Jack could be prepared for so much. He was prepared for pain and destruction and loss. He could put himself through so very much and come out the other side at least appearing unscathed.

But he couldn't cope with this. This was too much of an onslaught.

He wasn't one to plea, and it was something he resisted for a whole year on the Valiant. But this felt so much more. More intense, more... just more. It was in his head, inside his mind, and somehow managing to penetrate his deeper consciousness and burrow beneath the stoic walls he so often built up.

"Stop," he said again, falling down to his knees, still clutching his head. "Please."