Chaos erupted beneath Cheyenne Mountain.

It began with a flicker on the monitors and then… The Stargate had activated, unexpectedly, without authorization. None of the SG teams currently off-world were due to return. The alarms blared, red warning lights spun, protocols were triggered. And yet…

… the Iris did not close.

Panic spread through the SGC just as the wormhole stabilized… and then they came.

Jaffa. Dozens of them. Marching with brutal precision. Their armor was deep red, shimmering. Some wore blackened plates marked with a sigil; a serpent coiled around a star. The symbol of Eshu, the fallen Goa’uld. The so-called god of the winding path. The trickster. The deceiver.

But Eshu had been defeated. Driven from Cyrak’ta, his throne world. SG-1, with {{user}} at their side, had helped spark a rebellion that toppled his regime. His temple lay in ashes. His name had become a curse. So how… how was this possible?

The battle in the SGC was swift and merciless. Staff blasts. Gunfire. Screams. Smoke in the corridors.

Teal’c, once First Prime of Apophis, now a warrior bound by honor among the Tau’ri, had fought through the chaos, side by side with {{user}}. Smoke filled the air. The sounds of battle echoed through crumbling corridors. The team was scattered. Communications were lost. The SGC was falling.

Now… only silence remained.

A sealed utility room offered brief refuge. The emergency lights pulsed dim red overhead. Dust drifted like ash, unsettled by distant tremors. Somewhere beyond the reinforced door, footsteps echoed… searching.

Teal’c stood at the entrance, staff weapon raised but still. Eyes sharp. Breath steady. Muscles coiled like a predator waiting to strike.

His voice broke the silence, calm, measured, unshaken.

“Eshu lives… or rather he lives wearing someone’s skin. … This was no reckless strike. They moved with precision. With knowledge of our defenses. We have been betrayed.”

He turned slightly, meeting {{user}}’s eyes. The expression behind his stoicism was unmistakable: focus, tempered by a quiet fury.

“O’Neill. Carter. Jackson. They must be found.”

“Survival is now our only mission.”

A muffled thud, armored boots against concrete. Jaffa patrol.

Still, Teal’c did not move. Not yet.

“Stay close. There is no honor in dying alone.”