#tech whump

“Sleeping only works if you actually close your eyes,” Hunter says, not bothering to turn around from the nav computer he’s spent the last thirty minutes pretending to study. What he’s actually doing is making sure Tech doesn’t get out of the bunk he’s been sequestered to. They both know that the moment Hunter lets his guard down, Tech is out of this bunk and on to better things. 

“I am not tired,” Tech tells him for the seventeenth time. No, eighteenth. This is the eighteenth time he’s pleaded his case. 

Hunter turns in the chair just enough to give him a pointed side-eye. “You have a concussion. It doesn’t matter if you’re tired or not. Sleep. Now.” 

Tech huffs. “I am not a droid you can power down on command.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Crosshair drawls, slinking into the hold from the cockpit. 

“Not helping,” Hunter mutters, turning back to the nav computer. 

Crosshair drops something on the bunk beside Tech as he walks by to the gunner’s mount. It was a discreet action, quiet and hidden. Tech doesn’t know why, but he moves carefully to hide the object beneath the thin, GAR issued blanket before Hunter notices. Crosshair climbs up into the gunner’s mount, turns to flash a mischievous smile at Tech, then vanishes when he sits down in the gunner’s seat, drawing up his lanky legs to make himself completely invisible. 

Tech grips the mysterious object in both hands, trying to decipher what it is without his eyes. Sharp edges, cool metal…is that a port? It is a piece of machinery. But why? Why would Crosshair drop a piece of machinery on the bunk and just walk away? As a prank? Just Crosshair being – well – Crosshair?

Tech watches the back of Hunter’s head for a few seconds, then peeks under the blanket at the object. He recognizes it immediately. It is a piece of the mainframe that Crosshair had been tasked with repairing after Tech’s unfortunate injury. All clones are capable of basic, small ship repairs; although, basic repairs that might take an average clone several hours are much faster in Tech’s far more capable hands. 

Such a menial task Tech can almost do in his sleep. Mindlessly.  

It won’t affect his concussion at all, but it will keep his hands busy for a little while, especially if he forces himself to slow down. 

Crosshair has given him a gift!

Tech clutches his prize, and begins figuring out how in the wide, wide galaxy he’s going to get his small tool kit without alerting Hunter. The answer is there is no way. The fact that Hunter hasn’t caught on to something already is a mystery. 

He glares despairingly at the gunner’s mount. Crosshair should have thought of this. Probably did think of this. Did he give Tech something to fix with no method to do so just to torment him? 

Not an unlikely hypothesis. 

While Tech is trying to come up with a suitable insult with his injury-addled brain, the culprit himself suddenly reappears, leaping with a soft thud from the gunner’s mount and padding by without so much as a glance in Tech’s direction.

 Tech sighs and falls back on the bunk. 

“Feeling okay?” Hunter asks. 

“If I told you that I am fine, would you believe me?” Tech grumbles. 

Hunter chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “I’m going to remember your attitude the next time one of us is hurt and you’re playing medic.” 

“Playing medic?” Tech sputters, sitting up. 

“Now who’s antagonizing the patient,” Crosshair snarks as he passes back through. “Way to set an example, Sarge.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunter sighs, but Tech can hear the grin in his oldest batchmate’s voice. 

Before he can work up a retort, a soft thunk on the mattress next to him draws his attention. He glances down at his small tool kit, freshly delivered by their squad’s sniper. 

“I’ll tubie-sit if you want a break, Hunter,” Crosshair yawns, sprawling out in one of the crash seats. 

“It is very annoying to be spoken of as though I am not present,” Tech growls. 

Crosshair flicks the toothpick between his teeth from one side of his mouth to the other. “Did you hear something, Hunter?” 

Hunter stands and stretches his arms over his head. “Nope,” he says with a fiendish smile. 

Tech rolls his eyes as Hunter leaves to join Wrecker in the cockpit.

Crosshair closes his eyes. “You’re welcome.” 

“Why must your kindness always come with stipulations of annoyance?” Tech asks as he eagerly brings out the ship part from its hiding place and begins examining it closely. 

“It entertains me.” 

“Obviously.”

Quiet descends, only broken by the gentle tapping and clattering of tools being used.

“Thank you, Crosshair.” 

Crosshair sounds half asleep when he says, “It was Hunter’s idea.” 

“What are you doing?” Hunter asks, syllables slurring together almost incomprehensibly. 

“Removing my armor,” Tech states simply. It is far too cold to elaborate further. 

The Sergeant glares up at him blearily, mismatched pupils blown wide with concussion. “Why?” 

Tech does not explain. It is taking all his focus just to remove pieces of plastoid with clumsy, uncooperative fingers. If Hunter would simply be patient, he would be able to see soon enough. Tech liberates himself from his cuirass and backplate and moves to the challenging bits of armor clinging to his arms, silently cursing their smaller latches. 

“Tech,” Hunter growls. If he is aiming for authoritative, it is undermined by the weak breathlessness of his voice. However, it does renew the fervor with which Tech fights with his armor pieces. 

At last, Tech drops the last segment of armor from his upper portion, leaving him in just his thermal blacks from the waist up. He kneels next to Hunter and begins to repeat the process on his barely conscious brother. 

“What are you doing?” Hunter demands again, trying to pull away. 

“We need to get your body temperature back up,” Tech explains. His voice trembles, teeth clacking together. At least he is still shivering. That is a bright side. 

Hunter makes an indignant sound, as though it is Tech who lost his helmet and received a blow to the head rappelling down the cliff face in ice and snow. “By taking off our armor?” 

“We must lend one another our warmth,” Tech continues patiently, “which cannot be achieved through amor. Please hold still. 

Hunter slumps back against the cave wall obediently. He watches Tech work, blinking slowly. “I’m not cold,” he says. “Not anymore.” 

“I understand you feel that way,” Tech says. “That is a sign of moderate hypothermia. We must work to raise your internal temperature as soon as possible.” 

“Not safe,” Hunter mumbles. 

“It is our only choice at this juncture. Unfortunately, we lost our emergency packs in the fall. They will be buried in the snowfall dozens of meters below us by now.” 

Hunter’s brow furrows. “’s my fault.” 

“It was an unfortunate accident,” Tech corrects him. 

Tech finds some small sense of triumph as Hunter’s upper armor is more easily removed. He stacks their cuirasses and backplates near where Hunter is situated, retrieves his data pad, then sits down next to his brother. He draws the wounded man to his side. Hunter does not produce any warmth to share, merely absorbing Tech’s limited supply. With his free hand, Tech haphazardly arranges the larger armor pieces in what he hopes will be a small barrier from the elements. 

It will not last long. They will die of exposure if help does not arrive soon. 

If the storm does not let up soon. 

If their brothers do not find them soon. 

Soon. 

Soon is not on their side. 

“You’re shaking,” Hunter mutters drowsily. 

Tech wants to explain that shivering is a preferable state to Hunter’s; however, he merely jostles the man a little too roughly. “You have to stay awake,” he orders. 

Hunter utters something that Tech cannot make out. 

Tech answers nonetheless. “No. I need to rest. You’ve got the watch. Do you understand? You need to keep watch for the others to find us.”

Hunter becomes heavier against his side, deadweight. 

Tech shakes him again. “You must stay awake, Hunter.” His voice breaks, only partially from the intense cold plaguing him. “Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.” 

Hunter doesn’t respond. 

Time slips by. 

Tech isn’t shivering anymore. 

**

The landscape is white, clean, and dangerous. Crosshair’s sharp eyes slice across it, searching for imperfections, disturbances. Signs that their missing brothers are out there. Waiting for Echo to pinpoint their location is taking too long. Every lost second carries a heavy cost they can’t afford. 

Wrecker crashes through the fresh snow, pacing. “Where are they?” he demands. 

Crosshair tips his head, expression shielded by his helmet. “If we knew, we wouldn’t be looking, would we?” he snarls. 

“Not helping,” Echo tells him through comms. He’s on the ship, trying to boost the signal. 

Crosshair bites out, “Neither is he. Neither are you. They’re probably already dead.” 

“Don’t say that!” Wrecker stops his pacing and looms over Crosshair. He looks like he might lash out physically. 

Crosshair shifts, squaring up, wordlessly daring Wrecker to try.

“Both of you, knock it off!” Echo orders, ARC voice bladed. 

Wrecker deflates immediately, but Crosshair holds his ground a moment longer, claiming a weak and idle victory. He can’t see Wrecker’s face, but his body language, like his voice, is loud. The drop of his shoulders, the angle of his helmet. Wrecker is scared, like the rest of them. They all know the likelihood of Hunter and Tech surviving the elements without proper gear. Crosshair voicing it doesn’t change the terrible facts. 

He cannot bring himself to apologize in so many words, so Crosshair bumps against Wrecker’s arm, hard, with his shoulder. “If anyone could figure out how to survive, it’d be those two.” 

Wrecker’s posture lifts. “I know they did.” 

“I got something!” Echo calls out, making their in-helmet comms hiss in protest. “Putting in coordinates now.” 

Crosshair and Wrecker clamber on board, and the ship is already off the ground before Crosshair punches the button to close the hatch. 

**

Hunter wakes feeling trapped. 

He can’t move his arms or legs, bound by a strange, encompassing weight. His first, mind-addled reaction is to panic, writhing frantically to free himself from the swaddling confines of whatever is holding him.

“Hey! They’re just blankets, di’kut, kriff,” Crosshair’s voice snaps at him. 

The familiar, waspish tone of his youngest brother makes Hunter stop, and Crosshair helps him disentangle enough fabric to free his arms. “How many blankets are there?” Hunter asks, voice rough from disuse, throat sore and parched. 

“Too many,” Crosshair admits. “I don’t know where Wrecker keeps finding them. Thirsty?” 

Hunter nods, and Crosshair hauls him up into a sitting position and hands him an open canteen. Hunter takes a sip of the tepid liquid, the taste of added electrolytes bitter on his tongue. He makes a face. “How long was I out?” 

“Two standard days,” Crosshair says. “Really did a number on yourself. Concussion and hypothermia. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Hunter frowns. “The last thing I remember clearly was checking my cables before rappelling down the cliff face. We were going to hike to the rendezvous point.” 

Crosshair scoffs. “That’s it?” 

“I remember my head feeling like it got split open,” Hunter grumbles. 

“Not quite, but not for lack of trying,” Crosshair says. “Lost your helmet and your emergency packs. Tech is still annoyed about losing his favorite med scanner.” 

“Is Tech alright?” Hunter asks, turning to look at where the other cot is empty across the aisle. A faint recollection of panicked words filters into his muddled memories. Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.

“Hypothermia and exposure, but he’s recovering,” Crosshair says with a smirk. “He’s supposed to be resting still; however, he claims he heard a rattle in the ship’s console before the mission, and insisted he had to repair it now. Weak excuse, but Echo let him get away with it.”

Hunter chuckles, the remnants of his concussion protesting with a throb of his skull. 

Crosshair’s expression turns solemn. “We almost didn’t make it in time. When Wrecker and I got into that cave...we thought we were recovering corpses.” 

Another painful throb pulses, this time in Hunter’s throat as he imagines what that must have been like. He doesn’t want to imagine, doesn’t want to think of any two of his brothers lying so still that he thought they were dead. So, he pushes the horrifying thought away, reaching out and grabbing hold of Crosshair’s arm. “But you weren’t.” 

Crosshair scowls at the durasteel floor and gives one, tight nod. 

Tech comes into the hold, Wrecker right behind him. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Tech says, something akin to warm smile touching his lips. 

Hunter smiles. “Thanks to you, sounds like.” 

Tech waves away the comment, taking a seat on the opposite cot. “How are you feeling?” 

“Smothered with all these blankets,” Hunter says, tossing a good-natured glare in Wrecker’s direction. 

The giant gasps. “You should have seen yourself before the blankets! Have you ever seen blue clones before? ‘Cause it’s something I never want to see again.” 

“I agree,” Crosshair mutters. 

“I assure you; such is an event I hope none of us experience a second time. On either side of the equation,” Tech says firmly.

There is a haunted expression in his brothers’ eyes, a lingering look of hope snuffed out. 

That nearly transparent memory returns. Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.

Hunter thanks the maker Tech was right. 

For all their sakes. 

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

    There was a loud alarm going off when Tech woke up. The smell of smoke filled the air. As fast as he could the clone got out of the cockpit and away from the ship. Adrenaline kept him from feeling anything that would be painful.

    One of the first things he did was check him comm. While it was still on his wrist it was shattered, breaking some of the armor beneath it. Pieces of the armor pieced his skin. Scanning the ship, Tech knew there was no use trying to use the ships communicator.

    Sliding against a nearby tree he let out a sigh. For now he as stranded. Tech realized he was shaking, an affect of the crash. Still he needed to asses the damages done. The ship was totaled. Removing his helmet the clone straightned his goggles.

    He knew his legs were weak, he had felt that walking over to the Willow Tree. Unaware of there was anything wrong with them, he started to evaluate them. As adrenaline started to wear off he could tell his right leg was broken. His left arm, while he had not looked into its condition yet, was also broken.

    While he was sure there were other injuries, Tech leaned his head back onto the tree. He had a concussion which wasn't surprising. Even with his armor the crash was hard on him. He tried to stand but his trembaling body made it difficult. Letting himself just sit against the tree he tried to judge how likely someone was to come to find him.

     It wasn't often the batch was separated. They were all on the same mission, just with different assignments. Ones they knew he was shot down they would insist on finding him. The smoke from the ship would likely give them his location.

    All Tech could do was wait. He was capable of patience, however he was in pain. The known injuries from the crash were not life threatening but there could be something he didn't know about.

    Watching his environment, Tech realized the woods around him were beautiful. Ignoring the crashed ship he smiled softly at the way the light went through the leaves of the willow trees he found himself surrounded by. The grass that hadn't been lightly singed was a pretty shade of light green. Small yellow and purple flowers covered the ground and there was a blackberry bush a few feet away from him. It wasn't to warm or to cold.

    Still the pretty view couldn't quiet the anxiety that came from the crash. Tech knew his brothers would find him but the thought that he wouldn't be found nagged at him. There was no guarantee his internal organs were okay until he was medically tested. He didn't like the helpless feeling that followed being alone and starnged on a planet he didn't get to study.

    The wind blew softly. Sounds of battle were off in the distance. Looking at the sky Tech saw it was starting to fill with color. The sun was setting and soon it would get darker and colder. Nocturnal animals would come out from their resting places as time progressed.

Placing his helmet back on the clone scanned the area. There was nothing close to him that he needed to worry about. He took the data pad that was on his belt and looked to see if it was usable. Turning it on he tried to figure out if there was a town or city he could attempt to go to. To his relief there was a small village showing in his scanner a few miles away. He tried to stand again, only slightly more stable than before.

Finding the village would be his best chance at survival. Tech hoped that someone from the village had been sent out to learn more about the ship that had crashed in their woods. Maybe they would be willing to help him get back to his brothers. The man used trees to allow him to walk. With his broken leg walking a few miles would be difficult task.

After ten minutes he collapsed against a tree again. He breathed heavily as he relieved there was likely something wrong internally that made it harder for him to travel. Tech tried to stand but found himself unable to. Instead he lay against the tree's trunk and looked at his data pad. He got it to transmit a location before it shut off.

Shifting against the tree, he tried to get comfortable. It would be a while before anyone found him. Tech's head ached as he removed his helmet again. He placed it by his side carefully and closed his eyes.

The man wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep or zoned out but when he heard a noise close to him he relieved it was night. It sounded like walking. Voices soon accompanied the sound. Ones the people came into view Tech knew who was approaching. While his vision was blurry he would know his brothers anywhere.

Wrecker was the first to speak. "Tech!" He yelled. The man ran up to him and helped him up. "Are you okay?" Sighing Tech gave him a short explanation of his injuries and what had happened. "So no?"

"Not really." Tech could feel the worry radiating off of his brothers. The world kept spinning as he tried to take a step forward. He felt forward, Wrecker catching him. His body was exhausted.

"I've got you." Wrecker grabbed him gently and carried him.

Echo contacts Hunter when they manage to corner Wrecker, only to learn Crosshair's in a similar state. He informs Tech, who sighs.

Tech takes a step towards Wrecker, making Wrecker lurch forwards and take a swing at him, only to press himself against the wall again.

It took them far too long to get him here, trapped in a small storage room. Wrecker cleared out the few droids that had been in there, only to promptly start panicking when he managed to get himself stuck in a corner.

Echo and Tech are in front of him, trapping him between the wall and two shelves. He looks like a scared animal, glancing about frantically and swiping at them blindly. He's still clutching his chest and heaving for air. Echo helped bandage Wrecker's burnt hand, but that's been long bleed through, leaving bloody marks on anything he grasps at. If there's that much blood through layers of bandages and Wreckers blacks, Echo's not sure he wants to know what the skin underneath looks like.

What ever the stims have been contaminated with can't be good. The most likely perpetrator is the separatists, like those reports Echo read about contaminated bacta. So far, the symptoms seem to show that the contamination was made to make soldiers attack their allies, so Echo hopes the stim wasn't designed to kill the user.

Echo can't believe something like this could happen. If this is the kind of quality control the GAR has, Echo's worried for the safety of every soldier. Either that, or they've got separatist spies infiltrating the supply chain.

“Any ideas?” Echo asks. They tried stunning Wrecker and all that did was hurt him by the looks of it, even after four direct hits. Echo isn't willing to try that again unless they run out of ideas. There's no guarantee Wrecker won't be permanently harmed by stunning him in his state.

“He's weakened, our best option may be physically subduing him,” Tech answers.

Echo hates to admit it, but Tech's likely right. With his ARC training, Echo's managed to beat Wrecker countless times when sparing. But Wrecker wasn't trying to kill Echo then and he wasn't desperate either.

“What do we do if we get him down?” Echo asks. It's not like they carry binders on them.

“He may be able to recognize us if he is forced to calm down.” Tech approaches Wrecker slowly, blaster in its holster. Hand to hand combat seems to be the way to go here.

In a sudden burst of speed, Tech launches himself forwards, grabbing hold of Wrecker's arm, trying to twist it behind his back. Wrecker is surprised by the attack, but not long enough for Tech to complete his manoeuvrer.

Echo can see the punch Wrecker's hoping to land on Tech a mile away, moving to block it with his arm.

“Trikayc, vod'ika,“ Echo mutters, knowing his next move is going to be dirty. Using the momentum from blocking Wrecker, Echo connects his foot with the knee of Wrecker's injured leg. It buckles under Wrecker's weight as he grunts in pain.

Just as Echo's about to move out of Wrecker's range, he grabs Echo's chest plate, bringing him down onto the floor as well. The air is knocked out of Echo's lungs and his vision briefly turns black as he hits the ground hard. Echo can't see it, but Tech's pained cry and the crashing that follows tells him that Wrecker got his arm out of Tech's grip.

Wrecker ties to run, but after all the trouble it was to get him trapped here, Echo isn't going to let that happen. He sweeps Wrecker's legs out from under him, standing up in the same move.

Dazed from the impact, Wrecker lays flat on his stomach for a moment. Long enough for Echo to kneel on his back, putting a hand on the back of Wrecker's neck to pin him to the ground. Wrecker's arms flail uselessly, unable to reach Echo as he dodges.

But then Wrecker seems to realize that he has other uses for him arms, bringing them to his side and pushing up off the floor. Far too easily, he shakes Echo off, slamming him into the shelf in the process. Echo thinks he must have hit his head, his surroundings swaying as he lays crumpled on the floor.

Tech did something to draw Wrecker's attention, having cornered himself in the process. To stop Tech from being grabbed, Echo throws the closest item he can reach at Wrecker. The object, previously stored on one of the shelves, appears to be metal by the sound it makes hitting Wrecker's helmet. Wrecker snaps to look at Echo.

Not wasting an opportunity, Tech runs at Wrecker, shouldering him in the chest hard enough to make Wrecker's back hit the shelf. Good thing the shelves have been attached to the floor, Echo thinks to himself as he staggers to his feet.

Wrecker grunts at the impact, is however barely slowed by it. He gets his fingers under Tech's shoulder bells, throwing him by them. Tech slides across the floor, coming to a halt near Echo. There's a bloody handprint on his right shoulder, standing out against the white he's painted it.

“This isn't working,” Echo hisses, making Tech glare up at him from his spot on the floor.

“I am acutely aware of that, Echo,” Tech responds as he uses the shelf to get himself standing.

“What the kriff is in those stims?” Echo asks, keeping a close eye on Wrecker. He's moved back into the corner again. ”He just keeps getting back up again. He's not responding to anything. It's like he can't even see us.”

Despite Wrecker looking weakened and moving sluggishly, there's a seemingly limitless well of energy in him. Echo's certain he and Tech will go down long before Wrecker will.

“I might have an idea,” Tech says, “However, I doubt you will like it.”

“What?” Echo asks, sighing. He quickly learned that the plans the Bad Batch, especially Tech, come up with are an entirely different kind of crazy. What's worse, is that Echo's found that quite suits him. He only wishes Fives were still around to take part in the chaos. He would have loved it.

But when Tech says he thinks Echo won't like a plan, Echo knows better than to doubt the statement.

“You will just have to trust me.” Without elaborating further, Tech charges at Wrecker again.

It takes a moment for Echo's brain to catch up what's happening, simply standing there watching as Tech ends up pressed against the wall by Wrecker. It only then dawns on him that he should intervene.

This time he kicks Wrecker in the back of the knee, making him stagger and drop Tech. He turns to Echo, swinging at him with little to no aim.

“Don't distract him,” Tech spits as he gets up. “I have to try something.”

“And just let you get hurt?” Echo hisses back, dodging a weak kick from Wrecker.

“Trust me,” Tech repeats. He goes for Wrecker's arm again, fumbling with his vambrace. Wrecker gives up trying to hit Echo, instead swiftly closing his hand around Tech's neck. Echo moves to sweep at Wrecker's legs again, but Tech shakes his head, even as Echo can hear him gasping for air.

One of Tech's hands is on Wrecker's, trying to give himself some breathing room, the other is still at the clasp of Wrecker's forearm armor.

Echo doesn't want to ignore Tech's wishes, but he hates having to stand here, just watching the fight Tech's losing. Wrecker wouldn't want this, never. But Echo trusts Tech. He still readies his blaster and stands close. He won't let either of his new brothers die here and he sure as hell isn't going to just watch if it gets to that.

Wrecker's heavy breathing and Tech's struggle for air are suddenly broken by Wrecker's vambrace clattering to the floor. Echo watches in confused silence as Tech starts tapping Wrecker's forearm rhythmical. He taps it twice, pauses shortly, then taps it another two times followed by a longer break. Tech repeats this rhythm over and over.

“What ever you're doing isn't working,” Echo shouts, preparing himself to break the two up.

“It will,” Tech wheezes, barely audible with his neck constricted as it is.

And then Wrecker's shoulders tense and he releases Tech, immediately reaching for him with a shaky hand. When his palm connects with Tech's helmet he gingerly feels about the plastoid. Tech is slumped against the shelf, coughing and clutching his neck.

Echo takes a step forwards, wary of what Wrecker's doing. Evidently Wrecker isn't a fan of the sudden movement. Faster than Echo can react, Wreckers hand covers the front of his helmet, gasping it tightly.

“No,” Tech orders, voice cracking, and for some reason, Wrecker listens. With his visor uncovered again, Echo can see that Tech's tapping Wrecker's arms again.

“What are you doing?” Echo asks. He's never seen any of the Batch do anything similar.

Tech gets to his feet, swaying as he moves, still holding Wrecker's arm, still tapping it. Wrecker stands frozen. “Ah, it's something we did as cadets,” Tech says, “Both to identify one another and reassure each other.”

“You risked your life to bet on Wrecker remembering something you did years ago?” Echo asks.

“It worked, did it not? Besides, we still use it occasionally.” Tech sounds awful, neck likely swelling already. “Could you push his helmet up for me? If this is anything like a regular stim, Wrecker will likely be sick at some point.” Tech doesn't stop tapping Wrecker's arm.

Echo nods, moving slowly as he approaches Wrecker. He still flinches, but doesn't try to hit Echo again.

Wrecker's expression is vacant but fearful, eyes and pupils blown wide. His eye movement as well as breathing is frantic. Blood streams from his nose and mouth in addition to the saliva seeming to coat his chin.

Echo pulls a cloth from his belt pouch. He'd used it to clean the joints of his prosthetics earlier, so he cringes at the oil smeared on it. He uses the cleanest corner to wipe Wrecker's face. It's not exactly sanitary, but it feels wrong to leave his vod covered in his own blood like that.

Wrecker cringes away from his touch, squeezing his eyes closed. Echo apologizes quietly.

“Wrecker's heart rate is alarmingly high and he's running very hot. He also seems to have very limited vision and hearing,” Tech observes.

“Is there something we can do to help him?” Echo asks.

“Getting him to the Marauder is likely the best option,” Tech says, slinging Wrecker's arm over his shoulder. “I will try and keep him focused on me, but we should be ready to deal with him trying to attack again.”

Wrecker leans his head against Tech's helmet. “Tech...” he says, voice slurring.

Echo isn't sure if he should take that as a good sign. Carefully, Echo supports Wrecker from the other side. He grips his blaster tightly. With Tech focused on Wrecker and Wrecker barely conscious, defending them from droids will be Echo's job.

Echo cringes as he sees how heavily Wrecker limps as they start moving, knowing very well that he played a significant role in making his little brother's leg injury worse.

“We got him to calm down,” Echo speaks into his comlink once they're out of the warehouse, “How are things with Crosshair?”

Hunter groans, sounding exhausted. “I got him, but you don't even want to know what a hassle it was.”

“Complain to me about it once we're on the ship.” Echo's comment gets a laugh out of Hunter.

Typically, they can't go long without a break, droids attacking them shortly after Echo's talk with Hunter. Tech manages to shoot and keep Wrecker reasonably calm, but with less accuracy than usual.

The nearby battle clearly affects Wrecker, agitation clear in the way he 's clenching his hands and looking about. It gets worse every time they're faced with enemies.

Echo's head seems to do nothing but worsen either, persistent pain building with their agitated movement. He can feel blood running down the back of his neck, soaking into his blacks.

He can ignore that with ease, he's been through far worse and it's not like headaches are anything new to Echo. But when he's hit with a sudden, intense wave of nausea, Echo has to let go of Wrecker and rush to the side. Years of training make him able to remove his helmet before he's sick.

When his stomach calms its self, Echo feels rather bad for leaving Tech to support Wrecker's weight alone. Tech's barely keeping both of them upright.

“Well I certainly didn't expect you to be the one out of the three of us to throw up first,” Tech says. Echo can't tell is it's supposed to be an observation or a joke.

“I hit my head,” Echo states, wiping his mouth with his hand.

Tech doesn't ask any further questions, letting Echo silently take his place next to Wrecker again. Echo grits his teeth as they continue, urging himself to fight against his body screaming for rest. He sighs in relief when he starts recognizing the corridors again, placing them near the way they entered.

Smaller groups of droids are milling about the area, but significantly less than when they first arrived. Their luck has been abysmal, but Echo is prepared to see this as a win.

Once they're finally out of the base, Echo pats Wrecker's arm. “Just a little further, Wreck'ika, then you can rest,” Echo says, reassuring himself just as much as he's trying to do so for his brother.

Wrecker just groans in response.

Mando'a Translation:

Tech took a deep breath as he finished the calculations on the computer in front of him. He removed his headset and blinked tiredly as Nala Se entered the room, her long arms folded behind her back, her dark eyes boring into him.

            “Well done, CT-9903. Your success rate was 100% once again, and in adequate time. As is to be expected.”

            “Yes ma’am.” Tech stood at attention, breathing shallowly. He was exhausted. He had been staring at a screen for the past four hours, performing test after test, unable to look away from the computer for fear of getting a low score due to his time. His eyes were killing him, and he hadn’t slept for the past 32 hours. After yesterday’s training sessions, his screen exposure had been so long that it had prevented a good night’s rest. He prayed with all his might that Nala Se would excuse him and let him try and recuperate, but of course, he couldn’t be so lucky.

            “Based off of your overwhelming success rate, I’d like to run a few more tests. Being subjected to physical discomforts and hindrances during battle will not be uncommon once you are in the field. Therefore, you must be able to continue putting forth such rates despite those hindrances.”

            Tech felt a lump forming in the pit of his stomach. “What kind of hindrances are you proposing, ma’am?”

            Nala Se tilted her head, moving over to her computer and tapping a few buttons. “We’ll start with a few simple things. We’ll attempt basic data transfers, simple formulas, and the like, while holding your position under enemy fire. All rounds used will administer a simple shock effect. They will not be lethal or run the risk of damaging you permanently, but they will be enough of an interference. We will move down to Training Deck C for these tests.”

            The lump that had been forming in the pit of Tech’s stomach slowly started making its way up his chest. “Yes ma’am.” He turned quickly and headed out of the room, taking quick, shallow breaths. He was tired. He wanted to curl into a ball and sleep- no, cry. It took everything in his power to keep his chin from trembling and hold his composure. If the upcoming training was the simple part, he dreaded to thing what the harder courses would be…

            Tech finished the data transfer and calculations just as one final shot hit him squarely in the back, sending another jolt of pain coursing through his system. Had this been a real attack, he’d have been dead ages ago, but sheer willpower had helped him pull through. The shots weren’t nearly as ‘harmless’ as Nala Se had implied. Each one felt like a slightly weaker baton shock, and made his muscles go slack and his nerves go haywire. He wanted so badly to give into the pain, to just shut his eyes and use the attacks as a viable reason for blacking out and let sleep finally take him. But if he did that, he knew for certain that any future tasks would only be that much harder, and that much more painful.

            With trembling legs, he rose from the ground as the training room doors opened and Nala Se entered.

            “It seems that this session did not go to plan as desired. Had you not completed your task when you did, you likely would have suffered a loss of consciousness rather soon.”

            Tech looked forlornly at the floor, hands at his side. He picked worriedly at the hem of his uniform, biting his lip.

            “Still, you completed the task. You would have died, of course, had those been live rounds, but the important thing is that you were able to complete your mental tasks despite physical interference. You will be able to rely on your fellow clones in battle and will likely have little chance to be put in such a precise scenario. Now, onto the next task.”

            Tech followed her out the door, the lump that had been in his chest quickly making its way up to his throat as he recognized which direction they were going. He almost stopped directly in the middle of the corridor, contemplating how much trouble he was willing to get into if it meant not going another step. But he couldn’t stop. As much as all of this was going to hurt, who knew what Nala Se would do if he didn’t comply…

            The lab they entered was exactly as it was the last time Tech was there. He could practically close his eyes and point out every detail in the room, he had memorized it so well. On the far wall was a line of shelves, with hundreds of different vials and containers. On the right wall was a large computer, and on the left wall, a metal counter, with various… tools. Some were harmless: scanners, hookups for the computer to record vitals… Others, not so harmless. There were a number of small scalpels, plyers, and other sharp instruments in numerous sizes, all neatly organized and in perfect view.

            And lastly, in the very center of the room, was a long, metal table. Attached to the table were multiple straps, all of which were adjustable according to the user’s desires.

            “Take a seat, CT-9903.”

            Tech felt rooted in place. He hadn’t even come through the doorway yet, he wanted out of that room so badly. ‘It’s okay’ he thought. ‘It’s nothing you haven’t been through before. You can do this…’ He took unsteady steps towards the table, slowly hoisting himself up onto the surface and taking a seat, his stomach twisted into a giant knot, the muscles contracting in such a way, he knew he ran the risk of throwing up what little his stomach contained, and probably dry-heaving long after. With a desperate gasp of air, he tried pulling himself together, removing his goggles and lying on his back at Nala Se’s command.

            “Being subjected to various forms of torture will not be uncommon, especially since your squad will be a designated special unit, resulting in far more perilous missions. You must be able to function at full mental capacity after being exposed to such methods. You’ve run such tests before, so you know what is required to pass. Let’s hope you’re able to succeed this time, where before you failed.”

            Tech nodded slowly, wincing as Nala Se’s assistant droid rolled up his left sleeve and inserted a long cold needle into his arm. It emptied the syringe before discarding it and attached the table’s restraints to Tech’s wrists and ankles. He took a deep breath as he felt himself grow dizzy.

            It felt as though he was slowly spinning…

            Falling…

            Like the table beneath him was no longer there, and at any moment, he would plummet to the ground below. He knew it was just the drug, but it felt real none the less, and it did nothing to help his already churning stomach.

            His breathing quickened, though he struggled to slow it, as the droid placed a large cloth over his pale face, and he prepared himself for what was to come.

            A steady stream of water spread through the towel, slowly drenching his face, and he kept his mouth and eyes shut, as the liquid made its way across his face. At first, it didn’t seem that bad, but as the water grew more intense, and the drug began to seep into his system, it had the full effect of drowning. He felt as though he was underwater, disoriented, gasping for air, his lungs burned. His whole body convulsed and tensed, struggling to take in oxygen as the water filled his nose and airways, and he wanted more than anything to just bang his head against the cold surface of the table and knock himself out, ending the pain. Instead, he choked and sobbed, what little tears he let out intermingling with the water that poured down his face and neck, soaking the table and his back.

            After what seemed like hours, the cloth was whipped off and the restraints undone. Desperately, Tech took deep, trembling breaths, tumbling off the table and onto the spartan floor. He crashed around the room for a moment, unable to see without the aid of his goggles, the drug in his system still in full effect. He searched frantically for the computer, he knew it was close, it had been at his head when he was lying down… but which way had he fallen off the table? Where was it now?

            He let out a small sob, knowing his time was running out. He needed to find the computer and at the very least, complete a data transfer, run a calculation, something, anything to prove he had made progress, anything to make it so he didn’t have to go through this again… but just as he thought he had gained his bearings, he slipped on the wet floor, his head colliding with the corner of the table, and for a moment, Tech’s vision was clear.

            Then… everything went black…

            “He’s been gone for hours, Hunter.”

            “I know… but it’s always like this, for any of us. Those stupid tests take forever.”

            “Crosshair’s right, maybe we should go look for him.”

            Hunter sighed, glancing over at his brothers. “Look, we know where he is. I know he’s been gone for a long time, but what are we gonna do about it?”

            “How about dragging him out of training?” Crosshair suggested.

            “I’d love to, believe me. But I don’t want anyone here getting in trouble, and neither would Tech. And we don’t want him to get in trouble either!” Hunter gave Crosshair and Wrecker a sympathetic look. “We’ll wait a few more hours. If he isn’t back by then, we’ll go in, consequences be damned.”

            “Why wait?!” Wrecker objected, but Crosshair nodded, putting a hand on the taller clone’s shoulder. “By 18:00 hours, if he isn’t back, that’ll be the longest he’s ever been gone.”

            “That’s right. At the very least, we should wait until then. Maybe the tests will take as long as last time, and this is routine. If not, we’ll find out. Sound good?”

            Wrecker frowned but nodded slowly. “Yeah… It’s just… those tests are never any fun. And I hate to think he’s having to deal with them for such a long time.”

            There was a short silence. Hunter’s stomach twisted into a knot, and he made a face. “I understand, Wrecker… I don’t like it either…”

            “Those stupid long necks treat us like lab rats… Maker knows what Tech’s going through…”

            “Well, he told me about them once.” Wrecker said. “He said that they just make him run calculations on the computers. It’s just a lot of thinking he says, and he has to stare at a screen for a while, which is why his eyes always hurt. And since he’s sitting all day, he’s always stiff and sore after.”

            Crosshair and Hunter didn’t respond. While Tech had only ever given similar responses when questioned about his training, individually, they each knew that it probably wasn’t true. They didn’t want to tell Wrecker, because they knew how painful it would be for him if he truly knew the potential of what Tech could be going through.

            To each other, they always kept the details of their training secret. But deep down, they each suspected the others of lying about the severity of it all, considering they were all going through their own struggles. Even Wrecker, who seemed so positive that Tech’s words were fact, knew they were likely nothing more than a façade. But they weren’t going to force each other to discuss something they’d rather not, and so, the true aspects of their training remained a mystery to one another.

            Every ounce of Hunter’s being screamed at him to go and find his brother… but he squashed those feelings and tried to let logic steer his decisions. Tech wouldn’t want them to interfere, and he wouldn’t want them to get in trouble… And so they waited, none the wiser of what happened on the other side of the complex…

            When Tech awoke, his whole body ached. His vision swam momentarily before everything stabilized and he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looking around. He was barefoot and wearing a fresh change of white pants and shirt. It was very hard for him to see properly, as his goggles were missing (he did look around for them, but without any luck), but when he squinted, he could just make out the basic layout of his surroundings. He was in a large, white room, completely devoid of any furnishings, windows, or color. The walls and floor were padded with white, smooth, cushion-like material, which harshly reflected the bright white lights installed in the ceiling above. As Tech hesitantly rose to his feet, he realized that despite the many lights, they all appeared to have been installed in such a way that little to no shadows were cast. Most importantly, there did not appear to be any visible exit anywhere in the room.

            In short, especially considering the lack of proper eyewear, he was in a white, silent void, with little enough detail that it was as though he was constantly having a bright light shone into his face. He staggered along the wall, feeling for any cracks or seams to indicate a door, but after passing around the room several times, he was unsuccessful. He cleared his throat, if only to hear a sound in this completely silent room, but even that was muffled significantly from all the padding in the room.

            He cleared it again and spoke up timidly. “Hello?” No response. “Hello? Anyone?” Still nothing. He decided perhaps it may be best to sit and wait patiently, so he did so. After what he felt was a decent while, he finally stood up again and walked around. He began to pace along the perimeter of the room, timing himself the first time, and then continuing the pace and counting how many laps he finished. This both helped him try and keep his brain busy and helped him calculate the amount of time which he had spent in the room. After walking for (based on his estimates) thirty minutes, he sat down again. He realized that whatever reason Nala Se had in locking him in here was likely pertaining to some test or experiment. But at this point, he hardly cared. He just wanted to sleep… So he lay on his back and closed his eyes, but the blinding lights bore through his eyelids, and instead, he crawled over to one corner of the room, lay on his side, facing the wall, threw an arm over his face and attempted to get some rest.

            He didn’t bother figuring out how much time passed before he finally drifted into a very fitful sleep, but it felt like an eternity. He also didn’t bother trying to tell how long it had been before he could no longer attempt to stay asleep and was finally forced to sit up. Once again, he blinked in confusion before realizing that his visual impairments could not be rectified due to his missing goggles. He sighed in frustration, debating whether he should just sit and wait, or if he should walk some more. He finally decided to go with the latter, and after about an hour, he sat down again. This pattern continued for an accurately incalculable amount of time, and slowly, it began to eat away at him.

            Against his better judgement, he had shouted out Nala Se’s name multiple times, asking to be let out. Mercifully, he had no need to use the fresher, but that was only due to his completely empty stomach, which he was becoming increasingly aware of as time went on. He began to get sharp jabbing pains in his side as his stomach gurgled in protest, his entire body begging for nourishment. He tried to distract himself from the hunger, but it was impossible.

            Pleading, bargaining, and threats had no effect on the Kaminoans, and Tech knew it. So, he lay there, in the center of the room, in pain as his body grew weaker, and his insides twisted in agony as they began trying to digest themselves. The muscles in his lower abdomen and back grew so sore, and his lack of proper vision began to eat away at him. He felt restless, unable to remain in one spot for any long period of time. In spite of his aching muscles, he walked around the room anxiously, ringing his hands, biting his lips and clenching his teeth. His eyes darted back and forth, even though there was nothing different for them to look at in any part of the room. He began hitting the walls with his fists, softly at first, almost as though he was just looking for hollow sounds indicating an exit, but they quickly turned to distract himself from the hunger, but it was impossible.

            He ran his fingers fretfully through his hair, and he couldn’t help but let out a whimper of frustration as his anxiety built. A lump had formed in his throat and quickly came out in the form of panicked breathing and strangled cries as his eyes began to ache and his felt his senses start going haywire one by one. He fell to the ground, trembling, shouting, clutching at his chest as he struggled to regulate his breathing.

            He had to grab the cushion-y ground and just focus on not puking at one point. He tore the material on the floor, he had clutched it so badly, but not enough that he could get to anything beneath the surface. As his anxiety continued to grow, he began to scratch furiously at his arms and neck, sobbing, screaming, crying out for someone, anyone. “Please, I- I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, please!” He choked and coughed, tears streaming down his face as he held his head in his hands, throwing himself into a corner. “I want it to stop… I- I want- I want it to stop!”

            Everything in his body was suffering. He could feel his senses being deprived of simple things like colors, contrast, sound, basic things that didn’t seem like a big deal. But when he didn’t have them, they began taking a serious tole. They tore away at him, breaking him down, making him slowly lose a grasp on time and reality, everything seemed so dreamlike and lost. He wasn’t even sure that he was in a room. Maybe he was just dreaming… He had no way of knowing.

            On the other hand, his body’s lack of stimulation was pushing it into overdrive, and it struggled to compensate, resulting in overstimulation when it came to the one sense he had been able to continue using: touch. He scratched deep at his skin, because every time he raked his nails across it, he felt something. It was proof. Proof that something was real. Maybe, if he kept doing it, he’d feel something else too? Maybe things would start going back to normal, he’d get more control… He just needed to wake his body up enough to go back to normal, that was it! Then everything would be fixed!

            It was only a matter of time until he was let out, right? His brothers, his brothers would find him! All he had to do was hold out a little longer, everything would be fine!

            Suddenly, for the first time in hours, a splash of color caught Tech’s eyes. It was red. He looked down. He suddenly felt the burning sensation on his neck and arms. It made his heart race, both with panic and with joy. Joy at the fact that finally, there was something there, something that stimulated his sense of sight, something that gave dimension to his otherwise lifeless world. But he panicked, because the color he saw and the pain he felt were indicative of something he knew he couldn’t fix on his own, and if no one was in fact coming, then more pain was soon to follow, and it would only get worse.

            His hands were covered in blood. His blood. It dripped down his neck and soaked his sleeves and shirt front. In his anxiety and panic, he had clawed at his skin so much, that he had scratched it raw, to the point where his arms and throat were now giant bloody spots, the skin torn and swollen, his nails covered with drying, crimson liquid.

            But instead of continuing to panic, Tech stopped. And laughed. At first, it was a high, hollow sound, but slowly, it grew louder and deeper, until it turned into an odd choking noise, and once again, tears rolled down his face. His vision grew blurry, and his head reeled. The next thing he knew…

            He was falling…

            The white lights and padded walls swirling around him like clouds…

            He didn’t know how long he was falling… it felt like an eternity…

            He hit the floor, but it didn’t hurt. Not like everything else…

            He was so, so tired… tired of the pain, tired of the loneliness, tired of everything. He wanted his brothers, he wanted to see them again. He wanted to be able hear Wrecker’s shouts, Crosshair’s grumbling, and Hunter’s strong but kind voice. He wanted to stand out in the rain and get drenched, he wanted to feel the cold hard surface of the metal walls in his barracks… he wanted Nala Se to let him go, wanted the experiments to stop, wanted all of this to end…

            But it didn’t end. Instead, he writhed in pain on the floor as he dry-heaved and shuddered, his muscles sore, his arms and neck bloody, and the ever growing pain in his head getting worse and worse, until finally, with a trembling sob and a desperate whimper, he slowly fell unconscious, everything around him still as empty and lonely as ever…

            “He’s not here either.” Crosshair slammed his fist against the lab wall, gritting his teeth. “We’ve searched the med bays, training rooms, labs, everywhere. Where could he have gone?”

            Hunter gritted his teeth, tapping his fingers sporadically against his leg as his eyes darted back and forth. Tech hadn’t returned to their barracks by the time they had hoped he would, and they had all reached a breaking point and decided to go look for him. That was almost 3 hours ago. They had been walking through the spartan white halls, sneaking about the complex where needed, and in most cases, breaking into rooms well beyond their clearance levels in search of their brother. They had explored high and low, from one end of Tipoca City to the other, but to their dismay, they still hadn’t found Tech.

            After a lot of sad looks on Wrecker’s part and curses on Crosshair’s, they all agreed to return to their barracks in the hope that Tech may have returned while they were gone. They walked dejectedly down the hallway, passing other clones as they went, until Hunter came to a sudden stop, his brothers almost colliding into him from behind.

            Nala Se stood in front of them, hands folded neatly behind her back. “Clone Unit 99. Why are you outside of your designated barracks?”

            Hunter gulped, uncertain of the answer he should give, but Crosshair spoke first. “Where’s Tech?”

            Nala Se looked disapprovingly at Crosshair. “CT-9903 is in training, and not to be disturbed.”

Crosshair scowled. “He’s not in training. We looked. He’s been gone for almost 12 hours now. That’s longer than any of us have ever trained before and he should be back by now. Where are you hiding-?”

            “Crosshair.” Hunter interjected, putting a hand out in warning. He knew that his brother had already stepped out of line in the way he was speaking to Nala Se. The last thing he wanted was to have it go far enough that the Kaminoan  decided to inflict punishments as a result. “We just want to know where our brother is ma’am.”

            “That is of no concern to you. CT-9903’s training will be complete within the hour. You will see him when he returns to your barracks. Now, go back to your designated area.” Nala Se stepped aside, motioning for the cadets to continue down the corridor, and Hunter bit back the remark he so wanted to spit out. His brother was suffering somewhere, all alone, struggling to overcome insurmountable obstacles laid out by the Kaminoans, who did not care how much pain he went through, so long as the numbers and results were tolerable. But rather than scream all of this at Nala Se, rather than grab the nearest sharp object and slice her head off with it, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and nodded, walking towards the barracks.  “Yes ma’am.”

            Crosshair let out a soft hiss and followed after him, Wrecker bringing up the rear, practically stomping in defiance. When they were out of earshot, Crosshair began cussing out the scientist. “Stupid long-neck. I aught to purposefully miss during blaster practice and take her bug-eyed head off.”

            “You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Hunter bit back. “Do you want to be decommissioned?”

            Crosshair scowled. “Do you even care what’s happening to Tech right now? Or are you more worried about following orders and staying out of trouble?”

            Hunter whirled around and grabbed Crosshair by the shirt front, pushing him against a wall. “Of course I care about Tech! But if we get ourselves in trouble, we’ll have even less of a chance of being able to help him and possibly prevent whatever he’s going through from happening again, because we’ll be too busy with our own problems to do anything about his! You think I want any of us to go through what we do every day? You think I want to stand here and do nothing while I know my brother is suffering? Of course not! But we have to think about what we can feasibly and safely do without having more people get hurt!” He panted, his breathing uneven and strained, and slowly released his hold on Crosshair, who had grown silent. “Now…. We are going to go back to the barracks and wait for Tech. After that… after that, we can decide what to do. But until then… all we can do is wait…. So… just stop, please, Crosshair… Just stop.”

            Tech blinked wearily, his entire body throbbing. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he realized both that his goggles had been returned to him and that he was in a med bay. For some reason, it seemed strange. The cold, sterile environment of the med bay had always seemed so colorless and miserable to him, yet now it looked as though it had an added dimension. Like it somehow had more color and dimension to it than it had before. He shifted on his cot and jolted in surprise as his fingers came into contact with a roughly textured material, and he glanced down in a daze. It was a blanket. But… he knew what the med bay blankets felt like. They weren’t rough at all. Yet, in comparison to the silky-smooth surface of that room…

            Tech stiffened, his breathing quickening. That room… when had he gotten out? How? Where was Nala Se? How long had he been in the medical wing? He sat up suddenly, his head spinning, his vision going in and out of focus. He needed to get back. He needed to hide- to make sure that Nala Se never put him in there again. He’d do anything else. He’d take millions of tests, run algorithms for rotation after rotation if it meant never going back! He needed to-

            “CT-9903.” Tech froze. Slowly, he turned his head towards the doorway, where Nala Se stood, her blank eyes glistening eerily. “Your training for this rotation is complete and your results were… satisfactory. Your self-inflicted damage has been taken care of. You may return to your barracks.”

            Tech blinked, trying to comprehend what she had said. The sound and sight of someone other than himself had caught him off guard and he hesitated before replying. “Yes,” he choked out, his voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

            The Kaminoan nodded slowly, still staring intently at him. “There’s much work to be done… but one day… you may be of great use to us.” She turned and left the room, as Tech slowly slipped off the cot and struggled to stand upright. After what felt like an eternity, he inched his way across the room and out the door, towards the barracks… and his brothers.

            It felt like hours before he finally reached the familiar quarters, and he pushed a small button on the wall. The door swung open with a mechanical hiss, and he stepped gingerly through the doorway. The darker grey interior was gentler on his eyes, and the smell… while usually the smell wasn’t wonderful, right now, it was, because it purged the chemical scents from his naval passages for the first time in 12 hours. And the sound… there was no sound. He stopped, and for the first time, he actually looked around the room. His brother stood there, completely motionless and silent, worried looks on all their faces. Wrecker looked as though he wanted to run forward, but Hunter’s hand on his burly shoulder held him back, while Crosshair was as rigid as a statue, his jaw clenched, eyes wide.

            What were they looking at? Why were they just standing there, as though in shock? What- …Oh… him. They were looking at him. He looked down at his clothes, at his hands and feet. He still wore no shoes- his feet were bruised and there was blood caked under his fingernails. Stains of the red substance covered his otherwise pristine white clothes in blotches, and he gulped noisily.

            “I’m sorry,” he choked out. He bit his lip, screaming internally. Why hadn’t he hit the fresher first? “I… I hadn’t wanted you to see this. I- I’ll go wash up.” He turned to leave, and there was the sound of rushing footsteps- long, lean fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back. He blinked, momentarily stunned, and turned back to come face to face with Crosshair, whose piercing eyes bore into his own. He shook his head.

            Wrecker stepped forward, fiddling with the Tooka doll he clutched in his hands. “Don’t go,” he said softly. “Not yet. Not by yourself. Not again, please.” The larger cadet’s eyes were downcast, but pleading, his voice hesitant, not wanting to pressure, but so desperate to be heard.

            Crosshair’s gaze softened but remained concerned none-the-less. “What did they do? Where were you?”

            “Cross, don’t interrogate him, give him his space.” Hunter came up alongside the silver-haired clone, who had dragged Tech further into the room until the door snapped shut. Crosshair continued asking questions, while Hunter continued to berate him for it, but Tech said nothing. Not in protest, not in response… nothing… he didn’t know what he could say. What was he supposed to tell them? That he’d almost drowned? That he’d been drugged until he passed out? That he’d been locked in a padded white room, deprived of all outside stimuli until he had a mental breakdown? An odd knot formed in the pit of his stomach, just like it had earlier that day. He needed it to stop. Everything to just stop. The noise, the pain, the silence… it all made no sense, yet so much… everything just… “Stop.”

            Hunter and Crosshair ceased their argument, and Wrecker looked with concern at Tech, whose shoulders had slumped, his arms dangling loosely at his sides. “Stop… all of it… just… I… I’m sorry. I just… I want…” his shoulders began to shake. Strong but gentle arms wrapped around him, and he gasped softly as Wrecker began to pat him on the back. The knot in the pit of his stomach made its way up into his throat, and an odd choking noise escaped him as tears began to stream down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, and his knees gave out, several pairs of arms catching him before he hit the ground. “I-I…”

            “It’s alright Tech. You’re safe now. We’re right here, and we’re not going anywhere.” Hunter ran his fingers gently through Tech’s matted hair, trying to steady his brother’s breathing.

            “It wouldn’t… wouldn’t stop,” Tech choked, clutching at his shirt front. Crosshair placed a hand on Tech’s shoulder, messaging it gently.

            “We’ll make it stop. They’re never going to put you through stuff like this again. You’re not some lab rat to experiment on.”

            “I just… I want to stay here. Like this… just… just for a little bit.”

            Wrecker sat down properly on the floor, pulling Tech into a cradled hug, Hunter and Crosshair leaning against the larger cadet, still comforting their exhausted brother.

            “It’s alright, Tech. We can stay here, just like this, for as long as you need.”

            And they did. On that cold, exhausting, and trying night in Tipoca city, four brothers sat together, finding solace in one another’s presence. At long last, the pain, the loneliness, the exhaustion, the frustration, they all… just… stopped…

            As arms wrapped comfortingly around him in loving embrace, Tech’s whirling mind slowly grew calm, his surroundings going in and out of focus as he finally felt himself falling into a peaceful slumber…

            Floating…

            Falling…

            Falling…

            He was falling…

            The light white clouds swirling around as gravity pulled him ever closer to the surface, the rail car disappearing in the distance…

            He didn’t know how long he was falling… it felt like an eternity…

            He calculated and acted, knowing there was only so much he could do, and when he finally struck the ground, everything hurt. But not how he expected.

            He lay there… so tired… tired of the pain, tired of the loneliness, tired of everything. He wanted his family… wanted to see them again. He wanted to be able hear Wrecker’s shouts, Omega’s laughter, Echo’s grumbling, and Hunter’s strong but kind voice. He wanted to find Crosshair… tell him… everything… He didn’t want it to end…

            “Well… isn’t this fascinating?” Voices… faces… footsteps… “There is much work that will need to be done… but I believe… you may be of great use to us.”

            Then the pain…

            And the loneliness…

            And the regret…

            Everything…

            It all…

            Just …