Rocket says BLAM! (murderedyou) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-09-05 04:41:00 |
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What the men were doing wasn’t right. In some regard Rocket suspected they knew that, even as they ducked in and out of the laboratory that held Experimento Uno, clutching bundles of power tools and medical supplies in each arm when they weren’t grasping tight to clipboard tablets and jabbing out notes with their narrow, greasy fingers against the screens. Of course they knew. Nah, the problem was admitting it -- and that wasn’t so likely when they were getting paid handsomely to build the little freak back up into something really dangerous, was it? “Specimen is stable and holding. Noted increase in neuron activity." It was the monotonous voice of one of the scientists, ringing out in the sterile air as he swiped from one electronic page to the next and jotted down another line of the creature’s vital signs. He cut a glance over the edge of his surgical mask at the other man, and they exchanged a wordless nod of agreement before he continued in his assessment. “I suggest we remove the wires and begin to reseal the parietal bones in the skull. Any more time with the brain exposed and we run the risk of overwhelming such an unsophisticated nervous system.” Somewhere beneath the cool, antiseptic weight of their shared gaze, Rocket started to scream. He wasn’t coming. Shit, none of them were coming, or even out there, because no way in hell that his transmission spread more than a hundred parsecs out from Terran before Quill and the others would be blipping him back and demanding coordinates. No way they should have even been separated in the first goddamned place, huh? Groot was - he hadn’t - Rocket’s jaw tightened into a fierce, black-lipped gnash of teeth as he shoved a few coils of cable in his pockets and leapt off the comms console onto the panelling that ran the perimeter of the ship’s cockpit, holding himself steady in the horizontal climb with nimble hands that tucked themselves into each panel's hinges like they were handholds. Over and under he climbed, flipping upside-down for a moment as he crawled along parallel to the sloped ceiling until he reached an exposed circuitry console. “They think this is a fuckin' antenna?” The grumble was barely audible, snapped out through gritted teeth as Rocket yanked at a fistful of coloured wires and started to strip them of their insulation with the claws on his other hand. Then the whole bunch of ‘em was jammed up under a rubber cap that he’d torn off one of the power supplies where it ran over to the comms system, with a couple of skillful twists to the wire so the whole mess held tightly in place. “... show ‘em some real antennae, yeah?” All it took from there was a crank of the audio transmitter that was hardwired into his plated wrist cuff and it was showtime, baby - he was broadcasting in Aich-Dee, Surround Sound, whatever the hell these Terrans went nuts for as Rocket’s voice guttered out over the speakers of their all their radios and their phones in a fifty-mile radius with a harsh squeal of feedback, not unlike the first time he had vroomed over the city in his brand new warship. The call that came was tight and clipped, so as to hide the tremble of fear that shook in Rocket's voice when he had to consider what it meant if no answer ever came. “Hey. It's me, man. ...Groot?” |