Author's Note: This was a story after I realized that there was very little about Riddick's background (i.e. how did he become a criminal) that I knew about. And then I found the Riddick-wiki and learned about the Company (of which there is next to know information). And I thought, 'wouldn't it be nice if he could get revenge on them for screwing him?'


Richard B. Riddick watched the sensibly dressed woman drop from the ceiling onto the only merc left in the room with wary curiosity as well as a small and quickly fading sense of loss. He really wanted to take that one out himself. Once the merc was down and out, the woman got to her feet and went to the doors, closing them, locking them, and rigging them to stay closed before turning to look at him for the first time.

He almost didn't see the hesitation before she walked right up to where he was almost fully bound and reached around his head to unhook the bit between his teeth. He drew what information he could from her scent. Leather, sweat, machine oil, metal...she smelled like a merc. He checked his curiosity and prepared himself for whatever as she pulled back, easing the bit out of his mouth and tossing it aside with a speculative eyebrow. She brought something out from behind her back and dropped it in his lap before looking into his eyes. Eyes left unshielded, thanks to Toombs.

He'd seen men larger than himself flinch at the sight of those eyes. She barely even blinked.

"We've got maybe seventy seconds before Toombs comes runnin'. Can you move?" she asked. His head shifted just a little to the left as he considered her strange question as well as its direct delivery without blinking. All business.

He could do that.

"Not in this rig," he replied, shrugging to indicate his restraints. She glanced at the specialized chair that held him before pulling a magnetic master key from a small, hidden pocket of her sleeve and swiping it expertly over the chair's control panel as he watched, his stony face betraying no significant emotional reaction to this profoundly telling gesture. He picked up the leather bundle that she'd dropped in his lap and stepped out of the chair, surreptitiously stretching his shoulders as he watched her dig a few things out of the pack she was carrying. His eyes dropped to the pouch in his hands and he unwrapped it, eyebrow jumping up his forehead as he stared down at a pair of goggles and a familiar looking knife holster. He glanced back at the woman in time to catch a confusing tangle of nylon and buckles.

"Body Harness," she explained, and he tossed it on the chair, first donning the goggles – almost identical to the ones that Toombs had taken off him – then the holster, a familiar and comforting weight between his shoulders. Finally he donned the harness, watching the woman, who was watching the doors as though she expected them to be broken down at any moment. He considered - as he tightened the straps of his harness - the way her attention was focused, not on the man wanted for murder as well as various less fatal but still terrifying crimes, but on the door. As if she hadn't considered that this man might turn on her.

She'd unlocked the chair with a mag-card – official, by the neutral chirp of the console as she'd swiped it. A Company ship, with Company restraints required a Company key card.

Which meant a Company Bounty Hunter. Capital letters. All bad news.

He did not display his intrigued surprise when she turned before his hand could reach for the knife, a gun that seemed to go from hip to hand without any action in between pointed at his head. Her expression was calm and unsurprised.

"Not right now," she told him, and her tone suggested she had expected him to attempt to kill her. He considered this. It was interesting. She arched an eyebrow. "Later, maybe. Now is for getting our asses back to my ship before Toombs thinks to—" She cut herself off at the subtle hissing sound that was suddenly present in the room and cursed, reaching behind her. Riddick tensed, but it was just a couple of clear-faced gas masks, one of which she tossed to him, donning her own and securing it before making sure that he had done the same. She holstered her sidearm and secured it with a strap before pulling a communicator off her belt and pulling it to her face. "Boomer, I need another distraction," she said. Riddick's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at a string of colorful and volatile curses that erupted from the speaker before she could turn it off and clip it back to her belt. She seemed unconcerned by it, looking at him and jerking her thumb towards the ceiling. "That way," she told him.

He looked up.

The ceiling was forty feet above them, but he could clearly see the point of egress, an open hatch in the ventilation shaft that ran through the room. His expression didn't change as he looked from the inaccessible hole to the crazy lady who was busting him loose. She was pointing a small grappling gun at the hole, answering his unasked question of how the hell they were supposed to get there. Once it was secured, she let it hang there, pulling on some straps that were attached to her clothes.

"Come here and hold this," she ordered, and he did so – more out of curiosity than anything else, holding the small, vaguely crossbow shaped weapon and watching with some interest as she turned, pressing her back to his front as she passed the strap to him. "Cross those behind your back and bring them over your shoulders," she said. He smirked then, doing as told, but not without issue. As she took the second strap from him to clip back to her suit, she froze, looking down at the hand that had settled itself on her hip, only momentarily distracted from it by a sudden pounding on the door. "Mind on the mission, convict," she snapped, swatting his hand away and drawing her weapons, which she held trained on the door someone was trying to break down. "Whenever you're ready," she added, and he rolled his eyes behind his goggles, pressing the button that would pull them upwards towards escape.

She watched the door as they ascended towards the ceiling, keeping quiet as the door was finally forced open and six mercs filed in, guns raised. They immediately noticed the somewhat conspicuous absence of their cargo and searched the room, but she remained silent until their searching gaze eventually – inevitably – drifted upwards and spotted them. She pulled the trigger six times, one bullet per merc, and Riddick glanced down to find that they were all rolling on the floor holding some part of their body, but that they were all still alive. She shot to maim.

Bounty Hunters... he thought, disgusted, as they reached the vent and he hauled them both inside. As soon as they were safely inside, she hit the release button on her suit's harness and rolled off of him as if this were the ordinary course of business between them, crawling off down the shaft without waiting for him to make up his mind to follow her. He watched her leather-clad ass shimmy away and considered his options.

She muttered to herself as they crawled, recounting the way back to the ship, he supposed, but he kept silent, only grimacing a few times when the ship gave a few unexpected lurches. Up ahead, the woman sighed, shaking her head.

"Boomer," she muttered, a smile tugging at her lips. It made him wonder what the hell 'Boomer' was doing.

When they finally crawled out of the shaft, it was into an empty hallway, and the woman checked both ways before grabbing hold of the wall when the ship suddenly decelerated. She frowned, picking the communicator off her belt.

"Boomer," she radioed.

Silence.

"Boomer, come in," she hissed, cursing when there was no reply. Riddick watched her silently reassess, while he listened to her heart-rate double. Concern for 'Boomer'? Or for the plan?

They both looked up when a short burst of static followed by feedback indicated someone turning on the ship-wide.

"Valentine," came Toombs's gravelly voice, in a tone that indicated he was just now catching on. She cursed, looking around the hall. She spotted a door, checking it quickly, and then ushering Riddick inside before locking them in. He watched her silently while inside his mind associations were being formed and recalled.

Valentine. He knew that name. He'd been chased by that name before. Never really got a good look at the name's owner. Staring at her now, he wondered if that had been intentional or just luck on her part.

"Va-len-ti-i-ine," Toombs crooned over the intercom. She sneered. "You tryin'a scoop my bounty, Valentine?" he asked. She arched an eyebrow, staring at the small screen on her communicator.

"That's right, Toombs, keep being an idiot," she muttered to herself. She pressed a button on the screen and the small, dark space was made less dark by a small, softly strobing blue light. She sighed, relieved, and he heard her heart slow back into a steady beat as she pushed the talk button. "Boomer, are you there?" she asked. There was a brief crackle of static.

"The fucker almost killed me, Val," was the terse reply. She closed her eyes briefly, smiled and shook her head, relief pouring off her.

"You'll get over it," she quipped. "We're almost to the pick-up point," she told him.

"Won't do you much good. No way I'm getting close again, he'll pick me off like the juiciest fly in a box full of frogs," was Boomer's answer. "Plan B," he added, and Valentine made a face.

"I hate Plan B," she muttered, before pressing the button. "Understood. Out," she reported, before turning it off and stuffing it back onto her belt.

"What's Plan B?" Riddick asked. She tilted her head at him.

"Can you fly?" she asked.