A Mutant Collector Quest

"Do you really not know who I am?" the woman asks, astonished. "No matter. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Carina Tivan, the owner of the spaceship you have stumbled into," she says with a dramatic flair, throwing her arms into the air.

When I respond with a blank stare, she lowers her arms awkwardly. "You might know my father, Taneleer Tivan—the Collector," she adds with a wry smile.

"Ah, yes, of course. So, you are his daughter," I reply with a nod.

My earlier pause wasn't because I didn't recognize her name. As just hearing it had triggered my newly acquired power, Logic Detection and my mind was flooded with a cascade of far-fetched theories—thoughts I quickly set aside, dismissing them as too improbable to entertain.

Anyway, I know of Carina Tivan from my meta knowledge. She is famous for two things in the comics: first, for being the daughter of Taneleer Tivan, the Collector, one of the Elders of the Universe. The Collector is one of the oldest beings around—not necessarily the most powerful, but certainly one of the most ancient.

The second thing she is known for is marrying Michael Korvac, a time traveler from the far future who eventually becomes an insanely powerful cosmic being. In fact, her marriage to him was orchestrated by her own father, the Collector.

It is such an absurd coincidence that I am meeting her now, especially after encountering Janet Van Dyne earlier. In the comics, after Carina's death, she was resurrected when Hank Pym mistook her energy for that of his late wife, Janet, and unknowingly restored her in Janet's form.

"It's fine if you don't know my name," she says, regaining her smirk. "I am just starting out right now—sooner or later, I will be famous." Her blue eyes gleam with mischief. "Now, you have yet to share your name, or should I keep calling you the 'lost traveler'?"

"I am Lucas Watson," I reply, knowing full well that hiding my name would be pointless. If my face is already in her system, she could easily uncover my identity and information, especially if she ever reaches Earth.

"Lucas Watson," she repeats thoughtfully. A holographic screen materializes from her blue gauntlet, and she begins typing my name into an alien-language search bar. Moments later, she frowns. "Strange. Why is there no record of someone as powerful as you in the Galactic Database?" she asks, clearly puzzled. She even searches my facial image, which, as expected, she already has in her system. But still there are no results.

"Maybe I am also starting out right now," I say, echoing her earlier words.

"Oh, that's certainly fascinating," she replies, smiling as she looks at me. "Why don't we leave this dreary storeroom and have a drink? You can tell me how you got teleported here, just when you were… starting out?" Her blue eyes twinkle as she gestures, and the boxes that were hovering in the air all descend to the ground in neat stacks.

I notice that her blue gauntlet blinks in sync with her gestures, so she must be controlling the boxes with that device.

Now, there are countless boxes stacked before me—easily in thousands, if not more. Some of them emit coloured lights, while others show silhouettes of different alien physiques.

"Is this all part of your collection, Lady Carina?" I ask, my gaze sweeping over the neatly arranged boxes forming a singular path towards the exit.

"Just call me Carina," she replies with a casual wave of her hand, walking ahead with a tantalizing sway to her hips.

"This?" She gestures around dismissively. "It's just a stockpile I am transporting to my father's bases." A sigh escapes her lips, tinged with irritation.

"Stockpile?" I echo in wonder, glancing at the sheer volume of cargo. If this is just a fraction, I can only imagine the scale of the real collection.

"Yes," she responds with a faint smile, almost amused by my reaction. "This ship is an antique—it used to belong to my father. He handed it over to me recently, and now I am clearing out the old cargo to make space for fresh additions. Even now, the ship is en route to one of his bases."

"Can I see the collection, then, Carina?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

"Are you planning to buy something? Or are you just satisfying your curiosity?" Her blue eyes light up with a hint of mischief. "Unlike my father, whose heart breaks at parting with anything from his precious collections," —she rolls her eyes dramatically—"I am not that sentimental. I don't mind selling."

"If I find something I like, I will definitely want to buy it," I respond earnestly.

"Alright then, let me show you what I have," she says with a sly smile, stepping closer, linking her arm with mine and leading me towards the exit. I can't help but notice the press of her breasts against my arm, and for a moment, I wonder if alien tits are as soft as those back home.

"But what about these containers? Aren't you going to show me what's inside them?" I ask, casting a glance back at the rows of sleek, mysterious boxes.

Though I suspect many of them might contain unwilling alien prisoners—part of the Collector's infamous collections—I know this isn't the right time to act. I don't even know my exact location in space, and and any impulsive actions like freeing them from those containers, would only complicate things.

"You clearly don't know my father, Lucas," she says with a sigh, her tone filled with exaggerated exasperation. "He is ridiculously particular about who gets to see his collection. If he even suspected I had shown you anything, I would never hear the end of it. Just leave it alone."

"So your father isn't here?" I ask curiously, glancing around.

"No," she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "He is holed up in that junkyard, Knowhere. I was just there earlier today, dropping off the first batch of cargo. Ugh, I hate that filthy place." Her expression twists in disgust, as though merely thinking about it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

"Oh, so if I had teleported earlier, I might have had the chance to meet your father," I muse aloud, contemplating how choosing this path sooner could have brought me face-to-face with the Collector himself and possibly even allowed me to explore the famed Knowhere.

"Yeah, I guess," she replies with a small chuckle, glancing at me with mild amusement. "But honestly, neither of us would have been in the mood to entertain you if you had popped up back there," she adds with a dramatic sigh. "Especially my father—he is very particular about his collection. He doesn't tolerate uninvited guests snooping around his bases," she says gravely, her tone implying just how unpleasant that encounter could have been.

"Good to know," I remark, filing the information away. "But why wouldn't you have been in the mood?" I ask as the two of us step into a massive hallway that branches off into multiple paths. Above each corridor, holographic displays shimmer with alien symbols I can't decipher, their ethereal glow adding to the futuristic aesthetic.

I also notice several of the white security robots from earlier standing perfectly still, stationed like sentries at strategic points. Their blank, unblinking stares give the hallway an eerie, watchful atmosphere.

"I was in a very bad mood because I had a fight with him," she huffs, her tone a mix of irritation and weariness. "Just another one of our endless arguments. And this time, it wasn't even my fault." She tosses her hair back in frustration. "He is always harping about how I waste my potential, always telling me I should start my own Collection. And now that I have finally decided to do it, he hands me this broken antique ship and sends me on an errand to transport his cargo!" She angrily taps at her bracelet, causing doors to slide open as she takes a sharp right, leading me down another corridor.

"And if that wasn't bad enough," she continues, her tone rising with irritation, "just as I was leaving, he brought in a Kylorian slave. And—ugh—the pink-skinned bitch's name is also Carina!" Her anger boils over, and for a moment, it looks like she might punch the nearest wall.

"You tell me, Lucas—this has to be his way of replacing me, right? He probably wants to show me how even a slave can do more than I can!" she fumes, looking at me for validation.

I offer her a wry smile, my attention mostly absorbed by the ship's advanced technology. "Maybe it's just his way of coping with his daughter leaving," I reply, attempting to sound wise.

In the back of my mind, I can't help but recall the pink-skinned Carina from the MCU, her tragic fate etched into memory. he had seized a desperate chance to escape her cruel slavery and claim her freedom, but wielding the Power Stone to try and kill the Collector had been a fatal mistake. Her mortal form had disintegrated painfully as the artifact's overwhelming energy consumed her.

Now that I know she exists in this universe, maybe I can find a way to help her achieve true freedom—this time without it costing her life.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she says, her anger giving way to a contemplative look.

"This ship must be enormous," I remark, marveling at the seemingly endless labyrinth of corridors.

"It is," she says flatly, unimpressed. "It uses space-folding technology, which drastically increases its interior capacity. But its engine, defences, and AI are all outdated. They need serious upgrades."

"Space folding?" I exclaim, my suspicions confirmed. That would explain why I couldn't even see the ceiling in the earlier room.

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