A/n : For detailed author's notes for this story, please see the end. For general notes about my "Dredd" fics, please see my profile.

I do not like the term "trigger warnings" - but I think as an author I have a responsibility to make sure people are aware of what is in this story. Obviously, this is a "Dredd" story based on the movie and that features crime, violence, drug use and death (this story will NOT feature serious real-world swearing, however). It is obvious a "Dredd" story will contain such things – please do not be surprised if you find them!

Please note : this story is rated "M" for mature. The reason is because there are some sexual themes and scenes in it; there is nothing explicit but it is a little more than a "T" rating, I think. The sexual themes and content is connected with the villains of the piece, and so is not pleasant or loving. It is violent and abusive in places. Please be aware of and warned about this! I have not written this content to be titillating, nor will I – so please don't request the story go in that direction.

If you enjoyed this story (and even if you didn't) please review – even if it is just a "good fic / bad fic" review (although more detail is nice). Without reviews, I don't know if I am writing things people want to read, or what needs to be changed or have more of / less of for future stories.

I have a very simple rule – if you leave a review for me, I will leave a review for you. I don't care what sort of stories you write, or even if I am familiar with the fandom – I will leave a review.

The Return of Rico

Chapter One : Aspen

The prisoner lay on his back, his hands linked behind his head, staring at but not seeing the ceiling above his bed. His naked body – lean and well-muscled – was relaxed, his face slack, his mind far away.

Tomorrow, he went free – but that was not what occupied his thoughts. He did not look forward, but rather back, to the twenty years he had spent in this facility. Seven thousand three hundred and five days and nights in the Aspen Maximum Security Penitentiary. One-hundred-and-seventy-five thousand three-hundred-and-twenty hours surrounded by bars and walls and razor wire. Ten-million five-hundred-and-nineteen thousand two-hundred minutes being constantly watched and spied upon. Six-hundred-and-thirty-one million one-hundred-and-fifty-two thousand seconds of his life spent in the inverted-fortress dug deep into the mile-high mountains of the Rockies.

He'd spent longer inside these walls than outside them, toiling like a slave in the choking, cloying darkness of the silver mines, fitfully sleeping on lumpy mattresses or shivering beneath thin blankets, obsessively exercising in the prison gymnasium, screaming himself hoarse when the isolation and horror became too much. He knew, intellectually, that he existed on the very edge of madness, perhaps having already crossed over to the other side. He could fool the psychologists, the guards, even the warden – but not himself. He knew his time here had changed and broken him, mentally and spiritually if not physically. Pleasures no longer satiated him. What sustained him was his obsession, his all-consuming hatred of the man who had put him here.

His hands tightened behind his head and the muscles at the points of his heavy jaw popped, but he gave no other sign of anger. It had all been so stupid! There had been no need for the goody-two-shoes Judge to turn him in! There'd been room enough in Mega City One for the two of them, for their two approaches. Really, what had it mattered? Did he really begrudge him the comfort he'd made for himself on the side? That had to be it – a false, overweening asceticism was what had made him turn him in. A probably hypocritical martyr complex, a masochistic enjoyment of suffering. And jealousy – couldn't forget jealousy. He'd always been better, and he'd never let him forget it.

Perhaps that had been it – he'd pushed him too far. He'd always been stronger than him, always better, always better equipped to handle life. He'd been too hard on him, unfair to him. And that was why he'd reacted like he did, jealously sending him away so only he remained, taking his place as the best in the city now his only rival was gone.

The first few years had been hard – horribly so. Not physically – physical hardship had never troubled him, and he had never shied away from a confrontation. But the mental adjustment – from freedom and authority and comfort and wealth to restriction and control and suffering and poverty – had been agonizing. He found himself on the bottom rung of the ladder once again, those above him thinking he could push him about – and pushing back caused more problems than it solved. The other prisoners feared him, but did not respect him – the warden made sure of that as he had the guards systematically break him for each and every infraction.

He became cunning and patient – he had the intelligence and he certainly had the time. He tamped down his rage and anger, letting it smolder hot beneath the surface. He became a model prisoner, well-behaved and respectful, working his way towards positions of trust and petty privileges. He slowly built a reputation among his fellow inmates, doing favors for them, protecting the weaker ones and the newbies, standing up to those who stepped out of line, the voice of reason in the face of madness.

His life became easier, bearable certainly if not pleasant. He enjoyed comforts long denied to him – books, television, a cup of sythi-caf now and then. The guards considered him to be safe, institutionalized, no longer a threat. Only the warden did not trust him.

Not that it would have mattered if he did – there was no parole. Not from Aspen and not for a man like him. Not for his "crimes". Now his lips twitched, drawing back from his clenched teeth. Crimes! He'd done nothing more than many others! Nothing worse, certainly! It was perfectly understandable, expected even. It had simply been his bad luck to have drawn someone like him who had to do everything by the book and turn him in.

Still he waited patiently, working behind the scenes to put the pieces in place, ready to be set in motion. And then, fifteen years since he was sent to Aspen, five years ago now, his opportunity came.

There was no way the riot could be traced to him – the Block Boss of C-Wing had ordered a hit on foot-soldiers from a rival gang, and the reprisals had quickly spiraled out of control. The guards had all-but abandoned the affected areas of the prison, locking the doors and pulling back, writing-off their men inside and relying on starvation to bring the riot to heel. Many of his fellow inmates looked to him for leadership, encouraging him to organize them and take charge, using the violence as an opportunity for escape.

How stupid and blind they were! There was nowhere to go – the prison had been placed on lockdown and even if they broke out into the wider facility and then over the walls, they would simply find themselves in a larger cage. Aspen MaxSec had been built high in the atomic desert of the Rockies for a reason – there was nothing but tens of thousands of acres of scouring, scorching sand and razor-sharp rocks. The earth was an endless chewing sea of mouthless teeth, the air thick with grinding dust, the days broiling and the nights cold enough to freeze blood. There was no escape before release.

But he still led them. He led them in securing the prison, in bringing order to the rioting blocks, in protecting the guards and capturing the ringleaders. Cleverly – so cleverly he was certain not even his closest lieutenants noticed – he allowed his rivals in the prisoner hierarchy to die and denied protection to guards he'd earmarked as a problem or who stood in the way of the promotion of one particular guard, a shift-chief he'd had his eye on for two years.

She was his age, a scornful ice-queen with ambition to match her beauty who viewed her charges as scum but never underestimated them. She became warden when the previous one was dismissed in disgrace. She was no flighty girl to make elementary mistakes, but there was no way his efforts in ending the riot could be overlooked. And, maybe, there was something else in her decision to grant him further privileges and a relaxation of work duties.

She stirred next to him in the bed – she was lying on her side, naked like him. They had been lovers for three years now, him enjoying the unofficial and illicit privileges of her magnificent body. She had not been an easy seduction – and, really, he wondered who'd seduced who. She was no fool – by most standards of logic it was madness to get involved with a convict. If their liaison were found out, she would share his fate as an inmate of Aspen.

But perhaps she already was a prisoner. The howling desert of the Cursed Earth caged her as surely as it did any of her charges. She was far from civilization, surrounded by criminals – murderers and worse – commanding a discontented army of ambitious men suffering in the same place she was. She had risen to the place he wanted her, and now she realized she was disillusioned with it and she wanted something different, more.

It was an easy step for her to go from seeing herself as the keeper of prisoners to a queen of criminals. She had her empire, bounded by the walls of Aspen, but if she wanted more she needed a prince to rule by her side. He would be an asset to her, someone who could help her with his knowledge and skills when he was released. He introduced her to contacts back in the city, people who would welcome his return and through whom she could lay the foundation for her new career. It had been an easy step from one side of the law to the other, and an even shorter one to his lover.

As he thought of this, remembering all their times together – from the first tryst against the wall of the gymnasium shower, thought the numerous encounters in her office and eventually bedroom, to the latest, so recent the sweat of the coupling was still drying on their skin – he turned towards her and drank in her beauty. She was tall and long-limbed, a magnificent Amazon of a woman blessed with a natural hourglass figure she had honed to muscular perfection with fearsome daily exertions in the gym. Possessively and critically, he admired her breasts – a year before, she'd traveled to Texas City to have them enhanced at his request. He enjoyed the glorious athleticism of her body, but he made no secret of the fact he liked his women curvacious and feminine. Exercise had given her enviously-muscular hips and thighs and a swinging tush that could stop traffic, but also trimmed every spare ounce of fat from her body, leaving her flat-chested. Now her breasts were biosculpted perfection; high and tight, unnaturally large and so firm a bra was unnecessary.

She exulted in the effect her body had on him, teasing him by flaunting herself at him out in the prison, acting as if no special relationship existed between them, delighting in the way he lost control when he was with her. She was in charge – that was why she'd gone under the knife, a simple procedure to give her the key to his desire. He was so easy to manipulate, all his energy and potency melting to nothing in a sudden, delicious spasm.

He saw it differently, of course – the day he'd sent her to get her breasts enlarged had marked a watershed in their relationship. He'd told her what to do and she'd done it, having her flesh sliced open and plasteen bags of silicone inserted to turn her into what he wanted her to be. She'd been far more alluring when she came back, of course, much more able to coax him into bed – but she'd also been much more willing to do what he wanted when they were there.

He smiled as he remembered the progression of their sex – it elevated it too much to call it "lovemaking". At first she had enjoyed him in quick, disposable encounters in the showers – panting her orders and instructions and plans to him in between her gasps and screams. Later, she had delighted in summoning him to her office, straddling him on her couch and dismissing him when she'd taken her pleasure.

Eventually, of course, they had progressed to the bed in her quarters next to her office, still with her on top at the beginning but with her coming to enjoy assuming the traditional female role more frequently. She had still tended to send him away once they were done – perhaps fearing the guards would notice he wasn't in his cell – but gradually she'd stopped worrying about that and he'd spent many nights slumbering in a comfortable bed next to her.

When she'd returned from Texas City, her new pliability had encouraged him to push further. It wasn't long before they were back in her office, using her desk for something other than paperwork. He still liked to finish inside her like that, enjoying her face pressed to the blotter and the muscles of her back flexing impotently, but now they'd mostly graduated to her chair. He sat in it, she facing away from him as she straddled his lap. He told her – truthfully – it was because the sight of her hard ass and the feel of her enhanced breasts cupped from behind drove him wild, but making her give up more than her flesh was his real goal.

Memories had awakened his desire; his body needed hers again. He reached out and shoved her over, climbing atop her as she woke. They grunted wordlessly as they coupled, each brutally forcing pleasure onto the other, struggling to make the victim surrender first. He snarled triumphantly as she lost beneath him, her strong body arching and writhing like a nest of rad-eels in his arms, her defeat driving him over the edge.

They rolled apart to lie gasping side by side. He didn't speak, resuming his introspective staring at the ceiling. She propped herself up on one elbow, leaning over him. He didn't react, continuing to stare past her. She ran a strong hand over the lean, wiry muscles of his chest, lightly scratching flirtatious sigils with her short, unpainted nails. He still didn't move. She pressed herself to him, more desperately now, sliding her firm flesh against his.

Finally, he turned to face her, looking at her dispassionately. She was really very, very beautiful – ash-gray eyes, pursed pink lips and a cute button nose. She wore no cosmetics and no scent except that of her soap. Once they were out of here, he decided, she was going to wear make-up and grow her hair out – at least into a pixie or urchin cut. As was practical in the prison, she kept her platinum-blonde hair buzzed close to the scalp, denying an attacker something to grab in a fight. He wanted to be able to grab it too – in something other than a fight, of course, but perhaps there too.

After all; who knew how things might play out once he was back in the city and his long-range plan of revenge was coming to fruition?

"Freedom tomorrow, baby," she said. "The transport leaves at oh-eight-hundred. The firebug'll be set on the main fuel line – it'll arm as soon as the radio signal fades."

He nodded – they'd gone over this plan a dozen times, she was just making conversation. "How far out'll that be?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Depends on the weather, but fifty, sixty miles. The lights in the cabin will flash once it's armed – you'll have a minute to get out before it detonates. You'll have enough time, won't you, baby?" she asked nervously. She wormed herself into him, running her hand through his hair and nuzzling his neck. "I worry about you."

Satiated and preoccupied, he pushed her off. "More than enough," he said shortly. "Two guards and two pilots? Piece of cake."

"You'll be cuffed," she reminded him.

"I said it'll be fine!" he snapped. She pouted and drew back, but then looked angry. He remembered she could still make life difficult for him, and that if he didn't play nice she might decide she could do this without him. "I'm sorry, honey," he said. "It's just . . . big day tomorrow. Where will that put me, when it goes down?"

She smiled at him, mollified. "Range of the transmitter depends on the weather," she said, "but you should be within ten miles of Butte Junction. RoboRail's train comes through there just before ten. It can't go fast there – it'll slow right down and you can jump on and hitch a ride all the way to Mega City One. You should be there in two days, no more. I'll meet you there." She smiled again, genuine affection in her eyes and some long-buried, atrophied conscience twinged inside him as he considered how he'd ruined her. But he quickly shoved that unwelcome feeling aside, rationalizing it away. He didn't love her, he didn't hate her – she was just a means to an end, a means by which he could get his revenge on the one that he did love and did hate. "Two days, baby – two days and we're together forever, you and me, large and in charge of all the rackets of Mega City One! They won't know what hit them, baby!"

He grunted noncommittally. "Not gonna be as easy as all that, honey," he said darkly. "Lots of work to do before we're on easy street. People we need to deal with, scores we need to settle." His hands curled into fists and he grit his teeth, starting fixedly at nothing, his eyes burning with rage.

She knew what he was talking about – she'd endured his rants often enough, his all-consuming hatred and obsession. It was to be expected, after what he'd done to him, how he'd treated him. It was a wound she couldn't heal. She'd tried, once or twice, to help him, to get him to let go of his hate. That had been wrong of her – he'd had to hurt her because of it, what he'd done to him making him lash out at her. She knew now healing would only come when the other was dead and defeated, when he was the undisputed victor in their private war.

"We'll do it, baby," she promised him. "By the time we're finished, there'll be only one Dredd in Mega City One, and that'll be my stud Rico."

A/n : This story is – while set in the same "world" as the rest of my fics – not directly connected to them. The events described are part of the history of the characters in my world, but this story isn't part of that overarching narrative. This story doesn't require you to have read anything else, although "Assessment Over" and aaron.92's story "Dredd II" are canonical for this.

I was inspired to write this story both directly and indirectly by Darth Gilthoron and his work on "The Cursed Earth". He took a classic Dredd comic story and retold it in prose in the style of the 2012 movie. Inspired by that, I wanted to do something similar – although the "Return of Rico" story is just a single prog rather than the long-running "Cursed Earth" saga. The Stallone "Judge Dredd" movie also dealt with Rico, and I will be using some of the elements from that in this piece.

I was directly inspired by Darth Gilthoron's "The Cursed Earth" (which is an excellent story – despite stylistic differences I have with him, I do think it is superb) in that he has scenes with Rico on Titan. These explore his history and motivations, and are some of the best scenes in the story I think. I've used some of the elements he had in his piece as inspiration for this opening chapter.

I don't want to give away too-much about the plot here – and that is made easier because I'm not actually sure what the plot is going to be! I have vague ideas, but nothing concrete. Really, I was inspired to write this off-the-cuff – a sudden spurt of inspiration. I have definite plans and concepts for the Cornelius-Anderson stories (which will handle "The Day The Law Died" and "Judge Death") but this is much more vague.

In terms of chronology, this story takes place about a year after the "Dredd 3D" movie, and a couple of months (maybe three) after "Dredd II" by aaron.92 (that story isn't essential to read – but you should read it because it is awesome and canonical for this.) Linking to my own stories, this takes place about a year before "Aegis".

A note on "Aspen vs Titan" - in the comics, Titan (the moon of Saturn) is a prison planet. In the Stallone movie, Aspen in the Rockies is the secure penitentiary. I thought the "Dredd 3D" movie didn't feel like a setting with extra-terrestrial prisons, so I used Aspen in "Aegis" and I reuse it here.

I have previously tried to keep stories rated "T" - deliberating not using 'real' swearwords and instead following the comics' conventions with fake swear words. I have also only made veiled sexual references. A lot of the stylistic difference between myself and Darth Gilthoron related to sexual themes and the use of them. In this story, in order to highlight the villainous (and even somewhat weak – he is ruled by his passions, rather than ruling them as Joe Dredd does) nature of Rico I have made the sexual themes more overt. The nastiness of his personality can be seen in this chapter in the way he treats the warden as an object, a means to an end, and wants to dominate and control her rather than any kind of genuine affection.

I thought this choice was useful to show Rico's personality, but I didn't want to overdo it. Very, very likely the sexual themes will lessen from this start, and certainly won't get any more overt. And, as I said at the beginning, the sexual elements are not written to titillate – and WILL NOT be written to titillate, so don't ask! They are written to show the personality of these villains.

Accordingly, none of the sexual violence or cruelty here should be understood as endorsing this kind of thing. A good story needs villains, and villains are villainous.

Phew! Long author's note, and I am not sure it explains everything. But why not review? Just write below! I will reply to all reviews and always return the review love, I promise. I shall be continuing this story – but when the inspiration strikes; this is my "change it up" story so updates might not be very regular.