"Old Ghosts" (1/1) SGA
Sep. 20th, 2007 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Title: “Old Ghosts” (1/1) Gen
Author: Kristen999
Character(s): Sheppard with some Team
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Angst
Rating: T
Words: 4400
Spoilers: Season 3 “Vengeance”
Summary: Sheppard has to recognize the darkness before he can move past it. A redux /re-telling of the episode “Vengeance”.
Notes: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rednz for the swift beta.
Sheppard leads the way back towards the underground tunnels, wishing they had more powerful guns or enough explosives to turn the complex into a pile of rumble. He never used to be afraid of the dark but after the events of two years ago, he's now wary of what the darkness conceals. Slipping on aviator glasses against the sunlight is one way to hide any of that fear.
They march towards the next Alien movie, disregarding the rule about returning to corridors haunted by scary monsters that can rip out your throat. Ronon's anxious to get back into a fight, but then he never grew up watching movies where the walls were splattered with buckets of blood, and the bogey man jumped out of the shadows with a butcher knife.
There are no masked psychopaths running around the underground complex, but there is a Dr Jekyll lurking somewhere. He's unleashed alien super-vampires and Sheppard would choose to face down a dozen Jasons over mutant bug people any day.
He resists rubbing at his neck or the faint mark on his chest. Somewhere he holds the record for unpleasant run-ins with every variety of Wraith mutation and he really doesn't want to add to his file.
He jokes about really hating those damn bugs. In truth, he's terrified.
Everything about the tunnels is creepy, smelling of death and decay. The air is rank, filling his lungs with stuff that makes him want to cough and gag. He grips his P-90 tightly, the overhead lighting casting a green neon glow over everything.
Teyla begins to slow down. Her face furrows with worry, which raises his hackles.
“What?”
“I'm sensing something.”
“Wraith?” Ronon asks.
“I can not be certain,” she replies.
“Rodney?” Sheppard searches for an answer.
“I'm picking up another life sign.”
“Maybe one of the eggs hatched,” Sheppard offers.
“Maybe... though that part of the settlement is shielded,” Rodney points out.
“Maybe it's one of the Marines?” Ronon suggests.
“Well, if it is one of those marines, that something Teyla’s sensing is heading right toward him,” Sheppard says, leading them on.
He catches glimpses of grimy walls between the bobbing light attached to his weapon and he thinks night vision goggles would be really helpful right now. There's a slight creaking sound beside him and he waits for the claws of Freddy Kruger to scrape along a half-opened door. Sheppard slows down to check on the odd noise, finger itchy over the trigger.
The others are swallowed by shadows as they pass further down the hall, while he pokes the barrel of his P-90 into the darkness of another room. He takes two steps inside before the door slams behind him.
He pounds on it.
“Ronon!”
Sheppard bites down panic, slamming fists along the unforgiving metal.
“Teyla! ... Rodney!”
Between pummeling the door and screaming for his teammates, he can hear the sounds of a shrieking beast. Bursts of P-90 fire reverberates from the other side of the barrier and Sheppard takes a step back to kick it open.
He's in mid-swing when he senses someone behind him. Spinning around, he expects to shower whatever creature is about to take a bite out of him with lead, but freezes at the sight of a humanoid.
Just as his brain registers gray skin, his body spasms from a stunner blast.
-------------------------------------
Sheppard is used to wakening to tingling skin and thousands of needles pin-pricking his limbs after being stunned. But this is the first time he's been shot point blank in the chest and the numbness still lingering heavy over his heart is unnerving. He opens his eyes and the room swims into view as a mess of eerie lighting. The fear he's been pretty good at disguising slinks down his spine with icy fingers.
His hands and feet are bound, triggering a wave of paranoia and panic that consumes the rest of him.
“W-what?” he stutters.
Sheppard doesn't know if he's hallucinating, but the lab equipment and instrument trays are ripped right out of Frankenstein's lab. Somehow he can hear the sounds of footsteps over the pounding of his pulse as a Wraith from one of his many nightmares peers over him.
“Hello Colonel.”
Sheppard tries to calm his breathing as his captor looks on in amusement.
“Michael.”
“You know, I'm so glad to see that you and your team are here.”
Sheppard cranes his neck to meet the Wraith's glare. “You're the one that has done all this?”
“All this?”
“This is your experiment? You murdered all those people!”
“It was a necessary step in the process.”
Michael's calmness only enrages Sheppard further. “A process? To make bug people?!”
“Do you not recall our history? You left me to die on that planet. The hive that finally rescued me, they could tell something was different. They sensed the human in me. To them, I was unclean. I barely escaped that hive with my life.”
Sheppard tests the strength of the restraints. They burn his skin as he tries to free his wrists. “We gave you a chance at a new life.”
“A new life?”
Michael looms over him, insect eyes observing his futile attempts to get free. “I had a life. One you know nothing about. To force me to be human... to erase my memories… you had no right.”
“We were only trying to find a way to survive,” Sheppard hisses in frustration at being unable to move.
“And I'm doing the same. Finishing the work your people began.”
Sheppard knows he needs to stall, keep Michael talking until his team can locate them. The Wraith scientist walks away and picks up a glass box, admiring it a moment before bringing it back and placing it on the side of the table.
“It's beautiful, don't you think? So magnificent in its simplicity.”
Sweat breaks out across his brow. His chest hitches despite the heavy feeling still pressing down, stiffling the ability of his lungs to expand.
Calm the fuck down!
He's still breathing, rapid, stuttering intakes of oxygen. His heart skips a beat, the pounding echoing in his ears like a battle drum.
Michael cocks his head to the side, taking in his prey's sudden anxiety. “Can you not admire it?”
“It's just a damn bug,” Sheppard growls.
He can hear its legs scratching at the glass as it scurries inside its prison. Michael slides the terrarium closer, his lips curving in a smile. “It's a predator. One to be feared and respected.”
There's clicking sounds coming from the grotesque thing and Sheppard can feel the veins along his neck flutter. The chords to his throat tighten at his close proximity to it.
“You let that thing feed on innocent people,” he spits, eyes flicking between Michael and the hideous insect.
“I was innocent... now I need to find a way to protect myself. To create a superior being and allow it to gorge on its prey, filling itself with human DNA, allowing me to perfect my creations"
Sheppard thinks of the horrors the Taranans went through, the paralysis, the incredible pain inflicted during a slow, torturous death. Anxiety rips through his body at the thought of the Iratus bug devouring its helpless prey.
He can't do that again— allow himself to become another meal for a Wraith mutation.
Sheppard can feel his cheeks burn red, his rage battling the need to bolt and escape. “You seem proud, but all you've made are overgrown pets, mindless animals that bend to the will of their master. You're nothing but a carnival worker in a freak show.”
Michael smiles. “A freak? I've finally found the perfect balance between strength, agility and resilience. A perfect animal to do my bidding.”
He beams in pride, turning his head towards the doorway and the low growling of one of his super Wraith.
Sheppard strains, searching the blackness for the monster silhouetted against the small amount of light. It's the first time he really can tell the scope and girth of the nightmare come to life. Once again, he finds himself intertwined in the evolution of his enemy, a demon he had a hand in creating by agreeing to the retrovirus experiment to begin with.
“I saw how you and your team destroyed the incubation room, but don’t think that’s the only one in this complex. And don’t think that this is the only planet on which I’m conducting this experiment.”
Sheppard glares at the Wraith in horror. “You are a mad scientist.”
The clicking sound from the glass box draws his attention back to the bug. The thing is trying to crawl out and he balls his fists to control his rising terror.
“Mad, Colonel Sheppard? You made me this way.”
“We tried to help you!”
“You changed the fate of the galaxy… Are you honored? Soon hundreds of these creatures will be at my command, and their numbers will continue to grow so long as I have human subjects in supply. And now that you’re here, I do.”
No! Sheppard's mind screams at him, his muscles shaking, twisting in knots as he wrestles with the bonds pinning him to the table.
A red light flashes along the wall and Michael looks at it. “Your friends are coming for you.”
Michael signals the super Wraith in the hallway, the monster growls and scampers away. He then picks up the glass cage, holding it above Sheppard's belly, unleashing the insect. “They’ll meet the same fate as you, one by one.”
Sheppard can feel the four legs of the Iratus bug on his BDUs as it takes it time scurrying over the material. He can feel the sharp points of each appendage poke through the fabric, digging into his skin as it inches closer towards his neck.
“Others will come for us. Elizabeth will send---”
“Don’t concern yourself with Doctor Weir. She thinks your team has met up with the Taranan people, and all is well. One of the Marines she sent to help you was... kind enough to assist me in transmitting a message back to Atlantis.”
Sheppard's blood boils with the knowledge that the Marines sent to help them are dead... More bodies to add to the carnage.
“You're a murderer,” he seethes.
“You drove me to this... I find your death to be poetic justice.”
Sheppard bucks, contorts, squirms to jar the bug off of him, but the damn thing is persistent; the tail swishes back and forth, the pieces of the hard exoskeleton body fan open.
“Don't do this!”
He can't believe he's begging like this. A scream builds at the back of his throat as the pinchers of the insect begin twitching in anticipation. Sheppard can still feel what it was like to be at the mercy of the bug, feel it dig into his neck, sucking away his life while it pumped his body full of poison.
The insect is up to his heaving chest.
“Ronon!”
It makes little sounds of excitement as it closes in on him.
“Rodney!” He screams now.
Sheppard has never felt such overwhelming terror or despair. He'd do anything to get rid of the bug. His face is dripping with sweat, the saltiness stinging his eyes.
“Teyla!” His voice breaks.
He's hyperventilating. His throat constricts, cutting off his air as the four little legs scale the skin of his shoulder.
He screams to anyone who can hear him. “Get it off me!”
Sheppard closes his eyes as the bug reaches the carotid that's protruding out from his skin.
The last thing he hears is a clicking sound before the room fills with weapon's fire.
He feels the bug get torn apart, its pieces splattering in the air. Sheppard exhales in relief, but it's difficult to steady his breathing as Ronon begins to untether his bonds.
“Nice shot,” Rodney exclaims.
Teyla's next to him. “Are you okay?”
Sheppard's not sure. He can't even form words until he regains control. Ronon has removed the restraints and helps him sit up. He brushes the runner's hands away, swinging his legs around the table and bowing his head, gulping for air.
“Colonel?”
Rodney's anxious voice helps center him, and Teyla's gentle hand squeezes his shoulder.
“I'm... I'm fine,” he lies, still panting.
“You hurt?” Ronon asks gruffly.
“No.”
Sheppard sucks in breath after breath, willing his heart to calm the fuck down. He just needs a few seconds to gather his wits. He bites his bottom lip, focusing on the task at hand, and looks up at the worried expressions of his team. “I'm good.... It’s Michael. He’s the one doing this.”
Rodney looks up at him, eyes wide. “Michael? Our Michael?”
“He's alive?” Ronon growls.
“Yes. He created these damned bug creatures and he's attempting to build an army of them.”
“Where is he?” asked Ronon, looking around the lab.
Sheppard can feel the adrenaline still pump through his body. “He left when he heard the gunfire.”
“Then let's go kill him,” Ronon says, spinning his blaster.
Sheppard stands, feeding off the runner's desire, needing to latch onto something other than the heat still burning through his extremities and causing his hands to tremble in nervous energy. Somebody asks him something, but he's not sure what because he hears another set of legs tapping along a piece of glass.
It's like a homing beacon and he seeks it out on wobbly legs.
“What is it? What's wrong?”
Rodney's just background noise to the scratching and slithering of arachnoid over a smooth surface. There's another of those things, like a goddamn glow bug in a jar.
“Give me a gun,” Sheppard orders, hand jutting out for someone to hand him his weapon.
Ronon slaps his blaster into his awaiting fingers, and he grabs it to take aim at the terrarium.
“Um, Colonel...”
Sheppard ignores McKay, breathing hard through his nostrils, eyes a laser beam on the miniature beast. The thing clambers up the slick side, only to slip down. He swears it hisses at him.
He pulls the trigger, destroying the box, sending fragments of glass and bug parts everywhere.
“Jesus! Did you have to do that?” McKay exclaims.
Sheppard's left eye flutters with the vein along his forehead. He whips around, not knowing he's been holding his breath, and hands back the weapon to Ronon.
“One down.”
Teyla watches him in concern, her features softening when she looks him in the eye. He can't hold her gaze, turning away, trying to rebuild his walls. There's no time for this and he strides up to his team.
“Teyla, you stay with Rodney and help him figure out what other type of research Michael was involved in. Ronon and I are going after him. We’ll stay in touch on the radio.”
“You can’t. Shielded, remember? Look, the energy spike - it fouls the radio communications as well.”
Sheppard tries to contain his frustration. “Well, then, unshield it.” He turns to Ronon. “Let's go.”
He begins to follow the Satedan, but pauses when a hand touches his shoulder. “Are you sure you are okay?” Teyla asks him.
It doesn't matter one way or another, Sheppard knows he has a job to do. “I'm fine.”
-------------------------
Mental and physical stress increases the production of epinephrine and Sheppard's body is practically humming with it. He can thank the crazy rise to his metabolic rate for ridding the effects of the stun, but he's still waiting on Ronon to yell at him about his thundering heart giving them away.
They've been running down the tunnels fast and hard before screeching to halt by a crossroads.
Sheppard looks down both directions. “You go that way, I'll go the other.”
Ronon makes to start down his path when Sheppard stops him. “Oh, hey, wait. Set your gun to stun.”
“What?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna need to question him.”
“No. No more talking, no more questioning. I’m gonna do what we should have done the first time we captured him.”
“Ronon, listen to me…”
“No, you listen to me, John. This whole retrovirus thing was a mistake. I said it then. No-one listened to me. It was a bad idea.”
“We had to try. If it worked, we wouldn’t ---”
“But it didn’t work. Admit it. It just made things worse. How long do you wanna keep paying for it?”
Sheppard's in a stare-down with the ticked-off runner. Spikes of his hair are plastered with perspiration over his forehead while beads run trails down the side of his face. Ronon eyes him a moment, his focus drifting down to trembling hands.
He glances down at his vibrating P-90, fingers still thrumming from endorphins and Sheppard grips the handle of the weapon tighter to still it. Ronon raises an eyebrow in question, not saying a word.
“I'm fine.”
Ronon isn't buying it, but Sheppard presses on. “We'll both be careful.”
He sprints down to the right, aware that separating from a team-mate is another rule he's broken when it comes to horror movie cliches. Every inch of dank corridor drives him deeper into the bowels of the complex. Rodney's got the shielding disabled, leading him towards their target, but despite the familiar voice for guidance, he feels very much alone in here.
Sheppard hasn't forgotten that there might be other prisoners waiting for a rescue, so he holds out hope that the dozens of readings are not more Super Wraith. The deaths of the Marines weigh down on his shoulders and Ronon's earlier words re-open festering wounds.
They've all paid the price over the retrovirus. Now, how many others will have to atone for their sins? How many more Eliases or Michaels are hiding in the shadows, biding their time before they take their pound of flesh?
“Colonel! Whatever those dots are, someone just released them and they’re headed your way,” Rodney's voice booms from the radio.
Sheppard's eyes widen as the sounds of the creatures enter the tunnel. He's not sure which direction to face, and pulls out his 9 mil and aims his rifle in the other direction.
“Keep going, straight up the tunnel. Ronon should be coming around the corner towards you... now.”
Dr Jekyll rounds the corner aiming a stunner at him.
“It's not Ronon.”
“Is it one of the bugs?”
Sheppard smiles humorously. “No, it's Michael.”
With weapons pointed at each other, Sheppard tries to shake off the urge to follow one of Ronon's suggestions.
The Wraith before him doesn't flinch, looking casual. “It seems you escaped. How unfortunate. I had high hopes that your DNA would help create something extraordinary.”
His palms break out into a sweat and it takes every extra bit of control to keep his Glock steady. Michael has no way of knowing about his previous transformation. That would be another piece of valuable data to add to his little breeding experiments.
“Sorry, your beasts aren't my type.”
“No, but I sense that they are very drawn to you... I wonder why?”
Sheppard grins, countering the Wraith's curious stare. “Give me the control crystals.”
“No.”
The airshafts creak. The monsters are gaining ground and Sheppard knows he has precious little time.
“Colonel,the creatures are closing in on you fast. You’d better get moving.”
“You and Teyla go to the Gate. We’ll meet you there.”
Michael's eyes glisten. “You can't stop them. Perhaps I'll let them toy with you first... maybe keep you around as a living test subject. Allow my Iratus bug to feed on you a little at a time until I find a way to use that precious gene of yours to my benefit.”
Sheppard chuckles. If Dr Frankenstein only knew what lingered in his DNA, the bonus 'gift of life' in the special features of his physiological makeup.
The Wraith narrows his gaze. “Why are you laughing?”
Didn't Michael own the John Sheppard Manual on how to handle crisis situations and stand offs? It was right there on page twenty.
He felt his finger curl around the trigger. “I have no problem killing you.”
There was no way he'll become a guinea pig, no way he'll allow that bug to come near him again.
“You're sweating,” Michael taunts.
The tunnels fill with sounds of insect legs. The bug people are closer, but he needs that DHD crystal so his team can escape.
Sheppard adjusts his aim. “I don't really think you want to die,” he challenges.
“I'm not afraid of death, because I know that even if I die, your team won't make it out of here alive.”
The creature attacks from behind, latching onto his shoulder and tossing Sheppard like a rag doll to the floor. It’s on top of him, claws trying to tear him apart. He's lost both his weapons, and fights to keep the deadly daggers from slashing his throat. The bug monster screeches as he manages to pull out his knife and jab it into the underbelly of the exoskeleton.
The giant insect howls in pain. He keeps stabbing blindly, ignoring a hot trail of fire in his side. He recognizes the sounds of a blaster, and the thing falls off him. He scrambles away, snagging his P-90, and fires at the corpse for good measure. After expending several rounds, Sheppard sits there, breath ragged, and waits for the buzzing in his head to go away.
Ronon's standing next to him. “You ready?”
It takes two attempts to stand but the runner doesn't try to help, backing off and giving him space. Sheppard finds his Glock, checks to make sure it's loaded, and looks over. “Let's get out of here.”
The tunnel becomes a shooting range. Bursts of red illuminate the halls, finding one bug person after another. Sheppard's taking out the ones on the right, Ronon's clearing the left.
It's mayhem. Floors are covered in dark blood and body parts. The foul air permeates with gun oil and bile.
Sheppard's boot slips in exsanguinated fluids. He grabs a hold of the ladder to steady himself and climbs up the rungs to push back the giant manhole cover into fresh air. Ronon checks their six, covering their exit before closing the metal lid. They jump down to the ground, both staring in disbelief at the Wraith dart.
“Michael’s,” Ronon says, grinning at their luck.
“No doubt.”
“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
Sheppard nods. “I fly it, pick you, Rodney and Teyla up. We use the dart’s DHD to dial the Gate.”
“I was thinking blow it up, but your idea’s better.”
Sheppard shakes his head, still breathing hard.
“You were---” Ronon pauses, “kind of bad-ass back there.”
“I have my moments.”
“It was... odd.”
His body still feels super-charged, and he licks his lips. “Well, I'd say this has been a pretty odd day. Come on, we need to get goin'.”
Sheppard heads toward the dart, but he feels a tug to his arm and spins around to face his team-mate. “What?”
“You're bleeding.”
There are plenty of tears in his tac vest and shirt, but the one around his left side is bloody. “I'll get it fixed later.”
Sheppard walks off, heading towards the dart. He doesn't think about the injury, hell, he doesn't even feel it. All that matters is getting off this planet and away from the Tunnels of Terror.
------------------------
He likes it on the north side of the city. It's the least explored and the most private. Sheppard had taken the transporter and walked as long as he could before his side had flared up. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. Maybe an hour. His watch is lying around the infirmary somewhere with the rest of his belongings. Looking at the ocean is one of his favorite things to do and he counts how many times the waves crash against the city walls.
It's hard not think about what just took place. Processing things, emotions, is not one of his skills. A fine mist has slowly dampened his hair and he lets the cool night air wash over him.
He's numb all over, and it feels nice, almost comforting in a way.
“Sheppard.”
He doesn't look up at Ronon, just stares at the tranquility. “Yeah?”
“People are looking for you.”
Sheppard allows a long exhale. He'd been topped off with a unit of blood, let the IV bag empty, and the pain-killers were a nice a source of warmth. The stitches along his side pull if he moves, so he keeps very, very still.
Ronon doesn't say anything else, just pulls up a spot on the floor, and sits with his long legs stretched out.
“I just wanted time to think.”
“Doesn't bother me, but you know the others.”
“Yeah.”
The silence descends upon him again, punctuated by his team-mate's slow, steady breaths next to him. He's going to lock up what took place on that planet with everything else. The only reminders will be left to chance: a glance in the mirror while shaving... stepping in the shower and brushing his dog tags around his chest.
“Fighting is a good outlet. It let's you get rid of a lot of the bad stuff inside,” Ronon breaks the silence.
“It certainly can.”
Ronon twists the leather cord of his necklace between his fingers. “But not all of it.”
“Not everything can go away.”
“No, but if you know it’s there... then you'll face it one day.”
Sheppard's not sure if he's ready to admit such things yet. “Help me up, will ya? Everything's stiffened up out here.”
Ronon gives him a hand to his feet, and he knows his beaten body is going to give him hell in the morning. He's off duty for the next few days, and he might spend the entire time sleeping.
“Sheppard, there's no shame in fear... it'll keep you alive.”
His team-mate walks ahead, giving him enough room to think, but not far enough away should he wander off. Sheppard gingerly follows, still lost in reflection over his actions. He ponders Ronon's words today, all of them, and realizes he still has a lot more thinking to do.
Maybe one day he'll even allow the darker things to come out into the light, even if he's not sure how to face them.
Author: Kristen999
Character(s): Sheppard with some Team
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Angst
Rating: T
Words: 4400
Spoilers: Season 3 “Vengeance”
Summary: Sheppard has to recognize the darkness before he can move past it. A redux /re-telling of the episode “Vengeance”.
Notes: Thank you to
rednz for the swift beta.Sheppard leads the way back towards the underground tunnels, wishing they had more powerful guns or enough explosives to turn the complex into a pile of rumble. He never used to be afraid of the dark but after the events of two years ago, he's now wary of what the darkness conceals. Slipping on aviator glasses against the sunlight is one way to hide any of that fear.
They march towards the next Alien movie, disregarding the rule about returning to corridors haunted by scary monsters that can rip out your throat. Ronon's anxious to get back into a fight, but then he never grew up watching movies where the walls were splattered with buckets of blood, and the bogey man jumped out of the shadows with a butcher knife.
There are no masked psychopaths running around the underground complex, but there is a Dr Jekyll lurking somewhere. He's unleashed alien super-vampires and Sheppard would choose to face down a dozen Jasons over mutant bug people any day.
He resists rubbing at his neck or the faint mark on his chest. Somewhere he holds the record for unpleasant run-ins with every variety of Wraith mutation and he really doesn't want to add to his file.
He jokes about really hating those damn bugs. In truth, he's terrified.
Everything about the tunnels is creepy, smelling of death and decay. The air is rank, filling his lungs with stuff that makes him want to cough and gag. He grips his P-90 tightly, the overhead lighting casting a green neon glow over everything.
Teyla begins to slow down. Her face furrows with worry, which raises his hackles.
“What?”
“I'm sensing something.”
“Wraith?” Ronon asks.
“I can not be certain,” she replies.
“Rodney?” Sheppard searches for an answer.
“I'm picking up another life sign.”
“Maybe one of the eggs hatched,” Sheppard offers.
“Maybe... though that part of the settlement is shielded,” Rodney points out.
“Maybe it's one of the Marines?” Ronon suggests.
“Well, if it is one of those marines, that something Teyla’s sensing is heading right toward him,” Sheppard says, leading them on.
He catches glimpses of grimy walls between the bobbing light attached to his weapon and he thinks night vision goggles would be really helpful right now. There's a slight creaking sound beside him and he waits for the claws of Freddy Kruger to scrape along a half-opened door. Sheppard slows down to check on the odd noise, finger itchy over the trigger.
The others are swallowed by shadows as they pass further down the hall, while he pokes the barrel of his P-90 into the darkness of another room. He takes two steps inside before the door slams behind him.
He pounds on it.
“Ronon!”
Sheppard bites down panic, slamming fists along the unforgiving metal.
“Teyla! ... Rodney!”
Between pummeling the door and screaming for his teammates, he can hear the sounds of a shrieking beast. Bursts of P-90 fire reverberates from the other side of the barrier and Sheppard takes a step back to kick it open.
He's in mid-swing when he senses someone behind him. Spinning around, he expects to shower whatever creature is about to take a bite out of him with lead, but freezes at the sight of a humanoid.
Just as his brain registers gray skin, his body spasms from a stunner blast.
-------------------------------------
Sheppard is used to wakening to tingling skin and thousands of needles pin-pricking his limbs after being stunned. But this is the first time he's been shot point blank in the chest and the numbness still lingering heavy over his heart is unnerving. He opens his eyes and the room swims into view as a mess of eerie lighting. The fear he's been pretty good at disguising slinks down his spine with icy fingers.
His hands and feet are bound, triggering a wave of paranoia and panic that consumes the rest of him.
“W-what?” he stutters.
Sheppard doesn't know if he's hallucinating, but the lab equipment and instrument trays are ripped right out of Frankenstein's lab. Somehow he can hear the sounds of footsteps over the pounding of his pulse as a Wraith from one of his many nightmares peers over him.
“Hello Colonel.”
Sheppard tries to calm his breathing as his captor looks on in amusement.
“Michael.”
“You know, I'm so glad to see that you and your team are here.”
Sheppard cranes his neck to meet the Wraith's glare. “You're the one that has done all this?”
“All this?”
“This is your experiment? You murdered all those people!”
“It was a necessary step in the process.”
Michael's calmness only enrages Sheppard further. “A process? To make bug people?!”
“Do you not recall our history? You left me to die on that planet. The hive that finally rescued me, they could tell something was different. They sensed the human in me. To them, I was unclean. I barely escaped that hive with my life.”
Sheppard tests the strength of the restraints. They burn his skin as he tries to free his wrists. “We gave you a chance at a new life.”
“A new life?”
Michael looms over him, insect eyes observing his futile attempts to get free. “I had a life. One you know nothing about. To force me to be human... to erase my memories… you had no right.”
“We were only trying to find a way to survive,” Sheppard hisses in frustration at being unable to move.
“And I'm doing the same. Finishing the work your people began.”
Sheppard knows he needs to stall, keep Michael talking until his team can locate them. The Wraith scientist walks away and picks up a glass box, admiring it a moment before bringing it back and placing it on the side of the table.
“It's beautiful, don't you think? So magnificent in its simplicity.”
Sweat breaks out across his brow. His chest hitches despite the heavy feeling still pressing down, stiffling the ability of his lungs to expand.
Calm the fuck down!
He's still breathing, rapid, stuttering intakes of oxygen. His heart skips a beat, the pounding echoing in his ears like a battle drum.
Michael cocks his head to the side, taking in his prey's sudden anxiety. “Can you not admire it?”
“It's just a damn bug,” Sheppard growls.
He can hear its legs scratching at the glass as it scurries inside its prison. Michael slides the terrarium closer, his lips curving in a smile. “It's a predator. One to be feared and respected.”
There's clicking sounds coming from the grotesque thing and Sheppard can feel the veins along his neck flutter. The chords to his throat tighten at his close proximity to it.
“You let that thing feed on innocent people,” he spits, eyes flicking between Michael and the hideous insect.
“I was innocent... now I need to find a way to protect myself. To create a superior being and allow it to gorge on its prey, filling itself with human DNA, allowing me to perfect my creations"
Sheppard thinks of the horrors the Taranans went through, the paralysis, the incredible pain inflicted during a slow, torturous death. Anxiety rips through his body at the thought of the Iratus bug devouring its helpless prey.
He can't do that again— allow himself to become another meal for a Wraith mutation.
Sheppard can feel his cheeks burn red, his rage battling the need to bolt and escape. “You seem proud, but all you've made are overgrown pets, mindless animals that bend to the will of their master. You're nothing but a carnival worker in a freak show.”
Michael smiles. “A freak? I've finally found the perfect balance between strength, agility and resilience. A perfect animal to do my bidding.”
He beams in pride, turning his head towards the doorway and the low growling of one of his super Wraith.
Sheppard strains, searching the blackness for the monster silhouetted against the small amount of light. It's the first time he really can tell the scope and girth of the nightmare come to life. Once again, he finds himself intertwined in the evolution of his enemy, a demon he had a hand in creating by agreeing to the retrovirus experiment to begin with.
“I saw how you and your team destroyed the incubation room, but don’t think that’s the only one in this complex. And don’t think that this is the only planet on which I’m conducting this experiment.”
Sheppard glares at the Wraith in horror. “You are a mad scientist.”
The clicking sound from the glass box draws his attention back to the bug. The thing is trying to crawl out and he balls his fists to control his rising terror.
“Mad, Colonel Sheppard? You made me this way.”
“We tried to help you!”
“You changed the fate of the galaxy… Are you honored? Soon hundreds of these creatures will be at my command, and their numbers will continue to grow so long as I have human subjects in supply. And now that you’re here, I do.”
No! Sheppard's mind screams at him, his muscles shaking, twisting in knots as he wrestles with the bonds pinning him to the table.
A red light flashes along the wall and Michael looks at it. “Your friends are coming for you.”
Michael signals the super Wraith in the hallway, the monster growls and scampers away. He then picks up the glass cage, holding it above Sheppard's belly, unleashing the insect. “They’ll meet the same fate as you, one by one.”
Sheppard can feel the four legs of the Iratus bug on his BDUs as it takes it time scurrying over the material. He can feel the sharp points of each appendage poke through the fabric, digging into his skin as it inches closer towards his neck.
“Others will come for us. Elizabeth will send---”
“Don’t concern yourself with Doctor Weir. She thinks your team has met up with the Taranan people, and all is well. One of the Marines she sent to help you was... kind enough to assist me in transmitting a message back to Atlantis.”
Sheppard's blood boils with the knowledge that the Marines sent to help them are dead... More bodies to add to the carnage.
“You're a murderer,” he seethes.
“You drove me to this... I find your death to be poetic justice.”
Sheppard bucks, contorts, squirms to jar the bug off of him, but the damn thing is persistent; the tail swishes back and forth, the pieces of the hard exoskeleton body fan open.
“Don't do this!”
He can't believe he's begging like this. A scream builds at the back of his throat as the pinchers of the insect begin twitching in anticipation. Sheppard can still feel what it was like to be at the mercy of the bug, feel it dig into his neck, sucking away his life while it pumped his body full of poison.
The insect is up to his heaving chest.
“Ronon!”
It makes little sounds of excitement as it closes in on him.
“Rodney!” He screams now.
Sheppard has never felt such overwhelming terror or despair. He'd do anything to get rid of the bug. His face is dripping with sweat, the saltiness stinging his eyes.
“Teyla!” His voice breaks.
He's hyperventilating. His throat constricts, cutting off his air as the four little legs scale the skin of his shoulder.
He screams to anyone who can hear him. “Get it off me!”
Sheppard closes his eyes as the bug reaches the carotid that's protruding out from his skin.
The last thing he hears is a clicking sound before the room fills with weapon's fire.
He feels the bug get torn apart, its pieces splattering in the air. Sheppard exhales in relief, but it's difficult to steady his breathing as Ronon begins to untether his bonds.
“Nice shot,” Rodney exclaims.
Teyla's next to him. “Are you okay?”
Sheppard's not sure. He can't even form words until he regains control. Ronon has removed the restraints and helps him sit up. He brushes the runner's hands away, swinging his legs around the table and bowing his head, gulping for air.
“Colonel?”
Rodney's anxious voice helps center him, and Teyla's gentle hand squeezes his shoulder.
“I'm... I'm fine,” he lies, still panting.
“You hurt?” Ronon asks gruffly.
“No.”
Sheppard sucks in breath after breath, willing his heart to calm the fuck down. He just needs a few seconds to gather his wits. He bites his bottom lip, focusing on the task at hand, and looks up at the worried expressions of his team. “I'm good.... It’s Michael. He’s the one doing this.”
Rodney looks up at him, eyes wide. “Michael? Our Michael?”
“He's alive?” Ronon growls.
“Yes. He created these damned bug creatures and he's attempting to build an army of them.”
“Where is he?” asked Ronon, looking around the lab.
Sheppard can feel the adrenaline still pump through his body. “He left when he heard the gunfire.”
“Then let's go kill him,” Ronon says, spinning his blaster.
Sheppard stands, feeding off the runner's desire, needing to latch onto something other than the heat still burning through his extremities and causing his hands to tremble in nervous energy. Somebody asks him something, but he's not sure what because he hears another set of legs tapping along a piece of glass.
It's like a homing beacon and he seeks it out on wobbly legs.
“What is it? What's wrong?”
Rodney's just background noise to the scratching and slithering of arachnoid over a smooth surface. There's another of those things, like a goddamn glow bug in a jar.
“Give me a gun,” Sheppard orders, hand jutting out for someone to hand him his weapon.
Ronon slaps his blaster into his awaiting fingers, and he grabs it to take aim at the terrarium.
“Um, Colonel...”
Sheppard ignores McKay, breathing hard through his nostrils, eyes a laser beam on the miniature beast. The thing clambers up the slick side, only to slip down. He swears it hisses at him.
He pulls the trigger, destroying the box, sending fragments of glass and bug parts everywhere.
“Jesus! Did you have to do that?” McKay exclaims.
Sheppard's left eye flutters with the vein along his forehead. He whips around, not knowing he's been holding his breath, and hands back the weapon to Ronon.
“One down.”
Teyla watches him in concern, her features softening when she looks him in the eye. He can't hold her gaze, turning away, trying to rebuild his walls. There's no time for this and he strides up to his team.
“Teyla, you stay with Rodney and help him figure out what other type of research Michael was involved in. Ronon and I are going after him. We’ll stay in touch on the radio.”
“You can’t. Shielded, remember? Look, the energy spike - it fouls the radio communications as well.”
Sheppard tries to contain his frustration. “Well, then, unshield it.” He turns to Ronon. “Let's go.”
He begins to follow the Satedan, but pauses when a hand touches his shoulder. “Are you sure you are okay?” Teyla asks him.
It doesn't matter one way or another, Sheppard knows he has a job to do. “I'm fine.”
-------------------------
Mental and physical stress increases the production of epinephrine and Sheppard's body is practically humming with it. He can thank the crazy rise to his metabolic rate for ridding the effects of the stun, but he's still waiting on Ronon to yell at him about his thundering heart giving them away.
They've been running down the tunnels fast and hard before screeching to halt by a crossroads.
Sheppard looks down both directions. “You go that way, I'll go the other.”
Ronon makes to start down his path when Sheppard stops him. “Oh, hey, wait. Set your gun to stun.”
“What?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna need to question him.”
“No. No more talking, no more questioning. I’m gonna do what we should have done the first time we captured him.”
“Ronon, listen to me…”
“No, you listen to me, John. This whole retrovirus thing was a mistake. I said it then. No-one listened to me. It was a bad idea.”
“We had to try. If it worked, we wouldn’t ---”
“But it didn’t work. Admit it. It just made things worse. How long do you wanna keep paying for it?”
Sheppard's in a stare-down with the ticked-off runner. Spikes of his hair are plastered with perspiration over his forehead while beads run trails down the side of his face. Ronon eyes him a moment, his focus drifting down to trembling hands.
He glances down at his vibrating P-90, fingers still thrumming from endorphins and Sheppard grips the handle of the weapon tighter to still it. Ronon raises an eyebrow in question, not saying a word.
“I'm fine.”
Ronon isn't buying it, but Sheppard presses on. “We'll both be careful.”
He sprints down to the right, aware that separating from a team-mate is another rule he's broken when it comes to horror movie cliches. Every inch of dank corridor drives him deeper into the bowels of the complex. Rodney's got the shielding disabled, leading him towards their target, but despite the familiar voice for guidance, he feels very much alone in here.
Sheppard hasn't forgotten that there might be other prisoners waiting for a rescue, so he holds out hope that the dozens of readings are not more Super Wraith. The deaths of the Marines weigh down on his shoulders and Ronon's earlier words re-open festering wounds.
They've all paid the price over the retrovirus. Now, how many others will have to atone for their sins? How many more Eliases or Michaels are hiding in the shadows, biding their time before they take their pound of flesh?
“Colonel! Whatever those dots are, someone just released them and they’re headed your way,” Rodney's voice booms from the radio.
Sheppard's eyes widen as the sounds of the creatures enter the tunnel. He's not sure which direction to face, and pulls out his 9 mil and aims his rifle in the other direction.
“Keep going, straight up the tunnel. Ronon should be coming around the corner towards you... now.”
Dr Jekyll rounds the corner aiming a stunner at him.
“It's not Ronon.”
“Is it one of the bugs?”
Sheppard smiles humorously. “No, it's Michael.”
With weapons pointed at each other, Sheppard tries to shake off the urge to follow one of Ronon's suggestions.
The Wraith before him doesn't flinch, looking casual. “It seems you escaped. How unfortunate. I had high hopes that your DNA would help create something extraordinary.”
His palms break out into a sweat and it takes every extra bit of control to keep his Glock steady. Michael has no way of knowing about his previous transformation. That would be another piece of valuable data to add to his little breeding experiments.
“Sorry, your beasts aren't my type.”
“No, but I sense that they are very drawn to you... I wonder why?”
Sheppard grins, countering the Wraith's curious stare. “Give me the control crystals.”
“No.”
The airshafts creak. The monsters are gaining ground and Sheppard knows he has precious little time.
“Colonel,the creatures are closing in on you fast. You’d better get moving.”
“You and Teyla go to the Gate. We’ll meet you there.”
Michael's eyes glisten. “You can't stop them. Perhaps I'll let them toy with you first... maybe keep you around as a living test subject. Allow my Iratus bug to feed on you a little at a time until I find a way to use that precious gene of yours to my benefit.”
Sheppard chuckles. If Dr Frankenstein only knew what lingered in his DNA, the bonus 'gift of life' in the special features of his physiological makeup.
The Wraith narrows his gaze. “Why are you laughing?”
Didn't Michael own the John Sheppard Manual on how to handle crisis situations and stand offs? It was right there on page twenty.
He felt his finger curl around the trigger. “I have no problem killing you.”
There was no way he'll become a guinea pig, no way he'll allow that bug to come near him again.
“You're sweating,” Michael taunts.
The tunnels fill with sounds of insect legs. The bug people are closer, but he needs that DHD crystal so his team can escape.
Sheppard adjusts his aim. “I don't really think you want to die,” he challenges.
“I'm not afraid of death, because I know that even if I die, your team won't make it out of here alive.”
The creature attacks from behind, latching onto his shoulder and tossing Sheppard like a rag doll to the floor. It’s on top of him, claws trying to tear him apart. He's lost both his weapons, and fights to keep the deadly daggers from slashing his throat. The bug monster screeches as he manages to pull out his knife and jab it into the underbelly of the exoskeleton.
The giant insect howls in pain. He keeps stabbing blindly, ignoring a hot trail of fire in his side. He recognizes the sounds of a blaster, and the thing falls off him. He scrambles away, snagging his P-90, and fires at the corpse for good measure. After expending several rounds, Sheppard sits there, breath ragged, and waits for the buzzing in his head to go away.
Ronon's standing next to him. “You ready?”
It takes two attempts to stand but the runner doesn't try to help, backing off and giving him space. Sheppard finds his Glock, checks to make sure it's loaded, and looks over. “Let's get out of here.”
The tunnel becomes a shooting range. Bursts of red illuminate the halls, finding one bug person after another. Sheppard's taking out the ones on the right, Ronon's clearing the left.
It's mayhem. Floors are covered in dark blood and body parts. The foul air permeates with gun oil and bile.
Sheppard's boot slips in exsanguinated fluids. He grabs a hold of the ladder to steady himself and climbs up the rungs to push back the giant manhole cover into fresh air. Ronon checks their six, covering their exit before closing the metal lid. They jump down to the ground, both staring in disbelief at the Wraith dart.
“Michael’s,” Ronon says, grinning at their luck.
“No doubt.”
“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
Sheppard nods. “I fly it, pick you, Rodney and Teyla up. We use the dart’s DHD to dial the Gate.”
“I was thinking blow it up, but your idea’s better.”
Sheppard shakes his head, still breathing hard.
“You were---” Ronon pauses, “kind of bad-ass back there.”
“I have my moments.”
“It was... odd.”
His body still feels super-charged, and he licks his lips. “Well, I'd say this has been a pretty odd day. Come on, we need to get goin'.”
Sheppard heads toward the dart, but he feels a tug to his arm and spins around to face his team-mate. “What?”
“You're bleeding.”
There are plenty of tears in his tac vest and shirt, but the one around his left side is bloody. “I'll get it fixed later.”
Sheppard walks off, heading towards the dart. He doesn't think about the injury, hell, he doesn't even feel it. All that matters is getting off this planet and away from the Tunnels of Terror.
------------------------
He likes it on the north side of the city. It's the least explored and the most private. Sheppard had taken the transporter and walked as long as he could before his side had flared up. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. Maybe an hour. His watch is lying around the infirmary somewhere with the rest of his belongings. Looking at the ocean is one of his favorite things to do and he counts how many times the waves crash against the city walls.
It's hard not think about what just took place. Processing things, emotions, is not one of his skills. A fine mist has slowly dampened his hair and he lets the cool night air wash over him.
He's numb all over, and it feels nice, almost comforting in a way.
“Sheppard.”
He doesn't look up at Ronon, just stares at the tranquility. “Yeah?”
“People are looking for you.”
Sheppard allows a long exhale. He'd been topped off with a unit of blood, let the IV bag empty, and the pain-killers were a nice a source of warmth. The stitches along his side pull if he moves, so he keeps very, very still.
Ronon doesn't say anything else, just pulls up a spot on the floor, and sits with his long legs stretched out.
“I just wanted time to think.”
“Doesn't bother me, but you know the others.”
“Yeah.”
The silence descends upon him again, punctuated by his team-mate's slow, steady breaths next to him. He's going to lock up what took place on that planet with everything else. The only reminders will be left to chance: a glance in the mirror while shaving... stepping in the shower and brushing his dog tags around his chest.
“Fighting is a good outlet. It let's you get rid of a lot of the bad stuff inside,” Ronon breaks the silence.
“It certainly can.”
Ronon twists the leather cord of his necklace between his fingers. “But not all of it.”
“Not everything can go away.”
“No, but if you know it’s there... then you'll face it one day.”
Sheppard's not sure if he's ready to admit such things yet. “Help me up, will ya? Everything's stiffened up out here.”
Ronon gives him a hand to his feet, and he knows his beaten body is going to give him hell in the morning. He's off duty for the next few days, and he might spend the entire time sleeping.
“Sheppard, there's no shame in fear... it'll keep you alive.”
His team-mate walks ahead, giving him enough room to think, but not far enough away should he wander off. Sheppard gingerly follows, still lost in reflection over his actions. He ponders Ronon's words today, all of them, and realizes he still has a lot more thinking to do.
Maybe one day he'll even allow the darker things to come out into the light, even if he's not sure how to face them.
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Date: 2007-09-21 04:31 pm (UTC)As always, well done. And thanks for that lovely ending. Helped take the chill off.
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Date: 2007-09-22 03:31 am (UTC)