Title: Vulnerable Jack
Author: Raptor
Disclaimer: I own no part of Alias or the corresponding characters, I just adore them. No profit will be made from this story.
Flashbacks are in italics
Part 1
Consciousness began to return both slowly and painfully. With effort he attempted to lift his left hand towards his face and found it still to be shackled to his right. He winced as the handcuffs bit into the bloodied skin surrounding each wrist and gradually raised himself into a sitting position. A searing pain shot through his chest as he contracted his abdominals, most likely due to a broken rib or two, he thought to himself.
He gingerly took stock of his remaining catalogue of injuries: a right eye nearly swollen shut, a couple of suspiciously mobile teeth and the requisite muscle aches and bruises. His joints and limbs looked to be intact, all major organs appeared to be functioning properly and he did not seem to have sustained any significant blood loss. All in all, he was still in decent condition and that bode well, he reasoned, for his immediate survival. His captors were most likely looking to extract key information before they disposed of him, if not he would be far worse off already.
Just two weeks previously Jack had been overjoyed at the arrival of his first child, a beautiful baby girl. Laura’s labor had been somewhat difficult, but even after hours of painful contractions, she glowed with love and happiness when her daughter was first placed into her arms. As Jack first held Sydney he never imagined before he could feel such love. His own heart swelled with happiness.
Mother and daughter had been home for just over a week when the call came in. While he deeply regretted leaving his family so soon after Sydney’s arrival, neither the evil of the world nor his superiors at the CIA would make further accommodations for his personal schedule. At least, he surmised, he was fortunate enough to be present for his daughter’s birth and first few days of life.
Within minutes of hanging up the phone he was on his way to headquarters and within hours on a plane headed across the Atlantic. Two days into the op, a trusted informant turned, and he found himself pinned down with no feasible method of escape. After a prolonged firefight, he ran the odds and concluded surrender was his only viable option. He covertly sent off an emergency signal, and with no other alternatives remaining, he relinquished his weapons, raised his hands and slowly walked out from cover to meet his adversaries face to face.
With blurred vision he gazed around the dimly lit cell. The only light source, a small, barred window high up in the concrete wall, streamed in what little illumination it could from the dark night’s quarter moon. Yesterday had been a long, difficult day, but what lay ahead would most likely be much, much worse.
His respite was short lived and with a clank of the bolt the reinforced door swung swiftly open. Strong arms slid under each of his own as he was roughly yanked to his feet and dragged into the passageway, unable to move quickly enough himself for his captors’ liking due to the leg irons clasped around each ankle. Arriving at a sparingly outfitted chamber he was quickly stripped of his shirt and restrained with leather straps at his wrists and ankles to a makeshift gurney and doused with ice cold water. Electroshock cables were then attached to his hands and feet.
The questions began again, “Who are you?, Who are you working for?, What is the nature of your mission?, Who are your contacts in this region?” The same questions, over and over. The same lack of response. The same swift retribution for his lack of cooperation. With each interrogation session he found himself losing more and more strength and his resolve slowly weakening.
With luck his last ditch effort to signal his colleagues would have reached them by now. Just a little longer, he thought, hold out just a little longer. As the last jolt of electricity tore through his body, he slowly began to drift into unconsciousness, and wondered with his remaining moments of lucidity, “Will I ever see my daughter again?”
(1/3)
Author: Raptor
Disclaimer: I own no part of Alias or the corresponding characters, I just adore them. No profit will be made from this story.
Flashbacks are in italics
Part 1
Consciousness began to return both slowly and painfully. With effort he attempted to lift his left hand towards his face and found it still to be shackled to his right. He winced as the handcuffs bit into the bloodied skin surrounding each wrist and gradually raised himself into a sitting position. A searing pain shot through his chest as he contracted his abdominals, most likely due to a broken rib or two, he thought to himself.
He gingerly took stock of his remaining catalogue of injuries: a right eye nearly swollen shut, a couple of suspiciously mobile teeth and the requisite muscle aches and bruises. His joints and limbs looked to be intact, all major organs appeared to be functioning properly and he did not seem to have sustained any significant blood loss. All in all, he was still in decent condition and that bode well, he reasoned, for his immediate survival. His captors were most likely looking to extract key information before they disposed of him, if not he would be far worse off already.
Just two weeks previously Jack had been overjoyed at the arrival of his first child, a beautiful baby girl. Laura’s labor had been somewhat difficult, but even after hours of painful contractions, she glowed with love and happiness when her daughter was first placed into her arms. As Jack first held Sydney he never imagined before he could feel such love. His own heart swelled with happiness.
Mother and daughter had been home for just over a week when the call came in. While he deeply regretted leaving his family so soon after Sydney’s arrival, neither the evil of the world nor his superiors at the CIA would make further accommodations for his personal schedule. At least, he surmised, he was fortunate enough to be present for his daughter’s birth and first few days of life.
Within minutes of hanging up the phone he was on his way to headquarters and within hours on a plane headed across the Atlantic. Two days into the op, a trusted informant turned, and he found himself pinned down with no feasible method of escape. After a prolonged firefight, he ran the odds and concluded surrender was his only viable option. He covertly sent off an emergency signal, and with no other alternatives remaining, he relinquished his weapons, raised his hands and slowly walked out from cover to meet his adversaries face to face.
With blurred vision he gazed around the dimly lit cell. The only light source, a small, barred window high up in the concrete wall, streamed in what little illumination it could from the dark night’s quarter moon. Yesterday had been a long, difficult day, but what lay ahead would most likely be much, much worse.
His respite was short lived and with a clank of the bolt the reinforced door swung swiftly open. Strong arms slid under each of his own as he was roughly yanked to his feet and dragged into the passageway, unable to move quickly enough himself for his captors’ liking due to the leg irons clasped around each ankle. Arriving at a sparingly outfitted chamber he was quickly stripped of his shirt and restrained with leather straps at his wrists and ankles to a makeshift gurney and doused with ice cold water. Electroshock cables were then attached to his hands and feet.
The questions began again, “Who are you?, Who are you working for?, What is the nature of your mission?, Who are your contacts in this region?” The same questions, over and over. The same lack of response. The same swift retribution for his lack of cooperation. With each interrogation session he found himself losing more and more strength and his resolve slowly weakening.
With luck his last ditch effort to signal his colleagues would have reached them by now. Just a little longer, he thought, hold out just a little longer. As the last jolt of electricity tore through his body, he slowly began to drift into unconsciousness, and wondered with his remaining moments of lucidity, “Will I ever see my daughter again?”
(1/3)