I'd like to thank everyone for favoriting and/or following my story. And to Guest, SuperStar50, CatGirlFireflare, Reish95, and Guest for reviewing. I'm so happy you guys like my story and once again I'm stunned I've made it the is far. I don't own Guardians of the Galaxy and I'm too tired to say anything else.

Enjoy~

"Ladies and gentle beings, boys and girls," Philly boomed like a street vender, "I proudly present to you what we've all been waiting for! Without further ado, I give you…our destination."

"Head's up, we're inbound!" Rocket called down the hatch leading to the rest of the Milnao.

Keeping the thrusters constant, Philly had disengaged the autopilot a while ago and now manipulated the steering stick with her left hand. The whole ship rotated subtlety as it's pilot adjusted heading.

This sector was cluttered with flight hazards of all kinds like space debris, asteroids, and solar flares that gave the cosmos a strange greenish tint, yellow in some places. A sickly coloring that blotted out any stars and made the Zeldonian pull a face.

Leisurely, a planet drifted into the viewport. Peter clumped up the ladder, resting his hands on the back of the pilot's chair. He usual spot was occupied by Rocket.

That's an oddly shaped planet, Philly thought, urging the ship forward. It looked like a precariously stacked tower, top-heavy with a small base. From with in…whatever it was light leaked out of four cavities glowing ominously in the green space.

Skull, her brain supplied dumbly. Not unlike those tension pauses where the only sound was the thrusters, no one spoke.

"What is it?" Drax finely asked in a muted tone, as if not wanting to break a spell.

"It's called Knowhere. The severed head of an ancient celestial being," Gamora explained, not sounding as awestruck as some of the other escapees.

One thing Philly knew for certain; she never wanted to meet the thing big enough to decapitate something like that. The green-skinned assassin sat down in one of the warn leather chairs in the back, "Be wary headed in, there are no regulations here what's so ever."

The Zeldonian's mouth stretched into a wicked grin, "What's so ever?" she echoed, not reducing thruster speed as they glided into a massive eye socket.

"Philly, I swear you scratch the paint and you'll be buffing till your hands fall off."

"But didn't you hear, Peaty-boy? There's no regulations!"

"Yeah there is," He said firmly. "Our's still stand."

"Fine…" Philly huffed but didn't slow down.

…

…

…

As a part of her training Gamora had learned to notice the little things and how to use them to her advantage, to file them away no matter how trivial the detail seemed. That was why, as the ship traveled through outer space, the assassin had noted everything was fastened in one-way or another. Not too abnormal for a craft such as this, but the items were all but glued in place by any means imaginable. A tad excessive in her opinion.

But as Philly flew through the highway like upper levels of Knowhere airspace Gamora suddenly understood. The pilot was insane.

The Milano's nose dipped down until merging with the undefined space lanes and leveling off less then smoothly. 'No rules' was a valid description of the zone for the obvious lack of a speed limit and stoplights. Every single vessel from the lithe land speeders to hulking freighters fought for elbowroom (a loose expression, not all species had elbows) by any means necessary. Despite Peter's warning the Zeldonian couldn't control other beings muscling through the near gridlock. Horns and sirens constantly blared, drivers were cut off, and obscene gestures were flashed.

"I feel like a kid on a playground!" Philly grinned, taking a glance over her shoulder at Drax, "that's a metaphor." She said helpfully, rubbernecking at small, round pods mining and transporting substance to and fro. How odd...

"Eye's on the sky!" Peter shouted at the pilot who snapped her attention forward with an unlady like snort.

"This place is awso- HEY I'm flying here ya shee shink!" Philly yelled, sounding the external horn and juirking the ship to the right as a smaller craft cut her off.

Peter strapped himself in and set up an open channel to find a refueling station ASAP.

…

…

…

It took longer then expected but finely someone answered Peter's appeal for a place to land and a full tank of fuel. The Terran haggled via the communication systems till Philly snapped at him to wrap it up or they'd fall out of the sky. Within twenty minutes she set-down on a shabby, overcrowded landing pad, boxed in by an SPC, two transport ships, and an off duty shuttle.

Tight fit, but Philly managed, giving a terrible impression of the shuttle drivers as she did, "Attention passengers, we have arrived in the random rest stop located on Knowhere. Conditions are currently as follows. Temperature; 13° Celsius. Air quality; probably crummy. Low chance of rain and high chance of misdeeds and mayhem. So hang on to your wallets out there folks, and thank you for flying SpacePhilly for all your traveling needs! I hope to never see any of you again!"

The pilot twisted in her seat, a cheeky grin plastered on her face only to find an empty room. Peter must have slipped out to avoid her gloating and the others must have followed.

Philly huffed, stood, and slipped her zapper into the ankle holster in her left boot, in the right she secured her wallet and other things of value she might need. After a last look at the now bare walls of her enclave the pilot hopped down the steep steps for the rest of the ship.

Peter had holstered his handguns and was pulling on his Ravenger-red overcoat, as she turned the corner. Philly's white long sleeve and her dark blue cover-alls were thick enough for the artificial climate so she shoved her hands in her pockets, falling into step next to the Tearrn as he gave her an eye-roll, punching in the code for the bay doors. Gamora and Rocket seemed to have just finished a verbal squabble and Groot and Drax had probably taken sides.

The cargo ramp had already been lowered and an attendant was already waiting for them. He was a member one of the many feline races but more on the humanoid side. Human ears but a fanged smile that might have been pleasant had it not been for the greedy look in his eyes.

This place was the kind that didn't ask a lot of questions so the pilot's signature wasn't required. While Peter was taking care of payment (and trying to talk price down further) Philly made certain the Milano's doors were sealed and security systems were on before they left.

Call her crazy but she felt more comfortable leaving the ship here then when they were on Xander.

Funny how she worked, hmm?

…

…

…

The spaces in between rows of buildings (you could hardly call them streets) were over crowded and not in the least kept up. Sewer and garbage were littered in these spaces, forcing pedestrians to side step and shove each other to do so. The buildings themselves outpoured everything from the tiny bug-like Holvs to giant lizard Groms. Females in skimpy clothes beckoning weary vagabonds, bouncers shoving them out the door after too much alcohol consumption.

The air was, as predicted, crummy and cold to boot. In spaceports, starships, and other places like this where the climate was controlled. Temperature was kept a little colder then comfortable to save energy, but frequent spacers were well accustomed to it.

"So what's the back-story on this place?" Philly asked. "How'd it go from being a severed head to…a small city?"

Gamora, leading the way to her rendezvous point, didn't bother to turn her head as she replied, "Hundreds of years ago the Tavan group sent workers in to mine the organic matter within the skull. Bone, brain tissue, spinal fluid, all rare recourses. Highly valued on in black-markets across the galaxy. It's dangerous and illegal work, suitable only for outlaws."

"I come form a planet of outlaws," Peter shrugged, taking in the colorful, explicit avenue teeming with seedy characters. The merry band of misfits fit right in.

"Billy the kid, an Bonnie and Clyde, an John Stamos." The Terran rattled off.

"Sounds like a place which I would like to visit." Drax mused, approvingly.

"You should."

The blue-haired Zeldonian gave a skeptical snort knowing full well Peter hadn't been to Terra since they'd met, at least. All the Terran things on the Milano had been bought or traded for, either way costing an arm and a leg.

A half dozen or so smiling faces mingled throughout the crowd, flocking about anyone who gave them a second glance. To those who didn't Philly suspected those unlucky grouches found their money pouches that much lighter.

"Watch you're wallets." Peter advised, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

Philly rolled her eyes at her partner who was trying to shoo the younglings away. She happened to turn just in time to see Groot who, with a soft smile, plucked a delicate blue flower from his palm and offered it to a girl in a ragged dress. The girl gave the tree man a shy, almost guilty smile in return.

…

…

Rocket's nose creased when Gamora paused across the street from a neon lit bar, "Your buyer's in there?"

"We are to wait here for his representative." She replied evenly.

Philly and Peter exchanged an exasperated, knowing look.

"You see, guy's," Peter started nodding at Drax and Gamora, "where you two have a specialty of mass murder…" Then at Groot and Rocket, "Or you two go and hunt bounties, or whatever… After years of practice we have perfected the art of the item exchange." He finished proudly, looping his arm through Philly's.

"Trading trinkets for units," Rocket scoffed, "Big whoop. It takes real skill to bag a payday when you're a BH."

Philly's mouth puckered in annoyance, "Sounds like a lot more work chasing down your targets."

"Wasn't a lot of work to find you two."

"This is no respectable establishment." Drax frowned at the rendezvous place, "what do you expect us to do while we wait?"

"You'd be surprised of the…verity of entertainment places like this can have." Philly gave a short laugh and strolled straight pasted the bouncer into the sleazy club arm and arm with Peter.

A short entryway sounded with loud, drunken cheering and outdated songs with no lyrics and deep bass. The air was thick with smoke and reeked of cheap booze and perspiring bodies. Long tubes of light in varying colors ran around the ceilings giving off just enough glow to see by without being a terrible strain on one's eyes.

A popular place this seemed to be as patrons pushed and shoved to get a view of something in the center of the room. Whatever it was held most of the attention. Anyone else was at the bar or involved in some cluster of beings set up at different tables or on the floor.

Just about everyone was either highly intoxicated, a hooker, or looking to gamble till the Nerfs came home.

A swindler's paradise.

And indeed the crew of the Milano could, with their sharp eyes and experience, pick out the patrons dancing a little too close, moving a tad too swiftly through the crowd, or being far too sober for a joint like this.

It was all in the little things.

If the circumstances had been different the two would have been flexing their sticky fingers and silver tongues. Someone would lose a wallet here. Someone might sign away his ship there.

"Stay close." Gamora warned her fellow off-worlders, "The reprehensive might be here at any moment."

Peter licked his dry lips, stretched them into a wicked grin, "Forget that! Every man for himself." The Tearrn proclaimed starting toward the bar and the Ra'Jac woman cleaning glasses behind the counter.

…

…

…

Out of habit and boredom, Philly stalked along the perimeter of the plastered, lusty mass. From the glimpses she caught in-between bodies elbowing each other for the best view the Zeldonian noted with disgust it was some kind of Beast Brawl stadium.

A barbaric concept, Beast Brawl was highly popular among underworld districts and back world planets or as a guilty pleasure of the rich and famous. It involved pitting two or more creatures against each other in a kill or be killed bloody slaughter. Best case was something akin this, rodent like vermin they'd probably found scrounging in the garbage. Probably going to die soon anyway, just animals with no free will and little consequence. Right?

Worst case were those sickos who worked the slave market, obtaining the most crowd pleasing specimens to put on display and forcing them to fight till one or more, sometimes all, stopped breathing. The administrators of these pow-wows set up ways for clients to watch on secure channels from the safety of wherever they were. For a small fortune, of coarse.

Either way betting was inevitable. And in most cases so were fixes.

Philly snorted at the display and focused on the other activities going on. Speaking of disgusting displays, in another little nook a lap dance was in full swing, the pilot breezed past with an eye-roll just as she would do on the ship when she had bad timing combined with Peter's overnight guests. A few lively dice games were set up in several of the many alcoves.

The next corner had a dimly lit table and five burly figures huddled around it. They tossed around poker chips, drank alcohol, and laughed with the females who were hanging off elbows or perched on laps.

The blue-haired woman's lips quirked into a smile.

Hmmm…

…

…

…

She'd lost the first round. Did okay the second. Won the third and now Philly was bluffing through her teeth with a smug grin and high bets trying to buy the pot. At the moment all but one had backed out, leaving her and a yellow, hair-less Ummba.

Fold, she thought.

"I dare you." She said.

"Call."

Kreff,

She tossed the mismatched suits and symbols on the grimy table, watching the victor sweep up his winnings (and the last of her pocket change). Didn't matter though, it was only a matter of time till she'd be rich. Like, absurdly rich.

As she was glaring at the pile of units wondering if these fine gentlemen would trust her enough to let her play on credit when the crowds cheering morphed into a more savage anticipation. They'd all heard it before. It was the kind of encouragement given to drunken idiots who'd decided to duel over anything from a woman to a peanut. As the rest of the table craned their necks to see who was fighting whom Philly grabbed a handful of units from the pot (strictly out of habit, possibly spite) and made a hasty retreat.

The crowd seemed far too wild and frenzied to have any hope of seeing the action, but the pilot attempted to push her way through anyway.

"Whoa, hey!" Came Peter's unmistakable voice. "What're you doing?!"

Philly finely reached the edge of the mass of beings to find Gamora holding Drax back. Groot rolling to his feet and Peter standing between them and a blaster-wielding Rocket.

"This vermin speaks of affairs her knows nothing about!" Drax bellowed, pulling against the green-skinned woman's grip.

"That is true." Rocket's teeth were bared as he nodded sharply. Philly snuck in the middle of the destroyer and treeman so they wouldn't go at it again. Not that a 5ft Zeldonian could do much difference.

"He has no respect!"

"That is also true!

"Hold on." Peter tried to sooth.

It didn't work, "Keep calling me 'vermin' tough guy. You just wanna laugh at me like everyone else!"

The Terran didn't budge, "Rocket, you're drunk. No one's laughing at you."

"He thinks I'm some stupid thing, he dose!" Rocket talked with his hands as he went on, "Well I didn't ask to get made! I didn't ask to get torn apart and put back together over and over an' turned into some…little monster." He spat in a drunken slur.

"Rocket, no one's calling you a monster."

"He called me vermin," the bounty hunter pointed an accusing finger at Drax then Gamora, "And she called me rodent! Well let's see if you can laugh with five or six shot through your friggin' face!"

"No! Four billion units, Rocket, come on, man!" Peter yelled, throwing his hands up in defense, "Suck it up for one more lousy night and you're rich."

A beat of stillness.

"Fine" he said, powering down the blaster, "But I can't promise when all a this is over I'm not gonna kill every last one of you jerks."

Peter frustratingly tugged his fingers through his hair, "See, that is exactly why none of you have any friends! Five seconds after you meet someone you're already trying to kill 'um."

Drax gave a weary sigh, "We have traveled halfway across the quadrant and Ronan is no closer to being dead." He ripped his shoulder out of Gamora's hold and stomped out, the crowd parting hastily.

"Let him go." Gamora said to no one, "We don't need him."

"Petey," The pilot grabbed his collar, pulling the Terran down to her level, "We should probably split right about now."

"Why?"

"Because some idiot just announced to the underworld bar full of criminals the very large amount of units we're about to come into."

"...Oops."