Killer Instincts

[Full disclaimers on Chapter 1, but to summarise, Riddick/Pitch Black/Chronicles characters and places = not mine. Cat/the Pack/other various original characters = mine.]

She moved languidly, unconcerned with the increasing distance between Amos and herself. Fairly purring, Cat stretched and twisted her body in anticipation. His scent was strong, wafting on the air and filling her nostrils. No matter where he went now, she would find him. Behind her, she casually dragged the prone body of Buzz, one hand wrapped around his thick ankle.

Instinct told her where Amos would go, the flight instinct of the frightened and stupid dictated he would return to the ship. The remainder of Buzz Cut’s crew had already returned to their ship in the anchorage on his orders. That suited her just fine. Not only would she reclaim Riddick, a prize she had rightfully claimed as her own to begin with, but she’d have the much anticipated opportunity to seize the mercs’ ship in the process. The instant they were incapacitated, she would take what she wanted and finally have her method of returning home.

Strolling past Crash’s abandoned ship, already catching the eye of various looters and convicts in need of a place to lay low, Cat moved deeper into the anchorage. This was more like it. These ships were far more sturdy in appearance than Crash’s vehicle, far more suited to Cat’s needs. Expertly stalking her prey, the prototype Hunter followed Amos’s fear laced scent to a berth near the front of the bay, indicating they hadn’t really been on the planet long. It worked for her, less to manoeuvre around when it came time to leave. “Well now,” she cooed to the unconscious Buzz, “How did you come by such a homey little ship? I’m thinking perhaps you’re not quite on the level, are you young man?”

It almost irritated her that he wasn’t awake to appreciate the condescending tone. It rather lost something in the translation when she ended up wasting the effort on herself. No matter, she’d have a captive audience all too soon. Propping her slightly drooling new toy up against the raised ramp of an unoccupied skiff, Cat shook her head with disdain. “You are so gross,” she told him before abandoning him for a better vantage point. Crouching down, she readied every muscle in her body. One swift, calculated moment later and she was atop the small vessel, flattening herself against it’s exterior.

From her vantage point, Cat watched Amos’s frantic retelling of Cat’s twisted ‘game’. The remaining five, locked in a tight circle around the still bound Riddick, were slow to believe the tale. It was a ludicrous thing to have to try and take in. A slight looking, little bit of a woman, there was little about Cat’s first impression which suggested she was anything but all talk. Posturing was the name of the game amongst mercs. They were tough, in their line of work they had to be, but Cat was female. To believe she had bested both Buzz and Amos was night impossible.

Using their uncertainty to her advantage, Cat moved on her perch just enough to draw Riddick’s attention. It was all but impossible tot tell where his focus lay behind those goggles, but she knew he was aware of her presence. His head rose a fraction, muscles tensing ever so slightly in anticipation. Cat was about to make her move, and Riddick was ready.

Satisfied, Cat rose to her full height, hips akimbo as she looked down on the small but capable group. “Hello, boys, miss me?” she asked, grinning maniacally as Amos’s eyes grew wide with fright. She could smell the stench of fear and sweat on his already dirt covered body. It was repugnant, yet it called to the beast which shared Cat’s psyche and body. With lightning speed, she rolled forward, planting the palms of both hands on the cold surface of the skiff. Pushing off with her feet, she catapulted herself off the vessel, practically floating down to the floor where she landed in a low crouch.

All eyes were on Cat now, each and every merc had moved forward to form a line between her and their ship. Just as she had anticipated. Riddick waited until he was absolutely certain the focus of his current captors lay firmly on that of his former one. Raising his arms behind his back slowly, not desiring to draw any unnecessary attention to himself again, he focussed on what he knew he was going to have to accomplish if he was going to get in on what he suspected was about to occur. This was a useful, though rather painful truth be told, trick he’d used before. A few moments of pain for an undetermined span of freedom. It was worth it. A good trade off. Dislocating both shoulders simultaneously, Riddick brought his bound hands up over his head. He bit back a grunt as his abused shoulders slid back into their sockets.

Pacing back and forth in front of the six men, Cat threw taunts liberally, working them into a frenzy. They were ready for blood now, ready to silence her for good and take their prize to the nearest Slam. All but Amos were counting their credits already. Amos knew better, his broken arm was testimony enough for him. She was bad news, and she wasn’t going to fold. Thank goodness Riddick was out of commission, he thought briefly.

That slight comfort was ripped away as the convict lunged for the closest merc, slamming into him with the force of a runaway freight train. They both went down, but Riddick was rolling to his feet as soon as they’d hit the cold concrete. The merc didn’t. He lay there, moaning as one hand moved to his head. It came away bloody, and the merc stared at it, confusion clouding his eyes before he passed out completely.

“Like it,” Cat said approvingly. She looked to his bonds, her right eyebrow rising to a perfect arch. “I cut you loose, you going to play nice?”

“No,” he answered with no hesitation what-so-ever.

Cat laughed. “Good.” Knowing the remaining mercenaries wouldn’t stay stunned long, Cat moved toward Riddick, bending as she moved to scoop up the fallen man’s big Bowie knife as she passed him. Slicing through the cable, Cat grinned, flipping it in her hand so that the blade rested on her palm, handle toward Riddick, tempting him to reach out and take it. “Weapon of choice, I believe,” she said, knowing very well he had a certain fondness for blades of all kinds.

Taking it from Cat’s hand, Riddick looked the knife over with real appreciation. Shifting his focus back to the mercenaries, he assessed the situation, knowing instantly he could take them without any real difficulty. Ready for the main event, he glanced at Cat. “You wanna play?” he asked, that smooth, deep voice of his equally as appealing as the words themselves.

Head tilting downward almost seductively, Cat nodded. “Oh yeah.”

As one, the two killers turned to face the oncoming mercs. Cat was eager to see if Furyan males were everything the tales made them out to be. Fierce. Strong. Unforgiving in battle. Much like Cat herself. She found she wasn’t disappointed, watching the blade of Riddick’s new weapon sink into the soft gut of the first assailant. Ripping it sideways, he gutted the man with ease, not even sparing him a second glance as he fell to the ground. No, his eyes were already focussed on the next in line.

Two men came after Cat, feeling she was the weak link, even now. Slamming her fist into the face of one, she spun around and kicked the other sharply in the chest, sending him sprawling. Roaring with absolute pleasure, she turned back to the man she had slugged, grabbing him firmly by his ears. She looked him in the eye and, voice little more than a harsh growl now, said, “The ship. Open it. Now.”

The merc stuttered, hands grabbing at her wrists to relieve the stress on his surely damaged ears. He could feel the claws digging into his flesh, and feared she was going to sever them completely. “I... I can’t,” he whimpered, “Only Ronco knows the code, I swear!”

“Liar!” she snapped. “Open it, or the last thing you ever hear will be me, detailing each and every misery I intend to visit upon your waste of flesh.”

“Please! I can’t! He’ll kill me, lady!”

“So will I.” Bringing his head downward with one hard yank, Cat brought her knee up at the same time, catching him square in the nose. Releasing him as contact was made, he bounced back, only to be thrown to the floor with a swift kick to the side of the head.

Dropping another mercenary, Riddick paused a moment to watch Cat beat what she wanted out of the young man. She had skill, knew how to get what she wanted. He admired that. Who wouldn’t? Snapping the neck of the greasy merc foolish enough to charge him, Riddick growled down at the now lifeless corpse, focus brought back to his own fight. Only Amos and another, larger merc were left now, and Amos... well, he wasn’t going to be putting up much of a fight. Had it been him, he’d have gotten the information desired out of that one. That one already had the fear. Didn’t need breaking a second time. Cat, however, seemed intent on doing everything the hard way. “Just you and me,” the bronzed convict said smoothly, taking up a stance that suggested he was entirely ready for anything the merc could possibly throw his way. He waited, knowing the merc would attack first, giving Riddick all the time he needed to read the only slightly smaller man like an open book. Sooner or later, they always gave away their weakness. Sometimes it was weaker balance on a certain side, sometimes it wasn’t so subtle. He’d met mercs who couldn’t take in their own grandmas, let alone an escaped convict.

Tall and broad, bearing plenty of muscle, this guy wasn’t one of those mercs. This guy knew what he was doing. “Killing you would half my cut, boy,” he told Riddick, information he was sure the convict already knew. “So you come on real quite like, you hear?”

“I hear,” Riddick answered, a faint smirk on his lips. His tone made it perfectly clear he had no intention of complying, however. Readying himself, he gripped his blade tighter in his hand, waiting with infinite patience for the merc to make his move. When he did, Riddick was ready for him, holding his ground as the attack came. Blow for blow he fended the mercenary off, holding his ground and taking control of the skirmish inch by inch. The merc’s mistake came sooner than Riddick had imagined, for a man who had put so much effort into the initial attack. Pulling his arm back to strike, the big man left himself wide open, and Riddick went in for the kill, sliding his blade across his throat before the merc could even register what had just happened.

Easing back, Riddick took a deep breath. Three were now dead by his hand. Three more to add to the ever increasing total he was racking up. He wasn’t the big bad wolf the mercs made him out to be, didn’t kill unless provoked. Not unless his life, or the life of one of the very few he had ever even partially cared for, was at stake. It was a way of life, survival of the fittest. In Riddick’s world, kill or be killed was more than a corporate slogan.

Taking note of the movement behind him, Riddick spun around, finding the merc Cat had kicked in the chest standing behind him, gun raised and ready to fire. He didn’t look phased in the slightest by the turn in fortune. He’d been faced with worse.

“Hey! This yours?” Cat called, throwing her favoured victim into the armed mercenary. “That one’s no fun. Broken,” she pouted, approaching with swaying hips. Grabbing the poor young man by the front of his shirt, she hauled him up one final time, shaking her head. “They just don’t make them like they used to, do they Buzz?”

Buzz, who’s name, apparently, was actually Ronco, was finally awake. He glared at Cat, leaning on the skiff for support. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he said thickly, producing a pulse weapon from where it had been wedged under his belt.

Rather than frightening her, the sight of the high tech weapon only enraged the woman in black leather. “I’m bored with you, too,” she hissed. Her lip was twitching, eyes flashing dangerously as she hurled the young merc away from her again, straight into the hull of the skiff. Her features and body began to twist and contort until the small woman was replaced by the largest animal of it’s kind Buzz had ever seen.

The beast was covered in soft, coal black fur which covered taunt, well defined muscles. It initially appeared to be some sort of feline, standing a good five foot at the shoulder, and while it also possessed features that were undoubtedly canine, the creature was most certainly neither. It’s neck was longer than a feline’s, offering a far easier time in seeing what was coming from behind. The muzzle, too, was longer and more canine, housing a mouthful of incredibly sharp looking teeth. The ears were feline, with white tufts of hair at the tips of each, and they moved constantly, never missing a thing.

A thick, whip-like tail lashed back and forth behind the predator as she advanced on Buzz, a starved look in it’s white eyes. It moved on long, thin legs with the grace only a feline could muster, managing speed that had Buzz stumbling backward when it attacked. Tripping over his fallen subordinate, he yet again found himself on the ground. The animal was upon him in a heartbeat, though he was certain his had already stopped, even as he made a vain attempt to fend the creature off.

Slicing at him with razor sharp claws, the beast went for the throat the second Buzz’s attention was drawn to the deep lacerations along his forearm. It was over in seconds. One scream was all Buzz had time for, and then he fell silent. All that was heard for a long, tense moment afterward was the victory roar of the five foot animal standing on the dead man’s chest.

Riddick wasn’t sure what to make of this new development. The animal was wild, potentially unpredictable. The possible scenarios which could follow played through his head, and he took a defensive stance, prepared for an attack if it came. Instead of attacking, however, the big animal stepped down off Buzz’s body, yawned, and sauntered past Riddick to where a now almost catatonic Amos still stood. It met the merc’s gaze, it’s own eyes narrowed as it growled, long and low. “I think she wants to go inside,” Riddick told the man.

Quivering all over, Amos nodded frantically. “Sure, inside... sure.” He turned to the ship, punching in the code which would lower the ramp and allow them access. Amos entered the wrong code three times before he regained enough control of his quaking fingers to hit the right keys. “Don’t eat me,” he muttered over and over, “Please don’t eat me.”

The animal growled again, pushing past Amos as the ramp descended. She made her way up, far more satisfied with the upkeep on this vessel than she had been with that of the last. It was untidy, but at least it was clean. Purring loudly, it moved deeper into the ship, leaving Amos forgotten in the anchorage with Riddick.

Certain he was going to be physically ill, Amos eyed up the convict. “Make it quick,” he said, closing his eyes tight. They were still clenched when he heard the ramp begin to rise, and he opened one a fraction, experimentally. Riddick was gone, and the ship was being prepped. The pilot backed away, unable to believe his luck. They’d never make it anywhere without the flight codes. Wait... that was a bad thing. Turning on his heels, his good arm clutching his broken one securely, Amos ran, and nothing in the world was about to make him look back.