Mal was getting leaked memories as well, images of twisted scenes from some demented nightmare, filled with creatures that, had he seen them before arriving on Stacy, he would have dismissed as being utterly impossible outside Reaver madness. Small hovering birds, entire fleets consumed in blue vortexes, a ship that almost seemed alive.

He tried to push it all back, keep his head clear on what was his thoughts, and what belonged to the other guy. John. "Malcolm Reynolds, and I'd appreciate it if you kept insults to my ship to yourself. Along with the rest of your thoughts."

Suddenly there was even more movement here, as if something else was beginning to stir, a sleeping wolf rising from its rest. Ain't exactly thrilled to be here myself. Gorram it, how many people you got in this head?