A/N : This is the sequel to 'Darkness, Be My Friend' and, for those of you who have read the old version then you should know that this one is quite a bit different. This story will be at least twenty-six chapters long, and there shall be violence.

The Other Side of Dawn

Prologue : Welcome to Crete

The comm monitor on the control panel lit up as one unwavering hand flipped up a switch and the merc known as Lenne Merett scanned the frequencies that scrolled onto the screen, ignoring the stray strands of his jet black hair that were tickling his face; he'd have to cut it soon. Outside the cockpit window of the small ship loomed the curve of a huge planet, the gleam of the nearby sun revealing the deep azure color of the horizon; this was Oceania and the blue was from the unending span of water that hugged the planet's surface. The planet's specs ran across another, smaller screen to his left, but he didn't even spare it a glance; he'd memorized the properties of this world the minute he'd first took up his rather questionable career.

With an overabundance of dihydrogen monoxide, Oceania would have been an ideal place for colonization save for the conspicuous absence of major land masses. Within the cerulean depths of the endless sea lurked a wide array of monstrous creatures that would put even the deadliest of Old Earth's sharks to shame. It was a dangerous place, this ocean, for anyone and anything that was not native to the world.

Then there was the rock.

It stood in the shallowest area, jutting out of the water with black cliffs raised so high and so jagged in texture that any possibility of scaling them was left to the risk of whoever was crazy enough to dare such a venture. The rock spanned a distance of five hundred miles in each direction and was shaped like a rather lopsided, seven pointed star, fluctuating in height along the arms; it could barely be seen from space unless you were one of the few who knew where to look for it. Lenne was one of those few; he hated coming here, but right now that couldn't be helped for Oceania was the closest drop off unless he wanted to go into cryo.

He loathed cryo and only used it when there was no other choice; there was a set up in the back of the ship for just such an emergency, but at the moment it was occupied. He was glad he'd traded for a different ship instead of keeping the bigger cargo freighter that his quarry had previously been flying. The regulators were running and he cast a glance back over his shoulder, just to make completely sure; strapped into the cryo-unit was the muscular form of one Richard B. Riddick, head slumped against his chest. He was chained as secure as possible, but Lenne knew better; he'd heard the stories behind this particular merc killer so there was no such thing as being too careful.

He ran a hand over his left forearm, feeling one of his old scars as he frowned to himself; he'd confiscated all the blades he could find, but something was bothering him about this whole thing. It wasn't the fact that Riddick had killed his two team mates, no, Lenne had witnessed crew deaths before; he'd even been the cause of a few, not that there was anyone alive to testify to that. No, it was the whole situation that gave him that uneasy feeling; he'd seen the whole thing happening from the beginning as if it had happened in slow motion.

Vern had run up from the port, ranting about the ship they'd gotten the call about a week previous; it wasn't long before they saw that his tall tale wasn't a lie. There, walking down the street was the biggest payday in the history of all the guild; but the puzzling thing was that Riddick wasn't alone. There was a kid, a boy judging from the clothes and the cut of the hair; the kid was following the convict like someone infected with an extreme case of hero worship.

That may have probably been the case, but the minute they let off that first shot, Riddick had sent the kid running and turned back towards them; then Vern had to be an idiot and strike up a conversion. Now he and Ace were both dead, not that Lenne was complaining; they had both been complete morons in his book. He'd been the smart one, to duck out of the way and wait for the opportune moment to strike; Riddick had stolen Vern's gun and just as Lenne had stepped out with his own pistols drawn, the man had pulled the trigger.

Riddick had looked stunned to see Lenne standing there in front of him instead of behind; he'd turned and shouted to see the pitiful sight of the kid, bleeding from a bullet to the chest with an expression of surprise on his child's face. Lenne had almost felt pity for the convict, almost; the kid's death had provided just the distraction he'd needed to take Riddick down. It wasn't until he'd had his quarry secure on the ship that he'd turned back and returned to the street to find that the body of the boy had vanished; there was nothing left but a drying puddle of blood.

He'd looked, but only for a moment; the answer to the kid's disappearance had been right in front of his eyes. He didn't even need to walk in and check to know what had happened, so he had left for the eight hundred thousand he'd get for turning this Riddick in, the highest pay for his head; except maybe Crematoria, but he was currently banned from bringing any of his catches there after getting in a fight with one of the guards.

There were only two structures built upon the highest surfaces of the rock. They were the only two needed, for everything else was kept in the belly of it, within the caverns that ran rampant under the surface.

The first building was raised from the same nearly black stone as the rock itself and it was set before large and relatively flat stretch of surface area over the length of the island's longest arms that held easily recognizable scorch marks as scars. They were the telltale signs of engine burn-off from multiple take-offs and landings, all from visiting space craft, for the first building was a hangar and the ship kept within was for emergency use only. The hangar was three kilometers from the second building, but there was no trail between the two; anyone needing to traverse the space between those buildings needed five access codes and a working knowledge of mine carts.

The second building was the guard station, home to twenty-five of the universe's worst scum, all on the payroll of the Company and the majority of whom Lenne didn't get along with. They were, to be blunt, a group of crude and uncouth bastards who abused the power they held over their charges, especially those of the feminine persuasion. Their job was to keep the rest of the universe's scum from escaping the natural prison made by the caves below the building that they lived in.

This wasn't exactly hard, not because the guards were extraordinarily good at their jobs; there were definitely better prison guards out there. The prison had been named Crete after some stupid myth and the guards there ran it along a sadistic principle set down by the Company itself.

Every inch of the caverns in the rock had been mapped prior to construction; there were roughly five different cavern levels and one of them contained a series of caves whose contexts were so complex that it had taken nearly four years to lock down every entrance, save one.

This singular cave was dubbed the Labyrinth and it was the only way out; unless you wanted to climb the elevator shaft, which was wired with a live DNA scanner. If anyone living other than the guards tried to ascend the elevator shaft, then the elevator itself would automatically drop. The Labyrinth was the leading cause of death among the inmates at Crete and the reason it was labeled a triple-max slam.

Lenne stared at the comm screen and pulled up a frequency to transmit his ship's codes; he waited a moment before calling up an audio transmission and throwing on his most spiteful tone.

"This is Merett," he grumbled, glaring at the receiver. "I'm coming in."

Harsh voices raised to their highest decibel echoed down the vent shaft, causing the pipes to vibrate and directing Marsden Colt's attention upwards. He raised his head and focused on the sounds, stormy gray eyes narrowing into a frown as he concentrated on interpreting the noise. Today he had an audience; another uneven stare watching his every move, it was almost enough to be annoying.

Any other day he would have told his observer to fuck off, but today wasn't just any other day; for over a week the voices in the pipes had been arguing over the next worthless soul to join the numbers who inhabited this rock. He had sat here, in this little notch in the black stone walls of the main cavern, waiting and listening for the reason behind the yells.

"We're gettin' a drop," Colt muttered, fishing in the pocket of his nearly scrapped vest for a moment before pulling out a slightly crumpled package of cigarettes. Cursing at the fact that there was only one left, he lit up and tossed the empty pack on the floor beneath his perch. He inhaled deeply, coughing twice before turning his attention back on the pipes. "Big drop, not one o' them stupid no-name eco-terrorists."

He shook his head at the thought; the last five fuckers who'd gotten dropped here had all been charged with the menial, insignificant crimes that held only political value. They'd been finished off real quick, either by the other denizens of the caverns or the by dark things that lurked in the lower tunnels.

"This one's fuckin' got tags."

"Tags?" his watcher echoed, crouching against the opposite wall. Colt threw him a sideways glance and shook his head, coughing again; it never ceased to amaze him how little this kid knew of the system.

"Three fuckin' years and you still don't know the lingo," he grumbled, taking another drag on his cigarette before pointing at the pipes. "Fuckers up top've been arguin' over whether or not to accept the new drop, 'cause apparently it's one o' the big ol' nasties."

"Is that so?" his watcher asked, sounding indifferent.

"You don't get it do you?" Colt questioned, annoyed now. "If they accept the drop it means trouble down here and trouble down here means a lock down, searches. They'll find the shit you smuggled in, the carvin's on your wall, that nice little knife you managed to knick and-"

"Throw me in solitary for a week," King retorted with a glare. "I know all that shit and I don't care."

"So tell me then, exactly why're you so interested in what's goin' on topside anyways?" Colt asked, flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette.

The younger man stood, jaw clenching as his green eyes flickered in apparent thought; there was a tangled mass of jet black curls atop his head and a small scar on his chin. He was twenty, maybe twenty-one, and a force to be reckoned with in a fight; Colt knew, he'd seen what had happened when the boy had been first dropped here. He was about as close a friend as one could get in a place like this; they talked when there was something to talk about.

"I think I've found a way out," King announced after a moment, meeting Colt's gaze.

"That's what you said last month," the older man reminded him with a slight chuckle, putting out his cigarette on the side of the wall. "This is Crete, King. The only way out o' here is in a body bag."

The Guards were nervous, not that Lenne cared very much; he watched as the one in charge counted out the cred chips from the safe while out of the corner of his eye he saw the rest of them prepping the elevator. There had been an issue earlier, in which they'd almost refused to accept this drop, but in the end greed won out on both sides. Lenne had agreed to take only seven hundred thousand instead of the full bounty, so long as the guards made the report to the guild within the month.

Otherwise he'd be back, and they'd be out of a job.

The guard finished and handed the money over; Lenne shifted through it, nodding before putting it in his pocket. He turned towards the rest of the guards, his gaze falling on the chained form of Riddick; the con's head was down, eyes closed against the light. An idea hit him at that moment, and he let a grin cross his face as he stepped forward.

"Don't look so down," he said, laughing slightly. "The kid isn't dead."

The con's head shot up, eyes opening involuntarily in shock; he shut them again in a moment, growling and Lenne laughed more audibly.

"Not to worry, though. I'm thinking once he's healed up, I'll take him in to the guild, teach him the trade. Apprenticeship and all that shit."

As he expected, this news didn't go over too well; Riddick lunged forward with a roar, chained hands going for Lenne's throat. The guards reacted almost too slow, but the merc had been waiting; he drew his pistol and pointed it straight at the con's forehead, pulling back the hammer with an audible click. The room froze for a moment, but eventually the guards collected their wits and were able to pull Riddick back away from the point of the gun.

Lenne returned it to its holster, watching as they loaded the con onto the elevator with a slight smirk on his face; of course he was going to hold through on what he said. There was nothing he liked better than playing people against each other and this opportunity was too good to pass up; he turned towards the door, throwing a sideways glance at the prison boss.

"Better get that report in."

The creaking sounds of the elevator lowering down into the depths caught Colt's attention. He turned towards it and absently reached into his pocket for his cigarette pack, cursing when he remembered using up his last one. He glanced off to the side and saw King still standing there, the younger man's gaze aimed straight at the thick doors at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

"Don't even think about it," Colt warned, stepping back towards the notch in the wall. "Fuck, don't even think about thinkin' about it."

The boy looked over at him, frowning, then turned towards the elevator again; Colt sighed and shook his head.

This was going to be a very long day.