"Sit. Make yourselves comfortable."
Rowan Mercer flicked his wrist. Five chairs appeared out of thin air in front of his desk.
All five applicants paused for half a heartbeat.
They had seen technology that could fold space, generate matter, or mimic almost anything. But this wasn't machinery. There was no hum, no interface, no delay. The chairs simply existed.
That alone put them on edge.
"What would you like to drink?" Rowan asked casually. "Tea, juice, or—"
"Cola," Peter Quill blurted out. Then he froze. "I mean—uh—carbonated drinks aren't healthy. Too much sugar. I barely touch the stuff these days."
A beat.
"Cola."
"Cola."
"Cola."
"I am Groot."
Aside from Quill, none of them had much familiarity with Earth beverages. Their time planet-side had been spent gathering strategic information. Governments. Factions. Languages. Forged identities. They hadn't exactly toured grocery stores.
Rowan smiled but didn't comment. With another gesture, five glasses appeared, floating gently in front of them.
"I've reviewed your applications," he said. "You meet the academy's requirements. Professor Logan has already explained compensation and benefits. Any questions?"
"No," Gamora said immediately. "The terms are acceptable."
She didn't care about salary or benefits. Her only objective was access. One night on the floating island would be enough. She already knew where the Tesseract was, no scanners required.
She had tried to infiltrate the island before. Every attempt failed. Stealth, force, specialized tracking equipment. None of it brought her any closer.
This was the only path left.
"We're good too," Yondu added, flashing a grin that promised nothing wholesome.
Rocket glanced at the cube on Rowan's desk and, for once, kept his mouth shut. Groot nodded along with him.
Rowan waved his hand again. Five contracts appeared neatly on the desk.
"If there are no objections, leave your prints."
He had thoughtfully replaced signatures with handprints. Rocket and Groot made pens impractical.
Just as they were about to comply, Rowan spoke again.
"One thing. You may want to read the final clause first."
They hesitated.
"Once you join the academy, any action that harms its interests grants the academy full authority to execute you. No external approval required."
Peter blinked.
"For lesser offenses," Rowan continued evenly, "the penalty may be reduced. Theft, for example. In those cases, execution is waived. Instead, you will work for the academy for life. No salary."
Peter stared at him. "That's… slavery."
Rowan smiled, warm and sincere.
"Yes. Exactly. Which is why you should read carefully. If this isn't to your liking, you're free to walk away. Governments are far more generous with enhanced individuals these days."
The room felt colder.
Still, after swallowing their unease, all five pressed their hands to the contracts.
They weren't here to work.
They would take the Tesseract tonight and vanish off-world. Rowan Mercer couldn't possibly chase them across the galaxy.
"Excellent," Rowan said. "Welcome aboard."
He collected the contracts and stood.
"Professor Logan will show you around, assign accommodations, and explain entry and exit protocols. Settle in first. Work can wait."
The five were ushered out.
Rowan watched them go, amused.
"Five brand-new slaves," he murmured.
"Hey. New blood."
Logan leaned against the wall outside, cigar glowing faintly. He jerked his head down the hall. "Dorms first. Then the tour."
Gamora stepped closer and ran her fingers lightly across his chest, smiling. "Much appreciated, Professor Logan."
She knew exactly how to use charm. It was one of her sharpest tools. And Logan, rugged and dangerous, fit her tastes just fine.
"Wow," Peter said loudly. "Is it hot in here or is it just me?"
He shrugged off his jacket, showing off his build.
"Miss Gamora," he said with a grin, "after we see the dorms, how about lunch together?"
"Not my type," she replied without slowing, walking beside Logan.
Teachers weren't useful sources. Veterans were.
Rocket cackled. "Oof. Brutal. Buddy, she's a legend, and you're one cheeseburger away from disaster."
Peter yanked up his tank top. "Eight-pack. Eight. You blind raccoon."
"He's a raccoon," Logan corrected over his shoulder. "And for the record, I'm older than your grandfather."
"Focus," Yondu snapped, dragging Peter back. "New hires won't help us. Go flirt with someone who's been here longer. See that one?"
He pointed to a woman in a black uniform, red hair curling over her shoulders.
Peter's eyes lit up. He approached smoothly.
"Hey. Peter. New instructor. Mind showing me around? Maybe lunch?"
She smiled politely. "Natasha. Logan's got you covered. I've got class. Everyone eats together at noon."
She walked off.
That afternoon, Rowan received a message.
"Peter and Yondu are suspicious," Natasha reported. "They were fishing for information at lunch."
Rowan replied calmly.
"I know. All five are compromised. Don't interfere. Everything here is under my control."
The floating island was his creation. Every rune, every ward, every circuit of magic had been built by his hand.
As long as he was connected to it, nothing moved without him knowing.
Nothing at all.