Monster, Chapter 2

The Milano was a small vessel. At least this version of it isn't the scow Quill first took us on, Gamora mused. This made it difficult to find peace outside of one's room, and between jobs after one saves the galaxy, there was a lot of time for peace. Sometimes you spent it practicing the same forms over and over, feeling the augmented joints. Other times, however, you just wanted to think. Quill was too noisy to think near, with him blasting Awesome Mix 1 and 2 into the cockpit. Plus he wanted to flirt, a hobby she had unsuccessfully tried to dissuade him from on multiple occasions. She didn't mind the music, but it wasn't conducive to thought.

Peter Quill wouldn't be bad looking up until the point he opens his mouth.

Not that Gamora was looking for dating opportunities. One of the things that Thanos insisted of his "daughters" is the understanding that procreation in and of itself was a means to a singular end, not a hobby. It's what you did to get close to your target, not something you should engage in as a hobby. Thanos was very good in encouraging his "family" not to have hobbies.

She had considered spending her meditations with Drax. This worked well except Drax was inquisitive after a point, and had a bad habit of every so often lapsing into his pet name of his for her. Green wench. It had taken Peter an attempt to break up the inevitable fight, and when that didn't work, Rocket used one of his new "personnel suspension" flash bangs. She couldn't see straight for an hour. Rocket found it hilarious. At least she could derive some joy from the fact, that in that particular instance, seeing straight and only seeing sunspots of pain, it had been worse for Drax, who wasn't augmented at all.

The mention of Rocket reminded her of where she eventually would go and contemplate. The engine room, where the raccoon had set up his work space, tinkering with this gun or making that repair or bomb. Peter had insisted, really; the small mammal had been leaving things out all over the ship and since Rocket was more than capable of creating devices to destroy moons, it had been a compromise to make sure they didn't destroy the Milano and half the galaxy they just saved.

It worked well for Gamora, because aside from the occasional swearing from Rocket when he was on the job and the sounds of his tinkering and occasional conversations with Groot, it was a fine place to be reflective. There had been exactly one conversation about it, once when Rocket was doing a particularly difficult and fine repair.

"Are you here to stare at the freak?" he growled at her, bearing his teeth, all of them. She had better reflexes than he, but she had seen him bite. It wouldn't do to draw his ire.

"No, Rocket. I'm reflecting." Her tone was mollifying, but flat.

He seemed to believe her, because in a 'I'm-annoyed-at-this-ship' tone, not his 'You're-pissing-me-off-and-I'm-probably-going-to-bite-you-until-you-bleed' tone, he said, "Could ya think the spanner this way, then. Fucking drive assembly."

And except for the occasional request for a tool, neither he or Groot has seemed to bother her since then. It worked well; Rocket could get someone to assist by handing parts that the still growing Groot couldn't hand him, and she could get some relative contemplation peace.

She thought about many things. About the oddity, after so much time of being Thanos' daughter, reviled by many worlds in the galaxy (twenty three, at last count) of having friends, even surly, anti-social ones like Rocket, of what happened when they touched the stone, of the assured next move of Thanos. Which inevitably took her down the hallway of memory, to her own origins.

She knew Rocket and Peter spent most of their time not thinking about their troubled pasts; the former getting horrible nightmares from the sublimation, and the latter doing nothing except play those tapes repeatedly, seeming to call up better times. Drax, on the other hand spent many moments continuing to fuel his revenge, having only learned barely from his defeat at the hands of Ronin to plan smarter, not harder.

She embraced the thought of hers, not out of pride, but out of reminding herself why she left in the first place.

Inevitability. It was the first lesson that Thanos taught the worlds he claimed. It was inevitable when Thanos claimed your world as his, your people would die.

Gamora was maybe seven when inevitability came for her. Her father was part of the defense force, the protectors of her world, that empire. They had tried to evacuate the worlds as Thanos took them one by one. It was much like having a vice around your neck. Your people choked when the Titan squeezed. And squeezed he did, creating obliteration in his wake.

Occasionally, Thanos would be moved to mercy. His mercy, however, was the horrible kind of mercy, a mocking amusement for the party of one. A chance to create family, Heralds of his coming, of his wrath. Generally speaking, it took years for him to get in gear, to continue his aftermath. Thanos had years however.

She didn't remember how she got the laser pistol. She vaguely remembers pulling the trigger, targetting the vanguard. She does remember in horror as her hand continued to hold down the trigger, draining the battery, hoping, praying to get the tyrant that just killed her family, her friends, her entire way of life, and it doing nothing. She might as well have spit in his general direction.

She figures she had to have come out of hiding or something, but she never can remember Before. If she envied Peter and Drax one thing, it's that they remember Before. She just remembers that cold laugh, her initiation into being one of Thanos's daughters clear as bells.

"This female, at her age, has proven to have more courage than most of this entire planet. She will do for our purposes. Prepare her."

Sometimes in her quietest moments, Gamora can hear the screams. Remember the voices of destruction, but they're always wordless to her, blocked behind some kind of wall set in her brain. Was it something Thanos did to her, or something she did to herself?

Thanos believed in anesthetic, at least. Or, really, just enough to make you numb. Between surgeries, as they cut open her body, replacing entire parts with metal, the smell of it wafting through her nose. It's a bitter tang, almost a whirr for the nose. She looks up at the faces looking down at her. It is no surprise there are no faces, really. There are maybe two glints of light being refracted fron one of the faces. They give her lung capacity, arm and leg flexibility, enhanced reflexes (say what you will about Thanos being a monster, he's a through monster; she once tested the reflexes against Rocket, who also had his enhanced and is a raised animal known for reflexes faster than a humans, and she's .23 seconds faster than he is), and a sort of behavioral modification in her spine. It's designed to burn the insolence out of her.

She remembers the first time he uses it. It's after the surgeries and the starvation, the last to make her pliable. It was really simple; you knelt in front of the sadistic being that you would call father. If not, there's a horrible snap in the air, like the crunch of teeth, and your body would seize up, you would act like a doll as the surging energy moved through you. And then you'd find yourself on your knees, the jolting paralysis holding you there. It was the exquisite meeting of two of Thanos's favorite impulses; causing something pain and sublimating free will. He enjoyed it if it took more than once for you to learn that lesson.

With Gamora, it took six times. She did later learn that the implant that caused the reaction did short out after so long, and it was considered risky to replace it. It didn't matter. You knelt anyway, and those with implants that did burn out found out that there was a reverse panacea effect to them: you knew the implant didn't work, you KNEW, but when Thanos made that gesture to activate it, you were paralyzed and on your knees anyhow.

After a week of orientation: isolation, obedience, and starvation, they would give you company and food. Tell you the truth about how lucky you were to be alive, how merciful Thanos was and how he would share the secret of how to ascend your weak flesh. There was once she told her teammates about this; horror in everyone's eyes—well, almost everyone. Rocket gave her the weary look of someone who'd suffered like you have; a kind of look of warriors who saw the aftermath of the same battle. Peter used an odd term to describe the gratitude you felt toward Thanos after his systematic torture of you, something called "Stockholm Syndrome".

Wherever on Terra this Stockholm is, it doesn't sound like very fun.

Meeting the other "Children of Thanos" was eye opening. You were placed in a dorm. There was no privacy; modesty was a physical failing. Each morning would be the same: shower, dress in what you were provided; tune-up of implants, and then to the Pit.

The Pit was both the place where the lessons happened and where the place of the Pariah was chosen for that day. It was simple; the instructor, a devotee would rank you all mentally, and then choose two of you. The loser became the pariah: half rations and the other children would be cruel to them, on threat of being treated like a pariah themselves. You would continue, hungry, insulted, beat upon for the tiniest of failures, blamed for others mistakes. It was like prison except for the sexual abuse that would happen there: a devotee of Thanos had no such urges, and the food was spiked to keep such interests low.

You learned not to be the pariah after the second week as the new girl. You got to know which of your brothers and sisters were less harsh during those times and which ones were sadistic. Nebula, surprisingly, was one of the ones that tended to be less harsh. She often said, in the periods of quiet of their bunk assignments, that there was NO NEED to overly pick on the pariah. That anyone who was strong enough not to be the pariah didn't need the ritual anyhow.

Thanos oversees his children's growth every week; on that day, the pariah fight is a tournament to see who was the strongest, the best. The winner became the favorite of Thanos. The weakest lost their life. Failure was something that other people tolerated, not Thanos.

When Gamora won the first time, she eliminated in the first round Thanos's old favorite, a boy with dusky brown skin, white eyes and curiously, blonde hair. He lost in the quickest amount of time and was declared the weakest. Gamora doesn't dream very often, but sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she can still hear him scream.

She doesn't do it herself; she gets nothing out of it, considering her body's waste filtration units just jettison it as poisons anyway (a necessary thing as Thanos's daughter and assassin), but after she knows them, she gets why Rocket, Peter and Drax often drink to excess. She envies them their ability to forget. She doesn't envy Rocket the nightmares, Drax the ghosts, and Peter the demons, however. Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she can see Thanos, hear his voice speaking approvingly at her, and it seems nothing's changed at all. That's when, even when the three of them are drunk and Groot doing whatever he does, (she's subconsciously thought them of as her boys, even though she'd never ever confess that to them, even Drax who she fights with the most and she'd wish he'd put in a sock in it when he calls her "green wench") they look at her oddly; and she has to remind herself that here on the Milano that he isn't here and cannot see.

When Gamora does this, they know. The stare is one of concern; she doesn't answer to any external stimulus when it happens, and Peter almost got his arm broken when she snapped out of it once after he tried shaking her, half in the reverie she was in.

"I'm sorry," she had said, beginning to frame in her mind the next sentence, to explain.

"Nah," Peter had said, grinning that roguish grin of his. "There's nothing quite like almost getting your arm ripped off like by a pretty lady." She gives him the disbelieving look, the look telling him she knows his game, her flush up a bit. The unspoken between them is she knows she's been forgiven, even though she doesn't deserve it. At all.

The catechism of Thanos is simple, as taught in the Pit: Thanos is the strongest, so he should hold power over all things. Thanos made you better than you were, so you should revere him.

Devotees of Thanos are to get rid of their weaknesses and become stronger, more like Thanos. Non-followers of Thanos are to have their weaknesses exploited for their destruction.

That was it. The lessons really were simple: how to use how someone would find you attractive, finding out what your marks vulnerabilities were and exploiting them, and maintaining the purity that Thanos expected after missions.

She remembers the first time. A family has an object they stole from Thanos (later, this was found out to be a lie told to the children by creatures who begged Thanos not to kill them, the children would kill them for their duplicity; the objects were planted) and the children were supposed to recover the object, and slay the family. And any other witnesses.

She was at the flower of womanhood, as the poets would say. It was entirely too easy for her to get their son to take her home, convinced of her lust for him. It was entirely too easy to plant the bomb for the family when they came home, making sure their son was the last thing they saw before they were immolated in Thanos's rage. It was too easy to take the object, and at the time, she knew that this family, a Xandarian family that was middle class with no connections to Thanos (although, she would find out later, did have connections to do with war spending against the Kree) that would not have the resources or cunning to do such a thing as steal from Thanos. She learned not to question. Externally.

Internally, there was a voice, reminding her that this was wrong. That the purity of the cause of Thanos was hidden, that she was a pawn on his board. He, however, continued to shower her with gifts and praise. She had fallen out with Nebula since she continued to win the tournaments and Nebula was the only one close to her level, and when she offered to share...Nebula had scoffed.

"Dearest sister. Sharing is weak. That's what makes me angry about this. You still have such weakness, and yet he loves you."

"Sister, I do not need his love." She still feels the sting of the cheek where Nebula slapped her.

Gamora can't even say now why she told Nebula why she didn't need Thanos's love. Maybe then she knew it was a lie, that she worked for Thanos for one, very good reason: survival. She knew that Thanos would take over the galaxy and the universe and all other universes, so why not be on the winning team? Even now, she struggles with the idea of family in the sense of not being things you manipulate, of winning as the underdog. The ideas are getting better to actualize—she recognizes them as part of her lessons Before—but she knows what Thanos is capable of, of how many mad beings are a part of his army, lured by their weaknesses, hoping to join the winning team.

It wasn't Thanos that drove her away, if she was honest. Thanos was too terrible to confront directly. It was Ronan, and how he treated both her and Nebula. With Thanos—Thanos understood one thing if nothing else. Fear and praise were both weapons, and you must apply both of them to get the correct result.

Ronan only understood fear. He ranted about how he'd destroy all of his enemies, as the Accuser, and he was worshiped for his battle prowess. But he had been in command too long. It was when she managed to destroy leaks that were going to warn his enemies of his plan, his masterstroke, she found out who Ronan was. When no praise came, just the grim expectation of 'it will be done', she realized that he was going to clean the slate. Destroy her and himself and everything he was fighting for.

Gamora, the ultimate survivor, the daughter of Thanos who slaughtered hundreds for his passing, but could not slaughter trillions because doing so would be foolish, there's nothing to rule when you literally have nothing, made plans against Ronan the Accuser then. And Thanos himself, for in Ronan, she finally saw what happened to religious figures like her father.

"'Mora?" The voice is oddly soft. Rocket. "Um, I asked for that spanner like three fucking times. Everythin' ok in that ticker of yours?"

"No, Rocket." She doesn't even notice the tears; tears were from Before.

"Ya...wanna see a doctor or somethin'?" Unspoken, beneath the rough exterior of the raccoon, were the words: we can talk if you like.

"No, Rocket." She looked at him, and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Rocket." She got up.

"A'ight. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." The voice was final, putting an end to the conversation.

Heading to her room Gamora realized something she could never tell Rocket. He would never believe her; but she thought if Rocket was a monster, he was an accidental one. She was the deliberate monster, killing hundreds, even thousands of people without remorse because she had to survive.

And now her need to make up for it, and the knowledge that even if she saves the galaxy a million more times, there was no way to, was what kept her going.

Author's Note: This was a hard chapter to write, actually, because Gamora in the movie is kind of a flat character. We know she's the daughter and assassin of Thanos and the last of her race; we know she and Nebula have some kind of relationship. This is just simply one guess and based on no previous canon for Guardians. I wanted Gamora's narrative to be more about impossible redemption with different motivations and feelings on being a monster than Rocket.

I'm still not sure it's good, but it's going up as is.