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As the echoes of the last blaster shot faded, Peter finally spoke, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and respect. "Well, I'm sure that felt good..."
Rocket, still clutching the blaster, turned to face him. His smirk remained, but there was a glint of appreciation in his eyes for Peter's understanding. "Sometimes, you gotta let the past die hard," he quipped, his voice rough with emotion.
Peter nodded, stepping forward to clap Rocket on the shoulder, taking the blaster from him just in case. "Why don't you go take a breather and let the adrenaline wear off." He said as he motioned towards Lylla, Teefs, and Floor. "Besides, your friends seemed worried about you…"
Beside him, Lylla's ears were slicked back, her body rigid as she stared at Rocket, her head cocked slightly to one side, trying to process what she just witnessed. "Rocket, are you okay?" She murmured worriedly.
Floor and Teefs exchanged a glance, their own concern visible. Floor's large eyes were wide with a mix of anxiety and confusion. Teefs eyed Rocket cautiously, his hands clenching and unclenching, a clear sign of his struggle to process the scene.
Rocket seemed to sober up as he noticed the collective tension among his friends. Their faces, usually so familiar and comforting, were now painted with concern and a small hint of fear. He saw Lylla's distress, Teefs' unease, and Floor's wide, troubled eyes.
Letting Peter take the blaster from him, Rocket took a deep, steadying breath, his chest heaving slightly. He looked around at his friends, their eyes still fixed on him, filled with worry.
"Yeah," Rocket answered, his voice softer now, an attempt to ease the palpable tension, "I'm okay. I understand if you guys are afraid of me now…"
Lylla approached, her eyes searching his. "Rocket, we aren't afraid of you. We're afraid for you. But as long as you're okay, we're okay, right guys?" she said gently, glancing back at Teefs and Floor.
Teefs, usually reserved, rolled forward, his tone serious. "Yeah, we're your family, Rocket. As long as you're fine, we'll be happy."
Floor nodded, her large eyes softening. "It's scary seeing you like that, but we love you. We just want to make sure you're really okay."
Rocket looked at each of their faces, touched by their concern and their unwavering support. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You guys got nothing to worry about. I'm just grateful we're all here, safe and together..."
Seeing the need for a little more reassurance, Rocket reached out and pulled them into a group hug, an uncommon gesture from him that spoke volumes. "I can't imagine what I would've done if I lost any of you..."
His words seemed to lighten the mood, and slowly, the tension began to ebb away. Smiles returned to their faces, albeit a bit cautiously. Lylla patted his back softly, Teefs clapped him on the shoulder, and Floor chuckled, the sound a welcome relief in the heartwarming atmosphere.
Together, they shared a moment of silent understanding, reaffirming their bond. It was clear they were more than just a team; they were a family, united by everything they've been through together.
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Leaving Rocket and his family to themselves for a while, Peter led his crew—Cosmo, Groot, Howard, and Revan—through the dimly lit corridors of the lab, their footsteps echoing off the metal walls. They were determined to find their ship and take back what was theirs, and maybe a little more.
Peter clapped his hands together as they approached the hangar. "Well, look at that! She's still here. Missed you, baby," he said, his voice filled with relief as they laid eyes on their ship, nestled in a small hangar. Thankfully, it looked undamaged. "Since we've found our ship, it's time to start looting…" He announced, a greedy grin splitting his face.
Groot peered around, his deep voice resonant, "I am Groot," which Peter had learned meant something akin to agreement or pleasure, depending on the tone.
…
As they searched the lab for anything of value, Revan found a huge vault door. His instincts had always been sharp, and today was no exception. With a bit of Mechu Deru, Peter had the vault open, revealing stacks of credits—equaling somewhere around 2 or 3 million.
"Jackpot!" Howard quacked, diving headfirst into the sea of credits with a gusto that only a duck with a taste for luxury could muster.
As they began hauling out the valuables, Cosmo, the telepathic space dog, kept watch. "Peter," she began, drawing everyone's attention. "Why can't we just take the whole lab with us? Isn't it a ship?"
Peter, loading a crate onto a hover cart, paused to wipe sweat from his brow. "Yeah, it's tempting to just yank the whole lab into space, but that would destroy the whole planet." He revealed, having learned that when he stopped the whole process earlier. "Strangely enough, this lab serves as the heart of the planet. And I don't know about you guys, but I'd prefer to have a secret planet we can visit or use as a secondary base, than another ship."
Nodding in agreement, the crew continued their looting, moving from one laboratory to the next. They found gadgets that baffled even Revan's extensive experience with alien tech, some of which Groot gently wrapped in his wooden arms, saying, "I am Groot," in a tone that suggested he was claiming them for himself.
Cosmo floated a heavy piece of equipment with her mind, guiding it into the cargo bay. "It's like Christmas, but better," she thought aloud, causing confusion amongst the group, except Peter, who chuckled in agreement.
…
As Peter and his crew were almost done with their looting, Rocket and his group burst into the hangar, their faces alight with urgency. "Hey! Peter, you gotta see this!" Rocket exclaimed, beckoning them with a fervor that was impossible to ignore.
(A/N: does it seem weird when Rocket calls him Peter? I feel like he usually calls him Quill in the movies, but they have a better relationship here, so I thought Peter would be better.)
Without hesitation, Peter followed, his crew trailing behind him as they navigated through the dimly lit corridors to a section of the lab they had not yet explored.
The sight that greeted them was heart-wrenching: rows upon rows of cages, each imprisoning sentient creatures much like Rocket and his friends, their eyes wide with fear and confusion toward the new arrivals.
Unlike the ferocious mutant beasts the High Evolutionary had unleashed upon them, these beings were calm, yet visibly scarred by the experiments they had endured, many displaying crude bionic enhancements. The air was filled with a palpable sense of despair.
Cosmo looked up at Peter with her soulful eyes, her mind filled with a silent question, "What do we do with all of them?" She asked, knowing their ship couldn't fit all of them.
Before Peter could formulate a response, Rocket spoke up, his voice firm with resolve. "We're gonna save them, right?" His gaze fixed on Peter, searching for affirmation.
Peter nodded, his heart heavy with the responsibility they now faced. "Absolutely, Rocket. But our ship... it doesn't have the space to take them with us." He revealed, 'Mainly because we've filled it with loot…'
A moment of silence fell over the group as they pondered their next move. It was then that Peter's face lit up with a realization, his smile spreading contagiously. "But, you know what? We have an entire planet at our disposal. Counter-Earth was built with cities and towns ready to be lived in. They could have homes and jobs by tonight."
The announcement seemed to electrify the air. Rocket and his friends exchanged looks of amazement and relief. With renewed vigor, they set about unlocking the cages, freeing the captive creatures.
As the locks clicked open, and Rocket's group explained what's happened, a chorus of cheers and cries of joy erupted. Many of the liberated animals wept openly, overwhelmed by their newfound freedom.
Peter and his crew led the procession out of the oppressive lab, guiding the throng of grateful beings towards the nearest city—Los Angeles, a partially damaged ghost town but now a beacon of new beginnings. As they stepped outside, the freed creatures paused, squinting against the bright sunlight, seeing the sky for the first time.
The city lay before them, quiet and inviting. The newly freed inhabitants hesitated at the threshold, then slowly began to explore their new environment, their steps tentative but growing more confident by the minute.
From a distance, Rocket and his companions watched the scene unfold, their expressions a mix of joy and melancholy. They had been part of something similar once, unsure of the future yet eager for a life free from torment.
Peter approached them, his expression serious. "Hey," he started, drawing their attention. "I need to tell you something... Now that everything's settled, we'll be leaving soon."
The news hit Rocket and his friends like a bolt. Their faces fell, the surprise and sudden sadness clear in their eyes. They hadn't expected Peter and his crews departure to happen so quickly, and the thought of saying goodbye so soon stirred a deep unease.
Seeing their reaction, Peter smiled as his tone softened. "That's why I'm offering each of you a spot on our ship. What do you say? Interested in joining my crew?"
"""Huh?!"""
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Meanwhile, as Peter recruited more members into his crew, across the galaxy, Carol Danvers glided silently through the shadows of a Kree outpost, her movements smooth and calculated, driven by the relentless programming of the chip embedded in her skull.
The cold stars above Hala cast an unforgiving light on her path, illuminating her approach toward a hidden rebel base nestled in the craggy outcrops.
The outpost was alive with whispered strategies and the clink of weaponry; rebels preparing for yet another skirmish in their long fight against the new Kree empire's oppressive grip.
But, unbeknownst to them, death was descending swiftly and mercilessly in the form of a beautiful blonde woman.
As Carol breached the perimeter, her first strike was silent—a blade through the heart of a guard who barely had time to register her shadow. She walked through the camp with efficient grace, shooting bursts of lethal energy that left no survivors.
Inside the main tent, a group of rebels gathered around a holo-map, completely unaware of the danger until she ripped through the fabric entrance. The room erupted into chaos, blaster fire lighting up the dim space as they tried to defend themselves.
Carol's reflexes were supernaturally quick, dodging blasts with an almost casual disdain. Her fists and energy blasts were precise, each strike meant to kill.
Her actions were methodical, almost robotic, but her face remained eerily serene, a stark contrast to the violence she wrought. As she neutralized one rebel after another, she continued moving towards her objective without hesitation.
Suddenly, amidst the clashing and clamor, a sharp pang throbbed through Carol's head. She faltered, clutching her temple as flashes of another life—a life filled with laughter, soaring through blue skies, and a warmth that belonged to a name she couldn't quite recall—flickered through her mind.
But just as quickly as the flashes appeared, they faded away. The programming was too strong; it pushed the fleeting memories down, locking them away as she resumed her assault.
Soon enough, the leader of the rebels, a grizzled veteran with a cybernetic arm, faced her with a mixture of fury and fear. He fired his blaster with desperate precision, but Carol's powers flared, absorbing the shots before she retaliated with a brutal blast that tore through his chest and out his back, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.
And as Carol stood over him, her boot on his neck, the rebel looked up at her, a pleading look in his eyes. "Please… Don't…"
Suddenly, Carol's head pounded with another wave of pain, her vision blurring as the word "Carol" echoed inside her. The name tugged at something deep within her, a fragment of the person she used to be. Yet, she couldn't grasp it; the chip's control snapped back viciously, compelling her to finish her mission.
With a swift, heartless motion, she crushed his neck with her boot, ending the rebel leader's life, his plea fading into the cold air of the night.
As the last of the resistance fell, Carol stood amidst the carnage, her mission completed but her mind starting to crack under strains it wasn't designed to handle.
She took to the skies, leaving the outpost behind as she headed back to Hala. The wind whipped past her, but it was the sharp, piercing headache that dominated, overwhelming her senses.
As she flew, the name resurfaced through the pain, clear and resonant—Carol. Was it hers, or merely a ghost of someone she once knew? The uncertainty haunted her…
A/N: 2200 words :)
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