"I am not Ronan's servant. And I am not Thanos's."
Gamora's face was dark and resolute.
"I am your only chance to kill Ronan."
She locked eyes with Drax.
"AAARGH!"
With a furious roar, Drax seized her by the throat and lifted her off the ground. The crushing force cut off her air instantly.
"Enough lies. I can kill you right now!"
He raised the knife, ready to plunge it into her abdomen.
"Stop!"
Quill's voice rang out.
He stepped forward at last. Rocket followed with an exasperated expression, Groot lumbering behind.
"Hey—big guy," Quill began cautiously. "You want Ronan dead, right? She's betrayed him. He won't forgive that. When Ronan comes for her, you can just…"
Quill drew a finger across his throat in a slicing motion.
Drax stared at him blankly.
"Why would I draw a circle on Ronan's neck with my finger?"
"…What?"
Quill blinked—then realized.
"Oh! It's a metaphor. It means you cut his throat. Kill him. Everyone knows that."
He looked around for support.
The surrounding inmates nodded quickly.
Drax shot them a glare.
They immediately began shaking their heads instead.
"No. We do not know."
Quill ignored them and pressed on.
"The point is, she's more useful alive than dead."
Drax considered this.
After a tense moment, he released Gamora, tossing her aside. She collapsed to the floor, coughing violently as air rushed back into her lungs.
Off to the side, Karl quietly finished recording and slipped his phone away.
"Done yet? I'm getting sleepy."
He walked up and casually patted Drax on the arm. The height difference was… noticeable. Karl, at six feet, wasn't short—but Drax was a mountain of muscle well over two meters tall.
Drax looked down.
"Who are you?"
All eyes shifted to Karl.
"Name's Karl Norman. Call me Karl. I'm from Earth. Same as him." He nodded toward Quill. "Or as you like to say—Terra."
"You're from Earth too?" Quill's eyes lit up instantly. "I haven't been back since I was eight. What's it like now? You got any Earth music on you?"
The sudden enthusiasm was almost overwhelming.
"Earth's doing fine," Karl replied. "Better than you remember."
Mostly.
"That's great!" Quill beamed. "I always wanted to go back. Soon as I'm out of here, I'm heading home."
He had wanted that for years. Even if his family was gone, Earth was still home. Yondu, however, had always discouraged any talk of returning.
"Oh, right. I'm Peter Quill. You can call me Peter—or Quill. That's my Earth name. But now I'm known as…"
He struck a pose.
"Star-Lord."
Karl resisted the urge to rub his eyes.
They exchanged brief introductions. Rocket and Groot wasted no time peppering Karl with questions—chief among them how a Terran managed to end up in the Kyln, which was several galactic jumps away.
---
On the walk back to the cells, Quill trailed Gamora.
"I don't care whether you live or die," she said coldly.
"Then why didn't you let the big guy kill you?"
"Because you know someone who'll buy the Orb."
She stared at him incredulously.
"We're stuck in prison and you're still thinking about selling it?"
Quill looked smug and glanced at Rocket.
"I've broken out of prison over twenty times. This place? Easy."
Rocket snorted.
"Sure. After we escape, I turn you in to Yondu and collect my bounty."
Quill rolled his eyes. That was nothing new.
"How much was your buyer offering?" he asked Gamora.
"Four billion units."
"What?!"
Quill and Rocket shouted in unison, eyes gleaming.
"It's my only leverage against Thanos and Ronan," Gamora continued evenly. "Help me get out, and we split it three ways."
"I am Groot."
"Four ways," Rocket translated. "He says four."
Rocket shot Groot an annoyed look. "Funny how you were invisible five minutes ago."
---
Elsewhere, aboard a dark warship, Ronan stood before a holographic projection.
"You've been betrayed," said the hooded alien in the projection. "Gamora has turned against you."
"She has only been captured," Ronan replied calmly. "She has not yet delivered the Orb."
"My informant inside the Kyln says otherwise. She has her own agenda. Without the Orb, your deal with Thanos collapses."
Ronan's expression darkened instantly.
"Thanos wishes to see you. Now."
The projection cut out.
In deep space, amid drifting asteroid fields, Ronan stood respectfully before a floating stone throne.
A massive figure sat upon it, back turned.
"Thanos," Ronan said sharply, "your daughter causes the problem, yet I must clean it up?"
"Mind your tone, Kree," the hooded attendant warned coldly. "Lower your voice."
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