Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tech remembered firing his blaster, but oddly enough, could not place a sound to the flash of light or the recoiling of the weapon. He knew what his blaster sounded like, but his memory seemed to have failed to record the sound.

Strange, though it hardly mattered now. He did remember the feeling of falling. It was almost like floating in zero gravity, except that he was tumbling, limbs flailing, heading down to the ground where he would surely perish.

He was not able to see through the clouds if the rail car had begun moving again, but decided the most probable outcome was that Echo had resumed the motion of the car and the group was again traveling along the rail. Perhaps to some protest, but they were all smart enough to not come after him.

Tech’s mind was built for equations like this. The probability of his survival was almost nonexistent. The only possible solution was perhaps catching on a tree, but at the velocity he was currently falling, that was likely not to slow his descent enough to prevent him from perishing.

He did not have time to ponder this. He could not hear anything at the moment, and with his face turned towards the sky, white fog hanging heavily, he effectively could not see.

That was probably good. Seeing the rapidly approaching ground could make for a rather traumatic final few moments. 

What was there to think about now? He had determined his survival chances were grim at best. He was not sure how long ago he had fallen, nor how high above ground the terminal had been, but he did not have much time remaining.

Tech found his thoughts flickering to Omega. Sweet, fragile Omega. Though she had become a cunning and capable warrior in the past few months, she was still a young girl. He remembered her desperate pleading for him to go back for Hunter on Daro- he knew her heart had doubtlessly shattered when she had witnessed him fall.

Based on his calculations, it was extremely likely that Omega, along with Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo, would survive this mission. Had he not severed the cable, they all would have tumbled downwards at an uncontrollable speed, and all would have perished uselessly. It was more strategically sound to sacrifice his own life than to allow everyone to perish.

Still, he found himself saddened at the thought of Omega’s reaction. He only hoped that Hunter would be able to be there for her. Hunter would no doubt also be devastated, but he was a trained soldier- he would be able to hold himself together for her. He was certain of that.

The feeling of something hitting him knocked him from his thoughts. A tree branch, he decided- he would not hit the ground directly.

This tree must have been incredibly tall, because he found himself thrown from branch to branch, speed slowing as he caught on each. Still, he was moving far too fast to even attempt to grip onto a branch to stop his fall.

Leaves brushed against his goggles, covering them in snow. He was grateful for that- he had turned to face the ground and was unable to turn over, but now he likely still would not be able to see the ground as it approached.

A flicker of a thought occurred- Phee. He wished he had perhaps expressed himself better on that landing platform, though he found putting words to his feelings.. difficult. Even now, knowing soon he would not be thinking at all, he could not put a name to the phenomenons Phee inspired in him.

Another branch smacked him rudely across his helmet, and he was again met with the reality.

Again his thoughts flickered to Omega. Hopefully she was not injured, surely by now she’d be nearing the end of the rail line, almost at the safety of the Marauder- no, perhaps not. The rail cars did not travel that fast and he really had not been falling for much time at all. Strange- should he survive this, he would have to note the interesting contradictory experience of this- though he knew he was falling incredibly fast and he had fired the blaster mere seconds ago, it had felt like minutes, hours perhaps.

He had enacted Plan 99 to save Omega, and he was sure Crosshair had endangered himself dearly by calling for Plan 88. Tech hoped fervently that these actions were not in vain.

He felt the collision of a huge branch, nearly as wide as his body, almost completely stopping his descent, but he was not able to move his arms fast enough before rolling off of it. Then, all too soon, just a few branches later, he saw the snow and rocks and vaguely felt an impact.

He felt no more.

Tech blinked awake. Everything was white. Was it blurry? He could not make out any shape or additional colors. Perhaps he was simply in a medical environment. The medbay on Kamino? Yes, that was probably it. He wondered what had happened that he has ended up here. Had he been injured on a mission badly enough to warrant a return to Kamino?

He closed his eyes again, swirling them around before opening. Now- this time he could see more clearly. A white ceiling, yes. He registered the missing weight on his face- he did not have his goggles. That would explain his inability to make out any definitive objects.

He was far too tired for this. He was unable to keep his eyes open. There would be time later to discern his exact location… for now, he simply could not remain conscious.

This time, Tech’s vision felt better as he awoke. He vaguely remembered waking up the first time- this seemed much better. He could make out medical equipment above his head-

“Ah. I was told you were awake. It is very pleasing to see you alert again.”

This voice is… not recognizable. It’s soft, calculated… low. It does not sound like one of the Kaminoans, nor his brothers.

He blinks, trying to clear his vision. It is indeed blurry, possibly more so than it would usually be without his glasses.

“It is a wonder that you were able to survive that fall,” the voice began again. “Very few life forms have ever survived something like that. Some would call it a miracle… but I believe you and I are both more logical minded. It is simple physics- you were able to slow your descent enough, and landed in a cushion of snow. It rendered your fall non-fatal- while still critical, my troops were able to recover you in time and, thanks to my direction, did not end your suffering.”

Tech found this voice’s words logical and sound, though he could not place a fall in his memory. In fact- what was the last thing he remembered? Where had he been? He was not able to muster up the strength to talk- he felt nothing, and his tongue was unmovable.

A face appeared in his field of vision. Blurry as it was, in such close proximity he was able to discern some features. Pale skin, dark hair, piercing eyes.

“I am Dr. Hemlock. I am quite pleased you have survived to this point- I think you and I will quite enjoy putting our incredible minds together.”

Something in the back of Tech’s mind pinged with recognition at the name, as well as this face, but he was not able to place it. He was exhausted. He could not move or speak or feel any sensation, but he felt so tired.

“I know you are currently unable to vocalize. That is all right. We will have more time to talk when you are… properly recovered,” the man- Dr. Hemlock- said. “For now you will return to your medically induced coma for further recovery.”

That sounded like a logical plan. Though Tech could not tell where it was, he likely had an IV in one of his extremities, and likely drugs had been inserted into it-

“Tell the last thing that you remember, prior to waking up in this facility,” Dr. Hemlock prompted softly.

The answer of that question depend on what the Doctor’s definition of “remember” was. The most recent thing he remembered with absolute certainty was firing his way onto the rail car with the others. The rest of it was… hazy at best, unintelligible at worst. Scenes flickered vaguely, images, likely distorted, and voices but no words.

“I believe I was boarding the rail car in order to exit the facility on Eriadu,” Tech supplied after a long silence.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here. The white walls stood unmoving and unchanging. By the most basic of calculations on the fact that he was now able to sit up and speak clearly, not to mention breathe on his own, and the fact that some assistant had helped him shave- a strange gesture when he was essentially a prisoner-  it had most likely been weeks since that event.

He understood his situation now- for the most part. TK Troopers had found his body, and at Dr. Hemlock’s direction, upon discovering he was still alive, put him on a shuttle and got him medical attention at an Imperial Medbay. After which, he was transported to the location he was currently in. He did not see their approach and did not remember being in a ship, so he could not judge or discern the location other than the basic “medbay.” Yes, a medbay, but wherever in the galaxy could he be?

“That gap in your memory leaves much to be desired, Tech,” Dr. Hemlock mused. “But it is understandable- we are lucky you survived that fall at all.”

We. Tech noted the use of the word. He would have anticipated the use of the word “you” from the Doctor- to remind Tech that he owed his life to him. Who was we, then? Maybe not just the Doctor, either.

“Based on your memories, can you think of any situation where you would fall from the rail car?”

That was a theoretical question, and Tech loved the theoretical. Free of reality’s constraint, he was able to ponder why he had fallen almost 300 feet to a snowy surface.

“Obviously, we would have met resistance. Perhaps the explosive devices placed by Saw Guerra and his crew detonated, and the rail cars lost power. Then, perhaps we would be pinned down, and a situation would have occurred wherein I was in mortal danger and unable to save myself without endangering the rest of the crew. Perhaps a derailment or quickly approaching Imperial forces.”

The doctor gave him a smile. These smiles of his, while perhaps of legitimate joy, struck Tech as sinister.

“You have a great mind, Tech. You have that correct- from what I can gather, one of the cars on the rail derailed, and you fell with it.“

Of course he had a great mind. He was known for it. If one were to know anything about CT-9902, it was that his mind operated at a capacity and level far beyond any other clone, or naturally born human. He was not sure yet how his mind compared to other races- it was a question he had often pondered but never had time to truly research.

But he digressed- he had a great mind. He did not need to be told that.

“Why have you brought me here?” Tech asked, simply.

“Truthfully, I simply knew you were an insurgent, and still alive, and wished to question you. I only had so much to go on at that time, and I can spare some resource to reviving a corpse in order to get you to speak. Then, in my own research, I found you were far more valuable than I had previously thought- you are CT-9902, Private Tech. You have a powerful mind, and intelligence I desire- both in your brain power and your memories. Though you entered this facility as a medical prisoner, I assure you that you are now a revered guest. As soon as you are able, you will be able to put your cunning mind to work in a fantastic environment.”

It would be a great pitch. If only he was not sure that Dr. Hemlock was a person with a thin and twisted grasp on ethics and an appreciation for life.

“I am not afraid to die,” Tech stated plainly. “I will not help you, whether it is against my will or otherwise.”

It was a fact. Clearly he had not been afraid to die on Eriadu. He would do anything to save his squad. Fear of the Great Beyond was a weakness that he, a trained clone trooper, did not have.

“I was hoping to be able to tell you this in a manner that seemed less… forceful,” the Doctor sighed.

The part where he had told Tech he would be working here? Yes, that did seem forceful. There was no good way to phrase it, however.

“Clone Force Ninety-Nine…” Hemlock began, snapping Tech from his thoughts.

“They did not survive, Tech. The rail car crashed at the end of the track, and their bodies were found.”

The world stilled.

How was one supposed to react to this sort of information? The factor of death was not so much a possibility as it was almost a certainty. They were soldiers. They had each come close to death on multiple occasions. It was not an improbable outcome.

So then, why did he feel as though his heart had been ripped from his sternum?

He felt nauseous. As though his ability to breathe freely on his own had reverted to the stats he was in when he arrived, with two collapsed lungs.

Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, and dear, sweet Omega were no longer living. No longer breathing. Their eyes saw nothing, and they would not move.

What then had his sacrifice been for? He still could not recall the specifics- but he knew if he had fallen, he would have done it to protect them. Why did they not live?

“Tech, hyperventilating could compromise your current situation. Your new lung was not built to support your old one during an irregular reaction such as this.”

Hemlock’s voice sounded like it was underwater. Of course they were not currently underwater, but reality seemed to be quickly escaping. He could not control the current speed at which he was inhaling and exhaling. All he could really focus on were-

He had a photographic memory. Why couldn’t he even remember the last time he saw their faces? Force, even their helmets. Everything was blurred, sliding and melting like it was being held under a hot burning sun.

Tech had sacrificed himself. He did not know how, but he had ruled the odds of accidentally tumbling quite low. He had sacrificed himself to save them. Yet, they were now dead. Perhaps if he had not so uselessly cast himself aside, he could have prevented their deaths. He knew, deep in his bones, this was his fault.

Had they known they were going to die? Tech had surely known he was going to die when he fell. Had they known the rail car would crash? What had their final moments been like? Was Omega scared? Did someone protect her? Why didn’t anyone help her- perhaps Wrecker’s body could have shielded her from the impact. Or perhaps they had tried, desperately, and still could not do it?

Echo had been through so much. He had cheated death once. And now he was dead, in a pointless mission, that had failed at its primary objective. Yes, there were unseen variables they could not have anticipated, but they were not able to track Hemlock’s ship and they were not able to find Crosshair.

Crosshair- Hemlock-

He felt the unmistakable sensation of a needle being stabbed into his leg. He had gotten used to the sensation- his condition meant he was constantly being injected with various medicines. Still, the sensation brought some sense of clarity. If that had not, the following white rush of calm washing over his body would have. He could feel the drug spread over him, soothing his nerves and forcing him to breathe evenly.

Ah. He had been hyperventilating.

“I am sorry to be the one to inform you, Tech,” he heard Hemlock say. He was looking at his lap- his vision was swimming. The drug was not clearing it- he must have produced tears.

“If you require evidence of their bodies for proof, we can provide that. I do not wish to subject you to such sights,” Hemlock said, louder, more sternly. A hand gripped his flesh shoulder- fingers dug into it.

“Listen to me carefully. Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, and Omega, they are all dead. There is nothing you can do to protect them. However, if you comply with my requests… Crosshair will suffer no more.”

His head snapped up. Crosshair was indeed still alive?

“He is here, in this facility. If you were well enough to walk at this point, I would gladly take you to him. He is the only thing you have left. If you do not comply, he will suffer more. He has been… most disagreeable. Your cooperation would spare him from further pain.”

In training on Kamino, they had been told that if a Separatist tried to get one of them to talk by torturing one of the others, they were to hold firm. They had decided together, as a squad, of course. No matter what pain they saw one of their own suffering in, they would not budge. If it meant their death, so be it.

So why did Tech find himself nodding?

They were dead. Crosshair was truly all he had left.

He had missed his brother dearly. In private moments he would never admit to anyone, he had grieved him as if he was dead. Shamefully, he had even cried. Crosshair was not dead. His nature was unyielding, something Tech was well aware of- why had he cried over something he could not fix? It was inefficient and worthless.

When he had learned he was detained by the Advanced Science Division, his feelings had been… mixed. Nausea at the prospect of his brother being a prisoner, fear for what they would do with him, and rebellious hope rising in his chest. Hope that he could see him again.

If he could not prevent the deaths of his squad, the very least he could do would be to comply with Hemlock to spare Crosshair. He loved his brothers- his brother - dearly. He could not let another one of them suffer for his own failure.

Would it go against all his moral and ethical codes to assist this doctor? Of course- but there was no escaping this. He was not even in a condition to walk yet. He had not yet put weight on his new prosthetic leg. He had only gripped a few items with his new prosthetic hand. He had been informed that his left side had taken most of the blow, rendering those limbs unrecoverable.

The loss of two of his limbs felt like nothing compared to the loss of four of his siblings.

He could not be responsible for another death. He had killed many in his lifetime, but never before people he loved so deeply.

He could not bear it.

“If… if I can see Crosshair-“ he gasped out. Rebellious water escaped from his eyes, running down his face. The Doctor did not seem to mind.

“Of course. I will arrange a visit as soon as you are able,” Hemlock said. “He will not be free, of course- but he will be free of all of my interest in him. He will be allowed to live, and live without the interference of me or my projects.”

Tech had no choice. He could not allow another being to suffer.

If he had been willing to sacrifice his life for his squad, sacrificing his freedom and autonomy to save Crosshair was, as someone had once told him, small potatoes.

Phee had told him that. Phee had been the person to first use that figure of speech with him- he remembered her laughter as she explained it.

He decided, then, that the Empire likely did not know he had been on Pabu. He would not expose it’s location. He would not sell out Phee or anyone in that village, as long as he possibly could. Someone would walk free, even if it was not him or Crosshair or-

There was no other option.

“Then I will cooperate with you,” he said brokenly.

Chapter Text

The first time Tech was able to walk on his own felt like a miracle.

Walking. Something that for so long, he had taken for granted. When you get up, you walk. You go to training, you go on missions, you do anything, you’ll likely use your legs. According to Hemlock, it had been four weeks since he had fallen- four weeks off his feet. He was lucky not to have atrocious bed sores.

The leg he’d broken on Serenno still bothered him sometimes. They didn’t have the standard of care they were accustomed to in the military when they had to get him patched up. AZI-3 was good, but they’d had to find a boneknitter from a shady contact of Cid’s. His leg had been structurally sound and perfectly usable, but always seemed slightly off. Not quite as good as it was before.

Now, it was the only real leg he had. Flesh-wise, anyway. He’d landed on his side, crushing his arm and leg. His prosthetics were very standard, not very good- if possible, he should like to make much better versions for himself, as he had done for Echo. They had not given him a SCOMP like Echo’s, he had a full hand with working fingers. It was a little slow, of course, but with some adjustments it would be more than serviceable.

While a SCOMP would be a more worthwhile investment, allowing him to process information faster than ever before, he was silently grateful for the hand. It would remind him less of his fallen brother.

Their memories hurt. He pushed them away.

Wobbling around without help in his simple gray fatigues, he felt a sense of freedom. As small and unremarkable as it was, the fact that he was able to move on his own made him feel slightly less like the captive he was.

The other thing the fall had taken from him was one of his lungs. A synthetic lung now breathed in his chest, perfectly serviceable. He would like to make himself a new one, but hadn’t the resources to even begin research on such a project.

Even though he was able to walk, he was not allowed out of this medical room. Which was completely fair- he was still adjusting to his limbs and required multiple medications. That did not mean Dr. Hemlock had not begun to put him to work.

It started with small things. Coding. Assembling and disassembling a data spike. He knew that as soon as he left these walls, his talents would be put to work in a far more sinister manner. He couldn’t decide whether to feel like a trapped animal, or relish in the relative solitude and freedom he currently enjoyed within these four walls.

The only reason he pushed himself to recover was Crosshair.

Hemlock promised him he was okay. They put Crosshair in a cell, and they had shown him a photo. Crosshair was not allowed to visit this ward of the facility- security reasons- and Tech was not well enough to journey out to the detention levels.

Had Crosshair not been alive? Well, Tech likely would have been subjected to torture, and eventually died strapped to a cot, pointlessly. He would not comply if another life was not depending on him.

Crosshair was all he had left.

Nights where he did not have a nightmare were few and far between. A natural reaction to trauma, but yet another weakness in his mind. His extraordinary photographic memory played him back images of his siblings, twisted them into images of them screaming and dying in agony, and yet he still could not remember what happened after they boarded the rail car.

If he was able to, he wouldn’t have researched the problem. No. He deserved to be subjected to those terrifying images. He deserved to be tortured and haunted. He did not care to research his dilemma.

Either way, he could not. They had not yet given him data pads with access to the HoloNet. Simply ones that could record code as he typed it, or ones that would only perform one or the other task. He had thought to try and subvert whatever this programming was- but could not care to do it.

He would do what he was asked, and nothing more. It was only for Crosshair.

The utter relief that washed over Tech when he was finally medically cleared was quickly replaced by nausea.

He would be free of this room- and free to see Crosshair.

Free to tell him how everyone was dead.

Hemlock personally came to escort him to his new quarters. He was as reserved and soft as ever, telling Tech about how he had decided to allow him to share a room with his brother. How kind he was for that. Tech nodded to agree.

He did not drag his feet nor walk slowly, but dread built up in his chest with every step. He felt ill. He considered trying to break free of the small squad of Commandos surrounding him, get one of them to shoot him- but he could not leave Crosshair alone any longer, if his brother would allow.

They reached the quarters, and Hemlock opened the door.

It was small. Two low beds with storage shelves next to them, a sink, a small counter. Everything was gray.

Except for Crosshair’s piercing brown eyes widening.

He said nothing, but scrambled to his feet.

“I will allow you some time to… reunite,” Hemlock said lowly. “You are expected to report for duties tomorrow at 0600, Tech.”

Then he retreated. Closed the door, leaving them alone.

Tech was not sure what to do with himself. He stayed standing. Tall, arms at his side. He itched to fidget, to move, but did not want to upset his brother.

Crosshair had remained standing still for a moment, as well. Tech looked in his eyes- Crosshair had always been readable. It seemed he was engaging in an internal warfare, based on the flickering expressions in his eyes. Finally, it stilled, and his brother was the one to walk forward, breaking the silence.

What would he say, seeing his brother again after nearly a year?

“This must be a new drug. They’ve not given me one with you in anything but your blacks or standard armor. Or maybe they’re messing with my dosage.”

Tech made a sound shockingly similar to a squeak. How could he have made such a noise? It was inhuman.

“Crosshair,” he said, as gently as possible. “I am real. If you require further proof, you are allowed to touch me.”

Crosshair snorted. “You’ve still not managed to make a delusion that didn’t let me touch it,” he said. Tech wasn’t sure he was even talking to him anymore. “Tech would never let me touch him.”

“Crosshair,” Tech tried again. “It is merely a form of proof to show you I am real. I am not a delusion or hallucination.”

Crosshair retreated back to his cot without another word. He sat on it, cross legged, staring at the wall on the other end of the room.

Tech willed himself to move, placing himself on the bed opposite Crosshair. In response, his brother rolled his eyes and turned, facing a new wall.

“Why do you not believe I am real, Crosshair?”

He didn’t respond.

“I have… Crosshair, I must inform you of things. You must listen to me. You are…” his voice broke, against his will. “You are all I have left.”

His brother met his eyes again. “I know. I’ve heard it again and again- everyone’s dead, you got captured. They’re all dead. You need something new to shock me with.”

Tech tried to come up with a viable response. Something to convince his brother and not offend him.

He came up with nothing.

So, they sat in silence. After a while, Tech leaned against a wall- not because he couldn’t sit up on his own, he was quite able, but even the smallest of activities would have him tired lately.

It was a weakness he should want to eliminate, but the feeling settling in was… apathy. He could not change this situation, no. He could not stop helping Hemlock in whatever his unethical plans were. He could not escape. Clearly he would not be leaving here for a long time, if ever, so why bother trying to improve his physical wellness? It would simply be a waste of time. Time better spent doing things like…

Like talking to his brother. Who thought he was a hallucination.

Tech was angry. They’d been drugging his brother, a human being, enough for him to have hallucinations. Enough so that he didn’t even realize he was really here. Crosshair was all he had left and at this moment, it appeared he might not have him at all.

Hopefully, with time, he would realize that Tech was not a delusion. Until then, what more could be done but to wait for him? He had been given no other tasks for the day, and there was nothing in this room that could be used for amusement.

He did not mean to fall asleep, truthfully. His exhaustion from simple movement was as worrisome as it was exasperating. Still, he did not remember willingly surrendering to sleep.

He did remember the dreams. Omega, pinned under a piece of metal that was on fire. Screaming for help, desperately trying to escape, but not strong enough. The others were dead. She screamed his name over and over again. Begging for him to help.

In the dream, he was standing in front of her. Unmoving. Not assisting her. He could not move. She pleaded and cried, her voice filled with pain, until another falling piece of debris landed on top of her and crushed her.

And then he was woken, gasping for breath.

He was not in the white-walled room. Where were the machines, where was the beeping? Had he not yet escaped the dream? No- focus. He was in the room with Crosshair. Focus.

His eyes darted to him. His brother was indeed looking at him, some soft concern on his face, but when he noticed Tech staring, he looked away.

His brother was so convinced that he was not real that he had only watched Tech, gasping and panicked.

This was what he deserved.

What would Crosshair say if he knew Tech was real, anyway? He would be beside himself in rage. He had ordered Plan 88. Go to ground. They had done the quite the opposite. Well- except for Tech when he had fallen, though that was a more literal interpretation.

Still, they hadn’t done as he told. They had risked everything to save him- because he was their brother and they loved him, of course, but what was it all for? They all died, and the survivors were now captives of the Empire.

Perhaps it was preferable that Crosshair believed him to be a hallucination. He would be spared the grief his brother was navigating.

With a sigh, Tech let his head rest on the wall again, face turned upwards at the ceiling.

There was an air vent in the ceiling, near the middle of the room- it was so small that neither of them would be able to fit much more than their heads. However, if Omega-

Right. Omega was not here.

There was no point in escape. He did not know where he was, nor the layout of this facility, other than the route from here to the refresher they were allowed to use, and the route to the medical wing he had been in.

Even if they did escape, what would they do? Become mercenaries again? Hide on Pabu? No, Tech would not be able to go back to Pabu- he could not face Phee- not just Phee, but Shep and Lyana and the rest of the villagers- and tell them what had happened to the rest of the squad, no sooner could he put them in danger with their presence.

What if they were found there? How many more innocents would suffer for his mistakes? Perhaps his squad had not been innocent- many TK Troopers had not survived their failed mission on Eriadu- but they had not been deserving of their fate.

Then, of course, there was the possibility he and Crosshair were caught escaping, a terrifying prospect. He was not afraid of whatever pain they might inflict on him, but he could not stomach the thought of Crosshair in pain.

He could not.

So, then, the Empire had won. Of course, they were never trying to take them on directly, merely trying to recover their brother. Had they been attempting to take on the entire Empire, of course they would have failed. Their numbers were essentially nanoscopic compared to the Imperial forces. They had sought something much smaller, so attainable, something they’d done before several times during the war in fact, and still they had failed.

Yes, there were independent variables they could not have calculated for. That didn’t matter.

Logic could only get him so far. Of course, there was a logical explanation for why his siblings had perished. At the moment, however, logic was failing him.

Logic could not absolve him of fault, or the deep guilt that had settled into his body, a pit in his stomach. If it was permanent, it would of course be bothersome, but deserved. Every single impairment or pain, whether physical or mental, logically, was completely warranted. He had failed at his primary objective: keep his siblings safe.

It was as simple as that.

Now that he was out of the medbay, Tech’s routine settled into a new normal.

Every morning at 0600, two Commandos would escort him from his quarters. Sometimes, Crosshair would still be asleep, other times, he would watch, silently.

They would walk down the hall, and one of the Commandos would deactivate the two ray shields. It blocked off this wing of the facility from the rest, and he could imagine him and Crosshair were not the only residents.

They would pass through the ray shields, they would be turned back on, then they would turn left. Other commandos would pass, as well as a handful of TKs, and some other humans in white coats, often with large glasses. They appeared similar to his HUD visor, and likely served the same purpose, rather than being purely for vision, they likely had displays that would help them conduct their research, just as his own visor helped him find targets and calculate trajectories.

As for his own vision, he was supplied with new glasses. They were rather simple, and lacked the strap as well as the yellow tint. The yellow tinted lenses were preferable, as their benefits included protection from UV lights, enhanced depth perception, and reduced glare. Of course, none of that mattered now that he was confined indoors- other than the UV protection. So, he would suffer optic damage from the blue lights of the screens he worked at, but he would manage.

Once they completed two more left turns through the uniform halls, they would arrive at a small room. A commando would shove him in, and then activate the ray shield.

Often, Hemlock did not personally instruct him on his task for the day. Instead, they were left on the monitor of the computer he worked at, neatly typed Aurebesh.

He was almost always directed to write code for a specific purpose, though occasionally he was given something like a virus to uninstall, or an application to exploit. These, of course, were likely tests of his skill, and he assumed either they were simple tests, or, more likely, he was passing them with flying colors. Everything he would do in this room was utterly elementary.

Of course, this meant they were still gauging his capabilities, as well as his loyalty. Gradually, he assumed he would begin to earn trust and begin work on larger projects. This was the Advanced Science Division- they would likely have him working on something large. Either unwittingly, not knowing the true scope of what he was building, or with his full knowledge, metaphorically pointing a blaster at Crosshair should he fail or refuse.

After what he estimated to be nine hours, the Commandos would again appear. They would take him to the refresher, provide him with four ration packs, then shove him back into the room with Crosshair.

Tech would provide the rations to Crosshair, who would eat them. He would often ponder the possibility that he would never believe Tech was real, as they ate. It could not be denied- a drug could absolutely make someone see something untrue, so likely his brother thought a completely unremarkable assistant or trooper was giving him his rations, and he had been deluded into thinking they resembled Tech. A drug could also tap into memories and his brain, similar to how a dream worked, so he could not come up with any phrases to verbally break Crosshair free. Even touch would not work- anything could make someone hallucinate tactile sensations.

It was on one of these days, where Tech made a chilling hypothesis.

Perhaps his tests were not what he was doing at the computer. No, his test was whether or not he could make Crosshair become cognizant of reality.

Dr. Hemlock, it seemed, was clever. Obviously, he was incredibly intelligent, being in charge of a science facility as massive as this. His method of forcing compliance from Tech was as smart as it was simple- if he should refuse or fail, Crosshair would suffer. Preying on his human emotion, and his care for his brother. Give him incentive and comfort in the form of having his brother near, as well.

His method of discovering Tech’s true intelligence was expertly hidden in plain sight. At first, he had figured the drugs his brother had been exposed to had been punishment for his own lack of compliance, not Tech’s, but perhaps they were more than that. They had not allowed Crosshair to visit him in the medbay. That was because they had been drugging him in preparation for this test.

If he could successfully convince his brother he was real, Hemlock would be more acquainted with his intelligence levels. He would also have a brother who accepted what had occurred, giving him further incentive to continue to comply.

Normally, Tech would have relished this sort of challenge. Now, he felt himself overrun with a paralyzing anxiety.

He could allow his brother to continue to think he wasn’t real. This would deprive them both of emotional support they would both benefit from, and it would be cruel. He would likely remain a low-level worker, if not cast aside for his failure, risking Crosshair’s life and wellbeing as well.

Or, he could help him. This would grant them emotional support, but would mean Hemlock would learn from this, likely adjust his captive state to ensure he wouldn’t escape, or at the very least, promote him to more sinister projects.

Normally, Tech could have appreciated the doctor’s intelligence. Now, he just wanted to vomit.

And he did- into a small metal wastebasket where their ration wrappers would be deposited. Barely able to make it there in time as his stomach heaved, he clutched it close as he emptied.

Crosshair barely blinked in his direction.

An assistant came later, taking the contaminated wastebasket and replacing it with a clean one. Tech did not move from his spot on the floor.

He knew what he had to do. He had no choice, of course- that had been by design. He knew he could solve this problem- it was not impossible, a solution completely within reach if he pushed away his apathy and worked.

The next day, he left a note on the screen before he was escorted away- asking for some access to the HoloNet in order to conduct research.

When a Commando opened the door, shoved a data pad into his hands, then left, the pit in his stomach burned. His request was granted.

Chapter Text

Armed with this new datapad, Tech was now able to conduct research beneficial to his goal: making Crosshair cognizant of the fact that he was not a drug-induced hallucination.

He had to be mindful about his searches. Obviously, this pad would be monitored, his search history logged and recorded. Obviously, some sites would be restricted from him. He would doubtlessly be able to circumvent that blocking, but that would certainly not pan out well.

He had half a mind to search up adult videos to give the Doctor something to watch when he combed through his history- but decided that he wouldn’t want Crosshair to get tortured over that.

So, he began his research by entering into the Grand Army of the Republic Military Database, or the GARMD. Most of it’s infrastructure had been moved to the Imperial Military Database, the IMD, but the GARMD, at least for now, remained online, and he still possessed the clearance codes necessary to access it. His access of the site would of course raise Hemlock’s eyebrows, and likely lead to it’s shutdown- but, no matter, he had already archived it long ago and the precious info was preserved in multiple data chips he had copied it to. Phee, in fact, was in possession of one, as was Echo, and both of them knew where at least some of the others were.

Echo was dead.

It did not surprise him when the datapad sourly informed him that this site was restricted. However… a simple internet search would simply not yield the information he needed.

Sighing softly, he left the site and entered the settings. It really only took a few clicks, and then he had reprogrammed the pad to allow him through site blocking. He would be able to see that a website was blocked, and merely move past it.

Now, he commenced a deep dive into all drugs that could possibly induce hallucination. Of course, this research could only scratch the surface. New drugs had likely been developed by the Empire, and those would not be in this database. He figured hacking into the IMD would be pushing his luck when there was no guarantee such drugs were even recorded yet, so he settled on this for now.

The most likely substance that would induce all hallucinations Crosshair had likely been having was something called Tespru. A drug originally developed on Coruscant, it was able to produce vivid hallucinations on all five senses. Visual, audio, tactile, scent, and taste. The drug would generally tap into a being’s memory bank, using their memories like a dream to create realistic hallucinations. 

However, the drug was limited by the fact that most brains do not produce picture-perfect memories. A standard brain would remember someone’s likeness, of course, but the image in a mind would only be perfect- or close to- if they possessed a photographic memory. Instead, memories would be imperfect and often missing details, even if the person was unaware of it.

Tech had a photographic memory. Crosshair did not.

So, either Crosshair was fooled by imperfect hallucinations, or this was a new drug that was somehow able to create photorealistic images. This seemed unlikely, though- you could not enhance a memory with a drug alone. It would be like trying to enhance a digital image using a fish.

Then, it hit him.

What Crosshair had told him when he’d first come in- that he was normally in his blacks or his standard armor.

The Empire absolutely possessed 360 images of Tech. All of Clone Force 99 had 360 images taken of them in their armor, in order for easy identification. It was standard for any sort of unique armor being worn. They also had images taken in their blacks, without helmets or goggles on- something standard for all clones.

Dr. Hemlock could have transferred these images into Crosshair’s brain, then injected him with a drug, enabling him to see perfect hallucinations. It was far from impossible- Echo’s SCOMP link alone allowed him to process and store perfect images, when he had not before possessed photographic memory. The implant in his head enhanced that ability. One would not need one of those, however- you could do this with a simple transmitted embedded into someone’s brain.

Tech’s new glasses were not perfect. They were several settings off of his normal prescription, or perhaps the fall had damaged his vision further. No matter. He would simply move closer to the subject- Crosshair- and examine his bald head.

“What the kriff are you doing,” Crosshair sneered as Tech sat next to him on the bed.

It was the first time Crosshair had directly addressed him since he had first arrived.

“Nothing serious. Merely examining your head. Hold still.”

His brother rolled his eyes, but obliged. His dear brother-  he must have been so used to the hallucinations that he simply almost never addressed them. Pretended they were not there- which, of course, factually may have been correct, as far as Crosshair knew.

One side of his head had a burn on it, and it seemed as if some of his skin had simply never returned. It was bumpy and mottled, and Tech took care not to touch it. Based on his hypothesis that Crosshair may have been hurt when the engines of the ship on Bracca were turned on, and that was when his chip had been damaged and removed, this would likely be that wound. A transmitter would not be placed in a sensitive area such as this.

Not allowing himself to linger on the fact that he had, directly or indirectly, injured Crosshair to this degree, he turned to the other side of his head.

Ah, there it was. Faint, almost invisible, but a small line was visible a bit above and diagonal from his ear. This meant the transmitter was likely located in Crosshair’s hippocampus, one of the areas of the brain most associated with long-term memories.

Satisfied, Tech removed himself from Crosshair’s bed. “I apologize for the intrusion on your space. I will return to my research now.”

Crosshair said nothing.

Now, sitting on his own bed, Tech would have time to ponder. Crosshair may well be aware of the transmitter in his brain. The brain could not feel pain, so they would have been able to keep him awake during surgery if they so pleased.

However, regardless of if he was aware or not, removal of such a device would not convince Crosshair of his reality. Unless the object was more than a transmitter- but that was a theory not worthy of brain surgery. The transmitter was likely dormant, so surgery would be unnecessary. Though, inputting certain images into his brother’s brain could also turn Crosshair against him, or enact torture- he filed the idea of brain surgery away for now.

The goal was to convince his brother he was real. The transmitter could possibly be removed- though he was not certain about his ability to fight his way to the medbay. Even if he succeeded in removing it, as long as it was not currently broadcasting, it would likely not help him.

It was most likely not broadcasting. It likely hadn’t been for quite some time.

The genius of this plan was that the hallucinations had long since ended. They were inflicted upon Crosshair for weeks, then stopped once Tech had moved in. He was sure of this- he had monitored his brother many times to make sure he wasn’t still seeing things. Due to the past torture, his brother would simply not believe him.

He could know what drug they used as well as what technology, but what good would it do if none of it was currently in use?

All night, Tech thought about it. How could you convince someone of reality when their perception of it was so warped for so much time?

He only had one hypothetical solution: removing the transmitter. The psychological effects of removing it could be beneficial, but only if Crosshair knew it was there. If not, likely nothing would change, unless it was more than a transmitter, which Tech did not know.

Simply put, he did not have enough information to determine if removing it would solve the problem, not to mention the lack of resources. He knew the way to the medbay, yes, but with the amount of troopers in this facility and a high likelihood of some sort of security system beyond what he had already observed, his odds of reaching the medbay as well as completing the procedure without being apprehended were lamentable at best.

For a genius, he felt extremely cretinous at this moment. He was capable of solving problems such as this. Why did the answer evade him?

He put his datapad down and dropped his head into his hands. His prosthetic dug uncomfortably into his temple.

He was smart, but anyone who was worth their salt would ask for alternative opinions. In a situation like this, he would normally inquire Hunter or Echo for their opinions. Sometimes even Wrecker. Omega, more often than not, would be helpful without even being directly asked.

His heart ached in his chest. He missed them.

He had billions of clone brothers. Most of them had either not known he existed, or simply not respected him- and it wasn’t like any of them who worked here were particularly sympathetic to him. Almost all of the people whom he cared about were dead; the rest were unreachable. In Crosshair’s case, he was psychologically unreachable; in the case of Phee or Cody or Rex, he would never see them again.

He had never felt so alone.

Crosshair was asleep, mumbling vague half words that Tech could not discern. Even if he was awake, he would not care about his brother’s distress.

Why would he? Even if he was aware he was real, he had allowed their family to die.

How he longed for Hunter’s firm guidance, Wrecker’s creative solutions, or Omega’s youthful optimism. Echo would likely be the most helpful in this situation. How he wished to speak to his brother- he would know the way out of this. Echo’s status as arguably half-droid made him both logical and unorthodox, and their conversations had always been at a level of intellect his brothers, as much as he loved them, could not meet.

If he was free, he likely would have done extensive research on grief. In this environment, he chose not to let Dr. Hemlock know how badly he was truly suffering. The consequence, of course, was that he did not know why he was in such agonizing physical pain over this loss. He did not know why it felt like his chest was tightening up and his breathing restricted from the loss of those he cared for.

If not for Crosshair, he knew he would likely wither away. What purpose would his existence serve? It would be much better, in fact, if he died- he would not have to help Hemlock in whatever his nefarious projects were. He was only cooperating for his brother.

However, even if he was free, he wondered if he would be able to find purpose at all. He could never face Phee or any of the citizens on Pabu again after this. Joining Rex and Echo’s clone network was perhaps the most logical choice, as he would be able to make a difference amongst people who, on some level, understood him. It would be a hollow life, though, without his siblings. He imagined he would end up “accidentally” being caught in the crossfire on an objective.

Why would he even think such a thing? His skills could absolutely be utilized by the clone network- he would be an invaluable asset, too much so to simply die pointlessly. Tech was taken aback by his own thoughts. Such hopelessness was something clones had been designed to withstand- though he supposed it could be another inconsistency explained away by his defective nature.

He would not be joining their operations, though. He had calculated again and again, and his odds of escape, especially considering Crosshair, were essentially zero.

So, what did it matter if he were to wallow in his pain? He would be forced to commit terrible acts no matter how he felt about it. It didn’t matter.

There were few things Tech regarded as impossible. Everything was possible, just because the odds were insurmountable or because it had never been done before absolutely did not mean that it could not be done.

Just because it was not impossible to escape did not mean that it would occur. For Crosshair’s safety, he could not risk it.

This meant that there was no escaping whatever Hemlock wanted with him. Which meant that he would not, and could not find release for the pain curled in his chest. To bury it would perhaps be the optimal strategy; it would spare Crosshair any emotional distress from seeing it, the staff here would not be aware of it, and he would suffer the distress he deserved for allowing his squad to die. A logical and sound plan.

The days blurred together. He felt as though he was in a haze. Maybe this was all a strange dream. He worked, and he worked hard, and he was too exhausted to sleep much at night. Crosshair remained unmoved.

Everything hurt. He was no longer being supplied painkillers, not that they had helped the agonizing phantom pains where his prosthetics had once been flesh. Echo had occasionally complained of phantom pains- Tech never had time to devise a solution before he left.

His remaining leg had begun to act up again. It had in the past, the difference was that he now lacked the means to do anything about it. It was constantly sore- walking felt like torture.

This was all not even to speak of the emotional turmoil. His brain was constantly abuzz, and it was almost all either various musings about his fault in the deaths of his siblings, or thoughts about his current task.

To add onto everything, so far Hemlock had seemed pleased with his work. So pleased, in fact, that he now worked some days in a small lab, likely a disconnected part of a larger laboratory.

According to Hemlock, he would be working on an experimental drug. He was not informed on what it would do, merely the steps he wanted him to take. Conduct tests using carefully marked vials of a liquid that swirled blue and yellow, extract samples, and most intriguingly, conduct tests on himself. The chemical wouldn’t kill him, Hemlock asserted- but he wanted Tech to be the first to know how it worked. Translation: he was a prisoner, so he would be the one conducting the sensitive tests.

This assignment was more than being a simple lab assistant. Anyone could have done this work, even the part where he was directed to apply the raw liquids to his skin. There was, just like everything so far, an ulterior motive he was being directed to figure out.

His most probable hypothesis was that he was intended to discover what exactly the drug would do and what it would be used for. He was sorely lacking in supplemental information to achieve this goal, but of course, that was by design. Perhaps the test involving Crosshair was taking longer than had been expected, and he wanted another way to gauge Tech’s intelligence.

He still planned to remove the transmitter, if he was given the chance, or perhaps there was something here in the lab that would help him. At the moment, it could not be done. He needed to bide his time and earn his way to more trust, before breaking it all and hoping Crosshair would not suffer for it.

For now, the chemical burns from this project seemed to anchor him to reality as much as it simply added to the pain swirling around his existence. His skin felt like it was being stretched, then melted off, and a distant sense of the world becoming louder and louder.

Pain was, at this point, something he had accepted as his reality. He had been told to document what happens when one applies the chemical to bare skin, so-

Before he could really register what he was doing, he had dumped an entire beaker of the stuff over his arm.

The pain was not immediate. What was immediate was the hot potato effect, jerking his arm away, but it was too late. The blue and yellow swirls were all over his arm, and it suddenly smelled like burning flesh.

There was a Commando guarding the ray shielded entrance to this lab, and they’d both turned their heads towards each other.

For a long moment, they merely stared at each other.

Then, the commando tapped the communicator on the side of his helmet, and he was probably saying something, but suddenly sound felt warped. Suddenly, it felt like he was hearing all sound. He distinctly heard the electric hum of machinery, and the sound of a toothpick falling to the ground.

Crosshair had been given toothpicks to gnaw on. The sound had come from the direction of their room.

There was more. There were voices. Not words, but voices. A distant electric pulse that invaded everything, that was not coming from one particular place- it was everywhere.

He hadn’t realized he had collapsed until his face touched the cool ground.

His arm felt like it was pulsing. The pain had finally registered. He felt as though he was being burned alive- which was not particularly far from the truth. He could hear someone gasping in pain, and it took him too long to realize it was his own voice.

There were boots, walking briskly. People adjusted their glasses. He could feel them moving. He could feel every movement.

His eyes were screwed shut, but he could tell someone new was in the room, kneeling before him. He could hear their heartbeat.

A foreign hand touched his neck. Tech jerked harshly. He was never one for touch, and especially after Wrecker’s chip activated on Bracca, he was especially averse to being touched on the neck.

Another hand, much larger and stronger, gripped his shoulder, and something else held his head. A Commando, yes, he could sense this trooper’s size, could sense a small electromagnetic field coming from the magnetic grappling hook all Commandos carried in a storage compartment on their left legs, as part of their standard load out.

How did he know that when he could not see? How could he-

He was sensing them.

He could tell the needle was coming, could hear it glinting in the air, but could not move away fast enough. It pierced his neck, and the world began to run fuzzy.

The last thing he heard before everything went dark was-

“Get your hands off of me!”

Not his own voice, no.  Omega’s.

Sound was the first thing that returned to him. Buzzing. Electromagnetic pulses. Everything was sound, everything was so painfully loud. Now, however, it felt muted. Like someone had put a noise cancelling device on his ears. He felt no such item.

Tech did not open his eyes, allowing himself to wake further before that. What could he feel? Machines. Three of them. An IV in his flesh arm, and bandages wrapped around the rest of it. He could sense air and sound bouncing off the walls- he knew these walls without seeing them. He was back in the medbay.

Most disturbing was that he could hear his heartbeat, as well as a second one- the same one from the person who had knelt before him. How he knew it was the correct one was far beyond him. Everything was far too overwhelming at the moment. He should like to go back to sleep.

“CT-9902, I am aware you are awake.”

That voice sounded familiar, yet he knew he would remember this voice, and it did not belong to anyone he’d ever met. So, stubbornly, he did not open his eyes.

“Apologies- you would prefer Tech, I’m sure.“

A female voice. He was certain he had not met her before. Why was her voice so familiar?

It was his curiosity, and not because he was being told to, that he opened his eyes. Instantly, he regretted it- this medbay had always been brightly lit and jarring, but now he could hear the electricity dancing on the filaments of every single lightbulb in the room. The light felt like it was beating down on him, and worst of all, he did not have his glasses on his face. All of these things assaulting his senses, and yet his vision was still blurry.

“Thank you. I will place your glasses on your face now, hold still please,” the woman said.

When she leaned over his face, he finally could see her. Dark skin, brown hair. The same glasses he’d observed some of the scientists wearing- red with screens. Behind them, he could tell vaguely that her eyes were brown.

When she gently placed his glasses on his head, her face came into focus. That bone structure, the curves of her face-

“You are a clone,” he heard himself blurting out.

He’d had suspicions of Omega being a clone from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Her facial structure, her voice, her skin. So, he’d run a test on her while Echo was in the medbay, and it had come back positive. He was never wrong.

This woman looked more clone-like than Omega ever had. She looked stunningly like a standard clone, save for the fact that she was a female.

Well, now Tech was awake. He sat up quickly- regretting it instantly as his head pounded in protest.

“I would advise you lay back down,” the woman said. Tech did not listen.

“You are a clone,” he repeated.

She nodded. “I am not surprised you figured it out so quickly. You are known for your impressive mind and high levels of intelligence.”

She reached to a small table and produced a medscanner, pointing it towards Tech’s bandaged arm and turning it on.

“It is strange, however, that you would make such a reckless and illogical choice as spilling the contents of an entire beaker of corrosive chemicals onto your arm,” she continued.

“I followed orders,” Tech said simply.

More than anything else he’d done so far at this facility, saying this and realizing it was the deepest betrayal of himself yet.

He had prided himself on his ability to make informed decisions on his own. Now, he was mindlessly following orders like he was little more than a protocol droid.

The woman slowly moved the medscanner lower on Tech’s arm. “That is not what Clone Force Ninety-Nine is known for,” she said, enunciating every syllable. “Or, should I say, was. I am sorry for your loss.”

Clone Force 99.

Wait.

“The chemical enhanced my senses… like Hunter’s enhanced senses.”

If this was how Hunter felt all the time- Tech already respected his older brother immensely, but this was a new level.

“That is correct,” the woman said, nodding. “It is a small part of a much larger project. It is still absolutely vital, however- though I assume I will not have to explain to you how even the smallest components of any system are still important.”

“It works on contact, though a gas form of the substance could have the same effect,” Tech mused.

“Indeed. Though, the next portion of testing will involve direct injection into the bloodstream, once we can remove the chemical’s corrosive nature. It is the hypothesis of Dr. Hemlock that direct injection will allow the effects to be near-permanent.”

He had questions. So many questions. This woman seemed to be as analytical and knowledgeable as he was, which almost tricked him into asking the questions. He caught himself just in time- he could not fall into the trap.

Instead, he watched her complete his scan of his arm. “How badly was my arm damaged?”

She squinted down at the scanning device. “A serious burn- you will have permanent scarring on your skin, but it did not penetrate much deeper than that. You are lucky.”

Then, she squinted at him. “I am aware you have more questions. This is your chance to converse with someone who has answers. Though my mind is laughably weak compared to yours, I do know what is happening.”

“What is your name?” was all he asked.

She held out a hand to shake. After a moment of deliberation, he chose his cybernetic hand. Her handshake was firm. 

“Dr. Emerie Karr, at your service,” she said proudly.

Chapter Text

Tech did not spend terribly much time in the medbay. Within a mere three hours of regaining consciousness, he was escorted back to his room by a single Commando. He was not given pain medication. How kind.

He decided, then, bored and in pain, that he would try talking to Crosshair. What could it possibly hurt? In fact, perhaps the solution he’d been searching for was just to talk him into believing him. (He doubted this.)

“I am going to tell you about my day, Crosshair. I do not expect you to believe I am real, but I believe it would be preferable to continuing to pretend I don’t exist.”

Crosshair glanced at him, huffed, then turned away, gnawing on a toothpick. Tech could hear the subtle crunch of every bite. It sent shivers up his spine.

“As you know, I am required to work in this facility. Today, I was working in the lab and instructed to conduct tests with a chemical on my skin. Though I found the solution corrosive, I chose to apply it to my entire arm, leading to severe burns and a peculiar effect- I, likely temporarily, now have heightened senses akin to Hunter’s.”

His brother took the toothpick out, twirling it in his long fingers. “Can you sense that I’m not falling for it this time?” he hissed.

“No, that much has been evident over the past few weeks. You do not believe I am real- that is fine, even though I am not a hallucination, as I have repeatedly informed you. However, I am aware that due to some form of torture, you repeatedly hallucinated me and found out I wasn’t real, so it is understandable you do not believe me.”

It was understandable. It was also painful. Maker, he missed his brother, and he was closer to him than he’d been in over a year.

He scowled. “Just because you know what Tech is like doesn’t mean you can fool me.”

“I understand. I wish… I wish I knew how to help you know I’m real.”

Hunter would have known Tech was real. He knew all of their heartbeats. According to him, each of them had their own unique qualities to them. If you weren’t paying attention, they were the same thump thump thump, but as his brother explained, each had their own quirk. Tech had a slightly faster resting heartbeat, Wrecker’s was louder, Crosshair’s seemed to have a unique rhythm.

Wait.

Perhaps that was it?

Maybe… what if he were to apply the chemical to Crosshair? Would hearing Tech’s heartbeat convince him?

Possibly not- they had only listened to each other’s heartbeats once, from a recording Tech made after Hunter told them about their different heartbeats, while they were still cadets. It had been a fascinating afternoon activity, not much else.

This would also inflict pain on his brother, unless he was able to remove the corrosive element. Pain could be hallucinated too, and likely had been. Or he could think the person applying the chemical was not Tech, and he was merely seeing things.

Or perhaps the solution was much simpler than that.

Tech sat on the bed with Crosshair. “May I take your hand?” he asked slowly.

He said nothing.

Sighing, Tech picked up Crosshair’s left hand and placed it to his chest. Allowing his brother to feel his heartbeat.

“Remember the day, as cadets, we listened to each other’s heartbeats? Do you remember mine? Slightly faster than everyone else’s, Hunter said?” There was a pleading edge to his words, Tech realized- he was begging his brother to believe him.

For a moment, looking into Crosshair’s eyes, it almost seemed like he got through to him. It almost seemed like his brother was considering the possibility that he was real.

Then, he yanked his hand away. “You people know what Tech’s heartbeat sounded like… of course you do. You have Kaminoans in this facility, of course you know. I’m not falling for it.”

This did not solve the problem as he had hoped. However, it did present a secondary thread.

“Kaminoans?”  he pressed.

Crosshair went back to chewing the toothpick, leaving his brother to think. Tech didn’t move from the bed, beginning to bounce his flesh knee.

Kaminoans? In this facility? He had thought them all killed or captured- Lama Su had been arrested, he knew, and it was likely Nala Sé had met a similar fate, though he had long assumed her deceased. However, it made perfect sense she was at a facility such as this. They would want her skills. Likely, she was cooperating with them, having a wonderful time as she made terrifying new scientific discoveries.

This did have one wonder, though, about the Zillo Beast they had encountered on that crashed ship. The equipment that Omega had identified as Kaminoan.

Perhaps what was occurring here involved the Zillo Beast. In fact… it most likely did. Even if the Zillo Beast was not housed here, he knew the one that had attacked Coruscant had been much older than the one they had encountered, and that it was dead. Thus, they must have cloned it, using Kaminoan technology.

What role, then, did the sense enhancing chemical play in all of this? Perhaps the Zillo Beast possessed similar senses? He had not heard of this before, but he was not terribly knowledgeable on the species.

Oh, how Tech longed for the days where his search history was not monitored. He was certain he could circumvent the monitoring, but he was also certain his chances of getting caught were too high to risk on this. It was best if Hemlock knew as little as possible about his activities prior to capture. He had given up some information while incredibly high on painkillers, directly after learning his squad was dead, but still not particularly good. He had outed Saw Guerra as the culprit behind the bombing- he lamented this slip-up in particular. Still, the more he could withhold from the Doctor, the better.

Tech rested his elbow on his prosthetic and his head on his hand, continuing to bounce his organic leg. Thinking about his slip-up with Guerra would not help him at the moment. How could he solve this issue with Crosshair? It did not do well to sit in his misery and allow this problem to burn a hole in his pocket. He may at least be able to drown his sorrow in work- Crosshair likely sat here every day staring at the walls.

A new potential solution pinged in the back of his head, and he brought it to the forefront.

Perhaps the lab was not simply to ease him into more sinister tasks. No… Hemlock was dangling a solution in front of his face, daring Tech to defy him. Trying to see precisely how far his prisoner would go for his brother.

The chemical that had given him heightened senses was not the answer itself, but merely part of it. Yes, he would have to create a drug that would give Crosshair clarity.

Better senses would be part of it, though he knew his brother would be rather unhappy about it. His enhanced vision caused him debilitating headaches that he would push through on the field, then be so overwhelmed by that he couldn’t move for days. It seemed the Kaminoans had failed to account for the additional strain and power his eyes would take.

This made some sense- Crosshair was engineered prior to Hunter, though Hunter was decanted first. They observed how his mutation might cause pain, and rather than fix it, made it so that Hunter had five enhanced senses rather than one, and that his brain could handle it. All while those two were nothing more than tiny clumps of cells in Petri dishes. He did not respect the Kaminoans- no, they could have fixed Crosshair‘s headaches and chose not to- but he had to be fascinated by their scientific capabilities.

Now, in the present, what would be the other parts of this medicine he’d have to give Crosshair? Better senses, check, he could provide him with the drug he’d poured all over himself as soon as he removed the corrosive qualities. What else would solve this issue?

Likely, it connected back with his previous thoughts. The drug needed to neutralize the transmitter in his brain. While the benefit might not be as strong as simply removing it, there was still a possibility of it being operational.

Though he was closer to a solution than he had ever previously been, he felt strangely frustrated. He supposed this was likely because he had been over these exact hypotheses several times, and yet nothing had changed. He had not yet taken action to correct the problem. He had hit so many walls with his thinking- this new plan still did not give him the aha! moment he had been chasing. His mind was exceptional- why was this so hard? Why had he gone over the same thing so many times, and still not come up with a solution?

Well, there was one other thing he had not yet fully considered.

Perhaps this was engineered to be impossible. Not to push Tech to fix it so that Hemlock could figure out how smart he was, no. Perhaps it was intended as a distraction. So that he could think he had something tangible to work towards. Some form of familial comfort to chase. He loved his brother dearly, so he would be unable to accept the impossibility of the situation until he was in too deep. Then, he would be so despondent that he would be even more pliable to the Doctor’s wishes.

No. He could not accept that. There were absolutely solutions here. There could be another explanation for why he hadn’t yet reached a solid solution. It could be attributed to the lack of resources, or perhaps his mind could have been damaged in the fall.

Regardless, the fact that he was coming up with these possibilities meant that he, too, needed to evaluate the intelligence of his enemy. He could not completely give up on the possibility of escape. It was horrifically unlikely, but a good first step would be to assess Hemlock. Tech could play the long game too.

Rebellious voices in his head still whispered that there may not be a solution to his problem with Crosshair, and that escape was impossible. He could not listen. He had to push on.

For now, he found himself too tired. Too in pain. The fuzziness the sedative had provided had long ago worn off, leaving him with the feeling of a serrated knife tearing at his skin. He found thinking to be increasingly hard. Perhaps the pain was affecting his ability to silence the doubting voices in his head.

Without thinking about it, he leaned against Crosshair for support, closing his eyes for a moment.

Just for a moment.

Apathy was not a strong enough word for Crosshair’s state.

He didn’t care, plain and simple. They had (mostly) stopped torturing him. The hallucinations were still there, but they had become more tolerable. They even gave him toothpicks now. He was living in luxury.

The fake Tech was escorted out at the same time every day. In the middle of the day, a white-coated woman handed him lunch and gently felt at his head with two fingers. He didn’t even care to push her away anymore. What was the point?

He knew that when Tech “left,” that was when whatever they had him on wore off. By the time he came back, it had kicked in again. Or maybe they’d shoved something in his head and had to keep messing with it. What difference did one more device in his head make?

The hallucinated Tech did mostly the same things every day. Stared into space to pretend it was “thinking,” sometimes with a bounce of his leg to try to trick him on body language. Tapped at a datapad; ha, as if they’d let him have that in prison. Paced the room. It got boring to watch, but at least he wasn’t pretending to help him escape anymore.

It usually happened the same way. He’d wake up, Tech shaking him by the shoulder. Telling him he was there to rescue him- then raising his arm to fire two stun shots at something in the doorway. Then he’d help him up, they’d start running. Tech was focused, shooting with one hand and supporting him with the other.

They’d always go down the hallway and turn at the same places, in the same direction. They’d end up in the same large, empty room, and either encounter Hemlock or Omega- sometimes both.

When it was Hemlock, he would tell them how they were surrounded, take a blaster from a Commando, and then Tech would be staring unseeingly at the ceiling, five blaster bolts in his chest. The commandos would handcuff Crosshair then, or he’d be stunned.

When it was Omega, she’d be in a hospital gown, looking terrified, trying to escape with them. IV ports in her arms, and she was skinny, hair buzzed off- they’d been experimenting on her. None of them would have time to react to a trooper behind her, and then she’d fall to the floor, lifeless.

When it was both of them, Hemlock would be restraining Omega. She’d be struggling weakly, but her eyes would always look so… so hopeless. He would tell Tech to lower his blaster, or Omega would die. Sometimes Tech would set his blaster down, then both he and Omega would be shot at the same time. Sometimes Tech would try to take Hemlock on, get killed, and then Omega would be shoved at him. He’d grab her, then feel her get shot in his arms.

After awhile of this, he stopped getting up when Tech shook him awake. This resulted in Tech getting shot in the cell, falling lifelessly to the floor. Sometimes Omega would come looking for them and Tech would accidentally shoot her.

Then, Crosshair simply stopped opening his eyes.

Sometimes Tech would simply haul him up and carry him on his back, so he’d still hear what was going on, feel his brother collapse under him when he died. Sometimes Crosshair would just get shot himself.

They ran out of scenarios, eventually. They were all the same. They kept repeating. Of course none of it was real. For an “Advance Science Division,” it was funny they couldn’t keep making unique scenarios.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t have nightmares about it, seeing them die over and over and over again. Then he’d wake up to Tech again- it was like he actually never woke up at all.

With all of this, why was the fact that Tech had fallen asleep on him one of the more horrifying visions?

Obviously, it was emotional manipulation. Knowing that didn’t make his brother’s even breathing go away, nor his rebelliously comforting weight against him.

Sometimes he wished he was weak enough to believe it. It wasn’t that he wanted to go back to his squad- they’d left him. There wasn’t an excuse for that. He warned them to go to ground because he didn’t want them to get captured or hurt. There was a difference.

He hoped they’d actually obeyed an order for once and that they were in hiding. For the sake of the girl.

If this was really Tech- well, he scoffed at the thought. But if it was, it wouldn’t entirely shock him- it would mean they hadn’t followed orders. Again. Short sighted fools. Maybe they’d actually staged a rescue. Failed miserably while they were at it, and now here was Tech.

Course, Tech wasn’t real. They probably had staged some sort of rescue, probably had failed, maybe they’d gotten more recent photos of Tech to use against him in the process.

Sinking into complete insanity would not be the worst thing in the world. He was in solitary anyways- nobody could keep their wits about them forever like this. He still had a shred of pride- nobody could take away whatever bits of his mind he had left.

The long necks had put a chip in his head that made him do things he didn’t want to do. They’d probably also messed with his brain on Kamino, right before his squad had abandoned him. Then, the Imperials had taken advantage of his unwavering loyalty. He hadn’t questioned his orders. He was a soldier. Then, when he finally snapped, his head was tampered with so severely that he couldn’t stop seeing things.

Why couldn’t he have ownership of his own mind?

Whatever he could salvage, he had pulled all together in his mind, tied it up with some mental cables. Whatever he’d determined was really Crosshair. 

Whoever that was.

Regardless, he would sit on this mountain of broken parts and keep control of his sanity as long as he could. He wasn’t going to turn into a babbling, drooling lunatic until he was damn good and ready.

So, without another thought, he shoved Tech off of him and onto the floor.

The startled, pained look in Tech’s eyes staring back up at him, almost shook his resolve. Almost convinced him that this could be him.

But it wasn’t. For the sake of himself, he couldn’t kriffing fall for it.

“Stay away from me,” he choked out. Maker, he couldn’t even keep his voice steady? When did he turn into Wrecker?

“I- I-I… Crosshair,” Tech gasped. Pleading. Barely above a whisper.

Pathetic.

“You can’t kriffing convince me. Stop messing with my head. Stop it. I’ve given enough. If you don’t want anything else with me, just throw me to the firing squad. I was a human too, once.”

It felt good to say it. Even if his words would be ignored. Tech literally couldn’t hear him- he wasn’t here.

He pushed away the shred of guilt he felt at Tech’s expression. Guilt was for weak people. He wasn’t weak, he was a soldier. He wouldn’t break.

“Get up. Get out. Get out of my head.”

All Tech did was get to his feet and sit on the other bed.

And Crosshair knew, he knew that there wasn’t actually anyone sitting on that bed. He knew there was nothing.

Maybe he should lose it a bit. Just so they’d back off him. Or try something new. Anything would be better than this.

Besides, he was curious. Could he hallucinate blood?

So he struck Tech across the face. Watched in delight as his glasses clattered to the floor, lenses cracked. Ha, Tech would never wear glasses without a strap- he hit him again.

Yeah, he could hallucinate the blood too.

When he went to strike again, Tech had grabbed him by the wrists. No. Nobody could hold him by the wrists. Nobody could restrain him.

He knocked him away, to the floor. Kicked him.

The second time he went to kick, Tech swept his leg. He felt his back hit the floor. It felt good. The pain reminded him he was alive.

When he got up, Tech was standing, holding an uneasy stance. Pathetic. Crosshair swung at him again.

This hit connected, but his next fist was blocked by a forearm. Metal. Whoever he was really fighting had a prosthetic. Add it to the reasons he knew it wasn’t Tech. Along with the fact that Tech wasn’t throwing punches himself- just defending himself. He knew his brother would do more than this.

“Crosshair, stop. I’m not the enemy!” Tech yelled, sharp and serious.

He didn’t care. He swung again.

His fist was blocked with a hand then grabbed, then his wrist was twisted. Then he was on the ground again. He smiled up at the ceiling.

Crosshair tried to pull Tech’s own move on him- when he stepped towards him, he tried to sweep his leg. He dodged it, though, then made the mistake of kneeling down to try to restrain him.

His fist connected with Tech’s face. Whoever he was fighting definitely wasn’t wearing a helmet- the blood was everywhere now. Fool.

“Plan 14!” Tech cried, clutching his nose.

Plan 14. He turned that over in his mind. That plan was more of a code word- saying that one of them needed to stop fighting to get the help they needed. A plan made in case they were captured and tortured, and were instinctually fighting.

Crosshair did not need help.

There was more blood. It was on the floor and walls, now.

The hallucination wouldn’t stop defending itself, even if it wasn’t attacking him. Why wouldn’t it attack him? Give him a good sock in the nose in return. It would feel good.

Why wouldn’t it attack him?

“Plan 14,” Tech repeated evenly.

Then he was finally punched.

Right in the side of his head, near his ear. Something seemed to explode. Something crackled internally. It felt like he’d stuck his head in an electrical port.

His vision flashed white. Then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

Tech was designed for having to make split-second decisions. He was engineered to think clearly in high-stress situations. His brain functioned at a level far beyond that of most other sentient beings. 

That didn't mean he was immune to the shock of his brother suddenly beginning to physically assault him.

He was losing some of his muscle in his current situation, suffering from a lack of physical activity. He supplemented with some anaerobic exercises occasionally, but his new prosthetics took up an unexpected amount of energy. If this was how Echo had felt all the time, it was even more impressive how strong his older brother had been. 

His reflexes suffered as well. He was more… nervous, one could say. Keyed up. Even with how often he seemed to jump out of his skin, he was slow to react to the punches being thrown at him.

He took note of these weaknesses as soon as he realized what was happening and that Crosshair was not going to stop or listen to his pleas. He also took note of his strengths- he was still a good fighter, nimble, and his temporarily enhanced senses would do him good.

Acknowledgment of his strengths and utilization of them were two different beasts, it seemed because Crosshair was winning the fight. He landed hits- though he managed to block and dodge some, he didn’t want to go on the offensive and hurt his brother. Crosshair seemed to have no such reservations.

Plan 14- a long-since forgotten idea- was thrown to Crosshair. Something to buy Tech some time to think.

His enhanced senses were equally terrible and wonderful. He could feel his pain more poignantly than any injury he’d ever sustained. He could feel and hear the blood dripping from his nose. He could hear every component of his prosthetic arm and leg, whirring and shifting and bending, as he backed away. He could hear Crosshair panting; he could hear his eyes moving.

Think. Think. 

It occurred to him finally, just as Crosshair hit him again, this time in the stomach. He was coughing up blood now. It was on the walls. He could smell it everywhere. He could hear the dripping.

This may be a golden opportunity to test a hypothesis. If he focused, he could hear the transmitter in Crosshair’s brain. A faint beeping. The hum of electricity and parts. A dim clicking.

“Plan 14,” he repeated evenly. 

He had one opportunity to get this right. Once he physically retaliated, the severity of his brother’s assault would increase exponentially.

Precision, however, was his specialty.

He swung right where he knew it was. Where he heard it was. He heard the crush when his fist connected. He heard the parts screaming in protest, he could feel the impact on Crosshair’s brain. 

Crosshair stumbled backward from the force of the blow, holding a hand to his temple. Tech got one split-second to look into his eyes- confused, dazed, pain. Then they rolled back in his head, and he was in a heap on the floor.

Tech wrung out his hand, trying to dispel the sparks of pain from his hasty punch. He had used his flesh hand, unsure of how much force his prosthetic could withstand. More importantly, it was harder than flesh and could have seriously injured his brother.

He crouched to the floor, hands hovering as he thought. Crosshair did not seem to currently be conscious, but his eyes were flickering, unseeing.

He could hear the device crackling and could sense the small electric sparks inside Crosshair’s brain, racing between shattered parts. It was certainly damaged, and likely no longer operational, but it was continuing to send out signals. Damaging his brother’s brain.

Now, it seemed, he would have to fight his way to the medical bay. Something he had thought of, something he knew he was capable of, but did not want Crosshair to suffer the consequences of.

Oh, well.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Tech began vocalizing. Yells, screams, and shouts, no real words. Using his prosthetics, he banged on the metal walls and floors, trying to grab the attention of guards.

Attention was what he got- two commandos opened the door to their cell. He didn't have to see their faces under their helmets to know they were surprised at the scene. Good. Surprise was just what he needed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he flung himself at them. Before the one on the left could even react, he had disarmed him and knocked him out with his own blaster. He heard the other Commando pulling the trigger, giving him enough notice to dodge out of the way of the stun rings. Then, he used the unconscious one as a shield, letting it take a few more shots, before heaving the limp body at the trooper. He wasn’t knocked over but distracted long enough for him to fire two stun shots. He collapsed over his friend.

Holding the blaster in one hand, Tech went to his brother, hauling his arm over his shoulder. Hopefully, he would be able to half-drag him while firing with the other hand.

As they were exiting, he took a keycard from the belt of a Commando. Dragging Crosshair’s limp weight was a challenge (however, he seemed to have lost a significant number of pounds- a rather chilling observation), but he could not stop now. The keycard closed the door to their cell and, just up ahead, lifted the ray shields.

They were at the intersection of the hallway now. Gray durasteel as far as the eye could see. These halls were nearly as indistinguishable as the ones of Tipoca City. Luckily, he knew where he was going regardless. He had navigated Kamino and many a Venator- the sameness of military architecture would not be an issue. Tech leaned against the cold metal wall, peering around the corner. Nobody was around.

Wasting no time, he hauled Crosshair up again and dragged him left, down the long hall. It was merely six turns from here to the medbay. He had memorized the route, of course. There were likely to be other troopers, and he was at a tactical disadvantage- no armor, a poor blaster, and carrying dead weight. He had to be Hunter. He had to sense his enemies. Whatever strengths he had; it was paramount that he utilize them effectively.

So, he listened.

The hallway heading right at the next intersection. Three lifeforms. Judging by the other electromagnetic fields they carried with them, it was two Commandos and a lab assistant.

Leaning Crosshair against a wall, he slunk to the intersection, and when he felt the timing was right, leaped out and fired. They did not have a chance- the group was unconscious before they could react. Before they had even hit the ground, he was heading back for his brother.

Crosshair seemed to now be shaking. Violently. 

“Well, that is not ideal,” he muttered to himself, hauling him up again.

They got through the next few turns without incident, but he could now hear a whole squad heading his way. They had likely passed a security camera at this point, alerting them to what likely appeared to be an escape attempt. He could hear boots thumping against the metal floors as they ran towards him.

Moving as quickly as he could, he turned to find another set of ray shields. This one protected an intersection, with two shields for all four directions. With a tap of the keycard, he got through them, closing them again to slow the troopers down. Running as fast as he could drag, he got his brother behind cover. This hall was also protected by blast doors every five meters, which gave him a place to stow Crosshair’s limp and shaking form. Once he was safe, Tech stood his ground, ready to face the troopers head-on.

It was him alone against a squad of… nine Commandos, it seemed. 

He had dealt with worse odds. 

As soon as they rounded the corner, he was firing upon them, laying waste to three of them before they knew what hit them. The others were converging, though, and it was all he could do to hold them off with his stun blasts and single blaster when he began hearing another squad running to assist.

With no time to ponder, he hauled up a stunned trooper as a human shield, muscles screaming at the weight. The same trick could work twice, it appeared, as shoving the trooper at another was successful, and he was able to stun him. Before letting go of the shield trooper, however, he removed his helmet. A well-placed throw had it hitting another, surprising him long enough to be stunned.

If Gregor could see these troopers- he could almost hear his laugh now. “Poor excuses for Commandos,” he would have remarked.

Still, it was increasingly difficult to hold them off, and the other troopers had arrived, firing upon him. He ducked behind a blast door for cover, firing from it as best he could. 

He observed a terminal on a wall, horizontal from him. It could close this blast door- but the other troopers would soon breach it. It would not buy adequate time for him to get to the medbay and perform brain surgery on his brother. More troopers were approaching. His window of opportunity was closing. He needed an alternative solution. He scanned the hall, searching-

Ah. A round button, innocuous. Precisely what he needed.

He toggled the blaster up from stun to kill and fired upon it.

The lights went out.

He was aware the lights could be toggled back on from another port, and they were only off in this sector of the facility, but this would buy him the time he needed. If he had his gear, or perhaps a SCOMP link, he could tap into the system and disable all lights. 

It all went back to a mission on the moon of Borgo Prime. There had been too many droids converging on their position, and they only had one way out of the Separatist base they had infiltrated. They had to get through several hundred B1 battledroids to escape. Their odds had not been particularly comforting.

“Tech. Can you disable the lights?” Hunter yelled over his shoulder, still firing upon the droids.

“I certainly can, but why?” Tech had asked, grabbing a droid popper from his pack and throwing it into the air. Behind him, a bolt Crosshair fired connected midair, sending three rows of droids seizing and falling to the floor.

“I can fight with the lights off. They can’t.”

Tech had more questions- such as how the rest of them were meant to fight under low vision. Still, he elected to trust his Sergeant. He turned to the terminal directly behind him, plugging his datapad in to access the network.

“There,” he announced, just as the lights all shut off.

Pitch black, other than the red and blue blaster fire whizzing through the air. Confused, the droids stopped firing- Tech could hear their robotic voices questioning. 

“Hey, who turned out the lights?” 

“What do we do?”

“We can’t see the enemy.”

He realized after a beat; Hunter had already peeled away from the wall. He saw the glint of his vibroblade as it was pulled out of the sheath, then the sparks as it drove into a droid’s head.

The droids fired carelessly, not sure where he was. Hunter snuck around, firing only when he needed to, then slipping away into the pitch-black. Using their helmet displays, Crosshair and Tech were able to see heat signatures and laid waste to the rest of the droids as their leader slipped around. Wrecker had no such feature and was firmly instructed to wait.

They destroyed the squad completely in the dark. Hunter didn’t have a heat signature feature on his helmet either- he was merely using his senses. When they emerged from the facility, Tech observed he had even removed his helmet, leaving him vulnerable to a well-placed blaster bolt. It hadn’t mattered. His senses were too good.

Now, in the present, Tech was Hunter. He had to be. He was the only one who could save Crosshair, consequences be damned. Whatever they were, it was better than his ori’vod dying.

The troopers stopped firing, not wanting to hit their own. He could hear them whispering into their comms for someone to turn the lights back on.

He could not hesitate.

One, two, three stuns were fired. Three thumps of armor hitting the ground. Just like the droids on Borgo Prime, the others began firing, unseeing, just hoping to get lucky.

With a roll, he moved forward to the next blast door, the one next to the terminal he had just disabled. Using the cover and pausing for a moment, he listened for the movements.

Two troopers, moving forward. They thought they were quiet, about to ambush him. They were wrong. 

Quick as a flash, he ducked out, firing upon them. They fell, as did two more who were behind them, as he ran to the next blast door diagonally.

He could not possibly hold them all off forever. For every squad he defeated, three more could be on their way. However, he could fight his way to the ray shields. If he short-circuited the controls, he would be able to protect this hall from all directions. Then, he’d destroy the controls on each blast door. It would not stop them forever, but having to drill through the blast doors would slow down the stunned troopers once they woke, and having to fix the ray shields would slow down any new troopers significantly. 

So, he would retake his territory. Zigzagging down the hall, through the inky black, firing conservatively to not reveal his position too often.

It was not enough, though. There were too many of them. These were not droids. He had a single blaster and no armor. Even picking up a second from a stunned trooper, it was difficult to handle two DC-15s at once. These were heavier and more unwieldy than his DC-17s. Still, he had to keep trying. He had to.

He was not as nimble as he used to be, and one Commando managed to hit something- his prosthetic arm. It short-circuited, dropping one of the blasters, sparking with electricity. Not only was he down an arm, but it was also a source of light that would reveal his location.

Still, he fought, dodging an onslaught of stun rings to make his way to the next door, firing four shots, downing three. When he tried to make his next move, though-

The stun bolt connected with his prosthetic leg. Now it was useless, and he was dragging it along like he had Crosshair’s body. The electric shocks were getting into his flesh, and it hurt. He imagined that electric shock torture felt similar to this. So, not only was he in even more pain, he was going to be defeated.

This was most unpleasant. 

He managed to get to the next blast door. Holding his ground was all he could do now- he literally could not move fast enough to get to the next one. He would have to take them out from here.

He managed to down three more troopers, then realized all too late that one Commando a few doors down had woken up. He felt the arm reach for the blaster-

Tech heard the stun, but he did not feel himself go unconscious.

Faintly, through the light of the other stun bolts, he could see-

Crosshair.

Barely dragging himself along, Tech observed, turning to continue firing. He had picked up a blaster and was- well, he was helping. Stun shots from far behind him zoomed out, hitting more troopers. It was dark, and he was injured, and still, his brother did not miss.

When enough of them were mowed down, Tech listened out to the rest of the facility. Three more squads were approaching. They were not yet at the ray shields. He had to act  now,  or they would be doomed- Crosshair or no Crosshair, that would simply be too many.

Now was the time to make his move.

Dragging his leg felt like fire being shot up his veins, but he advanced. He didn’t duck for cover- he didn’t have to. Crosshair was laying down cover fire.

Finally, the last trooper fell, and he limped his way to the shield terminal. Quickly, he tapped the controls, squinting to make sure he was hitting the right buttons. He couldn’t sense which button was correct, they weren’t organic forms. 

No matter, he found a button and turned on the ray shield closest to him. This gave him enough cover to work on the rest of them, and the light to do it by. Down the hall, he could tell that Crosshair had slumped against a wall. 

Getting to manipulate technology to his will again felt good. Successfully programming the shields to stay up and reject all keycards but his own felt even better. This was what he was made for. He was not failing. He could and would succeed at his current objective.

Once the shields were secure, he half-ran, half-limped down the hall, disabling panels to close blast doors, and re-stunning the unconscious troopers.

Finally, he reached his brother, kneeling to his slumped form. “Crosshair?” he prompted, voice low and level.

A weak noise, no words, but he felt his brother’s arm wrap around his shoulders.

Supporting only most of Crosshair’s weight now, the pair slowly made their way down the rest of the hall, finishing the route to the medbay, pausing here and there to allow Tech to cut off other access points. There was another set of ray shields near the medbay that he programmed to his will. 

None of this would stop the troopers. It would only slow them down. However, he knew that they weren’t escaping. They could not escape. They did not have enough information.

They entered the medbay, Tech flinging out his blaster at the lifeforms. Same blindingly white walls, but the room was now cluttered with an array of lab equipment. Machines beeping, tubes hanging from them, at the ready, and empty examination tables with straps hanging off them. Neatly arranged beakers lined a table against the wall, the glass containers shining in the stark light. The bed he had been treated in earlier was in a corner, holding a few gray crates rather than a patient. All of the equipment was pristine white and imposingly sterile. The whole room felt cold. Impersonal. Unmistakably Kaminoan. 

He scanned the room, both with his eyes and his enhanced senses. No troopers. Just Dr. Karr and-

Nala Se.  No mistaking it. He could recognize that long-necked scientist anywhere.

“Hands in the air,” Tech ordered.

The pair complied, stepping away from the white table they had both been hovering over. On it, he observed a-

A clone. A reg, it appeared. Unconscious, wires and tubes in his arms.

As much as he wanted to, he could not currently inquire about it. Crosshair had gone limp in his arms, unconscious again.

“Help me get him to a surgical pod,” Tech said, keeping his voice level and firm. Narrowing his eyes at the pair. He would not hesitate to shoot them, and he hoped that much was clear.

Evidently, it was, as Emerie moved to assist him in carrying Crosshair’s motionless form to a nearby pod. He was laid out, and Tech leaned over the control panel to calibrate it, keeping the blaster close. He only had one arm right now, but he would be able to sense their movements fast enough to pick the blaster back up if needed.

“You would do well to tell me your plans, Tech,” Emerie said calmly, behind him. “You have me at gunpoint, and I am a capable medical professional.”

“I will continue to withhold that information,” he responded curtly, continuing to press buttons. He knew how to work a surgery pod, and the programming to perform an extraction of a foreign object from a brain was easy to punch in. He finished his calculations, looked them over one last time on the small screen, then pressed the button to begin.

The table moved smoothly into the pod, and he could see the machine begin working, laparoscopic tools jutting out and beginning to prod at his brother’s head. A needle injected a sedative into Crosshair’s jugular. If the sedative feature had not been operational, Tech may have been forced to stun him- which could cause more damage to the device in his brain. Luckily, if he was able to destroy it with a well-placed fist, that meant it was not embedded very deep.

Now, all there was to do was wait. If he listened out, he could hear the troopers waking up, slowly making their way through his obstacles. They were presently too far away, and unlikely to breach the medical bay until the procedure was complete. That was all that he needed.

He took the time to observe. Oddly, there were no cameras visible in this room. Feeling out, he could not find an electric pulse that mirrored the cameras in the hallways. That meant that whatever happened here might just go undocumented, other than by the word of his hostages.

Speaking of which, seeing as he had time-

He turned around slowly, pointing the blaster. Nala Se and Emerie had remained in their previous positions, hands raised. 

“We seem to have a bit of time on our hands. I suggest a small chat,” he said, the business end of the blaster indicating that it was not merely a suggestion.

“Whatever you learn, I will report back to Doctor Hemlock,” Emerie said, still sounding perfectly calm. “Adjustments will be made to make sure that anything you learn loses value rapidly.”

Her heart rate betrayed her. She was afraid.

“Why is Nala Se here?” Tech began.

Nala Se. Head scientist of Kamino. She was supposed to be dead. 

It made sense she wasn’t- she was talented. Whatever was happening here, her mind was a valuable asset. However… it was worth pondering if she would willingly comply with the Empire. She was a cruel being, unflinching and uncaring towards those who suffered at her hand, but the Empire had destroyed her home. At the very least, if she didn’t know about the destruction of Tipoca City, there was no way she would have come here willingly. She only cared about herself. Why would she help them of her own free will? 

She looked the same as the last time he’d seen her. Same clothes, same large black and gray eyes. She didn’t appear injured. How were they getting her to work?

Emerie’s brows furrowed. “Do you really require an explanation? Why do you think she is here?”

“To help in your research,” Tech said. The pieces clicked in his head. He answered his own question.

The research they were doing here was advancing cloning technology.

Why? To what end?

He had to choose his questions carefully. He only had so much time- fifteen minutes, by his calculations.

However, he could be quite intimidating. He could procure the answers he desired. He would not have another opportunity to ask.

He backed Emerie up against a wall, pointing the gun directly at her neck. “You will tell me the purpose of the research here. You are advancing the cloning technology- why?”

The heightened senses weren’t needed to tell how hard her heart was beating. Still, her tone remained level.

“You will not shoot,” she said.

He didn’t have time for this. He lowered the blaster, pulled it back a bit, then fired into her arm.

It was not set to stun.

She yelped, grabbing at her wound. He could feel her pain, could hear the plasma cauterizing the wound. 

He did not have time for this. This was his only chance to get answers. He was already going to face consequences for this situation. The additional risk was acceptable. He wouldn't kill either of them- there was no reasonable benefit to doing so- but he felt no remorse for giving Emerie some incentive to answer his questions. Not only that, but she had likely been complicit in Crosshair's torture. Getting shot in the arm didn't even come close to making up for it. 

“Do I need to repeat the question?” he asked cooly.

She shivered, taking a few gasping breaths before answering. “I cannot tell you. You might shoot me again, you may even kill me. If I am still alive and reveal those secrets, the punishment will be worse than death.”

The calm tone was gone. Her voice shook with pain and panic. Still, she maintained her bravery. This Dr. Karr was staring down the barrel of a gun, unafraid of whatever was beyond this plane. Well, she was clearly a clone.

He turned away from her, pointing the gun at Nala Se. “Perhaps you will be more cooperative?” he prompted. He couldn't see his face, but he knew it was an expression Wrecker would have described as "scary." 

She was not as calm as Emerie, but she was still Kaminoan- she spoke slowly, enunciating every word. “I would rather die than suffer the consequences. It is not me who would suffer if I told you, and I don’t think you want that person to suffer, either.”

“Who would that be?” 

Nala Se blinked, once, twice. “Omega,” she said simply.

Chapter Text

Tech thought back to the lab. When he could smell his skin burning, the volume of everything around him was unbearable. When he had just realized that he was hearing  everything  going on when he realized he could feel  electromagnetic fields.

He remembered the last thing he’d heard before losing consciousness. Something he had automatically filed away as a dream or misremembering a voice or sound. Because it could not have been real.

“Get your hands off of me!”

The accent. The childish pitch. The fervor and fear.

It could not be denied. He had heard Omega. 

“She’s… she’s alive?” he asked slowly, keeping the gun pointed firmly at Nala Se.

A nod. “She was brought here so that I would cooperate. I would advise you not to cause another scene like this… or she will suffer.”

It seemed like the world suddenly became vibrant with colors, as if he had been looking at a hologram in fuzzy shades of blue and now his vision had been restored.

Omega was alive. She wasn’t dead back on Eriadu, forgotten, with nobody left to help her. She was breathing, speaking; alive. She was here, in the same facility as him. If he was able, he could go find her right now. He might not be Hunter, her de facto parent, but he still loved her dearly. And she wasn't dead.

All of a sudden, he remembered something else.

He didn’t remember much from when he had fallen- but an image of Omega pinged into his consciousness. Her expression was panicked, eyes wide as supernovas, the image becoming smaller and smaller before disappearing. It appeared that she had witnessed him falling. Which meant that she certainly believed he was dead, just like the others.

She… likely thought she was alone. 

Dear little Omega, terrified and alone. She was strong, yes, but so small, so young. No age was too juvenile, however, to think that her whole family was dead, that she was alone again... like she’d been on Kamino…

He wanted to press them for more information on her. Find her. Extract her and Crosshair, right now.

Focus. He needed to stay in this moment. Omega was alive. Brought here to incentivize… Nala Se?

The bounty hunters who were sent after Omega. After they had rescued her from Cad Bane, the hunters stopped coming. Why did they not continue to pursue her? Had Nala Se seen the writing on the wall with the Empire’s intentions, and called them off?

What was so special about Omega that Nala Se cared about her? The scientist didn’t care about anyone. She cared about her work, about discovering the edges of what was possible, no matter the toll it took on sentient beings.

Not important. Focus. He had a limited amount of time. He could ponder these questions while he was being punished. 

“Are any other members of Clone Force 99 alive?”

He had to ask. He knew the answer. His brothers never would have let Omega be captured if they were alive to do anything about it. Even if they were still breathing, it seemed unlikely they would have taken this long to rescue her.

Nala blinked. “I know nothing of the others.”

He turned the gun to Emerie. “And you?”

Emerie’s expression was twisted in pain, sweat beading on her forehead. “I don’t know. All I know is that Omega is alive and well cared for. Now that you know she’s alive, the Doctor will make her suffer for your actions.”

Effectively, they had both told him no. Tech could not hold onto any hope of them being alive- doing so would leave him vulnerable. They were dead. It had to be accepted if he had any chance of saving Crosshair and Omega.

He shook his head, both clearing his thoughts and telling Emerie no. “I will not let her suffer another ounce of pain so long as I am still breathing.” He spoke in a low, steady tone.

He would sooner die in the most unpleasant manner imaginable than allow Omega to hurt. If she was alive… that gave him more than one thing to fight for. 

Could he find her? Could he try to escape now, once Crosshair was awake? Tracking her wouldn’t be an issue, he knew what her heart sounded like, or he could listen for her voice. However, both of his prosthetics were out of order, and he simply could not fight his way to her one-legged, much less one-legged and one-armed. There were not sufficient supplies to fix them here, and his hostages would not cooperate.

Would Hemlock, if he held them at gunpoint? No. From the few times Tech had interacted with him, he seemed to be a similar sort as Nala Se, unbothered by the pain and suffering of others. He would allow them to die if necessary. So, down two appendages with a groggy Crosshair at best, navigating parts of the facility he had never been to, outnumbered three hundred to one… no. There was no logical way to escape. Not now. 

He knew how this would end. He knew how this would end from the moment he decided to punch Crosshair. This would end with the sting of a stun ring, the feeling of his face connecting with the floor, and the fuzzy feeling of losing consciousness. He would wake up strapped to a table, watch his brother get tortured, or, if he was lucky, get tortured himself. Hemlock likely would be smart enough not to kill either of them, now with even more leverage to get Tech to work.

That is what Hemlock would believe, anyway. Of course, he would work, for now,  but Tech knew he had to get his brother out of this place eventually. He was prepared to play the long game. He would have waited much longer to help Crosshair if he hadn’t been attacked today. So, throw Omega into the mix? A child, who, more than anyone, truly did not deserve this and had her whole life ahead of her? There would be no breaking his resolve. He  would  escape. 

Their family might be broken, but it wasn’t extinct. Not yet.

He pointed the gun back at Nala Se. “What are you doing to the clone?” Tech couldn’t forget him- he appeared to be a basic reg. The standard regulation haircut, muscles defined under his gray fatigues, appeared perfectly healthy. So why was he here? 

“We are extracting some of his DNA,” Emerie piped up quickly.

Extracting DNA? They had the Kaminoan’s equipment. They didn’t need the DNA from a random clone- they would have the original Jango Fett DNA here, even if age likely degraded it. Not only that, they would not need to sedate the trooper and tie him down- this was far too elaborate for a simple extraction. 

They also had Omega. 

Hunter had made it clear to his squad that they couldn’t lie to him. His senses made him a human lie detector- he could practically smell fear. Tech, hearing Emerie’s pounding heart, the way she rushed to answer, slight fidgeting of her fingers-

“Would you like to match with me? I don’t think you need both arms,” he said coolly, pointing the blaster at Dr. Karr. “Tell me the truth.”

He fired a warning shot, careful to make sure it would land right next to her arm. Close enough to feel the heat, not close enough to burn the skin at all. Emerie let out a cry of surprise.

“You will tell me,” Tech pressed.

“He did not comply with orders. He is being… rehabilitated. Reprogrammed, if you will,” Nala Se supplied. 

“Do you not fear the consequences for Omega if you continue to talk?” Emerie asked, voice almost… panicked?

The Kaminoan blinked again. “She will already suffer consequences. Unlike you, I am fully aware of what CT-9902 is capable of. You would do well to understand that he is more powerful than both of us… even in his current state of near dismemberment.”

That would qualify as high praise by Kaminoan standards.

Dr. Karr shook her head. “I am not afraid of him.”

Even Wrecker would have been able to hear what was unsaid. I am afraid of Doctor Hemlock.

“Why do you willingly work with Hemlock, then?” Tech asked. “Fear cannot be the only reason. You are not a captive here.”

“Wherever did you get the notion that I wasn’t a captive?” She countered, staring him down blankly. “The difference between you and I is that I enjoy the opportunity to put my skills to work, and I have worked enough to earn my trust. One day, you will be smart enough to comply. It will be better for everyone if you do.”

He turned to Nala Se. “Is she your creation? I am aware she is a clone.”

A nod. “She is the first female clone. Unlike Omega, she was given accelerated aging. Like Omega, she was experimental, and intended to be my medical assistant. However, she escaped Kamino. All the rest I know is that she was arrested with him, then released with him, and now they are here.”

“Stop it!” Emerie shouted suddenly, giving the Kaminoan an almost wild look. Her panic was now obvious. “Omega is going to suffer for this. Don’t you care about her?” 

Did Emerie care about Omega? Her tone seemed to suggest that she did. Or, perhaps, she cared about her like Nala Se cared about her experiments. As property, as tokens of her talent. Either way, Dr. Hemlock was not the only person who could exploit emotion.

Tech answered for her. “Obviously, Nala Se cares about Omega, or she would not be working for you. I would postulate that you also care about her well-being. There are no cameras in this room, Dr. Karr. It is to be expected that Omega is already going to suffer for what has occurred today- however, if you care to prevent further harm, you will not reveal what has been said here.”

Emerie opened her mouth, looking indignant, but Nala Se’s voice cut her off. 

“He is correct. You know what will happen if you decide to tell him. If she suffers, it will be because of you.”

He could not decipher Emerie’s expression. Still twisted in pain, but there was something more in her eyes. Acceptance, perhaps? Understanding?

Curious. The Kaminoan had been the one to shut her up. Even in captivity, this woman managed to maintain some amount of power over others. 

“I would listen to Nala Se,” Tech said, motioning to the blaster for added effect. “It is, of course, your prerogative, if you would like a young girl to suffer.”

She sighed, then slid down against the wall, still clutching her arm. “If you are going to threaten me, may I at least treat my arm?”

“You may do so when the troopers get here and I am incapacitated,” Tech replied with a shrug.

Emerie removed her glasses and rubbed at her eyes with the sleeve on her good arm. She was exhausted and in a great deal of pain. He could still sense the throb of the black mark on her other sleeve.

Served her right.

“Back on topic,” he said firmly. “What is the purpose of... reprogramming this clone?”

Behind him, the surgical pod whirred. He spared a glance behind him- the surgical instruments were inside Crosshair’s head, working quietly. Not quite quiet to him, of course- he could hear the metal tools sliding against bone. It seemed to be functioning correctly, and judging by the sounds in his brother’s head, the surgery was nearly complete.

“Not all of the troopers here are willing,” Nala said calmly. “This facility takes in clones who disobey orders. I am ordered to wipe their memories and enhance the effects of their inhibitor chips. I do not know why; those are simply my orders.”

“Are those all of your orders?”

A blink. “No, of course not. I am here to assist in advancing cloning technology. To what end, I do not know.”

That last part rang some mild alarm bells. She was not telling the whole truth. However, he needed to pick his battles wisely- the troopers were much closer now. It was a question he could probably answer himself if he had time to think about it- and he was about to have a  lot  of time on his hands.

Likely, there was only time for one more question. It had to count. There were so many things he could ask about. Dig into Emerie’s origins, perhaps, or press more into the ‘reprogramming’ of the clone- as if he wasn’t an organic being. However… he had enough information to do some work on his own. His last question would instead be for someone who had no such privilege.

“Can… does Omega know I am alive?” 

Both women shook their heads.

Tech needed to give her something to hold onto. To know that someone was coming for her. She had to be suffering- even if not physically, she knew the others were dead. If she knew even one of them was still breathing… she would know that there was hope. That she  would  get out of here.

“Seeing as you both have the ability to speak, I am certain that one of you can inform her.”

“You hold no leverage once this room is breached,” Emerie said. “There is no reason for me to risk my safety for such a thing.”

“Do you value the fact that your arm is still attached to your shoulder?”

She shivered. 

Nala almost seemed to roll her eyes. Such an action was not physically possible, as her eyes took up too much space in her sockets to complete such a movement, but it seemed she had attempted such a gesture. “I have less to risk than Dr. Karr. Though I have not seen Omega since she arrived, I will inform her. It is the logical thing to do… she will need her spirits kept up.”

He knew how this operation would end; with him being stunned and taken away. Nala Se, it seemed, knew how the larger picture would end. Escape or death. If Omega was to be a valuable ally in such absconding, she would need to have hope. 

Why Nala cared so much about Omega’s physiological well-being, and never anyone else’s… still eluded him.

The surgical pod beeped happily. Turning to it, Tech observed that the surgery had been completed, and the table slowly rolled out, revealing an unconscious Crosshair with a small white scar on his scalp.

Giving both of the women a stern glare, he limped over to the pod. Using his senses, he checked his brother’s vitals. These senses were marvelous, if overwhelming- being able to take vitals while examining the medical waste compartment on the machine was a satisfying feat of multitasking. 

He popped out the small drawer that held the waste. Inside, protected by a biohazard waste bag, was a mess of metal parts and twisted wires, some still flashing. Gingerly, he inspected them, long fingers brushing over the mechanics. 

These parts would likely be confiscated upon his incapacitation, so it was of utmost importance he inspect them now. Though he would have liked more time to complete a more thorough assessment of the parts, he reached a swift conclusion. There was no doubt about it; this was a neural transmitter that had been embedded in Crosshair’s brain, which made him see things that were not there.

He might be appreciative of the scientific advancements of this division, but not at such a cost to organic beings. It was  depraved  to use this transmitter for such means. It almost made him sick to his stomach.

What was making Tech feel sicker, however, was the pounding electrical pulses of the advancing troopers. They were at the ray shields guarding the medbay. Once that was breached, it was just a matter of unsealing the door, and he would soon make good friends with the floor. 

He felt the hum of the shield fizzle out. He was down to seconds.

Tech grabbed the biohazard bag, tied it up, then limped through the room, around a corner where his hostages couldn’t see. He located a storage drawer holding plastoid parts. It was not his best plan, but he buried the bag under all of it. Hopefully, among the similarly colored parts, nobody would notice it. He was just returning to his spot, blaster pointing at Nala and Emerie, as the door exploded open.

The last thing he saw was the blue visors of several Commandos, but before he could even count them, the stun blast came. His vision was blue, then white, then nothing.

Time passed in phases. Glimpses, perhaps.

Tech regained some semblance of awareness at some point- only enough to register that he was on a table, a strap secured around his head. He faded out again.

Then, he heard people talking over him. He wasn’t able to make out words. Everything felt… hazy. Incorrect. Lopsided?

A twinge of sensation- a needle. 

The next thing he knew, he was being roughly hauled up by the shoulder. He didn’t have the strength to open his eyes yet. Someone shook him. Hard. Their fingers dug into his flesh.

Forcing his eyes open, he saw the blurry shape of a helmet. He must not have any glasses on… he felt his head loll a bit, his neck unable to hold it up.

“Throw him,” someone said, their tone cool and even. By the time he felt his body flying, he realized it was Hemlock.

Tech hit the wall. His head and shoulder screamed in pain- all he could choke out was a weak groan. Something didn’t feel right. He didn’t feel fully aware. It was like he was underwater, swimming through a yellow creek, his eyes slowly filling with the floating sediment.

The feeling of being lifted and thrown repeated several times. He was nearly silent for most of it, unable to even will his vocal cords to produce any noise, until finally, he croaked out a real cry of pain. A satisfied hum came from the other side of the room. Likely Hemlock, but he could not confirm that- he had shut his eyes again.

Once again, he was lifted. To say he was uncomfortable would be an understatement, but he lacked the strength to struggle. He felt like a doll, his extremities and head hanging uselessly. His body was placed on the table again, flat on his back. The sound of thick straps passing through metal mechanisms registered before the tight feeling around his ankle, waist, and head.

Tech knew he had not moved, yet the world seemed to tilt dangerously sideways as if he was going to fall. He must have made a noise of some sort, because he heard Hemlock laugh. Laugh.

The hum of an approaching droid snapped him back. The sounds increased in volume as it grew closer.

“Are you watching, CT-9904?”

There was nothing again.

Finally, Tech woke. The pain was the first thing he registered, sharp and beating throughout his whole body. The next was hazy memories, all seeming to have been viewed through an orange haze. Finally, the memories of  before  occurred to him. Crosshair lashing out. The fight. The medbay. Yes, he must have been subjected to some form of torture after that. 

He took stock of himself. Without opening his eyes, he observed that his body seemed to be intact, and likely not restrained. Most of the pain was coming from his head and flesh shoulder, and his prosthetics seemed to be sending small electric shocks up his body. Then, he noticed that his senses… had not been assaulted. The chemical must have worn off. 

He could no longer sense electromagnetic pulses, but he could tell that someone was standing near him. Hovering, even.

Finally, he opened his eyes. Light assaulting him, he pushed himself up with a soft groan.

He was in his cell, he realized, on his bed. The same all-too-familiar gray walls, the same familiar empty room…

Empty, except for his brother, standing near his bed. He still didn't have his glasses, so he couldn't read his expression, but who else could that be?

“Tech,” Crosshair said, not much above a whisper.

“That is I,” he confirmed, rubbing a sore spot on his shoulder. “How are you?”

He spoke casually, cautiously avoiding any hint of emotion. If his brother still thought he wasn’t real, it would not do well to jump to questions. Even if the surgery had worked, the psychological effects of his torment would not be completely solved. It was a delicate situation, and he did not need to upset his brother.

Though, judging by the way his brother’s face twisted into something almost akin to anguish, he had failed.

“The man who was unconscious for five days… asks me how I am.”