To Each His Own - chapter 1
May. 12th, 2008 06:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tirsden|| To Each His Own :: Chapter 1 ||
A Chronicles of Riddick movie universe fanfiction.
Warning: Contains mature subjects, language, etc. Read at own risk. This is a slash-fic (male/male pairing) but the hardcore stuff has been left to the imagination. It is also implied that this happens sometime after the movie series, post-Necromonger whatever happens in the films that aren't out yet. I have assumed that Riddick would do a Conan-ish thing, going back to his old life instead of ruling the known universe, having somehow convinced the Necros to go mind their own business.
----------------------------------------
Ashe followed the other men, winding his way through shadowy passageways and around sparking, open electrical circuits. This place was a deathtrap all on its own; the whole situation stunk. But they were here for Texan. It was the only reason Ashe had joined these creeps. A distinct feeling of unease had settled in the pit of the wiry Asian's stomach. Something didn't feel right about this... and at 5'2" he was the shortest member of the party. Whether anyone here wanted to admit it or not, he was easily the most dangerous of the group. But at the moment he felt rather conspicuous.
The mercenary leader, Garret, was up front snickering over some secret joke with his closest ally, a pot-head everybody just called Weed. Three more men were spread out along the corridor between with enough room to maneuver comfortably: Caine, Herman, and Ferris. Ashe brought up the rear. He preferred that position in company such as this. If things went south, he'd run and save his own neck. Very little escaped his honed senses, so trouble should strike elsewhere in the column. And Ashe held no allegiance to these pricks. They were simply a means to an end.
Progress halted around a bend, and Ashe moved forward to see what was the matter. The passage opened into a large room, the far end leading up through various debris into a partially collapsed hallway. But on the floor in the middle of the room lay a corpse, throat slashed and bled out, the dark red pool still shining... wet.
"It's a warning," growled Caine, edging away from the body and pointing his gun at random shadows.
"It means he's close," said Garret as he stooped down to prod the corpse. "And he's getting cocky."
Ferris shook his head, smirking. "Told Lester not to go this one alone. Guy never learns."
"No more lessons, eh?" laughed Weed.
Ashe stopped staring at the dead man and glared at Garret. Now he knew what was wrong here. Texan didn't kill like this. Ashe recognized the style, the precise cut, the neat and simple yet utterly final death. The only part wrong with the picture was that the body hadn't been hidden. It was definitely a message. They were hunting the one person Ashe had refused to go after. The biggest bounty in the galaxy. And the way everyone else was acting, they knew. Garret just stood there like the ass he was, looking pleased with himself for God knew what reason.
"This is bullshit, Garret." Ashe took a step backwards. "I said, 'No Riddick'... You said we were doing Texan. This is not Texan. It's him and you knew it all along."
"Shut your whiny, bitch-ass mouth," shot Garret. "You'll get paid just as good as the rest."
"You're crazy," Ashe hissed. "Fucking crazy." He kept backing up, ready to turn and flee. Whether these idiots cared or not, Ashe wasn't about to go after the most infamous killer in the galaxy.
"Fuckin' ex-cons," sneered Caine. "They always go south on ya."
Ashe did turn and run then, but it was too late. Caine leveled a tranq gun at his back and an electrifying moment later he sprawled dazed on the ground. The shooter kicked him in the gut for good measure, adding injury to insult. Reality skipped by Ashe for a moment.
"Dope him up!" Garret cackled, and Caine complied with a syringe of chemicals much more toxic than a stun gun. Garret pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt as Ashe was dragged to a metal pipe curving out a nearby wall. Once the fading man was secured, the merc leader slapped him on the face, smirking as he sneered, "We'll come back for you later." As darkness took Ashe he knew exactly what Garret's tone implied; he didn't need to hear the ensuing laughter or see the arm-punching as the mercs skulked off after their leader.
Ex-con. Riddick peered down from the ledge high above as the mercs cleared out below him. Interesting. It didn't really explain why the guy in handcuffs had refused to hunt the Furyan. Maybe this one had a shred of honor, but most cons and ex-cons didn't. It was much more likely this guy knew Riddick by reputation. But the fallen man had balked at the kill site, not before or after. Perhaps their paths had actually crossed at some point. Very interesting.
Riddick had work to do before he could satisfy his curiosity; the captive wasn't going anywhere. All six feet of the Furyan's firmly-muscled frame were virtually invisible in the shadows; at the moment he wasn't wearing his trademark black goggles, but they'd be on again soon enough. He slipped quietly into the ventilation duct behind him that would cross ahead of the mercs' trajectory. Time to play.
The elusive killer had led his trackers on a wild goose chase so far-reaching and tangled it would take them hours to get back to where Riddick now crouched beside the drugged former convict. The Furyan lifted the unresponsive face in one hand, noting the feverish temperature of the skin. The careless mercs had come very close to overdosing their victim.
The face certainly was familiar. Striking features of clearly Asian descent brought back a memory from years ago. He'd seen this slender man's impressive use of martial arts during one of the Furyan's infamous prison breaks. Ursa Luna. He didn't know if anyone else had made it out that time. Ashen had a rep, yes, but it wasn't for busting out. It was for his profession before incarceration: assassin for hire, up-and-coming and just hitting potential for legend when the System decided to put its foot down.
So what was this aspiring killer doing with a bunch of mercs? He must have a beef with Texan, a two-bit punk Riddick remembered from another so-called institution of criminal reform. Ashen had spooked when he realized the true target this day. Was it out of fear or respect? Some people thought those concepts similar. Riddick knew better.
The Furyan also knew why he wanted to know the answer to this one's reasoning, and most of the feelings were entirely base. He wasn't sure what else was lurking on the fringes of his psyche, but it would be easy enough to find out exactly what was up with Ashen... and how useful he could be.
Consciousness did not come kindly to Ashe and he let the world spin for a moment. The first thing he noticed beyond how cold the wall and floor were was that his hands were free of the cuffs. He stared groggily at the empty metal things hanging listlessly from the pipe before putting enough thought together to realize he was still in danger. Perhaps more so now. His hazy memory and failing intellect couldn't give him much else to work with, but it was enough to urge movement out of him.
He realized quickly just how much of a mistake that was, but he really didn't have much choice. He fought himself into a standing position as the world reeled, one thought finally surfacing above the tumult. He felt hot. Very hot. He shrugged out of his combat vest, letting it drop without a second thought. He felt a little better, enough to launch himself off the wall and stumble into the nearest passage. The one that led out. He hoped.
A few steps later he had a choice: straight or right. He was having enough trouble staying upright, seeing, that there was nothing left for memory. Right or straight? Left or straight? Which way was "left?" Straight was dark. The other way had light, from something more than the sparking conduit somewhere down the way. He went right. If that was still "right."
Somehow he didn't register the first few steps, finding himself close to the intermittent spurt of electrical shorting. He had barely noticed that when he found himself shoved into an alcove, back to the wall. There was less light here, but it really didn't matter because his entire focus was now on a very small section of reality: his neck, and the blade pressed against it. He didn't need to see to know he had to stay perfectly still or die. He might die anyways. But he fought only his own erratic breathing, not the strong force he barely felt outside that little world, holding him securely in place. The pinch of sharp, cold steel was everything right now.
"You here for me?" growled a voice somewhere outside Ashe's tiny universe. A memory cell fired out there as well.
"No. Never. I wouldn't ever... I'm not stupid..." Had he meant to say all that? Had he said that in the first place? He wasn't honestly sure. The area around his neck was getting fuzzy, and a bit of bright blur came from where he should be getting messages from his eyes. He'd just have to hope the rest of his words went somewhere past his brain. "They promised it wasn't you... Riddick. I hope... I hope you killed them. All of them."
Ashe wasn't sure how long had passed or where the knife (or the blur) had gone to, if it had gone anywhere, when suddenly the world lurched and he was walking. Only because someone was helping him. It was nigh impossible to comprehend all this at once, being as walking seemed a sport taken up by misfit inhabitants from another planet. But he wasn't dead. Which might have been confusing, or intriguing, if such feelings had been available at that moment. Meanwhile he stumbled along, the blur returning at times, disconnected somehow from the floor that was much more uneven than it should have been.
Riddick steered Ashen along a dim passageway as the woozy man asked where they were going for the fourth time. Apparently Ashen had recovered enough to ask basic questions, but short term memory was still shot.
"The ship," Riddick answered again, keeping it simple. He ducked the other man under a low overhang, only to find his burden less than eager to straighten up again. An unhappy moan let the larger man know that the drugs had decided to leave the pain center of Ashen's brain for the moment and remind him of that kick he'd taken earlier. Riddick waited, patient. They had time.
"Uh," said Ashen as he made a valiant and mostly-successful attempt at straightening. "You should disable the tracking system. It's in the... back." The lucid moment passed, but Ashen was moving again with a little encouragement and that was what mattered. Riddick, of course, fully intended to make sure no-one would follow once the ship was good and his. He had no desire for mercenaries on his tail any time soon. It was time to play a different game now.
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Deviation description copy/paste from where this is posted at deviantArt:
| | Chapter 2
Hehee. Welcome to one of my favorite personal fantasies. The original version was nowhere near as complex, and the Ashe/Ashen character, only properly named pretty much as soon as I put pencil to paper on this project, was originally a girl. I like this version much better. xP I also like Ashe very much. The odd part is... that it's hard for me to see who he is on paper. Because I write him very much like what I'd be if I were a hawt Asian guy with killer moves. And evil. But being as I don't fully understand myself... writing a character that's rather me-ish is... a challenge. More so than Shane, who's ended up partly me and partly something else. So yeah... I'm curious to see what people think of Ashe (can you see him?) as the chapters unfold. All... three of them. xD
Riddick (c) Universal / Vivendi
Ashe (c) me
Weapons of choice: inspiration from the Pitch Black / Chronicles of Riddick universe, dirty mind, Wordpad, and LiveJournal's spellchecker
----
Endnote for the LJ version: Since I use this site to spellcheck my deviantArt literature entries, I figure I may as well just unlock the posts here when they're presentable. So there ya go. I hope ya liked it. ^^
A Chronicles of Riddick movie universe fanfiction.
Warning: Contains mature subjects, language, etc. Read at own risk. This is a slash-fic (male/male pairing) but the hardcore stuff has been left to the imagination. It is also implied that this happens sometime after the movie series, post-Necromonger whatever happens in the films that aren't out yet. I have assumed that Riddick would do a Conan-ish thing, going back to his old life instead of ruling the known universe, having somehow convinced the Necros to go mind their own business.
----------------------------------------
Ashe followed the other men, winding his way through shadowy passageways and around sparking, open electrical circuits. This place was a deathtrap all on its own; the whole situation stunk. But they were here for Texan. It was the only reason Ashe had joined these creeps. A distinct feeling of unease had settled in the pit of the wiry Asian's stomach. Something didn't feel right about this... and at 5'2" he was the shortest member of the party. Whether anyone here wanted to admit it or not, he was easily the most dangerous of the group. But at the moment he felt rather conspicuous.
The mercenary leader, Garret, was up front snickering over some secret joke with his closest ally, a pot-head everybody just called Weed. Three more men were spread out along the corridor between with enough room to maneuver comfortably: Caine, Herman, and Ferris. Ashe brought up the rear. He preferred that position in company such as this. If things went south, he'd run and save his own neck. Very little escaped his honed senses, so trouble should strike elsewhere in the column. And Ashe held no allegiance to these pricks. They were simply a means to an end.
Progress halted around a bend, and Ashe moved forward to see what was the matter. The passage opened into a large room, the far end leading up through various debris into a partially collapsed hallway. But on the floor in the middle of the room lay a corpse, throat slashed and bled out, the dark red pool still shining... wet.
"It's a warning," growled Caine, edging away from the body and pointing his gun at random shadows.
"It means he's close," said Garret as he stooped down to prod the corpse. "And he's getting cocky."
Ferris shook his head, smirking. "Told Lester not to go this one alone. Guy never learns."
"No more lessons, eh?" laughed Weed.
Ashe stopped staring at the dead man and glared at Garret. Now he knew what was wrong here. Texan didn't kill like this. Ashe recognized the style, the precise cut, the neat and simple yet utterly final death. The only part wrong with the picture was that the body hadn't been hidden. It was definitely a message. They were hunting the one person Ashe had refused to go after. The biggest bounty in the galaxy. And the way everyone else was acting, they knew. Garret just stood there like the ass he was, looking pleased with himself for God knew what reason.
"This is bullshit, Garret." Ashe took a step backwards. "I said, 'No Riddick'... You said we were doing Texan. This is not Texan. It's him and you knew it all along."
"Shut your whiny, bitch-ass mouth," shot Garret. "You'll get paid just as good as the rest."
"You're crazy," Ashe hissed. "Fucking crazy." He kept backing up, ready to turn and flee. Whether these idiots cared or not, Ashe wasn't about to go after the most infamous killer in the galaxy.
"Fuckin' ex-cons," sneered Caine. "They always go south on ya."
Ashe did turn and run then, but it was too late. Caine leveled a tranq gun at his back and an electrifying moment later he sprawled dazed on the ground. The shooter kicked him in the gut for good measure, adding injury to insult. Reality skipped by Ashe for a moment.
"Dope him up!" Garret cackled, and Caine complied with a syringe of chemicals much more toxic than a stun gun. Garret pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt as Ashe was dragged to a metal pipe curving out a nearby wall. Once the fading man was secured, the merc leader slapped him on the face, smirking as he sneered, "We'll come back for you later." As darkness took Ashe he knew exactly what Garret's tone implied; he didn't need to hear the ensuing laughter or see the arm-punching as the mercs skulked off after their leader.
Ex-con. Riddick peered down from the ledge high above as the mercs cleared out below him. Interesting. It didn't really explain why the guy in handcuffs had refused to hunt the Furyan. Maybe this one had a shred of honor, but most cons and ex-cons didn't. It was much more likely this guy knew Riddick by reputation. But the fallen man had balked at the kill site, not before or after. Perhaps their paths had actually crossed at some point. Very interesting.
Riddick had work to do before he could satisfy his curiosity; the captive wasn't going anywhere. All six feet of the Furyan's firmly-muscled frame were virtually invisible in the shadows; at the moment he wasn't wearing his trademark black goggles, but they'd be on again soon enough. He slipped quietly into the ventilation duct behind him that would cross ahead of the mercs' trajectory. Time to play.
The elusive killer had led his trackers on a wild goose chase so far-reaching and tangled it would take them hours to get back to where Riddick now crouched beside the drugged former convict. The Furyan lifted the unresponsive face in one hand, noting the feverish temperature of the skin. The careless mercs had come very close to overdosing their victim.
The face certainly was familiar. Striking features of clearly Asian descent brought back a memory from years ago. He'd seen this slender man's impressive use of martial arts during one of the Furyan's infamous prison breaks. Ursa Luna. He didn't know if anyone else had made it out that time. Ashen had a rep, yes, but it wasn't for busting out. It was for his profession before incarceration: assassin for hire, up-and-coming and just hitting potential for legend when the System decided to put its foot down.
So what was this aspiring killer doing with a bunch of mercs? He must have a beef with Texan, a two-bit punk Riddick remembered from another so-called institution of criminal reform. Ashen had spooked when he realized the true target this day. Was it out of fear or respect? Some people thought those concepts similar. Riddick knew better.
The Furyan also knew why he wanted to know the answer to this one's reasoning, and most of the feelings were entirely base. He wasn't sure what else was lurking on the fringes of his psyche, but it would be easy enough to find out exactly what was up with Ashen... and how useful he could be.
Consciousness did not come kindly to Ashe and he let the world spin for a moment. The first thing he noticed beyond how cold the wall and floor were was that his hands were free of the cuffs. He stared groggily at the empty metal things hanging listlessly from the pipe before putting enough thought together to realize he was still in danger. Perhaps more so now. His hazy memory and failing intellect couldn't give him much else to work with, but it was enough to urge movement out of him.
He realized quickly just how much of a mistake that was, but he really didn't have much choice. He fought himself into a standing position as the world reeled, one thought finally surfacing above the tumult. He felt hot. Very hot. He shrugged out of his combat vest, letting it drop without a second thought. He felt a little better, enough to launch himself off the wall and stumble into the nearest passage. The one that led out. He hoped.
A few steps later he had a choice: straight or right. He was having enough trouble staying upright, seeing, that there was nothing left for memory. Right or straight? Left or straight? Which way was "left?" Straight was dark. The other way had light, from something more than the sparking conduit somewhere down the way. He went right. If that was still "right."
Somehow he didn't register the first few steps, finding himself close to the intermittent spurt of electrical shorting. He had barely noticed that when he found himself shoved into an alcove, back to the wall. There was less light here, but it really didn't matter because his entire focus was now on a very small section of reality: his neck, and the blade pressed against it. He didn't need to see to know he had to stay perfectly still or die. He might die anyways. But he fought only his own erratic breathing, not the strong force he barely felt outside that little world, holding him securely in place. The pinch of sharp, cold steel was everything right now.
"You here for me?" growled a voice somewhere outside Ashe's tiny universe. A memory cell fired out there as well.
"No. Never. I wouldn't ever... I'm not stupid..." Had he meant to say all that? Had he said that in the first place? He wasn't honestly sure. The area around his neck was getting fuzzy, and a bit of bright blur came from where he should be getting messages from his eyes. He'd just have to hope the rest of his words went somewhere past his brain. "They promised it wasn't you... Riddick. I hope... I hope you killed them. All of them."
Ashe wasn't sure how long had passed or where the knife (or the blur) had gone to, if it had gone anywhere, when suddenly the world lurched and he was walking. Only because someone was helping him. It was nigh impossible to comprehend all this at once, being as walking seemed a sport taken up by misfit inhabitants from another planet. But he wasn't dead. Which might have been confusing, or intriguing, if such feelings had been available at that moment. Meanwhile he stumbled along, the blur returning at times, disconnected somehow from the floor that was much more uneven than it should have been.
Riddick steered Ashen along a dim passageway as the woozy man asked where they were going for the fourth time. Apparently Ashen had recovered enough to ask basic questions, but short term memory was still shot.
"The ship," Riddick answered again, keeping it simple. He ducked the other man under a low overhang, only to find his burden less than eager to straighten up again. An unhappy moan let the larger man know that the drugs had decided to leave the pain center of Ashen's brain for the moment and remind him of that kick he'd taken earlier. Riddick waited, patient. They had time.
"Uh," said Ashen as he made a valiant and mostly-successful attempt at straightening. "You should disable the tracking system. It's in the... back." The lucid moment passed, but Ashen was moving again with a little encouragement and that was what mattered. Riddick, of course, fully intended to make sure no-one would follow once the ship was good and his. He had no desire for mercenaries on his tail any time soon. It was time to play a different game now.
------------------
Deviation description copy/paste from where this is posted at deviantArt:
| | Chapter 2
Hehee. Welcome to one of my favorite personal fantasies. The original version was nowhere near as complex, and the Ashe/Ashen character, only properly named pretty much as soon as I put pencil to paper on this project, was originally a girl. I like this version much better. xP I also like Ashe very much. The odd part is... that it's hard for me to see who he is on paper. Because I write him very much like what I'd be if I were a hawt Asian guy with killer moves. And evil. But being as I don't fully understand myself... writing a character that's rather me-ish is... a challenge. More so than Shane, who's ended up partly me and partly something else. So yeah... I'm curious to see what people think of Ashe (can you see him?) as the chapters unfold. All... three of them. xD
Riddick (c) Universal / Vivendi
Ashe (c) me
Weapons of choice: inspiration from the Pitch Black / Chronicles of Riddick universe, dirty mind, Wordpad, and LiveJournal's spellchecker
----
Endnote for the LJ version: Since I use this site to spellcheck my deviantArt literature entries, I figure I may as well just unlock the posts here when they're presentable. So there ya go. I hope ya liked it. ^^
