52 C52 New King in Town!

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The sound of a Russian-accented plea filled the quiet that had just settled over the room, turning heads towards the glass case where Cosmo the dog, still clad in her quaint Soviet space suit, was bouncing eagerly. "Please, comrade, could you let me out? I really need to pee..."

Peter Quill glanced at the Labrador with a bemused expression, feigning confusion. "A talking dog? Are you from Earth?" He asked, stepping closer to inspect the space-suited canine more closely.

Cosmo nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, are you from Earth as well?" She tilted her head, a curious glint in her eyes. "From your accent, I'd guess you're a Capitalist American Scum? My owners used to talk about you people all the time…"

Peter held back a laugh, detecting no malice in her tone, just a parroting of past conversations. "Yeah…" he replied, trying to keep the mood light. "And based on your accent, I'd guess you're a Communist Russian Dog?" he teased, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes, I am Cosmo!" she declared with a wag of her tail, completely missing the irony in Peter's response.

"I see," Peter chuckled, charmed by her oblivious nature. "It's nice to meet another Earthling here." He smiled down at her. "I'm Peter, by the way."

Before they could continue, Carina stepped forward, her tone informative as she explained. "The Collector found Cosmo in a primitive rocket, in the middle of space, and decided to add her to his collection. She underwent enhancements here—increased intelligence, telekinesis, durability, and a prolonged lifespan. Her collar translates her thoughts into speech, which is how we're able to communicate with her."

Peter turned back to Cosmo, "Did the Russians just shoot you up into space alone?"

"Yes," Cosmo nodded her cute little head, a somber whine escaping her throat. "They put me on a rocket, knowing full well I never could return and I would either starve out in space, or die in a fiery ball of death…"

"I'm sorry you had to go through that…" Peter frowned.

"I am Groot…" Groot seemed saddened by her admission as well.

Cosmo pawed at the glass again, her voice taking on a whining tone that tugged at the heartstrings. "Please, can I come out now?"

Nodding, Peter placed his hand on the control panel beside the case. Focusing for a moment, his hand took on a dull glow, and seconds later, the glass slid open. Cosmo didn't waste a second; she darted out like a bullet, nose to the ground, sniffing around urgently for a suitable spot.

The room was silent except for the soft ticking of her claws on the stone floor until she halted in front of another display case. With no further ado, she lifted her leg and relieved herself.

As the sound of trickling echoed off the walls, a deep, raspy voice with a thick New York accent cut through the silence. "Hey! What did I tell you about pissing on my case? Bad dog! Very bad dog!"

Walking over, Peter, Carina, and Groot found an Anthropomorphic Duck, martini in hand, clad in a silk robe, glaring out from his own enclosure at the disrespect being shown to his residence.

[Insert picture of Howard the Duck here]

Cosmo, taken aback by the reprimand—never before having been called a bad dog—lowered her ears, looking guiltily at the puddle she'd made. Yet, her voice conveyed a touch of indignation as she retorted, "I'm not a bad dog! I just really had to go!"

Walking up to Howard's case, avoiding the puddle of dog pee, Peter couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. First a talking dog and now a talking duck. 'My life just got even weirder than it already was…' He crouched down to meet Howard's eye level, finding the duck visibly peeved.

"What are you looking at?" Howard asked, his voice gruff, the annoyance palpable even through the glass.

"A talking duck…" Peter replied simply.

"Damn right." Howard nodded, sipping his martini as he turned to Carina. "Hey, baby. Do you want to see what this beak can do? You know, once you go duck, you'll always get a good fu-"

"I am Groot…" Groot interrupted with a glare, taking a protective step in front of Carina, who seemed confused.

"Woah, let's all just calm down, okay?" Ignoring Howard's disgruntled remarks from his display case, Peter rested a hand on Groot's shoulder, calming him down. 'He really does have a crush on her, doesn't he?'

Suddenly, as Groot calmed, an idea began to crystallize in Peter's mind, an audacious plan that sparked a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Hey, Carina," he called over his shoulder, "do we have, like, a list of everything here?"

Carina, who had been watching him with a measured curiosity, nodded and retrieved a sleek datapad from her robe. "Everything is cataloged here," she said, handing it to him.

Taking the datapad, Peter thumbed through the digital files, his expression a mix of wonder and calculation. Groot peered over his shoulder, his eyes widening at the images of strange and powerful artifacts flashing across the screen.

Peter's thoughts raced. The Guardians had bought their own space station from the Collector in another life, another story. Why not here? Why not him? "We could actually run this place," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

Of course, Peter had no intention of keeping any of the living beings from the Collector's collection. In fact, he planned to set them free, unless they posed a significant danger if released. 'I'll have to carefully go over all of the files…'

As Peter turned to leave, planning to explore the palace and fully piece together his plans, Howard's voice carried across the room, tinged with indignation. "Hey! You let the mangy dog out but what about me? What, are you racist or something? Ducks are people too, you know!"

Peter paused, half-turning to look back at the irate duck. "I'll be back to check on you in a bit," he called back, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Gotta see what we're working with first." And as Peter strode off, Groot and Carina followed closely behind, eager to see what he was up to.

Cosmo, tail wagging, shot Howard a smug look before trotting after Peter. Her nose was held high, elated to be free from her cage and equally pleased to see Howard still confined. After all, no one gets away with calling her a bad dog!

————

Shortly after his tour of the palace concluded, Inside the late Collector's study, Peter perused the digital files on the sleek datapad Carina had given him.

'There's so much junk on this list… like what the hell is a Krylopian trash bundle?' He thought, Cosmo snuggling up at his feet, her tongue hanging out as she panted contentedly.

Peter's eyes flicked across the screen, meticulously categorizing the living beings in the Collection. 'Fomalhauti's, Poppupian's, Xeronian's, Hurctarian's, Kylorian's, Frost Giant's, Chitauri, Dark Elves, and even a Sovereign Cocoon, whatever the hell that is…' He was determined to release those that weren't dangerous—a promise to himself and to his newfound sense of responsibility as the new owner of this odd assortment of galactic treasures.

Groot, exhausted from his recent ordeal, was sprawled out on a nearby couch, snoring softly, his wooden fingers twitching occasionally in sleep.

As he slept, suddenly, the door slid open with a soft whoosh, and Carina entered, her steps soft against the marble floor. In her hands, she carried a steaming mug and another datapad, which she offered to Peter. "Thought you might need a boost," she said, handing him the drink before presenting the second datapad with a slightly hesitant gesture.

Peter accepted the mug, sipping cautiously, then looked at the new datapad with a raised eyebrow. "What's this for?"

"If you're planning to take over the Collector's role," Carina explained, "you should be aware of everything that it entails. This contains information about the Tivan Group."

Peter scrolled through the new files, his brow furrowing as he read about the numerous shady dealings: smuggling, black market auctions, and worse, much worse…

The Tivan Group is basically the Collector's criminal Empire, which is deeply entrenched in the galaxy's underworld, a fact that makes Peter uneasy. He quickly made up his mind, stashing the datapad away. "Sorry, but I'm not interested in running a crime syndicate," he declared firmly. "I just want the station. That's all."

Carina nodded, clearly relieved by his decision. "Understandable, but you should know—others might come looking to claim what the Collector left behind. Not just the Tivan Group, but the Hutts have been interested in his collection and the coaxium mining operation for a very long time."

Peter's response was a nonchalant shrug. "That's certainly worrying, but have you seen the kind of security and artifacts we've got here? Just the security system alone should be enough to scare away any potential invaders."

Though visibly apprehensive, Carina nodded. "Just be cautious, Peter."

He saw the worry etched on her face and softened his tone. "Hey, Carina, if you want to leave, you can. I'm not about keeping people against their will here."

"No," to his surprise, Carina shook her head emphatically. "I want to stay. I want to help you make this place something good. And… I-I want to repay your kindness."

"Alright then," Peter said, allowing himself a small smile. He paused, then asked another question that had been nagging at him, "Does this place have a deed of ownership or something?"

Carina chuckled, a sound that echoed slightly in the vast room. "This is the farthest end of the Outer Rim, Peter. There are no Republic laws here, no documents. The strong take what they want. The Collector was strong, so he owned Knowhere. Now, he's gone, and you're here."

"So, I just… take over? Just like that?" Peter's voice was a mix of amusement and incredulity.

"Exactly like that," Carina confirmed with a nod.

Peter stood, stretching his legs and glancing around the opulent study. "Well then, since we're the strong ones now, why don't we start cleaning this place up, shall we?"

…

Minutes later, Peter stood on the front balcony of the Collector's grand palace, surveying the bustling landscape of Knowhere. The view before him revealed a stark contrast of dingy buildings and vibrant marketplaces, vividly displaying the city's gritty vitality and evident poverty.

In his hand, Peter clutched a microphone scavenged from the Collector's assortment of oddities. It was a powerful device, capable of amplifying his voice across the entire city.

But before he could activate it, Carina approached him, her steps echoing slightly on the metallic floor. She held out a metallic face mask, its surface sleek and eyes glowing an intimidating red.

"What's this for?" Peter asked, eyeing the mask curiously.

Carina's voice was serious, a rare tone for her. "Since you're a Jedi, you could get in trouble for what you're doing. It's best if you keep your identity hidden, just in case the news reaches the Republic."

Peter nodded, understanding the gravity of her advice. Slipping the mask over his head, he felt it adjust snugly around his features, leaving his tousled hair free. He activated the microphone and turned to face the city, his voice now distorted thanks to the mask.

"People of Knowhere," he began, his amplified voice echoing off the metal structures, grabbing the attention of everyone from the career criminals to the downtrodden homeless. "This city is under new management—better management. As of today, Knowhere no longer condones crime, nor will it harbor any criminals. So, that leaves many of you with two choices: leave or reform and stay. And believe me, once you see the wages I'm offering, you'll definitely want to stay…"

After all, he didn't plan to stop mining the planet below. The Coaxium trade is just too lucrative to stop.

The crowd murmured, a blend of skepticism and curiosity in their eyes. Peter cleared his throat, signaling for quiet, his voice steady and commanding.

"But be clear, any act of crime or rebellion will be met with a swift and painful death." Of course, not all crimes would result in death; the consequences would vary depending on the severity, but he would explain that later. "And if anyone has a problem with that, then feel free to lodge a complaint with our Sentient Relations Department…"

At his cue, highly advanced turrets emerged from every street corner and rooftop, their barrels swiveling ominously. The display of firepower was met with a mixture of awe and fear.

Peter paused, allowing the gravity of the moment to settle over the crowd, before retracting the turrets back into concealment. Then, with a firm nod, he concluded, "Thank you for your attention. And stay tuned for more details, as there will be other announcements like this coming soon."

With that, he stepped back from the balcony, leaving the frightened, angered, and confused populace of Knowhere behind.

A/N: 2214 words :)

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