He'd lost all sense of how many days it had been since he'd been captured. He was in bad shape and his brain didn't seem to be functioning properly. The only thing that kept running through his mind was Sam. He was positive she couldn't have survived, and if his captors didn't kill him, he knew that guilt would. Still, he was determined to go back to her. He'd promised, and he was not about to betray that promise.

At one point, he'd almost told his captors about Sam. As awful as it would be for her, he figured that at least she would have a chance of survival, although the thought of what they would do to her made him hesitate. In the end, he was glad he had, and that he hadn't said anything. Sadly he had been able to witness what they did with a woman they'd captured.

Every couple of days his captors would break camp and head out down the small dirt road they travelled. He figured they made a living by robbing and terrorizing people but only actually travelled when they grew short of food and supplies. It was the third day after he'd been captured that they came on a small cabin a couple of hundred of feet from the road.

He'd wanted to shout and warn the inhabitants, but they must have realized what he was planning so they gagged him and left him in the back of the wagon. What happened next would live on his nightmares.

There was only a single, lone woman in the cabin – an older woman in her late 50's or 60's. Whether there were other people who just weren't there at that moment, or whether she lived alone he didn't know. All he did know what that the next hour was one of the most horrifying he'd experienced in his career.

He had watched as they started to harass her and as she'd begged for mercy. All that had done was make them laugh and taunt her even more. Then they started the physical torment. It was at that point that Jack put his head down and refused to watch, knowing there was nothing he could do to help her, even though he tried and tried to loosen the ropes binding him. He sobbed into his gag as he listened to her screams and pleas for mercy. After a while, he didn't know how long - the sounds died down and he could no longer hear her. He prayed she was unconscious or even dead and out of her misery.

Donar strolled over to the cart a few minutes after the woman had gone silent and looked down at Jack. "You missed some fun," he told the prone man. "She was a handful."

"What should we do with her body?" Alid asked as he walked towards the cart. "Damn – I got her blood on me."

Jack closed his eyes, feeling sick and ashamed. Even though he'd had no part in what had happened he hated himself for being unable to help the woman. At that moment he promised himself that he was going to rid the world of these vermin, no matter what it took.

"Just put her in the cabin and burn it down," Meron – the leader of the little band – told them. "Get anything valuable out of there first. How's our little pet doing?"

"He missed the fun," Alid laughed, "but maybe we can have some with him!"

"Not now," Meron answered. "We have to get going. We don't want to be anywhere near here in case there are others around."

In the days since he'd been captured – except for that first horrific experience, for the most part the three men, Donar, Alid and Meron ignored him, other than the occasional kick or punch as one of them walked by. He was kept tied up and given just enough water to stay alive but very little food. Fortunately, they'd given him back his pants, although he was still without a shirt, which made the nights very cold and didn't help his overall wellbeing. Every once in a while, one of his captors would throw him a piece of bread, but to eat it he had to roll on his stomach and grab it with his mouth. That made them laugh and ridicule him even more. They really were bastards.

He was growing weaker and weaker and knew he'd lost a substantial amount of weight. He also knew he had some other injuries and was worried about internal bleeding. He was dizzy all the time and was finding it hard to stay aware. So far, he'd had no opportunity to even try and escape. As much as they mostly ignored him, they were careful about checking his bindings regularly.

This night the three men sat around the fire and drank their local version of moonshine. The torture, assault and murder of that poor woman seemed to have left them in a fowdy mood, which only got worse as they drank. He hoped all that all the alcohol meant they would ignore him and not decide to 'have some fun' with him again. He didn't know if he would survive another round. For now, he had to stop himself thinking about what had been done to him. He would deal with that later. Now was about survival and getting free.

Meron got up to relieve himself and on the way back paused by his prisoner. Jack pretended to be asleep, hoping the man would continue back to the fire.

He had quickly discovered that Meron was the leader of this little pack of rabid animals. He was the cleverer of the three, but also the most vicious. He rarely said much, but when he did, it usually didn't go well for the Colonel.

He was the person Jack most wanted to kill – as slowly as possible.

"Hey Sulach," Meron said softly, squatting down beside his prisoner. "I'm trying to decide how long to let you live. Would you like me to kill you now or should we torture you slowly? Maybe I can start cutting pieces off of you. How does that sound?"

Jack lay totally still, barely breathing. He hoped this guy was just trying to scare him, but he wouldn't put it past him to actually carry out his threat.

He suddenly felt something cold, and sharp next to his eye. Meron had pulled out a knife and was holding the edge on his face. "How about I take one of your eyes? I could cut it right out and hang it as a necklace around your neck? Or maybe I should just cut off your nose." He took the knife and drew it down the side of his nose and on to his lips. Jack felt the sting, and then the blood dripping down his face.

"Here, let's do the other side so it looks balanced," Meron laughed. He drew the knife again and once more Jack could feel his blood flow and drip off the bottom of his face. "Now – what next?"

"Hey Meron, you comin back here or are you goin' to play with the Sulach," Alid shouted. "You promised me another round of Skarol."

Meron laughed, closed the knife and stuck it in his pocket. "You are lucky Jack. I have to go win some more gelt from Alid, otherwise I would have cut some pieces off. Oh well – we can do that tomorrow." He pushed himself to his feet, kicked his prisoner in the chest, and laughing some more, made his way back to the fire and his companions.

It took Jack a couple of minutes before he could get his breath back after the kick. Nothing had been broken, but he was going to have another bruise – which was the least of his worries. If Meron carried through on his promise … well, he could only pray the man was joking.

He tried to move as his body was cramped from having been bound for so long. Everything hurt and he was reaching a point of utter despair and hopelessness. It was at that moment that he saw something glint in the faint light cast by the men's fire.

He wasn't sure what he had seen, but he looked again. Yes, there it was – a piece of metal or something shiny. He looked again and suddenly realized it was Meron's knife! It must have dropped out of his pocket when he stood up.

It wasn't that far away but it was still going to be hard for Jack to reach. Too much movement would catch the eye of his captors and they'd come and investigate and probably find the knife. If he didn't try and get it now, however, they might find it when they checked on him before going to sleep and his chance would be gone.

In the end, he decided he had to go for it. It was his one chance to get out of the horror he was in. he knew he had to be extremely careful, so as not to alert the men.

Inch by slow inch he moved, stopping regularly, praying not to be caught. It was extremely difficult to move as he was bound so tightly. He had to move like a caterpillar, inching his body slowly and carefully towards that small glint of hope.

Anytime any one of the men glanced over, he lay still, barely breathing. He didn't think they'd catch on to the fact that he was moving closer to them. They were more than 20 feet away, were sitting in front of a fire, were playing some kind of dice game, and were clearly drunk. They were also loud, laughing and arguing with one another and were fortunately not interested in him at that moment.

It took what seemed like forever, but eventually he had moved until he was right beside the knife. Now the problem was how to get it? His hands were tied behind his back, and the knife was in front of him. Somehow, he'd have to keep going, right over top of it, until it was behind him. Then he'd have to grab it with his practically numb and useless hands, open it and try and cut through the rope without taking a hand off.

"You are crazy, O'Neill," he whispered to himself. But he had to try. He knew it was probably the only chance he'd ever have.

It took him another chunk of time to move over the knife and then he had to find the damn thing. He could tell that his captors were getting tired and were about to shut down for the night. It looked as if Donar was the big winner tonight by the sound of his gloating.

In another moment one of them would come over and check on him. They'd check to make sure the ropes were secure, so he had to lie on top of the damn knife until they were gone.

Fortunately, it was Alid who was the one designated to check on him this night. He was the least cautious of the three and right now was almost falling down drunk. He gave a cursory tug on the ropes binding Jack's hands and feet and then left him alone.

The Colonel breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn't caught on that he'd moved and it looked as if they weren't going to bother him tonight. They were all plastered and couldn't walk straight. Jack watched as each stumbled their way into the trees to relieve themselves and then grab their things and make their way to their tents.

"Donar, you have the first watch," Meron called out, sounding tired and half out of it. Still, he was smart enough not to have someone on watch.

"Aaah – why me?" the winner of the evening's winnings complained. "Why not Alid?"

"Because I told you to do it," Meron answered menacingly. That immediately shut Donar up because all of them, Jack included, were afraid of Meron. Donar nodded, knowing silence was best at this point, and sat down beside the fire while the other two headed into the tents to sleep off the alcohol.

Jack watched Donar carefully, to see how alert he was. The man was looking dazedly into the fire and seemed like he was half asleep already. The two things together would help Jack. Donar wouldn't be alert enough, and his eyes would find it hard to see into the dark after looking at the fire.

Once the other two men were settled, things grew quiet, Jack then moved carefully and after searching for what felt like forever, but was probably only a few minutes, he finally found the knife. It took a bit to grasp it, but once he did, he fiddled with it until he was sure he was holding the hilt, not the blade. It was incredibly awkward because of the angle and he

prayed he wasn't cutting his hand off. He could barely feel his wrists or hands and knew he could end up doing some pretty severe damage if he slicked himself rather than the rope. He figured that was still better than being trapped, waiting for his tormenters to figure out more ways to hurt him.

It was taking a long time for him to try and cut his ropes, although it was increasingly difficult for him to keep track of time – or in fact anything that was happening. He was sweating, yet cold and was shaking so badly he worried that he'd lose the knife or his hand. He knew he couldn't give up so he kept on cutting. He HAD to get out of here.

Right on the tail of that thought he felt the ropes loosen and then fall from his wrists. He briefly closed his eyes and gave a small prayer of thanks. He didn't know if he actually believed in a supernatural deity, but he felt the need to recognize that something had helped him, or at least that the universe was finally giving him a break.

He slowly pulled his hands apart behind his back, grimacing at the pain in his shoulders while preparing for the upcoming massive case of pins and needles he knew he was about the experience.

He glanced over towards the fire, to see Donar nodding off. It wouldn't be long before he was sound asleep by the look of things. Jack's main worry was that someone would come to take the next shift which would make it difficult for him to get free as they'd probably be more alert.

Or hung over, Jack thought. He hoped each of them woke up feeling like complete and utter shit! They deserved it.

The pain was beginning in his hands and arms, It hurt, but it also felt strangely good. Life was returning to his body as was hope. He had to still be cautious, but this was the first chance he'd had since he'd been captured. He was going to get out of this hell.

After making sure that Donar was not looking his direction, Jack carefully pulled his hands to the front. He glanced down, and although it was pretty dark, there was enough light to see that his hands were swollen and chapped. They were bleeding slightly from a few cuts of the knife, but nothing too bad or too deep.

Now for his ankles. Again keeping an eye closely on the man by the fire – and the tents – he leaned over and began to slice the ropes on his ankles. This went much more quickly, although still took longer than he would have liked because he was both weak and shaky.

The rope fell away and he breathed out – a long sigh of relief. He waited for a couple of more minutes for the blood to flow back to his feet – although they weren't in as bad shape as his hands, and then he began to move.

The first thing he did was to gently, and very carefully, try and stretch out his muscles. Everything hurt and he was as stiff as a board. He rotated his ankles and his wrists and then bent his legs towards his knees and back down. He tried to convince himself he was feeling a little better, although he knew he was probably lying to himself.

"Okay Jack," he told himself, "you've got to get going!" He checked out Donar, who was now slumped over, snoring softly. Jack turned himself and through pure determination he was able to push himself to his knees. He winced at the sharp pains that spiked from his toes to his head, but knew there was no point in thinking about it. He'd experienced worse pain and whatever it took, he was going to get free.

Next, he pushed himself to his feet, pulling up that determination and grit. At least he tried to get up, but halfway there his body gave out and he fell back down into a pathetic heap.

He wanted to cry out, not because it had hurt (although it had) but because the hope had started to seep away. If he couldn't get up, he couldn't get free. As hard as it was, he kept quiet and as still as possible, hoping that no one had heard his fall. He forced himself to breath slowly and calm himself down as he waited to see if there was any movement from Donar, or any sounds of the others waking up. After a few minutes it looked as if his crash had gone unnoticed. He had never thought he'd be grateful to alcohol!

He tried again, but this time much more slowly and carefully. His body had been tied up for days, after experiencing torture and abuse and he knew it was unrealistic for him to think he could stand up and deal with his captors as if nothing had happened to him. At the same time, he knew he had no choice. If he was going to survive and if there was any hope for him to help Sam, he had to take it.

The second time he made it. It took time, time which he didn't know if he had, but he was finally standing on his own two feet. He refused to allow himself to acknowledge fact that he was weak, shaking and ready to throw up. He was an experienced Airforce officer, and he could damn well do this!

After allowing his heart and head to both settle down, he took a few breaths and tried to get his equilibrium back. Minute by minute he grew a bit steadier, but he also knew he was only part-way to where he needed to be. He knew that just leaving their camp wouldn't be enough. They would follow and capture him, which wouldn't be difficult with him in his present state. He knew he had to deal with his tormentors. He knew also that it wasn't just so that he could escape. These men were animals and he needed to ensure they would harm no more people.

Just as he was deciding whether he was ready to move, Donar himself moved and took a sharp breath. Jack froze.

It was a false alarm as the evil SOB quickly fell back into a deep sleep. However, it made Jack realize he had to move. Donar could wake at any time, or one of the other men could come and relieve his watch.

He contemplated his next actions carefully. If he could get to Donar without being discovered, he'd have to use the knife, even though he hated the thought. He hated killing at any time, but killing someone up close was by far the worse. Then again, he didn't feel any sense of sympathy or mercy for these men – not after what they'd done to him, but even worse what they'd done to that poor woman.

After dealing with Donar, which hopefully wouldn't be too difficult, he needed to find his weapons. All the supplies, including his pack and weapons, were kept on secure shelf underneath the cart.

Jack had been surprised that they had examined his things, but other than a few items of clothing and his small tools, they hadn't taken anything, nor had they examined his weapons. Either they had no idea what they were, or they didn't care – preferring their own instead. His P-90 was intact, and, as far as he knew, was still loaded. Then there was his Zat, which is what he wanted. Not only was it quieter, but he could also make things disappear. And there was no one he wanted to disappear more than the three vicious perverts who had captures him. But a Zat was also good in that it didn't kill the first shot. While he wanted the men gone, he didn't he was pretty sure he didn't want it to be quick.

The next steps, literally, were to walk over towards the fire and deal with the first man. The problem was his feet were unsteady and he couldn't wake up the sleeping guard.

"You can do it, O'Neill," he whispered to himself. "You've done things that are way harder."

He almost stumbled on his first step, but then took a deep breath and called on every bit of his training and expertise. With pure adrenaline and will, he circled the camp until he was coming from behind the sleeping man. He stepped on a branch, which snapped, and froze for a brief moment – but the man's snores continued.

Jack was finally right behind Donar. For a moment he paused, looking down at the back of his captor's head. A wave of anger, hatred and revulsion came over him, and he would have loved to make the man suffer, for a long time. But he knew he had two more to deal with so without another thought he reached out, quickly grabbed Donar's hair, pulled his head back, and slit his throat.

Donar had had no time to react or to make a sound – other than a horrifying gurgling from his split throat. In the moment before he died, he looked directly into Jack's eyes.

"How do you like that, Sulach," Jack whispered. The next moment the life had gone from Donar's eyes.

Jack let him go carefully, not wanting to make any noise and alert the others. He wiped the blade on Donar's shirt and then propped him up to look as if he was just sleeping by the fire. If either of the other two men came out, they'd think he had just fallen asleep on the job.

Stumbling quietly over to the cart, Jack heard the soft 'whinny' of one of the large horses. Damn, that could be a problem if they grew disturbed by his nocturnal activities. That would bring the two men from the tent and he was pretty sure he wasn't up to dealing with two at once.

He stood still until they had quieted down and then, as quickly as he could in the shape he was in, he got down and pulled himself under the cart. His pack was the first thing he saw. He reached for it, although his hand was shaking even more violently now and he had trouble trying to get it without dropping it. He then looked to see that his gun was tied to the rack. For now, it was too difficult to get, so instead he searched in the pack until he found his Zat.

He took a few seconds to rest, the dizziness and pain making it hard to concentrate. But he knew he didn't have a lot of time and couldn't afford to lose his chance by lying here too long. With that thought he pulled himself out from underneath the small cart and, using it for leverage, pulled himself to his feet.

He felt much better now that he had a Zat in hand. Even if one of the men came out of the tent, he could shoot.

He tried to think of the best thing to do but was struggling. He was so weak and tired and in a lot of pain. The pain wasn't just physical and was worse than the physical. He couldn't stop thinking of Sam, and then of the woman who'd been murdered. His anguish and guilt almost paralyzed him. The one thing he refused to think about was what had been done to him. He couldn't deal with that now – or probably ever, if he knew himself.

"Get your six movin' O'Neill," he told himself. He couldn't leave things any longer. He had to deal with Alid and Meron and then get the hell out of here, get Sam and get off this hellhole of a planet.