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.
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timeasmymeasure
[Jon]
Date: 2007-02-15 12:58 pm (UTC)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..