Being eaten was not a pleasant experience. In fact, it was probably the most unpleasant experience of Wrecker's whole entire life.
The horrifying plant or monster or animal or whatever the kriff the THING was dragged him downwards, stuffing him into its gullet, which was a tight fit with his bulky armour. It was eerily quiet inside the beast, the only sounds being the faint gurgles coming from its digestive system, which Wrecker supposed he would become familiar with soon enough, and a hollow shriek, which he quickly came to realise was coming from himself. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, his composure torn apart by utter blind panic. This was not the way he wanted to go out, trapped, suffocating, and slowly being digested by some horrid creature. He thrashed about desperately, attempting to create some space inside the fleshy prison, but the thick muscular walls on either side prevented him from stretching his arms to the fullest.
Pausing to catch his breath, which was coming in ragged, harsh pants, Wrecker shook himself to dispel the pounding in his ears. At first, he thought the thumping was an after effect of too much physical strain following a head wound, but after a little while he came to realise that it was all the blood rushing to his head and that he was in fact wedged upside down. With an almighty heave, he scrambled around until the dizziness abated. Glancing above, he found himself staring at the back of the thing's mouth, the rows of teeth just visible and dripping with a sticky saliva.
Desperately, Wrecker reached his hands forward, blindly fumbling for an opening. But the creature's maw was sealed tightly shut, and he struggled to find any sort of purchase. Letting out a grunt of frustration, he slammed a fist into the meat on one side of him. To his surprise, the monster let out a fierce shriek, and above him, a crack appeared between the creature's lips.
Heart pounding, he punched once more, and again, the seal of its mouth broke apart for a few seconds, before sliding closed with a wet squelch.
"Here goes nothing," Wrecker muttered to himself, drawing back his arm as far as it would go in the tight confines, before hitting out with as much force as he could muster.
As soon as that maw opened, he was ready, kicking off against whatever the Hell was beneath him, arms stretched out as momentum pushed him towards the outside world. With his hands, he grabbed a hold of each jaw, the sharp teeth slicing his gloves to ribbons and no doubt drawing blood, but Wrecker ignored the pain and focused his energy on prising the mouth apart. He met with less resistance than expected, the opening snapping wide with little force, revealing the dark Umbaran sky in all its inky glory.
Half shoving, half climbing, Wrecker dragged his torso out of the creature's mouth, balancing his body weight through his hands, holding on tight because he didn't want the jaws to snap shut again. He was rather fond of the lower half of his body, and didn't much fancy getting chopped in half.
Lifting his gaze from the rows of fangs, he was greeted with the sight of Hunter, knife in hand, as he hacked away as the tentacles which continued to flail haphazardly about. It was heartening to see that there were noticeably less of them than there had been prior to Wrecker becoming a snack. Tech was just out of reach of the beast, blaster drawn as he sent a constant stream of bolts in its direction, though it didn't appear as though many of the shots were connecting. If only they hadn't been separated from Crosshair, because Wrecker was certain his brother would have been able to bullseye some vital organ and kill the creature without breaking a sweat.
With one last almighty heave, Wrecker threw himself upwards, clearing the teeth with barely an inch to spare and landing on the dusty ground, his momentum sending him tumbling. He rolled to his feet, narrowly dodging a vine, which seemed Hells bent on grabbing Hunter, twisting to watch as the jaws snapped furiously, angry at having been denied a meal. Wrecker flashed a toothy grin as he reached for one of the thermal charges pinned to his belt, primed it, and threw it into the open maw of the monster.
"Chew on that!"
The thing kriffing deserved it, but even so, its death was grizzly. The detonator went off with a dull thud, sending a spray of greenish purple viscera skyward from the gaping mouth. It's tentacles went abruptly limp, flopping to the ground where a few of them twitched half-heartedly.
An eerie silence followed the demise of the creature, broken finally by Wrecker as he stood, wiping gore from the visor of his helmet and picking off a few chunks of flesh that had lodged themselves in the crevices of his armour.
"That was fun!"
...
Kriffing Hells, did Wrecker stink.
Hunter did his best to remain downwind of him as they continued their laborious march. His stomach had been unsettled all day, and he really didn't need that putrid stench sending him heaving all over again.
Things had gotten a bit dicey back there, and Hunter was pretty sure his heart had actually stopped beating at the sight of Wrecker being swallowed by that thing. For a moment, that awful dread had returned when he'd thought he'd lost another brother, the overwhelming sense of despair and failure. His hands were still trembling from the excess adrenaline coursing through his body, and he gave himself a shake and quickened his pace in an effort to dispel the shakiness.
The sound of footsteps behind him heralded the arrival of Tech. His younger brother fell into step beside him and shot him a sideways look through the visor of his helmet.
"Wrecker's odour is extremely unpleasant," he said with a shudder, hastily glancing over his shoulder at the giant himself, who was trailing back some distance and safely out of ear shot.
Despite his internal unease, Hunter couldn't help but chuckle.
"Yeah. That's putting it mildly."
"It is a shame that we did not have sufficient time for me to study that creature," said Tech wistfully, "it was an interesting hybrid between plant and animal. I'm sure I could have learnt a great deal from its carcass."
Hunter reached out to pat Tech on the shoulder with only partially mocking sympathy.
"Sorry to ruin your fun, Tech."
Tech sniffed loudly and shook his head.
"No matter. I'm sure the recordings I took will prove to be quite educational."
Hunter blinked, cocking a curious eyebrow underneath his helmet.
"Recordings?"
"Yes," said Tech, tapping the side of his bucket, the visor of which had been cut away to make room for his spectacles. "I installed a camera prior to leaving Kamino."
Hunter suppressed another laugh. His brother really was a quirky one.
"Why?"
Tech tilted his head in thought while he formulated a response.
"Because I felt that it would be beneficial to have footage of our missions."
That did make sense, although it also felt a little like an invasion of privacy. Hunter made a mental note to remove himself from Tech's company the next time he had to relieve himself.
"How detailed is the footage?" he asked curiously.
"It is of fairly good quality."
Hunter licked his lips, a tightness forming in his belly.
"So, back at trenches...is there any footage of Crosshair...?"
He couldn't finish the sentence, because he wasn't sure whether he wanted to say 'making it out' or 'lying dead on the ground'.
Tech shook his head.
"Unfortunately, the explosion took the recording software offline."
Hunter nodded solemnly. Tech watched him for a moment before changing the subject.
"How far ahead do you estimate the battalion to be?"
His tone was bright, as though he were forcing himself to sound casual.
Hunter sighed loudly, staring off into the distance.
"Too far."
...
Tech idly sorted through his recordings as he trotted along behind his brothers.
The fold down screen he'd installed in his helmet during the short amount of time he'd had to modify his gear before leaving Kamino was cracked, but even so the picture quality was passable. He replayed the few frames of Wrecker being swallowed, sighing loudly with disappointment over the fact that he hadn't gotten a chance to study the creature, dead or alive. That really was unfortunate, but he supposed their current mission objective was not to observe the local fauna.
Saving the footage to his data pad, Tech hastily scrolled back through the files, which he had organised chronologically. After the creature attack was their march across the plains, tending Wrecker's wound, a brief gap, their time in the trenches, the advance up the hill, their descent on the LA-AT. He went back further, to the briefing aboard the venator, gearing up with his brothers, Crosshair's sulky remarks that he absolutely refused to interact with the regs on any level, even under threat of court martial. He rewound that section again, watching his grey haired brother's scowl, the way his lips quirked up at the edges, the defiant look in his eye.
Tech watched the recording again. And again. And again.
By the tenth viewing, the tightness in his chest was unbearable. Tech knew that he didn't feel or process emotions the same as his brothers. He found it difficult to categorise or express the sensations and the effects they had on him.
But as he replayed that little clip of Crosshair, Tech was absolutely certain without a shadow of a doubt that he missed his brother deeply.
...
They had been marching for hours. Hours and hours and kriffing HOURS. Despite the rigorous training he had undergone for the majority of his life, Crosshair's feet still hurt.
They had been moving constantly since leaving that ridge. Since Krell had taken over. Since abandoning his brothers . They hadn't even stopped long enough for the men to relieve themselves, although Crosshair didn't fail to notice a few of the troopers duck behind a convenient tree when they thought no one was looking, evidently prepared to face Krell's wrath if it meant attending to their aching bladders. He himself was above such distractions, having spent a great deal of time conditioning himself to tune out his body's basic needs. And besides, even if he was admittedly more than a little uncomfortable, a bit of discomfort was well deserved.
The constant moving was not only exhausting but offered an unpleasant void in which to think. And Crosshair really did not need that, because his mind had a tendency to stray onto thoughts of his brothers whenever a spare moment allowed. He wished Tech were with him, because at least his frequent info dumps would be a welcome distraction from the blisters on his feet. Or Wrecker, whose childlike and jovial outlook made it easy to forget your troubles, even though Crosshair had never fully appreciated that ability before now. Or Hunter, who he had no doubt would take absolutely no crap from Krell, the Captain, or any of the other regs. But his wistful thoughts were just mere fantasies, and he was miserably and desperately alone.
Disjointed.
Lost.
Roughly clearing his throat to remove the unexpected lump that had formed there, Crosshair lifted his gaze towards Krell, who continued to stride arrogantly at the head of the column. He set a stiff pace, forcing the rest of the battalion to match his speed, lest they be left behind or worse, disciplined by the General. From what Crosshair had seen (admittedly from a distance, though his eyesight was superior enough that he'd still noticed every detail) the Jedi was not shy about getting physical with any reg that stepped out of line. More than once he'd given a hearty shove to any man that had dared complain within his earshot, and he'd actually grabbed the ARC trooper (that Crosshair had learned was called Fives - a kriffing stupid name if you asked his opinion) by the scruff of the neck when the clone had relayed the findings of their reconnaissance mission with a bit too much snarkiness.
From the way the General acted, it became very apparent that he had no love for clones.
Normally, such a fact would have been amusing to Crosshair. He'd always hated the rank and file with a vehement passion, and would have gleaned a great deal of enjoyment from watching them be bullied into submission, the same way they'd bullied him and his brothers back on Kamino. He would have made a comment to Wrecker and they would have had a good laugh about it whilst keeping their distance.
But, with his change in circumstance, a horrifying realisation began to dawn on Crosshair.
He was one of the regs now.
Without his brothers, he was no longer part of an elite squad. He was merely a defective clone that had been swallowed up by the battalion because he had nowhere else to go. His mutations would be tolerated all the while they had a use, but as soon as that changed or he became obsolete, Crosshair knew he would be back on a shuttle bound for Kamino to face decommissioning, or worse. Memories of his other defective brother, twisted and hunched, forced to live a lifetime in servitude to others, flashed through his head.
A cold kind of dread crept over him, prickling his skin beneath his body suit with claminess. Whatever happened, Crosshair quickly decided that he'd do everything in his power to avoid that fate. Perhaps it would be better to get out now, before his usefulness ended. After this mission, it would be simple enough to take the ship and go. Where, he didn't know, but it would be easy for him to blend in. Pick up mercenary work. Live out his short, miserable existence at the edges of civilisation.
That was assuming he didn't die on this campaign. By either Umbaran or Jedi hands, because with the way Krell was behaving, the latter was a very real possibility.
Crosshair watched the General and speculated how long it would be before it was his turn for a beating, verbal or otherwise.
He wondered how he would react? If he hadn't been swallowed by this black hole of depression, he knew in his heart he would have fought back, tooth and nail, as he'd been conditioned to do. But right now, he was too exhausted, mentally and physically. And he wasn't sure he cared enough to fight anymore.