Zoë stilled held the wooden nun chucks tight in her hands as she approached the men who stood guard outside of the room that Mal was now being held captive in. She moved quickly and with precision never giving the men time to oppose the attack she sent their way.

Zoë lifted her right hand and slugged the first man across his face, breaking his jaw, while simultaneously delivering a blow to the second man’s head. They both staggered drunkenly with shock, confusion and pain. And where never once given the opportunity to regain composure because Zoë lay blow after blow across their bodies causing multiple bones to break and several cries to escape from the men’s lips. When she was done both men fell into a heap of defeat.

One man had a dislocated shoulder, a black eye, a pounding headache, and more than a few busted ribs. The other man sported two black eyes, a bloody broken nose, a fractured jaw, a shattered hand, and a dislodged leg. Both men would need some doctor’n and a couple of stitches. The more damaged man would probably need a new face; his was long removed beyond the point of recognizable.

Zoë knew her tussle with the guards was like to draw someone’s attention, especially the occupants of the room. She hastily drug the unconscious men into the shadows of the dark hallway and likewise took the approach to conceal herself within the dark atmosphere.

Zoë’s assumption had been right, her fight did not go unnoticed, and the tall man who had escorted Mal into the room to begin with, came hustling out of said room. He appeared in the tiny doorway, his eyebrows where cast down in frustration due in part that his guardsmen where absent from their posts. He stepped from the threshold closing the door tightly behind him as he did so. He had his gun drawn and his eyes moved rapidly as he cautiously ventured away from the entrance of the room, searching for any signs of his men.

He knew they wouldn’t leave their posts, he knew, that they knew, he would kill them dead if the thought even crossed their minds. Something or someone made them leave their positions, and he had an inkling of who it was. Several of his other men had informed him that two of the prisoners had escaped. Which meant they where lose about the facility, poking their noses in places they didn’t belong, taking out his men along the way, possibly trying to rescue their friends.

He was commander over these dimwits, one of the bosses’ favorite; no one was going to threaten his position at the top of the food chain. This discrepancy wouldn’t get back to the ‘higher ups’, not if he could help it, he would stop the escaped prisoners at all costs. And find his men, hopefully find them alive, if not well then he would just have to dispose of their bodies; dead bodies led to too many questions. Questions he didn’t have answers to. He wasn’t a man of ‘conscience’.

The commander trained his gun onto the unmoving darkness as he continued to search for his men. All the while Zoë watched him silently from behind her veil of darkness and she stayed hidden with in its black camouflage until the commander receded into the gloom and his footsteps faded into the distance.

Under any other circumstances Zoë would have taken him out but he was heavily armed and her nun chucks seemed like no match against all his machinery. So she waited until she was sure he was no longer in the vicinity and made her way to the door that separated her from Mal. She grabbed a hold of the knob and turned while pushing up against it, no luck, it was locked. Rather than making any further attempts at trying to forcible open the door, an action that might cause more reinforcements to emerge, Zoë leaned up against the cool surface and strained to hear the events taking place on the other side.

Hearing nothing on the other side of the door meant she had been too late. Hearing gunshots or screams meant she needed to intervene and quickly. Hearing Mal meant he was still alive and possibly not in any danger; there was still hope…for something.

It relieved Zoë to no end when she pressed her ear up against the door and distinctly heard Mal’s muffled voice on the other side. He wasn’t dead, yet. But there was someone else with him in that room. When the anonymous voice spoke again Zoë recognized it immediately and it sent a cold pit to the bottom of her stomach.

Of all the people she pegged out in the ‘verse to be in that room with Mal, of all the people she thought they’d go toe to toe into battle with, of all the people she hoped wasn’t the person behind this entire fiasco…

Zoë would have paid 1,000 platinum not to see the consequences of this ‘end game’ play out because if HE was behind this that meant whatever lay ahead was only going to be sick and twisted and like to have them all wishing for the comfort of a coffin before the end.

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

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

Mal looked at that face and all the dreadful memories that came with acknowledgement, rushed into his head causing his eyes to go dark with hatred. “Niska!”

“Dat es right Adelei Niska, in da flesh. You seem so surprised Mista Reynolds. Such old acquaintances like us mite warrant some excitement.”

“The only time I’ll ever get excited over seeing your face, is when you wrinkly mug is looking back up at me when you’re laying 6 feet under.”

“I can see you are still bitter from our last encounter, death das tend to do dat. You died on me Mista Reynolds. You spoiled my fun. But not dis time; dis time I hope to get a week out of you. You do not get to almost kill Adelei Niska and live to tell about it!”

“You always did talk too much.” Mal said unfazed by Niska’s ranting. “If I recall correctly I would have ended you right then and there, if your big goon hadn’t attacked me. Without your little army of henchmen your nothing because I also recall you scurrying away like a little itty bitty bug once I started kicking your ass. It’s just you and me Niska I’m ready to finish what I started.”

Mal rose and began making his way towards Niska; his bounds and blindfold had been removed earlier and Niska’s henchman hand gone to investigate a nearby ruckus. That really only left just Mal and Niska and the space that separated them. He could end this all now.

“No, no Mista Reynolds.” Niska stated excitedly as he waved a control around in his hands.

“Are you planning on blowing me up?” Mal asked trying to decide if the item clutched in Niska’s hands was a remote detonator.

Niska didn’t answer Mal’s question he simply pushed the big red button on the center of the control. Mal instinctively closed his eyes, waiting until the sensation of being torn up into tiny pieces took him, but it never came. Mal open his eyes and his gaze met those steely beady little eyes staring back at him.

“Do not be silly, bombs are designed to make death quick, I want you to die slowly and painfully. I plan on torturing you beyond da pretense of pain, you will beg for death before I am finished with you. After all I am anxious on meeting da real you again; I will remove every layer of your skin if dat es what it takes to see whose lurking beneath the façade of Captain Malcolm Reynolds. I want my face to be da last image burned into your brain.”

“Slow-painful-unmerciful-death, got it, so wants with the ‘evil-doer’ control.”

“Dat was to show you dem.” Niska said pointing at a screen that now lay on the table. The control had made the screen rise up from somewhere inside the table to take the position it now had. But it wasn’t the fancy technology that had Mal’s attention. It was the two figures that where displayed on the screen. It was Kaylee and Wash.

They both seemed to be okay although Wash had a deep cut that ran across his chest. A minor scratch compared to what Mal had seen in his lifetime; nothing the good Doc couldn’t fix, but a fact none the less that would make Zoë a mite on the vengeful side. Kaylee on the other hand seemed unharmed; how long before she had a ruby red slash engraved in her skin? Mal knew Niska meant business.

“I see I finally have your attention. Sit back down Mista Reynolds.” Mal reluctantly trudged across the room to sit back down at his end of the table. “So you see it es not just you and me. I have your entire crew, to do with as I will.” Niska made a gesture to one of his henchmen that stood guard over Wash and Kaylee.

With that gesture two other men stepped from the ranks, one turned to Wash, he was holding something in his hand; it was clearly one of Niska’s torturing devices. The device was a dagger, but it was no ordinary dagger, it had been wielded into one of the sharpest points Mal had ever seen in his life; the tip was almost microscopic. And affixed to the end of the jagged dagger was a glass bulb. The inside of the bulb was empty and it shone a milky white hue, what possible purpose could it serve? Mal knew he was about to find out the answer to that question.

The henchman that had turned to Wash grasped the dagger greedily between his sweaty palms and with one fluid motion he dug the tiny tip into Wash’s flesh, where it sunk deep within his tissue. He drug the steel across his chest breaking open his skin causing the fleshy tissue to be exposed and his blood to bubble to the surface spilling with haste from the fresh wound. Wash cried out in pain as the steel intertwined with his skin causing his blood to trickle down the tip of the dagger, filling up the glass bulb as it made its streaming path from Wash’s body.

It was torture beyond all limits, it had a psychological aspect to it, cut a man so much and so deep all the while draining him of his blood as he watches helplessly because once the bulb is full the man is like to be dead. Terrifying, knowing that you’re going to die, seconds away from death with, no means to escape.

Mal kept his composure the best he could, they had stopped slicing on Wash, Niska just wanted his attention which he had in full. Mal knew that Niska was trying to get him to break, and he knew that he just might if they started that insane go se on ‘lil Kaylee. If that blade touched her, this would become the day the ‘verse got to meet the ‘real Niska’ because Mal would send a world of hurting his way.

Niska hadn’t been watching the screen; he was watching Mal, trying to read his reaction to the situation at hand. No outburst escaped from his lips and no sense of realization played across his face. ‘Strong indeed,’ Niska thought as he gestured to his men once more.

The second henchman nodded in acknowledgement then turned to Kaylee. He began walking towards her and much to her relief he carried nothing in his hands. He walked slowly in her direction in a stalking manner and when he reached her he began circling her like he was some damn predator and she was his prey.

First he placed his filthy hands against her check and began stroking her face with longing. He then moved his right hand down her neck and over her shoulders until it came to rest on her breast. At this juncture he took the time to enjoy the feel of her bosom in his hand, almost squealing with a sickening lust. He squeezed and rubbed her bosom and when Kaylee’s breast no longer held his attention he began expertly repositioning his claw on her stomach continuingly to move his filthy grubby hand downward…

Mal knew full well what this hwoo dahn’s intentions where, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Enough!” Mal bellowed but the henchman never stopped roaming over Kaylee’s body. “Enough!” Mal bellowed once more and when the henchman never moved to stop, Mal picked up the chair he had been sitting on and lunged in Niska’s direction. The steel tip was moments away from crushing the old man’s skull and spilling out his brains, but Niska’s words caused Mal to stop his assault.

“If you kill me or harm me in anyway, your friends will for certain die in a most horrible manner.”

“How about you call them off and I won’t bash your head in with this chair.” Niska knew he had made his point so he gestured one more time for his henchman to stop fondling Kaylee. “What is it that you want?” Mal asked reluctantly.

“You, Mista Malcolm Reynolds. The man with da reputation dat says he DEFEATED Adelei Niska. I am not DEFEATED, I will neva be DEFEATED.”

“Well, you want me here I am. Let them go, they have nothing to do with this.”

“They have everything to do with dis. Da last time I tortured you, it was physical. Dis time I plan to torture you mentally. You are stronger dan most men I have killed; perhaps da strongest, but I know your weakness. It’s your loyalty to your crew. To undo Malcolm Reynolds I must make him suffer like he has never suffered before, your crew is your life line, if I severe dat line you will become exposed and we will finally get to met da real you.”

“Let them go right now or I will end you where you stand!”

“You are in no position to make threats.” “I am in the perfect position to make threats, you got my crew and I got something you want.”

“You have nothing I want, everything I want is right here in dis room.”

“Exactly my point, you want me. And I want my crew safe. Let them go or I’ll kill myself, wouldn’t that just take the fun out this exciting trip down memory lane.” Mal said with full conviction.

Mal had no intention of killing himself but he was their only bargaining chip, he was the sacrificial lamb and he only hoped Niska was the hungry wolf he thought him to be otherwise they were all screwed.

“You would not dare….” Niska trailed off.

“Wouldn’t I? You said it yourself, my crew is my life line, if you hurt them then you hurt me; if you kill them then you’ve already killed me. I ain’t scared of dying I’ve already experienced it once before, thanks to you, it ain’t so bad. ‘Sides you live a life like mine death’s bound to be a sail across smooth waters.” Mal said in a convincing tone. “So how about you let them go before I break my own neck.”

Niska paused to think the recent turn of events over in his head. Did he dare tempt fate? Mal was just CRAZY enough to take his own life in an act of desperation to save his crew, that’s what’s made him so strong, he wasn’t afraid.

Niska had a decision to make and soon because Mal was making threatening stabbing motions at himself which was making Niska feel uneasy. How badly had Niska really wanted Malcolm Reynolds?

Badly enough that he agreed to Mal’s terms.

“Dey can go.” Niska said after much thought.

“Not just them, I want my entire crew to walk out of here free. Swear to it, swear on my life or death or whatever that they can go.”

“YOUR crew is free to go, Mista Reynolds, I swear. Shall we shake on it like good businessmen.” Mal didn’t like the way Niska had said that especially the emphasis on the word ‘your’.

“EVERYONE on my ship will be set free.” Mal stated.

“Not, everyone, just your crew like we agreed. Simon and River Tam have no immunity.”

“What the hell you playin’ at Niska? You said my entire crew could go. Me for them.”

“Yes, your entire crew can go, but I tink we both know River and Simon Tam are not a part of your crew.

“I thought you said you just wanted me, you have no reason to keep them.”

“You are right; I have no reason to keep dem because dey are not mine to keep.” Niska said cryptically.

“You know you where getting hard to find Mista Reynolds. Pretty slippery you are. After you crew’s hit on my skyplex in an attempt to save you, I lost almost all my men. My resources had grown increasingly thin. People who once would have rather jumped out of an airlock dan face me where now laughing in my face. My reputation was destroyed. I had to start from the being and I have you to tank for dat. But once I make you pay, people will once again remember dat I am to be feared.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you won’t let River and Simon go.”

“Like I said you were getting hard to find Mista Reynolds, I had to elicit what few resources I could find. Da deal was River and Simon Tam for you.”

“Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I did what I had to do in order to salvage what little reputation I still had. You have yourself to tank for dat.”

“It’s one thing to go after ‘bad men’ like me, but to throw innocent people like River and Simon into absolute destitution…” Mal trailed off at a lost for words. “Your fight is with me.”

“Enough talk, I made a deal, one dat I intend on making good on.” Niska stated. “It es hard being a man like me. When we fall from dat great dais the ‘verse sees us on, when everything crumbles around us like black smoke, we will do anything to reclaim dat vision. We sometimes must rebuild our reputation with stronger reinforcements to make it like it once was, sometimes we must forge alliances with those we wish not to; in order stand as we once where. Dat Mista Reynolds is the ‘real me’, a man who will risk everything to have everything.”

“I aim to end you Niska, and this time when you fall there will be no getting back up.”

There was a few moments of silence and Mal watched as Niska gestured once more to his henchmen to cut Kaylee and Wash down.

“NOW it es just me and you Mista Reynolds.” Niska said coldly. “Are you a man of God?” Niska teased already knowing the answer. “If so it es time you start praying, for your friends.”

“I thought you said…”

“Yes, I said dey are free to go, but dat is IF they can make it out of here before my men catch them.”

“You bastard.”

“I’m much more dan dat, I’m psychotic, I’m twisted, I’m evil and dat Mista Reynolds is why you don’t make a deal with da Devil.”