Johns had been one of the mercs to respond to the distress signal from Slam City, who had become so afraid of her that they urged the mercs to take her to Hubble Bay Penal Facility, or any-place else that wasn't Slam City for that matter. It amused her greatly, to see a warden like that, shivering over the broadcast as he stuttered and tripped over words. The amusement didn't last long, since the mercs began showing up.

They were careful not to completely destroy the ship, but left it just incapacitated enough that it was impossible for her to pilot it anywhere; so she just had to float in the dark recess of space until one of the mercs had the balls to do a little space-walk (or EVA, if you like technical terms) to her ship, pry open the lock and hope she didn't explode from the de-pressurization. Then they would have to wrangle her into cuffs and then space-walk all the way back to their ships to properly secure her in her bindings.

The ones who tried first were the first to have their helmets ripped off and kicked out into the cold, sucking blackness of space and have their eye-balls forcibly jerked from their skulls when they imploded. Johns, however, was a little more prepared and a little cleverer than the rest. He attached hooks to her hull and reeled her ship in before attacking her. She had to admit she was a bit impressed, and unbearably irritated. The blue-eyed snake had done his homework on her, strapping her down almost excessively when he finally caught her.

"Not too tight, I'm guessing?" He asked, pulling tightly on the bands. She didn't miss the amused expression on his face, even through the grate that kept her from biting his ears off.

She pursed her lips, her voice rumbling and low. "Just right."

He slumped into the pilot's seat, pressing buttons and slowly accelerating. Riddick took this time to take account of her settings. It was a cramped ship, about wide enough for four or five people to squeeze into. It was probably for brief missions, or a shuttle for a larger ship. It was also definitely a merc ship, with all the cuffs lying around and the drugs. This guy was no law-man.

"What's my bounty at now?" She clicked her tongue, "Four, five million?"

The merc turned in his seat, studying her with those bright blue eyes of his. He tilted his head, his lips curling up in an amused smirk. "You're close. About six million now."

She shifted in her seat, conveying exasperation. "All that for little old me?"

"I wouldn't call you old, Rachel." He cocked his head, his eyes going up her frame. "Or little. You're probably the most wanted con in space right now. Perhaps behind Grande Hortez, but not behind that much."

"Looks like I'll have to change that." Her lips twitched. "Rachel?"

He rested his elbows on his knees, "Suppose I should introduce myself. I'm William J. Johns, ex-marine, mercenary."

"Rachel B. Riddick, escaped convict— murderer." She smiled, her voice vicious with a contemplative growl. "Call me Riddick, because we're not on a first-name basis. If we were, you'd have to take me out to dinner first, Billy-boy."

"Alright, Riddick." He spun his chair back to the screen, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm. "We're off to Hubble Bay. What exactly did you do to scare the warden so badly they didn't want you?"

"Lurked around the prison a while, killed a few people before I escaped." She shrugged, "They're probably just a bunch of pussies, is all."

He let out a sarcastic laugh, "Let's see if Hubble Bay handles you any better."

"I doubt it." She grumbled, letting her head rest against the cool steel of her face guard, drifting off to sleep.

*()*()*()*

Of course Hubble Bay couldn't handle her. At least, not for very long.

Hubble Bay was basically a floating citadel of a slam in the middle of space. Ships constantly were docking to refuel and transfer prisoners. It was practically slave-trade, really. Riddick thought she saw one man check another man's teeth, like a jockey would do to his horse, but that was probably for the pat-down.

Turrets lined the walls of the citadel, probably one of the cleanest slams she had been to yet. That didn't mean that the prisoners were, however. Dope-heads and killers, sometimes the de-lousing wouldn't do the trick and then you had a lice epidemic on your hands. Luckily, she didn't stick around too long. Didn't like the smell of the place; it was a cage, a clean and gaudy one, but a cage all the same.

It was simple. Grab a guard during transfer, drag him back before any of the turrets could see her, snap his neck and take his uniform. He was also handling a pistol which had not been DNA-encoded, to her luck. All she had to do then was slip past the rest of the pigs and grab a shuttle off the prison. And she succeeded, maybe with a few bumps here and there, but otherwise made it onto a ship without too much trouble.

Unfortunately, Johns was a persistent man. When he heard that Riddick had escaped again, he high-tailed it over to her part of space and began tracking her contrails. When she got word of that and shut that down, he began tracking her sensor ghosts, almost invisible trails from her ship that could be detected if you had the right tech. But she put up a damn good fight, she admitted. She got him to chase her around the goddamn galaxy and back before he managed to corner her on a street when she was looking to get something to eat; she might be a con and a ex-soldier, but she couldn't go indefinitely without food.

She had been chowing down on some of the noodles down by the shittier side of the city, stuffing her face with a slice of steaming and freshly baked bread. Riddick was resting on a dumpster, one leg bent and the other swinging off the edge. She must have been chewing too loudly, or perhaps Johns had a new pair of those fancy noise-cancelling shoes for those who can't make themselves be quiet, when he snuck up on her. She didn't go down without a fight however, making a shit-ton of noise while they battled it out.

Whatever it was, she had this instinct, this sense that Johns was an alpha. Not quite like herself, she supposed. There was grace in his movements, his prowl. The way he looked at prisoners. Oh, she knew that they were not peers. She knew that, whatever it was that was bringing him down, made him weaker. He didn't know the pain he inflicted on others, but he knew how to do it well. However, he was never excessively brutal to her or any of the other cons he brought in. She supposed that also displayed weakness too, and she was also somewhat insulted by it.

She fairly held her own for fifteen-minutes, alternating between running through the streets (it's called a tactical retreat, trying to lure him into the streets so either A, someone would misunderstand and take him down for her or B, hopefully lose him in the crowd.) and beating the shit out of him when they were locked in battle again. This worked for some time, of course, but eventually someone (probably a police officer or another merc) tasered her from behind.

Of course, that alone only jarred her enough to fall flat on her ass, but someone had the insight to bring a few tranquilizers to sedate her while they cuffed her. The tranqs didn't do too much; they were weak compared to her high tolerance to such drugs. The most it did was make her queasy and weak. This explained why she had the jarring sense to expel her recently consumed noodles onto Johns' shiny new boots, and let out a little bark-like laugh when she heard him groan in disgust. Soon she was slapped into a seat in a merc ship, extra bindings unlike the rest of the cons, and they began their way to a new prison.

A few of the prisoners recognized her, probably from her scowling face on all the WANTED boards. They hadn't even gotten her good side either.

"What's my number up to now?" She asked one con to the left, who shied his eyes away. She grunted, turning to the other prisoner, who simply stared.

"What is it?" She reinforced her question, voice laced with malice.

"T-Twenty mil." Said the fat man, chains clinking loudly as he shook; she cocked a brow at him. Probably in for tax fraud and made a run for it. Or maybe child pornography; He looked the type.

Riddick grinned; each tooth exposed revealing a bit of a challenge. "Bet I beat that Grande son-of-a-bitch, didn't I Johns?"

"You sure as hell did. Thanks for making me rich." Johns sat down across from her, wiping his boots clean with a cloth.

"You're welcome, Johns. Maybe we can go out to that dinner you never got around to taking me to." She cracked, receiving a smile in return. They had a strange sort of bond; it wasn't quite prisoner and master. Sometimes it was alpha to alpha, rubbing each other the wrong way, testing each other's strengths.

Suddenly, the ship began to rumble. Riddick had nothing to worry about; she was tightened up and had nowhere to slip off to. The other cons weren't so lucky, being dragged around by the bumps while being restrained, their harnesses keeping them to the chairs and straining their wrists. Eventually the ship stopped, just slightly noticeable in the cargo area.

"Looks like your pilot ain't so slick." She cocked her head, the gesture barely visible behind the bite-guard. "Maybe you could un-hook me; let me have a go at it."

"That won't happen til' I'm dead and gone, and especially not on my ship." He grunted, throwing down the rag to go check up on the front cabin. Riddick entertained herself by watching the inmates get to their feet and untangle themselves from their chains. She didn't try to help when she noticed a chain looped around another man's leg, simply letting them battle it out.

It was a few minutes before Johns returned, looking a little more relieved. The ship was no longer still, and they had begun moving once more, albeit slowly. She was slightly thankful for this; the tranqs in her system were still having a go at her, and her stomach was not replying too well.

"We're moving again. They just transmitted a safe route through the minefield." Johns relaxed into his seat once more, easing his elbows on his knees.

"That minefield's offering better odds than you're gonna get takin' me to Butcher Bay." Riddick replied airily. She knew about his past, having talked to Johns a bit on her way to Hubble Bay Penal Facility. Johns had been a squad leader in the slums of Sol Lucia; the planet on which Butcher Bay was made. Somehow, Johns managed to cause a large and very costly amount of damage to the prison, in which he was in debt to Hoxie, the warden. She found it amusing, how the blue-eyed devil had such problems. He was just one problem short of being a con himself. "…You think Hoxie's memory is that short?"

"He gets one look at you, Riddick, and all's forgiven." Johns' voice was warm, amused by her quip, "And I bank your bounty plus fifty…"

"Plus Fifty?" Riddick cracked, expressing disbelief along with a bit of laughter. "Now come on, Johns… Greed is an ugly thing."

Johns let out a little laugh, "You're in no position to be negotiating."

"We'll be landing at Butcher Bay in an… hour…" The intercom overhead cracked to life, "Buckle up… turbulence from an incoming sandstorm is expected. Hang on 'til we're through it."

Riddick observed her captor with brown eyes sparkling with amusement as he seemed to curl into himself at that news, "Oh yeah. I forgot you don't like this part… Statistically, landings are the most dangerous."

"You've got nothing left to live for, Riddick." Johns paused, wincing. "I do. Now shut up, would ya?"

"You're already counting. Aren't you?"

"I said shut up."

Riddick mumbled, her voice deep with underlying laughter and sleep, allowing the last of the tranqs in her system to over-take her. "Your funeral…"

*()*()*()*

"Rise and shine, Riddick…"

She shook her head. She didn't want it to end. She was so, so close to getting out of the prison, shotgun in hand, guards dead behind her.

"Rise and shine, Riddick." The voice was clearer now.

There was the sound of buttons being pushed, the sudden rush of air as her binds were released. "Rise and shine, jackass."

Riddick shook, momentarily surprised by the sudden awakening. "Come on, don't act like you're asleep." Johns said, voice placid with expectation. "It's time for you to earn me some money."

Glancing down at the pistol Johns aimed at her stomach, Riddick let out a grumble of laughter, disguised by her words. "You might want to be careful with that, Johns." Her voice was something foreboding, "You could hurt somebody."

As they stepped off the metal tin-can of a merc ship, Riddick was greeted by a blast of unforgiving light. She winced, squinting as she stepped onto the platform, which was gritty with sand. She took a moment to look at her surroundings, a little smile escaping her lips.

"Butcher Bay. You know, you always take me to the nicest places, Johns." She cracked, and was roughly pushed in the shoulder to be encouraged to move forward. She did this without complaint, but decided he would pay for that later.

"I hear the food's good as well." Johns amused tone was not lost on her. They sounded more like friends, one friend having forced the other to go somewhere unpleasant. "Can't say I'm gonna miss you, Riddick."

Riddick couldn't say she was hurt by these words, "Then don't."

As a group of guards approached them, Riddick nodded her head, lips twitched with amusement as she hid a smile. "…Ah, Johns. Looks like that memory's still intact. He don't look all that happy to see you."

"Hoxie's a businessman. Now, play nice and we can get this over with quickly."

"It's already over, Johns."

"Secure your weapon, Johns." Said Hoxie. The man was a blond, his hair slicked back to his dome, green eyes contemplative as they worked down Riddick's well-toned form.

Johns let out a tiny, strained laugh. "Good to see you too, Warden."

"So, the famous Miss Riddick…" Hoxie approached her, arms folded behind his back in a gentlemanly manner, completely ignoring Johns for the moment.

"The Hox…"

"Finally come to stay, eh? Well, as of this moment Butcher Bay owns your ass…" Hoxie deliberately raised a suggestive brow. "I own your ass."

Riddick didn't let it be seen she was annoyed by this. She had been used to sexual harassment before; it came with the job of being a con. Being a female con was never easy, but being The Riddick, well, it gave you certain inalienable rights to kick the motherfucker in the balls if he dared to touch you.

"She's all yours once I sign her over, Hoxie." Johns spoke up, perhaps feeling the threatening tone and the insinuation that went with it. Hoxie hardly expressed he noticed Johns was there, looking vaguely irritated.

"You're not going to be a problem, are you, Riddick?" Hoxie raised a brow, pointing and shoving his hand into her face. Riddick decided to sate herself at the moment by imagining ripping that disgusting birth-mark off his upper lip. "'Cause my boys and I like solving problems."

She cocked her head while the warden shifted around her like an uncertain vulture, "Johns said you were ugly up close. For the first time, I gotta agree with him."

"Hmmm…. Nice try."

"I do what I can."

"Already trying to get under my skin, eh Riddick?" The Warden was undeniably amused.

"It'd be easier…" She drew out the sentence. It was a wonder how she could sound so menacing, even cuffed and armed guards surrounding the area. "If I had something sharp."

The Warden found it the appropriate time to turn to Johns finally, who quickly began negotiating the price on her head. She took this time to multitask listening in on the conversation and studying the guards and other aspects of the upper level prison. It looked like it sounded, like the block a butcher would cut his meat on, the sky splashed with red from the atmosphere.

The guards behind Hoxie were doing considerably the same thing as she was. Three guards, two of them hidden by their helmets and inextinguishable from one another, and the third that stood out brightly. He was a black man with cornrows; wearing black shades over what she could only assume were brown eyes. He wore a red and black suit of guard armor, which shined a dull crimson and grey in the light. He seemed to be a regular sort of goon, the drugged-up-on-power type.

"Let's get her processed." Hoxie finally finished, nodding to the black man.

"Yes sir!" He said, fully savoring this part of the job.

"Johns." Riddick walked ahead, turning her head just slightly as she looked back. "…Better luck next time."

*()*()*()*

"Prisoner walking!"

The guards quickly fell in step by her sides. She didn't complain, nor show any indication she was uncomfortable with their proximity. She carefully watched them, though, prepared to defend herself if necessary, which she supposed was a little excessive. But she didn't survive so long by taking risks.

"Pay attention, punk. You are now Butcher Bay prisoner five four two one one three five dash two. Remember your number. Remember the rules. My rules. Now listen, there is no 'outside' at Butcher's. Just a whole planet of desert. So check those desires right now, because you will not get out. No one has, no one ever will." The guard droned on.

'I like a challenge.' Riddick thought to herself, smirking a little before covering it up.

As they entered the building, a rush of cool air enveloped her, relieving her of the heat that had attached itself to her clothes. Like she didn't stink already; she had planned to go shopping for clothes before she had got caught. Now she was stuck in her sweaty black tank-top and brown cargo-pants that successfully hid her ass. They began their way to Cell Block A, the guard yelling back "Ok, close the gate!"

"No physical contact with other inmates whatsoever." Like that would be a problem. "No contraband of any kind. Don't ask what's contraband, I define it day-by-day."

"So spare yourself and carry nothing but lint in those pockets." The guard was silent for a moment as they approached the gate, a few guards left and right up near walls showing their skills with a gun. Or at least, what they thought skills were.

They stepped into a cage-like area, where the bars would shut behind them. A prisoner approached the bars on the A Block side, speaking to the guard.

"Hey, Abbott. When you've dropped that fish into her new tank, we gotta talk. It's 'bout the Aquilas." The con said, with surprising levelness with the guard.

"Don't worry. I got Rust by the balls. You'll get your share, Cyrus." Abbott replied without any patience. The prisoner shrugged as the bars began to open, retreating back into the prison halls.

"There are two cell-blocks in this section: A and B. You're in A." Abbott explained, as if she couldn't read the text when they walked in.

As they walked in, two prisoners took a look at her. One was a female Latino, amused as she walked in. "Hey, what are you bringing to us?"

"Name's Riddick. Thinks her shit don't stink." Abbott snorted.

"The Riddick?" Asked another inmate, with a surprising amount of disbelief.

"Get the fuck back to your cell, Jacklyn." Abbott hissed, not pleased with the reaction he received.

"Riddick! You just landed in gladiator school!" Said one inmate.

"Hey Riddick! Rust is gonna eat you alive." Said another.

She ignored them both as she approached her cell, a woman near it introducing herself as Barber.

"Come talk to me after delousing, ok?" She asked.

The door to the cell slid open, revealing a dimly lit cell with padded bunks with a toilet in the center wall, near the bedding. There were scratches and symbols on the walls, and it looked like shit had been smeared underneath the light.

"This is you hole. It's time for us to delouse your filthy ass. Don't breathe." Abbott jerked his head for her to go into her cell. She complied with slow, measured steps as she sucked in a breath.

The cell door closed behind her, and above a white mist blew out of the ceiling fan. She did as she was told, because she didn't necessarily feel like dying at the moment. The process was quick, the mist quickly dissipating as soon as it had appeared.

"Cleansing routines. An indignity of slam-life." She murmured to herself, "Lets the mercs think they're in charge. That's their weakness. The foolish believe that they're in control."

"It'll be their downfall."