Chapter Text
XANDAR.
Gazing out the ceiling-to-floor window, she couldn't believe she had to flee from yet another planet so soon.
She had truly believed that there would be no possible way for her to get caught so quickly. Choosing the capital of the Nova Empire certainly hadn't been the best decision. Apparently hiding in plain sight was some sort of myth, complete with deep lies. Though, relying on an old saying for her freedom had been her own mistake.
Walking into the bathroom to grab a few more items, she took a quick second to splash her face with some water. When she was younger it had been practically impossible to stay clean, the mere idea of a twelve-year-old trying to survive in an unknown urban city could be laughable. This didn't stop her from managing, though. She studied her face in the reflection— slim, with pearly white skin, completely black eyes, natural red eyeshadow dragging up and out from her eyes, and shiny silver markings across her face and body. Dark red hair, a similar tone that to the "eyeshadow." All ironic—considering it matched her name. Yet another reminder of where she comes from, of what she was. One of the last of the Valani, a race almost wiped out when the neighboring planet, Zorix, had conquered it after a resource shortage. A few years ago this face appeared to her like a stranger. Now, it was the only thing that remained familiar anymore.
Moving quickly, she grabbed her bag—a small one, since she had learned at a young age that bringing a lot of personal belongings to a hideout location was stupid and unnecessary—and headed out of her hotel room door. Her enhanced hearing picked up on a Nova Corps officer grumbling downstairs. She sighed heavily, pulling her hood further over her face. So much for a quiet exit. It was a miracle that they hadn't found her yet anyway, even though she had used a false name at the check-in.
She unlocked the door and took a nonchalant glance around the hallway to check for any suspicious activity on her level. Walking down the hallway and taking the stairs, she didn't bother to spare time using the elevator, which needed a fingerprint to activate. It was better for them be unaware she had even left anyway. She kept that in mind as she strode straight past the front desk, attempting to look unsuspicious as ever, not bothering to check out, and walked straight out the revolving door. The sun blinded her for a moment, as she had been holed up in her hotel room for a few days now, wanting to lay low after her last job went awry. She released a quiet breath of relief after escaping her personal confinement without running into the now-pacing officer.
Her eyes focused instead on the long, concrete walkways in front of her, the heat of the close star blasting down on her layered, dark clothing. Not that the citizens paid her much mind, they busied along as usual, too focused on holopads or the road in front of them to notice her.
She hurried, making her way towards where she hid her ship a few days prior with long, brisk strides. A slight glint of something caught in the corner of her vision. She turned to it, staring out across the city. There were a variety of tall buildings, all with their own creative moderation or design unique to each construction. She spotted one which looked similar to a fishbowl, complete with hologram fish shown swimming through the water. Her keen eyes quickly spotted the projectors fixed on the small shelf directly above the structure. A small sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against railing, gazing out at the landscape. She looked below the glass fence which kept her from toppling over the side of the concrete bridge and collapsing on the floor a short distance below. Citizens hustled around with their busy, unimportant lives. Each too loud. Too perfumed with what she could only assume each would claim as their signature scent. If they had lived on Valan, they would have been eaten alive.
Suddenly, shouting to the right caught her attention. She whipped her head around, scared that the Nova Corps officer inside the hotel had somehow noticed her leaving. To her surprise, it was a man, rather, a Terran, throwing something after a green woman who appeared to be carrying a small orb. No, she recognized this woman, but couldn't place it. Narrowing her eyes, she watched closely as the object hit the woman, orange ropes of electricity wrapping around her legs and causing her to trip and fall. She quickly sat up and ripped them off of her, kicking her legs up to throw the man flying into the air, who was now lunging on top of her. He fell to the side of the green woman with a thud. They continued to fight, both still lying down now, until he tried to grab his blaster and she stopped him. The woman grabbed her knife and raised it above her to stab him...
Until getting knocked off of him by another flying object. No, not a flying object, an animal. One she didn't recognize, with a humanoid tree close behind him. She had seen them a few moment prior, standing by a fountain.
The humanoid tree had a large brown bag. She grabbed her tablet and held it up to scan these unknown people, curious. Bounty hunters. A junker. And... Gamora. Her jaw fell slack for a moment, suddenly aware of the dangerous situation unfolding in front of her. Whatever was going on was important and, knowing these types of people, most likely lucrative, which created a sinking feeling in her stomach which she could only depict as one thing—a sudden want to get involved.
She could use the extra exercise anyway after practically imprisoning herself in a hotel room for the past few days. Slowly, she set down her bag, knowing it would only slow her down from obtaining whatever they were fighting over.
The man still laid on the ground, the tree now attempting to put Gamora in his bag. Branches had wrapped around her, forcing her to stop moving and dragging her inside the burlap sack in the same motion. The unknown animal was now yelling at the tree, but she was too far to hear what he was saying. Without a second thought, she ran straight at the group, her boots adjusting automatically to sprint-mode, the fashionable heels retracting into the sole—one of the few remnants of Valani tech still working or worth anything. It synced with her every move, years of childhood training returning without hesitation. She leaned down to grab the orb mid-run and sprinted away, legs pounding against the ground. Her ears rang with the yells from the unknown man ordering her to stop.
She could hear metal slicing through the air at her, which she quickly identified to be a knife— thrown by Gamora—nicking her hand and forcing her to drop the orb. It rolled forward and off the edge. She glanced behind her and glared at her chasers for a moment before jumping straight off the railing, right after the orb, Gamora after her.
She lunged for it, but Gamora got to it first. Thankfully, at that, since immediately after Gamora took off running, the Terran jumped off a railing from above and landed directly on Gamora, sending them both tumbling. She giggled a bit, covering her mouth with one hand. Gamora quickly gained the upper hand, as she had suspected.
"Fool. You should have learned," Gamora sneered, glaring down at him with the orb in her hand.
"I don't learn. One of my issues," he brushed off quickly, grabbing the orb straight out of her hand and attaching some sort of small rocket device to her side, turning it on and causing her to fly off of him, straight into the fountain. Gamora landed with a deafening crack. Crimson stared after her now-limp form, submerged under the fountain water. Something cold pressed against her chest—not concern, but rather a strange mix of unease. She shrugged it off, shaking her head and focusing on the issue in front of her. Gamora wasn't her problem, anyway.
The terran stood there for a moment, seemingly proud of himself, before the humanoid tree strode up behind him and scooped him straight into the bag, easily carrying him over its shoulder.
"Quit smiling, you idiot. You're supposed to be a professional," she overheard the unknown mammal say—the tree's partner, apparently—with a smile of its own spread across its face. He turned to face forward as he walked, the smirk wiped off his face as soon as he noticed Gamora. "You gotta be kidding me—ooh. Hey!"
Gamora had recovered quickly, tossing the animal out of her way with ease. He had landed on his face. By now, she had begun to sprint after Gamora, too. If she had to go against Gamora, fine then. Gamora grabbed her sword and began hacking at the tree's arms, forcing it to drop the bag with the man inside. She managed to cut off both of its arms, with a final spin and a hack to its torso. She reached the bag before Gamora, though, opening it... to immediately take a shot from the man's blaster, him ready to shoot whoever opened the bag first with it.
He got out quickly before Gamora could realize what was happening, shooting her for good measure, and taking off running, almost tripping on the bag in the process.
"I live for the simple things. Like how much this is gonna hurt," she overheard the unidentified animal say with an audible smile in his voice just as she recovered, sitting up in time to see him hit the man with an electric bullet—the same kind that the Terran had shot her with. The animal laughed. "Yeah, writhe, little man."
'Ironic,' she thought, moving her fingers to ensure she wasn't paralyzed.
She turned around, realizing Gamora had passed out. One advantage that comes with being Valani—anatomy that prevents most weapons from truly affecting her, like a sort of advanced stamina. Along with this comes heightened senses and easy, almost perfect aim.
The tree made some sort of almost whimpering noise as she stood up.
"It'll grow back, you d'ast idiot. Quit whining," the creature scowled.
She could feel her feet being lifted off the ground, partnered with a loud whirring noise and a orangey-yellow aura surrounding them. All of them. Her heart sunk. This had been the one thing she had been trying to avoid. However, she had royally fucked up. She groaned, knowing what was coming next. She looked around above her to see the Nova Corps Star Blasters surrounding them. Her pulse climbed, though she reminded herself that it was only adrenaline, not fear. She furrowed her brows and forced it back down.
"Subject 89P13, drop your weapon," one of the officers called through the radio in the Star Blaster.
"Aw, crap," the unidentified animal said, dropping the blaster he was holding.
'Not much of a name,' she thought.
"By the authority of the Nova Corps, you are under arrest," the officer in the Star Blaster continued, "for endangerment to life and the destruction of property."
In the corner of her eye, she saw the Terran getting picked up by a few officers. They seemed to banter back and forth for a few seconds, the Terran seemingly embarrassed.
"Fascists," 89P13 spat, glaring up at the ships.
"I should've never gotten involved with all of you," she snapped, holding her head high despite being suspended in the air.
Gamora's still unconscious body now dangled creepily next to her. She watched her anxiously out of the corner of her eye.
*ೃ༄
She stood inside of a ship, waiting to be identified. Her hand tapped against her leg nervously. She'd never gone through a process like this, although most of her life had been committed to crime. She'd always been able to escape before. She stood at the back of the line, taking the short amount of time before the officers began scanning to study the unlucky ones who had been arrested with her. 89P13 and the tree had stuck close together throughout the whole process so far. The Terran had been making snippy jokes at officers the entire time, which had driven her crazy. Gamora had been quiet, glaring around at times, her movements slow and measured. Looking around, all she saw were strangers. Typical for her.
She noticed her hand, forcing it still. Now was not a time to show weakness.
Gamora, who was at the head of the line, stepped up first. She stood behind a faintly glowing blue screen with a hologram portraying information about her that separated her and the officers. She hadn't been able to read it though, since to her, the text was backwards. The screen was clear enough that she could see the officers from the other side, and they could observe Gamora, like the criminals were animals in a cage or specimens which had been recently discovered. Dangerous.
"Gamora," read aloud one of the officers who had helped drag the Terran to the ship, "surgically modified and trained as a living weapon. The adopted daughter of the Mad Titan, Thanos. Recently, Thanos lent her and her sister to Nebula out to Ronan, which leads us to believe that Thanos and Ronan are working together."
Gamora had stood fairly still, stretching out her limbs and turning her head menacingly at the officers.
Next, the unidentified animal stepped up, his tail swaying behind him in an unidentified manner.
"Subject 89P13. Calls itself Rocket," he read out.
'Well damn, I would change my name too if I had been given one like that originally,' she thought, scoffing.
Rocket now crossed his arms, baring his teeth at the officers, as if it were supposed to scare them. Or possibly protect him. Perhaps both. She couldn't always tell the difference between the two, or if it were a mix of complicated emotions.
"The result of illegal genetic and cybernetic experiments on a lower life form." The officer continued.
Rocket spit on the ground. She noted where with disgust, to remember to step over it.
"What the hell?" one of the officers behind asked as the tree stepped up to the screen. Its arms were slowly spiraling down, regrowing, as Rocket had claimed they would. It leaned down to see the officers, too tall to stand normally.
"They call it 'Groot.' A humanoid plant that's been traveling recently as 89P13's personal houseplant/muscle."
Groot stepped up to the glass now, trying to get a better look at them before walking off.
Now, the Terran stepped up.
"Peter Jason Quill, from Terra. Raised from youth by a band of mercenaries called the Ravagers, led by Yondu Udonta."
All the while, Quill had been pretending to use a crank, slowly sticking up his middle finger, then made a face full of fake surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. I-I didn't know how this machine worked."
The officer behind spoke again, "What a bunch of A-holes."
She stepped up calmly, peering at the officers through the glass. Her gaze quickly turned to a glare. The officers clearly assumed they were prestigious and impressive compared to the group on the other side of the screen. She crossed her arms and stood, waiting for the mechanism to scan her. She watched as her name, backstory, criminal records, and genetic 'abilities' sprawled across the screen.
"Crimson Tide. The last of the Volani after a neighboring planet—Zorix—conquered and murdered millions on her planet, enslaving the rest. She managed to escape by stealing a ship that her family hid far in the woods after rumors of rising tensions between the two planets had been announced."
She rolled her eyes and walked off, her chest paining her slightly after the reminder of her family. Crimson hadn't been sure how much they scrawled into their databases, or what they could dig up on her past. Apparently, more than she'd assumed.
"Transport all five to the Kyln," one of the officers called.
Her heart sank as the full realization struck her. Crimson knew it would have happened eventually, but not today. Today was the day she was meant to get back to her precious ship, meet up with an old friend— Heidi—on a different planet, make a shit load of money, and fly a few jumps away. Escape. Maybe stop with crime. She did not expect that what was supposed to be a quick and unexpected opportunity for a money grab would actually turn into an entire mess.
*ೃ༄
THE KYLN.
She heard stories at thirteen, told by a stranger who caught her trying to steal food from their street vendor. They were most likely just trying to scare Crimson into not falling down the slippery slope she had already fallen down. Despite her realizing this, they had made her want to go into hiding and never come out again. However, she had gotten hungry quickly, and went right back to thievery. But, still, she had never expected to end up here. She had managed to miraculously outmaneuver every police force against her until now.
"I guess most of the Nova Corps wanna uphold the laws, but these ones here, they're corrupt and cruel," Rocket stated blatantly. He chuckled. "But, hey, thats not my problem. I ain't gonna be here long. I've escaped 22 prisons. This one's no different. You're lucky the broad showed up, because otherwise, me and Groot would be collecting that bounty right now, and you'd be getting drawn and quartered by Yondu and those Ravagers."
"22?" she asked, surprised.
"Yeah, why? Impressed?" he shot back, turning around to face her, a smirk forming on his face. Her stomach churned in annoyance. She hated seeing pride in others.
"No. I've never needed to escape from a prison. I've gotten away from them all until now," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.
Rocket's face contorted into anger and frustration as he opened his mouth to snap back.
"I've had a lot of folks try to kill me over the years, I ain't about to be brought down by a tree and a talking raccoon," Peter Quill claimed before Rocket could respond. So, a raccoon. That's what the animal was.
"Hold," one of the officers said. Everyone in the line paused suddenly. Crimson rubbed her thumb against the handcuffs bounding her wrists together.
"What's a raccoon?" he asked, blatant disgust notable on his face.
"What's a raccoon?" Quill repeated, an annoyed tinge to his voice. "It's what you are, stupid."
Gamora turned to look at him.
"Ain't no thing like me, except me," Rocket said, turning two thumbs to himself and hitting them against his chest twice.
Crimson had a hard time telling whether they were joking or arguing. Each reply sounded like a fight disguised with too many teeth.
The door in front of them whirred open and the group continued walking, shoes clanging against the floor constructed from grates.
"So, this Orb had a real shiny blue suitcase, Ark of the Covenant, Maltese Falcon sort of vibe," Quill droned on, his descriptions proving unhelpful.
"What does any of that even mean?" she asked, rhetorically. Crimson picked up on a snicker, but couldn't tell from who.
Quill ignored her. "What is the Orb?"
"I am Groot," The tree behind her said.
"So what?" Quill shot back at the tree. "What's the Orb?" he repeated, now aiming the question to Gamora.
"I have no words for an honorless thief," she responded cooly, not even bothering to look back at him again. Though, Crimson noticed her shoulders were tense and she kept moving her head uncertainly.
"Pretty high and mighty coming from the lackey of a genocidal maniac," Rocket shot back, in place of Quill, who had opened his mouth to speak.
Gamora turned back at him for a moment, surprised. Her eyes were widened and her jaw was tight. She returned her gaze in front of her as they continued to walk.
"Yeah, I know who you are. Anyone who's anyone would know who you are."
"Yeah, we know who you are," Quill shouted up at her, confidently. "Who is she?" he asked over his shoulder— the two recipients being Crimson and Groot.
She rolled her eyes, half unimpressed, half dismissively.
"I am Groot," Groot responded kindly, more emphasis on the last word than the others before. This seemed to be a common pattern in his language, the words needing significance pressured on each syllable or stretched out with pauses to differentiate each sentence.
"Yeah, you said that," Quill replied.
There was a quick moment of silence. Crimson basked in it, their words causing her a headache.
"I wasn't retrieving the Orb for Ronan," Gamora finally responded, the guard in front pressing some buttons on a screen strapped to his arm. "I was betraying him. I had an agreement to sell it to a third party." She seemed to shift in demeanor, as if undecided whether she should have told them that or not.
Another set of doors whirred open, and they filed in, a repeating pattern.
"I am Groot," the tree responded.
"Well, that is just as fascinating as the first eighty-nine times you told me that. What is wrong with Giving Tree, here?" Quill snapped, clearly annoyed as he glared back at Groot.
"Well, he don't know talking good like me and you. So his vocabulistics is limited to 'I' and 'am' and 'Groot.' Exclusively in that order," Rocket said in a matter-of-factly sort of tone. The hallway banked a hard right and they were led down a very short flight of stairs, though Rocket had to put in more effort than the rest of the group to decline them.
"I tell you what, that is gonna wear real thin, real fast, but..." Quill said, but trailed off, pausing for a moment as he looked where the employees were handling their personal belongings. One of them seemed to be bobbing his head, some sort of hat wrapped around the top of his skull and covering his ears. The man had blue skin and yellow eyes, chewing on his bottom lip as he worked silently. "Hey! Put that away," Quill snapped. The door, beeped, shutting. He slipped inside. "Hey! Listen to me, you big blue bastard. Take those headphones off. That's mine. Those belong to impound."
The group gathered closer to watch from behind the now-shut gate, curious.
"That tape, and that player, is mine!" he was shouting now. The guard's demeanor quickly changed, as he was now walking over with a long, electric metal rod. He shocked Quill once, forcing him to his knees. His voice was now constricted as he fought the pain from the shock. "Hooked on a Feeling, Blue Swede, 1973. That song belongs to me!"
Quill was prodded with the stun gun, yelps escaping him as the group all huddled around to watch. Crimson snickered a bit, glancing around to see Gamora pressed against the fencing, her fingers looped through the holes. Groot leaned down to watch, peering at the man. However, Quill writhed on the ground.
Eventually the officer was forced to stop.
"Let's keep going!" the guard finally shouted, unlocking the door in front of them, waving a hand in the air.
A different guard dragged Quill's limp body along the ground, following along as he regained his strength, but not his dignity.
*ೃ༄
The guards paused once they reached a certain point, now leading to a wide intersection with two doors. One of the guards broke off and called the girls over, opening the door and ushering them inside. The hall led to a rusty shower room, a strange orange liquid pooled around a clogged drain. The room stunk of body odor and an unidentified liquid.
Crimson stood next to Gamora as they both waited, dressed in tank tops and a pair of underwear. Gamora was called to go first. She walked forward and stood where the female officer had directed her too. The metal device on the front wall shot out orange liquid directly at her, yet she barely budged. When they turned it off, she walked away calmly.
Crimson wrinkled her nose up at her, stepping up when the guard told her too and standing where Gamora had previously. When the liquid shot at her, it was so harsh it smashed her against the chain fencing behind her, which rang out at impact, though was quickly drowned out by the pouring fluid. Crimson almost screamed, the pressure causing her skin to sting at contact. When it was finally turned off, she looked to Gamora, who paid her no mind. They were then shoved into a room with nothing but a few benches and some clothes the two had been given.
Crimson glared down at the itchy, stiff, though neatly folded fabric. She sighed, grabbing a towel to attempt to wipe off the unknown liquid.
"Simply protocol, girls," one of the guards had called to them before shutting the door and leaving them to change.
They were both given two yellow shirts with cutoff sleeves and a pair of yellow pants, which Crimson identified as this prison's uniform. Almost certain she smelled worse than the shower room they had stood in before, she desperately tried to scrape more off the liquid off, which did nothing but irritate her skin.
After changing, the doors opened again, leading them to a room with the guys in their group once more. She gazed around at them. They wore similar outfits, but with long sleeves instead. Well, Peter did. Rocket had a shirt similar to theirs.
The guards slammed thin, rolled up black cloth—their sleeping bags—and moved them along, not giving them time to stop, or rather, time to try to escape. She gazed around with wide eyes as they entered the prison—a loud, noisy room with tables and chairs surrounding them. A cafeteria. Encircling the broad room were many balconies, she angled her head up to observe further. Even with her neck fully outstretched and enhanced eyes strained, she couldn't see where the room and balconies ended.
She lowered her gaze, her vision met with a variety of other scowling prisoners.