Sometimes he wished he didn't care.

Richard B. Riddick used to live an easy life. Giving a shit about only himself made things simple, and Riddick liked simple. Being top priority tended to make you less dead, and Riddick liked that, too.

It was when he started to care that things got all screwed up. Now, not only was he a fugitive, but he was a fugitive with a mission. A fucking mission. And it wasn't his first, either.

He had drawn the line after the T2 fiasco. No more saving wayward teens and holy men. He was not some fuckin' saviour out to help the helpless. He was a criminal, for Christ sake. Criminals did not save people.

He disappeared to the cold climates of Helion 6 in hopes of freezing his new-found humanity right out of him, but after five years of living primal it still niggled at him, an itch beneath his skin.

Fucking kid. Fry had given him a conscience, sure, but Jack -- Jack had kept it anchored, an irritating weight on his chest.

He had somehow never managed to forgive her for that. Even when Imam had told him what had happened, how she had ended up serving a death sentence on Crematoria of all places, he did not forgive.

Things didn't stay simple from then on. Not only did his conscience demand that he follow the kid and see about rescuing her, but the other part of his conscience -- the part he called Imam -- decided it was up to him to save humanity from those Necrofuckers, too.

Save humanity? He barely had a hold of his own.

Apparently that didn't matter. He won in the end. Mission accomplished. The universe was saved, and Jack...

... Jack was dead.

He still never forgave her. He hated her a little for the tears he cried over her dead body. She had not taken his humanity with her -- that small slice that cut so deep and made his soul bleed -- but had left it to fester within him.

He cared, and he cared too much.

They made him Lord Marshall and they worshipped him. They told him of the Underverse and it's legends, how each Lord Marshall had come to be and how his soul was now a bargaining chip for him to do with as he pleased.

The Underverse would grant him immortality if he so wished it. Life for death, death for life. There were no boundaries.

He considered his choices for a short time and decided swiftly. The Underverse would cleanse him of his humanity, he knew. Jack would still be dead but he would no longer care. After all, a dead soul could not weep, could not bleed.

It happened days later, while he sat by her side. Well-preserved her body lay, still flushed with colour. It had been weeks since her demise, but the Necromongers -- bringers of death and worshippers of it -- knew how to prolong the illusion of life.

The candles died and from the darkness whispered Death itself. It swore the promises Riddick knew it would and with bargaining chip in hand, he was almost ready to trade humanity for peace, when his eyes fell to her deathbed.

He knew there would be no peace without her, and so it was that he named his price.

His soul for Jack's life.

Death agreed and Riddick waited. He knew what would happen to him once his soul was gone. He had seen it. He had sacrificed immortality for a taste of peace and he would know it soon enough. He just hoped that he would get to see Jack's smiling face again before he did.

And so he waited, but death did not come. Jack's body still lay motionless beside him, her beautiful eyes still closed. Her hands were cold beneath his touch.

He questioned Death in a low, brusque tone, and it answered.

The Jack he knew was not dead.

This girl -- the one who had called herself Kyra -- was not the girl he had left behind.

Riddick remained numb for days after. Even as he began his search to find Jack, leaving behind his army to the care of the new Lord Marshall, a much alive and apologetic Kyra, he had yet to truly believe she was alive.

And so it was that he became a man on a mission. A mission to find the girl who had fled Helion Prime in search of him. Riddick didn't know how much of what Imam had said was true. Had Jack been on Crematoria all along? Or had she never been sent there in the first place?

If he were to return to that planet, would he return only to find Jack's broken remains?

He shuddered to think.

He spent sleepless nights on a small Necromonger ship wishing he didn't care. On more than one occasion he had contemplated the thought of turning back and joining Kyra as her consort.

But Riddick played second fiddle to no one, especially to a girl who had deceived him, played on his memories of the Jack he had known five years ago and used them against him.

He hadn't stuck around for long after her resurrection. Her excuses had fallen on deaf ears -- "I never meant--", "I'm sorry that I--", "Please don't hate--" -- and he had left her to reign over her new-found kingdom. Not truly hers by right or consent, he had offered her up to fill his role as Lord Marshall. He wanted information from her, information about Jack that she could not give while laying cold and lifeless, and for her to live there had to be a trade. And so there was.

Except this time he had used Kyra's soul as a bargaining chip, and in return it was she who gained immortality and full reign over the Necromongers.

Still dead, Kyra had not had much of a choice.

But even breathing she would not tell him about Jack. They had been friends, having found each other on the run. Most of Kyra's story had been true -- she had teamed up with a group of Mercs intent on tracking him down, but not for the reasons she had told him. Past that she would not tell him much more, only that Jack didn't wish to be found. She wouldn't even tell him if Jack had been on Crematoria.

If she had been, Kyra had said, she's dead now.

It was hard to threaten a half-dead Dame and leader of the Necromonger army with death and torture if she didn't tell him what he needed to know, so Riddick was forced to admit defeat and venture out alone.

Kyra, strangely forgiving for someone who had been thrust into a destiny not of her choosing, offered up whatever he might need. She was generous but nevertheless adamant that his quest was futile. He would never find Jack. She was lost to him, or even worse, dead.

Riddick would never settle until he knew. Dead or alive it was his mission now to find Jack. He wanted answers. He had too many questions for a man who had never spent his days wondering why, but merely accepted things as they were.

So many questions, and one of them lay heavy on his chest.