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JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME
You awaken to godawful static overlaying a female voice that's too monotone to be anything but a recording. The static makes it difficult to understand the warning, but it's clearly a warning if your surroundings tell you anything...
You're buckled into a sturdy seat bolted to the wall behind you. Around you, there are dozens of others like you, some awake and others still unconscious, but it seems most of the seats lining the walls are occupied. The lights are dim, likely auxiliary lighting, leaving you mostly in the dark. You smell smoke and hear the sizzling crackle of electrical systems popping and shorting out. Some of the seats were jarred off the wall, leaving the occupants either wounded or dead. Count yourself lucky all you have is a headache and various aches accounted to whiplash.
You appear to be in a drop ship or an escape vessel of some form but the pilot is dead and the hull bears a massive gash where it buckled under the impact and sheered off. Through the door-sized opening, you can see vegetation. The air that wafts in is heavy with a humid heat, but it's obviously breathable.
Once you make your way outside, you'll see greenery: Trees, grass, and shrubs tangled with vines that grow wildly and suffocate the trees they climb. In the distance, behind the ship, you can make out a sandy desert that seems to stretch on endlessly. Forward through the trees, however, you may see a crumbling wall, but more importantly, you'll see signs of civilisation. Buildings and other structures seem contained within those decrepit walls. Maybe the natives can fill you in on what's going on, because the last thing you remember isn't being in an escape shuttle. As a matter of fact, you don't remember much about your arrival or where you are. But it's going to be a bit of a hike, better get moving. Though you might want to grab the backpack of supplies under your seat before you go.
With that, the power dies, leaving the drop ship in the dark, crackling and groaning as the hull cools from its catastrophic re-entry.
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The impact knocked him unconscious for a few long minutes -- and wasn't that fun, waking up to the dulcet sounds of creaking metal and showering sparks? The first thing he had done was look for anyone familiar in the crowd around him, checked the bodies of the unconscious and the deceased just in case, before he finally scooped up his survival pack and the pack of a nearby John Doe and stepped out into the daylight.
Imagine his surprise when he finally spots a friendly face.
... Well, relatively friendly. (Do deadly assassins do friendly?)
He shoulders both bags and limps out (he's going to be damn sore tomorrow, he knows; crash landings like that are fun for absolutely no one), and in lieu of a proper greeting (Thank God you're here. I thought I was gonna have to deal with this shit by myself), he plops down to sit on the ground. He frowns at her, at the pile of packs she's already rummaged through, and almost looks disappointed. ]
I can't believe you started looting without me.
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She won't say so, but the relief of not being here alone is immense. Of course, instead of showing that, she'll only purse her lips at him in a most disapproving way and get back to her sorting. Yeah, that's it. ]
I'm not looting.
[ She so is. ]
Are you unharmed?
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Well, he's grining because of that, but also because that for a second there, he was expecting, like, a hallucination. Or maybe a Skrull. Just something pretending to be Gamora and then going, "Ha ha, tricked you, Bozo," and fading into nothing.
But she's still here, and she's still 100% looting, and man, is he glad to not have to tromp through Narnia or wherever the hell they are by his lonesome. ]
I'm about as well as any dude can be, considering we crash landed in some ship I don't even remember hopping into.
[ Which is to say, "Kind of shitty, but anything you can walk away from, right?" He lifts his good shoulder in a shrug. ]
I can sleep it off. What about you?
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[ "That minor", like she's been in other crashes. She probably has, but now's hardly the time to share those kinds of stories. Gamora picks something out of the current bag and tosses it to Peter. A bottle of water, likely the most useful thing she could offer at this point in time. ]
Did you see anyone else from the Milano? Rocket? Drax?
[ The tiny plant-like creature that may or may not be Groot?
Not that... she's worried or anything. ]
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He catches the bottle, thanks to a combination of good reflexes and instinct driven into him from years of being the butt of most Ravager jokes. Startled, he blinks at it, and he means to say a word of thanks, except Gamora is speaking again, and asking a kind of unpleasant question. He sobers almost instantly. ]
No. Just you. Could be the rest of the guys are still wherever it is this ship came from? [ he punctuates it by waving his hand toward the wreckage. Then, he asks slowly, ] You don't happen to have any insight on what the hell we were doing in there, do you?
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Or on a different one. [ She looks back at the wreckage, about as serious looking as she ever is, although her is brow furrowed in thought now. ] There's nothing to tell us if this is the only crash site. What, however...
[ Gamora won't shrug, but there's a note of uncertainty that typically accompanies one. ]
Something must have picked us up, right out of our own ship. We just don't remember.
[ Aliens get alien abducted by other aliens. ]
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Peter's expression pinches at that suggestion. ]
Well, whatever the hell they did, if they put in a dent in the Milano, I'm gonna kill 'em.
[ because he has priorities.
He grabs one of the bags Gamora has already gone through, pulling out the food, water, and extra batters and stuffing the whole lot in his own pack. So, okay, not great priorities, but at least much sounder ones, unlike a certain knife-crazy lady who shall remain unnamed. ]
You'd think they'd give everyone a knife. Or a stun baton, at least. Or a whistle.
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Even if they haven't. [ Back to the bag at hand, she takes out a pill bottle (one of many so far) and frowns at it. She still isn't sure what "aspirin" is. ] You'd think, but that depends on what they want. Throw down a few knives among many, see who kills one another for them. It could be that.
[ She does look up briefly to quirk an eyebrow at him. ]
What possible use would any of us have for a whistle?
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Not that he'd be able to talk down, like, a man-eating panther or anything, given their current locale. The trees and the bushes and everything is sort of familiar in a way it hasn't been in a long time. He feels like this is the kind of shit he saw in movies and TV when he was a kid. He decides it's best to keep that little revelation to himself. ]
The whistle is for drawing attention. Like-- [ He whistles. ] "Mayday, mayday, I'm being attacked, and they didn't give me a friggin' knife to defend myself."
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Is that your way of telling me to come save you when I hear you doing that?
[ Because Peter is clearly going to need saving at some point. From nature, probably. ]
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This 100% unimpressed look?
because he's doing it really hard. ]
Thanks, but no thanks. I can take care of myself.
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Of course. I'll be sure to ignore any cries for help you may give later on down the line.
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Now I know you're messin' with me. I know how much you like to impress me by being a badass.
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[ Okay, now he's just going to get a skeptical look. ]
You must have hit your head in the crash, because you're speaking nonsense now.
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Lemme rephrase, then.
I know how much you like being a badass, full stop. [ He smiles brightly. ] Better?