Title: Past Lives

Vindom: Pitch Black

Rating: M (for bad language)

Summary: Riddick re-lives his time in SLAM….

Disclaimer: Riddick doesn't belong to me, nor do the events of PB, however much I wish they did. I do own Lena, and the situations I put her and Riddy into. I'm doing this for love, not money so please don't sue me, as I'm skint enough already :grin:

Author's notes: Found this and thought I'd put it back up

2. SLAM

A chain rattled in the darkness as two men, carrying another between them, entered a large room. Their clothing and weapons identified them as guards of SLAM, the harshest prison in the galaxy, known for being the last resting place of the most notorious killers the human race had seen since they had begun the exploration of deep space. A fourth man entered the room behind them, his blue eyes cold as he ran his hand over a small patch of the rough stone wall, activating a light to illuminate the stark cell that was the new home for Richard B Riddick, newly convicted of murder. The two men dropped Riddick to the floor, chains still binding his hands and feet. They moved back towards the entrance as the fourth man stared down with distain at the prisoner, his eyes amused as he ran his hand through his short dark blonde hair.

"Welcome to your new home Riddick," he laughed, though his voice betrayed his disgust as he said the prisoner's name. With deliberate malice he walked up to the prone captive, planting his boot squarely in Riddick's ribs, driving the air from the lungs of his prisoner and laughing harshly as the murderer gasped for breath. He delivered several more kicks to various parts of Riddick's body with a perverse pleasure, noticing the sharp intake of breath as his boot connected with the murderer's shoulder. He spun on his heel and walked to the entrance of the cell, stepping outside and pressing a button on a small device in his hand, the cuffs coming away from Riddick's wrists and ankles as thick metal bars slid into place across the entrance, sealing him into his new home. With a final disgusted glance at the prisoner he had spent the past year chasing, William Johns walked away content that this distasteful part of his life was finally over.

Silence descended within the cramped cell, the sound of water dripping slowly onto stone and laboured breathing the only noises permeating the quiet. Riddick remained still for some time, his chest on fire as the pain of his broken ribs shot through him with each difficult intake of stale air. A soft growl escaped him as he slowly rolled onto his front, biceps straining beneath bruised skin as he pushed his aching body away from the cold floor, knees coming up under him as he forced himself into a sitting position. Head bent with exhaustion his eyes fell upon the restraints on the floor in front of him, and his bloodied lips curled into a snarl. He picked them up and looked at them for a brief moment, the clatter of metal hitting stone echoing around the cell as he flung them hard against the wall. Remaining still, he listened to the noises around him, filing each one away in case he needed them in the future. Water dripping, the hesitant scuffling of rats, the hushed mumbling of other prisoners, guards in the distance, a sudden pain filled scream cut abruptly short. Knowing he could do nothing to hasten his departure from his current surroundings in his injured state, Riddick lowered himself back down onto the stone floor, the cold against his skin barely noticed as he allowed himself the luxury of a deep, restful sleep.

A dull ache and a strange sound roused Riddick from his deep slumber, fragments of dream swirling around in his mind as he slowly opened his eyes. A slight sigh escaped his lips as he recalled the events of the past few days, a deep sense of disgust filling him as he looked around his small cell.

"Nothing's fuckin changed," his voice sounded strange to his ears, distant and rough, as though unused for a long time. He could still taste the rubber of the bit he had been forced to wear during his transportation to his current hell, could still feel the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Shaking his head, he remained on the floor, willing the oblivion of sleep to claim him once more. The ache in his chest and stomach began to grow, his head feeling oddly light as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Gingerly he touched his fingers to his chest, wincing slightly as broken ribs protested vehemently at his prodding. Cursing under his breath, he realised his left shoulder was dislocated, probably from one of the many kicks John's had inflicted. "Wonder if I can put it back in myself?" he wondered idly, looking around the cell.

He froze as voices became audible, two men and a woman, the sounds growing clearer though their words were muffled. A slight hiss announced their arrival at his cell, the bars sliding back to reveal three guards. The men were the same ones who had deposited him in the cell the previous night, but they were of little interest to Riddick as the third guard entered the room. Clear blue eyes looked him up and down, wariness and a hint of curiosity showing clearly as she appraised him. Nodding to the two men, she ran a delicate hand through her short cropped dark, curly hair; her face showing signs of exhaustion. He gaze her the same appraisal she had given him as the other two guards fastened the shackles to his wrists and ankles once more. He noted with interest that the SLAM uniform accentuated her figure; his hands itching to follow the curve of her hips, to slide up and caress her well-rounded breasts or move down and cup her firm buttocks…

The woman turned and walked from the room, her two colleagues leading Riddick after her. As they passed down the dank passageways, Riddick watched the swaying hips of the woman in front of him, vivid fantasies coming to life in his mind of what he would like to do should he ever find himself alone with this particular guard…