Okay ... here is the piece I wrote, inspired by the Firefly 'verse but not set in it as such, although you could (if you squint, and stand on one leg) consider perhaps it is set just before the exodus from Earth-that-was ...

SMILING VILLAIN

They are gone. I can tell, even though my eyes won’t open and my ears don‘t function yet. The ship is empty, desolate, only the inmates’ cells still occupied. They’re waking up too, small moans and loud screams swallowed by the soundproof walls. I can still hear them.

The drugs are gone. The needle in my arm is dead, no liquid being pumped into my system. We must be nearly there.

They said I wouldn’t dream. That the ice-cold cocktail of eternity dripping into my veins would make it seem like a moment’s pause. They lied. I dreamed of my home, my family, but mostly of her, the last of my creations.

My eyes are sticky, crusted. I must have slept a long time, although as I force them open I only see the same pale grey walls, the identical light panel in the ceiling as was there when they made me lie down, thrust the needle into my vein and gave me the illusion of death. Feeling is returning, and I can wiggle my toes, my fingers. A smile lifts my lips. No time to lie here, enjoying the sensation. Time to be moving.

My legs are treacherous, barely able to hold my weight. I stagger to the small sink, splashing my face with water, cleaning my skin of all the months of imperfections. A heaviness in my groin indicates I should relieve myself, and I lean forward, letting the hot yellow liquid swirl into the drain as I live it again.

She had been blonde until my ministrations turned her hair red. And all the while the baby watched from the crib, an innocent spectator in the grand design. I didn’t touch that baby. Whatever monster I have become, I don’t kill children.

The white trousers and shirt are waiting for me. No shoes. Never mind. No belt either, probably in case I take it into my mind to hang myself. The smile grows a little. Th