Notes:

The movie 'Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)' begs for a background story about Rocket's implants, so here's a variant.

I figured that maybe the abrasive yet loveable animal hero didn't get them on Halfworld, but at another occasion, later in his life.

This is Version 3.02 of the story: I had a second beta read and corrected the text again. I hope the punctuation and sentence structure is more according to standards now. It should be easier to follow who is talking and which person is refered to. Some English word mix ups like lute - loot and loose - lose have been corrected.

Thanks Sandra and Ravenreux for betaing my story! I learned a lot from it and am still learning more. Thanks you other guys and girls for all the reviews, comments, suggestions, etc. You really helped me to improve my story.

Thanks a lot, Natasja Koster, for drawing a stunning cover picture for the story.

You're welcome to provide feedback any time. If you want to discuss the story more in depth, please email me at SaterHelberg AT hotmail DOT com.


The Surgeon

Rocket Raccoon managed to move himself to an emergency portal on Kree-Lar's Main Space Port, leaving a trail of blood. The device beamed him to the renowned private clinic of Tor-Nal. In the admission area, he collapsed on all fours while coughing up red mucus. The surgeon sped in. With a trembling hand, the gunshot mammal reached into his pocket and showed him a handful of shiny, reddish gems. The doctor took them with a satisfied smile. The victim lost consciousness. An assistant skilfully raised him onto a stretcher and hastily wheeled him into an operating room.

The next day, the patched up raccoon woke up in a patient room, dressed in white PJ's. It took him a while to get his bearings. The place looked familiar; he had been here before on two or three occasions.

Half consciously, he stepped out of the bed and went to the toilet. Back in the room, he checked out his belongings and went back to sleep.

Some hours later, he came to again. His chest felt sore. Slowly, he rolled up his shirt to have a look. A nasty plasma burn had eaten its way into his torso; but now the shattered bones had been renewed and the skin was closed. Only the fur had to grow back. Not bad. Tor-Nal was an expensive, greedy bastard, but Rocket could rely on the medic whenever his thievish undertakings went awry.

Like the day before. The cunning ringtail had it all figured out. A jewellery store on Xandar. Not his usual type of target. He had good info, though. A shipment of expensive red diamonds were kept in a safe for half a day. A safe he could work with, a security system that hadn't been updated for a while. That's just begging for property redistribution to the benefit of a lonely mammal who had to fend for himself. He had been out of a proper job for a long time and needed to eat, fuel his ship, things like that.

His thoughts started to wander. Shortly after he left Halfworld, he was a pretty decent guy. And a fine security officer too. He had applied for the function on various planets, only to be laughed at. Once, a recruiter called him 'shorty'. In response, the raccoon jumped onto the table and pointed a gun to his face in less than half a second. Rocket had meant to demonstrate his skills; but while he did it, he released an involuntarily, angry and frustrated growl; it made him look dangerous and unbalanced. Not long after, he reluctantly started a criminal career. He needed to eat, fuel his ship and the like.

What had gone wrong yesterday? He was about to leave the store with the loot in his pocket when he could see the Nova Corps arrive from afar. Without delay, he switched to plan B: blast the back entrance and make a run for his ship. He rushed on all fours for maximum velocity.

On the Xandarian Space Port, he ran into more Nova officers. He jumped up, fired to take out one after the other when he got hit in the chest. The pain was excruciating. He barely made it to his trusted ship (that looked a bit like the good old 'Rakk 'N' Ruin'), launched into space and activated a medibot to keep him from bleeding to death.

Many questions occupied his mind. He hadn't been on Xandar for a while. Had he underestimated the risk? Could the security system of the shop have been upgraded in the mean time? Why didn't the Nova officers fall down neatly when he shot them? Their suits looked different, upgraded. That much his night vision eyes had picked up in the dark. Maybe he needed a bigger gun. And a better suit. He looked at his black-red protective suit that had been draped over a chair. There was a big gap in the front of the jacket. He needed to visit his tailor-engineer Lom-Dag to get the thing mended after the hospital would release him.

All of a sudden, his introspections were interrupted. Tor-Nal, the surgeon, marched in. With an angry voice, the medic stretched his right arm, displaying a handful of units and said, "What is this supposed to be?"

Rocket looked at him, slightly confused and still a bit drugged; he gazed at the Kree's blue face and then at his hand. He replied dryly, "I see ya got my change. What's the problem?"

"Change? Problem? You joker! This is all I got for them: 3000 units!"

Jumping up to a sitting pose and looking shocked, his business partner snapped, "What? 3000? They are worth ten times as much!"

The MD rebutted, "They are not! What are you trying to pull here?"

Now Rocket got annoyed. Making angry gestures, he snapped, "Do ya think I'm playin' ya? Ya flarkin' idiot! Who did ya sell 'm to? Freddy the Rat?" He paused for a second. "Ya didn't go to No Face, did ya? Ya did? Man, he's a rip off. Ya got flarked big time! The merch is genuine, I tell ya."

The medic shouted, "No, it's not! You got me replicas. Fake! Artificial! You made a mistake and you own me the rest of the fee."

The small mammal didn't say a word, but carefully studied the doctor's expression. Then he smirked, "Nice show, doc. I'm gettin' the impression here that you want to rip me off. Ya greedy sonuvabitch." With a stern look he barked, "but I'm not fallin' for that. I got ya a handful of nice rocks, ya accepted the payment. The deal's done!"

The doctor lost his patience, muttering bitterly, "I know I should have sold you to the lab a long time ago." Suddenly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a syringe that he kept there for cases like this and grabbed the arm of the surprised ringtail. Only to have a big blaster shoved to his nose. The well-prepared lawbreaker had pulled it out from under his pillow.

"Drop the needle, doc!" He commanded. As a response, a 'ting' sound came up from the ground.

Decisively, Rocket slid off the mattress, wielding his weapon. The crooked specialist held his hands upward. The ring-tailed thief walked towards his garments, not letting the quack out of his sight. While he undressed and put on his suit, proficiently keeping the gun pointed at his target, he wryly said, "You Kree are all the same! Takin' advantage of other species. Good thing I found out before ya could do anythin' despicable." He calmly stepped towards the cowardly doctor and snatched the units out of his trembling hand. "I'm gonna need those," the foiled mammal said.

Tor-Nal caught his breath while his ex-partner walked backwards to the door. Then the MD ranted, "Don't ever come back here!" With a shaky index finger he warned, "We're not done yet, you hear me! I'll get you for this!"

"Yeah, whatever. Pleasure doin' business with you too, doc," the recovered patient sarcastically retorted before he closed the door and fused the lock with his blaster.


The Kree surgeon didn't take this well. Being ripped off, threatened and imprisoned in his own clinic! By a lower life form! After his staff got him out, he was steaming mad and took the rest of the day off.

Feeling very frustrated, he contacted one of his underworld connexions to determine the origin of the gems. He hoped for a way to get back at his renegade associate. He found out about the robbery on Xandar and sent an anonymous tip to the Nova Corps. If they hadn't identified the masked thief by then, this would certainly help.