A/N: Back in action after a 5 year hiatus and man, does it feel good. The Prologue-Chapter 5 have all been rewritten and I'm in the process of updating the rest. I'm rusty, so please, play nice. I love reviews (what author doesn't?), so keep 'em coming! The tumblr accout for this story is located in my profile so I can keep you guys updated. Feel free to ask me questions on there, give a little constructive criticism, throw ideas out, whatever! And, for the disclaimer that saddens me every time I say it: I don't own Pitch Black or Riddick. Boo.
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.
Transporting me with civilians. Sounded like 40, 40-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.
Smelled another woman. Leather again. But this one, this one smells familiar. Similar.
And here's my real problem: Mr. Johns, blue-eyed devil.
Planning on taking me back to slam...only this time he picked a ghost lane. A long time between stops.
A long time for something to go wrong.