crossing_lostrp | With clones like this..

Who: Jon & AU!Jon
Where: various nightmarish locations
Invited: anyone
When: Day 24
Status: Incomplete

Mattress. Not too soft, with a comforter and pillow. Narrow bed, short like a kid's judging by the fact that his feet were dangling in mid-air. Overlapping smells, most of them faint under a gentle breeze and the perils of air freshener, but there was definitely a woman's perfume in there someplace, stale cigarette smoke, dry mud.. Where the hell was he? There'd been the fight in DHARMA's control room, gas, then this. Not your average jail cell, that was for sure: he wasn't even tied up.

"You done yet?"

Jon swung himself up to sit on the edge of the bed the moment he recognized that voice, noting their identical white clothing with a raised eyebrow. It was easier to focus on the other him, now that the room's clues were backed up with visual proof.

"Don't give me that - or have you been struck dumb by the fantastic décor your subconscious has chosen? The detail is so.. touching."

My subconscious? "This is someone's sick idea of a holodeck?"

"You betcha. I had a bet with myself over what this would turn out like - glad to see I won, too."

"Well, aren't you the mind-reader."

His evil twin smirked, juggling a baseball one handed. "What, you don't want to take a look around?"

"I'm familiar with the layout." If you can't treat it with respect, put that fucking ball down! "You didn't look so good before - those drugs wear off yet? Nice friends, by the way."

"Now who's mind-reading? We've got enough freaks around here already, thanks." The other him dropped the ball and selected a model F-14. "The answer is also yes."

Jon knew himself well enough to know that a straight response was unlikely, but he couldn't assume that whatever had been wrong with the clone still affected him, nor that DHARMA hadn't decided that a friendly staff was an inefficient staff. These guys were twisted enough to believe it too, judging by the evidence so far. He wondered whether he could possibly switch their location; failing that, where was the fucking door?

"Are we going to sit here all day?" His voice was tighter than he'd like now that the lookalike was 'shooting' Charlie's trophies on to the carpet.

"What, is little Jonny not having fu-"

Jon tackled his double to the ground, smashing into the wardrobe as the other reacted.

"Finally! C'mon, help me trash the rest of this place."

"It's not real," Jon spat, kicking at the other's legs as he took up a baseball bat and aimed for the window.

"Keep telling yourself that, sucker." The DHARMA clone grinned, his teeth bloody from a split lip. "God, I missed this. There's nothing like fighting yourself - but let me guess, you just walked away."

Jon threw the baseball at his double's face before wrestling for control of the bat, but they were too well matched, even when he fought dirty. The crunch of a bed post against the other's back was extremely satisfying though, despite his opponent's twisted whoop. Sick bastard.

"Ok," the evil twin puffed, kicking him back towards the wall. "On with the show. This technology can't tell the difference between us anyway."

Their surroundings flickered, only to reform as one of Jon's other least favorite places to be.

He landed against not a bedroom wall, but one that held him like glue, while his tormentor opened a box and began juggling bright balls of liquid poison/acid/whatever the fuck it was he remembered them far too well. They hurt.

True to form, Jon plastered an appreciative grin on his face. "Love what you've done with the place."

"Glad you like it," his double bowed. "But no glowy Daniel's going to save you from Ba'al's playground this time."

Current Mood: aggravated

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

fikgirl.livejournal.com

Dr. Chase stood behind the observation glass watching his appointed subject curiously. Arms folded across his chest, a scowl tried to etch its way deeply into his "pretty boy" features, as he'd heard said on more than one occasion.

"How come we get stuck with Number 42?" Stevens groused from where she stood, leaning against the observation glass.

Murphy, their Murphy, the one that quite literally belonged to DHARMA, wasn't the forty-second clone. Chase didn't know which clone Murphy was, but he'd gained the nickname in true schoolyard fashion. One day, when Yang was in a good mood – and Chase wasn't convinced that he hadn't been imagining that – she'd called the asshole 'Number 42.' Murphy got pissed off, and naturally the name stuck.

"Rather be working with Shepphard?" Chase offered her. "You know, the one that isn't screwing Grey."

"How come everyone's getting screwed around here except for us?"

"I'm selective. I don't know what your excuse is."

Stevens looked up to glare at him, "Is selective a new way of saying –"

"Whoa!" Chase moved to the control panel as the room shifted. The child's bedroom faded away to be replaced by what appeared to be an alien torture chamber. "Fuck! Murphy's messing with the simulation. Why the hell did anyone let him in there anyway?"

"Dr. Jackson's orders," Stevens shrugged. "Do you want to argue with Dr. Jackson?"

"If it's the Pom and arguing involves a lot more than our mouths, I've no objections," Chase returned. He tried to do a slow override, but Murphy knew these controls and knew how these simulations worked. Chase let loose a stream of profanity, then turned and strode to the door. "I'm going in. I'm going to see if I can this back on track."

Stevens eyes widened and she closed the distance in a few steps. Her hand on his arm was firm – and warm – and she actually looked to be a bit concerned. "If Dr. Jackson finds out that you interfered –"

Slowly peeling her hand off of his arm, Chase said quietly, "Then we just make sure that he doesn't find out. Besides, Murphy's already interfering."

"Chase! You know what happened to Cameron!"

Chase barely suppressed a shudder. Then he squared his shoulders. "I'm just going to see if I can't get the simulation back on track. That's all." He didn't sound convincing even to himself, but he ducked out before Stevens could stop him.

Entering the holding cell was easy. Staring at two copies of Murphy was downright unsettling though.

"Nice scenery," Chase drawled. "I really don't want to be inside of your head." He divided his gaze between both Murphy's, not quite certain what he was going to do next.

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

"And you would be..?"

"Never you mind." The blond Australian turned away from his trapped lookalike and crossed his arms defensively. "You can have fun without screwing up the simulation, y'know."

"Not as much fun," he pointed out smugly. Why the fuck did Chase care anyway? It wasn't like they hadn't taken all the damned blood samples they could ever want from the other him already. He paused his juggling to throw the guy an acid ball without warning. "Want a go?"

The ball's bright contents splattered over the floor, just splashing the new boy's fancy shoes.

"I'd take them off, if I were you," his alternate commented blandly. "It'll keep on burning through your feet if it lets you."

Jon cocked his head, keen to get back on track. "Jealous?"

"Thanks, but I'll pass. Take a rain check for all eternity. When hell freezes over," the 'nice' twin chirped. "You don't get out much, do you? Ever tried fishing? Beats meditation hands down."

"Very true," he agreed amiably. "You know what, I think I try deep sea fishing next time I get some leave, use you as bait."

"Sounds nice - shame my diary's full."

"You have a diary?" Jon shook his head in despair. "That's it."

(TBC)

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

Ever since his double made that comment about the technology not being able to tell the difference between them, Jon had been wondering whether he could manipulate it too. His best guess was that it was supposed to display his worst nightmares, of which there were a fair number, but Sicko there had changed things on purpose.. and the Aussie didn't like that.

Now really wasn't the time to be making guesses though, not with two balls of blue agony flying in his direction courtesy of that wannabe Ba'al. Taking the pain was one thing - possible, but fucking awful - however there was no guarantee that these guys had anything capable of healing him if he was burnt as badly as these little suckers were able. It wasn't like the twisted little creep had even told him why.

Jon scrunched his eyes closed, desperately willing the scenery to change back to Charlie's room or any number of cells he'd been a guest in over the years. Suffocating in an X-301 wasn't nice, but at least it had been relatively peaceful. Even a submarine full of Replicators was tempting about now, so long as he had a weapon to help out.

Running through the possible alternatives distracted him for a while, long enough to realize that the balls hadn't hit yet. The surprise was enough to make his eyes snap open, expecting to see.. anything but what he did.

"What the hell?"

Ba'al's torture chamber was just how he remembered it, but the four acid bombs were floating in mid-air, a foot or so away from his position.

"You're telling me - Chase, what the fuck is this? Do I need to find a nice way to thank you and Stevens?"

"Nuh-uh. You're the one who fucked with the controls, Murphy."

"Not like this I didn't." This universe's him threw another three balls, causing Jon to brace himself with what he seriously hoped didn't look like cringing. "And again! Do I need to break out the knives? I think so."

Jon cracked open one eye, amazed to see that the blue dots in his vision had nearly doubled. It was almost dizzying.

He cant his head to see past the balls. "Hey, I'm good with this. Knives are so.. messy."

"Yeah, but I don't need to throw knives."

"Right, because I really want to get up close and personal with you," Jon snarked back.

One of the balls slipped, then fell to the ground. Another two swiftly followed. Jon heard them splatter, but didn't break his stare with the other clone. Another ball fell.

"It's him," 'Chase' stated. "He's doing it somehow, but he needs to concentrate."

"Me? How?" All remaining balls dropped, in time with his yelp. Blink. "That wasn't me."

From:

starborn-scribe.livejournal.com

Yay, burgeoning TP!Jon! Hee!

From:

fikgirl.livejournal.com

"Stop what you're doing!" Chase ordered.

"Who? Me? But I'm not doing anything!" The objections came creepily in stereo, making Chase happy that he'd seen weirder things in DHARMA. Otherwise he might have shown how freaky weird the stereo speech was.

Especially when the two Murphys glared at one another, "Stop that!"

"Not you," Chase pointed to the prisoner, then to Number 42, "You."

"I think he should continue," Stevens voice came through the broadcast channel into the room.

Chase tried hard not to roll his eyes. (Yeah, she would. Anything to disagree and make this more difficult.) Arguing with the Yank in front of their prisoner or Number 42 was a bad idea, however, so Chase managed to hold his tongue.

"And I think you should report back, Dr. Chase," Stevens added.

Now, that was just rubbing salt in an open room.

"Yeah, Chase, you should report back," Number 42 said, "Wouldn't want to upset the pretty lady doc, would you?"

"Watch yourself, Number 42," Chase growled as he exited the room. He heard the clone swear and mutter behind him, but he didn't look back.

The short walk to the control room gave him enough time to work up a good, angry burn. "What the hell was that about, Stevens?"

"I'm monitoring," Stevens said. She made it sound as though she was discussing the weather. "If Murphy is doing something unusual, we'll have it on record. It could be some form of burgeoning telekinesis, and that's something that Number 42 and his brothers don't have.

"You can watch and record and report with me, or you can sulk and I'll happily claim all the credit."

Chase glared at her for good measure. "Well, who am I to argue with the chance to interfere with your career advancement?"

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

Chase was so fucking lucky he didn't just get knife thrown at his back just then - the acid balls now wasted on the floor, damn it - not least to see whether the effects applied outside the room.

"Number 42, huh?"

"The answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything."

"You keep telling yourself that."

Jon sneered at his counterpart. "And you keep pretending that you're the real deal. Or not, considering this exciting twist in the tale."

The other clone wiggled his hands and feet pointedly. "Do have I have to point out to you, of all people, that I wouldn't stay here any longer than I absolutely had to?"

Jon drew a dagger and tested the point on his finger. "Oh, I'm near-convinced that you don't have a clue about all this, but those two 'doctors' through there have just found themselves a new project. Either way I still get to play."

And without guidance - Stevens didn't seem to mind that, at least - play he would. Aiming the dagger point-forward, Jon lined up the tip so that it would (should) stab the other guy's right hand. No point in excessive blood loss just yet, now was there? Too close to the wrist might be messy, but the pain should be fairly distracting if this 'kid' had any other tricks up his sleeve.

With his other hand, Jon examined the control panel he was leaning on. "So, how do you feel about adding magnetism to gravity?"

"What did they do, shake your test tube until it fizzed?"

From:

purplerhino.livejournal.com

"What did they do, shake your test tube until it fizzed?"

Snorfle. I love Jon.

From:

sophiedb.livejournal.com

OOC: last shot before Steve McQueen gets on his bike, with brief cameo by AU!Ami :)

If Jon had ever hoped that this other clone wasn't cracked, it was long gone. Being copied by Loki was bad enough, let alone this mess that humans had apparently created. He had a pretty good feeling that he wasn't universally liked though, probably about as much as that other O'Neil with the single 'L' only for better reasons like.. being a complete fruitcake.

Still, if the Aussie guy and that girl behind the speakers - sounded a lot like Isabel the alien actually - thought he was doing something, the least he could do was try again. As if he actually knew how, or what, or anything useful like that.

Jon braced himself as the cuckoo let go of the dagger, already clear on how much this would hurt. It wasn't as if he liked being stabbed, but at least it was survivable - or it would be if the blade carried on towards his arm? Hand? To the gut, not so good. Acid, on the other hand, would have eaten any body part for breakfast.

The pain, when it came was every bit as agonizing as he remembered. Right through the palm of his right hand.

"Great shot," he ground out, not wanting to give Nutso the pleasure.

"I try." The next was already being lined up, the aim angling suspiciously close to his shoulder, abdomen, knee, neck.. "Eeny, meeny, miney -"

Jon groaned as his left shoulder was hit. The first dagger had gone right through, no problem, but this one was lodged under his collarbone. Ouch.

"What happened to Mo?"

"Lung cancer. And your freaky mojo is where?"

"Haha." Sorry, the trigger's jammed. If you can't blow them off, wind them up. "So, 42 me's running around. Impressive. Do they seal you in tupperware until needed?"

Another dagger was drawn, idly tracing a path across Jon's more vulnerable body parts. A second came out to play. "Nah, a trip to the incinerator usually does it. Would you like to join them?"

Both daggers flew for Jon's precious knees.

Ok, yes there are plenty worse spots that he could choose, but why the fucking knees? I haven't gotten enough use out of them yet! Not even a freaking HALO jump, damn it -

"So, are you getting this or what?"

Loony Tunes was glaring at what was presumably an observation room, underneath the simulation. The daggers? They were just pricking at Jon's kneecaps, handles angled back the way they came. Jon just froze, not wanting to think about too much of anything any case he 'let go' and the gravity/magnet well let them slide home.

The door clicked open. Jon's eyes moved slowly to see what was going on: Chase approaching with a needle. Big needle. And there were still daggers through his hand and shoulder. Fuck, this all really fucking hurt, and would hurt a whole lot more if that was some kind of knockout drug. The wheelchair he'd left by the door seemed to suggest as much, straps and all.

"What do you think you're doing?"

For once, Jon was happy to hear something echoing his thoughts.

"Playtime's over - we'll take over from here."

"On whose authority?"

"Mine."

Was that Ami's voice? Or not!Ami. Either way she was high enough up the food chain that she didn't need to elaborate and 42 of X over there wasn't throwing a fit, though Jon could feel the not-happy vibes from here.

Jon glared at the Aussie as he injected the needle into his thigh.

"Wouldn't want to waste it on either arm, eh?" the blond smirked.

Fuzzy blond, daggers pricking into knees, not feeling so good..

"Turn it off Stevens," the same voice called, and suddenly there was nothing holding Jon to the wall any more, no knives stuck in his body either - though if the pain was anything to go by, the wounds remained. "Give me a hand."

He was dumped and strapped into the wheelchair and soon had the impression of movement through a dull hallway. Someone grousing in his own voice followed, but otherwise his brain was too sluggish to process what was going on. He had a feeling he should be able to get out of this somehow, but the thought wouldn't go so far as to plan anything, and then he was being laid out on a bed with some redhead - woman, this time, he thought, maybe - shining a penlight - gah! - in his eyes.

Whoop-dee-doo.. they got their very own Fraiser..