"Can we really survive?"
Rocket Raccoon stood on the edge of the sink, asking dejectedly. Then he tilted his head and looked at Star-Lord Quill's arm, where the lower half of the sleeve hung empty.
Rocket Raccoon closed his eyes and pressed his paws over them, saying painfully, "I can't believe that just a few hours ago, you performed an amputation on yourself here. You really... you really..."
Rocket Raccoon could not bring himself to say the rest. He had wanted to ask, "Were you really still conscious?" Or rather, he had wanted to ask, "Were you insane?" But when he thought of how everything Quill had suffered had actually been caused by him, he could not bring himself to ask such sharp questions.
What had happened the previous night had been too terrifying. Rocket Raccoon had no idea what Quill had seen. He had only watched Quill claw at his own arm, screaming madly. While his entire body convulsed in pain and foam spilled from his mouth, he had smashed his own elbow with a heavy chunk of concrete, then cut off half his arm.
Rocket Raccoon had traveled far and wide through interstellar society and seen his share of horrifying things, but this was the first time he had encountered something so strange. He could not find the enemy at all, so naturally, there was no way to fight back.
The raccoon felt immensely guilty for being unable to help, yet he could not stop himself from despairing. He helplessly flicked his tail and said, "Maybe it'll be my turn tomorrow night. Maybe we'll all die here."
"Don't talk nonsense." Quill held a razor blade in his one remaining hand and scraped at his stubble in the bathroom mirror.
He did not look particularly grim or burdened. On