River stumbles back as everything cracks, the floor under her feet crunching with rubble and (there's a whole city where everything is loud, amplified by buildings, per-square-mile, and she wishes she was back on Serenity, floating in black with just one little two little nine little fugitives) it's like the screech of mic feedback in her ears.

"Duì bu qǐ," I'm sorry, and she's backing away into the wall that isn't the wall that should be there.

Then, suddenly, there's a kitten on her shoulder and everything comes to a soft fuzzy screeching halt against her neck.