Author's Note: I do not own Riddick, but I promise to return him when I'm done. I did not create Slam, merely this interpretation of it. I did not have any hand in the creation of Pitch Black. I did however create Spook, and the other characters not seen in Pitch Black.

Sorry about the delay - Final Exams insert shriek of terror here are upon us in full force.

Spook thrashed against the harsh hands of the guard, a rim of white encircling the bottomless silver in her eyes. They were fixed on the vaguely struggling man, the convict whose eyes flickered as he fought the blows of the shocksticks. Fingers dug into her flesh as she fought to wrench herself loose. Her bare heels drummed back into the legs of the man. Clawed fingers occasionally managed to mark the arms of the guard, forcing him to shift his grip.

Dark marks covered her cheek, the skin bared by the open v of the neck of her dingy shirt. Her eyes rolled, her teeth were bared. Heavy banding of deep mottled purples and near-blacks banded her pale arms. There were stains on her hands, and the guard was cursing softly, holding her arms in a vicious grip, midway down her forearms, causing the flesh to bulge slightly above his tight hands.

The crackle of the shocksticks echoed in Riddick's ears as he stared at the slender girl. His knuckles clenched on the harsh ground. His arms and shoulders rippled, tensing as the next blow fell, followed by a swift kick in the ribs that sent him falling onto his side fully into the room. Again the searing kiss of the shockstick sent arching spasms along his spine. Blood dripped from his lip.

His cold eyes were fixed now upon the hunched form, drinking in a figure that was uneven, curled, leaning heavily on a cane. Again his thick hands tightened, knuckles leaving trails of red on the rough-poured concrete. The nearly-human figure limped towards him a few halting strides, bringing a face that quite possibly was once that of a man into view. The nose had been shattered. Ugly scars ran across his forehead, cheek, across where once there had been an eye. The shoulders were uneven, giving the form a crumpled look, like a rag doll propped upright. The left leg was twisted, shorter than the other by a matter of inches, and bent at mid thigh and at the shin.

Again the wracking pain of the shockstick.

And the quasi-man raised one hand, a hand clean and pure, unmarked by the ravages that maligned the rest of the warped body. The blows paused. The creature reached within the loose clothing, then cast something forward.

A shard of metal rang across the floor, coming to rest before Riddick. Then another. Then the hissing skitter of bone; a handle.

Three pieces of a shattered shiv. It had once been a straight, double edged blade. There were dark splotches of old blood on it. The bone was marked with it - one whole side permanently stained a deep, dark rusted brown.

Silvered eyes stared dully at them, then back up at the distorted man.

The hand lowered.

Again the shocksticks descended, singing their vicious hiss and crackle.

Riddick arced under the onslaught.

Squealing with emotion, Spook again railed against her captor, fighting the brutal grip, her muscles straining against his near-casual hold.

Harsh, broken laughter rang joyous as the blows descended upon Riddick, the twisted man shaking with glee. He leaned on his cane, his single eye glinting with mirth, his malformed mouth in a mocking parody of a grin, baring shattered teeth.

"Khyron!" A bellow, an echoing roar. The huge man exploded from beneath the blows, his hands catching those assaulting him about the throats, slamming them together, striking them into the wall with a sickening, squelching noise. The heavy booted feet struck the cement in a savage beat that carried the man forward, into a forming wave of bodies as the deformed man shrieked. Riddick's deep voice rang out over the tide of bodies. "I know you, Khyron!"

Spook's cry was drowned in the uproar. She struggled harder, lashing back with one heel. Beneath her foot she felt a sickening crunch, felt something give. The grip loosened with a howled curse, then a snatch at the collar around her throat.

The band of metal tightened as his thick hand wrapped around it. Her breath caught as she was yanked backward, the metal biting deep into the soft flesh. Another hand laced into her hair, dragging her face close to that of Talbot. His breath was stale, sour, as he hissed viciously at her, pulling her towards the doorway along the wall, her struggling body crushed against his chest. He had loosed her hair, wrapping that arm instead around her throat, the other still gripping the collar.

"Not smart, bitch. You hurt me. I'll make sure that you die slowly while I do whatever I want with you. You're gunna be all mine"

Spook flailed with her arms, her hands striking dully at his thighs as he warded the blows until they stopped.

She lifted one hand, then the other. Clutched in her hands were canisters, cylindrical, the grips held tightly in her hands. The pins clattered to the ground.

"Let me go, Talbot." She could barely hear her own voice above the noise of the fighting, His breath came even sharper as his pain-fogged mind registered what she held.

"That piece of dogsmeat doesn't stand a chance, bitch. Are you really willing to do this? To play this game?" but the arm loosened a fraction.

"Tell me what I have to loose. These are, unless I miss my guess, phos. I let go, we take half the people in this room with us to burning hellish death. Now let me go. You're too much of a coward to face your end." The arm released her neck, then the hand unwrapped from the collar. The shrieking voice of Khyron took on a new pitch. "Now be a good boy, Talbot. Pick up the pins." Spook stared at him, her face hard as marble, eyes wide, nostrils flaring with rage. The guard bent, his hands reaching for the pins as her knee snapped upwards, connecting solidly with his temple. Then she turned to the brawl, where the men all were swarmed into a throng, the explosives held high, where all could see.

With expressions of cautious fear, those not directly involved in the massacre moved away from the carefully stepping girl. Finally she stood before the misshapen body of Khyron, staring defiantly into his remaining eye.

"Call them off, Khyron. You failed. You call them off, I don't use these to make you even more ugly." For a long moment the stared at one another.

Slowly Spook brought her hand before her. One finger at a time, she began to remove her hand from the grip.

"One little piggy," her little finger.

"Two little piggies," her ring finger.

"Three little piggies," her middle finger. "You're running low on piggies, Khyron. What's it going to be? 'Imagine a being like nature, wasteful beyond measure, indifferent beyond measure, without purposes and consideration, without mercy and justice.'" Cold hatred touched her voice as she stared with disdainful silver eyes, the explosive between them.

The voice rose from the shattered body, calling out to the men, a shaking order to cease and desist.

Spook gave a half bow, her eyes still fixed on the ragged face. "Always a gentleman, Khyron."

She backed away, closing her fingers around the grenade, her chill eyes still locked on Khyron. Her knees bent, and she stooped to blindly lift the huge man against her side.

She could smell the blood before she felt it, the hot flood that seeped into her skin, into her clothes. She couldn't hear him breathing. She barely felt it. She carefully began to heave his massive form backwards, one grenade under his arm, the other out in front of her, towards Khyron.

Khyron kept gesturing his men back, staggering back in tiny steps.

The doorway came within the edge of Spook's vision.

A smile crept over her face.

"It's been a pleasure, boys, but we really got to run." She shoved Riddick to the side, both hands lashing forward, the explosives arcing neatly towards the fire as she followed Riddick's fall behind the wall.

Her shoulder screamed its protest on the landing, the shirt tearing on the cement, the skin grating harsh as a column of white hell echoed the near-blinding blast of pure sound that her body instinctively fled before. The white seared behind her closed eyes. The very ground threatened to break apart and swallow her whole. If she cried out, she didn't know. Her ears were ringing with the echo of the damage.

On shaky legs she managed to rise, then bent to lift the limp form of the ragged tatters of Riddick.

"Good bye, Khyron."