Chris was geared up for the job, the symbiote at rest across his lanky frame but ready to do whatever it needed to so they made it home. The sleek black suit had integrated numerous alien devices and materials to make itself steadily better with an internalized power supply and Diz even had an energy shield now. And beneath all that there was armor. Seeing Rocket go past his bunk, the combat mechanic left his room to follow, a black tendril grabbing his straw cowboy hat off the nightstand and putting it on his head. Wallin was carrying a black duffel bag filled with guns with the symbiote counting out how many rounds he was carrying.
A big job with a big payout meant a big risk and a big risk called for a big bag of guns. Walking up to the bridge the symbiote drew the guns into its mass where it would keep them until it was party time. “Skrull space is a big ole graveyard, hard to believe they lost so much territory to one guy. This is the only functionin’ station left in the sector, ain’t it?” He’d been told Galactus ate Skrullos and devastated their sovereign space, how could one person wield so much power? Chris had fought Skrulls aboard the Alpha helicarrier and locked horns with a fanatical Super Skrull in the reactor room using his super Mandroid prototype, what in the high holy hell could reduce a race like that to near extinction? The suit shuddered at the thought of the Devourer, did it know? Or was it some sort of genetic memory of fear and terror from an ancestor biomass?
“I’ve been workin’ on the guns fer a while so I need y’all to bring me up to speed on the job.”