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The Spaceboat Willie chugged out of Nos’talgia’s springy atmosphere into the great, vast void of space.
Mickey Mouse had always thought of the big ‘Out There’ as something dark and black, shrouded in mystery and shadow. As he relaxed into the captain’s chair on the bridge of his space-faring steamboat, however, the brightness of the vacuum struck him. Everywhere he looked, stars lit up the road ahead. Shiny polkadots of varying colors -- yeah, not just the shimmering white lights you could see from the surface -- littered the canvas just outside the steamboat’s ‘windshield.’ They drew patterns and constellations on the big blanket of emptiness, which Mickey now noted looked more purplish-blue than black up close.
The others on the bridge didn’t seem to be as taken aback by the greatness of it all, so Mickey did his best to keep his reactions in. Peter Quill, especially, seemed to be especially lax and casual about it all, piloting the ship with the confidence of someone who’d done it thousands of times -- and, truly, maybe he had. It occurred to Mickey that the ragtag band of… well, to be frank, fugitives that made up the first crew of the Spaceboat Willie remained relatively unknown to him. How many ships had the Star-Lord gone through in his human lifetime?
Still, the skill required to fly a ship like this, one undoubtedly different than any others the man piloted in the Crossroads or another realm, impressed Mickey. From what the mouse had gathered in his as-of-yet short time, almost anything was not only possible but probable in the Crossroads, including a spaceship essentially being a jury-rigged steamboat, running on coal and chugga-chugga-chugging into the final frontier.
Yet somehow, despite those unlimited possibilities, Mickey Mouse doubted many strayed from the norm. To him, of course, the Spaceboat Willie was the norm, harkening back to something so homey and familiar. The big wheel spun along the side of the grayscale replica, carrying them further and further away from the vibrant blues and greens of Nos’talgia and probably, to any onlookers, seeming just as insane as any of the quirky things he and his companions had encountered back on the planet.
As their course shifted, Nos’talgia came into full view, and for the first time, Mickey took the opportunity to gaze at a full freakin’ planet with his own eyes. His eyes were drawn almost immediately to the huge chunk that seemed to have almost been bitten out of the top of the planet, and his previously wondrous expression scrunched into something more sad and curious. What the heck was that, anyway?
The Crossroads, it seemed, were destined to be full of mysteries. Sometimes he wished he were the type of mouse that could just let those things lie, but he knew he didn’t have it in him to leave any stones unturned. He’d be back to see what the heck all that mess was about, no doubt.
As space’s own cavalcade of mysteries stretched out before his eyes, his mind returned to one that was a tad more pressing:
The box.
Hours earlier, on Nos’talgia…
A phone number, and an address. That’s all Viz had left Mickey Mouse and Proto Man with when they’d slipped out in the middle of all the commotion at the dive bar. As the crew of humans hustled and bustled to try and maneuver their way onto the spaceboat and off the planet, the mouse king and the preteen machine huddled up to figure out what to do about their own problems.
...which is what had brought the Proto Man to this strange shipping dock on the outskirts of Pixelton. Well, Blues supposed it wasn’t as strange when you compared it to the rest of the establishments in the capital city of 8-Bitain. Nevertheless, the aggressively lavender exterior disconcerted the robot. His data files indicated that humans normally found this color ‘relaxing,’ for whatever reason, but the rest of the building’s decidedly corporate stench unnerved him. The Wondertainment Toy Company logo, a big splashy ‘W’ followed by the rest of the word in equally bulbous bubble letters, was painted on nearly every square meter of the wall. And this was the back wall of the establishment, the one not generally facing any customers whatsoever.
Blues supposed that even in his back-alley business, Scrooge tried his best to keep his brand alive. Admirable, the robot supposed, since most underhanded businessmen usually tried to keep their name off their more ‘outside-the-law’ dealings.
Of course, the preteen machine couldn’t know if Scrooge McDuck or his surrogates were even the people he’d been dealing with today. From what Viz’s note described, this benefactor might simply be funneling whatever this delivery was through Wondertainment. For Mickey and Proto’s part, their cooperation was necessary to determine exactly how trustworthy they were.
Just up ahead, tucked in the back of the shipping dock, Blues saw the item in question. The crate was large, much larger than the android, and somehow painted even more obnoxious than the walls of Scrooge’s shipping facility: baby blue, with a huge, golden-yellow star on each side.
In the top right corner of one side, a large red button with the words ‘PRESS ME’ in blinking white letters called out to the Proto Man. He scowled a bit, not convinced this wasn’t some trap or bomb, but figured he didn’t really have much choice, so he pressed a gloved finger to the button. The red of his armor almost blended with the red of the button, but not for long: it disappeared, along with the rest of the crate, in a puff of smoke that sent Blues stumbling back -- though more from surprise than any actual impact.
As the smoke cleared, the preteen machine looked down to see that the formerly huge crate had shrunk substantially, now small enough to fit in his pocket!
...if he’d had pockets, dangit.
The present…
Mickey’s eyes shifted to Blues, sitting upright and rigid in the seat normally reserved for the Captain’s main lieutenant. The preteen machine fiddled with the box in his non-Proto Buster-bearing hand. From this far away Mickey couldn’t totally tell, but it looked like something on one of the corners was… blinking? Some sort of bright red light?
His answer came quick as, without warning, the box exploded out of Blues’ gauntlet and skidded across the floor of the bridge, back to its normal pretty gargantuan size.
“Whoa, what’s going on? Did I break something?” Quill shouted, glancing over his shoulder.
Laura, Lincoln, and John had sprung up from their seats. A snikt signified the emergence of Laura’s claws, and Mickey knew someone had to defuse this situation right now before it got even slightly out of hand.
“Aw, shoot,” the mouse said, pushing himself out of the captain’s chair and skipping over to the large, blue crate now sitting in the middle of his spaceboat. “What happened, Blues? Wasn’t it supposed to stay shrunk?”
“I guess it had a time limit,” the Proto Man shrugged as he slid out of his seat.
“Wanna explain what’s going on, Captain?” Laura asked, and Mickey met the Wolverine’s suspicious eyes.
“Uhhh,” the mouse smiled, trying his best to look innocent. Normally, he didn’t have much trouble with that -- being a talking, anthropomorphic mouse might be weird, but he was heckin’ cute, and that was usually enough to pacify most suspicious parties. The clawed woman and the two broad-shouldered human men now looked at him with plenty of doubt, and he knew that, as he always tried to preach, honesty would be the best policy.
He grinned, holding his hands up in the air excitedly. “We’ve got a job!”
The energy in the room… did not improve. Well, except for from one corner.
“A job?” the Star-Lord piped up. “Like… that pays money?”
If Mickey had a lip, he would’ve bitten it. “Yeah, I guess!” he smiled.
It was very much a guess. He hadn’t really asked many questions about payment, but… well, that would make sense, right? It would make sense that someone who hired him and Blues to do something would be polite enough to compensate ‘em for it, yeah? He decided it was best to just go with it, and if it ended up not being the case… well, maybe he could stream some of his adventures like that Cool Toolbars guy he’d been watching lately and make some money off of that to pay these fellas their fair share.
X-23 retracted her claws, but didn’t seem altogether at ease. “A job doing… what, exactly, Captain?” she asked, and Mickey grinned as he felt the acid on that last word float his way.
The mouse himself had never really been a natural leader. He’d always thought of himself principally as an exceptional team player, but somehow his… well, to be quite honest, his lack of impulse control and knack for running headfirst toward trouble and adventure had pushed him into a leadership position in most groups he’d been a part of. Donald and Goofy had just sorta looked to him to make decisions since their days as musketeers, and eventually that had spiraled out of control and led to him being crowned King of the Disney Realms.
That had been a wild development then, and to be honest, while he did miss his home, he certainly did not miss all that responsibility.
Yet, here he was, Captain of his very own Spaceboat, and things were going just swimmingly. Barely a lightyear out from the first planet to witness his liftoff, and already he’d given his crew reason to doubt him.
“Yeah, mouse man,” Lincoln chimed in, and Mickey’s attention turned to him, “what’s the gig?” The guy was perhaps the scariest passenger they’d picked up. His friend seemed more like he was meant for behind-the-scenes work than, like, actual throwing down, but the two-foot-three-inch tall mouse had already had at least three bad daydreams about Mr. Clay picking him up and just crumpling him to pieces like he was some trash in a garbage disposal. Of course, nothing Lincoln had done thus far seemed to imply he’d even thought about squashing the little hero, but nevertheless, those thoughts weren’t pleasant.
“So, the box,” Mickey stammered, looking sorta like an airline traffic guard as he gestured with both hands toward the baby blue monstrosity of a crate, “we gotta deliver it to some guy on Inverxe.”
“Inverxe?!” Blues’ eyes widened as he crossed his arms. “You neglected to mention that, Mick.”
“What’s so bad about Inverxe?!” Mickey asked, genuinely still knowing next-to-nothing about half of the places in the Crossroads. Maybe I shoulda read up on these places before I decided to captain a spaceboat, he thought.
“All my records about this place say it’s home to a bunch of scary monsters,” Blues explained. “My files say it’s where Gilgamesh signed up for the Abyss this year, so maybe you can ask your new friend -- ” the venom there was hard to miss “ -- for more info.”
Mickey’s mouth twisted into a little bit of a frown, but before he had time to think of a good comeback, Lincoln Clay’s friend also spoke up. “I was under the impression,” John Donovan offered, “that we were getting the fuck away from the horrifying things.”
Mickey’s frown turned into a full-on scowl as a buzzer sounded from overhead and PLUTA’s voice echoed throughout the bridge.
“Please watch your language aboard the Spaceboat Willie, Mr. Donovan,” she droned.
“Captain’s rule, pal!” Mickey affirmed, pointing a gloved finger at John.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s all calm down a bit, mmmkay?” Lincoln held up his big, potentially-crushing hands, and stepped in between his handler and the tiny mouse who seemed ready to pounce on anyone who dared let a stray four-letter word out. “This job sounds easy enough. Take the crate to this place, drop it off, get paid?”
Laura sat back in her seat. “Is that it, Mickey?”
The mouse turned to the Wolverine. “Far as I know, lady.”
The crew agreed, pretty much in unison, that they all supposed there’d be no harm in delivering the weirdly-cartoony box to its unusual destination. After some minutiae where Mickey and Blues agreed to share whatever payout they received equally with their fellows, Peter Quill piped up with the question that had been on everyone’s mind -- including Mickey’s -- since the discovery of the Spaceboat Willie’s mysterious cargo.
“...so, uh, what’s in it?”
Mickey blinked, glancing back at the box. The truth was… the truth was…
“I dunno,” he sighed. “They didn’t say.”
“Well, that’s sketchy,” Laura narrowed her eyes, looking at the crate.
“Sketchier than the stuff we were doing for Nalto?” Peter asked, maneuvering the ship into auto-pilot and spinning around to join the conversation fully.
“I guess you’re right, shithead,” Laura acquiesced, the final word of her sentence drowned out by PLUTA’s buzzer.
“So… we’re opening it, right?”
All the eyes turned to John Donovan, who’d made his way back to his seat and now sat up on the edge of it, looking at the big crate like he was trying to find something on it that indicated what exactly was inside of it. All five of the ship’s other inhabitants would admit privately that they’d thought about it, but they all had also all more than considered the fact that it could be something exceedingly dangerous.
Besides…
“We were told not to,” Mickey revealed, sitting back in the captain’s seat. “I dunno why, but they really do not want us to know what’s in there.”
Though, he thought to himself, I’m really curious.
John looked up at the ‘captain,’ his expression somewhere between incredulous and flabbergasted. “You kidding?” he scoffed, turning back to the others, “we’re not really gonna listen to a fucking rat, right?”
The low hum of the Proto Buster reached the group’s ears as Mickey Mouse found himself back on his feet in a hurry. Laura glanced over at Blues, whose cannon glowed but had yet to fire, and then at Lincoln, who seemed uninterested in his friend getting merc’d by the preteen machine and the mouse but also didn’t exactly want to defend what the guy had said. For his part, Star-Lord, ever the shiitake-mushroom head, chuckled.
“Oh, looks like you’ve done it now, man,” he laughed.
The four fully human passengers of the Spaceboat Willie had no idea the wrath the Proto Mouse could inflict; lucky for them, the pair of pint-sized heroes were less interested in creating city-sized craters these days, even when nasty people were involved.
“We won’t be openin’ it,” Mickey decreed. “Blues, stand down.”
The Proto Man lowered his gun just as the Spaceboat Willie felt the surge of impact. The whole ship rocked beneath the crew’s feet. Peter flew forward out of his chair and smashed into the box; Lincoln was able to steady himself on the crate, and John held onto his seat for dear life. Blues tripped into the control panel, and Mickey felt himself stumble and fall off the raised platform that held the captain’s chair. Laura’s feet were quickest, running over and catching the mouse before he crashed to the spaceboat’s metallic floor. The pair of warriors looked up and out the ship’s front window and watched as a pretty big, pretty scary-lookin’ craft -- the one that had, ostensibly, rubbed the spaceboat the wrong way just now -- came into view.
“Uh, Blues,” Mickey said, “stand back up.”
Mickey Mouse had always thought of the big ‘Out There’ as something dark and black, shrouded in mystery and shadow. As he relaxed into the captain’s chair on the bridge of his space-faring steamboat, however, the brightness of the vacuum struck him. Everywhere he looked, stars lit up the road ahead. Shiny polkadots of varying colors -- yeah, not just the shimmering white lights you could see from the surface -- littered the canvas just outside the steamboat’s ‘windshield.’ They drew patterns and constellations on the big blanket of emptiness, which Mickey now noted looked more purplish-blue than black up close.
The others on the bridge didn’t seem to be as taken aback by the greatness of it all, so Mickey did his best to keep his reactions in. Peter Quill, especially, seemed to be especially lax and casual about it all, piloting the ship with the confidence of someone who’d done it thousands of times -- and, truly, maybe he had. It occurred to Mickey that the ragtag band of… well, to be frank, fugitives that made up the first crew of the Spaceboat Willie remained relatively unknown to him. How many ships had the Star-Lord gone through in his human lifetime?
Still, the skill required to fly a ship like this, one undoubtedly different than any others the man piloted in the Crossroads or another realm, impressed Mickey. From what the mouse had gathered in his as-of-yet short time, almost anything was not only possible but probable in the Crossroads, including a spaceship essentially being a jury-rigged steamboat, running on coal and chugga-chugga-chugging into the final frontier.
Yet somehow, despite those unlimited possibilities, Mickey Mouse doubted many strayed from the norm. To him, of course, the Spaceboat Willie was the norm, harkening back to something so homey and familiar. The big wheel spun along the side of the grayscale replica, carrying them further and further away from the vibrant blues and greens of Nos’talgia and probably, to any onlookers, seeming just as insane as any of the quirky things he and his companions had encountered back on the planet.
As their course shifted, Nos’talgia came into full view, and for the first time, Mickey took the opportunity to gaze at a full freakin’ planet with his own eyes. His eyes were drawn almost immediately to the huge chunk that seemed to have almost been bitten out of the top of the planet, and his previously wondrous expression scrunched into something more sad and curious. What the heck was that, anyway?
The Crossroads, it seemed, were destined to be full of mysteries. Sometimes he wished he were the type of mouse that could just let those things lie, but he knew he didn’t have it in him to leave any stones unturned. He’d be back to see what the heck all that mess was about, no doubt.
As space’s own cavalcade of mysteries stretched out before his eyes, his mind returned to one that was a tad more pressing:
The box.
***
Hours earlier, on Nos’talgia…
A phone number, and an address. That’s all Viz had left Mickey Mouse and Proto Man with when they’d slipped out in the middle of all the commotion at the dive bar. As the crew of humans hustled and bustled to try and maneuver their way onto the spaceboat and off the planet, the mouse king and the preteen machine huddled up to figure out what to do about their own problems.
...which is what had brought the Proto Man to this strange shipping dock on the outskirts of Pixelton. Well, Blues supposed it wasn’t as strange when you compared it to the rest of the establishments in the capital city of 8-Bitain. Nevertheless, the aggressively lavender exterior disconcerted the robot. His data files indicated that humans normally found this color ‘relaxing,’ for whatever reason, but the rest of the building’s decidedly corporate stench unnerved him. The Wondertainment Toy Company logo, a big splashy ‘W’ followed by the rest of the word in equally bulbous bubble letters, was painted on nearly every square meter of the wall. And this was the back wall of the establishment, the one not generally facing any customers whatsoever.
Blues supposed that even in his back-alley business, Scrooge tried his best to keep his brand alive. Admirable, the robot supposed, since most underhanded businessmen usually tried to keep their name off their more ‘outside-the-law’ dealings.
Of course, the preteen machine couldn’t know if Scrooge McDuck or his surrogates were even the people he’d been dealing with today. From what Viz’s note described, this benefactor might simply be funneling whatever this delivery was through Wondertainment. For Mickey and Proto’s part, their cooperation was necessary to determine exactly how trustworthy they were.
Just up ahead, tucked in the back of the shipping dock, Blues saw the item in question. The crate was large, much larger than the android, and somehow painted even more obnoxious than the walls of Scrooge’s shipping facility: baby blue, with a huge, golden-yellow star on each side.
In the top right corner of one side, a large red button with the words ‘PRESS ME’ in blinking white letters called out to the Proto Man. He scowled a bit, not convinced this wasn’t some trap or bomb, but figured he didn’t really have much choice, so he pressed a gloved finger to the button. The red of his armor almost blended with the red of the button, but not for long: it disappeared, along with the rest of the crate, in a puff of smoke that sent Blues stumbling back -- though more from surprise than any actual impact.
As the smoke cleared, the preteen machine looked down to see that the formerly huge crate had shrunk substantially, now small enough to fit in his pocket!
...if he’d had pockets, dangit.
***
The present…
Mickey’s eyes shifted to Blues, sitting upright and rigid in the seat normally reserved for the Captain’s main lieutenant. The preteen machine fiddled with the box in his non-Proto Buster-bearing hand. From this far away Mickey couldn’t totally tell, but it looked like something on one of the corners was… blinking? Some sort of bright red light?
His answer came quick as, without warning, the box exploded out of Blues’ gauntlet and skidded across the floor of the bridge, back to its normal pretty gargantuan size.
“Whoa, what’s going on? Did I break something?” Quill shouted, glancing over his shoulder.
Laura, Lincoln, and John had sprung up from their seats. A snikt signified the emergence of Laura’s claws, and Mickey knew someone had to defuse this situation right now before it got even slightly out of hand.
“Aw, shoot,” the mouse said, pushing himself out of the captain’s chair and skipping over to the large, blue crate now sitting in the middle of his spaceboat. “What happened, Blues? Wasn’t it supposed to stay shrunk?”
“I guess it had a time limit,” the Proto Man shrugged as he slid out of his seat.
“Wanna explain what’s going on, Captain?” Laura asked, and Mickey met the Wolverine’s suspicious eyes.
“Uhhh,” the mouse smiled, trying his best to look innocent. Normally, he didn’t have much trouble with that -- being a talking, anthropomorphic mouse might be weird, but he was heckin’ cute, and that was usually enough to pacify most suspicious parties. The clawed woman and the two broad-shouldered human men now looked at him with plenty of doubt, and he knew that, as he always tried to preach, honesty would be the best policy.
He grinned, holding his hands up in the air excitedly. “We’ve got a job!”
The energy in the room… did not improve. Well, except for from one corner.
“A job?” the Star-Lord piped up. “Like… that pays money?”
If Mickey had a lip, he would’ve bitten it. “Yeah, I guess!” he smiled.
It was very much a guess. He hadn’t really asked many questions about payment, but… well, that would make sense, right? It would make sense that someone who hired him and Blues to do something would be polite enough to compensate ‘em for it, yeah? He decided it was best to just go with it, and if it ended up not being the case… well, maybe he could stream some of his adventures like that Cool Toolbars guy he’d been watching lately and make some money off of that to pay these fellas their fair share.
X-23 retracted her claws, but didn’t seem altogether at ease. “A job doing… what, exactly, Captain?” she asked, and Mickey grinned as he felt the acid on that last word float his way.
The mouse himself had never really been a natural leader. He’d always thought of himself principally as an exceptional team player, but somehow his… well, to be quite honest, his lack of impulse control and knack for running headfirst toward trouble and adventure had pushed him into a leadership position in most groups he’d been a part of. Donald and Goofy had just sorta looked to him to make decisions since their days as musketeers, and eventually that had spiraled out of control and led to him being crowned King of the Disney Realms.
That had been a wild development then, and to be honest, while he did miss his home, he certainly did not miss all that responsibility.
Yet, here he was, Captain of his very own Spaceboat, and things were going just swimmingly. Barely a lightyear out from the first planet to witness his liftoff, and already he’d given his crew reason to doubt him.
“Yeah, mouse man,” Lincoln chimed in, and Mickey’s attention turned to him, “what’s the gig?” The guy was perhaps the scariest passenger they’d picked up. His friend seemed more like he was meant for behind-the-scenes work than, like, actual throwing down, but the two-foot-three-inch tall mouse had already had at least three bad daydreams about Mr. Clay picking him up and just crumpling him to pieces like he was some trash in a garbage disposal. Of course, nothing Lincoln had done thus far seemed to imply he’d even thought about squashing the little hero, but nevertheless, those thoughts weren’t pleasant.
“So, the box,” Mickey stammered, looking sorta like an airline traffic guard as he gestured with both hands toward the baby blue monstrosity of a crate, “we gotta deliver it to some guy on Inverxe.”
“Inverxe?!” Blues’ eyes widened as he crossed his arms. “You neglected to mention that, Mick.”
“What’s so bad about Inverxe?!” Mickey asked, genuinely still knowing next-to-nothing about half of the places in the Crossroads. Maybe I shoulda read up on these places before I decided to captain a spaceboat, he thought.
“All my records about this place say it’s home to a bunch of scary monsters,” Blues explained. “My files say it’s where Gilgamesh signed up for the Abyss this year, so maybe you can ask your new friend -- ” the venom there was hard to miss “ -- for more info.”
Mickey’s mouth twisted into a little bit of a frown, but before he had time to think of a good comeback, Lincoln Clay’s friend also spoke up. “I was under the impression,” John Donovan offered, “that we were getting the fuck away from the horrifying things.”
Mickey’s frown turned into a full-on scowl as a buzzer sounded from overhead and PLUTA’s voice echoed throughout the bridge.
“Please watch your language aboard the Spaceboat Willie, Mr. Donovan,” she droned.
“Captain’s rule, pal!” Mickey affirmed, pointing a gloved finger at John.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s all calm down a bit, mmmkay?” Lincoln held up his big, potentially-crushing hands, and stepped in between his handler and the tiny mouse who seemed ready to pounce on anyone who dared let a stray four-letter word out. “This job sounds easy enough. Take the crate to this place, drop it off, get paid?”
Laura sat back in her seat. “Is that it, Mickey?”
The mouse turned to the Wolverine. “Far as I know, lady.”
The crew agreed, pretty much in unison, that they all supposed there’d be no harm in delivering the weirdly-cartoony box to its unusual destination. After some minutiae where Mickey and Blues agreed to share whatever payout they received equally with their fellows, Peter Quill piped up with the question that had been on everyone’s mind -- including Mickey’s -- since the discovery of the Spaceboat Willie’s mysterious cargo.
“...so, uh, what’s in it?”
Mickey blinked, glancing back at the box. The truth was… the truth was…
“I dunno,” he sighed. “They didn’t say.”
“Well, that’s sketchy,” Laura narrowed her eyes, looking at the crate.
“Sketchier than the stuff we were doing for Nalto?” Peter asked, maneuvering the ship into auto-pilot and spinning around to join the conversation fully.
“I guess you’re right, shithead,” Laura acquiesced, the final word of her sentence drowned out by PLUTA’s buzzer.
“So… we’re opening it, right?”
All the eyes turned to John Donovan, who’d made his way back to his seat and now sat up on the edge of it, looking at the big crate like he was trying to find something on it that indicated what exactly was inside of it. All five of the ship’s other inhabitants would admit privately that they’d thought about it, but they all had also all more than considered the fact that it could be something exceedingly dangerous.
Besides…
“We were told not to,” Mickey revealed, sitting back in the captain’s seat. “I dunno why, but they really do not want us to know what’s in there.”
Though, he thought to himself, I’m really curious.
John looked up at the ‘captain,’ his expression somewhere between incredulous and flabbergasted. “You kidding?” he scoffed, turning back to the others, “we’re not really gonna listen to a fucking rat, right?”
The low hum of the Proto Buster reached the group’s ears as Mickey Mouse found himself back on his feet in a hurry. Laura glanced over at Blues, whose cannon glowed but had yet to fire, and then at Lincoln, who seemed uninterested in his friend getting merc’d by the preteen machine and the mouse but also didn’t exactly want to defend what the guy had said. For his part, Star-Lord, ever the shiitake-mushroom head, chuckled.
“Oh, looks like you’ve done it now, man,” he laughed.
The four fully human passengers of the Spaceboat Willie had no idea the wrath the Proto Mouse could inflict; lucky for them, the pair of pint-sized heroes were less interested in creating city-sized craters these days, even when nasty people were involved.
“We won’t be openin’ it,” Mickey decreed. “Blues, stand down.”
The Proto Man lowered his gun just as the Spaceboat Willie felt the surge of impact. The whole ship rocked beneath the crew’s feet. Peter flew forward out of his chair and smashed into the box; Lincoln was able to steady himself on the crate, and John held onto his seat for dear life. Blues tripped into the control panel, and Mickey felt himself stumble and fall off the raised platform that held the captain’s chair. Laura’s feet were quickest, running over and catching the mouse before he crashed to the spaceboat’s metallic floor. The pair of warriors looked up and out the ship’s front window and watched as a pretty big, pretty scary-lookin’ craft -- the one that had, ostensibly, rubbed the spaceboat the wrong way just now -- came into view.
“Uh, Blues,” Mickey said, “stand back up.”
Quest: "You've Got A Friend In Me"
Laura Kinney, Lincoln Clay, Mickey Mouse, Star-Lord
Post WC: 2582, according to Google Docs
Quest WC: 2582/15000, according to GDocs
Laura Kinney, Lincoln Clay, Mickey Mouse, Star-Lord
Post WC: 2582, according to Google Docs
Quest WC: 2582/15000, according to GDocs
