Chapter Text
Crosshair manages to bite back the scream building in the back of his throat as another jolt of electricity zips through his body. His breathing is laboured and slightly wet-sounding, which he recognizes distantly as concerning.
Hemlock’s voice cuts through the static of Crosshair's brain with his usual air of creepiness.
“Your tenacity is fascinating,” the doctor breathes, leaning in uncomfortably close. “I just don't quite understand why you continue to subject yourself to this.”
Crosshair seethes. “You're the one ordering this-!” He is not about to have the blame for his own torture placed on him.
Hemlock merely grins. “Oh, but, like I've told you repeatedly, all this could end if you just tell me anything you know about your squad’s whereabouts.”
“I don't believe you,” Crosshair scoffs, glaring up at the man through narrowed eyes.
Hemlock chuckles darkly, the sound disturbing enough to send Emerie shifting her weight nervously behind her superior. “Well, I can't prove it to you until then, so I suppose I’ll just have to keep going. It would be a shame to lose such a valuable asset.”
Hemlock's words trickle into Crosshair’s ears like slime and the ex-sniper has to suppress the urge to shudder. At least the doctor's face isn't so close anymore.
“I suppose I’ll let you sit and think over your options for today.” Hemlock turns to the TK troopers stationed at the ray-shield as Emerie moves to shut the electrocution machine off. “See to it that CT-9904 is returned to his cell.” The TKs nod and the doctor exits the room. Crosshair tries not to let his relief show.
Emerie gives him a pitying look as she unlocks the restraints.
“The more you resist, the worse it'll get,” she chides, purposefully stalling in removing the strap trapping his wrist.
“That's how this sort of thing works,” Crosshair snarks. “Don't say anything, they zap you or poison you so you want to say something.”
Emerie huffs, exasperated. “He can do worse to you, Crosshair.”
“What, kill me? It’d be a relief, really. Not like I’m really living here anyway.”
Emerie frowns. “But you’d die .”
“Yeah.”
“But what about your brothers? Your sister? They're out there and you'd rather die than be able to see them?”
Crosshair snarls in sudden seriousness. “I’d rather die than put my siblings through this. If telling Hemlock anything puts them in danger, I’m doing everything I can to make sure they're never brought here.”
Emerie sighs. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Of course you don't.” Crosshair ignores the flash of hurt that crosses the scientist's face as she unties the last strap holding him in place. He instead slowly slides off the platform, trying not to stumble as the world tilts around him.
The TK troopers are suddenly on either side of Crosshair, snapping binders around his wrists and roughly shoving him into a shuffle forwards. He refuses to meet Emerie’s eyes as they escort him out of the room.
—
Crosshair can instantly tell something's changed when he walks into his usual interrogation room. Hemlock looks like the cat who got the cream, a sly grin stretching across his face as he greets Crosshair a little too gleefully. “Hello, Crosshair. I trust you got some rest last night?”
“What do you want?” Crosshair growls in reply.
Hemlock’s smirk somehow grows wider. “Seems like you no longer need to make that choice anymore. Someone's already chosen an option for you.”
Dread pools in Crosshair's stomach. Even with the cryptic vagueness, he can guess exactly what Hemlock is trying to allude to. He's just not sure whether he wants to believe it.
“I’m not sure I follow,” Crosshair responds with a neutral composure, determined to not give the doctor a single ounce of satisfaction.
Hemlock doesn't seem put off by Crosshair's lack of outward emotional response. “I’ll admit, I had hoped for the whole squad, but I have the important piece I've been needing. She’ll be here soon enough.”
Crosshair has to choke down a snarl at the man. Somehow Hemlock had found a way to secure Omega, even after he risked sending them his message to stay hidden. He hopes it hadn't been because they were looking for them... but they'd never look for him, right? If they wanted him back, they would have tried to rescue him sooner...
Hemlock's voice shakes him out of his thoughts. “That’s right,” the doctor purrs with glee. “I was able to... encourage your brothers’ employer to rat them out, and everything worked out almost according to plan.”
At least there's a bright side in this osik-show. Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Echo are still out there somewhere, which means hope for Omega still making it out of here relatively unscathed. He doesn't dare think about himself, whether they would attempt to rescue him as well. If it comes to that, it shouldn't be too difficult to convince them to leave him here to rot. He doesn't deserve anything better.
“Now, the question is what to do with you.” Hemlock hums thoughtfully, Emerie tensing beside him. “I don't require your input anymore, and it'd be much easier to dispose of you now. Saves us the resources to try and keep you alive.”
Crosshair doesn't need Hemlock to tell him that he's not far from death. Every day, he returns to his cell more fatigued than before and it takes more effort than he cares to admit to even move. There's also that catch in every shallow breath, his lungs actively failing as much as everything else is. Crosshair knows that one day, his heart will simply stop from the continued abuse, or his lungs will give out, or something else. He recognizes all this with a weary sigh, void of emotion. He’d accepted this fate a long time ago. What does he have to lose?
“If I may, Doctor Hemlock,” Emerie interjects suddenly, surprising both Crosshair and the doctor in question, judging by Hemlock's minute expression change.
“Go on, Emerie,” Hemlock replies, a curious glint in his eyes.
“CT-9904 may be a good candidate for the LF project...” The female clone fiddles with her datapad nervously, in an achingly familiar motion, though Crosshair quickly banishes any and all thoughts of Tech from his mind. “We've been looking for a suitable candidate for the next stage, and I believe re-assigning him will be more beneficial than decommissioning.”
Hemlock appears taken aback at the suggestion, but he recovers well. “I suppose you're right,” the doctor concedes after a moment. “Thank you, Doctor Karr, for your input. I’ll allow you to oversee the next phase of the LF project, and you are to begin the transfer process as soon as possible. I will see that the re-assignment is made.”
Emerie nods in acknowledgement at Hemlock, who then turns and leaves, though not without throwing a “Seems like you continue to serve a purpose,” over his shoulder as the ray shield hums back on.
Emerie moves to face Crosshair, though she freezes in her tracks when he snarls. He thought it'd all finally be over, that he didn't have to worry about being poked and prodded anymore, that he could just close his eyes and let go, but no. Emerie just had to butt in and-
“I’m sorry, Crosshair.” The scientist’s eyes are softened with remorse, though her next words are firm. “I can't just let you die.”
“Since when did you care?” Crosshair hisses, attempting to mask his despair in anger. Judging by Emerie’s pitying expression, he hasn't succeeded.
“Believe it or not, I do. You need to stay alive long enough to reunite with your siblings.”
“You and I both know I’m not surviving for much longer. How do you know that I won't be dead by time they arrive? If they arrive.” Which they won't. At least not for him.
“That’s precisely why I had you reassigned to this new project. I can't explain the details of it now, but I will make sure you are reunited with your siblings.”
Crosshair narrows his eyes, but he can't stop the tiny flare of hope in his chest. Maybe he does have a chance.
—
Crosshair is going to kill Emerie the next time he sees her. This is not his definition of a second chance.
Just as Emerie and Doctor Hemlock discussed, Crosshair was reassigned to the new project the next day, though the process didn't require him until a few months. Or at least, he thinks it's a few months later. It's hard to tell with no chrono or window nearby and only mealtimes and fresher breaks to signify time passing.
Despite being an experiment, he was left mostly alone for that time, and he only ever saw any scientists when they were taking DNA samples from him. He hadn't seen Omega at all, either, though Emerie provided needless updates about the young clone’s wellbeing whenever she visits.
He's finally relieved of the monotony when the guards wake him one day and escort him to a lab he's never seen before. It's not much of a relief though.
Emerie is there to greet Crosshair when he arrives and directs him and the TK troopers surrounding him to an ominous-looking machine. He's pressed onto a bed extending out of a large cylinder, designed to encase his body when the cot retracts. There's also numerous wires with pads on the ends that Emerie and an assisting scientist attach to various locations of his body: all the major joints of his limbs, his chest and stomach, the sides of his head, and even his hands. They at least give him some semblance of privacy by allowing him to remain clothed below his waist, though baring his abdomen whilst immobilized still makes his skin crawl.
“The process should be relatively painless,” Emerie explains as she adjusts the straps holding his ankle in place. “We'll be transferring your life force into another body, LF-04. We have only transferred life forces of human or humanoid sentients to smaller forms, but we're confident that we've made the correct adjustments to compensate.”
None of what Emerie says eases Crosshair's worries, but he nods along anyway. It's not like he has any choice in the matter.
“Are we ready to proceed?” Emerie moves into position at the screen mounted on the machine, looking to her partner for confirmation. When she receives it, she presses a button on her screen and the bed begins moving. He's about to prepare himself to tune everything out when he feels the pull of anesthesia dragging him under. The last conscious thought he has before he slips below the haze is how he wishes this wouldn't be the last time they thought to use proper sedatives.
—
The first thing Crosshair recognizes when he regains consciousness is that his body feels weird. He supposes this is probably a normal side effect to having what is essentially his soul transferred between bodies, though Crosshair realizes that he was never told what his new body looks like...
He opens his eyes hesitantly and has to squeeze them closed again at how bright the room is. He probably should have anticipated this — lab lights have always been bright, and his eyes haven't adjusted to it yet — but he's annoyed nevertheless. He'd like to get a good idea of exactly what's going on before he can relax at all.
When his eyes feel like they aren't actively on fire, he chances cracking them open again, relieved to find his eyes react a little less. It's still bright, but that's just the side effect of enhanced vision. That his new body still has. He's relieved that at least that, his most useful trait, has been preserved.
The relief subsides instantly, however, when he notices how big everything looks. He doesn't feel any restraints on him, but that and the fabric of his clothes have been replaced with a soft sensation on his skin. And then there's all the strange new sources of sensory input he swears weren't there before. He looks at his surroundings, noticing he's been contained in a square room, with one of the walls replaced with a blue containment shield.
And then, Crosshair looks down to his hands and sees paws instead.
Now, Crosshair likes to think he can keep a level head in even the worst situations, a necessary skill as the squad's on-paper medic and as a soldier in general. But he thinks he should be cut some slack when he freaks out because they turned him into a kriffing tooka .
He's definitely going to have Emerie’s head for this.