[Switch on, focus on Mal Reynolds. He looks tired, frustrated, and the half-smile he gives in greeting doesn't reach his eyes.]

Ain't much for goodbyes, but I ain't much for stayin' around in a hellhole ship seems designed to turn everyone on board crazy. I get enough of that back home an' at least there I got work to do.

[Warden filter]
Headin' off tonight, 'cause treatment like this don't work with POWs and it won't work for rehab. Now I know I look like a rat jumpin' ship, and maybe that's what I am. But I ain't enough of a rat to block the way.

You got any way to do it, you get yourself an' your inmate off this ship. If the Admiral lets me I'll take up to five more passengers on board Serenity and fly 'em to a world. [He figures he owes at least that much.]

[Private to Dean]
Didn't rack up any debt with anyone on board, so don't even think about offerin' to pay 'em off. You ever want a ride on a real ship, you look me up.

[Private to Chris]
You're gonna hold in there. [It's an order.]

[Private to Zev]
You... you feel up for one more walk?

Well, glad that's over.

I think I oughta say thanks to Dr. Lewis and everyone else who worked on a cure, 'cause like half of you are sayin', it ain't like we wardens could've waved our hands and made it all go away. [Mal, harboring quite a bit of secret sympathy for the inmates? No way.]

And Ariadne's gone home.

[To friends ("one friendly conversation" rule applies):]
Keepin' on?

[Private to kitchen staff:]
Still need another hand chopping up vegetables?

Backdated to December 16th
[Warden filter]

Ladd Russo's back in Zero, and I'm gonna suggest y'all leave him there. He decided rippin' into Omar Little sounded like a world of fun. We got him in the infirmary, I don't reckon he'll be feelin' too great for a while.

[Infirmary spam]
[The bandages don't stick on Mal's wrists. Underneath them the lacerations from the ropes itch and he idly runs his fingers over them, dull nails scratching at the cloth. His injuries had been nowhere near the level of Omar's, but he hadn't come out of the ordeal untouched. His wounds are cleaned, stitches in, a cup of water grasped in his somewhat unsteady hand, and he's trying not to look at the man he's spent the last few days with.

It isn't right an inmate's lying over there like so much meat while Mal's got the injuries of a boy after roughhousing. Not when Mal's the one who was supposed to stop the whole thing. Really ought to have played out different.

For a long time he'd refused to sit – it was the type of stunt Simon would've lost his patience over – and he'd eventually been forced down onto the examination table where he still remains. No one's given him the go-ahead to leave yet, as much as he's dying to get down to the mess hall. He's had nothing but water for three days (but at least now he's got the option of gnawing on his nails).]

[Voice]

Just so y'all know, Nicole an' I'll get the boiler tonight. Do we got a dinner shift going here or are we fending for ourselves?

[Spam for Natasha]

[Sharing a room with Natasha might get a little awkward, but Mal has to admit that in an old-fashioned way it's a pretty nice one. There's a pair of double beds and a window looking out over an actual view, bleak and snowy though it might be. The place ain't exactly homey but for a stopover during a crash it's comfortable; at least there aren't any aliens this time. But funnily enough, whenever he looks outside he swears he sees Tracey's family graveyard on St. Albans.

Must be one of those times where looking out in the snow makes you see things. Mal shrugs his wool overcoat off and pushes the thought from his mind – he's got an inmate to deal with and a great amount to work through. That's far more important.]

Ladies first. Go ahead, pick your bunk.

[Is there a reason Mal is hijacking the network to publicly ask something he could just bug the Avengers about? Why yes, yes there is, and once again it comes down to the fact that he is a terrible warden. He doesn't know Natasha's room number, he can't reach her by communicator, he's hardly met half the Avengers, and thanks to reading through the logs he knows some serious shit went down that he was and remains helpless to deflect. She's given him no choice; he needs to get in touch with her, so he'll do it. He'll call her out.]

Anyone seen Nicole lately? You might know her as that crazy redhaired Russian killing machine? If anyone's talked to her or knows where she is, let me know.

I'm kinda worried about her.

[Private to Tony]

Hey you, loudmouth. What happened with your friend?

[Private to Simon]

Saw what you looked like as a kid. [Note the barely-hidden amusement. To his childlike mind, young Simon had registered as a sentient punching bag.] How bad didya get worked over?

Looks like someone decided it's autumn, even though it ain't autumn 'cause we're not spinning round a sun and don't have seasons. Anyone got an idea why the Admiral thinks we all need t'be showered with dead plants?

The way I see it, there ain't any use for raining down magic leaves outta nowhere except to crunch when you walk on 'em. Seems we might as well get some use outta them. Any of you folks ever build bonfires back home? Wouldn't be too hard to rake up a pile and light it in the CES. Don't sound like a bad time, specially not if someone saved any of the rotgut from that last history-time break. [Duo? He's looking at you.]

I've been on some pretty odd worlds in my time but I never saw one like that before. Somethin' new every day on this ship, huh? [On the whole, he sounds pretty pleased about it.] Anyone out there know how to patch up spike holes in leather?

[Private to Natasha]

Appreciate the expertise back in the wilds there. How'd you know how to deal with big cats?

Afternoon, folks. – Evenin', now. [The man on screen clears his throat and nods in greeting, a little awkwardly. (And no, he's not actually wearing a floral bonnet. Today.)] This Admiral fella wanted a handful o' help and thought I was the man to give it so wǒ zài zhèlǐ. Name's Captain Reynolds, Mal if you ain't one to stand on ceremony. I'm sure it's fine to meet you all, and if it ain't, you go ahead an' let me know. [There's a smile purely for the sake of decorum, which drops off his face almost immediately as his eyes rake over something off-screen, as if reading.]

Let's see what we got here, then... Prison ship, eight levels and two additional restricted areas, complete with library, common rooms, medbay, an' my personal favorite, fully stocked kitchen. Probably serves better'n protein too. Laundry services, showers, art therapy facilities, and gardens included. Now that don't sound like any prison I ever been to. Hell, y'all even got a bar? Got quite a slick operation here, real nice 'n cozy.

But it still ain't as good as my boat.