A/N : I have returned from my stint in California visiting all my obscure relatives and acting like a tourist. I went to Alcatraz and said 'Pfsshh, Riddick'd be out of here in 3 seconds flat',

hellspixie18 - A lot of people are happy Jack isn't dead. She's alive and she's going to stay alive for quite a long time into the foreseeable future.

d - In answer to your question...read on.

TotallyRiddickObsessed - You just wait til the chapter after this, 'cause there's to be a whole long conversation concerning just how infamous Riddick actually is.

njrd - They get to talk in the next chapter, which I'm working on right now with the aid of caffeinated beverages.

bima - You are my first reviewer every place I post this, which is awesome of course. No, they didn't piss their pants...yet.

The Other Side of Dawn

Chapter Three : Waking Up Again

It was the absence of darkness that woke Jack again, although the pain in her shoulder was still there, recognizable in the way that one can tell their nose exists; barely able to be seen but extremely noticeable if it goes missing. The sheets were already pushed away from her earlier bout of consciousness, so there was no annoyance from that part of her surroundings; the walls had to be painted white, to make the room so bright that she was forced to squint until her eyes adjusted. In the glare of the flourescents mounted on the ceiling multiple shadows fell across the floor from where the furniture blocked the light; one particular shadow, however, was cast by someone standing in the doorway, squinting back at her.

"So, what the fuck is your name?" this someone asked in an effort to make their own voice sound menacing by throwing it into a disdainful whisper; it didn't exactly work. Blinking, Jack pushed herself up with her good arm, hand balanced on the mattress, so she could get a better look at this possible antagonist; it was a girl, slightly older and taller than herself, but, more to the point she was holding a tray full of food in the grumpiest way possible. "Well, you going to answer?"

"Huh?" Jack asked, looking away from the tray; her stomach was rumbling with a ham sandwich no more than five feet away.

"What the fuck is your name?" the other girl asked again, all attempts to sound dangerous replaced by annoyance instead; there was a small black smudge mark on her nose. Jack bit her lip, looking down at her hands, which of their own accord had twisted the hem of her shirt.

"It's Jack," she replied, looking back up. "What's yours?"

The girl didn't answer; in fact she seemed even more annoyed that Jack had given in to the question. She walked over to the bed, face contorted into a spiteful frown; a dark brown curl had tugged its way out of the short ponytail she wore and was now hanging over her left eye. Setting the tray down on the table next to the bed, she gave Jack an 'I-don't-like-you-and-I-never-will' kind of glare; her eyes looked exactly like an amber flecked marble three seconds before getting hit by a hammer.

What'd I do?

Watching as the girl stomped back out the door, Jack wondered what could have happened to have earned that glare; then she looked at the sandwich. It sat there on the tray like the greatest thing since sliced bread, well, greater than canned peaches anyways; She picked it up and wondered briefly how long she had been out of it to feel this hungry. Tearing into her sandwich, she glanced around the room, gaze falling on the floor; it was made of cheap white tile with no rug to protect bare feet.

The pain in her shoulder had lessened considerably and, by the time she'd finished off her sandwich, Jack was brave enough to take a peak. She wiped the crumbs off of her hands over the tray so as to not get any on the bed; then she pulled down the neck of her shirt.

All around her collar were the yellowish-green remains of a giant bruise surrounding an area of skin that was black with multiple crossed stitches; she winced, biting her lip.

"The bullet shattered your collarbone," the girl's voice broke out, just around the corner past the still open door. "That's why it's bruised. Doc had to do a synth-transplant to fix it."

"Oh," Jack whispered, straightening her shirt.

"Oh," the older girl echoed mockingly. "Used up three and a half pints worth of transfusions just to keep you from bleeding to death and all you fucking say is 'oh'!"

"Sorry," Jack mumbled, looking down at the sheets; this, unfortunately, was not a good response.

"Sorry, sorry!" the girl repeated, stepping back into the room; her hands were clenched rather tightly into fists. "Sorry's not going to bring my boyfriend back, you thieving little bitch!"

Jack stared at her, genuinely confused; the last time she'd stolen anything had been on Jericho Station and that had gotten her caught. On Dulroon she'd only stolen a few wallets and maybe a few handheld chronos; then the realization dawned, her eyes going wide.

She saw it play out into her mind; deliberately bumping into a couple near the space port, the mumbled apology on her part and the sideways glares they threw at her. There was the moment, sitting in the cellar of a half burned down house, when she pulled out one of the bill folds she'd snatched and an ID card fell out. Dropping it as she looked at it, the panic and fear welling up; then the desperate collection of her meager belongings before the long, zig-zagging dash to the port on the other side of town.

No way...that's impossible...

Water bubbled out of a hole near the ceiling, trickling down the black stone walls to form a shallow stream across one of the thousands of passageways littering Crete; it also happened to be one of the darker places, for some early passerby had stolen the lights. Riddick crouched near the edge of the water, letting it run over his hands before splashing some on his arms; to his eyes the stream ran a darker shade of violet than before. He shut his eyes, slowly closing one hand into a fist as he listened to the footsteps of the cavern's inhabitants shuffling around the corridors; they would avoid him for a while, now that they knew he wasn't one to fuck with.

The welcome party was a custom in every slam where the bottom of the food chain lined up to take on new meat; if they won they'd gain status, if they lost they'd be dead. It was the way it worked in prison, the only exception being Altair; since all the prisoners were on ice there was no one to worry about save for the guards. In a way, cryo prison was peaceful; save for the two minutes a day in which the lucky winner of the lotto became the guard's new toy.

Riddick shook off that thought, standing again; he glanced up the way he'd come but of course there was no one there. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out the strip of photo paper he knew was there; blood had soaked through his pants to stain all the pictures except the last one. He stared at it, trying to wipe away at least some of the stains from the other frames; that smile stared back at him, frozen.

In the last picture she'd borrowed his goggles and they sat askew on her head; he'd had to shut his eyes for the flash while she had smiled and hugged his arm. Then, not even fifteen minutes afterwards, she was bleeding on the ground, a bullet from the gun he'd stolen having bored a hole through her chest. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the pictures back in his pocket; the merc's words suddenly echoed back in his mind, multiplying the urge to hit something.

The kid isn't dead...Jack isn't dead...

All mercs were born liars, that was a fact that he'd learned from the blue-eyed devil known as Johns; but then again, a lot of mercs liked to fuck around with their prisoner's heads. The late William Johns had been a chronic but greedy lying son of a bitch, but he hadn't really had the brains for psychological intimidation; this new merc, on the other hand, seemed a bit smarter. Riddick paused in his contemplation, turning his head towards a sound further back down the passageway; the guards were raising the elevator again.

Soon they'd find what was left of his guards as well as the remains of the welcome party; the response would be to lock the entire place down so they could catch him and toss him in solitary for a week. It was predictable and had happened in every slam he'd ever been to, except Butcher Bay; the lockdown there had occurred while he was busy encoding his DNA into the main computer so he could borrow the guard's guns. This place didn't have that kind of tech, he already knew and it probably didn't have as solid a lockdown procedure either; he turned his head towards the darker end of the tunnel.

The walls stretched on, shadows deepening around a bend; he could see several clusters of stalagmites scattered across the floor; the way the air flowed told him that despite the narrowing walls there was a wider portion up ahead. He stepped over the stream, listening to the sounds behind him; creaks of metal and frantic footsteps racing about told him all that he needed to know.

The guards had employed some of the inmates to help with the lockdowns and there were several of them headed in his direction.

The lights flickered as the older girl took a step forward, appearing to have more skill at looking menacing while being silent than while speaking; Jack watched her warily, a vague thought of deflecting attack with the food tray. She gripped it tightly by the sides, tasting blood in her mouth and a sharp pain in her lip from her teeth; the girl took another step and, unwillingly, Jack closed her eyes. Suddenly the tray was snatched out of her hands, stinging her fingers from where she was clutching it; her eyes snapped open again to focus on the girl.

"What, you going to cry now?" the girl asked, tilting her head; the loose curl rolled across her forehead. "Go ahead."

She spun around, stomping out the door and into the hallway beyond it; this time Jack noticed the heavy army boots she was wearing. A second later, however, the girl came stomping back, reaching inside the room to grab the door handle; another glare was sent Jack's way.

"The name's Kyra, by the way."

The door slammed, making the lights flicker once more; beyond it she could hear the girl stomping away. Sighing, Jack fell back against the bed, wincing at the pain in her shoulder as it flared up again; she glanced back at the door.

What is going on?