Chapter 1 - Repairs
Plot: In the aftermath of Tantiss's destruction, CX-5 and her brothers pick themselves up. Hemlock's last standing orders were to put down the clone rebellion, and that's all they have. With their hunt comes Clone Force 99 and other familiar but unremembered faces, and for the first time in her life, CX-5 finds herself questioning where she thought she belonged.
Idek. Honestly, I just hate how the CX's were dealt with, so I thought up this to deal with it. We all know who CX-2 is, obviously. :3 But they're all people we know.
Idk how often I'll be updating this tho. :( I'm struggling with writing it a lot, and I'm only drafting chapter 3 right now. It's... a very wild ride. But hopefully, you'll read and enjoy. 💖 Comments, as always, are appreciated! =D Hopefully, they'll give me more motivation to continue. 💖
~ Rivana Rita
"CX-5. Hey. Look at me."
Awareness flickers in with panting groan. My arm's on fire. Burning. It's flaming, across my hand and forearm and all the way up to my shoulder. Hands are on me, lowering me to the ground. My back's on the broken wall, and breathing's hard. My head is spinning.
Someone rips my helmet off and the dark helmet in front of me blurs and twists and swirls. I gasp, teeth gritted. Panting.
"Status report." CX-6 crouches in front of me, blaster holes in a few places of his armor, but relatively somehow unaffected. Must not've shorted out his mecho half.
Status report. I try to move. My arm spasms and lights with another flare of pain. "I can't feel my hand." I look down, panic alighting itself in my chest, a crushing pressure over my throat. I jerk my arm closer – I still see it but feeling vanishes someway down. I try to flex my hand, gasping. I see a blurred mass and a few too many fingers. It's too dark and I can't see and this isn't me this isn't mine this isn't –
"Breathe," he orders, turning my head to face his. He pulls his helmet off. The wildness in his eyes is a bit calmed. "Or you'll suffocate."
I love you too, the voice says in my mind. I ignore it.
"Are you functional?"
"Affirmative," I grumble, shifting forward. What am I gonna say? No? I can walk. My arm is burning, and my head spins when I move to stand, but if someone's around who needs stabbing, I'm still readily able to stab them. I stumble wildly, tripping into CX-6 and he grabs my good arm to keep me standing. "Where are –" All thoughts of the mission die off when I see the other two. CX-3 is sparking but he's sitting up. Gonna need some rewiring. Last I'd seen, he was taken down. CX-4 was the last standing, but he's down now. Holes in his chestplate armor.
The clones are our brothers, and they did this to us.
His dark smoky-smoothness is still flickering. He's alive. I don't see his breathing, but he's not dead. His hand shifts, and he tries to sit up. He was shot, too.
"Where's CX-2?" I ask, rubbing my injured shoulder. Might be dislocated. Something's wrong with it.
"Haven't seen him."
He was up above. Back in the training room. "Let's go." I stumble forward, picking up one of my knives and latching it back to my back. "We hafta – find him."
We failed. We are so screwed.
CX-2 was up there alone. He's going to be hurt, too. There's no shooting.
"The lift's not working."
"That's not our only way up." I fumble one-handed at my belt for my grappling hook, latching it onto the window CX-3 so gloriously went out. "Start climbing." The line jerks me upward, and I crash awkwardly just inside the window ledge, stumbling and nearly slipping and rolling through. Ow. Ow ow ow ow. Moving jars my arm worse and tears burn at my eyes, but we have to finish the mission. I stumble to my feet, stifling a cry when my hand hits the floor.
Something's bleeding. I can smell the blood. Dunno if it's mine, or –
CX-2 is pinned to the wall with CX-3's electrostaff.
Stars above that I've never seen, there is so much blood.
"Found 'im." I sound strangled. My heart's pounding in my ears. "Back up?"
"On our way." That's CX-3. He's up. Good.
My knees nearly buckle, but I stumble to his side.
He's suspended over the floor, weight dangling on the electrostaff that was thrown through his gut into the central column system thing whatever. His body's smoking faintly, and the room smells of a twisted ozone-smoke. Oh, of course gutting him wasn't enough, and they had to electrocute him, too.
I don't know who did this to him, but I am going to find and murder them. I am going to kill him very slowly and painfully.
"Tell me you're alive." I touch his shoulder with my good hand. His helmet doesn't move. He's out cold. Or hot. We have to get him off the wall, and that means ripping this thing out of him. "Or, you can be difficult, and play dead." I hop onto my tiptoes, grabbing his arm and trying to hook it over my shoulder. My stupid brothers are so tall. At least this one is. Ugh. I try to move my right arm, but the pain takes my breath away.
I have to grip his hand with my good one, trying to move, but he's heavier unconscious, and I gotta move fast. He's bleeding. His armor is splattered with it. Dunno how much is his or someone else's, but I see a steadily growing at his feet. That's his own. There won't be much left if we're not fast.
The electrostaff is long, and trying to yank him off it isn't gonna work well. It's too long.
I grunt, shrugging his arm off and going for my knife again.
The other three are stumbling over through the window themselves. All of them are limping, but still moving. CX-6 is somewhat supporting CX-4.
The knife's weight in my hand feels off, and my head is spinning, but I flick it around and slash off the end of the pole.
"That was my weapon," CX-3 protests.
The metal clangs onto the floor and I swing my knife back. "Stop being a baby."
CX-4 takes to his other side. I try to steady him as he and CX-6 pull him down from the wall. I am going to find whoever did this, and I am going to gut them to pieces.
CX-2 makes a strangled gasp-groan when he's moved, and I wince.
My gut vaults and I don't know if it's from the pain in my arm, or the smell. Or the sound. I reach up, one-handedly pulling his helmet off and trying to brace it on my other arm. His face is pale, though his skin is lighter than the rest of ours. Never been sure why he looks different.
I try to balance him, I've heard this before. I'm used to seeing people in pain. This is no different. We're assassins. It's not – it doesn't –
Hemlock doesn't usually treat injuries this bad. He'd have us put him down.
I look up, wide-eyed, hand on his chest to steady him upright and I – I can't let him die. "I'll try to find the supplies."
I stumble off, teeth gritted and willing my head to quit it's spinning as I move across the wreckage of the room. They smashed it up well. I can't find anything, but we got a storage area for – for – this stuff, right? My head's spinning, and I press my arm tighter to my body.
Focus focus focus focus come on you're an assassin and you can't even find a single medical equipment –
"There," CX-4 points to the crate of – I hardly remember that thing. Never see it in use.
"We have to stop the bleeding," CX-6 calls from the background. "Fast."
The hangar. There's nothing really hot here though, and we can't stick that inside him. "Get him down," CX-4 orders, shoving the crate's top off and yanking a syringe out. He jabs the needle into his arm. I turn back to the crate, fumbling for some bacta patches and whatever else is involved in blaster shots.
"That's not gonna be enough," CX-6 objects.
"It'll have to be," CX-4 answers shortly, He jabs the needle into CX-2's neck and hits the dispenser.
"You can take some of mine," I offer, balancing the first-aid kit mess on one knee. I don't know how many shots they need treating. They were all hit a few times, but I don't know how many penetrated armor.
"Negative," CX-4 answers, "Your blood isn't compatible with ours."
Yeah. Something about mine's different. All my brothers can just get each other's with no issue.
I look down at my hand. My glove looks wet. Minuscule drops of dark red liquid stay behind when I brush it on the edge of the crate. I'm bleeding, too.
The strangled, gasping breaths do not sound good. "3, try to get him to breathe."
"I am supposed to get you to breathe," CX-3 deadpans, "Though I have no idea how to do that."
I have no idea if the sound CX-2 makes is more a groan or growl.
"Got a bacta injection," I grunt. "And, uh –" We gotta call the medical droid in. They know what to do.
"Bring it," CX-4 orders, and I stumble upright. Come on. I don't have a hole in me. I can function with one arm.
I dig out a scanner, too, and dump them on the foot of the table. For the record, the mess is worse with them taking his armor off. The blood's smeared everywhere.
I lean on the table edge, room spinning. My arm's on fire. I'm breathing in through tightly clenched teeth. The room is cold.
CX-6 is trying and failing to stop the bleeding. It's basically spurting and CX-2's as pale as a ghost. I've never seen that before, but it can't be good. "Status?" he asks, glancing at CX-4 who's trying to run the scanner over him.
"Severe blood loss. Electric burns –" Oh yeah, I see those a little but, but it's kinda hard with the blood smeared everywhere. "And internal organ damage."
"Oh," CX-3 supplies, "Well he won't be needing those."
I throw a bacta patch at his head. "CX-3, be nice!"
"I don't even have most of those." Ugh. It's a fair enough point, and his left shoulder is sparking every now and then. I sink onto the edge of an upturned piece of debris, watching numbly
"I can't get the bleeding to stop." CX-6 looks up.
I close my eyes. Breathe in and out. Cauterize. Something molten. Melted. Hot metal. "The field cauterizer. We've got one – somewhere." To attend to bad injuries. To burn holes closed. It's a laser. "I'd grab something from the hangar, but we – we can't stick metal in. He's not gonna last that long. And it's safer than shooting him."
"It should work," CX-4 agrees, "Make it quick."
I reach out, fumbling. We all have one. I pull CX-2's off his belt, shaking it with my good arm and twisting to brace my hip on the table-edge. Head is pounding. I'm seeing double, and can't get it on, but I try to shake the blood off and hand it to CX-4.
"We'll to keep it steady," CX-4 interjects, still at the table and trying to slow the blood flow. "And even. Get some light."
"I'll can do it fine," CX-3 insists.
CX-4's helmet tilts with as much skepticism as we all have, and I glare at the object. It's taking too long. Hopefully it'll get through. All the way – it went through him, and we can't turn 'im over. The initial electric surge probably heated him enough to partly cauterize the hole, though yanking him off must've broken that.
"The restraints aren't working," CX-3 supplies.
"CX-5?" CX-6 asks.
Ugh. Fine. I've done worse. Not half strong enough to hold him, so... I climb onto the table, kneeling on his arms to keep him still.
"Make it fast," CX-6 warns, "We don't need complications."
"Worked on 9904," I mutter, eyes narrowing. He's still right now, eyes closed, but I know he'll be up in a moment. That's how I thought of this in the first place.
"Straight down," CX-4 orders, "And try not to tear anything else. It came out, so it should go back in."
"Ick," I mutter.
I only know when it starts because CX-2 jerks sharply, violently beneath me, and I try to lean more of my weight on him. I'm crushing his chest, and he probably can hardly breathe, but I shove harder. He's squirming, and he didn't scream before when we ripped him off the wall, and he's not exactly now either, but the sound he makes is raw and gutted and I don't think I'll ever get it out of my head.
My face is wet. I press my useable hand to his cheek. "Hey. Look at me." I think he's trying, but he doesn't stop trying to move, either. "Still. Hold still." He's trying to leverage me off.
"Keep him still," CX-6 hisses.
"I'm trying!" I snap back, "It's not my fault I'm the tiniest, skinniest clone!"
I look back at him, curls falling floppily into my face. The movement makes my head spin, and I grit my teeth through the pain, trying to breathe. My own body is trembling as I try to keep him down. My vision is blurry and wet. I try to blink at the burning heat in my eyes, willing my throat to stop strangling me and the crushing pressure on my chest.
I'm pretty sure something inside me is going to be making a reappearance. Er, preferably not the same way CX-2's is.
He's gasping and I realize with muted horror that he's crying, too.
"Hurry up, 3!" I hiss, "You're hurting him!"
"Wouldn't be if he hadn't been hurt in the first place," CX-3 points out flippantly.
That's true. I look back down at him, usable hand moving to his shoulder because we need him still. "Y'know, the more you squirm, the worse this'll hurt." His face is deathly pale, and I don't like it. Almost gray. He's dying.
My grip tightens.
Should probably've warmed up the pole before taking him off, but that would've cooked him. Which is ew.
"Alright. It's done," CX-4 grunts, "Move." There's shuffling behind me, and I think they're turning off the laser, trying to make sure everything's burned clean through, but the sound he makes is still stuck in my head for the rest of my very miserable, squashed life.
CX-6 stabs him with another blood infusion, this time his own, and nudges me to get off.
I stumble, swinging and nearly toppling over onto my face.
Owww. My arm is on fire and my hips are gonna be sore for ages. And I'm seeing three of somebody. Wait. Is that CX-3? He looks like he has a really long head – oh, that's just the end of his spear. I stumble, nearly falling and crashing to one knee to even stay somewhat upright.
CX-2 is panting behind me. Gasping. Like he can't breathe.
Blood loss. Pain. I don't know.
I try to move. To stand.
End up dry heaving instead. Good thing I haven't eaten in a while.
"Whoa," CX-6 says, "That's unpleasant."
"Shut up," I mutter, stumbling to a piece of debris that looks like it's begging to be used as a seat.
I don't remember passing out, though the memories of them bandaging him are through a haze. I know CX-6 donates a bit of blood, too – probably all someone can safely lose at a time – to keep his heart going. It nearly stopped at least three times. CX-2's a cyborg like most of us. Blood loss is dangerous, but he's still breathing shallowly when they're done, which is a top plus.
CX-3 tries to stand from where he was leaning on the table, and his knees give out and he thumps onto the floor with a yelp.
I flinch, stumbling upright. "Stay down," I snap at him. The others, we can try to get working first. Nobody's up to digging through a bunch of mecho mess. That's CX-2's role. He's good with machines. None of us have the talent, and I could probably throw something together if I wasn't seeing three faces and a blurred mass. Ugh.
My face is wet. My sleeve is wet, and I stumble over to CX-4 – he took a few shots to the chest. The padding under our armor shielded them from the worse of the shots, though CX-6 is trying to clean a wickedly deep blaster shot that went right through it on his left shoulder – his movement there has been a bit limited, so my guess is both the others are pretty beat up.
He's got a whole layer of nasty bruising everywhere I can see. Our armor is meant to take the worst of blaster shots, so they hurt, but they don't burn deep enough to take us down. Usually. There are a few weak points only we know. Oh, probably, only CX-2 remembers those.
Head spins when I try to move and reach for him, to help patch the bacta over. I stumble, off-balance. CX-4 grabs my wrist to steady me, and pain explodes through it, raw and blinding. I cry out as I wrench away, stumbling into my seat and tripping, flailing for something to grasp.
My thigh hits something and I crash over, smashing my already very sore, thank you very much, hip into something and just go splat on my side. My face is wet, tears spilling down my face. I blink, gasping.
"Your arm's broken," CX-4 says.
My head feels underwater, drowned and like he's echoing through a rippling liquid, distant and... gone...
His hands are on my shoulders, lifting me upright. He's got a hole in his chest and he's still trying to carry me. He kneels in front of me. "Can you tell me where it is?"
"Everything." I blink, teeth gritted. It's hurt. Broken. That clone put my hand through a wall. It's damaged. I'm – damaged. Like I always tried so hard not to be. My hand's a mess.
They'll have it amputated.
I don't want to lose it.
"I'll start at the top," CX-4 murmurs, leaning forward. My shoulder aches, but I think it's – it's in place. Can move it.
His fingers are gentle on my arm, but every touch is jarring and the bruising is bad. Can't tell where that ends and the breaks begin – okay, it's bruised all the way down. There's no end.
"It hurts."
"We're making you a part of something more. It'll make you stronger."
The touch and pressure burns. Hurts less when the first break is shoved back into place, but that doesn't stop my gasp or the burning tears trickling down my face.
Breathe.
Breathe.
I can't.
The pressure on my chest is crushing, strangling. Like a deadweight of metal. It hurts so much and I can't – I – Oh, stars. It hurts. My jaw aches from being clenched so tight and I want to pull away, but if I don't let him set it, I'll lose it altogether. I've tried so hard to stay whole. I don't know if I'll still be able to See without it.
I see my hand, briefly – it's cut in a thousand places and sticky with blood. CX-4 has to rip my glove off to get to it. He takes my hand in his, turning it over. "I'm not sure how much of this is salvageable."
My heart flutters. I feel lightheaded. "I – it can still be fixed," I argue.
He nods to me wordlessly – that's not his call to make, anyway. It's Hemlock's. Surprised he hasn't shown up yet.
CX-4's fingers work over mine. I think it'd feel nice if it didn't hurt so much.
I must've passed out again somewhere, because I don't remember it being wrapped, just that it – is. He stabs my neck with something, though my head's too fuzzy. Probably bacta. Don't have a lot of those. Hemlock doesn't keep many on short notice.
CX-3 is moving, trying to twitch himself to his feet. I push myself up, even if my arm's in a sling. Try not to think about that. It's weak. I failed. Got it for our failure.
Hemlock won't see it that way. How many of us will he put down? We were to – deal with them.
I grab his right arm, digging my feet into the floor and yanking to leverage him upright. He grunts, crashing into me, metal and all, nearly throwing me off balance. Good thing I braced us with an equally hard shove, but we nearly go over, anyhow. "Don't be so pushy," I growl, voice strangled and high, dragging him toward one of the other tables. We'll have to pull him apart and piece him back together.
"We're gonna need a med droid," CX-6 warns, pulling his shirt back down. His chest is covered with some really nasty bruising, plus one across his head. I'm not even gonna ask.
CX-3 grunts, groaning a little when I shove him onto the edge of the table. He's unbalanced, and I try steadying him. "There. Let's get your armor off." It's hard one-handed, but he can still move, and we get most of it off together.
He's a mess. A mecho mess. Could use CX-2 right about now.
Several things are sparking. I detach his left arm entirely to check it out – it's implanted into a mechanical mess over the left half his body. There are some sort of implants on his chest that the shots hit instead of hitting him. He's lucky it didn't take his heart out. We'll have to strip all the wires out of this stupid arm to get it to work.
I yank his arm off the table and throw it on the floor with a clatter. "Does anybody have any spare arms?" I kick it disgustedly. "This thing is useless. Scratch that. All his parts are useless. We need rewiring."
The meddroid comes in, and I glare at it for good measure. I hate those with a passion. First of all, they float. And have a million gross, gray appendages. And, they're dumb.
"I will not be able to intervene unless Hemlock authorizes it," the droid supplies uselessly.
I jolt upright, snatching up my vibrosword and waving it in the thing's dumb face. "Do it, or I'll rip your circuits out and patch them up myself."
CX-6 throws his zapper thing at it. I jump back, nearly falling at the blurring, when the droid drops nearly onto my toes. "I'll rewire it," he supplies, moving in to tend to it himself.
Stupid droids. I sit back beside CX-3, prodding one-handedly at the mechanical pieces.
Exhaustion is nagging me down, sapping and nipping my energy. Gotta get the others patched up.
The droid's working on CX-2. Don't know how much longer 3 will last, either.
There's nothing more I can do for 3, so I turn to CX-4 instead. He was trying to bandage himself up earlier – breathing is clearly agony – but got distracted with my arm.
My head is spinning, vision blurring with stars. Walking's getting harder. They won't ask for help if I don't give it. I wouldn't, either. We can handle it ourselves. I can rest and recover. Just don't want to be the one to put them down.
The doctor will be angry. We failed. He could have all of us put down. My entire arm is burning. I don't want to lose it.
"You should be more careful with your shooting hand."
I grit my teeth, lowering myself to the floor beside CX-4. He wordlessly holds out the edges of the bandaging to me, and I help wrap it around him. His chest is bruised bad. Was shot in a couple places. Unpleasant. He has scars. Lots of 'em. Not as bad as CX-3 – I don't think anyone could compare with his, but still. There's one on his face, by his eye, twisted and curled in a way that makes it look like someone nicely tried to cut his eye out with half his face and failed miserably. Something he's had as long as I remember. I don't know if it's from his capture, or some other mission he failed. Or maybe this was a victory, one that nearly cost half his sight.
There's a burn across his arm, and I watch numbly as he puts bacta on it, bandages it over. The med droid is whirring in the background again. Thanks, CX-6. He'll – fix them up. The whirring is lulling. I hate it. I... hate it.
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