"Come on! Peter, get over here! Cool him down, quick!"
"Coming! Catch, Rocket!"
A spray gun was tossed into Rocket Raccoon's hands. He immediately pulled the trigger at the man lying on the ground, but instead of bullets, the gun fired freezing mist. The man's body temperature quickly began to drop.
"Oh, thank you, little guy." He held his head and let out a long breath. "I was planning to rest after delivering this one, but I didn't expect to be unable to hold on. Thank you for saving me."
"It's nothing, but you really can't keep working." Rocket Raccoon jumped helplessly onto the cabinet beside him. "If you hadn't run into us, lying there for a few more minutes might have killed you."
"I don't have a choice. I need to deliver ten packages a day just to earn minimum wage." The man climbed to his feet and slowly made his way away, leaning against the wall.
Rocket Raccoon walked over to Star-Lord, handed the gun back to him, and said, "Do you know what makes me saddest? It's not that they're doing badly. It's that they're actually already doing pretty well."
Even though Star-Lord was always cracking jokes, he couldn't make one at a time like this.
The Guardians of the Galaxy were very good at finding themselves work in an unfamiliar environment and then setting up a Temporary Base, because that was what they had been doing for the past few years.
When they landed on a planet, they would first find the most densely populated area and get a job anyone with working hands could do. With their physical abilities and all kinds of advanced equipment, manual labor was no problem for them.
It was the same after they came to Gotham. They politely declined Professor