Author's Note: Okay, this just proves the usefulness of the 'M' rating. There are references to rape, suicide, child abuse, insanity, murder, drug use, and child molestation in this one chapter alone... Well, the beginning of it anyway. My dearest friend, Ted King (you know who you are, Teddy-bear! 3 and hope you return to RB one day. I miss my favorite Drag King!), helped me write the beginning of this chapter about a year ago. It was supposed to be a one shot about how Riddick finally became aware of his beast, but this works so much better.

To the person who said that they couldn't see Jackie-girl as a rock star. She's bad, she knows it, and she doesn't give a fuck who else knows it. What better occupation for a girl that doesn't give a fuck what society thinks and, due to being on a crashed ship, doesn't really even exist? People can always speculate who she is, where she's really from, but no one can know. Paparazzi's such a bitch. LOL!

Chapter Eight: Riddick Dehumanized

Earth, Fifteen Years Before Pitch Black

His hands were shaking so badly he could hardly read the words on the paper clutched between his white-knuckled fingers. The ugly words jumped and twisted around desperately, like flies trapped in the fatal spider's web, bloated and grotesque in their struggle for freedom. There were reams and reams of the words, all in his own handwriting, advising him to fuck off and die and detailing how best he could do it. How he could take so many with him. He couldn't remember writing them… was sure he hadn't written them…

His eyes skipped frantically back and forth, more erratic than REM as he shuffled through the multitude of pages, his blood running, burning hot and chilling cold, as his own unknown writings informed him what a pathetic, worthless loser he was.

With a low moan of confused fear, he slowly put the papers down on his desk, transferring all of his weight onto his flattened hand as he suddenly became convinced that he was about to collapse. His staring eyes went down to his hand, not even seeing how all the veins were standing out as if trying to escape the crazed body they were forced to inhabit. Instead, his eyes focused on the slashes decorating his forearm, the sight of them making his breath catch in his throat.

Someone must have rolled his shirt sleeve up, fastidiously unbuttoning then re-buttoning the cuff to keep it just below his elbow, because he had been making sure to keep his sleeves rolled down ever since finding the gauntlet of vicious cuts on his arm. They stood out an angry red on his tanned skin, the flesh around each one pinched and raised. In his mind, he could see it as clearly as when he had been confronted with the sight a few days ago – the bathroom sink washed crimson and the dripping razor blade, his own arm bleeding feely and him with no recollection of how it had all come to be.

He sank slowly down to the floor, a sitting fetal position, back cradled painfully against the wall. He put his head in his hands, the cold sweat on his skin slicking his bone dry palms. What the fuck was happening to him?

The only thing to do was ignore it, just as he had done before, to the cuts and to the… no, he must ignore it. To exist something must be taken notice of, and he couldn't be hurt by something that wasn't real.

Oh really?

He shook his head slightly, his ears must have been ringing, because he knew that he hadn't heard that taunting hiss, laughing at how easy reality is to break. Numbly, just going through the motions just as he went through every day of his life, he ripped the papers up and took them outside to burn the savaged pieces. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, everyone fades to nothing in the end, after all we were merely born to die.

Moving on legs that didn't feel connected to his body, he went upstairs to the bathroom and rested his hands on the cold lip of the sink. It felt nicely solid and real beneath his hands, so he held on tightly lest it should sip away from him and leave him pin wheeling through fairytale madness.

"I'm not insane." He spoke up in a rusty voice that only shook a little, and the sound of it made him jump. "Not insane," he repeated, braver this time. He raised his head to stare at his reflection in the mirror, not seeing anything for a moment. Then his eyes focused and all his reassurances meant nothing, because he was met with the face of insanity. Lips cracked and leaking blood, eyes no more comprehending than the animal snared in the hunter's trap.

Pathetic, insane little shit.

He winced. "Did you hear anything? 'Cause I sure as hell didn't." He grinned at his reflection and listened to its forced laughter. Richard Bryan Riddick sighed quietly. Something was growling in him, purring in a devastating manner.

I can make you stronger. None would fuck with you. Power of life and death. Your name can be known galaxy-wide. Just listen to me, acknowledge me, trust me.

Riddick froze and looked back in the mirror. He wasn't looking at himself, but he saw a man, large and handsome, darkly tanned and mysterious looking back at him. The man smirked, sliding a curved blade from a pocket. The blade was bloodied and black, coated with dried and wet blood. Then, he saw himself.

He was weak-shouldered, pimpled, too pale, weak to the point of ridicule. He was not the man that he'd just seen. He couldn't see himself becoming that man. Not without some serious help.

I can make you him. Make you so desirable that you'll never have to pay for a whore again. You're pathetic. But I can make you more, Richard. Just trust me. I've been with you your whole life.

He turned from the mirror and looked up at the sky. Alright. What are you?

I'm your beast. Your private demon. I'll show you heaven and hell, but you'll be stronger for it. Just never fight me.

Riddick laughed. He would fight when he damned well felt like it. And, in fact, it was time to deal with Bruce Bennett, the foster father.

First rule, abuse of a woman is unacceptable, he informed the beast, feeding it images of what Bruce had done to Dana, who was a good woman, when Bruce was out on his drug runs or in the hospital from his seizure disorder.

The beast growled acknowledgement and agreement. It's time, Richard. Time for us to kill. Can you do it?

To rescue Mrs. Dana, yes.

Then, trust me, listen to me, feel me. Do not question me, because if you question me, you could make me make a mistake, and we don't want to go to the slam, now do we?

Riddick paled. Slam... Not jail, not juvie, but slam. He was old enough to be sent to slam now. Ten was old enough to be sent to the slam for murder... He hesitated for a moment and the beast fed him images of other things that Bruce could be doing to Mrs. Dana. He shook with a rage he'd never felt.

He could see her tied up, arched in pain as her body was forced to accept Bruce's, though she begged him to stop. When he did stop, Riddick could see one of his foster sisters tied up beside Mrs. Dana, trembling. Bruce fondled her and Mrs. Dana at the same time, comparing their breasts, sliding his hands-

No! Stop!

With me, you'll see this and much worse. Decide now.

Riddick paused. Let's stop him. He can't keep hurting Mrs. Dana. She's good, not evil, not sick like me. She deserves a faithful, good mate, a man that will treat her like the being of gold she is.

Since when did he use words like 'mate?' He'd always used 'husband' or 'wife' before. He'd never used the word 'mate' before.

Come with me, Richard. Let's become what we should be.

x-x-x-x-x-x-

Two days later, Bruce Lee Bennett was found dead in an alleyway four miles from his home. It was on the route that he normally took from his cocaine dealer's house to his home. One look at his face showed that he'd been in the middle of a convulsion when his heart was pierced, but it was never attributed to more than a drug deal gone bad and Richard Bryan Riddick was so far from the suspect list that even five years later when he was arrested for the first time, the police never attributed the murder to him.

After all, who would believe that a ten-year-old could murder and feel no guilt?

x-x-x-x-x-x-

Present day

Frontier Augustus

The Serenity Lost's cargo hold

Jack looked up at him in horror and he realized what she would think. No, he wasn't a slave trader. He could never see himself in that role.

"Jack, sugar, no. Never slaves. She's my cargo because she's my passenger on the Whats-'er-name. I'm just ferrying her between planets. Her name is Elizabeth Citresse and she's going to a planet called Furya. Pretty much a dead planet. Some virus or inbreeding or warmongering killed nine-tenths of the male population there about the time I was born."

"Passenger? Paying?"

He nodded and opened The Serenity Lost's cargo hold.

He watched Jack take Elizabeth in, size her up. The ex-prisoner guard looked like a New Tokyo fashion reject with her tiger-pelt dyed hair, her carelessly slashed clothing, and the leather armor beneath the fabric. She was petite to the point of absurdity, but the tattoo that she displayed so proudly was the diamond of the big four.

She had guarded at Butcher's Bay, Crematoria, Slam City, and Nereid. Whatever happened, she wasn't one to be crossed and he saw Jack's reluctant respect. Very, very few women lasted long enough in the Galactic Prison System to guard at the big four, much less all four of them.

"What have you been doing in here, Richard? My god, I've smelled whorehouses with less pheromones."

Jack's eyes went wide with mortification and Riddick felt his beast lift it's head, scenting her shame, her hurt.

"Shut up, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth walked over to Jack and looked her up and down. "Never met a whore with a private ship. She's pricier than your usual, Richard."

Jack's hand flashed out in a slap that ringed through the cargo hold. "I am not a whore. For your information, bitch, I'm Victoria Blanchett, the lead singer of Stellar."

"Awww, did I hurt your feelings? I won't expect backstage passes for Christmas."

Jack growled, a low sound that reverberated through Riddick's body. He knew that it was too low for most people to hear, but he saw Elizabeth turn her head and go to the balls of her feet. Jack was carefully balanced, even after all this time, she still moved on the balls of her feet. Riddick had trained Jack far too well.

"You move like a Furyan woman, Victoria."

"I was taught by a very violent man to defend myself, Elizabeth."

"You were his bitch?"

Jack laughed. "Oh, yes. And I still am, whether I want to be or not."

Riddick looked at her, stunned. Riddick's bitch. Did he really want her thinking that she was just his bitch? Whether she 'wanted to be or not?'

Was she more? Did he want her as more?

Elizabeth relaxed her body, having never reached for a weapon, though Jack had one hand behind her back and was still tense. "I like you, Blanchett. Or should I say Richards? Jacqueline Richards?"

Riddick glared at the woman, stunned. Who the fuck was his passenger to know about Jack? Especially under the name Jacqueline Richards? That was the name that Jack had chosen when the Holy Man had adopted her. And he'd sent a note to Riddick, expressing his displeasure with her choice of surnames. The Holy Man had been unhappy with Jack's persistence in continuing the training Riddick had started, in taking a part of Riddick into herself.

His first name as a surname. He'd been disturbed and flattered at the same time. Possessive and relieved. She was branded by him. She had chosen his name, chosen him, the beast rationalized.

The man couldn't find the room to disagree. No matter how disgusting he had found the thought of possessing the young girl, the beast had persisted. Mate. Hitari-kna-freozki. Forever mate. Ours.

He had started ignoring the beast, except on Planet UV, where he'd spent six months hiding after the official report of Jack's suicide. He'd been so guilt-ridden, so horror-struck.

He pushed the thoughts from his head. He couldn't afford to think about that right now. It hadn't been a betrayal, but protective coloration. She had hidden herself and their son from him, the authorities, everyone. Where better to hide than in plain public sight?

Jack spoke first and it was with a blade to Elizabeth Citresse's throat. "How the fuck do you know about Jacqueline Richards?"