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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He’s trying to keep it light. It’s not that he’s panicking (not yet, at least; he’s saving the panicking for when he discovers there’s no SGC and no way home, because when you’re in over your head, always assume the worst, and take it from there), but all this talk about one-way rifts is enough to get a guy down, even if there hadn’t been some talk of war thrown in with it earlier. And not only that, but according to Francis, this place is apparently unstable enough to swallow you on an off-day if it feels like it. Great, as if he doesn’t have enough on his mind already.
The car’s parked by now. Making a mental note to have a friendly chat with the people out there who say cities can’t eat you alive, Jack says, “Oh, don’t worry. Wasn’t planning on it anyways,” in response to Francis, and climbs out of the car. He stops momentarily on the curb, then pushes his P-90 in under the front seat. Too conspicuous by far, and he doesn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. If he needs to defend himself, he still has his 9mm on him, a combat knife tucked into his belt, and enough hand-to-hand combat training to get him out of a bar fight relatively unscathed. Sure, he’s never had to fight archangels before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?
And with that, he follows Francis into the bar.
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