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Rocket and The Imp

[A Guardians of the Galaxy FanFiction]

Chapter One - Stranded

Knowhere.

The severed head of an ancient celestial being.

An overgrown mining colony suitable only for outlaws.

A land void of not only supervision and authority, but also of morals.

Commonly referred to as 'the worst place in the universe.'

"Yeah, yeah, tell me somethin' I don't know! Preferably directions to T'Banda's, which is what I fucking asked you in the first place!" Rocket yelled into his PDA, stumbling through the crowded streets of Knowhere.

" I'm sorry, ROCKET. I did not understand that. Please clarify your inquiry." The female-sounding AI declared.

With a frustrated exhale and all the restraint he could muster, the raccoon took a deep breath and refrained from ripping his new PDA apart. He ran a paw over his face and cleared his throat, moving so close to the wrist-mounted computer that there couldn't possibly be any misunderstandings.

"Give. Me. Directions. To. T'Banda's Chemical Surplus. You fucking worthless bitch watch." He growled, paws curling into fists.

Understandably, Rocket was frustrated.

The months following the defeat of Ronan's seemed to be some of the best days of Rocket's life. With his previous criminal record cleared by the Nova-Corp, along with a new life and new friends, he felt a feeling of odd, unfamiliar joy. It was definitely not something he was accustomed to. Not that he was complaining of course. At least, not yet. Eventually word spread throughout the Galaxy of the Guardian's heroics, and several employment opportunities were made available to them. Within just a few months, the Guardians have accomplished an impressive number of heroic acts. Each experience and each adventure brought the team closer together, optimizing their teamwork and enlightening their spirits. Although incredibly dangerous and life-threatening, the raccoon wouldn't have it any other way. Rocket needed adventure in his life.

And there stood the problem. It had been months since their last mission. Months of the doing nothing but that same routine with the same people with the same music. Until only recently.

In a surprising turn of events, a contract was offered to the Guardians. A rebel force enlisted them for an assassination job on an extremely vile and ruthless dictator in the planet of Irra, inhabited by a race of species known as Th'Jota, famous for their unsettling transparent skin. Upon receiving news of this new job opportunity, Rocket's mood had improved dramatically. With the mission accepted, the Guardians started work on preparations. They had received word that the vile dictator would be giving a speech the following day, which gave them their window of opportunity to execute the target, and liberate the civilization. That day was now today, and Rocket had suddenly come up with an oddly specific 'plan' for the execution, that he refused to reveal to Star-Lord. The essential part of the plan relied on the effectiveness of the weapon, which was Rocket's expertise. This left the Guardians they little choice but to go along with the raccoon's demands - to make quick pit stop on Knowhere so that he may obtain the element crucial to his plan. Quill had reluctantly agreed, only after Rocket's constant insistence that it was 'crucial to the contract.'

So now there Rocket was, on Knowhere trying to yet find another dealer that would sell 'Ionic Jotacid', the element he needed, after learning that his preferred vendor was brutally murdered. Not only had he visited nearly twenty vendors, and the same three multiple times, but he was also running extremely late, as is.

" Starting route to T'BANDA'S. Proceed to the left for twenty meters, then turn right." The robotic voice nagged.

He didn't bother getting into another argument with his wrist PDA. T'Banda's was the last vendor that would most likely sell the particular item that was so desperately needed. The frustrated mammal shoved just about everybody he passed on the way to the shop, as well as mentally cursing the abundance of people who just seemed to be walking as deliberately slow as possible. One such resident of Knowhere did not take so kindly to being shoved by the small animal, and reciprocated with physical violence of his own - shoving Rocket forcefully into the wet ground.

"Watch where you're goin' ya dumb rat!" The large blue-skinned man shouted, clearly having a shorter fuse than Rocket.

Under any other circumstance, the raccoon would have not hesitated, in fact would have relished, in sending a few thousand volts of pain into the man's face with his trusted laser gun, but now was not the time. Instead, he quickly got up, picked up his fallen satchel and continued forth, paying no attention to the mud covering his orange and blue jumpsuit. Rocket had resumed his original running speed when he had felt his PDA send off a short but powerful vibration, signaling that he was receiving a call. He looked over at his wrist, tilting it towards him to read the name of the caller. It was Star-Lord.

"Goddammit, not now!," Rocket cursed, hitting 'decline' on his PDA while turning the corner to T'Banda's. Rocket noted that the population of people he had to shove out of the way had gone down dramatically, signaling he was approaching a seemingly less populated area of Knowhere. Not thinking much of it, the furred mammal continued forward, and finally arrived in the front of the store.

Several things happened within a short amount of time. Firstly, Rocket's PDA had begun to vibrate once more - Peter was calling him again. Secondly, Rocket had now realized why there hadn't been a lot of people in this part of town - T'Banda's and the surrounding stores were closed. And Finally, juast as he turned the corner, he hadn't noticed the puddle in front of him, and had slipped into it, once more becoming covered in the foreign wet soil.

Frustrated beyond belief, Rocket had nearly punched the 'Answer' button on his watch.

"Yeah, What can I do for ya, Star-Fuck?" He feigned a polite tone through gritted teeth, and it was obvious.

"Rocket! We can't spare any more time, we need to leave like, right now!" Peter exclaimed over the shallow speaker.

"Is that so?" Rocket groaned, haphazardly attempting to dust himself off.

"Rocket, seriously, this contract is important. What are you doing there anyway? What's so crucial?"

Rocket said in a monotone voice, "Oh nothing, just getting some Jotacid to lace the bullets with - it's just the only way to kill a Th'Jotaian, ya know, our assassination target? But yeah not crucial at all-"

Star-Lord had cut off Rocket's cocky remarks, angrily stating, "That's not true in the slightest. Please tell me that's not actually why you're there."

"Oh," Rocket quipped. "And how would you know?"

"Because I actually did my frickin' research on the contract! Th'Jotaians don't need Jotacid-laced bullets to die! Rocket, why are you there?"

"I'm... I'm here because I found out that using bullets infused with Jotacid to kill a Th'Jotain target results in an hilariously awesome head explosion and I really wanted to see it! Ok? Sorry for wanting to spice up or fuckin' boring lives with a little fun!"

Silence filled the air for what seemed like hours, allowing Rocket to realize the error of his ways.

"Ok, yeah. Probably not worth risking losing our only contract. Alright, I'm on my way to the-"

"Don't bother. We'll come back for you after."

"Wait, what? What is this, are you grounding me or something?"

The line cut off, Star-Lord had ended the call.

Rocket stopped for a moment, collecting his thoughts and fully coming to terms with his current situation.

"FUCK!" He yelled, kicking the dirt around him in frustration.

" Getting directions to Zoidi's Fuck 'N Suck Strip Club and Bar. In half a meter, turn-"

Rocket ripped off his PDA and slammed it into the ground. He then proceeded to stomp on it viciously, followed by ripping the computer watch in half, gnawing on the LCD screen, and throwing it into a nearby puddle. Rocket stumbled and leaned against the wall, slipping down and ending up in a sitting position. He stared down the alleyway that he was in. Quite a distance away, he could see people walking, minding their own business, enjoying their day. And he was envious.

"To not care again would be nice," he randomly thought.

A few more minutes passed by as he caught his breath and gradually calmed down.

"I just destroyed my only contact with the Guardians, didn't I?"

Rocket stood up slowly, frustratingly grunting and exhaling.

"Eh, who gives a shit?" He said, heading into the brightly-lit neon streets of Knowhere. As he walked past the droves of people, he did his best to ignore the looks he was getting. Alas, he could never pretend they weren't there. Rocket looked up ahead, spotting what seemed to be a bar, judging by the large neon universal sign for alcohol. He picked up the pace, and was soon walking through through the front doors.

It was dimly lit, it reeked of toxic liquids, foreign odors, and was overall incredibly musty. The sound of light chatter filled the air - the bar seemed to be only half full. Rocket approached an empty barstool with empty seats to the left and right of it. Just the way he liked it. Like most stools, and chairs in general, the raccoon embarrassingly had to make a short jump just to be able to situation himself into a sitting position. Once settled, Rocket called to the bartender.

"Hey! Can I get a drink over here?" He inquired with a raspy, annoyed tone.

"Do you have the credits to cover that?" the elderly barkeep condescendingly asked.

"Of course I do!" Rocket lied.

"What'll it be then?" He exhaled.

"I really don't care." Rocket deadpanned.

The barkeep grabbed a bottle covered in alien text and poured Rocket a glass. Grabbing a hold of the glass in his furred paws, Rocket sniffed the liquid. It was a smell he'd never smelled before, but it wasn't bad. He took a sip.

"I kinda like it but I kinda hate it."

Rocket stared at the dirty metal counter, as if looking for a solution to his existential crisis within the rust stains.

"How could I fuck up so bad? Jeez, I just had to go and try and have a little fun with it, did I? And fucked up the first contract we had in long time. Well why'd you do it fuckface? Oh, I'll tell you why I did it, fuckface, it's because I'm getting sick and goddamn tired of this 'Hero's code' bullshit."

Rocket sipped the toxic liquid.

"Fucking - about a year ago, I would have been happy to just be alive. To, at best case scenario, score a huge bounty and make some credits. To get my hands on the deadliest armaments the galaxy had to offer. To do whatever the hell I wanted with no regard for morals. But I think...

I think I've grown out of that.

Hell I still love blowing a hole through some sorry fucker's head, don't get me wrong, fuckface.

It's just...

I..."

Rocket swallowed his emotions with another drink.

"Now what fucking reasons do I have to have a goddamn existential crisis like this?

I pretty much have everything I want."

Rocket took another drink. He stopped and stared at the solid black liquid. It stared at it until the surface calmed and became as clear as possible, looking at his reflection. Rocket put a paw up to his face, feeling the fur on his cheek.

"Am I alone?"

Rocket's train of thought was interrupted with a thunderous impact nearby. He turned to see a large, hulking blue beast sitting in the stool beside him.

"Aye barkeep, I think your bar's infested!" The brute laughed, pointing at Rocket.

"Now that wouldn't be a slight to me, would it, fatass?"

"Hah! Tough words from a rodent."

"Ya know, if I hadn't just ingested about a quarter of my weight with this toxic shit, I'd just about claw your eyes out!"

They both shared a laugh.

"Now why do I get the feelin' I've seen you before?"

"I dunno, ever heard of the frickin' Guardians of the Galaxy?," Rocket slurred. "Or have you heard of any other four-foot BAMFs round here?"

"Ya know, actually, I have..."

"That's what I thought-...wait which one-"

"Holy FLARG, now what did you get yourself into that put a bounty of 30,000 credits on your head?"

"What in the fuck is a Flarg? And I didn't do shit-"

Just then the large beast pulled out a knife and pressed it to Rocket's neck, a gleeful expression on his face.

"Best part? It pays even more for you dead!" He grunted wickedly.

Rocket rolled his eyes, despising the beast's horrible attempt at a threatening pose. He grabbed the hand holding the knife and twisted it at a horrific angle. The beast screamed, hearing the tendons in his wrist tear and pop, dropping the knife and jumping off the stool. Rocket did the same, making a run for the front door. Just then another alien beast stepped in front of his path, blocking him and drawing a pistol.

"We got a runner here!" The man said, firing his pistol.

With a deafeningly loud blast and a blindingly bright flash of red, Rocket leapt to the side, luckily dodging the bullet. He slid under the mans feet in an attempt to escape, only to be kicked in the face by another attacker. Feeling his snout throb in pain, he came to the realization that he was in the worst possible place for having a bounty on his head. Apparently, Knowhere is full of thugs who would be willing to kill for money. Who knew?

The raccoon quickly pushed himself off the ground after tumbling backwards. He got up just in time to avoid a gunshot from another attacker, push over a table, and duck behind it to scope out the bar and look for any point of escape. He spotted a back door. He pushed the table over again as a distraction, then bolted for it.

Swinging the large steel door open, he saw that the back door of the bar led into a wide opening near a very heavily populated street. Rocket then spotted a crevice in-between two buildings, and quickly jumped into it, maneuvering and scampering his way through, eventually coming into an much slimmer alleyway.

It was incredibly dark, only slightly illuminated by a nearby flickering purple neon sign. It was miraculously quiet, save for the hiss of steam rising from an exposed pipe and the muted, distance sounds of city life.

Rocket looked around. There was no one.

After taking out his frustration on a few piles of garbage and cursing some more, Rocket threw his shoulder bag to the ground and sat up against a wall. He held his head in his paws, confused and bewildered.

"Who would want to kill me? And pay 30,000 credits for it?" He asked himself.

"30,000 is an awful lot for you to not know the reason," a digitized, deep voice answered.

Rocket quickly stood up, looking both ways for the source of the voice. Before he could reply, the sight of two red, glowing eyes at the end of the alleyway frightened him into silence.

The eyes were approaching him.

Rocket felt his back for his weapon - it wasn't there.

Shit! It's in the Pocket Dimension Storage Vial - in my fuckin' shoulder bag, 'cause couldn't get it to fit with-

His thoughts were cut short as the figure now was now closer, and large slim pistol became visible in the dim purple neon light - aiming directly at Rocket's muzzle. Being angry, exhausted, confused and a bit drunk, he felt he didn't have enough fight in him to go for the attacker's gun. Instead, he assumed a threatening glare and slowly lifted his paws up.

"I got more than 30,000 credits if you'd let me-"

"Shut up." It interrupted, "Who are you?"

"You saw the bounty, shouldn't you know?"

"What are you? How many of you are there?"

"What? I'm the only one! The fuck are you getting at?"

"Are there more?" The figure asked, it's robotic voice changing pitch slightly, almost as if it's voice cracked. The figure stepped closer, it's full form being illuminated in the light.

The figure was his height.

The figure was female.

The figure had a tail.

Rocket slowly lowered his arms, and took a step forward.

"What-"

The figure shot.

The last thing Rocket recalled was a purple light on a feminine form, dark and dastardly red eyes peering into him, and a blinding blue flash. And it was over.

Knowhere was commonly referred to as 'the worst place in the universe. Yet two heroes were there today.

Hours earlier...

Somewhere in Knowhere, in the most dangerous of streets, an infamous soul watches over - A wanderer with nowhere to go. In recent years, a local legend had become the talk of the town. A masked individual threatening to neutralize the most evil and corrupt criminals of the lawless land. Bringing morality to one of the most immoral of places in the entire galaxy. A masked menace to those who wish harm; a savior to the innocent. Mysterious and unknown to all. They'd call it a glorified vigilante, They'd call it the biggest nuisance in Knowhere, and they'd always call it The Imp.

Atop one of the largest buildings in the mining colony, she stood. This rooftop was where she went to reflect. It provided a nice view, and was usually void of life. The Imp sat on a overturned crate near the edge of the roof, overlooking a populated street.

After making sure there was no one nearby, she took a breath and pulled back her hood. She then removed her face plate, turning it to stare at it. It was dark, completely black, save for the two red slits, resembling a pair of angry, evil eyes. She sighed, and began to recollect the day.

"V'Lytau the Slaver was slaughtered by my hand today.

I stopped four mugging attempts today.

Was a productive day.

I've been awake for thirty hours.

Yet...sleep alludes me.

What is wrong with me?"

A cold chill flutters in her chest. Feelings of pessimism and depression return, as she routinely begins to suppress it.

"Don't be weak..."

Being a public enemy, one must have no weaknesses. No doubts, no room for error. Whenever she detected even the slightest uncertainty within her, she reminded herself of her creed - "don't be weak."

But today was different. She didn't know why and she didn't know how, but she felt a difference. She had began the reassuring process...but decided to let up. She decided to ponder the questions that she never dared to think about.

"I'm...not weak.

But that isn't what is wrong, now is it?

Then what is it?

What is it?

What is...my purpose?"

She took a deep breath and removed one of her gloves, staring at the furred, shaking paw in front of her.

"Where did I come from?"

Her heart sank to her stomach as the thoughts began to overwhelm her. She'd always tried not to think about it, for engaging in the thoughts threatened to lead into downward spiral to madness, and now, the entire universe felt as if it was collapsing around her.

Just then, she heard footsteps.

"Adult Male.

Ten meters away.

Armed."

She quickly grabbed her mask and put it on, whipping around to turn toward the offender. The wanderer drew her pistol from it's holster. Taking short, shallow breaths, she flicked a dial on the edge of the gun's barrel, effectively setting the gun's explosive damage to maximum. All previous thoughts left her mind, as the Imp aimed the pistol at the offender.

"Don't be weak."

He was just as she suspected, a large blue thug-type wielding some sort of modded axe. The attacker quickly sprinted forward. She didn't care to question it, nor did she need to. She was a target, always a target, and he was now an enemy.

She pulled the trigger, and an explosive projectile expelled from the barrel. It embedded itself into the man's skull before he could swing once. After a split-second, the projectile exploded, sending remnants of the offender's head scattering all over the surrounding area. The lifeless body fell forwards, splatting into an incredibly large pool of blood, as that ever-familiar thud of a dead body hitting the ground echoed across the rooftop.

She walked over to the corpse. The Imp took a breath, and her thoughts stabilized.

"Don't be weak...It's not about being happy, it's about being safe."

She walked to the edge of the building and hopped off, grabbing a pipe to break her speed. She threw her feet on the side of the structure, arched her back and and flipped off, landing perfectly. The alleyway was dark and foggy. Her mask glinted red and lit the way.

Then she heard something. The sound of rattling cans, and some Earth swearing. She ducked and hid behind an overturned dumpster. She waited.

"...who would want to kill me? And pay 30,000 credits for it?" said a gruff, stressed voice.

The Imp pulled her pistol from her side belt, feeling the cold, inviting texture of the grip.

"Some scared outlaw coming to terms with their first bounty? That's cute. And sad."

"30,000 is an awful lot for you to not know the reason." she quipped, before turning the corner of the dumpster and positioned her pistol.

The individual jumped in shock. Had it not been for her mask, he would have clearly seen her own eyes widen in shock, for the sight before her, was a raccoon.

A bipedal raccoon.

A distraught, bipedal,...rugged raccoon.

She approached him once more, pistol drawn and aimed at the animal's head. He appeared flustered, confused, and...drunk? Without a thought, she approached him again, stepping into the dim violet light. The raccoon spoke again.

"I got more than 30,000 credits if you'd let me-"

"Shut up." She interrupted, "Who are you?"

"You saw the bounty, shouldn't you know?"

"What are you? How many of you are there?"

"What? I'm the only one! The fuck are you getting at?"

"There has to be more." she nearly growled. Her heart was racing. Everything she thought she knew was changing.

"I'm not the only one.

I'm not alone.

Who is he?

He's just like me.

He's putting his arms down.

He's approaching me."

The Imp noticed her pistol was shaking slightly. She brought it back to its full height and aimed directly at Rocket. His eyes faltered a bit. She saw a weakness in him for a second, and was reminded of her own. She flicked a dial on the edge of the gun's barrel, effectively setting the gun's explosive damage off, and quickly changing the gun's setting to 'stun'.

He started to speak again when she shot.

The recoil was the weakest she's ever felt, the energized pellet shooting out of the barrel and into the side of the raccoon's muzzle. Within moments, the mammal became discombobulated, falling onto the dirt floor, motionless.

She stepped forward, and squatted to get a closer look. She took her glove off, and placed it on the unconscious raccoon's neck. There was still a pulse.

"He's fine. He's also a fucking raccoon. I can't leave him here. He may have answers. And he looks just like me."

She performed a touch motion onto the side of her faceplate, enabling her HUD, and displaying her route home. The Imp put on her glove. She then put her paw to the side of his face, and aimed it at hers.

"Well, almost like me."