Bayou Blues (cont'd)

[Gambit]

A sharp tugging sensation in his navel pulled Remy through a whirlwind of light and color, the howling rush of air filling his ears.  When his feet met solid ground again on the other side of the portal he dropped to one knee, his mind reeling.  Hot bile rose in his throat.  He fought the urge to spill his guts onto the smooth stone platform to which they’d been transported.

“You all right there, monsignor?” Peter asked with a trace of smug satisfaction.  He seemed unaffected by the trip through the portal.

“Plus ou moins,” Remy replied, standing.  “And monsignor is Ital—”  His response cut short, Remy’s eyes popped wide when he saw the vast cityscape sprawling out before them.  Skyscrapers of gleaming metal rose impossibly high, the upper floors lost in a swirl of clouds.  Drenched in neon, the immaculate streets and intricate web of glass-bottomed skywalks connecting each building hummed with activity, a thousand thousand people scurrying to and fro with the ingrained urgency of life in a thriving metropolis.  Not all of them human, Remy noted.  And amidst it all, vehicles not unlike the cars of Earth cruised through the air overhead.

“Wait, so you’re not Italian?” Peter quipped. 

If Remy registered the comment, he gave no outward indication.  “What is this place?”

“Nothing special.”  Peter clearly seemed to be reveling in his moment of superiority.  “Doesn’t even look like they have space travel.”

Already, Remy grew tired of his companion’s constant irreverence.  What world did he come from where whisking through interdimensional portals and witnessing a vast megalopolis left him completely unphased?  Certainly not the same Earth that Remy knew.  Still, he recognized the value of an ally in the face of such immense uncertainty, so he held his tongue.

“What do ya say to a drink, mon homme?” Remy asked, reclaiming a shred of his composure.

Peter smirked.  “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Remy ignored the barb.  Still marveling at the elaborate architecture of the city, he fell into step beside Peter, moving away from the gate.  It didn’t take long for sweat to appear on his palms.  A seasoned thief, accustomed to looking over his shoulder and identifying trouble before it appeared, Remy sensed the nature of Coruscant before noticing it consciously.  Across the road, a group of six soldiers wearing the same armor as those they had encountered at the gate.  Ahead of them, sticking out of the crowd, two more white helmets.  And on every street corner, peering down at them from surreptitious perches, cameras emblazoned with a geometric crest—the Empire, presumably—panned back and forth, lens shutters irising as they sought to identify anyone out of place.

A shudder made its way down Remy’s spine.  The soldiers reminded him of the mutant hunters of Earth, soldiers and mercenaries tasked with rounding up Remy’s kind and locking them away.  He wondered if the Empire shared the same proclivity when it came to Primes.  

“Eyes everywhere,” Remy murmured, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder.  “Don’t look.  Cameras on dat signpost, in front of dat restaurant, and between the bushes on dat terrace.  Soldiers… well, soldiers everywhere, comme il s'avère.”

“Probably heard Star-Lord was in town.”  Peter ignored Remy’s warning, locking his gaze onto each camera in turn.  When he noticed the third, he flashed it a lewd gesture.  “I’m kind of a big deal.”

Remy groaned.  “Are you always dis oblivious?”

“Only when I’m thirsty,” Peter replied.  “How ‘bout that place?”  He pointed to the same terrace from where the hidden camera surveyed the street below.  Looking more closely, Remy noticed a waiter in a tuxedo carrying a tray of drinks.

“We might be a little… under-dressed, mon homme,” Remy chuckled.

Peter seemed to agree.  “Okay, not that place.”  He looked around again.  “Looks like we’ll be under-dressed no matter where we go.”

“Some outside help, then?” Remy suggested.  At street level, yellow cars zipped past a few feet off the ground.  On some, a beacon affixed to the roof flashed ‘VACANT’ in glowing letters.  Future city or not, Remy knew a cab when he saw one.  He jutted a hand out into the street, and a moment later one of the sleek vehicles whirred to a halt in front of them.  The passenger side window shot down and a bizarre creature poked his head forward to greet them.  Blue-skinned, with two foot-long horns jutting from atop its skull and two tentacle-like appendages, beginning where his ears should have been and drooping down over his shoulders, the alien cab driver affixed them in turn with a piercing ice-blue gaze.

“Where can I take ya, friends?” he rasped, in a voice not unlike boots stomping on gravel. 

Unphased as usual, Peter stepped forward.  “Star-Lord,” he said, by way of introduction.  “My friend and I are new here.  We’re looking for a place to grab a few drinks, and he seems to think a damp trench coat won’t pass for ‘suitable attire’ in this part of town.”  Peter leaned in close, as if he thought Remy wouldn’t hear him.  “He’s French, you see.  It’s all tuxedos and baguettes where he’s from.”

The cab driver chuckled.  “I know just the place.  Hop in!”

Without waiting to see if he would follow, Peter threw open the passenger side door and climbed into the cab.  “Let’s go monsignor,” he said, flashing his companion a wide grin.

Remy scowled, but slipped into the back seat of the cab.  

Up front, their blue-skinned guide sat before a vast array of buttons, levers, and flashing diodes.  His hands were a practiced blur as he engaged the aircraft.  “Autopilot engaged,” a cool, robotic voice intoned from the console.  They rose into the air and zipped off, merging seamlessly into the buzzing traffic.  

The driver twisted in his seat, offering Remy a clawed hand.  Tentatively, Remy accepted the handshake.  “My name is… difficult to pronounce,” he rasped with a wry smile.  “But you can call me Irkar.”
“Just like the cabbies on Earth,” Peter joked.  

Remy shot him another warning glare.  As Peter and Irkar settled into easy conversation, Remy sat back and tried to process the series of events that had landed him in the back of a flying cab in a sprawling, futuristic city in another universe.  Even from above, zooming across the cityscape at high speed, he could see the cloying military presence of the Empire.  Not only did the familiar white helmets of Empire soldiers appear amidst the throngs of foot traffic, always at precise intervals, but bulky vehicles equipped with long-barreled weapons zipped past them as well, emblazoned with the same geometric image as the cameras. 

Tuning back into the conversation in the front of the cab, Remy heard Peter trying to explain who he was to the befuddled cab driver.  “Star-Lord,” he reiterated.  “Like, the Lord of Stars.  Legendary outlaw… guardian of the galaxy?  I can’t believe you’ve never heard of me.”

“You picked the wrong place to be an outlaw,” Irkar said.  “Not much gets past Palpatine here on Tier One.  My advice is, to keep your head down and stay out of trouble.”

“Palpatine?” Remy interjected.

The cab driver frowned.  “This guy is surprised I’ve never heard of ‘Star-Lord’ and you’ve never heard of Palpatine?”

Remy shrugged.

“Emperor of Coruscant, leader of the Empire, most powerful Prime in the Omniverse Palpatine?” the driver continued, incredulous.

“I have cool titles too,” Peter grumbled.

The cab slowed and dipped into a dive, coming to rest at the foot of yet another looming skyscraper.  Irkar extended a slender finger toward a set of stairs descending down beneath the building.  “Down there.  Nice little watering hole.  No dress code.”  He tossed Remy a sympathetic wink.  “Try to keep ‘Star-Lord’ out of trouble, will ya?”

With a wry chuckle, Remy nodded.  “Will do, mon homme.”

“And since you’re new in town,” the cab driver went on, “another word of advice.  Palpatine keeps tabs on every Prime in the city.  You won’t so much as take a shower on Tier One without the footage ending up in the Empire’s archives.  If you need a little… privacy, the lower tiers might be more your speed.”

Remy thanked Irkar, and he and Peter climbed out of the cab.  Suddenly remembering cab rides weren’t free, he patted down his pockets with an anxious look on his face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Irkar said, accurately reading Remy’s movements.  “This ride’s on me.”  He proffered a thin strip of metal.  “Here’s my card.  If you need a hand with anything, don’t hesitate.”

Remy accepted the card with a grateful smile.  “Well met, Irkar.  We are in your debt.”

The cab driver returned the grin.  “Something tells me you’ll find a way to pay me back… one day.”  Then he was gone, the cab rising back into the air and jetting off. 

“Try to keep Star-Lord out of trouble,” Peter balked, trying unsuccessfully to imitate the cab driver’s grating voice.  “What a jerk.”

Remy only sighed and shook his head.  “Come on,” he bade Peter.  “It’s past time we get dat drink, eh?”

They descended the stairs into shadow.  A flickering, neon light named the bar as Bucketheads, the dingy words superimposed over a cracked and dirty image of an Empire soldier’s helmet.  The image gave Remy pause, but before he could voice his concern Peter, ever oblivious, barged right through the open doorway, shouting, “Star-Lord has arrived!”

With a heavy sigh, Remy followed.  As soon as he stepped through the door, he bumped into Peter’s back.  The man stood frozen, his expression caught between his characteristic aloof grin and wide-eyed shock.  Inside the dingy bar, no fewer than fifty white-armored soldiers sat around circular tables and crowded the small bar, helmets set aside and drinks in hand.

As Peter’s bold proclamation faded into the gathering silence, fifty pairs of curious eyes turned their way.

[Eleanor Lamb]

Eleanor Lamb came to find out rather quickly that not all parts of Tier One were so pretty and pristine. The ramshackle apartment she’d taken up residence in, for example, looked more like a large-ish walk-in closet than anything actually suitable to live in. Essentially a six square foot studio, it hadn’t taken long for the pale prime to discover she could lay on the floor and stretch herself almost the entire length of the place. Had it not been for the off-shoot corridor leading to the shower and toilet, you might’ve convinced her she’d wound up accidentally in prison.

She supposed she shouldn’t complain, though—anything was better than an actual alleyway. And she was getting to live here rent free. The landlord of the bar below her, Bucketheads, offered her a nice deal in exchange for lots of hours in the kitchen.

“Can you cook?” the old woman had asked, a suspicious look on her face.

Eleanor paused, biting her lip. “Why would I apply for a sous chef job if I couldn’t cook?” She’d donned a sarcastic grimace, and the woman’s stare had bore holes in her like the sharpest lasers. For several minutes, it had been a competition on which woman could out-glare the other, and somehow, through the sheer intensity of Eleanor’s spirit, the crotchety old woman had given in. Sure, she could have the job, and a tiny apartment instead of a paycheck.

And so, the former experiment’s tenure in the Omniverse continued to be marked by the kindness of strangers—strangers that, despite that kindness, couldn’t be trusted. Everyone here jockeyed for their own well-being. Primes, secondaries, and whatever else was out there moved through the world with one eye on their ambition and the other on keeping their own skin safe. She’d learn to do the same, eventually.

When her eyes opened to greet her next morning—which, thanks to the old woman’s penchant to put her on night shift, was well into the afternoon—she rolled out of bed like clockwork, snatching a piece of chalk from off her bedside table and scrawling another mark on the wall. The eleventh such. Six days since she’d had her run in with the EPD.

El threw on her chef’s uniform, stained an off-white color thanks to how much grease she’d spilled on it, and brushed out of her small, dingy apartment. As if by rote, she hurried down the steps, skipping the second-to-last one that always quaked extra hard beneath her feet, and burst through the backdoor of the kitchen, ensconscing herself immediately in the hustle and bustle of the back of the bar. She flew through her track, clocking in, snatching some orders, and assuming her position at a small station nestled away from most of the people who ran in and out.

She peered at everyone else, heads down in intense concentration. If she’d had more of a sense of humor, she might’ve chuckled, but instead, she just smirked.

She lay the orders out in front of her, reading them slowly and carefully, absorbing every detail. A philly cheese steak, hold the cheese, with chili fries. (Disgusting.) A salad with grilled chicken. (Trying too hard.) French onion soup with a side of mozzarella sticks. (Did those even go together?)

The girl took a quick peek at her co-workers, just to make sure she wouldn’t be watched, and began to swirl her fingers over the station, using her omnilium to create each dish in its most perfect form. This was how she’d risen to the top of the class amongst the other sous chefs; while her manager might have some doubts about her personality, she hadn’t yet raised any complaints about Eleanor’s ability.

And how could she? The prime’s plan was genius, and a true representation of her Mother’s ideal course for her. “Eleanor,” Sofia had always cautioned her daughter, “you have been blessed with great gifts. Use them.”

Gifts—it’d been a strange word then, and was a stranger one now. At home, her mother had never let her spare a thought on God, but nevertheless her abilities hadn’t been natural; the scientists gave them to her when they fucked with her DNA. Here, too, she was some higher power’s plaything. Brought here and given unnatural abilities by a child with no lips.

She couldn’t escape being someone’s experiment. A part of someone else’s grand design.

A runner came by and picked up her finished dishes, remarking on her speed and then leaving her to her devices while she awaited the next batch. This was her life: make, wait, make, wait. This design didn’t seem so grand. It lacked real purpose.

“Lamb,” the runner poked his head back into her station. El jumped slightly. “Sorry to disturb, ma’am, but there’s someone being quite loud about your food.”

Eleanor quirked an eyebrow. Was she going to have to show one of these stormtroopers the door?

Tossing her apron into the runner’s hands and brushing past him without even offering him the chance to elaborate, the girl burst out of the kitchen and scanned the crowd for the most crabby looking stormtrooper. Buckethead after buckethead turned to look at her, but none seemed to be the culprit. At long last, her eyes landed on the anomaly in the room and proceeded to go wide.

Primes. Fuck.

She cut a path through the horde of Empire troops until she stood before the two… muscular men huddled up in one of Bucketheads’ cramped booths. One of them shielded his face, probably out of embarrassment, as the loud mouth finally began to quiet down at the sight of the slender-framed young woman standing, hands on hips, in front of them.

“Something wrong?” she asked, sternly.

“Uh—n-no ma’am,” replied a dumbstruck Peter Quill, “Was just shouting about how this philly cheese steak hold the cheese with chili fries was better than any other philly I’ve ever had. Probably better than ones from actual Philly, I don’t know, never been. You’re the chef?”

Eleanor blinked. “Yes,” she stated as if it should be obvious, “yes, I am.”

“Thank you, ma cherie, for your ti…” the other man started, but his blowhard friend jumped in first, grabbing Eleanor’s hand without her consent.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he nodded, leaning down to plant a kiss on the back of her hand. Eleanor scowled, curling her fingers into a fist and accelerating the meeting time between it and this guy’s face. He doubled back into the booth, clutching his nose. Across from him, his friend vacillated on whether he’d deserved it.

“Can I get you boys anything else?” the girl asked, putting on her most sarcastic smile. The Frenchman’s eyes grew a bit wide, staring at something behind El. She glanced over her shoulder to see a contingency of several troopers sauntering up toward the trio.

Uh oh.

“These douche knuckles bothering you, miss?” one of them growled, wrapping his hands around the hilt of his blaster. Eleanor massages her knuckles, trying to make it look like the punch had hurt her more. She couldn’t afford the people here finding out she was a prime.

“Nothing to see here, boys,” Eleanor waved them off. “Back to your seats. Go away.” The stormtroopers’ stillness betrayed their opinion of that idea.

They were not so keen.

[Star-Lord]

“Aaaaaaauw” The distorted, nasal voice of Peter exclaimed. “What kind of place is this?! Can't a guy compliment their chef around here?” The continuous rubbing of his nose made the impact appear much worse than it actually was. Afterall, sympathy points are still points. Quill dragged himself out of the booth whilst pinching his nostrils. As he walked past the violent chef, the space cowboy made a failed attempt at an inconspicuous wink. Almost forcing the slugger to sigh even louder than before.

Using the reflection of the trooper’s helmet, Peter looked to verify whether or not his nose was still straight. “You could've broken it, y’know?” He continued, ignoring the alarming presence of Stormtroopers that seemed to be expanding — several other white armored soldiers gathered around to see what the commotion was all about. “Next time use your words instead of your fist, lady.”

The before, laid back Remy, began altering his pose to an upright position. The gathering of little white sentinels made the mutant’s skin crawl. “Erm, Peter?” He carefully uttered while his eyes shifted from soldier to soldier.

“Sir, sit back down.” The distorted voice behind the white helmet spoke, creating even more tension than already lingering in the room.

“Relax buddy, everything is cool. Just a couple of guys enjoying one of your fine city’s meals, from one of your most exquisite chefs.” Peter’s laid back attitude did not help in the slightest. The already crowded establishment appeared to shrink with every passing second. Quill’s eyes shot to the right when one of the snowflakes drew their weapon at Gambit.

“Wooaah!!” The guardian intervened with both his hands raised high and his most innocent of faces produced.

“Se détendre, my friend. Nothing to be alarmed about.” The aloof cardmaster revealed a deck from his overcoat. “Tis but a deck of harmless playing cards, nothing to be afraid of.” Turning the sealed package around for all to see. With this gesture, it would take away at least a smidge of distrust with the troopers.

“Dammit man, again with those things? Put it away before anyone gets shot!” Star-Lord anger-whispered with a sardonic expression on his face.

Gambit didn’t seem to mind Quill’s little outburst — unwrapping the plastic covering the stack of illustrations and taking his time with it. Both corners of Remy’s mouth moved somewhat upwards when he noticed Peter’s eyes widen.

“Sir, we are going to ask you to come with us.” The front-trooper laid his hand on Quill’s shoulder. “You two are coming with us as well.” Pointing towards both Eleanor and Gambit the trooper made his intentions clear; they were all to be interrogated. The young chef’s eyes widened as her hands started to shake. The duo of troublesome men’s eyes connected for a split second, it was all they needed to get their true intentions aligned.

Peter turned towards the imperial puppet that rested his hand on Quill’s shoulder. “Look, buddy, there is no need for all of this. Just a couple of tourist checking out the local cuisine.” The hotshot wrapped his own arm around the guard’s neck. “Nothing but friends here, am I right?” Underneath his limb, he could sense the trooper getting ready to move. Before anything Star-Lord sends his fist in an uppercut motion, socketing the soldier underneath his protective helmet.

This was clearly Remy’s que, releasing his stack of cards into the air, creating a haze of dwarreling cards before sliding across the table grabbing Eleanor’s hand, “Let’s go, Cheri. Where is the back door?” The chef did not respond, like a foreboding shadow a blank expression covered her face.”CHERI!” Gambit shook the body of the woman out of her trance. “ Where is the back door?!”

“Follow me.” She finally responded. Whether the words were laced with fear or simple anger was not clear.

“Let’s go Star-Man!” The mutant shouted as he followed the surprisingly agile chef into the kitchen.

“It’s Star-Lord you bastard!” Peter shouted as he punched one more trooper before diving for cover behind the counter. Blaster shots were lighting the place up as Quill crawled on all four heading for the kitchen. “Shit, shit, shit, why does this shit always happen to me. I just wanted a bite to eat.” With his tail between his leg, he came crawling in the kitchen, meeting Remy’s wide grin. “Not a word!” Peter shouted getting up.

“Halt!” The first trooper warned them as he entered the kitchen, blaster drawn. Peter’s reflexes kicked in, drawing his own iconic weapon. A single shot from the lower barrel sends a spherical device flying to its target. A crispering noise was heard when the soldier became a “shocked-trooper” and dropped to the ground shaking uncontrollably. Crisis averted, for now.

“Where to now, Princes?” El’s intense glare, responding at the overused verbal compliments, were like red flags in a minefield. Without replying to any of the men’s bullshit she continued her way through the kitchen until finally reaching the back door, leading to the back-alley. The commotion was on their tail, the sound of blaster shots never wavered. Without a second thought, Peter rushed through the door, finding himself in a filthy, rat-infested narrow pathway.

“Ah shit, it smells horrible here. You lot collect corpses here?”

“Stop your whining, it’s your fault we are being chased! I had a good thing going before you came in and messed it up!”

“You lovebirds can settle this later, we need to get out of here, maintenant!”

The marching feet of troopers came awfully close, it wasn’t long before they made their way through the kitchen. With Eleanor taking the lead the now fresh-fugitives created some distance between themselves and the backdoor, which now started to produce Stormtroopers. There was nowhere to hide. Sheer desperation forced Quill to release a salvo through the narrow passageway, providing whatever cover he could.

“Move aside.” Headstrong words combined with a forceful yet suggestive shove placed Gambit in front of the Guardian. The ace of space between his fingers.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

An amethyst layer of energy coated the entire card, lighting up the area. Peter’s eyes widened, “Okay, keep doing it, keep doing it!”

With a single fluent horizontal arm movement, the mutant sends his projectile soaring through the air. Hitting the wall overhead of the stormtroopers it caused the ace to explode, sending the debris and rubble down on the squad. It was enough to cover their retreat, for now.

“Those things explode?! Why didn't you say something earlier?” Peter questioned as they advanced in the opposite direction of the imperial troops. No response came from Frenchie. The end of the Alley led to one of the main streets of this tier. When standing on the middle of the open street Quill glanced at Eleanor, “Where to?!”

[The Hunter]

The bright white light of this place blinded the Hunter. She raised her arm to shield her eyes from the light, even though everything seemed to reflect the glow. Her natural instincts yelled at her to take in her surroundings but there was literally nothing to take in. However, this seemed to be the hub of all traffic. Many different people were gathered around here, wandering about. While she tried to avoid eye contact with many of the folk around here, Junior loved making friends. Once she had picked a direction, Junior walked up to every Joe Blow and Mary Sue begging to be pet.

Each of the people Junior stopped would ask how old he was and what’s his name. However, The Hunter would blow them off and ignore them, brushing past them and expecting Junior to follow along. While this earned her many dirty looks, she hasn’t been used to anything different. As she continued along her path, a giant arch emerged from the horizon. She walked closer to see that the arch was made from smooth metal, unlike anything she had ever seen. Guarding the gate were two men in white full bodied armor. Their unmoving gaze disturbed her and she had half a mind to turn and leave this place, but really where else did she have to go? Collecting her composure, she strolled confidently towards this building, looking back occasionally to see if Junior was still behind her. Though the guards continued to inspect her as she moved along, they said nothing. The archway had a blue shimmering liquid that filled in the arch. Extending a hand, she just wanted to feel the cool liquid on her skin-----

She was gone. One of the stormtroopers chuckled and turned to the other. “Freshies are so stupid.”
____
She felt weightless for a brief second as she was submerged in a thick blackness unlike anything she had ever seen. Suddenly she emerged from the portal, her initial reaction had her jaw hit the floor. Though she knew that she had traveled from the past, the assortment of flying vehicles and buildings that rivaled the clouds astonished her. She shook her head, trying to make sure she wasn’t in some dream world. Junior matched her excitement with frantic yips and pounced on her foot. As she kneeled over to reassure her corgi, she never took off her eyes from the beautiful landscape and marvelous skyline.

Finally getting rid of the starstruck look in her eyes, she clicked her tongue, beckoning Junior to follow. The bustling streets were packed with people who did not care who she was, even though she clearly stuck out like a sore thumb. She weaved through the crowd, with each an every person a clearly different race or species, not that it bothered her. She walked with purpose, even though she had no idea what she was looking for. Maybe someone needed a gun for hire?

A small explosion shook the street, causing many of the guards clad in white armor to perk their heads towards the noise. While many of the guards returned to their patrol, one squad drew out their guns and went to investigate the commotion. Just as they passed by, Hunter could hear their comms, “This is Squad 253 requesting backup near Bucketheads, we have a Trooper down. I repeat a trooper is down. Three primes have gone rogue.”
“Roger that,” she heard one of them exclaim. Trying not to be too overly obvious, she put the yellow cloak over her head and trailed the troopers to the location. The street they had moved to was a lot less busy, most likely due to the disturbance. The stormtroopers set up a ambush point outside the alleyway, luckily they hadn’t noticed her not far behind them.

“Where to?” She heard an unfamiliar voice say before the filtered voices of the guards spoke up.

“You are all under arrest for the suspicion of harming an officer of the Empire and resisting arrest.”

One of the men threw his hands down in anger, “Of fucking course we are.” The trio didn’t look like they belonged in this ‘pristine world’. It was possible they knew some connections that could land the Hunter a job. Taking out her crossbow, she aimed down the sites on the trooper that was speaking. Lightly pressing the trigger, the bolt whizzed through the air before piercing into the troopers back. The soldier groaned and leaned against the wall, leaving a blood trail as he descended to the floor. The other stormtroopers panicked and turned to meet their adversary, leaving time for the trio of primes to get their own weapons ready. The Hunter quickly put the crossbow over her shoulder and reached for her revolver. Red blaster bolts flew by her face as she ducked into another alley for protection. She quickly ran out from cover to unload her revolver but had seen that the rest of the troops had been incapacitated by the primes.

“With her I guess,” she heard the girl speak.

“Don’t look at me, I have no fucking clue where I’m going.”

“Yip yip!”

[Eleanor Lamb]

“Holy shit!” the one who insisted on being called ‘Star-Lord’ exclaimed, “She’s got a dog!”

The human man bolted toward the mysterious Hunter, met halfway by the incredibly social corgi who seemed to be her companion. The man and man’s best friend convened adorably for several moments while Eleanor observed the huge rivet gun she’d summoned when they’d been ambushed by those soldiers. It looked altogether like Subject Delta’s: intimidating, cobbled together with pieces of rusted metal, and altogether massive, unable to be wielded by humans back in her old world. Here, something about the weapon just fit; as if when she’d made it, she’d made it just for herself.

Gambit looked curiously at her and the thing. “Big gun for an ‘umble chef, eh?”

Eleanor’s eyes flicked snidely up toward the Frenchman. He gestured to the grease-laden chef’s outfit that still clung to her body. She let out a small grunt, and then waved her hand in front of her chest and the uniform faded away in favor of her metallic Big Sister armor. She slung the rivet gun over her shoulder and abandoned Remy’s gaze for the quartet of stormtroopers that lay crumpled just a few feet away.

“We’ve got to move,” the Hunter spoke up, noting Eleanor’s shifted focus.

“Agreed,” Remy nodded.

Eleanor sauntered much too calmly toward the four bodies, readily gripping the handle of her syringe attachment. The needle glinted in the flashing lights of Tier One, mesmerizing the other three primes noticing it for the first time. Quill took a step back as El passed him, the sharpness reminding him vaguely of one too many trips to the doctor as a kid. Kneeling beside one of the alabaster-armored men, she reached down and jabbed the needle menacingly into the black, rubbery material on his neck connecting his helmet to his chest plate. Her expression twisted with effort, and she shoved the needle all the way through until it sunk into his skin. For a moment, nothing happened.

“So… chef girl,” Peter piped up, “I don’t mean to ruin your weird sick revenge fantasy stabby thing, but I think they’re good and dead…”

“Wait,” the Hunter held up a hand, and the three primes watched as the stormtrooper began to gradually melt back into his essence: pure, rainbow-colored omnilium, which Eleanor sucked up into the syringe and stored in the compartment hanging just beneath her left arm. As the omnilium flowed into the storage tank, the Empire enforcer dissolved—skin, armor, everything—until nothing was left.

Peter’s mouth hung agape. “What… the actual… fuck? Did you just eat that guy?!”

“How did you just…” Remy blinked, and stepped back, having a minor freak out moment.

The Hunter was not quite as reviled. “Do it to the others,” she nodded.

“Excuse me,” Star-Lord gawked, “you’re saying you want vampire chick here to disintegrate the others? Are you crazy? Suffering from some sorta brain trauma, or…?”

“Oui, I’m not sure I can—”

“Do you have any other suggestions on how to clear your tracks?” the Hunter whipped around to face the boys. “Our tracks,” she corrected, and against their better judgments, the men in their new motley crew of allies remained quiet. She turned to the Big Sister. “Absorb them.”

Eleanor obliged. Her muscles tensed with each stab, then loosened as the pure omnilium disappeared into her canister. She steeled her expression to hide the… ecstatic feeling it gave her, and luckily the other three primes were too busy bickering over their next steps to see the hints of a smile that crossed her face—the first one since she’d run into Quill and Remy, for sure.

Was this what it truly felt like when she’d traveled with her Father as a little girl? When he’d slaughtered any enemies that would dare threaten her, and then she had bled them dry of their ADAM once they were good and dead? Was this the thrill her Mother had robbed her from, and the pleasure her Father had denied when he’d saved her sisters instead of harvesting them?

‘Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work,’ Aristotle said, and by the looks of the clean street after Eleanor finished, she was inclined to agree. She let out a few pants, exhausted by the effort but astounded that such a task had left nary a blood stain on the metallic pathway. She’d wiped the road clean.

Behind her, her three unwitting companions continued to wonder aloud about the geography of Coruscant, where they could go, and how wherever they were going, they needed to go quick before more backup arrived.

“The lower tiers,” El spoke at last, glancing over her shoulder at the trio. They paused their bickering briefly. “The Empire’s presence is lessened on the lower tiers.”

“Well, that sounds like the place to be right now, vampire chick,” Peter Quill threw his hands up.

Eleanor’s forehead trembled at the idea of returning to a place lower than the top tier. She’d run into some foreboding characters even on just the second one, and if rumors were true, people’s morality and sense of decorum only degraded the lower down you got.

The ever-perceptive Hunter caught that glimpse of nerves flashing across Eleanor’s countenance and stepped toward the former experiment. “What’s wrong with the lower tiers?”

“They’re lawless,” Eleanor darted her eyes warily up to meet the woman’s. For the first time, she truly took in the form of the prime that had, essentially, saved them. The metallic glint of the skyscrapers and the blinding lights illuminating the area reflected magnificently off her dark skin, a striking contrast to how they washed out Eleanor’s pale complexion; she stood with a certain adventurous authority, seemingly weathered from one too many strenuous journeys.

The Big Sister bit her lip; surrounded by brash men and their enigma savior, she felt like a fetus in a womb, a restrained child, permanently grounded, kept at bay from engaging with the world in the ways she wished to. She could feel her Mother’s manicured fingers gripping her shoulder, threatening to drag her back into a world of isolation she’d only just abandoned.

She ripped free of the bitch’s grasp.

“Lawless but safer,” she decided for the group, brushing past the Hunter, Remy, and Peter. “There’s probably a maintenance shaft nearby—it won’t smell good, but we should attract less attention there than the elevators. If we can get to Tier Four, we should be safe from unwanted eyes.”

Behind her, the trio of primes and one dog fell into step. As Peter riddled the Frenchman’s ears with more exclamations about the wildness of their situation, the Hunter and Junior kept step with the Sister.

Eleanor snuck a glance in the woman’s direction. “Thanks for helping us,” the girl forced a small smile.

“Thank you for leading us to safety,” the violet-haired gunslinger clapped a hand to Eleanor’s shoulder, gesturing to the maintenance shaft just ahead. The syringe on Eleanor’s arm twisted and reorganized its molecules until it had transformed into a rusty, frightening drill. She jammed the drill into the space between the shaft’s doors and wrenched it open.

Inside, a big ‘1’ was spray-painted in burnt orange on the wall, behind a rope—most likely connected to an elevator—that hung from the ceiling, extending down the length of the passage. The pair of female primes could only see a few meters before darkness washed everything away.

The raven-haired girl sighed anxiously. “Don’t thank me yet.”

[Star-Lord]

“Oh yes, this looks like a wonderful idea. Who wants to climb down the spooky shaft of imminent death first?” Peter’s voice echoed into the darkness.”This is exactly why I am the one who should make the plans.”

“Why are you so negative? Try to relax and let's see where she takes us” The charismatic card-master suggested.

“So how you guys wanna do this? We find a rope somewhere and lower each other down?”
Eleanor ignored the guardian, moving her hands across her chest once more. This time she molded a climbing harnas, wrapped tight around her torso. It was at this moment Peter was reminded of what powers he is supposed to possess in this world. Recollect the information he received during his encounter with the pale child. “Well, that looks easy enough.” Quill said with great confidence, “Here goes nothing.”

The hunter, Gambit, and Peter all followed Eleanor’s example. Using their new found power to create the tools they needed to descend down the elevator shaft. “This kinda tickles” Peter chuckled with his eyes closed. “Anyone else getting this weird, wet sensation?.”

“SSHHHH!” The hunter-obviously annoyed by the number of words the Guardian produced during her moment of focus- demanded silence.

Quill opened his eyes to find not only his harness was molded, but his left hand was drenched in Junior’s slobber. “Gaaaaaah, What the hell….That’s gross.” He casually started wiping the drool covered hand on Remy’s overcoat. The moment the mutant noticed he retaliated by stepping away from the culprit. Pulling his coat along with him, offering Peter nothing but a disapproving, dirty look.

“There is something wrong with you.” The hunter observed whilst shaking her head ever so subtle.

“And you need to learn your dog it’s not okay to lick random strangers.” Star-Lord shot right back at her.

The female dropped her eyes towards Junior, “Well, you’re not wrong there.” She kneeled next to the canine, making eye contact with the dog. “Junior, don’t lick that man’s hand, you don’t know where it’s been. I mean, look at him. If you caught any diseases, it’s your own fault.”

Remy snickered whilst tighten up his own harness, pulling every single strap to ensure it’s safety

“That..was uncalled for Missy.” Peter said with his chin slightly elevated as he pulled the cords of his own equipment. “So, ladies first?”

It was the chef that stood up, “I will go first, overcoat one behind me and overcoat two behind him. I’d like to ask you to take the rear, in case we get followed. Sounds good?”

Peter raised his hand. The pre-school action made Eleanor sigh, already regretting what she was about to do, “What?”

“I’m overcoat one right?”

“You’re second” Remy interjected, “Don’t want to risk you holding up our tempo in time of need, aucune infraction.”

Peter’s eye shifted towards the hunter who was strapping Junior to her own harness, not receiving any verbal backup, nor clarification what the Frenchman said. He was on his own, “Erm, yeah sure, go ahead man. Whatever feels good.”

Eleanor was first to make the treacherous leap towards the cable at the center of the shaft. Catch-grab-clench and the chef was dangling at the center of the pit. Holding on tight with her right hand, while securing herself with her left. She made it look like Sunday morning child's play. Remy waited until she lowered herself a bit before jumping on the cord himself. The tall man was agiler than one might give him credit for, like an experienced climber he dangled one-handed long enough to secure himself.

‘Ah fuck, I’m up.’
Star-Lord glanced over the edge, iresses widened and pores opened up—the hero did not seem to keen of leaping towards his potential death, “I could stay up here and cover you guys, perhaps send the elevator back up once you are down there?”

“Didn’t take you for a coward.” The hunter heckled with a grin so wide it was impossible to tell where the mouth ended and her ears began.

“Me? A coward.” Star-Lord scoffed, “Listen, lady, I have you know I saved the galaxy nearly twice. I’m not scared of something as trivial as height.” The Guardian moved towards the edge, swallowing his anxiety away. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead. “Alright, here we go.  -One,...-Two,...” Peter motioned his arms as the count continued.

“Oh just go already!”

The hunter’s sudden shout brought the nervous prime off balance, slipping while pushing off the edge. Eyes widened, arms opened up as he fell towards Gambit, “ WOAH! CATCH ME, RYAN!” Star-Lord’s voice echoed through the hole before his arms wrapped around Remi’s waste. “Don’t let go!”

“Espèce d'imbécile! Watch it!” The mutant held onto Peter, preventing him from falling and assisting him climbing up. Quill squirmed his way over Gambit until reaching the cable himself. Remi let out a displeasing grunt.

*Click*

“Phew,”Star-Lord let out a sigh as he was finally hanging on the cable himself. “Glad that went well.”

“It’s Remi by the way—not Ryan.”

“Did I say Ryan? My bad, bro.” Gambit shook his head and let out a subtle sigh.

“Everyone ready up there?”Eleanor asked, with a slight hint of impatience,”The empire won’t wait until we are ready, we need to move.”

*click*

Above Peter, the other female already secured herself and her companion, “All set, let’s go!”

The four fugitives started their descent down the darkness. Eleanor came prepared, a small light guided them down. The descent appeared to take an eternity, for the longest of time the shaft just continued without offering any clue as to how deep they were until finally, after what seemed an eon of controlled falling they noticed a big yellow ‘two’ sprayed on the wall.

“You gotta be kidding me. We’re only at the second level?” Quill was the first to complain. How much further down are we going?

“We’re going to the fourth level.” The chef answered.

“Fourth?!” Good god woman, did you at least pack a lunch? At this rate we-..” A familiar wet sensation was felt, dripping on top of his hair, gradually sliming its way down over his face. “Oh, you got to be kidding me.”

“Excuse Junior, sometimes he has issues. He can’t help it.”

“Let's just hurry our asses up!”

The journey continued. They passed the yellow three and eventually reaching their destination, the yellow four.

“We’re here,” Eleanor said, pointing her light source towards the double doors which were shut tight.