Chapter 1

It was just another day aboard the Milano for the galactic guardians. Peter and Gamora were listening to the Jackson 5 and piloting the ship, while Groot swayed along to the music behind them, almost falling out of his pot now-and-then.

At the other end of the ship were Drax and Rocket:

Fighting again.

Being a family of "former" convicts, the men on the ship (more precisely these two) often communicated very loudly. So it was difficult to discern when casual banter would turn into a fist-vs-gun fight.

An angry roar erupted throughout ship, alerting the others. There had been no "prelude" to this enraged shout. The hull had been silent – save for the usual background music – so this time, the interruption took them completely by surprise.

Quill immediately bounded out of his seat (nearly tripping over Groot) and stumbled down the hall.

Drax reeled back in uncharacteristic surprise after he let go of Rocket's scruff.

"What is the reason for –"

"What the hell do you think I am? I'm not some fucking ragdoll! You overgrown piece of-"

"You were in my spot, and you would not move upon request…"

A loud bang echoed through the room as Quill suddenly tumbled through the door.

Righting his self, Quill launched into his usual conflict-resolution speech before things out-of-hand; as usual:

"Okay guys… play nice, no need to decorate the ship with bullets and blood…"

Drax chanced a glance at the Star Lord, though Rocket seemed oblivious to his existence. Deft and blind from his rage, Rocket just continued to growl menacingly and in that brief moment, he somehow whipped out a rather large... missile launcher?

Ok. Now this wasn't a normal fight…. maybe they should be nervous now – at least Peter thought so as Gamora came to stand behind him.

Rocket heaved the launcher onto his shoulder shouting, "Maybe I'll blow off those bulky-ass legs of yours, and see-"

Drax snorted, "Yes. Just like I will rip out your frail spine-"

"FRAIL!?" Rocket cried indignantly. "Who the fuck do you think you are!? Calling me frail?! ME?!" Rocket then began to… load the launcher…

Crap. Shit just got real.

"Woah woah woah! What the hell happened?! You guys are pals, buddies, friends." Peter pleaded, frantically looking between the two. He was shocked. How can he possibly get these two to chill out before his crazy raccoon friend blows a hole through Drax and his ship, sucking them all out into oblivion? He wasn't prepared for this.

Even Gamora was alarmed; something was clearly wrong with their friend. None of them have ever seen Rocket this stark raving mad.

Now acknowledging their existence, Rocket gestured towards Drax with the chunk of metal on his shoulder, "I won't work with a bumbling dick-hole who tosses me around like a fucking TOY!" He roared with rage. His breathing was heavily labored, eyes narrowed to slits and his ears were plastered against his furry skull.

This level of fury shocked the team into silence. This was not the snarky, grumpy raccoon that they knew. Sure, the raccoon was a bit of an asshole most of the time; but never did he loose his cool this badly.

Drax, more alarmed at his small friend's behavior than the large weapon pointed up at him, took a cautious step towards the raccoon: "I was only moving-"

"Don't you fucking dare come close to me!" Rocket shouted, jerking out of reach as he clicked on the launcher with a snarl. Peter panicked at the sound of the weapon warming up.

Now the threat was real.

"ROCKET! Calm down!"

"I am NOT your FUCKING PET!" Rocket let out a battle cry, preparing to fire before Gamora cut it short by knocking him out.

The raccoon crumpled to the floor of the ship as everyone held their breath in shocked silence. Still worked-up over the ordeal, Peter spun towards the dumb-struck Drax.

"What the hell happened here?!"

Gamora suddenly appeared in the Destroyer's face with a knife to his throat.

"You. Explain this to us. Right now." Gamora demanded with a growl.

Still looking shell-shocked, Drax looked over her shoulder at Quill with his glassy-blue eyes and hesitated before responding, "I was telling the rodent to get out of my spot…"

Gamora narrowed her eyes.

"Nicely… and he proceeded to ignore my… request."

Another look.

"So I moved him myself."

The others groaned loudly in frustration, Gamora dropped her knife from Drax's throat and groaned while Peter collapsed dramatically to the floor with his head in his hands whispering "why, why, why". Gamora looks over at the idiot and rolls her eyes.

"WHY!? Why would you even do that?! You know how Rocket is about shit like that!"

"Shit like - ?"

"For crying out – don't treat him like he's lesser than you! You daft idiot!" Gamora shouted before releasing a defeated sigh and sheathing her weapon.

Drax glanced over at Rocket's form as Peter lifted him into his arms and walked towards the raccoon's quarters. He watched on, looking dismayed at the situation.

Gamora sighed as she noticed this and laid a hand on his shoulder for comfort. "I am thinking that Rocket is angered by more than just your action. But it would be good for us all if you apologized the next time you speak with him. I know you didn't mean to insult him. But attempt to see things from his perspective." She released the destroyer before heading back towards the cockpit.

"His pride is greater than all of ours." She called over her shoulder before the doors closed behind her.

Seconds later, Peter re-entered the room rubbing the back of his neck. He looked over at Drax and sighed. "Dude. I think we both need a drink."

Drax nodded solemnly, "Agreed."

In the darkness of the night, a loud crunch could be heard as blood began to pour out and sink into the soil. With a grunt, the serrated steel staff was jerked out of the Kree's skull and tossed carelessly to the ground.

The large shadow turned away from the corpse and towards the glittering lights in the distance.

"Not here."

Out of the blackest shadows strides an Acturan, and with a deep inhale of the sulfuric atmosphere; it begins shifting and contorting gruesomely. The sounds of bones shifting and cracking, flesh ripping as it begins an outline of something new. A gurgling noise, not unlike a drowning terrain, joins the cacophony as organs writhe and slide into place.

There is stillness in the evening air until the skin turns blue as new eyes open.

A sigh.

Shoulders roll, and a soft popping can be heard as he flexes his new form.

A simulacrum of the dead remains.

This Kree counterfeit casts an indifferent glance at the bloody and mangled corpse behind him.

"Maybe elsewhere."