#project necromancer

You were sold to Hemlock by your birth parents, frightened by your early aptitude with the Force and unable to handle the eccentric responsibilities of caring for a child beyond their means. The cold and bare interior of The Vault has been your whole world as you mature into adulthood. Although, all that seemed to change when you were sent away to further your education in the field. With strict instructions to keep your supernatural abilities concealed, you’re expected to learn how to operate in a military unit without them. You could honestly care less about your powers, always regarded them as a curse. To hell with their rules. You only see this as an opportunity to taste freedom for the very first time. 

They thought you were weird at first. Even more of a loner than Crosshair. Regardless of this, you proved to be a fast learner, and even quicker in combat. The success rate in the squad’s missions have increased exponentially and they are beginning to see you as more of an asset than anything. Until one day, you are compelled to show them what you’re made of.

“Run! Don’t stop until you get to the opposite hatch at the end of the tunnel!” Hunter is shouting commands for evacuation as detonation of a volatile mining facility is rapidly approaching. He’s holding the heavy door open for the others to pass through, you are trailing a little farther behind than he would like. “What are you doing! There’s no time!”

Hunter can already feel that the mine is suffering ripple after ripple of seismic shockwaves, seconds away from reaching the shaft everyone is holed up in. Even if you were to pass through the hatch alongside them, the blast is too fierce, the compression into the tunnels would behave like blaster fire through a barrel and pulverize everything in its path. You begin to sprint in the opposite direction, swiftly passing Hunter to give him your own orders. “Just go!”

“Not without you!” Hunter yells back, straining behind the weight of the hatch, so much so that Wrecker retraces his steps and lends his assistance.

“What’s she doing?” Wrecker takes on the brunt of the effort and gives Hunter the room to approach you.

“Something stupid.” Hunter mutters under his breath before angrily addressing you again. “Get back here now!”

With his conclusive command, Hunter is stopped by something he cannot comprehend at first, and then it clicks. As soon as he made an attempt at stepping forward, his body was halted in its tracks. It’s no surprise that Tech, Echo and even Crosshair have returned to see what the holdup is and the stress of keeping them away increases exponentially. They can see Hunter seizing in place, as if fighting with an unseen barrier. 

“NO!” You scream in defiance, holding one hand out in their direction to channel a fortified impasse. “Only I have the power to do this!”

“What power!?” Echo joins the commotion with his own queries. “What is she talking about?!”

“Judging by her current position, does this suggest that she wields the Force?”

Right when Tech asks this, the rumbling of flames comes barreling towards your current location and you raise your other arm to brace for the impact. To their bewilderment, the flames swirl and bloom around you, collecting at your very whim. A nebulous array of colors blends in with the chaos as you maintain your phantom hold on the destruction. The pure energy at your fingertips broils incessantly, raging on with no place to go. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to keep the blast at bay, thinking of the safety of your squad over yours.

With your back turned to them, your arm is still extended in their direction as you turn to look over your shoulder, slowly pivoting to peer at them. You smile with tears in your eyes, fully prepared to die at this moment. You have nothing keeping you here but them, and you would hate to live in a world where they don’t exist.

“Please!” Hunter keeps fighting against your manifested wedge, but you’re definitely too strong for him and he feels like he’s shoving his entire body against a wall. “Don’t do this!”

“Hemlock has the answers!” Are the last words you say to them before rotating your other arm forward, succumbing to the flames while simultaneously propelling the entire group out of harm’s way through the tunnels. The sheer propulsion you sent them with is equivalent to the explosive blast itself, knocking the entire group unconscious upon their exit of the facility. One by one, they come-to, completely disoriented and questioning everything they learned about you these past few months.

The shaft that leads to your location has collapsed as Tech tries but fails to scan for a safe way through. Wrecker is painstakingly focused on moving slabs of stone and concrete out of the way to no avail. Hunter has to console him gently, telling him it’s a lost cause. “Enough, Wrecker… She’s gone.”

“I’ve notified a search party so that the body can be recovered at least.” Echo tells them with a distressed pang in his voice.

“Don’t say that!” Wrecker stands up from the pile of rubble to confront Echo, a few pebbles knocking about his feet. “She could still be alive!”

“We all saw her, Wrecker.” Crosshair argues, pained by his brother’s morose sentimentality. “Not even the strongest Jedi could survive that.”

“But she’s not a Jedi, is she?” Echo requests clarification.

“It would certainly explain her methods of sparing our lives.” Tech adds, raising an index finger to the air while waving his data pad with the building’s schematics showing the displacement of where they were and where they ended up. “She managed to expel us cleanly through the entire shaft.”

“That doesn’t explain who this Hemlock person is.” Hunter adds while stroking the stubble on his chin. “She said he has the answers.”

“It’s like she knew we would be confused by this decision of hers.” Tech begins to fill more holes in this rather concerning plot. “Perhaps we should start there.” 

They all make it back to Kamino in hopes that they can get to the bottom of this mystery, starting with Tech searching the archives for a man by the name of Hemlock. “I have located an encrypted file on a Royce Hemlock titled Advanced Science Division, but the coding is fierce. It could take me days to break through it”

“Any luck with the encryption?” Rex appears in the doorway of the barracks, having heard about the distressing incident.

“I wish I could tell you something different.” Hunter sighs with a fold of his arms. “Please say you’ve come here with good news.”

“Actually, Kix and Jessie reported to me saying they saw someone fitting the description of your trooper being transported from the med bay to some place called Tantiss.” Rex tells him assuredly.

“You mean she’s alive?” Hunter blinks in disbelief, certain your fate was as sealed as that tunnel.

“Just barely.” Rex clarifies, knowing the boys have a tendency of getting their hopes up. “What happened to her anyway?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it.” Hunter grapples with the prospect of telling Rex the truth or keeping this information to himself until he knows more. “She just… saved us.”

Rex can see the turmoil in Hunter’s eyes, deciding not to pry any more. “Well, whoever she is, you guys sure know how to pick ‘em.”

You wake up groggy and dazed, vision hazy as you blink through the drowsiness of the drugs being pumped into your veins. If not for this, you would surely be screaming in agony due to the severity of your burns. Portions of your limbs are encased with grafts. You touch your hand to the panel keeping you submerged and feel a dampened sting from the hard surface hitting your burned appendages. You’re weakened and rigid, recovering with your body hovering inside a bacta tank. The respirator on your face saves your lungs from the burn of water as you draw each breath when a warped figure comes into view through the glass. 

“I bet you thought you died in that mine.” Hemlock’s piercing blue eyes stare at you from the other side of the clear panel, his muffled voice coming through loudly once it is registered through the intercom. He flashes his trademarked wicked grin at you, that cursed posh chuckle of arrogance you have grown to hate with every fiber of your being. “When I am through, you’ll be wishing you did.”

Another person appears right behind him dressed in a sleek black uniform, his cerulean skin in contrast to the dark shades of his clothes. He clutches a hat with both hands, nervously wringing it as Hemlock slips out of your periphery. “Say hello to your fiancé, formerly Specimen-9762, but you may now call him by his birth name, Izor Hanri.”

Izor is a timid and shy Pantoran, clearly just as uncomfortable with this arrangement as you are. He doesn’t want to be here, but he knows what’s expected of him, and the consequences that follow if he were to disobey. In order to make things go smoother, he’s left any sense of rebellion in his prison cell and presents himself to you with the utmost compliance. He looks apologetically into your eyes, his head slightly bent to the floor, reserved and shrinking in on himself. 

“You both have the highest M-Count out of anyone else in your standing, and I certainly hope this union will be fruitful in producing a purebred specimen that will strengthen the bloodline our Emperor has permitted me to forge.” Hemlock taps on the tank as if to regard you like a fish, ensnared by a cramped and transparent enclosure. “Heal up quickly, dear. Every groom needs his bride.”

Hemlock files out of the room, Izor following meekly behind him with his golden eyes glued to the floor. You can tell it pains him to even look at you, broken by this arrangement as well, the markings on his face drawn downward with his frown as the silver strands of fringe hang over his forehead. It wasn’t long after your recovery that you were forced to ‘bond’, at least that’s what Hemlock called it. You and Izor are ushered into an isolated suite where you are to spend a large portion of each day with each other. You’re begrudgingly presented with a massive marital bed, canopied in the softest, most forgiving textiles. Refreshments rest atop a feasting table, absolutely heaping with produce, cured meats and ice-cold libations. You grimace at the setting they’re pushing onto you, as if they think pairing you off like zoo animals will magically bring forth their salvation. They didn’t account for you to have claws and fangs of your own, ready to shred anyone to pieces if they were to be so bold as to force themselves upon you. Guards are posted at the exit, ensuring that neither of you leave until Hemlock is satisfied.

You prefer to face the window, looking out at the paradisal landscapes of the planet Wayland. How could such a heavenly place be the location of your living, breathing Hell? You hope that if you don’t acknowledge Izor, you can stand here for the whole duration, that is at least until your brain starts to formulate an escape plan.

The trim of the window is fashioned with sleek inlays of rubber against the steel. This acts as a better insulator to protect the base from the elements, but a fault in intended security. You pick at the soft material, digging your nails into it to slowly peel away at the trim. You begin to make fantastic progress but have limited the amount of space you have to access the barrier, resorting to the dining table for a steak knife to reach the rest.

“What are you doing?” Izor asks, sitting far away from you at the opposite side of the room in a small armchair, his fingers interlocked in his lap.

“I’m getting out of here.” You snatch a thin blade from the tabletop and quickly slide it into the frame of the window, effectively slicing the rubber the rest of the way. If you keep at this, you can shimmy the entire window out of its supports, kick it out and escape.

“That’s not a good idea.” Izor folds his arms and hides his face between both his shoulders.

“Sorry, but I don’t plan on getting married anytime soon.” You brandish the blade emphatically while retaining your focus on the window.

“If it were up to me, I would be over there helping you right now.”

You abruptly turn to face Izor, throwing the blade down in a furious clang. “But it is up to you! What’s stopping you? We can do this together!”

You approach him briskly, maneuvering between the elaborate furniture and excessive decor to reach him. You kneel at his chair, practically begging him to help you leave. “C’mon. If we get out of here, we can be whoever we want. I know you hate this just as much, maybe even more than I do!”

“You don’t get it.” Izor’s eyes twitch with the tension of holding back tears, his chin quivers. He lowers his hands, upturning his palms and tugging on his sleeves. Little by little, you see deep scars that extend a couple inches or so down the length of each wrist. He keeps tugging on his sleeves, raising them to show evidence of injection sites at the junction of his inner elbows, still bruised and tender from fresh extractions while some portions are scabbed and even scarred over as well from the constant abuse. “I already tried.”

You look at the scars on his wrists, risen and abrasive with a less saturated appearance compared to his main true blue skin tone. It’s clear to see these were self-inflicted while the injection sites are a clear indication that Hemlock is conducting his own means of discipline with Izor, independent from yours. As much as you don’t wish for Izor to be right, he is. When have you ever known the world to be a fair place? Maybe you can learn to take advantage of this arrangement in the long run. If there’s one constant in the universe, it’s things are always changing. Perhaps one day you will look back on this, many anniversaries and political orders later and laugh, or at the very least just learn to be okay with it.

You watch as Izor shatters in front of you, probably having never been so vulnerable with anyone else in his life. You can see that he’s hurting badly, in dire need of humane comfort, something that this facility is severely lacking in. Feeling yourself succumb to the gravity of his pain, you rise to your feet and hold his head to your chest, lowering your chin to rest on his crown. Izor is even timid in his cries, holding so much of himself back, he begins to choke and hiccup on his own broken sobs.

“It’s okay.” You soothe him, softly petting his sterling hair in hopes that you coax him to breathe through the anguish, but he clings to you with all his might. He tremors in your grasp, shaking as if he’s reliving that trauma all over again.

“N-no. It’s n-not.” Izor stutters through his words, urging himself to enunciate as best he can for you. “Not to me, you or anyone else he’s done this with.” 

You remain there together for a while, finding a simple solidarity in your shared suffering. With a deep sigh, you disband any and all future plans to flee, acquiescing your fate wherever it may lead.

“Any luck with that file yet, Tech?” Hunter has been floating around Tech’s workstation for hours on end, impatiently waiting for any breakthroughs.

“His answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked him, you know.” Crosshair rolls his eyes patronizingly at his brother, seemingly annoyed by his persistence.

“You’ve been at this forever.” Wrecker adds, also frustrated. “I would think someone as smart as you would have made some progress already.”

“Stow it, you guys.” Echo scolds his brothers. “Stop rushing him.”

“Actually, I believe I have made it through.” The terminal that Tech is working at begins to chime as the coding interface immediately disappears, revealing uncensored files on everything regarding this individual you mentioned. Tech begins reading off information from the file aloud for all to hear. “Found him. Royce Hemlock, doctor and chief scientist of ASD and Project Necromancer.”

“What does it say about Tantiss?” Hunter asks in regard to Rex’s intel, uninterested in Hemlock’s designations.

“Tantiss appears to be marked down as the geographical location of the research base where these projects are conducted. It is one of the tallest summits on the planet Wayland.”

“What are they doing out there?” Echo can’t even begin to fathom what atrocities are committed in this covert science facility shielded from public knowledge.

“It is the central manufacturer of exotic fuel substances as well as bioweapons and,” Tech pauses, squinting to ensure he’s reading the files correctly. “Top secret cloning experiments specializing in biological refinement and something known as Midichlorian cultivation.” 

“Midichlorian?” Hunter steps forward. “Isn’t that the stuff that gives the Jedi their powers?”

“In a way, yes.” Tech validates him with a nod. “They are the conduit through which the Force is communicated.”

“So, what, are they trying to clone Jedi?” Crosshair scoffs at the foolish notion.

“One would think that would be their approach, but that is not the case in this specific instance.” Tech’s voice takes a cautious turn as he reads on. “These specimens collected at infancy undergo rigorous indoctrination that ensures they will be thoroughly groomed for esteemed military, political and bureaucratic roles, producing heirs to establish a legacy of clairvoyants to lay the foundation for a powerful Empire.”

“Empire?” Hunter repeats the last word Tech said, confused by the treasonous brewing of insurgency. “Does it really say that?”

“It says it right here in plain Aurebesh.” Tech holds his hands up, gesturing to the screen as if he didn’t just read it off word for word to them.

“Is there like a roster or something in there? Maybe a list of people collected?” Wrecker steps closer, holding onto the back of Tech’s chair. “Maybe she’s on it.”

“Let’s see.” Tech does some more scrolling, navigating through the files until he lands on one titled Specimen Pairs. Tech opens the file, scrolling even more until his cursor lands on your name. “Here she is. She’s been set up with an Izor Hanri.”

“Set up? What does that mean?” Wrecker is still not following, needing someone to spell it out for him.

“It means they’re gonna marry them, Wrecker!” Hunter exclaims when it likewise locks in for him too, the distress in his voice adding to the collective panic. 

“Groomed? Heirs? Legacy?” Echo recites the file in shock. “It’s all a ploy to naturally form legal documentation of their existence, not to mention any kids they’re expected to have. These people were probably kidnapped or sold in order for them to be selected.”

“Well, how the heck do we get there?!” Wrecker urgently wonders from where he stands.

“Looks like we will be taking a trip to the Outer-Rim.” Tech confirms with a slight adjustment of his goggles after establishing coordinates of the research base. 

“What’ya say, boys?” Hunter addresses his team with conviction. “Feel like crashing a wedding?”

The ceremony is scheduled for three days from now. In anticipation for your inevitable honeymoon, Hemlock has been adamant about keeping you and Izor under an uncompromising lock and key. Although ever since you were given precise orders to use this time to ‘practice’ before the ceremony, he’s been a little more closed off, and for good reason.

“Can we just not and say we did?” Izor yanks at his collar, feeling suffocated in his own skin at the thought of having to engage in public displays of affection with you, or anyone, for the first time.

“I think they would notice if we got it wrong.” You reason with him, thinking through Hemlock’s logic in not wanting you both to make him look like a fool in front of his constituents.

“This isn’t even the worst of it… I just… I can’t do this to you.” Izor is crumbling to pieces at the expectations being set before him. The first time you both held hands with another person was with each other following your escape attempt. Now you’re supposed to kiss each other so that it looks believable to the masses? Never mind the priorities with expected results to follow after that. It is getting to be too much for him to bear when he is torn by the choice of preserving his sanity or death.

“Izor, you’re no more a puppet than I am in all of this.” You speak logic into his ears as he keeps his face concealed by his hands. “It’s just business. A job. And you’re great at doing those, right?”

Izor lowers his palms and looks at you with his dewy, lamenting eyes and sniffles. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Well, this is no different.” You caress his cheek, and he leans into it. You see it clearly now that he’s so starved for some semblance of love, but he has no idea how to reciprocate it. Neither of you have the ability to truly consent. Having grown up with no one to set a wholesome example, you both are embarking upon foreign territory. Although, the navigation has been somewhat made easy with your shared desperation. He mirrors your motion, placing his palms on the crests of your discolored cheeks where your burns are still healing. His hands are shaking, hovering lightly over your skin before you lean into the touch like he did. Once he realizes that you’re fine with this, he swallows harshly in his throat to anticipate actually kissing you. The panic in his face troubles you, but you know this is exactly what he needs right now. You both do. “This job just has a different learning curve than we’re used to. We’ll get it down.”

“But…I don’t know what to do.” He says, his breath falling like dried leaves against your skin. Izor is a little way taller than you, his strong frame dwarfing you in comparison. The innocent fright in his gaze likewise holds an excitement in getting to experience something new, glimmering through the aching concern in his face.

“Me either.” You tell him, closing your eyes as he dips his head to collide his mouth with yours. The purse in his lips is disciplined, motionless as he is careful not to venture beyond his parameters. Though, it doesn’t take him long to follow your lead and fall into the comfortable passion of coming together in this manner. 

Izor curtly pulls away from you, overwhelmed with fervor for a moment. He pants excessively, shocked that he actually did that before securing his stance to kiss you again. You grab fistfuls of his black uniform coat to anchor yourself to him while he goes to pull you in at the small of your back. He remains cordial in every advancement, romantically swaying back and forth while your mouths dance, arms continuing to coil around each other. 

Izor breaks the kiss to meet his eyes to yours, communicating so many words with a single instance of silence. He presses his lips to the sweet spot where the bridge of your nose meets your forehead. You smile at him when he does this, seeing that the bonding is actually working. At first, you feel bitter for being manipulated, but beggars can’t be choosers and you’re grateful for this warm instance alone with him.

The day has come for the ceremony to be had. You and Izor have been taken to complete opposite sides of the facility to prepare. You’ve been fitted with an elaborate, eggshell white gown adorned with iridescent sparkles when the light hits it in just the perfect way. A service droid places a veil into your perfectly styled hair, easing the fabric so that it comes in minimal contact with your face. The hydraulic whirring engages a bit faster, propelling the droid to step aside just as a resounding knock comes from the door.

The service droid leaves your side to welcome in whoever is knocking, beeping melodically at the sight of Hemlock. He is pinching his left, gloved hand at the palm, massaging it roughly as he enters your room. Your eyes remain closed, your brows furrowed when you feel his stare rake across your form from head to toe. 

“Hmmm… Beautiful.” The service droid is dismissed with a wave by Hemlock as he clasps both hands behind his back. He circles you, eclipsing the shining light coming in from the window for a moment until he makes his way behind you again. “I am sure Izor will be pleased.”

“What makes you think you know what he wants?” You feel insulted when Hemlock speaks for Izor, as if he deserves a right to his deepest desires. “What any of us want?!”

“You forget yourself, Specimen-2512.” Hemlock steps behind you, staring at your reflection in the mirror as his voice pours venom into your ears. He mocks you with your numerical designation, dehumanizing you, reminding you that you’re nothing more than an experiment in his eyes. “Without me, you would still be a rat scrounging for scraps in the gutters. Your father couldn’t wait to use the money I paid him on his next score of drugs for he and your mother to waste themselves on.”

“Shut up!” You clench your fists beneath the veil, vibrating with rage as Hemlock continues to belittle you.

“Would he be able to give you away to your husband?” Hemlock asks rhetorically. “No. So naturally, that responsibility falls to me.”

You gasp, turning on your heels to see that he’s posing with his arm bent at the elbow, presenting it for you to take. Biting your tongue, you hook your arm with Hemlock’s, struggling to put on your best poker face while being walked down the aisle. Hemlock yanks you towards himself, capitalizing on your disgusted aversion to his nature, adding insult to injury when you’re being pressured to put that aside in order to play your part no matter how fabricated it may be.

Izor stands posted at the altar dressed in a pressed suit and tie with a lengthy black sash extending to his knees, crossways from his right shoulder. His cufflinks and buttons are accessorized with a similar pearlescent to your gown and jewelry, color coordinated with your darling wardrobe. He blushes a few shades darker, the sections of skin beneath his golden markings turning a deep indigo when you come into view. A symphony plays upon your entrance, and everyone seated at the pews rises to their feet, turning to welcome you. Hemlock draws out the time it takes to traverse the aisle to the altar, a cruelty that he cannot resist, even now. Once you finally reach your destination, Hemlock offers you to Izor, extending your hold to transfer to him before falling in amongst the rest of the witnessing parties. 

The scripted vows are recited and neither you nor Izor fumble in the slightest. The officiator is none other than Chancellor Palpatine, being informally addressed here as Emperor. It’s not a title the rest of the Republic has acknowledged, a bit overzealous, but anything goes in his counterfeit kingdom. The darkness of his cloak stands out distastefully with the glowing halcyon decor, his glaring red eyes shrouded by darkness as his hood hangs lowly in front of his face. “It is with this blessed union that I pronounce you man and wife. You may now seal your promise… with a kiss.”

His voice turns your stomach, deep and croaky as he instructs you and Izor on what to do. Izor takes a single step forward, lifting your veil in a humble manner so that your face is revealed. Once he sees your unobstructed eyes looking back at him, he reverts back to the moment you shared when you were locked in that room a few days ago. You let him take your face in his hands like he’s practiced, leaning into you while parting his lips.

Just before he could make contact, a disrupting crash causes Izor to protectively move you behind himself, shielding you from the direction of the alarming noise. You and everyone else lay eyes on a rogue speeder Wrecker had loaded with smoke and flash charges, storming through the space and causing people to scream and scatter. 

“Sorry about the mess.” Hunter appears through the hole in the wall they just breached through, announcing his arrival for all to see. “Are we too early for the reception?”

Tech and Echo jump through the massive chasm in the wall alongside Hunter, launching a pair of long-range explosives towards the buffet tables that causes the refreshments, plates, glasses and cutlery to shatter to the floor while bits of food and drink are splattered in all directions. The guests and their Primeday best are soiled with an assortment of main courses, appetizers and various beverages. They make their rapid departures, emptying the space until soon enough, Hemlock’s arrangement has begun to falter. It is in these frantic moments that Crosshair fires a singular bolt from his perch, landing it directly between the Emperor’s eyes. He collapses to the ground only feet away from you and Izor. You cling to him as Izor continues to shield you from harm, that is until Hemlock assertively rips you from his grasp.

“Enough!” Hemlock screams loud enough for it to reverberate a couple times through the now almost completely empty room, gaining the complete attention of your saviors. With a blaster pistol pointed directly at your head, Hemlock presses it to your temple, his other arm securing you by the throat. “You boys have been tracking her, I see. How sweet of you. Why, that’s almost human.”

Hunter grimaces at Hemlock’s insult, regarding them as an artificial subspecies, watching as Izor pleads for mercy.

“Don’t hurt her.” Izor raises his hands, surrendering to Hemlock with the thought of your life on the line. “Please.”

“Or what?” Hemlock pushes the barrel deeper into your skin, the rounded imprint of steel being stamped into your flesh. “She is my property. You both are.”

Locked into this stalemate from afar, Hunter exchanges dialogue over comms as Crosshair remains in his perch. “Stay where you are boys. Crosshair, if you get a clean shot, take it.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Crosshair confirms, refining the view of Hemlock’s ugly mug through his scope, trying to get a clean view between you and Izor.

“Why would you risk her?” Izor continues to negotiate for your freedom, understanding the senseless threats Hemlock is resorting to. “You need us alive.”

“There is no shortage of unwanted brats in this world. I can try again with a more obedient pair.” Hemlock holds you tighter, nearly choking you out as he backs into the wall. His arm shimmies upwards, moving to cover your mouth and part of your nose.

“Then why are you doing this?!” The fury in Izor’s voice speaks for itself, throwing his hands down at his sides in exasperation.

“Isn’t it obvious? There is merriment to be had in the torment of souls.” Hemlock cackles, delighted with his answer. “Though, it seems I was too lenient with you. I shall fix that.”

Crosshair watches intently as Hemlock redirects the barrel of his blaster to Izor’s leg, shooting him just below the knee. Izor shouts in pain and tumbles to the ground, causing you to wriggle and writhe in Hemlock’s grasp. Now that the gun is not pointed at your head, you dig your teeth as hard as you can into Hemlock’s arm, not stopping until your jaws touch. He screams at this unexpected infliction of pain, dropping the gun out of momentary distraction and horror.

A waterfall of warm blood fills your mouth when Hemlock pries his arm out of it, shredding the very same artery Izor attempted to take his life with. Hemlock pushes you away from him and you both stumble to the ground. You spit the portion of forearm out of your mouth, sections of thread getting caught in your teeth. The pistol lies directly in front of you, and you waste no time in scrambling for it whilst Hemlock bleeds out slowly in the corner. 

“Take the shot now, Crosshair!” Hunter orders him over comms, but Wrecker suggests something else.

“No! Let’s wait and see what she does.” Wrecker says, eagerly watching the gory show play out in front of them.

“I think I might be with Wrecker on this one.” Crosshair admits coldly, turning the safety back on his Firepuncher as Hemlock’s already pallid complexion goes full white.

“He’s right, Hunter.” Tech adds, also intrigued by your methods of confronting your evil warden. “It’s not our place to impede on this level of catharsis.”

“He doesn’t deserve a simple death.” Echo remarks, marveling in Hemlock’s woes. “Let her kill him.”

You use what Hemlock taught you against him, disarming him brutally as he cowers in a puddle of his own blood. He groans weakly as his appendages are surely going cold. You lift your arm, forcing him to look down the barrel this time. 

“You’re not going to do it.” He coughs, rolling his eyes at you. “You need me.”

“I don’t need anyone.” You punctuate this sentence with a singular round fired into his leg, charring the same spot where he dared to shoot Izor. 

“ARGH!” Hemlock screams, his only working arm jolting forward to clutch his thigh. This exposure of limbs gives you the perfect chance to fire a bolt at his only spare hand, damaging it as well to further render him helpless. “URGH! Stop this! You have no idea what it is you’re throwing away! And for what? Clones?!”

Hunter and his brothers leave their posts one by one, approaching the defiled altar. Your gown is stained with Hemlock’s blood, worn like a warrior’s badge of honor. Tech and Echo take it upon themselves to collect Izor, helping him limp to his feet where he is seated so that Tech can tend to his wound while Wrecker cracks his knuckles in a show of aggression, backing up you as well as his brothers.

“They’re not just clones to me. From the minute they treated me as one of their own, I saw them as the family I was never fortunate enough to have because of you. Funny enough, that’s one thing you did right by me at least.” You say, firing another bolt into Hemlock’s shoulder, really paralyzing him now. “You introduced me to them.”

“URRGH!!” He cries out with a vengeance when he absorbs another blow, the boys chuckling at the gradual pace of your excruciating retaliation. “Stop - shooting - me!”

The pauses in his speech are a testament to his labored breathing, getting raspier and more lethargic by the second. You’re not prepared to let him go until he knows exactly what he is doing to you, Izor, and the many other fates he’s toyed with. “Did you stop when we begged for mercy?”

Another shot, right into Hemlock’s unscathed leg. “When Izor tried to kill himself to avoid this?”

You keep firing into non-lethal parts of his body, winging his opposite shoulder and even his stomach multiple times until the tip of Hemlock’s gun glows red-hot with the retention of plasma heat, all the while Hemlock is cursing you through hateful groans and vocalizations.

You take a knee beside his immobile form, once mighty with so much control, only to lose it all in a matter of seconds. Pressing the barrel into the scored patch on his shoulder, Hemlock shrieks loudly as his skin sizzles from the burn, squirming in place unable to get away from you. With his leg properly dressed, Izor winces at your exhibition of animosity towards Hemlock. Though, he sets this aside when he realizes that he is rather fond of the way vengeance looks on you. You finally retract the pistol from Hemlock’s skin, sliding it on the smooth floor towards Izor but his injury prevents him from reaching for it. Tech halts Izor’s efforts and picks it up to hand it to him, flashing him an encouraging nod. You push off the ground with one leg, straightening your posture in front of Hemlock as red sputters from his mouth, coating his disordered suit in additional mess. 

“You were right, what you said when I was healing in the tank.” Leading with your wrist, you lift your arm up with an open palm, curling your fingers in a way that cuts off his airways from afar. You channel the darkest parts of your heart, blackened by contempt and wicked temptation. Hemlock’s choking only gets worse. His expression grows as wide as he can bear, both feet kicking in a flurry against the floor when he sees what you’re doing. “I wished for a long time that I had died in that mine, but I will be damned if I don’t get to make you regret bringing me back.”

Your hand has nearly closed, inching bit by bit while Hemlock’s bloodshot eyes lose their focus and his face morphs into an array of blues akin to Izor’s skin tone. You strangle him with all your might, feeling the bones crush under the weight of your spectral grip. Blood leaks from his mouth and nose, his agonal breaths rattling in his chest with the grievous denial of oxygen. Once you close your fist at last, a snapping sound can be heard bouncing through the halls. Hemlock’s writhing ceases and the room is hauntingly silent.

You drop your arm back to your side, gulping large breaths to recover from the exertion. Once you comprehend what you’ve just done, it feels exhilarating. You have eliminated the threat once and for all, by your own hand no less. You are not the same person you were after being consumed by fire, reborn from the ashes with a newfound sense of liberating authority. 

It’s finally over. Done. Finished. Hemlock and his puppeteer will never be able to play with the lives of innocent children like toys again. Izor is supported to standing by Tech, holding him upright so that he may greet you properly while only sparsely touching his wounded limb to the ground. Izor shuffles towards you, falling into your arms when you open them to catch him. He holds you close to himself, wiping the blood off your mouth to finally kiss you like he means it. Izor completely forgets the severity of his wounds when he embraces you, pride coursing through his veins as he rides the high of your unforgiving disclosure. 

“How did you do that?” Upon breaking the kiss, he is bombarding you with questions while still gingerly cleaning remnants of smeared cruor from your features. His hands are soft against your skin when he pushes the dirtied and soaked strands of hair behind your ears. “They haven’t taught us how to utilize the dark side yet.”

“I-I don’t know.” You look at your hands in disbelief, having been enlightened to the untamed capacity of your abilities. “I just did what felt right.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that the Republic will agree with your methods.” Hunter shares his well-intended thoughts. “Hemlock and the so-called ‘Emperor’ will be regarded as war criminals once we tell Rex what happened here.”

“What about us?” You ask with Izor’s arms still wrapped around you.

“That’s up to you.” Echo replies, smiling when he says this. “You can decide on whatever you want.”

“We get to decide?” Izor looks at them, then to you, already knowing what it is you want before you say it, because it’s exactly what he wants too. He beams at you, stroking his powder blue fingers along the contours of your crimson-stained cheek. “Are you going to tell them, or should I?”

“With you.” You tell your squad earnestly while Izor nods at you. “All of us. Give us a chance to fight for something we choose to believe in.”

“You mean, there’s more of you?” Wrecker asks with enthusiasm.

“Many more.” You disclose to them, forlorn with their current whereabouts. “We’re kept locked away until he needs us.”

“In The Vault.” Izor corroborates your claims, consoling you with a press of his forehead to yours as he answers.

“Just think how happy Rex will be when he finds out we left in search of one person and are coming back with a whole new squadron.” Wrecker mentions to Hunter after thumbing through the practically endless roster of names, every single one now being accepted into the Grand Army of the Republic.

“I know for a fact that General Skywalker would be interested in overseeing their integration personally.” Tech gets to thinking, realizing assets like these will do nicely under his purview. 

In a final act of insolent defiance, Crosshair loots Hemlock’s body, taking his master key card that grants him access to all parts of the facility. “Let’s go break them out then.”

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