I've done it! I've begun writing these Oneshots!
I promised these a while ago and I will finally start posting. Being a continuing collection of stories with everchanging plots, I will be glad for suggestions on new arcs. Although most of these will be Rocket-centric, I will be glad to take other character plots into consideration when writing these.
As always, please enjoy and review!
Prison Number One
Rocket had always taken a great pride in his criminal history, he had been arrested more times than he could count and had always gotten a kick out of the adrenaline rush he received after outrunning the authorities, but he made sure never to overlook the boasting rights he received after leading what was now twenty-three prison escapes.
The Guardians had only witnessed the Kyln escape which was unfortunately, thanks to their new 'goody two-shoes' reputation after having defeated Ronan, was most likely the last of his prison breaks. However, that never stopped him from utilizing his bragging rights to the best of his ability.
The majority of his arrests had been due to his reputation of a trigger-happy bounty hunter, only a few tracking back to his actual escapes in question. That was one thing he loved about the ability to travel intergalactically, very rarely was the law enforcement able to carry jurisdiction outside their own quadrant.
He had been recaptured by certain prisons and those who had a reason to hunt the furry bounty hunter down, which was a lot seeing as though his love for explosives had created quite the reputation for the ringtail. And, although he tree man had spent the majority of Rocket's short life of sentience with him, Groot still had only managed to witness a small number of those arrests.
In fact, all of the Guardians had heard many a story during one of their group outings to the local pub, he had never passed up the opportunity to boast his abilities to his friends, he loved to see the amused expressions on their faces when expressing his tales (although there was always the chance of exaggeration when it came to getting Quill to give him the wide eyed and guffawed look.)
However, with every story he told with that trademark toothy grin of his lining his lips and a bottle of some burning liquid in hand, there was one prison that he never dared to mention. One that no one had dared to ask about.
Prison number one.
Dark.
Cold.
Pain.
There few other words to describe the place. Well there were many words actually. One could wright entire books on what hell actually looked like from the inside, and he was sure one of those damned white-coats had, but those were the only few ways to describe the experiences the creature had been forced to endure when one has only just gained sentience.
Dark.
The blinding lights that reflected off of the white walls and white coats and reflected off of the blood that stained his fur and hurt his sensitive eyes didn't keep the word from becoming more prominent than ever.
He was never told what was being done to him, never told what would happen this time when they traced that sold scalpel down his back or chest or took those black and red wires that were strung into those damned holes in his shoulder plates that ran electricity and pain and cold and burning through his entire being.
He wasn't a being.
He wasn't a he.
It
Subject
That was what they called him.
Subject 89P13
A thing
A string of numbers
Something for them to torment and hurt and keep in the dark as they bring more blood pooling to the surface, shaving off the fur and shoving his head and arms and legs full of metal and more wires and pain and cold.
They taught him to speak after weeks of pain and cold and dark and silence. He never understood what they were saying before the day they stained his neck with red and forced him to learn their language, shouting and hitting and starving him until he cooperated, gave him pain until he learned to say the word 'please' to get the dry chalky food put back in his cage or to refill the bowl of water that he had spilled when they forced him to hold it in his hands rather than drinking straight from its position on the floor.
His throat burned and his eyes filled with tears, but they never stopped until he would say that damned word.
Until, that is, that they decided they wanted more from him.
Hey wanted a weapon, something they could control and would obey their every command, they stopped listening to his pleas, deciding suddenly that their creation's one learned word would no longer affect them as they continued to make him more machine than animal.
And they paid no attention to the expansion of his vocabulary, such as when he added the word 'stop' to his protesting shouts, not that it ever stopped him from trying. It gave him something to scream that meant more than snarls and whimpers and animalistic barks of pain. It made him feel like he was being heard as more than just some creature despite the fact that he had never found one to ever meet his eyes or respond to his screams and cries.
Until they got tired of that too. Deciding that the addition of his vocal chords and translation chip had been a manufacturing mistake.
It was in the midst of another cybernetic addition to the creature's body that their patience had run out. Little to the white-coats' knowledge, or rather they did know and simply did not have the energy to care, their subject's pads of hands and feet were more sensitive than they had cared to take into account, especially when the incisions were administered without the use of anesthetics, something they found to be unnecessary as it would make their weapon prone to weakness at the very hint of pain.
They had already filled his arms and legs with cybernetics that moved and adjusted under his skin, something to make him stronger and more resilient, a feature they tested many a time, leaving the creature with a good amount of bruising under the coarse fur. And the next appendage in need of augmentations were the hands, He had recalled reading it on one of the white-coat's clipboards, a skill he had picked up on without the use of abuse and shouting but rather by staring at the strings of numbers and letters that declared the names of the rooms he entered and the tags that were pinned to the breast pockets of each coat.
He knew it would hurt, it always did, but that never prepared him for what was to come, he still screamed and squirmed under the restraints they forced his wrists into.
They had already pinned him down on the damned table, pressing harshly down on his chest when his back arched from the shock of his scar tissue lining his shoulders touching the intense cold of the metal slate.
He shouted when he felt his arms being stretched towards each end of the table, rising into a panic when he heard the metal clasp around his already horribly bruised wrists.
"Please stop!"
No one listens.
No one ever listens.
He keeps screaming, blinking away the tears that well up in his eyes, shaking his head and snapping at the hands working to place a leather strap over his skull to keep him from moving further.
He can no longer see anything outside his peripheral vision. He sees shapes moving to the side, saying words he still has yet to learn, and quite loudly for that matter as they rush from one side of the table to the other.
He yelps when he feels a latex covered glove touch his hand, gripping it tightly and splaying out his fingers despite his instinct to clench into a fist.
He shouts again, begging them to stop.
He sees the gleam of the light reflecting off the metal of a scalpel from the corner of his eye and he shouts louder, trying to shake away the bonds holding him down.
"Stop! Stop!"
No one even spares him a glance as the scalpel is lowered out of his vision and pressed against the palm of his right hand.
He whimpers in pain, arching his back as his nerves become alight with a sharp pain. His breathing has raged into a hyperventilating fit.
"Please stop!"
The tool is pressed deeper into the skin, this time drawing a line deep enough to splice the muscle of his thumb.
He opens his mouth to shout again, but his mind has risen into overdrive and he can't control any of the words he hopes to form. So he doesn't speak. He screams. He shouts and shines and arches his back and snarls and snaps at every hand that dares to enter his line of sight.
One hand moves to clasp his muzzle shut, the woman shouting something angrily toward him that he can't make out over his own screams. His teeth bite down on the hand before it can successfully hold his mouth closed and another scream fills the room. This one angry and followed quickly by a harsh slap to the face that ends the raccoon's shout as he bites down on his own tongue.
Blood fills his mouth and he want to say something when the hands are back again, this time actually keeping his jaw locked and teeth grinding into one another.
Since that day, they had brought in a proper muzzle to their procedures, muffling his screams and shouts entirely, limiting the creature below them to no more than to cry quietly to himself, staring blankly at the bright lights above him, silently wishing that they would just do their jobs and blind him already. Maybe then they would give up on the creation of their perfect specimen, after all, they would find little use of a weapon that can't see.
Apparently, now that they had been forced to clamp the thing's mouth shut with every cybernetic addition and skin deep operation, the white-coats had seemed to regret making their largest addition more than ever.
He was still struggling to understand the words the white-coats used when dragging him by the scruff of his neck to his next procedure, but he understood the gist of it all from where they traced their latex covered fingers along the base of his throat and pushed away the fur to shoe the newly sealed scar from his vocal augmentations.
'Too much struggle.'
'Weak.
'Mistake.'
The phrases he could understand were repeated on more than one occasion as they lifted him from where his feet were dragging weakly behind him on the cold tiled floor and up to the metal table awaiting him.
He groaned something weakly through the muzzle, wishing they would just tell him what was happening. He could feel his heart seize in his chest when he saw the tools on the metallic tray.
They gave him a voice and they were taking it away just as quickly. And by the sound of it, it seemed as though they were wondering themselves the reason to give their creation the ability to speak in the first place when all it did was resist.
They needed a weapon, a thing to follow orders, something that wouldn't resist or retaliate. He knew that was what they wanted.
By the looks that some of the white-coats gave him , it seemed they blamed the ringtail in question for their 'waste of money operation.'
The operation to remove his vocal chords had proven to be too expensive, that they needed was compliance.
Torture.
Electricity.
"Stop!" His voice was scratchy and garbled, his ability to vocalize proving more harmful than anything else at the moment but that didn't stop him from pleading as the white coated scientist wrung his latex gloved hands around his middle, causing the small creature to cry out again in fear.
The panic only grew from there. He had been placed on his stomach, his head twisted uncomfortably to the side as firm hands held down his writhing body from escape. Because there was no escape.
No escape.
No way out.
At least that's what he had learned over the years. Every time he bit, scraped, ran. He was always caught. Always subdued by another tranquilizer as the long needle was pressed forcefully into his skin until eventually he just stopped trying. Stopped running.
Larger hands wrestled down his own as he tried desperately to pull away from the metal restraints on the table while another figure carried over a bundle of neatly wound wires. The small creature only struggled further upon seeing the chords, as though scalpels and needles weren't enough torture, they had taken to electrocution as of late, tampering with the implants on his back and chest. He didn't know their purpose, only that it hurt.
"No! NO!" He shouted again, snapping at the hands that held the small plastic guard for his mouth. He writhed again, managing to gain back one of his paws and clutching it tightly to his body as of not to lose it again.
He heard one of the figures let out a long sigh before trying to wrestle the arm back into place. "Remind me again why we gave you new vocal chords." The voice muttered. A firm hand presses on his back and the small creature let out a stifled shout as the pain coursed up his spine, the figure took advantage of the ring-tail's pain and wrangled the arm back into place, cuffing it firmly to the steel table.
"Don't do that!" Another voice called back, but the injured animal couldn't turn enough to see them. "Those prongs are directly connected to his spinal cord, you damage that, you might damage the brain stem." The voice finished. The man holding him down only shook his head though before finally letting go of the writhing creature's back, allowing him to take a gasping breath.
The creature felt his other arm being pulled away against his will towards the second restraint when the room jolted to one side, sending a few syringes and some other supplies clattering to the floor and he suddenly found that he once again had control of the appendage. Without thinking twice about it, the small animal pulled the arm in again, grasping his fur to keep from losing it again when he realized that there was no longer any hands trying to grasp it back.
The pressure on his midsection had lightened substantially as the scientists began to look around nervously. "What was that?" One of the figures finally asked, his brow drawn with confusion. The others exchanged a few wary glances before shrugging.
"Earthquake?" One suggested, her hold on the animal still struggling on the table growing firm again, forcing the air out of the creatures small lungs. The others seemed to think on the explanation before turning back toward their cowering experiment.
Boom!
Another blast shook the room, this one more forceful than the last and the hands holding the creature down were removed entirely. "What's happening?" A figure shouted angrily, striding to the other side of the room and pulling open the doors. The creature had yet to get up from his position in fear of reminding the remaining scientists their original task but the muffled profanity from the man at the door alerted him that whatever was out there wasn't good.
"It's Nova." He seethed, practically tearing his lab coat off and heading towards the second exit that led to the other testing rooms.
The other figures fell into a sudden state of panic, grasping their heads in their hands and following suit. "What do we do with this?" One of them asked frantically, pointing towards the restrained raccoon.
"Grab it, we can't have it falling into Nova's hands as evidence." He shouted back, making his way towards the dissention table and tearing the restraint off of the creature's small wrist.
The raccoon didn't waste a second in lashing out at the men, scraping long claw marks through their lab coats. The one that had been holding him let out a startled shout, dropping him instantly onto the cold floor.
"Grab it!" The animal heard the other shout, but he was already scrambling to his feet and racing out the double doors. His heart was racing at a mile a minute and he was almost afraid that it would somehow leap out of his small chest, but his legs didn't stop moving as he ran through the white-walled hallways, ducking under other frantic scientists and dodging their hands as they reached down to grab him, but he was far too quick.
Freedom.
Escape.
His mind couldn't quite grasp the concept yet, still worried this was all some sort of test to see just how well he could strategize his escape, yet he continued to run. That is until he found himself facing another predicament. The creature skidded to a halt as he veered around the corner, almost crashing head on into the man's blue clad leg.
He scrambled back, staring up fearfully when the man turned around, holding some sort of weapon in his hands that was now pointed directly at the raccoon. The animal closed his eyes tightly, awaiting the electric pulses run through his body, but it never came. In fact, the figure had dropped the gun entirely so that it now hung loosely at his side.
"Hey." The voice was surprisingly calm and the animal slowly unclenched his eyes, looking up shakily as the man began to crouch down.
Trap.
His eyes widened and he reared back towards the wall to avoid being grabbed again. He was so close and he wasn't about to allow himself to be caught yet. He awaited for the man to lunge, ready to leap away and take off down the maze of hallways again, but the figure didn't move from his position, simply holding out a hand calmly, as if waiting for the creature's approach.
The raccoon only bared his sharp teeth, wanting nothing other than for the man to move out of his way so he could complete his escape. The man pulled back his hand, realizing that the untrusting animal wasn't about to comply.
The Nova Corps had been alerted of an illegal facility somewhere near Xandar, reported to have been experimenting on animals, but he hadn't been prepared to come face to face with the frightened raccoon. His eyes scanned the creature, it was fairly skinny and its course fur was missing in certain areas, but what caught his attention was the three mental implants sticking out of his heaving chest.
"Did they do this to you?" He asked, knowing that the poor animal probably couldn't understand a word of what he was saying, but he found himself almost falling over when its hand raised up to feel the three prongs uneasily before nodding back at him and turning around slowly, showing three more implants on the creature's scarred back.
The Nova officer felt sick to his stomach at the thought of the pain that the creature must have been feeling. But it could understand him, which meant that there was a possibility of getting through to it his intentions.
He put a hand to his own chest, gesturing to himself. "I'm not going to hurt you." He said clearly, cringing as the animal's eyes squinted with unease. "We're here to get you out."
The creature's aggressiveness dropped almost instantly upon hearing the phrase. "Escape?"
The Nova officer stumbled back in surprise. It could speak. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to regain his composure as the raccoon took a tentative step closer. He nodded frantically, and the animal's eyes widened with what he could only place as hope. "You're escaping today." He said, reaching out to pick the animal up and take him back to the Nova ship when a searing pain raced up his spine.
The raccoon stood there in shock as the man clutched his chest and fell to the floor, blood starting to pool around him from the bullet wound. The scientist holding the gun behind him gritted his teeth and aimed the weapon towards the animal. "Come with me, and no one else gets hurt." He said, gesturing towards the fallen man sprawled on the ground.
The raccoon stared at the fallen man in astonishment. "Escape." He managed, grasping the blue man with all his might, ignoring the blood that was now covering his feet and fur. He couldn't go back. Not now.
"There is no escape!" The scientist shouted back, clicking the gun and coming closer to the experiment, making to grab him.
The creature reared back, still holding the arm of his fallen savior, eyes scanning frantically for anything, anything that could save him. Then he saw it. The discarded pistol at the dying man's side, the one he had dropped to care for the animal before he had been shot.
The Scientist moved steadily towards him, one hand outstretched to grasp the being's tail when a deafening shot shook the walls and there was suddenly a second body at the raccoon's side, jolting and writhing in pain as electricity shot through him before he froze, his eyes open and staring blankly into the animal's eyes, sending a chill up its spine.
He was dead.
He had killed somebody.
The sound of shoes against the hard floors shook the creature out of his thoughts. There were more coming. More scientists, saviors. He wasn't sure which, but he did know that he didn't want to go through that experience again. He tore his gaze away from the haunted eyes of the man who had once tortured him. But not anymore. He was getting out. He was going to escape this prison.
His first prison escape.
The one he never spoke of.
The one no one asked about.
Prison number one.
If anyone has read my past story 'Panic Attack', yes, part of this plot has been taken from a scene in the story, but it is leading up to the second interconnecting story that will hopefully be posted tomorrow. I have just finished writing it and it is a LOOOOONG one, so bear with me until I can get it up for you all.
Please review!