His eyes opened once more but it was in a dark room that had a cell gate and his bounds had been removed except his jumpsuit's upper half was tied around his waist, his white shirt was discarded on the floor torn to pieces, and his hands were held above his head. The cuffs were big compared to his small, feminine hands. He attempted to wiggle his hands only to earn a jolt that stung into his wrist. He looked down observing pieces of his belly shackles were on the floor along with the cuffs. It quickly became apparent that the hell he had escaped several months ago had not really ended. He raised his head up with a sigh, annoyed. A figure came into the cell with two other muscular individuals by their side. One of them was equipped with several long poles so it seemed. A light from above turned on to reveal the scars that the last year in space had given him. The female figure lowered her hood stepping forward to show her face painted in white with additional colors that made her green eyes stand out. She reached out grabbing on to a handle that was held for her and she approached him and walked around the man. Was he going to suffer in silence? No. Was he going to speak on the off chance that they had made it? Chances were, it had been just ten minutes since the agonizing torture.

"You are more stubborn then what they say," the figure said. "My compliments on your spirit. "

She raised the stick up then slid it down his left breast making a long scar that traveled down spilling a trail of blood. Smith squeezed his eyes closed, squeezing his hands together. Lord help me stand through this. She stepped back twirling the item in a circle walking around him then traced along the vulnerable scars on his back that made him flinch. Scars that he had earned being backstabbed, ambushed, and captured that ranged in length and shape. He saw the receptacle was placed on the newly stationed stool that was lightly tapped on and a jet of light came out. She was very silent. The silence was unnerving and terrifying at the same time. He felt a overwhelming sense of dread take over him then felt what something sharp pierce into his shoulder that elicited a pained shout.

She whispered, "Confess," into his ear.

Smith turned his head toward her when she withdrew the long blade and shook his head. No. He could see in her eyes that she was very angry at him. She didn't like it when it didn't go her way. She handed the item to one of the newly arrived armored individuals. The man's eyes glowed green when he faced the convict. I am very afraid. I am very, very, very, very afraid. Did it occur to the convict. Outnumbered, lacking laser pistols, or any form of allies, he had made the next best enemy who could cut him down in his prime. A long scar was made down his chest earning a more girly and horrified scream. He squirmed only to be jolted keeping him in place emitting yet another scream. He lowered his head, the stinging fresh from his skin and his mind. Another wound was made into his shoulder sliding leaving a tail of blood behind in a more deliberate shape. It made him wish even more that he had been the one who was burned outside of the cave instead of the Robinsons. The pain was continued on through the hour that gradually led Smith into the darkness.

They left him dangling rather than taking him down. Time did not have any meaning inside a secluded, dark lighted room. His stomach growled loudly demanding to be fed and there was nothing to help. Eventually, he was taken out of the shackles with soiled pants in a humiliated manner then left to lurk in the cell. He slipped the grandfather's watch out of the pocket then scooted away back against the wall. He felt the silver wrist watch slide down from his elbow on to the stinging wrist. His hands and shoulders ached. His wrist felt burned and had clear electrical burns wrapped around them asides to the rounded holes below his thumb set resting on the wrists that had healed over. He was moved into a smaller, thinner cell that lacked light. And he never felt as dirty than he had in his entire life. It quickly became apparent that they were torturing him.

It had to have been more than a day since being roped in to the mission without his consent. His prison outfit laid in the center of the room that stunk to high heavens. His newly given wounds were healing. And perfectly nude awaiting for the next round of torture. Smith slipped out the pocket watch then flipped it open to be faced with the bright gray and golden glowing light brightly landing on his face. Comfort wrapped around his shivering, not cared for figure as he wrapped a hand around his shoulder lowering his head breaking into tears and closed the pocket watch pressing it against his chest, squeezing his eyes closed, leaning forward. The feelings piling on to his pack fell off smoothly leaving him feeling better. A lot better. He lifted his head up wiping off what remained of his tears with the edge of his thumb placing the back of his head against the wall. He wrapped the wrist watch up then shoved it into his ass, painfully. He sighed, closing his eyes.

Abruptly, Smith was lifted to his feet with a pair of hands tightly clinging on to his forearms so he reached forward covering his lower extremities looking around. He was brought into a room that had a table with a counter set across to the right hand side situating a small, rounded receptacle from earlier. He dropped against the floor landing against the flattened bulk of the table. A white light illuminated from the device. The two heavily armored warriors forced him onto the table with a short lived struggle. His body was bound to the table. He struggled to raise his arm up against the table much less his head and upper torso only to feel a strong inclination to remain still. He looked up to see a strange wide object coated in light bulb fixtures that were glowing purple contrasting against the dark gray machine held up by a long support beam. Fear was coursing through him as he grunted and groaned trying to move his joints and turn himself to the side.

"Confess," The figure repeated. "Confess, and you will be freed."

Smith turned his head toward the woman who was clean and dry, beautiful, gorgeous, and healthy compared to his scarred and dirty figure. He was tempted to reply, 'Never', a simple phrase that spoke volumes and likely would have left back him a memorable figure to have been held captive--but the question was posed in a way that hadn't been changed from earlier. Smith stared back, contemplatively, then turned his head in the direction of the receptacle and back in the direction of the woman. The flash of the Robinsons appeared before his eyes inside the pocket watch smiling back at him. Let me be brave. Let me be brave. Let me be brave. He curled his fingers into a fist as he mentally ran through a list of things they put him through.

"F. . . Freedom?" Smith asked.

"Yes, yes, yes," the figure said.

"I will not be signing my execution, madame," Smith said. "But I will be signing my pardoning papers."

The figure hissed then came to his side.

She spread her fingers out delivering a intense burning sensation in his head that made him scream in pain.

Was it worth the come back? It was worth it to him. Smith could hear Don's very alarmed reaction in his ears, "Smith, what are you doing?" among the flash of anger that would be on full display to the figure. Smith squeezed his eyes shut letting out the loudest and pain induced scream that he could bear. He can feel blood trickling down his nose. He lifted his head up toward the direction of the light fixture from above. The figure reached her hand back turning away from him then marched on heading toward the dangling pink, purple, and yellow dangling beads standing in the way of the doorway.

"Who do you think you are?" the figure turned toward the man.

He gave a pained smile turning his head toward the woman.

"Not . . . the right . . . hostage," Smith replied. "safe. . . and sound. . . at Stargate command."

The figure grew a furious expression on her face.

"Liar!" the figure said. "Turn it on."

Smith turned his head toward the light fixture that was overshadowed by the device that slid over him.

"Believe me!" Smith said. "You got the wrong ma---"

The lights on the machine turned on brightly blinding his eyes. There was a funny feeling radiating through his very being as small red circles began to elevate on his chest in the form of a grid and the gravitational pull against his body fell down. His stomach recoiled at the pain circulating through his body. He was weak, unable to move against what the machine was doing to him. The grid extended from his torso to his legs leaving behind orange skin. He turned his head to the side clenching his trembling fingers into a fist. It was a weak fist that fell apart becoming slack indicating the strength inside had fallen down to a level. He had his eyes on the receptacle.

"Help me," Smith plead. "Hel. . . help. . . help me. Please."

His eyes began to close before the still active receptacle and his head turned away from the receptacle losing consciousness. His eyes opened to find himself hidden in the dark with his back against the wall. His torso was gently aching from the inside. He felt tired. Very tired. Things were going to get better. Things were going to lighten up. It couldn't stay this way forever. How long he was there, Smith had no idea. But what he did know, is that he had a lot more torture sessions. The word 'Confess' was repeated at him, over, and over. He had already confessed that he wasn't the person she wanted. The way to end the torture would be to confess that he was someone he was not. This kind of hell wasn't what he deserved. He could stand it to a certain point and bounce back like a spring in defiance. They were trying to crush his spirit. The torture seemed to be designed that way. And they failing as his spirit was crushed over a year and eight months ago. He didn't have much of a spirit left to be crushed.

Instead, he confessed about how horrible the situation was much to the disgust of the figure and insulting her thoroughly. He wasn't sure how many torture sessions that she put him through much to his dismay and hurt. Some sessions featured being dunked into the cold water face first giving him facial burns, being aimed repeatedly by a spear that retracted with a sizzle of electricity after giving a example of what it could do, and being called words that he didn't understand but assumed they had to have some forms of similarities with nasty words in the human vocabulary. Abruptly, during one of the sessions where he was being electrocuted by a stick over and over with his hands held above his head, the ship tilted to the side making him swing sideways. The figure fled taking along two warriors with her out of the room. It is what they deserved for putting him through a degrading hell. He heard the sounds of gun fire, explosions, and screams. So they had came back for him. They had came back for him. They had came back for him! His hopes were raised as the ship shuddered from side to side loudly groaning in protest.

He cleared his throat then cried out, "HELP! OVER HERE! PLEASE! HELP! HELP! HEEELLLPPPP!" over the sounds of disaster.

Smith was trembling lingering in mid-air where he heard the sounds of boots headed his way in the dark lit room.

Out of the shadows came a dark man with a golden emblem on his forehead and a highly muscular build entered the room carrying what was a long AA-12 shotgun in one hand completed by a stoic look. He aimed the shot gun toward Smith. Smith recoiled, closing his eyes, bracing himself for a painful end. Instead, there was a loud sound from above Smith earning a startled yelp. Smith collapsed to his side. There were more firing from across Smith that was exchanged by the dark man. The dark stepped into the cell and delivered more crushing blows. The sound of bodies collapsing to the ground was evident to Smith's ears. The dark man came toward Smith's side then raised a eyebrow tilting his head with intrigue in his eyes. Teal'c took off his black jacket placing it down to his knee.

"I will not hurt you," Teal'c said, holding his hand out.

Smith reached a tentative hand to Teal'c's outreached large hand and took it.

"Thank you," Smith was able to say.

Teal'c placed the jacket on the many scarred shoulders and gently sent him on.

"Teal'c, what is keeping you--" The same man from earlier but younger with longer hair came to a stop. "Jack is not going to like this."

"Get him to the ship, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said, gently sending Smith to Daniel.

"We're going to get you to Earth, Mr Pavaloia," Daniel said.

"It's Mr Smith, sir," Smith replied, tiredly.

They ran out of the way of firing then made their way into the hangar bay after using several rings. Daniel guided Smith into a standing up right sarcophagus and closed the door on him. The familiar hisses told him that it was a stasis pod sending him into slumber and allowed him to relax only for a little while in the dark. When the door opened, Smith was treated to a young blonde woman with big horrified eyes then turned in the direction of a visibly angry O'Neill. The blonde guided Smith into the next room. She retrieved a set of red generated two piece clothes and handed them to the man. The door closed behind the blonde. Smith dressed up in the center of the room going over the healing scars decorating his skin.

He flinched each time the piece of clothing touched the scars. He carefully yanked out the pocket watch from his butt then cleaned it off using the side of his pants. He placed it onto the edge then bent down and picked up the red shirt sliding it on buttoning it up as he went. He observed a strange set of pod like machines connected to a strange column that had small circular lights glowing numerous colors. He sat down onto the ledge grabbing onto the pocket watch and moved into his pocket. He pressed his head against the wall looking on the station. It had to be a recharge station that was a bit improvised using random parts.

The door opened and in came O'Neill.

"How the hell did you get in this vessel, Doc--Mr Smith?" O'Neill switched mid-sentence.

"You did," Smith said, looking up toward O'Neill. "I had no choice nor no say in it."

"So he used the next best thing to retrieve a hostage," O'Neill said. "He intended to send a team after you."

"No," Smith replied. "They did not."

"What?" O'Neill asked, eyebrows hunched together and his face laced in disbelief.

"They intended for her to drop me off," Smith said. "She didn't realize that . . ."

"She never really knew him," O'Neil said, with a nod. "We will send you back to Earth once we reach a planet with a gate."

"I expected nothing less from you, Colonel," Smith said.

"It's Jack around here," O'Neill said.

"Very ideal compared to being held captive," Smith said.

"Don't need to worry about that wannabe goddess," O'Neill said. "Carter and I killed her."

Smith nodded his head.

"How many times have you been cloned?" Smith asked.

"How many times have you?" O'Neill asked. "We are someone elses androids. Not Harlan's."

Smith tilted his head.

"Harlan?"

"A survivor,"

"Survivor,"

"Last of his kind."

"That must be a lonely existence,"

"Speaking of who, could you do us a favor. . ." O'Neill said, earning a eyebrow raise. "And give Harlan some company?"

"It depends on who this Harlan is," Smith said.

"Safest person to be stuck with," O'Neill said. "And annoying."

"I can do with any form of company other than criminals," Smith said.

"Good," O'Neill said, then stood up to his feet and came toward the door. He stopped then turned toward Smith. "We really appreciate this."