Oh my gosh you guys have been so supportive of this! Good news, I have had enough interest in a tumblr, so I will be getting that prepped. I want to apologize for the delay。I have been having a really hard time with my writing lately。Hopefully that is all over and I can get back to updating more regularly. But enough of that, I know you vultures are here for the next chapter. (And yes, Wash is in this one, Ryan) Remember: reviews are what helps me update in a timely fashion! 3

PS the Triad and all of the characters associated with it are mine, as is Topos 6. Everything else is obviously not fine I mean this is for a reason.

Welcome to Hell: Chapter Three

Seating Arrangements

Vladimira Kalashnikov was not a woman of patience. This was not to suggest she was incapable of patience, for that was never the case. She could wait an eon for the perfect moment to strike at an enemy, and she never forgot a grudge or slight. Her lack of patience was more centered on an intolerance for incompetency. The moment she gave an order, she expected it to be carried out in an efficient and timely manner. A woman of her power and influence had no time for anyone who could not achieve this. Sure, it meant she lost many subordinates from failure to meet her high standards, but she had a criminal empire to run. And on a scum-infested planet like Topos 6, there were always more lackeys to hire.

Her nails clicked against the iron structure that served as her throne, or at least her seat of power. Having a headquarters set up like the audience chamber of some long-forgotten monarch helped her assert her authority. She told her lieutenants that the throne had a strategic advantage, and it did, but the primary purpose was that Vladimira loved to watch people kneel before her and shake with fear under the might of her powerful gaze. It really was the little things that made her job so pleasurable.

They were late, and not just a few minutes late. Their orders were to return with the blueprints for the new weapon design. Seventy-two minutes had passed since the designated return time. Kalashnikov had been kept waiting for seventy-two entire minutes.

It was then that the disappointments decided to show themselves. The heavy metal doors at the end of the chamber groaned open and the first imbecile poked his head in through the opening. Now came the part where she was quite patient. Realizing that his head was still attached to his body, Failure Number One shuffled through the door, supporting the weight of Failure Number two. The long stone hall echoed with every grunt and footstep as both wretched henchmen shuffled their way to the foot of The Russian's throne. Panting, Failures One and Two waited in dreadful anticipation for their mistress to say something. Anything.

A cold and unforgiving grin graced her stony features. She watched as a bead of terrified sweat slid down Failure Number One's face. They had kept her waiting.

The silence stretched on, punctuated by the occasional tap of nails against iron. Kalashnikov took the time to survey the groveling men before her. They were beaten to hell. The second one looked like the only thing keeping him conscious was the fear of passing out in her presence. At least he was smart enough for that. A quick glance proved that they did not return with the blueprints. Nor were the other two men she had sent. No doubt they were in the infirmary. It was no matter, she would kill them later. The pressure of the deafening silence became too much and the first idiot howled in panic before babbling out his excuses.

"Forgive us mistress! We was heading to the meetin' spot when we got jumped! They came out of nowhere and hit us hard! I woulda done been killed if'n Ralph here hadn't shot one a' them bastards! Then the short one went crazy and wailed on him something fierce. Then I scareded them off and we headed to the meetin' place but the seller must have gone and chickened since we was late! Please don't kill us or nothin'!"

"How many?" Kalashnikov cut in. "How many were there and how many did you manage to kill? Were they Sturges? Or perhaps some of Fa's men?"

"L-like I said, Ralph here done shot one-"

"Of how many? I will not ask again."

"W-w-well there was um," Vladmira's hand slid from its place on the armrest to the large club resting against the throne. Fingertips slid down the handle to feel one of the large iron spikes protruding from the huge weapon.

"Ten! There was ten men! Fa's I think! They was wild but we offed em!" The man squealed, but in vain. He never saw her draw the pistol with her other hand, and he probably didn't hear the bullet explode from the barrel. He certainly felt the piece of lead impact his skull right between the eyes, at least for the last second he was capable of feeling anything. Not that it mattered what he saw or heard or felt. He no longer mattered. He never mattered to begin with. And now he was dead.

"Wrong answer." Snarled the Iron Bear of the Outer Rim. She swiveled the barrel of the pistol to face the remaining lackey, and reclined back in her throne. "Now let us try again. You will tell me every detail of what happened. And this time, we are to be telling only truths. Da?"

Wash always missed out on all of the fun. He supposed it was one of the burdens that came with being one of the best pilots ever, which he was. Sitting around and waiting for the moment to execute a perfect getaway was one of his most important jobs. Still, it meant he missed out on a lot of the action. For example: two kids—one of them sporting a bullet wound—coming on board, being there for hours, and causing River to fly into a psychotic panic attack complete with spasms and flailing and screams of the blood-curdling variety. No one had thought to pop up to the cockpit for a moment and give him an update. Nope. He'd learned about all of the crazy goings-on when he came down for dinner to find a strange blond boy in a red jacket sitting in his chair.

Now he was sitting next to Jayne instead of next to his beautiful wife. The aforementioned new seating buddy was managing to get about half of his food into his mouth, the other half finding its way onto Wash. Kaylee shot him a sympathetic look before returning her attention to the brat who had stolen his coveted seat. There was something off about the kid, and Wash did not like it one bit. This was some sort of trap, or scam, or something. What kind of person just plops himself down next to another man's wife? An evil one, that's who.

"So where are you from, originally?" Zoe asked the boy.

"It's a long way from here," he deflected. "You've probably never-"

"Why don't you try us, kid?" Wash cut in. "You''d be surprised by all the places we've been."

"Amestris." Ed sighed.

"Never heard a' no place called that." Jayne drawled. "Sounds made-up to me." In the process he spewed crumbs all over Wash. This only put a slight damper on Wash's current opinion of Jayne. Sure he was a disgusting, greedy, selfish, sexist, boorish excuse for a human being; but he didn't trust that Edward character either so he couldn't be that awful.

"Jayne I told you to quit bein' hostile." Mal barked. "And don't even think about bringing up that payment business again. If you can't say nothin nice keep your trap shut."

Another shower of crumbs rained down as Jayne grumbled into his biscuit. Wash winced as they smacked into his face. This was getting ridiculous.

"Look, we will get out of your hair the instant Dr. Tam says my brother can leave." Edward insisted. "But there has to be some way I can pay you for helping us, an equal exchange-"

This launched Mal and the boy back into the same argument that had been going on a good long while before Wash had shown up. Why didn't Mal just let the kid give him some Gorram money and be done with it? But no. Instead there had to be shouting, and fists slamming on the table. Those two really set each other off. He suspected it was because they were both too stubborn for their own good.

"Brother?" Another boy peeked out from the doorway and peered into the kitchen. It was obvious the two were siblings. He gripped the doorframe for balance and shuffled forward. "Where are we?"

In an instant the entire demeanor of Edward changed. The stubborn anger vanished and was replaced by compassion and worry. "Al! You're awake!" He rushed to the side of his brother and practically carried him to a chair. "Why the hell didn't you stay put you idiot? You're hurt!"

"Sorry," Al squeaked. His face was greyed by blood loss. "I woke up and you weren't there and I didn't know where I was."

"Shit! I shouldn't have left you by yourself-"

"You should have been knocked out for several more hours." Simon cut in, moving Ed aside so he could check on his patient. "I gave you some heavy anesthetics."

"Simon is a doctor. He saved you." Ed threw in. "We're on a ship. The captain is letting us stay here until you're better."

"That would be me." Mal called from his seat. "Captain Malcolm Reynolds."

Introductions were passed around the table and Wash was shocked to find the younger Elric a deal more agreeable than his sibling. He was polite and interested in the people who had saved his life. The concern and brotherly affection Edward displayed contradicted his earlier caustic behavior, and left the pilot only more confused about whether or not to trust him.

Simon insisted on another checkup in the infirmary, and Ed helped his brother out of the kitchen, followed closely by the doctor. Wash threw an unhappy look in his wife's direction. She simply shrugged and glance at Mal, and then back to him with a sigh. Of course Zoe agreed with the captain. Like always. He would just have to keep a close eye on that shady older brother himself. He was hiding something, and Wash was going to sniff it out no matter what.