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Headaches were common for the clones, as were the nightmares. That was no different for Crosshair. But the feeling of being a marionette, being controlled like a doll without his own control over his body, that was a new, and wholly unwelcome experience.
Crosshair buried his head into his hands, painfully aware of the other presences, the nat-born troopers who he forced to murder innocent civilians, in his barracks. The same barracks that once housed the Bad Batch. Clone Force 99. His brothers. His family.
The room had been cleaned, that much was obvious from the lack of stench and the clutter no longer lining every inch of the room. Crosshair probably wouldn’t have even realized it was the same room if it weren’t for the tally marks next to the door.
The tally marks Wrecker, his vod’ika, would etch into the wall after every mission. The tally marks that marked another completed mission. The tally marks he felt nauseous thinking about.
A guttural moan ripped its way through Crosshair’s throat, as his mind shifted to the mission he had completed that day. The mission he had failed to complete with his brothers, the first ever mission they failed.
It wasn’t right, killing civilians. They didn’t do anything wrong- Good soldiers follow orders.
Crosshair forced his head between his knees, breathing deeply, attempting to thwart off the pain searing through his mind. Since when had he cared about following orders? That was quite literally the reputation of the Bad Batch, breaking orders. They didn’t follow protocols, broke reg manuals-
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
“Auugh,” Crosshair groaned, his long, thin, fingers digging into his scalp. The civilian troops were probably staring at him now. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Why did his head hurt this bad? Why did he feel compelled to follow orders? He figured it was from the chip Tech was blabbering about before he left, the one documented to regulate clone behavior.
Tech, his brother.
Tech, the first person to ever treat him with an ounce of respect.
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
Crosshair fell back into his bunk, curling up on his side, facing away from the rest of the room and its fluorescent lighting. His mind was betraying him, the chip and its demands controlling his mind.
For kriff’s sake, the chip made him shoot that jedi. The jedi that was a child. He tried to shoot a kriffing child. And then, better yet, he shot at his team.
He shot Wrecker. Actually landed a blaster shot into his shoulder. He used his brother as bait to lure the others, so he could shoot them too.
And, his team was also protecting a child, Omega. She had treated him with kindness, even though he was unnecessarily rude to her.
Crosshair was furious with himself. How could he even bear the thought of harming his family?
-o-o-o-o-o-
“CT-9904.” Crosshair stood at attention, not sparing at look at Admiral Tarkin. The man was sworn to hate clones, the same man who ordered the procedure to strengthen his chip. The chip that made him an obedient lap dog.
He was given a mission. One to eliminate the former Clone Force 99.
They had been spotted on an outer rim planet, and Tarkin couldn’t wait to destroy any possible rebellion. Much less rebellion brought on from the most powerful group of commandos the Republic had ever produced.
Before long, Crosshair was in a ship, flying his way out to the last known coordinates of his team.
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
Crosshair bared his teeth, hissing, but didn’t remove his hands from the controls of the ship. He wasn’t going to listen to his chip. He needed to show his brothers, show Hunter he meant no harm, and then let Tech remove his chip.
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
Crosshair’s orders were to eliminate the Bad Batch. His plan was to land on the planet, locate the Havoc Marauder, and execute them. That’s what he was going to do. They were smart, battle trained, but Crosshair was the sniper. He could stake them out, waiting days at a time for the perfect shot. So, that’s what he’d do.
Why was his mind at war with itself?
Crosshair landed the ship, running landing sequences and preparing himself to scope out the Bad Batch. Rifle strapped to his back, Crosshair exited the ship and began the trek to the coordinates provided to him by Admiral Tarkin.
He couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to kill him.
If they did, he wouldn’t blame them. He deserved it.
Face stoic, body taut, Crosshair marched on, resisting the temptation to scream in agony.
His mind was tearing itself apart, piece by piece, and he could feel every bit of it.
Why was he alone in this struggle? Why didn’t the chip activate in the other members of the Bad Batch? Were they better than him?
He spotted them. Omega was playing in a field of flowers, giggling as Wrecker ran after her. Hunter was sitting on the ramp of the Havoc Marauder, watching the two of them with a fond smile painted across his face. Tech was kneeling down, datapad in front of him, most likely recording and documenting the natural life on this planet. He couldn’t see Echo, but Crosshair believed it likely he was in the ship or somewhere nearby, but out of Crosshair’s line of vision.
Why was he forced to do this?
Mission objective: eliminate Clone Force 99.
Why did he need to complete the mission?
He couldn’t harm his family.
Never.
Crosshair groaned, rubbing his temples, but he didn’t realize he had made any sound. Without his knowledge, Hunter’s head shot up and spotted Crosshair’s position from the top of the hill he was perched on.
And without his knowledge, to enthralled with the searing pain in his mind, Hunter had crept up to Crosshair, and was now standing just shy of ten meters from him.
“Crosshair?” Hunter said, his voice thick and something else indescribable in it.
Crosshair lifted his head up as fast as he could without disorienting himself. He wanted to say something kind to Hunter, to apologize, but all he managed to slip past his lips were, “Good soldiers follow orders.” It was weak and desperate, and yet Hunter’s expression shifted.
“I understand.”
Crosshair held his rifle, aiming it at Hunter, against his will. His hands shook, and Hunter’s eyes widened.
“You don’t have to do this Crosshair,” Hunter said, one hand held out in front of his body as a sign of peace, and the other trained over the holster around his hip, a sign of threat.
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
“You don’t understand! I have to!” His voice was high, fanatical, and Crosshair finally drew the attention of the others.
“You don’t!” Hunter shouted, sharply, watching Crosshair’s fingers.
Crosshair’s face pinched together, akin to both a snarl and a sob, and he whispered, “I’m sorry,” his vision blurred, something he had never experienced before. He felt liquid on his face, and mutely realized the liquid was tears. He was crying. He had never cried before.
He was crying because as much as the programing in his brain wanted him to, he could never hurt his family. They gave him meaning, the first people to ever make him smile, even though he denied it when he did. They were the first people to treat him like he was a person, not an experiment, and not a freak. They loved him. And he loved them.
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
No. He couldn’t hurt them.
What was it Captain Rex had said? Loyalty means everything to the clones.
Regardless of their defects, they were all clones, and Crosshair was no longer loyal.
“I’m sorry,” He repeated once more, blinking the tears from his vision while looking at his family. The family he betrayed, even though his betrayal had been against his will.
He heard the screams of others, as if they were underwater, when he lifted his rifle underneath his own chin.
Sparing half a second to meet the eyes of his ori’vod as they all rushed forward, Crosshair allowed a slight, sad, watery smile to grace his features as he met the desperate eyes of Hunter.
I’m sorry, his eyes said.
And then he fired.
He was alone after he took the shot, too.
But at least he wasn’t hurting anybody.