Knowhere – The Collector's Vault, escape night
The Guardians' escape was chaos, even by their standards.
Rocket's "tiny distraction bomb" went off three doors too soon, rattling the stasis wings like dice in a cup. Glass cracked. Alarms shrieked. Drax grinned like this was foreplay.
And then—
One pod fractured.
A man tumbled out, scarred but lean, his veins glowing silvery-blue like lightning trapped under his skin. He hit the floor hard, coughed once, then dragged in a breath like it was his first in centuries. His eyes fluttered open, hazy, until they locked on Peter.
"…Peter?"
Peter froze mid-step. "Okay, nope. Nope nope nope. Why do frozen strangers always know my name?"
Rocket held his paws up. "Hey, don't look at me! Total accident!"
"You literally blew up half the hallway!" Peter snapped.
"Yeah, and it was supposed to!"
Before the fight could escalate, Groot scooped the stranger into his arms, protective branches curling tight. Guards poured into the corridor, blasters raised. The Guardians didn't stop to ask questions — they bolted, dragging their "accidental rescue" with them.
Days later – aboard the Milano
The man lay strapped to a med-cot, faint sparks crawling over his skin. His chest rose and fell steady now, but his glow hummed like a reactor about to overload.
Gamora's eyes narrowed. "He's not Terran."
Rocket muttered, fiddling with a scanner. "Nope. And if he is, then I've been seriously underestimating you meatbags."
Peter lingered by the wall, arms crossed tight. "…He said my name."
The man stirred, sweat beading down his temple. His voice cracked like shattered glass. "Fire… crystals… a throne of light…" His gaze fixed on Peter again, unflinching. "…And you."
The Guardians exchanged wary looks.
Drax nodded sagely. "He speaks in riddles. That means he is either a prophet… or insane. Both are acceptable."
The stranger whispered one final word, grounding himself: "Ma'ex Ja'em Mk'rah. …Max."
And with that, he collapsed back into restless sleep.
Deadpool meta-cut: "Ding ding ding — mysterious space hobo unlocked. Name reveal, cryptic dream babble, glowing veins. Pretty sure that's the Marvel trifecta for 'important character you're stuck with now.'"
Max's Dream — fractured
It began with fire.
The skies of Takion blazed red, but the flames glitched into violet static. One moment Max stood in the throne room, his father's scarred hands pressing a luminous crown onto his brow, voices chanting his name. The next—rows of cages surrounded him. Glass. Pods. The Collector's oily laugh cutting through the haze:
"Quiet now, little battery. Don't waste energy on memories."
The crown melted into a cube of glass. Inside it—
A boy's face. Small. Smiling. Familiar.
Max reached for him, but his arm fractured into chrome hexagons that crumbled like broken code. The boy dissolved into static.
Steel's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere:
^You left me behind.^
^Or did I leave you?^
Then the battlefield. Xenoshoks dead at his feet. An omega Ultralink lunging—before halting. Its optics flickered, its voice breaking.
^Why attack innocents? This is not glory.^
It surged forward and bonded with him. Navy-blue hexagons swarmed around his body, forming armor, wings of energy stretching wide. For one heartbeat, laughter broke through the war — his, and Steel's.
Then came the shadow.
The Alphalink. Devouring the sky.
Only it wasn't Takion it consumed this time — it was Earth. The Statue of Liberty sank into its maw. The boy's face vanished again. And Peter's mask lay broken in the dirt.
Max screamed, and the dream shattered.
Milano — waking
Max jolted awake, blue-white energy sparking violently across his arms. He clenched down hard, forcing it to dim. His breaths came ragged, as if he'd been running for days.
The Guardians were already there — weapons half-raised, eyes on him.
"You said my name again," Peter muttered, tense. "Twice this time. Like you actually know me."
Max's gaze found him, haunted. "…I do know you. I don't know why… or how much. But I see you. I see a boy's face, smiling. Yours… younger. Then static. Always static when I reach for it."
Rocket flicked his ears back. "Classic Collector trick. Scrambles your head, keeps you docile. Seen it before. Ugly business."
Gamora's tone was steady but sharp. "These dreams — are they getting clearer?"
Max nodded faintly, hand trembling. "Clearer. And worse. My father. My people. Steel. A crown I never wanted. A boy I couldn't save. Always cut away, always stolen back into static."
Peter swallowed, eyes unreadable. "…Then maybe you're not the only one who lost something."
Deadpool meta-cut: "Ohhh, the dramatic tension. Glowy stranger says 'I know you,' Star-Lord says, 'we're the same.' Give it three chapters and someone's crying into their mixtape."
The Milano cruised steady toward Xandar's orbit. Ahead, Ronan prepared for war.
But in the crew quarters, Max whispered his full name like a vow:
"Ma'ex Ja'em Mk'rah."
The sound of it was sharp enough to cut through the static.
And Peter Quill, though he didn't know why, felt his chest tighten — like the stranger's voice carried an echo he wasn't ready to face.