MARVEL SUPER HEROES SECRET WARS

by Alex Irvine

  “My kinda place,” announces Rocket Raccoon with relish.

  “I am Groot,” his towering companion agrees, nodding.

  A talking raccoon and a mobile tree. As heroes go, they’re not much to record home about. That was certainly my reaction when I met them. I am presuming that it is yours, too, loyal reader, as you observe them for the first time stepping into my expertly woven narrative. A raccoon and a tree. One talks, one walks.

  Surely, I hear you say, loyal reader, they are not the heroes of this tale? Surely, you add anxiously, the fate of the Multiverse does not depend upon them?

  Well, yes. Yes, it does. Loyal reader, if this idea alarms you, then maybe the fate of the Multiverse isn’t something you should think about too hard.

  If it matters at all, and I hope it does, my first impressions of them were similarly underwhelming. It took a while for me to fully appreciate that Rocket Raccoon and Groot of Planet X were proper, Multiverse-saving heroes. Quite a while, actually. I’ll shout out when, in the course of this narrative, it happens.

  Anyway…

  “My kinda place,” says Rocket Raccoon with relish. He is very much less than a human meter tall. His coat is glossy and in wonderful condition. His spectacular tail is bouffant. He walks upright in a way that makes the human in you want to exclaim, “Lookit the little man! Lookit! Walking on his back paws! Oooooaww!”

  Do not do that. Ever. If you do that, he will shoot you to death as many times as necessary. Rocket Raccoon has, I’m sorry to say, experienced a twisted and unpleasant background (an “origin,” as I suspect you might regard it, loyal reader), but that twisted and unpleasant background has made him the glossy-snouted, cheeky-as-a-button space warrior he is today. I may reveal some details of his “origin” as this tale advances. I can’t promise. I was warned with actual guns not to reveal certain particulars. Look, if you know him as I do, you’ll know his heart is in the right place (in the upper-left-hand quadrant of his thorax), and he has a very specific moral code (“Flark everything and everyone!” © 2014 Rocket Raccoon. All rights reserved), and he likes unfeasibly large guns.

  One of which is strapped across his back as he enters Leery’s. Look at him! Look at him, walking upright! Like a trained dog! Gawwww! Good boy! Good boy!

  Sorry.

  And then there’s the hands. Look, this is the thing. I can’t get past it. Rocket’s hands…they’re so disconcertingly human. It’s uncanny (not in the mutant sense, obviously. Mutants are uncanny in an entirely different way). It’s amazing, astonishing, astounding, incredible, adjective-less…okay, it’s just distressing. Rocket Raccoon’s hands are disconcertingly human in the most distressing way.

  Let’s think about something else for a moment, because the hands thing is creeping me out a bit.

  Something else, something else…okay, Rocket is wearing a uniform. It’s dark blue, militaristic, with red flashing and frogging. It’s the uniform of the Guardians of the Galaxy, a cosmos-defending supergroup that really doesn’t get the respect it deserves. Or the publicity. Or anything. Mention the name, and most people will go, “Huh? Guardians of the where now?”

  Rocket is enjoying a sabbatical. The Guardians, you see, are on a bit of a hiatus between their efforts to save an ungrateful cosmos (and guard a sniffily “I don’t need to be guarded” Galaxy). Star-Lord’s off doing this. Gamora’s off doing that. Drax is off… destroying. That’s just a guess.

  So Rocket and Groot, they’ve gone back to what they do best: make a little action, develop a little cash. They have the keys and papers for a subcompact jump freighter and a fresh cargo of zunks. Forty-eight tons of zunks, in fact. They’ve come to Leery’s because they’ve got a lead that a zunk trader might be in the house tonight—a zunk trader looking to move between forty-seven and forty-nine tons of zunks. So this is business time for Rocket…just him and his trusted pal Groot.

  Speaking of which…Groot is a tree. Imagine an ancient, giant oak tree with a face, arms, and feet. Imagine it walking toward you. Groot has to duck as he comes in through Leery’s doorway—and even though he does, twigs scrape off and clatter to the floor.

  Rocket looks at the almost entirely not Skrullian barman.

  “Two Timothies!” he declares.

  “I am Groot,” says Groot.

  Rocket sighs.

  “Okay, make that one Timothy, and one bitterbark and soda.”

  Nrrsh scurries to his task. Rocket glances up at his leafy friend.

  “Lightweight,” he says. Then he sniffs the air with his glossy button nose. He smells snake oil and leather. He smells reptiles. He smells lizard belly.

  “Flark it,” he says. “Badoon.”

  It is not long after this that the fight begins.

  GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY: ROCKET

  RACCOON & GROOT —STEAL THE GALAXY!

  Available now everywhere books are sold!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Special Excerpt

  Back Cover