AN: Hello there! This is another stab at a Riddick fic. I previously had a story up called A Deadly Attraction, so you might recognize aspects of that story, hashed into this, particularly the character Vincent Cruz. I found that particular story overwrought, and no matter what I did, it just didn't feel right. I'm sorry to anyone who had enjoyed it and was looking forward to an update. So this here is my way of giving it another chance, in a different setting. This is also my first step into the world of first person narration, so we'll see how it goes. Thanks for reading!

Note: Events occur after PB, but tCoR never takes place.

Something Far and Above

Chapter One

Trust Well Earned

It had been a while since I had thought of him – consciously at least. There was no denying that my mind liked to inject traces of him into the most mundane places. But I had long ago learned to ignore it. Or at least try to.

But from where I was sitting in the bar, an unsettling feeling overcame me as I watched our newest mark. It was the same type of frozen, bone tingling feeling that I used to get around Riddick when he descended into that unknown place deep inside him. It was the same feeling I got when his gaze held mine without any recognition – without any distinction between me, and his prey.

Yeah, that's the feeling I got from the hulking figure that sat across the bar in the recesses of the far right corner, shadowed and obscured. His features were barely visible in the dim lighting, and the expression there told me all I needed to know.

He was watching me.

Never a good sign. I was the one supposed to be doing the watching, not him.

I pursed my lips together tightly and brought my drink up – non-alcoholic for moments like these. Needed my senses about me when I was scoping out a mark.

"No good," I breathed lightly, confidant the communicator on my wrist was able to pick it up as the glass passed my face.

I waited patiently, but it didn't take long before the smooth voice responded in my ear, just barely loud enough to cut above the music in the obnoxious bar.

"Get out, Kyra."

I nodded my head slightly in agreement, even though I knew he couldn't see me. Force of habit.

Throwing some cred chips on the table, I made a slow but sure retreat for the exit, careful to not draw attention to myself.

Fuck.

I didn't even have to look in his direction to know that my mark was pursuing me. It was the feeling that followed – the hair on my neck and the goose bumps on my arms alerted me to fact that I had suddenly become the hunted, not the hunter. The impulse to turn around and look was achingly real, but instead I chose to call in backup.

The grizzly man so close behind me obviously knew something was up, so I didn't even make any pretenses about bringing my wrist up to my mouth. "Gonna need help, headed for the exit." My words were rushed – urgent, but not panicked. I was rarely panicked.

This was supposed to be a simple recon mission, I wasn't prepared for confrontation. Especially not with this guy – he'd ghost me with a snap of his fingers if he was able to get close enough.

That thought made my footsteps speed up. Brute strength trumped speed and agility, every single time.

The burst of cool air on my face as I thrust open the bar door was intense, and didn't help with the goose bumps, but if there's one thing I've found, it's that a chill helps keep you on your toes. So, what the fuck? Any extra help was welcome at this point.

The lack of response on the other end of the communicator piece was unnerving, and hearing the door to the bar slam open behind me, not five seconds after I had made my way through it, jerked me forcefully into a brisk walk.

Chancing a quick look over my shoulder, my mark was watching me intently, matching one step to my two.

Suddenly his hands were going inside his black cloak – and the gat on my hip was in my hand, no hesitation.

The street was empty, the music from the various bars leaking out in muffled crescendos. My breath formed in quick puffs in front of my face, and nearing the corner of the street, I spun around spastically, trying to keep him unbalanced.

Gat in my hands, pointed squarely at the seemingly calm man before me, I was surprised by how close he actually was.

Apparently he had no intention of allowing me to get around that corner. Smart man.

We stood there for a few moments, simply glaring at one another, before a taunting smile sprung up on his face.

"Watcha planning on doing with that?" he asked quietly, nodding passively to the gun in my hands.

I smiled in kind. "Whatcha planning on doing with those?" I asked, letting him know that the blades hidden behind the thickness of his forearms had already registered on my radar.

He smirked and nodded in acknowledgment.

Ten feet, it was all that separated the two of us.

We both seemed increasingly aware of it.

His left hand tilted slightly to the side, and I raised an eyebrow at the action, letting him know that it hadn't gone unnoticed.

His smirk widened.

My left foot slid back slightly, coming in line with the rest of my body, allowing me a better defensive stance – because there was no way in hell I was even entertaining the idea of launching an offensive attack.

I counted the seconds, every fifth beat punctuated by the twitch of my finger on the trigger of my gat. But then, a tickling feeling on the edge of my consciousness alerted me to the fact that we were no longer alone there in the streets.

The gargantuan man in front of me didn't seem to pick up on it yet. He was too busy letting his eyes wander the length of my body.

"Move back," the voice whispered in my ear, nearly inaudible.

I waited a few moments before following the advice on the other end of the communicator piece, my feet shuffling back, never allowing myself to become unbalanced.

The man before me seemed amused by that for some reason, his grin breaking into a low rumble of laughter. "Where ya going?" he asked, before following after me just as slowly.

Ah, so here it was. He liked the chase, just like my favorite shined eyed convict. He was a predator, naturally, so the idea of cornering me must have been tantalizing. I made a show of looking somewhat startled as he advanced on me, and that seemed to increase his amusement.

As long as Vince got here in time, there'd be no problems. My confidence in him was absolute.

The corner of the building came into my peripheral view suddenly, and my steps quickened, allowing me to put a bit more space between us.

The beast before me licked his lips, in a disgusting and salacious show of anticipation. His hands gripped tightly on the blades concealed behind his forearms, and the alarm bells went off in my head. My eyes widened as I watched him come into a stance for attack, imperceptible to most, but I was well learned in these things.

A jolt of adrenaline spiked through me once more and I gripped my gat powerfully, my confidence at Vince's intervention now waning. My breath heaved out of me in two quick gasps as my mark launched himself towards me, the crunch of gravel and the rustling of clothing the only noise in the street.

A snarl escaped me as I leaned my weight back on my right side, digging my feet in, prepared for an impact. I got off three squeezes of the trigger before his shoulder collided painfully with my chest.

He had come at me low, probably from the effects of the gat, and grabbing my thighs, his shoulder to my chest, I was thrown into the air over his back. The air was knocked forcefully from me, and I was powerless to stop my body from somersaulting awkwardly in the air, before landing painfully on my back on the ground.

The blinding flash as my gun discharged on impact left me reeling as I gasped and clawed for air to return to my lungs. Tears stung my eyes involuntarily, and I still hadn't recovered when seconds later, big and nasty was hovering above me, breathing heavily. There were three scorch marks on his chest and stomach from where I had hit him – at least my aim was true.

A sick smile materialized on my face, and a giant hand descended towards me.

A moment of stunned silence met my ears, following the telltale sound of shredding flesh.

My mark grimaced down at me, jerked once – twice, before he fell bodily on top of me.

But it was only a moment before the smothering weight was removed, and I was able to draw in huge, shuddering breaths.

Warm hands pulled me into a sitting position and thumped my back, trying to help the passage of air. I recovered quickly, my hands came to rest on my knees and I finally looked over at the body that lay slumped next to me.

"Great fuckin' timing, Vince," I snapped. "You don't think you could have moved in before grizzly bear there had me flying through the air?"

A low laugh met my comment. "Come on, darlin,'" he said, standing and offering me his hand, which happened to be covered in blood so dark, it appeared black.

I took it, and stood quickly, knowing exactly what was next in the process.

Vince, putting away one of his blades, palmed the other as he approached the man he had just ghosted. I watched with a morbid sense of fascination as he leaned and thrust the body onto its back. Taking his blade, he sawed the right thumb off and shoved it into a plastic bag. Following that was the man's right eye. This part had made me cringe the first few times I'd seen it performed, but now, I was simply able to admire the efficiency that Vince worked with.

Ex-cons all had a micro brand embedded in the tissue behind their eyes, deep in the back of the socket – this guy however, was apparently part of an older breed of con. There was a time not too long ago when the system for marking criminals wasn't so refined. Before the advance of sylon technology, they embedded information straight into the eye itself, which often lead to complications. It was never meant to be accessed, unless of course the person was dead. Now though, all you needed was a cheap retinal scanner, and you were able to load data about a convict straight onto your data pad.

I wondered distantly what type of chip Riddick had, but dashed the inane thought aside just as quickly.

My anger was beginning to build. Vince finished his job, and cast a quick glance around to see if anyone was around.

Of course there wasn't anybody in sight, I would have noticed that first – but instinct is hard to let go.

Vince's nearly grey eyes met mine, and the smug smile on his face lapsed.

"Didn't realize you were using me as bait," I ground out, hands on my hips. "Maybe next time you ought to let me in on something like that."

Vince extended one bloodied hand. "Didn't know it was goin' that way, darlin.'" He cocked his head to the side. "Supposed to be recon only, 'member?"

Yeah, recon only. But the fucker knew something was up. How? I don't know. I'm good at what I do – fly under the radar of guys like grizzly man, but tonight, something went wrong.

Who the fuck knows what it was. But one thing still remained – and that was my faith in Vincent Cruz. He'd saved me back when I was hopping around planets, trying to avoid leaving a trail for my merc friend to sniff out – only to find that he was closer than I could have imagined.

And now, just like then, Vince was there – for some unfathomable reason – to save me. Guys like him weren't supposed to care. Guys like him were only out for number one. It was a lesson I would like to forget, but it was something Riddick had taught me too well.

I scoffed, but still entwined my fingers with Vince's, the already drying blood somewhat slick against my skin. It stuck in the webs of my fingers and I smiled slightly as Vince began to lead me away to his ship.

Another successful hit – and earlier than had been promised. That made leaving this rock all the more sweet.

Vince glanced down at me as he led me through the streets of the dark night, and I smiled softly at him, squeezing his hand to let him know that I was here, despite the nasty parts – and more than that – I trusted him.

AN: alright, so super short first chapter, but I'm still playing with it a bit. Let me know what you think, I'd love to hear opinions on this. Constructive criticism is always welcome.