The man is here again. All I can see are his eyes. But they are the eyes of an animal. Sure and unyielding. I reach out to touch the glowing orbs in the dark… But he is gone.

My bed is a thin blanket on the ground, near the fire. Which has gone out. We stopped to late last night to set up camp. We normally stop earlier, our numbers being too large for an early departure, and the hunt for dinner means an early stop. But last night… Something was driving me. I made us go further. We made almost fifteen miles.

But now that I've had my dream, it makes sense. My mate is coming. The one with the silver eyes. This man I've dreamed of all twenty years of my life is almost here. It scares me. I will admit that, at least here, in my most private of thoughts. I have never submitted to anyone. My father taught me that a leader must never submit. She must listen to good sense, but must never put out that spark of defiant pride within her. My mate... I will have to submit to him; Shirah has made him my match in every way. But where is he?

I'm awake fully now; no chance to get back to sleep. He will come when he comes, and not a moment sooner. That's what father always said. After all, he waited until he was twenty seven for my mother, and twelve more to rejoin her in Shirah's graveyard.

A noise pricks my ears, at first it is little better than a fly buzzing, which came to a crescendo of a roar so loud that I covered my ears, glancing up to see a roundish object hurtling past, to land somewhere in the forest beyond the camp, the dirt spraying into the air, some floating down and landing around the sleeping forms of the camp, despite the distance, like a strange snow

Taking a deep breath, she looked to the now wide awake members of her pack.

"Dustin," she said, looking to the man now hastily pulling on his boots, "get some of the men, I'll go ahead." He gave her a pointed look of concern.

"Mel-"

"Don't worry; I won't do anything stupid, just surveillance. I'll meet you at the crash site." And with that she was off, in the direction of the still settling cloud.

It had looked like some for m of space junk. But why were there ships so close to Furya… And why didn't the debris just stay in their gravitational field?

His ship had been in the shipping lanes when it was intercepted. They pulled it into their gravitational field, and it was all over. He'd tried out maneuvering them, and all that fancy shit. But they had some top notch gear. And even more puzzling; they worked for the Company.

"Richard B. Riddick," The unisex, non-descript voice began, "you are under arrest by The Company. Do not resist, or you will be subject to disciplinary action. Open your hull once inside the dock, and come out with your hands above your head."

"Yeah. Right." grunted Riddick. Here we go again. Back to all the brightness. He strapped his goggles on, in anticipation of the harsh halogen lights the ship would be sure to use, like lookin' into the fuckin' sun.

Even more disturbing than the imminent future of chains and a bit was the burning feeling in the pit of his stomach, the shame of not noticing these guys. How the hell had they slipped past him? Cryo dulled his senses, it sure as hell didn't put him out, and he was Riddick. He didn't get careless. With the kind of life he lived, he couldn't afford to.

Sometimes he would wonder, when he was in cryo and had time to, what would happen to him. He wouldn't always be this young, and it was difficult to stay alive even now. You didn't see old men in the slam. At least, you didn't for long. Everybody slips up; that was one thing he had learned from watching people in the past; but that meant he had to sometime, too. He didn't like that thought. But there wasn't really anything he could do about it, right? No use in worrying about when you'regonna die, if you're going to no matter what.

Since the ship was already in their dock, Riddick lowered the door, got up from the pilot's seat, and walked out.

"Hands out Convict, don't you know the drill by now?" a blond haired merc with a scar around his neck, right under his jaw, said as he walked up, fingering the trigger on his weapon. Fuckin' cheats. They take all the fun outta a kill.

"Aw, no party? I was really lookin' forward to Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey." He said in his usual sarcastic manner, unable to resist spinning the shiv he'd had out at the ready back into it's sheath, then raised his arms in front of him, ready to be cuffed. They had at least twenty guys in this room alone, all with full guns. Riddick was good, the best, but no one was that good. At least, not without ammo. Besides, might as well see where this was goin' before he killed all these motherfuckers.

The blond slapped chains on his wrists and ankles. He was surprised they didn't go for the bit right away, or at least blindfold him.

"I'm savin' the bit for later, Riddick, don't ya worry. The boss man wants ta see ya first." He said with a sadistically sweet grin.

They lead him, with the normal shit load of guns pointed at his head, to a nicer portion of the ship, and finally into what looked to be an office. Cherry wood and leather seats. Typical Company class. The man behind the desk was hidden at this point by the large chair he was sitting in, with his back to the door.

He was led to the chair, and sat down, sprawling as he always did, as if perfectly at ease, while he was really waiting for his chance to pounce.

The man turned, he was an older guy, who still at least looked like he had a full head of brown hair, in what looked like a stifling suit, and his hands steepled in front of his face.

"You've been causing quite a lot of trouble for the Company, Mr. Riddick. However, in view of your recent annihilation of the Necromonger race, the Company has decided to grant you a reprieve. Would you like to hear our offer?"

"I'm listening." What the hell was this fuck talking about? Reprieve? What, a single max instead of a triple? He'd be out in a few days, tops. Then this fuck would die, since he seemed to be in charge.

"We simply can't ignore your presence in the Universe any longer, Mr. Riddick. You have killed too many to be pardoned, you find a way out of our best slams, we could merely sentence you to death, but what if we need you sometime in the future? Sure, we could put you in cryo," Riddick inwardly winced at that. Indefinite cryo. Wanna talk about hell… "But you would probably go insane given your… Genetic oddities… So the Company has decided on a different course for you. We're grounding you. Permanently. We will drop you off on a primitive planet, and you will be left there, with a tracking device that will alert us, should you somehow find a way off. And no, the planet has no ports, and only one slightly inhabited city. But, you shall have free reign on the planet. If you leave, however, you will be caught, and either placed in permanent cryo, or killed. This is your one chance, Mr. Riddick. What do you say?" The man looked at him, that smug smile almost daring him to say no. Well… Riddick just couldn't back down from a challenge.

"I say fuck you, ass-clown."

"Ah, I thought you would. Well, you have three weeks in cryo to change your mind. Good evening, Mr. Riddick." And with that, the mercs reentered, guns drawn, and escorted him to his cryo chamber.

The beating of his heart was driving him crazy, just like the ticking of a clock when you're trying to get to sleep. He couldn't recall how long he'd been in cryo; they even put a blindfold over his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see anything. How had these fucks figured out cryo didn't work on him? He'd never really mentioned it… Made sure none of his secrets were known… But it didn't really matter anymore, did it? Not when he was inside a sound-proof cryo locker, with this hands chained as high as he could go, along with his ankles chained to the floor, a steel band that looped back to the wall around his waist, keeping him from all but the smallest movements. Hell, these dickheads had even gone with the bit.

No sight, no smell, no taste except for the metal bit, just three weeks, even though it felt like more, of sensory deprivation. It was a fine type of torture to Riddick. If he hadn't been though similar so many times before, he might've gone insane. Hell, he was already insane, according to everyone else; not that he bothered to dispute the verdict.

But what to do about this new sentence… He couldn't remember ever staying on a planet for more than a few years. And they wanted him to live on the same one for the rest of his life? No more running, but no choice about it either. All in all, it wasn't a bad deal, but he wouldn't have freedom, either. Riddick knew a lot about prisons; hell, he'd been to most of them. He knew they didn't have to be all bars and guards with guns. In fact, a lot of people live most of their lives in a prison called marriage. Fuck any of that shit. The Company was trying to make him settle down; make him stay on one planet. He couldn't imagine not seeing the stars, piloting a ship was the only time he got any peace.

He couldn't worry too much about it now; there was nothing to do but go with the flow until he saw an opening. There had to be a way off that planet once he was there, it just might take a while to find it.

Deciding it was pointless to worry about this anymore; he relaxed as much as he ever did, and let his mind drift.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, it came; a sound. He could hear the bullet proof glass door to the cryo locker opening; feel the exchange of air between the two areas on his skin. Sensations; it was marvelous to feel them again. His beast was practically purring with happiness that it was over; for now.

The moment of relishing his freedom passed quickly, however.

The blindfold was ripped off, and Riddick hurriedly closed the eyes he hadn't even realized were open, wincing inwardly as the bright halogens nearly burned his corneas. Hopefully whatever shit hole they dumped him on at least had a decent amount of night. With his luck, they'd probably choose some fuckin' system with three or four suns, just to piss him off.

"Well, Mr. Riddick, you have nearly arrived at your destination." said the voice of the man who had formerly talked to Riddick in the office. "But before your departure, is there anything I or my associates need to clarify for you?"

"Where are my fuckin' goggles?" Riddick ground out, still a little foggy from the cryo stint.

"Mr. Jones, return Mr. Riddick's personal effects. All of them."

"All?"

"That includes the knives, Mr. Jones." Jones picked up a bag that had been leaning against the wall, and after a pointed glance at his superior, pulled a knife out of his boot, and placed it in the bag as well. The goggles went around Riddick's neck.

"Now for the fun part, princess." Said Jones, hefting a large gun looking object with a long needle attached to the end, where the barrel exit would be.

"I believe I did mention something about a tracking device, did I not, Mr. Riddick? This might hurt a bit. We have to attach it to the outside of the right atrium… You do know where that is, Mr. Riddick?"

"Course I do, Mr.Asshole. I did mention something about killing you slowly and painfully, did I not? I'm thinkin' I'll go for the sweet spot... You do know where that is? Fourth lumbar down, left of the spine, the abdominal aorta?" He was almost vindicated just by the look on that guys face, a mixture of fear, disgust, and anger. God, all these company pussies, they were so self-righteous, but were really just sadists at heart.

Then he felt the needle. They went in between his left ribs, right next to the sternum. The needle was pretty fuckin' big, as far as needles went. It wasn't just your average inoculation syringe. Then he felt it tear though a piece of his lungs, and Jones pulled out, and went in at a slightly different angle. Riddick was used to this shit; otherwise he was pretty sure that having a piece of your lung ripped out and then feeling them nick an artery would've made him scream his fuckin' lungs out, metaphorically speaking.

Finally, Jones depressed a button, and Riddick felt the increase in pressure as something ran down the needle, and into his chest. He felt the tracker latch onto his chest, on what he assumed was his heart. With a squelch, the needle was pulled out, and Riddick felt the rivulets of blood running from the wound down his shirt and chest. Such a small wound normally wouldn't concern him; it would heal in a matter of minutes… But an arterial wound. This motherfucker really didn't know a thing about anatomy, did he? Once the surface of the wound healed, he would keep bleeding internally, unless he was lucky. Very lucky. But a crash on a planet surface, that had to attract some attention. He would only have to wait a few hours at most to be 'rescued,' and he could probably get out of these chains before that, if the crash didn't do it for him.

"Your cryo locker and the surrounding area double as a landing pod. As such it requires no piloting, so we shall leave you in your chains for now, Mr. Riddick. I take it that is satisfactory to you?"

"What planet are you dumpin' me on, anyway?" asked Riddick, beginning to feel the dizzying effects of blood loss, even though the wound was beginning to close. His breathing in the left lung was slightly hindered, probably from the tear, coupled with the arterial blood flooding it. He gauged his time; probably about two to three hours, one and forty five conscious.

"I believe it is the planet Furya, of the Furyan System. Almost all the buildings and people were eradicated when the Necromongers ravished the planet a little over thirty years ago, but maybe a thousand total survived, the majority being Furyan. No ships or advanced technology to speak of. You should have fun there, Mr. Riddick. I hear they're big on violence. Sadly, this is where we part. Au revoir, Mr. Riddick." With that, Riddick was left alone with Jones and the other mercs.

"Nighty-night, Riddick." Said Jones, and Riddick felt a sharp crack as the end of a gun rapped against his head. He felt himself slip into unconsciousness as he heard the pressing of buttons, and the landing pod sealing it's self.

Melisande was running, in between the trees, her feet barely making a sound as her feet pounded the mossy rock and soil. She couldn't see the object she was trying to get to, but she knew this was the right direction.

All the sudden, she saw it, in the faint moonlight. It looked like a picture she had seen in an ancient textbook she'd found, when she was a child, in the ruins of her home city.

Her pack often scavenged for things like clothes and preservable food and things they couldn't make on their own like disinfectant, in the remains of the ruined city. Once, her father had found a very old textbook, History of the Human Race, or something like that. Many of the pages had been ripped out or destroyed by water and fire, but one page had had a picture of a pod like this one. The caption had said it was from the first time Humans had been anywhere other than Earth, their home planet. They had landed on their moon, which strangely had no name. That was back when they still had countries, and some place called "The United States of America" had been the country to do it. Whatever country that was.

Its landing had carved a deep scar in the earth, and taken down a few trees as well. She could see a hatch on the primitive vessel, and took out one of her blades while she walked towards it, jumping down into the pit it lay in.

It took her a few moments to reach the hatch, climbing up to it using the rivets on the siding, as well as the piled up dirt, but she finally got there. She turned a handle, and it opened with a hiss, depressurizing rapidly.

The cramped space of the interior of- whatever the heck this thing was- was dimly lit with the glow of a monitor. Sealed in what she could only assume, from stories the elders told, was a cryo chamber, holding a man with chains on him. His shirt was stained with blood, and he had goggles around his neck. His shaved head reflected the light from the comp screen. He groaned, his eye flickering rapidly under half-closed lids. His heart rate was accelerated, she and his breathing seemed off. Part of the right lung, from the was his trachea was leaning. She wasn't technically a healer, but as Alpha of her pack, she had special gifts. Melisande struggled with the hard, slick surface of the glass dividing her from the injured man. Realizing she needed to look around for something to help her, she turned to the source of the blue light; the comp screen.

Although comps were few in the pack's home territory, she had been around a few, and had even managed to put together her own portable one, with help. So, she could at least get info without breaking it.

But, it turned out she didn't need to do anything. The screen had a file up; for a prisoner number 635127844, a Richard B. Riddick. The alias list, as well as the charges indited for was too long, and she skimmed them; she just needed to get him out. He would die if she waited for Dustin and the men; and whatever his crimes, they could always kill him later…

Wait. Richard B. Riddick?

Oh my goddess. Shit.

He was here. She could still remember the day, two years ago, when for almost an hour she, and every other Furyan alive had all been sent a vision, strait from Shirah, of Riddick, and his victory over the Lord Marshall of the Necromongers. That was the day that the whole of the planet, all Furyans, decided that it was time. They began their migration back to the capital city, to name their Alpha Pair, and rebuild their civilization.

Some did not like the idea of this man, this Riddick, raised by humans, who had never set foot on their planet, being the one to avenge them. But, especially to those who had lost a wife, a sister, a son, a brother, a husband, he was that lost person. And now, he had finally come home.

"Hey Rhea, how's our unconscious patient doing? Any signs of life yet?" Melisande said, stalking into the dim tent, squinting as her eyesight adjusted from the brightness of the clearing they were camped in.

"His heart rate and breathing are steady, but he doesn't seem to be waking up. The wound is almost healed; doesn't look like he'll need you to help him anymore. You can save all your strength for the hunt now. Dustin told me the herds here were getting harder to track… Any luck today?"

"Yeah, yeah, your hunky loaf of a man was the one to bring 'im in, too. A good size buck; he fought hard. It was a good kill. Be proud when you make him a cape… Or maybe you'll be making baby clothes, soon?" Melisande said, tentatively sniffing the air around her.

Rhea gasped and her hand flew instantly to her stomach.

"I- It can't- Are you serious??? It's not mating time yet though! And… Since last time.. I'd given up hope… How do you know???" Rhea and Dustin… Although Dustin was ten years older than her, Rhea was a quiet and sensible girl, and they were a perfect match, of course. Rhea was seventeen, but since she hadn't gotten pregnant during the last two Furyan mating seasons, they had all but stopped trying, stopped hoping. Even though Rhea took her job as Doctor and Midwife of the pack seriously and never let personal things interfere with her work, Melisande had seen her sadness when she helped other women with their babies. She hid her pain well, but she couldn't keep it from her best friend. And, as alpha, it was Melisande's job to sense these things, just like how she had seen Rhea's baby in her dreams last night.

"Shirah showed the child to me. I won't tell you anything, so don't ask… You're not pregnant yet, but… Soon. The second season of the year is coming up in a week or two, right?" she grinned; her friend would love being pregnant. Hell, she had started glowing just from being married; she would be fuckin' incorrigible pregnant. But, that was why Melisande loved her.

Mel had a typically dark nature; she could hide it as a leader, and she could sense people, but about her own future she was a bit pessimistic. Little did she know her friend was hopping similar things would one day come Melisande's way.

"Now… Get outta here; I'll watch Riddick. Go fawn over your man, and give him the good news." She gave Rhea a small push, and watched her friend run over to where Dustin sat, by the fire. He laughed at something the man next to him said, and showed his wife the pelt, handing it to her so she could inspect it. Then he pulled her into his lap, and kissed her soundly.

Leaning against one of the tent supports, Melisande couldn't help but sigh. God, she wanted that. Not needed, never needed. Wanted. She could run this pack all by herself; she'd been doing it for five years, ever since she turned fifteen and became an adult. But… She wanted her mate.

A slight noise from Riddick moving on his pallet drew her attention back into the tent. She toed around the edges of his blankets, and knelt on his right side, checking his vitals and his scent for any drastic changes. She'd barely gotten a sniff in edgewise when she could tell something had changed…

And that my friends, is what we call a Dun-dun-dun... CLIFFY!!

So, I have taken Riddick, and Melisande, and am holding the rest of their story for randsome, until I get some REVIEWS!!! Thank you!

Argetlam