Minutes spent in silent contemplation punctuated their evening of training on the abandoned planet, obstructed once Sale, with lenient suggestion rather than direct command, instructed them to return to the ship. Darkness soon overlaid the calming greenery and cool cyan of the lake, further motivating their need to return to the ship. Upon entering the ship, Sale, followed by Rocket, returned to the main deck, the former to properly return the ship to the outer atmosphere, the latter accompanying her in case of further instruction, which he promptly received.

"Alright, we've got a few hours before the time window, so it's time to some rest. There's not gonna be a second chance for this."

While the ship began to lift from the ground, she took in a deep inhale, holding her mouth shut so as to stifle a yawn. Her demeanor had grown notably more lax than when they'd first met.

"Have you done this before? Raiding these facilities?"

"Only when necessary."

"And has anyone tried to stop you?"

"These facilities have lots of automated defenses, but I can disable those using the ship's computer. Though there are still people that live at those labs that I gotta take care of. After that, though, any trackers Orgo-Corp uses are worthless against this ship, it automatically disrupts them."

"Alright… but what about law enforcement? What happens if someone outside of Orgo-Corp gets involved?" Rocket wasn't even certain there was any manner of universal galactic law enforcement, he was only familiar with Earthly customs, but the idea of lawlessness by necessity indicated law.

"They'll never call anyone. The moment any nonprivate entities become involved, the failure of their whole terraforming project goes public. It takes a lot to own a planet, even the worthless ones, and once the Nova Empire realizes they've essentially abandoned the purchased planets, they immediately get bought back, and their right to actually own planets probably gets stripped. So either they spend a whole lotta money to make the problem go away, or the High Evolutionary's pet project gets canned."

This invoked an obvious question, the potential for justice manifesting a slight warmth in Rocket's chest.

"So… once you escaped, why didn't you go to the law? Tell them what was happening at Counter-Earth? Or at least seek protection?"

Sale paused for a moment, her fingers unfurling one by one before tensing back into a tight fist, though her voice remained neutral.

"We-" she gestured to herself and him "-are property. The moment we contact the law, we get returned to Counter-Earth, and probably in chains for both theft and murder. We are technically wildlife, not citizens. Our… 'enhancements' are the property of Orgo-Corp. Not only that, but we'd fall under the classification of 'laboratory animals', which means Orgo-Corp is afforded special privilege towards our treatment."

Rocket was taken aback by the explanation. Such a misconstruction of justice seemed near impossible in any noncorrupt entity.

"That… that doesn't make any sense. You have the logs, you can prove we and everyone else at that facility is intelligent."

"Doesn't matter." Her tone grew short tempered.

"What do you mean it 'doesn't matter'?"

"I mean, the law is worthless to us."

"There's nobody we can talk to?"

"If there was, I would've done so by now." Her teeth gritted when not actively speaking, her patience wearing thin.

"So what then? Everyone's just corrupt? They just pretend not to notice the obvious difference between intelligent life and wild animals?"

Sale grew irate at these questions, her well versed answers and quick anger displaying a quite in depth understanding of this predicament. She turned towards Rocket, her teeth gritting behind her closed mouth for a moment before she spoke.

"What would you do to have them back?"

Rocket recoiled at the morbidity of the question. Invoking his fellow experiments so abruptly left him speechless.

"Would you kill someone innocent? Someone that's done nothing to you? Or how about a criminal? A murderer and a thief? Seems like an easy choice, doesn't it?"

Rocket's eyes narrowed at her almost accusatorial tone, refraining from answering her rhetorical questions to allow for elaboration.

"Even if we find someone to see us as more than just science experiments, justice is carried out by people. People with families. And whatever-" she threw up her shoulders for a moment, hesitant to belittle their experiences, yet doing so regardless for emphasis "-sob stories we show up with are gonna be worthless in the face of the promise of a better life for themselves and the ones they love. Orgo-Corp wires them enough money for their families to live comfortably long after they're dead, and for what? To send criminals to their deaths?"

Her voice was raised, near the point of yelling, and as she awaited Rocket's response, only to find none, she calmed herself, glancing down for a moment in regretful introspection.

"I… apologize. I didn't mean to lash out."

Rocket didn't reciprocate her overly emotional demeanor, though he did share in her outrage towards the justice they were not afforded, at least in a subdued manner. Nonetheless, she took the liberty of changing the conversation topic.

"We can discuss this more tomorrow, but… are you alright with spending the night in the med bay?"

"What? What about the other quarters?"

Though Rocket didn't wish to inflict whatever debasement of the captain's memory of her crew that would come from sleeping in their quarters, such an innocuous act seemed rather reasonable, given the purpose of the room.

"The lock on the crew's quarters is broken. You can stay in whatever room you want, as long as the doors lock."

"What's it matter if the doors lock?"

"I don't want you wandering around the ship at night. Just… you can have whatever you want- blankets, pillows, -but I just need to make sure you don't go anywhere while I'm sleeping, alright?"

Rocket hesitated, tempering his response with contemplation until he yielded the issue

"...The med bay is fine."

"Thank you. I'll fix the doors tomorrow."

After thanking Rocket for his compliance, she escorted him to the medical ward, the two of them preparing meager sleeping arrangements, utilizing some spare supplies from throughout the ship, and though it was far from a proper bed, it was nonetheless superior to any nocturnal accommodations Rocket enjoyed throughout his life.

Once the room was properly suited for Rocket's stay, Sale turned to look to Rocket as she was leaving, pausing for a moment as she turned back, though she hesitated, remaining silent as she left. Rocket understood her hesitation, their relationship remained tentative, and she stunted her initiative in that moment, Rocket endeavored to fill the gap, both despite the lack of trust in his freedom while she slept, and as a show of gratitude for her efforts in saving his life. He wished her goodnight, a sentiment he shared with his batch mates hundreds of times, to which, after a brief hesitation, she reciprocated.

Rocket was left in isolation once again in that medical bay, and though he remained hindered, there was a joyous wonderment to be derived from what freedoms he was afforded. Every device and mechanism located within the medical bay, he was free to utilize as he saw fit. Many of them seemed to go without use, with large quantities of replacements overflowing from the various storage compartments, further implication Sale as a manner of hoarder, or simply prone to over preparation.

The lights and temperature of the room, along with various other environmental effects, excluding the door's locking mechanism due to an intentional override from the captain, were controlled by a console on the wall. The only electronic mechanism not independently controlled or influenced by that console was the large, mechanical arm attached to the ceiling. It was a delicate piece of machinery, used for highly intricate surgeries, and Rocket spent more than a few minutes toying with the device, moving every joint in every available manner, swapping between various devices at its end point, or simply using its precise motor functions to move various objects throughout the room.

Rocket felt far from tired, resulting both from volition and natural scheduling, as he knew his thoughts grew more pertinent and worrisome when attempting to rest, and the recollection of the absence of his crew… batch, was far too burdensome. Proper purpose was eventually derived when Rocket spotted the small lighter used to heat whatever medicinal solution he quaffed upon boarding the ship. He gazed into the entrancing flame in contemplation, but not of any grander philosophy, but of enhancement. If this device and its flame could be enhanced, it could serve as an alternative to the captain's lost blowtorch.

Rocket took a moment to search for any latching or attaching mechanisms on the lighter, undoing them to disassemble the device and examine its components more carefully, studying each individual piece to understand its inner workings, and furthermore, divine its enhancements. Tools were clearly necessary for the task, though there was no shortage of precise yet sturdy devices located within this medical bay. Furthermore, additional components were required, none of which were currently present. The weapons cache, though, undoubtedly held the necessary parts. There was just the matter of leaving this room in a manner that didn't alert Sale.

He searched foremost through the various drawers and compartments of medical supplies, all of which appeared varied and useful in a plethora of situations, though none directly applicable here. The console was secondary, searching through all of its functions and capabilities to bypass the doors lock, everything short of disassembling the device due to the permanent nature of damage to complex computers.

Rocket let out a sigh as he began to exhaust his options, lying back on the blanket for momentary rest as his desire for escape flourished, though his potential options increasingly waned. He could always rest, as he was intended to do, leaving the issue for tomorrow, though as he gazed upward, he recognized the same manner of screw implemented into the panels on the ceiling as is present on many other places on the ship, such as the storage room with the loose flooring.

Inspiration dawned on him, and he bolted to his feet, quickly grabbing the relatively small, portable table that controlled the mechanical arm, then standing atop the table in the center of the room. He guided the arm toward the ceiling, aligning with utmost precision the ending instrument, which resembled little more than small, firm needles intended to puncture and stretch skin, with the inlets on the screw. He removed the screw, allowing it to fall into his hand before he moved onto the next, repeating the process until the ceiling panel gave way to gravity, hinged by the two remaining screws as it rested atop the mechanical arm, which promptly moved aside, presenting an opening in the ceiling. Rocket couldn't stifle his grin at the success, enjoying his victory by riding the mechanical arm up to the opening after he grabbed the lighter.

The ship's inner walls were particularly dark and dense with wires, pipes, and ventilation, requiring a series of crawls, shimmies, and squeezes to properly navigate the obtuse geometry, though this task was fulfilled with Rocket's gaunt, malnourished size, and the small, though not inconsequential light provided from the delicate flame of the lighter. As he navigated, he held his hand just above the flame, at times risking burning his own palm so as to avoid igniting any delicate machinery within the ship.

This was primarily an exercise in mental cartography, as he did his best to recall the general layout of the ship, from his brief, self guided tour. He found a dropoff, climbing down by extinguishing the flame and holding the lighter between his teeth while his arms and legs held his weight between two inner walls. Silence was of utmost importance, waking up Sale would undoubtedly warrant strict punishment, though this goal was fulfilled relatively well due to his naturally light body, and eventually, he found himself beneath the storage room.

The floor was rather shallow, forcing him to keep his head ducked as he applied upward pressure on each individual tile until he found the loose panel. With enough force, he could easily force an opening between the tiles wide enough to squeeze through, but without the force maintaining the opening, he'd end up with severe lacerations from the thin metal at best, and severely injured and stuck at worst. No problem was without solution, and with force, Rocket pushed open the panel with as much force as he could quietly muster, then, in a steady motion, propped the lighter between the opening and the adjacent tile, forcing the panel to remain bent open, thus allowing Rocket to climb through.

Delicacy was now the foremost priority, as even the slightest jostling of the lighter would cause the panel to slam down onto Rocket's body, resulting in severe injury, so with a deep breath, Rocket placed his hands on the floor of the storage room, and pulled his body up. The bent tile he crawled from scraped his body in tandem with the adjacent tile beneath him, though after a bout of careful, slow struggling in this prone position, he squeezed through the opening. After he placed a hand on the bent tile and removed the lighter, slowly and silently allowing the tile to bend back into place, he felt a renewed pride at his success.

His journey continued through the ship, the lights in the vessel maintaining a low illumination to conserve power, but still allow navigation in instances of emergency. Eventually, he made his way to the weapons storage, carefully sliding the large metallic doors open, doing so over the process of minutes due to their immense weight, and his desire to remain silent, until an opening large enough for him to fit inside was created. He left the door open as he climbed down inside, no longer having an angle by which he could close it.

This room held a plethora of tools for all manner of engineering and mechanical tasks, and thus the items were well suited to his particular goal. Finding the proper equipment was easy, and similarly uncomplicated was deriving the necessary components from the assortment of unused weapons. The large storage devices lining the corners where the walls met the floor were filled with an uncountable amount of mostly underutilized weapons, many of which seemed cobbled together from component parts, and thus easily could be disassembled without notice from Sale.

Before long, a few additional pieces were added to the lighter, enhancing its ability to produce a flame with only minor compromises to the device's previously compact size. For the second time this evening, Rocket found himself entranced by the flame, though now with a prideful euphoria welling in his chest. He'd felt similar instances of pride throughout his life, particularly when completing uniquely difficult assessments, and just as before, he took solace in the hope in Lylla's proud face when he'd later recount the day's events. His lapse in recollection ceased, and he found himself returning to the emotionally dour mire he'd fallen into prior.

Sale would undoubtedly enjoy Rocket's work once it was presented to her by tomorrow morning. For a moment he contemplated showing her the device only after the endeavor on the surface, but a fleeting hope recounted why he sought to create the blowtorch now rather than when he was left aboard the ship: he wanted to join her in the mission.

She'd saved him, it only seemed proper to reciprocate the act, or at least attempt to. The difficulty of most tasks, particularly dangerous ones, could be alleviated through aid, even if inexperienced. An extra set of hands could provide assistance in nearly any situation, but Rocket intended to provide more than basic manual labor. The vast array of weapons both on display and stowed away could allow for a more empowered form of aid.

His mind began to race as he searched through the numerous, perhaps hundreds, of different weapons stashed over years of effort, and while some seemed more applicable, and functional, than others, none seemed uniquely suited to Rocket's desires. Regardless, the modular nature of these weapons allowed for freedom of adjustment and customization, and as such, Rocket began to work feverishly to craft a gun of his own making.

Compaction and efficiency were far from his foremost priorities. There was an abundance of parts, so utilizing as many as possible seemed prudent, and Rocket didn't deem it necessary to employ his arms in any finer tasks than wielding his weapon, so size too was developed frivolously.

In the end, Rocket utilized a combination of components from energy based and ammunition based weapons to create a bulky, unruly, rather uncouth, though nonetheless destructive device. The weapon had two primary sections, one enveloping either of Rocket's arms. The right resembled a proper rifle, though unnecessarily bulky so as to store a barrel full of batteries that could be swapped quickly once the battery was automatically ejected, though reloaded rather slowly when out of combat. Internally, any safety hindrances were disabled, the rifle could freely fire at an obscene rate without stopping for an overheated battery.

Most rifles carried a natural ejection mechanism for when their battery overheated, and this device Rocket utilized for the second arm of his weapon. When a battery overheated, as the rifle was designed to facilitate, it would be ejected through a feeding tube into the secondary weapon, which was a seemingly haphazardly cobbled together, though deceivingly sturdy launcher created to eject the overheated batteries a safe distance away from Rocket where they'd eventually detonate.

The rifle portion couldn't be tested, it was noisy and would undoubtedly leave damage against whatever the projectile impacted, though Rocket was more than eager to experiment with the launcher. He detached the feeding tube from the device, placing emptied batteries into the launcher and ejecting them from the device into his own shirt, which he tied between the legs of the table for a quiet safety net.

The device worked wondrously, able to cycle through batteries at an efficient pace and consistently eject them without risk of jamming or other malfunction. Rocket tried to temper his pride with preparation. No amount of contentment in his creation will bolster a lack of proper preparedness.

He was somewhat aimless as he manifested what he believed to be practical combat drills that he promptly enjoyed again and again until he could recite the exact muscle movements on impulse and by memory. He disassembled both guns and reassembled them as quickly as he was able, reducing the necessary time, yet taking multiple minutes combined regardless. He practiced moving with the weapons, both in slow methodical manners and at faster paces, finding the devices were quite exhausting to carry, requiring him to lean backward so as to adjust his center of balance, even when standing. He trained in the reloading process by repeatedly unloading and reloading the rifle again and again, going so far as to spread an assorted collection of batteries across the ground to then fill them into the gun as quickly as he was able.

He wasn't certain how much time had passed during these exercises, but eventually he concluded his work, disassembling the gun once more and placing the components back into the storage. He could rebuild it from memory regardless. He took back the blowtorch and climbed the ladder to exit the weapons storage. He'd need to return to the medical bay, as though he didn't deem his actions improper, disobedience was-

"Stop!"

The captain's voice rang out as Rocket climbed the last step of the ladder. She stood behind him, the unquestionable urgency, near panic, in her voice resonated through Rocket, though he couldn't stop the instinctual turning of his head. Her fur stood on end from fright, her eye seemed watery, her breaths were quick, and her panicked expression contrasted heavily against the statue like steadiness of her arms as she pointed her handgun directly at Rocket.

"I didn't-"

"Don't talk!"

She practically shouted as she gave her commands, and at the second order, Rocket began to comply. His body froze up and his mouth shut. Overall, he tried to maintain an unthreatening composure. Sale was clearly in an emotionally unwell state, and the threat from her weapon was not to be trifled with.

"Lay down!"

He complied with her next command as she gave it, getting to his knees and lying forwards on the ground, his stomach down. He raised his arms, particularly as she approached him, and while he couldn't maintain a line of sight, she was undoubtedly still wielding her weapon. She got close, assessing Rocket's body for any manner of weapon he took from the storage, focusing foremost on the device he held in his right hand.

"Open your hands!"

Rocket released his grip, allowing the blowtorch to fall from his grasp and roll a few inches across the floor. She then picked it up, looking it over in both recognition and puzzlement. After a few moments of silence, Rocket attempted to speak up and explain the device.

"It's a blowtorch… You said you lost yours, so I built another one..."

She didn't give any verbal response, though Rocket could clearly hear the clicking of the blowtorch's activation button, followed by the almost inaudible flame produced by the device. It held there in near silence for a few moments, until a soft impact was heard behind Rocket. Taking a small risk, he turned his head back and glanced behind himself to Sale, finding that she'd fallen to her knees, staring at the flame, and, as if to not disturb the silence of the night, she held her mouth shut as she began to weep.