"Dumb luck. Or misfortune depending on how you look at it. My money's on fluke, freak accident, or bored necromancer practical joker with too much time on their hands. Whoever it is they have a sick sense of humor and enjoy fucking with us. If the courier messages aren't proof enough of that I don't know what is." Rocket shrugs, only feeling a modest flicker of guilt for riling Strange up. He knows they're both in more or less the same place, just coming from different directions. Neither of them has a clue what's really going on.

Rocket drags a hand over his face and plops down over what would have been the big guy's eye, staring down at the rest of the group.

"They could have at least told us what the fuck they want."