Merc's Revenge
folder
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,069
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,069
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.
in the beginning
He calculated the distance and set the course to Lethe then reclined the pilot's seat and lit a cigarette.
"Long way to Tipperary sweetcheeks, maybe we should get some sleep. You can show me what you did to distract that guard when i wake up." He giggled to himself and closed his eyes.
Always smiling.
*******************************
I was there when the Necromongers came and tried to destroy us. I hid beneath the ground in the caves they called shelters and listened to the world crack in half above my head. I was sure I was going to die, that we were all going to die, that I would be somewhere, in some heaven somewhere, telling some soul how I witnessed the end of my world.
But I didn’t. We didn’t. Someone stopped the final explosion, someone stopped our planet from disintegrating. Someone saved my eight year old neighbor’s life. I’ve always wondered who that was.
Once the rumbling stopped, the rebuilding began. We crawled from our caves and saw the sickly yellow sun through green gray dust, filtering over our broken homes. We were pale and thin and poor and it was like cavemen emerging from a dry sea. There was nothing, nowhere to start from.
I was an orphan before all that happened, abandoned at birth for some unknown reason, so afterwards was no different. I wandered the streets of New Mecca, looking for stray artifacts I could sell, money hidden beneath rubble, food, clothes, an empty home. There was no such thing as 'rightful ownership'. There were no licenses or deeds or exchange of money. Squatters rights. I took up residence in a broken down children's dormitory and tried to make it livable, moving rocks and beams into artistic positions, resembling a crude cabin like I’d seen at the vacation resorts. I was always working on it, improving it, trying to make it stronger, more secure from wandering looters and mercs. It was dry. I had three oil lamps and a mattress. I was on my way.
Looking back on the day I met him, I remember that a beam fell from my doorway, glanced across my shoulder, causing me to yelp in pain. A dog across the street looked at me in sympathy. Then there was darkness, like a second of darkness and I was suddenly blinking awake again, and wet.
A man was standing over me, a smile a mile wide, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was pouring water from a black canteen onto my face. His hair was wild, curly, standing away from his head.
“You ok, peaches?”
“I’m…I’m fine. The beam fell,” I said, embarrassed.
I shook the water from my face. If I’d learned one thing while being on my own it was to not reveal a weakness, and not reveal fear. Also, watch out for squirrelly men.
“I don’t think you’re fine, sugar,” he said, looking down at my leg.
The beam had fallen across my thigh and it was swollen and bruised. I could barely feel it. Dark rivulets of blood were ribboning out from beneath the beam. Dust and bits of gravel were sticking to the wound.
“Fuck,” I said, pulling at the heavy wood.
“Stop it,” he said, a bit more angry than compassionate. “Sit still and look at your arm, would you?”
Another swollen, bleeding wound, less severe than the leg, but still dirty and in need of attention. I looked up at this stranger as he pulled the beam away and peered down at me, blowing smoke into my face, stinging my eyes.
“When you eat last?” he asked, poking at the bruise on my thigh, pushing my face from side to side, examining me. He pulled my mouth open with his thumb and looked at my teeth. “You look terrible.”
“I’m fine.”
His smile faded just a bit and he crushed out his cigarette. His voice got low and terrible. Gravelly and frightening. “You’re not fine. But I can help you. Fix this up, give you a bed and food and a whole new life. Heck, I could give you a job. A brush for your goddamn hair if you want it.”
“In exchange for what?”
He grinned, realizing I wasn’t an idiot. Then he stepped away, leaving me a clear path. “Go on, girlie. Get up and walk away from me. Come on now.”
I stood. A lightning bolt of pain ran from my hip to my toe as I swung my right foot forward. I fell and he laughed at me. So much for hiding a weakness.
“If I leave you here girlie, the rats’ll eat ya as slow as can be. What a way to go.”
“I don’t have anything to give you,” I said as he wrapped one arm around my waist and one under my knees. For a gritty street tough, he didn’t smell too bad.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “We’ll see about that.”
"Long way to Tipperary sweetcheeks, maybe we should get some sleep. You can show me what you did to distract that guard when i wake up." He giggled to himself and closed his eyes.
Always smiling.
*******************************
I was there when the Necromongers came and tried to destroy us. I hid beneath the ground in the caves they called shelters and listened to the world crack in half above my head. I was sure I was going to die, that we were all going to die, that I would be somewhere, in some heaven somewhere, telling some soul how I witnessed the end of my world.
But I didn’t. We didn’t. Someone stopped the final explosion, someone stopped our planet from disintegrating. Someone saved my eight year old neighbor’s life. I’ve always wondered who that was.
Once the rumbling stopped, the rebuilding began. We crawled from our caves and saw the sickly yellow sun through green gray dust, filtering over our broken homes. We were pale and thin and poor and it was like cavemen emerging from a dry sea. There was nothing, nowhere to start from.
I was an orphan before all that happened, abandoned at birth for some unknown reason, so afterwards was no different. I wandered the streets of New Mecca, looking for stray artifacts I could sell, money hidden beneath rubble, food, clothes, an empty home. There was no such thing as 'rightful ownership'. There were no licenses or deeds or exchange of money. Squatters rights. I took up residence in a broken down children's dormitory and tried to make it livable, moving rocks and beams into artistic positions, resembling a crude cabin like I’d seen at the vacation resorts. I was always working on it, improving it, trying to make it stronger, more secure from wandering looters and mercs. It was dry. I had three oil lamps and a mattress. I was on my way.
Looking back on the day I met him, I remember that a beam fell from my doorway, glanced across my shoulder, causing me to yelp in pain. A dog across the street looked at me in sympathy. Then there was darkness, like a second of darkness and I was suddenly blinking awake again, and wet.
A man was standing over me, a smile a mile wide, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was pouring water from a black canteen onto my face. His hair was wild, curly, standing away from his head.
“You ok, peaches?”
“I’m…I’m fine. The beam fell,” I said, embarrassed.
I shook the water from my face. If I’d learned one thing while being on my own it was to not reveal a weakness, and not reveal fear. Also, watch out for squirrelly men.
“I don’t think you’re fine, sugar,” he said, looking down at my leg.
The beam had fallen across my thigh and it was swollen and bruised. I could barely feel it. Dark rivulets of blood were ribboning out from beneath the beam. Dust and bits of gravel were sticking to the wound.
“Fuck,” I said, pulling at the heavy wood.
“Stop it,” he said, a bit more angry than compassionate. “Sit still and look at your arm, would you?”
Another swollen, bleeding wound, less severe than the leg, but still dirty and in need of attention. I looked up at this stranger as he pulled the beam away and peered down at me, blowing smoke into my face, stinging my eyes.
“When you eat last?” he asked, poking at the bruise on my thigh, pushing my face from side to side, examining me. He pulled my mouth open with his thumb and looked at my teeth. “You look terrible.”
“I’m fine.”
His smile faded just a bit and he crushed out his cigarette. His voice got low and terrible. Gravelly and frightening. “You’re not fine. But I can help you. Fix this up, give you a bed and food and a whole new life. Heck, I could give you a job. A brush for your goddamn hair if you want it.”
“In exchange for what?”
He grinned, realizing I wasn’t an idiot. Then he stepped away, leaving me a clear path. “Go on, girlie. Get up and walk away from me. Come on now.”
I stood. A lightning bolt of pain ran from my hip to my toe as I swung my right foot forward. I fell and he laughed at me. So much for hiding a weakness.
“If I leave you here girlie, the rats’ll eat ya as slow as can be. What a way to go.”
“I don’t have anything to give you,” I said as he wrapped one arm around my waist and one under my knees. For a gritty street tough, he didn’t smell too bad.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “We’ll see about that.”