The Space In Between

Chaos & Control (Part 2)

The first sense to return was his hearing. It began with a strange ringing sound, precipitating on the edges of his awareness like ice on the hull of a ship. It seemed far away, what was it? An alarm? No, that wasn't right. Still lost in the haze of semi-consciousness, Hunter lazily considered the noise. Although it floundered, it followed a loose pattern, lilting and hollow like some baleful song. It was fuzzy at first, but became sharper as his head cleared. It was almost... childlike.

His eyes snapped open and the corridor exploded into focus.

Omega.

It all flooded back, in synchrony with a surge of adrenaline that drove Hunter to his feet in less than a second, despite the protesting ache in his muscles.

"Woah-woah-woah, at ease, Sergeant." A hand pressed down on his pauldron, and Hunter pivoted, striking the contact away forcefully, and ducking into a battle-ready stance, all in a single, fluid motion. There was a beat of tension before he recognised Rex.

"Rex! What happened?" he demanded, stepping forward. "Where's Wrecker? And Omega?"

"They're safe," Rex said, his hands raised in a placating manner. "I managed to stun Wrecker," there was a pause, "...before he could do anything."

Before he could do anything? Hunter did not like the implication.

"Omega is with Echo," Tech quickly clarified, and Hunter clocked him to his right as he stood up from a crouch, Holopad in hand. No doubt he had been monitoring Hunter's vitals. "They are in the medical bay".

The wailing sound was still there, ebbing in his periphery, and it was setting his nerves ablaze. Something was wrong.

"Is she okay?". His tone was close to threatening, as though any undesirable answer would be met with dire consequences.
Rex and Tech exchanged a nervous glance, open-mouthed but voiceless, neither one knowing exactly how to respond. She wasn't necessarily hurt, per se, but...

"Tell me. Everything."

---

Echo wandered the med bay. His eyes were narrowed with focus, fixed upon the floor almost glaringly, as if it had offended him and he was plotting his revenge. Omega's cheeks were wet, pressed flush against the bare skin of his neck. Each movement he made was steady, measured with ARC-trooper-level precision. But the pace he set was far from a march; it wasn't rigid, nor was it regulation. No. The cadence of his gait was deliberately...soft. With each step, he let himself sink slightly, as though the ground he walked on was pillowy. And as he followed through, he transitioned to the next step with a smooth rise and fall. Like they were riding atop gentle waves of an invisible sea. When he reached the end of his line, he swivelled along a wide, sloping curve. It was like a dance. A slow Waltz that promised: everything was okay.

Everything was decidedly not okay.

Near-death experiences were nothing new to the Bad Batch. Heck, it was an inescapable facet of life for them. A cup of caf with breakfast, team debrief, work out for a bit if there's time, almost die before noon, maybe a game of dejarik afterwards, then hit the bunks. Rinse and repeat. Members of Clone Force 99 did not pale at the sight of death. Instead, they preferred to just flip the cocky bastard off any time they deigned to rocket by at breakneck speed. It was practically a hobby for them.

Echo, on the other hand, was far more...intimately acquainted. The others had certainly witnessed death draw near, but Echo had actually died. He had died violently. Death had staked its claim on him, and Echo had paid his toll in full. But then, he had been brought back. Slowly. Painfully. Kicking and screaming with limbs that weren't there as he was dragged from the depths of nine hells.