Hours dragged on, and eventually, Sam allowed herself to succumb to the fatigue, falling asleep on the cold bathroom floor. Her ankle was still securely locked, and her hands were tightly bound. Knowing when to conserve her strength for a later fight, she chose the moment of respite.
Abruptly, the door swung open, startling Sam awake. Jack entered the bathroom, no longer clad in his dress blues but wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans.
"Sleep well?" he inquired, extracting something from his pocket to open the lock on her ankle. Sam remained motionless; there was no point in resisting. Her hands were still bound tightly, and weakness clung to her body. Having gone without food the entire day, the beating from the previous night still echoed in her aching body. She stayed still as Jack carefully lifted her from the floor.
"You're very quiet, Colonel," he observed suspiciously, guiding her towards the bedroom.
Sam lowered her head, trying not to show any vulnerability. Untying her hands, he then gripped her arm and dragged her onto the bed.
"Sit," he ordered, nearly tossing her onto the mattress.
Sam had enough time to put her hands on the bed as the room spun. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
"Here, drink this," he instructed.
However, Sam wasn't yet capable of moving.
"I need a minute," she managed to say.
"I don't care," he retorted, grabbing her hair and forcing her to face him.
The room spun again, and Sam steadied herself by touching his chest.
"Here," he insisted again, placing something against her mouth. Sam opened it slightly, tasting orange juice, which she drank slowly. At least he wasn't forcing it down her throat.
"Take this," he commanded, putting two pills in her mouth and closing it with his fingers. Sam attempted to spit them out, but he kept her mouth shut firmly. "It's painkillers," he stated. "Swallow, or I'll make you swallow," he added coldly.
At this point, Sam couldn't do anything. She swallowed them, and as he withdrew his hand, the room stopped spinning.
Sam remembered she had no underwear, trying to cover herself with the sweatshirt, causing Jack to laugh.
"Why so modest now, Colonel? It's nothing I haven't seen before," he remarked, getting up.
Opening her eyes, Sam saw a tray of food on their dresser.
"Let me dress, please," she requested.
Instead, he tossed her a banana.
"Eat it, and I'll think about that," he replied, leaning against the dresser with crossed arms.
Sam picked up the banana, slowly peeled it, and began eating.
"What does MindMatrix Technologies do?" she asked, looking at him.
Uncertain about whether he was a clone or something else, another idea began to form in her mind. To confirm her suspicions, she needed more information.
"Why do you want to know?" he questioned.
Finishing the banana, Sam said, "I'm curious. You never told me what they were doing for Homeworld."
Jack smiled. "I don't have to," he said coldly.
Sam swallowed.
"No, you don't. Unless you were told or programmed to do it," she suggested slowly.
Jack continued to look at her, hardly blinking.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," he denied after a while.
Sam examined him, noticing moments when he seemed like his old self, her husband.
"Forget it," she said after some seconds.
He continued to gaze at her.
"How's the headache?" he inquired.
"Why do you care?" she replied coldly, deciding to be as uncooperative as possible until she could find another angle.
"We aren't finished yet, and I need your brilliant brain working," he said mysteriously.
Sam paled.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Eat more, and I'll tell you," he offered, presenting a donut.
To her great annoyance, when Sam reached for the donut, her hand shook clearly. She quickly retrieved it, making him smile more.
"Is that fear or cold, Colonel?" he teased.
"Cold," she answered in a low voice.
Opening a drawer from the dresser, he threw a pair of sweatpants at her. Grateful, Sam swallowed the donut and quickly put on the comfy pants. At least she wasn't naked anymore.
"Better now?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you," she replied.
He took two steps and stopped in front of her.
"Very well, in that case, let's go," he said.
With a racing heart, Sam looked up at him.
"Where?" she asked.
Though not fully recovered, she would put up another fight if she had to.
"Living room," he stated.
She got up slowly. Everything felt strange about him, but she needed to find out what he wanted. She started walking, with him closely following. Once in the living room, Sam noticed several changes. A table with one keyboard and three monitors now stood before their couch.
"What is this?" she asked, stopping at the door.
He pushed her inside, his hands on her waist.
"Take a seat," he ordered.
"Why? What is this?" she asked, eyes scanning the blank monitors.
He forcefully made her sit on the couch.
"This, Colonel, is the reason why you are here and why I haven't killed you yet," he declared coldly.
Sam felt the blood drain from her face. She had never heard that tone before.
His cell phone rang, and he answered, muttering a conversation that Sam couldn't quite make out. After a brief exchange, he disconnected and placed a small device on the table next to the keyboard. Sam noticed it had two buttons.
"Once I push the first button, you have one hour to do what is required. If you fail, I'll kill you," he declared.
To Sam's astonishment, he retrieved his firearm from beneath his T-shirt and held it in his right hand with the safety off.
"Wait! What do I have to do?" she asked, confused.
"Start working," he replied, pushing the first button.
Monitors connected, displaying complex code. Sam's attention focused solely on the sequences appearing on the screens. Without realizing it, her fingers began automatically typing. She was multitasking, following the instructions on the monitors and processing the information they provided.
As she typed, Sam discovered that MindMatrix Technologies was an AI firm that provided multiple scenarios for high-risk security situations with zero or minimal casualties. It was a groundbreaking development sought after by defense departments worldwide, and it explained why Homeworld had secured its services. However, Sam's interest was piqued when she found that they had been granted access to the Stargate Program and had used it to develop advanced technology for manipulating minds and memories. Its use was still to be approved, however, by the government and appeared to be under discussion.
Her mind raced back to their time on the ice planet, recalling their days of Jonah and Thera. The realization hit her like a tidal wave – they had previously experienced similar manipulation as miners. Now, the AI company used a simple Virtual Reality Headset with the same results.
"Continue working," Jack ordered when her hands paused, and her heart raced. She looked at him, realizing that this was what had been done to him when he disappeared at the party.
"Jack," she called, but he struck her forcefully on the back, causing her to wince in pain.
"WORK!" he commanded.
Sam fought back tears and slowly resumed typing. MindMatrix had developed mind-manipulating technology but needed control over it. What better way than to have the Head of Homeworld Command and his wife working for them? Sam swallowed her fear and worked diligently, finding solace in this being her husband. He didn't remember; he had been reprogrammed. She repeated this thought as she worked, inserting tiny errors into the code to stall its efficiency.
Now, she needed access to a device to reverse the process on Jack. She had to go to MindMatrix Technologies to do that, but she had no idea how to get there. Sam found a small consolation as she continued to work – amidst the chaos, this was still her husband, and she would find a way to bring him back. He was somewhere trapped inside, but she would get him out, whatever the cost.
After precisely fifty-five minutes of continuous work, Sam's hands came to a stop. The monitors powered down, and she closed her eyes, exhausted. Jack's cell phone rang once more, and he answered the call, concluding it swiftly.
"Very well, Colonel. It appears you'll live to breathe another day," he remarked, securing his gun in his belt. Giving her a push, he ordered her to get up.
However, Sam remained still, her eyes closed. Ignoring her lack of response, Jack grabbed her arm, attempting to lift her. Her body refused to cooperate.
Growing impatient, he insisted, "I said, get up." He tried to hoist her using both arms, but that's when Sam seized her chance.
Swiftly, she moved her arm and reached for the gun in his belt, gripping it with determination. The sudden and unexpected motion caught Jack off guard. In an instant, he found himself kicked to the ground, with Sam pointing the gun at him.
"Don't move," she warned, her voice trembling.
Sam didn't want to shoot him, but she had to make him understand. Jack blinked in confusion.
"What are you doing? Give me the gun," he demanded as he began to rise.
Sam took a step back, maintaining the distance between them.
"Don't move," she repeated her voice firm. Why wasn't he listening?
"Give me the gun," he persisted, extending his hand and moving towards her.
Sam's heart raced, as did her brain. He wasn't programmed to obey her but to perform specific tasks. He wouldn't listen to her commands.
"Give me the gun," he continued, advancing.
Sam's realization hit her like a jolt of electricity. He wasn't programmed to heed her orders. Panic set in, and she had to think quickly. Shoot him and lose any chance of entering MindMatrix? Give him the gun and risk her life? He had warned her he would kill her if she didn't comply. But if she did, he was likely ordered to keep her alive. They needed her active. She would have to risk it.
"Okay. Here," she said, reluctantly handing him the gun.
Jack took the weapon, looked at her, and, without warning, delivered a punch that rendered her senseless. Darkness engulfed her once more.
When Sam regained consciousness, she found herself once again in their bed. Panic set in as she attempted to move her arms, only to discover them fiercely restrained by handcuffs tied to the bedposts. Desperation welled up as her hands struggled against the unyielding restraints, tears streaming down her face.
"I thought you liked being tied up to a bed," Jack remarked, observing her struggle from one of the chairs with an amused expression.
"Let me out, Jack," Sam pleaded, her voice trembling.
He shook his head, lounging back in the chair with crossed legs. It seemed he was savoring the spectacle before him.
"I like seeing you like this," he admitted, a sinister glint in his eyes.
Sam noticed his gun on the table next to the chair, intensifying her feelings of vulnerability.
She lifted her head onto the pillow and uttered, "They are using you, Jack. Your memory has been manipulated."
He remained unmoved, not a hint of acknowledgment on his face.
"Fine, finish the job. Kill me," she challenged, closing her eyes.
His laughter echoed in the room.
"Why would I do that?" he asked, a sly smile on his lips.
Tears streamed down Sam's face as she whispered, "Because you were programmed to do that."
Jack rose from the chair and approached the bed, seating himself on the edge. His gaze lingered on her, taking in the fading bruises on her jaw and the fresh tears on her cheeks. Despite the circumstances, he found her beautiful.
His hands began to caress her leg, and Sam's eyes shot open in terror.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
His smile widened.
"What you like. What we do," he said, moving closer.
Sam vehemently shook her head, but he seemed unfazed.
"STOP, JACK!" she screamed as he ruthlessly tugged her sweater, revealing her breasts. Beneath the sweatshirt, she still wore her bra and remnants of her black dress, which he callously ripped away.
"JACK!" she continued to shout, attempting to kick him with her free legs.
Ignoring her protests, he restrained her legs effortlessly with one hand. His lips moved to her belly, kissing it with an unsettling intimacy.
"No, Jack, please..." she pleaded, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her face.
He paused, looking at her with confusion.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, gripping her legs.
Sam struggled to breathe, hyperventilated, and couldn't answer.
"Answer me," he demanded, grabbing her head with force.
Sam fought to calm down with her eyes closed and tears streaming down her face. But the lack of oxygen intensified her panic, and her body rebelled against the restriction. She wrestled with the handcuffs, cutting into her wrists, desperately gasping for air.
"What's wrong with you?" he inquired, observing her near convulsions.
"Air," she managed to choke out.
Jack, bewildered, realized she was struggling to breathe.
"Can't you breathe?" he asked, his confusion deepening.
She shook her head, desperately gasping for air. Jack scanned the room and grabbed the key for the handcuffs. Swiftly, he released her, but Sam continued to struggle for breath, already too deep into her anxiety. Perplexed, he remained seated on the bed, watching her with confusion.
"Breathe," he demanded, shaking her.
Sam sat there, on the brink of passing out. The lack of oxygen was overwhelming.
He continued to kneel beside her, arms encircling her, urging, "Breathe."
Slowly massaging her back, he coaxed her back from the edge.
Sam's frantic heartbeat gradually steadied as the oxygen flowed back into her system. She rested her head against his shoulder, overwhelmed by emotions. This time, it wasn't the lack of oxygen that threatened to make her lose consciousness; it was the weight of the situation and the tumultuous emotions within. He was holding her in his arms, and for some moments, Sam felt she had her husband back. She closed her eyes and let herself go.