Nova Corps — Deep Recon Outpost, Xandar System
The operations bay smelled of ozone and stale caf—standard perfume of a night gone too long.
Holo-feeds floated in the dark: looping fragments of refugee pods, ruptured hulls, burned coordinates that refused to stay still.
Commander Rellan watched one feed freeze on a symbol half-erased by static—two spirals circling a sun.
"Takion crest confirmed," a junior analyst said. "Codex glyphs, synthezium residue, and biolink latticework. Not Nova-built."
Rellan's jaw set. "So the rumors were right. Refugees—and someone hunted them."
He pulled up secondary streams. Salvage drones trailed pods through a debris field; some were recovered, others torn open mid-flight. One grainy clip showed a cloaked hauler prying a pod apart with mechanical arms.
"Collector's mark," Rellan muttered. "And these magnetic traces—Ultralink resonance. Same pattern we logged during the purge."
Silence thickened until another officer spoke quietly.
"Sir, those coordinates overlap the Thanos purge vectors. We might be looking at what he didn't finish."
Rellan nodded once. "Then we find who survived. Quietly. Tag the sector Null-3. Cover it as salvage."
Nova Command — Vault Level Five
Hours later, deep beneath Xandar, Rellan reviewed the compiled fragments:
Recovered pods: a handful of survivors, vascular biolink adaptation.
• Disposition: routed to "quarantine" and "research yield." Clients—redacted.
• Intercepts: Collector purchases, Ultralink scrapes, and one anomaly—anti-grid resonance.
"The anti-grid frequency matches outlaw biolabs on Arcturus," the analyst said. "Lead researcher disappeared during the purge—codename Evolutionary."
Rellan's expression darkened. "The High Evolutionary. He was cataloguing hybrid physiology before Thanos ever touched Takion space."
"Then this isn't cleanup," she replied. "It's continuation."
Rellan leaned over the map of the Outer Rim where a single cold coordinate blinked. "Null-3 sits right in the drift lane of the Takion exodus. If the Evolutionary or the Collector cached anything there, it's still breathing."
He keyed an encrypted directive. "Dispatch a recon team—ECHO squadron. No press, no chatter. They move within the hour."
The Milano — Intercept
Rocket balanced a flickering datapad on a pile of cold mugs.
"So Nova Corps digs up haunted debris, refugee pods, and an intergalactic science freak show—and calls us. Big surprise."
Peter groaned. "We really need to stop answering their calls."
Gamora skimmed the encrypted brief. "Null-3—off-chart, unregistered. Collector and Ultralink interference confirmed."
Max's reflection glowed faintly in the viewport. "If any Takion pods survived, their biolinks might still be active. Someone could have harvested the tech—or the people."
Peter hesitated. "Harvested how?"
"Batteries," Max said quietly. "The biolink sustains life. In the wrong hands, it feeds machines."
Gamora's voice was steady steel. "Then we find whoever's twisting it."
Rocket muttered, "And maybe snag a souvenir—metaphorically."
Gamora didn't bother answering.
The Milano's thrusters idled, waiting. Outside, Xandar's lights flickered against the hull like fading memories.
Nova Field Command — Deployment
Rellan's voice carried over the command channel.
"ECHO-1, confirm status."
"Recon vessel Vigilant Dawn prepped," came the reply. "Destination Null-3. Beacon interference minimal. Energy readings unstable."
Rellan studied the dark hologram of the debris lane—the place where the Takion exodus trail went cold.
"Proceed. Retrieve what's left, and report any active biolink signatures. If something's still talking down there, I want to know its name."
He cut the line and looked toward the analysts. "Forward all telemetry to Guardian channels under priority encryption. If they survived, we owe them truth."
The Milano — Outbound
A soft ping struck the comm stack. Rocket cracked the Nova cipher in seconds.
Peter skimmed the attached coordinates. "Null-3, huh? Sounds like a junkyard."
"Dead systems hide the best secrets," Gamora said.
Max stood at the viewport, the faint turquoise current under his skin pulsing in rhythm with the encoded signal.
"Zeta," he whispered.
Peter turned. "You think she's there?"
Max nodded once. "Or what's left of her."
The Milano pivoted toward the Outer Rim, engines deepening to a low growl. Xandar's light receded behind them, swallowed by black.
Ahead, the wreckfields waited—quiet, ancient, whispering.
Deadpool Meta-Cut
"Next episode on Guardians of the Galaxy: CSI Space!
Haunted pods, glowing space prince, and a scientist who plays god with spare parts.
Tune in for Null-3: The Reckoning of People Who Should've Stayed in Bed."