E-Mail: browncoat.malcolm@gmail.com

Story Status: Completed 3/22/07

Content Warnings: None in this part. Torture, violence, and language in later parts.

Archive Permission: Ask first. I'll probably say yes.

Disclaimer: Firefly and its characters belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, and whoever else who has a claim to ‘em. I, sadly, am not one of them.

Word Count: 381

Author's Notes: I know it’s probably been done quite a few times before, but not by me! This is my first attempt at writing a Firefly fic. Enjoy! _____________________

PROLOGUE

It wasn't so much the war itself that made his hatred for the Alliance burn so hot within him (though it played a part), nor what was done during it. It was a war after all, and horrible things where done, on both sides, during a war. He understood that. It was what happened afterwards that made him curse the name of every purple belly that ever lived.

The forced surrender of Serenity Valley had bent his spirit and destroyed his faith in God, but it was their time in the POW camps that ignited the smoldering flames of hatred that had, until then, only been simmering.

Two weeks after the official surrender, those who survived were picked up by Alliance transport ships and taken to holding facilities to be "debriefed and processed".

Being the ranking solider left from that battle, Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds was quickly singled out and separated from his men. He was sure it would be the standard "admit you were wrong and sing the praises of the Almighty and Glorious Alliance" debriefing then he'd be reunited with his troops and they would all be released. After all, the war was over, so what did they need prisoners for? They didn't need the Intel anymore. The Independents had not only surrendered the valley, but themselves as well. Which was why they'd been left in the valley so long. Left to deal with the stench of the dead and dying, the decomposing bodies of former friends and enemies, and the never-ending hunger. They had, in a since, been abandoned by both sides while the negotiations where conducted.

Mal's second in command and close friend, Corporal Zoë Alleyne, protested his separation. Loudly. A rifle to the head effectively silenced her. Mal struggled against his captors to protect her, and was rewarded with the same vicious rifle butt to the head. He was dragged, unceremoniously, away. He was brought to a room with manacles hanging from the ceiling. The two men who held him wasted no time clasping him in then left him hanging there, his feet barely touching the floor. It was there, in that room, and in the mines that would come later, that Mal learned the true meaning of hell. And just how inhuman human beings could be.

TBC