Ok, so this is my first ever fanfic here. Kinda nervous about posting it here. I know it's dialogue light, I'm hoping to improve on that in later fics. Hope you enjoy. Have any suggestions, I'll be happy to take the constructive critisism.

Disclaimer: Serenity/FireFly, Mal and Crew are not my creation, but are sprung from the mind of Joss Whedon. You know the copyrights and stuff. New character is my creation though. :)

I apologise for any spelling and grammar errors. Spelling errors I blame on the fact that I'm using a laptop...stupid keyboard. Grammar errors...well....nobody's perfect. :)

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'It always seems to happen like this,' thought Mal, 'Can never have one simple job go easy. Always has to be gorram difficult.'

They had just landed at the docks of Dryden, they had just completed their job, they'd slipped by all the Alliance patrols, got what they were paid to get. Got paid for what they dropped off. And now coming back to the ship, the entire crew was staring down the barrels of weapons of most unkindly folk. It had to get better, it just had to.

"Now c'mon guys," Mal started, taking a step forward off the ramp of Serenity, "We're all just folk, trying to make a living. I don't know what all the fuss is about."

One of the bandits, Mal assumed he was the leader, made a threatening movement with his weapon, "We'ze ginna take yo' ship. Nowz jist git off that ramp, real slowly, and back away." Each of the mans words was followed by a fountain of spit. The man spat into the dirt in disgust. Then wiped the remaining spittle from his chin with his hand.

Mal looked to his left and saw Jayne, just itching to get into a fight. To his right, Zoe, his first officer, stared intently. Mal knew she was doing a head count, figuiring what weapons they held, and chance of survival. Mal already knew what the score was. Sixteen seemingly angered men, all armed to the teeth. Survival: slim and none.

The men looked as if they were a rag tag group, they w