Pitch Black II; Obscure Anticipation
Summary: This story takes place after the movie Pitch Black.
Notes: ****** is the changing of scenes and ------- is switching off to the past/remembering.
Chapter 1/Prologue; Sweet dreams
The heavy metal floor clinked with her high heels The music flared in her soul, the full wrath of the metal in her ears. The dagger in her hand fuelled by the bitterness that she so vilely harvested for a single man. This ..that.......High heels....
-"Excuse me, where's the restroom?"
Might as well go now and change...to kill a man. Her lips moved in the familiarity of the song. It now belonged to her bloody past, not to her present project.
As soon as she got into that damned ladies place she locked herself up and pulled out her make up kit. A beautiful creature emerged from with under the make up. Just to be replaced again by another mask. An oriental look, with a geisha mask in the unusual colours of today. She put the fiery red wig on her head, the brown one lay in the trash. Peeling of her present clothes, indulging in the flashy colours that she so rarely allowed herself. Skin tight. Now she was leaning in looks more towards being a 100-dollar hooker instead of the 10-dollar shit she'd walked in as.
No freaggin hope for the shit she was gonna flush down the toilet. Cracking the heels of her shoes, piecing together a gun, using variable objects from her classy body decoration to piece it together. Idiotic metal detectors.
She rushed right out, having caught her target. The heavy music clashed back on her. Not bothering to look at those who stared at a girl and her gun, just going to kill him. One fucking shot and then walk right out.
The fucker would be finished like the rest of the world.
The aim perfect...the bastard would pay. A red black hole in the middle
of his forehead as he stared at the intensely familiar girl. She ran...the
crowd insane...through the window. Running.
Turn wig. Taking the wig. Running. Turning it over. Breathing. Running.
Putting it back on. Blonde... running. Run, sirens starting to scream. Run
in the dark.... street lights.... street lights out ...a gunshot lingering
in the air, powder burn on her hands. Another shot... the darkest ally and
her clothes ripped off with her own nails. The makeup... Smear it off. The
makeup smeared off… running. Easy shit. Adrenalin, the thrill of life...
A torn little hooker arrived at her new corner when the police sirens reached the place. No one would look twice at a ten dollar hooker that looked like a bad customer had fucked her up, big time, real bad.
A breath on her neck awoke the few senses the adrenalin left alive.
-"Skylar."
Arms encircling around her insanely thin waist and the six-pack of her belly.
-"Damien Macy...I didn't think you were gonna show up"
Her mind not on the man behind her, more like, on the fact that a man laid
dead and bleeding only few minutes away. But dead...for raping the wrong
child...sicko, deserved to die...slowly...
But instead he'd gotten a fast death. The chill of a useless memory passed
her. Him, that cursed man, the one she had once thought of as a family friend,
now as the darkest demon ever given birth to by mankind.
His staff trapping her feet...he'd deserved that.
-"Feeling any better...Macy?"
He squeezed her harshly as his lips, brushing against her ear, spoke angrily.
-"I don't know, how would you feel when someone blows your leg into shit?"
-"Just fine, just as long as I didn't do it myself."
Volatile, throwing the odd creature out of his embrace, ripping the wig of her, revealing her very short dirty blond hair. His eyes dwelling on her for quiet some time. Not on her figure, but on her blue eyes.
-"You shouldn't wear these contacts."
-"Fuck you Macy."
His thick lips curled in a smile under the dead streetlight
-"With pleasure."
-"It's gonna cost you."
-"But you look like a fucked over thirteen dollar whore."
The wall kissing her back, cold brick of a dying building. Lips, since when were his lips so damn hot, burning.
-"You're lips are too hot."
-"So what?"
A murmur, one of complete carelessness. Her hand laying on his forehead.... a bullet through a man's forehead.
-"Shit, man, you're burning."
-"And?"
-"You're sick you fucker, it's too cold out here for you."
He smiled, the smug asshole smiled!
-"What about you and you're skinny white ass, you're wearing a swimming suit."
-"I'm on my way home, so are you."
He took his coat off, putting it around the zombie's shoulders.
-"No objections to that...I was merely going to meet you half way and escort you home."
A look of annoyance passed her colourless lips.
-"Really, after you got yourself a piece of ass?"
He swung her around, jubilant. Why the fuck was he being so happy tonight?
-"You're completely out of your mind Macy."
-"Why, of course I am, I'm a renown 'serial killer'."
She gave him another annoyed look.
-"Jackass."
The subway. The punks, the hitting on and Macy slicing punk throats. Skylar sitting reading a magazine
Blood splattered.
-"Fuck, can't you at least be clean?"
He sat down, knelt before her. Braids falling down as he loosened his waist long hair
-"I'm messy, you know that."
-"Yeah, I do."
The doors. Macy following her in and grabbing her.
-"What are you doing!?"
Furious voice yelling at him.
-"Do I have to freaggin knock you over?"
He just smiled.
-"Is this all about you being horny?"
He sat down by the kitchen table, his staff leaning on it as well. Her eyes, her looks... the unusual being he.....And that look meant hostility and worry. The last thing to do would be to run that pretty little pixie into an anxiety attack.
Rising, taking the staff
-"All right, I'll go to bed."
A smile, this time on her lips.
-"Finally."
He rambled around in the bathroom. A shower, she should have known. The bathroom doors opening, into the bedroom. Her eyes closing. Devious. Walking, flashes, opening doors. Macy lying in bed probably naked.
Her clothes ripped off by her own hands, crawling up into the bed, lying beside him. Gentle but firm.
-"I really need some sleep Skylar."
-"I'll sleep with you...I always do."
He turned around, staring at the now utterly black eyes.
-"All I can think about is fucking you right now...I need sleep."
-"Is exhaustion stopping you from fucking?"
He smiled, she smiled. No. That was the end of that....He was asleep......
The insignificant memory passed through her cold bones. A man lay dead beneath her, his throat sliced. Running her bloodied hand over her face and through her hair, leaving a red streak. Staring down... Sure...the fucker was dead. Soon, other fuckers would be as well. Just the first asshole in the row. Her lips curled in a vicious smile as she paced away, leaving the man, eyes open, staring at the horror.
-"I gotta find her… She's the only one who can...."
The more human part of her argued her animal side
-"But she's just a kid."
The demon promptly replied as her feet trashed the rain-wet ground
-"Well, you were just a kid too...and look at what you've accomplished"
-"She can't do it.... You can't send her back for your own selfish reasons...SHE´S A FUCKIN´ KID!"
Tugging the shiv away, biting her lip. Yes, Macy would be sleeping now,
or maybe not...all depended.....Pain crashed through her odd looking soul.
Being alone......it didn't really hurt. But, oh god, it did hurt knowing
that loved ones, few of them, two of them, were out there and no one to
protect'em. Had the unknown psychotic assassin known other wise she would
have laughed....
Chapter 2; Face of addiction
This happened about three years after the prologue....and blah. Figure out the rest.
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Jack's music pounded the roof and filled the air, it was her favourite song. Skylar's favourite song echoed. Skin and maxims, calm and queasy.
Her eyes closed and her shoulder length hair moving with the rest of her. Subtle movements, curves bend. Anger and filth covering her name, her face, her mind.
Riddick wasn't home. Probably out somewhere, killing someone.
Living with him was ok, kind of fun too. He, at least, was more of a human than most men she'd encountered. He treated her like an intellectual person, cared about her, taught her things. However, she did surprise him a little... with the things she knew. Sure, the pocket theft was no freaggin surprise, but that she knew how to kill in 14 different ways on top of her head came as a surprise, even to herself.
Skylar, ...she'd taught her all sorts of shit, all, all sorts of shit through her digital letters. Jack's anger began to stretch into more turbulent movements. Brown eyes staring at the conflicted world around her form.
They were living in place for bad people, ironically it was the safest place. By now people knew that messing with the Michaels, as they called themselves, was a death sentence. She remembered that man, who'd tried to rape her once, a so very cloudy day.
Three days later he was found, in pieces, his arms had literally been cut of his body.
Three years.
-"I'll be turning eighteen"
She whispered to herself, deep in thought. Sitting down on her bed, the same song playing over and over. The image of Skylar and her friend killing dad. The memory chilling through her young soul.
How in fuck could she still feel that way? Pain searing through her so intensely. She'd just read a message from her older sister.
Something about her boyfriend coming back soon.... something about kicking Riddick in the balls if he were fucking her, …Or was it weren't.....? Something indicating that she'd gone over the edge.
Again.
Something about New Year...meeting...at a club...somewhere.
The bitch didn't even mention where...Skylar gone crazy. Skylar, crazy.
Heavy thoughts dyed her face with misery. No matter how much she hated Skylar and Macy, she still couldn't help but feel the pang of pain when she read her sister's letters. The pain knowing that Skylar soon would visit the thousand hells of insanity
*just like me, soon*.
Soon.
The cravings within her exploding in her brain cells. The money for the electricity bill, and the liquor store on the corner. That would get her mind of Skylar.
***********************************
Crazy kid
Rebellious teenager
Troublesome girl
In the way.
Somehow, not a little sister.
One might think that Riddick would start to care for Jack as a sibling. But no. Sure, he loved the kid, just not in that way. Which was....bothering.
The bloodied knife resting within his jacket. The people hadn't had a clue, or a chance.
Drug dealers.
A nice sum of money, from the surviving rivals, in his other pocket. Clean cut and dirty.
Very satisfied with his kill Riddick strolled along, his mind roaming over many things. Some trivial, other's of greater importance. Such as Jack's approaching eighteenth birthday and how stubborn she'd become. Not just rebellious, but pure outright difficult.
Sarcasm woke in his thoughts. Maybe Imam had known that she'd grow into a real pain and decided to dump her on a multi murderer?
Silvery eyes stared into blackness covered with incredible colours and a single, moving form. His eyes following it with interest, it was obviously hiding from him.
A mere thief?
No. No thief moved like that, …like a cat with some rather rigid movements.
A drug addict?
No fucking way, those wouldn't have such preciseness in their stalking.
A female.
A rather delicate female. Couldn't be Jack, this one was slightly taller and Jack's movements were softer.
Perfume caught his senses, interestingly familiar, a flash of Jack's smile crossed his mind. First an unknown whisper.
Then.
-"Riddick"
The ghost of a dead girl stared at him. His jaws locked, a dead girl. A single blink of an eye.
Gone.
Shaking the vision of his broad shoulders, wondering if his mentality were slipping, again.
The doors gave in softly to his palm. The apartment completely dark, …perhaps because they didn't have electricity.
Damn it Jack.
He didn't give much care for the light, never had, never would, but food and such were a different thing.
He clearly saw her out faded form, leaning over the kitchen table. Already he smelled the alcohol in the air. Dead drunk. The vodka bottle empty and the glass splattered over the ground. So the kid had gone and bought vodka instead of paying the fucking bill.
-"Jack"
He shook her shoulder, doubting that she was conscious at all. Naturally, no real response, just her sleep drowned voice, exhausted.
-"Fuckh you"
-"Damn it kid, you just had to go and get drunk."
Pulling her up, forcing her to stand into her tooth pick feet that constantly kept on folding on their way to her bedroom. He dumped her on the bed then slowly pulled her dirty boots off.
Her skin under his fingers, so incredibly smooth. He smiled, and then hissed at himself in sarcasm. Standing up, and going back out.
-"Riddick?"
Her voice a little clearer, oh, what a perfect time to sober up.
-"I need to...can you tell...ah...fuck it"
Jack surrendered to sleep as Richard B. Riddick went back out.
To kill people, to serve his appetite.
Sensing his own heartbeat in his head, all caused by her innocent face. How he hated that feeling. Hated wanting to destroy the only thing that kept him amongst humanity.
-----------------------------
Remembering.........
-"Got you!"
-"Fuck you!"
-"What are you doing?"
-"Looking at stuff."
-"What sorta stuff?"
-"Nothing much, serial killers, famous criminals, general psychos."
-"Yuck!"
-"Oh really. You don't say…, You should see some of these pictures. They'd make you stay up for weeks."
-"Then why are you lookin' at 'em?"
-"Don't you ever shut up?"
Big brown wounded eyes stared up into the pitch black ones above her.
-"Sorry Jack, I'm just wondering what makes killers tick, that's all."
-"Dad's right, you're kinky."
The blackness filled with hate.
-"Daddy is right"
Filth, so damn dirty and pure, her little sister's words.
-----------------------------------
Cleaning her gun calmly. No need to hurry, not gonna die just yet.
*Not until HE is dead*
-"Fucking dead bastards."
In jail. Ironic how that, just that, saved the asshole. Filling her very so vicious home made gun up with very so nasty bullets.
-"Just have to get her...convince her... Hope Riddick won't chew my guts out, and then get Macy. Get the freaking codes, which Macy has, and find the damn place, which the old fucker knows where it is,… Which means we need to get him... after that...."
Doors closed, a white 3o year old male walked in from the bathroom, only a grey towel covering his dickheaded waist. Surprise on his face. Concern in his sky blue eyes.
-"Hun, that's a gun, you really should put it down."
She loaded it, smiled.
-"Oh really?"
The man's face turned into that of a petrified creature, like most of her victims, just before she blew their brains out. And she did just that.
She didn't bother to clean up the mess her former husband left behind.
All she needed was to find her.
Her
Her
Him.
Pulling her short blond hair into a sleek ponytail, staring into the mirror.
-"I need to eat more."
At that she stepped over the bleeding body and left the building, leaving footprints of blood behind her.
Time for a family reunion.