#poor tech

A web pattern obscured the vision of his left eye, and he realized the left lens of his goggles was cracked. He reached up to remove his broken eyewear, and pain shot through his right shoulder, drawing a gasp from his lungs. Turning his head carefully, he winced at the strain to his muscles in his neck.

A bad case of whiplash, and…oh.

A half a meter of durasteel was sticking out of his right shoulder, and Tech felt his mind go blank as he took in the sight. It didn’t hurt oddly, not yet at least. Probably shock setting in. He did note that he was bleeding substantially.

Kriff. One problem at a time.

Tech experimentally wiggled the fingers of his left hand, swearing at the shooting pain in his forearm.

Likely a fracture, but usable.

He held up his arm, surveying the vambrace. The lights along his arm were no longer lit up, and he sighed in frustration, sending more pain cascading across his chest.

Commlink’s damaged, likely dead. I’m on my own.

Carefully, he slowly allowed his left hand to drift down to his belt, feeling for his cutting torch. Damn thing’s got to be reachable. I planned for this contingency.

Suddenly, he froze as the ground underneath him shook slightly and ice water filled his veins as he heard the telltale clanking steps.

Heavier steps than your standard battle droid. Heavier than the BX commandos. That leaves…kriff.

A pair of V2-series commando droids round the pile of rubble, and Tech laid as still as he could, praying to whatever gods were listening that the thin coating of dust on his armor would help him blend in.The scanned to their right before turning and heading towards him. Tech came to a single horrific realization as he watched their scanners pass over an unmoving body of one of the regs that Tech had been standing near.

They’re searching for survivors.

He laid still as the droids passed in front of him, and just as he started to release the breath he’d been holding, the one nearest him swung around, tilting its metal head before trudging towards him.

Tech’s mind raced. Don’t move until you’re sure it’s scanning you. Then grab for your blaster. You can pick it off if you hit the weak point in its circuitry on its neck joint. The face is reinforced durasteel, so don’t aim there. Your blaster won’t do much. He tried to steady his mind as the droid reached out its arm and began scanning him. Tech swore loudly as he swung his fractured arm around to reach for his blaster, only to find his holster empty.

Well…damn.

He closed his eyes, releasing the breath he was holding. A shot rang out, and he flinched, wondering if he’d feel a delayed burning sensation between his eyes before his brain shut down, but he heard another shot, followed by both droids thudding against the ground. Tech opened his eyes, inhaling a shaky breath. His hand that he could feel was trembling. Both droids were down on the ground, smoking from their neck joints.

Tech spotted movement ahead of him and just to the left. He closed the eye with the cracked lens to try and focus his vision on the approaching figure. His head swam as he made out the lanky form in red and black sprinting towards him.

Crosshair.

The sniper skidded to a stop in front of him, scanning the area quickly before setting his Firepuncher on his back and scrambling over the rubble to reach Tech.

“Are you alive?” he hissed, digging his fingers under Tech’s blacks.

“I…am…” Tech gasped, realizing suddenly how hard it was to breathe.

Add a few cracked ribs to the tally.

Crosshair was surveying him, and his visor paused on Tech’s shoulder.

“Oh karking hells.”

“Cutter’s…on…my right…side. Hip…pouch,” Tech gasped, and Crosshair gently cleared the rubble away to find the specified pouch. He pulled out the cutter, igniting it and carefully beginning to cut away the excess metal that’s sticking out of Tech’s shoulder.

“Your…comm,” Tech tried, but Crosshair shook his head.

“Damn clankers are jamming us. Yours wouldn’t work even if it was intact.” His eyes roved over Tech’s body. “Where else are you hurt?” he asked, his voice steady despite the fact that his hands were shaking.

Tech tried to wiggle his toes. His legs were sore, but pain shot up his left leg as he tried to flex his left ankle. “Broke…my ankle,” he rasped. I’ll only slow him down. Reaching up with his left hand, he locked his fingers around Crosshair’s forearm.

“You...need to…leave me.”

Crosshair paused for a second in his cutting, his head tilting as he took in Tech.

“It’s…the logical…move,” Tech said softly. “You…need to g-get…out of here.”

Crosshair set the cutter down and removed his helmet, revealing his eyes to Tech. There was the familiar glint of annoyance in them, but there was also something else that Tech couldn’t identify immediately. And then it hit him. It’s fear.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Crosshair muttered as he resumed cutting, ignoring the way Tech was evaluating his expression. “Besides, I can’t leave our pilot here.”

“Wrecker…can fly.”

Crosshair huffed what could almost be mistaken for a laugh. “If we’re doomed to have him as a pilot from here on out, I’d rather take my chances here, thanks.”

“You should…go,” Tech tried again. Don’t die on my account.

Crosshair glanced over at him once more. “Already told you. That’s not happening. Now quit talking so much and save your energy for when we have to get out of here.”

The metal jolted, and Tech swore loudly, sitting up slightly, but Crosshair pressed firmly on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Sit still or you’ll bleed all over,” he commanded, and Tech obeyed, keeping his grip on his brother’s wrist. Crosshair didn’t pull away as he continued cutting. Finally, he pulled away the top half of the metal.

“There. I think we can pull you off of it. Do you have any coagulants on you to stop the bleeding?” The sniper’s hands were still shaking slightly, his gloves soaked with his brother’s blood.

“Left...large pouch…on my belt.”

Crosshair reached across Tech’s body, groping around in the specified pouch until he found what he was looking for. Using his teeth, he ripped open two bacta patches before injecting Tech in the neck with a painkiller.

“We don’t have much time to wait for that to kick in.”

“It’s…doing its…job.”

“Alright. On three, we’re pulling you off. Ready?” Tech gave the smallest nod he could. Crosshair braced his shoulder, counting down before pulling Tech off the durasteel with a grunt. Tech yelped loudly, but Crosshair ignored him, immediately spraying the clotting medication directly into the wound before pressing the bacta patches to the holes on the front and back of Tech’s shoulder. By the time he’d gotten both bandages in place, Tech had recovered slightly, the painkiller rushing through his system on a wave of adrenaline.

“Bandages seem to be holding, but we need to get you moving before you lose too much more blood. Can you stand?”

“I’ll need assistance.”

Crosshair nodded, pulling his helmet back on and moving around to Tech’s left side. “This arm alright?”

“Fractured I think. Lower arm.”

Crosshair gently grasped Tech’s elbow, pulling his arm over his shoulder and sliding his arm around his brother’s waist. “Grip what you can. I don’t want to put pressure on your wrist.”

Tech winced again as they somehow managed to get him standing, Crosshair trying his best to take all of the weight off of Tech’s broken ankle. Carefully, the sniper guided his brother through the rubble, and twenty minutes later, they heard Wrecker yelling through the smoke.

“We’re over here!” Crosshair shouted back, and suddenly, their larger brother loomed through the haze. He stopped in front of them, and Crosshair gently slipped Tech’s arm from his shoulder.

“His ankle is broken. Arm is fractured. Impaled through the shoulder, but that should hold for now. Be gentle with him, but he needs to be carried,” Crosshair said, and Wrecker nodded, carefully picking up Tech as though he weighed nothing, cradling him against his chest. Tech was too relieved to feel undignified, and he felt his head begin to loll against Wrecker’s chestplate, the painkiller finally numbing him to everything. He reached out, gripping Crosshair’s arm.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

The sniper dipped his helmet. “That’s what brothers do.”