Echo's mind is frontal lobe-deep in Separatist code and the pathetically obvious cyber security flaws making themselves known to him. With his socket-arm linked tightly into the scomp port by the enemy base's central server, and the other popping off shots with his DC-17, he's trying to split his attention between the virtual realm and the compartment around him, which has erupted into chaos. Apparently, the clankers on security detail aren't thrilled with his efforts, and base command is redirecting most of their heavies toward the control room. The same room that Echo and Tech have essentially converted into their own personal command center.
This is excellent news for Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker, who have infiltrated the prison block holding the allied civilian hostages that they've been tasked with rescuing. But this is shite news for Tech and Echo.
Tech's already been forced to shut his datapad, unholster his secondary blaster, and devote both hands to providing Echo with cover fire. He's a great shot ambidextrously and can grapple with the best of them, but his cunning and technical skills would be more valuable in this scenario. Echo knows this and attempts to become more involved in his own defense, checking around their position and firing more rounds toward advancing enemies.
"Leave them to me," encourages Tech over the din. "Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker have freed all the captives and are two levels and six frames away from the Marauder. Remain engaged, Echo. You are so very close!"
Indeed, Echo is so very close. Just a few more moments until he'll have the power to neutralize every problematic clanker within a two-klik radius and assume control of almost everything electronic within the compound. At that point, they could even moonwalk outta here as the whole base crumbles around them if they wanted to. Echo can and will do this; for the mission, for the victims, and for his brothers. He grits his teeth and attacks the last remaining firewall with everything he can muster. The prominent digital fortification is just about ready to crack when-
Suddenly, a white-armored figure leaps between him and a red plasma bolt and is thrown backward, trips over Echo's kneeling form, and crashes into a battered auxiliary control panel. Echo sees the amber glint of large, circular lenses through waves of code, and his mind pries itself free from the sea of zeros and ones to stitch the organic input together into thought.
Tech...
"Tech's down!" he growls into the comm on his gauntlet; still mere moments shy achieving complete cyber control and not yet able to think the transmissions directly into the Batch's commlinks without the risk of being overheard by the enemy. Echo allows his eyes a cursory glance over his younger brother's prone form. He winces at the substantial carbon scoring on his brother's smoldering cuirass, the tell-tale lack of movement, and, more alarmingly, lack of commentary. "We're gonna need backup!"
Ingenious idiot, Echo laments anxiously, wanting desperately to retract his scomp and go straight to Tech's side to assess the damage. Only the visible rise and fall of Tech's chest and determined stirring of limbs keep Echo at his current post. Without Tech's cover fire, he's forced to seal two more blast doors that were meant to be viable ways out, so they're just going to have to improvise.
"Echo!" It's Hunter's sonorous and labored voice that helps him refocus. "What happened to Tech? We've got-"
Hunter's transmission cuts out, and Echo's stomach twists into a knot of momentary panic. He glances over to Tech, who still hasn't recovered from under the ruin of framework and circuit boards, wondering how fast he'll be able to run with a full-grown brother slung over each shoulder.
"Hunter! Hunter, come in!" he calls desperately, shouting in an attempt to rouse Tech as well.
"Problems of our own," replies Crosshair darkly, with an urgency that almost makes his voice unrecognizable. "Hunter's alright, but his commlink's cooked. Passing mine to him now."
After a few seconds of radio silence, Hunter's voice reaches Echo again.
"Echo, some of the civilians were injured in captivity and extraction's been tricky. And now," Hunter stops long enough to fire three rounds and shout for Wrecker's attention. "And now, the Seps've locked down the only access to the Marauder and all hangar bay doors. What's Tech's status? And can you guys see anything we can't?"
Echo tosses his last droid popper down an adjacent corridor and consults the system about Hunter's predicament. He's able to get the data he wants, but strangely, it's no longer effortless. Something's shifting in the coding, and the bizarre distortions linger like a bad taste in the back of his throat.
"That's the only way to the ship, Sarge. But there's a local scomp port on the other side of the bulkhead you're hugging. I might be able to reactivate if I can get to it. Tech's still down, but I got him. We'll make our way to you now. I can't assume complete control from here as planned. Something…." Echo pauses, not even sure how to articulate the issue.
"What is it?" Hunter prompts.
"Something has shifted significantly," speaks a faintly strained voice before taking a few coughing gasps.
"Tech!" calls Hunter over the channel and Echo shouts across the compartment in unison. The ARC turns to see his brother rising gingerly and staggering to his feet.
"Echo and I must-" the mechanic breaks off to cough painfully a few more times. "We must activate the walkway remotely from this control room in order to ensure your safe departure," he clips, managing to regain some of the usual blunt neatness of his speech. His inquisitive, tawny eyes focus on Echo's and Echo feels a shiver of truth through his specialized connection to the databanks.
"You what?! Negative, negative!" barks the Sargent. "We're not leaving without you two. Meet us up now, and we'll all get out of this together."
"Tech's right, Sarge," cedes Echo. "It's gonna be the only way to get the civilians all outta here in one piece. We have to do what's best for the mission. Tech and I can hold out. You know we can."
Hunter lets out a frustrated bellow and a brusque "Standby" over comms before presumably consulting the others.
Meanwhile, Tech resumes cover fire, and Echo notices that he's only using one blaster while his other arm is clinched tightly against the side that took the hit. Frowning, Echo resolves to take advantage of the provided protection. He warily directs his strenuous slicing efforts to breach the blast door that Hunter's pinned against, activates the gangway to the Marauder's landing platform, and primes the hangar doors for a quick release.
Within a minute, Hunter supplies confirmation that Echo has succeeded splendidly.
"We're loading the Marauder now, getting everyone safely belted in. Crosshair's prepping to fly us out," says Hunter with ill-concealed bitterness. "We'll find the nearest post, deliver the civilians, then return. Can you get that hangar door open for us? It's getting hot in here... Wrecker, get your ass on board, right now!"
By now, Echo can feel the perverse contact with that corrupted coding again, and he struggles to maintain his symbiotic connection to the network. He senses the malice of whatever is in there with him and detects something dark and slimy lurking ominously among the decreasingly familiar digital architecture. He plows on headlong anyway, determined to make sure Hunter and the rest will escape.
"Hangar doors opening. Ten seconds to green deck," Echo reports with sweat beading on his forehead and a slight tremor in his socket-arm. "H-hurry, Sarge. Something's j-just not right."
Tech notices Echo's exertion and repositions himself immediately beside his squadmate. He glances over his shoulder at Echo, at the readout on the control panel screen, and then to the screen of his datapad before resuming fire and cueing his commlink.
"Hunter, you must depart immediately," he urges the sergeant. "Once aweigh, you will lose all contact with us. Furthermore, our continued durability and future extraction will be more complicated than originally calculated."
"I don't like your tone, Specialist," grouses Hunter.
"That is typical," replies Tech with a candid gleam in his eyes. His brow then furrows with worry when he feels Echo start to sag against him.
"Tech," Echo rasps with difficulty as his world starts to tilt sideways. "I can't hold much longer. There's-
"Oi! How come only you two get to stay and cause more mayhem?" suddenly complains Wrecker over the radio. "Save some for us for when we get back! And, uhh, Crosshair says 'not to die'."
Despite the dilemma that he and Tech are in, Echo can't stop the fond smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He'd come back with a snappy retort if he could spare the effort. Luckily, he has a Tech for that.
"Oh. That makes us feel so much better," deadpans the faithful mechanic.
"We're gone!" exclaims Hunter over their comms. "Heads down and seals tight, boys! We're comin' right back for you!"
With that, Echo and Tech's communication link to the others goes entirely and unnervingly dead.