I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.
He’s standing there before the ‘gate, waiting for the other shoe to drop (because you can never trust a bad guy, much less damn snake), and right on cue, the ground starts to tremble. That’s the first sign. It’s not so obvious at first, and Jack thinks he might just be imagining it, but as he turns around, dust starts falling from the ceiling and
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“Okay,” he says. Landmarks: none that he can recognize from this angle. He walks in the direction of the weird statues. “I fell through a hole. What, is there some kind of alternate universe thing going on here that I don’t about?” He hopes there isn’t. He hasn’t had to deal with multiple realities for a while now, had hoped to keep it that way, because the last time it’d happened, it hadn’t been pretty. Even if it had ended well, there’d been a body-count, and right now? He doesn’t want to think about body-counts. (What about Abydos? he starts to think, but cuts it off. Nothing he can do for it right now.)
It occurs to him that the ‘gate had flickered, had lost its connection for a few seconds right before he stepped through. Maybe that was it. This can still be his universe, maybe he just got displaced? Christ, Carter would understand this much better than him, he thinks, closing his eyes for a second to focus.
He hears her last words. “What? What’s wrong with the people who come through?”
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She trails off and looks around herself, again, something tugging uncomfortably at the edge of her senses. Recent events have made her paranoid, and paranoia tends to work in unfortunate tandem with her tendency to hallucinate. The more she's convinced there might be something wrong, the more it really feels like there is. She scans the area one more time, unable to banish that niggling sense of presence from the back of her mind. She can't see anything out of the ordinary, but as she's learnt from experience, that doesn't always mean there's nothing there.
And this place is full of things that she doesn't yet understand.
"...No time," she says, grabbing him suddenly by the hand before taking off - or attempting to take off, anyway, depending on Jack's level of resistance - in the direction of the the Kashtta. "Just run."
Welcome to Chicago, Jack. Crazy girls trying to drag you around the city at full tilt? That's just the sightseeing tour.
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a.) This is an alternate universe. He can call up some of the higher-ups, see if they have any intel he can use, try to figure out if there’s a Stargate in this reality. If there is, hook up with the SGC, get home somehow. If there isn’t … get home somehow.
b.) This isn’t an alternate universe. He’s right where he’s supposed to be. Actually, that’s Cheyenne Mountain at the moment. All right, he’s close to where he’s supposed to be. Same difference, problem solved, no place like home.
c.) He’s dreaming, in a virtual reality machine, or hallucinating. Answer: Raise enough hell so that he either wakes up or irritates the living daylights out of his captors.
d.) Time-travel? Back to Option A.
And, of course, if there’s another version of him running around here (dammit, things he doesn’t want to think about right now, but has to), he’s royally screwed. That thing that happened with Carter last time the other her came through the Quantum Mirror - what’d she call it? A tropic waterfall failure?
... Christ, what he wouldn’t give to have his team with him. And, what, he’s only been here for a few minutes? At this rate, he's going to go whack.
"All right," he says, glancing back down. And there's the girl peering over her shoulder like something’s out to get her. She’s fidgety, nervous, more so than she was a few minutes ago. Something's wrong, and her anxiety is contagious. He tightens his hold on his P-90 - maybe she's in trouble? - and then she says, "No time," grabs his wrist, and yanks on it.
She pulls him hard enough to throw him off-balance, and Jack trips forwards a few steps before his legs catch up with him. The girl's already taking off by now, and he falls into a sprint, chasing after her.
“Hey!" he says. "Hey! What the hell’s going on?”
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The swelling pressure behind her ribs is rising, and shadow-appendages flicker just beyond the edges of her sight, darting out of visibility whenever she turns her head. No time. Her heart is beating out a too-fast rhythm, and her legs aren't keeping pace.
She throws all her energy into propelling herself forward as fast as she can, the occasional quick glance back over her shoulder confirming he's still following. "Tower," she manages, her voice higher-pitched from lack of air. "Up ahead. Safe."
Not that she's technically sure this thing can't follow her there. But everyone's told her it's a safe place, and she's heard there are patrol groups or something, and maybe someone can stop it, and she'd feel awful about potentially leading something like this into Wanderer Central any other time but right now all she can think of is how that cold not-presence is going to crawl up inside them and slowly crush every. last. thing. in their bodies....
Although right now, they're more in danger from the mundane hazards of Chicago, as Iris, heedless of the metal death-boxes that scared her so much previously, commits her first ever act of jaywalking across a busy city street. There's a cascade of horns blaring and screeching of brakes, a toneless cacophony that reverberates down the street, punctuated by cries of "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
"Get out of the way! Run! There's a monster!" she's screaming breathlessly, squeezing and picking her way through the stalled traffic.
...If there are any real monsters around here, she's got them all on their tails by now.
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But there’s no chance the girl heard him, not when he can barely hear himself over the honking and the shouting. Dammit. Pushing through the foot traffic as politely as he can (which isn’t very politely, considering how damn quick the girl is on her feet), he hurtles after her, hoping she won’t get herself killed by any cars or angry pedestrians. As much trouble as she’s causing him, he doesn’t need another death on his conscience right now.
At one point, he finds himself close enough that he can make out a word or two: something about monsters. Swearing, he spares a quick glance over his shoulder. Nothing there, except a whole mob of furious people giving them the finger.
Great. Well, no way he’s going to go unnoticed now. But he’s following Option C to the letter. There’s always that.
He only hopes that this chase isn’t all for nothing, or heads are gonna start rolling.
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"I'msorrypleasegottogetthroughhereeveryonepleaserunI'msorry--"
If they can hear her amidst the ruckus, it'll be a miracle.
Eventually, they're through the cars, still jammed up a mile back with their drivers yelling curses. The Kashtta's closer, now. Almost there. She's panting, whimpering, tears and sweat streaming down her face from the shock of just having thrown herself into the path of several speeding screaming hunks of metal manned by subsequently irate Chicagoans. And having barely realised she'd done, at the time. Nothing mattered, except getting away from-- from that.
She's barely got the strength to run any more. Alchemists aren't known for their athleticism, even if she's travelled a bit more than most. But she turns around to get one last glance at Jack, and sees death's shadow over his face like a mask. Premonition, trick of the light, she doesn't have time to evaluate it. She staggers the last few yards to the Kashtta, and all but pushes him through the doors like they're a sacred seal.
Once they're on the other side, everything will be okay. Everything will be okay.
...Well, she's going to be chewed out horribly. But it's better than being chewed on.
Everything will be okay.
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A few more blocks, and it looks like they’re heading straight for an office building. It’s several stories high, looks nice and modern and squeaky clean. Nothing out of the ordinary, though, and it makes him wonder why?
But then they’re there. She shoves him through the double-doors, and he suddenly finds himself standing in the middle of an air-conditioned lobby. Stairs right smack in front of him leading up to what looks like a second balcony, a reception desk off to the left, and the cool air feels like a damn blessing after running several blocks through Chicago in the middle of the afternoon. The sweat’s pouring off him in buckets, getting into his eyes, and he swipes a hand across his forehead before turning back to glare at the girl.
“I think now’s a good time for some of those answers.” he says. “Start talking. Who’re you, and why the hell did we just break seventeen different traffic laws back there?”
It’s okay, Iris. He’s not normally so snappy. He’s just having a bad day.
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As her fear recedes, however, and the sense of being hounded dissipates - of course she feels safe here, because she believes that they're safe here, and that's the kick her mind needs to get her to snap out of it - she manages to buck up, wipe her face off, and make something in the region of intelligible sounds.
"I... I," she manages, awkwardly. Well, it's a start. "I'm I-Iris, Iris Fortner, and... sorry. I'm sorry. I know that was crazy. But there's stuff in this city. I know you-- know you probably couldn't--" She wipes the tears out of her eyes again, or the sweat, she doesn't know which. "Not everyone can see stuff, I know. I've got... got the ability to see things, that others don't, sometimes, and I don't, I don't know how you couldn't have seen that back there but some people just can't I guess and anyway, I'm really sorry, but the good thing is we're safe and nothing killed us."
She pauses and gulps in air. "Th-this is called, it's a place called the Kashtta Tower, we're okay here."
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He watches as she wipes her face off and takes a few breaths to steady herself. Then, after another awkward moment during which he doesn’t know what to do, she suddenly starts talking, launching into an explanation that makes as little sense as him suddenly being in Chicago does. And what she's saying makes his skin crawl, reminds him of the damn Reetou. What's even worse is that she's obviously not lying; her panic is real, he can see that look of genuine terror in her eyes. As crazy as it sounds, he knows she's telling the truth, and he's been with the SGC long enough to know that what she's talking about isn't completely impossible.
... and just when he thinks he has his plate full already, there happen to be invisible monsters lurking around the city. Excellent.
“So," he says, after she finishes, "what’s so special about this place?” He makes sure to soften his tone this time. He's not looking to hurt anymore feelings around here than he has to, and, from hard-won experience (and more than a few headaches), he knows pursuing the topic of invisible monsters will probably be more confusing than enlightening.
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And a tiny bit proud of herself, for pulling them out of the fire back there even if it was crazy. Though, by all the gods and Mana, she doesn't want to see a car up that close again for a very long time.
"I, well," she says, and takes another deep breath. "it's... I'm not sure, I haven't been here that long, and this is kind of just what people are telling me and there're a lot of people here who probably know more than I do, but... but. Anyway. This building, this is where they brought me when I landed here. About a week ago. This city's got people in it who, I think people were calling them terrorists. They're called the CLF, or something." She's clearly never heard what it actually stands for. "People who've landed here from their own worlds, they want to kill them, I don't know why. And... and as you can sort of tell, there are other things out there. But nothing comes here."
Or rather, so far, she hasn't run into any of the many homegrown wonders the Kashtta has to offer its residents. So we'll just let her go on believing that for a bit, shall we?
"The people who come through, Wanderers, they call them-- us, I mean, they call us-- we can stay here. It's free and you get food and clothes and things." She gestures vaguely in the direction of the reception desk, where an angel - not that Jack will probably know that, with their wings neatly tucked away - is on staff. "You can get a room over there, or... or I can try and explain more stuff, now that we're not running away. Heh." She pushes her bangs out of her eyes a bit. "I'm really sorry about... about that." The crying, or the running, she doesn't quite make clear.
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He listens to her, absorbs what she’s saying. This place - Kashtta Tower, she called it - almost sounds too good to be true. Free food, free clothes, free place to sleep. But Jack's been around the block long enough to know nothing's free, that everything comes at a price eventually. And nothing comes here, she said. As much as Jack wants to believe that that’s purely a good thing, he can’t help but feel there’s something sinister lurking beneath the surface that even Iris doesn’t know about.
Yeah, and on that note, he’ll hold off on getting a room here. He’s never been a fan of office buildings anyways.
“So this place is kinda like an orphanage,” he says, casting a look around. Gather intel, get your bearings. “How many Wanderers live here?” He corrects himself. "How many Wanderers are there?"
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"I guess... it's not a stable number," she adds, in conclusion. "More and more people are coming here all the time."
Maybe soon it'll be everyone. Everyone, from everywhere that's ever been. Maybe this is the end of the world.
She's certainly thought it, before. But she tries not to think about that.
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But he has to deal with it. For now, at least. If he’s here to stay - not that he is, but if there’s no way home (gotta assume the worst) - he needs a back-up plan. Needs to figure out a way to support himself here. It’s Chicago, the 21st century. Finding a job should be a piece of cake if an economic recession hasn’t hit in the last eight years or so, and he has enough marketable skills to make a living. It won’t be easy, but it shouldn’t be terrible. If the other Wanderers can make it in this universe - and according to Iris, apparently there's quite a good number of them - then there's no reason why he won't be able to.
He takes a few steps in the direction of the reception desk, then stops short and pivots on his heel. “They don’t mind if I just take a look around, do they?” He figures as long as he’s here, he might as well ask for a tour, take advantage of the air conditioning while he tries to decide what he’s going to do. And considering how he has absolutely no money to his name right now, he might wind up having to take a room here even if he doesn’t like it all that much. Sacrifices, beggars can't be choosers, all that good stuff.
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On balance, she could get used to Chicago, if it were the people alone. These people, the Wanderers, and the angels and demons who don't want to hurt others. It's everything else, the monsters and the terrorists and the politics of death and revenge, that make her unsure.
But there's nothing to do but make the best of it, for now. That goes for all of them.
"I think it's probably okay," she says. "...I'd offer to give you the tour myself, but I haven't really been here long enough to know where everything is. Unless you just want someone to walk with you, or something."
She's about to let him go if he doesn't want a guide, but one more thing comes to mind. "--Oh, wait... I just realised. Um, I didn't even get your name. Not that it's my business, I guess. But... with the way things are, and everything... it's probably a good idea if we Wanderers stick together."
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He turns to go, but her question stops him short, and he realizes that he never really did mention his name. "Jack O'Neill," he says, in response. He ditches the rank, as he doubts it’ll mean much to her anyways, and even if it does mean something to her, he doesn’t want to intimidate her more than he has already. “It’s been a pleasure, Iris. Thanks.”
And off he goes, wandering.
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