Zoë “Jayne, you yelling like that’s only gonna make them want to shoot you more.”

Jayne “Why?”

Zoë “Because it makes me want to shoot you.”

There ain’t much on Constance, far as anyone can tell. Open farmland, soil dry as old bone, crops hangin’ on by grit and prayer. But what the folk here lack in riches, they make up for in pride. They’ve carved out their little rock in the Black with elbow grease and righteous Sunday faith. And like all good prayin’ folk, when the Sabbath rolls around, they go to church.

Which is exactly what Mal Reynolds is countin’ on.

While Shepherd Book stands at the pulpit preachin’ a sermon warm enough to draw every soul for miles, Mal, Jayne and Zoë slip through back doors and cellar hatches, quiet as shadows. Constance don’t have much, but what they’ve got is worth takin’ to a crew runnin’ low on coin.

Trouble is, trouble’s already here.

O.T.T. and his scavenger boys come swaggerin’ in, guns drawn, grins wide, havin’ caught wind of the same prize. Two crews, one haul, and a whole heap of pride between ’em.

Words fly — sharp ones — and for a moment it looks like Mal might let the whole thing go to keep his people breathin’.

Then O.T.T. gets greedy.

He says he wants Mal’s gun — that gun, the one that rode with him through the War. Mal don’t take kindly to that notion. He kicks the piece straight into O.T.T.’s jaw, and the world erupts in gunfire.

Zoë tosses a grenade that cracks the air like thunder, and that holy noise sends the good folk of Constance scatterin’ from Book’s sermon, leavin’ the Shepherd standin’ alone in the dust.

O.T.T. and his boys grab the loot and run. Mal leads his own crew down into the sewers, Jayne complainin’ every step. Mal tells him to hush, which only makes Jayne louder in spirit.

Book barrels up in a borrowed vehicle, face set in a way that says he ain’t pleased with how his Sunday’s goin’. The crew piles in, but the villagers — armed, angry, robbed — are comin’ fast.

Wash brings Serenity down low, and the topside crew scrambles. Kaylee, brave as sunrise, drops on a harness and clips a cable to a water tower. Serenity heaves, metal groanin’, and the tower comes crashin’ down like judgement, buyin’ the crew just enough time to flee.

Back aboard, tempers flare and pockets stay empty. Mal, simmerin’, tells Inara they won’t be makin’ her drop‑off yet — he’s got business unfinished. Inara reminds him she’s got business too, and the look they share says more than either speaks.

And far from Constance, on the dusty plains of Whitefall, two men ask after Malcolm Reynolds. The local fella barely gets a word out before blood pours from his eyes, ears, and nose. He drops hard.

The two men stand over him, calm as winter.

Blue gloves.

Cold smiles.

A photo of River Tam.

And a trail that now leads straight toward Serenity.