Arrival
Peter Quill quietly climbed the stairs to the flight deck, stopping two steps from the top. Gamora was at the controls in the left seat, flipping through screens. He admired the sight of her for a moment.
"Stop staring at me, Peter," she said, not looking away from the displays.
Caught in the act, his face flushed bright red. He climbed the rest of the way onto the flight deck, then took his time inspecting some instrumentation on the right side panels, back to Gamora, until his color returned to normal.
"Why do you turn red like that?" she asked innocently.
"Food allergy," he said. "Something in the galley."
"Oh. Of course." She was not about to let him off the hook.
He flopped into the right seat, hooked a leg over the armrest, facing her.
"Why d'you gotta be so difficult?"
"Because I'm not easy," she said in a bouncy voice.
Quill was suddenly at a loss for words, and he could not look at Gamora for a moment. She turned her chair to face him.
"We need to talk," she said, and Peter perked up. "About Rocket," she added, and Peter deflated.
"Again? Now what?"
"He says his memories of Halfworld are coming back, that the memory wipe is failing."
"So?"
"So he had some kind of episode with Drax and then me, like he's reliving something that happened to him before. It was like he wasn't…here."
"Like a flashback?"
"I suppose, but it seemed like he was really living the moment again."
"You think he's gonna snap? Go batshit on us?"
"I don't know. Probably not? He's clearly afraid of Halfworld, and that's stressing him a lot. That's probably what's breaking down his memory wipe. They're unstable under stress, and he said his was only partly successful. We haven't even considered the effects of the nanomechs or the anti-rejection treatment on his unique physiology and how that's affecting his memory."
Peter thought for a moment, heard Rocket clearly say ain't no thing like me 'cept me.
"I guess all we can do is take it as it comes. Keep an eye on him", he said, trying to see Rocket as actually afraid of something.
"Where is he?"
"Sacked out down in the cargo hold. Looked pretty wrung out. Groot's with him."
"Do you think we'll find anything out about his construction…I mean, his early life?" Gamora asked, embarrassed at how indelicately she'd phrased the question. "A lot's riding on this trip."
"Beats me. I bet we'll have to play it by ear, improvise," he shrugged.
"Rocket will hate that," she said.
Peter snorted out a short laugh.
"For once, he doesn't get a say in it," he said, turning back to watch the stars slide past the canopy.
This one began like all the others.
He wakes up in his cell, shakes out the cobwebs, pushes the bar for some water.
No food in the next twenty minutes means today will be a change day, a trip to the surgery table. Light filters in through the translucent panel in the door, so he knows it is "day". His shoulders still hurt from the last change, but he grits his teeth against the pain and crawls over to the cell door to start his daily change-checking ritual.
He forces his arms to work so he can get his fingers into the lower left corner of the cell, next to the door hinge. He closes his eyes, and slowly runs his fingers up the seam in the cell wall. Standing, he reaches the ceiling, then moves a finger width to the right, and runs his fingers back down the metal of the door frame. Reaching the floor, he moves over again, and moves his fingers up metal again. He registers every tiny pit and ridge in the metal, all in a familiar pattern. The pattern feels the same as the last time he checked. That nothing has changed in his cell, and, more importantly, that nothing has changed in him that would change how the cell feels to his touch, is calming.
He makes it to the middle of the right wall when he hears the outside door open, right at the nineteen minute mark. The footsteps of mechanic number three approach his cell. He hears the mechanic gather the restraints and the shock rod that are stored on a shelf next to his cell. He continues his survey of the cell until he hears the locking mechanism actuate, then he crawls as far back in the cell as he can.
The door swings open.
"Are we going to do this easy way today?" asks the mechanic.
"No," he rasps out, baring his teeth in a weak growl.
"As you wish," comes the reply. The shock rod sizzles, and he experiences another familiar sensation. This sensation is the sensation of agony.
Time passes, and he wakes, strapped to the surgery table. The table is at an angle, so he can see the room. He recognizes mechanic number five by the slight hitch in his gait. He has never seen the face behind the respirator.
"Eight nine pee one three, this morning we are going to examine your response to a potential symbiotic relationship with another life form."
Mechanic number five steps aside, and mechanic number two approaches with a silver urn that holds a small tree, a sapling. Mechanic number two sets the plant on a stand next to his head.
There is something familiar about the plant, a distant memory plucking at his consciousness. A name echoes into his mind, and he speaks it.
"Groot?"
At the sound of his voice, the tree stirs, its branches like thin, waving arms extending towards him. The wooden tendrils caress his face, his neck, his chest. They are gentle and kind. He knows this tree creature. It speaks softly.
"I am Groot."
He smiles in spite of his uncertainty. Yet, something is not quite right. The tendrils around his neck are uncomfortably tight.
"Stop, Groot, you're hurting me."
The tree smiles at him as a tendril works its way up his right nostril and into his sinuses. He screams, and the tendrils around his neck constrict, preventing him from breathing in again.
Mechanic number five leans over the subject, the mirrored visor on the respirator becoming a perverse display of the subject's final struggles.
"Eight nine pee one three, this experiment is another failure. However, you will remember. Bring her to me. She is mine."
More branches force their way into his throat, his nose, his ears. Tears well up in his eyes and run down his face. His eardrums rupture from the probing branches. His consciousness wanes as the branches cover, then pierce, both of his eyes.
He screamed himself awake, a hoarse bark that echoed in the confines of the cargo hold. Parts of his bedroll were scattered all around. He felt a branch touching his face.
"Ah, no!" he gasped, jumping to his feet, away from the touch. As he stood up, a tidal wave of memories crashed through his mind. Everything was there, all at once: the first bright time through the changes through the training through his escape through finding Groot through the Hub Xandar the Kyln Knowhere Xandar Ronan Hell's Shadow here. It was overwhelming, disorienting, a lifetime of experiences suddenly released from a prison, running wild through his consciousness. Rocket fell to his knees, then lurched forward onto his hands, his head hanging low under the weight of the memories.
His sanity was slipping away on a rising wave of nausea and the keening overdrive of memory. He felt like he was leaning over the edge of a tall cliff at night, arms spread wide, and the wind-blast of memory up the cliff face was the only thing keeping him from tumbling over the edge. When the wind stopped, he knew he would fall. He mentally clawed his way back into the reality of the Milano's hold, fought the compulsion to just let his mind fall over the edge of that abyss.
He sank to his elbows, cradled his head with his hands and forearms and moaned incoherently. He was dimly aware of a warm sensation in his groin, and caught the acrid stink of urine in his nose. He felt a loosening in his bowels, too, but somehow managed to stop that. He sucked in several deep breaths, staying on his elbows and knees and concentrating on the simple act of breathing, a drifting memory reminding him that this was a combat relaxation technique. The sick feeling gradually subsided as the mass of released memories began to sort themselves into manageable chunks. The flood of images, sounds and sensations receded slowly, falling back into individual compartments in his mind. He pushed himself back up to his hands and knees, spat a mouthful of drool and snot onto the floor.
"I am Groot," said a worried voice. (What's wrong? You pissed yourself!)
Rocket scooted backwards on all fours until his tail hit the wall of the hold. He sat back against the wall and tried to focus on his surroundings. The familiar shapes of the Milano's cargo hold settled into his awareness, and the lingering wisps of the dream and memory cascade gradually cleared.
"Ugh, gimme a sec…"
"I am Groot." (That was a bad one.)
Rocket sighed and shook his head.
"Yeah, it was really fucked up." He blinked, rubbed his eyes, then tugged on his ears. "An' the memory wipe let go all at once when I woke up. Everything from Halfworld came back. Thought I was gonna frickin' lose it." He plucked at his damp jumpsuit. "Shit, I did lose it. Don't tell no one, huh?"
"I am Groot." (I won't. What else?)
"They brought you in and…and…the mechanic said I'd remember, that I'd 'bring her to him'…and then you killed me."
Groot gasped in horror. He couldn't imagine harming Rocket, so he knew it must have been awful.
"I am Groot." (What the fuck?)
"Dunno, doesn't make any sense." Rocket looked at Groot, and Groot extended a branch towards him. Rocket started to shy away, but caught himself. Groot waited, the branch frozen between them.
"'S okay," Rocket said quietly. "Just a frickin' dream."
Groot gently touched his friend's cheek, then ran his branch over Rocket's ear, across the top of his head and settled it on his shoulders. Rocket shuddered and sighed, relaxed a notch.
"I am Groot." (What're you gonna do?)
"I don't know. This's gotta be more than any nano rejection bullshit."
"I am Groot." (Tell Gamora.)
"What? She thinks I'm losing my shit already anyway. I ain't gonna give 'er more reasons to look at me sideways."
"I am Groot." (She likes you. Trust her.)
Rocket shrugged, crossed his arms tightly and leaned back against Groot's pot.
"Lemme think for a sec."
"I am Groot." (I'm worried about you. You need a plan.) Groot pulled his branch back and looked at his friend.
"I'm worried about me, too. Can't think of a plan, an' that's killin' me."
"I am Groot." (You may have to make it up as you go.)
Rocket stared at him.
"Hah. Very funny." He struggled to his feet, stretched, picked up Groot's pot and walked unsteadily towards the ladder to the mid-deck. "Gotta get cleaned up."
Gamora came down the gangway from the flight deck. Drax was asleep on the far bunk, and Groot sat on the end of the galley table. Rocket was sitting at the middle of the table, wrapped in a large towel. The light above the table cast a deep shadow over his eyes. A mug of kaveh sat in front of him. He idly spun the cup back and forth by the handle, staring blankly at it. The kaveh had long since gone cold.
Oohhkay, Gamora thought. Here's a story. She moved quietly over to the galley and filled a cup of water, trying not to startle Rocket. He noticed her, stopped spinning the mug, looked up at her for a moment.
"Oh, hey, G. What's up?" he asked. He held her gaze for a beat, then went back to spinning the mug back and forth.
"I'm done on watch."
"No kidding? Is it that late?" Rocket asked, not looking up from twirling the mug.
Gamora pulled out a chair and sat down across from Rocket. She reached out and picked up the cold mug of kaveh and set it aside. Rocket sighed, placed his hands flat on the table and continued staring at the space where the mug had been.
"Why do you always have to kill all the joy in everything?"
"You want to tell me why you're sitting here in a towel playing poltac with your kaveh?"
"Aw, y'know, I spilled somethin' on my pants so I hadda wash 'em out, then I figured I'd take a shower, too, so now I'm waiting for everything to dry."
"Uh huh. Rocket, look at me and try again."
"I am Groot." (For crying out loud, dude, tell her.)
Rocket sighed. He really wanted to find some quiet area of the ship and hide. The aftershocks of the release of memories exhausted him. An unannounced blob of disconnected images and sensations would rise up randomly in his mind and he'd have to concentrate on putting everything back where it belonged. It was draining, and most of the memories were of things he wanted to forget anyway. At least the aftershocks were getting fewer and farther between as time passed.
"Had another dream about Halfworld."
"And?"
"It was bad."
"And?"
"Groot killed me this time. And the mechanic said…" his voice trailed off and he paused. Gamora watched him for a moment, then leaned forward and picked up his left hand in her right. She was surprised at how small his hand really was. She always envisioned him as somehow larger than reality, engorged with bravado and attitude. The truth was her hand was a couple of times larger than his. He didn't say anything, but squeezed her fingers. He continued to stare at the table.
"And?" she asked again, gently.
"And the mechanic said that I'd remember, that I'd bring her to him, that she was his."
A cold, blue shiver ran up Gamora's spine. The hairs on her arms stood up.
"And when I woke up…when I woke up…the memory wipe let go, and it was so much, I about lost it. I remember it all now."
"Rocket, I…" she began, unsure of what comfort to offer, so she decided to move forward instead. "How are you handling the memories?"
"'S okay. I'll live," he said, and squeezed her fingers again. "Guess it's good that I remember everything before we get there."
"Yes," Gamora replied. She took a breath, then asked, "Who is 'she'?"
Rocket looked up at her finally. His eyes were wide, and a bloodshot ring of white showed outside of the brown.
"At first I thought it was Ly…someone else, y'know, but the more I think about it, I think it's…you."
"Me," Gamora said in a flat tone.
"Yeah. We both know who'd want you back."
Gamora released Rocket's hand and sat back in her chair. He looked down at the table and fought off the urge to grab the mug of kaveh again. Gamora's jaw worked, and more than a few emotions played across her face.
"That is not going to happen," Gamora said at last.
"No, it isn't, not as long as I'm alive," Rocket said, looking up at her. She smiled back at him, a silent thanks and mutual understanding.
"You must tell Peter about your memories returning."
"Sure, fine, whatever," he said. "Listen, I'm startin' to think that those harvesters were the tip of the iceberg, that there's more going on here than just stealing our tech."
"I agree, but what's the end game?"
"Dunno, can't get a lock on it. If Thanos wants you back, he can pretty much roll right in here 'n' take ya an' we couldn't do shit about it."
Gamora was surprised that Rocket had put Thanos' name right out in the open. She had convinced herself that she no longer mattered to Thanos precisely because he had not appeared out of the ether and taken her back, or killed her outright for her betrayal. On the other hand, there were plenty of other beings in the galaxy who had an ax to grind with her, from her time as a minion of Thanos and Ronan, so she figured that was who she really needed to watch out for.
"We'll just have to be careful. Find your data then get the hell out of there," she said.
"Yeah, that's where I'm at, too."
At the other end of the compartment, Drax woke, sat up, and yawned noisily. He stood and walked down the deck, nodded a greeting at Gamora, Rocket and Groot. He picked up Rocket's mug of kaveh, sniffed it, and took a big swallow. A grimace contorted his face.
"This kaveh is terrible," he said, setting the mug back on the table. He nodded again and headed past the galley towards the washroom. Rocket and Gamora watched him go, then looked at each other. Rocket climbed off his chair.
"Gotta get dressed. Don't wanna get caught with my pants down," he said with a smile. Gamora returned the smile and watched him walk to the drying rack next to the washroom.
Me either, she thought to herself.
"Cloak's active and stealth systems are online," Quill said. He looked over at Rocket in the right seat, who nodded back at him. "Star drive disengage in three…two…one…"
Milano dropped back into normal space on the night side of Halfworld. The planet was silhouetted against the stars by the glow from the binary suns. The coronal rays of light seemed to be reaching out for the ship.
"Whaddya got?" Quill asked.
"Nothin' yet," Rocket answered, working up a series of planetary analysis screens. "Shit, nothin' at all."
"Huh?"
"No shield…no energy signatures…no life signs at all down there," Rocket said, perplexed.
"It's the right planet, isn't it?" Quill asked, glancing sideways at Rocket.
"Yeah, funny man, that's Halfworld," Rocket said. He looked over his shoulder at Gamora, who shrugged, and then at Groot, who mimicked her.
"So they rolled out the welcome mat and turned off the wall?" Quill asked.
"No, more like they rolled up the welcome mat an' turned out the lights an' left. Or maybe somebody turned out the lights for 'em."
"Y'know, the last time we dropped in on a dead planet we about got our asses kicked," Quill observed.
"Yes. Dead planets are most irksome," Drax agreed.
"We got an entry code from Tivan, so this place must've been inhabited recently, unless he's going a long way towards ripping us off," Quill said, turning to face the team.
"How could he cheat us if we had to come here to get his payment? Do you think he sold us out?" Gamora asked.
There was silence while that observation sank in.
"I trust him as much as I trust anyone," Quill said. "Which is to say not at all. Kind of too late for second thoughts."
Rocket took a breath and turned to face Quill.
"Quill, you might as well know now. That memory wipe I got? It failed, so now I pretty much remember everything about this place," Rocket said with apprehension.
Peter was surprised at this revelation.
"I'm glad you decided to tell me that," he said sarcastically.
"Look, it's not like all of a sudden being able to quote a file or draw a picture. I'm still sorting it out, okay? But I can give you a good idea of where we need to go and how to get there."
"Did you know about this?" Peter pointedly asked Gamora.
"Yes. I only found out about it three hours ago, while you were on watch. Rocket was still recovering from the memory event," Gamora said, matching Peter's tone.
"Guys, I didn't say anything because I'm still trying to get my head around all of it. Literally," Rocket said, cutting into the brewing argument between Peter and Gamora. "I don't know what bad things you've got in your past that you've tried to forget, but imagine all of that stuff coming back on you all at once when you didn't expect it. I'm not keepin' secrets. If you wanna be pissed at me, fine, I can deal, but that ain't gonna help us down there," he continued, pointing at the planet below.
"What do you propose to do?" Gamora asked Quill, trying to move things away from any disagreements.
"Well, let's go have a look. Set up a low orbit survey pass," Quill said, looking over at Rocket. "No more surprises, huh? This is just getting weirder and weirder."
"You got no idea, pal," Rocket replied, hands dancing over the flight instruments.
The Milano rolled to the left and began the approach to Halfworld.
Ninety minutes later and they still had no answers.
"Dead as a frickin' cinder," Rocket said with a sense of relief. He wasn't sure what he was going to have to face here, but it looked like things might be getting a little simpler. He wouldn't mind nuking the whole place from orbit if they didn't have to find his history. The Milano crossed the terminator from day into night, and the flight deck went from bright sunshine to the dim instrument lights. Rocket shuddered; it creeped him out and he shook off a crawly feeling between his shoulder blades. He turned his chair to face Quill and the others.
"We got a good lock on the research base. ECM pod says zip, no active or passive scans. No artificial power sources, no cloaking signatures, no life signs, and half the planet is toxic to all of us," he reported.
"This does not bode well," Drax grunted from the rear seat.
Gamora stood up and leaned in between Peter and Rocket.
"We are here, and whatever we need to help Rocket is here, too. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can head home," she said, glancing from Quill to Rocket and back to Quill.
"It's a little sketchy," Quill said, playing for time.
"Screw it," Rocket said, and he punched up and activated the approach vector to the research complex.
"What the hell, man?" Quill said, surprised.
Rocket fixed Quill and Gamora with a steely-eyed look.
"I got a vested interest in this little expedition, and I wanna get in an' get outta here more'n any of you jerks. So let's just frickin' do it an' get it over with."
Milano circled the complex. She was still cloaked and stealthed, but the engines made enough of a racket to give her away if anyone was listening. So far, there was no response to the ship's circling. There was a large, circular central building with six arms radiating off of it. The central building was actually a ring, with a large courtyard in the middle. The six main arms all terminated in smaller circular buildings, each with three more arms that ended in round buildings. The entire complex was almost six miles in diameter, and there was a strange, fractal beauty to it. The buildings were colored in shades of green that matched the terrain. Iridescent windows and silvery solar panels glittered on the walls and roofs. The surrounding landscape was a lush, temperate forest sprawling over gently rolling hills, the forest broken occasionally with clearings and meadows. It would have easily passed for a resort destination, except that all of the buildings and arms were damaged and blackened by some kind of blasts. Dozens of hits scorched the structures.
Rocket pulled the Milano up into a hover near the central building, about one hundred feet off the ground. The wall rose another hundred feet into the air. It was only at this close range that the scale of the complex was apparent.
"Home sweet home?" Quill asked Rocket. Rocket stared back at him, bared his teeth and growled in reply.
"Okay, okay," Peter said hastily. "Where d'you wanna land?
Rocket closed his eyes for several seconds, then banked the ship away towards one of the six secondary buildings.
"This way," he said.
"You remember where you're going?" Quill asked.
"It's comin' back to me," Rocket said, meeting Quill's gaze. He felt Gamora's eyes on his back, but didn't chance a look to her.
"How much of it?"
"All of it," Rocket said. "Ya happy? Now lemme fly."
Rocket circled the smaller building, then extended the landing struts and gently set the Milano on the ground near a rip in the building wall at a junction with one of the three outer arms. He stabbed at the panel, and the engines shut down.
"That was boring," Drax said from the rear seat.
Rocket shot him a look over his shoulder, then turned back to the panel as he and Quill ran another scan of the area. No activity, energy signatures or life signs showed up on the scans. The team started unbuckling from their seats and peering around at the buildings through the canopy.
"Where are we?" Gamora asked Rocket.
"By the training complex. Sorta midway between housing an' everything else."
"Training?" Quill asked.
"Yeah," Rocket said. "Where'd'ja think I learned all this stuff that I know? Ya think I was made with it?"
"I don't know. We never talked about it."
Rocket looked up at Peter.
"We never talked about a lot of things," he said, and shrugged. "Don't mean nothin'. You guys get yer gear. I'll get Groot squared away to watch the ship."
"C'mon, people, let's go," Quill said, dropping down the ladder. Drax followed him, but Gamora remained behind.
Rocket darted around Gamora to get to Groot's pot at the back of the flight deck.
"I am Groot." (I'm going with you.)
"Look, I can't carry you around, especially if we get in a scrap."
"I am Groot." (I'm not staying here, and that's final.)
"What're ya gonna do, carry yourself?"
"I. Am. Grrooooot!"
Groot hunched down in his pot, then extended his arms up to the low ceiling, wrapping tendrils around the conduits there. He made a low groaning sound, and started pulling himself up by his arms. There were two sharp reports, and his legs snapped free of the root ball in the pot. He hung from the ceiling for a moment as the ends of his legs twined into stumpy feet. He dropped to the deck, reeling in his arm tendrils, but maintained his new height. He stood almost as tall as Rocket now, and looked up at a wide-eyed Gamora and then back to Rocket, whose mouth was hanging open in surprise.
"I am Groot." (I'm going to walk, thank you very much.)
"Fine," Rocket said, regaining some composure, his mouth breaking into a grin. "You can explain it to everyone."
"I am Groot." (No problem, fuzzy man.)
Groot took a few steps, got his balance, and gestured at the gangway.
"I am Groot." (After you.)
Rocket shook his head and laughed, and started down the ladder, followed by Gamora. Groot looked around the flight deck, immensely pleased with himself. He hopped down the steps to the mid-deck, smiling at the surprised greetings from Quill and Drax. The moment of excitement when Groot made his way down the gangway was short lived, and the serious business of getting geared up for the exploration of the complex resumed.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Quill asked. "This is a big place, and I really don't want to explore the whole thing on foot."
"A working terminal would be great," Rocket said, loading a power supply and memory crystal into his pack. "Our best bet will be in the medical area, where all the work was done. If we can't find one there then we'll frickin' improvise."
Rocket doled out his thermal detonators to Peter, Gamora and Drax, then pulled out two hand-sized devices with screens.
"Here," he said, handing one to Quill. "Motion sensor."
"Fine, but I've got my mapper already," he said.
"This helps you avoid close encounters."
"What's it work on? Micro-changes in air density?" Quill asked, turning the small box over in his hands and looking at its screen.
"Hell no, everybody knows that crap doesn't work. It's a gravitic sensor, good out to about 25 centibules, tells you range and direction."
"Hmm," Quill said, impressed. "Here's a remote for the ship, just in case," he said, handing a tablet to Rocket, who slipped it into a pouch on his leg.
"Everybody ready?" Quill asked.
The team replied with nods and grunts. Quill punched a panel and the nose hatch irised open. It was warm and humid outside, and the air had a slight citrus odor. Quill jumped out first, followed by Drax, Groot, Gamora, and, finally, Rocket. They stood under the ship for a moment, looking around at the landscape and buildings. Rocket had his quad-cannon out and activated.
"Don't shoot anything yet," Gamora said, looking back at him. He hissed out a snicker at her.
"Not yet. I got time," he said.
They formed up in a line, five abreast, and took some tentative steps through the foot-high grass towards the hole in the building.
"Everyone remember where we parked," Quill said, and tapped his remote. The nose hatch hissed shut and the Milano shimmered out of view as the cloaking system activated. Rocket took a few steps forward, then stopped, sniffing the air. He walked to his right several steps and stopped beside a mound on the earth. It was black and mostly overgrown with the grass.
"Hey, check this out," he called to the others. They came over and stood around the burned and blackened shape sprawled on the ground. Bones and ribs stuck up out of the ash.
"This one of your mechanics?" Quill asked.
"Can't tell from this," Rocket said. "Probably?"
As they stood next to the burned corpse, a pattern began to emerge in the grassland near the building. There were bodies everywhere, at least two dozen.
"I think we missed the action," Drax said.
Rocket stared at him and then the others.
"It can't possibly be that easy," he said. "Besides, who did this, and what for? This place was off the grid." He started off towards the gaping hole in the wall, and climbed to the top of the rubble pile before anyone reacted.
"Wait up, man," Quill called, leading the others in a jog over to the rubble pile.
Rocket stared down at him, cannon braced on his hip.
"I wanna get this done. I ain't wasting my time on dead things. I'm worried about finding any live ones."
Rocket turned and disappeared into the darkness of the yawning rip in the wall, leaving the others to scramble after him. They heard his progress down into the building as he dislodged bits of debris, and they followed him into the dark interior.
Author's Note: Big chapter here, thanks for waiting. Some parts of Rocket's dream are an extension of my story, "Made Man", from September 2014. While that story mainly centers on Rocket's experiences in the film, there are some ideas about Rocket's early life on Halfworld that work in this story. I'm trying to keep the two stories consistent with each other and the film. There's some nice easter eggs in this story, too, in the last half.
Let me know what you think. Comments and reviews are welcome and appreciated. Marvel owns it all, I'm just borrowing it for fun and zero profit. You know the deal. Enjoy!
