Chapter Text
Despite her preference for quieter, isolating places, Myna Berik secretly enjoyed being at 79’s more than the Jedi Temple. Cantinas weren’t her usual scene, but this one was different. It was the only place where she could enjoy the company of her friends without the weight of the war bearing down on her.
“Knighthood isn’t just a promotion, Boost. It’s an honor only worthy padawan learners receive,” Myna explained after downing her jet juice. The familiar taste warmed her body as it burned down her throat like a liquid flame.
“You’re worthy! You’re so worthy,” Boost slurred, eliciting a laugh from her. The trooper was well beyond his line of alcohol tolerance but attempted to steal his brother’s drink from the other side of the booth.
“Enough of that. You look like you’re gonna hurl,” Sinker admonished while snatching his drink away. He tipped the glass into his mouth quickly, emptying its contents before waving it tauntingly in Boost’s face.
Boost scowled, rolling his eyes while throwing an arm around Myna. “Not in front of the commander. That would be uncool.”
“You’ve vomited on my robes before. Don’t act like that’s beneath you.”
“I hardly remember that.”
Sinker laughed, glancing at his other brother Wolffe who sat on his left with a stoic expression. He always limited himself to one drink per outing, concerned about maintaining his “physique.” Because of this, he often acted as the group’s supervisor, highly alert to their surroundings.
“Loosen up, Wolffe. You look like we’re holding you hostage,” Boost goaded, sending Myna’s second shot of jet juice his way. Wolffe stopped it from dipping over the table with a callused hand before handing it back to Myna.
“I don’t know how you can drink that shit. Tastes like piss,” Wolffe told Myna, ignoring Boost.
“Must be a pilot thing,” Sinker added.
“I like it,” Myna defended, taking the shot, “It’s easy to brew when you’re in the air.”
“Yep. Definitely a pilot thing,” Boost whispered.
As the group circled back to continue the conversation about Myna’s potential “promotion” to knighthood, the padawan explained the factors that would go into her master’s decision to pursue this next step. The troopers listened intently, focusing on her voice over the loud music. It helped that they were tucked in a booth far from the bar and dance floor, but the cantina was bustling with all different kinds of sounds that interfered with their hearing. It was hard to get away from that reality.
Truth be told, Myna didn’t see the rush in completing the Trials. She trusted Master Plo’s judgment more than her own, knowing he would tell her when he thought she was ready. Still, she wondered if he was considering it at all, or if the war had caused it to slip his mind. Just one day ago they had taken down a deadly Separatist weapon that destroyed their entire fleet in the Abregado System, leaving the two of them, Boost, Sinker, and Wolffe as the only survivors.
Myna shuddered as she remembered the cold, helpless feeling of floating aimlessly in space with little knowledge of who else was out there. She and Wolffe nearly suffocated from the depleting levels of oxygen in the escape pod, lungs squeezing desperately for release. The catastrophic events surrounding this weapon lingered in her mind, reminding her that despite her adult age, she felt too young to be caught up in this war.
“You good?” Boost asked Myna, nudging her shoulder with his own.
Realizing she had been spacing out, she came to her senses and nodded. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s been a wild couple of weeks for you,” Boost reassured.
“For all of us. It’s not easy losing an entire fleet’s worth of brothers,” Myna pointed out, her voice soft and careful.
“Yeah. That’s war, though,” Boost said. Myna’s stomach turned, having observed the three troopers harden themselves after these recent events. It was as if a switch flipped in their minds, shielding them from the grief and allowing them to move forward. Myna, on the other hand, struggled to adapt. She always found herself lost in mourning, never forgetting a face or a name, haunting her to no end.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood—“
“It’s okay, kid. That’s kinda why we’re all here,” Sinker admitted.
Myna’s lips quirked up. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
“As long as you’re General Koon’s padawan, you’re the Wolfpack’s kid,” Wolffe said firmly.
“Aw. I know you guys are gonna miss me,” Myna teased, resting her head on her hand.
“Yeah, yeah. Just remember you haven’t gotten promoted yet,” Boost retorted.
“Always glad you’re here to humble me, Boost.”
“‘Course. I’m gonna go get another drink,” he declared, sluggishly standing up and stumbling to the bar. Sinker swore under his breath and followed him, trying to prevent the chaos that might ensue from Boost’s lack of direction.
As the two of them moved away from the booth together, Myna heard them bickering about the amount of drinks they already had. It always seemed to be Sinker and Boost, whether during a night out or on the battlefield, rather than just Sinker or just Boost. The two were a pair, inseparable wherever they could be found.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Haven’t seen those guys in a while,” Wolffe observed in a low voice. When Myna tilted her head in confusion at his words, he gestured his chin toward the cantina’s entrance.
She turned around, eyes locking on a group of four men in uniquely colored armor. She wanted to assume they were troopers, the majority demographic found in 79’s, but they looked so different.
The first one she noticed was slightly shorter than the rest of them. He coined a red bandana that did little to stop wavy locks of brown hair from spilling over. On the side of the bandana was a skull, like the tattoo that took up half of his face. It was an interesting fashion statement, but all Myna could think was that he looked like trouble.
Next to him walked a paler man with a narrower face, eyes glued to his data pad. He wore round goggles, but Myna could see he shared the same eyes as his brother when he looked up to scan his surroundings. They were big and brown, a commonality between all clones.
The next trooper was almost identical to the goggles-wearing one at first glance, with the same face shape and bone structure. However, he looked noticeably rougher due to the sneer on his lips and the crosshair tattoo on his right eye.
Myna wondered if the two tattooed troopers did each other’s. After all, it was common for troopers to give each other tattoos as an unofficial method of bonding. Toward the end of a wild night at 79’s not too long ago, Myna convinced Wolffe to do her Wolfpack tattoo. He eventually agreed, not wanting someone like Boost to do it and potentially mess it up. Now she had a permanent homage to her friends in the center of her upper back.
The last trooper stood taller and larger than the first three. His face was marred with lines and burn scars, but they did little to make him look menacing. Although none of the troopers were smiling, this one had a humorous glint in his expression.
“Who are they? Do you know them?” Myna asked, turning back to Wolffe. An odd feeling churned in her stomach, which she dismissed as an effect of the jet juice.
“That’s Clone Force 99,” Wolffe replied curtly, refusing to look at them.
So they are clones, Myna thought.
“They look different from you,” she observed. Wolffe chuckled at her statement.
“Yeah. They’re defectives, but apparently, they have some genetic mutations that make them think they’re better than us,” he explained, disdain lining his tone.
“Defective? And what genetic mutations?”
“I’m not exactly sure; I never cared enough to check. But all I know is that squad is trouble,” Wolffe alleged, echoing Myna’s thoughts from earlier.
“Trouble how?”
“Terrible at following orders. None of the generals assigned to them have lasted long because they’re impossible to work with. I heard they haven’t been reporting to anyone recently.”
Interesting. Myna had never heard of this squad, but they sounded notorious. In her experiences, for the Jedi to allow their soldiers to run amuck without reporting to anyone was unheard of.
“Great. Here they come,” Wolffe grumbled. Myna broke her gaze from the trooper across from her to look at the ones coming toward her booth. Their expressions were neutral despite everyone around them staring and whispering at their presence.
“It must be annoying to be ogled at like that. They just came here for a drink,” Myna whispered, watching them take their seats at the booth behind her and Wolffe.
“You’re doing it, too,” Wolffe remarked. Myna flushed in embarrassment, quickly fixing her gaze to her lap. She cleared her throat and looked at Wolffe with an awkward smile. He shook his head, but she caught the edge of his mouth tip up ever so slightly.
She opened her mouth to change the subject but stopped when she saw the bandana-wearing trooper staring at her from behind Wolffe. They were facing each other, making it difficult to avoid his gaze. Sipping his drink, he looked at Myna with a dangerous intensity that sparked fear inside her. Not fear of what he could do to her—she could fend for herself—but fear of his perception. His eyes burned through her like a searing flame, sending goosebumps across her body.
Furrowing her brows in discomfort, she decided then and there that she didn’t like him. Wolffe noticed this reaction and turned around, glaring at the trooper. He glared back with a molten expression before standing up and approaching their booth.
“Problem?” he asked with folded arms, planting his feet in front of them. His voice was husky, seeping over the sound of the background music like tar.
“Yeah—“
“I think this is just a misunderstanding. We didn’t mean to bother you,” Myna hastily interjected.
The trooper’s eyes shifted to her, a smirk forming across his face.
“I wasn’t asking you, Princess.”
Myna nearly choked on her breathing, the disrespect shocking her system. She wasn’t in her usual Jedi garments—she had decided to wear something more casual and ditch her lightsabers—but she began to regret this choice as soon as the words left his mouth.
She straightened her back and met his eyes with a defiant glare of her own. “It’s ‘Commander,’ actually.”
The trooper merely raised an eyebrow with an amused expression, clearly not taking her words seriously.
“Is something funny?” Wolffe demanded, a fist curling over the table.
“I’m not laughing,” the trooper retorted in a low tone, barely giving Wolffe any attention. He stared at Myna as a muscle ticked in his jaw, hidden in the stubble layering his rugged face. Up close, his tattoo looked more detailed than Myna had let on, dipping and curving along his cheekbones to replicate the shape of a skull.
Half man, half skeleton, Myna thought. Did the tattoo run all the way down his body? Why are you thinking about his body?
“Hunter,” a raspy voice called out from behind him. In unison, the trooper—Hunter—and Myna turned their heads toward the source. It was the trooper with the crosshair tattoo around his eye, thin fingers playing with the toothpick in his mouth.
Hunter. So that’s his name. She felt it fit his razor-sharp eyes and passive movements. He looked like he was always prepared to strike unpredictably, like a predator stalking his prey.
“You should go. We’re not here for trouble,” Myna suggested firmly, tilting her head toward the crosshair trooper.
“Trouble finds you when you don’t mind your own business,” he replied, “You think you can handle that?”
The feeling of frustration returned to Myna, coiling around her ribcage with a tight grasp. She could see he was questioning her competency to provoke her. The right thing to do was obviously just ignore him and refuse to give him the reaction he wanted.
Unluckily for her, she hated having her abilities questioned. It rattled her more than anything else, and he seemed to know that. This was the unfortunate consequence of being the mediocre one her entire life. Never bad enough to be the worst, but not quite good enough to be the best.
“I think I can.”
“Prove it.”
Her lips parted, not prepared for this turn of events. He noticed her falter, smirking with antagonizing triumph.
Just as she was about to reply, a drunken Boost interrupted from behind. “You got a problem with our commander, 99?” He leaned against Sinker, who stood beside Myna with folded arms.
Hunter wanted to laugh at their attempts to intimidate him away from their commander, but he kept his expression composed. Regular clones weren’t anything special to him. This group specifically had a reputation developing, a so-called “elite squad,” but he didn’t care. He knew he was better than them in every way.
“The adults are having a conversation. So back up,” Hunter jeered.
Boost scoffed, detangling himself from his brother. “What did you say?”
“Did you not hear me? I guess regs are stupid—“ Suddenly, Boost launched himself at Hunter, his drink falling out of his hand. Glass shattered as the liquid trailed across the floor, but nobody was paying attention to the damage. All eyes were on the brawl in front of them, as Boost tackled Hunter to the ground.
Myna watched in horror as the two troopers exchanged punches and kicks in a blur of motion. Her body was glued to her seat in a frozen shock, but she wouldn’t have interfered even if she could. She had no desire to get between this immature skirmish. Men always seemed to hunger for a chance to prove their dominance.
They didn’t get very far in the fight, though, because Sinker and Wolffe quickly pulled Boost away. Interestingly enough, Hunter’s squad remained in their seats, with the exception of the large one towering behind. His eyes itched for a fight, waiting for the green light to join in.
“Let go of me,” Boost protested, yanking against his brothers’ hold. While they dumped him in the booth and barricaded him from escaping with their bodies, Hunter ran a slow hand over his jaw. The only damage Myna observed on him were his knuckles, cracked and bleeding in a bright red color.
She was surprised to see he was smiling, as if all of this was just a funny joke. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her after Boost was pulled away from him, leaving an unsettling feeling in her chest.
“Fuck you, 99,” Boost yelled from his makeshift prison.
Ignoring him, Hunter spoke to Myna. “Looks like you got yourself a nice set of guard dogs. I don’t waste my time with regs, though.” Snickering under his breath, he returned to his booth and fell into quiet conversation with the crosshair-tattooed trooper.
Myna watched them, still processing what had just happened until Boost pulled her into the booth with a sharp yank. Coming to her senses, she scanned his face for damage, sympathy tugging at her heart when she noticed a bruise coming along his jaw.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I could’ve taken him,” Boost grumbled, swatting away her hand.
“You’re drunk. You would’ve lost,” Wolffe dismissed, rubbing his temples in exasperation. Chaperoning this group was no easy feat.
“Like hell, I would have.”
“Enough. That was silly,” Myna said, earning agreement from Sinker.
After a beat of silence, a question sparked in her mind. “He called you guys ‘regs.’ What did he mean?”
“Regular clones, I’m assuming.”
“Fuck that. I’m gonna—” Boost started.
“Leave it. They’re not worth it,” Sinker replied, turning to Myna, “You good, kid? What was he even saying to you?”
“I’m fine. He was harmless,” Myna said, brushing off the interaction. Despite her attempt at sounding indifferent, her insides buzzed and set her senses aflame. She suppressed a shiver as she recalled how he ran his eyes across her face, down her body, and back up to her eyes. How his lips tilted in an uneven smirk every time she reacted so easily to his words. How…
Realizing where her mind was going, she ripped her mind out of this unnecessary fantasy. That was the end of her line of jet juice for tonight.
“He’s an ass,” Wolffe muttered, “Should have just ignored him.”
“I know. Sorry, Wolffe,” Myna apologized.
“Not your fault.”
As Boost pestered Wolffe with more questions about Clone Force 99 in a hushed voice, Myna decided she would call it a night there. Her head was spinning, and she couldn’t help but feel she was still being watched.
“I think I’m going to head back to the Temple now. Master Plo hinted at the possibility of training in the morning,” Myna announced while standing up and placing a few credits on the table.
“Need one of us to bring you back?” Wolffe asked, his cold expression defrosting.
“No, thanks. I can handle myself,” Myna replied, referring to Hunter’s remarks earlier. Wolffe smiled knowingly, waving her goodbye.
“See you later, Commander,” Sinker said.
“See you,” Boost added.
“Stay out of trouble,” she called over her shoulder before navigating through the crowd, following the sea of people until the entrance was in sight.
Exiting the cantina, she immediately felt the cool breeze of Coruscant’s nighttime flow through her clothes. The rush of ongoing traffic was still at its peak, speeders racing through the air in all different directions.
She returned to the Temple within twenty minutes, her skittish companion droid excitedly greeting her as soon as she entered her quarters. A teal-colored BD unit known as “Buddy,” her droid never failed to welcome her back home after a night out at 79’s.
“Hey, Buddy. Good to see you, too. Thanks for waiting for me,” she said while kneeling to pat his head. Buddy beeped and whirred in response, spinning around with joy. Laughing at his antics, Myna went to her washroom to prepare for sleep. An hour later, she was tucked into bed, dark hair slightly damp but dry enough to ignore.
Before she let her dreams and nightmares overtake her, she thought back to her encounter with the mysterious man of Clone Force 99. His irritating face was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes, lulling her into a realm of unconsciousness where she would try to escape everything real and fail miserably.