The Fifth Holiday Special: Clone alone, Deck the halls.

Rocket swore, tried to stand up, fell over, swore again, and grabbed onto the bottle of rum and used it to push himself upright like it was a walking stick. Sweet Groot and Lylla, what the hell did I drink last night? Gasoline? Why does everything hurt? Whose blood is this? I'm going to kill you, Quill: it's your fault for introducing me to the idea of diluting perfectly good rum with milk and eggs!

"I mean, it makes a lousy chaser. Beer's practically a soft drink. A mixer. Why invent something that I doesn't go with beer? Inhuman hummie savages…" muttered Rocket, leaning on the wall and clutching as his stomach, queasily. He groaned, and sniffed at the wall, wricking his nose.

"Dammit Cosmo, is there an alleyway in this damn station you haven't pissed on, you damn commie mutt? You're as bad as… oh." Said Rocket, sniffing a slightly higher patch of the wall and wincing. "Dammit Quill, are you a frickin' tomcat?"

Okay, so Quill stopped in this alley for a piss, and presumably forgot about me. Thought Rocket, snuffling around the alley a few times. Some captain! There's more whiskey in that piss than there is piss, so he must have been as wasted as me. Okay, forensics mode, let's see… Half eaten hotdog… puddle of half digested hotdog… Quill shaped garbage-angel, Santa hat reeking of Quill's hair product, but none of his scent on the trash bag. He fell, threw up, and then staggered off. Oh, and he grabbed dead possum, by the smell of it. Why? If he wanted rancid roadkill he could just finish his hotdog… Thought Rocket, unlacing the fly on his graphene body-glove and over-marking Cosmo. Dammed if the dog's going to claim something over me. "Aww shit, my head! What the fuck did I drink last night? What did I do last night, where am I?" muttered Rocket, palm on head and the other paw… umm.. aiming.

He hated mornings like this. It took a lot of booze to disrupt the the transfer of short term memories to his long term data backup. A lot. Enough to break his chemical warfare mod. "Quill and his stupid Christmas parties. Every time, New Year, new disaster. Now let's see." He mused. "There was some sort of mission I was meant to go on?"

Fuck it, Rocket thought. If it was that important, Quill would have taken me, and not the damn possum. He thought, shaking off and then sneezing, his whole boy shivering like a cat when he did. Whatever it is, It'll make sense when I get back to the warehouse…

*Gilligan cut: high angle, over the shoulder shot of a very small Rocket, bottle in hand, standing in the empty Warehouse and stating at the Milano shaped gap in the floor with, quite clearly, no spaceship in it.*

"Well, fuck."

Rocket considered this some more.

"Double fuck. " he said, throwing the bottle to smash on the empty space-ship less patch of floor. "Triple fuck. And a Merry Shitmass to you too, Quill. You left me behind. You actually forgot me, you dumb fuck! You left me frickin' behind!"

Rocket considered this.

"Fuck this, you're on the naughty list Starlord. I'm shitting in your stocking, Quill, you god dammed hummie bastard you… huh?" muttered Rocket, as the perimeter alarms went off.

Dazed, pissed off and still slightly drunk, Rocket went over to the filthy warehouse window, and peered out. He then rubbed his eyes, and did a double take.

"What the ever-living festive fuck?"


"What the ever-living fuck?" asked Flip, as Fleek shepherded the Clones out of the van. "What the actual fuck!"

"Things may not have gone according to plan." Admitted Fleek, trying to dis-engage one to the two Starlords, who was hugging him.

"What the actual fuck!" said Flip.

"So, turns out that the Golem forge Fleeks buddy has, it can't clone non-mammalian flesh so…" said Flop.

"So Flop got him to upload the Tree's brain into a second Starlord clone." Said Fleek, annoyed.

"I am Groot!" said Quill, hugging furiously.

"Uh, huh? And the other three?" asked Flip, pissed off.

"Well, turns out there was some memory degradation. We got core, formative memories, but only that. They each think they're the real Guardians, and will ignore any evidence to the contrary, but their personalities would have been compressed to their most basic, one dimensional characteristics…"

"I am a daughter of Thanos and I will-"

"Yeah, yeah I know, you said that like four hundred times!" said Fleek. "Which is why she can only speak in vague, cool backstory, the Quill clone won't stop dancing, and the Drax clone… well. Look at it!"

"Oh god, that's an intense stare! Does it work?"

"After a fashion. They are convinced that their mission is to go in, extract the data and transfer it to the, ahem, nova corp." said Fleek, gesturing to his fake uniform. "And they're smart enough for that, at least."

"Okay so… wait, where's the fifth one?" asked Flip.

"I don't want to talk about it." Answered Flop. He was visibly covered in claw marks.

"No, seriously what happened"-

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We lost it." Muttered Fleek.

"You lost it?"

Fleek glared.

"Hey, whatever was in its memories, its new body did not like them. The thing went feral, mid-way thought the memory graft. The damn thing is crazy, ignore it, and pray like hell it doesn't show up because that thing, that things a killer. We made more that one of each Clone, so we could pick the most effective after memory grafting, in case some flipped. Some of them were a bit… rushed. The thing saw about a dozen of its own deformed cousins on the bench next to it, and it killed them all. Damn thing wouldn't stop screaming! I… forget it." Said Fleek, shuddering. "Let's get this done, and then leave here forever, as rich men."

"Amen to that!" said Flip, cocking his gun, and shepherding the clones across the street, and towards the warehouse. This took some time, as it took about half an hour to stop Quill-Groot from hugging them. "Easy as taking candy from a baby." He said, once they were freed up, not noticing the directional mic in the window opposite them as it ducked out of view.


Inside the warehouse, Rocket swore and dropped the mic. "Great, just frickin great! No friends, no help, no law enforcement on this station, all my guns are on the ship… shit … shit… shit… Computer! Activate Little Helper and kill all intruders!"

All that happened was the holo-cine in the corner switched on, and started playing a pre-recorded message. Of Rocket.

"So, yeah, computer… I have dark moments sometimes… dark, dark moments so don't … don't let me do anything, well, stupid with the security protocols. Don't let me order it to kill anyone if I'm drunk, don't let me kill Quill, Groot, Drax, or Gamora, and don't no matter how urgently I say it or mean it, let my kill myself. Little helper does not get used against Guardians, no matter how much I beg. Hardcode that in, rule zero, priority one."

Rocket froze up as he heard that. "Well, shit!"


Clone Quill, Clone Gamora, Clone Drax and Quill-Groot rocked up to the door, literally in Quill's case, as he couldn't stop singing come and get your love under his breath, and this dragged out crossing the street for at least five minutes before Fleek hurried him along. Gyrating slightly to the music, he pressed his thumbprint to the door lock, it unlocked and disarmed the traps with a click, and then pushed the door open-

The door didn't move. He pushed again, confused. The door didn't budge. "What the hell?" muttered Clone Quill.

"I am a daughter of Thanos, and I will have my revenge in this life or the next-"

"I am Groot!"

Flip, Flop, and Fleek pause, watching with horror.

"No." muttered Fleek. "No it' couldn't!"

*Cut to a shot of Rocket, wedging a metal chair up against the door and welding it in place. In-between each weld, he rests the flame up against the manual door handle, just below the thumbprint reader, a pile of rebar next to him.*

Quill shrugged, still dancing, and grabbed onto the door-handle and pulled and

"Ahhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh! Groot, break the door down!" screamed clone-Quill, clutching his burnt hand.

"I am Groot!" yelled the second Quill, ducking its head down, and taking a long run up-

"NO!" yelled Flip, Flop and Fleek, all at once as-

BANG!

Flip, Flop and Fleek winced. Flop threw up and, Flip had to turn away and hide his head in his hands.

"Oh my god, the clone just ran head first into an armoured steal door! Oh my god, it knocked itself out!"

"Actually, it knocked it's eye out." Said Fleek, in tones of dull horror. "But it is also unconscious so…"

"Thanos! Thanos has booby trapped the door! The window quick!" yelled Clone Gamora. Clone Drax was already jumping and-

There was a crash of breaking glass, followed by a scream. Seconds later, Clone Drax scrambled up, a protruding piece of rebar through his shoulder. Someone seemed to have stacked it right under the window, bent into crude, giant caltrops. Quill and Gamora clones tried to climb in, cut themselves on the glass, and fell down onto the street, crying.

*overhead shot of a shadowed Racoon form, scuttling across the rafters of the warehouse, carrying a gas cylinder hanging from one arm.*

Fleek swore. "What the fuck, guys! Stop getting yourselves wounded like this, come one it's not that hard, can you just not, for one fucking moment-"

*falling welding-gas cylinder hits Drax-clone in the head, splashing his skull down into his chest and spraying blood everywhere, gas hissing.*

Fleek stared in horror. "Oh come on!"

A single lit match dropped down off the ceiling and past his view.

Ka-boom!

Fleek, covered head to heel in gore, and with a perfect Xandarian-shaped gore-free patch on the wall behind him, could only stare as Clone Quill and Clone Gamora vaulted the broken window and shambled into the warehouse, only slightly slipping on the still-smoking chunks of Clone-Drax. Quill-Groot staggered back up, ran at the window, and fell over the still into the warehouse.

Fleek turned to his friend, with a look of horror.

"Gloop gun." said Flop, sadly.

Clone-Quill and Clone-Gamora sprinted across the warehouse floor, each of them reaching for weapons that weren't there, and then glancing at each other with confused looks. "I'll take the back stairs, you cover me!" yelled Clone-Quill.

"Thanos!" yelled Clone-Gamora, nodding. Clone Quill looked confused for the second, and then edited that out, his subliminal programing preserving the illusion that they were the real Guardians, and removing any evidence to the contrary. They crossed the line from the public to the private area of the warehouse, and the security system did not activate.

Clone Gamora spotted a glistening patch on the lower runs of the celestial-bone stairwell, glanced sideways to the empty can of engine oil, and, grinning, leapt clean over the lower steps.

The step just above the oil patch collapsed beneath her, dropping her down into the basement with a scream and a tangle of limbs, rolling down the basement steps, which paralleled the upper stairs. She tried to stand up, ankle twisted and rib cracked, and slipped. She looked up. Every rung on this set of stairs was oiled, and covered with nails.

"Stay down, I'll deal with it!" yelled Quill, before dancing in the direction of the elevator. He reached for the elevator button, and then paused. There were clippings of electrical wire on the floor around it. He put his ear close the the button. There was a faint electrical buzzing.

Frowning, Clone-Quill danced across the floor, and found a broom, which due to its bone handle was insulated, and started to pry the elevator doors open. "Hey Gamora, watch out, I think this little bastard might have re-wired the doors.

"To lock them?" asked Gamora, re-tightening her boots over the strain and preparing for a run up: the stairs were greased, but the metal banister on either side were not.

"No, I don't think so, I'm guessing they're wired to the mains…" said Quill, sweating to open the doors.

Clone-Gamora ran, jumped, grabbed both railings with a hand like it was a set of handles on the pommel horse… and got about 20,000 volts of three-phase alternating current for her trouble.

Clone Quill upstairs stumbled as the light went out for a moment, and then back on. As Quill stumbled, he leaned on the broom, and the elevator door slipped open. A paint can on a string flew out at him.

"Ha, nice try moron!" yelled Clone-Quill, glancing up the elevator shaft. The freight elevator was on the upper floor right now, the the dangling cables should be climb-able. Clone-Quill wiped his hands on his pants, took a deep breath and jumped leaping for them.

"No!" yelled Flip, Flop and Fleek from the window.

Clone-Quill grabbed the cable. The cable was not attached to anything.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" crunch. "Oh god, my spine, ah, sweet Jesus, I can't feel my legs! My legs, I think I need one of those clones you harvest for spare parts, oh god, somebody help me and…. and oh no! Oh god no!"

There was a small noise from above, and then the freight elevator and the counterweight fell from the upper floor down to the basement. There was a small, sad crunch.

Flip, Flop and Fleek all winced and looked away "Oh gods," yelled Fleek. "Oh Gods, ball buster will have our nuts in a vice!"

"If we live that long." Said Flip

"Gloop gun." said Flop, sadly.

All three paused, and then turned their heads.

Quill-Groot was still staggering around, eye hanging out of his socket, swinging wildly.

The three goons all started shouting at once, gesticulating and charadeing trying to get him to do what they needed.

"The access pad! Get to a computer pad and disable the security! A pad, a pad!"

"I am Groot?" muttered Quill-Groot, staggering drunkenly. Gods alone knew what it's vison looked like, but it managed to zombie-run over to a wall-mounted data panel, which he pawed at I-am-groot-ing all the time. It randomly mashed a palm in to the panel, and gasped "I am Groot!" the computer blooped.

"Acknowledged, disabling Little Helper protocol." Bleeped a synthesised version of Rocket's voice.

Flip, Flop and Fleek, pause, looked at each other, and not sure if this was a trap or not, rock-paper-scissored to pick who would cross the boundary first. Flop lost, and muttering darkly about gloop guns, climbed over the lintel, and walked over to the line drawn on the floor.

Gingerly, oh so gingerly, he stepped over the line.

He winced, then noticed he was still alive, and relaxed.

"Oh god, I thought it wasn't the computer, and it was just that rat with a bucket over his head or something!" he yelled, as Fleek and Flip ran up to him. While they were doing this, Quill-Groot picked up his own dangling eyeball, looked directly into it with his other eye, and instantly went insane and passed out.

Fleek sighed. An gestured to the unconscious clone. "Okay, Flip, move him someplace. Flop, loot the ground floor for any valuables, I'm going for the computer core." Flip nodded, spotted a likely looking door and went to open it.

"And be careful of traps!" yelled Fleek, hand on the door. "Some bastard has done a real number on this place, and I suspect the fuck is still in here. Keep your eyes open!" he said, pointing at his own "We don't know what this guy has planned, so don't do anything stupid!" he said, opening the door, and stepping through.

There was a piece of plastic cooking wrap covered in super-glue at face height. He screamed, and ripped it off, taking a half step forwards into the tripwire. He managed to get his eyes open just in time for the fan to switch on, blowing a half bag of powered pre-mixed cement right at his face. He fell, screaming, and that was why and only why the blow-torch missed him.

Screaming as his eyes started to melt under the lime, he fell backwards back into the hall. Flop grabbed him, and then swore, an ran for the first aid box mounted on the wall. He ripped off the cover and-

There was a zap! as his hand touched the exposed capacitor of the defibrillator and stopped his heart for a moment. Had it been set to Xandarian, his heart would have then restarted. Had it been set to Xandarian, and not Asgardian.

Flop took one look at this, and then at the screaming, convulsing Fleek an ran for the window. He was almost over the line when a voice behind him said "Computer, re-activate Little Helper protocol."

Flop had just enough time to look surprised before-

*Gloop!*

Fleek, clawing at his eyes, skin burning from super glue and cement mix, manged to clear them for just long enough to see the furry foot in front of him before he looked up at the source of the voice.

"You?" he croaked.

"Who the fuck else?" said Rocket "Any more of you?" he asked, pointing a crude homemade crossbow at his head.

Fleek shock his head. "Please, we had bad debts, it was supposed to be a basic robbery, no one was supposed to get hur-"

He realized that Rocket wasn't looking at him, but staring over him, with an expression of horror.

At the other Rocket, standing on the window still, stolen gun raised.

Awesome Christmas Playlist: Waitress, Wrapping up (Christmas by myself this year)