Author's Note: I do not own Riddick, more's the pity, however I do promise to return him. At some point in the undisclosed future. 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.

Amazing.

Riddick looked down at the still form where she was curled against his side, her ribs moving in the slow rhythm of the sleeping cadence of breathing. She stirred only slightly when he shifted, snorting before settling back into sleep. The bruises on her face were a sickly yellow now, though the section of her side still showed purple over her hip, at her lower ribs, where her shirt lay lifted by the shiftings of slumber.

She survived so much. She stood up to them. She nearly died. Little Spook. Guess they can't kill you either.

His heavy hand, calloused from the shiv, invisibly stained with the blood of countless people, hovered over the bruise. The mark was larger than his hand, even with his fingers spread. It must have taken several blows, crossed over one another, to leave the vicious mark. It was spread evenly; no finger marks visible. Perhaps it had been made by several overlapping kicks. The marks fanned, slightly faded at the edge, over her slight belly, across the lean back where it barely could be differentiated from other bruises in varying states of discolor. Many of the blows covered her soft points; darkened patches, vicious bruises like the one beneath his hand, marked quite plainly over her ribs, her soft sides, the sweet spot snuggled up beside the lumbar vertebrae.

His eyes clouded, the thick brows stooping over the deep eyes. Lightning flashed in the bottomless silver. The dramatic lips pursed to a snarled line, the furrows etching down the strong nose. A low noise rasped at his throat.

The slight form stirred again, turning and rolling over into his chest, one thin arm settling over his thick barrel, fingers resting, tickling soft, at his shoulder blade. She murmured wordlessly, whimpered, pressed her face into his broad chest. The arm tightened slightly.

His heavy hand descended, the coarse skin lightly stroking her down soft hair, spreading it slightly where it fanned over his bicep, where her cheek rested.

Her eyes flitted behind lids glossed with the bruising of exhaustion.

They yanked her out of the dark ship into bright lights, holding her by her hair, jerked up so her toes barely touched the floor. She whimpered softly, reaching up to grasp the thick wrist of the man, trying to support herself, clinging to the heavy hand, her hands barely touching before she was flung down, forward, crashing to the hard metal floor.

All around her was the stench of antiseptic, cleaning products. The metal floor reflected the rectangles of light from above in the scoured, scuffed surface. She watched as a drop of blood fell, then another, spattering on the metal. There was a tickling at her nose, like she was crying. She rubbed her arm against her face, scrubbing her nose. It came away streaked with crimson.

"You always like to damage them, don't you, Officer Kane?" There was a new man, a new pair of boots near her face. "Make you feel big? Like a real man? Tossing around these little Psi. I dunno why you bother." Strong hands took her arm gently, guiding her to her feet. His hand took her chin, tilting her head, turning it from side to side. "Not as much as you usually do. She a salvage job?"

"They haven't decided. Figure she'll learn her lesson in here, like the rest of them. Sink or swim, right?" The guardsman swaggered over to her, his black mustache only exaggerating his leer. "Don't go soft on this one, mind you. If she's salvage, she needs to break."

"We don't go soft here, Officer. They live or die on their own. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to get this one through processing." He held out his hand, receiving a metal board from the guard before steering Kiran down the hall.

"Inmate 892372 - Kiran Ivanova. Convicted of murder, assault, treason, subversion, larceny, unlawful entry, and the theft, mutilation, and damage of government property. Went for the grab bag, I see." He tapped his finger on the side of the pad, his eyes fixed on the report. She followed him down the corridor, glancing at the metal floor, the metal, doorless walls. She wrapped her arms around her, her feet sending echoes skittering up and down the hall. "Through that door. There are nurses there that will see to your physical checks and preparation."

Kiran almost bumped into his back, his stop was so sudden and her attention so fragmented. He sighed impatiently, gesturing again to the only door nearby, the first she had seen, his expression one of annoyance and boredom. She slipped inside, eyes downcast.

"Ah. 892372. You're later than we expected." The voice belonged to a woman; a large, matronly woman with arms nearly the size of Kiran's calves. She glowered over her half moon spectacles at the girl, tutting her tongue. "Biological age?"

"S-sixteen..."

The nurse grunted, grabbing the smaller girl's arm, dragging her over to a scale. "75 kilos. 1.63 meters. This way." A wall, plain, with an x on the floor before it. "We're going to take an ocular scan. For identification. Inmate 892372 - Kiran Ivanova, High Security Risk, 16 years biological, brown and brown. Guards to be aware that subject is dangerous and is to be treated with extreme caution, the use of force when deemed necessary. Repeat, HSR."

"Data Loaded." A dull, precise, monotone from nowhere.

"This way."

Kiran frantically followed the woman, near trotting to keep up with the long strides of the corpulent nurse. Her wide eyes took in few of the almost nonexistent details of the rooms she was led through. There were tables, large metal slabs with restraint straps attached to them and glaring banks of lights suspended above them, trays of sealed, pale green pouches beside them. A red box with curving black triangles overlapping on the side, letters in several languages marking it plainly as "Sharps." The nurse held open another door, shooing the terrified girl inside a room where several other women in dingy grey and what might have once been cream colored clothing sat huddled together.

The women glowered at her from beneath sullen brows, stringy hair, and filth. Most were thin, and several had nasty scars, deep lines of purple or read, streaking their faces and visible skin. Several had fresh bruises. One gave her a vicious leer, revealing several missing teeth.

Another stared at her with cold, dead eyes, eyes that reflected the bright light from where they were half hidden, shrouded by lowered brows. That one just stared at Kiran, not moving, eyes fixed on Kiran's face, eyes frigid, a marble statue, her lanky hair swaying slightly with her breathing.

"This way, Ivanova. Move along. We have other cases to process today." Another open door- an examination room of some sort. The room was dominated by the metal table, scrubbed to a dull sheen like the hallways she had been led down, the rooms she had followed the nurse through. Beside it was a small table with a lip around the edge, and on it lay a dull green cloth with some plastic packaged items on it, and four small bottles filled with a clear liquid and capped with silver. "You will return here every 365 standard days for updates on your vaccines and shots. What we give you here," the nurse was filling a syringe with the contents of one small bottle, "are vaccines against the standard arrays of communicable diseases, plus a progestin shot. The vaccine shots are good for 730 standard days, but the progestin is every 365." She sunk the needle into Kiran's arm without preamble, depressing the plunger steadily. The girl winced when she pulled it out, and watched with wide eyes as a new one was filled with the next bottle. "This one will hurt. Neisseria Tachomatis." It was a wider needle, and longer. "This vaccine doesn't easily fit through the fine needles. Particles too big." The injection elicited a whimper and a jerk from the girl, but the nurse's large hand held Kiran's arm in place despite her struggles. The next vaccine, a watery, amber colored liquid, was negligible after the pain of the last shot. "This one will have to go into the other shoulder, Ivanova. This is the progestin shot. Then you'll be taken to receive your clothing, and then turned into the prison itself. Welcome to System Lambda Asteroid Maximum Penitentiary."