Star Wars © Lucasfilm
CT-33-7641 was different from the other clone cadets.
This had been made obvious to him the first time he had approached a group of cadets, and the sneers and disgusted - and even horrified - expressions stayed quite doggedly at the front of his thoughts. He looked different from every other cadet he'd ever seen, having lighter skin, a smaller and thinner frame and a facial structure different from the rest of the cadets.
One cadet had even claimed that he wasn't a "real" clone, whatever that meant. CT-33-7641 kept to himself as much as he could, but the cadets seemed to take undue pleasure out of tormenting him.
He'd lost track of how many times he had food flung at him or, worst of all, whenever his brethren would trip him while he was carrying his food. CT-33-7641 had cried the first time a cadet, named Raze, tripped him, his food and tray slamming to the ground amidst uproarious laughter from Raze and his batchmates.
His brethren had no call to treat him so rudely just because he didn't share the same looks - he had hardly said anything more than a "hello" to the cadets he met - but they did, and the Kaminoans didn't care enough to step in and intervene. Not that CT-33-7641 wanted the Kaminoans to intervene, but the apathy the cloners exhibited only encouraged the other cadets to pick on CT-33-7641 more.
CT-33-7641 hated that his looks, which made his presence notable amongst the thousands of same faces and expressions, drew so much attention and anger towards himself. He would do anything to blend in with his brothers, to share their features and their friendships, but he had been made this way by the Kaminoans. He didn't know why the Kaminoans had made him to be so different from his brethren, what their reasoning or plan was behind creating CT-33-7641 as they had - all he knew was that the Kaminoans seemed to watch him more closely than any other cadet he knew.
He didn't like it. His skin crawled whenever he felt the emotionless gazes of the cloners boring into his skin. They watched him as if he was a particularly interesting insect, or a potentially juicy piece of news on the holonet. Though CT-33-7641 was young - five and a half years old, when the accelerated aging was taken into account - it was clear to him that the Kaminoans didn't see him, or his brethren, as living beings.
They were either weapons or a means of power for the Kaminoans. He wasn't entirely sure of their motive, but it wasn't much of a stretch for CT-33-7641 to theorize that it wasn't anything simple.
Which only made him question his defects further.
His looks weren't all that differentiated himself from the other cadets, though those traits were the most outright obvious. His brain was "different" from the rest of the cadets - at least that's what he'd overheard Nala Se and Sullo Pria discussing during one of his fitness tests. He wasn't sure what the two Kaminoans meant by "different", but he had suspicions.
He'd marked down everything he did compared to his brethren, and had come up with a list of irregularities that he did not see in any other cadet. As he saw it, the more he knew was different about himself, the more he could prepare and change so that he didn't stand out so starkly compared to the other cadets.
But the list kept growing in aberrations with each and every cycle that passed and, as his classes and lessons increased in tone and intensity it got harder and harder to hide his… defects.
The teachers demanded he always look them in the eye when he answered their questions, but he couldn't. He tried - he really tried - but he could only maintain that direct eye contact for a few seconds before he had to jerk his gaze away, skin crawling and heart thudding with anxiety. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand looking into another living being's eyes, and no Kaminoan book or data stream explained the reasoning behind such… abnormal behavior.
Almost from the moment he'd been able to walk, his hands had to be occupied, be it with a datapad or an object - something had to be there, in his hands and movable, workable, to keep his thoughts and mind focused. He enjoyed the practical, hands on classes best of all, for he could hide his need for occupied hands with whatever the class was working on for that day. Sullo Pria had made him sit still without a datapad in sight for six hours straight only five cycles ago, and it had been literal torture.
His mind had been unusually jittery since that test, too many unfocused and random thoughts swamping his brain at one time, and his leg kept bouncing since that lab test erratically. And Sullo Pria's impassive face - from the few times he chanced a look towards her - had not helped his thoughts. He knew he had failed whatever test she had been running, and CT-33-7641 hated failure, especially in the physical and mental evaluations the Kaminoans made him endure.
He'd been negatively marked for interrupting in class multiple times, and had even been barred from his starship mechanics class when he'd corrected the teacher on the hyperdrive capabilities of the Naboo fleet. He'd attempted to file a complaint - it was irresponsible of him to not, considering that his class was being fed incorrect information - but the Kaminoans detested any of their creations, as Sullo Pria had spat, upstanding the unrivaled intelligence of Kaminoans, and had been vehemently denied and punished.
He'd learned his lesson after the Kaminoans had forced him into a reconditioning simulation as punishment, a simulation they seemed to have programmed specifically to hurt him whenever his mind wandered from the simulation's purpose. CT-33-7641 still had scars from where the electricity had scorched his arms and torso, living reminders of how wrong he was.
CT-33-7641 was wrong. He was different. Abnormal. Strange.
In short, he stood out like a sunny day on Kamino, and no cadet let him forget it.
CT-33-7641 poked at the food on his tray with his fork, rolling the shapeless form that was supposed to be food around with a sigh. He always sat in the furthest corner of the cafeteria, his back to the wall and eyes glued to his tray. No one ever sat near him unless it was Raze and his pack looking to bother him; but he felt safer with his back guarded.
A snicker, cold and laced with venom, jolted his gaze away from his tray and to the left of his position, where Raze and four cadets were marching towards him. All four were staring at him and smirking, their words pointedly loud as they approached his table.
Raze, with his hair cut into a swept back fade and a scar across his cheek, looked the way he acted. CT-33-7641 thought Raze to be almost mindless in his obsession with violence - Raze always had to be pulled off cadets in sparring classes, his fists bloody and teeth bared like a nexu - though he never would say that to Raze's face.
Wary at their approach, CT-33-7641 stiffened and cautiously lowered his fork to his tray, freeing his hands for the fight he assumed Raze would start. His heart started to pound as Raze and his pack slowed before his table, and already he could feel nervous sweat forming on his back.
"Hey there, Freak," Raze chortled, "have any interesting factoids for class today? Going to lecture us about acklay mating rituals or sarlacc digestion this time?"
The urge to respond almost choked CT-33-7641 - acklays were extremely interesting creatures - but he bit it back and kept his eyes glued to the table. He knew he was being baited by Raze as an excuse for the cadet to beat him up, but he wanted so badly to answer Raze.
Instead, though, CT-33-7641 shook his head and kept his gaze glued on the slab of colorless food that was suddenly looking very tantalizing. He gulped down his fear, briefly looked at Raze, then spoke, his tone quiet and placating. "Please do not call me 'Freak', I am CT-33-7641. Not Freak."
Raze rolled his eyes and laughed, the members of his pack cackling as their leader leaned on CT-33-7641's table and moved until Raze was close enough that CT-33-7641 could feel the other cadet's breath on his face. CT-33-7641 flinched as Raze's hot, stinky breath wafted over him, his nose curling in disgust at the stench.
"The Kaminoans distribute dentifrice to all clone cadets, have you thought of using yours?" The words slipped out of his mouth before CT-33-7641 could stop them, his eyes widening as Raze's mouth twitched visibly with unbridled fury.
Before CT-33-7641 could react, Raze's fist slammed into his face, snapping his head into the wall behind him. Pain burst through his skull as fire raced up from his nose and jaw, and the taste of copper on his mouth was indisputable. He grit his teeth and rubbed at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt then, with unsteady legs, stood up.
His vision was swimming, a mix of stars and dizziness, but his legs finally stopped wavering, steadying his body as he shot Raze a hooded glance.
Raze was arguing with his pack, their heads bowed together like a scheming pack of anoobas, their voices clipped and charged with anger. One cadet kept turning his head to glare at CT-33-7641, a pointed smile growing ever more with teeth and hate each time the cadet glanced towards him.
The five voices blurred and wavered, a mix of indistinguishable pitches and flares, until one voice became clear over all the others.
It was smug, coated with a coolness that he recognized instantly from his Galactic Republic history and government class - Timber. Timber rarely spoke in class and seemed almost uninterested in talking with Raze and the rest of his buddies during cafeteria breaks, but that had not stopped Timber from picking on CT-33-7641. The cadet never went after him when Timber was traveling around with Raze, he waited and struck when there was only CT-33-7641 around to see - to feel Timber's fists in his ribs, his feet stomping on his legs and kicking him in the face, and his hands yanking at his arms until they were sore for days afterwards.
He was afraid of Raze, but Timber terrified CT-33-7641.
"You'll be doing all of us a favor by stomping his lights out, Raze," Timber hissed, sounding more like a nexu than a clone when he did, "but I'd be happy to add to his lesson on backtalk."
Timber's blurry face sneered down at him before he felt the collar of his shirt get yanked up, and his feet were lifted completely off the ground. He thrashed in Timber's grasp, desperation chilling his body as if he had been doused in ice, legs kicking wildly-
Timber slammed his back to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs as much as it paralyzed his body with fear. The small clone could do nothing but turn his head away as Timber slammed his fists into his body, over and over and over.
His body was numb when he finally passed out, the tug of unconsciousness and his broken body claiming him into sleep.
He awoke to the cold feeling of tile beneath his cheek. Blearily, the small cadet opened his eyes and glanced around, noting with an anxious heart that he was still in the cafeteria. And, judging from the dimmed lights and lack of sound, he was the only one still in the cafeteria.
His body protested loudly when he reached for the nearest table's bench, his chest screaming as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. He wavered in place for a drawn out moment, his stomach twisting like the ocean currents of Mon Cala, before CT-33-7641 felt his stomach settle and his vision straighten.
It was obvious from the fire that continued to curl up from his nose that his nose had been broken and, when he hesitantly touched his ribs, he jerked back and bit out a pained breath. Broken.
Timber had made his statement very, very clear.
A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it, and he could do nothing to stop the way his lower lip quivered as his thoughts cycled through each strike of Timber's fists. He knew he shouldn't have mocked Raze, but he couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The sound of the cafeteria's door sliding open - and the sudden flood of bright light from the hallway outside - startled CT-33-7641. Thinking that Raze and Timber had decided to come back, he scrambled under the nearest table and, carefully, peeked out to see who had opened the cafeteria door.
It wasn't Raze or Timber, or any of the rest of that pack, but an older clone - likely a first generation clone, judging from his features - who was looking around the cafeteria with a studious eye. When the clone's gaze turned to where he was hiding, CT-33-7641 pulled himself as close to the table's leg as he could and shivered.
He didn't want to be found, didn't want the older clone to see that he was crying, and he most definitely did not want the clone to ask about his broken nose and the bruises he knew were discoloring his skin.
Please go away, he urged the older clone in his mind, body tensing further as the clone took a few steps into the cafeteria.
"Anyone in here? It's 2200 and long past time for anyone to be stealing snacks, let alone be wandering around after curfew. Come on out," the clone's words were harsh, and each syllable bit at CT-33-7641's skin like a vibroblade.
Finally, after what felt like an entire cycle, the clone exhaled and left, the cafeteria door sliding shut behind him. CT-33-7641 let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding, his rigid stance slumping as he buried his face against his raised knees.
His small frame was shaking as tears slipped unbidden down his cheeks, his sobs echoing hollowly through the empty cafeteria. Sleep never came to him that night and he noticed not the passage of time, not even when the first stream of cadets appeared for breakfast the next morning.
"Welcome to firearms training, men," the dark gray Nautolan trainer snarled as she paced in front of CT-33-7641 and the rest of his batch, her red tendrils looped over one shoulder, red eyes snapping to each cadet in turn as she spoke, "I am Rax Frenatum, and I am your designated trainer in gunnery.
"From me, you will learn how to handle each and every type of rifle, pistol, blaster or heavy gatling that shall be your only friend on the battlefield. You will learn how to field strip and service your weapon until you can clean it in your sleep. Each of you will be able to hit your target accurately and with swift precision, and I will demand excellence from each of you."
Rax's eyes hovered over CT-33-7641 for a moment that lasted far too long before, with a relieving exhale of pressure, the Nautolan's gaze turned away from him. He watched as she dictated rules and expectations from the class, then passed out a DC-15A blaster rifle to each cadet.
"You will be learning how to service your weapons first," Rax explained as she handed CT-33-7641 his rifle - to which he said a soft thank you - then moved back to the front of the class of cadets.
They were stationed in one of the many shooting ranges in Tipoca City, and CT-33-7641 could not help but to steal glances around the range. He had never been to one of the ranges before and everything was so… so new, it almost made his head pound. There were advanced laser sensors that read the velocity of each blaster shot, and then calculated how much force and damage the intended target would take. He thought he'd even seen a computer with hundreds of simulated targets - droids, beasts, humanoid beings and so much more - that he was desperate to get his hands on. He could just imagine the information contained in the shooting range's computer-
"CT-33-7641?" The sound of his number, spoken with surprising calm and gentleness, dragged him out of his train of thought and back to Rax. The Nautolan was looking at him, her eyes narrowed fractionally as she lowered the rifle she was holding to her side. "Are you alright?"
Every cadet in class turned towards him, their expressions a blur he could not read, and quickly he jerked his head down and nodded.
"Yes, sir," he whispered, eyes skittering as he stared down at the rifle before him, embarrassment flaring through his body and coloring his cheeks. He hated being called out in classes when he did not voluntarily seek it, least of all for the looks and stares and mutters he knew his brethren would be sending him.
He knew Rax was watching him - and likely debating whether she could trust his answer - even as she continued to explain about rifle mechanics. At times, the Nautolan fielded questions towards the class, of which CT-33-7641 answered every single one, until it came time for practice. Rax ordered every cadet to a specific section of the firing line, then demonstrated how to fire the DC-15A.
The Nautolan trainer moved with surprising speed, drawing her rifle from its sling then to her shoulder and firing within only a few seconds of time. CT-33-7641 couldn't help but gape in awe at the trainer as she holstered her rifle then signaled to the cadets to approach the firing line.
"I don't expect any of you to be the world's best shot on your first day using a rifle. I want all of you to feel comfortable first, so take all the time you need before firing. Your targets," here Rax pointed down range to the targets, "are center of mass for now. You may begin when ready."
CT-33-7641 stared at the DC-15A in his hands, almost uncertain at the feel of the weapon in his hands, then turned to stare down the range at his target. His target had no clear form, not that he could tell, but he could see the circle of center mess waiting for him to test his rifle out.
Just aim for the center and breathe. You'll be fine, no one but Rax is watching. You can do it.
Waves of anxiety coursed through his body as he raised the rifle and aimed its muzzle downrange, sighting down the barrel to the chest of his target. He took a steadying breath once, then fired.
He had read about the recoil on blasters and rifles but no amount of reading could have prepared him for the sheer force that tore from the rifle when he fired. The stock rammed into his shoulder and staggered the small cadet, his feet tripping over themselves-
Warm hands steadied CT-33-7641 before he could fall, the touch drawing his gaze up to the red eyes of Rax looking down at him. The trainer's touch was intended to be gentle, that much CT-33-7641 could tell, but… He felt like his skin was crawling where the Nautolan had touched him, his shoulders hunching inwards as he stared down at the ground, mortified.
Rax's hand suddenly vanished from his shoulder, an absence that made the tightness in his chest lessen. Too many times for his taste had hands and fists been placed upon him, and never in a kind manner, so much so that CT-33-7641 hated any physical touch.
But then Rax's voice came soft and gentle as the Nautolan kneeled down beside him and, with almost seemingly purposeful intention in not touching him, she readjusted the DC-15A in his hands. "My first rifle knocked me down multiple times before I got it right. I do not understand why the Kaminoans insist on training the cadets on the DC-15A first, but they do."
"It was an accident," CT-33-7641 lied as he jerked away from Rax, not wanting the rest of the cadets to see that their trainer was spending more time with him than the others, "I didn't calculate the force of the recoil properly. That is all. I am fine."
Rax's head turned towards him slowly, her red eyes narrowed, but the trainer said nothing as she nodded and stood up. "Keep practicing then, cadet."
CT-33-7641 stared after Rax and blinked, jaw working tightly before he approached his shooting position once again. He glanced in the direction of Rax, who was talking with one of the louder cadets of his batch, then looked away. A shaky breath escaped from his lungs before the small clone aimed his DC-15A down range and fired - and was once again almost knocked off his feet by the recoil. And each shot he fired followed suit, the stock slamming him backwards even as he tried different positions to try and brace the rifle.
His chest tightened as a strange, overwhelming feeling of shame clawed at his insides, reopening the wounds he'd hastily repaired after his last run in with Raze and his pack. CT-33-7641 knew he was a failure - he'd been told he was a failure enough times to affirm his own deepest fears - and a quick glance to his brethren, all of whom seemed to be firing their rifles with ease, only helped confirm it.
Every clone knew that their sole reason for existing was to fight in a war that some Jedi had, from what he'd overheard from the oldest batch of clones, foreseen. They were supposed to be soldiers, ready to fight and die for a cause none of them had ever seen, and he couldn't even fire a rifle without falling over.
If he failed in gunnery class, he knew he'd be decommissioned. It wouldn't be the first time he'd failed a physically demanding class or exam - no, his records showed a litany of failures. His small frame had never been as durable as his brethren's, with his shorter legs and lack of stamina.
His medical records, which he'd downloaded after Raze had beaten him up six weeks ago and forced him into intensive care for a week, told the story of his weak body - in a lengthy dissertation of thirty pages of records. CT-33-7641 had been sickly from the moment he'd been decanted, suffering from colds, headaches, and an entire stint in intensive care only two months from the date of his decanting because his lungs had become severely infected with tuberculosis.
He was a walking medical record and he could not fathom why the Kaminoans had not decommissioned him yet. His medical records were quite unhelpful, mentioning only of his heightened intelligence, superb memory and his spliced molecular structure. That had given him pause, and he'd had to reread the long paragraph multiple times before he understood what it had meant.
Subject CT-33-7641 was two months into development when his DNA began to rapidly degrade. It is believed that the enhancements in intelligence and memory, applied for testing of the EC Protocol 8, had severely impacted the original donor's DNA.
Geneticist Ka Brarti suggested splicing CT-33-7641's DNA with a different template's DNA, in an effort to stabilize and strengthen the original template he had been produced with. The experiment of splicing worked to stabilize and prevent any further degradation of the original template's molecular structure; the subject will need to be monitored closely after decanting to ensure that the splice remains true, and the intended strengthening of the brain will survive through the splice.
His development is under the jurisdiction of psychologist Ke Bril, and all changes in CT-33-7641's condition or mental aptitude must be reported immediately.
You are a freak, is what he understood it to mean. He wasn't a true genetic copy of the clone template, Jango Fett, but a hybrid between that template and a different one entirely. It explained why he looked so different from the rest of his brethren but, in the parts of CT-33-7641 that were always negative and angry and dark, the medical record only opened more questions.
What was the meaning of EC Protocol 8? Why did the Kaminoans enhance his intelligence? What were they seeking? And, his heart practically constricted within his chest, had the Kaminoans intentional tampering of his molecular structure affected his development, and not just in a physical manner?
The symptoms were laid out on the third page - after every documented hospitalization and numerous illnesses that had plagued him since his decanting - all labeled so matter of factly, emotionless and unfeeling, under a disorder that read as coldly as the Kaminoan culture.
Subject CT-33-7641 exhibits a concerning level of symptoms in social skills, communication and patterned behaviors. Ke Bril reports that the subject remains uninterested in playing or interacting with the other cadets, even after repeated attempts at reconditioning.
CT-33-7641 refuses to hold eye contact, and demonstrates extreme sensitivity to physical touch - as evidenced during a disaster response simulation, in which the subject refused simulated medical aid from CT-22-8007 and acted out when he was offered comfort from CT-22-8007's medical assistant, CT-24-6752.
Ke Bril reports that CT-33-7641 seems incapable of focusing during classes unless he has an object in his hands to work on - testing shows that the subject focuses best when he has a datapad for his use during class. Gli Tuno, Batch 33's Galactic Republic history and government instructor, reports that CT-33-7641 is fully capable of remembering everything taught in class, even when the subject seems fully focused on his datapad.
Ke Bril theorizes that CT-33-7641's developmental disorder stems from his enhancements and, possibly, the DNA splice used to preserve the subject during gestation. Ke Bril admits, though, that there needs to be further testing on the subject to determine whether the enhancements were the direct cause, or if it was related to the DNA degradation.
Ke Bril will conduct further experiments and individual testing with CT-33-7641 throughout his developmental process-
A brush of fingers on CT-33-7641's shoulder, brief though they were, snapped him from his thoughts with a sharp gasp and exhale of breath. He stumbled and almost dropped the DC-15A before he whirled around and met the gentle gaze of Rax.
"Are you ready to check your target, CT-33-7641? Everyone has finished their clips and are already downrange," Rax said, her voice soft as she took the DC-15A from his hands, deactivated it and propped it against a support pillar. "Let's go see how you did, okay?"
CT-33-7641 swallowed, nervous at the idea of walking downrange alongside their trainer and the glares he would receive from the other cadets, but he finally relented and nodded. Rax bared her teeth in response, then gently tapped at his shoulder, urging him forward.
Keeping his head down so that he did not have to see the other cadets' expressions and glares, CT-33-7641 trudged down the range until he stopped in front of the target that had been designated his. He glanced up and started slightly, eyes widening as he stared at the five rings that spread out, wider and wider each time, from center mass. They hadn't been there when he'd been firing at the target, he didn't remember seeing any rings but the one for center mass but… Every single one of the shots he'd made rested on the furthest ring out from center mass, and one shot had even somehow hit the target's arm.
"I don't understand?" He muttered to himself, completely unaware of Rax standing behind him or the look of sheer worry that had darkened her face, as he hesitantly touched the target. He knew he'd aimed center mass - he had! - but he also knew that the target did not lie.
"I aimed at center mass," he was speaking too quickly, his words blurring together as he tried to find a reason for his obvious failure, "I did! I-"
"It's okay, little one," Rax's soothing voice pulled him from the well of his thoughts, centering him enough that he could tell he was shaking and-
Oh, Force.
He was crying. In front of his gunnery trainer. How utterly mortifying.
Quickly, with a hint of desperation, CT-33-7641 wiped at his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He would not cry, not in front of his trainer and never in front of his brethren. Not when he knew Raze would taunt him later and beat him up for being a "pathetic excuse of a clone" in front of a trainer.
But then he realized that there were no jeers or taunts being slung his way and, almost cautiously, he chanced a glance around the range. There were no cadets around, not a single one, and the only beings inside the range were CT-33-7641 and Rax herself. And Rax was staring at his target, her expression unreadable even when her eyes shifted down to pass over his frame briefly.
"I'm sorry," he squeaked out. He was terrified of the trainer's wrath, afraid of her and the punishment he knew was coming his way, and he could do nothing but hunch his shoulders inward, stare at the durasteel beneath his feet and anxiously thread his hands together.
"CT-33-7641?"
"... yes?"
Oh, Force, she's going to hurt me. Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to miss! I was trying! I-
"Can you tell me what you see," Rax had kneeled in front of him and was pointing back to the firing line of the range, her gaze never making full contact with his own as she waited patiently for his answer, "what I am pointing at?"
CT-33-7641 blinked, then turned his gaze in the direction Rax was pointing, his eyes squinting as he attempted to make out what she was pointing at. He saw a blob of white and smiled, he knew what she was pointing at. It was obvious.
"You're pointing at the maintenance station!"
Complete silence met his words. Rax said nothing except for a sharp inhale of breath that CT-33-7641 knew was bad. He quickly ducked his head again and apologized, unsure of the purpose of Rax's question and why she'd not responded to his correct answer.
"I… you are gesturing to the maintenance station. Where cadets learn to field strip their weapons."
Right?
The sound of Rax's tendrils shifting over her shoulder and then the heavy feeling of being evaluated clawed under his skin. Sweat beaded over his skin as his breath started to hitch, his lungs heaving with fear as an unwelcome rush of anxiety slammed into him.
"No, little one," Rax breathed, "I was pointing at the poster on safety and range rules. It's nowhere near the maintenance bay…"
CT-33-7641's heart stopped. He had failed. He… he…
"Have the Kaminoans completed vision tests for you, little one?"
Why did Rax sound so angry? Was she mad at him? Mad at the clear statement of failure he'd made today? Oh, Force, she was going to make the Kaminoans decommission him or- or put him through reconditioning again. Please no, please… anything but reconditioning!
"I'm not going to let anyone decommission you, little one," Rax answered him. "Those longnecks won't be able to hurt you, I will not allow it."
Horror shot through his spine at the realization that he'd spluttered everything out loud for Rax to hear. It hadn't been the first time he'd spoken his thoughts out loud without intentionally meaning to, though Rax at least wasn't screaming at him like Ke Bril had the last time he'd spoken his thoughts out loud.
Rax's fingers brushed his back again, a brief feeling that sent jolts of electricity through his body, as the Nautolan raised herself to her feet and let out a deep exhale of breath. "Come with me, please? I want the optometrist to get a good look at your eyes. I'm worried about your vision. I know you are fully capable of firing a rifle, but this… Just come with me, please?"
CT-33-7641 looked up at Rax, uncertainty warring within his chest. If he followed her, he'd likely be forced to sit down and undergo another rigorous round of tests, blood draws and worse. But if he didn't follow the trainer? Would she tell the Kaminoans he'd disobeyed and force their hand in decommissioning him?
He didn't like either choice but, with a final look at Rax - who still looked angry and yet worried and concerned and gentle, all at the same time - as she waited for him, he nodded. Rax let out a sigh of relief before she led him out of the shooting range, down numerous too bright halls, past many clones and Kaminoans, until they reached a sterile, white door stenciled with the Aurebesh words of Pal Ki / Optometrist.
Rax looked down at CT-33-7641, nodded, then knocked on the door - hard.
CT-33-7641 jittered beside Rax, gaze snapping between the gunnery trainer, the door, and the hallway. He didn't want to be here, to be inspected like a piece of meat while Rax watched, but he also knew that he'd be in even more trouble if he left Rax's side. She seemed to tolerate him currently but who knew how she'd treat him if he ran off?
Finally, the door opened, revealing the tallest Kaminoan CT-33-7641 had ever seen, adorned with a cloak and a- a smile? Kaminoans could smile?!
"Rax! Hello there, friend!" Pal Ki, CT-33-7641 assumed, greeted as he waved for Rax and CT-33-7641 to come into his office. "What's wrong?"
CT-33-7641 hesitated outside the door until Rax nodded towards him encouragingly. With a gulp, he followed the Nautolan inside and was greeted by a surprisingly warm office, decorated with posters of acklays, nexus, krayt dragons, varactyls, and a wide variety of planets. It was unlike any lab he'd been in before - there was color and even some plants decorating different spots of the office - and CT-33-7641 could not help himself but to stare curiously at the office.
He did not notice that Rax and Pal Ki were discussing him, their gazes turning to him as he walked around the office, amazed at the flora he'd read about but never seen before. He reached out to one plant and gently brushed his fingers down its stiff rosettes, wonderment filling his chest at the unfamiliar sensation.
"That's a nexu jaw succulent," Pal Ki said as the Kaminoan approached CT-33-7641's side and peered down at the plant, "I like grounding myself by touching the plants after a stressful day here. Feel free to touch any of the plants here, CT-33-7641, they won't hurt you. I made sure to get safe plants - I don't want a gulper plant eating my notes now, do I?"
"Uh," CT-33-7641 stammered as the Kaminoan peered down at him with curious eyes, "no?"
Pal Ki nodded and let out a laugh - a sound that made CT-33-7641 blink and stare at the Kaminoan. He'd never heard one of them laugh, let alone speak to him on such friendly and personal terms. It was odd, too odd.
"Rax here tells me that you need an eye exam. It won't hurt, don't worry, though the machines are weird. Are you okay if we go through an exam?"
And now the Kaminoan was asking his permission to conduct an experiment - exam - on him? CT-33-7641 shot a look towards Rax, who he found himself feeling safer around, silently begging for her opinion. Rax nodded at him and whispered a "trust him" without meeting CT-33-7641's eyes, seeming so at ease that he couldn't do anything but give Pal Ki a nod in affirmation.
Time seemed to move at razor speed as Pal Ki took CT-33-7641 through each step in the eye exam process, waiting for the cadet to calm down and reassure him that he was okay with the exam before proceeding on to the next step. At one point, Pal Ki even turned on a radio and played… music? Soft, instrumental music Pal Ki said originated from Naboo, with an accompaniment of native sounds from Ryloth's Twi'lek population. It was soothing, partnered with the steady presence of Rax and Pal Ki's friendly voice and constant stream of questions that CT-33-7641 was happy to answer, and, before CT-33-7641 knew it, his exam was over.
Pal Ki read over his findings, his smile finally shifting into a concerned look that made CT-33-7641's heart race. Maybe he was going to be decommissioned? Had Rax and Pal Ki led him into a state of ease so that they could lower his guard and-
"He's extremely nearsighted, Rax. Everything past a few inches from his nose is a blur. He's myopic, and quite severely. I don't know why the others didn't catch onto his vision problems… One moment," here, Pal Ki pulled up a datapad and flicked through it, his scowl growing once he stopped and read through something on the datapad. The Kaminoan's eyes turned towards CT-33-7641 briefly before he turned back to Rax and clenched his fists angrily.
"That's why they didn't catch his nearsightedness. Sen Devi tested him. She hates having to work with clones, she thinks they are beneath her expertise. I'm guessing she tested him in name only, and didn't even bother to actually test his visual acuity."
Rax said something in her native language that CT-33-7641 couldn't translate before the trainer nodded tersely and looked towards him. "You do have a set of glasses he can use, correct?"
Pal Ki looked towards him also, his expression unreadable, before he shook his head. "Not for the severity of nearsightedness he has. I will have to commission it specifically for him, and that will take a few days at the minimum. Until then, he's going to have to walk around without a set of corrective lenses, I'm sorry."
"Very well," Rax sighed as she approached CT-33-7641's side, where he was still sitting in the exam chair, and gave him a weak smile, "I'll escort him back to his barracks. You will submit the prescription on his medical file, right?"
"Of course!" Pal Ki almost sounded affronted by Rax's suggestion, his nostrils flaring as he stood up and placed his datapad on the counter behind him. "I am not negligent like Sen Devi, nor will I ignore a clone in need as he is. But… come see me after you return him to his barracks, okay? I… we need to talk."
Rax looked at Pal Ki as she assisted CT-33-7641 down from the exam chair, and nodded. Pal Ki let out a low breath and waved as Rax led CT-33-7641 out of the exam room, her hand hovering near his shoulder though she never made contact with him.
CT-33-7641 glanced back at Pal Ki's office one last time as Rax led him away, a feeling of wariness filling his chest as he noticed the Kaminoan watching them, his eyes narrowed with worry and his mouth set in a frown.
He had the sinking feeling that something was horribly wrong and that he, CT-33-7641, was at fault.
The sound of breathing, the steady beeps of the class' datapads and the cold pacing of Ci Nanri - the Kaminoan theories and mathematics teacher - was the only sound that dared interrupt the class of cadets. No one was foolish enough to speak whenever Ci Nanri gave CT-33-7641's class of cadets an unprompted test, for fear of the abnormally cruel Kaminoan's wrath.
CT-33-7641 had been the target of said wrath once, though not of his own doing or choice. A flush of color still rushed to his cheeks whenever he remembered how, after some very pointed and loud sounds had been made behind him by a cadet - who fancied himself unique and special enough to name himself Authentic - Ci Nanri had turned his cold eyes directly onto CT-33-7641 and glared at him. He'd tried to explain himself but all that had come out were stutters that made the cadets behind him snicker, all of which only further disrupted the rest of the class.
Ci Nanri thought that CT-33-7641 was the one at fault and, from what he'd read and studied, the Kaminoans were never wrong. He'd been punished with two cycles in an isolation cell, with no datapad to focus his mind, and left only with his thoughts.
He still had nightmares about the isolation cell - the coldness, the absolute quiet, the sheer absence of light and how he'd been stripped of the one outlet he knew of for his nervous energy. They'd even stripped him of his glasses - designed specifically to correct his poor vision and to provide him with a feeling of security he had not known until the first day he'd worn the new goggles.
It had been three months since he'd had his eye exam and last seen Rax, who had been fired days after his exam. CT-33-7641 missed the gunnery trainer and still struggled with the guilty knowledge that she had been fired because of the fact she'd cared about him. Pal Ki had informed him of her firing the day he'd delivered his glasses to him and, even though CT-33-7641 had gone out of his way to find Pal Ki, he never saw him again either.
Rax and Pal Ki had vanished, he'd gained the ability to see clearly for the first time in his life, and now he was even more under the focus of the Kaminoan scientists. He was sure Ke Bril was watching him right now from some hidden camera, watching as he stared at the datapad that held the day's exam on it.
The exam was easy, though he still took his time with each answer, biting at his tongue as he stared at each equation sitting before him on his datapad. He didn't risk looking for any cameras to confirm his theory, as he knew that Ci Nanri was likely watching him very, very closely. The better he behaved and acted, the less the Kaminoans would want to hurt him.
He finished the second to last question on the exam and was just about to submit it when the door opened and, breezing in casually, came Sullo Pria. His heart seized the instant he recognized the scientist who authorized every test conducted on CT-33-7641 - why was she here? What had he done?
He couldn't focus on his exam anymore as Sullo Pria spoke quietly with Ci Nanri and, when both Kaminoans looked directly at him, he felt his heart stop. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and didn't dare move as Sullo Pria approached his desk.
Raze and Timber, who were seated two tables before him and three to the left, both shot glares at him as Sullo Pria stopped in front of him and looked down her nose at him.
"Come."
CT-33-7641 glued his eyes to his datapad and, weakly, shook his head, "I'm not done with my exam."
Sullo Pria stared at him - her gaze was making him want to run screaming from the room, for the fire that seemed to be racing underneath his skin - and blinked. Impassive. Emotionless. Uncaring.
"You will be excused from the final problem, CT-33-7641. You have tests that need to be run."
There was no way of getting out of it, he knew that, so he only sighed and nodded as he placed his datapad to the ground and nodded without meeting Sullo Pria's gaze. "Yes, ma'am."
Sullo Pria whisked around and glided down the steps of the raised classroom's theater-like room, CT-33-7641 following behind her slowly. He could hear a number of his brethren hissing under their breath, jeers and taunts of "pet" and "freak" and "weirdo" following him out of the classroom.
His brethren thought he wanted this, that he liked the attention the Kaminoans paid him, but he hated it. He hated it so much, and would have traded with any of his regular brethren for the chance to live normally, to blend in with the crowd and not stand out.
None of his brethren could understand. They assumed, and hated him for an assumption he wanted no part of. They didn't know what it was like to be prodded weekly with needles filled with toxins and poisons, to be interrogated and tortured, made to run until his lungs bled- to be a lab rat. He was the Kaminoans' defective, strange lab rat who didn't function as they had intended him to.
Time passed in a haze as Sullo Pria hooked him up to the monitors, wires after wires that told the Kaminoans everything, and hooked him into a mental simulation. These were his least favorite, when the Kaminoans would force him to undergo situations and attempt to problem solve his way out of the simulation's impending doom.
Everytime, his head ached and screamed for days on end after, a byproduct of the hours and hours of endless mental stimulation, each simulation coming faster and faster until he had only seconds to problem solve his way to safety. The last time he'd been put under mental simulations it had lasted for sixteen hours, and he'd only been taken out of the simulation when Sullo Pria realized that his heart rate had flatlined.
He'd been stuck in intensive care for six days after that simulation, and he had been more sensitive to loud noises, bright lights and strange tastes than usual. He'd spent an entire night throwing up in the fresher in his shared barracks, long enough that he'd woken up the rest of the cadets in his barracks, and been the target of their wrath for days afterward.
CT-33-7641 let out a sigh as the simulation started, his eyes closing as Sullo Pria's voice echoed through the starting simulation.
"CT-33-7641. You are to be tested on mental aptitude and fortitude this cycle. Should you not complete each simulation within the given time of five minutes, you shall be punished. We expect the utmost best from our enhanced clones, such as yourself, and nothing less. Do not fail."
The first simulation is easy, a simple task of fixing a ship dropped prematurely out of hyperspace, but then the first one was always the easiest. The simulations almost overlap each other as CT-33-7641 figures out the solution to each problem thrown his way, a ploy Sullo Pria loves to try and trip up his concentration with.
He doesn't know how many simulations he solves, or how many hours pass, or even cycles, until he blacks out, his brain unable to process the flood of colors, images, lights and stress pouring into him from the simulation. Sullo Pria's voice barks at him to finish the simulation but he can't.
His head hurts. His thoughts are dark and sluggish, as if swimming in the deepest underwater cave, and he cannot even form a coherent sentence enough to beg for a time out. Sullo Pria wouldn't give him a time out anyways, but… but…
The simulation screams at his mind, ripping his head apart until he can taste blood on his mouth and-
He blacks out before the simulation can finish, unaware of how his heart stops and Sullo Pria scowls, unhappily activating the emergency stop button. The scientist glares at the Year Three cadet, snarls, and calls emergency services to the simulation room.
CT-33-7641 was a failure, and a mark against her own abilities. She would have to rectify that once her experiment was well enough to undergo testing again. Until then, she would have to be patient.
Sullo Pria paced in front of him, her arms ridgid as he stood ramrod straight, eyes tracking her every move - and the vibrostaff she held in her hands. Today's exam was different, Sullo Pria was acting strange. Unusual. Abnormal. Angrier then the other times.
He was…
A ding behind him from the machine monitoring his heart rate and brain waves sounded, a sharp noise of his failure. Again.
Sillo Pria turned on him and thrust the vibrostaff's electrified, blunt end directly against his chest. Electricity screamed through his body, forcing him to his knees with a cry of pain that echoed through the exam room. Sweat poured down his back as he slowly pulled himself up from the floor, right hand clutching his chest as he shot a look towards Sullo Pria.
She had been doing this… this "emotion therapy" as she described it, ever since he had blacked out and his heart had stopped months ago. This had replaced his simulation trainings, and went on just as long - though he'd take the mentally exhausting simulations any day over this torture.
His handler believed that he had failed his mental simulations because of a weakness in his personality - really, she claimed that he was too sentimental, too filled with anxiety and fear to be a successful weapon. So she shocked him every time the monitor beeped, be it for a second of nervousness or fear. Anything Sullo Pria saw as an emotion was punished.
He'd stopped crying after the first month of emotion therapy and only felt physical pain now. That old CT-33-7641 was long gone, burned away along with the emotions Sullo Pria despised so much.
She told him that she needed him ready for war, ready for his "purpose", and that Sullo Pria would not rest until he was perfect. He liked perfect. Perfect meant no more failures, no more punishments from Sullo Pria or the other instructors, but Sullo Pria continued to tell him that he wasn't perfect yet.
He was still her little failure, and she needed to fix him. And he agreed with her. He was a failure. He deserved to be punished. How else would he improve himself otherwise?
Blaster fire struck the ground near CT-33-7641 where he had taken cover, the hot spray of the stun blast missing him only by a few inches. He moved his back closer to the durasteel plating he was using as cover, then shot a glance to the rest of the cadets in the simulation with him.
Timber and Salmon, two polar opposites in personality, were arguing and gesticulating angrily near some durasteel cover a few feet behind him. Timber and Salmon both fancied themselves the leader of the simulated battle CT-33-7641 and four other clones were running. Neither could agree on tactics and had spent the whole time arguing to such a degree that the droids they were supposed to be taking out had overwhelmed them.
CT-33-7641 couldn't help but roll his eyes and flinch as another shot barely missed him. He dared a peek over his cover, noting the twenty simulation droids closing in on their position, then dipped back into cover with an exasperated sigh.
There was absolutely no way he would be able to take down everyone of the droids and capture the flag that would end the simulation. Not with his brethren arguing the whole time amongst themselves.
Idiots.
"Oh for the-" Timber roared as Salmon argued another point Timber had attempted to justify, his eyes flaming as he shot CT-33-7641 a glare. "Weirdo! You and Boom-Boom, start taking out the droids. Cinder and I will sneak around you and capture the base."
Boom-Boom, who was hiding beside Timber and Salmon, scowled as he shot CT-33-7641 a glare, obviously displeased that he had been assigned with the "freak" of the group. But the cadet nodded nonetheless and ran to CT-33-7641's spot of cover, panting heavily as he slammed down to the ground next to him.
"I'm going to start shooting," Boom-Boom hissed as the droids grew ever closer to their position, "while you draw their fire away from Timber and Cinder. Don't make us fail another simulation, okay, Weirdo?"
CT-33-7641 scowled at the name "Weirdo" but did not argue it - this was not the time. But Boom-Boom's plan? His stomach rolled, unsettled at the idea of charging out amongst the twenty droids with only Boom-Boom - who he knew was lazy and hated CT-33-7641 with a deepset passion - to cover his advance.
It was foolhardy and stupid, and so very typical of the squad he'd been assigned to. Timber and Salmon argued, Boom-Boom was lazy, and Cinder lacked any and all ability to think for himself. It was no wonder to CT-33-7641 that they had failed every single battle simulation since they had started months ago as Year Sixs.
He'd tried multiple times to get Timber and Salmon to listen to reason, to think instead of arguing, but they paid him absolutely no mind every time. He had long given up on trying to make them see reason, and almost enjoyed seeing his squad fail each time from the sheer foolishness of his brethren - but only somewhat. He was still proud and despised failure, so he'd do what he could to help his squad.
"Hello? Weirdo?" Boom-Boom's fist rapped his head, startling CT-33-7641 and forcing him to jerk away from the cadet's reach as he shot Boom-Boom a glare. "You ready?"
CT-33-7641 returned a flat stare to Boom-Boom, then nodded. "Yes, I'm ready."
Boom-Boom gave him a long look before the cadet jerked up from cover and started firing at the approaching droids. "Go!"
CT-33-7641 hesitated for a moment, still unhappy with the plan, but he couldn't leave Boom-Boom to fight the droids alone. Quickly he snapped up, his pistols in hand, and fired, taking down one droid while the second shot struck the chest plating of a second training droid. He kept firing as he charged out of cover, the sudden appearance of a real target more than enough for the impatient droids to focus all of their fire on him.
He dodged as many of the shots as he could, skidding behind another piece of durasteel cover as a shot slammed into his shoulder. Fire raced through his shoulder, pain that he had to bite away and shove down - he'd had much, much worse before - before he popped out of cover again and delivered fire towards the droids.
Boom-Boom's rifle was barking from where CT-33-7641 had originally come from, and-
Timber and Cinder were still in cover, and he could hear Salmon yelling over the gunfire from the droids, Boom-Boom's rifles, and his pistols. Unbelievable.
He was on his own again. A strange feeling sparked in his chest - a surge of something that made his chest feel hot and restricted - as he snapped up from cover and fired, pistols blazing as the droids advanced closer to his position. CT-33-7641 was a far better shot with his corrective lenses than he'd been the first day in gunnery training, and the practice droids were slow, but there were still too many-
The sound of heavy, metal footfalls behind him, along with the hiss of pistons and the slam of a rifle bolt, snapped CT-33-7641's head around. The droid behind him fired before he could defend himself, the stun blast slamming his back into the durasteel behind him, knocking the air from his lungs.
"Weirdo's down!" Boom-Boom's voice was distant, an echo through the pain that was tearing through his back.
"Forget him, move up, Boom-Boom!" Timber roared.
CT-33-7641 groaned, his vision swimming with stars as he attempted to prop himself up over the cover. His body didn't want to respond to his demands, he'd never been the sturdiest person physically, but he had to help his squad.
Perfection, Sullo Pria's voice echoed in the back of his mind, what happens when you fail to be perfect?
I get hurt?
Yes. Why?
Because it is the only way I can learn.
Correct.
By the time his legs decided to function again, though, the droids had overrun the rest of his squad and, with a loud shriek, the simulation shut down. A hollow voice informed them of their failure, an obvious fact to him. CT-33-7641 kept his head down as he trudged to the lift, passing the members of his squad without sparing any of them a glance.
Boom-Boom trudged up next to him next, his head hanging as Timber and Salmon - neither looking at each other - stopped on the lift behind CT-33-7641. Cinder, who was rubbing at his head and wincing, stopped beside Boom-Boom and let out a weak sigh before the lift descended.
A fist slammed into CT-33-7641's back just as the lift finished its descent into the training facilities armory, the unexpected hit forcing him to stumble forwards. He whirled around to face the rage filled gazes of his brethren, most notably Timber, who was shaking with rage.
"You made us fail again, Weirdo!" Timber roared in his face, his right hand twisting in the blacks of his collar before he slammed CT-33-7641 into the wall. "We are failures! All of us! Because of you! Damn you!"
"No! It wasn't my fault!" CT-33-7641 stammered. Timber was glaring into his eyes and, when CT-33-7641 tried to jerk his gaze away from Timber, the clone punched him in the jaw. Fire blazed through his mouth at the hit, a screech of pain escaping from his lungs as his teeth slammed together.
"It's always your fault!" Timber screamed, his voice hitching with a sob, and it was then that he realized that Timber was crying. Timber's eyes were red and tears were slipping down his cheeks, and his shoulders were shaking.
It didn't make sense to CT-33-7641. Timber wasn't supposed to cry - he wasn't soft or weak or defective like he was. But… the evidence was right in front of his face, shaking and sobbing, while he held CT-33-7641 immobile.
Timber dropped him to the floor, his eyes burning with rage and pain, before he turned away from him and, with a final glare back at CT-33-7641, Timber stormed out of the armory. Salmon, Cinder and Boom-Boom glowered down at him then turned and ran after Timber, shouting for their brother to wait for them.
CT-33-7641 stared after his squad as he slowly gathered himself to his feet, eyes shifting to the floor as he wiped away the blood trickling from his mouth. The sight of Timber crying was stuck in his thoughts, such a stark contrast to the Timber who bullied him and hit him and slammed him into the wall. He'd never thought the cadet who hated him so deeply was capable of being vulnerable.
He's just as afraid of being decommissioned as I am.
Are all of my brethren the same? Afraid like I am?
Unsure of his thoughts and the fact that he had allowed himself to be afraid again, CT-33-7641 slowly removed his training armor, removing piece after piece slowly. His mind wandered, thoughts a whirling storm, for unrealized hours.
He was still sitting in the armory, right leg bouncing as he rubbed at his chin, when he heard the sound of the armory door creaking open. Expecting it to be Timber, ready to punish him for his transgressions, he leapt to his feet and scrambled backwards, hiding his frame between a rack of rifles and a pillar.
"What simulation do you want to run today, Crosshair?" The voice was unfamiliar, similar to Timber's and Raze's and the rest of his brethren, yet… huskier? Smokier?
"Your choice," this voice was even more unfamiliar in its low, cold hiss.
"We could try Citadel again? See how long it takes us this time? Wrecker'll be here in-" The smoky voice suddenly cut off and, for a reason CT-33-7641 could not fathom, he felt like he was being watched - though he was nowhere near the two clones.
"What's wrong, Hunter?"
"Somebody's still here. By the rifles."
The cold voice let out a snarl that made CT-33-7641's skin crawl before the sound of two different sets of feet stopped by the pillar he was cowering against. Slowly, he turned to the two clones and- stared.
Two boys, likely only a few years older than him, were staring at him, their arms crossed over their chests. The taller of the two had silver hair and a lean frame that radiated unfriendliness. And his companion, in stark contrast to the silver haired boy, had long, black hair and a stockier frame, and a splatter of face paint on the right side of his face that looked like a skull?
They weren't clones were they?
"Hello," the shorter of the two said, his voice instantly recognizable as the smoky one - so he was Hunter. And that meant the tall one was Crosshair? "What are you doing here?"
CT-33-7641 stared at the two boys, eyes snapping between them and then to the ground as he swallowed down an upswell of anxiety that was making him want to flee. These boys - realistically teenagers, judging from their frames and height, really - radiated danger and he wished he could melt into the floor. He tried to speak but his throat refused to work and he could only make a soundless squeak that made the tall one smirk.
"You lost, boy? This armory's for clones, not for strays," the tall one hissed meanly, his tone venomous. Clearly, this one did not like CT-33-7641 at all.
Desperate to defend himself, he opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out except for a hiss of air. Crosshair smirked again then, before he could react, leaned towards him, getting so close to him that he could feel the silver haired teenager's breath on his blacks.
Perfection, perfection, perfection.
"Well? Can't explain your-"
"Crosshair." Hunter's snarl was sudden, a snap that cut Crosshair off mid sentence and made the silver haired clone pull away from CT-33-7641 with an irritated huff of air from his lungs. Hunter pulled Crosshair away from him, then backed away from where CT-33-7641 was cowering.
Hunter backed up a few more steps before he gave him a reassuring smile and gestured for CT-33-7641 to come towards him. "Sorry about Crosshair here. He's in a worse mood than usual today. Why don't you come out from there? We won't bite, honest."
CT-33-7641 stared at the two teenagers then, nervously, stepped out from his corner, eyes still refusing to meet their gazes as he stopped near both boys. Hunter gave him another smile then gestured to where his pile of training armor still lay, not yet put away in its proper racking.
"You're a clone, aren't you?"
A nod.
Crosshair raised an eyebrow and scoffed, but he said nothing as Hunter let out a hmm of understanding.
"Are you an enhanced clone? Crosshair and I both are. His enhancement's sight and mine's enhanced senses," Hunter sounded almost cheerful as he spoke, though Crosshair seemed annoyed at Hunter speaking about his own enhancement when he let out a hiss of breath towards his brother.
CT-33-7641 blinked then nodded, fingers threading through each other nervously. "Y-yes, I am."
"Well, it's nice to meet you," Hunter said, "what's your-"
A loud, excited shout precluded the sudden arrival of an absolutely massive clone who, his voice too loud for CT-33-7641's sensitive ears, slammed into Hunter and Crosshair. All three boys went sprawling over the floor, the large clone cuffing Crosshair over the head with a boisterous laugh.
All CT-33-7641 could do was stare and shiver, his heart racing faster and faster as the massive clone raised up onto his feet and turned to stare directly at him. The clone's mouth bared a snarl at him before he slowly approached CT-33-7641, the snarl growing each step closer he took towards him-
"Stay away from me!"
The scream tore from his lungs as the large clone reached for him, causing the clone to freeze in place and turn his head to the side slowly. Hunter was scrambling to his feet behind the large clone, while Crosshair had just leapt to his feet with such a look of pure rage that-
It was too much for him.
Without waiting, without a second thought or moment's hesitation, CT-33-7641 fled from the armory, too scared to look back as tears pricked at his eyes. He thought he heard Hunter yelling after him, but that only made him run faster. And ran he did, until he found himself in one of the disused hangers filled with spare parts and boxes of supplies.
Chest heaving and lungs screaming, he found a stack of supplies and hid behind the large metal boxes, knees pressed to his chest and tears streaking down his face. Had those three clones, as different as each looked from regular clones, been intending to hurt him? Who was the large one, the one who kept snarling at him?
Sullo Pria's vibrostaff glittered in the corner of his mind's eye, a threat that followed him everywhere.
Oh, Force, oh force, oh force.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
In and out.
Breathe.
How many moons does Chandrila have?
One.
What is the name of the Atrisian search-and-rescue force?
The Wilderness Preserve service.
CT-33-7641 kept quizzing himself until he felt his heaving chest still, the panic attack he knew had been coming fading with each breath and each answered quiz. Those three clones - were they all enhanced? There are more of my brethren like me? - in the armory hadn't intended to scare him, had they?
The large one hadn't been snarling at him… he'd been smiling. Hadn't he? He wasn't being mean when he'd bowled Hunter and Crosshair over. He was… excited to see them? That had to have been it.
Right?
"Kid? Are you in here? I'm sorry about Wrecker, he didn't know you were there."
That was Hunter! How had he found him though? CT-33-7641 didn't even know where he was-
"His enhancement's sight and mine's enhanced senses."
Of course! Hunter could smell him, if not hear him, and had tracked him… all the way from the training armory.
Impressive.
Taking a deep breath, CT-33-7641 dared to stick his head out from the boxes of supplies and peeked in the direction Hunter's voice had come from. Hunter was peering around the hanger, while Crosshair and the large clone were standing behind him, his eyes seeming to tear through every shadow in the hanger.
He knew that Hunter would see him sooner rather than later and, with a deep breath, he stepped forward and shyly waved. "Hi."
All three heads turned towards him as he stepped towards the group slowly, gaze snapping between the three clones to gauge their body language before he stared at the ground and stopped in front of Hunter.
"Sorry," he whispered, "I shouldn't have-"
"No," Hunter interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand and… a smile? "There's no reason you need to apologize to us. Wrecker," Hunter gestured to the large clone, who waved and smiled - yes, it was a smile - at CT-33-7641, "didn't know you were in there."
Wrecker nodded and scuffed his foot against the durasteel floor, his large shoulders hunched in to make the large clone look oddly small. "Sorry 'bout that, buddy. I really didn't mean to scare you, I didn't know you were there, otherwise I would have said 'hi'.
"So," Wrecker suddenly giggled as he clapped CT-33-7641 on the shoulder and smiled, "hello! Nice to meet you! What's your name?"
"CT-33-7641," he answered matter of factly. He wasn't going to tell them the many names Timber and Raze and the other cadets of batch 33 had called him - he didn't want them to think his name really was "Weirdo" or "Freak" or "Shut Up", though that was all out of fear of being ridiculed.
Which was stupid. Fear wasn't viable for a perfect clone. He wasn't perfect if he let himself be overtaken by fear.
Drown it. Think of the rain and storms and Sullo won't hurt me.
"You still go by your number?" Wrecker sounded downright confused as he stared at him, eyes blinking comically at CT-33-7641.
"Why would I not? That is my name. My batch brethren did not name me, other than to make fun of me."
There was complete silence from Hunter, Crosshair and even Wrecker, and all three looked mildly stunned. Crosshair had raised an eyebrow at his response, though he did not argue CT-33-7641's point.
Hunter, on the other hand, seemed perturbed by his response. "A name makes us unique. Tells others our interest, personalities or skills. You can't tell me you want to be a number your whole life, can you?"
CT-33-7641 blinked. "You may have names, but all of you are numbers underneath. There is no logical reason for names when we are already classified with unique batch numbers. I-"
His chest seized on an ancient memory, a Nautolan calling him "little one". It was ancient and dead but… no amount of emotion therapy had taken away the memory of the happy thrill that burst through him when the Nautolan had called him that. It was… endearing. A sign of… affection.
It had felt special, solely his to claim. The gunnery trainer who called him "little one" and smiled, her voice warm and gentle.
Was that what names meant to his brethren? Did the names make their hearts light? Make them feel like they were more just experiments or weapons?
But that was all irrational, all emotion and sentiment, and those were wrong.
Warm hands braced his back, startling him enough to draw his gaze to Hunter and Wrecker, both of whom were holding him steady. Why?
He was fine.
Fine.
He never fully noticed when the three enhanced clones decided to drag him off to their quarters, nor did he remember when he slept, but it was a restful sleep. His first since his first emotion therapy treatments free of nightmares.
It was only much later on when he realized that those three clones, not brethren but brothers, had saved him.
They quickly gave him the name of Tech, courtesy of Crosshair, after he'd repaired Crosshair's Firepuncher rifle. The name stuck and became a part of himself that was even more than that which Sullo Pria could take away.
His name meant he had friends, family, brothers who loved him and would protect him to the end. And to the ends of the galaxy would Tech go to ensure the safety and survival of his brothers. It was the least he could do for Hunter, Crosshair and Wrecker. For the three brothers who had saved him and given him his humanity.
To them, he was always Tech, their talkative, know-it-all of a younger brother, and they were all that mattered. His number meant nothing to him, held no sway over him. Only his brothers could claim that of them.
And they, he.
Tech may have been defective and strange, but he only ever felt right with his brothers.
And, eventually, the small, young girl who became like a little sister to him.
For his brothers and Omega, Tech would do anything. No matter the cost to himself, his family came first. They always would.