Agents of the Multiverse

Admittedly, the Tech Hangar wasn't somewhere that Raz came often. It wasn't really that he was technology adverse-- working as a Psychonaut meant that he got to play with all sorts of fun toys. But psi-tech wasn't really something that this current team had much of a grasp of, and most of Raz's old gear outside of his psi-portal was still back in his own world. He supposed he just... never had a reason to visit because of that. If he needed tools, then he had his own. If he needed gear, well, he was the best person for the job, really.

Clearly his trainee was more at home in the cavern like garage, though. Raz had read what little was available on Rocket's file-- he himself hadn't done the psyche evaluation, so he was limited in what he knew about Rocket from the start. Mostly it just a name and pronouns to go on. Raz didn't even know what the guy looked like. He considered briefly if maybe introducing some kind of interview process might not go unappreciated for new arrivals, but then dismissed it. Many of them were too overwhelmed as it was without adding additional stressors to the orientation process.

To be fair though, he supposed that he was going to be just as much of a surprise to Rocket as Rocket was to him. Raz's considerable height tended to startle most people. At seven-foot-three he towered over a lot of the other humanoids within the Omphalos. Not all of them, of course. As the equally tall doorways of the facility attested to, they were very much used to leggy residents. Enough arrivals hovered somewhere below the six foot mark though, that all of it could still be quite the shock to newcomers.

Which is why Raz had dressed down for this particular meeting. Normally if he was working outside of his therapeutic capacity, he wore his sensory gear and something dark enough for a bit of stealth-- and if he had to admit it to himself, a little theater too. The jacket and goggles ensemble, with its faintly glowing eye markings and red tinted lenses could be a bit intimidating though-- as was intended. So today he wore a simple black turtleneck and brown slacks. He also had the remains of a ham sandwich in one hand that he took absent minded little bites of as he walked along, his eyes peeled for anyone in the hangar that looked new.

"Hey! No eating in the lab!"

One of the technicians leaned around a fairly arcane looking jumble of gears and wires to glower at him, and Raz had the presence of mind to look chagrined. He tossed what little remained of his snack in a nearby trash can.

"Sorry, forgot," he admitted, then frowned a little. Was that...? Raz leaned his long body out to peer around the disgruntled looking woman at the sight behind her and a bit to the left, near one of the other stations. His brow furrowed in sudden bemusement.

Was... that a literal racoon?

No way.

"Rocket...?" Raz ventured curiously. The humor in his voice was politely suppressed, but just barely.

For a while, Rocket believed he had just died in #MV221 and had somehow ended up in the afterlife. The sheer amount of advanced and extraordinary technology, even by his standards, was overwhelming, and he could hardly contain himself. Of course, he had already interacted with a few others, likely pestering them and undoubtedly getting his paws on things he shouldn’t have.

At the moment, Rocket was fiddling with a triangular device he presumed to be an ion tool, and a grin spread across his furry features as he prepared to delve into its internal components. That was, until he heard a disgruntled technician scold someone nearby. His ears twitched, and he craned his head towards the sound.

As much as he wished not to, Rocket set the device down, sliding it away with his left hand. Nearly forgetting, he pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, just in front of his headgear. His current attire consisted of a green vest with yellow shoulder patches, fitted with multiple pockets brimming with gadgets. Beneath the vest, he wore a black turtleneck, smeared with a few dirt patches, paired with similarly dirtied black pants.

As Rocket stood up, he noticed a massive figure approaching from the corner of his eye. He raised an eyebrow slightly, appreciating the newcomer’s style, though when they spoke first, it did irk him—he usually liked to have the first word. Yet, he couldn’t deny that this person had a good sense of fashion, so his pettiness was eased.

“Flarkin’ right, humie. Rocket here, in the fur. If you like that, good on you. If not, then go flark yourself.” Rocket didn’t really know if Raz was human or not, but his nickname for them stuck. "Nice turtleneck, by the way. I dig it. But anyway, what’s your name again? It’s hard to remember scut when there’s so many krutacks-n-nacks lying around here. Makes my mind go crazy, you know?” He placed a hand on his hip, waiting for a reply.

Oh my god. It was a racoon.

A talking racoon!

Raz had to exercise every ounce of control he had over his facial muscles to avoid smiling at the furry little grump like a kid at Christmas. When Rocket opened his mouth and answered Raz's tentative call, and something that sounded like it belonged to some greasy fry order chef or grizzled mechanic crawled out, that restraint became even more difficult. The lanky psychic managed somehow, but his green eyes glittered with a tattletale sort of glee that brightened them considerably, and caused the skin at their edges to crinkle just a little.

"Hey Rocket, I'm Raz," Raz answered. He offered the grumbling furball a winning smile that was just a little too carefully controlled. It became a little more genuine though when Rocket offered up that compliment for Raz's outfit. Raz glanced down, almost a little startled, then puffed up a little with pride.

See? Turtlenecks were cool.

"--And thanks. It's kind of part of the work uniform back home. They're comfy though, and I guess it kind of just grew on me," he said, circling around to peer down at whatever the racoon was currently working on. "Sorry to interrupt uh-- whatever this is you're doing, but I'm your assigned mentor. I thought I should introduce myself properly. I'm supposed to show you around, answer any questions you might have... that sort of thing," he said brightly. "Seems like you've settled yourself in pretty well already though. What're you working on?"

The question was a genuine one, not politely feigned interest. Raz wasn't quite the level of tinkerer as Sasha was, but he did work a fair amount on his own gear, from psi-tools, to espionage gadgets, to his own personally customized ride. --god he missed that bike.

"Seems interesting."

Rocket was used to that look—that particular look when humies and similar species first encountered a cybernetically engineered Halfworlder flarker such as himself. Most Terrans here called him a "raccoon," inevitably much to his chagrin. He bit his tongue, restraining any snarky comments about Raz's amusement. Overall, Raz seemed like a cool guy, so Rocket exercised some reluctant leniency with him.

"Raz, huh? Well, that's certainly a name. Hm... I dig it, actually," Rocket commented, shrugging. A partial grin slipped across his furry features, even if Rocket presumed it was only a nickname. It was enough for him: short but memorable, something he could get behind.

He nodded in respectful approval at Raz's description of the work uniform. If those uniforms were standard in Raz's universe, then Rocket could respect it. After all, he liked having both action and business suits himself and considered possibly showing Raz his action suit sometime. But first things first.

Rocket's ears twitched in surprise as Raz asked about the device, which Rocket hadn't realized how much of a poor job he did at concealing it. Huh. He could've.. sworn he’d hidden it better, but there it was, on the floor in plain view. Nice one, Rocket, he silently berated himself.

"Oh, uh... that? It's a hacking module, is all. I lost my last one after that, uh... whatever-the-flark-its-name-is ate my universe. But before that happened, I did kinda save the whole frickin' galaxy with my hacking module. Other than that, I used it for prankin' my friends, takin' stuff off cops, yadda, yadda. Not that I'd steal stuff here, obviously. My paws are stayin' clean."

Rocket slowly picked up the module, scratching his ear in mild embarrassment. If there was anything he hated, it was feeling embarrassed, and he was quick to pivot. "Uh, look, you can hold onto it if it's a problem with the higher-ups here. Wasn't trying to break regulation or anything," he admitted, holding the module out towards Raz.

Raz rocked back on his heels a little, leaning his weight back thoughtfully, his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.

"The Corruption," the psychic said grimly, providing Rocket with the name of the force which had apparently taken his home from him. Not everyone came to the Omphalos because they had lost their worlds to it, but more people did than didn't, and Raz was saddened, but not entirely surprised to learn that their newest recruit was one of that number.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Raz's green eyes fell on the racoon once more, taking him in anew. He left platitudes at that though. While Rocket's situation was no doubt painful, it was best to let most newcomers lead that particular dance. It was still too fresh a wound for many, and they'd talk about it when they were ready-- often in one of their therapy sessions, though Raz tried not to get assigned to anyone he was also mentoring for the obvious reasons of conflict of interest. It was hard not to get too personal in a setting where people with his particular skills were so rare and painfully needed, but Raz did his best where he could.

"You go ahead and keep it though," he added a moment later. Raz shifted his weight to the side, leaning on one hip and flashed the little mammal a conspiring smile. "If it you managed to save a whole galaxy with it, it might come in in handy, right? We'll just note that you have it in your equipment file and you make sure to stay out of too much trouble with it. I'm sure you can think of better places to use it than the Omphalos's databases anyway."

Not that Raz was entirely worried that Rocket was any real threat to the AotM's secured files. The computers in this place had the benefit of being designed and secured by geniuses from across the multiverse, including a few individuals that were living computers themselves. There was a chance that Rocket could worm his way past their considerable defenses somehow, particularly if he was as skilled with the technology as he claimed, but it was a very slim chance. Still, Raz knew that mentioning as much would likely only make Rocket want to try more, so he kept his mouth shut.

"If you happen to spot any holes in the Omphalos's security though," Raz pointed out slowly, looking suddenly thoughtful, "Bring it up to the data guys. I think we'd much rather you find it than someone who wanted to do us some real harm."

Then Raz half turned, pulling over a nearby chair and flipping it around to drape his long body backwards on it. It allowed him to converse a little more comfortably at the smaller agent's height without coming across as condescending.

"So-- you seem pretty comfortable-- which, congratulations. It takes most newcomers a lot longer to find their feet here," he continued on, still watching the racoon curiously. "But I'm sure you've still got questions. Anything you think I might be able to answer for you?"

They called it "The Corruption"? Rocket thought the name was apt enough, considering what he’d seen it do to his world. He’d faced down plenty of universal threats before—the Mad Titan, the Universal Church of Truth, the Phalanx—but none had the same sweeping level of success of this so-called Corruption. He wasn't certain if it were sentient, but regardless, it wiped through the cosmos before the Guardians even had a chance to come up with a plan. No last stand, no heroic sacrifice. Just.. nothing.

Rocket snapped back to the present, realizing his arm was trembling. He didn’t know how long he'd been zoning out, but it was probably enough for Raz to have noticed. Gritting his teeth, he quickly withdrew his arm, folding it behind his back to steady himself. Keep it together. Fortunately, Raz’s praise helped defuse matters, coaxing a small smirk from the Halfworlder.

"Ya' know talent when ya' see it, huh? You really do know your stuff," Rocket quipped, sliding his hacking module into his pocket. "Maybe I’ll check in with the data team one of these days. A flarkin' fuzzball like me might teach ‘em a trick or two." He stretched his arms, considering taking a seat, but Raz’s casual move to sit first made him decide to stay standing. It felt oddly good to be nearly at eye-level for once. When Raz asked if Rocket had any questions, the raccoon was caught off guard. Not because he didn’t have any, most definitely not; simply because there were too many bouncing around in his head. He had too big of a laundry list of confusion to sort through.

Start with what matters most, Rocket.

"Well..." he began, ears flicking as he worked through his thoughts. "I was wonderin’ about somethin’.. I lost all my guns when the Corruption hit. I uh.. kinda need those. I know it might sound stupid to some folks, but I feel better when I’ve got ‘em around. My old Bye-Bye Engine? That thing was like a second heart, a gun of majesty. Me and her, we went through everything—military insurrections, intergalactic wars, heck, we even took down Fin Fang Foom once. Ever heard of him? Dragon the size of a small moon, nasty piece of scut."

Rocket paused, scratching behind his ear as he debated how much to ask for. "I know my hacking module’s cool for now, but.. you think anyone’d have a problem if I, ya know, put a new Bye-Bye Engine together? Maybe run the blueprint by you or someone else, to keep it all above board." The words above board tasted bitter in his mouth, but he figured he could stomach it—for now.

Between spy work and his somewhat more mundane career as a therapist, Raz had pretty good skills of observation. That being said, it would have taken a blind man to notice the racoon's too long pause, or the way his small black paw trembled. Raz was careful not to draw attention to either observation though. Rocket didn't seem to be the type to appreciate his 'weaknesses' being pointed out-- not that fear or grief made anyone 'weak', but Raz knew that classic tough guy routine when he saw it, and that kind of mentality tended to come hand in hand with it.

"I dabble a little," Raz admitted with a small laugh, trying to further ease the sudden tension. He reached up to rub at the back of his neck with a hand and grinned lopsidedly at the furry engineer. "I've got a bike I've been meaning to track down. I did a lot of work on it with the help of a few friends of mine. I'm handy enough, but... I'd be honored if you wanted to give her a tune up when I find her. Some of the stuff my buddy did is a little over my head if I'm being honest."

He wasn't. Being honest, that was-- well, mostly not. Gisu had done a lot of work on the Moth, but Raz had been present for most of it, determined to learn so that he could later do things for himself without having to go back to the Motherlobe every time the bike got damaged. He had grasped a surprising amount of her work, but there were admittedly a few fiddly bits he wouldn't have minded putting into the hands of an expert. Mostly though, the offer had been a sort of peace offering-- a way to build bonds. That seemed important right now.

Raz's expression sobered again when Rocket asked his question, however. He thought for a while on it, chewing the inside of his cheek. Raz might not have been as high on the totem pole as some of the other agents like Krepta, but as one of the first of them, he still had a lot of pull, and between that and his position as one of the Omphalos's only therapists at the moment, he also had a good peek into how many of those higher ups worked.

"Can't say I've heard of your Fang Foom," Raz said, buying himself a little time while he considered. "We don't really have dragons where I'm from. Pyrokinetic pumas though. We've got those. Those guys are mean, man." He leaned back in his chair and raised his arms, stretching that long and lanky body of his over the back of it to pop his back a little, then settled again, resting his arms on his knees while he answered Rocket.

"As for your Bye-Bye Engine--" he chuckled, "-- nice name by the way-- I guess it depends on a couple of factors. I'm not exactly sure what your engine does, but it... does sound pretty lethal with a name like that. A blueprint would certainly help." He shuffled back against his chair, falling back into the old habit of toying with the fluff of his beard with a few fingers while he mulled the problem over. "The thing is, you're new. Your psychological profile doesn't suggest that you'd turn that thing on anybody here-- and yeah, sometimes that's actual problem. We get all types here. But we still don't know you. Depending on how destructive that thing is, what might happen is you make it and check it out for sanctioned missions--"

Raz lifted a finger, knowing that Rocket was the type to likely rankle at that kind of restriction.

"Just until we know you better and we can be sure of what kind of training you have. In your handbook you'll notice there's different security levels. Personal gear is kind of a tricky matter and is usually pretty subjective but... if you put in the foot work and prove to the higher ups that you can be trusted toting heavy weaponry around without supervision, then life will be easier for you in general. Less daily paperwork. You get what I'm saying?"

He offered the racoon another wide shrug, and a sympathetic smile. "Bureaucracy, huh? Still, it's important. Not everyone who comes to work with this organization can be trusted with that kind of thing. There'd be trouble if there wasn't some red tape. Not from guys like you, but---" He pursed his lips. "I'm getting way ahead of things though. Really, it boils down to, the bigger the boom, generally the more paperwork you gotta do. The front desk has the forms you need to fill out, but... you might have to go on a few missions or complete a few training modules is what I'm saying. It all depends."

Rocket wasn’t entirely sure if Raz’s idea of a bike was anything like the contraptions he was used to, but he was never one to pass up a chance to tinker with something new, especially if it provided a challenge. Crossing his arms, he felt a rush of excitement bubble up at the mere thought, already imagining all the little tweaks he could possibly make.

However, the excitement inevitably started to drain when Raz mentioned restrictions on his weapon. Of course it’s flarkin’ destructive—that’s what makes her beautiful, Rocket mused, and quite bitterly so.

"Tell Raz to go flark himself," came a voice from his left shoulder. A tiny version of Rocket, complete with demonic wings, smirked and crossed its arms smugly. "Or better yet, just agree, then assemble the BBE in secret."

Rocket shot a glance at his shoulder, half-grinning at the scene. Before he could dwell on it, a second voice piped up from his right. This time, it came from a raccoon donning angelic wings. "And what, cause total chaos?" the angel scoffed. "Look, it sucks, sure, even Raz admits it. But safety matters. Remember when we almost got the Guardians killed on Lamentis?"

"Uhhh.. well.." the demon version stammered.

"Yeah, and Knowhere too. Safety’s important. Plus, Raz seems like a decent guy. He’ll help us out—don’t flark it up."

The demon rolled its eyes, but begrudgingly conceded. "Fine, but he better let us fix that damn bike," it grumbled before the two avatars vanished into thin air.

Rocket cleared his throat, scratching his ear to buy himself a moment.

"Yeah, I get it, Raz. What good’s a rocket if you don’t test it first, right?" he quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. "Guess crossing some red tape ain’t the worst thing," he added with a sigh, though he was truthfully more resigned than enthusiastic. "Anyway, I wasn’t trying to jump the gun on the BBE, no pun intended. I can probably stick to my dual blasters for now. I’ll print the blueprints for those too, just in case."

Rocket let out a small yawn, the whole conversation taking more out of him than he would have liked to admit. Still, there was something he was curious about. "By the way,” he said, his ears twitching with curiosity, "where exactly are you from? What’s your universe like? If you don't mind me askin'."