Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy

by Chris Wyatt

  “Yes.” Korath nodded humbly.

  “And yet, you failed,” stated Ronan.

  “Yes, my lord, but…” Korath tried to explain.

  “Take him to the ship’s hold,” Ronan commanded with a wave of the hand.

  “No, master, please! No! Spare me!” Korath shouted as several of Ronan’s soldiers removed him from their ruler’s sight.

  Ronan turned to look at his most trusted servants, Nebula and Gamora, two highly trained and ruthless warriors from different alien worlds.

  “Korath’s failure is unacceptable,” said Ronan. “Until we have the Orb we cannot move in force against the Nova Corps.”

  He looked at the two women, as if making a decision. “Nebula, go to Xandar and dispense with this ‘Star-Lord.’ Get me that Orb,” Ronan commanded.

  “It will be my honor,” said Nebula, bowing.

  “It will be your doom,” interrupted Gamora.

  Nebula looked at Gamora with a rage-filled glance. “I am more than capable of this mission!”

  “Korath was more than capable, but this thief outmatched him,” Gamora said. “Why would it be any different for you?”

  Ronan watched with interest as the women argued.

  “And who would go instead of me? You?” Nebula asked.

  “You are merciless and strong, Nebula,” Gamora said. “But I’ve been to Xandar many times and know it well. If the field of engagement shifts, I’ll be prepared.”

  Nebula retorted, “Ronan has already decreed that—”

  “Don’t speak for me,” Ronan said, interrupting Nebula. He turned to look at Gamora, appraising her. “You will not fail?” he asked.

  Gamora shrugged. “Have I ever?”

  As Gamora loaded up her Necrocraft for the voyage to Xandar, Nebula shoved her into a nearby wall, pinning her.

  “You think I don’t know?” Nebula hissed into Gamora’s face. “You think I don’t realize that you would keep me from advancing? You would have Ronan tell our father, Thanos, that only Gamora furthers his great plan.”

  Thanos, an evil dictator, was the only person Ronan served. He had kidnapped both Nebula and Gamora when they were still babies and raised them to serve him as elite soldiers. As such, they were known around the galaxy as the “daughters” of Thanos.

  Gamora shoved Nebula off her. “I would keep you alive, sister,” Gamora replied.

  Nebula sneered, “Compassion, Gamora? What would Ronan say to that?”

  “You have known me since Thanos took us both from our homes,” began Gamora. “You have stood beside me in training, in modification, in battle.…”

  “I have stood behind you,” shouted Nebula, her jealousy pouring out of her, “even though I am every inch the warrior you are. The screams of my enemies fill every field.”

  “Because you take so long to finish them,” Gamora replied.

  A wicked smile came to Nebula’s lips. “It is not wrong to love your work.”

  “It is worse than wrong,” Gamora said as she walked away, looking back over her shoulder. “It is weak.”

  Nebula stared angrily at Gamora as she walked away. Nebula fumed and began to make plans.

  In the command chair on board the Necrocraft that would fly her to Xandar, Gamora entered orders into the computer console. The two Sakaaran troops that were to assist her on the mission approached.

  “Course set for Xandar, my lady,” reported one of the Sakaarans.

  “And, might I add,” he went on nervously, “it’s an honor to be serving with Ronan’s ‘right hand’ herself. My brother and I look forward to triumph,” he finished, nodding to the other Sakaaran.

  “Yes”—Gamora nodded—“but it’s a shame about the casualties we’re going to incur.”

  The Sakaarans looked at her with confusion. But before they could even ask a question, Gamora whipped her sword from her side and slashed them.

  The Necrocraft slipped out of dock with Gamora as the only living passenger. Looking out the cockpit window, she contemplated the risks she was taking as she cleaned her blade. It would not be easy to betray Ronan.

  It was a great day at the mall. The Xandarian sun was shining, the air was warm, and people were out having a good time. There were families playing, shoppers scoring deals, and friends dining outside at the mall’s many fine restaurants—but there was someone who wasn’t enjoying himself. Rocket, a four-foot-tall alien who looked like an Earth raccoon, was hiding in the bushes, peering at the crowds with binoculars.

  “Humies, all of ’em, in a big hurry to get from something stupid to nothing at all. Pathetic,” said Rocket, his upper lip curling in disgust. “Humies” was Rocket’s insulting nickname for humanoid beings. If there was one thing that got on Rocket’s nerves, it was humanoids.

  Rocket moved his sights onto an average, non-descript male. “I mean, look at this guy! You believe they call us criminals when he’s walking around assaulting me with that ugly face?” Rocket asked his partner, Groot.

  But Groot, a seven-and-a-half-foot mobile tree creature, didn’t seem to be paying much attention. He was focused on a nearby fountain.

  “I mean, check out this moron,” Rocket said as he adjusted his binoculars to look at a little boy playing on a seesaw. “This maniac’s just wobbling around, annoying everyone in the world. Ha! Right, Groot?”

  Rocket laughed, getting a kick out of himself, but when he turned to see if Groot was laughing, too, he saw his friend extending his roots into the fountain’s water, slurping it up.

  “Hey, don’t drink that water! It’s disgusting!” Rocket shouted.

  Groot quickly pulled his roots out of the fountain and looked around innocently, as if he didn’t understand what Rocket had said.

  “Whatever. I saw you,” said Rocket as his binoculars made a beeping sound. “Oh, looks like we got one,” he observed.

  The binoculars were set to scan for the faces of people who had outstanding bounties on their heads—people who were wanted by the law, or just by anyone with enough money to pay for their capture. Rocket peered through the binoculars to look at the face of yet another “humie,” someone the facial recognition software identified as “Peter Quill, aka Star-Lord.”

  “Okay, let’s see how much someone wants you,” Rocket said as he checked the bounty on Peter Quill’s head. “Forty thousand units! How can some miserable humie be worth that much? Hey, Groot, we’re going to be rich!”

  “I am Groot,” said Groot.

  Peter walked from the mall’s main thoroughfare into the Broker’s pawnshop.

  “Hey, Broker,” Peter said, greeting the humorless man behind the desk. “I’ve got your Orb, as commissioned.”

  Peter set the Orb down on the counter, but the Broker regarded him with suspicion. “Hello, Mr. Quill. Where is Yondu?”

  “He wanted to be here, sends his love.… We good?”

  The Broker looked from Peter to the Orb, then shrugged. “I guess we’re good.”

  Not far from the pawnshop’s door, Rocket handed Groot a sack large enough to hold a humie. “You just stuff him in here and run for the ship,” Rocket instructed.

  But when Rocket looked up, he saw that Groot wasn’t listening. Instead, Groot was staring at a bug.

  “Groot? What are you doing? Pay attention!”

  Groot, by way of explanation, just pointed to the bug.

  “Yeah, it’s a bug. So what? This is forty thousand units on the line.”

  But Groot was still checking out the bug.

  “You’re not the idiot,” mumbled Rocket. “I am, because I’m the one who partnered with a tree.”

  “I almost doubled the price when I saw what you guys were after. That’s the best one of those I’ve ever seen,” said Peter as the Broker examined the Orb to authenticate it. The Broker looked up at him, skepticism in his face.

  “Okay… I don’t know what it is,” admitted Peter. “What is it?”

  “It’s my policy not to share info about my clients or their needs,
” said the Broker.

  Peter grimaced. “Yeah, well, I almost got hurt for it.”

  The Broker shrugged. “I’m sure that’s an occupational hazard in your line of work.”

  “Sometimes. But this was some freak working for some dude named Ronan,” Peter continued.

  The Broker straightened up instantly. “Ronan?”

  “Yeah, you heard of him?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Quill, I truly am, but I want no part of this if Ronan is involved,” the Broker said as he shoved the Orb back into Peter’s hands and pushed him out of the shop.

  “Wait… why? I keep hearing the name, but who’s Ronan?” asked Peter. But he was too late. He was already out in the mall with the Broker’s door slammed in his face.

  The Broker really seemed scared, Peter thought. He was considering his options when a green-skinned woman walked up to him.

  “You have the bearing of a man of honor,” Gamora said.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Peter, shifting gears. “I hear it all the time, but I’d never say it.”

  Peter smiled as the woman got closer to him. This was someone he could get used to being near. But, with the blink of an eye, the woman grabbed the Orb, shoved Peter out of the way, and ran off!

  “Hey, wait, lady! That’s mine!” Peter screamed as he chased after her.

  Gamora was fast, and she easily widened the gap between them.

  “This is so not good,” thought Peter as ran after his treasure. Thinking fast, he pulled some bolas out of his pack, whirled them around his head, and released them.

  It was an expert throw. The bolas rushed through the air past several gawking shoppers and wrapped around Gamora’s legs, bringing her to the ground. Peter was on her in a second. He reached for the Orb, but Gamora easily broke the bolas’ ties around her legs and kicked him off.

  Peter flew backward and reached into his pack for his pistol. But as he raised it, Gamora used her sword to slice it in two. She raised her arms, preparing to strike again, as Peter ducked.

  “Oh no! She’s going to hurt him! Don’t let her hurt him!” shouted Rocket as he leaped into the scene. He tackled Gamora as Groot wrapped his branches protectively around Peter.

  “Put him in the sack and run!” Rocket shouted to Groot.

  Groot, confused, looked at the sack, then at Peter, and then at Gamora. Suddenly, he jumped to Gamora and tried to shove her head into the sack.

  Peter didn’t know who the raccoon and tree were, but whatever was happening, he had to get out. He grabbed the Orb and ran.

  “Not her—him!” Rocket shouted at Groot. “Learn your pronouns, Groot!”

  Groot stepped back, allowing Gamora to pick up Rocket and hurl him at Peter!

  “Aughhh!” shouted Rocket as he slammed into the humanoid, knocking the Orb out of Peter’s hands, over the balcony, and down to the lower level.

  “No!” Peter screamed. As the Orb bounced away, Gamora vaulted over the railing after it.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” said Peter as he jumped right onto her back.

  Gamora slammed Peter into the ground. “You should have learned by now not to—”

  “I don’t learn,” shouted Peter. “It’s one of my issues!”

  Peter shoved Gamora away and lunged for the Orb. With it back in his hands, he turned around and ran straight into Groot’s bag. “Finally! Let’s get out of here!” shouted Rocket.

  With Peter inside their sack, the bounty hunters were prepared to leave. But Gamora stood in their path. “You gotta be kidding me, lady,” yelled Rocket. “He’s ours!”

  Gamora side-kicked Rocket out of the way, then swung her sword at Groot, pruning off several branches. Groot shrieked as the splinters flew, and dropped Peter.

  Gamora opened the sack quickly, ready to reclaim the Orb. But inside she found Peter looking up at her, a shock-stick in his hand.

  Gamora froze as Peter aimed his weapon at her. He pulled himself from the sack and prepared to make his escape.

  That’s when he realized the whole group was surrounded.

  Six Nova Corps Starblaster ships had them covered from all sides.

  The loudspeaker of one of the Starblasters blared a message. “By order of the Nova Corps, you are all under arrest for endangerment to life and damage of property.”

  “Great, just great,” said Rocket, paws above his head.

  Floating in nothingness, Kyln station was a barbaric place. Battle-scarred, dirty, and heavily armored, it held some of the most hardcore criminals the galaxy had ever known.

  “They call Kyln the stomach of the prison system,” said Rocket, as he, Groot, Peter, and Gamora were shepherded by the Nova Corps through its halls, “because no matter how good you are going in, you come out pretty messed up.”

  The three of his companions shot him sour looks as if to say that fact wasn’t much help in their situation.

  “But I ain’t gonna be here long,” Rocket continued. “I’ve escaped twenty-two prisons. This one’ll be no different.” Rocket then focused his attention on Peter. “You’re lucky Gamora here showed up, otherwise me and Groot’d be collecting that bounty right now, and you’d be getting drawn and quartered by Yondu and the Ravagers.”

  “A lot of people have tried to hurt me over the years, but I won’t be brought down by a walking tree and a talking raccoon,” said Peter, clearly annoyed.

  “What’s a raccoon?” asked Rocket, trying to decide if he should feel insulted.

  “It’s what you are,” stated Peter.

  “Ain’t nothin’ like me, ’cept me,” huffed Rocket indignantly.

  Peter turned to Gamora. “What is that Orb, anyway? Why is everyone so crazy for it?”

  “I have no words for a thief without honor,” said Gamora, not even bothering to look at Peter.

  “Pretty high and mighty coming from you, maniac,” Rocket responded. Gamora turned and glared at him, but he continued defiantly. “That’s right, I know who you are. Ronan’s little helper.”

  “Yeah, we all know who you are!” Peter confirmed, but then he turned and quietly whispered to Groot. “Who is she again?”

  “I am Groot,” Groot whispered back.

  Peter rolled his eyes. “I know who you are. I’m asking who she is.”

  Rocket interrupted. “You won’t get anything out of him. He don’t know good talking like me and you. His vocabulistics are limited to ‘I’ and ‘am’ and ‘Groot,’ exclusively in that order.”

  “How do you understand him?”

  Rocket shrugged. “I don’t know. We just get each other.”

  “For your information, I wasn’t getting the Orb for Ronan. I was going to sell it for myself,” clarified Gamora.

  But she didn’t get to explain further, because at that very moment Peter saw one of the guards with his most prized possession—his headphones! While private property was confiscated from all of the inmates, it was supposed to be impounded, not stolen by the guards.

  “Hey, those are mine!” Peter shouted. But the guard just ignored him and wandered off, listening to Awesome Mix Tape #1.

  Peter was not pleased.

  The group was processed, given uniforms to wear, and escorted into the main yard. But as soon as they arrived, all the other inmates heckled them. Some even threw things. Peter bobbed to avoid a rock and a couple of boots.

  At first Peter thought the prisoners were trying to hit him. Then he realized the target was actually Gamora. Everyone was aiming at her. Peter looked at Rocket in confusion.

  “They don’t like her kind,” Rocket explained. “A lot of the prisoners have lost their cities and families to Ronan’s forces. She’ll last a day in here, at best.”

  “No.… The guards will protect her, right?” asked Peter.

  Rocket laughed darkly at this. “They don’t care what we do to each other.”

  Peter looked at Gamora, seeing that she had heard everything Rocket said. “It’s okay,” she told him, a sad look on her face. “Whatever ni
ghtmares my future holds shall be dreams compared to my past.”

  Sadly, everything Rocket said turned out to be true. That night, as Peter tried to fall asleep, he heard the sounds of a struggle in the hallway. When he went to the door, he witnessed a large, muscular, green-skinned prisoner with red battle tattoos dragging Gamora, kicking and fighting, down the corridor.

  Instinctively, Peter decided to follow. “Quill? Where you goin’, Quill?” asked a bleary-eyed Rocket, awoken by Peter’s stirring.

  Rocket turned to find Groot asleep next to him. “Groot, Groot… wake up, Mr. Sleepy Tree…” Rocket said as he shook his friend. “Our bounty is up to something.” But when Rocket couldn’t wake the tree, he followed Peter by himself.

  The tattooed man dragged Gamora to an isolated part of the station.

  “Ronan murdered my family,” growled the man, anger boiling behind his words. “On that day, every cell in my body united in the single purpose of one day destroying the man who was responsible. Because your master, Ronan, took them from me, I will now take you from him.”

  Gamora rushed to explain. “I, too, despise Ronan. And my so-called ‘father,’ Thanos. I have tried my whole life to escape from their grasp. The only reason I’m here is because I finally had an opportunity to be free.”

  “Your words mean nothing,” said the man.

  “Hey!” someone shouted from nearby.

  Gamora and her captor turned to see Peter and Rocket watching them.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” shouted Peter, “but I don’t think you want to do that.”

  The man looked astonished.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asked Peter.

  “No, but I know you’re pretty scary-looking,” Peter said. “Very intimidating.”

  “I am Drax the Destroyer, and no one in this prison gets in my way!”

  “You heard the man,” said Rocket, trying to pull Peter from the room.

  But Peter shook Rocket off, and said, “I just mean that if getting Ronan really is your sole purpose, then I’m not sure this is the best way to go about it.”