Memories: Part three; little lies.

Take my hand Peter!

Quill gritted his teeth and shook his head to banish the memory as he heard Gamora stumble behind him.

"Rocket-man, anytime you want to shoot the fuck out of that Quarnex memory core, that'd be just swell." He muttered from floor level, physically able to pull himself up, but unsure if that counted as taking a step or not according to the Collectors rules.

There was a brief chatter of gunfire and a rain of sparks from the top left corner, and then silence.

"A nice Elton John reference Starlord." Said Tivan mrk II after a moment. "Since your last visit I have been more interested in terran culture due to certain… happenings there, and I find him one for your planet's better musicians."

"Course you do. I bet you shop for glasses at the same place." Muttered Quill, accepting Gamora's hand and hauling himself to his feet. "Spare memory cores?"

"No, I was storing my mind as an insurance against my untimely death and I put it in one extremely obvious place where it could get shot at. The idea of redundancies never crossed my mind."

"There's no need to be sarcastic, asshole." Muttered Rocket, re-sheathing his gun over his shoulder with much bad grace.

"Now that's unfair: given I'm a computer emulation of my true self, I currently lack any orifices."

"Well you let me find all your frickin' cores, and I'll make one for you. Sound fair? And then I'm going to take my gun and I'm gonna shove it so far up there you'll taste the Tritium in the sight system!"

"Firstly, eww, and secondly that doesn't even make sense. What are you going to make it out of, cardboard and a tube-sock?" Said Quill, eyeing up the doorway. "I'm gonna use my boots, boost myself out of here. I'll come back for you guys when I've found out how to cut the power to mecha-Tivan here." said Quill, lowering the HUD visor on his helmet and preparing to jump.

"I am Groot!" yelled Groot, urgently.

"Huh? What?" asked Rocket, glancing down from the shattered memory core he'd been glaring at, and spotting the half-bullets on the floor below it.

"Quill! wait!" he yelled as Quill was about to jump. Realizing it was too late, Rocket whipped out the gun and put a stunner into Quills' ankle, snapping the rocker-booster of its rail and sending it flying across the floor as he mildly electrocuted Quill in the process.

"Owww! What the fuck Teddy Ruxpin! He yelled, hopping on one leg. "Dude-"


- the lunch bell rang just as Peter walked out of the vice-principle's office.

They'd called him out of English class again. He'd been playing his Walkman in class. Miss Haywards had tried to be nice about it, but she said that even given his circumstances, there were limits Young Man. She'd never called him Young Man before. She'd put him on a written final warning, but then she'd given him some animal crackers and sent him to lunch.

He'd thrown them in the trash, scandalizing the hall monitor. She'd only given him them 'cause she felt sorry for him. He didn't want people to feel sorry for him. It was stupid.

Nothing was going to happen, after all.

It was a mistake. It had to be. Doctors made mistakes all the time. That's why they had lawyers, Grandpa said.

Cassy saw him in the lunch line and waved, sort of. She was trying not to look sad, and he didn't know how to feel about that: she was sorry for him too, but she knew he didn't want him to be and was at least trying not to be, which he kinda appreciated. She wasn't bad for a girl, cooties aside.

He got into the lunch line behind her. Chicken, tater-tots, peas, biscuits and gravy. Matt Wallace got into line behind him, with Josh and Hank, as always. Hank was the biggest of them, but he always did what Matt said 'cause Matt's dad owned the trailer park Hank and Joe lived at, and he was real stuck-up about that.

"Hey, star-fag. When are you gonna stop getting pulled out of class?"

"Matt. Don't!" said Cassy. "Be nice!"

Matt sneered at Cassy, like he was about to take a shot at her, but he didn't. Her bother was six foot six and on the high-school basketball and baseball teams and dad was a doctor and was on the school-board: if he didn't get beat up by her brother he'd still get detention.

He turned back to Quill.

"My dad says you keep getting off easy for stuff in school 'cause the principle is sad about your mom. My Mom says we've got to be nice to you 'cause it's our duty as Christian charity, but she also says that you're mom's answering for it, she said she's no better than she should be!"

Peter tightened his grip on the tray as the lunch lady ladled out peas.

"Peter, no. don't listen to them they're just white trash. Don't start anything…"

"What's this? Asked Josh. He was always the last to hear rumours in the school, and seemed stunned every time that no one had told him.

Matt turned to him sneering. "Peter's Mon moved out of their house last week. She lives in the hospital now. My cousin Jimmy saw it. He works as a porter there" he said, turning back to Peter and poking him in the back with his tray as the lunch lady poured Peter his gravy.

"They said it's cancer, but I figure it's that AIDs stuff. That why Peter ain't got no dad, 'cause his Mom's a whore-"

Tater-tots and gravy rained as Peter spun and smacked Matt Wallace in the head with his tray. Josh fell back screaming, hot gravy in his eye, and Hank tried to get Peter in a headlock and Cassy and the lunch ladies started screaming as the lunch-hall monitor and Mr Hawking's the janitor ran over, but Peter still managed to get a good dozen hits on Matt before they pulled him off, splitting his top lip in two places.

And that was how Peter Jason Quill first got suspended from elementary school. He never did finish the fourth grade.


Quill stopped hopping on one leg in pain, and grabbed at Gamora for support. Gamora and Drax visibly grimaced at the intensity of the memory, as Quill turned to the corner of the room the Controllers voice came from and shouted. "I was hopping! That doesn't count as a step, I'd been Tased!"

"Woah. You really fucked that kid up." Said Rocket. "See, that's why they won't give as aluminium frickin' lunch trays in prison no more, eh Groot?"

"I am Groot!"

"I don't care if you don't eat, I do, so you be sure to grab a tray for me and I get you sunlight, that's the deal."

Quill gritted his teeth and turned on Rocket, pistol raised.

"No Quill!" yelled Gamora. Quill swore and lowed his pistol.

"Thirty years on and I'm still getting shit from little assholes and I'm not allowed to retaliate? Godsdammit Rocket, what the hell did you shoot me for?"

The racoon glared, and then fired a shot straight up in the air. There was a dull thunk as it impacted into the ceiling, and without moving or taking his eyes of Quill he reached out and snatched something out of the air with his nimble little paws and tossed it to Quill, practically seething with rage. "I was saving your life, numb-nuts!"

Quill caught the object after it bounced off his chest, and nearly dropped it again. It was still hot from firing and the friction from bouncing of the ceiling, but it was quite clearly half a bullet, neatly sheered in half along its central axis, nose to tail.

Rocket sheathed the gun again. "Groot says he can feel vibrations in the air: Monofilament fullerenes, all over the place. The rooms stuffed with frickin' razor-floss, cheese-wire thinner than the wavelength of visible light, totally invisible. You fire off those boots all that reaches the doorway is sashimi."

Quill stared aghast, before turning to the corner of the room again. "We can't move?" he asked.

"Oh no, you can move. Just only towards the door, one step at a time. I'll move the wires out of your way so long as you play by the rules." Purred Tivan.

"Great, not only are we trapped in here with an insane computer simulation of someone Imelda Marcos would say has a collecting problem, but he's built an insane labyrinth that wants to kill us. Swell. Just swell. Let me guess, I've got thirteen hours to beat it or the goblin king gets Rocket forever? I can probably live with that, you know."

Quill looked to the others, and shrugged. "Okay… I guess were going to have to play by his rules for a while." He said, glaring at the open door. "Rocket, thanks for stopping me looking like I've been through a lawn-mower, you got any ideas on how to deal with this?"

"Me? Hell, I'm just pissed off that this is the second time I find my life endangered in this guy's place while I'm still half-drunk. I got didily-squat."

"Gamora?"

She shook her head. "No idea. I think we're going to have to play by his rules. Unless anyone has any ideas?"

"I am Groot."

Rocket snorted. "Yeah, and then what? You throw yourself out there, tumbleweed towards the door, get shredded and maybe a bit of you makes it out of the room, will grow back and let us out, but that's a big maybe that you'll grow back, and given how long it took last time we'll have all died of thirst or been boxed up and shipped out by Tivan by then. No way."

Drax sheathed both his knives, and rolled his shoulders aggressively.

"This talking is wasting valuable time. A simple and clear path of action is before us. One of us simply needs to walk forwards and find a way to let the others out. That is all. It is simple." He said.

"Tivan! I have sought vengeance for many years, and although my story is long and sad, I am ashamed of none of it! Do you really think that your memory cell can hold me? Foolishness!" he said, stepping forwards. "I am Drax the destroyer and-"


The lab burned.

The necroships outside had started dive-bombing the city. Ronan's attack had started less than an hour ago, and only Drax had suspected it. He sprinted across the street, ignoring the blasts of green necrotic weapons fire as he ducked the stray shots and leapt over the fallen statue of Alcyone, ancient Xandarian goddess of tranquillity, and into the campus's post-grad laboratory. He reached the glass double doors, but they were soundly locked. He ripped of his shirt and wrapped it around his hand for protection, and then punched out one of the glass panes to reach the fire-door release, the scarring on the raised tattoo on his bare chest so new that it still bled.

Quill turned around, confused. "Holy shit, are we in Drax's memory?"

"It would appear so." Said Drax, staring confused at his younger self. "I… I appear to be about to confront Isha for the first time."

"Yeah well, I reckoned you'd have to have a pretty good reason for running towards the burning building with a necroship docked to the side." Muttered Rocket, pausing only to spit on the fallen statue. "Only the one tat? So pretty early in your rampage of revenge?"

Drax frowned, as the younger Drax ripped the door nearly off its hinges in his haste to get in.

"Huh?" asked Quill. "Wait, what?"

Drax grunted. "Rocket and I spoke about the significance of my tattoos. Once."

"Huh? When?" asked Quill.

"Oh, about thirty seconds before we stated that bar fight that first time on Knowhere. And yet I'm still Frickin' here dealing with this guy's issues somehow."

"Furred One! If you had spoken with more respect then-"

"Hey! We are trapped inside Drax's mind, inside a room full of murder and I was up all night trying to babysit the two of you after your last drunken rampage so knock it off or I swear I'll inflict my cooking on the both of you for a month!" said Quill, pointing at Rocket. "And you do not get to call anyone out over their issues after this morning."

"Yeah whatever momma's boy." Said Rocket. Younger Drax ran into the building, and without any of the Guardians moving their feet, they were all pulled along after him, their viewpoint seeming to remain fixed relative to him as the rest of the world moved around him. Rocket suddenly looked pretty queasy, and Gamora went a little greener than usual as the motion-sickness kicked in.

Younger Drax sprinted up the stairs. The crew followed at their fixed distance. About half-way up he encountered another man, running down. He was wearing a campus police uniform.

The man froze when he saw Drax. "Sir, you have to leave this building. It's not safe!" the man said, rising a hand and advancing slowly.

Young Drax ignored him and tried to shove past. The man grabbed him. "This building is on fire! I've seen Kree troops and Sakaarans! You need to flee!"

"Do not stand between me and my vengeance!" yelled Drax, grabbing the man and shoving him roughly to one side. The man stumbled, but then reached out and grabbed Drax from behind by one shoulder as he fumbled for the stunner at his belt.

Drax turned and grabbed the man's hand, forcing the stunner down and sending a shot firing into the floor. The officer retaliated with a quick blow to the face that knocked Drax back and raised the stunner in one hand and raised the other to the communicator mounted on his right shoulder. He was about to shout something into it, when Drax sidestepped the second stunner shot and grabbed the communicator, smacking the man hard in the temple with it. The man staggered briefly, and then went down the stairs, hard. Quill and Gamora winced as he tumbled and spun bonelessly on the stairs and Rocket actually ducked as the man spun past at, for Rocket, head height. The Guardians turned to watch as he rolled past, neck very clearly broken after the first flight.

"Holy shit!" muttered Quill.

Drax, paused, awkwardly. "I.. I was enraged, I should not have stood between me and Ronan…"

The shattered communicator in the other Drax's hand squawked, and cracked. "Vilks, we've found your daughter, she was on the other side of campus: She skipped class. Villks, come in. We have her, quit looking for her in that burning building and get out of there, we need you in the main Quad. Villks, come in over! She's safe and waiting for you. Vilks, come in!"

The other Drax glanced down horrified, before throwing the com unit away like it was a spider. He backed up against the stairs for a second, stating down at Vilks's shattered body, before the sound of necro-blasts sounded form the floor above. Him. He looked from the body, to the stairway, and then back again. Then he shuddered, and ran up the steps. He'd made his choice. Vengeance came first.

Older Drax frowned, and held out a hand to his younger self "I-"


The room snapped back, and the memory died abruptly.

Drax glared at his outstretched palm, and lowered it.

"Oh. How unfortunate." Said Tivan mrkII. "Let's hope his daughter doesn't grow up harbouring thoughts of revenge. It's always so unseemly when people do that."

Drax frowned. "His death was regrettable, but unintended. He stood between me and my vengeance. I just wanted him out of my way."

"Yeah, well a broken neck usually does that." Muttered Rocket, glancing sideways and Drax, and past to Gamora. "So you killed someone you probably shouldn't have? Join the frickin' club. We'll print t-shirts."

"I'm with murder guy?" suggested Quill, trying to desperately forget the noise as the guy had rolled down the stairs and through his memory position.

"Rocket! Quill!" said Gamora. "He clearly regrets it, don't mock him!"

"Mock? For once I'm deadly serious. His name's the destroyer, I for one never expected his life-story to be collateral free. Keep going Drax. We ain't judging. Just… just get yourself out of here." said Rocket, stilling back on his haunches and staring intently at the door.

"So he can let you out without you having to revel anything?" asked Gamora, glaring.

Rocket shrugged. "Hopefully. I note you haven't stepped forwards at all." said the racoon.

Quill sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys were two minutes into this and we're at each other's throats. This is exactly what Tivan-bot said he wanted, remember? I think… I think we should all go forwards, and when and if someone cant any more, we're all there to support them, right?" he said, glancing around. "Just, just be there to provide positive energy for the others, okay? Think cheerleader thoughts, okay? That's not quite an oxymoron."

"I for one did not need the mental image of Rocket or Groot in one of your terran cheerleading costumes." Said Drax. There was a pause. "A joke to try and defuse the situation. I am learning." Drax glared at the path to the door. Nineteen paces to go. "Friends, I think that I can make it. Should I go on?"

Quill hesitated, and scratched his head with the butt of his pistol. He sure as hell didn't want any more of his past that he needed to laud bare for everyone to see, but he felt it was unfair as captain to ask someone else to do it. "I think we should all try, but if you feel that you can press ahead, then you go for it big guy."

"Don't over stretch yourself." Warned Gamora. "we don't know how deep Tivan's access to our mind can go."

Rocket nodded. "The memories will get Frickin' worse as you go on." He added.

"How do you know this? No one said this." Said Drax. Rocket and Gamora both shrugged. "It's what I'd do if I was running it." Said Rocket after a moment.

Drax glared intently for a moment, and then nodded. "Understood."

He stepped forwards.


-whir whir whir whir- even with the ceiling fan, it was appallingly hot and humid. Sweat ran down Drax's chest, and stung the new tattoo with its salt. As one the rest of the Guardians clutched the same spot on their chests and winced.

"Wait we can feel each other's physical pain from the memories? That's not fair!" yelled Quill.

"Oh gods…" muttered Gamora turning pale, and looked over to Rocket. Rocket looked back from her and then to Quill. He nodded. "Quill, if this thing shares physical pain then I strongly suggest that neither me or Gamora move."

"Why? Is it for the reason I think? Please say it's not for the reason I think." He said.

"It's for the reason you think Peter." Said Gamora quietly, subconsciously rubbing at one of the main lateral implants on her arm as they watched the younger Drax, shirtless and more tattooed than before walk up to the man behind the desk and glare, arms crossed across his raw, scarred chest. The noise of tropical birds and insects and saurus rung thought the stale air, and although the room mostly smelt of old cigar smoke and sweat, there was enough of a hint of fresh paint to tell you that they redecorated at least once a month, but the paint was already pealing and the plaster rotting of the walls in the tropical air.

The Bolovite behind the desk leaned back, cigar in mouth and watched Drax with heavily lidded eyes as he fanned himself with his hat. Two male badoon with power armour and some very serious guns were flanking the doors, and something that looked like a cross between a kangaroo and a miniature t-rex with violently coloured macaw feathers and purple fur was sprawled on the sofa by the veranda doors, cleaning its nails with a machete that look like it had been napped form a single block of black glass, as it clicked the foot-long claws on its hind feet on the floor in tune with the music on the battered com-set.

After a moment of watching Drax impassively, the Bolovite reached down and pulled a stack of filmy out from a safe under the desk and dropped it on the desk. Drax moved forwards to take it, and the man put one hand on top to stop him. The other Drax seemed too focused on the filmy to notice, but Quill and the other noticed the Badoon shift their aim slightly towards him, and they all heard the tapping stop and felt the sudden focus from the sofa behind them when Drax moved forwards.

The Bolovite smiled flatly.

"Firstly, Señor, I would like to know how you came to our… modest establishment. Not that you are anything but welcome, of course… but we don't advertise on the outer net, we're not in any coms-directory, and we have… mechanisms to prevent people who have benefited from our services speaking out of turn."

The creature on the sofa gave a faint amused snort at that. Quill noticed it was wearing a necklace made of what looked a lot like the pellets that owls regurgitated with the hair and other indigestible parts of their prey in them, but a little bigger, Five of them. There was what looked like a pace-maker in one of them, next to a single red feather at the centre of the necklace. He squinted at the others. "Is that a zipper?"

Rocket glanced over. "Don't glare and the thylacineowray Quill. Makes 'em shy. Besides, that's a gastric staple. That's a zipper, there. Next to the feather."

"Freaky…. What happens if I touch someone else's memories?"

Gamora shushed him.

Other Drax shifted. "After I tried to pursue Isha of world, I lost her. I cannot find Ronan or his minions. For many months I was alone, until I stumbled upon a Kree fanatic supporter on Parallax Station. When I broke down the doors to his chambers he initially assumed I worked for something called the 'Viderdoom bounty brokerage house.' I was not, but he died in the fight before I could gain any information on either Isha or Ronan the accuser. I reasoned that if he feared this Viderdoom, then I should seek it out."

The man behind the desk smiled. "Ah, wisdom. How can Viderdoom help you, mister Drax?"

Rocket spluttered with disbelief. "Viderdoom? Holy fuck Drax, you were working for Count Bligh?"

Drax shrugged. "I do not believe so: I never heard that name before I heard it from you. But I needed my revenge: I was a white collar family man before. I had no government or underworld contacts with which to trace Ronan or his supporters. I befriended Kree hard-nats on social media posing as a fellow supporter, and then beat them for information. Few had any, so when I stumbled upon a bounty-hunter agency, I of course used it."

The other Drax frowned at the Bolovite. "I do not believe I gave you my name… and if you have the data I want on those films, then I see no need to answer your question."

"Frickin fortress Viderdoom!" swore Rocket, scanning the room. "Okay, date on the wall poster, a little over three years ago. Hell, me and Groot still worked for Bligh at this point. The joker behind the desk must be one of his sub-lieutenants… the badoon are dime a dozen, but the gal on the sofa is a heaver calibre of muscle." Rocket glanced up. "Huh, cleaning's not one big spider, so we're not on 'Strine. You're a long way from home girl." He said to the feathered bodyguard. "And Thylacineowray don't travel well, or cheaply. Someone here is worth protecting."

"That's a girl? Or right, the poach." Said Quill.

Rocket shrugged. "That and the lack of a giant marsupial scrotum, yeah. The males have red feathers, not turquoise, and they're smaller and weaker."

"Shush!"

The man behind the desk grinned, revealing a set of teeth so perfectly white and even they had to be holographic, and lent back in his chair swivelling it gently from side to side.

"Oh, si Señor, we know who you are and what you want: the names of dozens of Ronan's supporters and intelligence sources across the Nova Empire and neutral worlds, and the co-ordinates of his men left at remote space-stations. His inner circle: former Kree special forces, loyal to him, guarding fuel dumps and maintenance depots so he can keep the dark aster operational without the support of the Kree military. We know exactly what you want. We also know you can't afford to pay or usual fee so…" the man put up both hands in a gesture on helpless innocence. "You can see why we might have a problem."

Other Drax didn't even blink. "And yet you have got the files out."

"Si, just so. You are not the only one with a wish for revenge against Ronan, just one of the poorest. Many have put large bounties on his head with our agency, but, alas, we are unwilling to start a war with an ideologically motivated fanatic; it's not profitable for us to try to bring in or assassinate anyone with that amount of firepower, no matter the reward. Should we fail, and it be traced back to fortress Viderdoom , it would surely bring him down upon us."

"And?" asked other Drax, clearly impatient with these games. The Bolovite smiled.

"well, it a third party, a complete unknown with no links to the underworld, were to cause such a problem for him that he came after them, and then killed him, good, and if the third party failed and died, no blame would fall upon us, but if hid did win, we might still be able to later claim the bounty if we had a plausible claim he worked for us."

"Someone like me?" asked other Drax. The man smiled again, sticking a cigar right thought the illusion of his teeth and clamping down with the necrotic gums beneath.

He nodded. "Just so."

"And yet you do not hand over the files."

"Ah, Señor, you listen but you do not hear. We would need a believable claim that you had at some point worked for us, or how could we claim the bounties after Ronan's death?" he said, producing a second filmy and sliding it across the table.

"Just a little job for us, to make it believable, no? A routine enforcement. An individual behind on his payments to us."

"A protection racket?"

The Bolovite grinned past his cigar, removing it with overt care.

"Si, but you will not, I think, mind. A Kree hard-nat, one of Ronan's inner circle at one point, now no longer. He needs teaching some respect, and I think if the lesson comes from you, it will aid you on your quest for Ronan, no? But do not harm him overmuch, he is valuable to us."

Drax growled. "How could such a man be of any value to you? And how is such a person in need of your protection? Are you in league with Ronan?"

The grin got wider. "Only when it's profitable Señor, and fanatics so seldom are. The people we protect him from are the same people you seek. The same people on this list. Who do you think wrote it, Señor? Ronan would be most… upset to find a former supporter would write such a list. It is in his interest that no-one finds of its existence. Remind him of this, after you have attended to the more… physical reminders."

"Drax." Said Rocket quietly. "I know how Bligh operates, how all these wiseguys operate. They never let you go after the first job. He'd keep you working for half a lifetime before he gave you that list… but I worked for them at the same time, and I never heard of ya at this point. There's only one way to get let go of this quickly…" he said, narrowing his eyes and glancing at the filmy detailing the name and address of the guy younger Drax was supposed to beat up and noting the holo.

"And that's to fuck up badly enough to be a liability, but not badly enough to be worth killing." He said.

Their Drax flinched, and then nodded sadly. "Yes…. Just so."


The memory flickered, and everyone flinched at the pain and taste of blood as the first slammed into younger Drax's face.

He spilt backwards over low tables laid with heavy, ornate cloth, sending crockery and plates of Ninda. gur. ra, endotuber Beruwa and hot Happena flying. A dish full of coals rocked, but did not fall as the Kree ran forward, trying to press his attack. The room was dark, and low ceilinged, the air close and smelt of spices and grilling meat. The Kree was armed with a broken sherd of dirty cutlery and nothing more: it looked like Drax had jumped him just as he was shutting up his restaurant for the night. It was the same guy shown in the holo on the last memory.

Hands burning on the dish, Drax roared and flung it narrowly missing but filling the room with a stinging haze of ash. Quill swore and grasped his own hand: that would leave blisters for sure.

Or would it? He checked. There was pain, but no sign of physical damage. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Didn't burns only stop hurting when the nerve cells were killed by the heat? Would he feel it as long as Drax did the first time? How exactly did any of this work?

Drax and the Kree grappled briefly over a table, before the Kree bloke Drax's hold and slammed both fists into his elbows, knocking Drax's hands away from him, and stabbing at his throat with a quick jab of the coarse, black ceramic. Drax ducked back and kicked the man square in the chest, hard, sending him rocking back into a rack of amphorae. There was a dull slush and clonk and the man leapt forward again, slashing when the second kick caught him and knocked him back thought the rack leaving a Kree-shaped hole. Drax leapt though the waterfall of pottery and sticky, treacly Kree wine and liquid-bread, and promptly tripped over as the Kree kicked a low table into his legs from his position on the floor.

As both men rolled on the floor scrabbling for weapons Quill glanced up a their Drax. The warriors face had gone curiously pale as he watched, and Quill noticed that he didn't flinch when the guy hit him, but he did filch when he hit the guy.

The Kree managed to grab a cushion and block Drax's attempt to stab him metal kabab skewer, and then trusted the cushion around Drax's hands tangling it. He then rolled to the left, grabbed the tassel of one of the rugs on the hard-packed clay floor, and then rolled right, over Drax and leaving him wrapped in the carpet. The Kree screamed, hit Drax with a table and ran off as he struggled to free himself.

While memory Drax was doing his Cleopatra impression, actual Drax swallowed nervously "I spoke in haste. There are memories I am not proud of. I… please don't judge me too harshly for what is about to follow."

Memory Drax ripped of the carpet in disgust, and sprinted after the Kree thought the doors into the kitchen. As he kicked the swing door open, it kicked back and swing into his face. The Kree screamed furiously as Drax slumped to his knees, griping the door with both hands as he slammed it on Drax's head. It should have been a knock-out, but the other door swung away at the wrong moment, and rather than being trapped between the two doors Drax was just struck by the one. He pulled himself up, blood pouring from a cut just above his eye, and Quill and the others felt the stinging in their own as Drax grabbed the work-surface on the kitchen and pulled himself up and grabbed the first thing that came to hand: an ornate slightly curved divining knife, used at Kree feasts to read the fates of the guests in entrails of heardbeast. The Kree screamed and grabbed the other from the sink filled with dirty washing-up, sending a spatter-pattern of soap suds flying as the rounded on Drax. , and then the fighting really began. Like most of the knife-fight Quill had seen, it was insanely fast, and over very quickly with the victory going to the one who fought dirtiest. The Kree came in fast and had, blocking Drax's thrusts with the blade or with a dish-cloth wrapped around one arm to shield it from Drax's cuts and try and snag his blade, and pressed the attack well until his foot slipped on the soap suds he had sprayed across the room when grabbing his knife. Drax instantly grabbed him by the side of the face, and slammed his face down onto a hot skillet, hard.

He held the Kree down for a good four or five seconds as he screamed, which felt like a very long time as an outside observer, and then picked him up and looked him in the eye. One whole side of his face was a scorched purple mess with only one puffy eye looking out, semi-conscious. Drax spat in the eye, and dropped the man in a bowl of mashed Beruwa.

Then it caught him. Drax slumped to the floor, hands trembling with reaction, and sat there shaking for a long time. After a moment he wiped his brow with a dishrag to get the worst of the blood off. Then he picked up the man's dropped knife. It was a perfect match for the one he had grabbed, clearly part of an antique set. He rolled it a few times in his hands, testing the balance.

"A fine blade. I'm keeping it. Consider it part of the payment you owe to Viderdoom. I trust there will be no delays on the rest of the payment?" he said, slipping the two blades into his boots.

The man did not answer. Drax looked up.

He was still slumped in the bowl of food. Drax realised with a jolt he'd been there for at least four minutes.

Cautiously, suspecting some sort of Kree trick, he reached over, and lifted the man by the back of his shirt.

His head rolled and flopped awfully before Drax could get a good look at his face. He was very clearly dead: drowned in two inches of flatbread dip.

Drax stared shocked and surprised for some time,

There was a small noise, and he turned, shocked. He started directly at Quill, and Quill realised he had never seen Drax looked so frightened.

"Shit, can he see us?" Quill asked.

Them Quill heard the noise again and realised Drax was looking though him.

The Guardians all turned as one.

Behind them in the doorway to the restaurant floor was a Kree woman and a small child of indeterminate sex. Quill suddenly realised he had no idea how long they had been there.

Clearly, neither did Drax.

Past Drax stared stupidly, before realising he was still holding the body. He let go of it flinging like it was hot, and it slithered down to the floor messily. He suddenly realised the room stank: blood, burnt flesh, he thought maybe the man had also shat himself as he died.

"This is not what it appears to be…" started past Drax, before clearly realising that this sounded incredibly stupid.

The Kree woman screamed, and tried to cover the child's face with her robe so it couldn't see.

Past Drax moved forward a hand raised instinctively to help, and the Woman saw this and flinched back and fell to her knees screaming. He froze up, clearly trying to think of some words to explain the situation, and then he noticed the child. As the woman had fallen, the robe had slipped from it's eyes, and it stared stupidly at its father's corpse, clearly not understanding.

It looked up and caught Drax's eye.

He fled the scene.

As he made it stumbling out of the back doors and into a stinking back-alley, he heard the woman's wail go up: the high, keening undulation of the Kree last rites.


The memory cut out suddenly, and Drax staggered for a moment, almost echoing the half-stunned shambling run of his younger self. Quill was about to step over and reach out for him before he remembered and checked himself.

"Oh I'm sorry." Said the collector-bot, it's voice echoing hollowly. "I thought there was nothing you were ashamed off?"

"Oh fuck of HAL, okay?" yelled Quill." That was not fair!"

"I'd imagine in most cultures murdering an unconscious man in front of his wife and child is considered quite unfair." Said Tivan mrkII

"It was clearly an accident! He spoke to the man expecting a reply!" Said Gamora.

"And besides… the guy was a supporter of Ronan." said Rocket, still sitting on his haunches and watching.

Quill glared. "The dude was unconscious… not… not that I'm judging big guy."

Rocket shrugged. "The guy was unconscious." He repeated, in a tone that suggested that he didn't personally care if people were conscious or not if they'd made emery of him.

Tivan-bot laughed.

"Ahhh, while you all struggle to help your friend put what he'd done in some sort of context to justify it, it is so refreshing to see someone unburdened by a sense of morality. Could it be that the one of you draped in black and white fur is the only one seeing things in shades of grey?"

Gamora sighed. "Why are the ones that want to hold you hostage always so talkative?"

"I am a good man. Muttered Drax, picking himself up. "A good father, a good husband."

"Not for some time, I think." Said Tivan.

Drax scowled. "Do not mock my pain, Collector. It has been too long since my family were taken from me!"

"Your pain is petty and unoriginal, but that's not my point. My point is, you live your life behind the shield of your revenge. It's your armour. You hide behind the body of your wife and child so you don't have to see the consequences of your actions. You live the unbelievably decadent option of seeing your life in black and white, a good man struggling for vengeance in a bad world, and it's sickening. I have spent longer than you can imagine making the hard calls to save as many sentient creatures as possible from the doom that is coming, from an apocalypse you cannot even begin to fathom, and to do so I have had to make hard decisions , grey decisions where there is no clear cut right and wrong, where you have to measure two consequences that will cause thousands of death whatever you pick, and you blunder thought the middle of it with your clean and simple idea of morality that ignores the consequences of your deeds and it is a lie! It is a lie you tell to a child that cannot understand pragmatism: that the only real morality is the number of lives ruined by each action. I am trying to salvage a no-win situation, and you walk in telling yourself that you are a simple man in a complex world. Very well. Let's see the consequences of a simple sense of right and wrong when faced with a complex world, shall we?"

"No win situations? Oh please god let this be a Kobayashi Maru test, I've had an answer to that one prepared for years." Muttered Quill, trying to take the collectors attention away from Drax, who looked somewhat shaken.

The collector sighed. "Seducing the Klingon captains isn't an answer, even for Kirk, and I doubt all three would be busty females." He muttered. "I was expecting the interior of your mind to be smutty, but really Quill… April O'Neil? You are aware she's a cartoon?"

"Yeah, but even as a kid I figured I'd never have a chance with Jessica Rabbit, can you blame be for settling? What can I say? I'm a sucker for a jumpsuit." He glanced over to Rocket. "Within reason."

"Bite me hummie."

"Hmm, Starloard your ideas on morality are almost as childishly simple as Drax's: you accept the idea of moral ambiguity, you just don't like it. Gamora works with it, Rocket lives in it, Drax denies it, Groot… Groot is Groot. Frankly even I have no idea what's going on in there. In many ways you, Quill, are worse than Drax: you are even now trying to see ways to bring me over to your side. You feel everyone can be saved, and your need to do it is almost pathological no matter how hard you try to hide it because of no reason more developed than the fact you're embarrassed by Boy Scout displays on optimism. You don't believe in true evil, do you?"

"No." answered Quill, without hesitation. "I always hatted the fact that my dad was never there. And I wanted real hard to hate him for it, but my Mom always said she loved him, and he had his reasons, so I figured early on… even folk you hate have their reasons for hurting you. Usually they don't even know they did it. No one is one-hundred percent dick. You know…. Like, maybe ninety eight-per cent in your case, maybe, but not one-hundred. People fuck up: it doesn't make them inherently bad."

"So are you a good person Peter Quill?"

Quills snorted and turned to Gamora. "Yeah… starting to see what you meant about talkers… and the name is Starlord."

Tivan snorted. "So you and Drax are both good men? Oh please Starlord, keep telling yourselves those little lies…."


Sixteen year old Peter Quill put his Walkman on, and hit the play button.

Awesome mix tape Vol 2; Fleetwood mac Little lies.

Kraglin nudged Quill's shoulder. "You ready for this Peter?"

Peter scowled at the interruption to his music, but gave the thumbs up anyway. Kraglin was his best friend on the crew, but he was still a complete 100% dick at times, especially when trying to get you to follow Yondu's orders, and like Yondu he worried too much. He was ready for this.

The Obfonteri pitched and dived, giving everyone stuck in the memory yet more motion sickness as it swooped towards the roof of the luxury hotel, lit up like a life-day tree from above.

"hold on." Muttered Quill, watching his younger self. "This is going to get interesting."

"Interesting like how?" asked Rocket a little nervously as Kraglin put her into an even steeper dive, stooping at the glass roof of the hotel.

"Oh god oh god, were going to die?" answered Quill, watching teen-Quill crack open the airlock. He then paled. "Oh No…I … I know what's coming. Guys, this is going to get real rough really quickly. And-"

The Obfonteri hit the base of its dive and pulled up sharply, and Quill jumped.

There was a roller-coaster moment of vertigo, and Groot even seemed to express happiness at the sensation, and then they were in free fall for a perfect weightless second before Teen-Quill fired the rocket-boosters on his boots, and they slowed in a spine-crunching deceleration, the fifty other Ravenger ships pulling up at the exact same moment and the other falling figures also firing their jets to break. There was a loud whistle from behind Quill, and an arrow zoomed past. That was the signal, and all fifty jumpers fired their blasters at once. The arrow hit the glass ceiling of the hotel a fraction of a second before the shots, shattering the armour-crys to cobwebs but not destroying it, and then the shots hit and the glass exploded and rained down, the sounds of the gala inside and the warm air hitting them like a wave.

Teen Quill laughed: his proper first job was going to be awesome!

And then he slipped into someone else slipstream and out of it without realising, and it unbalanced him and he was tumbling.

"Ahhh! Guys, any … a little help here?"

Inside the hotel the great and good of Volfburg VI had just enough time to look up screaming before Yondu Udonta grabbed his arrow and using it to break his fall, landed in the middle of the dance floor inches from a started butler holding a tray.

"For me?" he said, helping himself to a cocktail. "Why, thank you kindly." Said Yondu, as the rest of the Ravenger landing around him, guns raised. "okay gentlefolks, this ids an old-fashioned stick up, so if you'd all just comply then this will go a lot quicker." Said Yondu, stalking across the ballroom floor. "My ships have surrounded the building, and let me assure you, I am in complete control of the situation and-"

There was a wildly Doppler-ing scream, and Teen Quill landed on a table, smashing it utterly and sending a solid platinum punch-bowl flying across the room, narrowly missing Yondu's head.

"-and as you can clearly see, we are utterly fearless, and well inured to pain." He said, while every single member of the guardian winced as teen Quill rolled around whimpering and trying not to cry as he cluttered at his crotch. "So everyone just line up and hand over your credit-lips to Trelzar here, and we'll just be on our way."

"Ahh! My nads! I think I landed on a pineapple! I am never using these stupid rocket-boots again!"

Yondu sighed, and signaled to about three-quarters of his troops. "Okay boys, move out, we need to find that magister… and for fate's sake's keep up boy!" he yelled to Quill as they marched out.

Wade watt's stopped and snorted at the sight. "Hey look boys, dinner is served on that table!"

Teen Quill rolled of the table, still in real pain but still unwilling to let that lie. "Oh yeah, never heard the we were going to eat you jokes before Wade!"

Wade snorted, and jogged past after his brothers. "Whatever, dweeb."

"Still glad you killed him?" asked Rocket watching Wade march out with a fain sneer on his whiskered lips.

"Every second of every day." muttered Quill. "Especially given what's going to come next…" He said, as teen Quill got up and, looking somewhat embarrassed, staggered after them. As he became aware of everyone looking Teen Quill, tried to nonchalantly stride out of the room, walking like a drunk John Wayne as he desperately tried to re-jiggle his landing gear into something resembling a comfortable position. He reached for a cocktail off a waiter, and managed to sip about a third before he choked on the strong liquor and gave up trying to look cool and ran after the others.

The viewpoint moved to follow Teen Quill as they went through a maze or almost identical hotel corridors, teen Quill kicking open room after room, and if he found anyone vaguely waving a blaster at them and directing them back to the ballroom.

After about ten minutes you could see teen Quill starting to stress out. "Where the fuck is that magister?" he muttered, rounding the corner.

He almost walked into Black Belamy in the corridor, lining people up against the wall of the corridor, and checking their credit-slips.

Belamy glared, briefly, and then nodded. "Pineapple. Lost are you Boy?"

Teen quill glared. "Dude, only Yondu called me boy. You see where this magister is, we need his access codes if we want to make it out of here before Nova shows up!"

"Her."

"Huh?"

Belamy grinned. "Turns out the magister is female. Her codes. Don't worry." he said casually rooting though the wallets of the cowering people before him, "We found her. I'll get Yondu those codes."

Teen Quill frowned. "Yondu said to bring the magister to him..."

"This is faster. Take a hike boy: go find some lunch-money to rob."

There was the sound of Wade's voice raised from side the hotel room next to them, and then a whimper.

Teen Quill looked from the doorway next to him, to the people, lined up, hands on their head, to Belamy.

"…what are you doing Bel?"

Belamy scowled at the short use of his name.

"None of your beeswax boy, get gone. Yondu doesn't care, so long as we get those codes so get gone and keep quiet."

There was a raised voice from inside the hotel room, and the unmistakable sound of some striking someone else hard, followed by a female yelp of pain.

Teen Quill froze up. "No… this is wrong."

Black Belamy gave quill a slow look, and without taking his eyes of him walked to the farthest person he's lined up against that wall, and shot them thought the head.

"Wrong?" he whispered, moving to the next one. "We're the Ravengers! We're gods-dammed pirates. You were cargo, a bounty we brought back, and only Yondu stopped folk eating you, and you want to talk about wrong? You think you can be a pirate, can rob a steal without hurting folk?" He asked, shooting the next one in the line. The others wailed, but were too frightened to run.

Belamy snorted.

"They're sheep, and we're wolves, plain as. Why do you think they make this coats red? Here's a hint boy, it's to hide the blood. You're dead weigh boy, a tourist playing at following us around, so you don't get to tell me if this is wrong or not, because this is what pays to feed you, clothe you, and pay for your oxygen, and you don't like it, you do something about it." said Belamy, nodding to the blaster in Quill's hand. "You want to play this different, you draw on me, you win you earn that right, otherwise, take your opinions on right and wrong, and fuck off!"

Quill fucked off. As he turned to go, he heard Belamy say. "One word of this boy… one word to Yondu or the others…" he said, looking Quill in the eye and shooting the last guy in the line.


Quill reeled back as the memory faded, pale.

"So, who exactly did you save there Starlord?" asked Tivan-bot. "Is walking away from evil and pretending it didn't happen the act of a good man? Oh, I'm sorry I forgot for a moment, you don't believe in real evil do you?"

"Fuck you robo-tard." snarled Rocket. "You say you measure no-win scenarios and make the tough calls, so what would have happened there if he'd tied to fight? Eh? A teenager against two grown armed bandits? How would Quill getting himself gunned down in a 'friendly fire' incident have saved those people? They'd have ended up just as dead and him too!"

"Strong words from someone whose legs are starting to cramp. You've not moved your feet a millimetre since I threatened to show your past if I did. And I'm not saying that discretion wasn't the better part of valour in that instance, only that having walked away and stayed silent then, he's in no position to judge my moral standards."

"Buddy, there are things growing on damp frickin' bread that are qualified to judge your moral standards. And less of the passive-aggressive bushtit: if I move or not doesn't change Quills actions one bit. "

"I am Groot!"

Rocket turned to grout. "Yeah, it is an ad hominin attack! Groot… Wait, what's an ad hominin attack?"

"He was sixteen." said Gamora. "We all make mistakes when we're young; you can't expect a minor to be fully developed in their sense of morality. He was frightened! And besides, he's made up for it twelve-billion times over since then." She looked to Quill. "Right?"

He stared back. "Sorry, I was just surprised that Groot knew what ad hominin meant."

Drax stood up. "I… must not allow myself to become distracted. I am a good man. I... I am a good man."

He took a step forwards.


The other Drax stepped up to the hover car as it pulled up to the street corner. The window inched oven.

"Well?" asked the Bolovite, still sucking his cigar in the hot tropical air, the Thylacineowray sprawled in the seat next to him looking extremely bored. "Our debtor, he has been taught his lesson, just so?"

Drax hesitated. "Things did not go according to plan…"

The Bolovite stared for a long moment, as the sound of the police sirens grew slowly louder. The window began to electronically wind up, blocking out the man's impassive face, when Drax laid a hand on it and forced the armour-crys back down, the servos' squeaking in protest.

"Wait! The list! I need it!"

"I needed my payments, Señor, now I will have to pressure his widow. Most unfortunate: she does not earn nearly so much. The child may be worth something to the right buyer, but I doubt it will prove enough…"

Drax snarled. "The child is innocent! Leave the widow and child alone."

The Bolovite laughed. "The man was innocent, it didn't stop you."

Drax snarled "Liar! The man was one of Ronan's inner circle, you said as much yourself-"

"-Because, Señor, I knew you would refuse to beat him up if you knew he was a simple restaurateur! The man made fucking kebab for a living, and was behind on his protection payments! What sort of idiot are you, do you think I would send a complete unknown after somebody important when I have people to do that already? He does some mixed martial arts, beat up the usual unskilled thug, you seemed a good replacement but then… aghhh!" the man made a disgusted gesture and signalled his driver with a cigar. "Away with you! Get off my damn planet or I'll tell the police who they need to look for. Drive."

Drax's eyes widened, and then he roared his defiance and drew a knife, leaning in thought the open window. "Liar, you made me kill an innocent you-"

Drax looked down shakily at the car door in his chest, and tried to work out why everything hurt. He picked himself up from the wall he was slumped against. Odd. He had not been near a wall.

The Thylacineowray stood in the wrecked gap where the car door had been, left leg raised and body posed in a picture perfect kickboxing stance it slowly rotated its hips and lowered the limb back to its guard position. The armoured cables that worked the electric window's extra-strong motor, to deal with the weight or re-enforced armour-crys, lay on the ground sparking. Drax and the fifty pound armoured door had been thrown twenty paces, and the titanium door hinges were neatly sheered though.

The Bolovite nodded approvingly from what was left of his car.

"Clever girl… and stupid man. Don't play with your food , I have other work for you this night." He added, as the hover-car pulled away into the sky.

The real Drax paled, and turned to the rest of the Guardians. "I … I had no idea…"

"And yet you killed him based on what little you knew." Added the Collector-bot.

Memory-Drax threw the car door.

He found himself against the wall again, holding two halves of the car door. The Thylacineowray didn't seem to have moved, but was now standing in a perfect kickboxer pose with the right foot raised, having halved the distance between them.

"He stood between you and your revenge, and you cut him down and ripped apart a family. So, so like our dear friend Ronan the accuser…" said Tivan-bot

"Liar!" said Drax. "That man ripped apart dozens of families, and he laughed doing it!"

The memory flickered, cutting to one instant from to another one, Drax on a high cliff top, laughing with insane rage and he ducked attacks from two Kree, clearly farther and grown son, throwing one off the cliff.

"How many of Ronan's followers was it? Thirty eight? And Kree are so famously based around extended kin groups… I wonder how many orphans you have made, destroyer, how many widows, how many new Drax's are rising in your wake, seeking revenge on the tattooed man, the giant, the monster who killed their parent, they brother, their son?" asked Tivan.

Memory-Drax drew both knives. The Thylacineowray sighed, sadly, and drew a long stick with a sword-handle made of shark-skin at one end from behind it's back. The memory cut to Drax driving a ground-car, ramming a van carrying three armed Kree, and one child in the back, clearly hitching a ride to school with a parent. The Drax from that memory staggered out of his car, spat out a gum shield, and grabbed one of the Kree and pulled him thought the wrecked windshield. Filled with rage, he didn't even hear the injured child screaming as he lay the Kree down on the vehicles hood, and began beating them to death.

Real Drax slumped to his knees "I… I am not Ronan."

"Why? You avenge a child a wife not a father and grandfather? You kill with fists and knives and not a hammer? You kill thirty eight, and not thirty eight thousand? No, you're not Ronan: Ronan came so close to getting his revenge, and you have not. Ronan was good at this. You can't even kill the right people half the time."

Memory Drax surged forwards, and the Thylacineowray swing its hips from side to side, using its tail and lower body to add strength that it's weak kangaroo arms could not. The stick blurred and Drax fell, both knives flying away with chips taken out of the blades but the dark lustrous wood looked undamaged, and in an instant his right wrist shattered. The Thylacineowray glanced at his surprise, and spun on a heal, its heavy whipcord tail taking his legs from him. It put the stick to his throat, and grabbed him by the tattooed flesh of his chest with one clawed foot and picked him up like a child and pinned him to the wall.

The creature made a bird-like purring in its chest, and its hot charnel breath washed over him, making every guardian gag. I've failed past Drax thought, the idea so fully formed it hit them all with the same force.

The Thylacineowray cocked its head on one side. "You seek revenge for the death of your mate an' joey?" it asked, it's voice whirring and trilling strangely. When it spoke it was identifiably feminine, but only just

Memory-Drax looked confused, and then nodded.

The creature raised one claw to the grim trophy necklace around its throat, and then nodded back.

"Revenge is not a straight line." It said. "It's jungle: branching and weaving, and even the strongest scents and clearest trails can lead you astray. It's easy to get lost. Best to have a map fella." it said touching the necklace again, before dipping into it's pouch and pulling out the filmy with the details of Ronan's followers and spilling the sheets to the wind along with a handful of red feathers.

The claw went back to the necklace. "Five out of eight. Three to go, and then I go home. Find new mate, make new joeys." It said, touching the feather, and Quill remembered about what Rocket had said, only males had red feathers.

It looked at Drax, not unkindly. "Make a map, or you will become lost, become nothing, become a ghost, a bunyip, a non-thing: a Destroyer. Be polite. Be patient. Have a plan. Feed on your enemies. Taste their fear, and when you are done, go home." It said, putting he stick across its shoulders and walking away, claws kicking on the asphalt.

Memory-Drax slumped, scrambling one-handed for the films, the names, the people that he needed to end.

"I have no home." He said, hollowly.

The Thylacineowray looked at him sadly, and then made a noise that might have been a laugh.

"Then good thing I didn't eat you: carrion always gives me the shits, and if you do this with no home to go back to, then you are surely already dead. Like those spiders only kept walking by the parasite worm in them." It said, as the police sirens closed in, the blue light turning the red feather black.

"Goodbye, Deadfella." It said vaulting over a low building and disappearing into the night.

Drax slumped to the floor. "I… am … I am not Ronan… Not Ronan…" he muttered, and after several minuets of shouting, the team realised they couldn't get him to say anything else: they had left that memory, he was still trapped in it.

The Collector-bot gave a sigh of almost indecent pleasure.

"Ahhhhhh….. One down…"