The story continues. Sorry if this chapter seems to be a lot shorter than the others, sadly this was unavoidable for reasons thai won't bore you with. Iv'e kept in everything of importance and i hope that you enjoy this. Special thanks go out to all those who commented on my last piece, more of the same please! Same deal as last time, all comments welcome even critiscm so long as its constructive. Obviously I don’t own Firefly or Serenity…blah blah blah… Joss Whedon rules the world…blah blah blah… Hope that you like it. Yay fanfic!

Chapter One.

Mal gazed around the common area, his eyes alighting briefly on each grief stricken face. Each member of the crew had responded differently to the news of Monty’s death; from Kaylee who was even now weeping softly in Simons arms, to River who had sat stock still an head bowed throughout the entire tale muttering to herself in a quiet sing song voice and casting the occasional veiled looks at Jayne or Zoë. But the time for weeping was long past and now there were questions that needed to be answered. “Do we actually know what it is he wants?”, asked Inara, her usually smooth and silken voice made rough by repressed tears. “You mean besides wanting us all dead?”, answered Mal. “Don’t truly know and I don’t truly care. He means harm to me and mine and that’s all that matters”. “But wasn’t there some sort of amnesty?”, queried Simon, his brow furrowed from concern. “I mean didn’t the Operative say that he’d tell the Alliance that we were no longer a threat?” “Yeah well apparently they weren’t listening--”, began Mal, but he stopped short as River’s head shot up, wide eyed and fearful. “They don’t stop”, her voice blank and unemotional. “They never stop. Knock one down and another takes it’s place. They can’t stop, too much faith not enough sense. They don‘t think, just obey. Kill, maim, steal. No questions asked”. “Well whatever the hell it is that he’ after I don’t intend to let him waltz in here and take it”, replied Mal his hands clenching in determination. “which means that we’re all gonna hav’ta go underground for a while. At least until all of this blows over”. “Oh yeah?”, said Jayne rising to his feet. “And what if this don’t just blow over? Hell remember what happened last time they sent one these bastards after us? Two of the crew dead not to mention God alone knows how many others who was killed just ‘cause they’d had dealins with us. What if this one don’t stop huh? What if we all end up dead this time? And what if runnin don’t work? Remember what happened last time we ran from one of these bastards?” “If you’ve got a better idea”, Mal growled. “I’d love to hear it right about now”. “Hell no.”, replied Jayne, sitting down heavily. “I’ve only got one idea and I know how well that’d sit with this crowd”. “Zoë you’ve been awful quiet through all this”, said Mal, ignoring Jayne’s last comment. “You got anything you want to say”. Zoë’s face was blank but inside her mind fought to push away the memories of what happened last time they’d had to face one of ‘those bastards’. “Whatever you think is best Captain, I’ll do it”, came her answer, sealing her fate as surely as if she’d signed it in blood. “Well that’s settled then. We run. The only question now is where to?”.

* * * * * The Hunter looked at his reflection in the mirror as he shaved. Such a simple phrase belies the graceful and ballectic dance of flesh and blade in which he was currently involved. Each time the straight blade razor was dragged delicately across his face it cut away some of the fine white stubble that covered his face at this early hour. The Hunter smiled slightly to himself as in the room behind him the remains of he pretty ensign were cooling slowly. It had been an enjoyable evening for the Hunter. Animalistic, vicious and licentious certainly, but enjoyable none the less. For him a least, not so much for her. My but how she’d screamed, lucky the cabin was soundproof. Something flickered in his eyes as the Operative took over and he was filled with horror as the full realisation of what he’d done hit him. He’d butchered a woman in cold blood, and he’d enjoyed it. Suddenly the hand holding the razor slipped, cutting a long gash down one cheek. But then the moment passed and the Hunter returned, and horror was replaced by steely conviction and a desire for more. He slowly finished shaving and touched a piece of synthetic alum to the cut to seal it shut. He smiled gently as the stinging, alkali sensation brought on by the alum spread across his cheek. Then he dressed himself in plain, simple clothing. Grey shirt, grey trousers and grey riding boots. He swung his ash grey long coat over his shoulders and his emerald eyes smouldered as they alighted upon the face of the former ensign. Such a pretty face. Such a wonderfully full lipped little face. Such a shame. The Hunter leaned in close and gently kissed her stone cold lips, being careful no to let his coat trail through the blood that pooled around her body. As he broke away from the kiss he stared for a long moment into her cold lifeless eyes. Such a damn shame. The Hunter allowed himself a moment of quiet memorial, for her sake. He stood head bowed in a cruel parody of prayer as he remembered. He remembered the touch of her skin as she tried to pull away and the richness of her blood. The taste of flesh and the ecstasy of release. The beast was loose and stalking his darkened mind. The cage thrown open and all it’s dark desires fulfilled, it’s hunger sated. But then suddenly his memories ended and new ones began. A family happy in a kindly home, and a brother willing to die for her. Then the coldness of the cell and the clamminess of their hands as they examined her. Sticking needles in her eyes and asking what she saw, the electric hum of the laboratory equipment and the coldness of steel. Then came the flight and the escape. And the pursuit. With an effort the Hunter forced away the new memories and relaxed slightly as his own came rushing back. What on earth had they done to him? But now the time for reflection was over and the time for action had begun. The Hunter turned and headed for the door. Time to go to work. Time for the hunt to begin. But despite everything he tried the memories lingered on. Unwelcome and unwanted they haunted his waking hours.

* * * * * Serenity touched down lightly in the middle of the desert on a border planet so far out of the way that it was known only as a foot note on some of the more detailed charts. A bright lazy moon hung in the sky an shone her graceful silver light down upon the hull of this beloved maiden of the stars. Three days passed. The crew stayed in or around the boat for the majority of the time, only venturing into the ramshackle collection of farms and storehouses that passed for a town in order to purchase supplies and gather water. Tension among the crew began to built as more and more time went by without them hearing a word of news. It is often said that battles are one of the most frightening things that a person can experience, but in the mind of Malcolm Reynolds waiting for the battle to begin was infinitely worse. At the end of the third day, just as the last member of Serenity’s crew had drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep, a second ship glided silently overhead before landing not too far away. The ship was slim and pointed like a tear drop with just enough space in it’s small cargo hold for supplies and two cryonic containment units. His orders had been very clear, ‘dead or alive’, and he knew which of those he preferred. The Hunter disembarked and began to make his way silently in the direction of the now silent Serenity, his emerald eyes blazing wickedly like marsh candles as they caught the moonlight. Let the hunt begin.