Well, apparently I'm a masochist because I've started this fic while I still have 3 to finish. Bear with me. Blame Miz-Joely who posted a bunch of Khan!lock stuff on Tumblr and got the gears of my brains turning. It's all her fault.

Anyway this one will be a wild ride, with some violence, some dubcon and lots of language so you are warned.

Our story begins with the scene in Star Trek Into Darkness where Khan is demanding that his crew be beamed aboard his warship and goes au from there. I hope you enjoy!


Khan scanned the torpedoes for signs of life.

Damn, they're almost done removing the capsules, Marcus' daughter is cleverer than I gave her credit for.

Khan Noonien Singh growled his discontent lowly, softly enough that the sound did not transmit through to the other ship through the open communication link. His vibrant blue-green eyes flashed with annoyance that his plan had gone awry and he was unable to take the full number of his sleeping crew from the depths of the Spaceship Enterprise.

There were seventy-two in all. Seventy-two faces, seventy-two of his brethren locked in capsules, deep in cryosleep. He'd placed them there, in the torpedoes. He had wanted to keep them safe. When he thought that his crew had been taken from him, murdered in their sleep, he'd gone after his suspect with a vengeance. He wasn't sure why his fury had consumed him as completely as it did, he was only aware of a deep, aching sense of loss that he couldn't understand.

Khan's brow furrowed in annoyance. His brilliant mind could see all of their faces, however, he did not actually remember any of them. Their personalities were lost to him, a fact which he chalked up to an effect of the cryosleep.

I will remember soon, he told himself, just as he had every day for the nearly eleven years since he'd been awoken from his age-long slumber.

Khan's sculpted torso rippled under his fitted black shirt, the uniform of the hated Starfleet of which he had been a part under the pseudonym John Harrison, after he was awoken by the greedy and ruthless Admiral Marcus. His long, musician's fingers tapped the arm of his chair, the captain's chair of the warship Vengeance, (aptly named, he thought,) biding his time, waiting for the analysis of his targets to be complete.

He was perfect, a feat of genetic engineering. Khan was stronger, faster and smarter than the puny humans in the ship in front of him. He was superhuman in all aspects.

His body was a machine; he'd proven it again and again, not the least of times being when he single-handedly destroyed the group of attacking Klingons to save the crew of the Enterprise. Not that he cared if they lived or died, but he'd deduced by that time that the missiles they were threatening him with held the bodies of his crew so it was necessary to save them in order to surrender to them.

He was incredibly fast, obliterating his enemies in seconds with his incredible strength. No mere human could best him, and even the Klingons had fallen before his fury like wheat before the scythe.

But as superb as his body was, it was only transport for the most important aspect of his existence, his brilliant mind.

He had mastered the art of controlling his mind, filing away all the useful data in a secure location. Khan pictured a dwelling, small but comfortable, with each room holding a different set of information. He didn't know why the wallpaper of his mind palace, as he called it, had the startlingly graphic black and white pattern, or why there was always a skull on the mantelpiece. Khan wasn't even sure why one of the doors opened to reveal a pristine, white morgue. He just knew that when he closed his eyes and walked through his mind, that was what he saw. So that is where he stored the information he needed to remember. His system worked quite well and he was able to call up data that others would have long forgotten.

He narrowed his cat-like eyes at the screen, while checking out of the corner of his eye if he could lock on to the remaining three capsules that carried his crew without arousing suspicious.

He could.

His hand slid out, slowly, and he pressed the cool button, smirking as he did so. Within seconds, there was shouting on the screen in front of him and he grinned coldly, triumphantly, running a hand through his dark hair, as the capsules materialized in the room with him.

"Well, Mr. Spock, I do believe that our business is concluded for today." Khan spoke to the image before him, his voice both taunting and cruel. He would not let them see that he was in the least irritated he'd only managed to save three members of his crew from them, though he was sure that the ones left behind would be safe enough. They would not be slaughtered in their sleep now that Marcus lay dead.

"We still have the vast majority of your crew," came the answer, spoken by the ever logical Vulcan. Khan respected him, as his intelligence was far above that of the captain of the Enterprise, Kirk, who was all brawn and very little brain. While Khan did use his superhuman body to his advantage, it was his cutting brilliance that really set him a step above the rest of humanity and he knew it.

"Do not mistake me," he snarled, condescendingly, "I said for today. I will be back to collect the rest of my crew and lay waste to yours."

With that threat, (promise, he told himself,) he flipped the switch he had prepared beforehand and his ship disappeared into deep space, carrying himself and his three sleeping crew members.