(AN) My first fanfic. Kinda exciting. Dreams/thoughts in italics. Be warned, it's rather trippy.

She was falling.

Or floating?

No, not floating. It only seemed that way because she couldn't feel—not her wounds, not gravity, just a nice sort of numbness. But she was defiantly falling—there were those damn stairs, and the cold (not that she could tell) floor, and lots of people just watching. Most looked impassive; some, mildly depressed. Most were beautiful, but it was a cold, dead beauty.

She wondered why she noticed these things.

She heard a man's voice, then her own, but she couldn't make out the words. Then came a female whisper.

"Let there be pain."

Agony. Searing. Hot and sharp and white and cold. Stabbing and ripping and violating and purifying…

She was seated next to a pretty blonde, a friend of sorts. She hadn't seen her in years.

"What're you doing here?" she asked. The other woman shrugged.

"It's your subconscious, you tell me." For a moment, they rested in companionable silence. "This what you expected?"

"I know better than to expect."

"You should fix things. At least give it a try."

"Like you did?"

"Hey, I got my shit together eventually. C'mon. You game?"

She shrugged. "What the hell."

Her hands jerked out and hit metal walls. Her eyes snapped open to find flashing red lights—alarm lights—pulsing on the faces of the people around her. So many people. The woman realized where she was, and for the first time in a long time she let herself panic.


Long time for something to go wrong…

The alarms interrupted his monologue. He would have smiled if it weren't for the bit in his mouth.

There was banging coming from somewhere to his left—someone was awake, and not happy about it. He thought it might be the woman. Not the prospector, the other one. The one that smelled like cinnamon and slam tea.

There was silence, then a hard thud. She'd gotten out.


"Fuck!" the pilot's shriek echoed in his ears. Owens turned away from the door he had jammed.

"Seventy seconds, Fry! You still got seventy seconds to level this beast out!" It was out of his hands now. He sat down, strapped up. He thought of his brother, waiting to meet him at their destination. For just a moment, he regretted his actions.

No. He'd done right.


She hated cryosleep. They said it was nothing, literally. That you'd close your eyes in one place, open them in another and it would be like no time had passed. That you might be disoriented for a bit, but it wouldn't last. They said you never dreamed.

They lied.

She ran through a city full of monsters. Something grabbed her wrist. She screamed and jerked away. Her eyes saw a woman, but her mind said scales and fangs and dripping venom.

"Why are you running, darling?"

There was a gun in her hand. She brought it up and tried to pull the trigger, but it wouldn't budge.

The woman-thing tutted. "What a naughty girl, trying to shoot your mother."

She turned and ran again. "Audrey!" came the call from behind her. "Audrey!"

Other creatures took it up. "Audrey! Audrey!" The name echoed across that strange city. It rang in her ears, kept her moving. She couldn't pause, not with that name waiting to consume her.

"Jack." A single whisper. She turned towards it. There was a man. Her eyes saw vicious horns and bloody eyes and fingers that formed talons, but her mind said human.

"Come inside," he said, and she followed him through a doorway. Inside it was dark. "You shouldn't be here."

She wasn't sure why, but that pissed her off. "I can take care of myself."

"Someday," he replied. She glared at him—he stared calmly back, and for an instant she lost herself to the crimson swirl of his gaze. He blinked.

"What are you?" she asked.

He laughed. "I'm a nightmare, girl. We all are. Even you, at times." He reached out, ran dark talons through her short hair. "I'm going to miss you," he told her wistfully.

"I'm going to stop dreaming?"

"No. You'll just have different nightmares."


Johns shook his head, disoriented. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Riddick's grimacing face. Still locked up good.

He should have relaxed, but something was wrong. Very wrong. He released the security harness and stumbled out of his locker. There was a dark haired woman leaning against a locker a few down from him. Their eyes met for a moment, then were torn apart as the ship shook.

He stumbled again, and cursed as his knee slammed to the floor. He looked up in time to see the woman slide down the door, pull her knees to her chest, and wrap her arms around them. He crawled over to her as the ship's vibrations increased. She flinched away at first, then held very still. He wondered what she was thinking.

"You know what's going on?" he asked, almost yelling to be heard. She said something, but he shook his head, pointing at his ears.

"We're crashing," she shouted.

"Fuck," he muttered. Before he had time to say more, the hull tore.


Riddick felt his locker start to tip.


Fry ducked, spinning her chair backward and flinging her arms over her head.


Jack's nightmare taught her to play Russian Roulette. Eyes on him, she put the barrel to her head and pulled the trigger.


They crashed.