Chapter Text
As Crosshair began to wake up, he carefully schooled his breathing and kept his body still. He could never be too careful, and experience had taught him it was safer to get his bearings before giving away his level of consciousness to anyone monitoring him. Through closed eyelids he suspected low light levels or even darkness, and he could feel the familiar restrictive sensation of manacles around his wrists and ankles. A brief mental check of his body didn’t immediately reveal any injuries, although it felt like he’d been put through a droid chopper several times over with the number of aches and pains he found, which was unsurprising. Since the Empire had been struggling to keep control through enhancing his chip, they began to resort to physical pain as a reinforcement method. Although Crosshair was not susceptible to such childish exploits (he’d grown up on Kamino for kriff’s sake), it was still rather unpleasant.
As he slowly returned to full wakefulness, Crosshair also attempted to remember what had happened before he lost consciousness. As he remembered Rampart had been angry, the details washed over Crosshair like a bucket of freezing cold water.
“Your mission report stated that Clone Force 99 had been exterminated in the strike on Kamino, 9904, so explain to me how they were sighted breaking into a War Chest on Serenno?” Rampart had asked Crosshair, the promise of violence dripping off his tongue.
“I watched Tipoca City destroyed, sir. I deduced that no-one would have realistically survived,” Crosshair tried to lie smoothly, every ounce of his willpower covering the tremble that wanted to sneak into his voice.
“Banthashit!” Rampart had spat in reply, rising from his chair to stalk closer, Crosshair doing his best not to cringe in place. “ES-02 reported that you’d lost control of the situation. That’s why I destroyed the damn city in the first place, because of your ineptitude 9904!” He grabbed Crosshair’s chin, jerking it to the side to inspect the scar on the side of his head. “Or is it worse than ineptitude? If no-one could have survived, how did you? Are you trying to protect them, 9904? I find it rather suspicious why clones appear to be disappearing around you, going AWOL, chips failing. Are you a traitor after all?
“No, sir, I...” Crosshair stammered, flinching as Rampart jabbed the business end of an electrostaff into his side, sending him to the floor twitching, biting down on a whimper of pain.
“It seems we are losing your loyalty, 9904. My superiors suggested I terminate you.” Crosshair sent a prayer to whoever was listening. Death would be an easy way out. “But I told them you can be of use to the Empire yet.” Crosshair’s heart sank as Rampart clicked his fingers and his personal guard of storm troopers entered the room. Crosshair tipped his chin up in defiance as they snapped the manacles around his wrists and hauled him upright.
Crosshair failed to suppress a shudder as he tried not to recall the beating that had followed, the chains clanking slightly against the durasteel he was lying on. Cracking open his less sensitive left eye, he chanced a glance around the room. It was a simple cell, a small chink of light filtering in through a slit of a window. Judging by the quality of the light, it wasn’t even natural sunlight. Crosshair sighed deeply and started pulling himself into a sitting position, agony flaring through his head making him clutch at the burn scar in reflex. He had a new appreciation for Wrecker’s migraines now he’d received his own share of head injuries. Thinking of his brother resulted in another kind of pain to flare in his chest even more painful than that in his head, so Crosshair shoved it brutally aside. They wouldn’t come for him. He’d hurt them too many times; they’d demonstrated their willingness to leave him too many times.
There was a loud clanking and multiple heavy footsteps, so Crosshair focused on calming his breathing and steadying himself for whatever Rampart was going to throw at him. He’d endured an unfortunate amount of pain in his short life. The Kaminoans tended to use a bit of local anaesthesia, but having ones eyes extensively surgically enhanced while awake had resulted in a pretty high pain threshold. Or at least, a way to zone out while his body was hurting. So, Crosshair was reasonably sure he could endure a fair amount of physical torture. His only weak spot was his brothers, but it was extremely unlikely that Rampart would have captured any of the Bad Batch without his help. So he wasn't concerned that they would be used to coerce him into doing the Empire's bidding. All in all, Crosshair was pretty confident that there wasn’t much Rampart could do to him that would be truly anything for him to worry about. He would survive whatever they were about to put him through until he could escape the next chance he got.
Regrettably, Crosshair would come to realise how wrong he was. Rampart introduced someone new, someone he called his chief innovation officer, whatever the hell that was. When he pulled out his new experiment, Crosshair was dubious. A cross between a Geonosian brain worm and a vynock, Rampart explained; in testing it was thought to compel the victim to take on some interesting behavioural tendencies and render them under the control of the handler. Either that or it killed the victim.
“You are to be our latest test subject, 9904,” Rampart purred, his smile making Crosshair wish he could knock the man’s teeth out.
“Wonderful, sir,” Crosshair drawled, too irritable to mask his sarcasm now. It was too late for that anyway.
Rampart just smiled more widely before waving his chief innovation officer forward. “Begin.”
Crosshair had thought he needn't be worried about what the Empire would do to him. But as he fought back against the storm troopers holding him in place, genuine fear and panic threatened to seize control. Crosshair tried as hard as he might to lean away from the nightmarish thing that was pulled out of a container and was now curling in the air towards his face. He didn’t bother stifling his screams as the thing landed on his cheek and wriggled wetly into his nose, his shrieks growing in desperation as he felt it burrowing and gouging a path through his skull. His last conscious thought, besides the thin sliver of hope for death, was of his brothers and sister. Of how desperately he wanted them to know he had tried to fight. Of how hard he’d tried to protect them from the Empire. He clung onto their faces, their smiles, their laughter, until his thoughts trickled away into blessed darkness.
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He opened his eyes. Awaited orders.
“Good to see you survived, 9904. Status report?” His handler asked.
“I am 9904. I am fully operational. Feeding required when convenient, sir,” 9904 answered quickly.
His handler smiled indulgently. “Excellent. Sustenance will be provided presently. Your mission objective is on the datapad. I am Rampart, your handler. Your commander during this mission is ES-07, confirm?"
"Confirmed," 9904 replied, with a slight nod of his head.
"Good. Be ready for deployment in thirty minutes,” Rampart ordered before striding away out of the room.
“Sir, yes sir,” 9904 answered, picking up the datapad. He was to go with an elite squad to eradicate a group of rebel insurgents. He noted the layout of the village, the estimated population, the intel on weapons. Storm troopers entered the room and 9904 noticed the way they smelled of fear. He didn’t question how he knew that. It didn’t matter. Because more importantly, he smelled blood. He lunged towards the source, a human male who bore the unmistakable signs of having endured physical torture. 9904 didn’t care. He didn’t stop to think why his teeth were long and sharp in his mouth. He didn’t plan to sink them into the soft flesh of the human’s neck, but the action felt as natural as breathing. He didn’t know why the first taste of blood gushing into his mouth and dripping down his throat was more important than anything else. 9904 fed until the human was dead.
Then he was taken in chains to the deployment vehicle. He was unlocked when they reached the destination. 9904 eradicated the targets. He eliminated everyone that dared oppose him.
When the mission was complete, 9904 returned for extraction and was put back in chains, returned to the cell.
He closed his eyes. Awaited orders.
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Time passed; missions blurred into each other. 9904 only knew the walls of his cells, the feel of his chains, the compulsion to follow his orders.
And then 9904 knew pain and agony when his handler administered negative reinforcement, as Rampart called it. Strengthened the chain of command, he said. In the beginning it scared and confused 9904; he tried harder to follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders.
Except, even when 9904 followed orders, he was given pain. He didn’t like it.
9904 was compelled to follow orders but one day, he didn’t want to. This thought scared and confused him. He knew he would be punished for it. But then he realised they could only punish him for his traitorous thoughts if they knew about them. So 9904 chose not to tell them. That was the first time 9904 remembered making a choice.
After that first time he made a choice, it started to happen more often. Each time 9904 was not punished for his choices he grew bolder. One day he allowed an infant human to escape from a group of rebel insurgents he was ordered to exterminate. The infant had not been on the list of targets. It wasn’t in contravention of a direct order. 9904 made a choice to let the infant live. No one found out. After that time, 9904 chose to always let the children go. Somehow it felt better that way.
During one mission, a member of the squad saw him let two children escape the rebel camp they had raided. ES-12 had confronted 9904, threatening to tell his commander. 9904 ripped a chunk out of ES-12's neck so large, the blood spray reached a nearby wall several feet away. He told the commander that ES-12 had tried to free a prisoner. 9904 was not punished.
Halfway through another mission, 9904 had restrained two targets. They cried and called each other brother. 9904 didn’t want to kill them. He distracted his squad, sending them to a factitious location that he pretended the brothers had given up to him. He freed the two targets. Afterwards, 9904 lied and told the squad he’d killed them. No-one thought to check for the bodies.
Each day that passed, 9904’s mind was growing stronger, more independent. But it wasn’t long after the two brothers that the dreams started.
He woke with a start, the light in the barracks still dim. Looking over to the neighbouring bunks, he noticed someone missing. Rolling out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold white floor, he wandered down the corridor that seemed to stretch on forever. Suddenly he noticed a boy sat on the floor, huge goggle-like glasses on his face, datapad so close in front of his nose it was a wonder how he was able to read it. Every so often he tapped urgently at the screen, muttering under his breath.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
The boy barely turned, frowning deeply. “I can’t stop thinking about the test we failed yesterday. Because I didn’t recognise that battle droid's attack protocols. I need to check the Republic inventory and intel lists for known Separatist strategies, so this doesn’t happen again.”
"You know it makes you sick when this happens. When you start fixating on things you stop sleeping and eating.” The boy didn’t stop what he was doing. “Tech?” He prompted.
Frowning, Tech stared up at him. “I know, but I can't stop thinking about it. Will you help me?”
Of course he wanted to help Tech. “You wanna play the story game?” He asked.
Tech nodded. “I like that one. Your stories always help, Crosshair.”
9904 woke, gasping for breath, chest heaving as if he’d been sprinting 10 klicks. Who was the boy, Tech? Why was he so familiar and why did he call him Crosshair? The fact the dream could be a memory didn’t occur to 9904 until the next time it happened.
He crouched by the boy whose long wavy hair had fallen in front of his face, hiding him from view. Crosshair could see how much discomfort it was causing him to be in this room. The sounds of children were deafening, smells of food wafting from a nearby kitchen, and artificial lights dazzling. "Hunter?" He asked quietly, touching his fingers to the boy's wrist.
When the boy looked up, squinting against the brightness, Crosshair held out a pair of home-made earplugs. Hunter accepted them gratefully, pushing them into his ears before pressing a shaking hand to his eyes. Waiting until the boy was ready, Crosshair gestured for him to follow.
Hunter nodded, standing beside Crosshair and taking his wrist in his hand, letting him lead a way around the edge of the room towards the exit. But before they got there, they were intercepted by another group of boys who all looked the same, perhaps a little older than Hunter seemed to be.
“Hey, look lads. It’s the Sad Batch!” One laughed cruelly.
“Defective losers,” sneered another.
He stepped forward defiantly. “Leave me and my brother alone,” Crosshair hissed angrily.
The boys laughed. “What, like you’re gonna make us?”
“Not alone he won't!” Another voice rumbled, as two boys materialised next to him. One he recognised as a slightly older Tech. The other, who had spoken, was huge; taller and more solidly built than the other kids, but probably around the same age.
Tech nodded. “That is correct, Wrecker. We never leave a brother behind.”
This time when 9904 woke he immediately felt tears wetting his cheeks. Brothers. Crosshair’s brothers. His brothers? Tech, Hunter, and Wrecker. Where were they now? If they never leave each other behind, why was he here alone? The following mission, 9904 had been so distracted he had been punished even more harshly than usual on his return, his right arm left in splinters.
Through the haze of throbbing pain, 9904 wasn’t even certain what was real and what was a dream for several hours after that. It was a sensation of sweet relief when he found himself for certain in a dream, among recognisable figures.
He knelt by the bunk, Wrecker shivering and moaning out with pain, clutching a hand to his face. There were recently healed wounds criss-crossed through the skin along the right side of his head, stretching across his eye. The scars stood out a dull pink, although the particularly deep one across Wrecker's cheek had opened up again as the boy had clawed at it in agony. "Wrecker, brother, here's a cold cloth, move your hand and I'll put it over your eye, it will help."
"It hurts!" Sobbed Wrecker miserably.
Crosshair slipped his hand around his brother's, gently pulling it away. "I know. They said you might suffer with migraines because of the blast that went off. That the eye and the nerves around it would flare up every so often." He pressed the cold cloth over Wrecker's right eye, covering as much of the scarring as he could too.
"Perhaps next time you will avoid experimenting with explosives?" Asked Tech from the bunk across from them.
Managing a small smile, Wrecker made a noise of disagreement. "Perhaps next time I wont forget to ground the circuit before activating the incendiary device!"
Snorting in amusement, Crosshair kept his hand in Wreckers as the cold seemed to help his brother's pain. "Yeah, well, just bear in mind we'd much rather have you in one piece than in pieces over the walls."
"Crosshair!" Hissed Hunter, leaning over the bunk above them. "Don't joke about stuff like that!"
He exchanged a grin with Wrecker before the boy's expression turned hopeful. "Can you stay with me tonight Cross? In case the pain comes back?"
A pleased little flare of warmth spread through Crosshair's chest to be wanted. "Of course Wrecker. Anytime."
He woke covered in a sheen of sweat, his splintered arm reduced to a dull ache. The bones had completely knitted back together overnight, although it took the pain a little longer to disappear. At least it helped distract him from the ache in his chest when he thought about the brothers in his dreams. But 9904 couldn't help recalling that feeling of being wanted, of feeling close to the brothers in his dreams. He didn't make the same mistake of losing concentration during his next mission, but as soon as it was done and he was left alone again in his cell, 9904 welcomed sleep. Hoped to see the brothers again.
“What’s wrong with him?” An adult-Wrecker whispered loudly, wringing his hands as Crosshair slowly approached a man who was deathly pale, his legs appearing more metal than flesh, metal implants jutting out from his chest and scalp.
“Echo?” Crosshair murmured gently. “It was just a dream, brother.” He knelt before him, where he was pressed up against the wall of their ship, breathing laboured, cheeks streaked with tears, eyes darting around in panic. “Listen to my voice ori’vod. Slow down your breathing, match mine.”
They spent a few minutes breathing together, Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker quietly leaving them to it. Echo eventually looked up, calmer and more able to focus. “I’m sorry, it keeps happening... I woke you all up again...”
Crosshair shook his head. “Don’t apologise Echo. They’re flashbacks, memories. You can't control them,” he replied gruffly.
“You have them too?” Echo asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
Crosshair paused before giving a whispered reply. “Sometimes.”
9904 knew with a cold certainty his dreams were memories. He just didn’t know what to do with them. They were flashbacks to a life he had lived before he was 9904. He didn't know how it was possible, or what had happened to him. He didn't even know what to do about it. That is, until one day, the faces of his brothers appeared on the datapad his handler chucked at him. They were his next targets. Mission: locate and exterminate.
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9904 crept through the dense forest cover. He reasoned that the unit he’d brought with him would be helpful to locate Clone Force 99. He just hadn't quite worked out what to do once he’d found them. The intel the Empire had gathered suggested that the rebel squad were here making some kind of pick-up from known rebel sympathisers; it was information that 9904 usually didn’t care much about unless it was of direct use to the mission, but he’d trawled through the meagre documents with a fine toothed comb for any shred of detail or clues as to what the group were doing, who they might be with, and how they might react to seeing him.
“I have a visual. Sending coordinates now,” ES-31 informed him via the commlink. 9904 wasted no time in moving to their location, his inhuman speed far out-matching anyone else in the unit. The trooper flinched almost imperceptibly when 9904 arrived, fear permeating the air. When 9904 confirmed the visual, he turned and snapped ES-31's neck without hesitation, letting the body fall into the undergrowth.
9904 didn’t need binoculars to spot the figures through the trees, even in the gloom of the forest floor. Judging by his recent dreams he thought it might be Echo and Wrecker, but he couldn’t be certain. He waited for the rest of his unit to check in, methodically going to each location to take each one out of the equation. As 9904 dropped the dead body of his last squad member, he just about had time to register the rustle of leaves under a boot, before the tell-tale sound of a blaster set to stun sent everything black.