Yep, seems like that particular problem is about to solve itself.

- Except the annoyed curses coming out of Rocket's mouth might suggest a minor roadblock or two to their plan. 

"Problems?"

"This is a fancier lock than I've ever seen them pull - it's electronic, but I can't just short it with what I've got, the shielding is too good - and it'll shock Chewie if I just cut it off. And I'm pretty sure it's got a basic AI, it'll adapt to what I'm doing if I don't work fast enough once I start."

"I can get through this, but we'll need supplies. And probably time." (She hopes.)

Fuck.

"Guess we settle in, then."

"For now..." She's going to need to start figuring out what she even needs first, how to get it second...

Meanwhile: 

Gamora settles into her cell - unfortunately solitary, if she'd been placed with the other women she just knows she could've pulled in allies -

And she waits, because there's not much she can do here, not with the crowd disrupting anything but the most fleeting manipulation - she can look proud, and severe, and pretty, and quietly fascinating, and no match for the ones who want to tear her apart, and not the one who'll be to blame for the oncoming match -

Not much she can do, but Gamora is good at people. And her hearing is better than she's let anyone know. 

(She knows Rocket can't get them out, not without help. She knows she's decent at electronics. She bets she can find someone better; this prison is designed to be hard to just hack your way out of, to subvert, which means it'll be used to hold anyone who's at risk of doing just that...)

Not much time passes, before curfew is called. Not much after that, before the door to her cell opens, and a small crowd press in with knives and the turned backs of guards and a wry, idle, "Take her to the showers. It'll be easier to clean up the blood," from the uniformed man who opened her cell, whose back is to the men dragging her out.

She struggles, but only manages to make some noise. Enough that anyone awake and paying attention will notice what's happening. Not enough to escape. 

(They have knives, if she can get them off balance, if she can get one in her hand - if she can delay them, turn them against each other -)

Her chances aren't very good, though. Not alone. 

"Excuse me." The voice of the intruder that interrupts is calm, unhurried. "What is going on here?"

"Bit of justice," says the man holding Gamora's right arm. 

"This murdering cunt earned herself a death sentence," says the one holding her left. 

"And if you want a place in the peanut gallery, you stand in the back," says a third, sharply, who's hanging back to watch and help if Gamora tries to break free. He's got a knife clutched tightly in his left hand, his yellow skin turning white around the knuckles. "If not - then this doesn't concern you."

(There's a small crowd gathered, thirtsy for blood - they've cut down on the ones who just want a show, restricted it to people who want revenge. But that's still a lot of people.)

(Gamora looks an angry, determined kind of scared.)

"This does not seem like justice. It seems like mob violence. I do not think I can permit you to continue."

"Mind your own business, bitch," says the one standing guard. (Gamora looks like she'd like some help, actually.)

In lieu of answering, she grabs his knife hand and strikes with her other fist at his joints- wrist elbow shoulder- ducks underneath his now upraised arm, levers him off his feet and throws him with startling accuracy at guard on Gamora's right side.

She twists to the left as the prisoner on her right flinches - the one on her left turns his attention to the new threat - she gets her arm free in the chaos and punches him in the stomach, then grabs his knife off his belt while he's reeling, slashes at his throat - makes contact, though the wound is shallow enough he might live with treatment, but bleeding enough he now has much bigger problems than holding her down.

There's a lot of other prisoners in this room, though, and they're now pissed.

Angry fighters make mistakes. 2B does not make mistakes, she exploits them. With ruthless precision.

(Though she is not actually aiming for killing blows. Given the demonstrated level of medical technology, the damage she deals is survivable. If for whatever reason these prisoners do not receive medical assistance... that is neither her fault nor her problem.)

Her rescuee takes down a few of her own - she's got a pretty similar ruthless precision, but far less talent. Hits weaker and slower, and wouldn't be able to afford not going for killing blows, even if she could pull that balance off. (Most of her cuts with her stolen knife are survivable, but that's more a comment on the quality of  the knife than on her own intentions.)

 They (mostly 2B) clear the room pretty quickly. 

She's not breathing hard at all. It's hard to tell she was a blur of violent movement seconds ago.

"Are you unharmed?"

"Just bruises. They'll heal."

"Good. Then we should leave."

She couldn't agree more. "Lead the way."

Gamora's rescuer does so, but not back to her cell. Rather, they seem to be heading towards a more sparsely-populated wing of the prison.

Something she approves of.

And speaking of things she approves of: "Thank you for the assistance."

"You are welcome."

Small smile. "You fight very efficiently."

"It is my purpose."

"I am surprised you were not more prepared for tonight's event, given your reputation."

"I had other plans in motion - you're far beyond my best case, though."