Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc, no infringement of any rights is intended.

Spoilers: Possible spoilers for various episodes from all season. The story is set post Season 5

Warnings: Violence...of course! This is Shep Whump after all.

Many thanks to Sterenyk Strey for her beta, and for her patience on this occasion as the story is not yet complete.

I am posting this story before it is finished at the request of Shadows of Realm - a very supportive reader! I hope you enjoy it!

I will be posting 2 chapters per week for now, and may be able to post a little faster once the story is nearing completion. Don't worry - I will complete it because unfinished stories drive me nutty! :D

Initium

Power confuses itself with virtue and tends also to take itself for omnipotence.

J. William Fulbright

Chapter 1

The battle for supremacy had ended over ten thousand years ago, when the feeble Lanteans had fled for their lives, leaving behind all they had created in a weak imitation of the glory of their creators. But that hadn't dulled the need for retribution their makers felt. It still ached within their species, fuelling their ire and giving their existence meaning even after all these millennia spent unnoticed. Time was unimportant to their kind – they were both ancient and new, all things at all times – but even they felt a slight thrill at the realisation that they had at last discovered the progeny of their would be usurpers. Their incessant search for clues across the universe had finally produced results – a search that had possessed their entire existence for so long now they had forgotten what it was to be free from the anger that drove them ever onwards. And, after scouring so many solar systems, it was back in Pegasus, where it had all begun, that they had made their yearned for breakthrough. This revenge was long overdue, and now it was within their grasp.

They watched the puny humanoid figures picking their way through the stony landscape of the barren planet, formulating their plan in almost an instant once they realised just what they had within their reach. A few others had come to this planet while they had been in residence there – waiting. Even their favoured children – the Wraith – attracted by the energy the planet exuded under their creators' influence had ventured through the planet's gate, but none had shown the traits displayed by these particular travellers...or rather two of them. Those two bore a physical link to the enemies who had escaped their grasp so long ago. Now, there was a real chance to find them again and rid the universe of their arrogant self-belief once and for all.

Following and surrounding the humans, they lurked unseen, selecting just one to keep on the planet, knowing that this species were naturally less resilient when separated from their kind.

Their quarry remained unconscious of their presence, their meagre human minds too young to comprehend what they were encircled by, sensing nothing more than a change in the temperature...a breeze where none had been before. And then, just as the first three of the group reached their vehicle – a vehicle made by their enemies if they needed more evidence of theses humans' heritage – and began to mount the rear ramp, the ancient beings threw up a barrier that prevented the final member of the group from joining them.

A struggle ensued, one the humans could not win, and then they were subdued, the three they had chosen to go free eventually allowed to leave while shouting promises that they would return for the other.

His captors did not doubt they would. In fact, they were depending on it.

...oooooo...

He had no concept of time any more. He'd lost that on the third day when they'd deprived him of his watch, along with food, most of his drinks...and sleep. And still he had no idea why he was being held captive.

Sheppard and his team had been finishing up their exploration of an uninhabited planet when things had turned to crap. The data collected had shown some promising power readings when they'd sent through a MALP, but their mission to locate the source had proved entirely fruitless. There was power there all right, but it wasn't stable or from a specific source that they could pinpoint, and until they could monitor the planet over a prolonged period to discover if there was a pattern to how it moved around, it was unlikely they would be able to use it in any beneficial way. As they'd tried numerous times to examine it, it had ebbed and flowed like a tide, one moment there, the next moment dwindling to nothing as if retreating from them.

So, with McKay rambling about all the things he would need to put in place to carry out said monitoring, they had begun the two-click trudge back to the jumper, which they had left behind when McKay thought he'd pinpointed the major power fluctuations to an area dense with tall, craggy rocks, a geographical feature they couldn't possibly manoeuvre through while in their craft

The place had made him uneasy the moment he'd left the jumper, nerves twitching as he'd griped his P-90 prepped and ready for trouble. He'd convinced himself it was the unnatural quietness of the place that had him on edge. P5G 598 was a rocky wasteland devoid of life, making Sheppard acutely aware of how noise nature actually was. No leaves for the wind to rustle, no birdsong, now grass to wade through, nothing but the stark crunch of hard dirt under their boots. They were completely alone on that desolate dustball...or so they had thought.

As a result, the subsequent ambush had come without warning, not even Ronon picking up on the fact they were being followed. Their assailants had given no explanation of who or what they were, moving around them imperceptibly, but had somehow fired Sheppard across the rocky ground with the force of what felt like a lightning strike, slamming him against a solid needle of stone and preventing him from reaching the jumper his team had made it back to with some kind of invisible force shield that had pinned him in place. The others hadn't been able to reach him, prevented as they were by something they couldn't even see to begin to know how to battle.

Sheppard had ordered them to leave, an order his team had, of course, refused to follow...at first. Because at first it had seemed as if they might actually have a choice, with Ronon firing at the shield searching for a chink or area of weakness, and McKay frantically trying to fathom out just what it was they were up against with his energy reading gadgets. Then, the sensory assault had begun – lights, sounds, even smells, all increasing in vividness and intensity until they had been ready to drop. So he'd given the order again, screaming it over the maddening cacophony, and this time they'd followed it.

With some relief and more than a little trepidation, he'd watched the jumper lift shakily away under McKay's unpractised hand before he'd finally succumbed to the onslaught.

...oooooo...

He'd woken to silence, beautiful unspoilt stillness, and at first it had felt like bliss. But as the hours had ticked by while he sat in a tiny, white room, in which he could barely tell where the walls ended and the floor and ceiling began, the quietness had eventually become deafening in its own right.

After calling out until his voice grew hoarse and his throat felt like someone had skimmed it with an orbital sander, he finally accepted that whoever or whatever now had him imprisoned meant to do things under their own terms, and nothing he said or did would make a difference to their agenda.

He wished he could at least see them...put a face to his enemy to make it easier to be angry with them...but they didn't once reveal themselves to him. In fact, the only interruption to the perfect, desolate monotony of those first twenty-four hours was the sudden morphing of the structure of one wall to produce a hole through which food entered, or at least what apparently passed for food with his captors. The consistency reminded him of wallpaper paste and the colour was pretty much the same, too. He sampled a tiny amount, finding the flavour almost non-existent, although it left a chemical aftertaste clinging to the roof of his mouth that made him suspicious. Still, he felt no ill effects, so once he was sure the taste was nothing more than an effect of the mingling of ingredients, Sheppard ate until the bowl was empty. He hated being hungry more than he hated gooey and odd tasting food. He'd eaten some strange things in his time, and this was by no means the worst. It stayed put, sitting thickly at the bottom of his stomach and satiating the hunger pangs that had been troubling him for a few hours, and more than that, it helped settle one issue that had been plaguing him. If they were feeding him, they wanted him alive. That was at least some comfort. But where the hell was his team? Sure, he'd sent them away, but he'd expected them back with reinforcements by now. Unless he wasn't on P5G 598 any more...

The first two days had passed that way, no interaction other than the food passing through the morphing wall. He'd become intimately familiar with every inch of that cell in those forty-eight hours, realising there really was no distinction between walls ceiling and floor because they were all one amorphous construction, malleable to the touch, but completely impenetrable. He'd tried punching, kicking and pushing against it for all he was worth, but the walls simply stretched to accommodate his movements, always snapping back into shape when he stopped.

Physically and mentally exhausted from his attempts to persuade his captors to talk to him, Sheppard had eventually given up both that and any hopes of escape, choosing instead to save his strength and voice for a time when a better opportunity presented itself – assuming one would. These "people" had done him no real harm, aside from the bruising and headache inflicted following his collapse during his initial capture, so he supposed he could wait it out until his people found him and got him out. Maybe these 'beings' were just curious. Okay, well he supposed he could let them observe him for a while. It was no skin off his back.

That status quo had lasted for just a few hours longer once he'd made that decision. Then, perhaps mistaking his calmness for a weakening of his resolve, the onslaught began.

First, it came in the form of light and sound again, the walls glowing with such brilliance that even when he closed his eyes and covered them with his hands it still wasn't dark enough. His eyes burned, tears soaking his cheeks as he screwed them tighter shut in an effort to find some relief. It didn't help.

Then the noise began – a howl not unlike that of Wraith darts – growing steadily louder and more piercing until he was forced to make the decision of whether to protect his sight or his hearing. Not an easy choice since both were precious to him.

After a while, under the relentless deluge, he passed out, finding blessed relief in the encompassing oblivion that sucked him into its depths...

...oooooo...

When he woke after that he was still confined, and his heart sank. His watch was broken, either the sound had interfered with its workings somehow or his captors had deliberately stopped it, so now he had no idea how long he had been out for...it could have been anywhere from minutes to days, though his gagging thirst suggested it could be closer to the later timescale than the first.

Instantly, the wall cracked open, and another flavourless meal and drink slid in through the self-sealing opening. He forced himself up from when he lay on the floor and crawled over to it, throwing back the drink in desperate gulps, each easing the desert-like dryness his bout of unconsciousness had left him with. The food, however, looked less appealing to him than it ever had, and since he wasn't sure he could face being locked up with his own vomit, he decided it could wait until later.

He slumped down again, stretched out on the floor, only his head slightly raised as he leaned it against the wall behind him, a deep sense of hopelessness pervading his mind as he stared at the whiteness of his prison. He was stuck here with no visible way in or out. What if his team couldn't figure this thing out? What if this problem was just too advanced for them to resolve and this was where he spent the rest of his days? What if they had no idea where he was to even begin to try to help him?

Telling himself to buck up, he fought off those dismal feelings and focused on the truth as he knew it; he was trapped, but, if he was still on the same planet where he fell, his people at least stood a chance of finding him. That meant they wouldn't have to waste time on locating him on some undisclosed, distant planet, and could concentrate all their efforts on shutting down this prison cell and setting him free instead. But the lingering feeling of despair was never far away...always at the back of his mind...an uninvited sense despondency determinedly eating away at the last traces of his hope.

It occurred to him then that this cell might only be opaque from his side, and that whoever was holding him might be able to see him from the outside. He wouldn't let his captors see him so defeated. So he forced himself to turn and face the wall he'd been leaning against, still resting one shoulder against it because he lacked the strength to stand yet.

'Look, whatever it is I've done to offend you, I'm sorry,' he called, hoping someone was out there, listening.

He received no response. Maybe there was no one there after all.

'Maybe we can talk – work out what this is all about. If I or any member of my team did something to hurt or scare you, we're really sorry and I promise we'll make it up to you if we can.'

Still nothing. Should he continue at the risk of sounding like a scared child pleading for a second chance? No. Diplomacy wasn't getting him anywhere and neither would begging. He'd held back on threatening behaviour for days now and it had got him nowhere. Time to get heavy and hope he could shake them up a bit.

'I think I've been more than patient with you people, but I confess I'm kinda at the end of my rope now. If you don't let me outta here, my people are gonna come back and make you let me go, because they can do that, and then things are gonna get all awkward and angsty and we'll probably all say things we might regret later. So, in the interests of maintaining the peace, why don't you let me go back to the 'gate, I'll tell my people that, despite your hospitality, it might be better if we don't come back here, and then we can be out of each others' hair? What d'ya say?'

Somewhere behind him, he thought he heard a whisper. He couldn't make out what was being said, but it was close enough for the source of the words to be in there with him. He spun, but saw he was still alone. In sheer frustration, he punched the wall, finding it more resistant than usual as its surface pulled taut and sent a jolt up his arm. Punishment for his audacity, he supposed.

'Okay, have it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you,' he shouted to whoever might be listening, and he was convinced now that they were listening...and watching. How else would they have known he was about to swing that punch so they could adjust the tension in those walls?

Finally, he got what he wanted. This time, they reacted.

A tiny pulse of light flashed, he heard a crack, and something hit his arm. He grabbed it defensively, and when he pulled is hand away he found his sleeve slashed and the skin beneath blistering. 'Dammit,' he hissed, wishing he'd kept some of his drinking water to use to cool it down. Whatever they'd fired at him had been damned hot. When he looked behind him, the energy pulse was nowhere to be seen. It was as if the thing had simply been absorbed back into the fabric of the cell. He supposed that was possible, since the shot had come out of nowhere in the first place.

Somewhere nearby, a voice whispered something, still not quite loud enough for him to hear.

'If you have something to say to me, at least have the guts to say it louder,' he growled, still clutching his burned arm.

The same thing happened again, the flash, the crack, and this time he felt a sharp sting in his left cheek. When he tentatively checked it, he found the skin hot and blistered in a thin line almost from the corner of his mouth to his ear. 'Crap!'

It stung like hell, but there wasn't a thing he could do to ease it, unless he slopped that gloop that passed for food on his face... Then again, he had no idea what was in it; he might just make matters worse. 'Okay...I get it...I'm not allowed to get angry,' he grunted, sitting down and leaning against the wall for support.

The physical assault stopped then, and instead the light returned to plague him, followed by the noise. Mixed in with it this time was a voice, just loud enough to be discernable though not to pick out any exact words.

Sheppard curled up in a ball and did his best to defend himself, but no matter what he did, he couldn't shut any of it out.

It was constant, relentless, over and over in the same pattern so many times he lost count. Was it days...weeks? Surely days at most; it had to be because the food had stopped appearing and his drinks were minimal, but he wasn't dead yet. How many days he didn't know...didn't care. He just knew he wanted it to stop...or at least wanted someone to have the decency to give him a reason why they thought they could treat him this way. And in the background was always that whisper, picking at him, nagging at him, uttering words that his ears couldn't fully define, but that his subconscious mind turned into the darkest of thoughts. He felt helpless, hopeless, worthless. It brought him to the edge of reason and held him there, kept him dangling, filling him with self-doubt and leaving him suspended over an abyss into which his sanity threatened to tumble endlessly. The ceaseless noise and light and pain left him certain that his mind was about to snap.

And then it did.