The suffocating, humid heat of the Puerto Rican jungle rushed violently past Peter's face. He really hated flying.
Beneath his suit, the symbiote shifted its biomass, extruding a massive pair of dark, webbed glider wings from his shoulder blades. The sheer aerodynamic friction of slicing through the air was already generating an uncomfortable wave of heat across the suit's surface. Flying was a massive risk for a symbiote. But web-swinging through the dense, unbroken canopy of the Arecibo basin was entirely impossible, and running on foot would take hours. So, he flew.
He also wasn't traveling alone. Cindy hung securely from his back, her arms wrapped tight around his neck in a tactical piggyback hold.
"You're surprisingly heavy," Peter grunted over the roar of the wind.
"Shut up and keep flapping, bug-boy," Cindy shot back, adjusting her grip on his shoulders.
Ahead of them, a massive spacecraft tore through the scattered clouds. Peter squinted through his white lenses. He instantly recognized the ship. It featured aggressive, swept-back wings and a loud, scraped-up red-and-orange paint job. The Milano.
Peter's internal timeline map immediately crumpled into a ball. The Guardians of the Galaxy had arrived. This universe was giving him a massive headache. Captain Marvel hadn't even officially debuted yet—she was currently playing rent-a-cop for a military base—but the Guardians were already a fully formed, operational team. Judging by the ship's steep descent trajectory, they were heading straight for the Arecibo Observatory.
Peter pushed into a steep dive. He and Cindy beat the alien vessel to the drop zone, touching down heavily on the concrete tarmac just outside the massive radio telescope facility.
A military perimeter was already established. Two dozen U.S. Army soldiers had their assault rifles raised toward the sky. Major Carol Danvers stood at the very front of the formation. Beside her, Dr. Michael Rossi struggled to support the weight of a massive, experimental energy rifle. The weapon hummed with unstable blue light, looking distinctly like a Project Pegasus prototype.
Carol's eyes widened as Peter's symbiote wings smoothly retracted into his back. "Spider-Man? What the hell are you doing here?"
"I brought backup," Peter said casually, pointing a thumb at Cindy. "S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Silk. And as for me? I'm an Avenger. An unregistered alien spacecraft breaches the atmosphere, we're legally obligated to form the welcoming committee."
Carol suppressed a heavy groan. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers were already on-site. Did they know about the Pegasus excavation? Before she could interrogate the teenager, the deafening roar of retro-thrusters drowned out the jungle birds.
The red spacecraft descended vertically, kicking up a massive storm of dust and dead leaves. The landing gear locked into place with a heavy metallic clunk. The rear cargo ramp hissed, lowering slowly to the tarmac.
Carol gripped her sidearm, bracing her stance for a horrific, tentacled alien invasion.
Instead, a human male strolled casually down the ramp. He looked to be in his early thirties, sporting a scruffy beard and a scuffed crimson leather jacket straight out of an 80s hair metal music video.
Carol blinked. A human?
The crew trailing behind him was entirely absurd. A genetically modified raccoon marched out on two legs, casually racking the bolt on a plasma cannon that was larger than its entire torso. Behind the rodent lumbered a towering, walking tree. Then came the actual extraterrestrials: a lethal-looking woman with green skin, a heavily scarred brute covered in raised red tattoos, a nervous-looking girl with antennae protruding from her forehead, and a man radiating a soft golden glow.
The human in the leather jacket stepped forward. He flashed an incredibly arrogant, lopsided grin and opened his mouth to speak.
The raccoon deliberately cleared his throat with a loud, hacking cough. He stepped directly in front of the human. He hid his left paw behind his back and raised his right in a grand, mocking theatrical gesture.
"Attention, backward Earthlings!" the raccoon shouted, his grating voice infinitely louder than his small size suggested. "Drop to your knees and quickly pay homage to the Crown Prince of the Spartax Empire! The undisputed, great Star-Lord!"
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the tarmac.
The army soldiers exchanged completely bewildered glances. Carol simply stared at the raccoon. Rossi slowly lowered the barrel of his experimental rifle by an inch. Ten seconds ticked by. Only the clicking hum of the spaceship's cooling engines filled the quiet air.
Rocket Raccoon suddenly doubled over. He slapped his knee, bursting into a fit of breathless, hysterical laughter.
"Hahahaha! I told you!" Rocket wheezed, pointing a furry finger at the human. "Quill, I freaking told you! Your own crappy home planet doesn't even know your name! You can fly to the very edge of the galaxy and back, and absolutely nobody gives a crap about 'Star-Lord'! Hahahaha!"
Peter Quill's face flushed a deep, furious red. "Are you kidding me, man?! You planned that whole grandstand introduction just to humiliate me?!"
Quill looked back at his crew. None of them were laughing. They just looked incredibly tired.
"Come on, guys," Quill hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "This is my home planet. Just give me a little bit of face here."
Drax the Destroyer crossed his massive, scarred arms. His expression remained entirely stoic. "You do not require face, Peter Quill. You are the first imperial heir in galactic history to mail a parking citation directly to your own father. I do not believe you possess any concept of shame."
The entire Guardian squad snickered. Even the walking tree let out a low, rumbling chuckle.
Quill rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. "Thank you. Thank you all for the unwavering support." He turned back to the heavily armed Earthlings, clapping his hands together. "Okay! Ignore the woodland creature. My name is Peter Quill. I'm half-Earthling, which makes me their... supervisor. Mostly. Don't let the circus act fool you. I've led these guys to save the entire galaxy on multiple occasions."
Quill puffed out his chest, attempting to project genuine authority. He looked at Carol. He looked at Rossi. Then, he noticed that both the military officer and the lead scientist were subconsciously angling their bodies toward the teenager in the black spider suit.
"Wait a second," Quill frowned, pointing a finger at Peter. "Are you the guy in charge here? Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Spider-Man, representing the Avanger" Peter said smoothly.
Quill stared at him. He looked Peter up and down, taking in the white spider emblem and the full face mask. "So, you're a human guy. Wearing a spider costume. And you call yourself Spider-Man? Wow. Groundbreaking." He pointed at Cindy. "What about her? Spider-Woman?"
"Code name is Silk," Cindy corrected, crossing her arms.
Quill shook his head in absolute disgust. "That makes zero sense. You guys are terrible at branding. Seriously, horrible." He turned his attention back to Peter. "And what exactly is an Avenger? Is that like a freak-show cover band in tights?"
If Captain America were here to hear that, he'd probably throw his shield right through your teeth, Peter thought.
"We're a team of superheroes," Peter answered, keeping his tone perfectly level. "We protect the planet. Basically, we're the absolute highest tier of planetary security Earth has to offer."
Quill's face lit up with recognition. "Oh! Got it. You guys are Earth's version of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Cute."
Carol slowly lowered her sidearm. She looked completely exhausted. She turned her head slightly to look at Rossi.
"Michael," Carol deadpanned. "If this specific group of idiots has actually saved the galaxy multiple times... either I am having a psychotic break, or the entire universe is completely doomed."
Rossi shrugged, adjusting his glasses. "I just study the physics, Carol. I don't know these people."
PS: Fun Fact! In the comics, Peter Quill is actually the son of J'son, the Emperor of the Spartax Empire, making him literal alien royalty! Of course, Quill absolutely hates his father and regularly goes out of his way to annoy him—including, as Drax pointed out, forwarding his ship's parking fines directly to the imperial throne room.
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