Panic Attack

Untitled Part 11

He had friends now, people willing to risk their own lives to save him. People who cared enough to chase him through the streets of some unknown planet to save him from a panic attack. And, because of Rogers, he was back in his own personal Hell.

The guilt was unbearable. The seizing of his stomach every time the creature was brought up, only knowing that he was the cause of all this. That he had been the one to lead the Halfworld fugitives to their escaped subject. And the mention of panic attacks and nightmares only made his blood boil with anger. He had willingly put the poor creature through so much pain, so much torture that Rocket had been horribly scarred mentally. The constant fear of his past causing him to cut himself off from the people he considered friends.

Rogers was pulled out of his musings when the sound of the Nova officer's handheld device began to beep incisively. "We've got coordinates." He stated plainly before making his way over to the main console of the ship where a few other corpsmen stood. They didn't hesitate for a second before plugging in whatever coordinates were displayed on the device and into the ship's navigational system.

Gamora stood, hooking one of the earpieces over her own ear and tossing the other to Rogers who quickly followed suit. Peter seemed to already have a larger one over his own right ear and was already readying himself, tucking his Taser gun into his belt.

"Alright Doc. We're up." He said, practically yanking the man out of his seat as they made their way towards the observation deck. The ship had already been moving in the general sector that the Halfworld ship had landed in, meaning that their journey to the planet in specific wouldn't take much longer.

He was caught off guard when the Nova officer began to speak again. "Alright, Quill, contact Gamora the moment you reach the mechanical system, and you." The corpsman pointed at Rogers, tossing a wad of white fabric towards him. The former scientist stumbled back in surprise as the man glared down at him. "Don't mess this up. Let us know when you find Rocket and get him the hell out of there." He said flatly.

"Dey." Gamora called the man back over to where she and the other officers stood, much to Rogers' relief. The officer gave him one last distrustful look before making his way to the woman's side.

"Might want to put that on." Peter stated blankly, gesturing to the object in his grasp. He glared down at the ball of wadded fabric in his hands and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before unfurling it, almost dropping it as he did. "Gotta play the part." Peter shrugged, pulling on his own white lab coat and making his way back towards where the others were all crowded, staring out of the front window towards where the small and somewhat familiar white ship was growing closer.

...

He was attached to the machine again, the red and black wires securely fastened to his metal implants and the sound of electricity building up already crackling behind him. He was laying on his stomach now, the wires protruding from his chest making him try and arch his body off of the metal table to ease himself of this pain.

His breathing had not slowed for a second and the pounding of his heart was now beating so rapidly that Rocket couldn't tell if it was even still pounding or if it had simply seized up completely. There were more people in the room now and his head swam with dizziness after enduring the countless needles that had punctured his cut and bloodied skin, injecting who knows what into his bloodstream.

He had recognized most of the people in the room, and by the menacing smiles and torturous experiments, it seemed as though they hadn't forgotten their little creation either.

"Well, isn't it 89P13." One of the men said, his voice practically dripping with malice as he leaned down so that Rocket was forced to look directly at him. He had pulled down his mask so that he could see the man's toothy grin.