Follow and support me on patreon @Ras Knight for advance chapters
Xen's punishment for the riot he'd unintentionally started was not a smaller cell, but a more populated one. The Nova Corps, arrogant in their technological superiority, had determined that the energy-dampening fields of the general block were sufficient to neutralize the Red Lantern Ring. Solitary confinement was inefficient; supervised proximity was a better warning for the rest of the prison.
He was thrown into a large holding cell—a filthy concrete box designed to house a rotating cast of transient inmates. He hit the floor with a grunt, his armor scraping against the abrasive surface.
"Welcome to the neighborhood, big fella!" a high-pitched, mocking voice chirped from the shadows.
Xen slowly pushed himself up. His eyes, burning through the slits in his helmet, immediately fixed on the source of the voice: the raccoon from the Yard, perched casually on a rusted pipe near the ceiling.
Beside the raccoon was the tree, Groot, whose massive, silent form took up most of the corner. Its limbs were knotted, its face placid and unreadable.
Also present were the two others Xen had seen on the platform: the athletic, green-skinned woman, Gamora, who leaned against the wall with the effortless grace of a coiled viper, and the short, dark-haired man, Peter Quill, who was casually bouncing a smuggled synthetic ball against the floor.
Xen assessed the four occupants in a fraction of a second: two threats, two irritants.
"Tell me your names," Xen demanded, his voice a low, hostile rumble. "So I know what to write on your corpses."
The raccoon barked a short, cynical laugh. "Oh, look! It's Captain Melodrama. Hey, Sparky, you know your armor looks like a walking traffic fatality? Where'd you get that rig, the discount section of the Ninth Circle?"
The flippancy was too much. The Red Ring was still starved for power, but Xen's body was a machine designed for conflict. The pure, pent-up malice of his denied vengeance exploded into physical action.
He launched himself at the raccoon and the pipe, his armored fist aiming to smash the creature into a smudge on the ceiling.
A flicker of movement. Gamora was suddenly in his path.
She didn't block or counter the raw force of his charge. Instead, she ducked beneath his extended arm and drove her elbow hard into the exposed joint of his left kidney armor plating. The attack was so precise, so unexpected, that Xen felt a jolt of genuine pain pierce through the Ring's life support.
Xen stumbled, roaring in surprise and fury. He swung his heavy armored fist at her head. Gamora easily sidestepped the blow and used his own momentum against him, grabbing his arm and twisting her body into a perfect leverage point.
She was strong, far stronger than any being her size should be, and Xen found himself suddenly thrown into the opposite wall. The impact jarred him, scattering his focus.
Gamora stood ready, her eyes assessing the damage, not looking to continue the fight, but simply to win the exchange.
"Your movements are slow," Gamora stated, her voice devoid of emotion. "The armor is inefficient without the energy source. You are not a warrior; you are an angry puppet."
Xen roared, scrambling back to his feet, the humiliation causing the blood-plasma in his veins to boil. He ignored the pain and charged again, fueled by nothing but blind rage.
Before he could reach her, a new voice cut through the air—a light, casual, utterly infuriating distraction.
"Woah, hold your horses, Conan! Chill out, dude! We just finished wiping the floor with Grob, let's not have a round two of 'Beat the Meat.'"
Peter Quill stepped between them, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. He held a small, futuristic audio device—an ancient, battered tape player—and pressed a button.
A sound Xen did not recognize filled the cell: a soft, melodic, human sound.
"What… is that noise?" Xen demanded, momentarily stunned by the alien melody.
"It's music," Quill said with a grin, gesturing to the tape player. "It's called 'O-O-H Child' by the Five Stairsteps. It's got a good vibe. Hear that? Things are gonna get easier. That's what it says."
Xen stared, his mind struggling to process the baffling juxtaposition: the lethal anger in his core vs. the peaceful, nonsensical rhythm. The confusion momentarily dampened his violent intent.
"Your… priorities… are insulting," Xen hissed, lowering his fists slightly.
"My priorities are getting rich and getting out of this dump," Quill countered, walking up to Xen with a casual confidence that defied the red armor. He stopped just inches from Xen's helmet. "And right now, you are the most volatile, destructive tool available for both of those priorities. You need to get out to find your revenge. We need to get out to collect our payday. See? Synergy."
"Groot," the tree rumbled, speaking a single word.
"Yes, Groot, synergy," Rocket translated from the pipe. "What my big, wooden buddy means is: we have a plan to escape the Kyln. The best plan. The only plan. And it involves a highly aggressive distraction, which you, Captain Red, are perfect for."
Quill continued, his voice dropping to a low, serious pitch. "Look, I don't know what happened to you. But I know pain. And whatever that red jewelry on your finger is, I know it's fueled by something heavy. I see you, and all I see is a bomb looking for a place to detonate. I can give you the target, the countdown, and the path to freedom."
Xen stared down at Quill. The arrogance was infuriating, but the truth in the man's words was undeniable. Xen was a bomb. He needed a breach. He needed to be free to continue his hunt for Kyros, or at least return to his own dimension to find the Central Power Battery. He could kill these irritating creatures later.
He looked at the small, glowing Red Lantern Ring on his finger. It was the only thing that mattered.
"The escape," Xen said, his voice cold and final. "How is it done? And if you fail, I will kill you, and I will tear this Nova Corps station apart brick by bloody brick."
Rocket shot a triumphant look at Quill. "Don't worry, big fella. Rocket Raccoon never fails. Here's the list of things we need to grab…"
As Rocket launched into a fast-paced, jargon-filled explanation about security keys, prosthetic legs, and power conduits, Gamora watched Xen. She didn't see the bomb Quill saw. She saw the raw, terrifying agony in the Red Lantern's posture—a pain that mirrored her own past. And she knew one thing for certain:
If this escape plan worked, this man's rage would not save them. It would only bring the attention of a universe that was far darker than they realized. She just hoped they survived his freedom long enough to deal with the consequences.