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill to be an art and craftsman. The man must be the mortal definition of discreet authenticity. The more you know.

For the next team night, he stows the objective to ransack Jack's attic for any saved project artifacts.

Sam steps to stand alongside Jack, their arms softly brushing. She gazes at the panel that he is eyeing, feigning mannerly acknowledgment.

"It's this one, right?" she questions, pointing at a shade of blue. The major has been learning a thing or two from him, though at a sloth's pace. She won't admit it aloud because the uproar of her being unacknowledged with something is too hard to handle. The scientist-soldier queries if this is what it is like when she's openly one-sided discussing science with him.

He's unsure of his views of the campers finding delight in one of his hobbies besides the usual, but with Carter and all her brains and smarts leveling to him, this may be the cure to society. He turns his head and smiles while nodding. "You're learning, Carter."

She grins at him, alerting the compliment. She's not the type of woman to get mushy over credit and glory; contrastingly, something about his praise clings to her. Suddenly, there's a noise behind them, and they swiftly turn around to seek out the intruder, peering over the shoulders of their team members.

Someone is trekking toward SG-1, and Jack strides forward to assume leadership. The stranger is dressed in a charcoal bodysuit with floor-length, spandex-type bottoms. To envision, picture Tau'ri peoples and some of their association with the ritualistic sport called gymnastics or any other form of floor sport. Moreover, some competitors wear legging undergarments over their leotards; this is comparable to what the individual is modeling.

Teal'c angles his head with an eyebrow uplift that is masterful to him. The closer the stranger approaches, the more the description of them might not do them justice. With closer inspection, the person is a woman with a chocolate tone, hair that's slick with a middle-part, and inviting gold eyes. Wordlessly, she specifically stands before Jack with a closed-mouth smile, peering over his shoulder at the pack supporting him before meeting his eyes once again.

"I am Isteno, the Axmin of the Cyrian Mastria," she culturally introduces, her palms facing outwards before forming a diamond shape with her hands.

Daniel, ever the someone to deliver a round of introductions, responds, "I am Daniel Jackson. This is Teal'c, Captain Samantha Carter, and Colonel Jack O'Neill. We come from a planet called Earth."

Isteno eyes the colonel with a face of amazement when his name is sounded. It can't be. Oh, what a day she is having.

Suddenly, Daniel asks, "What does axmin mean? I am unfamiliar with the label."

"It translates to Leader to Heed. There is one before me called Q'uobik, the Staron, meaning One Over Others. After me, there is Tommen, the Rith, or Last to Rise."

"That's intriguing. It is like our Earth culture, especially in our military," begins Daniel as he readjusts his glasses. He continues, "Jack is our overall Axmin to our home base; however, we refer to him as the Second in Command. Before him — before all of us, for that matter — is General Hammond, our Staron or Base Commander. And, following, our Rith is Colonel Reynolds."

Isteno nods, accepting the new information. Suddenly, she connects her eyes with the colonels and declares, "I know you."

Jack frowns, and Sam silently considers them, her eyes darting back and forth between the two. Is it possible, likely in an alternate reality? Heaven knows they've got their fair share of those. The head of SG-1 wants to know, too.

"How so?" contests Jack. The new woman may know him, but the sentiment isn't reciprocated. As far as he's aware, he's never met any of the Cyrian people.

"You are the original Tau'ri-Ancient Staron of SG-1, the Slayer of Ra and Hathor. A name that comes with numerous enemies."

"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."

A/N: Cyria's planet — 81-F6Q — is pronounced eight-one-F6Q, not eighty-one-F6Q, because Jack says so.