The job had started out like any other – Zoe, Mal and Jayne were on point. Wash and Kaylee were running’ tactical support. Simon and River, well, they just needed to lay low on account of them being’ on the dodge. The plan was to unburden an Alliance outpost on St. Alban’s of their medical and food supplies, and then make a shiny profit from it. It was risky, but no more so than some of their other jobs. Little did they know this wasn’t going to turn out quite like they had thought- but how many jobs ever did?

Within an hour, the four Feds on post were out cold and the central control panel was wearing laser burns to prevent a distress wave from being sent out before they were safely away. They were just about finished packing up the goods when Jayne made the mistake of looking into one of the storage rooms near the back exit, looking for more to steal. “Da xiang bao zha shi de la du zi! Mal - you better look at this!” he called out.

“Every heist he’s gotta start yelling my name…” Mal mumbled and stalked over, peering into the small window on the door. There was a narrow stream of light coming from a bulb overhead in the compact room. He could make out a woman chained to a chair. Her head hung limply forward, hair covering her face. Mal couldn’t tell if she was even alive. She had been stripped down to her underwear, every inch of skin was mottled with bruises in different stages of healing; two of her limbs were facing at awkward angles.

Mal felt his stomach knot something awful. He recalled his time with Niska, the cruel satisfaction that maniac and his goons took in inflicting pain on he and Wash just for the sake of it. They had been tortured for three days before help arrived. He recalled there had been times when he had just wished to die; not knowing if his crew would make it in time to rescue them. His practical self said that this wasn’t his business, to go on about his. He didn’t know this woman, and didn’t owe her nothin’. His conscience, however, was a constant trouble, usually getting