The Art of Torture
By Mickey

STORY STATUS: Completed 8/9/06

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.


The sarcophagus lid slides open and Thing One and Thing Two are waiting for me again.

This scene is so far past old it's approaching Ancient.

The Ancients suck.

Daniel says I'm an ancient. Or something like that.

Daniel is an Ancient now. I think.

Okay, really don't want to follow that train of thought right now. Or ever.

Thing One and Thing Two don't even take me back to the cell this time. I don't let them drag me though, as we go down the hall to Baal's torture room. I'm a bit surprised I haven't tried busting loose again.

I'll bet the arrogant bastard's waiting for me with his `tremble before your god' superiority complex.

Yup. There he is. I know I'll regret this, but I spit in his face as I pass him. I'm running short on defiance, but I'm not out yet.

To his credit, there is no indignant outburst. No bellow of rage. No lashing out with feet or fists. But then he doesn't need to do that. Does he? He knows he's in control. He holds my life in his hands and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Thing One and Thing Two release me and before I can even think of reaching for one of them, the web sucks me to it again.

"What did you want with the female?"

I know there's so many things I could say to that. Nothing comes to mind. Apparently, I'm running short on sarcasm too.

Wait a minute. "You don't know? I thought you said you're a god? Aren't you fellas supposed to be all knowing? But then, you guys wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit you in the ass."

Ha! Gotcha on that one, didn't I?

Ouch! Point taken. Literally. Don't expose the fake.

The knife whizzes past my right cheek, cutting a deep line in my face before it goes through the webbing. Compared to what he's been doing, it barely stings. I know this is just beginning. As I said before, Baal has torture down to an art form.

And I'm his canvas. His clay. The knives and zats and acid are his bushes and pencils. His tools.

He really is enjoying this entirely too much.

"What did you want with my slave?"

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Another knife flies past, this one dangerously close to my eye. I can feel the slight breeze, the pull of skin as it cuts through the flesh.

I barely even flinch.

He looks a bit miffed. I think he's waiting for the screaming to start. Must be disappointed that I haven't even moaned. Yet.

Damn. Here comes the acid bottle. I was so hoping he'd forgotten about it. Or lost it. Or even just ran out. I don't have that kind of luck. The drop hits me in the chest. The same damn spot it hits every time.

"Crap." It's barely a gasp, but I can tell from the entirely to pleased with himself look, that he heard it.

Can't have him thinking he's in control of the situation here. Yes, I know he is in control. But that's beside the point. Time for a diversionary tactic.

"You should play for the Cubbies."

I almost laugh at the look on his face. Almost. "No, seriously, with your aim you should pitch for the Cubs. Maybe they'd actually win a few."

You know, it really is hilarious to see a snakehead look so puzzled. It'd be funnier if this didn't hurt so badly. And if I wasn't stuck like a fly in a web. And if I didn't know what was coming.

He releases another drop.

"Gaaa!" For crying out loud! Give it a rest already would ya?

And another. This one burns into my lungs.

The pain just keeps getting worse, but I know he's not done yet.

He knows just how far to push without delivering the final blow. Not until he's damn well ready to anyway.

"Daniel." Is it just me, or am I whimpering now.

Bouncy looks amused.

What I wouldn't give to have this situation reversed. See how damn much he'd smile with the knives and acid flying at him.

At least he's decided to skip the zat this time around. It's a small consolation, but I'll take it.

He's back to the knives. He holds on to this one. That whole `anticipation of pain' thing again. He's a master of mental torture as well.

He puts it down and glares at me. I glare back. Well' I try to. Kinda hard to look menacing when the slightest movement makes you want to scream.

He picks up the knife again. He holds it in his hand, caressing it. I blink and he releases it. It embeds itself deep into my chest and I gasp in pain.

Daniel. I'm not angry. Honest.

Come on; let's kick a little Goa'uld ass together. For old time's sake.

All right, I lied. I am angry. No, pissed! Why won't you help me, God damn you! End this! I thought you were my friend. What kind of friend allows this to happen when he has the power to stop it?

Help me.


Baal releases one last knife.


The barely whispered word slips through my lips. I look into Baal's face. His malicious grin is the last thing I see as I slip into oblivion.