Star Wars: Scars

Part 1 - 3

90 woke up in his own barracks, tucked into bed with the faint glow of the halo lamp he kept on his bed to ward off the claustrophobic darkness that would otherwise make the already small space of his sleeping capsule much worse.

Yawning a little, without thinking how he might have gotten in bed, he looked up at the chrono and saw it was 0455. He had five minutes until the morning alarm sounded to rouse everyone in the barracks. Five minutes that he could either turn back over and sleep through or use waking up and getting ready before the others. It would mean he'd already be out of the lockers when they got up, and he wouldn't have to interact with them much.

90 resolved to take his chance and he tapped the release button beside the chrono, allowing the capsule bed to slide out. He sat up drowsily and tucked the lamp back under his pillow to hide it, clicking it off. Then he threw off his covers and swung onto the ladder, pausing a moment to fix up the blankets before letting the bed slide back into the capsule as he clambered down, silently, to the floor.

He moved to the lockers below the rows of bed capsules without making a sound and opened his locker quietly before looking down. He was still in his fatigues from the day before, and his sleepwear was packed away in his locker.

90 figured whoever had brought him back--he imagined it had been Haze since no one else in his batch would've been kind enough to let him sleep--had just left him as is.

Even so, 90 needed a clean set of fatigues so he changed into his second set, donning the red shirt and pants before slipping the blue over-vest on afterward. He did discover that his boots had been removed and stored back in his locker and he removed them, pulling them on and lacing them up tight before he stood up, glancing at himself in the small mirror attached to the door of the locker.

His hair was a mess, and he still looked bleary-eyed and half-asleep, but there wasn't much he could do for how he looked. He could, however, brush out his hair so he grabbed a brush out of the locker and began tugging it through his short white hair.

His hair got him odd looks sometimes, as it did the rest of his batchmates, but it was the trademark of the assassin troopers. All of them had naturally stark white hair, and none of them really knew why, but 90 assumed it had to do with genetics. Everything about clones had to do with genetics, so it made sense in his mind.

After much tugging and wrestling with the knots in his hair, 90 got it to lay mostly flat against his head. It was supposed to be a crew cut, but he didn't like the idea of his head feeling half shaved, so he let it grow out. It got tangled easily, but he didn't mind as long as he remembered to brush it.

He put the brush back and saw one of the training swords sitting inside his locker, sheathed and resting against the side. He was pretty sure Haze hadn't put that there, but he pulled it out regardless and inspected it a moment.

"You're supposed to put it on and wear it," a sharp voice cut in as a hand slammed the locker door shut in front of him before jerking open another.

90 jumped and almost dropped the sword as he looked up to see 49 digging around in his locker for his fatigues. 90 caught a glimpse of an identical training sword resting inside 49's locker as the other cadet rummaged around.

"O-Oh," 90 stammered, picking up the strap attached to the sheath and pulling it over his shoulder. He slung the sheath and sword over his shoulder as well, adjusting the strap until it fit snugly over one shoulder with the sheath resting between his shoulderblades.

49 ignored him after that as he got ready and 90 just moved quickly out of the locker room as it began to fill up with other cadets. He found a quiet place beside the ladder and waited there, watching the others in silence until they were all ready.