Jayne landed gracefully from his free fall or as gracefully as a man of his stature could, that is to say he landed on his feet. Jayne found himself in a small hallway that expanded into an open room which was filled with stacks and stacks of crates and boxes. It was obvious to deduce he had stumbled into some sort of a storage room.

The cargo was piled high and was in no particular order, just pushed together randomly to make room for more cargo, should it arrive. Great, Jayne had fallen from one maze, just to land himself in another ruttin’ maze. He was beginning to fell like he was being toyed with; Jayne Cobb was nobody’s damn rat.

Jayne began navigating through the cargo, pushing and pulling crates to make his own route through the dodgy course. He cautiously ventured in and out of the cargo, he had every single one of his guards up there was no telling what awaited him at the end of this maze. Jayne had know idea where he was going, a fact that he didn’t care about, lest he was walking into the hands of the enemy.

He finally came to a clearing in the storage room, probably the only place that wasn’t scattered with merchandise. Jayne leaned up against a tall stack of crates that bordered the clearing; he slowly edged to the end of the crates until he could see the area before him without being seen himself.

As Jayne rounded around the cargo he spied five men gathered around a table playing a game of tall card. Too bad Jayne didn’t have the time, he would have loved to join in their game and taken each one of those idiots money; though he’d have to settle with just taking their pride because they where about to get their asses kicked; it was inevitable.

One against five, Jayne knew he had favorable odds, he kind of felt bad for them; they where going to have to literally carry their asses back to their boss when he was done with them.

They where dressed in black suits, two of them donning silk hats, and all wearing shiny shoes. Jayne would have figured them to be harmless businessmen if it weren’t for the nine inch swords that gleamed at each man’s side.

Jayne knew he could probably double back somewhere between the rows of crates and find an alternative route, but doubling back would take time and God knew Jayne wasn’t a patient man. Jayne took one more look past his shield of crates and assessed the situation, he saw the men and this time he also saw the door; it was a way out.

As Jayne pulled his head back behind the safety of the crates he knew there would be no turning back, these hwoon dahns stood between him and his way out. Besides he loved a challenged, not to imply there was the presence of a challenge, Jayne could take on these well dressed sissies unarmed and with one hand tied behind his back.

But for this occasion Jayne was going for style, he was going to put a kick-your-ass-so-badly kind of hurt on these prissy boys that their great great great grand children would have sore behinds from the beating Jayne was about to dish out. He would show them style wasn’t measured by how well you dressed it was measured by how well you fought.

Jayne picked up a wooden plank that lay abandoned on the ground, he twirled it expertly in his hands before sneaking up on the group of men, they where too preoccupied with their game to notice Jayne’s stealthy approach. Jayne’s silent footfalls brought him closer to the group and when he had found his desired spot and intended target, he swung a mighty blow with the plank still gripped tightly in his hands and ended the first man’s life.

Jayne’s target was a shattered image of his former self, a limp head attached to a broken neck. The man’s head fell with a clatter on the table as tiny oceans of blood and brain flowed from the gaping hole in his head. This caused the others to finally take notice; they all seethed with anger for their fallen comrade. Vengeance pulsing through their bodies cultivating at their fingertips as they each reached for their sheathed swords.

Jayne positioned himself in a deadly fighting stance as the remaining four men began encircling him. A big bulky man was the first to reach Jayne, his eyes filled with unshed tears and an uncontrollably burning desire to cut Jayne from ear to ear. The big man raised his arm back, his sword lifted high in the air, gleaming fiercely with the need to sink deep within Jayne’s flesh.

The sword was thrust with ill-contempt in Jayne’s direction and he ducked as the blade flew past his head. The big man took time to readjust himself for the next thrust, giving Jayne the opportunity to smack the man with his makeshift bat. The bat landed against the man’s chest causing several of his ribs to crack in agony and the big man to drop his sword in defeat to nurse his broken body.

The second man to approach Jayne was tall and pretty quick for a man of his height. He lunged at Jayne randomly and Jayne managed to dodge the point of the sword. The tall man picked up his speed and began lunging rapidly and forcibly at Jayne. Jayne worked on swift feet barely avoiding the sharp edge of the other man’s blade; the tall man’s last thrust clipped Jayne on his side causing a free flowing cascade of blood to drip off of him and onto the ground. Jayne’s injury didn’t slow him down, it only made him furious, and his makeshift bat collided with both sides of the man’s head before landing in his gut bringing him to his fall. The tall man dropped to the ground, flickering images of his current surroundings playing in his head before unconsciousness claimed him.

Only two more to go Jayne thought. But of course they weren’t going out quietly, not after having to bare witness the defeat of their comrades. They knew they had the advantage of two against one, plus two Persephone-made swords against his fragile plank of wood. They had him out numbered all right, except Jayne had two well polished brass testicles and these nutless idiots wouldn’t know what a testicles was if it walked up to them and said ‘hey I’m a testicle’.

The two remaining men decide to put their ‘advantage’ to use and charged at Jayne simultaneously from opposite directions. Jayne foresaw their bold move and was prepared to take them both out, he swung his bat wide at the man to his left, and the end of the bat grazed the top of the man’s shoulder. Aside from a couple of splinters, Jayne’s blow didn’t do any real damage.

Jayne brought the plank of wood back once more and swung at the man, he dodged the blow. But Jayne continued his swing until it hit the man to his right in the chest, this caused the man to double over in pain. Jayne took this opportunity to bend down and knee the man in the face, breaking bone and ripping tissue as he did so. The man’s body did a spasmodic dance until it forgot the steps and lay stone-still, a distant reminder of life.

Jayne repositioned himself to face the man that was still standing. The man brought his sword down so aggressively Jayne didn’t have time to dodge it; instead he raised his wooden weapon to shield him from the blow. The sword missed Jayne and sank into the wood splitting it down the middle, it broke with an aching grown and Jayne was left holding two pieces of wood instead of one.

Jayne twirled the wood between both hands, nonstop, and his tornado of fury wrought down on the man as his wooden nun chucks battered him into the ground. The man growled in pain and as the last hit ran across his back he let out a scream so piercing it could shatter glass. Jayne tightened his fist and did the man the favor of knocking him out, at least he could find quiet in the realm of unconscious.

Jayne crossed the room to the door and turned the knob to go out but not before looking back at the destruction he had just caused, half of the men where dead, the other half was wishing like hell that they where. The fight hadn’t even lasted ten minutes though it had seemed like ages until his last foe fell. “Now that’s style,” Jayne stated as he twisted and curled the wooden nun chucks in his hands.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Mal’s plan was to wait until one of the guards came to check up on him, then he would knock the idiot out and escape. Mal heard the guard approaching his cell and positioned himself against the wall so that he would have the advantage. He waited stock-still until he heard the door open. He so badly wanted to cover his eyes because of the blinding light that flowed in but thought better of it; he didn’t want any movement to give his position away.

“Malcolm Reynolds, I’ve been warned well in advance about you, not to have already come to the conclusion your crouching like some snake in a corner ready to spring into action. But before you do I just want to tell you we have something you want; more like someone’s you want…I believe your pilot and your mechanic.”

The man took Mal’s silence as acknowledgement and disbelief. “Oh, don’t believe me do ya, well your loss not mine. Your two little friends are about to become ‘death bait.’” This statement especially the last part prompted Mal to finally speak up.

“What do you want?”

“Well, personally I want to see you die, but seeing as it’s not up to me my job is to bring you to the boss. He’ll decide what to do with you then and if he’s in a good mood he won’t kill your friends…right away.”

Mal paused before answering with “Who are you working for, is it the go se Alliance. I don’t take kindly to threats especially when they’re handed down by the Alliance, had enough of that in the war.”

“Who I work for is my business. But I can assure you it’s not the Alliance; my guy is tougher than any Alliance platoon; ten times scarier too. So if I was you I’d be praying it’s the Alliance I’m working for because they’re like schoolgirls compared to my boss.”

“Is that so?” Mal replied undisturbed.

“He is also an impatient man and you making him wait, will only make him that much more in the ‘killing’ mood. So what’s it gonna be Reynolds. You gonna come quietly or are you gonna make me work for my paycheck.”

Mal stepped out of the shadows and reluctantly went with the man, he really didn’t have a choice Kaylee and Wash needed him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Zoë landed stylishly from the drop to the ground. There was no ambush waiting for her when she reached the bottom and she inwardly sighed a relief. She found herself in a storage room, the same storage room Jayne had previously occupied. Zoë maneuvered herself swiftly between the boxes until she stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the mayhem that lay before her. Five men lay littered across the ground, only one was left alive; Zoë ran to his side, she had some questions that needed to be answered. Like where the hell where they? Who the hell had taken them?

Zoë kneeled down next to the broken man and she asked him who did this to him. The man struggled between breaths to try an answer her but his voice stayed trapped behind his tight jaw. Zoë figured the man had been through enough and didn’t probe him with any more questions because she knew all his answers would fall on silent lips.

This man was at his end, she would have like to have gotten some answers out of him because it was obvious by the way they where dressed that they worked for whoever was in charge. Important men always needed to show their importance through different outlets; employees where no exception.

Once you got past the impressive suits it was obvious to see these where no core boys, probably just some hired gun hands, though none of them carried any guns; just really long swords. But once you got past the expensive silk and polished shoes you could see that the ‘Rim’ possessed them all.

Zoë continued to stay by the man’s side, partly because she didn’t want him to die alone and partly because even though death stalked him the man held Zoë’s hand with a forceful grip; guess he didn’t want to die alone either. This moment brought Zoë to the remembrance of the War, too often and for too long she had to sit and wait for men in their platoon to slip from this world and into the next. So the greater part of Zoë stayed out of force of habit.

She could see the ‘Rim’ outlaw meant no harm, even if fate had pushed them to be enemies, she knew what it meant to do almost anything for those you loved. Life out on the Rim was hard; sometimes desperate. He probably didn’t want to have to work for the hwoon dahn who signed his check but he had a family to feed. He needed to survive because he had others counting on him. Zoë continued sharing her connection with the dying man; she saw a part of her life mirrored in his eyes.

Once you got past the impressive suit the guy laying painfully before her was just like her and the rest of Serenity’s crew; just trying to survive the pains of the ‘verse and make a life. Zoë watched the rise and fall of his chest as his shallow breathing slowed and he took his last breath. She pulled her hand from the dead man’s grip; ‘during the time of war leave no man behind’ and so Zoë had stayed with him ‘till he was a man no longer, just the shell of one and his spirit surged to walk in the halls of his ‘fathers’.

Zoë reached the exit and pushed the door open, she was in a dimly lit corridor and the sound of voices up ahead caused her to slink into the shadows unseen. She followed the sound of the voices with expedience and stopped when she could put faces to the voices she had heard. And for the second time this day Zoë stopped dead in her tracks, a multitude of emotions tugged at her, three heavily armed men where escorting Mal into room. The biggest of the three men accompanied Mal into the room, the other two stayed outside to keep watch.

The situation seemed urgent but not dreadful, but Zoë couldn’t see what was on the other side of the door, Mal could be getting killed for all she knew. She would have to take out the two guards to get closer, she was unarmed and a part of her wished she had picked up one of the swords that lay discarded in the room with the five dead men.

Zoë wasn’t a sword fighter that’s why she passed up the opportunity of picking up one of the swords, she cursed silently to herself, anything would have been better than nothing. And she was pretty sure she could have thrown the sword at one her assailants if anything went wrong. A knock out is a knock, no matter how you go about doing it.

But it was too late now, in her pursuit of the voices she was lead further away from the storage room, and in the dim lighting it was hard to tell where she was now. She couldn’t go back. Fighting without the sword would probably be for the best, the cap’n had tried once and it had almost gotten him killed.

Zoë was about to just go in for the old fist fight when she caught something out of the corner of her eye. A pair of wooden nun chucks laid abandoned on the floor. Zoë picked up the nun chucks and preceded with grace and stealth toward the two guards men. A huge smile playing across her face as Zoë thought ‘I’ve always wanted to use nun chucks.’

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Mal was lead out of his cell and blindfolded, as if it where necessary it’s not like he had lasers for eyes. He was escorted by three men, the one who had first entered the cell and two others they picked up in the hallway or so Mal concluded as he heard the three men laughing loudly at his untimely death. Was it REALLY that funny?

He was drug unceremoniously into a tiny room or so he figured as he heard a door slam close behind him and he thumped hard up against the end of a table. Mal couldn’t see past the blindfold that was tied securely around his eyes a fact which bothered him to no end; he always liked knowing where he was going. He was man handled forcibly until his knee hit something hard, a chair probably because he was then turned around and pushed into a sitting position.

Mal’s heart beat steady and though these idiots couldn’t tell he was giving them an icy stare. A stare so cold and filled with hatred and disdain it would have given a yeti frostbite. Mal’s heart stopped when the blindfold was removed and he saw that face. A face laden with so much hatred and despair it made Mal wish like hell he where somewhere else.

At first he thought he was seeing things so Mal rubbed vigorously at his eyes trying to paint a new picture in his spectrum. But that face was still there, those beady little eyes where still giving him the once over. Then the figure in front of Mal spoke and his blood all but froze when he heard that voice he tried hard to forget.

“Hello, Mista Reynolds.” From that sentence on Mal knew nothing was going to be alright.