Archive of Our Own

There were periods in the lives of Clone Force 99 in which Cid, their honorary job provider and Trandoshan associate, seemed to call on them for every minute inconvenience. Whether it be a need to fetch a renowned droid’s apparatus, or a glorified grocery-run that could undoubtedly be chalked up to laziness, the Bad Batch found themselves hitched to a series of unceasing errands in order to make ends meet financially.

However, oftentimes after the final domino toppled in Cid’s needs, the Batch was all but abandoned. They could never predict at what point she would withdraw from the continuous hiring, and the previous fire that Cid inflamed would be doused unexpectedly, leaving the members drenched and forsaken.

The boys were able to sustain themselves financially with the credits they saved up in their job sprees, but it veered the course of their days from action and engagement to a desolate emptiness.

Hunter regularly utilized this time as an opportunity to bond with Omega. Together, they occupied each other's company with mundane teachings and enthralling stories.

Echo appreciated the period of peace, valuing the window of time that he could shed the paranoia of fearing Cid may call on them to assist a Separatist next.

Wrecker, ever so spirited, seemed to have an endless supply of entertainment—both for himself and Omega. The two of them together never seemed to even brush fingers with boredom.

Tech, on the other hand, struggled to adjust so effortlessly. Where he watched his brothers around him seamlessly revise their routine from the bustling workforce to an aimless existence, Tech failed to follow suit.

The gaps between missions seemed to spread further by the day, Tech’s mornings and nights alike blending into a blurry amalgam. His nature, as well as his upbringing, cursed him with a fierce compulsion to have an unwaveringly engaged brain, but now he watched helplessly as purpose slipped through his fingers with every passing day that he wasn’t utilizing his intelligence.

It couldn’t be said that Tech didn’t try, albeit in vain, to occupy himself.

He first sought out Echo, having found him operating on the Havoc Marauder. Tech knew this to be impractical as the ship was currently performing to its optimal capacity; despite this, his brother appeared thoroughly hypnotized, and Tech’s presence was useless.

Wrecker’s rough enthusiasm then proved to be too much for a poorly adjusting Tech, and he was similarly out of his depth with young Omega. 

In pursuit of his last vestige of opportunity, Tech turned to Hunter.

Tech approached his brother wearily, insisting that he taught him the art of knife-spinning, despite having believed it foolish for the majority of his life. As he imagined, this was a short-lived development when the handle slipped between Tech’s fingers as if the searing weapon was instead a wet noodle. The stark contrast between Hunter’s blade and noodles, however, was that noodles were hardly capable of creating puncture wounds. The remainder of that night consisted of Tech’s hyperventilated apologies and an impressive display of Hunter's long-suffering patience as Tech bandaged his brother’s foot.

As each attempted endeavor was met with unsatisfactory results and merciless reminders of his physical incapabilities, Tech stooped into a gross lack of productivity that could painfully be summarized as “uselessness.”

Once the cycle rounded once more and night dawned, Tech bore holes into the wall as he sat rigidly on his bunk.

Upon reflection, he concluded that the day was, on nearly all fronts, a failure. He remained useless from sunrise to sunset, which was unacceptable on the basis that Tech could not bear to feel useless. He never had the privilege of being useless, whether due to his own expectations for himself or the standards he was required to meet with his programming.

As he released a dejected sigh that he must have contained since the previous nightfall, his head lulled to rest against the wall beside his bunk. Thin arms wrapped instinctively around his torso, his limbs feeling weak even in his sitting position. As he pushed for labored breaths, his stomach seemed to cave into itself, a light murmur signifying protest under where his arms held his midsection.

Hungry, his ever-brilliant brain supplied him. You’re experiencing hunger.

A light hum escaped his throat, perhaps from amusement as he did recognize the irony of his predicament, or possibly instead from the shame of it. He spent the entire day searching for productivity, only to neglect the one unwavering requirement and the most basic form of life sustainability: eating.

A particularly loud complaint from his vacant stomach prompted Tech to satiate its requests at last, hopping off of his bunk. Careful of where he placed his feet on the metal ground, Tech slinked out of the quarters, deliberate in his subtlety so as to not rouse his brothers in their rest.

As Tech searched for where Hunter kept the rations, the ship’s darkness proved to be all-encompassing as his faulty eyes clashed with the darkness, despite his goggles residing securely on his head. Tech operated solely on muscle-memory as voids and shadows were all he could visibly see; he would not risk turning on a light and waking Crosshair or Hunter when their impeccable eyesight inevitably picked it up.

Scratch that, just Hunter. Crosshair was gone.

Before his mind could wander further into the intricacies of his brothers’ senses and anatomy that fascinated him endlessly, Tech shook his head firmly as if to clear the thought and garner focus. Just grab a ration bar, then go back to bed.

His hands caressed the ship’s walls for what felt like entirely too long, and he grasped a spare rag one too many times, but eventually Tech located the rations successfully.

“Marvelous,” he commended himself in a whisper.

As he bit into the bar, relief seemed to flood his senses, as well as renewed strength that returned to his mind and body. A vivid image manifested in his mind of a visible status bar that showcased his health, consuming food adding to it when the bar was drained.

This course of thought prompted his leg to bounce vigorously.

The correlation between his hunger and his health was prominent, though there were other factors that impacted his health status as well. For example, when he completed a mission that required him to battle, he often felt rather incapacitated until he rested.

Tech was then pacing, the half-eaten ration bar dangling uselessly from his hand.

Perhaps if lifeforces only had their own visible status bars, there could be clarity on what exactly they require. Tech especially longed for his brothers to display theirs, as this would at last assist him in deciphering what they needed.

As Tech paced in circles in the dark ship, his hips protected from the protruding corners of tables only by muscle-memory acquired from the many times before, he became immersed in his newfound revelation. Ideas engulfed his mind in abundance, and his fingers twitched at the absence of his datapad to record them.

Just as he accepted the need to retrieve his datapad at his bunk, a clamorous thud pierced his thoughts, eliciting a pitiful squeal from Tech as he jumped in surprise. His body now felt far too exposed in his blacks, a daunting awareness of his lack of gear infiltrating his racing mind, coupled by his inability to see.

“What was that? ” Tech deliberately coaxed, significantly less hushed, now speaking with intention to be heard by the threat.

The ship was exceedingly quiet in turn, the lack of Tech’s pacing footsteps bringing about a deafening silence. A flustered huff broke through his tightened chest.

“Omega, is that you?” He reattempted, a nervous tremble betraying his firm tone.

Once again, the ship was entirely muted.

Tech patted himself instinctively, only to further validate his absence of defensive or offensive equipment.

The confirmation made his heart feel increasingly rapid against his ribcage. He felt once again like a little boy, afraid of what lurked in the dark, despite the illogical nature of the fright. In his adolescence, Tech would have then chanted his brother’s name, and Hunter would fend off any existent or nonexistent threat to ensure Tech a proper night’s sleep. This time, however, he was not a little boy, nor would he disrupt his brother’s sleep in favor of a phantom worry, likely nonexistent anyway.

Keeping a hand planted firmly against a wall to steady his legs and guide his path, Tech returned to the security of his bunk.

After passing by his snoozing brothers, unable to make out their resting forms but feeling their presence all the same, he lowered himself to his own mattress slowly. His weary legs yowled their appreciation at the release of pressure, and Tech drew his knees to his chest.

As he reached for his datapad, he registered his right hand still gripping to a rod-shaped item. The unfinished ration bar. A single frenzied giggle erupted from him at the realization. He once again forgot to eat, even after making a late-night mission out of it.

His health bar must still be low, he fantasized, as well as his hunger status. He distractedly bit into the food with a lack of urgency, resting his datapad atop his knees.

The illuminated screen assailed his eyes, so Tech adjusted his goggles as well as dimmed the screen.

It’s not like I can rest now anyway given that there are monsters nearby.

Accepting that sleep was now futile with his racing mind—a fusion of brilliant ideas for a life simulation, as well as dormant anxieties over an intruder on the ship—Tech opted for documenting his newfound project on his datapad. He absentmindedly popped the remainder of the ration bar in his mouth, wiping the crumbs off his blacks and chewing the food at a dragged speed.

Coding, for as long as Tech’s memory provided, instilled him with a sense of productivity; despite himself, he felt foolish for seeking exterior usefulness through his brothers when he could have coded instead.

And code he did. His fingers, while working swiftly, felt blunderous in comparison to the torrent of thoughts that whirled through his mind. His datapad remained firmly on his knees, weathering and taking in stride the barrage of commands the hyper-focused Tech demanded of it. He only removed his hands off of the device to catch his goggles from sliding off his nose.

The hunger bar indicates the participant’s remaining energy. The code was transcribed in the blink of an eye. If the hunger is low, the heath will deplete. This can be satiated by food, or by rest and recovery.

Without drawing his fixated eyes from the screen, Tech resituated his legs into a crossed position, resting the datapad on his lap.

However, if the participant bears witness to a frightening enemy, of course they cannot then rest peacefully. A shudder racked his frame at the resurfacing of the disconcerting memories of what he thought was an intruder in the ship. A teammate must ward off the enemy, or they shall wait until it leaves on its own accord. Tech wanted to believe that the producer of the sound he heard had left by its own devices, considering his brothers had not been awake to eradicate it.

His fingers now wiggled as they hovered over the datapad, awaiting a command from Tech’s school of ideas.

Should they require it, a participant must find food on their own or from a teammate’s support. The pads of his fingers clobbered the face of his device as he keyed in the directives. Food can be acquired by means of hunting, or by harvesting plantlife.

Tech’s eyes had not started to sting yet, but he anticipated the debut of the familiar burn that would inevitably emerge from staring into his screen through the entire course of night.

He did not, however, care.

A table of crafting will allow for creations to be built out of gathered supplies. The corner of Tech’s mouth creased in an unbridled smile at the thought of engineering within his game. His legs began to bounce rhythmically before he could help it. These inventions can be crafted out of wood from trees, stone from the ground, or the plethora of material that will be dispersed through the world.

Glancing at his gear distributed on the ground by his bunk, Tech perked up with a faint gasp. He leaned down from where he sat on the bed, using one hand to grab any of his supplies that his fingers could reach. As he fished through them, he recorded ideas on his datapad. Pickaxes can be constructed. He shuffled the equipment now beside him on the bed. As well as swords, shovels, hoes, and axes.

Tech shook his overutilized hands out briefly, the habit being provoked both from contemplation and glee at what he was producing. His fingers drummed against the side of the hearty datapad as Tech wracked his brain for the next stream of inspiration.

Vivid memories of their last series of missions resided in the crevices of his mind, and he recalled encountering a vast assortment of creatures of all kinds, many of which he recorded the sounds of.

Creatures will dwell among the participants, serving as resources including material for clothing, protection against enemies, food, or as a friend.

Tech considered the various sound effects he would include of the creatures when the audio portion of his coding was needed. In his mind, he could already envision as far as the visual developments as well.

He was practically overwhelmed with pride at the mere thought of the eventual outcome of his vision. To imagine his brothers acknowledging his creation brought about an even more intense spike of euphoria in Tech—one he could not shake. He laid his head against the back of his bunk, inhaling a stabilizing breath to maintain his composure and quietude, but his grin was unwavering.

“T’ch?”

His datapad plummeted to the floor in a tumultuous clamor as Tech jolted in his bed.

Pushing his goggles up with jittery hands, Tech’s eyes shifted to every bed in the room before falling on Hunter.

Dark circles embellished his brother’s face which still had evidence of sleep painted on every feature. Dark shoulder-length hair now stood fluffed like a Wookie after a windstorm. The two of them stared at the other, one set of eyes wild and enlarged in alarm, the other drowsy and dull from sleep just interrupted.

The humor of his brother’s appearance was almost enough to ease Tech’s palpitating heart.

“Hunter, I did not mean to wake you,” he instantly appeased, withdrawing the unsettling eye-contact in favor of directing his attention to his fallen datapad.

As he leaned off the bunk for his datapad, nearly losing his battle with gravity in what would be a head-first dive off the bed, Tech could hear Hunter hum from his own bunk.

This only deepened his discontentment, as he could not decipher what this hum meant.

He dared not meet Hunter’s gaze again. Instead, he scanned his datapad for any signs of damage, either to the device or to his project. “I tried to be quiet, and I apologize for interrupting your sleep.”

“What’re you doing up, Tech?” His brother’s words slurred together in a thick pool of sap and drowsiness.

Tech contemplated his reply. What had he been doing up?

First he was languishing in his boredom, then he became hungry and left bed for rations—only to be frightened back to his bunk by an unidentified noise—and lastly he spent an indecipherable amount of hours coding a game for his brothers.

He had done a lot, yet none of it felt sufficient to justify waking Hunter.

“Just getting an early start to the day.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, given that his day did technically start last night. That was an extraordinarily early start, after all. Tech only didn’t mention how early, or that his start involved cutting off his entire night of sleep altogether.

The brief conversation was concluded in his mind after he offered his response, so once Tech examined his datapad and deemed it functional, he drew his knees to his chest again to continue coding his game that he was so engrossed in.

“Did you sleep at all, Tech?”

Hunter’s voice no longer crept across the room in a muddled rasp as it had before, but now had grown stronger with a heightened vigor. Additionally, it instead originated from what could be no more than a foot away.

Tech lifted his head to meet where his brother regarded him, wiping his palms on his blacks. His own shifty eyes danced between Hunter’s deep brown gaze and his broad chest.

What he could logically discern was that Hunter was awaiting an answer from Tech. However, as he foresaw, he was unable to interpret any further meaning behind his expression or tone for the short instance that he could bear to look in his eyes.

“I am going to assume you’re asking this question because you are…” Tech fiddled with the fabric of his clothes, buying himself time until he could garner an understanding of Hunter’s demeanor. “Wanting to know whether I slept or not?”

Tech witnessed Hunter’s eyebrows being drawn into a deep furrow. “Yes, Tech, why else would I ask you?” His brother advanced closer then, a hand outstretched towards him on the bed. “Hey, are you alright—“

“Hunter, are you angry with me?” Tech interjected impassively, pushing his back against the wall behind him with a lack of urgency before his brother’s hand could reach him on the bed.

Hunter halted then, and Tech noticed his expression twist rather immediately.

“Tech…” His brother’s voice sounded different now, more subdued and softened. Hunter knelt down to be at Tech’s level where he sat upright on the bed. “No, Tech,” he continued, shaking his head. “I’m not angry at you. Where’d you get that idea?”

A chill of unease at the sudden scrutiny threatened to ripple through his frame, so he gazed down at his abandoned datapad again, despite not actually using the device. “Well, I woke you up prematurely, likely due to my incessant typing.” Tech’s fingers twirled around the fleece lining of his bed. “And last night, I dropped one of your knives on your foot. It would seem logical that you may be angry with me now in turn.”

Evidently, Hunter did not ponder this reasoning as he had expected given that there was no hesitation before his insistence continued. “Tech, I think you should get some rest.” Even from where Tech’s head was ducked, he could see his brother’s calloused palm outstretched to the hand that held his datapad. “Take a break from whatever you’re doing on your datapad, and just try for some sleep. How’s that sound?”

The question resonated in his mind. How did that sound?

If Tech was honest with himself, sacrificing his datapad for the night, and in turn his project, did not sound ideal. Rest was the ultimate objective of Hunter’s request, but Tech did not feel capable of sleeping.

“I’d prefer to continue working on my datapad,” Tech asserted gently, studying his brother’s palm that he predicted would soon be withdrawn from its place by Tech’s datapad. His own fingers were lured by his fascination, and he began to subconsciously trace the lines and creases of Hunter’s hands. “Besides, I cannot rest while there are monsters nearby.”

Tech’s teeth flashed in an unforeseen grin. A sense of jubilation bubbled to his chest at the inclusion of his own niche reference that Hunter would soon understand.

A brief pause occured in which no sound was emitted from inside the ship. Tech continued to draw on Hunter’s palm until his brother finally spoke. “Alright, Tech, I don’t suppose I can change your mind if there are monsters here.” Hunter conceded to Tech’s decision to stay awake, and by the quality of his voice, he could confidently conclude that Hunter was likely smiling too.

“You certainly cannot,” Tech confirmed the prediction.

Hunter huffed a short laugh, patting Tech’s hand gently before extracting his own back. “I’ll prepare breakfast for the others.” Hunter rose from his crouching position, a strained groan reverberating as he used the bed to push himself up.

Tech hypothesized that Hunter must have still had limb fatigue from sleep, as well as a sore foot due to the knife cut he inflicted on him. Tech pushed his goggles up his nose, raising his head to meet Hunter’s gaze.

“You can help yourself whenever you’re hungry,” Hunter assured him with a smile that resembled what Tech vaguely recognized as fondness. “And don’t stress if you wake the others up. It’s past time for them to roll out of bed anyway.”

Tech nodded thoughtfully to his brother as his concerns were mitigated. “I’ll be here.” He triumphantly raised his datapad with renewed fervor, the eagerness to continue his coding bleeding into each of his movements.

The moment Hunter’s form was no longer in sight as his brother left in pursuit of breakfast, Tech dove head-first back into his programming.

Sleep is optional, if not with eventual consequences—but should one participant neglect to sleep, they can be assured another will be kept awake for it.

The remainder of Tech’s morning was consumed by further progress towards his game, and when the next day arose from outside their window, it was duplicated.

This pattern seemed to stretch beyond the day, then, as Tech’s coding was simply a part of his regular routine. His brain was a deluge of How can I incorporate this into my game? and How can I make this better?

Every experience was inspiration, and every interaction was an idea. It didn’t matter what Tech or his brothers did—his game was always involved in his mind, and he would then translate the moment into code.

Tech’s mere existence blurred, his conversations with his brothers or Omega being muddled in a surge of numbers and game design. Sleep had become a hindrance that he rarely gave the time of day to, and he would not attempt to recall eating, if not for one of the others bringing food to his workspace.

He recollected Echo approaching him when it was darker one night—Tech could approximate based on the position of the moon that it would be nearing morning—and waiting expectantly to be of assistance. Tech was, however, too engrossed in his project to grant his brother any role in the game development, so Echo departed.

Only one player can use the crafting table at a time.

The coding process was nearing a halt, and Tech could catch a glimpse of the light on the other side.

Blundering footsteps alerted Tech’s attention, and he pushed his datapad to his chest protectively.

“Hey, Tech, how is your game going?”

Wrecker’s bellowing voice starkly contrasted the peaceful serenity Tech honed into when he worked on his game, and the ghost of a migraine threatened to poke at his head.

“It’s going well, Wrecker.” His lips creased into a faint smile despite himself; he only hoped it didn’t appear as a grimace or that Wrecker noticed. “I’m nearly finished, in fact.”

The admission seemed to elate his melodramatic brother as he lurched forward, grasping the sides of his head. “You’re almost done?!” He screeched.

Tech actually winced then, his shoulders raising to his ears. The strained laugh that escaped only cushioned the blow slightly. “Just about.”

Wrecker was oblivious to his predicament, which Tech found twisted senses of both relief and vexation in. His unwieldy brother ran circles in front of him, emitting squeaks of glee.

“Have you added explosives yet?!”

“What?”

“Explosives, Techy, my love and heart! ” Wrecker cried theatrically, waving his arms an inch from Tech’s nose. “Have you put them in your game yet?”

“I—“ Tech adjusted his goggles. “I’m afraid not, but—“

“Add them!” Wrecker wailed, thunderous and ear-splitting.

Tech physically recoiled, ducking his head away. He could hardly croak his affirmative reply before another person emerged in front of him.

“What’s happening in here?” Omega’s voice broke through to Tech’s recognition, distinctive by its pleasing tone, far softer than any of his brothers’.

“Omega, Tech is almost finished with his game!”

Tech offered Omega a pained grin.

The young girl beamed at the news, turning to Wrecker excitedly. “Does that mean that we can play it soon?” Her delight was marginally quieter, and Tech appreciated the window to remove his hands from where they had crept to his ears.

“Certainly, you both can play it very soon.”

The disclosure elicited squeals from both of them as they jumped up and down out of rhythm.

“But first, I’ll have to add Wrecker’s explosives to the programming, as he has requested.” Tech emphasized the point by recovering his datapad from where it was buried in his blanket, and lifting it to his field of vision.

“Yeah, you do that,” Wrecker chanted, his knees still bobbing in an exuberant bounce. “Me and Omega here will be waiting outside.”

Omega countered his declaration, glancing between Tech and Wrecker. “Actually, I was hoping maybe I could stay in here with Tech while he codes.”

Tech knew the statement to be a question of approval, to which he accepted with an affirming nod.

“Omega, you have my permission to watch me as I complete the game’s programming.”

Wrecker’s large frame slumped exaggeratedly. “Aw, that’s too boring,” he lamented, turning on his heels to leave. “Have fun, Omega, but I can’t stand numbers.”

The young girl, now climbing onto the bed, giggled at their brother’s theatrics as she scooted beside Tech. “That’s fine, Wrecker, we can play together once it’s done!” She assured him with a wave.

Settling into a seated position with his legs crossed, Tech navigated his datapad back to where he created new items for the game.

“This is the place that stores all of the data that will soon become visible items in the game.” He scrolled through the hundreds he had already inserted to give Omega an overview. “As you can see, there are multitudes of—“

“Excuse me, sorry,” she interrupted with a reluctant urgency. “I actually can’t… see.”

Tech blinked. “Oh,” he murmured solemnly. His eyes shifted between his legs and Omega beside him. He hesitated, apprehension clouding his thoughts.

“I can just listen if you’d rather, I know you need to see your datapad so you probably can’t—“

“You could sit on my lap, if you’d like.” Tech lifted his arms and leaned back against the wall, clearing an opening for her to settle in.

Omega illuminated.

“Thank you, Tech,” the girl chirped as she clambered onto Tech’s lap to see his datapad.

Once she was settled, Tech continued.

“This is where I’ll be programming Wrecker’s explosives into the game. I hadn’t created them thus far, but once I enter the data, they will be added across any existing worlds,” he detailed as he coded. “Which, in this case, is only my own.”

Omega tilted her head, slightly obstructing Tech’s view of his datapad and prompting him to move it to the right.

“You have a world on here?“

Tech’s chest fluttered at the interest of his world.

“Yes,” he proudly declared. “I have been building a world for all of us to enjoy.”

Omega cooed soft wonderments, watching his screen closely with what appeared as dedicated interest. “What have you made in the world?”

Tech paused his conversing to think with a hum in thought, but he continued to code at the same expert speed.

“We each have bedrooms in one large house. It is different for each of us.” He swiped to a different domain, signifying the completion of coding the explosives into the game. “You, Omega, have a room that is adjacent to Hunter’s, since I know you are close with him.”

Omega perked up in his lap, swiveling her head to meet Tech’s eyes. “Hunter?!”

Tech nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes, he can help you gather food and supplies, as I’m sure he will for all of us.”

On his datapad, Tech opened the furnished application, selecting the only available world titled “99.”

Omega gasped at the advancement, leaning forward to examine the game as it loaded on the datapad.

After the pixels manifested with minimal delay, the game came into view and displayed the interior of a bedroom, adorned with crafting tables and projects about.

Tech’s heart-rate instantly escalated as reality dawned on him. His project would no longer be his little hobby, but would now be brought to the public of his family. His vision stuttered, and he paused to inhale a stabilizing breath. He had assured himself that nervousness would subside.

Perhaps he should have slept.

“This is my room,” Tech revealed, only slightly breathless. “You can see my—“ His eyelids felt far too heavy as they fluttered. Accepting his last resort, he lowered his datapad into his lap. “You can look around, Omega. Help yourself.”

He felt the absence of a datapad on his leg as he presumed Omega seized it.

Tech’s head rested against the wall he propped up on as he gathered his oxygen. He ruefully lost the fight to a persistent migraine that had been taunting the outskirts of his head, likely since the first night he stayed up to code.

“Is this my room?”

Tech cracked worn eyes open, adjusting his goggles to discern what was on the datapad. The screen was blurred, but he could make out pink hues that indicated it was Omega’s domain.

“Yes, that is your room. Feel free to explore.”

Even through the haze that plagued his head, Tech could recognize Omega’s astonished praises. His heart swelled at the reinforcement, despite how poorly he felt.

After an undefined yet blessed period of silence in which Tech dozed in and out of a restful state, Omega shifted in her spot.

“Can I play with Wrecker?”

At the question, Tech forced his eyelids open, only to be met with Omega’s expectant gaze surveying him.

“Oh— You—“ He sputtered uselessly.

“Are you tired, Tech?” The girl’s enlarged eyes seemed to study his every feature, and he wondered why a child could make him tremble from scrutiny.

“Only a little, Omega, but you can play with Wrecker now,” he conceded in an attempt to broker a conclusion to her examination.

Mercifully, the attempt was a success, and Omega climbed off of his lap to the ground.

“I will ensure everybody that wishes to participate is given a datapad. This way we each can experience our own—“

“I’ll share with Hunter!”

“…Very well.” He continued, untangling his legs from blankets. “This way we each can experience our own rooms as we wish.”

Omega laid Tech’s datapad down on the bed, bouncing in anticipation while he rose at a significantly more sluggardly pace.

“Can I tell them it’s ready?”

Tech pleaded with his body to operate as intended, his legs exceedingly stiff from unuse. “You can,” he confirmed, avidly avoiding sounding winded.

Gathering his brothers was the subordinate challenge under retaining all of their attention. Without his usual fervor in his moderately incapacitated state, coupled with his generally more docile tone of voice, Tech’s passive spirit hardly stood a chance.

“Once your datapads load, you will watch yourself spawn in a field,” he tried to assert the direction in the midst of the others’ ruckus.

Echo guffawed, a rather rare occurrence from his newest brother.

“You’ve even got my cybernetic arm on my character, Tech!”

Tech’s smile was strained, but it grew nonetheless. “Yes, I have given each of you skins that resemble yourself, although that should be secondary to—“

“How do you see yourself?!” Wrecker shouted belligerently, holding the datapad inches from his face in bewilderment.

Tech bit back an exasperated huff, his knee beginning to bounce where he sat in front of his brothers. “I can show you all how to access your skins momentarily, but I want us first to come inside the house before night falls and each of us are slain where we’re standing.”

“Hunter, come look at my room,” came Omega’s cheerful invitation as Tech watched Hunter’s avatar enter the house on his screen.

The rest of his brothers followed Tech through the door on the game, and he knew when each of them had entered based on their collective gasps and hollers of astonishment.

“Tech, you built all this?” Echo applauded.

“Indeed, I crafted each block specifically to create a housing environment that matched our needs and desires.”

A boisterous cackle erupted from Wrecker, his brother thrashing both in his chair and in the game. “I don’t know what that means, but I like this!”

“My room is remarkable, Tech,” Hunter sang his praises, evoking a rush of warmth to Tech’s ears as he relished in the bliss.

As Tech guided his character up ladders and through the pixelated home, a familiar acute throb pierced at the back of his head. He slipped his eyes shut momentarily to ward off the surfacing side effects of his long project.

The migraine was secondary, however, and could not penetrate his pleasure at finally sharing his creation with his brothers.

“Tech, what’s this room at the end of the hall?” Omega asked from beside Hunter.

Shaking off the headache, Tech directed his character along the row of doorways until he reached the room Omega referred to. His own avatar met Hunter’s there.

“That would be Crosshair’s room, in case he ever comes back.”

A somber silence befell the previously bustling room.

After a moment when nobody pierced the quietude, Tech looked up from his datapad, adjusting his goggles to scan the faces in the room.

“Is everyone alright?” An anxiousness numbed his fingers as he feared he may have devastated his brothers’ and Omega’s spirits.

Dismissing his suspicions, the others promptly appeared to return to normalcy. He did not understand the intricacies of the exchange, but he was relieved that it concluded.

“Tech, did you make these for me?” He watched his knife-wielding brother run his avatar out of his bedroom doors, holding one of the silver weapons.

Tech nodded eagerly. “I created those just for you, Hunter,” he confirmed. “They double as swords, as well.”

A raucous squawk resounded from Wrecker, his brother practically dropping the datapad in his flailing. “The explosives!”

Omega then piped up from across where she sat. “I watched him make those!”

“Just as you requested, Wrecker.” Tech walked his avatar to his own bedroom. “If you would like to tour my room, you are welcome to do so. I have created many unique inventions with the plethora of crafting tables I’ve placed.”

Soon after he gave the offer, Echo entered the room, touring it from wall-to-wall.

“Tech, my man, I love what you’ve done with this place,” his brother chanted with dramatic enthusiasm that he claimed to have adopted from his years with his previous squadron.

Tech trailed behind Echo as he encircled the room. “If you’ll notice, it is rather similar in structure to your room, as we have a congruent interest in engineering.”

“That we do,” Echo rejoiced. “What can we build in here?”

As Tech prepared to lay out the string of possibilities in what they could construct together, Omega interjected, notes of worry lacing her tone. “Wrecker, that’s a lot of explosives.”

Wrecker howled his agreement, and Tech was prepared to dismiss the observation and resume his conversation with Echo, but Hunter joined in next.

“Wrecker, that is a lot. What are you planning to do with all that—“

In a deafening blast, all five datapads across the room emitted the familiar roar of explosions, and the house promptly followed suit as every block Tech crafted was blown to smithereens.

A colossal hand tore through Tech’s interior, hollowing his chest and viciously twisting his stomach, then completing its attack by gripping his vocal cords. He attempted a stabilizing breath, but the air was instead sucked in a sharp gasp, and he choked on it when it caught in his tightened throat.

Trembling hands gripped uselessly at his chest, willing its heaving to alleviate in favor of allowing secure oxygen into his lungs. He was being strangled, and his muscles constricted. In a brief window of lucidity, Tech feared that if he were sick, he would asphyxiate.

His creation was destroyed.

Tech heard his datapad plummet to the ground as he lowered his face into shaking hands in a futile attempt to gather himself. As he did this, he registered his inability to see. His hands grazed his goggles, ensuring that the device was properly secured on his face, yet his feet beneath where he sat were hazy, and the room had filled with fog.

Just as he became aware of his obscured vision, a set of calloused hands cupped Tech’s cheek and lifted his face, and his goggles were raised from his eyes.

Without his goggles, Tech’s sight was no less abominable, but the exclusion of them opened the gates for a torrent of wetness that he felt cascade down his cheeks. Moisture stuck his eyelashes together as he blinked blearily at the person above him.

By the unmistakable callouses of his brother’s hands that stroked against his cheek, Tech instantly recognized Hunter’s presence.

“Hunter,” he choked out, gasping sharply. “It’s all gone.”

Tech’s shuddering frame was wrapped into his brother’s familiar embrace. He put up no resistance when Hunter hoisted his limp form to his feet and guided them both away.

The world was a blur for Tech, both literally as his vision was clouded with unrelenting tears and his lack of goggles, and in his muddled mind. All sides of his head pounded, the throbbing only compounding the waves of agony pulsating through him as he trembled beneath the blanket around him.

He wrapped the fleece tighter around himself, swaying to lean against his brother where he sat beside him on the bed. His head lulled onto his broad shoulder, burrowing his face into the crevice of his neck.

His vocal cords, like most of his body, felt sore, and his voice hardly exceeded a soft croak. “I am…” He raised the end of the blanket to his face to wipe at his eyes. “…incomprehensibly tired.”

His brother’s firm arms encompassed him in a secure grip that emanated safety, and Hunter held Tech anchored against his chest. “You can sleep now.”

—————

Tech did not know how long he had slept when he awoke from an endless slumber—not as a result of blaring ruckus or one of his brothers jostling him rowdily, but simply from his body’s assessment that it received sufficient sleep.

He rolled onto his back, patting around for his goggles so that he could survey his surroundings. Once he fumbled to put them on, he found that he recognized his bunk, indicating he was at his bed.

After having confirmed his safety, Tech yawned robustly, stretching his arms over his head. He rubbed cloudy eyes beneath his goggles, nearly rolling to his side again before he caught sight of red plush ears poking from beneath his blanket.

Lula.

Wrecker’s tooka doll laid across Tech’s chest on his bed. His eyes lingered on the toy, anguish creasing his brow, the sight of the doll carving out an aching hole in his chest. Tech pulled the covers to his chin with a grieved sigh.

“Tech, you’re up!”

Omega’s bubbly voice alerted him as a brief moment had his head spiraling on how she could’ve possibly known he had woken.

Hunter, he realized in a wave of clarity, Hunter always knew.

It seemed to not matter how silent Tech believed he was—Hunter could always hear, or perhaps sense, when his brothers were conscious.

Confirming his theory, Tech could see, from where he laid, smaller boots running alongside leisurely-paced larger boots.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Hunter teased, inducing Tech to flusteredly pull the covers over his nose. “Should I even bother asking if you slept well?”

Tech rose to sit up halfway on the bed, propped by his elbows. “Yes, you should,” he quipped, though the attitude was hindered by mournful undertones that burdened each word. “And the answer would be yes.”

A hearty chuckle resounded from his brother, and the sergeant crossed his arms over his chest once he reached Tech’s bunk.

Every time Tech watched Hunter, he was certain that his brother further adopted a demeanor that could only be described as “paternal.”

“I’d hope so, with how long you were huddled over here,” Hunter remarked, and though the notion of Tech interpreting tone had long been inconceivable, he could confidently hypothesize that his brother observed him with pity.

Tech by default felt comfort in Hunter’s presence, but fusions of shame and sorrow brewed harshly in his core and left him wishing to not be perceived.

“It still wasn’t long enough. I’d like to stay right here for eternity, please,” Tech cracked grimly. With a dejected huff, he pushed the Lula doll off his chest and to the ground.

A beat of silence followed Tech’s ultimatum, and guilt stirred in his stomach. Was it perhaps possible that Hunter thought he meant that?

He risked glancing to the two that stood beside him and found Omega knelt before the doll that was sprawled on the floor. Her brow was creased in what he could only estimate was despondency.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, sweeping the blankets off of himself to sit up entirely. “What was Wrecker’s doll doing on my bed?”

Omega gathered Lula. “He wanted you to have her, for what he did.” She caressed the doll in small arms. “He thought she may help you feel better, as she does for him.”

Tech considered this, blinking as he studied the plush in Omega’s grasp.

“I’m not angry at him. It’s fine,” he insisted in a flustered spout. “I shouldn’t have placed so much worth on trivial pixels to begin with. Wrecker only reminded me of this.”

Feeling the familiar obstruction of breathlessness, Tech lowered his head instantaneously, leaning his elbows on his knees. Shame, cruel and unyielding, mocked him, sending heat rising back to his face.

As he was imprisoned by his mortification, a grounding hand on his shoulder and a ghost of a reminder to get out of his head brought him back to where Omega and Hunter presently accompanied him.

“That’s not true,” the tender reassurance, soft in the way that Omega always spoke with kindness, soothed his frenzied mind. “Nothing is trivial if it means a lot to you. That was your creation that you worked very hard on, and you loved it.”

Tech lifted his head to meet where the girl gazed earnestly in his eyes.

“And so did I,” she continued. “Which is why I recreated it for you while you slept.” Omega glowed at the reveal with a vibrant grin, fumbling with a datapad before successfully showcasing the screen to Tech.

Surely enough, as she described, an impeccable replica of the world’s home was reconstructed in the wake of his previous project.

The exterior of the house was practically identical, with the addition of eccentric colored windows and doors. Furthermore, the foundation was not quite as Tech built it; his firm ferrocrete was replaced with a softer stone.

Despite the details that were forgotten or omitted in Omega’s remade version of his craft, Tech did not observe the home with scrutiny, but rather with affection. Widened eyes lingered on the screen as Tech adjusted his goggles.

Omega peeked at Tech from behind the screen. “Do you like it?”

His heart swelled in his chest, his leg bounced in place, his mind danced as spikes of euphoria were shot through it—he did like it, very much, far more than he could convey.

“I do,” he settled on. “It is sufficient.”

Part of Tech yearned to give the girl’s head a pat, but he knew better than to challenge himself to that degree. Instead, he did what he always resorted to when he was uncertain—he looked up expectantly to his rock, his brother, Hunter.

Hunter’s perceptiveness and aptitude for interpreting signs—a feat Tech could never conquer—prevailed, and he laid a hand atop Omega’s shoulder in validation.

“You did a very good thing, Omega. I’m sure Tech will always remember your kindness.”

He never stopped marveling at the way Hunter, without fail, managed to communicate the intricacies of Tech’s illogical sentiments better than Tech himself ever could.

Tech attempted to offer his brother an appreciative smile, and Hunter returned a familiar knowing look, one he used with him frequently, that reassured Tech that the gesture was not a hindrance.

“I will thoroughly investigate the reconstructed home,” Tech retrieved his own datapad from beside his bunk, instantly opening the app. “To make certain that each of you receive the belongings I had originally given.”

As he watched the server load, Tech felt the weight beside him dip minutely on the bed.

“Are you going to give Wrecker more explosives?”

At Omega’s reference to the aforementioned disaster, Tech’s heart stung momentarily, but he ignored the foolish sensation in favor of practicality. “Not on this server, no.”

The world loaded on his datapad, and Tech began his examination of the new home, his fingers rapidly colliding with the screen as he moved.

His eyes resembled the abrupt shots of a blaster as they bounded across the edges of the screen, scanning and calculating every detail of the build in expedited speed that could only be executed by an individual with a mind as sharp as his.

Tech heard Hunter’s voice from the other side of him, and he gathered that his brother must have sat beside him on the bed as well. “You know Wrecker never meant to hurt you, don’t you?”

Tech did not look up from his screen. “I do.”

He walked his avatar into each of the rooms down the hall, filling chests inside them with gear or luxuries specially for his brothers.

“You know that Wrecker would never do anything to purposefully upset any of us. He didn’t realize that the explosives weren’t meant to be used inside the house.”

He registered Hunter in his peripheral vision, leaned across Tech’s lap in an attempt to meet his gaze.

He maintained his eyes set to where he worked.

Hunter continued to state what was clear. “He’s really sorry that it happened, and that his recklessness destroyed everything you worked on.”

Tech looked up then, setting his datapad in his lap to meet Hunter’s imploring eyes. “I know he is,” he stated plainly.

Hunter appeared to falter at his response, his brow creasing in a furrow. Tech didn’t understand why his brother appeared concerned, and he couldn’t recognize what it was that he wanted from him.

“Just as constructing the home was an outlet for me, detonating explosions is an outlet for Wrecker,” Tech explained, looking between Hunter and Omega as he addressed them. “Obviously, Wrecker was in need of an escape when he exploded my creation.”

Hunter’s worry lines faded from his features as Tech gestured nonchalantly.

“It would be illogical to supply this world with explosives again if they cannot be used in the server’s central build.” Tech redivided his attention to his datapad, lifting the device back to his face and closing the shared server. “However, now that I know this platform that I coded can serve as an outlet for him to explode things with no real harm or damage, I will create a new server specialized for him to do just that.”

He felt a hand abruptly touch him, the calloused palm gripping Tech’s arm. He glanced to where it touched him, then up at the hand’s owner, finding Hunter beaming next to him.

“Tech, that’s brilliant,” his brother praised. “Wrecker will be stoked when you tell him this!”

Tech swallowed back the urge to lean needily into the affirmation, closing his eyes and humming his pleasure. Instead, he nodded curtly, but he couldn’t quite stifle the smile that crept its way onto his face.

“That is as I intended. I believe that it will be beneficial to him.”

—————

Omega had informed Tech that Wrecker was having a snack in their designated kitchen when the new server was completed for his use. He carried two datapads—one for himself, and one for Wrecker—to the entrance of the room, but he could not quite find it in himself to pass through the door.

Tech paced fretfully before the entrance of where Wrecker supposedly resided, his mind a whirlwind of uncertainties.

It was in Tech’s nature to know what to expect, always being equipped with unparalleled technology as well as an extraordinary brain capacity that allowed him to logically predict courses of events. He utilized this ability to garner understanding of routines that helped him to remain secure.

However, circumstances in which Tech was unable to gather any information on what was to come affected him in severity levels that ranged from moderately taxing to, more rarely, debilitating.

His technology, training, and brilliant mind did not assist him in predicting what was to come when he saw Wrecker again after the previous night. Tech prided himself in maintaining his composure as he paced, but he was not comfortable nor secure.

As Tech’s back was turned to the entrance in the second half of a particular circle he rounded, the whirring of the door sliding open alerted him to swivel around.

“Is somebody running laps out—“

When the door rose to uncover Wrecker’s face, the two brothers gaped at each other with eyes the size of frightened porgs.

After the next beat of silence, Wrecker began to weep.

“Tech,” he gasped pitifully, giant tears spilling from his eyes. “Tech, I’m so sorry!”

Tech’s hands began to quiver as he stared helplessly up at his brother in shambles before him.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he bawled. “You were so upset.” Wrecker sniffed thickly, wiping a sleeve over his nose. “And I did that to you!” Wrecker wailed, the rasp in his voice making Tech’s skin crawl as his brother was evidently tortured with guilt and pain.

Tech knew Wrecker to frequently cry when they were children, but Hunter was always the one with him to console him from the tantrums—as he had with all of them. Unwaveringly supporting his brothers appeared to come naturally for Hunter as their leader and sargeant, but Tech was alone, and he felt thoroughly insecure and unequipped.

“I didn’t think the explosives would destroy the entire home, I didn’t think I would ruin everything, but I did and I hurt you and I’m so sorry!” He spewed in a blubbering tumble.

It was harrowing for Tech to witness his brother in such a state, Wrecker’s large frame convulsing and shrunken into itself.

It dawned on Tech that Wrecker, and perhaps his other brothers, must have felt the same anguish when watching Tech in despair. He shuddered at the thought, losing hold of the two datapads that were suspended idly from his hands before clamoring to the floor.

“Wrecker, I’m not angry at you,” his voice cracked traitorously. Tech cursed his ruffled state. “You don’t have to apologize anymore, I forgave you as soon as it happened.”

Ignoring every blockade that eternally barricaded him from intimacy, Tech stepped forward and embraced Wrecker in a hug.

Wrecker’s sobs hitched in a gasp.

Warmth flowed throughout Tech upon his brother’s contact, solace ceasing the trembling between both of them. He gently laid his forehead on Wrecker’s shoulder.

Wrecker, you’re not weak to cry.

Tech, you’re not illogical to be afraid.

For the indiscernible amount of time that Tech held Wrecker, two clones as one, Tech knew no other existence besides his brother’s stilled form in his arms.

The hug was vital for Wrecker as it was for Tech.

After a moment, Wrecker’s chest no longer bounced agitatedly against the front of Tech, and he felt a sense of relief at successfully easing his brother’s distress.

“When did you get so small, Techy?” Wrecker bellowed abruptly, scooping Tech off his feet with a tearful chortle.

A startled yelp slipped out of Tech as he gripped onto the back of Wrecker’s shirt as a lifeline. “I have been the same size for years, now please put me down immediately!”

Wrecker groaned exaggeratedly, twirling with Tech in a dizzying circle. “Aww, not even one more minute?”

Tech stiffly shook his head in decline, pushing back against Wrecker’s chest in vain to resist the suffocating clutch. “Not when you’re throttling me,” he bit through clenched teeth. “Besides, I need to show you what I’ve made for you, so if you’ll let me go—”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tech was dropped roughly, directly on his behind against the metal ground.

“A gift for me?!” Wrecker chanted in disbelief, clapping and bounding in place.

Huffing with exasperation at his brother’s chronic oblivion, Tech crawled to gather the two fallen datapads.

“Yes, just for you. Now go sit down, please,” he directed, ambling to his feet and over to the makeshift kitchen table.

Tech opened his program on both of the devices in sync, sliding in a seat next to Wrecker.

His brother seemingly watched over Tech’s shoulder as he loaded the servers, gasping and pointing an obstructing hand directly at the datapad nearest to him. “Did you see the new house Omega built? I like it even better than the last one!”

Tech nodded fervently in turn, pausing his scrolling to allow the both of them a better look at the server’s thumbnail that displayed a small image of the home. “Actually, I prefer the new one as well.” He analyzed the display, inspecting what he was able to see on the little screen. “This structure will better withstand natural disasters, should another arise. Omega was clever for reconstructing it that way.”

Wrecker withdrew his hand to rub his neck, a sheepish chuckle following the movement. “I hate to break it to you, Tech, but I chose that shape. I just thought it looked cool, and Omega liked it too.” His brother traced the shape of the home on the kitchen table: a rounded hexagon.

Tech’s eyebrows shot up at the revelation, and he scrolled past the server in pursuit of his new world for Wrecker. “I wasn’t aware you were a part of the rebuilding effort.”

His brother leaned closer to Tech, watching his fingers work as he pulled up the new server.

“I love building pretty things!” He boomed, emphasizing the declaration with a twinkling fingers gesture. “I built a room for Omega here, so doing the same in a game turned out to be no-biggie. Plus, I felt really bad for, like, destroying everything.”

Tech looked up from the datapads for a moment to consider this.

It was true that Wrecker had been the one to build and decorate Omega’s flashy quarters on their ship. Tech was fascinated by the connection that he had not recognized, seeing as though he regularly mentally categorized Wrecker as solely destructive and lacking in creative vision.

Wrecker did not only destroy. He also created.

“Woah, Tech, what is this?”

Glancing back at the datapads, Tech noticed the new server had finally loaded on both screens. He handed one of the devices to Wrecker, explaining, “This is a world I have created for you to blow things up, to put it simply. I have coded it so that you can destroy what you want, as many times as you please.”

His brother seemed to rev up like an engine upon learning of his server’s purpose. “You mean I can explode everything here, and it’ll all just come back?!”

“That is precisely what I mean.” Tech began to set a row of explosives across the server. “Subjects can range from battle droids, if that’s what you desire, to other structures such as entire buildings.”

Wrecker cackled boisterously at the permission, instantaneously joining Tech in setting explosives, though in a much less organized pattern than Tech’s straight line.

“I can’t wait to use this after rough missions,” Wrecker acclaimed, leaning deeper into Tech’s shoulder and prompting him to fidget. “Where has this been all our lives? Tech, you’re a genius.”

At the confirmation of Tech’s suspicion—that Wrecker only needed an outlet himself—he smiled unrestrained. Not only did Tech successfully decipher the intricacies of what his brother was feeling, a feat he normally struggled with, but he also filled the necessary void to satiate it.

“You can detonate the bombs now.”

In a thrilling illumination, both datapads in their hands emitted the familiar roar of explosions, and the battle droids promptly followed suit as every block Tech crafted was blown to smithereens.

Promptly, each item returned.

Wrecker was exhilarated.

His brother sprang from his chair, cheering and howling his jubilation at the coding Tech implemented in his server.

“It all came right back!”

“It did!”

Wrecker rammed his shoulder into the back wall, then bulleted back across the room. “And I can do it again!”

“You can do it anytime, Wrecker, the server is your’s to wreck.”

Tech felt an immense sense of pride for his work, and witnessing his brothers benefit first-hand from it consistently fulfilled him. With his first contented sigh in what felt to be years but was probably surpassing a week, Tech relaxed back in his seat.

Wrecker was like a candle not quite burned out as his elation did not cease, his rambunctious brother bounding about the room as Tech closed the server on his own datapad. He would no longer need to reside on Wrecker’s world after giving his brother the tour.

As Tech fiddled with the datapad, Wrecker slid to a jarring and unexpected halt in front of him.

“Wait!”

Nearly dropping the datapad, he rose to his feet instantly. “What, Wrecker?”

“Will I still be allowed to come on your other world too?” Urgency bled into each frantic word. “So I can also build still?”

Wrecker appeared distressed, and Tech knew his response before he could think. The question required no analysis, as the answer would be the same no matter what research he found.

If allowing Wrecker onto his world again heightened the chances of the home being destroyed again, then that data would not deter him from giving his brother permission to join them anyway.

Just as Crosshair’s room would remain firmly intact on the server, Wrecker’s would always stay beside it.

After all, they did not leave their own behind.

“Of course, Wrecker,” he promised confidently, with no hesitation. “You always have a place in my home.”

All signs of unease appeared to wash off Wrecker’s features at the reassurance—he always was so simply pleased—and his hyperactive brother brightened back up.

“Thank you, Tech,” Wrecker chanted exuberantly, and Tech knew he was sincere by the way his eyes nearly closed against his wide grin. “Omega is gonna be so happy!” His brother swiped his datapad off the table, barrelling out the door—likely in pursuit of the little friend in question.

—————

As night consumed the ship and Tech laid down to sleep, he pondered what would happen when a player finished his game, fulfilling every last mission to its completion.

Eventually each player would carry out every order there was to be executed, perhaps individually or alongside their brothers, and their purpose would be fulfilled.

He lifted his datapad, and in the ending credits, he coded a poem.

Sometimes the player believed the galaxy had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream.

And the galaxy said I love you.

And the galaxy said everything you need is within you.

And the galaxy said you are stronger than you know.

And the galaxy said you are not alone.

And the galaxy said I love you because you are love.