Hey guys, I'm still here, and now with Chapter 7! This chapter has a lot to do with everything, and I think was one of my more favorite chapters to write. Theres plenty of explosions later on. I am now starting to think that I embody some of my characters, as I think about how everyone is. Just like some sort of connection to them. Anyway, this is starting to sound strange, just read it!


The swirling darkness moved and flowed around Peter as he found himself flying around a perfect black space. It wasn't often that he was able to control some of his dreams, considering that half the time they were just perfectly molded nightmares. Perfect darkness was a rarity that had to be enjoyed, that had to be mastered over time. Just simply closing your eyes wasn't enough, there was still a fuzz. Fuzzy darkness was scary, Perfect darkness was calming.

But alas, Peter began to feel a pulse pounding sensation in his brain, one that he could not shake with all his might. The thoughts of a perfectly dark world escaped him and his eyes fluttered open before him, looking directly into one of the Milano's fluorescent lights. He winced and moaned, before turning his head to the other side.

Rocket was laying incapacitated on the floor next to him, making loud breathing sounds. A few thoughts ran through his mind about what had happened to make them end up on the floor. Maybe someone had broken in and it them both with a baseball bat? But that didn't explain why they were next to each other. Peter groaned as he sat up, and came to the conclusion that they had both gotten wildly drunk during the night and collapsed on the floor.

The situation would have been hysterical had it been someone else he could laugh at, but Peter only had himself to blame. Well, that and Rocket. He checked his watch to find that it was three in the morning. The sun had not yet rose and it was too early for him to stay up until morning. Peter did smile though, as he was glad he was the first one to awake. There was no telling what Rocket would have done. He might as well just left him on the floor. His eyes scanned around, but nothing had changed as far as he could remember.

Putting his hands on the cold metal floor, Peter pushed himself on to his feet. He was left a mild bit unstable, his depth perception and motor skills not having returned back to normal. One leg in front of the other, he made his way over to the commons to get a glass of water. A frivolous attempt was made at opening cabinet door. Eventually Peter just turned on the faucet on the tap and put his face under it. The cold water woke him up, but it was not cold enough to snap him out of a hungover state. A few mouthfuls went down his throat, but came right back out with the contents of his stomach.

Peter could only stand there and listen to himself vomit as he figured out that he had enjoyed spending the time with Rocket. His gaze shifted down the hallway to where Rocket's legs were peeking out. They really hadn't made it far out of the room before collapsing, definetly not one of Rocket's best personal records. Another dry heave came out of his mouth leaving him thirsty and disgusted. He turned the water on full blast, hoping that no one would notice, but knowing all that the smell would get back to him.

Once his stomach had stopped disagreeing with his life decisions, Peter made his way over to the raccoon laying on the floor. He carefully put his arms under Rocket and lifted him to chest level. The bigger question to Peter was where to set him down. He didn't want to disturb Groot, who he assumed was sleeping peacefully in Rocket's bed, but he also didn't want to leave him alone. It wasn't like anyone would end up seeing them together anyway.

Peter's gaze dropped down to Rocket and examined him to make sure that he was okay. He gripped him tighter and smiled. He was going to be just fine. He thought about it for a moment before determining that Rocket could sleep on his bed, and he would just take the couch. Somewhat not fair, but he was doing it for a friend, and that justifies more motives than he originally thought.

His legs guided him down the hall and into his empty room. He had admirably missed the room for the day he had been away, and was glad to be back somewhere he could call home. He moved over to his bed and set Rocket down at the foot of the bed. He then peeled back the covers that were over his mattress. A bit of distress washed over him as he realized that Rocket might ruin his sheets, but he was still willing to take the risk.

Carefully maneuvering his friend, he guided Rocket under the sheets of his bed. He positioned him on his side in case he vomited, though he doubted his knowledge of raccoon anatomy. One thing Peter did know was that if he was awake, he definitely would be arguing and struggling against him. It was nice to have Rocket asleep at times, he was much less stressed out and much easier to move around. Peter shook his head of the weird twist his thoughts had taken him to and headed over to the couch.

It did not take much effort to get asleep, all it really took was to collapse on the couch and close his eyes. He drifted peacefully to sleep, not caring much about what percentage of his body had actually landed on the couch.

Someone was moving around the room while moving quite fast. They seemed to either be in a panic or in a hurry, or maybe both. This was Peter's first indication that Rocket had awoken, so he kept his eyes closed and ears attentive while listening to the sounds.

"Just keep it together man, c'mon, he'll be awake any second." Peter sighed internally as Rocket watched him while pacing back and forth across the room. He wanted to wake at a moment that would not look suspicious, but not too long that it would as well. The dissatisfaction was slowly removed as he heard the footsteps come closer to his face. A light source was not being blocked, his vision gone darker. A fast, wavering breath was not far from him, so close the he could actually smell the rank breath of alcohol and decay. Suddenly he felt a hand grab his shoulder. The hand shook at first, but became more firm.

"Peter," Rocket whispered to him, attempting to coo him out of his already awoken slumber. He made a groaning noise and turned his head a small bit. His eyes fluttered open slowly to reveal a distraught looking Rocket looking back at him in concern.

"What", Peter casually said as yawned away his sleepy hangover.

"What the hell happened last night? And I mean, how did I end up in . . . you know." Rocket uncomfortably glanced away. It was common for him to drink too much and not recall where he had been the previous night. Once Rocket had found himself in the middle of a drug war after not remembering the person he was drinking with was a gang leader.

"Well," Peter started as he chuckled a little bit, "You got seriously wasted." Rocket went back to pacing the room ever so slowly.

"But I mean, did anything else happen?" Rocket inquired almost furiously.

"What are you trying to insinuate?" Peter retorted carefully. In reality, Peter knew what Rocket was afraid of, but he decided it was more interesting to play on his attitude.

"Well, fuck, I don't know how to put it in a common phrase Quill. You'd tell me if I did anything strange, right?" Peter smiled. Rocket looked back, but in no where as casual as Peter was.

"No Rocket, nothing happened. We both drank too much and collapsed on the floor. In the night I took you back to my room and I slept on the couch," Peter recited in a near perfect list. Rocket have a large sigh of relief. "And if you don't mind me asking, why are you so concerned?" The raccoon paused his nervous pacing and sat down on Peter's bed. He was pretty much a mess from the previous day. His clothing had a mild amount of what appeared to be oil stained on them, and his fur was awkwardly matted in places.

"None of your business," Rocket replied in a hushed tone. Peter sat up in the couch, and adjusted his short so it was fitting properly again. He was basically bringing up the elephant in the room and shooting it with a harpoon.

"It is my business. You're my friend, and I need to know how you feel so we don't all get killed." Rocket looked up at Peter, and their eyes made contact. Peter stared into the brownish black eyes and wondered what his thoughts were like. A lot of his history was unknown to him. He knew as much about the laboratory and the experiments, but there was a large gap between them and when they met on Xandar.

"I don't know, it just isn't supposed to be like this. It doesn't feel right." Rocket looked away at the floor again, keeping his body mostly still. Peter sensed that he was going through something emotionally stressful.

"Just because something doesn't feel right doesn't make it wrong. It's up to you to make your own decisions," Peter said almost out of a textbook. Rocket just kept looking down at the floor.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Rocket responded negatively. "It's just that, all my life, people have taken advantage of me, people have insulted me, but here . . ." His voice began to waver near the end. Peter got up from the couch, a wave of pain rushing over his brain from the hangover, and moved to sit right next to Rocket on his own bed. "And I just don't, I don't want you to not like me." Peter contemplated whether it would be appropriate to put his arm around his friend, or just sit and silently stare in concern.

"We don't care if you are a rambling psychopath or the nicest guy . . . er . . . in the world. Actions are what define you. It's what defines me as well. I don't believe for a moment that you ever wanted to leave our quest to save the galaxy. You might have said you did, but inside, I know you didn't." Peter took the courage the sentence gave him to put his arm around his friend's shoulder. Actions certainly were speaking louder than words, as a few sobs came over Rocket for the third time in a week.

Peter sat in silence, breathing the aroma of something dead while listening to the hum of the generators and Rocket's wailing. If he closed his eyes, he could have swore that he was in this same exact situation nearly 20 years ago, back on earth, not wanting his mother to go. Somewhere deep down he also figured out that everyone needs a figure to rely on for moral support. Rocket, unfortunately, never had anyone's shoulder to lean and cry on all his life. That was until now.

The air suddenly chilled and the personal silence that had been created instantly washed away. Rocket's ears perked up as he heard it as well, removing angst and replacing it with sudden and newfound curiosity. An alarm rang out through the air, as if alerting them to a situation that had slipped past them.

"Do you hear that," Peter asked almost rhetorically. Rocket sniffled a small bit and shook his head in agreement. Together, they got up and moved to the cockpit, where the only emergency broadcasters were located. Alarms could only mean a few things, one of them being fire, another one being a test, or an emergency. Peter had a tremendous feeling that it was the latter. They made their way inside the cockpit, and Rocket quickly took his co-pilot seat. Peter looked around the shelves for his emergency radio, unable to locate the much needed device. Rocket picked up the television remote for the small flatscreen that was installed on the dash and flipped it on.

Somehow, completely beyond Peter or Rocket's imaginations, the television turned on and received a network that was broadcasting from the planet. Peter stopped looking through the shelves and faced towards the television, wondering just how it was able to pick up signals in another quadrant.

A black screen was splashed over the screen, with the words "CIVIL EMERGENCY" plastered on the top of the screen. There was a scrolling news feed providing more detailed information. Both of their eyes scanned the screen intently as they read the information presented to them.

"Earlier today, a powerful explosion was witnessed and recorded at the Grand Hall. At this time, no information is known about the whereabout of the Prime Lord, or the cause of the explosion. As a precautionary measure, the Hydroxa Main Shipping Port, the Hydroxa Industrial Shipping Port, the Hydroxa Lesser Shipping Port, and the Hydrax Passenger Port have all been closed at this time. All nonessential vehicles are to be grounded within the next 30 minutes to evaluate security and assist emergency crews. If anymore data is recovered, this message will automatically update."

The voice and words began to repeat with warning tones and an ominous look.

"Do you think Jason is okay?" Rocket asked, breaking his silence.

"It seems the attack must have been aimed at him," Peter replied, not personally knowing if his theory was correct, but had no other reason why not to be. He nervously ran his hand through his hair as if knowing that this would not get any better. Rocket had seized the remote yet again and began to flip through the channels before he could find one the wasn't broadcasting a government Civil Warning.

"Here we are, standing in front of the Grand Hall, which appears to have suffered severe exterior damage." The camera zoomed into the upper floors, where a good 5 or 6 floors had bee completely destroyed on the outside. Smoke billowed out of the side of the building, and they could only watch in awe struck fear. "Near the top part of the blast area was the residence of Prime Lord Jason, who is not currently accounted for. Just moments ago we saw teams of police storming the building, and a few police craft have appeared on the perimeter." The camera zoomed out to show a larger picture of what was going on. A few police craft was an understatement as the sky was crammed full of emergency vehicles. The explosion radius was quite small, only a few floors vertically and only about 60 feet wide. Suddenly, the feed switched back to whatever studio was broadcasting, as all of the disturbing images disappeared.

"This just in, an early estimate of the casualties is around 70, according to new police figures released seconds ago. Apparently a security meeting as being held at the time of the explosions, killing as many as 6 generals of the military." Rocket let out an exasperated breath.

"Holy shit," he said slowly as they released the data. Normally, Rocket loved explosions, but this situation was much, much different.

"We are also now getting reports that Prime Lord Jason is in serious condition and is being treated for 1st degree burns and shrapnel wounds. No word yet on the cause of the explosion. We will keep you updated on this developing story, so stay tuned to KZ76 Hydroxa Live." The news went back to live coverage of the Grand Hall, still billowing smoke with emergency vehicles splayed out like the blood of the disaster.

"Maybe we should contact Gamora and Drax," Peter suggested wisely. Rocket nodded in agreement, but his head was glued to the television screen. "I'll try and contact them." He got up out of his chair and unexpectedly almost fell over due to blood loss in his legs. It usually happened to him when he sat down in an awkward position, or sometimes under great stress. He hoped it was neither.

Stepping out of the room and into the hall, he took a deep breath of the air around him. He had left his communicator in his room in the ordeal of last night and this morning. It was almost scary that Rocket appeared to not have any effects from it. He thought that maybe Rocket's liver had been replaced in surgery with a blood cleaning machine as he walked into his room. The communicator was lying on his nightstand, probably where he had put it previously. He picked it up, and turned the dial to the frequency that his team was set to.

"This is Peter, please respond," He spoke quickly before moving the communicator away from his lips. It crackled in with another audio feed, and he slowly tuned it to the correct power level to receive a better signal. Very soon, the opposite end was clear.

"This is Gamora, I am receiving your message," the radio shouted at him. He sighed in relief, knowing that at least two of his friends were at least safe.

"Where's Drax?" A short pause followed his question, but the radio came back on in a few seconds.

"He's with me, we're both fine. Is Rocket okay?" Peter smiled at the wall blankly as he recalled the events of the previous night and this morning. He didn't want to make it sound blatantly suspicious, but not lie either.

"Rocket is fine as usual, currently glued to the news feed." Just as he finished his sentence, he swore that the ship had gently shook. From experience, he knew that it usually didn't do that, especially on a shipping platform like the one they were on. The Nova Corps had put in top notch suspension on the landing gear.

"What is our current concern with the situation at hand?" Peter inquired softly. Peter began to make his way out of his room, heading back to the cockpit.

"I am mostly concerned about if this will press back our operation." Peter nodded in his head, moving down the corridor.

"As soon as-" The communicator shot out of his hands as the ship violently lurched in one direction. Peter, unstable from his hangover, collapsed onto the floor in a lack of motor control.

"Peter! Get your ass in here!" Peter got back on his feet and ran down the remainder of the hallway into the cockpit. On the television, they had switched to a view of the shipping port, only it did not appear as it normally would. Rocket was panicked, setting controls with his hands on the dashboard, as Peter watched the situation unfold. Smoke was now billowing out from the side of the facility, another bombing had occurred. But why the shipping port?

Peter's attention was drawn out the main viewport as a red explosion filled the air some 300 feet down the port. They were along the top deck, which was exposed to any outside elements. The television also lit up in a fury of colors, and Rocket's panic suddenly became evident. He nearly lunged into his seat before he began running a preflight checklist.

Rocket had been able to prep the weapons and the fuel lines in the short amount of time he had, completing a 15 minute job in about 1. Just as Peter ignited the main engines, another craft appeared out of the smoke and debris from the previous explosion. The ship was marked in green and yellow colors, and was heading straight for the Milano.

"We're getting tracking signatures! They are targeting our engines!" Rocket shouted out loud, to no one in particular. Peter opened up the throttle and the engines strained as he gave them their all. Fuel flowed right into them, and they burst into a jet of directed flames which lifted them off of the ground.

"Incoming missile!" Rocket shouted as he was subconsciously pressing the chaff button. They watched in near slow motion as the missile flew right past their ship and exploded about 50 feet behind them.

"This is Peter Quill of the Milano, we are under attack from an unidentified ship!" He left the message to broadcast on all channels, so anyone who could provide assistance could help them.

The ship they were facing was superior in many respects, but the art of war was to find the flaws in your enemy and use them to your advantage. As far as he could tell, the engines were dual thrusters that looked a bit dated from the craft. It seemed to fit in with the common day craft of the planet, which was peculiarly strange considering terrorists didn't generally use common vehicles. It was as if it was built right here, and a domestic person was attacking.

With such heavy armor and weaponry, Peter concluded it would have to be someone in the planetary defense who wanted them gone. Only that left open a huge amount of possibilities. There wasn't just a small group of people that knew they were there, almost everyone did.

"Rocket, lock missiles onto their rocket systems." Rocket began to furiously program something into the console, while Peter attempted to get himself into a more maneuverable position. THeir attacker had retreated slightly into the smoke of the now burning and collapsing platform. Peter guided The Milano with ease, and waited for the right moment to attack.

"I hope you know what you're doing Quill!" Rocket shouted as manned the side turrets. "I've rigged the rest of the missiles onto your macro board, just give the word when to open fire." Peter nodded and fixed his eyes upon the enemy missile system. The two crafts stared at each other until a blinking light grew into a siren aboard the ship. They were being targeted again. The face off. Peter engaged his targeting system and the flashing indicators of an overly complex system alerted him that the chance of damage on the enemy ship was minimal to none.

Missile systems of the century were comparably advanced to earlier models. They had large shields which momentarily slid out of the way in order for a missile barrage to leave the barrel. Then they would close and the system would reload in an efficient manner. But, if you knew what you were doing, the system could be exploited. Peter watched in near slow motion as the mechanism on the opposing missile chamber began to slide open. He pressed the key on his macro board, and his own missiles shot out at a much faster rate, as their own shield had been jerry rigged open.

The missiles flew down range at the enemy ship, it's gold stripes menacingly fearful of the next events. It's own missiles slid out of the bay, but before the door even had a chance to close, the Milano's struck right in the bay, detonating the extras that were in the loading bay. The ship's missile systems exploded in a dazzling array of vivid colours, and it temporarily spun out of control as it was thrown off kilter.

"Now!" Peter yelled at Rocket as he pulled the ship to the side as hard as he could. Rocket let a burst of autocannon fire out of Milano and towards the oncoming missiles, one of which exploded in a dark red conflagration. The other one sped down course towards its target, eerily screeching at Peter. He pulled the ship aside a bit too far, and stability controls lost out over crazy steering. The cabinet doors and it's contents locked themselves into place as the ship reached over a 90 degree angle and proceeded to completely flip over onto it's back.

The missiles flew past the Milano, and began to round back, as the Milano flipped over again in it's natural upright position. Rocket let go of the metal bar that he had held on to while the ship had temporarily flipped upside down. He took a moment to look at Peter in admiration for his flying ability, something he assumed he would never be able to do. Peter briefly looked back at him, and their eyes met once again, a moment of understanding between the two. He didn't want to break the gaze, but understood that there was a missile coming around to blow them to hell.

Peter Stabilized them as Rocket unleashed another round of autocannon fire on the unprepared missile. It also exploded as a bullet grazed it's computer system, initiating auto destruct procedure. After the threat was neutralized, both went back to their main concern, the unidentified ship. It lay in shambles from the unexpected blast, billowing smoke from it's lower compartments, though the engines still ran strong. Peter doubted the capabilities of its weapon system, but underestimation generally never worked.

"This is Peter Quill of the Milano, please land your craft or we will be forced to ground you." He had opened the message to all comms channels, knowing all well that they could hear him. In response, the ship began to pull back immediately, raising it's altitude quickly.

"I guess they don't wanna stick around." Rocket said as he armed the autocannons again.

"Take em' down" Peter replied in an almost evil tone. Rocket unleashed a steady stream of bullets into their shielding system, which repelled a good majority of the blasts. As their altitude increased, their engine system became shakier, until one of the bullets punctured a crucial hydraulics chamber. The ship spun out of control and plummeted back to the planet in a freefall. Peter bit his lip as he wondered whether they valued their life mroe than their secrets.

Life eventually won out as they stabilized and hit the ground at an uncomfortable speed. Liquid spewed out from the wrecked ship and started on fire, adding to the burning scene of industrial freight and cargo ships that had once served as a shipping port. The Milano slowly set down next to the wreckage, Peter not knowing it's pilot or their intent. He was sure that they had good reason for committing such an atrocity.


Well, what did you think? Make sure you leave reviews on the new chapters so I know what I'm doing right and wrong. Who do you think was inside the enemy craft!? I am always hopeful that I can write another one soon, but no promises. Definitely by the end of the week. So I'll reveal the cliffhanger then, see ya!