They had been spotted on an outer rim planet, and Tarkin couldn’t wait to destroy any possible rebellion. One to eliminate the former Clone Force 99. The chip that made him an obedient lap dog. The man was sworn to hate clones, the same man who ordered the procedure to strengthen his chip. “CT-9904.” Crosshair stood at attention, not sparing at look at Admiral Tarkin. How could he even bear the thought of harming his family? She had treated him with kindness, even though he was unnecessarily rude to her.Ĭrosshair was furious with himself. He used his brother as bait to lure the others, so he could shoot them too.Īnd, his team was also protecting a child, Omega. Actually landed a blaster shot into his shoulder. And then, better yet, he shot at his team. His mind was betraying him, the chip and its demands controlling his mind.įor kriff’s sake, the chip made him shoot that jedi. Tech, the first person to ever treat him with an ounce of respect.Ĭrosshair fell back into his bunk, curling up on his side, facing away from the rest of the room and its fluorescent lighting. ![]() Why did his head hurt this bad? Why did he feel compelled to follow orders? He figured it was from the chip Tech was blabbering about before he left, the one documented to regulate clone behavior. The civilian troops were probably staring at him now. “Auugh,” Crosshair groaned, his long, thin, fingers digging into his scalp. They didn’t follow protocols, broke reg manuals. Since when had he cared about following orders? That was quite literally the reputation of the Bad Batch, breaking orders. They didn’t do anything wrong- Good soldiers follow orders.Ĭrosshair forced his head between his knees, breathing deeply, attempting to thwart off the pain searing through his mind. The mission he had failed to complete with his brothers, the first ever mission they failed. The tally marks he felt nauseous thinking about.Ī guttural moan ripped its way through Crosshair’s throat, as his mind shifted to the mission he had completed that day. ![]() The tally marks that marked another completed mission. The tally marks Wrecker, his vod’ika, would etch into the wall after every mission. Crosshair probably wouldn’t have even realized it was the same room if it weren’t for the tally marks next to the door. The room had been cleaned, that much was obvious from the lack of stench and the clutter no longer lining every inch of the room. The same barracks that once housed the Bad Batch. But the feeling of being a marionette, being controlled like a doll without his own control over his body, that was a new, and wholly unwelcome experience.Ĭrosshair buried his head into his hands, painfully aware of the other presences, the nat-born troopers who he forced to murder innocent civilians, in his barracks. Headaches were common for the clones, as were the nightmares.
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