ALONG CAME A ZHI-ZHU *special ‘director’s-cut’ final scene*

By BlueHandsTwoByTwo (LarryL)

The years had not been kind to Rutherford A. Warner. Twenty-five of them had passed since his regretful encounter with that insipid Firefly captain, Malcolm Reynolds -God how that cursed name had haunted his every waking moment. The unfortunate collaboration between himself and that rutting scoundrel had sent Rutherford’s financial empire into a dizzying downward spiral that ultimately crashed and ended in bankruptcy. His buyers had lost an awful lot of money in those Zhi Zhu’s and Rutherford lost an awful lot of clients. Word quickly spread through the underground about him and none of it was good. Soon afterwards, nobody called him and nobody returned his calls. Rutherford had been blacklisted. His debts piled up fast and furious and he was forced to sell off everything -his houses, the gardens, the art, every square foot of land he owned. And just when he had nothing left to give...his health failed.

The stroke had left him almost entirely paralyzed. He could only blink his eyes and just barely move the right corner of his lips. He was bedridden in a socialized community hospital and became utterly dependent upon state-appointed health care. Most days, Rutherford would just lie there in his bed, head turned toward the window, and stare outside for hours. What he thought about, what he dreamed about, could only be guessed as he had lost the ability to speak. But those who knew him had no trouble guessing just what he was thinking, or rather, just WHO he was thinking about: Malcolm Reynolds. Just the mere mention of that name would be enough to escalate Rutherford's blood pressure. All he could do was grind his teeth. How he hated that name. How he hated that man. How he hated living in this poor, miserable, useless shell of a body. How he hated wetting himself and having to lie in his own urine-soaked diaper for hours until the nurse made his rounds and could change it. How he hated not being able to eat solid food, at getting all his nutrients through a gorram tube stuck into his arm. How he hated not being able to enjoy women anymore. Or the sad but simple joys of masturbation for that matter. How he hated life and everything in it. It was all HIS fault. Malcolm Reynolds. Damn him and damn that piece of junk ship of his. Damn them all.

These were the thoughts going through his head when there came a knock upon his door. He turned his head and saw the nurse walk into the room wearing a tremendous smile. Must be sponge bath time, he frowned and rolled his eyes. Yet another humiliation to be endured.

“Hello there, Mister Warner,” the male nurse chimed in a tone of voice that was much too cheery for Rutherford’s liking. “Got a surprise for you this morning. Look!” He turned and walking behind him were two beefy men wheeling a dolly into the room. The nurse continued: “This is the most incredible story I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Get this: a deep core mining ship was traveling in the outer rim last week and their radar picks up this object just floating out in space. So they got a team together and hauled it in and guess what? It belongs to you! Had your name on it so they contacted the Parcel Service and the Parcel Service tracked you down and now here it is!”

The two men unloaded a large wooden crate down onto the floor next to Rutherford’s bed. Rutherford eyed it suspiciously. What the hell was this?

“The date scanned into the identi-tag is twenty-five years old! This thing’s been lost for over a quarter of a century!” the nurse exclaimed, his eyes wide, smile even wider. “This is just amazing, don’t you think?”

Rutherford looked down at it and spied the identi-tag. “Kitchen” it said. Kitchen? What did that mean? Was this some kind of a joke? Was someone---

And then it dawned on him just what it was. And just what was inside of it.

“Let’s open it up, shall we?” the nurse rubbed his hands together and pressed the keypad to unseal it.

No! No! Don’t do that! Rutherford screamed at the man, but unfortunately, it was only in his head. No voice vibrated through his vocal cords. Stop it! Don’t open it!

There was a sharp hiss of air as the lid detached and loosened.

“I can’t wait to see what’s inside,” the nurse said, lifting the lid and turning the box toward Rutherford so he could see what was inside as well. But he already knew. The nurse screamed as ten dozen, full-grown, Green Nile Zhi-Zhu’s leapt out of the crate all at once! They were pissed at being imprisoned for so long. They were pissed at having to eat their own brothers and sisters to stay alive. They were pissed at the whole gorram 'Verse. And the first thing they saw was Rutherford A. Warner’s face -looking down at them, his eyes wide in terror, his crooked mouth half-open, lips twitching, throat trying to produce enough sound to form a scream. But as the spiders engulfed him, the only thing he could manage was a name; the same one he could never escape from, not even in the last, damned moment of his death: “Mal…colm….” ~end~