STORY STATUS: Completed 8/2/06
ARCHIVE PERMISSIONS: Ask first. I'll probably say yes.
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for fun and I sure as hell didn't get paid for writin' it. No copyright infringement intended.
WORD COUNT: 971
They don't even bring me back to me cell this time. No rest for the weary, I guess. It's right back to that damn room and its metallic spider web.
And one sadistic snakehead with a penchant for torturing people who don't know squat, for answers they don't have.
He's back to the questions though. "What did you want with my slave? Did you think she would betray me? Reveal my secrets to the Tok'ra?"
If you only knew, she already spilled the beans. Just goes to show, you can't find good help these days. "I don't know. What part of `I've never been here before' are you having trouble comprehending?"
He picks up a knife and releases it. It embeds itself deep into my shoulder. Crap! I guess it hurts more the . . . whatever time a round this is. The sarcophagus healed the physical wounds, but the body remembers. Boy, does it remember. This is only the first knife and it hurts so bad I'm ready to tell him my deepest, darkest secrets to make the pain stop. But I know I can't tell him what he wants. I can't let him hurt that girl. Kanan used then abandoned her. None of this is her fault.
Besides, while I remember more than I'm letting on, it still isn't much. Even if I did tell him what little I do know, he wouldn't believe me.
Did I ever mention how much I really, really hate snakes?
"The Tok'ra left you, but you will have retained his memories. Tell me why you returned. Why you tried to steal my slave." He pauses a moment then adds, "Answer me, Tok'ra! Your suffering will not end until you have answered all my questions."
I think he's getting pissed. I get the impression he's used to getting answers to all his questions by the time it gets this far. And with a lot less . . . persuasion.
"Bite me." Probably shouldn't have said that. Don't want to give the snake any more ideas.
"Do not push me."
I groan, loudly, as the second knife strikes my chest. Holy shit, God damn it! Son-of-a-bitch! This guy really loves those knives. He's added a very unpleasant surprise. That knife is frigging hot! Stab and burn, two for one.
"Why do you make this so hard on yourself? You claim to have no allegiance to the Tok'ra. Why will you not tell me what I want to know and end your suffering?"
"Why don't you take a long walk off a short pier?" I doubt he knows exactly what that means. From the look on his face, he gets the general idea. He's certainly picked up on the sarcasm. He picks up another knife. Man, I hope this one isn't heated.
SHIT! It is. I hiss and bite back the scream that's trying to escape me.
He's silent for a few minutes, listening to, and getting great pleasure in my soft groans. I hate even giving him that much satisfaction, but I can't stop it.
"Why did you come here?"
"To see the wizard of course."
Hmmm, guess he's never seen the Wizard of Oz. I can't help but laugh at the look on his face. If I only had a camera. I don't think I've even seen that look on the face of a Goa'uld before.
I guess he's tired of the knives; he picks up the acid bottle this time. That is not funny. I stop giggling.
"Why have you come here?"
"Eat my shorts, man."
An almost humorous look crosses his face. Then he twists the acid bottle in his hands, taunting me. After a moment that seems to last hours, he lets a drop fly.
I can't stop the scream this time as the drop hits my right cheek. He smiles that twisted, scary, smile and I cringe. Probably visible so, but I'm quickly passing the point of caring. He releases a second drop of that godforsaken acid.
FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! He's bound and determined to hear me singing soprano. Hate to disappoint you Bally Boy, but I couldn't sing if my life depended on it. Even if it didn't hurt so badly. Right now, all I can do is scream. Loud and long, until my throat is raw. He just stands there and smiles. Getting his jollies from causing me excruciating pain.
My screaming is finally reduced to barely whispered moans.
He isn't done yet.
"You will tell me what I want to know."
What an arrogant bastard. "He don't know me very well do he?" I say, not necessarily to him.
I must be loosing it; I'm quoting a damn cartoon rabbit. I didn't actually mean to say that out loud. "Ohhh, you wascally wabbit!"
Elmer Fudd? What, am I channeling Warner Brothers now?
I think I said that out loud as well.
All we need now is a Daffy Duck phrase.
He raises the bottle again.
And there it is! It's official. I've lost my marbles. What few I had to start with.
Of course, he doesn't get the references.
He hits me below the belt again and my voice might hit Mickey Mouse pitch. I can't stop the chuckle that escapes my lips at that thought.
Apparently, he agrees with me on the `loosing it' part. I almost certain I didn't say that aloud. He twists the bottle slowly then sets it on the table.
"It is time for the sarcophagus. This is far from over, O'Neill."
Give the snake a gold star! He actually used my name.
He hits the big button again and I'm free falling towards the sarcophagus again.
I miss. Again.
This time my head smashes into the hard box. I can feel the blood pooling under my head as the world fades to black.