Prologue
She was running. She didn't know where, but she had to get away. From him. Pounding footsteps followed her down an alleyway she was sure would cut out back into the street, but she'd miscalculated. The rain didn't let up, a rumble of thunder masking the sound of her feet hammering down the narrow street. Her chest heaved as she gave up, leaning her forehead against the wall, tears springing free. She turned slowly, watching him slow to a jog and then a walk.
"Don't you ever fucking run from me again," he warned, eyes narrowing as his fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt. "You'll just make things worse, and you know it, don't you?" She nodded, holding her stomach as her back slid along the wall, finally sitting on the ground in a puddle, droplets of water running down her face to conceal frightened tears. Now freed, he dropped to his knees before her, grabbing her ankles to wrench her away from the wall, a quiet, surprised gasp escaping her.
"Please don't," she stammered, fighting him feebly. He looked angry, concentrating on the task at hand. She trembled as his hands worked on her pants, roughly ripping them open. And then she snapped. It was as though she was outside herself, watching herself force her knee into his chest, knocking backwards as she calmly stood and fixed her clothing. Her head worked side to side, vertebrae in her neck popping as they adjusted. Dripping fingers closed around a broken pipe, letting it hang from her hands loosely as he struggled to catch his breath, standing slowly.
"What're you gonna do?" he asked, staggering backwards slightly, a river of blood gushing from his nose. She only shrugged nonchalantly, but her eyes stared at him from under soggy eyebrows, suddenly cold and detached. He backed himself against a dumpster, fingers searching for something with which to defend himself, finding nothing. His search grew more desperate as she lifted the pipe over her shoulder, testing its weight, mimicking a baseball player preparing for his turn at bat. His eyes grew wide as her eyebrow arched and she swung. And then the whole world went dark. For him.
Chapter 1
Sarge glanced in the mirror, inspecting the bruises darkening around her eye. She heaved a sigh, wiping the blood trickling down the side of her face with the back of a hand, gingerly touching the cut just behind her temple. Community showers should be tomorrow. Dandy, she thought with an evil smirk. Get scammed on 'cause I'm the only fucking girl in this hell hole. Well, I'm not fucking anyone, but whatever. The smirk fell, head snapping over her shoulder to listen to the brawl that just broke out down the darkened hallway. She rolled her eyes. God damn sausage fest.
"Hey Sarge?" She sniffed, testing the air. It was Red.
"What?"
"We're gettin' a new one today."
"Really." She posed it as a comment instead of a question, turning to lean against the damp prison wall behind her. Red only nodded, propping his bulky form against the door to her cell. "Who?" She scowled at the shrug Red expected to be taken as his answer. "You're gonna have to a hell of a lot better than a fucking shrug," she snapped.
"I don't know," he insisted, but then wiggled his eyebrows. "I hear it's a big fish, though. Word is Anders shelled out 1.5 for him." He was greatly satisfied when her eyebrows rose and she rubbed her chin with the knuckle of her thumb.
"Where from?"
"Thuria, I think." She nodded. "You know who it is?" She shrugged, plopping onto her bed and stretching her thin, muscular form out in a pose that slightly resembled the cover of a cheesy romance novel. Only more threatening. She might be the only female in this cell block – that was a feat – but she definitely ran the show. It'd taken her six years to work her way up, but no one crossed her. "Any idea at all?" Another noncommittal shrug. Footsteps thudded past the door, followed by several more pairs.
"That Twosy?" Red nodded in response. She snickered. "Who'd he try to fuck with this time?"
"Daniels and Art."
"My money's on Twosy." Red agreed with a small smile. "Get the fuck out of my cell." He sent her a glance and started to go, but stopped and turned his chin over his shoulder. "What?" she asked, suddenly irritated.
"You're the only one with an open bed right now."
"We'll see," she said quietly, her voice suddenly turning into a growl.
Riddick lurched into consciousness, the cryo wearing off in less than a second. His eyes darted around, searching for signs of another human. Footsteps fell on the stairs, and he watched two legs appear, then the rest of Riker. A growl vibrated deep in his throat. Fucker got smart, he thought, eyeing the pistol strapped to Riker's hip.
"Don't even think about it, convict," Riker warned. Riddick only turned his eyes upwards to stare into Riker's black eyes, Riddick's shining as the merc moved. He could tell Riker was nervous under his stare. Hell, I would be too. "See, you got lucky, here, Riddick," Riker continued, handing the pistol to a female merc standing a few yards from Riddick. Definitely got smart. Two more weapons were handed to the girl, and Riker stood in front of Riddick, his hands on his hips in a stance meant to be intimidating. It wasn't.
"Lucky," Riddick snickered. "Yeah."
"See, while you were off with whatever the fuck her name was," Riker said, knowing it would get under Riddick's skin. Riddick's jaw tightened as he looked away. "Company was building a new triple max slam." Riker leaned in, talking quietly into his ear. "Just for bitches like you." Riddick lunged, but Riker anticipated it, backing up quickly. Riddick had a good five inches on the merc, and no matter how hard he strained, his bindings wouldn't give him another inch. "You're never gettin' out," Riker finished, nodding in satisfaction, an evil smile hanging off his lips. Riddick grunted, sitting back down. He was getting tired of this game.
"That's what they told me before I broke out of Butcher Bay. Only took me three days," he said with an equally evil grin. Riker turned to his partner and nodded. Fuck. He saw the tazer, and braced for impact. Perception swirled down the toilet, and the world went black.
Nothing but muffles. Definitely voices, but completely indecipherable. It was as though he was under water, someone talking to him from the surface. Nothing made sense.
"When he's out, he's down." Riker's voice cut through the darkness, but no other sensations appeared. "I figure it'll take three or four guards at least, just to get him into the fucking decontamination room." A mental snicker. Three or four couldn't lift my foot with a fucking crane.
"Three or four ain't nothin," he heard someone else say. Is that Anders? Christ, he should have been dead by now. "Taps, go get the twins. You all get the convict up and into decon."
"You got the fee?" It's always about the money, isn't it Riker? Don't give a shit about justice if there's money involved. The creed is greed. Carolyn hadn't believed him. If only she could hear this. Boots stopped near his head, and the feeling came back into his body as he was hoisted off the ground, the world around him shaking as the guards struggled to keep in step with each other to avoid knocking one of the others over. Riker and Anders continued talking, but all he heard was voice – no words. The guards grunted and groaned as they carried Riddick's massive, limp body down the hallways. Place is a fuckin' maze. Probably why they used the damn tazer. Confuse me enough to forget the floorplan. Fuckers are definitely getting smarter. Damn.
The wind was knocked out of him as he was dropped to the floor on his stomach. He groaned and tried to roll over, his nerves finally awakened enough to move, but he was bound too tightly. Even his ankles. His eyes opened slowly, feeling like they had weights attached to them. All he saw was the tip of a needle approaching his shoulder, and the world went dark again. "He's yours once I get the money," Riker said, watching Riddick's body go lax again. The guards waited a few minutes, until Anders nodded at them, and Riddick was stripped, left in the floor. The door was shut with an electronic beep signaling a good seal, and the room filled with decontamination gas.
"You'll get the money once he makes it through the process," Anders corrected, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "If he even looks like he'll harm one of my guards, he's dead and you're penniless."
"Keep him drugged and he won't," Riker snapped, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table. Anders shot him a warning glance. The room cleared and the guards re-entered, dropping a bundle of prison-issue garments on the floor next to Riddick's head. A vile was broken under his nose, and he lurched away from it, sneezing.
"Get dressed, convict." The guard kicked the clothes at him, and he scowled, sleepily dressing. No use fighting right now. Not with this many people watching. The whole process was meant to be demeaning, but it wasn't. Not to Riddick. As the entourage watched Riddick dress, Anders nodded across to another guard, who nodded back and pushed a button. Riddick heard a hiss, then felt a sharp stinging in his back.
"If you ask nicely, I might do what you want," he said dreamily, wobbling on his feet before falling hard to the floor. The sedative worked only long enough to allow the guards to re-enter and chain the convict up, pulling him to his feet as he started to wake. Five minutes tops. Mental note.
"He's a little more compliant than you made him out to be, William," Anders said quietly, fingering his goatee. Riker shot him a sharp stare.
"His woman was a casualty," Riker explained.
"We do what we must," Anders commented, nodding slightly. "Once he's in the transport to cell block Z, you'll get your money."
"How much longer is the process, then?" Riker demanded, still pissed the Anders used his first name.
"He'll be tagged and vaccinated, and then taken to transport."
"Tagged." Riker shook his head, but Anders only nodded, leaving the room with the merc in tow. Anders took him to a waiting area, gesturing to the refrigerator with the wave of a hand. "I'll let you know when the transfer is complete. Wait here."
Riddick was taken to another stark white room and forced into a chair, chained down. A man, who appeared to be some semblance of a doctor, approached him and grasped his arm, tying it down. One of the guards secured the other. A large syringe was lying on the prep table next to him, and he eyed it warily.
"This is an electronic tag," the doctor explained, nodding at the syringe as he yanked the straps tight. Riddick tested them. Must be new. Not worn out at all. The doctor smirked at the attempt. "We change them after every use, just in case." Riddick scowled, watching the doctor load the syringe with a little thing that looked like a computer chip into the syringe. His cheek twitched as the needle pressed through his skin, grimacing as the chip invaded his flesh. The syringe was discarded, and a new, smaller one was seized. No, this wasn't a syringe. It was an intravenous needle. The doctor inserted it and taped it down, retreating to dig through the cabinets and return with six viles of various colored liquids. Each was injected, and Riddick's arm grew warm, tingling.
The room started spinning, and he felt his arms release from the straps and slide from the arms of the chair into his lap, where they were secured to the chain around his waist. The shackles around his ankles had never been removed. They got this down to a science, he thought, trying to shake the fuzz out of his head. A guard wrenched him to his feet and shoved him out of the room and down another hallway. The chain between his feet was so short he had to shuffle down the corridor. A door was opened, and the guard pushed him through it. It was small, round room with another door on the opposite side of the one he was just sent through.
"Turn," the guard said. Riddick complied, suddenly tired. "Stand right in front of the door." His shackles were removed. "Hands through the opening." The cuffs were removed. "They'll take the chain around your waist off inside." Riddick nodded, and the guard pointed at the other door. "Eventually, maybe." A growl, but no real response. "Wait for the beep and hang onto your ass." Just to be a jerk, Riddick reached around and grabbed his behind, for some reason satisfied with the snicker the guard granted him. "Oh. Your cell assignment is in Z 39."
"Does it matter?"
"Lockdown's a bitch," the guard said with a shrug. It may have seemed like a meaningless conversation, but it really wasn't. Those three words told Riddick something happened after lockdown that was more trouble than he wanted to deal with at the moment. Hopefully he was lucky enough to have his own cell. He heard the beep and the whoosh of air as the door slid open, and he walked into the dimly lit hallway, ears pricked as he started down the steps.
The steps lasted forever, and the air was stale and humid. He hadn't seen much of the planet after they landed. Only the port, and that was in a bubble. He paused, mid-stride as the realization hit him. They built this prison as a synthetic environment. Outside the bubble, the air was incompatible with the requirements for human breath. That meant the only port was the one so heavily monitored by the prison itself.
"Fuck." He shook his head. This was going to be harder than he thought. Butcher Bay was nothing. But this. "Shit." He continued down the stairs, wondering what the fuck those viles held. Couldn't be just vaccinations. Those never affected him like this. He was weak, tired, and dizzy. The stairs opened to a large, round cave, and he reached out, running a hand over the slippery rock. Several pairs of eyes focused on him, and he just stared them down until they looked away.