Recommend listening: "A song for bygone days" from Fire Emblem: Echoes Shadows of Valentia OST.
Crosshair chose the Empire over his brothers. Chip or no chip he dug himself so deep in their ways he felt it was his only purpose. Better than aimlessly drifting in the galaxy, he was actually putting his enhancements to use. It's what he was born and bred for, it's something Hunter and others could never see. He stuck with the Empire till the bitter end. Even when he was told to commit atrocities, even when they destroyed the only place he called home, even when...
they left him to die.
He wasn't welcomed back with open arms but they still saw him as useful. Admiral Rampart was never a fan of clones but even he wouldn't throw away assets. Crosshair got things done, simple as that. "Officially" his brothers along with Omega are dead, their corpses forever lost in the depths of Kamino's facilities. Unofficially it was the least he could do for them, if they couldn't see eye to eye they might as well be dead to him.
Over the years Crosshair was sent mission after mission, never stopping to fulfill his need. A need for purpose, that driving force that gets him up from his barracks. He wasn't for the thrills, but the satisfaction of completing a task. It fulfilled him like nothing else. It was the desire to be the perfect soldier, a good soldier.
And good soldiers follow orders.
He never bonded with anyone in his squad, mostly because they all died usually due to the incompetence of a superior officer. All these codes and regulations often hindered more than helped on assignments. The Empire was nothing like the Republic, but more importantly it just wasn't the same without his brothers...
Wrecker snoring loudly with Lulo tucked with him. Or Tech giving useless information none of us would remember in the next hour. Even Echo telling stories from his time in the five-hundred-and-first. But Hunter...Crosshair missed him most of all. Usually sharpening his knife or checking up on everyone. Those days have long passed now. A distant memory from a bygone era, something that felt like a lifetime ago.
Crosshair was beginning to show his age in recent years. His body was getting slower and his voice started to sound more raspy. He had visible wrinkles on his forehead, his calloused hands getting more strained easily. Even his eyesight was getting worse, where before looking through his scope was clear as day but now... everything was a blur.
He's still more competent and skilled than his underlinings, but he was getting rusty. A cadet once out performed him, even on his worst day in his prime that was inconceivable. Yet the accelerating aging made it harder and harder to keep up with the times. He slowly saw the transition from Clones to conscripts, such a downgrade. All the remaining regs either retired or were part of Darth Vader's personnel legion. Special clones like himself and commandos still saw use but we too were phased out. Hunter was right, how right he was.
He heard stories of a unit called Task Force 99 or SCAR squadron, clearly inspired by his former squad. Crosshair was beginning to wonder when his time would be next? When would the Empire he served so loyally toss him in the trash compactor? Over two decades of obedience he never once complained or questioned authority. In the end what does he get for all his effort?
Nothing, just plain nothing. Even empty words of gratitude would suffice.
When he heard of the destruction of the First Death Star, he nearly defected like many others in the Empire. Where he differed from all the rest, was his reason. It wasn't the morality of having such a weapon(that died long ago), but he was beginning to see the cracks. How fragile the Empire really was. Yet he still sided with the Empire, perhaps in his own twisted logic he justified that the Empire now needed him now more than ever. How could they promote peace, freedom, and security with those Rebels around? Then... IT happened. The straw that broke the Dewback's back.
After the death of the Emperor himself, Crosshair was at a loss for words. In that moment he reflected on every decision that led to where he is now. All his hard work sunk down like Tipoca city. What was left? What did it all mean? The Empire, order 66, operation War Mantel? All one pointless crusade? He dared ask himself the singular burning question that had been haunting all this time. The question that's plagued his mind ever since the chip was removed.
Did he choose wrong?
No. You're doing the right thing, you're a good soldier. His rationale always changed, he created new reasons no matter if they contradict each other. It's what allowed him to sleep at night. Yet the nightmares... those still happen. At times it felt like he was living in one, a Well of agony and misery he couldn't escape.
Was he simply afraid of what would happen if he left? His brothers offered him salvation, definitely much less than what he deserved. Even when he tried to kill them, threaten Omega. They still believed in him, they saw something Crosshair couldn't. Deep down he may have been a jerk to everyone but when push came to shove... he loved his brothers. Crosshair was too ashamed to admit he made the biggest mistake of his life.
Ironic. He criticized them for drifting without purpose, arguing the Empire at least gave him one. But now, with no Empire he too has become a drifter. A lost soldier with no war to fight, no battlefield to die on, no cause to believe in, and no allies...
Crosshair had a new mission set for himself. One last task before he eventually passes. He knew it would be the most challenging, there was a chance he would die trying to complete it. He owned it to himself to see it done. He needed to find and locate his brothers, at least seek out Omega...
He owed them all a big apology.
It was something I made up on the spot last night. I just needed a way to express how I felt and writing about it was the most natural. I figured "hey why not?" might as well post right? I did this exact thing for Mandalorian season 2, let's see if that trend holds up for Book of Boba Fett.
