2. Exit strategy
[Filtered to Rinzler]
[Riddick's communicator is on the ground. He toes it up with a boot so that it shows his face.]
I'm out, 'warden'. Later. [He gives a little wave at the camera and then heads off at a run into a dark, nasty-looking forest, disappearing quickly in the gloom.
[Riddick's communicator is on the ground. He toes it up with a boot so that it shows his face.]
I'm out, 'warden'. Later. [He gives a little wave at the camera and then heads off at a run into a dark, nasty-looking forest, disappearing quickly in the gloom.
Fortunately the piece of the Barge the Admiral had assigned Rinzler to bring back could be as easily located in the forest as anywhere else, so the Program shifted priorities to finding his errant Inmate.
There will be proper introductions and ground rules after this. Now, Rinzler hunts. Finding the discarded communicator is easy. Following Riddick's trace into the forest is harder, but it's good sort of difficulty.
The weird wildlife here don't know better than to leave Rinzler alone, and that's also good, in a way.]
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He'd lost his eyebrows in the scuffle, but gotten clear of the flaming demon beavers with a useful chunk of tibia. Now, perched up a tree, he was slowly grinding a consistent edge onto the jagged shard, looking for cracks or fracture point. He heard a sound that didn't fit-- like a far-off motor-- and went still, his little shiv-to-be resting lightly against the petrified wood.]
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He stops before barreling into the little family outright, reaching up over his shoulder to draw his disc. Go around, instinct says, and careful, and even as he starts quartering away to pick up signs of Riddick's passage, his circuits go dark and growl mutes to the subvocal level.]
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Some sneaky motherfucker was actually going to get the drop on him if he didn't play this right. He'd say he was happy for the challenge but really, he just kind of wanted to be left alone for a nice clean get away.
He shimmied down out of the tree, the shiv in his belt crude but workable, and pulled up his goggles, looking for movement in the darkness, listening for anything.]
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And he had persistence.
He paused in his tracks again, lifting his head at a distant sound that was other-than-animal. He was getting closer, then.
He rolled his disc between thumb and forefinger, keeping close to the trees as he advanced. No point in lighting and splitting it yet; Riddick's file had been clear that the enhanced eyesight came at the expense of photophobia.
It seemed the Program would need to yield the first move in the game to his Inmate in this gloom, but there was no point in giving away all his surprises. Not yet.]
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Just ignore the pot-calling-kettle aspects of that.
He padded almost silent in a wide circle, to get more behind the man, get a clear shot to his back. Almost a shame. All this poor asshole did was get signed up with him. But he'd come chasing after, and that meant he had to drop if Riddick was going to get away clean.
He palmed the shiv, testing his grip, and then broke cover at a sprint. He maybe had one shot before the knife lost structural integrity and became just a slashing weapon. Better hit the sweet spot.]
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He lifted his chin, idling-engine growl growing louder as he examined the nearby foliage. Waiting.
Almost too late--definitely too late for something with a Furyan's reflexes--Rinzler spun in place, parrying the blow upward with his unlit disc. The shiv tore a wide furrow through suit and flesh, from wrist to elbow, exposing bright circuits but no blood. Dead Programs didn't bleed.]
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He pulled back and snapped a wicked kick up, looking to disarm the warden and get the disc out of his grip.]
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Bounding back from the kick, he rolled over his injured arm, coming up in a three-point crouch with his disc in his offhand.]
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The maneuver showed fast that either the program felt no pain or was trained not to do it, and the deep scratch down his arm hadn't hurt his movements. This couldn't be a fight of attrition. It would have to be one or two deep, hard shots.
Riddick's face was calm but a guttural sound burst from his chest as he launched himself forward-- throwing himself lightly sideways at the last moment, planting two boots on a petrified tree, and launching back at a completely different angle. Shiv extended.]
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Riddick rolled and regained his stance, balancing on the balls of his feet and blinking to get his bearings. Something was wrong. The light was bright, but there hadn't been pain. Looking down, he realized that the shard of bone had clipped him across the fingers, the white bone smeared dark where he gripped it; that hadn't hurt either.
His voice was like liquid oxygen; cold enough to shatter metal.]
One moment.
[He held up a hand, one finger up, incongruously, ridiculously polite. Then took a few steps back, the fingers of his free hand coming up to his neck, as if he was going to find the beat with his fingers that he couldn't feel in his chest. It was starting to come to him how muted and distant everything had felt. How even the adrenaline didn't seem to be there, just the memory of it.
The. FUCK.]
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He did not smile; he was not made for smiling, but he nodded once as Riddick made his realization. They were well-matched.]
We are, [it was strange, but without having to breathe, he didn't need to strain as much to talk,] dead. Here.
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He relied a lot on his backbrain, the non-verbal portions, the instinctive drive. The animal side.
And the problem with that is it kind of left him adrift when that portion curled up under the metaphorical porch and whined quietly.
He was still for a a while.]
Well fuck that. What did you want me for, anyway.
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He retrieved Riddick's communicator from a toggle beside his own, tossing it to his Inmate.]
Your parole.
[The Admiral had a job for them as well, but Rinzler was dubious as to how much each item might be required for the Barge's repairs--given how difficult it was to ensure Inmate compliance at any time.]
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Really.
[He blew a breath out through his nose-- a habitual thing since he didn't currently have an oxygen intake to regulate.]
You this fast when you're alive, bright-boy?
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