Golden Boy (Adam Warlock/Reader) - Chapter 1
Finally starting to upload the Adam story! It’s mostly done but I can post what I have for now. Because I have at least 70k words for this, I’m splitting it up into chapters to make it easier to read, so here’s the first one. Adam appears in the next chapter I promise :)
This is specifically Adam Warlock from the 2021 game, and he has a very particular way of speaking, just so people aren’t confused, I promise I’m writing him accurately lol
——
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you some manners?”
Those words had ended your life, that day.
You knew you were adopted; you couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t known. Your adoptive parents had told you so long ago that you couldn’t even remember the conversation.
Jack and Mabel Gooden were the best adoptive parents you could have asked for, though you had always just called them mom and dad. You had never wanted for anything, never missed real parents that weren’t there. They had been at every event, every moment that you had wanted them there for. They had been the most constant presence in your life until the week before finals in your third year of university.
You had been in the school library studying for a particularly rough final when your concentration was interrupted by the buzzing of your phone from your bag. You assumed it was your mom calling to check on you or tell you about another one of dad’s home renovation projects that had gone awry, but instead the display read private number. It was probably a scam call, but your focus had already been broken, so you decided that you might as well have some fun with whatever jerk decided to interrupt your study time.
[[MORE]]“Hi,” you answered. “Did I win a cruise or a car this time?”
“Is this the daughter of Jack and Mabel Gooden?” said the voice that still occasionally haunted your nightmares.
“I… yes,” you had answered uncertainly, caught off guard by the seriousness in the man’s voice.
“Your parents have been in an accident,” the man continued. “I’ll need you to come down to the police station to talk.”
“An accident?” you had replied, definitely too loudly, immediately aware of stares from other students in your direction. “I’ll come to the police station, but I want to see them first. I’ll come by when I’ve left the hospital… which one are they in?”
The other end went very silent for a long moment. Thinking you had potentially offended the officer, you backpedaled slightly.
“I mean… I could come to the station first,” you acquiesced. “But then I have to go to the hospital to see my parents.”
“You don’t understand.” The voice sounded awkward, uncomfortable. “Your parents did not survive the accident. We can have someone come and bring you here. Where are you right now?”
You weakly mumbled out the name of the library as his words repeated again and again in your mind.
Didn’t survive the accident.
You couldn’t hear anything else, not until there was a police officer standing in front of you trying to get your attention. Blinking your suddenly-sore eyes, you found the paper below you soaked with tears.
All you could remember was the phone call, and then standing in a home that was far too empty.
Killed by a drunk driver who had also died at the scene, you were told. So no trial, but you were still left with the burden of planning their funerals, paid for by your untimely inheritance. And then it was all done, and you had no idea what to do.
You were now the girl with the dead parents, the one nobody wanted to talk to and ruin their good mood, which made you a pitiful pariah at school, which led to you dropping out of school altogether, less than a year before you would have had your degree.
You had nobody now, the loneliness gnawing at you as you laid in your bed, only going out to buy groceries as of late.
Which was where you were that day, five months after your parents’ deaths. You had been doing better lately, thinking about going back to finish your degree as you stood in the cereal aisle, trying to decide if you should get your mom’s favorite cereal or if the reminder of your loss would hurt too much every time you opened the cupboard to grab it.
You could feel yourself beginning to tear up, and just as you reached a hand up to wipe your eyes, you were sent stumbling into the shelf from a vicious shove from behind.
“Outta my way!”
You turned in surprise to see a large woman in gaudy loungewear with an angry snarl on her face being followed by an equally unpleasant-looking husband carrying a pack of cheap beer under one arm.
“You’re in my way,” the woman shot nastily, staring at you like you were a bug to be swatted. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you any manners?”
“My…” Your knees locked up at the word parents, and the woman continued to lay into you, either not noticing or caring about your sudden silence.
“Can’t have been decent parents if they raised you this poorly,” she sneered, her husband nodding in agreement behind her, his trucker cap bobbing with the head movement.
You were frozen in place, feeling like you were almost viewing the scene from outside your body. This woman knew nothing about your parents, yet–
“They’re probably tweakers,” she commented loudly to her husband, drawing the eyes of passersby now with her raised voice. “People like that should just give up their brats to someone who actually wants to raise them. Maybe she’d have some manners now if–”
“They did want me!” you shouted, unable to take her slandering your parents when she didn’t even know them. “They were the best parents I could ever–”
Your equally loud voice was suddenly completely drowned out by a loud metallic creaking, the woman reeling away from you with a gasp. The panicked screams and people around you pointing upwards had your head turning up just in time to see a sliver of the sky… as the roof of the building shot into the air.
The roof shot far up into the air, falling back down with a horrible crash, pieces of concrete chipping off in large chunks and falling to the floor. You stayed very still, terrified as screams and impacts to shelves rang out all around you, the debris miraculously all missing you.
“Run, Phil!” the woman ordered her husband. “We have to get away from that thing!”
That thing?
Looking around, all you were able to see was more rubble falling from the ceiling, which moved your feet at last as you crawled under a display table, hoping it would protect you from further rubble until emergency services got there. From your spot under the table, you watched the woman and her husband shuffle their way out of the store, the woman glancing suspiciously back at you every few steps she took until they were out of sight, and it wasn’t until you were eating dinner that night that you figured out why.
You had turned on your T.V., which had last been on the news channel. Knowing the weird roof incident was likely to be the top story, you reached for the remote to change the channel, not wanting to relive the experience, but froze as the news feed cut to an interview taking place outside the grocery store… with the angry woman from earlier.
“Me and my Phil were almost killed! Killed!” she stressed dramatically, and you were certain that the reporter’s microphone that she held would be covered in spit by the time the interview concluded. “I know that girl had something to do with this! Her eyes turned all red just before the roof collapsed!”
The reporter was clearly trying to calm the woman down and salvage the interview at all, but she wasn’t having it, talking over his attempts to cut in.
“And she threatened me!” she added, aghast, while her husband stood behind her picking at his teeth. “Clearly raised by the dregs of society and trying to take out as many good god-fearing people as she can on her way straight to hell!”
Her words finally hit something inside you… was she talking about you? That couldn’t be right… there was no way your eyes had been glowing or whatever she had said. This was just a very weird freak accident, and she was clearly making things up just to get on T.V.
“She’s gotta be a mutant!” the woman screeched at the camera, fully ignoring the reporter now. “Mutantism is a disease that the government needs to start doing something about, starting with that freak who tried to kill us all!”
This was just what you needed right now, some crazy lady telling the news that you were a mutant. Hopefully other people watching this would see how crazy she clearly was and just ignore her.
A mutant… you had heard of them before, but only in a if you’re diagnosed as one then you get sent away to never be heard from again kind of way. Love the heroes, hate the mutants kind of thing. But no hero or mutant had ever been within a hundred miles of your small town, and there was no way you were one anyways. You’d know if you were a mutant… right?
More than ever, you wished your parents were here to comfort you. They always knew just what to say… all you could think to do was definitely stay away from that grocery store for fear of running into that lady again.
But things wouldn’t be quite that simple.
The crazier side of the political spectrum had become obsessed with finding the mutant. You were terrified to leave your house, but you couldn’t keep ordering takeout every night. And besides, you reassured yourself, you weren’t a mutant and you hadn’t caused that incident with the roof. You just needed to make sure that you didn’t run into that lady.
But it was hard, considering there was only one grocery store in your town. Putting on one of your dad’s old baseball caps to try and hide your face, you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed out.
Everywhere you walked, you were terrified of people staring at you, or worrying that the grocery store lady would be lurking behind every corner. Your nerves were only worsened when you walked past a group of middle-aged men wearing No more mutants, protect human lives t-shirts, shrinking your posture as you passed and desperately hoping they wouldn’t notice you.
You were shaking by the time you left the grocery store, clutching your bags of groceries in your hands. Nothing had happened, but you spent every moment terrified.
Finally able to take a breath, you immediately choked on air as you saw that in the time you had been in the store, an anti-mutant protest had started up in front of the store, led by, to your great horror, the angry grocery store lady and her husband.
Heart immediately pounding in your ears, you turned sharply and began to fast walk in the opposite direction of the protest, through the parking lot, trying desperately to avoid being noticed.
“Hey, stop!” an angry male voice rang out from behind you. “Somebody stop her!”
A look behind you confirmed that he was definitely talking about you, some of the men now running at you. Nearly crying with fear, you ran as fast as you could through the parking lot… before something started to happen.
As you ran past cars, they began to disassemble themselves, the parts glowing with fuchsia light and then tumbling to the ground behind you and blocking your pursuers’ way. But you didn’t stop running, followed by the sounds of the car parts hitting the cement until you got onto the sidewalk, taking a longer route through a park to get home more covertly.
Slamming and locking the door behind you, you sunk to the floor, chest heaving with exertion. Reaching a hand up to wipe the sweat from your forehead, you were stunned as you looked down at your hand.
Raising the other one, you found that they were both awash with that same fuchsia light that remained even as you rotated and then shook out your hands, futilely trying to dispel the glow, but nothing was working.
You tried not to hyperventilate as you tried to come to terms with what this meant. Then when that woman had said your eyes were glowing red…
Shooting up, you raced over to the hallway mirror, only to see solidly fuchsia eyes staring back at you, which widened upon seeing themselves.
“This can’t be happening,” you gasped in horror. “I can’t be a… a…”
Mutant.
Freak. Outcast. Monster. If you were a mutant, your life was over.
But unfortunately for you, it seemed that it already was.
It turned out one of those protestors had worked with your dad and eagerly informed the media of exactly where you lived. By the next morning, protestors and reporters alike were now camping outside your house.
The hand glow had lasted until morning, at least that’s what you had suspected, given you had cried yourself to sleep early and had woken up with your normal eye color again.
Why was this happening to you? Why now, when you were still having a hard time lasting a week without crying yourself to sleep missing your parents? And what would they think now, knowing they raised a dangerous mutant?
It wouldn’t matter, not to them, you told yourself. But what were you supposed to do now?
Your face was all over the evening news, anchors talking while your university ID picture hovered between them on the screen. A red-faced protestor demanding in his interview that the president do something about the mutie bitch was followed by a barrage of statements from people you had sat next to in class but never talked to that painted you as an antisocial weirdo just waiting to explode.
Even weeks after, the protests hadn’t let up, and there was always a group outside your home at all times. It was becoming clear to you that you couldn’t live here anymore, but you saw no way out, at least until you received a knock at your door.
The protestors had thrown things at your house and yelled, but none of them had approached you for fear of dying, one of them had said on the news, so you hadn’t had a visitor since your parents died.
Warily approaching the door, you looked through the peephole to see a clean-cut man in a suit standing there. He didn’t seem like he was a police officer or a government official, so you didn’t have to open the door, but you found yourself curious why he wasn’t scared of you, curious enough to open the door and peek out.
The man had introduced himself as David Markus, a local real estate agent who had made comment on your sudden need for a low-profile relocation and had stated that he had an interested buyer for your house. He had left after insisting you take his business card and give him a call if you were interested, leaving you alone again.
This was your parents’ house, all you had left of them, but right now, it was also your prison. It was all too clear to you that you couldn’t stay, especially given you couldn’t live a normal life here anymore. You tried to psych yourself up, tell yourself that you needed this fresh start to help with your grief as well, but all you felt as you dialed the number on the business card was the dull ache of yet another loss.
And then the house was sold, your moving out day met with cheers, police officers present to ensure that nobody provoked an incident. But that didn’t mean they did anything to protect you from the jeers of the crowd.
You had tried to contact other real estate agents, but none of them were interested in helping you. Even David Markus hadn’t returned your calls, and you supposed the Help Destroy the Mutant House, All Proceeds go to Fund Protect Only Human Lives Charity Fund special they were advertising on T.V. had something to do with it.
The more you looked, the worse it got. Most apartments would send rejection notices the second they did a google search on you, and the ones that didn’t would quickly tell you to leave when the neighbors would get upset about living next to a mutant.
Worst of all, you were still unable to control whatever it was your powers were, only figured out that incidents seemed to happen when you were very emotional, which didn’t help much when your life was a nightmare.
It all came to a boiling point after your latest apartment rejection. The hotel you were staying at was getting very tired of fielding press calls and having protestors outside their doors every day, so this was your last week here, no matter how much money you tried to offer them to let you stay longer.
This apartment had been your last chance, and this rejection stung, as did your quickly impending homelessness. You had no other options, and the apartment manager’s crueler than usual response had broken something in you. The resulting emotional collapse had led to the unstructuring of every object in the park you had cried in after, but the difference this time is that you had been filmed… and it had gone viral.
By morning, there were FBI agents at your door, accompanied with the hotel manager, and you were quickly forced to pack your meager collection of things and sit in the back of a black car and then later on a private jet.
Whisked into the White House in the dead of night, you were provided with some anti-mutation cuffs and then dragged in front of the president and his top staff, feeling meek and terrified.
His campaign manager, a sharp-eyed blonde who introduced herself as Chastity pressed play on a collection of news reels, all playing clips of the damage from your mutation, the more conservative channels demanding your immediate execution.
“I’m sure you can see our predicament,” President Forrester spoke, your eyes meeting his warily, afraid of what he would say next.
“President Forrester has a re-election on the horizon,” Chastity jumped in to explain harshly. “And you are a problem. If he does nothing about you, he risks his whole campaign. But if he does do something, then we win a lot of votes. I’m sure you can see which option we are leaning towards.”
“I… I don’t want to die!” you begged, and Chastity rolled her eyes in response.
“That option is not currently on the table,” she answered, sounding very much like she wished it was.
“If we could have your cooperation, we’re willing to work with you,” the President spoke, his eyes at least a little less cold than Chastity’s. “We have two options to offer you, if you would like to hear them.”
Chastity tried to object, but the President held up one hand, silencing her as he continued to stare you down.
Feeling pressured, you broke his gaze and looked down at the carpet. “I’d like to hear the options.”
You stared down at your mutation-blocking cuffs as he spoke.
“Option one is the less preferred one, for us both,” he spoke carefully, though you doubted that either option was particularly bad for him.
“Option one,” Chastity jumped in to explain with a gleam in her eye that you didn’t like. “We send you to mutant prison with all the other dangers to society. You’ll be treated fine, by the guards at least. No guarantees on the other dangerous muties in there.”
President Forrester cleared his throat and one of his aides moved forward, handing you a dark blue folder.
“Option two,” he said with a pointed look at Chastity, who huffed, but stayed silent. “We are piloting a new program in cooperation with NASA. We would like to offer mutants with powers incompatible with life on Earth an opportunity to be transported into space to pursue other opportunities.”
“Space?” you couldn’t help but echo. “Like space space?”
One of the men in the room stepped forward, though you had no idea what his job could be. “We have a working relationship with the planet Zevnar 9. They are willing to offer you work there, but this will be a one-way trip.”
So they wanted to send you to space… forever?
“And… if I don’t want to go to space?” you asked meekly.
The President’s face was stern, any of his previous attempts at decorum gone. “I would have no choice but to contact the property authorities to make arrangements. The calls to intervene in your situation have grown too loud for me to not address them.”
Right. He was nicer than Chastity, but it wasn’t like the President was on your side. You were a threat to his campaign, and it was either get sent to space or a prison for mutants.
Strangely, you didn’t feel angry, just numb and sad. And anyways, it wasn’t like anyone on this planet wanted you here, not now that your parents were gone and you were the number one talking point on all the right-wing news sites.
What did you still have here? Nothing that was worth going to mutant prison for.
You left the next night, knowing that at the same time you were strapped into your seat, the President would be conducting a press conference on how he successfully ejected the dangerous mutant into space, Chastity grinning too wide behind him all the while. No way they weren’t sleeping together, but you supposed that didn’t concern you anymore. Nothing from Earth did. You just hoped that Zevnar 9 would be a good fresh start as you stared out the window at the Earth that you would never see again.
Your life on Zevnar 9 had been short, all things considered. It was clear that the U.S. government thought more of their working relationship than Zevnar 9 did. Your shuttle was allowed to land, but there was clearly no plan in place to receive you and your two measly suitcases, and you were left standing in front of a confused travel agent, whose only offer of help had been to direct you to a job board.
Quickly dismissing the ad for Women for the Company of our Clientel, you scoured the job board, desperately looking for something you could do while you formulated a plan, all too aware of the aliens milling around the spaceport and trying desperately not to make eye contact with any of them.
You would get used to this, you promised yourself. This way your last chance to make a life for yourself, so you would have to get used to seeing aliens everywhere. But that didn’t solve the problem of finding work.
You didn’t know what they valued in space, but you doubted it was twenty-one-year-old university dropouts who had spent most of the last six months crying themselves to sleep, and that wasn’t even including your unstable powers.
Feeling somewhat discouraged before you had really started, you took a look at the board, looking for anything that you could realistically do, but all the jobs looked so strange. You had never even heard of turlium, let alone had any idea what a turlium engineer would do with it.
“So, you uh, lookin’ for work?” a male voice asked from behind you.
Turning, you had expected some sleazy guy from that space brothel the posting talked about, but what you saw before you now was an upright raccoon… in a navy blue jumpsuit. You stared at the raccoon in complete shock, but he seemed impatient for a response.
“…well?” he prompted. “I don’t got all day to wait on a Terran to make up their mind.”
Terran? You had never heard the term, and didn’t think you could ask what it meant. But he was still staring at you, and it had obviously been him talking to you just now, but he was…
“Are you a… a…” you stammered, unable to get yourself off the subject of his species.
“Don’t say it,” he growled. “We all know what Terran thing I look like, but I’m not one of those things. Now, are you looking for a job or not?”
“I… am,” you reluctantly confirmed. He was standing upright, wearing clothes and… talking. But he was the first creature you’d encountered that looked anything like something from Earth. Maybe you should hear him out, even if this was super weird. Hear him out, at least until he potentially revealed himself to also work for that brothel. “Is this job like… in a kitchen? Or a bar? I promise I’m old enough to serve alcohol.”
The not-a-raccoon’s face scrunched up in a mix of confusion and disgust. “Ugh, you Terrans and your laws.”
You were a little concerned about the way he had scoffed out the word laws, like he didn’t see the need for the concept at all, but you stayed where you were, somewhat afraid of his reaction if you tried to escape the conversation at this point.
“So what do you do then?” he said, then noticing your panicked look and clarifying. “Your skills and all that. Wanna see if you you’re a good fit for the job before I give you more details.”
You… supposed there was no harm in humoring him, even if you weren’t expecting the sudden interview question.
“I’m in… I was in my third year of university,” you started, with no idea where you were going. “I don’t mind doing manual labor, or washing dishes. I was trying to get an internship, but then my parents died and now when I get upset, things around me all disassemble into pieces.”
“Just things?” he asked, startlingly unphased. “Or people? Trees?”
Well that was a weird question, but you were just relieved that he sounded more interested than scared.
“I… don’t know how it works,” you admitted, eyes downward. “It’s only been going on for about a month. So far it’s been the roof of a store, a bunch of cars and all of the playground equipment in a park. Oh, and a few benches, but those hadn’t been trees in a long time I think. I haven’t had any issues since I left Earth, but these bracelets help stop my… mutation from happening.”
You awkwardly held up one of your wrists and were forced to just stand there as he stared you down, likely mentally weighing if it was worth his time taking a chance on a strange human. You didn’t even know that the job was, let alone if you even wanted it, but it wasn’t like any of the jobs on the board were something you could even do. Most of them had sounded straight out of a video game anyways, your eyes moved to one large poster with Will Pay for Venar Crystals. Whatever that was, you doubted you were qualified to find any.
“Take things apart, huh?” the not-raccoon said seemingly to himself before turning his attention back to you. “One more question. Just how attached are you to your precious Earth laws?”
You were quiet for a moment, not really sure what he meant, but not feeling particularly like Earth was your anything anymore.
“I’m not going back there,” you said, trying to sound resolute, but to your ears, you just sounded sad. “I don’t care what Earth does, that’s not my home anymore.”
Clearly the feeling was mutual, if your last month on Earth was any indication. You just wished you could’ve visited your parents’ graves one last time, but you weren’t given that chance. Weirdness of this encounter aside, it was just nice to talk to someone who wasn’t scared of you.
“Well I think that ability of yours could come in handy then,” he said at last. “You afraid of space crickets?”
“Um…” You didn’t think crickets would be any scarier just because they were in space, and didn’t really want to lose out on this opportunity, whatever it was. “No.”
“Then you’ll be great,” he said. “C’mon, I’ll bring you to meet the crew. Name’s Rocket.”
You gave him your name in return, rushing to grab your suitcases and follow after him. You still didn’t know what the job was, but you felt like you couldn’t ask now that you were already following him to meet your future coworkers. You would try to get a vibe from the crew he had mentioned, and just bow out gracefully if he led you to a space brothel. Besides, he was a talking raccoon, how much trouble could he really be getting you into?
Rocket led you back to the space port you had come from and up to a sleek silver ship that looked nothing like what NASA had brought you up in. Outside the ship chatting were three… humanoids.
The tallest one must have been the reason why Rocket had asked the tree question, because the creature looked like it was made out of bark. The two chatting figures beside the tree were a pair of purple-skinned people with flaming green hair and twin unpleasant looks on their faces.
The two stopped talking as they noticed Rocket’s approach, the duo turning an appraising eye to you walking behind Rocket and clearly not liking what they were seeing by their matching sneers.
“You’re gone an hour and you bring us back a little girl?” the male one commented snidely.
“What can she even do?” the female one added. “A little Terran on her first trip to the real world.”
Ah, Terran had to mean from Earth then. And judging by her tone, she didn’t seem to like Terrans, which wasn’t a great sign.
“She can get us into that safe,” Rocket countered. “The one your super genius lasers couldn’t crack.”
The two had matching scowls, but said nothing, while Rocket’s words just confused you more. A safe?
Meanwhile, the bark creature approached you, raising a hand in greeting. “I am Groot.”
“Uh.” You were so weirded out right now, but didn’t want to be rude, giving him your name in response.
“That ain’t what he said,” Rocket corrected. “And she’s got a power that’ll tear things apart. But not people, or trees. I asked.”
“I am Groot,” the tree creature replied with a nod as you stood there confused.
“That’s Groot,” Rocket informed you with a jerk of his head towards the creature. “And those two are the muscle, Virk and Vak.”
“Try not to die, little Terran,” the male one said, in a tone that made you feel that he very much so wished you would. You had no idea which name could belong to which, so you just smiled uncomfortably, unnerved by not knowing what he had meant about dying.
“But if she dies, there will be more money to split between us,” the woman added with a sinister smile, and you knew you needed to ask.
“Die?” you stammered, looking at Rocket. “Just what am I agreeing to here? I thought this would be a normal job, like washing dishes or cleaning.”
“Ain’t nobody dying,” Rocket denied casually, but you could hear Virk and Vak laughing cruelly to themselves behind him, likely at your expense. “And this is a normal job… for us at least.”
“I am Groot,” Groot spoke, staring at Rocket.
“I was gettin’ to telling her!” Rocket insisted. “You know we’re in a rush and all and…”
Rocket was trying to defend himself, clearly getting more out of the three words Groot was saying than you were. Was there really a space language that was made up of only three words?
“I am Groot,” Groot replied.
Rocket huffed. “Fine! Have it your way.”
“I am Groot,” Groot said, seemingly satisfied, with what you didn’t know.
Rocket turned to you at last while you watched Virk and Vak head onto the ship, seemingly having lost interest in your plight.
“We’re, uh, commercial…” Rocket trailed off, clearly not willing to be straight with you.
“I am Groot,” Groot interjected.
“Fine, we’re bounty hunters!” Rocket admitted with another huff. “The best bounty hunters out there. But we recently lost a member… and we’re going after those Venar Crystals that nobody has been able to grab.”
“Bounty hunters?” you repeated, stunned. On your world, bounty hunters were a thing to watch on reality T.V. shows, but it was clearly something else in space. What had you almost gotten yourself involved with? This was insane, and you were insane for following a space raccoon to a spaceship and even thinking the job he was offering you was anything close to normal. Was there a single normal job even hiring on this planet?
“Your human guidebooks didn’t tell you?” Rocket asked, wrinkling his nose. “This is a bounty hunting planet, ain’t any normal jobs here.”
“What?” You hadn’t realized you had said that last part out loud. “This is crazy. I can’t just be stuck on this crazy planet.”
“Well you could just come with us,” Rocket said. “Oh, and just ignore Virk and Vak, the last guy didn’t die, he just… took a break.”
“I am Groot,” Groot added.
“He didn’t just ditch us!” Rocket retorted insistently. “We didn’t need him on the team anyways.”
“I am Groot,” Groot nodded towards you and you smiled awkwardly in response, wondering if he knew that you couldn’t understand what he was saying.
“I am not brooding,” Rocket grumbled, but didn’t argue further with the tree.
If this was a planet of just bounty hunters, then did that mean that this kind of work was your only option? You knew the only other job back at the job board was being the company of some alien creeps, and Rocket and Groot had so far not seemed creepy at least, and Virk and Vak couldn’t have less interest in you if they tried. But this was still insane. Last week you were on Earth, but now… why was your only option becoming a space bounty hunter?
This was all so ridiculous, but the more practical part of you knew that you had no other options; it was pretty clear that the government had given you all they were willing to give. They hadn’t even checked that this planet would do what they said it would, the President now likely enjoying a got rid of the horrible mutant victory tour, fully on course to his stupid re-election. And whatever these creatures, even Virk and Vak thought of you, none of them had been afraid of you. Nobody had attacked you or yelled at you or refused to be near you. If you were looking for a fresh start, you doubted that you would find a better one than this.
“So… where are these Venar Crystals?”
The crystals, as it turned out, were in the tightest vault this side of the galaxy as Rocket had put it. In a heavily guarded chamber, and encased in what Rocket had called super-concrete, because as he had said, the real name was too long to bother saying. The plan was simple, or at least if you had asked Rocket, it was.
Rocket would hack you into the compound and turn off the security system while Virk and Vak handled the guards. Meanwhile, Groot would get you into the vault itself, where you were supposed to take apart the super-concrete and get the crystals. The mission sounded difficult, but Rocket had insisted the client that wanted the crystals always paid well, which was supposed to make the risk worth it.
But there was still a problem. You had never purposefully used your powers before, never even gotten close to seeing if you could control them. How were you supposed to break the super-concrete apart if you couldn’t even control your own mutation?
Rocket didn’t seem to think it was an issue, even when you insisted to him in private that you weren’t sure you could do this.
“Then try to control it,” he had told you. “I’ll take a look at those cuffs of yours and see if I can make them work a little less so you can try your powers on smaller stuff first.”
So that’s how you had spent your time on the way to the planet housing the vault. You sat in your small room, staring at a picture of you and your parents at your high school graduation, trying to feel angry, afraid, sad… anything that would kickstart your powers.
Rocket was busy driving the ship and Virk and Vak only talked to you to give you compliments that were actually insults but Groot would occasionally join you, trying to console you with words you didn’t understand. But he was nice to you, or at least that was what Rocket’s occasional translations told you about his personality. You didn’t think you would be grasping Taluhnisan any time soon, but at least Groot’s presence was a comfort.
It took you most of the journey, but it was one afternoon when you finally did it. You had finally given up on trying to be whatever emotion you thought you should be, instead just concentrated on the small contraption Rocket had given you to practice on, an old communicator model or something he had said.
“I am Groot,” Groot’s insistent voice had broken through your thoughts and you looked down to see that glow back in your hands, but this time it excited you as you reached down to touch the old tech, comforted by Rocket’s insistence that he had only turned the bracelets down enough for you to use a fraction of your power.
You took the device into your hand and didn’t have to wait long, the device breaking into its separate parts before your eyes. Once it was fully apart, you concentrated, trying to turn some switch off inside you… and it actually worked. The glow disappeared, and you were sure your eyes had gone back to their normal color.
You had spent the rest of the travel time practicing your new method to switch your powers on and off, still not feeling fully prepared by the time you landed on the dry and cracking planet, lines of bright blue running along its surface.
Virk and Vak had clearly become antsy in the ship, Vak cracking her knuckles in anticipation of the fight to come, Virk looking no less excited, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust. You decided to stick closer to Groot and Rocket for the walk over, not wanting to be anywhere near the siblings when the fighting started. Where had Rocket found those two anyways? Though it wasn’t exactly like you had joined the team under normal circumstances either.
This was all still so weird, but your only option was to dive in headfirst and hope that maybe this all would stop seeming so weird in a while… a long while.
It was almost time for your group to split up, and you could feel your nerves rising with each step you took. Brushing your hair away from your ear, you ran a hand along your new ear clip.
When you had been discussing staying in communication, you found out that communication and translation implants were common out in space. Rocket had noticed your horror and provided you with an older model that clipped onto ears, but not without a comment about wussy humans.
Your group approached the dark grey building from the side, Rocket quickly locating a panel on the wall, crawling up Groot to stand on his shoulder, the raccoon pulling out some sort of tool and getting to work. You watched on anxiously, but couldn’t help but notice Virk and Vak looked bored. Just how many times had they done this before? You weren’t sure what was louder, your heartbeat or your shuddered breathing.
Rocket popped open the panel decently fast, immediately setting upon the inner workings.
“Rich people,” he scoffed. “Buying all this fancy scut and cheapin’ out on the security system.”
“Are you going to talk or work?” Virk shot nastily.
“Doing a lot more work than either of you,” Rocket retorted as he worked. “And… there!”
You heard a loud noise that sounded like metal scraping from the entrance, following the group to find the doors now open.
“Told ya,” Rocket gloated.
“I am Groot,” Groot replied.
“Yeah, well–”
Rocket was cut off by a pair of humanoid figures that had heads that looked like triceratops emerging from the open door.
“What are you doing h–”
The dinosaur head was unable to finish his sentence as Virk leaped at him, blade drawn and at the ready. Oh god, were they really going to kill the guards?
You weren’t given more time to watch the horror as you were urged on by Groot and Rocket, the latter of the two shooting some sort of laser gun at any remaining guards that broke off to chase your group.
“This is crazy!” you cried as you tried your best to keep up with Rocket and Groot. “I’m going to die in some stupid space vault.”
“Ain’t nobody dying!” Rocket called back at you, making a sharp left ahead. “The creepy twins will handle all that from their end.”
You were a sweaty mess by the time Rocket stopped in front of a door at last, taking out a small device.
“Should only take a minute to hack my way in,” Rocket explained, fiddling with the device. “Whoever these rich guys buy their tech from should charge them more for being so flarking gullible.”
True to his word, it was less than a minute before the door slid open abruptly, Rocket stowing the device and striding into the room, Groot right behind him. Still scared out of your mind, you followed, not wanting to be left alone and defenseless in the hallway.
You entered the blue-lit room to see Rocket already assessing the only thing in the room; a large square of gray so reflective that you could see your panicked reflection in it. This had to be the super-concrete that Rocket had been talking about. It took you a long moment to realize that it was now your turn to act.
Pushing down a shudder, you stepped forward to meet Rocket in front of the large cube.
“Well you better be able to do this,” Rocket said, easily seeing the fear on your face. “Cause we don’t really have a backup plan.”
“I am Groot,” Groot said, Rocket scoffing in response.
“I am not pressuring her,” he grumbled. “But I ain’t being the one to tell the creepy twins that their paycheck isn’t coming.”
Trying to block out their bickering, you turned to the block of gray, raising a hand to run along its surface. You could see the seams where the pieces of super-concrete met, so theoretically your powers should be able to do this, but you had been practicing on an old radio, not the universe’s new toughest material on the market.
You took deep breaths, turning your mental power switch on, the glow coming back to your left hand with its tuned-down bracelet. Reaching a hand towards one of the seams, you pictured it coming apart and falling to the floor and exposing the crystals… but nothing was happening. Trying again, you watched the fuchsia glow roll over the seam… and dissipate.
More frantically now, you waved your hand at the seam, but nothing was moving, Rocket and Groot’s total silence behind you only making you more nervous. What would they do to you if they realized you were useless after all? You knew Virk and Vak would be more than happy to strand you here to be picked apart by dinosaur-faced aliens.
It was then that you were forced to face your own hubris. Behind all of your nerves, you had thought that you could do this, and now being presented with your own failure, you now felt like you were suffocating with panic.
You were shaking now as you tried more and more desperately to move the super-concrete, but the cube stayed resolute in its stillness.
“They’re sending reinforcements!” Vak’s voice barked through the comm clip. “We need to go. Do you have the crystals?”
You were too scared to say a word.
“We’ve hit a problem,” Rocket answered back hesitantly.
“Well tell that little problem to do her job,” Vak shot back and you flinched at the anger in her voice. “Before I have to come over there and make her.”
You could tell Rocket wanted to say something to you, but he was forced to abandon the attempt and dive behind Groot as shots were fired from behind you. You turned to see more dinosaur-heads rushing down the hallway towards you, your back hitting the cube as you jolted back in surprise.
“Flarkin’ son of a…!” you heard Rocket exclaim as he pulled out his gun, Groot extending roots out from his hand to use as a shield.
You had to do this. You couldn’t let the entire team down, couldn’t be left here for failing to do your part. But you this safe was too big, you couldn’t–
There was a metallic noise in the air, miraculously managing to break through your panic as you looked down in horror to see cracks making their way quickly along your anti-mutation cuffs, the tech not looking like it was going to last long at this rate. Both of your hands were lit with fuchsia, brighter than it had ever been before, and the power was clearly too much for the bracelets to bear.
“Rocket!” you called out in a panic. “My cuffs, they’re going to–”
Rocket turned to look back just as the cuffs burst, pinging off the walls and falling uselessly to the floor, the glow from your hands now so bright that it overtook the room’s blue lighting.
“Try it now!” Rocket shouted, turning back to fire at another wave of dinosaur-heads.
“What?” you replied, aghast. “But I could hurt you and Groot. I almost collapsed a roof before!”
“Me and Groot can handle some roof,” he shot back, blasting a dinosaur-head away from the doorway.
“I am Groot!” Groot added, which you assumed was also some kind of reassurance.
Fine, if they wanted you all to die so bad, then so be it. You would probably die anyways when enough of the creatures got here and overwhelmed Rocket and Groot. Staring down at the cube, you focused all of your fear and anger and pain at the cube with a shove of both hands towards it.
The results were immediate, the safe smashing through the side wall, leaving a mess of broken wires and metal debris as it went. It didn’t stop there, rocketing through every wall in its way until you could see the outside, about ten broken walls between you and the open air.
The noise immediately attracted the attention of your teammates, the two looking at each other before Groot extended one arm, roots extending to cover the door until the way to the hallway was blocked, while Rocket approached you, whistling when he saw the safe-shaped holes that led outside.
“Nice work,” he commented. “Now let’s go get those crystals.”
“But what about Groot?” you protested.
“Groot’ll be fine,” Rocket dismissed. “Their guns won’t do anything to him. He’ll meet us outside after we get a head start.”
Rocket didn’t wait for a response, scampering through the hole in the wall and heading towards the black cube outside. With one last look at Groot, who gave you a thumbs up, you followed, careful not to let any of the wires touch you.
“Change of plans!” you heard Rocket over your comms as you followed him through the wall holes. “We’ll meet you outside.”
“Did you get the crystals?” Virk hissed.
“We got the crystals, don’t get your flarking panties in a twist!”
There were no further replies, so you assumed that maybe Virk and Vak wouldn’t kill you in your sleep tonight.
Stepping through the last hole, you joined Rocket, who was busy assessing the cube, now minus the top panel, a trove of glittering blue crystals now exposed to your eyes. Groot quickly joined you, his attempt to lift the crate quickly proving fruitless.
“It’s the super-concrete,” Rocket explained. “It’s also made to be too heavy to lift. Come on, let’s grab as many as we can and run.”
“Wait,” you said as Rocket had reached in to grab some crystals. Your hands were still pink, so you had some confidence in your next words. “I think I can lift it.”
Rocket gave you an appraising glance before shrugging. “Go for it.”
There was a confidence in his words, which you used to bolster your own, targeting the cube with your full, unrestrained power, the box lifting easily, to your shocked delight.
“Think you can keep that up?” Rocket asked, and you nodded. Somehow, you could feel its weight, and you knew you could handle it. At your nod, Rocket spoke into his comm. “Meet us at the ship and prepare for a quick takeoff!”
Luckily, you weren’t too far away from the ship, Rocket running on all fours ahead of you. Groot had seen the strain on your face from your sustained use of your powers, quickly picking you up to carry you the rest of the way while you dragged the box in the air beside you.
All of your previous incidents on Earth had been accidents, so you hadn’t been prepared for just how hard it was to control your powers, quickly feeling totally drained of energy. Virk and Vak had been pleasantly surprised by your haul, you could tell by how neither of them insulted you before approaching the loot, clearly counting their incoming coins in their head.
It had taken about a week for you to feel fully recovered from overexerting yourself, your cut of the profits an odd sight beside your bed, the gleaming silver units the first monetary comfort you had since leaving Earth. Maybe you would be okay after all.
The next few jobs after that served as a good test for your powers. After testing yourself against different structures, Rocket had theorized that your powers were some sort of psionic force capable of moving objects, or in your case, disassembling them. A test you reluctantly agreed to against an extension of Groot’s bark showed you that you had offensive capability too, the section of bark blown back against the wall after one blast of fuchsia energy.
You could feel your control improving after every use, and had started thinking that maybe you had found your place in this galaxy… at least until Nocrucia, nine months after you had first joined Rocket’s crew.
Rocket had said it was a misunderstanding, but you had arrived to the job location to find yourselves surrounded by creatures in helmets that lowered to reveal triceratops-heads. It seemed like the previous owner of those Venar crystals was out for blood, and you quickly found yourselves carted off to his specially-built prison, which for you was made of a disgusting-smelling jelly, no seams or cracks to be found, your force blasts only causing the walls to shake and make you feel sick.
Rocket had promised he had a plan, but it took three long months for you to be freed, spending most of every day alone, not knowing where Rocket and Groot were, or if they were even okay.
Three months later, you were told that the warlord had moved on from the loss of his crystals and needed your prison for a more important enemy, and the five of you had been swiftly kicked out of the prison.
Rocket had tried to keep the team together, but Virk and Vak had shouted some assumedly rude words in another language before storming off. Groot was sticking with Rocket, that much was clear, but you already knew your answer before he turned to you, and he realized what it would be when he saw the look on your face.
There were no hard feelings, he had said, telling you that he and Groot would let you off at the next neutral planet. You were sad too, but you had been too naïve to think the jobs wouldn’t catch up with you, that you would be like characters in a T.V. show and always find a happy ending.
But you were scared of living the rest of your life in a space prison, just like you were of the mutant prison on Earth. You weren’t cut out for this life, you knew that now. You just wished seeking a safer life didn’t mean losing the only friends you had made in your time in space.
Your new home planet turned out to be Cibroth, a tech planet with a manufactured green sun and a warm climate year-round. You hoped you would see Rocket and Groot again someday, but you needed to focus on the present now.
Soon, you had a small apartment in the city and a job with the government supplying bodyguards to officials and foreign dignitaries. Cibroth was a planet of technology, not magic, and so they eagerly accepted someone with fancy magical powers into their ranks, even an otherwise weak-looking Terran girl.
Your new coworkers weren’t happy to have a weakling amongst their ranks, especially one taking more prestigious jobs from them, but your life was decent enough. Working in the government was an extra protection from any weird alien prisons, so you accepted that you wouldn’t be making any friends in your coworkers.
Part of you wondered what other planets were out there, but your job let you lead a decent life, and was generally free of danger, despite your job title, and so the years slipped away as you adjusted to your routine more and more.
Seven years later, at twenty-nine, you could finally say you were… used to the planet, even if it had been growing more into political extremism as of late, though a part of you would always wonder where you would be right now if you hadn’t left the team.
The screen lit up with the image of a man, and Peter Quill’s douchebag meter was already going off the charts.
Vlendis Titrugu reminded him of Vincent Price in House of Wax, an old horror movie he remembered watching with a friend back on Earth when he was a kid. Except Vlendis had a bright purple beard and eyes to go with his Vincent Price-style slicked back black hair.
“Hey, Vlendis,” Peter greeted casually, trying to feel Vlendis out.
“Guardians of the galaxy,” Vlendis spoke, giving no indication that he had heard Peter speak. “I have been assured that you will be able to assist me.”
“With finding a razor?” Peter heard Rocket snicker from his chair.
“What’s the job?” he asked, hoping that Vlendis didn’t hear Rocket’s comment.
“And the pay!” Rocket chimed in, mouthing what at Peter when he turned to give him his usual look of seriously dude?
“I would like you to procure an item for me. A Yenveronian power gem. I have a replacement gem for you to leave there so they are none the wiser.”
“You would like for us to replace a gem with the same gem?” Drax inquired dubiously. “Can you not conduct an exchange with the Yenveronians yourself?”
“Their power gem is still active,” Vlendis hissed, holding up a bright pink orb. “This one is not. You will enter the Valudrisian fortress undetected and make the switch, and then bring their active gem to me.”
“Valudrisian?” Gamora frowned. “That gem will be locked up tighter than a Chitauri prison.”
Peter winced, but said nothing. At least Gamora’s comparison helped give him an idea of how difficult this job was going to be. Good thing they had someone who had escaped a Chitauri prison leading their team, not to mention a one of the highest-ranked assassinators of Chitauri currently talking to the pretentious alien. Now it all came down to the price.
“And how much is this job paying?” Peter asked, hoping that the danger level meant a decent number of units.
Vlendis put down the gem, instead running two fingers to meet along his chin, looking strikingly like an old-timey movie villain. “I believe fifty-thousand units will suffice.”
“Fifty-thousand units!” Rocket exclaimed, and Peter knew he was already thinking about all of the upgrades to the Milano he could make with that money.
“That’s crazy!” Nikki added, her fire-like hair glowing brighter than usual.
“I am Groot,” Groot said.
“He says take the job,” Rocket translated excitedly. “Quill, we need to replace our weapons system. I have as many workarounds going as the system can handle, but one more big hit and they all go down.”
Rocket did make a point, and it wasn’t like they hadn’t handled some pretty difficult jobs before. Hell, they had saved Nikki (and the galaxy) from forcible religious takeover by Raker and the Magus, which was likely at least fifty times harder than this job was going to be. And again… they were pretty broke.
“We’ll take the job,” he answered, Vlendis’ face breaking out into a creepy-looking grin in response. Peter could easily imagine this guy in a James Bond movie, standing over a pool of sharks.
“Excellent,” Vlendis replied. “I will send a blueprint of the fortress along with the gem. Don’t disappoint me, guardians.”
“We, uh, won’t,” Peter responded awkwardly. He could never really get used to all the weirdos they had to deal with for jobs. At least this one was paying them what they were worth.
Vlendis’ image disappeared, and they watched as the large gold ship ahead of them sent out a pod, Nikki eagerly volunteering to meet it at the hatch and collect the contents of the pod.
“Are you sure we should have just accepted?” Gamora asked when Nikki was out of hearing range. “This job isn’t going to be easy. Valudrisians run one of the harshest penal colonies in the galaxy.”
“Well the Valudrisians are no match for the guardians of the galaxy!” Rocket shot back proudly. “And besides, we need that money.”
“I met a Valudrisian in combat once,” Drax contributed. “It did not end well for him.”
“Is there a race you haven’t met in combat?” Gamora asked, largely sarcastically.
“There are many,” Drax answered, but Gamora had already lost interest even before Drax began listing off all of the alien species he had yet to fight.
“Got ‘em!” Nikki announced, striding back into the room holding both the gem and a small disc Peter knew would contain a projection of the fortress on Valudrisia.
Peter decided to busy himself with programming in the coordinates Gamora had provided, noticing Rocket grab the map out of the corner of his eye. He heard the ping of the projection opening, and was about to set the ship to cruise controls when he heard Rocket’s frustrated exclamation.
“Flarkin’ son of a…!”
“What the problem, Rocket?” Peter asked, glancing over to see the not-raccoon looking frustrated as he stared at the digital plans like they owed him money.
“This is the flarkin’ problem,” Rocket snapped, zooming in on a section of the map that just looked like a normal room to Peter’s eyes. “I should’ve known a job that paid this much would be this flarking impossible.”
“Wait, is that…?” Gamora said, moving closer to get a better look, though Peter still couldn’t tell what they were seeing that he wasn’t. The map just looked like a lot of shapes, and he wasn’t sure which one he was supposed to be focusing on.
“Could somebody tell me what big problem I’m supposed to be seeing here?” Peter asked somewhat exasperatedly.
“The problem,” Gamora answered, pressing a finger to a shape on the map, which enlarged and revealed itself to be a large textured box. “Is that the gem is being kept in a safe made of super-concrete.”
“Couldn’t we just get a super jackhammer or something then?” he asked, still not really getting what the problem was.
“Super-concrete ain’t like your Earth stuff,” Rocket explained gruffly. “It’s impenetrable by all means but lava, and unless you want the gem to melt too, then I–”
“Then how would the Valudrisians remove this gem themselves?” Drax asked.
“They wouldn’t,” Gamora answered for Rocket, who was clearly still steaming as he glared at the map. “Super-concrete is only for things you don’t intend to get back out. It’s illegal in most sectors and incredibly expensive to acquire.”
“And they would use it to just bury this thing?” Nikki wondered, staring at the inactive gem in her hand. “I just don’t get why they care so much.”
“Well whatever the reason, it’ll pay our repair expenses outright,” Peter said, turning to Rocket. “Are you sure there’s no way to break into this stuff? No… anti super-concrete?”
“Nobody would pay that much for it if it wasn’t impenetrable,” Rocket replied bitterly. “Maybe we should just go back to Vlendy and–”
“Vlendis,” Drax corrected.
“I am Groot,” Groot spoke up, Rocket’s head snapping to face his best friend at whatever Groot had said, Peter now curious what had caused that kind of a reaction in Rocket.
“Oh scut, you’re right!” Rocket responded, hitting his palm with his other fist, Peter meeting Nikki’s perplexed look from across the room with a shrug. This was nothing new for the two of them. “Where’d we leave her again?”
“I am Groot,” Groot answered.
“Right, Cibroth,” Rocket muttered. “How far would that make…”
“Not that far,” Gamora cut in, looking at her navigation screen. “Could be there in half a cycle. It’s on our way to Valudrisia too.”
“I am Groot,” Groot spoke, sounding wary.
“Well we don’t know that until we talk to her,” Rocket shot back. “She might be over the whole jelly prison thing by now.”
“Hold on a second,” Peter interrupted. “Who is on Cibroth and how can she help us with the super-concrete?”
“…so, uh, we kinda left her there,” Rocket finished explaining. “Don’t know if she’s still there though.”
“It’s worth a try if she can crack that concrete open,” Peter replied. “I’ll come with you. Maybe seeing another Terran would help her feel more comfortable.”
“I don’t know about that,” Rocket spoke dubiously. “Terrans kicked her off their planet in the first place. They were scared of her.”
“Scared of a single Terran?” Drax sounded incredulous.
“They’re Terrans too, Drax,” Gamora reminded him. “And not all humans are as accepting as Peter is.”
“Aw, thanks Gamo–”
“How shameful… to be scared of the power this Terran possesses,” Drax argued. “They should welcome the chance to test themselves against a strong opponent!”
“Drax, that’s not really how humans…” Peter tried to clarify, but trailed off, not sure if Drax would even understand.
“Well she sounds cool!” Nikki grinned. “And we could use some more girls on the crew!”
“That’s only if she agrees to help us,” Rocket reminded.
“I am Groot,” Groot added.
“Yeah, and if she’s even still on Cibroth,” Rocket replied.
“Well, if she’s our only shot of getting into that super-concrete, then it’s worth a try,” Peter concluded, the team settling into their seats in response, a plan clearly made. “Onto Cibroth!”
