Nova Outpost – Debrief Room Gamma
The room smelled like sterilized metal and recycled air.
A single light hovered above the table, casting pale circles over its surface.
Peter, Gamora, and Max sat on one side. Two Nova Corps officers—both too polite and too alert—sat on the other.
The older one, Commander Rhom, adjusted her visor display.
"You've been with the Guardians for… three standard weeks, correct?"
Max nodded once. "More or less."
"Before that?" she pressed. "Our records show your signature first appeared during the collapse of the Collector's vault on Knowhere. Your identification data is incomplete—half the bio-scans list you as 'Terran variant,' the other half as…" she frowned, "…'unknown synthetic-organic hybrid.' Care to elaborate?"
Max's eyes lowered. "I don't know how to."
Rhom's assistant, a younger officer with too much curiosity, leaned forward.
"But your energy signature matches residual readings from the Takonian cluster. That system was destroyed decades ago."
Gamora's tone was warning-soft. "You're saying he's one of them."
The younger officer nodded. "Takonian refugees scattered across three sectors after the Ultralink wars. We have records of one surviving royal fleet—partially sighted, then lost near the Kree border. If he's connected to that—"
Peter cut in. "If he was part of that, doesn't that make him, like, cosmic royalty or something? Do we get diplomatic immunity? Discounts? Free food?"
Rhom ignored him. Her gaze stayed locked on Max.
"You said your name was…?"
Max hesitated. For the first time since the Collector's cage, the word didn't hurt to say.
"Ma'ex Ja'em Mk'rah." He met her gaze evenly. "Of House Mk'rah… though that house burned long ago."
The younger officer whispered, awed. "The Ma'ex line."
Rhom straightened. "That title hasn't been spoken in a long time."
Max's jaw tightened. "Then let it stay forgotten. I'm not a ruler anymore."
Silence settled, heavy and respectful.
Rhom finally spoke, voice softened by understanding. "We'll mark your record as provisional citizen status. But understand—there are powers who'd pay a great deal to find any surviving Takonians. I suggest you keep that name to yourself outside these walls."
Peter frowned. "Like who?"
Rhom's expression didn't change. "The Kree still see Takion's fall as… unfinished business."
The Milano – Later
The Guardians were quiet as the ship broke orbit.
Below, Xandar's repair lights flickered like fireflies.
Rocket was at the controls, muttering to himself. "We save the planet, we don't even get a thank-you parade. Just debriefing, diagnostics, and space TSA scans."
Drax crossed his arms. "A parade would be inefficient. Celebrations waste resources."
"I am Groot," Groot countered softly.
Rocket threw up his paws. "Exactly, big guy! We earned at least a banner! Maybe one balloon!"
Gamora leaned on the bulkhead, watching Max through the cockpit reflection.
"You didn't deny it," she said quietly. "Being… royalty."
Max stared at the stars. "What's the point? My people are dust. Titles don't matter when there's no one left to speak them."
Peter glanced up from the co-pilot's chair. "Still, kinda nice having someone on the crew who can pull off the 'tragic space prince' look. Works for the brand."
That got a small smile out of Max.
"Branding was never my strong suit. I was… more of a problem-solver."
Gamora's tone softened. "Then start solving your own."
Max's hand drifted toward the faint glow beneath his skin. "I intend to."
Nova Records Office – Xandar Archives (Unseen)
A junior archivist scrolled through a projection, cross-referencing Max's energy signature.
Lines of data streamed across his terminal:
Designation: Ma'ex Ja'em Mk'rah
Origin: Planet Takion (Deceased System)
Status: Presumed Lost
Associated Incidents: Kree-Takion Border Skirmishes, Unofficial Diplomatic Mediation with Spartax Crown Prince [CLASSIFIED]
The archivist frowned, tapping the classified tag. Access denied.
He sighed, filing it under Nova Shadow Observation – Priority Moderate.
Then, a smaller line blinked into view, buried deep in the metadata:
Note: Takonian distress frequency detected—unverified.
Source: Outer Rim Drift, near Knowhere cluster.
Aboard the Milano – Observation Bay
Max stood at the viewport again, eyes closed, breathing steady.
The hum of the engines mixed with something else—a faint pulse through space, familiar and distant. Like the echo of a voice calling through static.
Steel.
It wasn't words, not yet—just tone, rhythm, a signature only he could feel.
Peter joined him, sipping from a half-warm cup. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thousand-yard stare into the existential void. Usually means someone's about to do something dumb or noble. Sometimes both."
Max gave a tired laugh. "Maybe neither. Maybe I'm just… remembering."
Peter leaned beside him. "You're not alone anymore, y'know. You don't have to figure this out by yourself."
"I know," Max said softly. "But some ghosts only speak to me."
Deadpool Meta-Cut
"Oh look, character development! Existential dread! Emotional vulnerability in space! If this keeps up, someone's getting a spin-off called Max Steel: The Lost Empire. Ten out of ten, I'd binge."
Final Beat
The Milano drifted into the dark between systems, starlight rippling over its hull.
Below decks, the sensors pulsed once—picking up a faint energy surge far beyond Xandar's rim.
A Takonian frequency, ancient and weak.
Max's eyes opened, glowing faintly in answer.
He whispered, almost to himself:
"Steel… I hear you."
The stars flickered—like they'd heard too.