Match, point... game

Chapter eighteen:
Stench

Scrapping of nails and clothing upon coarse, hard concrete ripped at the air and filled the noise of a small alleyway. It was dark during the Helion systems nightfall, darker than many others lit only by the stars that hung in the sky like a blanket of diamonds, glowing feebly. Luckily… it provided just enough sight for a firm kick to the ribs.

Gagging, one of the mercs that had been stupid enough to come after her was slammed against the wall to where his head snapped from the force, red splashing onto the buildings surface behind. He slid down the harsh exterior, wheezing in horrible little whistles while his bludgeoned and blood shot eyes stared in horror at the woman before him, who was very nearly as beat as he. When it came to these kinds of fights… it all came down to who had the most stamina. Mercs often didn’t’ have enough to be worth shit in long played out struggles, so as he fell onto the ground and tried to scramble away the female grabbed his tattered collared and tossed him to the ground again. Raising up a single, combat boot encased foot, she snarled and smashed down onto his rib cage.

Already abused bones groaned and faltered under the pressure, giving off the feeling of broken glass under her stomp while the man let out a muffled, strangled cry. Georgina’s brown eyes were glassy, filled only with rage and an odd sort of numbness that came with this kind of beating. The mercs face twisted into a pitiful gasp while his hands gripped desperately at her ankle to stop her from crushing his ribcage yet again while the killer merely glared down at him icily.

“I’ll ask you again, nicely,” she whispered in a voice that was hitched with her own fatigue. Pulling out one of her glittering, wicked daggers she twirled it idly before thumping it down into one of his arms and causing him to arch and shout in agony. She watched the blood seep from the sides of the metal with an odd fascination before turning her attention back to what she had come for. Someone had to have posted a damn high bounty on her for them to risk coming after her during a hit, and that someone would have to have had knowledge of just what mark she was on, where it was at, and just how to maneuver around in the underground circuit. She was going to find this dipshit and cut their balls off, stuff them up their ass, cut their throat vertically along the Adam’s Apple, and then maybe end it all with a stab to the liver. “Who posted it and for how much? I can do this all night…” George whispered.

The merc stared at her with swollen eyes, his mouth opening and closing with painful gasps. Just as George was reaching for her other dagger, having stained some of her newest pants during this fight, he whimpered and tossed his head to the side. She scoffed but held off, her senses tuned into her prey. Though her body was covered in wounds, cuts, bruises, and several grazed gunshot wounds, and her very form was throbbing with pain and discomfort, she still had all the energy she needed to get the information she wanted. She wouldn’t black out for another ten minutes, more than enough time to get this fucker to say what he had to say, get the ship, pass out in the sick bay and have the ship fix her up itself. Thank god for cell replacement technology… She had not gotten out of this fight without her own considerable damage, that was for damn sure.

When minutes dragged by George kicked the man across the face, a sickening snapping sound resonating through the dingy alley. There was one other body starting to foul up the place just behind her, a crippling reminder to her victim just where he would be going if he didn’t spill his secret. And even then… there was little chance of him leaving here alive, should she did just walk away he was still doomed. Might as well die with an empty conscious. “A six million creds bounty is awfully high, tell me who posted it and maybe I’ll leave you alone.”

A gurgling broke through the pensive silence of the guy beneath her, broken and beaten. She tilted her head to the side, blood running down the side of her face from a savage bludgeoning mere hours before, falling off of her chin in thick red drops. He rolled over onto his side, his swollen eyes cracking open against the injuries residing there to stare up at the maniac of a woman before him, while putting up a hand in surrender. George felt the sweet release of victory rush through her chest, causing a breath to hitch thankfully, when he let out a shuddering ‘fine’ and whimpered pathetically.

“Some... some guy…” the merc spluttered.

George laughed loudly at that, rolling her eyes. She shook her head and snarled, bringing her boot down into his rib cage again, listening with a sick satisfaction at the scream that lifted weakly from his throat. “Some guy? That narrows it down to around a trillion…” she snapped. By all means she was being lenient with this guy, she had yet to pull half of the shit she knew on him, she hadn’t injected him with an overdose of a narcotic, forced a pump down his throat, pulled off all of his finger and toenails, and started to scalp him. She had thought about it… but she needed him coherent, and that required no tube and no drugs. Fate was a bitch.

Coughing up a grotesque blackish looking liquid he tossed his head to the side and simpered quietly. “Riddick! Fine, it was fucking Riddick, the damn bald bastard!”
George stopped as she was about to punch him again to get him to talk. Her eyes widened while her heart seemed to freeze in her chest. Shock ran through her body in icy tendrils, pushing out any and all thoughts that might have been residing within her or the pain that was throbbing in her body. Her vision vanished for a moment and all she could see was blackness, as if her form had shut down from the statement… then everything went red. Hatred, rage, and a depthless sense of stupidity for trusting someone such as Riddick filled her every pore. She pulled herself away from the writhing man that was mere moments from death and picked up a gun that sat idle on the ground from the very man before her. She twirled it for a few seconds, regarding its design with a somber, blank face while her brown eyes were searing bottomless pits of hellfire.

Snarling the woman turned and shot a single round between the mercs eyes. His head nearly cleaved in half, brains and blood flying from the wound that had just been instigated and splashing Georgina across the face. But she didn’t care. She stared down as the body went still, bleeding out upon the dingy concrete below her feet, but nothing registered except what he had said. Riddick… Riddick, fucking Riddick, was the one that had put a huge bounty on her head? As much as her muddled mind was trying to tell her, way in the back recesses, that the fact that he would do such a thing didn’t make sense the rage inside of her was building up steadily.

Not even bothering to wipe her face of the spilled blood and guts she turned and started to limp down and out of the dead end. It was now, now that the fighting was over, that her body allowed itself to acknowledge just what damage had been done to it in that scuffle. Her hair was matted with dirt, blood, and the garbage that had littered the ground from where she had started running to here; her clothing was torn and in shambles with her tank top barely holding on to her deltoid, and her pants blotched with blood and several garish holes in the fabric. Cuts and bruises covered her body from the easily four hour long fight and flight, where she had fought her hardest in years to make it out of a place alive; one particularly bad wound minus the one on her head that had one of her eyes now starting to stick shut because of the excess life fluid flowing over it was her arms had a long, deep, to the bone laceration from a merc’s sword. She was worse for wear, she knew that for shit, and as she limped further outwards with the ending in sight, she could only fuzzily think of what had just been revealed to her.

She stumbled a bit at the entrance to the alleyway, where another body was sitting there motionless. Reaching out she steadied her quaking, tired body against the wall and growled at her own weakness, picturing in her slightly feverish mind the image of Riddick putting up that bounty. No such thing as a friend… she was a fool to have ever trusted him. What had she been expecting? From another criminal there was no reliance, there was only suspicion, and what better way to get rid of ‘competition’ then to have them taken out…? For some reason she had pegged the bald man better than that; hah, shows her. George leaned against the coarse corner of the wall, her eyes bleary and just able to see the ground before her. Gathering up what little strength was left in her form she pushed off and started to walk again, gritting her teeth and deciding then and there that if he wanted a confrontation so badly that he would get one.

“Jesus Christ! Are you okay ma’am??” she stopped as she was just entering into a main road. She swiveled her head, her hair covering her good eye in thick clumps while her blood drenched one was forced open to show the dark red had invaded the white. There standing just a few feet away was a man, no older then thirty, gaping at her injured form and holding what looked to be a grocery bag from a local store. Fuck… what time was it? There shouldn’t be anyone on the streets this late.

She spat out some collecting spit before locking gazes with the other, a small, demented smirk forming on her face. She must have looked the world over like a demon, some kind of alley rat, beat up to shit and then walking away like it was no big thing, she must look like the world had fucked her over twice, shitted on her, and then decided to pound on her for good measure. It was certainly what she felt like right now. This newcomers green eyes widened to see Georgina in such shape and the second he moved to take a step towards her she slid one back, her still blood soaked daggers warning him with the glimmer of the moon on their stained steel. “I’m fine, just fine,” she croaked out, lying through her teeth. Well, it wasn’t that big of a lie. She would be fine the second she got into the med bay on her ship and was off this heap of dung.

“You’re hurt real bad… what happened to you?” the guy wasn’t getting the clue. George watched him come closer, finding that one of her feet seemed to have fallen asleep in her moments rest and cursed it bitterly. She regarded him icily, having found in all of her years alive that anyone that she didn’t know explicitly was someone not to be trusted, at all.

Just as he was within arms distance her hand flashed up and the very tip of her wicked dagger, curved at the end so that it just barely tapped his Adam’s Apple, was at his throat. He froze. It was then that she got a good look at him, with shaggy short black hair and a medium sized build this guy looked nothing more than a mere merchant that had happened upon a blood bath on accident. She debated killing him as well, and as she stared into his eyes and contemplated his death she saw the fear, anxiety, and confusion written there. Innocence gleamed in those green orbs, innocence she had lost long ago when Artemis fell. She…

She couldn’t do it. Again she found her resolve for unneeded violence rearing its ugly head and in that moment his life was spared, if only for a few more years or decades until life took its eventual course. He didn’t know she was being lenient though… for he was still stark still and there was sweat starting to film on his brow and neck. George lowered the cold metal from the killing point and whispered under her breath, “I can take care of myself, mind your own business before I change my mind.” And with that the killer limped off into the night, leaving the merchant to stare after her with shock and fear running through his body in avid racks. Not that she cared… she had bigger, balder fish to fry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

George winced as she leaned back into the med bay cell replacement chair, situating herself before bringing the machine down. She slid her arm with the most garish of wounds in first, closing the tubing for her extremities around it and flipping a few switches to her right with barely functioning fingers. With a loud clicking noise her arms was sealed off from the rest of the room by thick plastic membranes and trapped within the confines of the clear container, the screen before her eyes pulled up the scanning process and what actions the machine would most likely take. Narrowing her eyes she ignored the strange sensation of the top layer of her skin being zapped into ash and then washed away with a frigid combination of disinfectant and numbing solution. This would not be pleasant…

A flash of light caught her attention from the corner and she watched with bare interest as the scanners within the large container shifted from the top and proceeded down the length of her injured arm. The green light danced in a firm, solid looking line, disappearing into crags in her skin and changing colors over the still caked red on her flesh. George returned to the main screen, watching as the scan turned up a three dimensional model of her arm and what damage it had suffered, and just as she had thought the massive gash on her upper arm was highlighted in dark red with an alert attached to it. According to the machine if she didn’t get the most invasive and painful of all of the replication procedures… she would lose her arm. Nerve damage, check, tissue damage, hell yes, and nerve and bone damage, up the ass and through the nose… she had known she’d been given a run for her money but she hadn’t known it was that bad.

Smirking sardonically she once more flipped a switch and felt the sting of the lasers within the container at the bottom start to burn their way up the failing arm that was still pulsing blood. Cauterize the wounds and then start the procedure… it was scary how good this thing was. Then again, it had to be. It was made for mercs after all, and because of run ins with people like her the fuckers needed things like this. If they didn’t there would be a lot less mercenaries out there; a lot less ‘rats too. The tubing filled with a thick, gelatinous pink viscous material just as George was starting to tune out the process, far used to this kind of medical treatment from her line of work. Her arm submerged the process began, and with a searing, burning sensation that was as if her entire limb was suddenly being ripped from her body she knew that it was going to be a long night.

“Navigation system on, coordinates for the,” she faltered. The computer, she knew, was listening and waiting patiently for just where they were going to be headed next in her odd quest. Should she still continue her suddenly driven curiosity of her brother and his involvement in mercs and drug dealers, or… should she go after Riddick and she what the fuck this whole bounty thing was about?

That in and of itself posed many problems. Her brother was a necro convert, he had been turned many years ago now, and was undoubtedly holed up on their main ship with the rest of the shit out there. He had been too small to be a fighter, and he was no good with anything art related, which lead to either politics or science, both of which wouldn’t suite him in the Necromonger society. Noah would be surrounded by others of his kind, hundreds of thousands of other converts of fallen star systems, the chances of her getting to him and finding out just what the fuck he had gotten himself into were slim to none. But she couldn’t stop this nagging sensation in the pit of her chest that something was not right. Add to that the fact that it was Riddick that she was contemplating going after, the Riddick, and her choices were sharp and dangerous. More than they usually were.

By all means this could be some kind of trap to get her out of the way in someone’s grand scheme, as paranoid as that seemed. Riddick was pure power, he could snap her in half like a twig; he sorely out skilled and out classed her when it came to hand to hand and knife battle. The only way she would ever be able to take him out was a sniper round… but even then somehow he seemed like someone that could either dodge it, sense her presence and sneak up behind her, or just plain live through the damn shot. She wondered if he could live through a shot to the temple… through and through, nice and clear and messy.

‘That’s if he is behind it,’ a nagging voice whispered in her ear. George snarled at herself and refused to give this voice credence, however; now that she was being pumped with pain meds and getting the medical care that she desperately needed she had time to think things out rationally and articulately. What possible reasons could Riddick have for having someone of a lesser standing in their circles dead? What could he possible want her gone for? Why would he draw that kind of attention to himself by posting a bill for that much money, much less hiring mercs that could turn and ghost his ass to get his bounty? Now that she stopped to think about it all many things were not adding up in her head.

Too often she had learned was she prone to acts of extreme aggression and anger. She had learned the hard way in the slam that such attacks didn’t work on someone like him, coming at him full force would only make you more of an open target. She had learned how to adapt thanks to her most recent stint in the Slam. She had to ponder on this one, weigh the consequences of her actions, and see if this was truth or just falseness spread by a dying merc seeking some kind of final twisted laugh. What would the dead guy have to profit from by lying to her in his final moment though? But, if you were about to perish at the hands of someone else, wouldn’t you try to tell them information that would lead to their own untimely demise and get some kind of sweet vindication in death? Hell knew she would do that… so then by all means, since Mercs were little more than killers themselves, that concluded that his word could not be trusted. Nor could it be left un-trusted. Leaving something as dangerous as a bounty that large on her head would not do; it would get her killed faster than putting her own gun in her mouth.

What choice did she have, really? ‘Plenty, just think it through, slowly,’ George reminded herself while chewing on the inside of her lip nervously, glaring at the screen with sightless eyes. The best laid plans of mice and men, but also the hastily thatched ones of those in desperation would be torn asunder by a simple gust of chancing wind. If she went after Riddick, and right now that was a massive if, then she would have to form a plan. A plan that was as damn near to foolproof as one could get while dealing with that beast of a man.

Then again Noah could have something to do with this most recent turn in events. This did not crop up until she was getting dangerously close to being a snoop into the Necromonger’s and a drug dealing cartel that was systems wide and strong. They might not want her getting to close, or were finally deciding to get rid of her. It could all be a massive trap, designed to make her think it was Riddick, get her all geared up and ready to handle the man, and then be completely flabbergasted when it wasn’t him and left with a horrible disadvantage. She would be a sitting duck with an axe at its neck… She did not like the taste that her options were leaving in her mouth. If this is what the circumstance was giving her to work with then fuck was she screwed.

She couldn’t act on this. Not now. The situation was dire, but not nearly enough that she was in a corner and would have no choice but to decide what to do. No…Her brown eyes narrowed sharply and her teeth gritted to the point of pain. There was no other choice. Until further information was available she couldn’t do anything, she would just have to pray that the mercs wouldn’t be able to bring her to a slam or kill her before she found out if it was a hoax or not. Until then she would have to gather intel and figure out just what the fuck was going on here.

The medications for the cell regeneration finally kicked in at that moment and her vision became blurry and splotchy. The hard metal roof of the med bay swirled around before fading fuzzily, bringing the killer down farther and faster than any natural sleep would know. For now… she was in the shipping lanes and was safe enough that she would decide where she was going where she woke up in a few hours or maybe even a day. Maybe something would be worked out in her subconscious.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

How the fuck had they managed to find him? Riddick’s eyes shifted from one Necromonger to the next with a disdain in his gaze that was gracelessly masked by his goggles. He shifted his massive bulk against the wall he was leaned up against in his ‘cell’ on board the ship and began to contemplate deeply the circumstances of his capture. The cell was an adequate size, if it could be called a cell with a bed with actual sheets and a mattress on it, a toilet, and joys of joys a porthole to the outside. The only thing that was keeping him in here besides the chains around his wrists and ankles, chains that even he had to admit were impossibly large, was the fact that the door was made of that fucking ridiculously ornate Necro metal baring.

Anger settled into his chest as he remembered every single detail of his capture into Necromonger hands. It had been four years since he had even been on one of their clunky ass ships and he had worked himself to near frying to keep it that way. Every flash of metal, every wire frying right in front of his face as the enemy ship had opened fire on all of his engines then on taking down his shields… then of them docking and forcing open his airlock in order to get to him. Sure, he had turned the lights off, killed four or five before they managed to realize what was going on and then finished off a good four more before they took him down with several powerful sedatives, but he still couldn’t believe he had gone down that easy. The smell of angry, curling, fried electrical smoke still stung in his nostrils and singed at his face from the abrupt explosions aboard. It had been a nice ship too, shame it had to be torn apart like that. And then…

He had woken up here. First they had treated his wounds while he was sleeping under the drugs, that was a dead give away from the gauze still wrapped heavily around his arms and chest. When you went up against guns and you had shiv’s the guns got in a few hits before they went down, but in hand to hand he could have killed the entire crew; eventually. Then they must have shackled him and put him in here, where there were two visible guards on either side of the heavy door with dark matter tasers and ready at any time to take him down. His head was still pounding from waking up only hours before, but now, oh now he was completely lucid. Upon realizing just where he was and where he was more than likely headed he had snapped awake and started to try to plot his escape.

Which would be easier if he knew this design of ship; much easier. Maybe he should have thought of this kind of thing before he blew up their Necropolis…

Who would be the one to ‘greet’ him on the Necromonger ship? Probably that smug bastard Vaako; the guy would probably try to knife him on the spot to get his hands on Riddick’s title as Lord Marshal. Unwanted title, but it was his all the same. And according to Necro law no new Lord could be appointed until he died or gave the power up to someone else, which wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Now the only question was when were they gonna try to off him? Riddick did not want to stay to find out that day but should it come before he got off of this ship then he was confident that he could take Vaako; previous fight not withstanding.

Shifting in his shackles the convict settled against a wall and set his sights upon the guards standing outside with a narrowed look. A neat ‘w’ forming between his brows he gauged the size of the holes between the ornate metal bars and wondered just what he could get through. If he could get his hands through, though doubtful, then he could do lots damage to them and get a way out. That was also counting on him finding a way out of these comically thick manacles. Scanning the room for what felt like the four hundredth time since he woke he looked for any weaknesses anywhere within its structure or within the guards stances outside. There was always a weak link, a chink in the armor, somewhere, anywhere, he just had to find it. The only issue was turning into the fact that he wasn’t finding any and if he looked too hard and actively his guards would get suspicious and his plans would go to shit.

This was getting more fucked by the minute. What the hell was he supposed to do? His mind whirling in over time you couldn’t tell that he was getting just a little frantic about his situation from the cool and gruff demeanor he was portraying. The second he showed his frustration it would be weakness and then he would be vulnerable to those that sought to harm him in this cell. He refused to be vulnerable. That was what Jack had been, a chink, and he would never let that happen again.

The horror and icy freeze that had washed over his body when he had seen the Lord Marshal beckon her out and seen her all Necromonger-ish once more ran through his body. The dead look in her eyes, the defeat, the once adoration that had existed even in that Slam was replaced by something that had been verging on contempt, and he had felt his world crack. What made him Riddick had started to drain away and run down his fingers like water as he watched Kyra walk around him and mutter how easy it was to convert, how it didn’t hurt anymore, and how the physical world was gone from her now. She had… even smelled like one of them. That had hurt worst of all. That sweet scent of decay hanging around someone as young and fiery as Jack had been, death sinking its claws slowly and poisoning his charge, had been a blow to his gut and made him wheeze… That’s where the drive to kill the Marshal had really come from. It wasn’t because his race was dead, it wasn’t because it was the right thing to do, or because the Elemental had told him he would do it, no… it was what they had done to Jack. His Jack; his little sister and kindred spirit. The Lord Marshal had been dead from the second he had introduced the newly converted girl as far as Riddick’s mind had been concerned.

His vision had gone red and he had never been filled with such a bloodlust in his life. It had surpassed even that of when Fry had been impaled by those damn creatures. Perhaps… because he had finally allowed himself to get close to someone again, to open up, to become more human; and then to have that person ripped away? That was more than he could stand. Riddick remembered the exact moment he had shut himself off entirely again. It had been when her eyes closed and that blood was running down the side of her mouth. She had died to save him, to protect him, even while she had been under the Necromonger creed.

Maybe that’s why he had so adamantly insisted that anything that happened between him and Georgina Collins meant nothing. Sure they would fuck, sure they would fight, and sure they would eventually part ways, but it meant nothing to him. It couldn’t mean anything. Riddick was as dead inside as any Necro hoped to be.

Having let his thoughts wander for far too long, and concerned about how now that he had been reminded of the red head she was prevalent in his thoughts again, the bald criminal once more returned to surveying his room and captors. There was no other choice. He would merely have to wait it out. Sit here and twiddle his thumbs as best he could with them chained together until they foolishly opened the door. He would have to find a way to loosen his ties, but that was an easier problem than getting out of this room. After all… the problem with the Necroshit’s were that they were so concerned with the gothic look of their bars they didn’t think that the thinner the metal the easier it was to break off. Glancing over to the headboard of his supposed prison cot he smirked and noted small gilded wiring wrapping around the head pole. This would be easier than he thought…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

‘Something’s not right here…’ tender feet padded softly into pure, glistening white sand. Pristine blue water flooded in gentle waves onto the beach, breaking and creating foam that rushed up to the toes of a young woman no older than fourteen. Sky of a pure, crystalline azure stretched before her dotted with massive sailing clouds of impressive cotton; the planets singular sun grinned down upon the rapturous ocean. Brown eyes shifted from the feel of the cold water hitting against her toes, digits now buried deep within the darkening sand wet with salt water, to the shoreline, and back towards the town that was situated behind her. The whitewash buildings lined with brightly colored fabrics hanging to dry in the mid day heat met her gaze while the roofs stretched up with thatched and red clayed glory.

As much as the scene was priceless and awe striking something didn’t feel right about it. It was too quiet. Waves washing upon the shore were the only noises in what would be the loudest, bustling time of day in the city in which she lived. There should be children laughing and screaming at each other up and down this coast, parents running after them, old women gossiping while going about their days, artists painting the scene before her for the millionth time in their careers, and ships should be scuttling around above them and hovering on glowing blue rings of power. But none of that was there. The rushing was the only thing that broke into her ears, not even the sound of the gulls that inhabited this area and would be crying and pleading for food from the skies above were heard. Only deafening, roaring silence. For a planet such as Artemis Prime that was not good. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t safe… what was wrong with this picture?

Georgina Collins flexed her toes within the heavy grains beneath her and winced at the frigid temperature they brought into her joints. Once more clad in the clothing of her home world she pursed her lips and turned, facing the town and the disturbingly somber atmosphere. Why was it that she couldn’t remember the last time the city had been truly quiet? Even at night it had the constant murmur of activity around it. But now it was like a ghost town. Even the once warm air seemed colder now.

Taking a tentative step forwards she winced when her toes met with the sand again only this time it felt like walking into pure ice. Glancing down she raised a singular eyebrow only to see something she had not expected. Ice coating the surface of the beach upon which she had stepped. Letting out a gasping breath she withdrew her foot back into where she was standing stark still and cast her stare upon the shoreline once more. Frozen was veining out from the spot where she had taken her step, reaching with tendrils of white and clear and working its way over the wet grains. Shock ran through George’s body for she had never seen it ice in her home world, it was considered a tropical planet, the only winter that of reaching degrees of about forty. The ice spread like a plague, turning the white grey with heaviness and to her watching horror she gazed on as it started to make its way over the stone embankment and into the town beyond.

“The fuck…?” she whispered and took a tentative step backwards, her eyes widening to the point of pain. The point of contact behind her yielded only cracking frigid ice under her foot and she fell backwards in surprise. Landing upon frozen sand she started and glanced back towards the ocean which, to her dismay and utter terror, was frozen within its now tumultuous tossing. Azure blue was steadily beginning to be pierced by a hollow, unending blackness from the tips of the now blood red sun, seeping down and into the pure hue. George let a small gasp escaped her lips before the world was shrouded and the ice began to creep up her legs, chill bleeding into the skin and her very bones crying out in pain.

George woke with a start, ripping at the air by her stationary legs. Heart pounding and mind racing like a hamster in a wheel it took her a moment to realize that through her blurred vision she was not on the beach of the conquered Artemis Prime. Hot air from the ships ventilation system hit her straight in the face, causing her thickly curled red hair to rustle against her drained cheek. Sweat caked her form, causing her clothing to stick to every facet of her and made her feel gross laying there with her arm still in the cell replication machine.

Sitting there, sprawled out in the chair, she took a moment to gather her harried thoughts. Her body was shaking and a fear like that of which she had only known when setting eyes upon the Necromongers falling to the planets surface of her home world was plunging deep into her core and holding itself there firmly. Her eyes firmed up and her vision set upon the metal grating on the wall opposite of her in the sick bay. The dream wasn’t real, just breathe and she would be okay… just breathe.

It had been a long time since she had suffered from a nightmare, far longer than she can very readily recall. Glancing over to the empty chamber beside her, save for her fully healed up arm, she looked over the healed appendage slowly. There was a smooth line where the gash had been, irritated and red from the injury and from the rapid healing process it had gone under, but it would leave only a small mark if she was lucky and took care of it, if not it could just add to her garish ones dotting her body. Unhooking herself she sat up and rubbed the afflicted area while dwelling on her nightmare, pursing her lips in thought. George… did not suffer from the ailments of nightly frights as most did. The way she saw it was that if you had nightmares you regretted something in your life; she tried to live with as few regrets as possible. The only blaring one that came to mind was how she had treated her situation with Noah back when they were younger and first in New Spain.

She could have handled it better. It was her own fault that she was the way she was now, her own damn fault that she had turned into such a hard ass and a murderer… killing someone without blinking an eye. She could have found a better job, could have searched the entire planet if she had to, could have even found a way off world and onto a station where she could have by all means worked as a mechanic. But had she? No. George’s dark eyes smoldered as she brooded, mulling over her past with a fine tooth comb and finding all of her past flaws; flaws that still followed her into the here and now. She had been blind, she had thought that this was the only way, that it was the best way for them to get food and shelter and a better life. That it was the last resort. When in reality it was just the easiest option at the time.

Sure she had lied to herself. She could see that now for what it was. She had fibbed and plundered the truth to keep it from showing the error of her thoughts. Though she says that now, when at the time it had seemed hopeless. The glories of being older and looking back at all the things you could have done. Maybe if she had done better then Noah wouldn’t have turned to the Necromongers… maybe he would have been stronger and resisted them.

Resisted? Her mouth quirked downwards. If he had then he would have been killed. Did that mean that she would rather him dead and proud then defeated and converted? George didn’t want to think anymore so she stood and rolled her stiff neck around to get the kinks out before making her way shakily out of the bay and into the haul of the ship, glancing around at the monitors that lined the way and the readings they were putting out.
She was still drifting in the shipping lanes outside of the Ichon system. The ship had gone into a ‘stalled’ state when she had fallen off without giving it orders, with no coordinates it couldn’t fly anywhere. Where would she go? Where could she go? Scowling once more she sat down into the pilots chair with a huff, glaring out to the stars and ion trails before her. There was no where in particular that she wanted to go, no where that would welcome her, and no one that would greet her kindly. She was a wanted criminal and a mass murderer, wanted in all of the systems for at least one religious or political death… meaning her head was as good as severed if she went to the wrong place or stood out too much. Recalling just how she had gotten into this mess she pictured the boy that was her third party in all of her dealings and recited to herself the details of a protocol seven.

Georgina Collins was out of work until she ran up with the kid and made sure he was all right. Tapping her chin with her index finger the computer bleeped at her that it needed coordinates. Finally, she leaned back and muttered, “Set course for Epimethus two in the Iapetus system.” All other things in her life could wait until she had this out of the way, until then nothing else mattered. Not Riddick or his supposed involvement, not her brother and his strange pattern of activity, nor the sudden resurgence of nightmares into her life.