Surviving Slam's Pit

Disclaimer: I don't own Riddick, and after this one he'd be crazy to want me to!!

WARNING: Okay, it's pretty obvious what the warning is. This is a VERY violent rape scene of a barely legal Riddick. So if that's gonna offend ya, STOP READING!!

Note: I'm posting all 3 chaps of this at once. Otherwise, it's no fun to read! :-D

Chapter 1

Richard B. Riddick was the youngest person ever to be incarcerated in Slam, the universe's most feared and valued prison.

In the new arrivals holding cell both guards and prisoners alike taunted him. Eighteen and on his way to the pit. Yet his reputation was so impressive and so well known that he'd been given his own cell. Whether the isolation was for his safety or that of the other prisoners had been left unsaid.

He didn't care. He remained silent, refusing to respond to the nasty words shouted at him. Offers to protect him for the use of his 'twink ass' once inside went as ignored as questions about his crimes and victims.

Now, he stood within the group that he'd been kept away from up until now. Corralled and directed down a corridor that only led deeper, with no out. The open doorway at the end showed only darkness. None of the group of men were in a hurry to enter, but with the steel barred door closed behind them there wasn't much choice.

The guards urged them forward with electric prods and rubber bullets. They went, albeit unwillingly, with curses and near hysterical begging from some.

Riddick was as scared as the rest. What he could see through the doorway didn't look welcoming. Straight out there was nothing to see, no walls, no holes, no lights, just a damp stone floor visible for a few yards before disappearing to black. He wanted to run back the way he had come, beg to not be thrown inside, plead for freedom, but he didn't. It took biting the inside of his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed to remain silent, but he did it. Pride and contempt for the system that had led him here forced him to accept his fate.

Finally the group passed through the door, far enough into the darkness for the door to close. The hiss of hydraulics warned all that the thick steel would be uncaring of fingers or even bigger body parts left in the gap.

The door slammed shut with echoing finality. The darkness was complete. Riddick couldn't see a trickle of light, not a ray of sun, not even a slight glow. Just nothing. It created a disorientating feeling of pitch-blackness and he had a desperate need to reach out and touch something, anything. He felt as if standing on the edge of a cliff, and that the next step would be the last.

That feeling was reinforced by the next awareness. Smell. Dank, dirty, rotting, putrid, stale. It was a smell of a freshly opened grave, the tenant corpse busy getting back to nature. It was the rank odor of unwashed bodies and human waste. Rotting flesh, mold and decay, wet and thick. It was a taste, a cloying fog that invaded the lungs. He bared his teeth against the urge to vomit at just that smell. His stomach twisted, his mouth watered at the invasive repulsive odor.

Jostling bodies bumped into him. Dozens of clawing hands gripped at his arms and body, now unaware of who they were grabbing due to the darkness, but just seeking some sort of reassurance where none was available. The small cluster of men nearly clung to each other, preferring the insignificant security their numbers gave them to the unknown blackness to which they'd been thrust.

The next thing that registered removed the 'standing on the head of a pin' feeling. Echoed dripping water. Whispered voices. The scrape of movement.

By listening closely he judged the 'room' to be gigantic. Stone and rock, possibly concrete and dirt. The looming sounds coming closer. Now he could hear boasting and taunting words of 'fresh meat'.

He could see nothing. In truth he was as helpless as the men next to him, but he refused to react as the trapped rat. He would not stand still and wait for what was out there to come and get them, picking off the group one by one, he was sure.

It was well known that the only way a prisoner survived in the pit was to get a shine job, IF he lived long enough. Until then they were completely vulnerable to the current residents who did have the ability to see in the inky blackness.

The sounds of voices and movement were closing in, faster now. The wall to each side of the entrance would offer very little protection, if any at all, but it was all he had.

Riddick moved. With the men around him fighting to be at the center of the group it was quite easy to be expelled. Once he reached the edge and pried off the last clinging hand he just stepped backward, reaching out for the wall. It was cool and damp and rough with the feel of rock, roughened by elements. He started to follow the wall, hoping that he could find some sort of niche or alcove to hide in.

The screaming started. Both attackers and victims screamed in fear or excitement. From what he heard he guessed that the group had broke apart like a rack of 9-ball. One was struck and the rest ran. Blindly through the dark, most likely to their deaths, by the sound of it.

He hugged the wall at his back. Sliding silently to the side, further and further away from the pandemonium of panicked men. Some screamed. Some cried. Some were silent.

Laughter and shouts of approval and triumph sounded out now, striking even more fear into those that were left, including him.

The rough wall ripped at his back, catching his shirt and skin, tearing the material and his flesh. But still he moved, hands gripping the edges of stone, eyes wide as if it were still possible to see.

Then his heart nearly stopped in his chest as his searching hand touched something warm and soft. His head whipped around in a futile attempt to see the body he'd encountered. Instinctively he began backing away, returning the way he'd come.

Fear coursed through him, choking him, stealing his breath and voice. He was on the verge of running when he heard a low voice.

"Hello, Kid."

Riddick nearly pissed himself as he froze. The low gravelly voice from an entity in the darkness before him was terrifying. He was helpless. There was nowhere to run, no way to fight something he couldn't see, no way to hide in the unfamiliar place that was known only by those that could survive it.

The sounds of the group being picked off by the subterranean tenants of Slam City's 'pit' faded away in the rush of his own heartbeat thumping spastically.

For long moments Riddick wasn't sure how he'd even react. His first inclination was to cry and scream and curse the fates that had brought him here. To just break down and blubber right there. His mind went over the unfairness of his life. He was just a kid! He shouldn't be here, his thoughts repeated in a plaintive cry. But instead he just stood there, unable to do anything at all.

Tears streamed silently and unwillingly down his face. The urge to run, to hide was gone. Instead he just wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Fuck the system that didn't have a place for him. Fuck this place that would eagerly destroy him. Fuck this life. He hadn't been given an option. He hadn't been given a choice. But here he was.

He swallowed his tear-salted snot and saliva, forcing his shoulders back, grinding his jaw in determination. He might be about to die, but he refused to die cowering.

All the cries had died away now. Men's voices boasted to each other about the brutality of the kill. The sound of sobbing could be heard beneath the disturbing banter, so at least one other of the new prisoners seemed to be alive. It unnerved Riddick even further to think of the brutish men that had occupied the other cells, now either all dead, or subdued somehow. What chance did he have?

"What ya got there, Doc?"
"Hey! Doc's got one."
"Look at the sweet one Doc grabbed."

Riddick tensed, feeling hunted and exposed. He had nowhere to go, no way to defend himself.

Some sort of hope, some tiny desire to survive forced him to utter one word. "Please."

His voice sounded ragged and scared, and he hated it. He'd put away fears and childish hopes long ago. He'd strived to be a man, the toughest and hardest he could be. Weakness was a personal fault. But he knew the truth. He was at the mercy of this man, Doc's mercy. Nothing was to stop the man from slitting his throat to save himself whatever fight Riddick may cause. It made him feel trapped and weak, but he had to admit that he needed this man to survive.

"Please," he repeated, not knowing what else to say.

The voice that came out of the darkness before him, from the source of warmth that he could literally feel was soft and low, meant only for him to hear. "Kid, you had better be worth this shit. Life down here ain't fuckin' pretty. Don't make me regret this. Now, get behind me."

Riddick moved immediately, thrilled to be moving further away from the sounds of men coming towards them. He felt slightly uncomfortable touching the guy, but saw no other option. He couldn't see, relying only on his sense of touch to guide him. His groping hands found what turned out to be the man's chest, covered in a thin shirt that didn't feel clean at all. He ducked his tall height down and around, keeping a hand in contact with the man as he quickly circled him.

Now he stood blindly behind him, both hands on the man's sides, staring in the direction of the men approaching that he could not see.

"Hey, Doc, looks like you kep' one. You wouldn't be thinkin' bout not sharing, would'ja?"

Riddick could feel Doc tense, his body becoming rigid beneath his hands, and he unconsciously gripped harder and ducked his head, knowing that being out of sight as much as possible would be for the best. He felt some sort of movement that Doc made, as if he reached for something, but there was no way he could tell.

"You gotta problem with that, Link?"

Doc shifted, as if widening his stance, and after a moment Riddick could tell why. The men had begun to circle them. When Doc took a step back, Riddick easily followed suit, staying just behind him.

"Link, this ain't worth it. Call 'em boys back or yer gonna be short a couple cronies for a while." Doc spoke as he slowly backed up another step, now putting 'Link' on their left as he shifted to watch them all. Riddick backed up with him, nearly cowering against his back as he realized how hopeless the situation was.

"You got a couple pieces of meat for yourselves to play with. I'll letcha have this one when I'm done. Ya know it won't be long." He said this last bit with an underlying chuckle, as if it was clearly understood that there was no way Riddick would survive with him for long anyway.

A whisper of movement on their right and Doc lunged, nearly pulling free of Riddick's hold. The thick sound of flesh meeting something was followed by a sharp cry of pain. Someone fell, no more sound coming from his direction, but then suddenly 'Link' was speaking.

"Doc, alright. You made yer point. I do have other toys for now. That one looks tasty, but he ain't worth losing another guy fer."

The sounds of the men retreated. One called out, "We'll meet up with ya lata, Meat," but Riddick couldn't tell if it was Link or one of the others.

He felt Doc move again, and heard the soft slide of something that Riddick guessed was a weapon. Then Doc called out, "Take this piece of shit with ya!"

Doc continued to stand still as someone approached again, and he heard them dragging their fallen buddy away. After a few minutes Doc relaxed and turned to him. "You're too pretty for your own good, Kid."

Riddick remained silent, not knowing what was expected of him, or if he'd be able to do whatever that was. He was getting tired of hearing himself addressed as 'pretty' or 'twink', like he'd chosen to be young. So far he'd managed to avoid being with a man, either willingly or not, and didn't look forward to the experience.

"Let's go."