The return of seasonal SGA fic!
Title: Evil Dead: Atlantis
Fandoms: Stargate: Atlantis and Evil Dead
Summary: Summary: Evil Dead: The Musical. Atlantis. Need I say more?
Word Count: ~2400
Spoilers: There are characters in SGA season 2, and demons in Evil Dead. Shocking, I know.
Warnings: Bad language, tasteless humor, killer zombie demon-foliage, dramatic license. Intermittent singing with a chance of soft-shoe.
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis is the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, and the Sci-Fi Channel. Evil Dead is probably the property of Sam Raimi, and Evil Dead: The Musical was created with his blessing. Characters, situations, etc. of both are included in this work under the principle of Fair Use, and no infringement of copyright is intended. All other components of this work are © 29 October 2010 Liz A. Vogel.
Notes: I'd apologize to the creators of =Evil Dead: The Musical=, but I suspect they're beyond offense. Thanks (I think) to the MSU Department of Theatre, for inspiration and splatter. And thanks of course to the housemate for tickets and speed-beta.
Evil Dead: Atlantis
by Liz A. Vogel
Rodney waited anxiously in the gateroom. Katie Brown had gone off-world yesterday with a group of botanists and archaeologists to investigate some ruins overrun by strange foliage, and now they were twelve hours overdue. The team of Marines sent to check on them was just dialing back in.
"Well? Well?" he demanded, charging down the stairs before the wormhole had entirely faded.
The lead Marine held up his hands half in apology, half to ward him off. One hand held a digital video camera. "Sorry, McKay."
Weir was only a few steps behind Rodney. "No luck finding our people, Lieutenant?"
"No, ma'am, not a trace of them. Just some of their equipment down in an old cellar, and a lot of really weird trees."
Weir's frown deepened. "That's not good. Maybe the footage will have some clue--"
"Yeah, yeah." McKay had already snatched the camera and was heading back up the stairs, peering at the camera's tiny screen as he went.
Plugged into the main display, the DV revealed an archaeologist shoving aside some twisted and knotted vines to reveal an inscription carved in the stone wall. "I've never seen this language before," his recorded voice said in bewilderment.
"Look over here, Chris." McKay twitched as the video panned over to another wall, where Katie Brown was carefully extricating more vines. "There's more writing."
"That looks like Ancient!" His excitement faded as he added, "But it doesn't make any sense. Phonetically, it looks like it would be--" his recorded image gave a throat-straining string of syllables that only vaguely sounded like the catch-phrase of a classic science fiction movie, "--but what's that supposed to mean?"
Weir squinted at the display, but shook her head. She looked around at Shepherd, Teyla, and Zelenka, who had clustered around the screen along with the curious Marines and gate technicians, but got only uncomprehending shrugs.
The video continued like that for several minutes, alternating between the ruins and the twisty, vine-encrusted shrubbery, then shut off with no worse indication than a brief view of the operator's boots.
*
Down in the botany lab, in a disused corner where the dry stalks of ten-thousand-year-old dead plants had been exiled from the corridors, there was a faint rattling. A rattling faintly reminiscent, had there been anyone to hear it, of the gleeful cackling of the unleashed forces of Hell.
*
"We have to go look for them! I should have gone in the first place, not a bunch of--"
"All right, McKay! We're going, already." Shepherd hitched his P90 a little higher up his shoulder, and signalled for the tech to dial the gate.
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened again, by which time Rodney was already charging up the steps to push the tech aside and dial the gate himself. Nothing happened some more. Zelenka, who was standing there with nothing better to do, reached down to open the back of the dialing console to check the crystals.
Static crackled cheekily over the console, jumped the slight gap, and zapped Zelenka to the floor. "Join us," a mysterious, ominous voice moaned.
McKay and Shepherd turned to each other, eyes wide. "What the fuck was that?" they said in unison.
Zelenka staggered upright, hair standing on end like a balding dandelion. He giggled, which was disturbing in its own right, then focused on the pair with sudden, intense clarity. "It won't let us leave," he said.
"What won't?" Shepherd protested.
"Join us," the voice boomed through the gateroom.
"That won't," said McKay, catching on. "There's only one way off this planet, and whatever that is, it's taken over the consoles."
"We are all doomed," Zelenka said agreeably, giggled again, and collapsed behind the console.
Teyla peered over it. "Dr. Zelenka?" She hurried around and pulled him to his feet. "Come with me; I will take you to the infirmary." Zelenka went willingly enough, leaning on her shoulder.
"Now what?" Shepherd said.
Static crackled across all the consoles, and everyone jumped back. Outside the stained-glass windows, the sky was growing dark and threatening.
At the back of the gateroom, Zelenka reappeared. He had something that looked like leaf mold growing out of his forehead, ropy vines twisted up his side, and he had apparently attempted to turn his uniform into an homage to Flashdance. He announced his presence with a giggling shriek of, "Look who is evil now!"
Shepherd and McKay jumped a foot in the air. "What the fuck was that?" they hollered as they landed.
Zelenka, meanwhile, had attached himself to a gate tech and was happily gnawing on the man's shoulder. Shepherd lifted his P90. "Get off him, Doc!" Rodney tried to push Zelenka away; Zelenka snapped at his fingers. Shepherd fired a warning shot into the ceiling.
Zelenka abandoned his snack, struck a pose, and sang:
Look who's evil now! In case you couldn't tell
Is time for demon trees' getting even!
It's the undead 9/11,
Gonna stop-loss you straight to Hell!
McKay, overcome, grabbed Shepherd's P90 and unloaded half a clip into his possessed co-worker. Zelenka tumbled backward, landing splayed out on the floor.
"I had to do it! I'm not really a killer, I swear," Rodney protested.
Zelenka sat up. "Join us," he croaked, and got the rest of the clip for his trouble.
"No argument here," said Shepherd.
*
Shepherd found McKay in his lab, where he'd retreated to analyze the missing team's equipment. "I had another look at the DV," McKay said in a tone of flat despair. "I can't believe this is happening again."
"What do you mean, again?"
"See the time stamps? This isn't one continuous piece of footage; it's several different takes." Now that McKay was pointing it out -- literally; Shepherd had to squint through the fingerprints he left on the screen -- it was plain that it was repeated pans of the same stretch of ruined wall. Where Katie Brown had been standing, there was now a gnarled, twisted, moss-covered sapling. Weir and Teyla came in just in time to catch the final pan. No one noticed the faint rattle from a bundle of ten-thousand-year-old dead plants, inexplicably leaning against the laboratory wall.
"All the girls in my life keep getting killed by Candarian demons," McKay complained.
"Oh, come on, don't you think you're exaggerating a little? One girl is hardly 'all'," Shepherd said in his awkward version of comfort. "Er, unless that really is all, that is."
"Oh yeah?" said McKay.
First there was Katie, a really nice girl
Too fond of dirt, but what can you do?
I was all set to take her to dinner tomorrow,
but then she went off-world and was killed by Candarian Demons.
Shepherd, Weir, and Teyla found themselves doing a do-wop routine as backup, warbling, "Candarian Demon, Candarian Demon, Candarian Demon." They exchanged "what the fuck?" looks, but their feet kept moving and their fingers snapping in time all the same.
In college, Teresa Geldar was a very cute blonde
until finals week, when she was killed by a Candarian Demon.
"Very cute blonde, very cute blonde," chorused Shepherd, Teyla, and Weir. "Awoo."
A ten-thousand-year-old dead plant stalk, its end curled into a hook, reached out and caught Shepherd by the neck. "Urk!" he cried as he was yanked away. The others continued their routine uninterrupted.
And then there's my sister -- okay, she's still alive.
But her husband could be a Candarian Demon --
an English major's practically the same thing.
"Which means you two are going to die next," Rodney said abruptly to his two remaining back-up singers. "Sorry about that."
"No we're not!" Weir protested. "Don't be melodramatic, Rodney. We're going to find a way out of this. Isn't that right, Teyla?" Teyla had her back turned to them, and didn't respond. "Teyla?" Weir prompted again, and reached out to shake her shoulder.
Teyla whirled around, displaying the patch of moss growing down her front and the leafy twig sprouting from behind her ear, and latched onto Weir's arm. "Look who's evil now!" she cackled through a mouthful of the expedition leader's wrist.
"Don't talk with your mouth full!" Rodney screamed, and opened fire with the P90 on the desk beside him. Teyla went flying under the impact.
"I'm not a killer!" Rodney insisted, eyes rolling whitely as his hands clenched on the gun.
"It's okay, Rodney. I believe you," said Weir despite the evidence.
But Rodney had snapped. "Aaaaaaaahhhhh!" he yelled, and bolted out the lab door, waving the P90 in the air.
"What's with him?" Ronon asked, striding into the room.
"He's just a little stressed," Weir said. Her attention was caught by something on the lab bench. "Hmm," she said as much to herself as to Ronon, "an antique dagger? That wasn't part of the team's standard-issue kit." She picked up the item and held it up to the light, which glinted off the needle-sharp blade.
"Most of the city's been possessed by demons," Ronon informed her, clearly feeling this was a higher priority than any non-standard weapons somebody had chosen to pack along. "I think we should get out of here."
"We can't just abandon Atlantis," Weir objected, half her attention still on the dagger. She turned, tripped over a power cable, and accidentally plunged the knife to the hilt in Ronon's chest.
Ronon gasped, gurgled a bit, and sang:
You stupid Earthling! Why did you stab me?
You stupid Earthling! Do I look like a zombie?
"Well, with that hair..." Weir began. "I mean, no, it was a mistake! How can I make it up to you?"
"Well, next time you could not fucking stab me!"
"Here, apply pressure--" She slapped her hand over the wound, inadvertently twisting the knife and then jarring it loose.
"Earthlings. Should've fed you all to the Wraith," Ronon muttered as he expired on the floor.
*
Rodney edged back through the lab doorway. He stared around wildly at the carnage of Ronon and Teyla, the semi-animate forest of ten-thousand-year-old dead plants looming out from the wall, and Weir's artfully-shredded uniform. "Oh, good, you're back," she said, looking up from where she was bent over the desk. "I've managed to translate another part of the inscription. It says that the forces of Hell can be driven back by the light of a thousand suns."
"'Cause yeah, that's helpful. What are we supposed to do, nuke the city?"
"Can we leave first?" Ronon sat up long enough to say, then flopped back down, inanimate again.
"No, wait--" McKay snapped his fingers several times. "I know just the thing. Come on, it's time to take a stand!"
"It's time for you to die!" exclaimed Teyla, staggering upright amidst a welter of gore and tree bark.
"Hey, no fair! I already killed you!"
"You can't kill us, Rodney," Teyla said in a voice of extreme reasonableness, except for the shrieky parts. "We're already dead!"
"Eep!" said McKay.
Weir grabbed his arm. "Whatever your idea is, we'd better hurry!"
"Right!" McKay shook off his immobility, not to mention a few bits of his former teammates. "Let's go!"
Clutching P90 and camera respectively, they made their way down to the ZPM room. Dry, rattling dead plant stalks followed them, as did the shlush-and-thump of an increasing army of zombies. The later seemed to be working on some sort of dance routine, but the denizens of Atlantis, mostly not exactly Dancing With The Stars material to start with, had not found their rhythm improved by reanimation. McKay and Weir skidded into the ZPM room barely ahead of the horde.
"This'll teach 'em to mess with a physicist," McKay muttered as he rigged a control lead for the ZPM.
"Just don't drop it!" Weir cautioned. "Once the banishment has begun, you have to see it through to the end."
"Ha! I'll show you seeing-it-through-ness...." The words got away from him, but the ZPM wouldn't: Rodney seized a roll of duct tape from a nearby tool kit and brandished it high in the air. "Time to stick it to destiny!" He grabbed the ZPM and proceeded to duct-tape it inextricably to his hand.
"I'll be right beside you, Rodne-- urk!" A ten-thousand-year-old dead plant speared through the air and skewered Weir through the stomach.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooo!" McKay flipped the switch and went charging into the hall, waving the ZPM taped to the end of his arm wildly. An unendurable blaze of energy burst forth, scouring the forces of darkness from the corridors and twisting time and space into a vortex of unpredictable power.
*
"...And that's how I saved the city of Atlantis," McKay proclaimed, perched on a table in the SGC cafeteria. "Then I was flung back in time, and the Ancients made me their Supreme Boss-Man and All-Around Smart Guy after I saved them from a demon invasion."
"Oh, come off it, McKay," protested a nearby Marine.
"Yeah," said an Air Force captain in a rare moment of cross-service agreement. "Do you really expect us to believe this bullshit?"
McKay's apoplectic sputter was interrupted as a young airman, mopping up near the chow line, suddenly turned and cackled to the room, "Look who's evil now!" Then he grabbed a nearby lieutenant and started gnawing on his head.
"I'll show you bullshit!" hollered McKay, whipping out the ZPM that was still indelibly taped to his hand. The zombie airman shrieked and bolted for the door, McKay and his glowing appendage in hot pursuit.
Daniel Jackson glanced at the gnawed lieutenant and remarked to his table-mate, "You know, with the food around here, I've thought about doing that myself."
"Well, it is leftover day," replied Carter. They both shrugged and turned back to their Jello.
Fandoms: Stargate: Atlantis and Evil Dead
Summary: Summary: Evil Dead: The Musical. Atlantis. Need I say more?
Word Count: ~2400
Spoilers: There are characters in SGA season 2, and demons in Evil Dead. Shocking, I know.
Warnings: Bad language, tasteless humor, killer zombie demon-foliage, dramatic license. Intermittent singing with a chance of soft-shoe.
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis is the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, and the Sci-Fi Channel. Evil Dead is probably the property of Sam Raimi, and Evil Dead: The Musical was created with his blessing. Characters, situations, etc. of both are included in this work under the principle of Fair Use, and no infringement of copyright is intended. All other components of this work are © 29 October 2010 Liz A. Vogel.
Notes: I'd apologize to the creators of =Evil Dead: The Musical=, but I suspect they're beyond offense. Thanks (I think) to the MSU Department of Theatre, for inspiration and splatter. And thanks of course to the housemate for tickets and speed-beta.
Evil Dead: Atlantis
by Liz A. Vogel
Rodney waited anxiously in the gateroom. Katie Brown had gone off-world yesterday with a group of botanists and archaeologists to investigate some ruins overrun by strange foliage, and now they were twelve hours overdue. The team of Marines sent to check on them was just dialing back in.
"Well? Well?" he demanded, charging down the stairs before the wormhole had entirely faded.
The lead Marine held up his hands half in apology, half to ward him off. One hand held a digital video camera. "Sorry, McKay."
Weir was only a few steps behind Rodney. "No luck finding our people, Lieutenant?"
"No, ma'am, not a trace of them. Just some of their equipment down in an old cellar, and a lot of really weird trees."
Weir's frown deepened. "That's not good. Maybe the footage will have some clue--"
"Yeah, yeah." McKay had already snatched the camera and was heading back up the stairs, peering at the camera's tiny screen as he went.
Plugged into the main display, the DV revealed an archaeologist shoving aside some twisted and knotted vines to reveal an inscription carved in the stone wall. "I've never seen this language before," his recorded voice said in bewilderment.
"Look over here, Chris." McKay twitched as the video panned over to another wall, where Katie Brown was carefully extricating more vines. "There's more writing."
"That looks like Ancient!" His excitement faded as he added, "But it doesn't make any sense. Phonetically, it looks like it would be--" his recorded image gave a throat-straining string of syllables that only vaguely sounded like the catch-phrase of a classic science fiction movie, "--but what's that supposed to mean?"
Weir squinted at the display, but shook her head. She looked around at Shepherd, Teyla, and Zelenka, who had clustered around the screen along with the curious Marines and gate technicians, but got only uncomprehending shrugs.
The video continued like that for several minutes, alternating between the ruins and the twisty, vine-encrusted shrubbery, then shut off with no worse indication than a brief view of the operator's boots.
*
Down in the botany lab, in a disused corner where the dry stalks of ten-thousand-year-old dead plants had been exiled from the corridors, there was a faint rattling. A rattling faintly reminiscent, had there been anyone to hear it, of the gleeful cackling of the unleashed forces of Hell.
*
"We have to go look for them! I should have gone in the first place, not a bunch of--"
"All right, McKay! We're going, already." Shepherd hitched his P90 a little higher up his shoulder, and signalled for the tech to dial the gate.
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened again, by which time Rodney was already charging up the steps to push the tech aside and dial the gate himself. Nothing happened some more. Zelenka, who was standing there with nothing better to do, reached down to open the back of the dialing console to check the crystals.
Static crackled cheekily over the console, jumped the slight gap, and zapped Zelenka to the floor. "Join us," a mysterious, ominous voice moaned.
McKay and Shepherd turned to each other, eyes wide. "What the fuck was that?" they said in unison.
Zelenka staggered upright, hair standing on end like a balding dandelion. He giggled, which was disturbing in its own right, then focused on the pair with sudden, intense clarity. "It won't let us leave," he said.
"What won't?" Shepherd protested.
"Join us," the voice boomed through the gateroom.
"That won't," said McKay, catching on. "There's only one way off this planet, and whatever that is, it's taken over the consoles."
"We are all doomed," Zelenka said agreeably, giggled again, and collapsed behind the console.
Teyla peered over it. "Dr. Zelenka?" She hurried around and pulled him to his feet. "Come with me; I will take you to the infirmary." Zelenka went willingly enough, leaning on her shoulder.
"Now what?" Shepherd said.
Static crackled across all the consoles, and everyone jumped back. Outside the stained-glass windows, the sky was growing dark and threatening.
At the back of the gateroom, Zelenka reappeared. He had something that looked like leaf mold growing out of his forehead, ropy vines twisted up his side, and he had apparently attempted to turn his uniform into an homage to Flashdance. He announced his presence with a giggling shriek of, "Look who is evil now!"
Shepherd and McKay jumped a foot in the air. "What the fuck was that?" they hollered as they landed.
Zelenka, meanwhile, had attached himself to a gate tech and was happily gnawing on the man's shoulder. Shepherd lifted his P90. "Get off him, Doc!" Rodney tried to push Zelenka away; Zelenka snapped at his fingers. Shepherd fired a warning shot into the ceiling.
Zelenka abandoned his snack, struck a pose, and sang:
Look who's evil now! In case you couldn't tell
Is time for demon trees' getting even!
It's the undead 9/11,
Gonna stop-loss you straight to Hell!
McKay, overcome, grabbed Shepherd's P90 and unloaded half a clip into his possessed co-worker. Zelenka tumbled backward, landing splayed out on the floor.
"I had to do it! I'm not really a killer, I swear," Rodney protested.
Zelenka sat up. "Join us," he croaked, and got the rest of the clip for his trouble.
"No argument here," said Shepherd.
*
Shepherd found McKay in his lab, where he'd retreated to analyze the missing team's equipment. "I had another look at the DV," McKay said in a tone of flat despair. "I can't believe this is happening again."
"What do you mean, again?"
"See the time stamps? This isn't one continuous piece of footage; it's several different takes." Now that McKay was pointing it out -- literally; Shepherd had to squint through the fingerprints he left on the screen -- it was plain that it was repeated pans of the same stretch of ruined wall. Where Katie Brown had been standing, there was now a gnarled, twisted, moss-covered sapling. Weir and Teyla came in just in time to catch the final pan. No one noticed the faint rattle from a bundle of ten-thousand-year-old dead plants, inexplicably leaning against the laboratory wall.
"All the girls in my life keep getting killed by Candarian demons," McKay complained.
"Oh, come on, don't you think you're exaggerating a little? One girl is hardly 'all'," Shepherd said in his awkward version of comfort. "Er, unless that really is all, that is."
"Oh yeah?" said McKay.
First there was Katie, a really nice girl
Too fond of dirt, but what can you do?
I was all set to take her to dinner tomorrow,
but then she went off-world and was killed by Candarian Demons.
Shepherd, Weir, and Teyla found themselves doing a do-wop routine as backup, warbling, "Candarian Demon, Candarian Demon, Candarian Demon." They exchanged "what the fuck?" looks, but their feet kept moving and their fingers snapping in time all the same.
In college, Teresa Geldar was a very cute blonde
until finals week, when she was killed by a Candarian Demon.
"Very cute blonde, very cute blonde," chorused Shepherd, Teyla, and Weir. "Awoo."
A ten-thousand-year-old dead plant stalk, its end curled into a hook, reached out and caught Shepherd by the neck. "Urk!" he cried as he was yanked away. The others continued their routine uninterrupted.
And then there's my sister -- okay, she's still alive.
But her husband could be a Candarian Demon --
an English major's practically the same thing.
"Which means you two are going to die next," Rodney said abruptly to his two remaining back-up singers. "Sorry about that."
"No we're not!" Weir protested. "Don't be melodramatic, Rodney. We're going to find a way out of this. Isn't that right, Teyla?" Teyla had her back turned to them, and didn't respond. "Teyla?" Weir prompted again, and reached out to shake her shoulder.
Teyla whirled around, displaying the patch of moss growing down her front and the leafy twig sprouting from behind her ear, and latched onto Weir's arm. "Look who's evil now!" she cackled through a mouthful of the expedition leader's wrist.
"Don't talk with your mouth full!" Rodney screamed, and opened fire with the P90 on the desk beside him. Teyla went flying under the impact.
"I'm not a killer!" Rodney insisted, eyes rolling whitely as his hands clenched on the gun.
"It's okay, Rodney. I believe you," said Weir despite the evidence.
But Rodney had snapped. "Aaaaaaaahhhhh!" he yelled, and bolted out the lab door, waving the P90 in the air.
"What's with him?" Ronon asked, striding into the room.
"He's just a little stressed," Weir said. Her attention was caught by something on the lab bench. "Hmm," she said as much to herself as to Ronon, "an antique dagger? That wasn't part of the team's standard-issue kit." She picked up the item and held it up to the light, which glinted off the needle-sharp blade.
"Most of the city's been possessed by demons," Ronon informed her, clearly feeling this was a higher priority than any non-standard weapons somebody had chosen to pack along. "I think we should get out of here."
"We can't just abandon Atlantis," Weir objected, half her attention still on the dagger. She turned, tripped over a power cable, and accidentally plunged the knife to the hilt in Ronon's chest.
Ronon gasped, gurgled a bit, and sang:
You stupid Earthling! Why did you stab me?
You stupid Earthling! Do I look like a zombie?
"Well, with that hair..." Weir began. "I mean, no, it was a mistake! How can I make it up to you?"
"Well, next time you could not fucking stab me!"
"Here, apply pressure--" She slapped her hand over the wound, inadvertently twisting the knife and then jarring it loose.
"Earthlings. Should've fed you all to the Wraith," Ronon muttered as he expired on the floor.
*
Rodney edged back through the lab doorway. He stared around wildly at the carnage of Ronon and Teyla, the semi-animate forest of ten-thousand-year-old dead plants looming out from the wall, and Weir's artfully-shredded uniform. "Oh, good, you're back," she said, looking up from where she was bent over the desk. "I've managed to translate another part of the inscription. It says that the forces of Hell can be driven back by the light of a thousand suns."
"'Cause yeah, that's helpful. What are we supposed to do, nuke the city?"
"Can we leave first?" Ronon sat up long enough to say, then flopped back down, inanimate again.
"No, wait--" McKay snapped his fingers several times. "I know just the thing. Come on, it's time to take a stand!"
"It's time for you to die!" exclaimed Teyla, staggering upright amidst a welter of gore and tree bark.
"Hey, no fair! I already killed you!"
"You can't kill us, Rodney," Teyla said in a voice of extreme reasonableness, except for the shrieky parts. "We're already dead!"
"Eep!" said McKay.
Weir grabbed his arm. "Whatever your idea is, we'd better hurry!"
"Right!" McKay shook off his immobility, not to mention a few bits of his former teammates. "Let's go!"
Clutching P90 and camera respectively, they made their way down to the ZPM room. Dry, rattling dead plant stalks followed them, as did the shlush-and-thump of an increasing army of zombies. The later seemed to be working on some sort of dance routine, but the denizens of Atlantis, mostly not exactly Dancing With The Stars material to start with, had not found their rhythm improved by reanimation. McKay and Weir skidded into the ZPM room barely ahead of the horde.
"This'll teach 'em to mess with a physicist," McKay muttered as he rigged a control lead for the ZPM.
"Just don't drop it!" Weir cautioned. "Once the banishment has begun, you have to see it through to the end."
"Ha! I'll show you seeing-it-through-ness...." The words got away from him, but the ZPM wouldn't: Rodney seized a roll of duct tape from a nearby tool kit and brandished it high in the air. "Time to stick it to destiny!" He grabbed the ZPM and proceeded to duct-tape it inextricably to his hand.
"I'll be right beside you, Rodne-- urk!" A ten-thousand-year-old dead plant speared through the air and skewered Weir through the stomach.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooo!" McKay flipped the switch and went charging into the hall, waving the ZPM taped to the end of his arm wildly. An unendurable blaze of energy burst forth, scouring the forces of darkness from the corridors and twisting time and space into a vortex of unpredictable power.
*
"...And that's how I saved the city of Atlantis," McKay proclaimed, perched on a table in the SGC cafeteria. "Then I was flung back in time, and the Ancients made me their Supreme Boss-Man and All-Around Smart Guy after I saved them from a demon invasion."
"Oh, come off it, McKay," protested a nearby Marine.
"Yeah," said an Air Force captain in a rare moment of cross-service agreement. "Do you really expect us to believe this bullshit?"
McKay's apoplectic sputter was interrupted as a young airman, mopping up near the chow line, suddenly turned and cackled to the room, "Look who's evil now!" Then he grabbed a nearby lieutenant and started gnawing on his head.
"I'll show you bullshit!" hollered McKay, whipping out the ZPM that was still indelibly taped to his hand. The zombie airman shrieked and bolted for the door, McKay and his glowing appendage in hot pursuit.
Daniel Jackson glanced at the gnawed lieutenant and remarked to his table-mate, "You know, with the food around here, I've thought about doing that myself."
"Well, it is leftover day," replied Carter. They both shrugged and turned back to their Jello.