to heal; THE BAD BATCH

chapter four

→ the bad batch; season 2, TIPPING POINT ←
→ 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 ←

Crosshair could still feel the markings of his cursed blaster.

Burnt umber irises pierced into icy blue hues. But not the safe blueness that he had grown to adore during the Clone Wars—the eyes that were branded in his vision every time he closed his eyes.

This pigment belonged to a man who cradled cruel sinisterness and desired the infinite blood of experiments. A man of unnatural sharp edges and jaded ridges. A man possessing a disguised, malicious grin. A man with a ruby red blood vile hanging around his neck.

A man manufactured from hell.

Through Crosshairs stubborn silence, the Doctors footsteps bounced of the confined walls his silhouette lined the doorway.

The snipers guard was higher than a mountain; the keeper of secrets and deceptions.

"You've healed quickly, considering the state you arrived in," Hemlock's voice was gently ashy—his words were spoken quietly which was more unsettling and uneasy than the regularly commanding tone that Crosshair had grown accustomed too under the watch of Rampart.

Crosshair skipped the race and landed at the main point, "Why am I here?"

Hemlock soothingly rubbed the centre of his gloved hand, "If you think this is punishment for shooting your commanding officer, you're incorrect. I actually think that shows quite a bit of initiative."

The only movement from Crosshair was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"No. No, you are here because I intend to give you a clean slate," He slowly descended the short stairs, "And all you have to do in exchange is tell me how to find Clone Force 99. They're in possession of something I need."

"The kid?" Crosshair sneered—the prospect that he'd once been willing to unknowingly hand Omega over to the lunatic scientist, who couldn't distinguish the different between organic blood and urbanised metal, caused a turmoil of rage to seethe at his past actions. Everything to him was an experiment opportunity, "You're wasting your time. They'll never turn her over."

"They don't have a choice. She is a clone and, therefore, Imperial property," Hemlock excused, his tone smoky, "But I'm also looking to acquire another member of your previous squad . . . what was the name again?" He glazed and searched the room around him, practically taunting Crosshair with a sense of dangling dread, "Ahh, yes. Daina Amethyst."

Crosshair's glare hardened.

His jaw clenched.

Her name echoed in his head like the ring of a thousand powerful bells and drums.

His mind was a certain clockwork of defiance. If there was a shadow of doubt in his heart, it had been extinguished with darkness—Daina's freeing life was on the unsteady line.

Crosshair's fists snared; he'd fiercely protect her even with the grating knowledge that he'd never see her again.

     She'd done the same for him.