Author's Note: Of course, I do not own Riddick or any of the characters from Pitch Black. I do however, own Adel Shau.
If you enjoy reading this, please leave feedback.
Chapter One
She awoke to a violent jostling.
Everything around her was unfamiliar. Adel Shau looked around wildly, noting the washed out, industrial look that was her surroundings. She seemed to be on some sort of vehicle. Perhaps a military plane, she considered thoughtlessly. Alarms blared, echoing loudly in rhythm with her pulsating headache. The vehicle shuddered again convulsively as she noted she was lying on the floor in a cargo hold of sorts. Along the walls in front as well as behind her, were tall, oblong tubes in which people stood, apparently asleep. The term 'Cryo lockers' echoed somewhere distantly in her mind as she stood shakily. She briefly wondered where she was considering nothing like cryo lockers existed at home. She ignored the thought as the turbulent ride became unbearable, pulling her deftly from her musings. Adel wrapped her arms around a support beam before she was thrown from her feet. The entire vehicle slammed into something solid. Her body flew up as she gripped the beam before coming back down to slam into the metal girders to which she clung desperately.
She had no time to acknowledge the pain as an unnerving sound tore across the cargo hold, almost deafening as metal lurched and groaned before the side of the vehicle was completely torn off. She noted at least forty of the lockers were ripped from their places. The force was incredible. Her stomach rolled and fluttered as dust and debris surged through the hold. Wind roared as the gaping hole attempted to devour everything within its reach. Bright, piercing light penetrated the room. She clung to the support beam for her life, dimly aware that someone was shouting near her, though nothing was distinct. Her head was pounding along with the screeching metal as her grip began to slip on the beam. The world spun as she slipped, falling to the floor. The shaking halted as a she felt the vehicle slide to an ungraceful stop.
A thick, yellow cloud of dust covered the compartment.
Adel lay still, watching as the ceiling spun wildly as her stomach lurched once again. She heard noises, voices of people calling out, some groaning in pain and the occasional hiss of an airlock. She closed her eyes, willing herself to move, trying to quell the pain that seemed to take up residence in every cell of her body. Lifting her head she saw silhouetted people moving slowly. Someone called a name in Arabic. She shook her head, disoriented before attempting to rise. Failing, she fell back to her elbows, hitting the floor roughly.
The dust was dissipating, though not as quickly as she would have liked as she inhaled a breath of dusty air. She took in the scene. No one else seemed to think the lockers were unusual, noting that some had begun to check on the people who remained inside. They knew how to activate them, as that now familiar air lock hiss signaled that a new one had been opened. She watched the briefest glimpse of fear cross the face of a blonde man standing in front of her. A thin trail of blood ran from his ear as he started towards the back of the hold. She followed his gaze. Another locker, although this was undeniably different, with a script informing the reader that the person it had been housing was a high security prisoner. The blonde man reached to his waist, grabbing blindly at a holster that she assumed once held a gun. Nothing there now.
A loud rushing sound and a flash of light filled the room, drawing her attention from the blonde man to a dark haired couple standing over a fallen cryo locker. The woman had a cutting torch in hand and seemed to be cutting the front panel off the locker. She cut all the way through after a few moments, revealing a young boy. He seemed unscathed as he looked up at the faces above.
"Somethin' went wrong, huh?" The couple reached in to pull the boy out.
Movement caught her eye. The blonde man, eyes on the ground, making his way towards the back where cargo was stored, was searching, probably for his gun. She turned back to face a tall man in Islamic robes standing over her. He knelt beside her, searching her face before he spoke.
"Are you alright?" His voice was calm, despite the chaos surrounding them. She nodded dumbly, before wincing at the pain that radiated through her head.
"Yes," her voice came out strangely dry and cracked as she spoke. "I think I'm alright." He gripped her forearm, helping her sit up.
He nodded towards her hands as she pulled herself info a sitting position. Her muscles screamed in protest as pain flooded her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to recognize his words. She lifted a hand, gazing at the angry, raw abrasions from the beam that she had clung to. He stood, pulling her unsteadily to her feet. She wobbled a bit as her head swam. She could feel her hair matting to her face with sweat and dust. There were more calls in Muslim. The man next to her noticed, making sure she was steady before heading off to heed the call.
A scream cut through the air.
"Out! Out! Get it outta me!" A man's voice, raw with agony, pleaded hoarsely.
She found herself moving along with the others, albeit unsteadily towards the plea. They found themselves in the flight deck, the blonde man standing above a blonde woman. She was kneeling next to a man, strapped in a chair, with a metal rod protruding from his chest. The small group of people that had accompanied her began talking at once.
"Pull it out of him!"
"No, it's too close to his heart…"
"You gotta do it, just do it fast…"
The woman placed her hands on the metal rod. The man in the chair screamed again.
"Don't you touch that switch, Fry! Don't you touch it!" Spittle and blood flew from the man's lips as he choked out the words. Voices from the other passengers rose again.
"Doncha got some drugs for that poor man…" The woman, Fry, sat for a moment before speaking.
"Alright, alright, someone... there's some Anestaphine in the med-lock, that end of the cabin, next to..."
"Not anymore," the blonde man murmured. The man in the chair screamed again. The dark haired woman choked back a quiet sob. The boy, standing next to her, was pale, his face blanched.
"Get out. Everybody." Fry spoke quietly, her hand running slowly, soothingly along the dying man's brow. Adel stood, rooted, her eyes fixated on the writhing man. She noticed the boy remained, he too entranced with morbid fascination. The blonde man, doubled back, placing his hand on the boy's neck and steered him towards the bright daylight outside the ship. He glanced in her direction as he moved, nodding his head to follow. She moved, glancing away from the unfortunate. Her eyes rested upon a man, clad in black. His hands were cuffed above his head to a bulkhead; the muscles in his arms bulging, strained from holding the unusual position. He wore a pair of black goggles, covering his eyes, though she had the distinct feeling he was watching as she followed the blonde man and the boy out of the room.