Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Black nor its characters. This story is a re-telling of the plot with an OMC added and a little more detail added to the movie's plot. This story was derived from the movie Pitch Black as well as copy of a rough draft version of the script. I haven't read the books, heard they weren't that great, but will probably read them eventually anyway. This is strictly non-profit fun. Thanks.

A/N: Please read and review. Needs a lot of work, so any input is helpful. This is just the first chapter, more to follow if anyone likes it. Will turn into a slash fiction later, haven't figured out how graphic though. I'll be sure to mark the chapters that contain any slash. Thank you.

"They say most of your brain shuts down in cryo-sleep, all but the primitive side, the animal side. No wonder I'm still awake. Transportin' me with civilians, sounded like forty, forty-plus. Heard an Arab voice, some hoodoo holy man. Probably on his way to New Mecca. But what route? What route? Smelled a woman, sweat, boots, tool belt, leather, prospector type. Free settlers. And they only take the back roads. Tasted some steel, a lot of steel. Some assassin carryin' more fangs than one could count. But why would he be on a ship like this? And here's my real problem, Mr. Johns. Blue eyed devil. Plannin' on takin' me back to slam. Only this time he picked the ghost lane. A long time between stops. A long time for somethin' to go wrong."

Carolyn Fry's sea blue eyes slowly cracked open and took in the view in front. Everything shook, limiting her focus. She barely made out the words running across the screen on her cryo-sleep locker, "Hull Breach". Her eyes sprung wide once the message reached her brain. She gave a quick sigh of relief as she peered out the glass, resting her gaze on the captain's cryo-sleep locker. She slowly lowered her hand to reach the release lever.

PHFUT-PHFUT-PHFUT-PFHUT. Four bits of debris punched through the cabin, ripping holes in the captains chest. The debris continued on their path of destruction, knocking through oxygen tubes on the way out the ship. The alarm began to sound, coating the ship in shades of red.

Fry pulled her release level and fell flat on the floor with a new sense of panic; the captain was dead. Another cryo-sleep locker opened and spilled a man right on top of Fry.

"Why did I fall on you?" the man asked, oblivious to the status of the ship.

"Captain's dead, Owens," Fry replied, shaking her head to get the blood flowing,

"I mean chrono shows we're twenty-two weeks out, so gravity wasn't suppose to kick in for another nineteen," Owens whined, glancing at his watch. "I mean, why did I fall at all?"

"You hear me? Captain's dead, Owens. Dead."

"Oh, no. Not Owens, not him...wait, I'm Owens. Right?"

"Cryo-sleep. Swear to God, it kills brain cells."

The two crewmates slowly rose to their feet and made their way toward the front of the ship. Fry took a seat in the pilot's chair, turning on the monitor to get a sense of bearing. Owens followed slowly behind and almost tripped back on his ass at the site on the screen.

"Jesus God..." was all Fry could squeeze out, heart racing, beating her ribs from the inside.

"Just tell me we're still in the shipping lane," Owens cried from behind after rebounding from the shock. "Just show me all those stars, all those bright, beautiful, deep-space..." He opened the blinds on the windows, hoping to disprove the site in the monitor.

A large yellow planet rushed up on the ship through the window, larger in person than it was on the screen.

"Fuck you and your gravity, stupid planet," Owens turned back, heading toward the navigation bay.

"1550 millibars, dropping 20 MB per minute, shit, we're hemorrhaging air. Somethin' took a swipe at us."

"They trained you for this, right? Fry?" Owens asked through the intercom, now sitting in the navigation bay. Fry didn't answer, she started to hit the air brakes. "Crisis program selected Number Two of this system because it shows at least some oxygen and more than 1,500 millibars of pressure at surface-level. So maybe this ship did something right for a change... we should be okay if you can land this thing Fry. Would you shut the fuck up!"

Owens slammed a button, silencing the alarm and giving him a little piece of mind.

The air brakes outside the ship started to break away, the ship was moving to fast to hold. Fry began to switch measures, and broke off the main thrusters in back. The new weight drop tilted the ship upward a few degrees, but also threw it into a sideway roll. Fry hit the second set of air brakes, which stopped the roll. Fry pushed all the passenger doors closed, getting ready to launch them.

"Fry, what're you doing?" Owens interrupted, but got no reply as Fry flipped up a security latch. "Fry!"

"Can't get my nose down... too much load in the ass..."

"You mean that 'load' of passengers?"

"So what, we just die out of sheer fucking nobility?"

William J. Johns started to put the blurry images before him together, waking from his cryo-sleep. Noticing the ship's free fall, he quickly looked over at his treasure, the convict Richard B. Riddick. Riddick still sat locked away in his locker, which was specially decorated with "Lock-out Protocol In Effect. Absolutely No Early Release" across the front. Johns noticed Riddick was still unmoving and began to unstrap himself from the locker.

"Look, Fry, company says we're responsible for every one of those-"

"Company's not here, is it?"

"When the captain went down, you stepped up, whether you like it or not. Now they train you for this, so-"

"And there wasn't a simulated cockroach alive within fifty miles of the simulated crash site. Even the simulator says we're fucking dead."

"Don't touch that fucking handle Fry," Owens shouted as he unbuckles from his chair. Fry gave a moment of pause on the purge lever, shoulders weighing heavy with guilt. A large shake to the ship from falling knocked Fry back into her state of fear. She hit the lever, but nothing budged.

"Owens," Fry screamed.

"Seventy seconds, Fry, you still have seventy seconds to level this beast out," Owens responded. He had re-opened the jettison doors and jammed them open with a wrench, stopping Fry from purging the passengers.

Fry started to blow the rest of the air brakes, one of which ripped off and cracked the front windshield. The other three air brakes leveled out the ship slightly, but it continued dropping to fast for control. The collision alarm started to sound, "120 meters altitude and dropping,". Unable to think of anything else, Fry braced herself for the inevitable crash. "100 meters."

Johns finally popped open the locker, tumbling onto the floor afterward. "60 meters." Johns went for a closer inspection of Riddick in his cell. Riddick stood buckled in, black blindfold covering his eyes. His arms and legs were cuffed together, and a mouth bit kept him from being able to talk. Johns checked out the status of the cryo-sleep locker. The system was stable, still in cryo-sleep. "40 meters." Listening to the alarm, Johns finally realized the ship was headed for an impact. "20." He scrambled back toward his locker wanting to buckle back in for the crash. "10."

Johns was thrown back to the floor on the first hit. Quickly jumping back to his feet, he attempted to grab onto anything while the rest of the ship was being torn to shreds behind him. He finally grabbed onto a bulkhead just as the walls around him were ripped right off.

Fry peeked her eyes open after the first hit on the surface. The windshield had finally broken open and wind was battering her face. Fry whirled around in her chair as debris from the ground began to flood the cockpit, slowly burying pilot and equipment alike.

The ship laid in pieces after the crash, only the front most cabin and cockpit retained some sort of shape. Slowly the survivors began to rise and adjust to the surroundings. Johns stumbled his way back over to his favorite cryo-locker, only to find it empty. He quickly reached for the side of his belt and grabbed at nothing. His gun and holster were gone, torn off his belt. Johns began to search around the cabin for his pistol.

One of the survivors was using a cutting torch to force open one of the lockers. After a few minutes, the door sprung out, dumping a small boy on the ground.

"Somethin' went wrong, huh?" were his first words.

Johns dropped down below deck, flashlight in hand continuing on with his search. A few steps on, he finally found his gun sitting between two shelves. As he went toward the gun, two chained feet swung down, catching Johns by the neck. Johns gripped the chain, trying to get a little air, with one hand and grabbed a weighted baton from his belt with the other one.

Johns began to pelt the legs that were choking him with the baton, moving upward, trying to reach the attackers arms. After a few whacks, Johns succeeded in feeling out the arms and began hitting with everything he had left.

Riddick's bruised and battered limps began to give, sending him falling to the floor, landing on top of Johns. Johns shoved Riddick over to the side and hit him a few more times with baton. Realizing Riddick still laid in all this chains, and blindfold, Johns made a grab for his gun. After which, Johns placed the gun against Riddick's forehead.

"Somebody's gonna get hurt one of these days," Johns said with a big smirk on his face, knowing he had won this battle. "And it ain't gonna be me."

On the other side of the shelves, a hand slowly put a kunai back in the brown pouch on his waist. The man let out a soft sigh and walked away, leaving the two men with their battle.

Johns began checking the rest of the ship with his flashlight, checking for any more survirors stuck in their cryo-sleep lockers, slowly making his way up to the captains chair. The cockpit had been completely buried in sand that had flown into the ship during impact. Johns took a quick glance around, only spotting the headrest of the pilot's chair.

"Hey," a voice sounded.

"Hey, who?" Johns replied, whirling around, looking for the source of the sound.

"Hey, me. Over here."

Johns noticed the voice is coming from the headrest. He slowly began crawling around to the other side of the chair. Once on the other side, Johns noticed a head sticking out from the dirt, lying against the headrest.

"Amazing, I'm Johns."

"Carolyn Fry. I'd shake hands, but..."

John took the hint with a slight smile and began to did her out. Took almost fifteen minutes before Fry was finally free and moving around.

"Are there any others, Johns?"

All the survivors had gathered around in a circle to introduce themselves.

"Paris P. Ogilvie," said a man in his late thirties, early forties. He was rather small, maybe 5'6", and weasel like, shrinking smaller in comparison to the others.

"Sharon Montgomery, but me mates call me Shazza," said a rough looking woman. She was toned and muscled, but still held a feminine beauty about her. Self-confident, but without much ego. "And this is me Zeke, John Ezekiel." She tilted her head to the right at a man standing only slightly taller than her. He was carrying a little gut, but still looked as rough as Shazza. His hair was beginning to show a salt and pepper color.

"Abu al-Walid, but please, call me Imam," said a Chrislam leader. He was dressed in traditional Islamic religious attire, but also held Christian rosary beads. He stood slightly taller than almost all the survivors and carried an almost soothing presence; calm, unchanging. "And these boys are Ali, Hasan, and Suleiman." Imam gestured to the three boys at his side. They were about sixteen years old and wide eyed.

"Carolyn Fry," Fry said face darkening after each introduction.

"William J Johns, but everyone calls me Johns," Johns said whipping out his little badge for all to see. "And nobody's to release my prisoner down below, that's Richard B. Riddick, one of the most ruthless men alive."

"Cool, can I see him?" the little boy freed by the cutting torch earlier asked.

"No... eh, what's your name?" Johns responded.

"Jack, who's the guy over there?" he answered pointing to a man standing a little off of the group. He was dressed in a long, olive green trench coat. His face was covered tight by a blue scarf, trailing long behind him. His black eyes, same color as his short hair, stared straight back at Jack.

"Care to join the party, bud?" Johns asked, while the man slowly walked over. The man stood a little over the rest of the group at six feet tall.

"Phoenix," he finally said, not offering a hand to anyone.

"Phoenix? That it? What kind of name is that?" Johns heckled.

"Phoenix would be my job name, my assassin name," he replied, staring straight at Johns, unblinking.

"A real charmer," Paris muttered.

"And just what exactly would an assassin be doing on a small ship like this?" Johns pressed.

"It's not like you always hear about, or see in the movies. High speed chases in star jumpers, breaking into his top security fortresses, and getting the beautiful blond, who has a thing for mysterious men. Some of us still travel coach, and live with the rest of the world," Phoenix replied. "And I suggest we not waste any more time on this matter while the navigator remains buried."

"Owens..." Fry whispered as she turned to run back to the navigation bay, with the rest of the survivors trailing right behind. Once she located the area where the navigation bay should be, she began to dig through the debris lying everywhere. Everyone else began to help, except for Phoenix, who never followed the group.

They finally uncover Owens body, still strapped to his chair, after twenty minutes of digging. A metal rod stuck out of Owens chest, resting close to his heart. Fry dropped to the ground next to him and laid her hand on his face.

"Get it outta me, get it out," Owens screamed, making Fry recoil hard in surprise. After regaining her composure, Fry takes hold of the rod. "Don't touch it, don't touch that handle Fry." Fry slunk back once more.

"Pull it out of him," Jack said from behind.

"No, it's too close to the heart," Shazza answered.

"There's morphine in the med-lock, that end of the cabin... next to..." Fry began to say.

"Not anymore, there's not" Paris interrupted. The med-lock had been totaled in the crash, taking the morphine with it.

"Get out, everybody," Fry shouts, "get out." The crew turned and sulked away, leaving the docking pilot holding the navigator in her arms. She stroked his head as the last bit of life faded from his body. Jack crept back after the others had left and watched in morbid fascination until Johns sneaked up behind and grabbed him by the collar. Johns pulled him away to leave Fry to say her peace with her crewmate.

Fry finally joined the rest of the group on top of the ship.

"Big talk about a scouting party, looking for other people," Shazza said seeing Fry emerge from the ship, "until we saw this." She pointed out toward the back of the ship where the other passengers had been riding. Fry covered her brow with her hand to get a good look at the horizon. A long, smoldering pile of bits of the ship laid out before her sight. No one could have possible survived in the back cabins, none were in one piece.

Johns flipped open the compass he carries on his belt, but the needle swung around wildly, unable to pick up any kind of bearing.

"Which way to New Mecca?" Imam asked from down below. "We must pray in that direction."

"Can't get any bearing, this planet must have an odd magnetic field," Johns answered, slipping the compass back on his belt.

"Then we shall pray back to back in all four directions," Imam formulated. "Come, my children." He led them off a few paces and instructed each of them to face a different direction while praying.

"Anyone else having breathing problems?" Paris finally asked. "Aside from me?"

"Like I just ran, or something..." Jack confirmed.

"Feel one lung short," Shazza chimed in.

"It's the atmosphere. Too much pressure, not enough oxygen," Fry explained.

"So what the bloody hell happened, anyway?" Zeke interrupted.

"Somethin' knocked us off-lane. Maybe a meteor storm, maybe a rogue comet, maybe we'll never know," Fry answered solemnly.

"Well, I for one, am thoroughly fucking grateful. This beast wasn't made to land like this. And I think you did well," Shazza complimented, laying a hand on Fry's shoulder. "Actually the only reason were still alive is because of her."

"Suppose your right," Paris joined in. "Thanks very much."

"Yeah, thanks for saving our dicks," Jack said while putting a hand on Fry's other shoulder. Fry's knees started to go weak, remembering what she had almost done, had Owens not been there to stop her. She just shook her head, trying to throw the weight on her with it, but it only helped a little.

Fry led them back to the main cabin and opened the locker holder pressure suits for space travel. Fry began to pull open the seams of the suit and ripped out a little canister sitting inside. She turned to toss the canister to Shazza, standing behind her.

"Liquid oxygen canisters inside," Fry said tossing the pressure suits to everyone standing around. "Start ripping them out. Quick hits only, try to make it last." The rag tag crew began to grab all the canisters available and piled them up on the floor.

"Well, is someone coming for us, or are we all just gonna die of exposure or dehydration or sunstroke or maybe even something worse?" Jack said, almost excited at the possibility of struggling against death. Everyone in the group stared at him with almost horror stuck faces. "Hey, you don't have to worry about scaring me."

"We're worried you'll scare us," Shazza stated frankly, everyone else was thinking it too.

"Do we even have enough food, or will we have to resort to cannibalism?" Jack continued. His answers was interrupted as Phoenix finally came back to the group.

"And where exactly have you been?" Johns asked, with a concerned dad tone to his voice, not so much worried if Phoenix were alright, but more concerned with what he had done.

"Scouted the area a bit," Phoenix responded, not bothering to even look at Johns.

"Find anything?" Fry asked, with a little hope in her eyes.

"No plants, no animal tracks, and no water;" Phoenix answered, "nothing but sand around here at least."

"Well, Shazza 'n' I will see 'bout makin' this air go a bit further, cap'n. With your permission, a' course," Zeke jumped in, holding onto one of the liquid oxygen canisters.

"Of course, go right ahead," Fry answered, little tremble in her voice from being called captain.

Riddick sat against a broken bulkhead in the ships hull, hand cuffed on the opposite side of the bulkhead. His head peaked up as Phoenix slowly approached with kunai in hand again. Phoenix continued forward until he stood only inches away from the convict. He quietly slid the kunai back into it's container and rolled his eyes a bit in fustration.

"I hope you're not trying to steal my capture," said Johns as he walked over to the two men. "I'm sure you're some expert 'killer', but trust me, you don't want to mess with this one." Johns pointed his gun straight at Riddick's head.

Phoenix turned to look back at Johns with disinterested eyes; said nothing.

"And you sure as hell don't want to mess with me," Johns raised his gun up placing it under Phoenix's chin. "Understand?"

Phoenix's eyes remained dull, no fear, no concern, no emotion. He turned and headed back to the survivors outside the ship. His eyes gave a quick glance to the right as Fry walked by. Fry didn't give him any notice and continued toward Johns.

"And him?" Fry asked Johns motioning to Riddick.

"Big Evil?" Johns questioned.

"We just keep him locked up forever?"

"Be my choice. Already escaped once from the max-slam facility on-"

"I don't need his life story. Is he really that dangerous?"

"Only around humans."

They turned around to leave Riddick and headed out.

Fry began to crawl through a dusty superstructure, heading toward the water cistern left on the ship. Finally reaching it, she opened a crank-hatch and took a look inside. Her face dropped hard as a beam of light on the other end of the container reveals an entirely empty tank. All the water had seeped through the crack on the other end, mixing in with the sand on the ground.

"Well, is it just the water pump that's brok'n?" Zeke asked from outside.

"Ask if anyone has anything to drink in cargo," Fry shouted back, giving Zeke the answer to his question.

Fry, Johns, and Paris dropped into the dark corridor of cargo hold and headed down the hallway. The doors gave a low rumble as the were forced open.

"Mine here..." Paris muttered as he proceeded to a large crate. He unlocked the chain with his key and let the door fall hard to the floor, revealing the contents inside. Johns fell back and had to steady himself against the door. He began to shake a little.

"S'matter?" Fry asked, noticing Johns shaking.

"Little swamp-flu from the Conga system," Johns replied. "Never shook it with all this cryo-sleep." Johns picked himself back up and carried on. Paris dragged out an Egyptian tomb. "King Tut's tomb?"

"Be surprised what these will fetch in the Taurus system," Paris said as he cracked open the tomb. Inside sat dusty bottles of wine and whiskey.

"Booze? This is what you have to drink?" Fry asked, staring in disbelief. Johns grabbed one of the whiskey bottles and started to drink.

"I'll need a receipt for that," Paris told Johns, giving him a bit of an evil eye. "For all these, they're my personal belongings."

"Top of my list," Fry quipped, joining Johns in a drink. The Chrislams watch the group from above. "Don't suppose this helps you any?"

"One of the Christian habits we didn't adopt, perhaps unfortunately," Imam answered. "We'll have to wait."

"For what? There is no water," Johns teased. "You understand that, don't you?"

"All deserts have water, somewhere," Imam responded. "God shall lead us there."

"All the more for me then," Paris grinned, loading his spoils into a large sack.

Everyone returned from the cargo bay, Paris carrying all the bottles of liquor in a bag resting over his shoulder. He set the bag out in front of everyone.

"This seems to be all we have to drink," Fry stated to everyone.

"And this," Phoenix interrupted, pulling a canteen from under his trench coat. He dangled it out in front of Fry, waiting for her grab it. "There's enough water left for everyone to have a few sips."

"And you tell us this now?" Johns scolded.

"I was saving it as a last resort, but it seems we've already reached that point," Phoenix answered, beginning to glare back at Johns. Fry tossed the canteen over to Johns to shut him up, but it was intercepted halfway by Phoenix. "Make sure not to put your lips on the mouth, wouldn't want you to spread that swamp-flu to the rest of us." Phoenix gave Johns a little wink before handing over the canteen. Johns' face was burning at this point.

Riddick quietly stared at a cutting torch sitting across from him in the ship through a small hole that had been ripped in his blindfold. Quickly formulating a plan, he noticed a small fracture in the bulkhead a ways above him. He presses against the bulkhead, using it to help himself up on his feet. He dislocates his right shoulder and then his left, enabling him to raise his arms up and pass his cuffs through the fracture. With a quick flex, Riddick pops his shoulder's back into place and grabs the cutting torch.

As soon as Johns discovers Riddick has escaped, he began to scout the area with pistol in hand. Heading toward the two suns orbiting the planet, Johns stumbles across Riddick's mouth-bit laying on the ground.

"Like we needed another way to die," Johns mutters to himself as he grips his gun tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Looking out toward the horizon, Johns didn't catch a glimpse of any movement in the dessert. "Guess it's time to alert the rest of the rag-tag crew. And we're going to need some weapons."

Johns, Paris, Imam, Zeke, and Shazza began rummaging through the cargo hold, grabbing anything that could be used as a weapon. Johns grabbed his shotgun and extra ammunition he had stored. Imam took hold of his ceremonial blade. Zeke and Shazza rounded up a pick-ax and a hunting boomerang. And Paris stumbled out with a wide assortment of antique weapons.

"What the hell are these?" Johns asked picking up a scythe looking weapon, only the blade was replaced by a large arrow head.

"Maratha crow-bill war-picks from Northern India; very rare," Paris responded with a distinct look of concern on his face as if Johns was man-handling Paris' own child.

"An' this?" Zeke asked holding up what looked like a short stick.

"Blow-dart hunting stick from Papua New Guinea. Very, very rare, since the tribe's extinct," Paris said turning a ghostly shade of white.

"'Cuz they couldn't hunt shit with these things, be my guess," Zeke chuckled setting the antique aside.

"Well, what's the need, anyway?" Paris spoke, trying to regain his composure. "If he's gone, he's gone. Why should he bother us?"

"Maybe just to take what you have," Johns answered, "maybe just to work your nerves, maybe just to skull fuck you in your sleep. Not something we would have to worry about were Riddick still locked up."

Johns turned his head toward Phoenix as he said the last part.

"You trying to say Phoenix set Riddick free?" Fry asked, she had joined them in the cargo hold just moments ago after wrapping Owens' body for a burial.

"I'm just saying my locked up convict suddenly 'gets free' a few moments after I catch this dog sniffing around him. Odd coincidence, especially since the assassins' code states that any target is up for grabs as long as he isn't captured. He's just trying to make off with my mark," Johns hissed, an artery in his head beginning to bulge.

"Is that true?" Shazza frowned, staring at Phoenix.

"If that were true, I would have killed Riddick the moment he were free," Phoenix responded frankly, not the least bit surprised nor worried at the accusation.

"You just think you're some hot shit, dontcha? But Riddick was just too much for ya," Johns walked over and poked Phoenix in the chest. "As soon as you let him free, he got the upper hand, sent you running with your tail between your legs. And you're too ashamed to admit you got in over your head on this one."

"Enough!" Fry screamed, "this isn't helping. Whether Phoenix let him go or not, the fact is that he's out there and the two of you are our best hope in stopping him. You shouldn't be arguing, but working together on this one."

"I don't need this low life to help me," Johns answered. "Just leave this to the professional, ya hear me rookie?"

Phoenix didn't answer, just turned to leave the cargo hold.

"Wait, do you need any of these weapons?" Shazza asked holding out the pick-ax and hunting boomerang.

Phoenix only paused for a second, "I have all the weapons I need." He tapped his knife pouch and continued out of the cargo hold.

Zeke and Shazza finished modifying the breather units, adding a tube with a ball-float to stop the oxygen flow when not in use. Shazza handed one to Jack to test. Jack gave a stern nod confirming the modification had worked. Shazza started to hand out the units to everyone else.

"Imam. We should leave soon. Before nightfall but while it's cooler," Fry said strapping the breather unit over her shoulder.

"What, you're goin' off, too?" Zeke asked, a little quiver in his voice.

"Johns is leaving you a gun," Fry answered. "Just do me a favor, huh? Get my crewies buried? They were good guys who died bad."

"A'course we will," Shazza answered putting a hand on Fry's shoulder.

The gang moved around the ship to get ready to head out and jaws soon dropped at a new site emerging over the horizon, a third, blue sun. This sun laid directly opposite of the two setting on the other end of the world.

"My bloody oath…" Shazza whispered.

"Three suns?" Jack questioned.

"So much for your nightfall," Zeke said, turning to Fry, whom was still in a state of shock.

"So much for my cocktail hour," Paris complained.

"We take this to be a good sign, a path from God," Imam said grinning brightly. "Blue sun means blue water."

"A good sign indeed," Johns said as he jumped down from the top of the ship. "That's Riddick's direction. You do not wanna be caught in the dark with this guy."

"Thought you found his restraints over there. Toward sunset," Fry said gesturing back at the two setting suns.

"Yeah, which means he went toward sunrise," Johns responded, taking out his pistol to give to Zeke. "Safety trigger on the side, one shot if ya see 'im."

"And what if he happens to see us first?" Paris asked, stumbling over his words.

"Heh, there'll be no shots," Johns replied, a small smirk crawled across his face. It soon faded when he turned back to see Phoenix walking over. "Tell me again why we have to bring the sack of shit."

"Because we need all the help we can get Johns," Fry glared. "And you could at least try to act civil every once in a while, might do you some good."

Johns just gave a scoff at the comment. Imam and his followers were chanting prayers while wrapping their heads for travel. Johns took his shotgun, having left the pistol with Zeke, and Fry carried Paris' second war-pick on her shoulder. Fry tried to wrap her head like the Chrislams, but couldn't get it to stay. Imam stepped behind her to help.

"So quiet. You get used to the sounds of the ship, then…" Fry trailed off, drifting into thought.

"You know who Muhammad was?" Imam asked, breaking Fry's thought.

"Some prophet guy?"

"'Some prophet guy.' And a city man. But he had to travel to the desert, where there was quiet, to hear the words of God."

"You were on a pilgrimage? To New Mecca?"

"Yes. Chrislam teaches that once in every lifetime should there be a great hajj, a great pilgrimage. To know God, better, yes, but to know yourself as well."

"Frightening thought."

"We're all on the same hajj now. Shall I wrap you head as well Phoenix? Your scarf should be long enough."

"No thanks," was all Phoenix replied with.

"Quite the talker, ain't ya?" Johns jumped in.

"Only in good company," Phoenix stated.

"What exactly you trying to say?" Johns asked, genuinely confused.

"He's calling you an asshole Johns, now would you please get back to scouting," Fry broke the fight once again, "you're the only one with a nice little scanner."

"Shh, shh, shh," Johns hissed, motioning for everyone to be quiet. A few small pebbles slid down a dune to the left of the party. Nothing stood at the top when Johns glanced up. Slowly he crept up the dune to get a view of the other side. More pebbles began to slid down the dune as the three young Chrislams threw stones against it.

"Seven stones to keep the devil at bay," Imam explained to Fry, who looked on with odd interest.

"Quiet those boys down Imam, or my gauge and I will," Johns warned, now sitting on top the dune, searching around with his scanner. His ears perked up as he heard footsteps behind him. Johns whipped his shotgun around as soon as the footsteps were right on top of him, but the barrel landed right in the face of Fry. She had crawled up behind him to take a look as well.

"Jesus," she said startled, ushering the gun away from her face.

"First picking on children, Johns, and now women," Phoenix teased. "Should I try to find a baby to add to your wonderful track record?"

"How about I pop two right in your skull to add to my track record?" Johns fired back. Phoenix just chuckled as he slid down the other side of the dune.

"Fucker," Johns muttered to himself.

"Where you going?" Fry asked, following after Phoenix.

"I see something in the distance, wanted to check it out," he responded, offering up a hand to Fry as she stumbled to the bottom.

"So there is a little gentleman in you after all," Fry said taking the hand.

"Nothing personal, just the profession tends to keep you at a distance," Phoenix said gloomy, "that 'buddy' you meet one day might just become your target the next."

"Yet you stick with it, assassinating?"

"Never really thought about doing anything else. It's not exactly a job you can really quit either."

"Guess that's true."

The scouting party had moved almost two miles away from the ship now, climbing countless dunes, spotting nothing but more and more sand.

"What exactly did you see over here? We've been walking for almost fifteen minutes now," Johns whined at Phoenix.

"There, use your scanner," Phoenix responded, pointing out, straight ahead. Johns whipped out his scanner and began to search in the direction of Phoenix's finger. After a few moments Johns' locked onto something.

"What do you see?" Fry asked Johns.

"Tell me it's not a mirage," Johns answered handing Fry the scope. "If it is a mirage, I'm plucking a bird for dinner." In the scope Fry saw what appeared to be strange branches rising from a dune.

"Trees?" Fry thought out loud.

"Water," Imam said connecting the dots. "Where there are trees, there must be water for them to grow."

Paris had pulled out one of his Tiffany chairs from his crate in the cargo hold, as well as one of his misting umbrellas. Sitting in his chair a top of the ship, Paris filled up the reservoir in his misting umbrella with liquor and gave it a test spray. The cooling cloud of booze sprayed his face, sending a refreshing child down his body. Sitting back in his chair, Paris whipped out one of his classic Cuban cigars, lighting it with the cutting torch laying around.

"Comfy up there?" Zeke asked dragging a sled with a tarp, some metal rods, a pick-ax, and some cable. A hint of jealously resided in his voice.

"Yes, it's amazing how you can do without the essentials of life," Paris responded, stretching his arms back, settling in the chair, "so long as you have the luxuries."

"Well, just keep your bloody eyes open. Don't want that dog sneakin' up on me bloody arse," Zeke warned while dragging the sled toward a set of spired hills. The spires stood straight up like stalagmites, but without the cave, and clustered together. The largest spire easily reached twenty feet and was wide enough for a couple of full grown humans to stand in.

"Yes, well you dig the graves, and I'll hold the fort, old boy," Paris muttered to the wind and took out one of his goblets pouring it full with wine. Laying a war-pick across his lap, his eyes began to droop. As he raised the glass of wine toward his lips, a large blade slid hard against his throat. Paris dropped the glass in fear, and began to let out a little whimper.

"He'd probably get you right here, right under the jaw. And you'd never even hear him coming. That's how good Riddick is," Jack whispered behind Paris, holding the hunting boomerang to his neck.

"Tell me something, did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you?" Paris asked, pushing the blade away, a little embarrassed at his feeble whining earlier, but mostly furious at Jack's prank.

The three young pilgrims broke into a run as the scouting party reached the rise leading to the trees. They were cheering to each other while climbing the rise. Johns and Imam followed closely behind the boys. Fry and Phoenix remained casually behind, taking a harder look at the trees.

"They don't move in the wind," Fry noticed. Phoenix nodded his head in agreement. The two ran to catch up with the rest of the party, who now stood at the top of the rise with sullen faces. Once at the top, Fry and Phoenix realized why. Before the group stood a sea of bones, not trees. The 'trees' seen before were actually the top of a gigantic skeleton, the bones had a green tint from the lichen growing at the top.

"Is this whole planet dead?" Fry muttered, slumping down, almost falling to her knees.

"Not quite," Phoenix answered, staring at the top of the bones. "There's lichen growing at the top of these bones."

"Doesn't look to appetizing," Johns interrupted, eying the bones with disgust.

"I wouldn't recommend eating it, unless any one here is a botanist... on second thought, go ahead and give it a lick Johns" Phoenix answered. "What I was trying to say is lichen needs water for photosynthesis, meaning there has to be water somewhere around."

"Probably rainfall, it grows at the top of the bones," Imam confirmed.

The party climbed down into the bone yard, scouting around for any bodies of water that could supporting the lichen's growth. They moved from decayed body to decayed body, hope growing dimmer and dimmer while finding nothing but death.

"Some communal graveyard, perhaps," Imam began speaking, breaking the long, dark silence, "like the elephants of Earth. I wonder what could have killed so many great things..."

"Long time ago," Johns added, "whatever happened." Fry ran her hand against one of the large bones, bumping along jagged cut marks, as if the bone had been hacked away by a sword.

"Graveyard," Fry whispered to herself, "or killing field? All of these corpses died around the same time. All the bones are in the same state of fossilization, kind of odd if it were a communal graveyard. There would be younger bodies lying around as well."

Walking through one of the large rib cages, Johns noticed some bone chippings lying on the ground. Pulling out his shotgun, Johns began searching through the large animal. Passing through the rest of the ribs, Johns didn't find anything. Moving up toward the skull, Johns continued his search. He poked his gun up, scouring the eye sockets. Finding nothing, he dropped his gun back down and proceeded to exit through the mouth, finishing his search. Resting above Johns sat Riddick, laying across one of the nasal cavities. He peered his head out as Johns left the skeleton behind and then dropped into the rib cage. A pair of black welding goggles laid across his eyes.

Trailing behind everyone else, Fry noticed her O2 container beginning to empty. She paused against the ribs of one of the mammoth animals, and dug out a new canister from her pack. The shadows behind Fry began to move as figure slowly crept up behind her. Resting his face between the bones, Riddick was close enough to lick her neck. Riddick pulled his head back a bit as Johns approached from the right. Taking a sip of the whiskey he'd been carrying, Johns handed the bottle over to Fry.

"Probably shouldn't be doing this, dehydrates you even more," Fry warned and still took a swig from the bottle.

"Probably right," Johns laughed, taking the bottle back, almost finishing it off with his drink. Riddick slowly withdrew a freshly cut bone shard from his pocket and laid it out front, ready to strike at anything nearby. "You know, I woulda play road dog for these guys. You could've stayed back. Pro'bly should've, because if we don't find water... might not make it back."

"In truth, I wanted to get away," Fry answered.

"Guess so, never seen a captain so eager to leave her ship, but I know it's hard to stay away from this rough, handsome face," Johns joked, causing Fry to give an eye roll. Riddick eased the blade closer to Fry's neck while they were distracted.

"Better keep moving-"

"What'd Owens mean 'bout not touching the handle?" Fry sat still for a moment, pausing on the question. "You can tell me, Carolyn."

"Promise me. Swear to me you won't-"

"You see anybody else here? Just between you and me." Fry let out a long sigh before speaking again.

"I'm not your captain, just the docking pilot. During the landing, when things were at their worst, Owens was at his best. He's the one who wouldn't let the docking pilot dump the passenger cabin." Riddick's hand slowly reached out and with a swift cut, snatched a piece of Fry's hair. Riddick slid back into the shadows, leaving the couple in stunned silence. "So now you know."

"Guess I'm more glad to be here than I thought," Johns finally answered, placing his blue baseball cap on Fry's head. Turning away, the two left to rejoin the rest of the group. The whiskey bottle had been left behind, with one good swallow left. Riddick grabbed the bottle and finished it off in a single gulp. After emptying the bottle, Riddick filled it back up with sand to the level the liquid was before his drink and set it back in the ground.

Riddick began heading back to the crash site after finishing his whiskey cocktail. He had only taken a few steps before pausing and pulling the bone shiv from his pocket. Twisting around, Riddick swung the shiv slicing through the air until it landed against a kunai, Phoenix's kunai. The two men struggled in knife lock for a few seconds before Phoenix managed to knock the bone shiv out of Riddick's hand, sacrificing his kunai with it. Both men took a step back and locked eyes.

"Pretty crappy assassin if you can't even sneak up on an almost blind man," Riddick laughed.

"Pretty crappy killer if you couldn't even stab a neck that was practically offered up to you," Phoenix shot back, this only made Riddick laugh harder.

"So which bastard did I piss off so much he wants me dead?"

"I'll make you a deal, a contest of hand to hand combat. You win, I'll tell you everything."

"Guess it's a silly question to ask an assassin what happens if he wins."

"Deal?"

"I'll play, sounds like fun." Phoenix extended his left arm out, lowered his right elbow against his side extending the forearm forward, and bent his knees, widening his stance. Riddick just raised both hands up in closed fists taking the traditional boxer stance. Riddick stood only a couple of inches above Phoenix, but out weighed him by almost sixty pounds of muscle. Just his sheer bulk dwarfed Phoenix in comparison.

The two fighters stood in constant eye lock for almost five minutes before Phoenix moved in to attack. He flew forward at Riddick, left palm open and left arm slightly bent at the elbow. Once in striking range, Riddick launched his right fist forward, aiming for the head. Phoenix swung his left elbow up under Riddick's right forearm, knocking the punch off course over Phoenix's left shoulder. Phoenix continued swinging his left open palm for Riddick's chest, but was stopped short as Riddick's left hand gripped the wrist.

Riddick threw his right foot into a kick, aiming for the opening on Phoenix's left side due to his captured arm. Phoenix slammed his right palm into Riddick's left hand, jettisoning his arm free and rose his left leg to intercept the incoming kick. Catching the kick with his left leg, Phoenix used the momentum to launch himself back a few feet to regain his stance. Not wanting to give him the chance, Riddick came running after, fists up again.

Riddick swung a hard right, barely missing Phoenix's head as he ducked under. The punch landed straight against the ribs of the bone giant they were next to, shattering it into pieces. Phoenix threw his right palm up, attempting to connect with an uppercut, but Riddick threw his head back and pulled his right arm back to pin Phoenix's arm against his chest. Seizing another grapple opportunity, Riddick threw his left fist for a jaw shot.

Phoenix fell back to fall under the incoming punch, threw his feet up, and double kicked hard into Riddick's stomach. The jolt caused Riddick to release the arm and tumble back a few steps while Phoenix crashed against the ground. The kick had surprised Riddick, but didn't even knock the wind out of him. Phoenix rolled back onto his feet.

"Done with your warm-up?" Riddick asked, the smile on his face grew with every hit thrown.

"Yep, going to have to change my attack to something a little more effective," Phoenix responded, a smile of his own sprouted underneath his scarf. "Mind if we pause for second while I adjust quick?"

"I'll give you five seconds."

"More than enough time."

"Five..." Phoenix threw off his scarf and trench coat revealing a tight black t-shirt and tight black pants underneath. "Four..." Phoenix also threw off his belt which held four different knife pouches, and took his stance again, looking even smaller in comparison now without any added bulk from his clothes. "Three..." Phoenix took off running toward Riddick and leaped up throwing his right leg forward for a kick. Riddick responded throwing his own right leg up past his shoulder preparing to intercept Phoenix's kick. "Said I'd give you five seconds." Their right feet met and Phoenix bent low on his right knee using Riddick's outstretched leg as a stand.

"Never said I'd give you five seconds," Phoenix said as he twisted to the right, bringing his left leg in for a kick at Riddick's head. Riddick raised his right hand in time to push the kick away. Phoenix stretched his right leg out springing up high enough to get on top of the bone mammoth. Not pausing, Phoenix leaped off using the gravity to put more force in his new kick. Riddick didn't try to counter this time and jumped off to the side to dodge.

Once out of the way, Riddick charged back ready with another right hook. Phoenix hit the ground hard and barely had time to raise both his hands to block the incoming punch. The force knocked Phoenix back, slamming him against the bones behind.

"Round two," Phoenix said, smile still plastered to his face.

"Another new tactic?" Riddick asked, smirking with excitement.

"Yep." Phoenix ran straight at Riddick, but had his arms swaying at his side. Riddick just threw a left punch but missed entirely as Phoenix had dropped to the ground and slid forward on a skid. He slid right past Riddick's left leg, grabbing it with both arms. The force of his slide plus the pull from his arms threw Riddick's leg back and knocked him balance off. Using Riddick's left leg as a pivot point, Phoenix swung his legs back around and kicked Riddick's right leg off balance as well.

Riddick fell forward, hard against the ground, but rolled onto his back as Phoenix was standing over him, right leg high in the air, ready to drop on Riddick. Riddick threw his left leg out sweeping Phoenix's left leg off the ground. Phoenix toppled over, falling next to Riddick. Both men quickly jumped back on their feet, gearing up for the next attack.

Riddick charged in with his right fist again, and Phoenix side stepped to his left, turning around, right into Riddick. Phoenix grabbed on Riddick's right arm with both hands and kicked his left foot back with his own left leg. Taking advantage of Riddick's momentum and loss of balance, Phoenix flipped him over the shoulder.

As Riddick was being lifted off the ground, he managed to wrap his left leg around Phoenix's left leg. The trick threw off Phoenix's balance causing him to fall face forward to the ground with Riddick landing on top of him, pinning him down.

"Hold up," Johns said, holding everyone back from moving on. The scouting party had moved out of earshot from where the battle had ensued. Johns turned back and looked through his scope. "Didn't bite."

"What?" Fry asked confused.

"Thought he might be coolin' it in the bone yard – could either double-back to the ship or slip behind us. So I left the bottle out as bait, but nah. Didn't bite. The bottle's still full." Johns was staring at the bottle Riddick had filled up with sand not ten minutes earlier.