1.1.1.1.1.1 Chapter 4

1.1.1.1.1.2 Learning black

I've heard it said that darkness has a character. That it is not merely the absence of light, but another entity. One ruled by the laws of physics, to forever surrender to the garish touch of energy. The dark is a knowledge and a taste. It blinds your eyes to open your other senses. Light punishes what it touches. but the dark. The dark is a creature that snarls against the light, spreading a shield over those who dwell in it.

People say a lot of bullshit.

Black is black.

Until the light fades in. Perfect circles swell up and over me there's a silhouette.

More time passes and features show. Eyes study my face as she bites into her lip. Something is touching my skin with small scrapes of movement. She pulls it back and there's a scalpel, tipped with green fluid.

Words spill out of her mouth, but they don't coalesce. Meaningless murmurs.

The circles tighten and draw in the blackness.

Black is black.

* * *

"Rise and shine," purred Jack, hovering over her handiwork.

Riddick's eyes opened slowly. He blinked sleepily and tried to rub his eyes but his hands refused to move. Looking around, Riddick could make out the details of the cockpit to his right and the bedroom in front of him. Jack was kneeling in front of him, at eye level and looking damn cocky. She'd pulled on black pants and her hair was scraped back into a loose knot, but otherwise she was dressed the same as during their fight.

Couldn't have been out too long. He concluded.

"What did you do to me?" Riddick growled. He couldn't feel anything below his neck. Had she shot his damn spinal cord?! Riddick felt a queasy panic begin to well up. Powerless.

"With this?" Jack pulled the small gun out of her pants. She flicked the chamber to the side and shook out the contents. Instead of bullets, injection phials filled her palm.

"Atrophine mainly. Some other things just to hype with you."

Riddick frowned but felt a surge of relief. If it was only drugs causing the numbness, he'd soon be able to move again. Jack better get the hell out of his way when that happened.

She was still looking at him oddly. Sitting back suddenly, Jack retrieved a disc from the floor.

"I have a surprise for you," she stated. One eyebrow raised, she was a picture of innocence.

"Oh, goody," Riddick drawled.

The disc was a mirror, he discovered, as she flipped it up and showed him the reflection of his face and her. artwork.

His jaw clenched.

It was a butterfly. With a smily face.

"Permanent?" he ground out.

Jack beamed at his reaction, "Not that one."

Riddick flung himself forward on his restraints. Jack wrenched backwards instinctively, landing in a sprawl. He laughed lowly at her.

"Fucking child," she spat and sprang up to her feet. He was still making those husky chuckles.

Jack slammed a foot into his groin and stalked back up the ship in petty triumph.

Riddick was just glad feeling hadn't returned below his waist.

* * *

It took a little while to get used to the controls of his ship. She was used to piloting smaller ships and the 'Obsidian Sun' had several added levers and control systems. Quite a few were part of Riddick's 'special' modifications. After some fiddling, she found the main navigation system and entered the flight plan. The ship altered course gently, almost imperceptibly. Riddick must've spent a fortune just on stabilisers.

1.1.1.1.2 Probably not Riddick.

Jack rubbed her thumb over the license panel as her thoughts drifted out. The ship's name was embossed in the metal, catching her attention. She traced her forefinger over each letter, letting them sink through her skin.

Obsidian Sun.

1.1.1.1.3

1.1.1.1.4 You're not afraid of the dark are you?

A beep on the console broke her attention.

"Should've brought a book." Jack muttered.

Not all was going according to plan. Sure, she'd improvised. But the cryochamber lock had her plans irritatingly altered. It would be a month of travel in real-time and she didn't have nearly enough drugs to keep him sedated the entire time. Even while she'd been binding him up he'd roused a few times.

"Jack."

She shot a glare in his vague direction.

"Jack, Jack, Jackeee," he sang hoarsely.

She spun the chair around and faced him.

"What?!"

"Need to piss."

Pure exasperation filled her face, Riddick noted cheerfully. Even if she didn't believe his need was pressing, she had to realize that sometime he was going to need to use a bathroom. She pushed herself out of the expansive pilot's seat and strode towards him. From a cursory ship inspection, she'd found there was a bathroom to her left with the standard bath/shower, toilet and sink. Upstairs was the master bedroom with only a toilet and washbasin. Further back, where two smaller bedrooms would usually have been on this craft model, a workout area had been instated. Correspondingly, there was no plumbing there.

Two choices.

Upstairs - her newly-claimed bedroom making him within easy talking distance and a minute washroom he'd barely fit into. (1 negative, 1 positive)

This level - spacious bathroom to keep him comfy, far more doors between them if Riddick got loose and she wouldn't have to lug his unconscious body up a flight of stairs. (1 negative, 2 positive)

"Good to go?" Riddick taunted. He'd seen a conclusion cross her expression. Stretching himself up, he prepared for any chance of attack this would allow him. Jack looked at him disapprovingly, the way he was coiled like a snake ready to strike at any weakness.

She pulled out the tranquiliser gun and shot him.

"You bet."

* * * * *

The black faded like it had last time. Circles of light melted into his iris.

No, Riddick corrected himself, stabbed into his iris.

The light was bright, slick. Neon.

"-an't handle."

The dull edge from the drug was ebbing. His face lowered to shadow his eyes, Riddick's senses swelled again. He was in the bathroom now. The scent of bleach covered the wall by his face, while shaving cream and soap stained the air further away.

". Maybe four if the troopers."

The female voice was outside. Maev - no - Jack, the name bit into his mind, was talking to someone in the cockpit. She paused again and then replied. Must be using the comm, he concluded.

"How long've I been out this time?" Riddick muttered to no-one. He craned his neck and rubbed his face along his arm, feeling a day's worth of stubble. It could well be within 24 hours of leaving the spaceport. Standing up, Riddick felt a surprising degree of freedom in his movement now. His arms were bound behind his back with the wrists together, fingers interlocked and wrapped with something he couldn't discern. But they appeared to be attached to a tether, giving him range to move between the sink, the toilet and the shower.

Squinting carefully, he could see the room was no longer as he'd left it. Gone were even his meagre amount of the standard bathroom bottles no-one ever really uses, along with his bar of soap and scraggly washer and, of course, his razor. He looked around more and realized Jack had been quite the paranoid bathroom specialist. Instead of removing what was stored under the sink, she'd welded several pieces of metal over the cabinets, rendering them permanently closed. The towel rack was gone. The shower doors had vanished. Sharp edges had been cut off or puttied over. Even the toilet seat had been dutifully removed.

What the hell did she expect? I'd pummel her to death with the toilet duck between my toes?!

Realizing his boots and socks were among the pilfered items, Riddick noticed he was also wearing a lot less clothes. She'd left his tank-top on, but his pants had been replaced by what he could only describe as a towel- kilt. Two ankle-cuffs also had strings of metal attached, leading to a minute gap in the wall. He moved each leg, finding the strings were long enough not to impinge on his movement at all within the bathroom.

"Rattling your chains?"

Riddick gritted his teeth, "Jack."

"You can stop thinking like that," she stated harshly.

"Like what?"

Jack slid her hands up along the doorframe and leaned slightly into the room.

"How long is the cord? How close is she to me? Could I break her skull from here..? The usual."

Riddick felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. She'd always understood him a little too well.

"Who were you talking to?" he changed the subject.

Jack looked over her shoulder, nodding at the comm.

"My employer."

"I figured you'd be self-made."

"Want money, need someone to pay," Jack replied, her eyes focused on checking over her handiwork again, rather than Riddick's face, "I'm sure you understand the complex economic concepts at play."

Riddick cringed into the light, still painfully bright, "I'm just a hit?"

Jack's face screwed up in confusion and irritation, "You think I'm going through this for a walk down memory lane?!"

Riddick bowed his head back down and taunted huskily, "The creed is greed."

There was a slapping sound as Jack's palm slammed into the light control. The light intensified, sending Riddick into visible pain.

"Don't get fucking sentimental. I'm not here for therapy, I'm here to collect a bounty. And yes, that means money's involved. But I damned well earnt it, and you-" Jack bit her lip, hard. He was getting to her, and he could sense it. She pulled the anger in roughly, the intensity almost bruising her as she filed it away.

May as well give him a fucking road map to my buttons.

Riddick shook his head slowly, with a mock 'tsk', "Temper, Jack."

Her fists balled, her arms tensed.

Something clattered on to the bench next to Riddick before the bathroom door slammed and footsteps thumped away.

He looked over to see his goggles.

Riddick wriggled his hands uselessly.

"Cute," he grated.

Bitch.

Admittedly, he had to take some responsibility. If he'd succeeded in killing her the first time, neither of them would be in this situation.

* * * *