Story Rating : M/R+
Chapter Rating : T/PG
Story Warning : Graphic Violence, Harsh Language, Gore, Murder, Sex, andControversial Subject Matter.
Chapter Warning : Implied Plot for Torture
Pairing : Riddick/Jack
Disclaimer : I do not own the Characters or Events of Pitch Black. If I did, the sequel would have forced them to invent a new rating system.
Feedback : I love reviews, butI ask those that decide to press thelittle purplebutton to please provide me with something besides praise and a demand for an update.
Note : I plot for this story to be at least thirty chapters long, however, because of the inevitable darkness of it, there is a possibility that someone somewhere will become thoroughly disgusted and decide to report it to the administrators to have me banned. I am currently taking bets on how long it will take. I think by chapter twelve, mynext door neighborsays nine. We'll see.
Ghost of You
Eyes
Time : Present
Even in the drab grayscale that the daylight world was rendered through the darkened lenses of his goggles, Riddick could see every detail of the room that needed to be seen. His mind had calculated every possible escape route from the very second the brass hinges on the door had opened to their full extent. He could hear the silent whisper that gave away where the vents for the air conditioning were, feel the vibrations of footsteps in both apartments above and below where he stood, though the scent of food in the air masked the smell of human odors.
Every one of his senses, so relied upon for survival throughout the majority of his life, gave him everything that he needed to know about the situation.
But none of it mattered.
Second by second, every fleeting thought that had entered his mind prior to opening the door fled his mind. His lungs, always so dependable before, seized up, contracting painfully within his chest to cut the right to breathe solidly in half. One hand, which mere moments before had been gripping the shiv he had made especially for this occasion, fell open, releasing the blade to fall with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. The other reached over to grab the doorframe for support of legs that had lost all feeling, knuckles whitening in an effort to keep himself upright.
He struggled, for a moment, to swallow down the sudden aching constriction that seemed to have seized his throat. The muscles around his mouth twitched as he tried to find something, anything, to say, but words proved to be too much of a thing for his vocal chords to form. The most he could do was let the last of the air in his lungs escape with a choking sound only half audible to his ears.
Blinking, he focused his gaze on the eyes, round and bright with a confused wonderment, and set into a much younger version of a face that he had long ago memorized. Riddick knew those eyes, they were the ones he'd promised himself he'd carve out of their sockets for every lying gleam he'd let himself believe.
Eyes he had loved.
Eyes he had hated.