On the job.

The pickup is smooth. The dropoff is looking to be smooth as well, which pleases Mal to no end. He's got better things to do of late. Ma's moving in with Splinter and that's all sorts of an interesting scenario --

"Captain Reynolds," a voice cuts through his mental meanderings.

Mal just nods in reply. "Got the order for you. No trouble even for you and your..." Shooting a glance at the hulk of a man in the corner, "...colleague here."

"Are you sure?" The colleague asks, all heavy accent and hair-trigger.

"Positive, Mister...?"

"Corvid."

When the client smiles at the name, Mal puts two and two together. "Crows are corvids."

Corvid draws a stun-pistol and shoots Mal in the chest. When he lands, Mal's eyes are already closed, blacked out.













Mal wakes to white. An overabundance of white. White walls, white sheets on the cot he's been thrown on. Mal's hand flies to his hip - no joy. Boots are even gone - no knife.

The only thing in sight that isn't this searing vista of white-and-nothingness is the front field-panel of his brig cell.

"Well," Mal mumbles to himself. "Knew it couldn't go smooth ever."