A/N: This starts out just after the movie ends, then flashes back to fifteen years earlier on Transexual. My little take on how Riff Raff and Magenta came to be working for Frank.


Silently, Riff Raff put away the laser he had fired only minutes before. He and Magenta had both been busy since the transit beam had been activated, doing various tasks that needed to be accomplished in order to get the house into orbit. Now was the first moment Riff had to reflect on what he had just done.

He hadn't meant to kill anyone. That had never been his intention at all. Frank was to be taken prisoner. Columbia was to be taken with them to Transexual, as well as Rocky. Then when Columbia screamed...he had shot her almost as a reflex, his already frayed nerves reacting before he had time to think. After he had killed her, there seemed to be no option other than to kill Frank, as well. Naturally, Rocky followed.

Even though he hadn't wanted to kill any of them, he couldn't let himself stop and regret what he had done. After all, he and Magenta had been living under the strain of Frank's tyranny for far too long. He was tired of being beaten, tired of being put down. Tired of seeing his lovely sister be forced to act as a maid. Yes, he had killed needlessly. He had committed a horrible crime. But he would have time to concoct a reliable story, and then...they would be free. Murder had bought them their freedom.

Then again, it was murder that had brought them into servitude in the first place.


(Transexual, 15 years earlier)

Riff Raff paced the kitchen of the tiny apartment he shared with his sister. He had been her legal guardian for two years, ever since he came of age and their mother abandoned them officially. Not that things were much different than they had been; they had barely seen her for three years before that. They had done relatively well for themselves, in spite of the shame that came with having to life such a meager life. Magenta was about to finish with her schooling, and he was making enough at the royal laboratory as a junior assistant scientist to support them both. It meant working late most nights, but it was a sacrifice he had to make. It had taken a great deal for him to get the position in the first place, seeing as how he was a member of the lower class, so it was something he took great pride in. He almost didn't mind the long hours.

Working late nights meant that Magenta was always home when he arrived from work. Unlike most of the other females her age, she didn't spend her evenings taking part in love affairs with the local young men; while she was extremely attractive, something about her just didn't seem to fit in with most of her peers. Riff didn't mind that much; it meant he got her all to himself. However, tonight she wasn't there, which was why he was pacing the kitchen floor. It wasn't like her to be gone without telling him. Although she was fiercely independent when it came to most people, she was obedient to him without question. And now she was gone without a trace.

Something was horribly wrong.

They had always been linked very closely. While they weren't quite telepathic, they could usually sense one another's pleasure and pain, joy and fear. He knew without a doubt that she was hurt. He knew she was frightened.

What he didn't know was where the hell she was.

Abruptly, he stopped pacing and headed out the door, slamming and locking it behind him. He wasn't going to find her by walking the floor. Not knowing quite where to begin, he decided on the first obvious choice; the route she walked home from school. It might very well be a long shot; she didn't always come straight home, and could be at any number of detours along the way. But he had to start somewhere.

There was no sign of her on the way back to the school. Fighting the well of panic rising in his throat, he stood in front of the empty building, searching the windows as though he would find her there. He turned in a circle, slowly, racking his brain to think of another direction she might have taken. Shaking his head with frustration, he took off towards a store nearby, taking the back alleys that he knew his sister would travel. She always had liked shortcuts; the more dangerous they might be, the more it was a game to her.

He hadn't even gone down two streets before something stopped him in his tracks. A thick, uneasy feeling had suddenly taken over his senses, and he turned back around, getting a sense that he had gone a bit too far. Forcing himself to slow down his steps, he backtracked the street, searching for any small sign of her. At the end of the street, he turned back towards the direction of the school and kept walking, pausing at the entrance to an alley off the road. The area wasn't lit by anything more than the light of the Transylvanian moons, and he cautiously stepped forward, picking his way over the refuse of the little-used space. He could hardly breathe; the air was tightly constricted in his chest by an ever-growing feeling of panic. Then, quite suddenly, he felt as though his heart completely stopped.

A slender white arm was lying in his path, sticking out from behind an overturned garbage can.

With a strangled noise that might have been an attempt at his sister's name, he pulled the can aside and stared horrorstruck at what was lying before him. Magenta was on the ground, barely conscious, with blood pooled around her head. It was stemming from her nose, a split lip, a cut on her forehead that looked as though she had been thrown against the wall. The liquid was staining her already ruby lips a darker shade, matting her wild hair with its thickness, smearing her white skin with crimson.

She cringed in fear when the garbage can was first pulled away, before she realized who it was. As he knelt down beside her, gathering her beaten form in his arms, she began to cry painful, heartbroken sobs, clinging to him weakly. Unable to keep tears from his own eyes, he rocked her back and forth gently for well over a minute as her blood soaked into his clothes. Finally, he loosened his hold on her somewhat, cradling her in his arms but pulling away enough so that he could look at her.

"Who did this?" he demanded, his voice no more than a whisper. She was still crying, which was almost as unnerving to him as seeing her battered body; Magenta never cried like that.

"Boys. From school," she answered, also whispering. She turned her face away from his gaze, burying herself in his chest. Her shivering form seemed very small and frail in his arms.

The sick feeling of panic and shock Riff had been feeling was beginning to transform into a shaking, violent rage. "Do you know their names?" he asked, his voice trembling, and she nodded slightly in response, not lifting her head. His gaze swept from her bloodied face down the rest of her body, taking in the sight of her ripped clothes and beaten limbs. It seemed a miracle that no bones had been broken. Deciding that it would be best to save the rest of his questions until he got her home, he carefully lifted her into his arms, trying to avoid touching the dark bruises that were already forming on her pale flesh.

In less than three hours, he had tended her wounds, found out the name of the main attacker, and killed the boy. He hadn't thought about what would happen if he were caught, about what Magenta would do if he wasn't around to take care of her. All he had been able to focus on was the blinding rage that overtook him, on how satisfying it was to watch the life fade from the face that had sneered at his sister, that had called taunts and insults at her before she had angrily snapped back a reply, only to be beaten down for it. Damn all the consequences to hell. No one would hurt her and get away with it.

It was his work at the royal laboratory that saved him from public scandal and execution. The murder was found out, of course; even in the lower classes where crime was not unusual, things like that didn't stay hidden for very long. Perhaps the lower class nature of it all even helped save Riff Raff; had he been of a higher status, too many people would have been concerned with the case, and he might never have been offered a way out of the situation. Whatever the reasons, the murder was kept relatively quiet, and rather than face imprisonment, he was afforded an alternative means of punishment: service to the throne. Crown Prince Frank N. Furter, known for his interest in scientific endeavours and his status as the Queen's spoiled brat, was conducting a mission to a planet called Earth. He needed someone with scientific knowledge to accompany him. Preferably, someone who had nothing to lose by leaving Transexual, perhaps even wanted to escape from the planet.

Riff Raff was a perfect candidate for the job; he accepted the offer as soon as it was made, eager to get away from what he had done. After Magenta's bruises healed, they had both packed up what little belongings they had and made ready for the mission to Earth. Magenta refused to let him go without her; there was no telling how long the trip was going to last, and besides, she argued that it was because of her he had gotten into trouble in the first place. She was to help with domestic duties while he assisted Frank N. Furter in the laboratory. The situation was ideal; neither of them had many friendships on Transexual, and no family to speak of besides each other. They thought they had nothing to lose.


Fifteen years on the hell that was Earth would make them both question the decision to accept the mission. They had both been reduced to slaves by the time the end came. They had been able to address Frank N. Furter as nothing other than 'Master', and Riff Raff was given no credit for the work he accomplished on what would be 'Frank's' creation. Their mission commander's lifestyle had spiraled further and further out of control with each year on Earth, and they had been treated more and more poorly as time wore on.

It had been too much for either of them. Riff Raff had finally reached a breaking point and decided that it was high time to abort the mission. Dropped murder charges or no, nothing was worth what they had been subjected to. He would rather live a low class existence on his home planet than be whipped and beaten into submission on Earth. More importantly, he couldn't abide seeing his precious sister be a servant. That had been his main motivation for revolting against Frank. That was the reason why two innocent people and one not so innocent transvestite had died that night.

As he closed the drawer where the laser had been placed, he heard the quiet click of heels entering the doorway behind him. Turning to face Magenta, he smiled as her and held out his arms for her, folding her body close to his chest. There could be no regret for him, murder or no murder. They were both finally free.