Guardians of the Zone: Mission to Varnax part 4: Pirates and Pussy

The stillness of the black pool was broken only by the chirps and warbles of strange nocturnal life. Lush alien flora, glowing faintly in iridescent hues of violet and green, swayed gently in the breeze under a sky streaked with unfamiliar constellations.

Suddenly, a rustle—then voices. Not local wildlife.

Susan Storm's head snapped toward the tree line, her senses sharp. Cum dribbling down her chin. "You hear that?" she whispered.

Rocket, already reaching for the small scout scanner on his belt, gave a low nod. “Yeah. That ain’t just wildlife. Sounds like chatter… too regular.”

They dressed quickly, still damp from their earlier dip in the black pool. Susan activated her powers. “Let’s go quiet,” she said, holding her hand out. With a shimmer, the two of them vanished from sight.

Invisible to the eye, they moved silently through the dense woods, padding across strange moss that pulsed ever so slightly beneath their feet. As they neared the source of the noise, the tree line broke into a clearing—and there, bathed in firelight and ship lights, was a group of space pirates.

They were gathered around a battered transport ship with scavenged plating and exposed wiring. The pirates were a ragtag bunch of species—four-armed red-skinned Bracari with flame tattoos, a hulking Exotheron in rusted armor plating, and a sneering Vrellian with glinting mechanical eyes. At the center, standing on a rock like a preacher, was their captain—a gaunt humanoid with translucent skin and glowing veins, wrapped in a long coat stitched from the banners of ships he’d apparently raided.

They laughed, cooked something unidentifiable over an open flame, and loaded crates of stolen tech from the jungle into their transport. Some wore scraps of old military uniforms, while others had clearly just come from a raid.

“They’re lootin’ ruins,” Rocket muttered quietly into Sue’s ear. “Gotta be tech left over from whoever lived here before.”

Susan studied them, noting how many were armed and how many weren’t. “Do you think they noticed our ship?”

“Doubt it. They’d be here already. But if they see the Jackal, we’ve got a problem.”

Captain Ghostskin—if the name spray-painted across his ship was any clue—was barking orders. “Pack it fast! Before those freaky lizards come back. And scan the jungle for that other heat signature. I want no surprises!”

Rocket tensed. “They did notice something.”

“Let’s head back. Warn Groot and Yolo,” Susan said, her voice sharp with command.

As they turned, Rocket whispered, “This vacation planet just got a lot less romantic.”

Back at the ship, Groot had already set up perimeter defenses, and Yolo was running diagnostics from a field station beside the ship’s exposed engine compartment.

Susan and Rocket reappeared from their cloaked state. “We’ve got pirate company,” Rocket said. “They’re not here for us—yet. But they’re sniffin’ around.”

Yolo’s eye pulsed. “Then we must accelerate repairs. Shields are still offline. I estimate six hours—if uninterrupted.”

“Then we better not be interrupted,” Susan said. Her eyes met Rocket’s. “Time to prep defenses.”

Rocket grinned, drawing one of his customized blasters. “Barbie, I was hopin’ you’d say that.”

They might’ve landed unplanned on a strange world, but this crew was never unprepared.

Susan Storm believed in many things—tactics, trust, resilience—but her favorite doctrine was simple: a good defense is a better offense.

That belief took center stage as the Starlight Jackal sat half-disassembled in a forest clearing of the alien world. With pirates closing in, she ordered her team into motion.

Beneath the moonlight of the uncharted planet, the Guardians of the Negative Zone were fortifying what they could. Around the perimeter of the ship, Groot had planted repurposed plasma stakes—improvised turrets that spat fire when triggered. Yolo had rigged sensor drones in a wide radius around the camp, all feeding live intel to a floating command node inside the hull.

Rocket was digging a trench with explosive charges planted every five meters, grumbling the whole time. “I like defense plans with more explosions and less talk.”

Susan, loading a sleek energy rifle, replied without missing a beat. “You like plans with me in them. That’s all that matters.”

“Guilty,” he muttered, giving her a roguish wink.

Inside the ship, the crew suited up once more. This time, the uniforms were patterned after a long-forgotten Guardians design—classic Nova Corps blue, but with red lining, high collars, and reinforced plating around vital points. Susan’s had a crimson starburst crest across the left breast and a half-cape pinned at the shoulder.

But Rocket, in true Rocket fashion, had “tweaked” her design via Yolo’s tailoring interface.

Sue looked at the two straps with red lining that struggled to cover her nipples. It was more a one piece bikini than a uniform. “I swear this looks like Gamora’s old uniform,” she said, pulling at the clingy fabric and adjusted the low neckline. Her knee high boots and arm coverings added to the outfit. It did appear affective for movement. But her nipples....you could see their outline.

Rocket gave an innocent shrug. “What? I needed the distraction advantage. Also… you pull it off better.” he said staring at her. "Gamora doesn't have your...." he ogled her huge tits in the straps of the outfit. "Firepower."

Susan rolled her eyes but smirked. “I hope the pirates find my outfit as distracting as you do.” It might help.

“Oh, they won’t survive long enough to tell anyone,” Rocket replied with a toothy grin, locking in a magazine of armor-piercing rounds.

Just then, alarms sounded from Yolo’s node.

“Proximity breach. Hostiles incoming. Ninety seconds.”

“Stations, now!” Susan ordered.

The woods around them lit up as energy bolts came flying from the trees—the pirates had found them. The outer defenses activated, spitting back return fire, but the plasma turrets weren’t enough. Explosions rocked the trench line as rocket-grenades burst against the ground.

Captain Ghostskin’s voice echoed through a loudspeaker from the woods. “You should’ve stayed hidden, sweetheart! Now we’re gonna peel your ship apart and auction your furball!”

The Guardians returned fire in kind. Groot launched tangled vines that tore through three pirates in one swipe. Rocket flanked through a shallow ravine, dual pistols blazing in coordinated arcs. Susan, at the front line, flung **** fields as shields and weapons both—using concussive bursts to hurl enemy fighters back through trees.

The fight spread into the jungle—combat through bioluminescent underbrush, past ancient ruined statues, and crumbled towers of a dead civilization. Fire and smoke painted the forest orange.

Then, something went wrong.

Susan turned to check the flank—only for a weighted net laced with null-energy filament to drop from above. It slammed her to the ground, canceling her **** field in a pulse of static.

“Rocket!” she yelled, struggling against the binds.

But she was already surrounded—half a dozen pirates with containment spears circled her.

Rocket’s shout came too late from down the slope. “Barbie!”

A stun bolt hit her, and the world went black.

As the forest blazed in chaotic battle, the pirates hoisted Susan’s **** form and retreated back into the trees.

Rocket didn’t even notice he was bleeding. He just stood over the smoking crater of a fallen pirate, his guns trembling.

He’d let her out of sight for two minutes.

And now they had her.

Or did they...

The pirate ship rose from the dense alien jungle like a leviathan made of rust, oil, and vengeance. Its hull resembled a gnarled iron galleon, jagged and asymmetrical. Massive exhaust stacks jutted from the back like skeletal towers, belching smoke that stank of scorched plasma and ancient fuel. Black sails of solar-cloth flared out from retractable wings, more for style than function—pirates, after all, loved their flair.

Inside, the corridors were lit by flickering amber lights. Walls were covered in hanging chains, rigged weapons, and hollowed skulls from both beasts and humanoids. Barrels of contraband were lashed down with steel netting. The scent of rot and motor oil choked the air. It was chaos wrapped in steel, pulsing to the hum of war drums and low laughter.

At the center of it all, Susan Storm - captain, cosmic explorer, and unamused hostage—was dragged into the throne chamber of the pirate captain.

Her arms were cuffed behind her back, and an alien control collar hummed around her neck, suppressing her invisible **** powers with a faint glow. But none of that irritated her more than the look she was getting. The alien men were constantly ogling her form. Her heavy breasts barely covered by the fucking Rocket created bikini outfit.

The outfit—tight, revealing, tactical—was never meant for this. The stares from the crew, the lascivious comments. She was burning with fury, but held it in.

Keep your mind sharp, Sue, she told herself. You’re not a victim. You’re reconnaissance.

At the end of the room, lounging on a throne made of welded scrap and carved bone, sat Captain Vorkarr the Red-Eyed. Seven feet tall, scaled, with cybernetic talons and a wide, toothy grin that split his crimson-scaled face like a butcher’s cleaver.

He leaned forward, eyes drinking her in like liquor. “Hmmm. Well now… you weren’t part of the bounty. You're extra cargo. A complication. Or a bonus.” He now ogled her. His voice rumbled like a deep-sea trench. “What to do with you…”

One of his lieutenants, a thin-boned Aethurian, whispered in his ear.

“Sell her. Break her. Keep her. You’d be a fine trophy,” Vorkarr mused aloud, tapping a claw on his chin. “Or perhaps… convert her. You’re clever. You could be useful. Maybe even... loyal.” Once again another male gaze upon her body.

Sue arched a brow, sarcasm laced in her voice. “And all I’d have to do is betray my team, wear this ugly collar, and spend my days polishing your boots?”

“Among other things,” he smirked.

Her eyes narrowed, calculating. “Maybe… I’m tired of being the good girl.”

He paused. She smiled inwardly.

Let him think you’re tempted. Let him lower his guard.

Meanwhile…

Back at the Starlight Jackal, sparks flew and metal screamed as Rocket, Groot, and Yolo worked in overdrive.

“Yolo, the nav core’s still whining!” Rocket shouted, hanging upside-down from a maintenance hatch.

“I rerouted it through the tertiary relay! But the phase inverter’s fried—Groot’s trying to regrow it with that weird sap tech,” Yolo called back.

“I am Groot,” came the focused growl from under the main coolant system.

Despite the chaos, the team pulled it off. The reactor roared back to life, the stabilizers kicked in, and the ship lifted on a column of fire.

Rocket locked onto the exhaust trail of the pirate ship—unique, acrid, and chaotic.

He gritted his teeth, gripping the console. “Hang on, Barbie. I’m coming for you.”

Aboard the Pirate Ship…

In her dimly lit cell, Susan tested the collar again. No use. For now. But Vorkarr had taken the bait—her flirtation, her feigned interest. And she’d planted seeds in the crew, asking questions, showing curiosity. A few crew members already seemed intrigued.

She stared at her reflection in a scratched metal plate. Hair disheveled, collar tight, outfit torn at the shoulder.

But her smile?

Sharp and ready.

She whispered to herself, “I’m going to burn this ship down around them.”

Across the Zone...

The Starlight Jackal tore across the shifting energies of the Negative Zone, trailing the distorted warp signature of the pirate vessel known as the Ravager’s Wail. Rocket stood on the bridge, one paw gripping the console, eyes locked on the trails of anomalous radiation left behind by the pirate ship’s warp tech—an older but dangerously fast method of travel that skirted the edges of Zone law and physics.

“They’re hugging the edge of the Distortion,” Rocket growled, puffing a cigar. “Time’s screwed up there. Every hour we take is a day for them.”

“We’re gaining,” Yolo assured. “But slowly. If we don’t hurry, Susan will have lived a whole cycle before we get there.”

“I am Groot,” Groot rumbled, from his seat where he continued minor repairs on the hull stabilizers.

Rocket gave a grim nod. “We’re coming, Barbie. Just hold on.”

On the pirate ship nega-light-years away and operating a quicker time....Weeks had passed...

The Ravager’s Wail was a marvel of salvaged chaos—an ancient Dreadnought core hull, reinforced with jagged plating, exposed pipework, and glowing greenish fuel veins that pulsed like a mechanical heart. Shaped like a sleek, curved blade, it howled through warped space on guttural engines and left behind trails of temporal dissonance and debris. The bow bore the skeletal carving of some long-dead beast—a pirate sigil among Zone raiders.

Within its grim halls, celebration echoed.

In a cavernous mess hall strewn with glowing banners and repurposed cargo crates, pirates of all shapes and appendages laughed and drank after a successful raid. Alien liquors poured from jagged kegs. Music blasted—gritty, bass-heavy beats filtered through broken speakers.

In the center of it all sat a woman unlike any other.

Susan Storm—though here, they called her Riftblade—leaned against a crate, sipping dark liquor from a chipped glass. Her appearance had changed. Her signature golden hair was now dyed jet-black, pulled into a sleek high ponytail. The sides of her head were shaved in clean arcs, revealing the curve of her skull and the delicate lines of a fresh tattoo—a jagged spiral sigil that matched those used by pirates from the Shadow City.

Her outfit was pirate-themed, of course. A crimson and charcoal corset-style combat vest hugged her torso, lined with flexible dark armor plating. Fingerless gloves, twin pistols at her hips, dark leather leggings tucked into tall boots with steel tips, and a tattered cloak with silver-lined glyphs completed the look. Her exposed arms bore temporary tattoos and her belt carried both ammunition and small encrypted signal chips she “lifted” from every op. A calculated disguise. But one that looked damn good.

“Riftblade,” purred a low voice. Ghostskin approached—a towering figure with translucent skin, glowing veins shimmering beneath his skin like a nebula in motion. His voice was hollow but resonant. His pale eyes narrowed at her, amusement flickering. “You outshot me again.”

Susan smirked, swirling her drink. “Must be the lucky braids. Or the boots. Or maybe you’re just slipping, Ghost.”

He leaned closer. “Careful, Rift. That pretty mouth’ll get you more attention than you want.”

She didn’t flinch. “That’s the plan, handsome.”

They shared a brief glance—intimate, predatory, layered with unspoken knowledge. She was part of his strike team now—dangerous, lethal, and trusted.

A few pirates clapped her on the back. “Shadow City girls are no joke, eh?”

She winked, playing the role. Let them think I’m one of the darklings. Let them underestimate me.

Later, Susan stood on the upper decks, looking out through a fractured viewport. The stars warped and shimmered through the Distortion’s edge. She was alone. Or so she thought.

Captain Vorkarr approached—towering, reptilian, with mottled red armor fused into his flesh. His eyes glowed like molten glass. He was intelligent, brutal, and had taken a liking to her.

“Riftblade,” he said with a predatory smile. “You're wasted on strike raids. Ever consider running your own crew?”

Susan tilted her head, gaze unreadable. “Maybe. Haven’t found a ship I’d die for yet.”

He stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have to die. Just stay. Be mine. I could make you first mate.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “And what would I have to do to earn that?”

Vorkarr’s grin widened. “You’re clever. That’s why I like you.”

She let him think she was considering it. Let him believe she was ambitious for power, not justice. Inside, she was cataloging details—where his quarters were, how his guards rotated, where the signal repeaters fed.

I’ll gut your ship from the inside. I just need more time.

Back in her quarters—a small private room filled with salvaged decor and a hidden data node—Susan turned to the mirror. The woman staring back was a pirate, a fighter, a shadow.

But behind her eyes burned Susan Storm.

“Find me, Rocket,” she whispered. “Because I’ve got a hell of a head start.”

The Ravager’s Wall cruised silently through the outer corridors of the Distortion Zone, its jagged silhouette cutting through the warped starscape like a scar across the heavens. Inside, deep beneath its armored decks and shifting magnetic bulkheads, lay the chambers reserved for the upper ranks of the pirate hierarchy.

Ghostskin’s quarters were spartan but not without flair. A wide berth carved from salvaged starcruiser hull plating sat in the center, draped in silken black and crimson sheets stolen from a royal barge. Exo-weapons and alien blades adorned the walls in symmetrical displays, glowing faintly with power cells still half-charged from their last use. The lighting in the room was dim, set to the deep blues and purples of the Ravager’s ambient night cycle, casting odd shadows that danced across Ghostskin’s translucent skin.

Sue lay half-covered under the black sheets, one arm folded behind her head, her dark-dyed hair tied in a high ponytail. The undercut on both sides gave her a harder edge—more pirate than hero, more outlaw than icon. Her fitted tunic lay tossed over a nearby crate, while her pants—a tight, asymmetrical pair with utility straps and a red sash—rested on the floor. Her silhouette in the low light was a calculated image: inviting, but dangerous.

Ghostskin paced near the viewport, his glowing veins pulsing subtly with his mood. He still had his "knickers on", but his clothes draped the floors. Once satisfied by his bedside partner, he now fumed with anger. His gaunt frame twitched as he turned, eyes narrowed. “Vorkarr wouldn’t. He knows what I’m worth to this crew.”

Sue raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “He knows you were worth something. Before I showed up and pulled off that heist in half the time you predicted. You don’t think he noticed?”

Ghostskin spun, agitated. “You think he’d just replace me? With a stray from Shadow City?”

Sue shrugged. “He didn’t say it in so many words. But offering me the first mate position while you were still off-ship? That felt deliberate.”

Ghostskin clenched a fist. “He means to have me executed. Quietly. During the next raid.”

Sue sat up, letting the sheet slip just slightly for dramatic effect. “He wants control. And the only one in his way is you. Unless you’re the one who makes the first move.”

Ghostskin turned away again, but slower this time. He was thinking, weighing. “The crew would follow me. Most of them. Especially the strike team.”

Sue leaned back against the headboard, letting her voice drop to a low, persuasive murmur. “Then make the call. Tomorrow night. You’ve got the team. You’ve got the leverage. All you need is the timing.”

Ghostskin remained silent, his glowing eyes scanning the metal walls as if searching for answers in the circuitry. He was still on the edge.

Sue’s voice softened even more, velvet over steel. “Come to bed, captain,” she said with a sly smirk. “We’ll plan out your mut..."she hesitated not saying the word, "your goals....after.....” She patted the bed.

He hesitated—then finally turned and crossed the room.

Sue watched him, her expression unreadable in the dim light. She wasn't enjoying any of it—but she was playing a long game. And with each step Ghostskin took toward her, she felt the pieces falling into place.

She would survive. She would escape. And she'd burn this ship from the inside out if she had to.

When the translucent skinned alien was within reach of the bed, Sue let the sheets drop exposing her large white tits. She crawled to the edge and with her right hand she reached for Ghostskin’s crotch. Her hand gripped a hard shaft. Susan didn't delay and pulled on the band of his knickers. His clear cock with strange pulsing veins came into view. Her head slowly sank to meet his cock. She slid her tongue over his prick. She could see the veins filled with his purple blood. His entire cock was purple now, engorged with blood. He had no taste. It was strange. His long thin cock slid down her wet mouth and she looked up at her pirate lover. Well, she certainly didn't love him. This was all part of the plan. And it didn't hurt to get a nice bed instead of a hammock. She gripped his prick and slowly slid her mouth back and forth.

"Uaaaaaggggh," Ghostskin grunted. He let her suck his clear cock. She was a beauty. His beauty. The men of this ship all wanted her. This Shado City whore. His whore. She slid her mouth from his cock and he watched her crawl to the center of the bed, her white human ass swaying. Her pussy was open, pouring his purple cum from a half hour ago. He wanted more of that pussy. His pussy.

"You need to munity!" Susan looked back at him still swaying her ass. Pirates didn't day that word. It was a **** sentence. She saw him hesitate. "Ugh." She spanked her ass. "Mutiny...mutiny...mutiny!" She taunted him with the forbidden word. "Woild you fuck me already?"

The tall thin alien sank his knees onto the bed. He got behind the human and placed his cock at her opening. "You'll be the **** of me!" He laughed slipping his now purple engorged thin dick inside the human. His hands on her hips he began to hump.

Susan stared forward, moaning slightly buy smiling widely with each thrust. His thin dick sucked. She rarely came with this alien. He sure didn't eat pussy. But pussy was his downfall. It always would be any man's. He'd do the mutiny, if for nothing, to keep fucking her.

"Aaaaagh," he grunted, his purple cum shooting up his clear cock and into Sue's pussy like a turkey baster. The alien pulled out, and flopped down.

Susan moved onto his gaunt body rubbing his chest. "Tomorrow we take the ship!"

"Tomorrow it's ours!" Ghostskin assured her.

Sue smiled.

Mutiny.

Tomorrow, the mutiny would begin.