SERENITY
CONSUMING VENGEANCE
Disclaimer: Serenity/ Firefly and all related pre-existing characters don't belong to me. Enough with that da bian huah, and on with the ruttin' story already!
CHAPTER TWO: Consumption and Vengeance
Tristan Elsko lay in his bed, rifle propped in his arms. He couldn't sleep, but he tried to give the impression of it. In truth, he was gazing around the room, and trying to control the urge of the coward within him that said: run, run like the gorram blazes… go to the Alliance, go to the mobs, go any-ruttin'-where but just don't stay here. RUN!
But another part of Tristan Elsko knew that if he set foot outside of that rutting door, then he was, not to put too fine a gorram point on it, humped to the depths of hell. And if he was humped either way, he'd rather not go and soil his gorram smooth pajamas in the presence of some purple-bellied son of a doxy. Hell, in his day, no proud, brown-coated Independent captain like himself would've chosen groveling on their rutting knees before the Alliance ahead of going down with a rifle in their hands and faith in their honest heart.
The door crashed inwards. Tristan's eyes widened in terror, and he cocked his weapon.
"Tristan Albertson Elsko." The voice was harsh, high, cold and, frankly, terrifying, "Do not struggle. Do not fight. This battle shall be non-existent or it shall be very, very short. You hear me, Elsko?"
A man of Cantonese origin stepped into the room, garbed in a purple suit. He had short but matted, untidy white hair, and held a scimitar of some kind.
"You hear me, Elsko?" The Asian glowered Tristan, who forced his legs to propel him up onto the floor, rifle poised:
"Sure, I hear ya shiny, sah gwa, which is all the more reason fer me to blow a hole in your purple belly. Shiny?"
"I hear you, Elsko, but I also shall ignore your idiocy."
"Wo de tian a. I don't speak no idiocy. If there's any idiocy t'be spoken in my place, it'll be you who speaks it, Alliance boy."
"Oh, I don't work for the Alliance officially… not yet. But then again, soon I won't even exist. Go hwong tong. Now you die, little white…"
"NI TA MA DE!" Elsko whirled his gun as he dived to dodge a slash from the scimitar, and he fired a slug into Elsko's chest. The man laughed maniacally, and kept moving, as blood spouted from the wound, "Reavers are nothing compared to me, brown-coat!"
"Well, considerin' the Reavers are all dead, thanks to a bunch o' me old browncoat pals, I guess I c'n die in peace. Shiny?" And with that, Tristan Elsko rammed the barrel of his rifle into his own mouth and, with a final wink, pressed the trigger…
"Sah gwa!" The man screamed in anger as Elsko fell back, dead… The door burst open and the three Operatives stood there:
"Andreas Densk."
"Yes?" The Asian stared up at them.
"You are ready now. Ready to shed any name and title… ready to assume a greater role," said Goldilocks, "Shiny?"
"Yes… I believe it is… shiny." The Asian grinned.
"Excellent." Shades nodded, "But you must never forget. Vengeance can consume a man. Do not be consumed by your thirst… merely possess what you can to drive you on. For our next target is indeed a browncoat of some caliber."
Shades extended a holographic image of a tall, muscular, square-jawed man, with brown hair:
"Malcolm Reynolds."