C62 Rocket?

C62 Rocket?

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Peter stood off to the side as the ghost of Revan studied the Gray Jedi Holocron, just as he does all of the technology that his apprentice brings him. Its surfaces glimmered faintly in the dim light, casting eerie shadows on the ancient stone walls.

"You missed me, didn't you?" Peter joked, breaking the heavy silence that filled the chamber. “I know you did, so you can stop trying to hide it...”

Revan’s transparent eyes flicked up from the Holocron, a wry smile tugging at his ethereal lips. "Missed you? Hardly," he replied, his voice echoing with a ghostly resonance.

Peter chuckled. "Well, I've got news. If you haven’t already noticed, the Council finally made it official. I'm a Jedi Knight now," he announced, a hint of pride swelling in his chest.

Revan didn’t even react, the Holocron still in hand. "Congratulations..." he said, his tone even, almost indifferent. It was a stark contrast to the excitement Peter had hoped for.

A sigh escaped Peter's lips. He had hoped for more enthusiasm, but he knew better than to expect outward displays of sentiment from a Sith. "Thanks," he muttered, his gaze dropping momentarily before snapping back with a mischievous glint. "But that's not all. I’m thinking of leaving the Jedi earlier than I originally planned. How about you join me? Get out of this dusty old temple and see the galaxy again."

Revan looked up sharply, the Holocron momentarily forgotten. "You know I can't. My presence is bound to this place."

"Not if we bind you to this." Peter motioned to the Holocron now glowing subtly between them. His voice was hopeful, almost coaxing.

Revan's interest piqued, his spectral form leaning forward as if pulled by the idea. "You think that could work?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of curiosity.

Peter nodded eagerly. "It’s not just a container for knowledge, Revan. It's a vessel. If we can bind your essence to it..."

Revan’s ghostly figure stepped closer, his expression contemplative. "It might delete everything inside the Holocron," he warned, his voice low.

A shrug came easily to Peter. "Already transferred all its data to my datapad. It’s all safe."

Realization flickered in Revan's eyes; his apprentice had planned this from the start. He closed them briefly, nodding in assent. "Alright," he agreed, his voice firm. Revan extended his hands, enveloping the Holocron in a soft, otherworldly glow. His eyes opened, intense and focused.

Peter watched, holding his breath as Revan’s spectral form began to merge with the Holocron. A luminous energy pulsed from the artifact, growing in intensity until it was almost blinding. The air around them vibrated with the force of the convergence.

As the light reached its peak, Revan’s figure stretched and twisted, pulling towards the Holocron like a stream of smoke being sucked into a bottle. Slowly, his ghostly form dissipated into the cube, which now thrummed with a newfound power.

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The once-gray Holocron transformed, its surface turning a deep, ominous red. As the transformation was completed, the pulsing light dimmed, and the chamber fell into silence once more.

Peter exhaled, a mixture of relief and awe washing over him. He picked up the Holocron, now warm to the touch. "Well, that worked better than I expected," he murmured, tapping the red cube in his hand. “You still with me in there?”

Suddenly, the red, ominous-looking Holocron shot out of Peter's hands with unexpected force, hovering defiantly before him. It pulsated like the heartbeat of some great, unseen beast, casting unsettling shadows against the cold stone walls.

Seconds later, Revan's spectral form materialized around the floating artifact, the Holocron acting as a core from which his ghostly presence emanated. His appearance was still transparent, ethereal, yet there was a newfound sharpness to his features, an increased power flowing through him.

Peter stepped back, his eyes wide with both awe and a spark of amusement. "I’ll take that as a yes," he remarked, unable to suppress a grin.

Revan's ghostly face briefly mirrored the smile before his gaze drifted down to his hands. "Hmm, It seems my new vessel has strengthened my connection to the physical world," he replied, his voice resonating more clearly than before.

Peter studied the Holocron, which was now embedded in Revan’s chest. "So, can you leave the temple now?" he asked, his tone curious.

"Yes, with this," Revan gestured to the Holocron, "I should be able to leave, and even interact more... tangibly with the world."

With a sigh that seemed to rustle his bark-like skin, Groot boarded the ship, his heart heavy. As the ramp closed up behind him, sealing him inside, the sight that greeted him made his wooden brow furrow in confusion.

There, sprawled across the pilot's seat with a lopsided grin, was Peter Quill, his bags packed and resting at his feet.

"Surprise!" Peter exclaimed, popping up from the seat. "Thought you were going to leaf me behind, huh?" He unabashedly delivered the cheesiest pun he could muster.

Groot's eyes widened, his mood shifting rapidly as understanding dawned. "I am Groot?" he asked, his tone a mix of surprise and disbelief.

Peter chuckled, stepping forward and clapping Groot on the shoulder. "Yeah, buddy. I know you were feeling down about leaving without me, so I convinced my Masters to give me some leave time."

Groot’s response was immediate and enthusiastic. He stretched his arms across the room and pulled Peter into a tight, wooden hug, lifting him slightly off the ground. "I am Groot!" he boomed, joy evident in his voice.

Peter laughed, patting Groot's back. "Easy there, big guy. Need to breathe here."

Setting Peter down, Groot stepped back, his movements more animated. "I am Groot!" he repeated, his tone now filled with excitement.

"Yeah, I know you’re happy," Peter replied, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Now, let's get this ship ready. I’ve already said all my goodbyes, so let’s get the hell outa here, shall we?"

————

Meanwhile, across the galaxy, in the stark white, clinically pristine confines of a sprawling laboratory on the distant planet dubbed Counter-Earth, the High Evolutionary, a bald man with an Android-like appearance, loomed over rows of cages filled with various creatures, searching for his next test subject.

[Insert picture of High Evolutionary here]

Today, his focus was directed toward a particular cage that housed a group of baby raccoons. The creatures rustled nervously, their tiny bodies tense and eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and fear.

With a precise and almost tender motion uncharacteristic of his usual stern demeanor, the High Evolutionary reached into the cage and gently lifted one of the raccoons. Its fur was lush and its eyes sparkled with an intelligent gleam, marking it as the specimen he had been seeking.

[Insert picture of Baby Rocket here]

"Hmm, you will do perfectly," he murmured, almost affectionately, as he cradled the small creature in his arms. The raccoon, overwhelmed by the warmth but still terrified, had its tiny heart racing.

As he walked down the long, hospital-like hallway, the sounds of the laboratory faded into a sterile silence, punctuated only by the soft thuds of his footsteps. The High Evolutionary's mind was focused, running through the genetic enhancements and modifications he planned to bestow upon this innocent creature.

The promise of creating a being of superior intelligence and ability from such a humble origin excited him, fueling his vision of a utopian future governed by perfect beings of his own creation.

Arriving at the operating room, the atmosphere shifted almost immediately. The room was equipped with an array of advanced surgical tools and machines, their screens flickering with cryptic data and diagrams.

Carefully, he placed the raccoon onto the operating table, securing it gently yet firmly under straps that seemed too large and ominous for such a small body.

As he prepared the surgical instruments, the raccoon's eyes darted around in growing panic, its body starting to twitch under the restraints. The High Evolutionary observed the fear in its eyes, not with malice but with a clinical detachment, as if the emotional turmoil of the creature was just another data point in his grand experiment.

"Shh, little one. This won’t hurt a bit," he whispered, his voice a mix of reassurance and firm resolve. He then activated the machines, their hum filling the room with a foreboding air.

The first incision was precise, the scalpel guided by a steady, practiced hand. However, the raccoon could not understand the necessity of the pain it felt. It shrieked in agony, a piercing sound that echoed off the sterile walls, filling the room with its primal fear.

The High Evolutionary paused momentarily, a trace of fascination rather than concern in his eyes as he watched the creature's face contort in pain. Any flicker of empathy was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by his clinical interest in the biological responses of his subject. With a hint of satisfaction, he resumed the operation, his movements meticulous and precise.

The raccoon’s cries formed a grim symphony that seemed to resonate with the High Evolutionary’s sense of purpose. To him, this was not just necessary but a gratifying step towards the culmination of his evolutionary ideals, a sacrifice at the altar of progress and perfection.

A/N: 2393 words :)