Title: TOC: Operation Perseus

Author: Secret-Agent-Omega

Overall Genre: Action/Adventure; Suspense

Overall Rating: M for reasonable probability of adult themes and definite occurrence of violence.

Overall Pairings: Mal/Inara, Simon/Kaylee, Zoë/Wash's Memory, possible Jayne/River.

Overall Location on Firefly Universe Timeline: Approximately four months post-BDM.

Overall Spoilers: Reasonable probability of eventual series spoilers (details currently unavailable) and definite occurrence of BDM spoilers.

Summary: As Parliament decides to resume the hunt for River Tam and the crew of Serenity, a mysterious stranger seems intent on thwarting their plans. In a time of perilous unrest, Good and Evil will clash – and the fate of humankind will hang in the balance.

Disclaimer: The people, places, and plentiful paraphernalia you know and love/hate are the property of their respective owners, namely Joss Whedon, his associates, and any groups which control or are controlled by said individuals. No profit is made by the author of this work of fiction from the creation or distribution of said work, nor is any infringement intended. Plagiarism is considered a serious criminal offense, and punishable by law. Please ask before redistributing this work.

Length without header: 4 page(s) at 12-point Times New Roman font; 936 words; 5,563 characters including spaces.

Feedback: Some authors don't care about feedback. I am not one of those authors. Giving feedback tells me that you took the time to read it and cared enough to comment on it. Receiving feedback is a wonderful thing, and every author should experience it.

Notes: Railguns are awesome.

Chapter 2: Myriad Impossibilities

"The Rail Gun fires depleted uranium slugs at super high velocities. Take note of the distinctive blue corkscrew trail of smoke caused by the projectile – or better yet, see how many scumbag Strogg it goes through before it hits concrete."

- Arsenal overview for the Rail Gun, Quake 2 owner's manual

Milky Way galaxy; system Tau-Helion-Xray-1138; planet Londinium; downtown New Camden; Carlton Café – January 1st; 2519; 06:44:52.8663 hours (Londinium New Greenwich Mean Time)

Stepping out of the sleek hovercar and onto the curb, the man paused for a moment to observe his surroundings. At six-forty-five in the morning, the first rays of sunlight were starting to peek over the horizon, igniting the low-hanging morning clouds in shades of pink and gold. However, the man had far more important things to do than enjoy the scenery.

Turning back to the hovercar, the man rapped on the driver's window.

"Keep the engine running."

Entering the café, the man surveyed the room briefly before locating his employer at a small table in the back, cutting bites out of a small filet mignon. Nervously straightening his tie, the man considered his predicament.

His employer was an extremely powerful man, and if even half the rumors about him were true, then he was also not one to take disappointment well.

These facts did not bode especially well for the man, since he had some rather disappointing news to deliver. He tried not to think about what sort of punishment his employer would devise for those directly at fault.

Attempting to appear casual as he walked towards the table, the man mentally reviewed his report.

In truth, there wasn't much to say. Delta-One had been assassinated from a distance that shouldn't have been possible, by a shooter that couldn't be identified, using a weapon that didn't exist. Even worse, the data node he had copied sensitive files to as part of his standard operating procedure was currently unaccounted for.

"Smith."

His employer's greeting snapped Smith back to the present, and he hastily plastered on a weak smile.

"Sir."

"I thought I told you never to interrupt me during breakfast."

Smith sucked in a quick breath.

"Actually sir, you told me never to interrupt your breakfast unless it was urgent."

A muscle twitched in his employer's jaw.

"I stand corrected. It is... urgent... then?"

Smith nodded slowly.

His employer closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and nodded to the chair directly opposite.

"Sit."

Smith sat down in the chair indicated.

"Report."

"Delta-One has been terminated. The data node he was carrying is missing."

"How?"

"Shot in the head, although it wasn't terribly difficult to figure out with his head splattered across the landing pad."

Smith's employer paused ever so slightly, the tender chunk of steak speared on the end of his fork suddenly seeming less appealing. Setting the fork down, his employer reached for a tall glass of orange juice, took a sip, then set it down and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

"I see. Any leads on the shooter?"

Smith shook his head.

"No sir. The only possible firing position given the direction and angle of the shot was a bluff near the summit of Arklay Mountain, approximately forty-seven kilometers away. We checked satellite surveillance logs of the area for the time forensics estimated, but found nothing."

Smith's employer raised an eyebrow.

"The logs showed nothing?"

"No sir. There were no logs for that time period."

"Were there any signs of erasure or tampering?"

Smith shook his head again.

"No sir. The logs were never there to begin with, or so the computer claims. It almost seems as though the surveillance satellites were programmed not to record during that time period, but there are no records of any commands to that effect being received."

Smith's employer removed the piece of beef from his fork with a deft stroke of his knife, and reached to pick up a forkful of eggs benedict.

"Quite the puzzle. Any theories as to what weapon was used?"

Smith gulped. The implications of what he was about to say were terrifying at best.

"Judging from the composition of the slug remains found by the team and the relativistic speed it appears to have been propelled at, the only conceivable explanation is a handheld railgun."

Smith's employer paused yet again, then set his bite of egg down on the side of the plate and looked at Smith with something between amusement and annoyance.

"You do realize that's impossible? Railgun technology can't be scaled down to a handheld size due to the weight issues, power requirements, and recoil physics."

Smith managed a small nod.

"I've read Thinktank's analysis of the subject, and I'm not doubting their expert opinons... but with all due respect, sir? There's an Operative in a morgue with his head blown off who says Thinktank is wrong."

Smith's employer narrowed his eyes at his employee for a moment, then smiled faintly and gave a curt nod.

"Thank you, Smith. That will be all."

Smith got up quickly, and with a quick 'yes sir', turned and exited the café to reenter the waiting hovercar, which slid softly away once he had shut the door.

Smith's employer watched him depart, then turned back to his breakfast. Dumping his forkload of eggs, he stabbed the small hunk of forsaken meat and held it up to eye level for a moment, studying it carefully before placing it in his mouth and swallowing it whole.

That was quite a lot of nothing to report, the employer thought. Quite a lot of nothing indeed.