Flark, thought Rocket as the Electric Blue Light Orchestra's forecast called for 'blue skies'. And then, in tandem with the beat- flark flark flark flark flark flark flark flark flark!

Rocket had by no means expected the heist to go smoothly. Complications were inevitable in any operation, and where he could, he'd prepared for them. Unfortunately, the complication known as 'Gamora' was one he had no answer to. The only reason he'd been able to drug her to begin with was because of the other Guardians (unwitting or otherwise- she never would have let her guard down like that around just him, which was another reason he'd bought Quill's stupid Star Wars movies for such an absurdly high price).

Her being awake, while not ideal, wasn't in and of itself, problematic. Sure it set him on edge, and made what he was doing that much more terrifying, but she didn't know tech the way he did and hadn't even noticed him booting the Nova system into lockdown. A bit of Nebula here, some sincere apologising there and he could weasel his way around her- when it came down to it she was about as likely to fit in the standard Xandarian ventillation system as Drax was.

But then she'd dodged the lockdown because stupid, perfect, do-gooder that she was, she'd rather risk getting smushed between rapidly closing blast doors than sit idly by while Xandar was 'under attack'. And it was, objectively, a good thing she hadn't been injured pulling that ridiculous stunt- Rocket really wouldn't know what to do with himself if she'd broken a leg or worse- but she was now heading straight for Xandar's communication tower where she'd find all of his friends giggling about all the mischief they were getting up to. And all it would take was one look at them for the disgustingly perceptive 'you bugged the comms' Gamora to know that he had his stupid claws all over this.

What she would do with that information was anyone's guess, but Rocket really wasn't keen on finding out.

Under the direction of a Corpsman apparently similarly discontent with being left out of the action, the assembled cadets and officers had grabbed a polished marble statue of Nova Prime Irani and were using her as a battering ram. Having met Nova Prim, Rocket was sure she'd approve of the maneuever, and judging from the way he was cheering, Groot did too. Fring tolerated the severe breach of protocol- in part to keep up morale because there was no nice way of telling them that it would take about a hundred years of consecutive thumping before they put a dent in blast doors designed to withstand a planet-wide apocalypse- and in part because they were doing more than his and Dey's frantic typing. The two of them hovered over the nearest keypad, trying to regain control of a system they were technically supposed to be in charge of. With every failed attempt, Fring's face grew darker and a new bead of sweat manifested on Xandar's red-faced Denarrian.

Rocket liked Dey, and really hoped he didn't lose his job over this, but he'd made doubly sure there was nothing either of them could do to get past the lockdown. That meant Nova involvement was off the table...

Pulling his comm up to ear, up his comm, Rocket picked up the almost imperceptible sound of Gamora's footfalls carrying over. She was running, which meant. "You didn't take a ship."

"If something is waiting for me there I'd prefer to have the element of surprise," she explained, not breaking her pace.

"That makes sense," Rocket nodded. "Bright frickin' yellow, they'd see you coming from a mile away." Not that his batchmates were perceptive enough for something like that. "Not to mention any surface to air weaponry they might have." Not that his batchmates had been packing any. "Good thinking." She was vastly overestimating the scale of the threat... "How long till you get to the tower? I wanna see if Irani's hair-do lasts that long."

"It's pretty far out. I'd estimate twenty minutes but it could be longer. And what?"

"Just trying to amuse myself." He handed the comm to Groot, and frowned up at the ceiling- as if contemplating the ventillation system for the first time. He still had a job to do. And twenty minutes to do it... he could work with that.

"Hey Dey," Rocket whistled, earning the Xandarian's attention and prompting him to follow the raccoon's pointing claw to the grating. "You guys have some kinda central processor, right?"

Dey blinked in momentary surprise, eyes growing wide in understanding as he rapidly put two and two together. "We do. Y-you've been there!"

"Nova Prime's fancy holotable?" Rocket groaned. "Well now I feel stupid for askin'." Of course he'd only been asking to feign ignorance- it would probably slow things down on his end, but he thought it best to keep the act up around Fring.

Unprompted, Dey fished inside his pocket for a keycard and held it out to the raccoon with far too much enthusiasm. Clearly the prospect of some kind of solution came as a relief. "You'll need this. And my fingerprints to get past security-"

"I hope you're not planning to lob your arm off," Rocket muttered, because some good-natured ribbing never hurt.

"You don't need to," Dey chuckled. "All you need to do is swipe my card, start the system and then shut it off again. If you do that enough times consecutively, it will trigger a wipe and that should lock out whoever's messing with our system."

It would also wipe out all traces of Rocket's earlier lockdown-booting, which was convenient.

"It likely won't restore communication, but it should allow me to log in from here and regain control."

"Sounds like a plan," Rocket nodded turning his attention to the next part of his plan. The lobby was tall by design, with a high ceiling that was significantly moreso for someone of his stature. "You guys got a ladder or something? Some kind of gravity boost?"

They did not, which made sense. And was also why a few moments later, the three tallest Corpsman present stood atop Nova Prime Irani's marble shoulders to hold up their Dennarian, who in turn held Rocket within reaching-distance of the grating. With the exception of Fring who looked on with obvious disapproval, the remaining cadets crowded around the Xandarin pyramid in an effort to help maintain stability.

"I am Groot!" cheered Groot.

All present were too well-trained to question the order.

"You guys don't have much security inside your vents, right?" asked Rocket, straining to reach the last screw in place. "Nothing that'll cut me in half or get me stuck to a pad or something?"

"Nothing that severe," Dey chuckled, leaning forwards on tip-toe so that the raccoon had an easier time tearing off the grating. "The airways are coated in pest repellent, but that shouldn't be a problem."

Rocket became aware of it a moment later, tossing aside the vent cover and recoiling from the overpowering stink of mint as it socked him right in the face. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and bit back a growl because of course pest repellent worked on him. Dey noticed, but was both too nice and knew better than to comment on it.

"Alright," grumbled Rocket, gesturing for the stacked Xandarians to pass him up his infoglass. "Give me twenty minutes and we'll be outta here." Gently clamping the tablet between his jaws, Rocket clambered onto Dey's head and crouched low. "Jushh hol' vrrry vrrry shtill!"

Without further warning Rocket pounced, sending the whole stack teetering behind him. Luckily, the assembled Corpsmen managed to keep their balance. Lead by Groot they cheered rapturously as the raccoon scrambled out of sight with the audible clicking of claws on metal.

Having long-since memorized the base's schematics, it didn't take Rocket too long to locate their central processor. Kicking the grating out from under him, Rocket burst free of the cloying pipework and into a vast, airy roomy, now shrouded in darkness from the dozen or so defensive layers covering the otherwise massive windows. And at the center of it all lay a holotable taller than he was, from where Nova Prime conducted all her Nova Priming. The heart of the Nova Empire, and he'd been trusted with the key to it all.

Well, Rocket thought, all he'd really been trusted to do was turn it on and off again. Hopping onto the table, he slid the keycard into it's designated slot, raising a paw to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness as the entire surface lit up beneath him.

Welcome Dennarian Dey! Please verify your identity!

A touchpad slid up to Rocket's height bearing a fingerprint scanner. Decently secure, hard to forge with Xandarian prints. But hardly flawless, and Dey really should have known better than to leave inkstains in a room full of convicted criminals. Especially one being accused of pineappling a baby.

"Sure thing," said Rocket, withdrawing a small scrap of plastic and sticking it to the marked surface.

The table made a noise of approval and just like that, Rocket was in. The Nova Corps at his fingertips…

A few weeks back a heist this ambitious would have been the stuff of his wildest dreams. Not to mention next to impossible with Saal as Denarrian and the presence of a dozen times as many active Corpsmen. As is, he'd only gotten this far with Nova Prime off-world...

The raccoon failed to hold back a proud little smirk. "Still impressive."

Rocket sighed, and forced himself to concentrate. Scowling, he plugged his infoglass into the holotable, and proceeded to key in the upload procedure. It was a little too early for congratulations considering he hadn't actually achieved anything yet- something that would likely remain the case if Gamora had her way...

There was next to nothing he could do to slow her down himself and even less without arousing suspicion, but Rocket was nothing if not resourceful.

"This is Guardian of the Galaxy, Gamora," said Rocket, speaking through a voice modulator and simultaneously dialing up a dozen of Xandar's more prominent news networks. "Currently on the streets of Xandar and offering an exclusive tell-all interview to all available networks." Rocket's insides squirmed with guilt as he went on- knowing full well that the Deadliest Woman In The Galaxy would be well within her rights to eviscerate him for what he was about to say. "I'd like to talk about my sister Nebula, my time with Thanos, and how great it feels to do some good in the Galaxy after a lifetime of serving evil! Limited time only, first come, first serve!"

The raccoon promptly hung up, knowing full well that most decent channels would call the message a hoax and ignore it, and all the most scummy and desperate journalists would be going out of their way to find Gamora and, hopefully, get in her way.

Of course slowing her down was only half the battle.

He hadn't given his batchmates a communicator of their own- having used all the ones he'd been given on Cosmo and the other Guardians, but Rocket knew from experience that there was more than one way to send a message.

Within the space of a single Xandarian day, Rocket had become one of Batch 89's favourite persons. L06, who now went exclusively by Floor, had only let go of the miniature version of him for games or to share it with the others- otherwise it dangled from the firm grip of a leg she no longer used for walking. J0100 was similarly impressed. He liked the clothes, and the ship and the massage chair and the food- and he was confident enough to say so with Rocket out of earshot. Even A95, who was beginning to warm to the monicker of 'Teefs' (though he still preferred to go by Lylla), when pressed for it, had been forced to admit that the greater Galaxy was not so bad after all and that he was just as excited as the rest of them for more future missions with Rocket.

Q12, or as Rocket called her, Lylla, didn't know what to think.

It was a small, round thing, a voice-locked trigger with a button behind it, squirreled away inside the thickness of her arm. And yet the device hung heavy on her mind- and, from the way they were drooping- her cybernetics as well. It had to be some kind of malfunction- the thing was barely a few grams and the arms Sire had given her were strong enough to lift the rest of her batchmates clear off the ground. She should have been able to bear the brunt of a hundred such devices, and not be burdened by the weight of a single one.

Of course she knew better than that. It was the weight of an entire life held in the palm of her hand that sickened her. Sire had said that 89P13 was likely to do something nefarious. Something wrong. He had asked her specifically to keep an eye on him and to keep her guard up. But all the little troublemaker had done was try and be nice to them, and perhaps it had all been in an effort to let their guard down, but Lylla doubted it.

He had gone out of his way to procure music- even if it wasn't to Sire's tastes the thought was nice, food none of them had ever experienced before- that they all agreed tasted better than protein packs even if they were probably less nutritious (why else would Sire never have given them any?), and a ship that both suited their needs and provided her and her batchmates with luxury they had never experienced before (even if yes, the hot tub was a little excessive). His plan, too, seemed to be working. The immolaters had gone off on-time, the tower had been unguarded and A95 had shut down all communications.

She had no way of confirming if he was holding up his end of the plan- not from the other end of Xandar at least- but she also didn't think he was a good enough actor for it all to be pretend. He was scruffy and rough around the edges, but he was honest and kind and nowhere near as irrational as he had been on Corix. She didn't want Sire to be right, but at the same time didn't want to be caught off-guard by anything he did try and pull.

Sire expected betrayal and trusted her to prevent it. To keep her friends safe. And as much as she wanted to have the device far from her, to incinerate it and make sure it could never be pressed, Lylla knew better than to question his judgement. Sire knew things and wanted what was best for them. Much as she liked P13 she couldn't trust him, she couldn't let herself like him the way the others did...

But she could at the very least change the trigger word to something that wasn't his name. She would have to ask Sire about that.

Q12 shook her head and tried her best to push the issue to the back of her mind. What she really needed was a distraction but at the same time she had to stay focused. Even if everything had been going well so far what they were doing was still dangerous. She had to keep her guard up.

L06 and J0100 were playing the Rocket Game- one of many that involved the newest and smallest addition to their batch. This one seemed to involve tossing him into the air and trying to keep him there with as little contact as possible. It was an invention of J0100's and likely one P13 wouldn't approve of (much less if they decided to use the life-sized version of him) but Floor seemed to like it.

Being rather poor at this kind of game, A95 sat in a corner of the room struggling with a keypad too small for his arms. Feeling uninclined to play for the moment (though she made a mental note to join them as soon as the work here was done), Q12 made her way over to him, took his shaking arm in her own and guided it firmly into the button he was aiming for.

"Thank you," he sighed, as the machine besides him bloorped into life. "Vim says I'm getting better at buttons but they're all so small."

"You just have big arms," she smiled gently, giving him a consoling pat on the back.

"And no fingers," he murmured gloomily.

The differences between them rarely came as a point of contention, but it was a sore spot for A95 when, compared to the rest of Batch 89, there were so many things he couldn't do or needed help with.

"We're all good at different things," Q12 assured him. "None of us could have shut off communication the way you did, and you are the only one that can pilot a ship."

"I guess that is true." Cheering up almost immediately, A95 clapped his arms together in excitement as the machine besides him beeped and pushed out a large sheet of paper. "Look at what I made!" All momentary insecurity forgotten, the walrus picked up the page by a corner and, beaming with pride, brandished it at her.

It was a holoprint of the one P13 had taken on his infoglass the other day, of all five members of Batch 89 huddled together around the last immolater. Q12 failed to hold back a smile. "It's wonderful."

A95 beamed all the wider and set the holo back down with exaggerated delicacy. "I-I was thinking, we could take more of them in the future. And hang them in our chambers for, like, decorations and stuff."

"I like that," said Q12, trying not to think about how genuinely happy the holo of Rocket looked.

"Do you think Rocket would, too? Because I figured it's only a matter of time until he moves in with us and I thought it would be a nice surprise! I have some pictures from Corix too, but not with all of us together, and anyways I'm not sure he'd like that considering we were all fighting each other."

Q12 nodded along as A95 trailed off into silence. She'd been hoping to avoid the subject of 89P13, but now that the opportunity presented itself... Sire had given her the device and she had figured it was safer to keep it to herself, though he hadn't said she was supposed to. A95 was easily the most cautious of them, and he had a good eye for detail where it was needed. If he had noticed something it could confirm Sire's suspicions and if he hadn't it would put her mind at ease-

"I have an important question," said A95, lowering his voice and glancing at the younger half of their batch to make sure they were still enraptured in their game. Being the oldest and most mature of their batch, Q12 was the only one he trusted with his 'important questions' (which were usually just things he was embarrassed about or didn't want to tell the others). "It's about Rocket," he explained, wringing his nonexistent fingers.

"What is it?" asked Q12, her heartbeat jumping to a hum as her insides squirmed with unease. If this was what she thought it was-

"I think... I think I remember him."

It was not. Q12 blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I-I mean before Corix," A95 shifted awkwardly. "I-I don't think it's a malfunction. And I'm going to ask Vim about it when we get back. But there- there are images in my head that I don't remember putting there! Things like... the four of us playing when we were all smaller O-or this one game that only Rocket was good at that we've never played! A-and 0J0100's never there. I know Rocket wasn't around when we were smaller and we only met him two days ago but some of the stuff he says implies that he was a-and I-I don't know what to think!" He gave a long, shuddering sigh and buried his face behind his arms. "Do you think something is wrong with me?"

"No, A95, no," said Q12 firmly. Even as her mind struggled to process the new information her first order of business was to reassure her friend. She didn't think P13 could tamper with his headpiece without any of them noticing- he wasn't that smart- but if he had or if it was just a malfunction caused by the crash neither of those things were anything wrong with A95. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

The walrus nodded. "J-just don't tell the others please. O-or Rocket. I'm still trying to figure it out myself, but I wanted you to know too."

"Of course. And I'm glad you told me. There's something I should tell you too-"

"Lylla! Look out!" cried Floor.

Before either Lylla could react, J0100 barreled into them in an effort to catch the soaring Rocket- bouncing both hare and otter into the walrus and, most impressively, knocking all three to the ground.

"I got it!" cried J0100, raising the beaten-down coon plushie with bravado as Q12 rolled her eyes.

"You should be more careful," she chided, getting to her feet and helping A95 bounce to his own.

"Awww, now you sound like Vim!" J0100 groaned, booping her nose with Rocket's miniature button. "I know our last mission didn't go too smoothly, but so far so good, right? It's all going exactly the way we planned!"

Batch 89 shrieked in unison as their Deluxe Cruiser promptly burst through the window and slid to a halt in the center of the room. Floor, who was the closest to it, was the first to act- buzzsaws whirling as she leapt-

"Can you guys hear me?"

"Oh it's Rocket," said Floor, instantly dropping out of attack mode and waving into the empty cockpit. "Hello Rocket!"

"Hey Floor. Hey guys. How's it going?"

"Magnificently!" announced J0100, bouncing over to join Floor on the 'hood' of the ship. "The tower was empty. The system is down. And noone is none the wiser!" he declared, high-pawing Floor and returning the mini-Rocket to her.

"Did you manage to get the orb?" asked Teefs.

"No not yet. I will in a sec, just as soon as I'm done with some stuff here."

"Could you be more specific about what kind of stuff?" demanded Lylla, in what she hoped wasn't too accusatory a tone.

"I'm already in their system so I figured I might as well check to see if they know anything about more of these things Sire wants."

It sounded reasonable enough so Lylla found herself nodding. "Right. Sorry."

"There's just one little complication I need you guys to know about," he went on, and they all heard him wince.

"Oh?"

"It's Gamora. You know, my teammate. The green chick. Apparently her species' more resistant to temazepam than I thought or maybe it's just her." He sighed, muttering something that sounded a lot like 'Stupid, goody-two-shoes' under his breath. "The point is she's coming your way, which means you guys are gonna have company sooner than I thought."

J0100 snorted. "I think we can handle one-"

"NO!" snapped Rocket. "Do not engage! Do not, under any circumstances engage! Don't even let her frickin' see you!"

"O-okay," the hare squeaked, sufficiently cowed.

Rocket sighed again. "Just keep the comms down for as long as you can- and keep an eye on the cameras. If you see anything leave immediately, got it?"

Batch 89 chorused their understanding.

"Right. Good. Oh, and speaking of cameras. Teefs! I'm gonna need you to clear the security feed. We've gotta be untraceable. Overload it, firewall it, bury it in passkeys do whatever you gotta do, just make sure noone lays so much as a frickin' eyeball on it, got it?"

"Consider it done!" Teefs beamed, rolling over to plug himself back into the database.

"Alright, good. I did my best to slow her down, but even if Gamora doesn't show up I need you guys out in the next ten minutes. Whole place will be swarming with Nova Cruisers so you're gonna have to lie low for a bit. I've input the coordinates for a place you can hide in. Stay in the ship and keep the cloaking on. When the coast's clear I'll come find you. We can let Sire know how it went together."

"Sounds like a plan, P13," said Lylla, feeling guilty for ever doubting him. Perhaps it was not too much of a stretch to say that Sire had been wrong... "Good luck on your end."

"You can call me Rocket, yanno," the raccoon grumbled good-naturedly.

"Next time," the otter promised. Once she'd changed the keyword to something less stupid.

"It's a date then," said Rocket, audibly delighted. "See you soon!"

"See you soon!" echoed Floor, waving goodbye as he hung up.

Rocket groaned, and planted his face into the holotable.

He was by no means an expert at this friendship business, but he was pretty sure by most counts he was lousy at it.

It was one thing to lie to Sire- and really it spoke to how little the flarknard knew of the nitty-gritty of crime because no vault of semi-decent security (nevermind the best Xandar had to offer) came with built-in ventilation- and where he could he had avoided outright lying to Batch 89 and the other Guardians... but all this deception was making him queasy.

Lylla had called him out on it too, which made sense. She had always been the most perceptive of his batchmates.

Still, desperate times called for desperate measures and Sire had him four killswitches to zero. It was only fair to even the odds where he could. Best case scenario, and if things kept going the way they were going, he'd never have to use it. But Rocket had never been one for optimism. And if he was going down, he sure as hell was taking the bastard down with him.

More importantly, he owed some kind of explanation to his rather less-lousy friends.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, the raccoon steeled himself and hit record. "If you're watching this, things have gone to scut..."

Footnote: Back to Batch 89 and Rocket for some more of their antics. I made the analogy that Gamora is playing without knowing there is a game- and Lylla fits somewhat neatly into the reverse. She suspects (or well, suspected lol) that there *is* a greater game at play, but she's not entirely sure and can't quite grasp it enough to make any moves of her own.

Meaning she gets passed over and it's Rocket's turn to make some moves! Mostly following his original plan, but playing a few counters for Gamora as well as setting the board for his match with Sire.

The hard part with any mystery is building it up without giving it away- which I feel is still a balance I'm trying to figure out. I don't want to play the pronoun game with Rocket's plans or off-screen too much of his process but I also kind of want some things to come as a surprise when they end up playing out. It's a fine line to walk, and probably the hardest part of writing this arc. This is somewhat complex stuff at least for my skill level (smart people are hard to write when you are not one yourself) I'm honestly rather nervous/curious to see how it all lands haha, but I *am* having fun with it so hopefully you guys are too.

Next time, Gamora's turn to play. And maybe Groot joins the game...