Disclaimer: Firefly and these characters belong to Joss Whedon. But we can never get enough of 'em

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YOU WERE GOING TO ASK ME TO CHOOSE, RIGHT?

Niska, twisted ge zhen de hun dan that he is, considers torture an art form and himself an Old Master. He loves the textures of it, the colours. He revels in the smell of it in his nostrils and the way it congeals on his hands. He's like a dead thing, twitching back into a semblance of life with every volt he sends through his victims' bodies, shuddering in an orgasm of spite and power.

Like many a torturer before him, he dresses his perversion up in respectability. Others pretend the end justifies the means, but Niska claims he's seeking psychological insight, that he's driven by a desire to know the real man. As if holding a man over the volcano will tell you anything other than that flesh burns and blood boils.

Ain't no doubt but he was trying to inflict exquisite agony when he asked me to choose between my husband and my Captain. I could see him licking his lips as he imagined the pain looking down into that fiery abyss would cause me. Because his deepest fulfilment comes from breaking not the body but the spirit. He wants his victims to see a creature as vile and corrupt as himself when he holds up the mirror that shows them their true reflection. He thought I would twist and agonize on his rack as I struggled and failed to make the right decision. He thought I would be unable to live with whatever choice I made.

He was wrong. If he'd thought he could surprise me by introducing me to the Real Me, he was seven years too late. I met Her in Serenity Valley.

In the madness of that Hell, I finally found the certainty I had been chasing all my life. The kind of certainty life as a soldier promised but failed to deliver. Every decision we made could mean the difference between life and death, either for ourselves or for our comrades. And that responsibility weighed heavier on me than my pack and weapons combined. Providing covering fire for th