When Sam's back slammed against the wall, she expected the pain to knock her into unconsciousness, but to her dismay, she remained painfully aware. Groaning, she attempted to rise swiftly, hindered only by the sluggish response of her limbs. However, before she could regain her footing, his hands seized her shoulders, signaling the impending onslaught. Bracing herself, she was abruptly hurled across the room, leaving no room for retaliation. The bewildering chaos left Sam spitting blood onto the floor, a harsh reminder of the injuries she'd sustained, possibly including a broken rib.
Forcing herself to focus amid the disorienting turmoil, Sam scrambled to her knees, determined to keep pace. Yet, as she struggled to stand, she felt his hands once more, and she steeled herself for the next punishing blow. The room's confines offered no respite, and she could sense his approach. In the blink of an eye, he was upon her again. She withstood the incoming punch with gritted teeth, refusing to succumb to the overwhelming pain.
A desperate need to understand the unfolding madness raced through her mind, but there was no time for contemplation. The assailant, her husband no less, was closing in. Disoriented and battered, Sam summoned the strength to rise just as his fist aimed for her once more. Swiftly on her feet, she narrowly avoided the blow, launching into a fierce exchange of blows and blocks. The toll of the prolonged struggle was evident; fatigue weighed heavily on her while he, seemingly impervious to exhaustion, maintained a relentless assault.
Despite the considerable age gap, he displayed an agility that surpassed her own, catching her off guard. She managed to deflect most attacks, but a sharp punch to her shoulder sent her crashing into the wall. The realization dawned on Sam – she was rapidly running out of stamina while he showed no signs of wear.
The isolation of their surroundings intensified the gravity of the situation. Sam's desperation deepened. She was trapped in their basement with a single exit, blocked by the person who should be her ally. She gasped for breath and understood that help was not on the way; they were alone, and he had orchestrated it perfectly.
Summoning her last reserves of strength, Sam took a deep breath, locking eyes with the man who was her life partner. Now unrecognizable in his aggression, Jack taunted her with a sinister smile. As he raised his fists, inviting her to engage once more, Sam grappled with the incomprehensible reality that her love was now a threat, and she steeled herself for the next brutal round.
The onslaught persisted, each passing minute eroding Sam's ability to outmaneuver her assailant. Eventually, her body succumbed to the relentless force, and consciousness slipped away. Her last fleeting awareness was of his polished shoes and dress blues pants beside her face, a stark contrast to the brutality she had just endured. Then, darkness enveloped her.
When Sam slowly regained consciousness, she moaned in agony, her entire body protesting the ordeal it had endured. Wincing, she brought one hand to her throbbing head and surveyed her surroundings. Surprisingly, she found herself in their bedroom, lying on the bed. Startled, she noticed the closed door and him seated on a chair nearby, arms crossed.
"Good, you finally woke up," Jack declared, his voice carrying an unsettling nonchalance.
Sam gingerly attempted to sit on the bed, gritting her teeth against the pain.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her eyes fixed on the man who resembled her husband but couldn't possibly be.
Remaining seated, Jack, still clad in his dress blues, slowly rose from the chair and approached the bed.
"I think we established who I was years ago, Colonel," he said, a twisted smile playing on his lips.
Sam swallowed hard. This couldn't be her Jack. It defied all reason. There had to be an explanation for the nightmare in their basement. She examined his left hand, seeking reassurance, only for her heart to skip a beat – he wore a wedding ring.
"What do you want?" she asked, trying to redirect her focus. Her mind struggled to comprehend the situation, clinging to the hope that this was an alternate reality or some clone.
Jack continued to smile.
"Now? Nothing," he replied.
Sam gripped the bedsheets tighter, the tension thick in the air.
"Very well, later then," she responded, her voice tinged with unease.
Jack's gaze lingered on her, and she blushed and tensed simultaneously.
"You're the genius; I'm sure you've already figured it out," he remarked, chilling Sam's spine.
Panic gripped her as her brain failed to process the surreal events unfolding.
"I don't know what happened, but I swear if you lay a finger on me, I'll kill you," she declared, her tone deadly serious.
Jack's smile persisted as his eyes locked onto hers.
"I'm counting on that, Colonel," he replied cryptically.
Sam opened her mouth in shock, grappling with the nightmarish reality. She closed her eyes briefly, attempting to gather her thoughts. None of this made sense. They had been at a cocktail party for an AI company that had secured a contract with the Pentagon. Everything had been normal until they returned home. Without warning, he had dragged her to the basement, and the nightmare had begun. Sam was still dressed in her black cocktail dress and high heels, a stark reminder of the abrupt transition from a seemingly ordinary evening to a horrifying ordeal.
"You are not my husband," Sam declared with determination.
Jack remained in the same position, standing before the bed, studying her intently.
"Why are you so sure?" he asked, a glint of curiosity in his brown eyes.
Sam scrutinized his face, recognizing the familiar lines she had come to know and love over the years. Yet, an unsettling intuition persisted – this man couldn't be Jack, her husband.
"My husband would never beat me like you did," she asserted with conviction.
In response, he calmly reached into his pocket, producing a pair of handcuffs, and began to play with them. Sam's face paled.
"I know what you like in bed, Colonel," he said, his smile unsettling.
Gripping the bedsheets even tighter, Sam deflected, "I don't know what you are talking about. And I need a painkiller," she added, attempting to change the subject. Her head throbbed with pain.
Jack, however, continued to spin the handcuffs in the air, seemingly pleased.
"Sure, I'll give you a painkiller," he replied, though he made no move to fetch one. "So, don't tell me you don't like it rough, Colonel," he continued, putting the handcuffs back into his pocket.
A flush of embarrassment colored Sam's cheeks.
"I'm not discussing this with you. I want to know what you've done with my husband," she insisted.
Jack, in his dress blues, adorned with medals and decorations, looked at her with an amused expression.
"I'm standing in front of you," he stated cryptically.
Sam sighed, realizing this line of questioning was leading nowhere. She needed a plan, an escape, and preferably, she wanted to take him with her. Examining him for DNA verification was the only way to confirm her suspicions – he had to be a clone. It was the only reasonable explanation. The Replicators had been eradicated, so how else could she make her way out of the house with him in tow?
Her mind raced, contemplating the challenge ahead. She needed to find a way to leave the house and bring him along. The situation's urgency spurred her to action, plotting her escape and resolving to uncover the truth about this imposter.
"What are you going to do? You have to go to work, or people will get suspicious," Sam pressed, attempting to apply pressure.
Jack casually shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm going to work. I'm already dressed. See?" he said, gesturing to his dress blues.
Sam bit her lip, contemplating her next move.
"And what about me? Are you going to drug me all day?" she inquired, her voice laced with concern.
Jack's smile remained unnervingly calm.
"Of course not, Colonel. You'll stay here until I return home. Secured," he replied.
The term "secured" sent a shiver down Sam's spine.
"What does that mean, 'secured'?" she asked cautiously.
Jack glanced towards the ensuite bathroom.
"I've already prepared everything. So, whenever you are ready," he said, waving toward the bathroom.
Sam recognized the importance of biding her time. She reluctantly agreed, "Fine," and slowly got out of bed. A sudden pain shot through her body, causing her to groan as she bent over.
Jack showed no reaction as she straightened up, limping towards the bathroom. He handed her a sweater, a makeshift cover for the remnants of her dress, which had been torn in the struggle. Jack grabbed her arm, making her wince with pain, and led her into their spacious bathroom.
Sam's heart quickened as she realized the extent of his preparations. Everything on the vanity had disappeared, replaced by chains securely attached to the wall.
Attempting to retreat, Jack held her firmly, issuing a chilling warning, "Don't fight, or I'll hurt you more."
Sam reluctantly halted. He applied plastic handcuffs tightly around her wrists, securing them with duct tape, rendering her hands and arms immobile. Yet, it was the chains that heightened her anxiety.
"Sit," he ordered.
Sam hesitated, glancing at a towel on the floor. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder when she didn't comply, eliciting a small cry.
"Sit," he repeated, her resisting tearing.
Overwhelmed, Sam sat on the floor. Jack produced a formidable chain and what appeared to be an unfamiliar lock. He then secured her left ankle with something that looked alien, leaving her sure escape was impossible. To her astonishment, he took an unexpected turn, pushing her to lie down. Panic surged as she felt his hands on her waist and panties; her attempts to resist met with futility. He discarded her panties next to the shower and, standing over her, explained, "Don't get excited. It's just easier. This way, you can use the toilet more easily."
Sam stared at him in disbelief. Chained, lying on the bathroom floor, wearing only a sweater and no underwear, Jack spoke of practicality.
"So, behave, and I'll get home earlier," he said, leaving and locking the door behind him.
Sam blinked, grappling with the surreal situation. The chill enveloping her confirmed the harsh reality. She muffled a sob and closed her eyes, grappling with the bewildering turn her life had taken. What had happened to lead her to this nightmarish scenario?
Several minutes passed before Sam regained awareness, slowly realizing her surroundings. She must have blacked out, overwhelmed by the events of the past few hours. Gradually, she surveyed the familiar bathroom. He had meticulously removed every potential tool or object she could use to aid her escape. Managing to stand, Sam grabbed another towel to shield her bare legs, which were growing cold. As she covered herself, she scrutinized the alien lock securing her ankle. Its sophistication hinted at extraterrestrial origins. Deciphering it would pose a formidable challenge even if her hands were free.
Leaning her throbbing head against the wall, Sam closed her eyes, attempting to reconstruct the fragmented memories of the preceding hours. She sought any hint, any gap in the chaos that might offer a clue or a strategy. His return was imminent, and she needed a plan. Her mind drifted to the party invitation.
"I know you're not a fan of these parties, but the CEO asked me to attend, and I had to accept," Jack mentioned as he hung his dress blues in the walk-in closet.
Sam sat on one of the chairs in their bedroom, enjoying the garden view through the large window. Stretching her legs and arms, she inquired, "Do we have to stay very long?"
Jack tossed his undershirt into the laundry bag.
"Not much, just the necessary time to be seen, shake some hands, and show you around," he replied with a broad smile.
Sam playfully threw a pillow at him, and Jack laughed as he headed towards the bathroom.
"I'll have a quick shower, and then we can grab something to eat," he suggested, removing his boxers.
"Do I need to get a new dress?" Sam asked while still seated.
Jack, already in the shower and unaware of her question, didn't respond.
Undeterred, Sam got up and entered the bathroom, sitting on the toilet. "Do I need a new dress, Jack?" she asked again.
Now cleaning his face from shampoo, Jack replied, "Dress? Only if you want to. You can wear that lovely black dress I gave you, and I'll be delighted," he added, smiling.
Sam sighed, reminded that Jack bought her more clothes than she did for herself. She disliked shopping for clothes, even after spending weeks on the Hammond, where she wore only a jumpsuit.
"Good," she said.
Jack closed the tap and grabbed a towel.
"I, however, will have to wear my dress blues, so don't look so depressed," he teased, kissing her forehead.
Sam placed a hand on his still-wet chest.
"I'm not depressed, General. Not anymore," she replied, slowly caressing his chest, her hand moving southward.
Their dinner plans were forgotten entirely as they embraced the moment's warmth.
Arriving at the AI firm's headquarters in Washington D.C., a grand building in one of the city's finest locations, Jack and Sam were greeted at the entrance by the CEO himself. The security measures mirrored those of the White House, surprising Sam.
"Welcome, General O'Neill, Mrs. O'Neill," a tall, shaved-headed man in his forties greeted them. Dressed in a sharp black three-piece suit with a black and white striped tie, he offered a firm handshake.
The party was teeming with Pentagon personnel, familiar scientists, and faces seen on TV. Vala would likely know their names. Jack engaged in a conversation with Theodore Dechlan, the CEO, while Sam opted to head to the bar for a drink. Socializing wasn't on her agenda tonight.
"I'll have a martini, please," she requested, taking a seat.
A woman in a platinum dress sat beside her, ordering a Manhattan. Sam noticed the woman's enormous diamond ring and bracelet. The woman smiled, initiating a conversation.
"Hi," she greeted.
"Hello," Sam responded, hoping to keep it brief. But luck wasn't on her side.
"So, private or government?" the woman inquired, surveying the room.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
Sipping her cocktail, the woman continued, "Do you work for the private sector or the government? Everyone in this party belongs to one of the two categories."
Sam took a sip of her drink.
"Government," she answered.
The woman seemed surprised.
"Fooled me," she admitted.
Curious, Sam asked, "And you?"
The woman introduced herself, "Martina Nevrotola, the leading scientist of MindMatrix Technologies," extending her hand.
Sam shook it, introducing herself as Colonel Samantha Carter-O'Neill.
Martina's expression shifted.
"O'Neill? Are you related to General O'Neill, the Head of Homeworld Command?" she inquired.
Sam smiled. "I'm his wife," she proudly stated.
Martina seemed taken aback.
"Oh, I see. Quite the man," she smiled, finishing her cocktail.
Sam raised an eyebrow, unsure of the implication.
"How's that?" she asked, feigning innocence.
Martina played with her ring.
"I mean, he is a vital man in a very high position inside the government. You must be very proud of him," she said, avoiding eye contact.
Sam, glancing at Jack in the crowd, affirmed, "I've always been proud of him."
Martina glanced at her ring again.
"And you also work at the Pentagon?" she probed.
Sam finished her martini.
"Deep space telemetry," she replied, smiling, revealing her official story.
Martina also smiled.
"An interesting concept for someone with your qualifications," she remarked.
Sam reciprocated the smile, realizing her suspicions were confirmed. Her background had been thoroughly checked. She made a mental note to discuss this company's services with Jack later. Now intrigued, Sam searched for her husband, realizing he and Dechlan had vanished from the crowd.
"Would you excuse me? I'll try to find my husband. He tends to get lost at these parties," she said politely, leaving Martina behind. Sam moved through the crowd but found no sign of Jack or Dechlan; they seemed to have disappeared.
Back in their bathroom, Sam slowly opened her eyes as her brain and memory pinpointed the anomaly of the night.
Jack had vanished for several minutes, leaving her bewildered. She was on the verge of calling his cell when he reappeared, abruptly informing her that they were going. The ride back home was shrouded in an unsettling silence, and upon their arrival, he seized her wrist and forcibly led her to the basement. At first, Sam assumed he was playing a joke, but a powerful punch to her jaw swiftly shattered that illusion, sending her sprawling to the ground. Chaos ensued.
As Sam reflected on the sequence of events, she surmised that whatever had transpired likely occurred during Jack's unexplained absence at the party had to be linked to the AI company. A throbbing headache weighed on her, exacerbated by the lack of painkillers. She rummaged through the drawers in search of relief, only to find them all empty. Determined to ease her pain, she dampened a smaller towel under the cold water, removing the excess liquid before placing it on her forehead. It was a small comfort, but it was all she could do now.
The unanswered questions lingered. What had transpired during Jack's disappearance at the party? And what did MindMatrix Technologies do? Sam had to wait for his return to gather any information. The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she knew that, at the right moment, she would need to confront Jack and unravel the mystery that now overshadowed their lives.