Post by Drake on Mar 1, 2015 16:48:00 GMT -5
#10: Prelude to Infinity: Rebellion Part 2
Secret Invasion
By Drake
Ten Hours Earlier
Groot shattered with an enormous crack into dozens of twigs. Despite the force of the fall, the tree-man had managed to shield his friends from any intense damage, leaving Rocket with but a broken leg, Quie her already apparently severe wounds, and Sprog unconscious. A single stick shuddered as black beady eyes emerged on its epidermis, the vegetative being known as Groot reborn into a newer, younger body.
“That went well,” Rocket muttered sarcastically, looking around at the smoldering remains of starships and Groot. He attempted to stand up but found himself instantly back on the ground at the mercy of a shattered leg. “Gah! Fragging Skrulls…”
“Tt. You never shut up,” Quie’s eyes began to roll back in her head as she spoke, “do you…?”
Rocket hurriedly crawled to Quie’s side and held her head up, scanning over her wounds quickly. They were bad…or should have been. She was covered in her own azure blood but Rocket realized the plasma bolts had not cut her too deeply. She would survive till they got her proper medical care.
“Holy flarnag…” Rocket sighed, “She’ll be fine.”
“I am Groot?” the twig-man asked.
“Yes, I’m telling the truth. Who do I look like? Quill?” Rocket paused, before continuing, “You know what? Don’t answer that.”
“I am—“
“(Don’t move.)”
“Son of a bitch,” Rocket whispered, holding his hands in the air. A single Skrull stood behind him, plasma pistol in hand. The green-skinned alien bled weakly from a wound near his eye and its purple and black jumpsuit was singed, nearly falling apart at the seams, but otherwise it was unscathed.
The Skrull lifted its right wrist to its face, speaking into a bracelet that’s surface seemed to shift around, gently shimmering like the ocean.
“(Holy Commander, I have captured four rebel scum,)” The Skrull said in its native language, a blue light emerging on its bracelet.
“I prefer fashionably heroic anarchist, but who’m I to argue?” Rocket retorted. A purring sound as the plasma pistol heated up was all the raccoon got in response. “Y’know, you’ve got me wondering over here how you survived that crash. Captain Mohawk got you good.”
“(As you wish, Holy Commander.)” The Skrull agreed after a quiet voice returned his call. He lowered his wrist and pushed Rocket into the muddy ground, much to the raccoon’s distaste.
“(You two will be coming with me now,)” the Skrull stated, stretching its arm to encompass Quie and Sprog and lifting them from the ground, “(Or else these two die.)”
“And we’re supposed to believe you won’t kill them and us why?” Rocket said.
The Skrull grinned, “(I have the gun…and we have plans for you four. All of you.)”
In the most terrifying moment Rocket had experienced since he dreamt of Halfworld’s broken carcass, the Skrull’s face shifted to match his own as he grinned wickedly back at himself.
…
Now
Knowhere at all
Skrulls had invaded Knowhere!
Phyla Vell gazed down the barrel of a Skrull Plasma Blaster. At the age of ten she’d been forced to memorize how to take one apart and put it together again. She could override its primary DNA defense systems and fire one herself. Hell, she’d even used one once or twice. However, staring down a live blaster was a new experience for her. In her time, much to her Accuser’s disapproval, the Skrulls were the Kree’s least troubling enemy.
Still, a gun was a gun. It fired as slow as its user. In this case, its user was a frag of a lot slower than Phyla.
The Kree warrior slid to the side as the blaster exploded with plasma energy and burned part of her desk. She lashed out and took hold of not-Rocket’s arm, twisting it fiercely and aiming the weapon at not-Groot. The Skrull’s eyes widened in shock as Phyla pinched a specific nerve in not-Rocket’s forearm, causing his index finger to squeeze down on the trigger.
BLAM!
Not-Groot fell to the ground, an enormous hole burned into its chest. Green blood leaked from its mouth as it returned to its original form. Not-Rocket shouted in fright, but Phyla wouldn’t have any of that. She slammed his jaw upwards, stunning him, before knocking the pistol out of its hand with a swift swipe. No use picking it up. The thing was coded to the Skrull’s unique mutating DNA.
Phyla grabbed a light from her smoldering desk and smashed it on the ground. Burning hot liquid leaking from the light drew blisters on her hand as she lifted it over not-Rocket’s face. He shuddered and tried to cry as the liquid burned into his fur. He began to shift back into his normal Skrull shape while Phyla continued to torture him, closing his mouth with her hand.
“Are Rocket and Groot alive??” Phyla growled.
“Ttpp…” the Skrull managed. She lightened her hold on its jaw. “Stop…!” She slammed upwards again and it cried out in pain as its skin simultaneously burned and its jaw broke.
“You die quickly or slowly depending on if you answer me. Are Rocket and Groot alive?? Where are they??? HOW MANY OF YOU ARE THERE??” Phyla demanded.
“Ps…” Phyla shook the light, dripping more burning liquid onto the Skrull’s face. “Plsss…”
Phyla let his jaw go. The Skrull cried and shuddered but managed to speak.
“I’ll tlk. By the creatorr, I’ll fraggin’ tlk…” the Skrull sobbed through its broken jaw, “Your friends live. Th’re in ship. Th’re far away. We…we’re gonna take Knowhere. It’s too late…there’s too many of—”
BKRACK!
Phyla broke the Skrull’s neck with a flick of her wrist. Standing over its corpse, she picked up her Quantum Bands and let them shift gently onto her wrists as a golden glow encompassed her body. Her simple Knowhere Security garb transformed into a tight red, gold and black suit with a black hooded cape. Her chest was marked with a golden cross encircled with light, the same emblem that designated her bands as the legendary Quantum Bands, one of the most powerful weapons in the Universe. A glowing golden blade of energy emerged from the Bands as Phyla frowned.
“Too many Skrulls for me to slaughter? Like hell…”
…
Nearing Pra’estor
Outer Rim Planet and a Global Home to the Centaurians
Peter Quill piloted Milago as the cheekily dubbed ‘Legion of Guardians of the Galaxy’ neared Pra’estor. Peter twitched anxiously in his seat, ruffling his dirty, blue Knowhere Security uniform. The apparel consisted of a worn jacket, a nasty white undershirt, and blue combat pants and boots. His helmet rested behind his ear in its restricted form, ready to slide out over his face upon a verbal command. The Element Gun—the source of all Peter’s heroics and problems—was strapped to his belt.
“You need not worry, Captain Quill,” Yinuet, the Centaurian general, assured the man, resting a hand on his shoulder. “The battle will be ours.”
“Actually, the likelihood of victory is closer to 13.46%, so it’s only natural that Peter should be in a fixed mental state of str—“ Milago, the ship’s AI, began.
“Not helping, Milago,” Peter said, wiping sweat from his brow. This was his first big battle. Little moon skirmishes were nothing. He was used to that from his time on Yondu’s crew, but this…this was new. He was a pirate, after all, not a soldier.
“Ah yes, that d’ast AI of yours,” Yinuet crossed his arms and leaned back near a fellow Centaurian against the wall of the ship. “Why did you let your ship’s computer name itself, anyway? The thing’s a Milano, not a ‘mee-lah-go.’”
Peter relaxed a little. He’d had to explain the ship’s name before. “When my Captain died, I was left all alone with my girl Milago here. Decided a new day, a new stage in my life required a new identity.”
“Peter Quill is not your birth name?” Yinuet wondered.
Peter chuckled, “No. It is. It’s the only thing I know about myself actually. Ma or Pa or whoever left me on that d’ast Kree moon left a note with my name. I couldn’t give that up.”
“My name, however, was expendable to Peter,” Milago retorted.
“Hey, you’re lucky I decided not to have you junked,” Peter teased.
“Please, it was in the Captain’s will that you keep me, and we both know you never disobeyed an order from Yondu,” Milago said, “You would not—“
“Yondu!” Yinuet interrupted, shaken. He gaped at Peter. “You were on Yondu’s crew? You were on the Redfins?”
“Yeah,” Peter rolled his eyes, expecting the worst, “Cosmo never told you? I was a deckhand on the Slaughterfin.”
“I—I thought all the Redfins had been killed,” Yinuet stuttered.
“Common misconception, although it is what we wanted people to think.”
“We?”
“Yeah,” Peter admitted, “There’s another. The two of us and Milago were the only surviving Redfins.”
“By the Dei,” Yinuet hid his face behind his hands. The soldiers around him shifted around uncomfortably. The awkwardness did not go unnoticed by Peter, who used his rearview mirror to gaze back over the scene.
Peter said, “What’s up? I know Yondu was a Centaurian, but he’s dead now. You can’t seriously…”
Yinuet muttered something incoherently. Peter frowned. Milago’s lights flickered. Peter’s frown deepened.
“Oh dear…” Milago said.
“What? What’d he say?” Peter demanded, his nervousness replaced by anger and curiosity.
“I said,” Yinuet spoke up, “That my brother’s ghost follows me even here…”
Peter’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t have just said—
“You see, Captain Quill, Yondu was my twin brother. My rebellious twin brother.”
Peter grinned, ”No shit.”
…
Knowhere
Phyla kicked the last remaining Skrull limb into her closet and then shut the door, hiding her assailants’ corpses. She didn’t have much time. More likely than not there was another waiting outside. At the very least someone would be here to check up on them soon.
Phyla ducked out of her room and pulled her hood over her head. She prepared to step to her right down the hallway to living quarters floor C when her Quantum Bands glowed softly. She instinctively swiveled around and produced a golden energy blade. The sword halted just a centimeter from the neck of the feeble man before her—Sprog, the tentacle-mouthed Vewnor.
“By. The. Celestials—“ Sprog began, but Phyla stopped him from continuing when she grabbed his turtleneck and shoved him into the wall. After glancing around for any other potential Skrulls, Phyla inched her energy blade towards his neck.
“Who are you? Are you friend or enemy?” Phyla whispered harshly.
“Friend. I—“
“Prove it,” Phyla demanded.
“What. Am. I. Supposed. To. Do?” Sprog wondered, holding up his gooey brown arms in surrender.
Phyla grimaced, and mentally ordered her blade to shrink down to the size of a knife. She covered Sprog’s mouth and cut his cheek. Red blood. He bled red. Phyla let go of him, leaving the man to grab his lacerated cheek and hold back tears.
“What. Was. That. For?” Sprog demanded.
“Skrulls have invaded Knowhere,” Phyla looked around, paranoid, “They could be anyone.”
Sprog’s eyes widened. “How. Can. I. Trust. You?”
Phyla looked down at him incredulously. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Just. Saying.”
Phyla sighed and lifted her hand up. With one quick motion she cut her palm. A line of crimson blood dripped down to the ground.
“See? My blood’s not green,” Phyla dragged Sprog off the ground and onto his feet, “Now, stand up and help me save this whole bloody world.”
“Actually. It’s. More. Of. A. Moon. Colony—“
“Shut up,” Phyla retorted.
“Yes. Ma’am.” And without further ado, Sprog followed Phyla down the hallway and to Celestials-know-what.
…
Pra’estor
“And the fragging captain—Yondu—he said…he said, ‘get off the ground, you d’ast Kriplover. Get off the ground and get all hands on deck.’” Peter reminisced as Milago flew herself, Pra’estor coming into sight. Nobody noticed, however. Even the soldiers were caught up in Peter’s tales of revel and piratry.
“Well, at that point everyone lost it,” Peter said, before chuckling lightly, “Yondu hadn’t even realized what he’d said. Always so serious… ‘all hands on deck.’”
The young ship captain leaned back in his seat and supported his head with his hands. Yinuet let loose a weak smile as his fellow Centaurians laughed boisterously.
“It is good to know…Yondu was loved,” Yinuet admitted, before standing up and marching to the back of the ship. The crowd quieted. Peter stood up and tried to see what the Centaurian general was up to.
“Did I say something wrong?” Peter asked.
“No, it’s not you,” a Centaurian explained, “Yondu’s a touchy subject with the General. The two of them were orphans. All they had were each other…until they didn’t. He never says more ‘n the bare details, but I know Yondu and he got into a fight. A bad fight. Yondu left ‘n he…well, they went their separate ways. The General became The General. Yondu became the most infamous criminal in Centaurian history.” As the Centaurian spoke, Peter’s eyes never left Yinuet, who stared fixatedly out at space through a window.
“Yeah…I can see how that would be a problem,” Peter admitted. He began to step towards Yinuet when Milago’s voice ringed over the comm system.
“We’re in Pra’estor’s atmosphere and we are not alone,” Milago stated, “Boy, I’m now calculating a 3.46% chance of victory. I’d wish you good luck, but, well, luck is illogical.”
The soldiers on board stared in shock at the sight before them. A whole Skrull armada glided towards them, an enormous, black, oval-shaped Godship in lead. The Knowhere army in comparison was just under fifty ships of all different shapes and sizes, but none of which came close to the sheer expansiveness of the Godship.
“Milago, seriously, shut up,” Peter muttered.
A Centaurian put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, “I hope that other Redfin friend of yours is ready to be the last one in existence.”
“Yeah…you misheard me earlier. I said there was two of us at the time,” Peter slowly sat down in the pilot’s seat, “He’s long since died.”
“Well, my friend, it appears the Redfins time is over. It will be an honor to die at your side.”
Peter glared determinedly at the Godship, “If we die here, you can bet we’ll take a frag ton of those shape shifting krutackers with us. Onwards, soldiers!”
Something clicked in Peter as the soldiers behind him got into place, either taking control of a weapons system or entering a smaller craft attached to Milago. This was war. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“Let’s go guard the d’ast galaxy!” Peter cheered, urging Milago towards the armada.
…
The Knowhere ‘capital’ was a set of offices on the top floor of the severed Celestial head that not only hosted the War Room, but also was home to the colony’s communication and teleportation networks, nicknamed ‘The Hub’ and ‘The Passport System’ respectively. In addition to this, it was only a short elevator ride from the living quarters and therefore took Phyla and Sprog just under two minutes to reach it. From there, the Kree woman’s plan was as good as a mystery to the slimy man.
“What. Are. We. Going. To—“
“Silence,” Phyla ordered, rounding a corner to the hallway that connected the War Room, The Hub and the Passport System. Five guards waited at the end of the hall, protecting The Hub.
“State your business,” one demanded as Phyla approached, Sprog just behind.
“I’m Kilcommander Phyla Vell of the rebellion. Do not question me, soldier,” Phyla retorted.
“It’s my duty, ma’am.”
Phyla unleashed a barrage of golden blades from her Bands. The energy tore through four of the guards, but never disconnected from the Quantum Bands. The last guard raised his rifle, but Phyla stopped him with a thick golden band that trapped him against the wall.
“Five guards to protect The Hub while we go to war over Pra’estor? Please,” Phyla chided, stepping over the corpses that slowly shifted back to Skrull form. Sprog looked down nervously, barely holding back vomit, as he followed the Kree warrior.
“(You will die, Kree scum! In the name of our lord and creator, we will see you dead!)” The guard squealed in its native tongue.
“(Better warriors than you have tried and failed, deviant,)” Phyla said, before allowing the quantum light to cover the Skrull’s mouth. She tapped the code to open The Hub and dragged the intruder after her as she entered. Sprog hurried after her.
“You. Know. I. Can. Help,” Sprog explained, “I. Am. Good. At—“
“What did I say earlier? Quiet.”
Phyla continued to hold out her right arm, keeping the Skrull prisoner, while she looked over the communication board in front of her. Buttons and triggers littered it. Certainly easy enough with her training to use. Phyla tapped in the activation code and pressed the speaker button.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
Phyla ignored Sprog. “Citizens of Knowhere, this is Kree and rebellion Kilcommander Phyla Vell. Some of you may know me as Quasar. I must gravely announce that Knowhere has been compromised…infiltrated by Skrull spies. For all intents and purposes, a secret invasion has been initiated. Be wary. I will not let this fortress fall.”
And with those final words, Phyla ended her speech. Sprog stared at her, dumbfounded.
“You! Imbecile! You! Doomed! Us! All!” Sprog shouted.
“I told the Skrulls we know they’re here. That means they’ll get reckless and rush their plans. We’ll catch them,” Phyla argued.
“You. Are. The. Reckless. One!” Sprog said, “They. Could. Bomb. Us. They. Could. Kill. Civilians.”
“Which is why we must also act now. They won’t be subtle, so we can’t be,” Phyla said.
“You. Are. Crazy!”
“Maybe,” Phyla admitted, “But the greatest successes I’ve ever had were born of a prior thoughtless risk. Impulse has never led me astray. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…” The Kree turned to her Skrull prisoner, “I’m going to interrogate our friend here.”
“If. You. Would. Have. Let. Me. Finish. I. Would. Have. Told. You.” Sprog continued, causing Phyla to hesitate, “If. I. Touch. Someone. I. Can. Hear. Their. Thoughts. I. Connect. With. Them.”
“You can read his mind? Discover their plan?” Phyla asked, for the first time appreciating Sprog’s presence.
“Yes.”
Phyla smiled, “Then get to work.”
…
The Nova System
2 Hours From Xandar
Heather and Quie both sat calmly in the Kree Spacecruiser as they neared Xandar, home of the interplanetary Nova Corps. Despite the incredible awkwardness at the multi-hour long, personal, exhausting travel experience, the two had managed to remain chatty throughout the flight. Both had gotten to know one another relatively well.
Quie was a Centaurian soldier from the race’s home planet Enda. Her full name was Quiestia Quirrell, and she was the daughter of two fruit merchants. She’d worked her way out of poverty and became a high-ranking officer in the Centaurian army.
Heather, on the other hand, had no military experience. While Quie told stories of her military exploits, Heather could only speak of her father’s disappearance and her quests with the Guardians of the Galaxy.
“That name is so…ludicrous,” Quie teased, before continuing dramatically, “The Guardians of the Galaxy!”
“Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” Heather admitted, “You should’ve heard some of Rocket’s other ideas. ‘Asskickers of the Fantastic.’ ‘Krutacking Revenger Force.’”
“That silly Raccoon,” Quie laughed.
“You can imagine the mishaps he gets into…”
…
Pra’estor
The War Zone
Amidst dozens of battling spaceships flew the Skrulls’ weapon of mass destruction, its ‘general,’ the Godship. Deep inside the behemoth in a damp room lit with only the smallest of fires was a cellblock. In cell 4, immediately to the right upon entering the hallway, were two beings who had grown rather accustomed to being prisoners.
Rocket Raccoon and Groot remained unconscious, strapped to a wall with metal restraints. The two had been tortured and experimented on for nearly a day. Why, neither knew. The cyborg raccoon wished for death’s sweet embrace. It seemed inevitable. However, their fate was not so grim.
A black hole exploded into life, just a few feet from the prisoners. It absorbed all light in the room before calmly flickering out itself, leaving only a being of pure light in the room.
Neither Rocket nor Groot stirred. They had been drugged, forced into a temporary coma. The light being chuckled. Rocket had a habit of intoxicating himself one way or another.
The being lifted his hand. A bolt of light burst out from his index finger and burned through Rocket’s first restraint. Shot by shot, the man freed the prisoners’ restraints. Without much time to lose, the man approached the two outlaws and placed his hands on their heads. Within another second, a black hole had emerged again and encompassed the three. One last fateful second later the portal disappeared.
Cell 4, the second room to the right in the Godship cellblock, was empty.