13916/A cool Million Five

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
A cool Million Five
Date of Scene: 25 January 2023
Location: Cockpit - Milano
Synopsis: Follow a lead to Salvage World to steal a million and five unit egg, they said. But nobody mentioned fighting the frackin Brood. This is bullsh-
Cast of Characters: Gamora, Rocket, Nebula, Peter Quill




Gamora has posed:
True to her word, Gamora had acquired a spicy bit of information regarding a particularly exclusive item for which the Collector has offered a distinctly lucrative paycheck. There were a few stops the Guardians had to make before heading to 'Salvage World', specifically to pick up Nebula, to pick up Drax (who is now invisible somewhere on the ship), and to get a Therium tipped mining drill. She said this was very important.

Suffice to say that the trip to Salvage World is one spent with her going over the plan.

"Alright, so the De'loga was a Kree science vessel lost twenty five years ago." She points at a sector of space where the Kree and Skrull had a series of altercations, "Whatever they were working on, the Empire definitely wanted destroyed because they sent five Skrull Battleships..." She peers around at everyone, "Most people assume it was, in fact, destroyed. The Collector thinks otherwise."

She switches the display over to a digitized Egg. "This is what we're after. A junk raider stumbled onto a weak recovery beacon matching the IFS signature of the De'loga. Minimal power kept the life support operational for the last twenty five years." With a nod, "They took the life pod and the egg to Salvage World and pawned it off to a local fence who intends to collect the million five unit bounty."

"So we're going to steal it and get the bounty ourselves."

Rocket has posed:
Nothing like settling in to a long flight. Rocket doesn't bother keeping himself strapped in, even for the hyperspace jumps. They're rote, easy and unexceptional. The best hiding places for bandits, of course.

Still, the raccoon hybrid is stretched sideways, eating snacks from a bag that crinkles every time a paw is set in, searching for the next bite. His brows crease, lending a dip to that black furred mask of his at the information, his ears flickering, and there is a slight raise of his muzzle to reveal those small, sharp teeth of his. "They survived FIVE Skrull Battleships," he begins, more repeating to make sure he's got the information correct, "And the Collector thinks they survived that." Those whiskers shift back a little in consideration before he offers up a single shoulder-shrug and sits up a little straighter, wadding the now empty bag up in a paw.

"So, it exists and if that's the case?" There's a smile that now rises, those whiskers pushed forward, "I'm game. A million five will come in handy right about now."

Nebula has posed:
Nebula is... skeptical when she's picked up. It's fairly obvious during most of the trip. It becomes more clear as Gamora gives her sales pitch, Nebula eying the display, arms crossing over her abdomen, lips pressing into a thin, serious line.

"I'm skeptical of this."

Metallic left hand lifts and a single finger points at the egg. "The odds of an egg on a lost science ship happening to survive for two and a half decades, and then be picked up by clueless scavengers and sold off like some sort of commemorative theme park opening memento?" She shakes her head slowly, going from severe, impassive disapproval to an actual frown. "We're going to find Salvage World is now full of parasite infected mindless drones. Because of the egg."

Her eyebrow perks as the _next_ part of the plan is explained. A million and five units?

"But on the other hand, that really does mean we should relieve any unqualified individuals from possession of this egg. For their own good. Because we are good people. Who deserve to be compensated for our efforts."

Peter Quill has posed:
Autopilot ON.

Peter Quill, aka STAR-LORD, is hanging about with the rest of the Guardians. He's kind of paying attention to the plan but he's more of the type of individual that will figure stuff out as they figure it out. It usually makes things so much easier to do when there's no plan to actually go wrong.

"Sounds like a pretty good score." Peter offers from his seat where he's just kind of leaned back and relaxing. His hands are behind his head and his feet are propped up on whatever's in front of him. "Should be over, easy." Peter just grins at his own joke.

"Get it? Egg? Over easy?" Peter looks around. "Guys? Get it?"

Gamora has posed:
That settles it.

Gamora squinty stares at Nebula, but just shakes her head. "I appreciate your skepticism, sister and I take to heart. If that's the case, then we quietly sneak back to the ship and get the frack out of here before the engines have even had time to cool down." She shrugs indifferently.

"Then we notify Nova Corps and get our usual 'saving the Galaxy' fee.. which is significantly less than a million five, but still better than nothing." Which is what they have now.

As to Rocket's question? She shrugs, "A lot of people think it's still out there. Enough that entire companies have built themselves around the potential windfall of finding it. Far as the information I have; the life pod was found two jumps from the site of the battle. They jetisoned before the Skrull Battleships ever got in range."

She takes a breath, a calming soothing sigh, and turns to face Peter. Smiling, but not really smiling. "Usually you say something encouraging and heroic here. I didn't realize you were filming a very successful comedy special."

Rocket has posed:
It's the lure of the cash that has Rocket's attention. At the rest of the information, the timing of the jump and the fact that others are building their lives around finding this EGG, well, it gives him at least a little more to go on. To sink his teeth into. He nods slowly and leans forward to throw his wadded up snack bag at Quill's head. Beyond that? The only response he gives to the quip is a slow blink from those dark, beady eyes.

Once that's done, however, Rocket is pulling up star charts to look at potential plotted courses, given the information regarding the Skrull mini-fleet, the trajectory of that life pod and the possibility of its particular journey. "Eh.." he begins slowly, "I'm willing to go for the million five. If it means taking a few people out along the way, all the better."

Brows raise, and his head turns slowly in Gamora's direction, his words coming deliberately, "About what just happened back there." There's a pause before he breaks into a hint of a smile, and his head bobs approvingly, "Nice job. I'd have done that myself."

Nebula has posed:
Any skepticism remaining in Nebula is washed away, or at least eclipsed, by Quill's joke. She groans softly, dark eyes balefully turning to the one and only Star Lord for a long moment. "We understood that attempt at humor. Were you confused by our uproarious response? It's understandable. We were very loud."

She considers the potential job a little more seriously, and dips her head towards Rocket as Gamora provides more information. "Perhaps they abandoned the ship before the battleships arrived because they knew they were coming. Which would mean the egg was valuable _before_ it became a bauble from a lost ship."

She snorts softly, "If the Collector is willing to pay a million five, it probably /is/ more valuable. But... a million five guaranteed is worth a simple retrieval. I'm in."

And then she's leaning back in her seat, arms shifting to instead cross behind her head in the best approximation of relaxation she can mimic. So relaxed.

Peter Quill has posed:
"Oh!"

Star-Lord swings his feet down and hops up into a standing position. He brushes off the sleeves of his jacket for a moment in an effort to smooth out everything. He has to try and downplay his horrible ruination of the moment.

"Alright, guys. I know I might've missed the moment but that's kind of where we shine. We're the losers that live for the trouble and the thrill. We do whatever it takes to get the job done. And then we get paid." Peter points over in Gamora's direction. "Twice."

With that said, Quill grins. "So all egg puns aside, who wants to make a million five units in no time flat?" Not his best speech but he had to make this one up on the fly. He was too busy trying to think up cool egg puns a few moments ago.

His eyes glance back over at Gamora to ask silently 'how was that?'.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora smirks at Rocket and inclines her head in silent understanding with the hybrid, "Get us headed towards Salvage World. We shouldn't have any problem getting clearance at the primary docks. I paid a few thousand units for an official IFS code module. Far as their traffic control is aware, we're absolutely suppose to be here."

Nebula relaxing is almost enough to get Gamora suspicious, but she swallows it with an easy grin and a nod to her sister. "It's been a standing bounty for over two decades, so yes... it's valuable." Said as she grabs her collapsable swords to hook on her white/red armored suit. Blaster on her hip, just incase things do end up going sideways.

They're stealing something worth fighting for. Best to be prepared. Now they need only wait for Rocket to set them down. She does so with her arms folded over her chest, quietly staring through the forward viewport as the planet comes into view.

Leaning her head slightly towards Peter, "I'm very motivated." She assures him with an easy grin and wink. "You're still thinking about egg puns aren't you?" In a much quieter voice.

Salvage World is exactly what it says on the tin. There's only three hospitable cities on the planet surface and all of them are built entirely from the gutted remains of ships. Landing pads are Kree fighter carrier decks lashed together with Badoon tower ships. It is truly a place of desperation and sadness.

The landing beacon they're headed to is a the smallest of the three cities. A single (though large) landing port around a multi-layered vertical city with the command deck of a Skrull Battship at the apex like some monolith of junk. It might look like much, but millions of units worth of scrap is psuedo legally transported to and from the planet. "This is Ugnex Reaping Co's landing port. They're the smallest of the three Company cities.. We just need to get up there-" She points at the command deck. "That's where they'll have the Egg. In a vautl."

Which is obviously why they'll need the drill.

As they get closer there aren't many people milling around the port. Which is to say, there is nobody. Just the flickering red glow of the landing auxillaries.

Rocket has posed:
If Rocket needed to be seconded in his approval of Gamora, there's a soft, 'I am Groot', that comes from behind them.

"Right, Salvage World.." and with that, the raccoon leans back in his chair, essentially plugging into the Milano's navigational system. "It'll be a few parsecs from here, a couple of jumps," his tone sound a little distracted; he's got his sensors going too. The flicker of his ears is really the only indication, however, that he may be listening to things that are far, far away from their ship.

It's easy to get through, though they do take a path that isn't completely trackable- through a couple of minor asteroid fields once they hit normal space, passing the occasional orbital derelicts before another jump into hyperspace happens.

Nope, nobody here and if there was, they're not going anywhere. Particularly not Salvage World. Nope.

As the Milano approaches, Rocket's manner takes a decided shift as he concentrates; the ships sensors are all passing through his relays, and his muzzle lifts slightly in an unamused smile. Once they hit the atmosphere, he swings the ship around, settling it down into a nice little corner that looks as if there are enough exits for a quick turn-around, should they need it. (And they usually do!)

Once down, Rocket exhales and unplugs from the ship before twisting around to grab his own personal armament; goggles, boots, blasters. It's with a satisfied expression that he looks to the others. "Ready?" Though, the news of Ugnex has his ears pitching forward, and he straightens some in the information. "I have something on order with them." 'Order'? Means he's got a list, and something is on there to steal. "I'll have to check them out." After. Perhaps.

With that, the ramp is set down for them all to exit. "Don't do anything stupid."

Nebula has posed:
Nebula eyes Gamora right back with a thin little 'I'm smiling because fighting _before_ anything goes wrong with this plan would be premature' smile. She practices that one a lot. But it falters a bit as Gamora grabs her familiar swords. Well... it's not like Gamora's planning to use them on _her_.

But it's a reminder she should get her own gear ready, levering herself up out of her seat as Rocket begins to hook in to pilot them to their destination. She returns before they're beginning final landing approach.

Nebula's traveling light, a boot knife, a couple of collapsible batons, and a blaster pistol of her own.

After all, if she carries /too/ much, the locals might mistake her for a walking salvage pile, and then things would get dicey. And slicey.

She sighs out and mutters softly, "Something stupid? Us? Who would do something stupid?"

She slowly glances over to Quill, "Technically we're only making... two hundred thousand units each? Wait... is this a million five each?" She frowns and looks down at her equipment.

Maybe she /should/ bring more explosives.

Peter Quill has posed:
"... I could've landed us too. I'm just sayin'." Peter has a little bit of a mumble that might be to himself. He's been piloting the Milano for years. Now the go-to is Rocket? There's not really time to frown or anything but he's taking a few mental notes.

Gamora feeling motivated shakes Quill out of his brain fog and the visions of how differently he'd land the Milano right now. With a bit of a grin, Peter manages to respond to Gamora's quiet question, "I'm at about thirty two by now. I promise I won't use them all."

Quill does the same as everyone else and makes sure that he's got all his gear. He's got his own bag thrown across his chest and he's all equipped as he usually is. He struts towards the exit of his beloved ship to offer one of those cool statements, "Alright. Let's go make an omelette."

Quill hops off the ship so that he can lead the way to wherever he doesn't know. He never really knows but he does like to be the first one so that if there's trouble, it can happen to him before it happens to his Guardians.

"That was my last one." Quill lies about the egg puns.

Gamora has posed:
The Milano settles on the make-shift tarmac, running coolant to defrost the hydrolics after such an extended series of jumps. The atmosphere is thick on Salvage World. Thick enough that the coolant creats a light fog that rolls across the landing pad and mixes with the dingy yellow glow of hanging lights haphazzardly dangling from the remains of communication antenna. The sound of groaning metal, coiled steel cables that bind the mismatch of ship parts together, and the occational hiss from the Milano's hydrolics all coalesce.

This is what the Guardians descend down into.

An empty landing pad with a nightmarish ambiance.

Gamora peers around the empty pad with a furrowed brow, walking with a purpose, but cautiously glaring at every shadow cast by every container. Until something begins to move.. Several somethings, actually. All creeping through that thick fog created by the Milano's coolants...

Six of them come into view suddenly!

Dock workers in Ugnex branded jumpsuits skitter into view with an excited glee. "Welcome to Ugnex Co landing pad. Would you like us to take a look at your ship?" Their smiles are plastic, their eyes are glassy...

But they're Veltrosians, who are known for these characteristics.

They also have mandibles and spider arms.

For which their species is known.

Rocket has posed:
Radar ears are almost always attuned to Quill mumblings. It's one of the more popular ways the human communicates, and one swings around to where the grouse emenates. "Yeah, but you miss a landing deck here, we're not leaving anytime soon. A strut is a little harder than banging out a few dents." Heh..

With goggles down, Rocket's got his HUD going, and recognition patterns leave a data blur in the background. He, too, sometimes communicates in utterances, and he follows Quill's egg joke up with, 'Yeah, it'll be your last one,". It's a good natured threat, and certainly one he'd never follow through on.

Once down the gangway, Rocket is certain to set the ramp up in 'park', followed by the locking, because- well, just for that very reason that is the slow skitter of the Veltrosians.

"No, it's fine. We're good. But, if you can locate me a new hyperthrust vector connect rod, that'd be great. I'll even toss in a few more credits if you find one in good shape." If one is pulled from another ship, well.. it means that if they leave, they won't be followed quickly. His eyes narrow beneath the goggles, as evidenced by the shift of that black furred mask, "And it better not be from my ship. Someone else's." He'll know.

"Right. So, where we going?" Time to humor Quill. Glancing over to the pair, Gamora and Nebula, he nods quickly. This'll be fun.

Nebula has posed:
Nebula doesn't react by leaping out of her skin at the unsettling alien welcoming party... thankfully they're asking about the ship, which is far more of a Rocket thing than a her thing, so the slight jolt at their appearance can be covered up. And she can put on her best disinterested, cool expression.

But those dark eyes keep darting, taking in the surroundings, a little more alert after their welcoming, just in case anyone _else_ decides to ruin the otherwise abandoned aesthetic of this... fine fine city.

Mostly, she's trying to mentally map out potential escape routes from the control room high above if this whole 'drill into the vault' plan doesn't work.

Not that it means she hasn't got time to needle Peter, glancing over and murmuring dryly, "You know, most ship commanders don't actually have to pilot the ship themselves. They have people for that. It's very respectable."

Peter Quill has posed:
Star-Lord has run into so many weird things in space that he's very rarely surprised by anything. He doesn't even flinch at the arrival of the Veltrosians and just lets Rocket do the talking for the group. Well, most of it.

"Actually, it's my ship. But yeah, what he said." Quill couldn't let that go. It's not in his nature to just let things go like that.

Ahem.

"Right. Leading the way. Piece of cake." Quill looks around for a moment and then ends up looking in Gamora's direction. "Ah, maybe you better take the lead on this one. It's your gig, after all." Quill tries to play this off in some kind of playful manner. It should be enough to keep him from looking like a complete and total idiot. Saving face is half of the game when it comes to being a leader.

Quill's still long enough to hear Nebula's words and ends up frowning just a little bit more. "Hey, I know that. That's basically what I was saying." That's not what he was saying. But it's fine. It's Peter.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora has a deadpan (and deadly) expression on her face when the weird looking Veltrosian dock workers come out of the dissipating fog, now that it is no longer need for atmospheric effect anyways. She brings up a hand to brush the corner of her jaw, peering at Rocket and Quill playing out their 'whose ship is it anyways' routine with a smile so thin that it would be next to impossible to even identify.

Like her sister, she takes a posture of disinterest, but keeps an eye on their surroundings. Letting Peter go through the motions until landing on the obvious decision of deligating to her. Which she takes in stride, picking up the rock and running with it towards the Touch down goal spot. (Terran sports are obnoxious.)

"This way." Said miliseconds after Quill passes off leading the way. Her hand remains on her blaster as they cross a walkway that is far more stable than it actually looks. Even if there's the sounds of plates falling beneath them, twisting down into the ether of a chasm. An echoing 'crinch' as it hits the surface and reverberates back up to them.

There are people moving about, contrary to initial observations. They just keep themselves out of view as often as possible. All of them are watching the quartet, however. Multiple different sets of alien eyes peer at them with expressionless faces. At least until one of the Guardians look there way, then they suddenly smile and point in the direction they're headed, murmuring that way in different languages.

To say Gamora is unaware of the oddity would be an understatement, but she continues without much outward indication that she's bothered. Which is typical for the most dangerous woman in the galaxy.

Not even the flickering glow of old light fixtures in the rickety towering monstrocity of a vertical city. With it's multi-tiered hallways, asymetrical corridors, and welded together stairwells. An elevator, calling it that is very generous, sits at the far end of one of the branching halls. Both sides bolted metal plating from a hundred different vessels.

As they make their way there's the softest, almost melodic, scratching behind the wall that keeps pace with their passing.

Rocket has posed:
It seems that the Veltrosians do get the message, though they turn mandible-faces towards Quill as he puts in his two-credits regarding the ownership of the Milano. They chitter softly amongst themselves, which gains a soft warning growl from Rocket. The jet boots are engaged, and he rises a couple of feet into the air and hovers briefly in a 'don't do it' posture. It seems to be enough, and the arachnoid.. mantis.. bug things move off to find the part requested.

Rocket doesn't disengage his boots, however; as everyone moves out, he's flying slowly so that he's essentially shoulder to shoulder with everyone. He drops to his feet to walk, however, when they begin to pass other travelers, allowing for a good confident pace rather than seeming that he needs to 'catch up' in flight. The murmurs, the offers of 'directions' has Rocket chuckling softly, "Either they know why we're here, or they think we're on a completely different mission." If their purpose is known, well.. that's not good. People will be ready for them. And if it's for another reason?

What's a little more of a payday? He's all for it.

Ears flickers, listening to the sounds of the 'port. Conversations that get cut short, music, the hint of banging of metal on metal...

"I kind of like it here."

Nebula has posed:
Nebula falls into step with Gamora across the walkway that would probably irk her... if she were really noticing it. And if something wasn't bothering the blue cyborg. Maybe the fact that they managed to land, interact with dock workers, and no alarms have gone off. Things are going according to plan. That can't be right.

The sound of plating falling from the walkway into the depths of the chasm is reassuring. At least something's going wrong.

She's going from stoic and stonefaced to a slightly disapproving frown the more she looks at the... sheer junky quality of Salvage Planet. It really wasn't undersold. But at least it explains all the locals avoiding them.

She can't hold it in, and mutters out softly, "I wouldn't want to be seen living here by visitors either." And then she goes silent again, brow furrowed... trying to place that faint metallic sound. And gripping her blaster absently.

Peter Quill has posed:
"That's what I was gonna' say." Quill offers another lie in regards to the direction in which they're being led by Gamora. He makes sure to let the others go first as he's going to kind of take up the rear on this here mission now. He's all about making sure that nobody gets the drop on them in this location that they haven't been before.

If Quill can hear anything weird going on he doesn't show it. He's actually just bopping along to a bit of a beat in his head. He's not rocking any of his musical equipment at this particular moment so that he can stay focused on what his team is saying.

"Me too." Quill agrees with Rocket for once. "We might have to come back here after we're rich. Y'know, if we don't get banned for what we're about to do now." Not that being banned would actually stop the Guardians of the Galaxy. There's not much that can stop them when they put their minds to something.

Peter's Quad Blasters are still holstered and his hands are pretty free. He doesn't seem to be as worried as some of the others are but that's kind of how he does this whole thing. He keeps himself looking goofy and aloof so that potential enemies can underestimate him.

Gamora has posed:
The elevator looms closer down the hallway illuminated with the same hanging yellow electrical lanterns. The faintest sound of constant scratch sounds, to those with heightened senses anyways, like the point of a knife against metal. 'clicking' everytime it connects tih a new bolted junction. The sound abruptly stops when the baord the elevator. Five floors marked on the display to the right of the gated doorway.

"Alright, Rocket you've got the drill.." The lack of people in the complex, which isn't exactly true, makes this less infultration and more con-job. "Peter, when we get to the penthouse, keep them busy. Nebula and I will help if things go south."

She peers down at Rocket beside her, "We're about to steal a million dollar, twenty five year old egg. Best case scenario, they're going to hire bounty hunters." Here dark eyes shift around to each of them, "Worst case, we have to fight our way out of here. Which will be problematic for our reputation." Not specifically difficult though. Most of the employees are hiding, watching them, but all of them appear to be directing them where they ultimately want to go anyways.

There's obviously something bothering Gamora. An itch she can't quite scratch. Dangling just out of reach, each time she peers at a new, creaking or groaning as the lift takes them towards the command deck.

Beyond one of the hazzard glass view port that give a spectacular (bu ugly) view of this section of Salvage World. The landscape is desolate, dotted with antient ships. Monolithic tombstones. With a cloud in a valley just beyond the makeshift landing pad that almost resembles a horde of bees from this distance.

Whatever it is far enough away that it's not specifically visible in the short time before it goes out of view with more plating. Though just as they rise above it something lands hard against the glass. The creature is vaguely bug-shaped with a triangular plated forehead baring brown markings against lighter brown colored frame. Whatever wings carried it are translucent, but they can almost make out a tattered Ugnex Co jumpsuit before it disappears along with the view beyond the glass.

Gamora definitely saw it.

One of her swords unfolds in her grip, quickly pulled from off her back.

A look of concern coming over.

Rocket has posed:
That *click*click*click* sound isn't ignored by the hybrid, no. Rocket has threat assessment wired into his very soul, starting from when he was just a kit. Odd noises are not conducive to survival. He's ready to draw and fire at a second's notice, whether or not he's sighted in. There are times when it's just a whole lot more fun when he's not got a target locked.

Just sayin'.

"I like it," Rocket repeats, underscoring his feelings on the matter. "Just needs a couple of bars, and it'd be perfect. Hell, a bar would bring in a lot of cash for a place like this."

Mulling opportunities has Rocket looking up and to the side where Quill walks, and he nods quickly. See? Quill gets it.

Stepping onto the elevator has the raccoon eyeing the corners of the box, beady eyes lifting up to the panels above them before lowering them once more. He's more than certain Gamora and Nebula have the door covered, even as it closes to bring them up levels.

Lifting his gaze and setting it upon Gamora, the raccoon nods, his whiskers twitching slightly, "Right. Best case scenario, and just slightly worse than best case." Rocket's not worried about shooting his way out; not really. Just, when they're closer to the ship is all.

"Just drop me off-- what in the--" and Rocket has his blaster out and pointed at the thing that has faceplanted on their elevator glass. It's a testament to his self-control that he doesn't just //shoot//, but rather takes a moment to breath after the jump-scare.

"Never mind." He was going to suggest they split up, and he'll approach from a different floor, but now? Heh.

"I know the drill."

Wait, was that a Quill sort of pun coming from the raccoon? No. Couldn't be.

Nebula has posed:
Nebula keeps herself on alert, but those noises keep frustratingly evading any sort of categorization. "I can imagine a bar would do well here. Who'd want to be sober in this place? I'm not sure if I'm more afraid it's going to collapse on us, or that it's... haunted or something."

Her eyes widen a little, brows lift, she's definitely going to tell Rocket she caught that Quill sort of pun... but then Gamora's freeing her sword and she's drawing an electrified baton in the hand that's _not_ palming her pistol grip.

Nebula might not have seen exactly what Gamora did, and she might be a little bitter her sister is so very famously the deadliest woman in the galaxy... but she's also a very _alive_ woman in the galaxy, so if she's pulling that sword out, Nebula's going to follow her lead.

Just don't tell her about it.

Peter Quill has posed:
"Piece of cake." is all Quill says about his part in all of this. Granted, he was the last one into the elevator but that also gives him an opportunity to maybe pay a little more attention to all of the surroundings than he normally would. It's kind of like being aware of their surroundings is something that he's making some mental notes of.

In case they have to make some kind of weird and fast getaway. Speaking of which, those ship watchers down there better not be behind the thrusters if such an escape is needed. Quill's got the remote to the Milano and everything.

"So uh..." Quill sees what everybody else sees. "Is the plan the same even if we get attacked by whatever that is out there?" is tossed in Gamora's direction as his hands finally go to his Quad Blasters. Just in case.

Oh and Peter has something to say about this bar thing too. "If we put a bar here, we're so naming it Cheers..." Terrantainment Reference!

Gamora has posed:
"You just want everyone to know your name, Peter." Gamora might be on high alert, but there's literally no way she wont throw a little playful barb AND show that she's actually been watching his Terran sitcoms. Will she ever admit that she enjoyed it? Unlikely. She'll just casually sit down whenever he manages to find a broadcast. She meant to sit down anyways, is all.

The ride is... well calling it uneventful would be a gross over simplification. It is through a great deal of engineering marvel that so many ships can be fused together to create this abdomination of a city. Though it is clear ever leve they pass is every bit as expansive as the one below it. With dark corridors lined with branching, honeycomb like, hallways. There's an onboard staff that both works and lives here.

This is HQ for the small salvaging company.

Which is constant competition with the other two junk city companies. Offering better rates, less oversite, or more amnities for working with Ugnex. It is, in fact, ripe for expansion. A bar would definitely bring in clintel.

Regardless, the elevator dings at the command center. The metal gated doors rattle as they begin to open, catch on the railing, and begin wiggling on the motorized links that control it. When it finally pries itself open it reveals a dark open floor plan on what definitely USE to be the bridge of a Battleship, but has been converted into a luxury (relative) suite. Partitioned areas are set up for business, entertainment, and trade.

There's kiosks where wares are laid out on display. It very much resembles a micro image of a street on Knowhere. With one very important difference... Nobody is at the kiosks. The food vendor partitions have food laid out, but it's all rotten.

And the only light is coming in through the glass windows at the circular dome above them. "Hello? Anybody here?" Gamora creeps out of the elevator, still gripping her sword down and to the side, ready to attack.

It isn't quiet, however. There's a chittering sound coming from one far wall. The source of which appears to be another one of those triangular forehead plates with similar, but differently pattern, brown markings. It rises up over a still divider and tarp..

Then another off to the left.

And another.

And another...

Dozens of these creatures making their presence known.

Speaking in a voice that isn't so much spoken as thought.

We are the Brood... you are the Brood.

To Be Continue...