Jack's Capture (Part One)
After my little foray into Primeval (who knows, I might get lured back again...) I've returned to home ground. Hurrah. And fanfic100, too. ^_^ *pats table* Nice insanely huge amount of word prompts...
Fandom: Torchwood (can't say "What else?" any more...)
Rating: R (for swearing, mostly)
Warnings: Swearing, touches of blood and torture...
Word Count: 1250
Summary: Post season one. Jack's returned from travelling with the Doctor, only to be snatched away again - and this time there's nothing voluntary about it.
Part 1, probably of 3. (With the option of an epilogue)
Prompt: 019. White.
Jack's Capture
Part One
They came at him out of nowhere.
Early morning, and, of his team, only Ianto was in the Hub. He’d gone to open up the Tourist Information office, expecting the others in soon, and left Jack downstairs, checking the official emails to make sure nothing too drastic had turned up overnight. Jack had finished with that and gone wandering out towards Owen’s workstation, to reassure himself that the rubbish there hadn’t mutated into something horrible since last he’d looked.
He hadn’t even made it out of his office.
Literally appearing in thin air, two men leapt at him, slamming him back against his desk and ripping his gun from his hand before it had cleared the holster. It clattered to the floor as they pinned him in place, one either side of him, holding his shoulders and twisting his arms up behind his back, saying, “Don’t struggle. Even if you take us both out there are half a dozen snipers aiming at your head.”
Jack could only see four men pointing enhanced rifles at him, from where he stood, but that was still more than enough. From the way his arms were rapidly going numb, it was a fair bet that struggling wouldn’t do him much good anyway. At the moment it seemed like he only had two cards left to play - his immortality and his team. As long as he could keep this group distracted for long enough, surely Ianto could get the rest of the team in and they could come up with some sort of a -
He stopped that thought, tried to think of a plan of his own. He’d been in enough trouble, this was just another difficult situation and all he had to do was think of something. Anything.
Nothing sprang to mind. One of the two holding him slapped a pair of electroshock binders onto his wrists, and the familiar tingle jolted an unpleasant memory. The sonic blasters on the belts of his attackers, the uniforms, the flashing ID marker they slapped onto his chest. All familiar. All horribly familiar.
“What the hell do you want?” he snarled, and the Time Agent who’d put the binders on him backhanded him across the face.
He spat blood onto the floor by his gun, growling low in his throat, and then the round door of the Hub rolled back, the bars swung open, and the alarm went off. The Time Agents froze for a moment, and Ianto walked in, gun in hand, halfway through saying, “Jack, is everything alright? The cameras went offline…”
He stopped, and Jack was already yelling, “Ianto, no!” as he raised the gun and fired, at the same time as the sniper in the entrance to the autopsy room turned and shot him in the chest.
The man on Jack’s right fell back against the desk, Ianto hit the ground, and Jack, trying to break free, shouting, was punched hard in the stomach, doubling over and gasping for breath as his other captor yelled, “Bring us back, now!”
Their surroundings rippled and changed, and Jack watched the familiar colours of the Hub get wiped out by white walls and floors. As soon as the ripple had passed, his captor drove a knee into his stomach, then shoved him to the floor, winded.
“Harron, you in one piece?” someone asked, and Jack looked up, watching the man Ianto had shot wince and nod, pulling his hand away from his side and sitting up as a flurry of golden lights surrounded the wound and it healed before their eyes.
“Bastards,” Jack gasped, struggling to get his breath back.
The group, snipers shouldering their guns and removing their vision-enhancing goggles, looked at him and laughed. The man nearest him turned and kicked him in the face, knocking him to his back on the floor. He rolled onto his side and spat blood again, then the nanogenes rushed to heal him.
“You fuckers,” he hissed, struggling back to his knees and twisting to glare at them. “You sick, cowardly sons of bitches. You -”
The man hit him casually, splitting his lip open again, just when the nanogenes had finished healing it, then grabbed the scruff of his shirt and yanked him forward, saying quietly, “If I was in your position I’d keep my mouth shut unless I had something useful to say.”
“Good for you,” Jack said as the nanogenes started to repair his lip for the second time. “How about we swap places?”
The man smiled, and told him, “You realise of course, with the nanogenes on hand I could just about kill you and there’d be no evidence left of any… mistreatment.”
“What do you want?” Jack sighed wearily, already bored with the threats.
“We’ll ask you questions later,” the man said. “For now, all you need to know is that you’re under arrest. Your interference in time has been causing us far too much trouble.”
Jack shrugged, said, “Sorry to be such an inconvenience,” and hit the ground, hard, as the man punched him. His head cracked off the floor, and last thing he saw before he blacked out was a cloud of nanogenes, and the contemptuous gesture one of the men made to deactivate them.
~*~
He opened his eyes to more white - white ceiling this time, maybe as high as the Hub, with… viewing galleries? Never a good sign. And he couldn’t move. There were straps round his ankles, wrists, waist and neck, and they didn’t stretch in the slightest when he tried to test their strength. That was bad enough, but he was able to raise his head enough to see that he’d been stripped and dressed in plain white, almost matching the walls. So no wrist computer, no hidden weapons, nothing. Shit.
There was movement in the galleries above. About two dozen Time Agents filed in and leaned on the railings, peering down at him with expressions he could just about make out. They varied between amusement, disgust, and a worryingly eager interest, all the way through to boredom, distraction, and even a touch of pity. He let his head fall back to the table, thinking of the autopsy room back at the Hub, and knives and blood and nanogenes. Even including all the alien curses he’d picked up over the years, he just didn’t know enough swearwords to suit him at the moment.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” someone said cheerfully, and he twisted, able to see a man approaching the table. He stopped to pick up a knife from a table Jack couldn’t see, saying, “It’s strange, but with all the advancements in technology we’re in possession of, one of the best implements of torture is still so simple, and has been around so very long.”
Jack said nothing. He’d been on the other end of the knife often enough to know where people went wrong. Talking, even just to snarl defiance at your captor, was a sure-fire way to end up telling them everything they wanted to know. Silence was a far wiser move.
“All we want you to tell us,” the man said, “is what you’ve done since you joined Torchwood the first time. Every action. Everything you’ve done to disrupt the timeline.”
Jack closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. The nanogenes would heal him, and even if they went too far and killed him by accident, he’d come back. He really had nothing to fear.
Except the pain. Oh, God, the pain.
Part Two
Fandom: Torchwood (can't say "What else?" any more...)
Rating: R (for swearing, mostly)
Warnings: Swearing, touches of blood and torture...
Word Count: 1250
Summary: Post season one. Jack's returned from travelling with the Doctor, only to be snatched away again - and this time there's nothing voluntary about it.
Part 1, probably of 3. (With the option of an epilogue)
Prompt: 019. White.
Jack's Capture
Part One
They came at him out of nowhere.
Early morning, and, of his team, only Ianto was in the Hub. He’d gone to open up the Tourist Information office, expecting the others in soon, and left Jack downstairs, checking the official emails to make sure nothing too drastic had turned up overnight. Jack had finished with that and gone wandering out towards Owen’s workstation, to reassure himself that the rubbish there hadn’t mutated into something horrible since last he’d looked.
He hadn’t even made it out of his office.
Literally appearing in thin air, two men leapt at him, slamming him back against his desk and ripping his gun from his hand before it had cleared the holster. It clattered to the floor as they pinned him in place, one either side of him, holding his shoulders and twisting his arms up behind his back, saying, “Don’t struggle. Even if you take us both out there are half a dozen snipers aiming at your head.”
Jack could only see four men pointing enhanced rifles at him, from where he stood, but that was still more than enough. From the way his arms were rapidly going numb, it was a fair bet that struggling wouldn’t do him much good anyway. At the moment it seemed like he only had two cards left to play - his immortality and his team. As long as he could keep this group distracted for long enough, surely Ianto could get the rest of the team in and they could come up with some sort of a -
He stopped that thought, tried to think of a plan of his own. He’d been in enough trouble, this was just another difficult situation and all he had to do was think of something. Anything.
Nothing sprang to mind. One of the two holding him slapped a pair of electroshock binders onto his wrists, and the familiar tingle jolted an unpleasant memory. The sonic blasters on the belts of his attackers, the uniforms, the flashing ID marker they slapped onto his chest. All familiar. All horribly familiar.
“What the hell do you want?” he snarled, and the Time Agent who’d put the binders on him backhanded him across the face.
He spat blood onto the floor by his gun, growling low in his throat, and then the round door of the Hub rolled back, the bars swung open, and the alarm went off. The Time Agents froze for a moment, and Ianto walked in, gun in hand, halfway through saying, “Jack, is everything alright? The cameras went offline…”
He stopped, and Jack was already yelling, “Ianto, no!” as he raised the gun and fired, at the same time as the sniper in the entrance to the autopsy room turned and shot him in the chest.
The man on Jack’s right fell back against the desk, Ianto hit the ground, and Jack, trying to break free, shouting, was punched hard in the stomach, doubling over and gasping for breath as his other captor yelled, “Bring us back, now!”
Their surroundings rippled and changed, and Jack watched the familiar colours of the Hub get wiped out by white walls and floors. As soon as the ripple had passed, his captor drove a knee into his stomach, then shoved him to the floor, winded.
“Harron, you in one piece?” someone asked, and Jack looked up, watching the man Ianto had shot wince and nod, pulling his hand away from his side and sitting up as a flurry of golden lights surrounded the wound and it healed before their eyes.
“Bastards,” Jack gasped, struggling to get his breath back.
The group, snipers shouldering their guns and removing their vision-enhancing goggles, looked at him and laughed. The man nearest him turned and kicked him in the face, knocking him to his back on the floor. He rolled onto his side and spat blood again, then the nanogenes rushed to heal him.
“You fuckers,” he hissed, struggling back to his knees and twisting to glare at them. “You sick, cowardly sons of bitches. You -”
The man hit him casually, splitting his lip open again, just when the nanogenes had finished healing it, then grabbed the scruff of his shirt and yanked him forward, saying quietly, “If I was in your position I’d keep my mouth shut unless I had something useful to say.”
“Good for you,” Jack said as the nanogenes started to repair his lip for the second time. “How about we swap places?”
The man smiled, and told him, “You realise of course, with the nanogenes on hand I could just about kill you and there’d be no evidence left of any… mistreatment.”
“What do you want?” Jack sighed wearily, already bored with the threats.
“We’ll ask you questions later,” the man said. “For now, all you need to know is that you’re under arrest. Your interference in time has been causing us far too much trouble.”
Jack shrugged, said, “Sorry to be such an inconvenience,” and hit the ground, hard, as the man punched him. His head cracked off the floor, and last thing he saw before he blacked out was a cloud of nanogenes, and the contemptuous gesture one of the men made to deactivate them.
~*~
He opened his eyes to more white - white ceiling this time, maybe as high as the Hub, with… viewing galleries? Never a good sign. And he couldn’t move. There were straps round his ankles, wrists, waist and neck, and they didn’t stretch in the slightest when he tried to test their strength. That was bad enough, but he was able to raise his head enough to see that he’d been stripped and dressed in plain white, almost matching the walls. So no wrist computer, no hidden weapons, nothing. Shit.
There was movement in the galleries above. About two dozen Time Agents filed in and leaned on the railings, peering down at him with expressions he could just about make out. They varied between amusement, disgust, and a worryingly eager interest, all the way through to boredom, distraction, and even a touch of pity. He let his head fall back to the table, thinking of the autopsy room back at the Hub, and knives and blood and nanogenes. Even including all the alien curses he’d picked up over the years, he just didn’t know enough swearwords to suit him at the moment.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” someone said cheerfully, and he twisted, able to see a man approaching the table. He stopped to pick up a knife from a table Jack couldn’t see, saying, “It’s strange, but with all the advancements in technology we’re in possession of, one of the best implements of torture is still so simple, and has been around so very long.”
Jack said nothing. He’d been on the other end of the knife often enough to know where people went wrong. Talking, even just to snarl defiance at your captor, was a sure-fire way to end up telling them everything they wanted to know. Silence was a far wiser move.
“All we want you to tell us,” the man said, “is what you’ve done since you joined Torchwood the first time. Every action. Everything you’ve done to disrupt the timeline.”
Jack closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. The nanogenes would heal him, and even if they went too far and killed him by accident, he’d come back. He really had nothing to fear.
Except the pain. Oh, God, the pain.
Part Two