Match, point... game

Chapter twenty:
Can’t escape
Warning! If you have EVER read any of my chapters… you know… VIOLENCE is ahead boys and girls. :P

The ship landed with a thundering lurch, docking with as much grace as a giraffe in a small box, and jarring the convict stashed away within the confines of the vessel to slowly come into the waking world. Light, unbidden and garish, came streaming in from the long corridor where the head of the ship was located at, bursting through the shielding of the main windows. Burning at the killers eyes they winced and turned away, snarling under their breath with as many words as they could muster. Scurrying and the beeping noises that came with docking in a port of any kind filled the bowls of the ship, rocking off of the metal walls and bouncing around incessantly. They crew were running around with a practiced sort of chaos, a detrimental frenzy that would get the job done faster than any other conceived way.

Whirling of gears and the all too comforting hum of the engines ceased and the vibrations against the prisoners back faded away, taking with it the odd way it soothed the sore muscles in their back. With the ship powering down and the lights around them fading the crew began to mutter and whisper to themselves, as if afraid their quarry would hear. It was too late, after all that pitiful landing had done more than its share to wake her from her fitful and incredibly light slumber. Rolling her head to the side her brown eyes glared with that dull brown hue towards where her captors were located.

Seeing only one in the doorframe the glint of sunlight, most likely from twin suns from the intensity, on the barrel of a powerful hundred magnum assault riffle; as well as a splattering of other weapons it was no wonder she had been taken down. Just how these guys were so well armed when they were probably being paid actual pennies from the Alliance after all of their fees was beyond her… The one within sight ducked back within the dark hallway, giving the accursed light free reign to fall over her matted and dirty form that was covered in an almost visible haze of filth and stink. Never since her time in the slam last had she felt so filthy, and she had no doubt that as the golden rays caressed her skin she looked like all hell had vomited on her. The muttering was continuing only a slightly more fevered pitch, as if some great argument that had been going on for a while now was taking place once more.

It was no use, no matter how much George strained her ears she was not privy to their whispered words, so she allowed herself to lean back against the now still and increasingly heated wall from the touch of sunshine outside. Chancing a look to the chains that held her bound to this hell she noted with small satisfaction that her wrists were still raw and bleeding from continuous pulling and fighting. Judging from the fact that there was actual sun light, and not just some artificial bull crap used down in the Triple’s, and that the sounds coming through the would be sound proofed haul were not that of screams and shots being fired, she extremely doubted that she was within the belly of a new burning pit. No… a sense of irony flooded her being again as she flexed her fingers and felt the all too present chill of the metal on her injured skin. The fools had stopped on world. Closing her sight off she listened with a small grin creasing her dried lips, her heart pounding in her throat at the thought of just one mistake and she was free. All she needed, all she really needed, was a dose of pure luck.

If she had her Lady on her side then they would have stopped on her designated planet before all of this shit went down. If she was to have her way then she was home free once she got out of these things. Sliding her eyes open to little more than slits against the intrusive rays the red miasma and pure tunnel vision that came with the anger tingling at every fiber of her being and soul took over and only thoughts of one thing filled her mind. Murder, crimson… her daggers or any daggers, hell a gun would do; as long as they all died.

Oh yes this was a long time coming. Excruciating had the last few days been, minutes had bled into hours and hours to days until it had felt like the weeks and months ticked by and she was still in desperate isolation and ill wanted captivity. They would all see just what a mind like hers could concoct in the revenge department when left to ferment for far too long. Georgina Collins was not considered a crazed psychopathic serial killer for nothing; there were some basis for all of the hype after all.

The heavy footsteps on the grating signaled the entrance of not just one, as usual, of the crew members but three of them. Jeremy, the man that had seemed to form some kind of sick attachment to his captive, and the other two nameless soldiers for the ‘good fight’ came sauntering into view. All of them armed heavily to the teeth.

Jeremy came up to her while the other two hung back, one other remaining in the head to undoubtedly keep an eye on the ship and on her. Cocking his head to the side he observed her blatantly, strung up like some freshly caught road kill, a smirk pulled arrogantly at the sides of his lips. “Never thought I’d catch ya, girl,” he commented thoughtfully, pursing his cruelly thin lips.

Laughter bubbled at the back of her throat and she couldn’t help the biting scoff that forced its way from her throat. Lowering her head to where her eyes were undoubtedly glaring up at him she said in a low and even tone that was unnerving compared to her usual furious tirades at the man, “Posturing and posing will do you nothing here…” the old mind set that she had become accustomed to before her time with Riddick came slamming down. The shift from human to killer was so easy, it was an almost audible click within her mind, something that switched off and then flicked on something else. Oh it was glorious. Clicking her teeth momentarily George watched the furrowing in her enemies brows. “Hope you enjoyed the dream boys…” was all that she stated before climbing her neck back up and resting it against the unforgiving surface behind.

“Getting cryptic on me, Georgina?” George tried not to let her bristling at being called her full first name show… Jeremy sneered discomfortingly when he noticed the defiant flare of her nostrils despite her best attempts. Leaning forwards he pressed the business end of a small pistol to her chin, chuckling when she didn’t so much as flinch. She knew she was worth much more alive, a cold body in this kind of bounty incident was a no go and immediately cut her worth in half. She could spit on this guys eye ball and call him all the names under the sun and she was still good, which was fine by her… since he was going to pay for his actions in spades.

George merely eyed the piece momentarily before spouting off, “Pretty impressive for being empty.”

She was hoping for a better response from the man that held her against the wall in irons. She had hoped for a scowl, a wince, a walk away in a huff kind of reaction, that was the kind she was used to, but all she got from Jeremy was that same disarming smirk and that same odd glimmer in his eyes that had her every nerve ending on alert. Something about this mercenary was not right. Something about this whole situation was not right. With the barrel of a gun pressing against the curve of her jaw and her eyes locked firmly with the leader of the ship, issued in a silent contest, she had a familiar sense that it was just like back in the Slam. He was almost exactly like Riddick…

Wrinkling her nose in distaste though training her other facial features to remain neutral she looked at the gun again then at him. “We both know you won’t fire that. My worth is already cut by… ten percent for the hole you put in my arm, much more damage and you’ll be lucky to get paid at all.”

That did it. Something flared behind the passive green eyes, something monstrous and dark like the thing that lived within her and whispered in her ear. Oh yes… something was very wrong with this man. She could recognize a fellow animal and beast when she saw one, and he was almost as bad as they came. Snarling and showing off almost fang like incisors at her he ripped his gun from its pressing position, his obvious attempt at intimidation done. Turning on his heel he sauntered from the room towards the end of the haul where the hatch laid, signaling his men to come along with him.

George didn’t watch after them for long, only while the door whined and groaned as it slid open and let in yet more damn sunlight of the world and docking center outside. Fresh air rushed into her nose and the scents and sounds of the planet they had landed on came crashing down around the tied up convict. To hear such noises of freedom only spurred on the ragging of the creature within her mind… She didn’t look at his back, huge and impressive like that of another mountain that she knew quite intimately, but instead turned and focused her attention on the one they had left behind. A sickening twist of her lips and her brown eyes deepening to an almost black color and it was to begin. That was the problem with such small merc groups… a lot could go wrong when you split up into such small fractions.

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Richard B. Riddick was an escape artists as well as a killer and thief, so it was only natural that he had gotten out of his bindings some how and was now sliding along the walls of the ship he had been captured in. With his goggles pulled up against his forehead and the silver of his eyes shinning in the limited red lighting of emergency power he was perfectly at home and in the advantage. How they had ever thought they could hold him was baffling. Chains didn’t work on him, as a certain bounty hunter had so eloquently stated once before his demise, and they were not going to start doing anything anytime soon. Restriction meant he couldn’t do what he wanted, be where he wanted, freedom wasn’t his when he was trussed up somewhere with little more than a meal and a horse bit to look forwards to. So whenever someone like Riddick was faced with the prospect of being held against his will he fought back like no tomorrow, usually resulting in many deaths and a new ship to call his own.

Only this time he knew he couldn’t take on the entire ship. There were too many and far too well armed for him to even think of attempting killing all of the necromongers aboard this vessel. His usual patterns had to be deviated from; he had to actually make it off the ship alive rather than a heaping bloody mess on the floor.

Getting out of his cell had proved simple enough now that he dwelled on it. He had, honestly, thought that it would be much more difficult to break out of yet another Necromonger holding room; but it had been almost too easy. He had waited, sulking and biding his time, in the darkest corner of his room with his protective eyewear covering his sensitive orbs, mulling over his plans on just what to do and where to go once he was free. Assuming that he was indeed on the planet Epimethus then he knew just where to go, a small little Inn on the outskirts of the main docking city of Zather that was more than welcoming to one such as Riddick. If he wasn’t he had a plan as well, he had one for just about any case in which he could find himself in, such as if he was on a very well lit station or merc mother ship instead of a planet he would have to slink around on the new vessel and find an escape ship before the others found him. Or even worse if he was within the bowls of the Necromonger lead ship rebuilt then he was screwed… but considering that the place didn’t reek of death and decay then he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t there.

No… When the ship had landed and the hatch doors for the recon and supply team to go out and gather stock he had caught a very faint waft of fresh, powerfully oxygenized air. The kind of crispness that only came with dense flora; that spelt good things for the killer. It was an excellent thing that his cage had been located only a few hallways from the exit and his bid for relief from this oppressing atmosphere.

So when he had been offered his chance to get out of there when one of the guards foolishly opened the door to take him to the commanding officer aboard the craft Riddick had taken it. Waiting in the darkest corner he could have found he used the coils of machinery that had bound his wrists to grab the man by the neck and muffle his cries at the same time, snapping his bones with a simple twist. With a gratifying thud the body had fallen to the floor and the other guard had come in to see what the noise was only to be met with the business end of the fallen man’s riffle, his head now having a very large caved in hole where his face should have been. That was when Riddick had taken his bid and gotten to where he was now, with a gun on his hip and another on his back, the cold metal of knives against his palms, and the electricity shut off thanks to his attack on a central cord. Even if he had not cut off the power supply from the lights and main drives he was confident that the enemy had known about his escape; this was merely leveling the playing field.

Sliding along the wall and feeling the chill of the deathly metal behind him he kept flat to the surface, his eyes narrowing at the way before him. Though he was alone in the corridor he could hear the others just feet from the corner he was going to turn, breathing, running, feet pounding heavily against the hard flooring that covered the ship. Silence was his friend as he shifted and drew his gun cautiously from his hip, flipping a switch and allowing the dark matter pistol to begin to charge, estimating his time before the others turned the corner. His heart was pounding steadily in his ears and the rush of both coming death and fresh air were searing through his impatient body. Just a little longer… he had waited for nearly four sleepless cycles, just a little longer and he would be in the streets and able to escape as he had always before.

The footsteps of the enemy were growing louder and were almost deafening in the seasoned convicts mind. He licked his lips, his eyes narrowing before drawing from the wall and lowering down into a crouch. He was lucky. No one else on this ship could see in the dark and from the lack of powerfully pungent stench they had only maybe one or two seers here, he was in the advantage. Just as his body was tensing and his mind building up into an almost frantic pace of excitement and anxiety the first man came barreling around the corner. Lining him up in his sights quickly Riddick pulled the small, carved trigger and felt the disturbing jolt of dark matter energy being released from the barrel and reserves of the weapon. Watching the swirling power beam towards the now stunned looking necromonger, too stunned to speak, it seemed as if the black mass sucked in any and all light from around it.

His chest exploded into a fine mist of red before crumpling over with a cry of shock and agony just as Riddick was up and drawing out his other weapons, the two hand knives that each of his respective victims earlier had been present with. The others had heard him, had seen the death of their comrades, and were now coming around the corner in a mass of three abreast and three long, ready to take down the smirking killer. Riddick lived for this kind of shit sometimes, he really did…

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George hissed when she arched her back completely off of the wall, closing her eyes tightly and willing her lungs not to expel the coming scream. Her teeth dug into her lower lip, causing blood to trickle onto her tongue and down her chin, all the while the strain on her wrists was increasing. She had developed something in her time against this damnable wall. There was a chink in the right shackle, one that made it around five centimeters too large, giving her a weakness to exploit, to get to the outside… Her chest heaved as her ankles nearly gave out against the pressure on them as well, her head hitting hard against the wall to will herself not to make any noise to alert her captor as her bones steadily began to groan. There was only one way out; and though she would have preferred another one there was absolutely no other choice. It had to be done.

Taking in a final gasp of air she lifted up onto her toes sharply, abruptly, and this caused the desired effect. With a loud snap her bones gave in and the joint that came before her hands and after her forearms came undone stoutly. Her eyes opened up wide and a shuddering, powerful pain screamed down her arms and spine all the way to tingle into her toes. She had to stop herself from passing out, the familiar cold wash of shock coming over her and the starting of a sheet of sweat was breaking out all over her body. Head swimming in the rush of chemicals from her brain she slumped down and grunted when her fingers twisted and her arms hung at an awkward angle. George allowed herself to take a breather, staring at the floor with glazed over eyes while the fire of victory burned inside of her gut, keeping the urge to black out at bay even if the black dots of unconsciousness were dancing around her orbs.

Luckily she hadn’t bit clear through her lip during that episode and when her head was finally clear enough to form clear thoughts she glanced to her now greening wrist with a sardonic smile on her lips. Bending her fingers into an almost triangle she shifted her arm to a certain angle, her wrist bending at a degree that before would have been impossible, before pulling it gingerly from the now useless hold. This was what she had been waiting for. She couldn’t take the whole ship on her own, not all four heavily armored mercs; though that they had been so stupid as to leave her alone with just one of them she couldn’t have asked for better. With her arm free she shifted and rose off of the wall yet again, setting her dislocated wrist between her and the metal, before coming crashing down atop of it.

The bone was reset and the joint rejoined with its socket and that shock of pain went through her again and she had no choice but to let out a small, pathetic whimper. God had she only had a different option than this masochism she would be a happy murderer. She didn’t waste time pining over something she didn’t have however and was soon twisting her torso and working on her other binding, her brown eyes cold and hard. She did not wish to repeat the process for all of her limbs, especially since that would make her incredibly weakened and drained for the ensuing bout for her release, so instead she grabbed the main lock and began to pull on it, grimacing as it rubbed raw on the already open wounds of her tender limb. The sting of bacteria entering into the angry red blemish as well as the shifting of the steadily weakened metal ring was all that filled her mind, pushing aside the shivering waves of shock and blacking out.

She had been working on it since she had been taken captive. Having run into these kinds of locks many a time before she knew that most of the time they did a shitty job of putting them into the ships main circuits behind her, fearing that if they muddied it up too much that they would have further malfunctions in both the haul and the holding system. Too many wires could corrode each other and end up with a dead ship and dead crew. And as before over the last few days she had been thrashing and pulling with all of her might to get it to disconnect steadily, having heard the tell tale snapping and the shuddering of the cold rings around her. The only issue was that it had been centered into just one of the cuffs, meaning she had been given absolutely no other direction with which to go. Though the pain running up and down her arm from using the newly dislocated and relocated hand was enough to make her lightheaded George bit here lip and continued to pull and wiggle the metal ring.

Snapping was heard from within the wall behind her and the scent of strong electrical smoke. Good… that meant that a few of the wires had been ripped free and that the plastic about them had melted from the extreme heat. Burn the thing down, yes, watch it burn in crimson glory… Clunk! With a twisted satisfied smirk on her face George watched as the cursed metal fell limply from the wall, giving her a good two inches with which to remove herself and then work the same on her feet. And they had thought to hold her in standard grade shit? Please, this stuff was a dime a dozen and mass manufactured, of course they were going to cut corners and create weak spots.

It just took someone fraught like herself to find those spots.

Bending over and feeling each and every vertebra pop and shiver from moving after so long in position she took hold of the remaining two and started the same process. Hatred clouded her mind. Red was filling her vision like it had time and time again since she had been caught with only one thing pictured in her brain to keep her going. The sight of the mercs that had caught her dead, sliced open with intestines spilling out onto the ground and red draining everywhere like a river.

With a great heave she pulled the remaining contraptions from her and fell to her knees from the wall, her feet fast asleep and blood pulsing gratefully through the now mobile limbs. The loud clang she had made when making her less than graceful landing had stirred the merc lying in wait within the head when George heard the scuffling of heavy soled boots moving around and the clanking of a powerful gun. Pulling herself up quickly she fled to flatten herself up against a corner shrouded deep in the limited light of the haul, her heart pounding in her ears.

Every single muscle was in use again and her form was both crying out in resistance to the sudden change and crowing in rejuvenation from the return of normal blood flow. It was a confusing and heady mixture that wasn’t aided when the heavily armed guard came into the haul with his gun on the ready, his shifty little black eyes glancing around hurriedly. Adrenaline was coursing fantastically through her veins, enough to make her forget the caked on blood from her wrists and scabbed over shoulder injury and the fine film of filth that covered her entire body. She felt like she could just charge this guy and take him down. But she knew better than to let the hormones and chemicals within her mind allow her to do such a stupid thing; her barehanded against three loaded and ready to go guns as well as several knives located on various spots of his body did not bode well for her bodily contact. Or her life in general. George had to come up with a plan and fast as his eyes fell upon her now empty and tattered former prison and his orbs widened to the size of dinner plates, the knuckles on gripping his riffle turning white from either fear or shock.

The corner was cramped and an impossibly sharp angle. Spotting him coming towards her, backing up into the room now with his sight on and holding his weapon at the true ready, laser sweeping around the craft like a red beam of death, she sank down low to the ground and crouched in the darkness, waiting. Surprise would have to be key here… one wrong move and she would end up dead on the ground with a hole where her lungs should be and everything else located in her chest. Not in three years since the epic escape from Brigitus had she felt such anxiety and been so worked up before a fight; it was the battles for your life and that held your freedom on a wire hair trigger that seemed to be the most pulse pounding.

His boots were sliding along the grating and making the tell tale groan of leather soles, thick and heavy with combat. She wondered how much bloodshed those boots bottoms had seen… and how much more they would if she failed. Sun rays dancing over his form, clearing over his shoulders and causing beams to fall into pure holes of light onto the hauls immaculate metal surface. She watched him warily, holding her breathing in and letting out in only in streams of long, controlled exhales, and calculated in. Fingers gripping into the cold steel under her, her shoulders tense and taught to the point of agony adding to the scab that adorned her body, Georgina was almost in awe of just how sick her mind must seem to a sane person. The folding in the mercs combat fatigue bottoms caught her eye as did the favorite weakness in the back of the knees and just under the caps, all the way down to the thickly covered ankle tendon. With no sharp instruments one could not be choosy about where their punch or kick would lie, what stab…

The laser came scanning just over her head, mere millimeters really from her out of control frizzed and oily red hair, and she stopped any and all motion of body. It stayed there, suspicious, and with the sun behind the merc she could only make out the colored outline of his form while the rest was as pitch as were she was hiding. Gripping harder into the metal until digits and flesh were crying out in torture, heart pounding in head and the scent of perspiration rang stank in the air, from either her or the guard she couldn’t tell… But when his laser turned around the corner and was now examining the entrance to the sleeping quarters, his gun turning with him and his shoulder hunched over the large weapon, Georgina knew she was safe. As safe as you could get when you were in a room barehanded with a man who had a class A high powered riffle with what looked to be a combustion round model. Shifting George heard him shift, watching the legs cased within clothing move forwards and then stop, once again sweeping the room in a seemingly fruitless manner.

The poor man probably didn’t even know that he was being stalked. She just prayed that the sun wouldn’t move dramatically any time soon for this would prove to be a game of waiting. Intense waiting. The kind that she was horrible at. Licking her lips George slinked to where her knees were against her breasts, pushing them into her chest, while she readied herself. He would have to come closer to get to the quarters deck, and off to her right was the med bay. Further down was the exit, but he would know she had not gone there. The doors made too much noise to just up and walk out not to mention warning bells on merc ships went off when the door was opened, as a built in precaution; if all of that hadn’t been in existence even then she wouldn’t have taken it. There was a grudge here. She wanted him dead, she wanted them all to suffer…

He moved closer and she could almost smell the fear and tension rolling off of him. The merc was, perhaps, within good launching distance. By all means she could attack him here and now, jump at him and land against him, knock him down, punch him in the throat or temple multiple times before she heard that marvelous and fantastic crunching noise that came with death from beating… But no. There were too many variables within such a strategy. He was heavier than her since he was male and by all means had a higher center of gravity which meant he could stabilize himself mid fall like Riddick had shown to be able to; there was also the fact of his gun, he could bring it up mid charge and knock her down before firing off a round into her forehead which would not be conducive to her escape; then there was also the fact of that she had come up with a plan and her impatience would be the thing that would make or break it.

Anticipation was a salty mixture of her own breath and sweat that was rolling between her lips, tingling all of her senses and making her vision like that of a tunnel. All things vanished but her coming victim, the feel of the wall behind her was cold, harsh, hard, and unforgiving, her hearing was filled with the throbbing of her own heart and the enemies breathing as he halted from another step to sweep the room in a paranoid way. She could sense his confusion, his terror at her being loose, and everything that made him… vulnerable. It was against someone cool and collected, placid, like a fellow killer that she found her challenge in. When you were afraid you lost control. When you were afraid… you could react very irrationally and lose your life quite quickly than if you were calm.

Yet again she was thankful that she had lost her sanity. The tinge of fear had left her in only the most extreme of cases… and this was not one of them.

He slid forwards again, the noise grating on her ears and making her wince, but now… oh now he was but mere inches from the corner and the sun was coming through his legs and hitting the base of her foot. Stopping once again he turned around, his breathing little more than harried puffs, before he finally felt it. He was close enough now that he could feel her and sense her right next to him, her own breathing beating against his clothing and when he glanced down into the corner that he had thought for sure was empty he spotted the revealed dirt encased cover of her boot. He caught it all too late for he was pounced upon in a heart beat, her hands coming to the back of his neck and wrapping around one of his biceps, bending him over in his shock and cold rushing horror. With the hard snap of the top of her foot against the back of his knee he was sent crumpling back onto the grating, his head hitting hard and spots filling his gaze from the impact.

George momentarily was struck on her side with his riffle butt, smacking her hard and causing a rear of agony to rain down her back, but it was all in vein. Grabbing the end of the weapon and yanking it from the now dazed merc she was on him in an instant, her boot falling down harshly into the center of his ribcage and down upon the diaphragm. A scream came from his throat before it was muffled by the riffles barrel being shoved down his throat, a twisted and sinister sneer stretching over the red headed killers face.

His eyes bulged out, staring at her in absolute fear… oh she remembered that look. She loved that look like an old boyfriend, came back to it again and again, it haunted her dreams and made her feel the oddest sensation in the pit of her stomach. Words were not needed in this moment as she shifted to stand over him with her finger idly pressed against the trigger delicately and yet ready at any moment. Should he even so much as move, so much as twitch wrong, he was finished. Well, he was finished to begin with, but someone as sadistic as George couldn’t let something like this pass her up. Revenge; the plot toiled over and refined for so many days now, was finally hers. Though this boy of a mere twenty one by the looks of it was not her intended, not the one that was the lead, therefore he was a mere grunt and hardly worth the time that she would invest into Jeremy.

“I’m going to kill you, kid… kill you, take your arsenal, and then murder your little buddies as well. You really got into shit with me, mercenary, messed with the wrong fucking woman,” she whispered. Tears were welling up in his shimmering black eyes but her boot was already up, shoving the gun down harder and to the point where blood came bubbling out of the sides of his lips, a faint tearing heard. Slamming her foot down into the middle of his neck and smashing in his Adam’s Apple in she saw his face go ashen with pain, that all too familiar look of surprise before being replaced with trails of tears. Red oozed from out of his injured neck and from his mouth, pooling under him and running down the metal sidings of the bottom of the ship.

With just as much abruptness as before Georgina’s finger pulled on the trigger hard. The bang was deafening and the scent of powder filled the haul just as blood flew up in thick droplets. The back of the kids head was shattered, his brains flowing everywhere and even sticking to her boots and pants, splattering on the walls and filling up the once pristine ship with carnage. His cry of sudden death became the gurgle of death as his body went limp and life left in a thick crimson blow. George stared down at what would have been face that was now little more than a grotesque painting of ripped bone, teeth, and scorched away flesh and skin. She could see all the way through the now red coated grating under the body and when she noted sparks flying from liquid hitting onto the mechanical parts beneath her smile became even more twisted.

She bent down and made quick work of his daggers, pulling them up and off of his holsters before slapping them into her belt loops. Guns and ammo came with her as well before George was satisfied enough to stand up and once more gaze lovingly down at her handiwork. This… was how a kill was supposed to feel.

Turning as if it were nothing she rolled her shoulders and sauntered off of the dead towards her freedoms latch. She wasn’t a good person, she had never pretended to be… and she never would be.

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Riddick’s feet pounded against the rooftops that spotted the city they had landed in. Pumping his arms to go as fast as his bulky form could he chanced a glance behind him to see yet again what had been there a few minutes ago when he had looked before. Necromongers, around five of them, were tailing him with their own weapons drawn and chasing after him, even shooting at him when they were on solid enough footing. His attention was re-diverted to the task at hand when the ledge to the roof came beneath his feet and he was leaping through the air with his arms flailing in a circle to keep his gravity where it needed to be, the opposite edging just yards away.

With a heavy thud Riddick landed with a slight stagger before he was off again, puffing out his breath in great heaves. He could hear the clangs and clamor of armor behind him like a storms thunder, pushing him onwards, refusing to be caught again. If he was caught again then he would be put under even worse conditions and set off in a direction he wasn’t sure of; his chance of escape would be next to nothing. The buildings passed by in little more than blurs of adobe and brick, lines of clothing hanging out to dry passing under his feet as he cleared yet another roof and grunting at the force of his landing. Air thick with moisture from the lush and tropical atmosphere clung to his sweating body that was streaked with his own blood and the red of his enemies.

Chill hit into his nostrils, stinging down into his chest and lungs as the fugitive panted hard. Skidding quickly to the side he pushed off an abrupt and harsh turn to the right, launching himself down a few stories onto the roof of a much smaller building. Swears of his pursers flitted up to his hearing but he ignored them in favor of the murmur of the people below him. Freedom was as good as his… Spices and flavor, commerce and the laughter of children, all signs of a robust economy and that meant plenty of places to hide. All he had to do was get away from the Necroshit’s and he was good.

Riddick was already jumping from the roof with sure steps, leaping the easily eighteen feet with confident footing, by the time the others were on his landing. He hit the shade he’d been aiming for, the fabric buckling under him and letting out a loud groan as he slid down the smooth, silken surface at a break neck speed. Flinging himself off of it he felt the rush of falling through the air once more, the barreling of air over his hot skin and the thudding of his heart soundly in his gut. The ground came up under him shortly after her had taken off, his feet hitting the clay hard as well as his hands flying under him to catch his weight from slamming his face down, causing a film of dust to cast off around him. The sting in his palms informed him that he had scrapped the flesh harshly but he didn’t give a fuck at this point, the adrenaline was pounding too hard in his veins and the voices were screaming in his ears to get up and run. So that’s just what he did, pushing himself up with a great heave and puffing out dirt from off of his lips-red clay littering his body now in a fine silt-Riddick was up and running again with slightly less than grace.

That should put some distance between him and the necro’s… it was a damn good thing that their weapons, though still firing at him, were useless at such spaces now. Turning a corner and pushing his way out into the littered market place scattered with people in brightly colored clothing he made his way pumping down the cobbled street with force. He knew better than to slow down now, if anything he needed to go faster than his quickly tiring body was letting him. If he slowed down now they would catch up to him. If he slowed down now he was as good as caught.

Weaving through booths and cutting down another alleyway across the way, turning sharply and winding his way around wooden fences and through hanging laundry, Riddick could only hope and pray that the necromongers were far behind him and were just now getting into the main road as he had been. Latching onto rough brick work of a poor apartment complex he whipped himself around another corner and shot forwards again, his chest burning and the stinging of bile and blood of his agonized lungs searing at the back of his throat. He was just about to cut across another street and into the side streets before him when a something caught his eye and made him stop dead in his tracks. Coming skidding around the corner and into his own alleyway was the form of a haggard and filthy looking woman.

She bent over and gripped onto her knees, hacking and wheezing from running while spitting up a dark tinged spit onto the ground beneath both of their feet. Her matted dark red, almost brown, hair covered her face and was unruly around her shoulders. Her clothing was disgustingly dirtied with what looked to be stained urine coating the legs of her cargo pants and blood soaked well into the point of crusting on her tank top. When her head jerked forwards towards him, after hearing Riddick let out a barely there surprised grunt at seeing her again, he was fixated with the dull and cruel depths of those all too familiar brown orbs.

“Baldy…!?” Georgina Collins gasped at him, her eyes widening and jaw dropping. But she was allowed only a moment to stare at the large hulking form of the one time lover and partner in crime before the shots and shouting of the now remaining two mercs giving chase to her came ripping through the tense sphere.

Riddick watched as she glanced over her shoulder with a snarl on her pale and dried lips, her eyes puffy and tiredness seeping from off of her bleeding and exhausted form. He noted that flare of defiance that he had found so alluring in the first place shift into her gaze as she turned towards him once more, straightening out and squaring her shoulders. A wrinkle came to her nose and he was certain that she had pushed passed any and all knowing she had of him and was now just staring at him as someone that was in her way towards her own respective freedom. And from the looks of it he held hers in the balance, just as she held his. Both of them needed to move and get the fuck out of here if they wanted to get anywhere near away from their selective captors.

“Move,” her voice was low and commanding and Riddick bristled at being told what to do.

Crossing his thick arms he cocked his head to the side, a cocky sneer coming over his features. He could almost feel her anger, could smell her rancor and frustration, before stating stoutly. “You move; you’re in my way princess.”

George scoffed before clenching her fists and narrowing her gaze at him. He could hear the necromongers catching up, could taste their rancid stink they brought with them thick in the atmosphere of a pleasant planet, and he found his own annoyance rising. Watching as the woman before him rolled her neck, cracking several bones in the process, he wondered if the violence he could sense around her was really directed at him.

George narrowed her gaze once more on the man she had thought she had left from her life three or so years ago with bordering hatred. Any and all rational thought went blowing out of her head and the sting of the merc wound in her shoulder as well as the few cuts the one that she had killed mere minutes after the first reminded her just why Riddick was in her black book. There was a strong, strong possibility he was responsible for her being captured in the first place. Not to mention his being here, oh yea, it was far too coincidental.

Pointing an accusing finger at him she snarled out in a low voice, “You posted a six million cred bounty on my head you fucking ass…”

This made Riddick raise his eyebrows but he didn’t have long to reveal in his shock before the red head launched herself at him with two long, wicked looking daggers glimmering in her hands. This was far from how he had ever pictured the possible reunion between him and the woman killer.