AFTER ALL
folder
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,309
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,309
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Pitch Black, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 1
Riddick wove in and around the veritable rat’s nest of pipes and wires and seemingly useless bits of metal that made up 90% of the space-colony city. He was quiet, careful as always, even with his hands slippery with blood. Had anyone seen him moving through the metal jungle, they would’ve said to themselves: ‘Damn, that guy has a family of rodents colonizing his ass!’. Riddick was disturbed, and it felt like a fishhook under his skin, tugging painfully but minutely. He refused to think on it until he was somewhere safe- thinking took time, and time was not to be given away freely.
With a low khunk, he landed on the top of an empty, greasy oil drum, and was immediately up and away before anyone responded to the noise. Not that anyone was around- this was home, amongst the empty, possibly toxic metal drums, the scrap metal and tires, the occasional dead animal or pile of bones. He stopped only when he was fully enclosed in the darkness of a hollow between the massive stacks of metal- who needed skyscrapers when you had chemical waste barrels? There was a steady drip of dirty water nearby, and he was instantly under it, washing off the thin blood and small chunks of flesh with a shudder and a sigh. After that, there was plenty of time for thinking…unfortunately.
***
He should have known it was going to be a shit job, the very second he stepped into his employers ‘office’. The man had promised a fat wad of cash for such a simple hit, Riddick ought to have been suspicious. But…he needed the money more than the good judgment, apparently. He’d stalked into the office, assaulted by the thick stench of terror, human filth and sweat. The man looked vaguely like a chicken, extra skin and everything, and clucked out the name and location…and the sum of money to be had. Riddick took the job- like he took most jobs- and immediately went off in search of his ‘prey’ for the evening. He shoulda known.
It was a greenhorn mistake, something little punk-ass kids did before they learned better- As soon as Riddick had spied his target, he moved in without a second’s thought, getting about four feet before all twelve of the man’s bodyguards noticed him. He had failed, somehow, to notice them. It was a bloody stroke of luck that he managed to escape without getting his brain plastered to the walls…But even so, he’d missed his one chance to take the man down. Which meant no money was to be had. Worst yet, beyond even the infected wound a week down the road from the attack…was the would-be victim’s tenacity. He wanted Riddick FOUND, no matter what the cost was.
Now Riddick had gone to ground, hiding in an inhospitable, admittedly very disgusting place. At least nobody would find him. Food, sleep, clean clothes…those all came second to staying hidden.
Riddick had been hungry ever since he realized he couldn’t just go out and steal some food. It was like someone flicked a switch on in his gut, the Make-You-Miserable button. The infection his wounds eventually dispersed, but the weakness was still there. He drank water through his shirt, to keep the large bits of dirt or whatever they were out, and slept inside one of the cleaner barrels whenever he could. At one point, someone several sidewalk-tiers above him dropped their ice cream, and it fell through the various levels of grates and mesh, picking up all kinds of nasty on the way down…but he was one it like a man possessed.
Finally, finally, the hunger got to be a painful, living thing that chased him out of his hiding spot, desperate for ANYTHING to eat. He didn’t recognize himself, the savageness that normally stayed hidden. He wandered out, as cautious as a deer in the winter, and nobody gave him a backwards glance. Just another bum, they thought- for once, he was thankful he smelled like three week old Death. The markets were crowded, always, in human settlements, and it was deliciously easy for one man to just walk by and take a single piece of fruit and melt away into the crowd. The apple was delicious, and much appreciated…but he knew he needed some kind of protein, very quickly.
His first attempt to snag some kind of wonderful smelling meat filled…something-or-other off a booth failed miserably, due to furious-little-Chinese-lady-with-claws-like-nails. Nobody hits old ladies, that would be sick. So after being chased off and screeched at, he tried again, in a different part of the noisy market. Some of his caution had left him, and this time when he dove in for a grab-and-go, he found himself being stared at by one of the same god-awful fucks that had nearly skinned him alive days ago, during the failed hit.
Riddick didn’t have time to contemplate irony or bad luck or the horrible hunger yawning in him- he took off like a shot through the crowd, being ridiculously careful not to disrupt the flow of people, lest he leave a trail of yelling idiots to lead the guards right to him. The first chance he could get, he was down an alley, up a fire escape, through someone’s bedroom- nice panties, by the by- and back into the mess pipes and wires that made up the side of a building. He kept running, too, until he was as far away from the market as he could be without leaving the protected area nearby the scrap metal heap.
And there he had found himself tucked into a narrow alleyway, staring at the back of the man that he was SUPPOSED to have killed days ago, chatting on his cell phone like nothing in the world could touch him.
***
Riddick stayed crouched next to his oil drum, and he could still smell the blood under his fingernails. His stomach was full, and his body seemed rather pleased with itself, not giving two shits about the chunks of human it was digesting. Something about the meat agreed with him- even as he sat there, he could feel the fatigue, carelessness, weakness…all of it just dripping away. When the dim morning-glow lights came on to artificially wake the rest of the colony up, Riddick swayed and stood, having come to a conclusion in his sleepless night. He left the colony, hopped the very first ship that didn’t know his name, and then met Johns.
With a low khunk, he landed on the top of an empty, greasy oil drum, and was immediately up and away before anyone responded to the noise. Not that anyone was around- this was home, amongst the empty, possibly toxic metal drums, the scrap metal and tires, the occasional dead animal or pile of bones. He stopped only when he was fully enclosed in the darkness of a hollow between the massive stacks of metal- who needed skyscrapers when you had chemical waste barrels? There was a steady drip of dirty water nearby, and he was instantly under it, washing off the thin blood and small chunks of flesh with a shudder and a sigh. After that, there was plenty of time for thinking…unfortunately.
***
He should have known it was going to be a shit job, the very second he stepped into his employers ‘office’. The man had promised a fat wad of cash for such a simple hit, Riddick ought to have been suspicious. But…he needed the money more than the good judgment, apparently. He’d stalked into the office, assaulted by the thick stench of terror, human filth and sweat. The man looked vaguely like a chicken, extra skin and everything, and clucked out the name and location…and the sum of money to be had. Riddick took the job- like he took most jobs- and immediately went off in search of his ‘prey’ for the evening. He shoulda known.
It was a greenhorn mistake, something little punk-ass kids did before they learned better- As soon as Riddick had spied his target, he moved in without a second’s thought, getting about four feet before all twelve of the man’s bodyguards noticed him. He had failed, somehow, to notice them. It was a bloody stroke of luck that he managed to escape without getting his brain plastered to the walls…But even so, he’d missed his one chance to take the man down. Which meant no money was to be had. Worst yet, beyond even the infected wound a week down the road from the attack…was the would-be victim’s tenacity. He wanted Riddick FOUND, no matter what the cost was.
Now Riddick had gone to ground, hiding in an inhospitable, admittedly very disgusting place. At least nobody would find him. Food, sleep, clean clothes…those all came second to staying hidden.
Riddick had been hungry ever since he realized he couldn’t just go out and steal some food. It was like someone flicked a switch on in his gut, the Make-You-Miserable button. The infection his wounds eventually dispersed, but the weakness was still there. He drank water through his shirt, to keep the large bits of dirt or whatever they were out, and slept inside one of the cleaner barrels whenever he could. At one point, someone several sidewalk-tiers above him dropped their ice cream, and it fell through the various levels of grates and mesh, picking up all kinds of nasty on the way down…but he was one it like a man possessed.
Finally, finally, the hunger got to be a painful, living thing that chased him out of his hiding spot, desperate for ANYTHING to eat. He didn’t recognize himself, the savageness that normally stayed hidden. He wandered out, as cautious as a deer in the winter, and nobody gave him a backwards glance. Just another bum, they thought- for once, he was thankful he smelled like three week old Death. The markets were crowded, always, in human settlements, and it was deliciously easy for one man to just walk by and take a single piece of fruit and melt away into the crowd. The apple was delicious, and much appreciated…but he knew he needed some kind of protein, very quickly.
His first attempt to snag some kind of wonderful smelling meat filled…something-or-other off a booth failed miserably, due to furious-little-Chinese-lady-with-claws-like-nails. Nobody hits old ladies, that would be sick. So after being chased off and screeched at, he tried again, in a different part of the noisy market. Some of his caution had left him, and this time when he dove in for a grab-and-go, he found himself being stared at by one of the same god-awful fucks that had nearly skinned him alive days ago, during the failed hit.
Riddick didn’t have time to contemplate irony or bad luck or the horrible hunger yawning in him- he took off like a shot through the crowd, being ridiculously careful not to disrupt the flow of people, lest he leave a trail of yelling idiots to lead the guards right to him. The first chance he could get, he was down an alley, up a fire escape, through someone’s bedroom- nice panties, by the by- and back into the mess pipes and wires that made up the side of a building. He kept running, too, until he was as far away from the market as he could be without leaving the protected area nearby the scrap metal heap.
And there he had found himself tucked into a narrow alleyway, staring at the back of the man that he was SUPPOSED to have killed days ago, chatting on his cell phone like nothing in the world could touch him.
***
Riddick stayed crouched next to his oil drum, and he could still smell the blood under his fingernails. His stomach was full, and his body seemed rather pleased with itself, not giving two shits about the chunks of human it was digesting. Something about the meat agreed with him- even as he sat there, he could feel the fatigue, carelessness, weakness…all of it just dripping away. When the dim morning-glow lights came on to artificially wake the rest of the colony up, Riddick swayed and stood, having come to a conclusion in his sleepless night. He left the colony, hopped the very first ship that didn’t know his name, and then met Johns.