Guardians of the Zone Mission to Varnax Issue 6: Pieces of Map and Pieces of Ass

The Starlight emerged from warp above Gol-Vex IV, a planet shrouded in perpetual twilight. Its surface was a labyrinth of towering spires and deep chasms, remnants of an ancient civilization long forgotten. The crew had one objective: find the elusive Archivist rumored to possess knowledge about House Varnax's plans.

As they descended, Rocket quipped, "Hope this Archivist isn't another tentacled librarian with a shushing problem."

Sue smirked, "As long as it doesn't try to marry us, I'm game."

Yolo piloted the ship to a landing platform near the coordinates they had. The team disembarked, navigating through the ruins. The air was thick with mist, and the silence was deafening.

Suddenly, a shadow darted across their path. Groot raised his arm, ready to strike, but Sue held him back. "Wait. Let's not startle our host."

From the shadows emerged a being cloaked in tattered robes, its face obscured. "You seek the Archivist," it rasped. "Follow."

They were led through winding corridors to a chamber filled with holographic displays and ancient artifacts. The Archivist revealed itself as a sentient AI housed within a decaying exosuit. It spoke of the Final Sun, a weapon capable of annihilating entire systems, and how House Varnax intended to use it.

As the Archivist shared its knowledge, alarms blared. The chamber shook violently. "They've found us," the AI warned.

A battalion of Varnax enforcers stormed the chamber. Blaster fire erupted. Groot shielded the team, while Rocket and Sue returned fire. Amidst the chaos, the Archivist transferred its data to a portable drive and handed it to Sue.

"Go!" it urged. "This knowledge must survive."

The team fought their way back to the Starlight, narrowly escaping as the ruins collapsed behind them. Aboard the ship, Sue clutched the drive. "We have what we need. Now, let's get moving."

Rocket grinned, "And maybe plan that wedding?"

Sue laughed, "One mission at a time, love."

Later...

The edge of the Zone was a jagged border of dark energy and chaotic space currents. Just beyond it loomed a former black site station known as The Shroud Vault—a floating relic from the Pre-Darkening Wars. It was now abandoned... allegedly.

The Starlight rocked slightly as it hummed through hyperspace.

Inside, Rocket and Sue were in the hot tub enjoying the motion of the ship and the time altering side effects of hyperjumping. Susan was on top of Rocket. He was his fitted seat, made by him so he could sit like this. Beside him were grooves were Susan's legs could fit perfectly. It was designed for Sue to ride his cock in water. Normally he'd smoke his cigar and enjoy the ride, but hyperjumping was all over the place. Sue's pussy moved slowly up his prick but then quickly as if she was glitching on his dick. Her tits were in his face. Then they weren't.

Hyperjump sex was wacky. It could either be otherworldy or painful. Bodies smashing at different rates of speed due to time differences. Sue didn't prefer 'hypersex' as she called it. But they needed to fuck.

"Ughhh," Sue stopped. "You're moving dude!" She whined.

Rocket laughed. "It's not me!" He assured her. "It's the jump!"

Sue began to bounce quickly on his cock. "Hypersex suuuuuucks!" She whined again.

The ship came out of hyperspace very quickly. Causing Sue's body to slam against Rocket hard. His cock jammed painfully up into her. "Fucking Yolo!" She cried out. She pressed the comm on the box next to Rocket's head. Placed there just for this. To yell at whoever was piloting. "YOLO! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL US?" This is why she wanted to pilot through hyperspace.

"Sorry Ms. Storm...but we're there." Yolos voice came back over the loudspeaker throughout the ship.

"Already?" Sue groaned, her head lifting to look out the window. Steam curled around her bare shoulders. "I thought we had at least another hour." She could see the stars of the Zone and not the view of shooting past the stars during hyperjumps. "I didn't even cum!"

Rocket was lounging under her, sipping whiskey from a flask. "I told Yolo to keep us posted. He swore on his robot heart"

"He doesnt have a heart", Sue added angrily. She stood up off his cocm, and cum poured from her pussy. Sue dipped a finger in pussy and pulled it back. A heap of frothy gray hot cum on her fingers. "Did you....did you get to cum?"

Rocket shrugged. "Hard ending there. Sorry."

Sue waved a finger at him "You're eating pussy later rodent!"

Rocket smiled and licked his lips. He took back his cigar.

The proximity alert wailed again. Sue sighed and stood, water cascading down her as Rocket gave a long appreciative look.

Sue coild feel his eyes on her ass. "You just gonna stare or get dressed?"

Rocket again shrugged. "Can’t I do both?"

They geared up—new mission, new look. This time, sleek matte-black combat suits with indigo glowing accents, built for stealth and speed.

Rocket had added tactical upgrades and, of course, insisted Sue’s uniform come with “ventilation”—which she rolled her eyes at and wore anyway. Her breasts were covered in mesh. At least enough to cover her large nipples.

Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun, a side holster strapped tight to her thigh. She still had a shaved head on the sides.

They descended alone to the planet surface—dusty gray rock and twisted canyon spires. No signs of life, but both had their weapons ready.

“I like when it’s just us,” Rocket said as they climbed into a rusted service tunnel.

Sue smirked, “Because you know I’ve got your back.”

Rocket agreed. “That... and your aim’s better than mine.”

“Damn right it is.” She laughed.

The site was mostly buried, but deep inside they found a sealed room powered by its own decaying reactor. Inside, in a gravity-sealed container, was what they were looking for—a crystalline data core wrapped in ancient Varnax script.

“Let’s grab it and go before—” Sue spoke

Too late.

From above the cliffs, jet engines screamed. Bounty hunters. A lot of them.

"They're back," Sue said grimly.

This time, there were dozens. And they weren’t freelancers—they wore red Varnax insignias.

“I’m starting to think we’re popular,” Rocket muttered, pulling a detonator from his belt.

Sue managed to find a speeder bike. She was able to use a device Yolo created to hotwite it. “Let’s ride!”

They bolted out on the hovercycle—Sue behind the controls, Rocket standing on the back firing at pursuers with twin blasters. The canyon walls blurred by in a rush of rock and light. Drones, bikes, and small ships gave chase. Laser bolts hissed overhead, and Sue banked hard into a narrowing crevice.

“You’re getting closer to my flying record!” Rocket shouted.

Sue chuckled. “I passed your record an hour ago!”

They ramped off a cliff, engines howling, and Rocket triggered the Starlight’s homing beacon. It soared down to meet them.

They leapt from the hovercycle mid-air—

Sue caught the rail with one hand, Rocket with the other. He let out a yelp as she pulled them up.

Back in the pilot seat, Sue was all precision and power. The Starlight rocketed skyward, cutting through enemy fire.

“This is why I drive,” Sue said with a grin looking at Yolo.

The Starlight punched into space, bounty hunter ships trailing. But Sue spun and twisted, danced between wreckage and meteors, out-flying them all.

They jumped to warp just as a bounty ship locked on—gone in a streak of light.

Days later....

The planet Zan’korr-Vex was a deathtrap.

A violent stormworld with winds strong enough to slice metal and oceans of swirling liquid crystal that reflected the sky like a shattered mirror. The atmosphere shimmered in hues of orange and green, and the ground trembled with volcanic murmurs. If you weren’t fried, flayed, or swallowed whole by the planet’s terrain, the wildlife would finish the job.

The Starlight descended cautiously into a clearing surrounded by jagged spires of black stone and razorvine.

Sue stood in the cockpit, her arms crossed. “This guy better be worth it.”

“He’s the only one who collects Varnax relics and isn’t dead, imprisoned, or turned into a gelatinous cube,” Rocket replied, adjusting the scanner. “Or all three.”

Their destination: a chrome fortress built into the side of a cliff that overlooked a maze of canyons filled with junk, crashed ships, and speeders in various states of disrepair.

The Collector’s name was Marnuk the Eight-Eyed, a thin-limbed, towering alien with a face made of chitin plates and eight blinking eyes arranged in a semicircle. He wore a robe made of stitched-together banners from ancient civilizations. His fortress was littered with trophies—Varnax helms, weapon fragments, stasis cubes still humming with energy.

“You seek the Mind Relic of the Varnax? Dangerous thing,” he hissed. “I have it. But I do not part with artifacts without entertainment. You will race for it.”

Sue stood hand on her hips squinted. “Race? For you?”

Marnuk cackled. “In the Sky Cradle. Ancient and sacred. Hover-speeders. No weapons. No shields. Just skill. And… style.”

He gestured to a rack of hover-speeders—sleek, vicious machines hovering over a drop into a canyon that sparkled with volatile gas and magnetic lightning storms.

Rocket's ears perked up. “Now we’re talking.”

“But it’s not just one of you,” Marnuk added. “It must be both. A challenge for each. I do love a spectacle.”

“Let me guess,” Sue muttered. “Winner takes the relic?”

“Of course. You win, it’s yours. You lose…” Marnuk tapped a tank filled with squirming eel-like creatures. “You join my collection.” He leered at Susan who sighed and rolled her eyes in annoyance.

A few hours later, Rocket and Sue were preparing in the lockers

Rocket, being Rocket, had already designed Sue’s race outfit. And, being Rocket, practicality was secondary to aesthetic.

Sue’s speeder gear was a shimmering deep-blue bodysuit with crimson racing stripes, but cut to leave strategic slashes over her hips and lower back. It zipped down scandalously low in the front, revealing a generous amount of cleavage—clearly an homage to something more for the crowd than for speed. Her boots were high, metallic, and impractically shiny. She emerged from the prep room with an arched brow.

“I look like a racing pinup.” She was shaking her head.

“You look awesome,” Rocket grinned. “Distraction is strategy.”

Sue rolled her eyes but smirked. “Just don’t cry when I beat your tail.”

Rocket’s suit, on the other hand, was matte-black with red trim, aerodynamic and rigged with hidden boosters—nothing fair about it.

They walked out to the starting area and stood side by side at the edge of the canyon. Thousands of spectators—locals, smugglers, aliens with glowing appendages and multi-layered eyes—cheered from platforms suspended above the course.

Hover-speeders revved and hovered inches above the cracked stone.

As they took their speeders, Rocket got some boos. Susan got cheers.

"See...they love you!" Rocket laughed.

Susan huffed. "They love my tits."

The signal fired.

Sue and Rocket dove into the canyons.

Lightning slashed across the sky as the racers swerved through needle-thin tunnels, banked around glowing crystal arches, and blasted through anti-grav vortexes that flipped the course upside down.

Sue, despite her outfit’s ridiculousness, rode with ferocious grace, leaning into her speeder with confidence and speed.

“Left fork, Barbie!” Rocket called through the comms.

“Already ahead of you!” Sue passed a Krelak speedster who spun out into a lightning vortex.

Rocket clipped a rock but used the momentum to sling past two others.

Sue had some ahead of her. She had an idea and got between two racers. Sue pulled on the zipper of her top exposing all of the side of her boobs. The two at her sides both gasped and veered off.

The field now narrowed. It was just them and a six-armed beast riding a spike-wheeled speeder that shot sparks as it roared past them. He kept staring at Susan's chest. Enough for her to gain.

The final turn—a vertical drop over a firestorm geyser.

Sue grinned. “Time to fly.”

She angled her speeder up the canyon wall, using her invisibility for a split second to disappear—then reappeared ahead of the pack, blasting across the finish line, flames behind her.

Rocket came in seconds later, skidding sideways and flipping his middle claw to the six-armed loser.

Back at the fortress, Marnuk clapped with all eight hands.

“Deliciously entertaining. The relic is yours.”

Sue leaned close to Rocket. “That outfit was worth it after all.”

Rocket nodded. “I was right. Distraction strategy.”

They retrieved the Mind Relic of Varnax, a crystalline skull that pulsed with strange energy and whispered in an ancient tongue only Yolo could decipher.

As they walked back to the Starlight,

Rocket muttered, “You know, I really think we should race more often.”

Sue bumped his shoulder. “I’m not wearing that again.”

Rocket chuckled. “Okay. I’ll make something more revealing.”

She laughed. “Marrying you is going to be a disaster.”

He grinned. “The best kind.”

Later...

The crew of the Starlight gathered in the main chamber, the table cluttered with strange alien artifacts and fragmented star maps. The results of weeks of grueling missions, dangerous races, and violent skirmishes were finally laid out.

Yolo, with his polished chrome shell and glowing blue optics, stood at the head of the table. “These relics are ancient… and powerful,” he began. “I will need time to fully decode the Mind Relic and compile a navigable map.”

Susan leaned against the bulkhead in Rocket’s oversized shirt and sweatpants, barefoot and holding a warm mug of coffee. Her hair was still tousled from a long night. “Well, while you play archaeologist, we need to talk about something else. If we’re going up against House Varnax, we’ll need an army.”

Rocket, sitting cross-legged on the table, scratched his chin. “You know how hard it is to find reliable help in the Negative Zone?”

“We already have a crew,” Sue said, gesturing toward the lower deck. “Gleep and Glorp.”

Groot rumbled, “I am Groot.”

"They're not named Gleep and Glorp,” Yolo corrected politely. “They’re Kestoran. They don’t use names like we do. More like numbers.”

Rocket shrugged. “Well, I call ‘em the Twins.”

Sue sighed. “Look, they’re genetically identical but completely separate entities. And they’re crew. Just give ‘em some guns and tell ‘em where to point.”

“I am Groot,” said Groot.

Sue nodded. “Exactly. We’ll need muscle too.”

“I am Groot,” Groot offered.

“Oh no. Not Raankor,” Susan said quickly, raising a finger. “We dated. It didn’t end well.”

Rocket’s ears perked. “You dated that Baluuran brute?”

Sue rolled her eyes. “Before you.”

Groot rumbled again.

Sue brightened. “Gornkai. That Baluuran religious guy from Pilgrims Rock. Reformed. and Hellscout. Deadly with a blaster.”

Rocket narrowed his eyes. “Even deadlier than me?”

Sue smiled sweetly. “Maybe.”

Rocket grumbled.

“I am Groot.”

“Ravenous?” Susan shook her head. “Total creep. Had a thing for me.”

Without prompting, both Sue and Rocket said in perfect unison: “Preak.”

Yolo nodded. “Panspermian. UX-73 prison escapee. Genetically engineered. Loyal, dangerous, and weird as hell.”

“Just the kind of weird we like,” Rocket smirked.

“We still need a fixer,” Sue said.

“I am Groot,” Groot added.

“R’Kin,” Rocket nodded. “Cybernetic skrull. Used to train with Preak. Got his limbs torn off by the Super Skrull.”

Sue groaned. “He has a thing for me too.”

“Who doesn’t?” Rocket and Yolo said in unison.

“Praxagora?” Rocket asked. “Robot. Disappeared.”

“Gone,” Sue said. “Haven’t heard from her in cycles.”

“Porcupine Puss?” Yolo asked.

“No. And yes, he also has a thing for me.” Sue added.

“I am Groot.” Groot repeated.

“Karkas and Ransak,” Sue repeated. “The deviants. Could be helpful. Even if Ransak is… less handsome than he thinks.”

“What about the Centurions?” Rocket asked. “Hybelea and his team?”

“That’d be our cavalry,” Sue said, serious now. “If we can get them.”

“I am Groot.”

"Warlord Smyt?” Sue cringed. “He really has a thing for me.”

Yolo tapped the table. “So we have an army. In theory. I need time to finish the analysis, but someone has to gather these people.”

Sue looked at Rocket with a smirk. “We’ll take the light cruiser. Just the two of us.”

“I am Groot,” Groot said.

“I know,” Sue grinned. “We’re leaving you in charge of the ship.”

Yolo interjected, “There’s no time for a delay. Every second is critical.”

Sue turned to Rocket, holding his arm. “We’ve been running non-stop for weeks. I need at least a weekend of fur time.”

Yolo blinked. “Fur time? Are you due for a trim?”

Sue snorted. “No, sweetheart. That’s something you’ll learn about when you’re older.”

Rocket laughed so hard he nearly fell off the table.

A short time later, Rocket and Sue boarded the light cruiser parked in the docking bay. Its name was painted in chipped yellow letters across the hull: The Wuzzle Muzzle.

“Really?” Sue raised a brow. “This is what you named it?”

Rocket shrugged. “You let me name one thing, and this is what you get.”

As the engines powered up and the ship lifted off, Sue leaned into Rocket’s side and murmured, “I don’t care what we find out there. I’m getting at least a weekend of fur time.”

Rocket grinned. “Then let’s make it a long weekend.”

The Wuzzle Muzzle blasted into the void.

The comms were off. The weekend was theirs.

Sue had insisted—demanded, really—that she and Rocket take a break. Yolo had protested in the way only a repurposed Doombot could, eyes whirring and limbs twitching in binary anxiety. But Sue’s tone was final: “We need fur time.”

Yolo, ever literal, tilted his metal head. “Fur... time? I do not understand.”

Sue had just smirked. “You will. When you're older.”

Somewhere on a backwoods planet, a dusty world with purple skies and crusted rock formations, the motel was the kind of place with flickering neon signs, buzzing bugs, and questionable stains in places no one dared to look too closely. But to Rocket and Sue, it was paradise for two days off-grid.

Sue stood in the motel bathroom—dull mirror, yellowed light, steam rising from the sink as she ran a towel through her hair. Her black-dyed locks, a remnant of her pirate infiltration, were now giving way to natural blonde roots. She smiled faintly. Too much has changed.

She grabbed scissors. Snip. Snip.

Soon, the sides of her head were shaved close, sharp and clean. The top remained jagged and spiked—sleek punk. She applied black eyeliner in long, smooth strokes, traced her lids in smoky shadows, brushed on dark lipstick. Her fingers moved with the confidence of someone who had applied war paint in many forms. This was just a different kind.

Her reflection stared back. Fierce. Punk. Free.

Memories surfaced. Reed. She’d always love him, in her own way. There had been a time when he was her whole world. Johnny, the wild heart. Ben, her rock. But that was another life. A galaxy away.

She had been enslaved, broken down, stripped of her name, her legacy. No more contracts, no more rights. Just a prisoner in the Negative Zone, bound by a control collar and silence.

Rocket changed that.

He’d stormed her prison with nothing but grit, a too-large gun, and a burning need to right things.

From there, they built a crew, pulled off jobs, danced on the edge of morality—and somewhere along the way, built a life. One she couldn't leave, not even for the past.

Sue brushed a final touch of powder on her cheeks, applied a black choker with chrome spikes, then stepped back.

She was a dream. A fantasy. A punk rock goddess.

Out in the motel room, Rocket reclined on the bed. Jeans. No shirt. A leather jacket lazily hanging off his shoulders. A cigar glowing faintly in his paw. Her idea, embracing the theme.

When she stepped out, he looked up—

—and nearly choked.

Sue wore a black, skin-tight top with a plunging zipper down the center. Tartan mini-skirt riding low on her hips. Fishnet stockings and tall, glossy black knee-high leather boots. Her cropped, spiked hair gave her a wild edge. The leather jacket, black with red inner lining, swung open as she walked with slow confidence, blowing a bubble of gum that popped softly.

Rocket swallowed hard. “Fur time?”

Sue smiled, flicked the light switch off with one hand. “Fur time,” her voice purred.

The lights were dim, but Susan found her lover in the dark. On the bed. Rocket let her crawl on the bed to him. He felt her hands unzip his jeans. Felt her hand reach for his now hard pink cock, pushing from its sheath. Her hand pulled his prick free. Her mouth was on his in the dark, searching with her tongue. Her pink human tongue pushing his black tongue into his snout. A fight his tongue usually lost. He couldn't see. But he could feel. Her legs straddled his. His paws felt her leather skirt covered ass and rubbed the fishnets. He lifted the skirt feeling a bare ass above the line of the stockings.

"Panties?" He asked.

Sue chuckled stroking his prick. "What panties?" She asked and then moved down pushing her pussy over his tip. Her wet folds sucking the pink twisty tip up and sliding over his inches.

"Uhhhh....I frakin love you Barbie!" He admitted feeling a wonderful human pussy envelop his Racoon dick.

She kissed hus ear and whispered. "I know!" Referencing star wars. They often joked about which one of them was Han Solo. She moaned sliding up and down on his dick. The bed creaked. His paws gripping her ass. "I'm gonna cum baby!" She cooed in his ear. "Cum with me!"

Rocket heaved a satisfied sigh. "Done!" He answered his long pink dick erupting in his beatiful girlfriend.

From outside the room, the neon light blinked steadily. All that could be seen was the dim silhouette of two forms entwined—and the soft ember of Rocket’s cigar glowing in the dark.

Aboard the Starlight, Yolo paced the command deck, gears clicking furiously.

“I am Groot,” the tree-being rumbled, watching his frantic little friend.

“No, I can’t get a signal! They’re off comms. Just... vanished. She said ‘fur time,’ like that’s an excuse!” Yolo whirled.

“I am Groot.” the tree alien responded.

Yolo didn't appreciate the joke. “Don’t start with me.”

Meanwhile, maps and data bloomed on the holoprojector. The full breadth of the Varnax plan had become clear—weapon schematics, locations, power signatures.

Time was running out.

Behind the ship, space twisted and split.

A Varnax warbird, black and angular, dropped from hyperspace with a scream of cracked dimensional energy. Its hull gleamed obsidian with curling red runes etched into its plating. Large, prowling, and vicious, it resembled a beast of war more than a starship. At the front stood a wide docking bay, ready to deploy.

And inside…

Brother Fist, the spiritual blade of Varnax’s military order, stood in silent contemplation. Clad in crimson robes layered over armor of burnished gold, his face was hidden by a ceramic mask with glowing slits for eyes. Scripture covered his body, scrawled in ancient Varnax text. He carried no visible weapons—his entire body was a weapon.

“Send the team. Find the fugitives,” he intoned, his voice deep and unsettling, as if it came from beneath the floor of reality.

Back on the planet, a dusty dive bar played terrible synth music from a cracked speaker. Sue and Rocket drank glowing blue shots at the counter.

Sue's outfit still turned heads. Her strut? That sealed it. One alien, huge and oozing arrogance, stepped too close, his words slurred and intent clear.

Rocket stood. “She said no, pal.”

The brute laughed. “What’s the raccoon gonna do about it?”

Rocket’s smirk was cold. He ducked, dodged, and flipped the brute over his shoulder. The alien slammed into the bar, shattering glass.

Chaos exploded.

Rocket’s style? A form of martially efficient brawler's technique, using momentum and an opponent’s size to his advantage. He leapt between foes, yanking down stools, spinning, flipping, blasting with stun rounds and elbows.

Sue? Iron Fist had taught her well. Fluid. Fast. A sweep here, a nerve strike there. Her fishnets tore in the fray, but she moved like a storm.

Bodies hit the ground. The gang—leaders of the local cartel—were unconscious or groaning.

They stepped outside, dusting off.

“That was fun,” Rocket grinned.

Sue nodded. “You handled yourself pretty well for a raccoon.”

Later, at the wrecked bar, local enforcers surveyed the scene.

A figure entered. Silence fell.

Brother Fist.

He moved like death itself, the symbol of Varnax burned across his robes. The gang, bloody and broken, looked up in awe and fear.

“I offer redemption,” he said, his voice echoing like a cathedral’s bell. “Or revenge. Serve me.”

They nodded, not daring to refuse.