Summary: Tech is taken when the others are away from the Havoc Marauder. His captor puts out a ransom, as a trap, to lure the Batch after their stolen brother. Because the Empire wants them dead or alive, and the bounty hunter will turn Tech in dead if the Batch doesn't come for him. They've already learned their lesson about leaving their own behind. Never again. One-shot.
A/N: This took me literally all week to complete (it's easily my longest one-shot ever, I have no idea how Wheeljack does this so often). Also, I may be already possibly planning a sequel…
Snuffing Out The Flickering Light
It's a quiet night aboard the Havoc Marauder, with the others out in the market. The hatch is open, natural air flowing through the shuttle's rooms, wafting out the weeks old stench of five men and a teenage girl trapped in hyperspace. The sounds of the spaceport outside drift in. It's getting late, the last traces of light fading from the sky in the sun's wake. It's not very loud out there either.
But Tech doesn't mind the silence. It's peaceful to him, really. It makes it easier to focus on the tasks at hand. Focus- a thing that has given itself a mission to elude him since the unexpected ending of the Clone War. But now, everything's better. Not fine, but better. The Empire still rules, growing stronger by the day, but they have Crosshair back. They're whole again, and the ship isn't as quiet as it was in those dark months without him. Even the ship seems happier, breaking down less often than she did without her sharpshooter. Tech's working on a few smaller adjustments and repairs now- well, and the nav computer- having voluntarily chosen to stay behind to watch over his ship.
He's laying on the durasteel plating of the floor, working on the navigation panel from underneath. His blasters and helmet are set on his bunk across the ship, out of the way. In his hand is a hydrospanner, drilling a screw through the bracket that holds in a replacement part- the original part had shorted out and sent the whole system into wack, and is the main reason why they've landed on this world.
He takes a moment to examine his handiwork, to ensure the part is secure. Satisfied, he pulls himself out from beneath the navigation controls, sitting up to stretch his joints and back muscles. He's never found sitting beneath a control panel very comfortable- oh, how unfortunate it sometimes is that he is the tech whiz of the Batch. Well, it's not all that bad. He could've been cursed with Hunter's heightened senses instead. That would be a nightmare.
A younger Hunter's clutching at his head, kneeling over. "Gah- it's too much!"
"Here, focus on me." He whispers, his words a quiet exhale of air. He reaches out and plants a hand on his older brother's arm, letting him latch onto the feeling of it and draw on his presence to ground himself to a single sensation.
Tech smiles ruefully at the memory of times long past, at times where it had been just the two of them on their own, not knowing that there were others out there who were like them, different from the main clone body. They had been inseparable then, and he likes to think that they still are now, to a degree, only splitting up when absolutely necessary.
He scratches at his damp hairline, the light brown curls of his hair tickling at his gloved hand as if to tease him. His hair's longer than he normally likes to keep it. He's forgotten to keep it straightened out and trimmed, and now it's a much lighter version of the Jango Fett model clones' hair. His chin has the start of a beard- a goatee, he's heard it called- but he doesn't mind it all that much so long as it doesn't get caught on anything. Hunter's grown out a thick beard of his own, and Tech winces whenever his elder brother gets it caught on anything. Echo's lucky to have hair on the top of his head, he's never growing a beard. Wrecker won't either- he's the only one who really looks exactly as he did during the war. Crosshair actually remembers to shave- both head and face, having decided that he prefers his hair short. Omega's hair is longer, though she refuses to let it grow past her shoulders. Hair. Tech would've never guessed that such a thing would bother him as much as it does now.
He shakes his head in a light display of amusement- he's learned, a little, how to express his emotions better in these tough times- and lifts up his goggles, rubbing at the sore skin around his eyes, letting the heat that had been trapped by the lenses escape and for the cooler night air to wash over him. Of course, the planet they landed on would be warm. Not quite tropical, but warm nonetheless. He supposes that it's better than the freezing cold. He never did enjoy the missions to cooler planets, sometimes being unable to feel his limbs in the heat of battle, being unable to rely upon his body to do as he asked- like on Ilum. At least now, the squad has more freedom as to where they go than they did under the Republic during the war.
He pulls his goggles back on straight and leans back, once more scooting beneath the panel to resume his work. After all, he's long since learned, the work will not do itself. If only.
For a long time, there's only the sound of his tinkering, of the hydrospanner twisting. It's reassuring, a sound that he's always found comfort in. Not that he particularly needs comfort at the present time- he's perfectly at ease, right in his element. He briefly wonders what his wayward siblings have gotten caught up looking at this time- there's always something, they're always late when they go into the market without him. He doesn't mind. He's sure they're fine.
He eventually picks up the sound of light footsteps climbing up the hatch, and he smiles to himself. Crosshair always comes back early, for one reason or another.
"Well?" Tech calls. "Is there anything interesting to look at out there?"
"I haven't explored it yet, so you tell me."
He freezes. Because that is not Crosshair's voice. He recognizes it, however, to indeed be the voice of a clone of Jango Fett- a young clone, one who's not altered like them. But there aren't many young clones left out there. There's Omega, obviously, but she's female. And this newcomer is decidedly not female. Wouldn't the Empire have either kept or terminated the cadets that remained? There's only one option left that Tech knows of. The completely unaltered copy of Jango Fett. This clone, his code name is Alpha.
Out of pure instinct, Tech reaches over and switches on his comm, speaking quickly into it, even though the adolescent clone is right there. "Hunter, you need to return immed-"
He's cut off by the pulse of a stun blast, and everything goes dark before he can so much as blink.
Hunter's blood runs cold through his veins. He can feel his face drain of color at the urgency in Tech's usually neutral voice, at the sound of the stun blast cutting off his vod'ika in the middle of his words. Tech's in trouble. How did this happen? Tech doesn't normally get caught off guard, and that worries Hunter almost as much as the fact that he's just been stunned on the other end of the comm channel. No, no, no. Tech, say something!
The others stare at him in a similar horror. Even Crosshair's eyes are wider than they normally are. Wrecker's hold a plea, begging Hunter to say that their youngest brother's perfectly fine and safe. Omega's hold a fear that someone her age shouldn't have to feel, that they felt at her age. Even Echo is frozen in place. And they're all looking to him for comfort.
He forces himself to bring his comm up to his face, to keep his voice at a lower level to drive the worry from it. "Tech! Tech, what's going on over there?" There's only silence, and his pitch rises a little. "Tech, answer me!"
He almost jumps when the comm crackles to life. And he grows impossibly colder at the sound of a voice that isn't Tech's replying.
"You want your brother back, you're going to have to pay my ransom." He's young. And he sounds like…like a reg cadet?
"How much do you want, kid?" Hunter asks, managing to remain civil.
"More than you have." The boy's cocky, he notes. "I hope the Kaminoans taught you some tracking skills, because the bounty is dead or alive. And it's high- high enough that bringing only one of you in is more credits than I need. I'm giving you a week. If you don't come, he's dead."
What boy has the audacity to kidnap his youngest brother and demand a ransom? The sergeant's voice is a snarl when he speaks again. "Who are you?"
"The name's Boba. Boba Fett."
The comm clicks off.
Hunter feels lost. There's a fiery, muted rage building within him.
This boy- Boba Fett- Tech had mentioned him, not long after the Empire formed. He had said that this boy and Omega were the only normal-aging clones, the only ones that the Kaminoans could ever get more DNA samples from to continue cloning. Boba had disappeared at the Battle of Geonosis, the very first battle of the war. It's evident that the boy chose to become a bounty hunter- a kriffing bounty hunter!- in memory of the clone host. A bounty hunter who's now after them, his own blood. He's a bigger traitor than the rest of the squad had been to Crosshair when they'd left him behind with the Empire.
"Hunter?" Omega squeaks.
He lets out a breath, looks down to meet the girl's frightened eyes.
"Who's Boba Fett?" She asks.
"Tech mentioned him." Echo recalls. "Said he's a first-gen kid who disappeared at the start of the war."
"Disappeared." Crosshair scoffs, spitting. "More like the kid up and left. Karking bounty hunters."
"Well, we're gonna go after him, right?" Wrecker asks.
"We'd better." The sharpshooter steals a bitter glance at Hunter. "Not leaving any of our own to die alone, now, are we?"
"No, no- of course not." Hunter blurts, shoving away the sting of guilt at how they had left Crosshair behind. His brother has every right to be angry. "We're going after him, I promise. But first, we need to see how far he got with the repairs. We're not going anywhere if he didn't get to finish."
He gets a couple of nods in response.
"Right." He continues. "Echo, Wrecker, Omega, you finish up buying everything we're going to need. Don't forget to restock the medkit. Crosshair, you and I are going back to the ship to see if the kid left a lead for us."
.
They're really not that far from the spaceport. But when they arrive, running, it's just in time to see a Firespray-31-class patrol craft taking off at full thrust. Hunter memorizes the red and green paint design the moment his eyes lock onto the ship, because he knows Tech is on it. He has to be on it. Crosshair's eyes are narrowed, watching the craft in its retreat, and Hunter knows he's thinking the same. They're too late to snatch Tech back- this is going to be a full on hunt.
Hunter ascends the stairs into the Marauder, leaving Crosshair to examine the exterior hull for any visible sabotages. It's quiet. Far too quiet. He usually boards the shuttle to the sound of Tech tinkering with something, but even that sound isn't here.
He instinctively, hopefully, peers into the bunkroom, only for the stone in his stomach to grow at the sight of Tech's twin DC-17s and helmet laying on his bunk, untouched. No, no, no. Because that means that this is real, that a karking brother turned bounty hunter did take his vod'ika and threaten to kill him if they don't chase after him. He's not having a nightmare, his worst fears are coming to be reality as yet another brother is getting farther and farther away from him.
Calm down. Breathe. One step in front of the other. You need to see if the kid left a trail, remember?
He forces himself to head to the cockpit, trying to fight the trembling of his limbs as the horror sinks in. The cockpit is a mess. Not from a struggle, but because someone had been hard at work beneath the navigation panel mere minutes ago. Tech had been right here, dedicated to completing the repairs, and had been stolen just like that.
Even as he senses Crosshair boarding the ship, he kneels down and removes his glove, touching the durasteel plating of the floor beneath the panel. He almost collapses entirely, because he can feel the last traces of warmth from where Tech had laid. He can smell the fear that had been coursing through his brother's veins in his final moments of consciousness, the shock that had undoubtedly made him freeze on the spot. Hunter can feel Crosshair's presence behind him.
"He was scared, Cross." His words begin as a soft murmur and come to grow to a growl. "He was so kriffing scared, and I wasn't here to help him."
The sniper doesn't offer any words.
"I promised him that I would protect him." Hunter seethes, his anger returning at his brother's lack of a response. "I should've ran straight here instead of checking the comms, I would've made it in time!"
"Tech's the smart one, not you." Crosshair jabs unsympathetically.
The sergeant pulls himself to his feet, knowing he deserves his brother's unforgiving words. He should have known better than to leave Tech alone on a planet they know nothing about. What was I thinking?
"See how far he got into the repairs." He notes the tools scattered about the cockpit. "He obviously wasn't done."
"This is a job for Echo." Crosshair mutters, lowering himself to the ground to get started.
"Echo will be busy looking up information on Boba Fett." Hunter grinds out. "The sooner he finds something, the sooner we can find Tech."
He storms out of the cockpit without another word, leaving Crosshair to finish the work that Tech was so unfairly stolen away from.
Tech's awoken by the familiar throws of turbulence, and recognizes the feeling of the Marauder entering the atmosphere of another planet. He frowns before he opens his eyes. Wasn't the navigational system damaged? We should not be flying right now.
His eyes open and- oh. This is not the Marauder. Where am I? We do not have the credits to borrow another ship.
He's not prepared for the truth when it crashes down on him moments later, his exceptional memory calling back the last thing he remembers and drawing it forth. They'd been grounded on a planet he doesn't know the name of, and he had been working on the navigations panel, the others away. He had thought that Crosshair was returning, the light footsteps sounded familiar- but it wasn't him. Another voice had answered his call; the voice of a reg cadet; the voice of Boba Fett, one of the only two beings who possesses pure first generation clone DNA, Omega being the other. And he had stunned him without a second thought.
"Hunter, you need to return immed-"
The others must be horribly worried by now.
This is not good.
He hesitantly forces his eyes open as he sits up, finding his hands clapped in binders in front of him, the metal digging into his skin through the wrists of his undersuit almost painfully. He's not in a cell- it's his best guess that Fett's ship is too small for one. Instead, between him and his bound wrists, there is a structural pole that he is trapped to. He must've been leaning against it while he was unconscious. The only way to break free would be to break either the pole or the binders, and he knows that he cannot do either. He does not have Wrecker's brute strength, though he wishes he does, for once.
He allows his gaze to sweep the room. There's not much to it, really. He recognizes the shape of a Mandalorian helmet, recently painted green and red. It sits on a holotable just across the room from him. The void of a visor seems to stare right through him. When his eyes find the front of the room, the cockpit, they stop on the figure sitting in the pilot's seat. The figure is wearing the rest of the suit of Mandalorian armor, and Tech remembers reading that Jango Fett himself had worn a set of it. Could the boy be wearing the very same set of armor? A thought for another time, he scolds himself, shaking his head with a huff that gets the bounty hunter's attention.
Boba tenses up in his seat, then turns to look at him with those piercing brown eyes that every clone trooper has. But his eyes are decidedly more hostile than most. His hair is a dark brown, almost black, and cropped nearly as short as Crosshair's. His jaw is set firmly. His adolescent voice is rough when he speaks, though not nearly as intimidating as it is most likely intended to be. "What are you looking at?"
Tech averts his gaze, though only because he's learned before the dangers of upsetting an interrogator. At the moment, he is by no means afraid of the boy, though he knows he probably ought to be, coupled with his experience with regs and the fact that Fett had stunned him and undoubtedly snatched him away from his brothers.
The boy snorts. "Scared? Or smart enough not to pick a fight you know you can't win?"
"Whichever you would prefer to see it as." He replies steadily, keeping his answer short and to the point, so as not to upset his captor.
"The bounty's 35,000 for each of you. They're going to need to give me at least an extra five-thousand for you back." It goes unspoken that Fett isn't planning on giving him back.
Even so, they can not afford that.
Money does not matter, he reminds himself.
The young bounty hunter falls silent, turning back to the ship's controls to initiate the landing sequence. Tech looks past him, through the viewport, and thinks he recognizes the icy spikes far below the landing platform of the planet they're landing on.
Mygeeto.
It's quiet aboard the Havoc Marauder.
Worry eats at each of her crewmembers, from the oldest to the youngest. One works in silence on a task assigned to him by his sergeant, the others try to pass by the time in any way that they can. Some sleep, some fidget, one sits on the edge of his bunk with his head in his hands.
It's been two rotations. Two rotations since they made an emergency landing, two rotations since they left Tech alone to repair the navigational systems. Two rotations since a bounty hunter of their own blood took their youngest brother and threatened to kill him if they don't come with a high amount of credits. Kriff, we can barely afford to eat.
The cockpit still faintly smells of Tech's fear. Hunter tries to avoid it, but that's where Echo keeps camping out, and Echo's the only one really able to do anything to even begin to find their little brother. The nav computer is working again- Tech had nearly finished with it- and they're just...just drifting, really. They have no leads yet as to where the bounty hunter was headed when he left. For all they know, he could have killed Tech already. Hunter doesn't want to consider that as a possibility. Tech's alive- he has to be.
He picks up the sound of light footsteps approaching the bunkroom. Crosshair. He's the only light walker in the squad, though Tech can also be fleet-footed when he wishes to be. The sharpshooter is currently acting as Echo's messenger, for he's taken over the role of pilot in their younger brother's absence.
"Anything?" Hunter asks, scarcely daring to hope so.
"Well, the reg wants you in there, so probably." Crosshair replies, his voice as detached from reality as the sergeant feels.
Walking takes more energy than Hunter feels he has, but he forces himself to move anyway, one step after another. Worry weighs him down, leaves his feet nearly dragging against the floor- but Tech needs him. And if Echo's found something- all information is important when they have nothing to go off of.
It's still so quiet that he expects the cockpit door to be shut. He reaches for a handle that isn't there, winces inwardly at Crosshair's half-heartedly raised eyebrow.
"Well?" Hunter inquires, coming to stand at Echo's back. The cyborg is absorbed in their little brother's datapad, taking in information. "Cross says you might've found something?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did." Echo shakes himself, setting the datapad aside and turning to look up at him. "Boba Fett wears Mandalorian armor. Recently acquired, the same set that the clone template wore, though it's been repainted green. It matches the paint on the ship you described."
"Mandalorian armor, huh?" They've only seen Mandalorian armor in holos.
"Yeah. Pure beskar. Has years worth of history engrained in it." The former ARC trooper tells him. "Also, the ship- I got it's name. It's called the Slave One. He also inherited it from the template."
"The kid's got a thing for him, then?" Hunter can't help but ask, raising an eyebrow.
"It's said that Jango Fett raised him. Until he died, of course." Echo replies. "My best guess is that the kid's following in his footsteps. I'm...not sure how he'll take to us."
"Any idea where he could be?"
"No. Nothing."
Nothing. He forces himself to nod. "Alright. Keep looking, Echo. You have to find something that can tell us where he is."
"I'm doing my best." Echo tells him. I'm not Tech goes unspoken.
"I know." He squeezes the cyborg's shoulder gently before he turns to leave.
.
Time draws on. It goes by too slowly and too quickly at the same time. Now, there are only two rotations remaining until the bounty hunter executes the youngest brother of the Bad Batch.
Echo doesn't find anything else on Boba Fett. There's not enough public information out there on him, Kaminoan data or otherwise. It's a fruitless search. Wrecker and Omega have fallen to comforting one another, of holding each other at all times and refusing to split up- not that Hunter has the heart to tell them to. Crosshair grows both more bitter and softer at the same time, the worry grinding away at his jagged edges and grating the smooth ones sharp. They're all restless, all drained from lack of sleep and the unrelenting worry eating away at them. It remains quiet aboard the Marauder.
Hunter begins to wonder if he's seen the last of his youngest brother.
"I'll protect you from anything, Tech. I swear it on my life."
"Hunter, those are high stakes. You must have forgotten that we are currently at war."
"You know, I mean it."
"What if we...No, no, you won't agree." Echo changes his mind before he gets his idea out.
He, Crosshair, and Hunter are sitting in the cockpit together. There's something about being with others that makes the situation just a bit easier to bear. They don't talk often, and when they do, none of them are really as confident as they usually are. But it's better than being alone.
"...What?" Crosshair mumbles, flashing the cyborg an exhausted look.
"It's nothing." Echo repeats, glumly staring out the viewport and into the void of space.
"If you have an idea, feel free to share." The sniper's words lack the venom they would normally hold, but the intention of them remains obvious. "It's not like the rest of us have any."
"Crosshair's right. We can use all the ideas we can get." Hunter half-heartedly adds, rubbing a hand across his bearded face.
It's silent for such a long time that he gives up on the former ARC trooper answering, which is why he jumps when he finally speaks. "What if we contact the bounty hunter and see if he'll give us the location?"
"Eh. Might as well." Crosshair shrugs, toothpick bobbing between his teeth. He would never have agreed, under normal circumstances. But they're all desperate now.
"How are we going to do that?" Hunter asks, sitting up straighter in his seat. He can't believe that he's agreeing with this. But he can.
"I was thinking that I could extend our signal, and try to contact the bounty hunter through Tech's comms." Echo tells them.
"How do we know the kid still has his armor?" Crosshair points out.
"We don't." The former ARC trooper admits. "But it's our last resort. He might be willing to bargain with us."
"He didn't sound willing to bargain when he took off with Tech." The sharpshooter mumbles, voicing Hunter's thoughts.
"We have to try!" Echo snaps.
The other two both freeze at the outburst.
"I-I'm sorry." He buries his face in his hands, nails digging into his scalp through the hair that's only just begun to grow back several months ago. "It's just...I've seen so many good men die and get left behind. I was left behind. It's too much. I can't just sit here and not try to get him back. I know he'd be doing the same if it was one of you." He pauses, lets out the broken laugh of someone who's lost another. "I'm starting to sound like Fives."
Even Crosshair can't argue with the point given.
"No, you're right." Hunter murmurs, rousing himself from his stupor. "We should be trying to do more. We're just moping around feeling sorry for him and ourselves, waiting for something to happen. Don't apologize for being right, Echo." He steadies his voice. "We'll contact the kid, see what he has to say- brother to brother. Maybe he'll listen to that."
"If he doesn't, and I get him in my scopes, the kid's dead." Crosshair growls.
That's a sentiment that they all feel.
He's on the verge of delirium, Tech knows it. It requires far too much effort to remain conscious, and his sweat soaks every inch of him. If he could have removed his blacks and wrung them out, he knows that there would be a sizable puddle on the floor.
Fett's told him that he's only keeping him alive for a standard week, nothing more, but it feels like he's been the boy's captive for far longer than that. Every inch of his body aches from the pointless pain that Fett's small force of Empire regs has put him through. They're relentless, even more so than the ones back in Tipoca City. Part of him longs to be back there, in the halls of the now-sunken city. Because, at least he was among his brothers, then. Now, he's alone.
He's hungry, so hungry. While his captors have kept him fed, it's been only the bare minimum he needs to keep his strength up. Same for water. His throat is parched. His head pounds behind his eyes, which desperately burn from the strain of being forced to stay open. His captors haven't allowed him even a blink of sleep. It's worse than the horrid mental-building tests from the peak of his training days.
"Sir, he's dying. I don't think they're coming."
"They'll come." Fett insists.
"There won't be anything of him left by the time they get here."
"So? The bounty's dead or alive." He snaps. "Back to your station, unless you want to be down there with him."
"Yes, sir. Right away."
Tech doesn't think he's going to survive, either. Staying conscious takes energy he doesn't have, the worst of the pain is beyond feeling. If he does survive, he wonders how much permanent damage he will have sustained. He never was the best at fighting, and he knows it's showing with each wracking cough that tears from his lungs. He's so, so tired...Hunter, where are you?
He's so out of it that he almost mistakes Hunter for a reg when his comm suddenly crackles to life, a request breaking through the silence of the room. It's a shame that he's strung up, unable to move- not that he could have moved if he wanted to.
"...Fett..." Hunter's voice struggles through the static. "...need to speak with Boba..."
"Get the kid." One of the guards barks at the other.
"Right away, sir."
It feels like a longer wait than it is, waiting for the kid to get down to the cell from wherever he's keeping himself at. Tech's thoughts wander, distant memories flutter up to the surface of his blurred vision. He might as well be hallucinating at this point, his focus can't seem to settle on one single thing. It's mostly Hunter's voice that he hears, words he once said to him returning to mock them both.
"I've got you."
"I swear on my life, I'll protect you."
"Hang on! You're not going anywhere!"
"You alright?"
"I don't care what happens, you hear me? I'll always come back for you."
"Hold on, vod'ika. I got you. It's going to be just fine, I promise."
His brother's name slips from his lips without his consent, and he knows the delirium is beginning to take over. "Hunter..."
"Oh, great." The guard distantly mutters.
"Hang on, Tech! I'm coming!"
Tech shakes his head to clear it, the action sending another wave of nausea climbing up his throat. He winces, swallowing dryly, lets his head drop back to his chest. He hopes that he gets to speak with his siblings again, before his exhaustion claims him. He has a sneaking suspicion that he won't get that lucky, that his body's in a downward spiral that it won't be able to pull out of. It takes so much effort to focus already.
"How long...?" He croaks.
"Five and a half." The reg says after a moment, taking pity on him. His quiet voice holds a hint of regret. "It's almost over, either way."
He exhales weakly. Hurry…
.
The door slides open with a hiss, sealing shut behind the Mandalorian bounty hunter as he enters the makeshift cell, his green beskar boots ringing loud against the durasteel flooring. The second guard retakes his position across from the other just inside the doorway. Fett removes his helmet, tucking it beneath his arm, and reaches out to press a button on Tech's wrist panel to automatically transmit the sounds in the room.
"Desperate, are we?" He asks, the hint of a sneer in his voice.
The response is a little clearer this time. "Where have you taken him?"
"Oh, so I grabbed the brains of your operation, then? The rest of you can't track a signal?"
Hunter doesn't answer.
The young bounty hunter snorts. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
"Look, kid, if you don't tell us where you are, I'm going to blast that green bucket off your head the moment we meet." Crosshair warns. "You won't even see it coming."
Tech lets out a breathy laugh. Crosshair.
"Don't laugh at me, you di'kut. You're the one who got snatched."
"Crosshair!" Hunter and Echo scold together.
Tech smiles a little, his heart lightening at the faintest trace of normalcy between his brothers.
"You want to know where we are?" Fett snaps, not interested in entertaining the banter. "You're lucky I'm feeling generous. We're in the Mygeeto system. You'd better hurry, I just shortened your window by six hours."
"Six hours?!"
"You want me to make it seven?"
"Alright, alright, that's enough. We get the idea, kid. We'll stop taking up your time."
Fett deactivates the comm without another word and detaches the armor piece from Tech's arm, throwing it to the ground. He draws a blaster and a spark of red lights up the room as he fires. There's a hiss as the communicator is destroyed, and a puff of smoke rises from what remains of the armor piece. Tech frowns. Wonderful. That will not be fun to replace. If he even gets away from this place alive.
"The next time you hear them, it'll be when I bring them in to join you." The boy says. "Or when they see you die."
The invisible weight is upon him again, and Tech's shoulders sag. He carefully avoids meeting his captor's gaze. Because, how can this end well? His brothers are walking into a trap- and they probably know it, too. Traps have never mattered when it came to saving their own. They'll come. They'll come, and they'll receive the short side of the stick. There's no way around it, they're not that lucky. No one is.
"Are you going to…to kill them?" He manages to choke out.
"Only if I have to." Most likely goes unsaid.
Tech holds Boba's gaze for a long moment, even though the galaxy is blurred around him. The boy's own falters briefly, just long enough for the engineer to get a glimpse of uncertainty behind the arrogant facade that he's done a good job at keeping up. Then, with a sneer of contempt, he whips around and makes to leave, pulling the beskar helmet back on.
"Nobody in or out." Fett barks to the guards, his modulated voice slightly deeper than it was moments ago.
"Yes, sir. As you wish." The guards nod.
The bounty hunter leaves.
"Well,"Crosshair says in the direct aftermath of the conversation,"At least we know he's still alive."
"You didn't have to call him out like that." Hunter murmurs. "Echo-"
"-set course for Mygeeto?" The cyborg guesses, midway through adjusting the ship's angle of travel. "Already on it."
"Good. Let me know the moment we come out of hyperspace."
"I will."
"I'm going to put Wrecker on watch for a few hours. You two should try to get some rest, if you can." He quietly suggests. "Whatever happens when we get there, it's not going to be pretty."
We could die. Any of us, or all of us. Omega could die. Tech could die…He rises from his seat and slowly turns to leave the cockpit. Crosshair's voice stops him.
"What if he was lying? What if they're not on Mygeeto?"
"It's the only lead we have. We have to take the chance."
He doesn't give the sharpshooter another chance to say anything about it.
When he sits down on his bunk only a few moments later, he finds that he can't force his body to move back and lay down for the well-needed rest that has eluded him since Tech first went missing almost six rotations ago. Worry grips his heart. He fears that, in his nightmares, he'll see a figure in Mandalorian armor towering over his little brother, a blast of red discharging from a blaster and into his head. It's a possibility that is too real. He doesn't want to have to face it- not in his nightmares, not in reality, not ever. Because Tech shouldn't have to die, especially not in such a cruel manner. Execution isn't for soldiers, it's for criminals- and they're not criminals, no matter what the Empire says about them.
He still remembers the tentative smile that Tech gave him on the day they first met, when he chased a group of rowdy teen regs away from him. He remembers the hesitance his vod'ika had shown at accepting his help, as if fearing that Hunter would turn out to be like all of the others.
"Here. I believe these are yours." He kneels down beside him, hands Tech his goggles.
"T-thanks." The younger clone stammers, putting them on.
"By the way, I think they suit you just fine." He offers a small, genuine smile to him. "I'm Hunter."
No, Tech shouldn't have to die. He's clever, yes, but what chance does he stand against a bounty hunter like the Fett boy? The fact that he hasn't yet broken free answers that question; Tech might as well be dead without them. They have to find him. They have to.
Oh, Hunter is definitely not going to be able to get any sleep. He hopes that Crosshair and Echo will have more luck on that than him- right, he still needs to send Wrecker out for his watch. He glances over to the larger clone's bunk, sees how he's curled up with Omega against his chest, sleeping soundly with her in his embrace. No…He can't wake them. He might as well take the watch himself.
He returns to the cockpit no more than five minutes after he left it, relieving Echo and all but ordering him to at least try to rest. He tells Crosshair to follow suit, making a comment about how he's growing softer without proper sleep. The sharpshooter sneers at him in response, though his words lack their characteristic bite, forcing him to accept that the sergeant's right.
Stars and planets streak by in the light of hyperspace, and he wonders which of them are ones they've been on, ones they've fought on to bring about the formation of this twisted Empire. He isn't sure he wants to know which ones are there, though. Memories of the war, they're one of the last things that he needs to worry about right now. He should do his best not to worry about anything, but he seriously doubts that it's possible. He'll never stop worrying about Tech. His vod'ika, stolen from him and the rest of the squad by their own kin. It's horrible to think that one of their own could ever do such a thing, to willingly threaten harm upon a brother. Tech would've made a comment about how Crosshair and Wrecker tease each other about such things all the time. Another pang tears at Hunter's worry-beaten heart. We'll find you, I promise.
.
"Hunter!" Omega's shaking him awake roughly.
"What is it?" He demands anxiously, sitting up as quickly as he can.
"Echo told me to tell you that we're about to come out of hyperspace." She relays.
"Mygeeto." Hunter murmurs, wide awake, scrambling from his bunk- when did he drift off, and who allowed him to rest for so long?- and rushing from the bunkroom.
The cockpit's crowded, with Crosshair in the pilot's seat and Echo standing at his shoulder. Wrecker's taking up a seat behind them, Omega on his right. Hunter notes that the copilot's chair has been left unoccupied for him, and takes no time in sitting himself in it.
Crosshair reaches towards the center of the controls and pulls a lever. The stars whizzing past them give away to the familiar view of a planet looming before them. It's almost a breathtaking view, Mygeeto. The planet's atmosphere is a mix of so many wonderful colors, and it's been so long since their last mission here that Hunter's nearly forgotten what it looks like. But he doesn't let the view distract him, not this time. They're here for a reason, one far more important than any purpose that they've been faced with before: to rescue Tech. And his life depends on their every move.
We're here, vod'ika. You'll be safe soon.
Tech starts from his state of semi-consciousness at the sound of voices on the other side of the regs' comms. The shouts of the others are fearful, calling for backup, saying that they're being overrun. There's blasterfire in the background, but Tech is too tired to even dare to hope. Until he hears the familiar blood-thrilled, manic laugh of Wrecker. He hasn't yet hallucinated any comm chatter, so that leaves one option. They are here!
…What? They should not be here. He frowns. He knew they were going to come for him, come to Mygeeto and face off with the Empire yet again, but that doesn't make him like it any more than he usually does. He's seen the number of troopers at this base, and it's a lot. And here his brothers go, throwing themselves into danger for him yet again.
He must let out some sort of noise, for one of the guards glances at him and lets out quite the colorful string of curses. "It's the rest of Clone Force 99. We don't stand a chance."
The odds of them succeeding are not that high, Tech silently reasons. Not that we have not worked with worse odds before.
He settles back against the restraints holding him up, allows the tension to bleed from his muscles. There's nothing he can do at the moment. Nothing, but to wait. So that's what he must do. Wait and hope the comm chatter goes silent, because that means the regs are down and his brothers are making their way inside. But he knows they won't be that lucky. Fett's still here somewhere, and Tech has no doubt that the young bounty hunter will not defend his catch. He hopes that Crosshair came equipped with his higher-caliber blaster, because that beskar is not going to break easily.
.
There's a distant explosion that rocks the floor all the way down to where Tech is. The regs in the room exchange uneasy glances, and he knows that they're silently debating whether to head out and aid the defense or not.
It's really not all that long before the sounds of a firefight reach the hallway outside. He can almost hear the voices of his brothers over the dying cries of the regs. They fall like dominoes, one after the another- and that's not an analogy he should tell Echo that he thought of. His guards flash each other looks once more, exchange grim nods, and head out. The door hasn't even fully closed and Tech already spots one crumbling to the floor, a hole in his chest. He thinks he hears Hunter shouting orders to the rest of the squad. Then it falls silent.
Tech doesn't like how quiet it is.
He hears the door next to his slide open.
"This one's clear!" Someone calls.
And then his door opens.
In the doorway stands a large, dark armored figure. The white paint of a skull stares at him, the red 99 almost shining to his eyes. It's a blurry sight, but it's the best one he's ever seen. Because he had been beginning to think he would never see that helmet again. And now it's staring him in the face. His brothers have found him!
"Tech!" Wrecker exclaims triumphantly, pushing his helmet up to reveal a grin. "Finally!"
"Wrecker!" He breathes in relief. "Get me...down from here."
"Well, obviously. What'd you think we came here for?" His brother prods, setting his blaster aside and cracking his knuckles as he approaches. He kneels down, grasps Tech's leg with one hand, tears at the durasteel cuff around his ankle with the other. He repeats the process for his other leg and stands up, reaching for his wrists.
Tech doesn't think to brace himself. When the first of his arms drops, free, his shoulder screams in agony as the joint muscles shift to a position they have not been in in days. An extra flare of pain rises up in his opposite wrist as it takes his full weight. He gasps at the sensation, blinking to regain himself.
"I gotcha, bud." Wrecker promises. "Echo's got your pack for ya. Think there's a stim inside."
"I could use one." He remarks.
His brother finishes pulling him down, then pulls him straight into a near bone-crushing hug. He leans into the embrace with a content sigh, too exhausted to even consider fighting it. The warmth of his brother's hold finally allows him to relax a little, the nagging fear ebbing away.
"Did you find him?" Hunter's voice comes, and he's suddenly skidding into view from the doorway, peering inside the room. His muscles are so tense that he nearly collapses to even Tech's diminished eyes when the tension leaves them. "Thank the Force."
"Hunter." He murmurs in greeting, his lips forming a lopsided, half-delirious smile of relief.
"Cross, Echo, Omega, get over here. Wrecker's got him." The sergeant calls down the hall, before turning back to him and removing his helmet. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired." He replies, not even bothering to try to cover it up.
"That makes six of us." His brother mutters, though his lips twitch up into a small smile of his own. "Glad you're alright, vod'ika."
"We are going to have to...move quickly. After the chaos I heard...over the comms, Boba will be here soon." He warns as the others enter and remove their helmets, their faces lighting up at the sight of him. There's another wave of relief that tears through his system, because it's real- they're here. They came.
"Ha! We're not scared of some kid." Wrecker bluffs.
Tech winces at the volume. "Not in my ear, Wrecker."
"Hmmph." Crosshair's eyes travel over him. "The kid wasn't lying, after all."
Whilst Omega remains at Hunter's side, a round white object in her grasp, Echo kneels down beside the engineer, taking off a white pack that does not match his armor. Tech distantly recognizes it to be his own, as Wrecker had mentioned. The former ARC trooper digs through it before pulling out the medkit, then takes a couple of things out. He doesn't forget to elaborate on what they are. "A bacta shot and a stim."
There's a wave of instant bliss that runs through Tech's veins as the bacta is injected into his bloodstream, overwhelming the horrible aches in his limbs. The following stim shot sends a burst of artificial adrenaline through his body, temporarily returning some semblance of strength. He knows the full extent of it will not kick in for a few minutes, but what instantly has feels truly wonderful after how exhausted he has been. Hunter offers his hydroflask, and Tech drinks, the water soothing his parched throat.
"Better?" The sergeant asks, no doubt seeing the personality return to him.
"Much." He replies, climbing to his feet from where he was on the floor, as Wrecker releases him. He stretches his unused legs, rolls his neck to get blood flowing. He can't wait to get some rest when- and if- they return to the Marauder.
He's surprised when Hunter embraces him in a hug of his own- they haven't hugged that often since their younger cadet years. It's not unwelcome, though the sensation of the thick black beard brushing his neck is certainly foreign to him.
"Good." His brother says. He lowers his voice so only he can hear. "I was worried we lost you."
"Not this time." Tech murmurs back.
Hunter gives a light huff of amusement, pats his shoulder, and steps back.
"How touching." Crosshair mutters, though his voice is light. He tries to look disinterested as he holds a hand out to his younger brother, something in his grasp. "You might need these."
"Now, could you get up and help us finish off the rest of the droids?" The sniper snaps, blasterfire flashing past them both, their brothers fighting off the training droids all around them.
"Gladly, now that I can see." He fires back, climbing to his feet and preparing to jump back into the action.
Crosshair genuinely hesitates for a brief moment before following him.
He nods his gratitude to the sharpshooter and pulls his goggles on, his vision at its best for the first time in days. It almost overwhelms him at first, before he blinks and lets his eyes adjust to the sudden clarity of the room and of his siblings.
"Oh!" Omega says suddenly, when he frowns at the round object- his helmet- in her hands. She awkwardly steps forward to hand it to him. "I brought it for you, Tech. Hunter thought you might need it if we get into some trouble on the way out."
"There is always trouble." He takes it, giving her a reassuring little smile. "Thank you, Omega."
She grins. "You're welcome!"
Tech's eyes land on the right forearm of his armor and he kneels down to pick it up and shove it in his pack. It's still repairable, though it already bothers him that he has to repair it. He makes a mental note to watch his arm, lest it get injured. He rises to his feet once more and pulls his pack onto his back before Echo can snatch it back. He takes an unsteady step back and pauses to regain his balance, before placing his helmet on.
The others are staring at him uncertainly.
His voice is modulated when he speaks this time. "Well? Is there anything else that I may be forgetting?"
"No." Hunter tells him, as he and the others pull their own helmets on. "Let's get out of here."
.
They don't get far.
The last of them is no more than three steps outside the door, carefully stepping over the limp bodies of the regs, when a scarlet blaster bolt flies past them without warning, embedding itself into the wall at the far end of the hall. They're all frozen for a moment, before the reality of danger, danger, danger comes to them. When they turn to look up, there's a figure in a set of now-familiar green Mandalorian armor standing at the only exit. It's Boba Fett.
The others move to grab their own weapons, and so comes Tech's realization that his holsters are empty- he has no weapons. Well, that isn't good. Hopefully, he'll be fine, with each of the others armed beside him. He should be fine.
The young bounty hunter doesn't even hesitate, which is impressive for someone with so many blasters- and a bow- pointed at his chest. "I'm gonna have to stop you there. It's nothing personal- just good business."
"You don't have to go down this path, kid." Hunter takes a hesitant step forward, holding an empty hand in front of him as if he's approaching a wild animal. "Come with us, we can take care of you."
The Marauder is crowded enough, Tech thinks.
"I can take care of myself. I've been doing it since the Jedi killed him. I don't need anybody." Fett snaps, turning down the offer almost immediately. His grip visibly tightens on the blaster in his grasp. "If you can afford the ransom, you might as well pay it off. If not…"
"You don't want to do this." The sergeant tries again. "We don't want to hurt you, kid."
"Stop wasting your breath and shoot the kid already." Crosshair growls softly.
"I'm not weak like that anymore." The boy snarls. "You can't trick me!"
"Do you really want to spill his blood?" Hunter gives one last attempt at reasoning with him.
"You're not him!" Boba roars, unleashing his rage as he opens fire upon the squad. Negotiating isn't an option any longer.
"Look out!" Hunter shouts, dodging for cover behind one of the duracrete wythes. The others are quick to follow suit, just narrowly avoiding taking a hit.
"You had to make it personal." Echo huffs, his voice hardly audible over the sound of blaster bolts sinking into the walls and ricocheting off the durasteel flooring. He and the others fire back when they have an opening, though the few shots that hit the bounty hunter harmlessly reflect off of the beskar of his armor.
"Now is not the time to argue." Tech warns his eldest brothers, stopping the unnecessary quarrel before it has the chance to truly begin. "Does anyone have a spare blaster? Echo?"
Echo always has a spare blaster- he has two holsters and one hand, after all. He raises his voice above the blasterfire to get his attention, tossing a DC-17 over to him. "Here!"
Now armed, the engineer fires a few shots of his own at Fett. But nothing seems to hit the young bounty hunter anywhere other than his beskar, and Tech remembers some data he read about the boy being trained by their template. Jango Fett was the clone template for a reason, because of his effectiveness in getting his hired jobs done. If the regs are effective- and they are- then the young bounty hunter standing at the opposite end of the hall is truly outstanding in his skill. The Batch is more formidable than the regs are, but the odds of beating someone trained directly from their source are certainly still low. But there's a chance- they're Clone Force 99, the odds mean almost nothing to them.
Between peeking out and firing shots off at the boy, Tech mentally scrolls through the hundreds of different plans they've used in the past, the different tricks that have gotten them out of the tightest of spots.
A purple beam flies by, and Boba yelps in surprise as the blast blows a gaping hole in the wall behind him. There's his chance. Tech peeks out, holds his pistol steady. He pulls down on the trigger and- nothing. It's jammed. Wonderful. He ducks back behind the wythe, working quickly to dislodge the jam. It takes no longer than a moment, he's long since mastered the technique, and he peers out again, ready to fire. A shot grazes his pauldron and he jerks back with wide eyes, the acrid tang of smoking duraplast forcing him to take a moment to reorient himself.
"You alright?" Wrecker calls, shifting his focus for just a moment.
Don't worry about me, he wants to say, but they came here for him, so he doesn't say that. He settles on a simple nod instead, readjusting his grip on his blaster. He jerks his head back down the corridor. "You might want to pay attention."
"Yeah, yeah." He can hear the eye roll.
Tech, to the contrary, doesn't choose to pay attention. Well, he does, but not in the same sense as the others are. The gears of his enhanced mind are turning, hard at work, as he watches Omega draw back the string on her Zygerrian bow. Her eyebrows pinch together in the same way that Hunter's often do, her eyes narrow as she takes her aim at the wall behind Boba. And then it clicks- the way to defeat the young bounty hunter.
"Omega, aim higher!" He calls to her.
Her focus crumbles and her arms slacken. She frowns at him. "Why?"
"If you shoot the ceiling, it should distract him long enough for Crosshair to get a precise shot in on his helmet." Tech explains.
Omega glances back at Crosshair, who gives a curt nod of agreement. "The sooner the better."
The girl draws back on her bow again, takes aim. Her arms tremble slightly beneath the strain of holding the string taut, but she's long since mastered how to use it. The purple beam glares at the dark gray ceiling, waiting for the command to launch itself at its target.
"Omega, now!"
The wavering amethyst rod of energy eagerly leaps forward, leads a solo charge towards the unprepared, immobile ceiling. Just as intended, the bolt hits home above the green suit of armor down the hall, and the ceiling rumbles beneath its force. The impact forms an indentation above the young bounty hunter, a crater in the ceiling. Debris and dust shower him, blinding him, even with his helmet.
The familiar sound of Crosshair's Firepuncher tears through the air, and a crimson blast flies past the rest of the squad, down the corridor. Clang! Boba Fett lets out a muffled cry laced with both pain and alarm, and then his dusty silhouette is thrown back, slamming into the wall and crumbling into a heap on the floor. The dust settles, and he doesn't move.
The hallway is a silent mess.
"Is he dead?" Omega tentatively asks.
"I doubt it." Tech replies, barely skipping a beat. The adrenaline stim is nearing its peak, and he's feeling as close to normal as he's been all week. "Beskar can hold up against even lightsabers."
"Tell that to General Skywalker." Echo mutters. "He would've found a way to change that."
"He is probably dead." He points out, saying what the others won't. But Echo already knows it too; there are no Jedi left, not in bulk. Those who remain are few and far between- and Anakin Skywalker does not seem like a man who would have the patience to hide forever.
"That's enough. Let's check on the kid and get out of here." Hunter recommends.
Though Hunter and Echo are cautious about starting down the hall, the others don't hesitate as much as they do. Tech starts forward with an easy shrug, stepping over misshapen reg bodies, Omega on his heels. Normally, at this stage in a mission, he'd have pulled out his datapad and would be tapping away at it, scanning the facility for incoming reinforcements. But, unfortunately, he doesn't have his datapad. It's on the Marauder. So, instead, he takes it in stride, watching the seemingly-incapacitated bounty hunter on the ground for any signs of getting up.
He pauses as he reaches Boba, looks at the fallen beskar helmet, separated from its owner. The armor piece has easily survived the shot, the material having absorbed the worst of it. Instead of a hole burning through it to the boy's forehead, there's just a deep dent, the paint torn away to reveal the shine of silver beneath. He has no doubt that the bounty hunter is unconscious because of the force of the heavy metal slamming back into his skull.
He kneels down beside the boy, observes the deepening red spot a couple of inches above his right eye. It's definitely going to bruise, Tech has no doubt of that. He does a quick medical analysis. Pulse? Check. Breathing? Check. A concussion will be only the worst of his problems.
"Well?" Hunter inquires, the others silently waiting beside him.
"He will be fine." Tech assures him, rising back to his full height. "I suggest we leave before he wakes up."
"And before reinforcements arrive." Echo adds.
"Can I finish him off?" Crosshair inquires hopefully.
"No!" The sergeant turns him down immediately. "Crosshair, he's just a kid. We'll leave him as he is, give him a chance to change his path."
The sharpshooter tilts his covered head skeptically, but doesn't press the matter. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a sarcastic, "just a kid."
.
The hallways are mostly quiet. They cross a few reg patrols and dispatch them with ease, leaving the damage behind and only pushing forward. Tech and Echo work together to make up the escape route as they go along, for they all know that the way they entered is compromised as a way to get out. As they traverse the facility, taking down the Empire's patrols, Tech begins to grow more confident in the possibility that there won't be a giant skirmish that they'll have to fight in, that they'll actually get out with genuine ease now that Fett's been knocked out of the equation. His logical side tells him that it's not true, that the Empire won't let them leave when they're right in their clutches. But they've done it before. He has hope.
The others seem a bit more relaxed as well, though he knows they're not. Wrecker and Crosshair compare how many regs they've each downed, just like they would droids, back in the Clone War. Omega backs up Wrecker the whole time. Hunter tries not to laugh, tries to follow Echo's lead of staying focused on getting out of the facility and off of Mygeeto. Tech basks in the familiarity in almost the same fashion that a Tooka or Loth-cat would in the sunlight. He's missed his family, as he knows they have missed him.
Nonetheless, they're still far from safe, sneaking around behind enemy lines. There's every chance that they won't make it out. And they all know it.
Maybe that's why they're acting like they think everything's okay.
"I don't understand. We're more likely to die than we are to survive, and you're all just joking around?" Echo quietly asks during one of his first missions with them.
Tech's the closest to Hunter and the former ARC trooper, and he picks up the sergeant's solemn reply. "It's just a way to ease the tension. We know how bad the odds are, Echo, I promise, but it's not something that anybody likes to think about. You understand?"
"Yeah. I…I understand. Believe me, I do."
.
Their escape route doesn't turn out to be as clear as they'd hoped. Because when they open the door and step out into the freezing temperature of the air of Mygeeto, onto the back platform of the facility, there's a whole platoon of regs awaiting them, their blasters trained on them. Oh. Well, that isn't good.
"Take cover!" Hunter roars, as a volley of blasterfire leaps towards them.
Tech dives into a roll behind a few unloaded cargo crates. Hunter's right behind him, the others taking cover elsewhere. He peeks out between rounds of fire as his brothers and sister shoot back, scanning the landing pad- because that's what it is- for anything that can be of use. There is a shuttle sitting in the center of the pad, behind the Empire's troopers, her belly open and revealing the artificial light within. He frowns, his eyes thoughtfully trailing back to Wrecker, his lovable, destructive older brother. Maybe, just maybe…
He reaches for his comm. His fingers touch the blacks where his arm piece should be instead, and he inwardly scowls, remembering how he had shoved the broken piece of armor inside of his pack. Right. I do not have access to our comm channel at the moment.
Blasts of red and purple continue to fly through the air. Smoke rises from holes in the walls, from the shaking crates that shield the Batch from harm.
"Hunter!" He raises his voice to get the sergeant's attention. "Comm Wrecker. Ask him if he has any more charges."
"On it." Hunter raises his wrist piece to his helmet. "Wrecker, how many charges do you have left? Tech has an idea."
"What does he want me to do, blow up that ship?"
The button lights up and Tech replies before his brother can. "Precisely that. We can lower their numbers while they are distracted by the explosion."
"Can you make it work?" Hunter cuts back in.
"Yeah, yeah. What am I sticking them to?" Wrecker asks.
The sergeant turns to Tech.
"One of the crates." He replies easily. "Tell him to activate the repulsorlift and shove it towards the ship when he is ready. Hopefully, Crosshair will be able to get a shot in and blow it up."
Hunter relays the information over the comms.
"You got it, Sarge."
Tech returns his focus to the Empire's men, to providing Wrecker with some cover fire as he sets up the explosives on one of his crates. He levels his blaster pistol with a trooper's chest, pulls back on the trigger, tries not to look as a blast of red connects with the man's body and knocks him off his feet with a startled cry of pain. None of the other regs bother to even turn their heads to see if their fallen brother is alright, and there's an ache in his chest once again, at the power of the inhibitor chips. But, inhibitor chips or not- programmed or not, the regs are definitely still more of a challenge to face off against than the Separatists' droid armies ever were. The droids could never defeat them, no- but could the regs? Could their own kin be their downfall?
He shakes the thought away, ducking behind the crates again when he sees an opposing blaster discharge a beam of crimson light at him. The crate shutters against his back, and he grits his teeth at the sound.
His brother spares him a glance between shots. "How're you holding up?"
"Just fine." He assures him- because, really, he feels physically great at the moment, thanks to the stim injection. Of course, he is chilled to the bone by the weather, but aren't they all?
"Don't worry- if your plan works, we'll be far from here in no time." Hunter promises. He almost sounds like he's trying to reassure himself of it.
"That would be nice." Tech remarks, firing a few more shots at the Empire's troops.
That's when everything goes wrong.
The doors from where they came from open from the inside, and there's another platoon of regs charging out, opening fire immediately. No, no, no. They're surrounded on all sides- by the emptiness of air on two sides, the familiar white armor of those of the same blood on the other two- they'll certainly die, won't they? Tech doesn't get the time to come up with a new plan.
Something sharp stabs into his side, and he almost thinks it's Hunter's vibroblade for a dazed moment, the energy from the stim sweeping out of him with the gasp that chokes from his throat. His legs turn into jelly and he falls back against one of the crates. His own pistol clatters to the ground, and he urgently tilts his head downwards to assess his injury. There's a smoking hole between the side of his chestplate and utility belt, well placed on a weaker spot of his body. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move. So much for being just fine.
"Tech, get up!" Hunter shouts, stealing a downward glance at him as he struggles to defend the both of them. His brother's voice is muffled through the haze beginning to cloud his mind. "Oh, kriff- Tech, Tech, listen to me! You need to stay awake!"
But he's hungry, and he's tired, and-
He hears the sound of a jetpack approaching them. His eyes lock onto a green-armored figure in the sky, and he momentarily snaps back into focus, just long enough to get his brother's attention. His arm somehow flies up to point at the looming figure, the horrifying real depiction of their worst fears. "Hunter! Look out!"
The sergeant takes one look up at Boba Fett before he slams on his comm, barking orders at the others. "Get away from the crates! Make for the shuttle! Now!"
"What about-"
"I got him! Forget the plan, just go!"
Tech doesn't need working comms to hear Omega's cries of protest from across the landing pad as Wrecker lifts her up and carries her along.
Time seems to slow down.
Several blaster shots seem louder than the rest, and he sees the crimson beams falling from the sky, diving towards the explosive crate. Yet, he can't bring himself to move. He's transfixed on the sight of the blaster bolts, even as Hunter grips his forearm and tries to haul him up to his feet. His brother turns and helplessly glances at the crate, then back at the others' retreating backs. Some of the regs scramble forward, as if they think they can stop it. Some race back inside the facility. Some try to beat the rest of the Batch to the shuttle. But Tech doesn't move.
"Tech, we need to go!" Hunter barks, his words falling on deaf ears.
As if they have the time to get anywhere anyway.
He watches as the blaster bolts slam into the crate, into the charges Wrecker's placed on it. As the orange flames burst forth from it, licking at him, Hunter, and the regs, time snaps back to normal. There's a deafening roar, following the initial crack of the explosives' exterior shells. The platform shakes. The fire seems to expand, reaching in all directions and shoving at those within its reach.
Hunter and Tech are within that field of reach. He cries out as his blaster wound is jarred, as his body is tossed across the platform. He hears a sound from his brother too, feels the sergeant's hand find his and grip it tighter than ever before. Together, they tumble through the air, their bodies skidding across the landing pad like a rock on water.
Then, there's nothing beneath them.
Then, by some miracle, they jolt to an abrupt halt.
As the chaos above dissolves back into solely blasterfire and shouts, Tech slowly drifts back to reality. His blaster wound is the least of his concerns now, despite its horrible throbbing, he realizes, as he glances down. The icy spikes of Mygeeto's surface maliciously grin up at them from hundreds of feet below. He tilts his head back up to see why they haven't fallen yet. The motion hurts his head, and a wave of nausea rises up. He can barely make out what he knows to be the hilt of Hunter's vibroknife in his brother's hands, the blade no doubt their only anchor to the platform, the only thing keeping them alive. But they're hanging. And Hunter's not strong enough to pull him up. Only Wrecker has that strength, and Wrecker's busy protecting Omega.
"Hang on!" Hunter tells him, straining to use a single arm to try to haul himself higher. "I'm gonna get us out of this, Tech, I promise!"
His brother may already be in denial, but Tech sees the truth for what it is. "It's no use! You cannot lift both of us!" He yells because his brother is- because of the sudden adrenaline rush, because of the fear coursing through him, because he knows what has to happen; because he knows that they won't both get up onto the platform, not alive.
Hunter can't even reach for his comm and call for help. The others probably have no idea where they are, that they're dangling above that of which only a Jedi could survive. The two of them can do nothing but hang there, their doom just below them, waiting to greet them.
The bounty hunter lands on the platform with a thud, joins in on the battle above.
"Hunter, they need you." Tech says, his voice falling to just below its normal pitch. "Fly around to the Marauder and leave Mygeeto."
"No. N-Not without you." His brother chokes slightly on his words, his grip tightening. "It's going to be fine, Tech. We will get out of here, and you'll be right along with us. I-"
"-It's alright, Hunter." His voice is oh-so-soft. "You can let go."
"No. I can't- I'm not going to. You're not going to die here!"
I am not scared. He wills Hunter to understand, locking his eyes onto where the sergeant's hide behind his visor. Please. "It's alright."
"No...Don't do this." His brother pleads.
"...I have to. Take care of the others, Hunter."
As Hunter's grip grows impossibly tighter, almost bone-shattering, Tech twists and wrenches his hand free. The platform and his brother begin to rise above him.
"TECH!" His brother howls desperately, his voice laced with too much emotion, his empty hand uselessly stretching down to him. "TECH!"
Hunter grows smaller and smaller, the landing pad further and further away. Tech's eyes burn with emotion of his own, his side aches where he's been shot. The air rushes past him, numbing the worst of the physical pain, making his eyes water. I'm sorry, Hunter. But you know that this is the only option. They do not need to lose us both.
Tech knows that he can live with dying, so long as his brothers and sister make it out. Because they are everything, family is everything.
He's fine with dying.
He's fine with dying.
He's fine with dying.
He's spent so many years of his life fearing the possibility of being decommissioned because of his eyesight, and here he is, embracing his end. He would have never believed it, just a few years ago, that he would do such a thing.
Once, he was afraid of dying.
Now, he greets it like an old friend.
So, he falls. The air rushes by.
And falls. The platform gets farther away.
And falls. He can't see Hunter anymore.
And he smiles, just a little, as his goggles fog up.
Because he knows that everything is going to be just fine. Not for him, but for his family. And that's all that matters to him- his family.