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[kybercrystals94]

Omega told Emerie about their brothers 🥹

In enough detail that Emerie immediately recognizes Echo even in disguise…and immediately trusts that Echo - even if he might hate her for what she has done - will help her for the sake of Omega, the children, and the other clones.

Emerie trusts Omega.

Echo trusts Omega.

And that is enough.

But Omega also told Emerie about their brothers because she wanted Emerie to know that they aren’t alone. They have defenders.

After all…Omega wants to save Emerie too.

Omega talked to the Batch about Emerie

…

Omega talked to Emerie about The Batch

[kybercrystals94]

The Hostage (Part 6) 

Read here on Ao3! 

(Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5) 

Rated: T | Words: 1581 | Summary: Tooka and Mouse 

A/N: Sorry it’s been a hot minute since I’ve updated this story! I promise I haven’t forgotten! 

“Kriffing long necks,” Syko mutters as he reads over the new coordinates. 

Three times they’ve done this to him. 

Three. Karking. Times. 

If they hadn’t already advanced him half the credits, and promised double to make up his fuel costs, he would call off the job. He’s too valuable to play babysitter while the Kammies get their kriffing act together. 

The notion of being a babysitter reminds him to glance at his chrono. It’s been a few hours since he checked on the kid. Not like she can do anything, but with how this job is panning out, he wouldn’t put it past her to up and die on him. 

Shoving himself to his feet with a growl, he is about to leave the cockpit when the room starts to flash red; alarms scream; a disinterested, mechanical voice chants: system malfunction, system malfunction, system malfunction…

As if this day could get any worse.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“Do you see the panel?” Tech calls up to her. “It should be on your right.” 

Omega shifts, rotating slowly to the right in the tight space, and finally eyes the colorfully wired panel. “I see it! Now what?” 

“Are any of the wires loose?” 

Omega reaches for a yellow one, and starts to pull on it. 

“A very gentle tug will suffice,” Tech adds a moment too late as Omega pulls the wire from the panel. 

Alarms begin wailing above her where the cockpit is, along with the confused shouts of her brothers inside the ship. 

Omega cringes. “I think I pulled too hard, Tech. How do I…put it back?” 

“I suppose now is as good a time as any for a lesson in soldering,” Tech says, voice raised to be heard over the alarms. 

Later that evening, Tech has Omega memorize every wire, its placement on the circuit board, and its purpose. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega tucks in on herself, trying to fit comfortably into the small space. The screeching of alarms overhead makes her smile, the sound echoing through the depths of the small ship. They aren’t going to stop until Syko lands, until he gets to a mechanic, and makes them tear the ship apart looking for something that’s wrong. 

But nothing’s wrong. Not really. 

The ship just has its wires crossed…quite literally. 

Tech will love this story, and Omega cannot wait to tell him every little detail. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Syko sets course for the nearest planet. He runs five different diagnostic scans and all five come up with different error messages. Whatever is wrong with his force-forsaken ship, it didn’t just happen. It’s almost as if someone sabotaged…

With a furious scream, Syko throws his data pad across the cockpit before he races to the girl’s cell. He misses all but two of the ladder rungs on his way down, nearly losing his balance when his boots hit the durasteel floor. He doesn’t look in the cell before he deactivates the shield and steps inside. 

Empty. 

And the tiny vent has been pried open, dark residue of dried blood staining the edges. 

How in sith’s hell…

He steps up onto the cot and peers down the shaft, dark and void of life. But she’s in there somewhere, messing with his ship. Who knows what kind of chaos she’s causing. She’s going to get them both killed. This job isn’t worth all the credits in the galaxy if he’s kriffing dead! 

“Hey!” he roars down the vent. “Get out of there!” 

His enraged voice echoes back at him, but the girl doesn’t make a sound. 

“I’m gonna take this ship apart piece by piece, and when I find you…” the unfinished threat hangs between them. Syko isn’t sure exactly what he’ll do, but he can’t risk losing a single credit from this transaction. Not when he has to add ship repairs on top of fuel costs. And he isn’t about to admit to the kammies that he let a child get the best of him. 

No. He is going to fix this, and then he is getting this kid off his ship for good.  

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega’s left arm is numb. She carefully stretches it out, wriggles her fingers, trying to encourage circulation. If only she had a chrono on her. It feels like she’s been holed up inside the ship for hours. It’s hot and uncomfortable. She’s sweaty, clothes damp, hair clinging to her neck and forehead. 

On the bright side, she’s out of Syko’s reach. 

The alarms are still blaring, and Syko occasionally screams and curses. At her, at his ship, at the alarms, at the Kaminoans. She thinks he even curses his mother at one point, but she can’t be sure. 

The thrum of the ship around her changes, and her stomach lurches as the ship drops from hyperspace. She’s never gotten nauseous from space travel, but the heat alongside her nerves make her feel queasy. Omega mops at her face with her discarded jacket, sweat stinging her eyes. 

The first thing she’s going to do when she gets back to the Marauder is take a sonic. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“I need a mechanic,” Syko demands the moment he’s off the ship. 

He is met with an unimpressed look from the nearest dockhand. “You’ll have to take that up in the office. There’s a diagnostic fee, and then a down payment before we’ll touch your ship.” 

“Of course there is,” Syko grumbles. He digs into one of his pockets and pulls out a fistful of credits. “Watch this ship. Make sure nothing comes out of it.” He shoves the credits at the man. 

They are happily taken. “Sure thing,” the man says. 

Syko shoves past him, grumbling swears in every language he knows. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega hasn’t heard a scream or curse from Syko in several minutes since the ship has gone still, the only sound being the incessant alarms. Carefully, she makes her way back to her vent, wiggling down the narrow passage until she’s back in her cell. Syko – the genius that he is – left the shield open. 

While she’s had a scheme in place since before she even got the vent open, Omega briefly analyzes her options now that the plan is actually in play. She can send her brothers a distress message from Syko’s ship and risk Syko coming back and catching her…or she can get off the ship now and hope she finds a way to make contact with her brothers without drawing attention to herself. 

She doesn’t have any credits to her name and she’s sure she looks about as gross and sweaty as she feels. The likelihood of her not looking suspicious is incredibly low. 

But she’ll take her chances. 

She makes her way to the open ship ramp and peeks down into the spaceport. It is fairly busy. Busy enough that she can disappear. Omega creeps down the ramp. 

“Hey!” a voice barks at her. 

Omega freezes, blood pounding in her ears. That wasn’t Syko’s voice. Glancing over, she sees that she is being watched by a man in filthy, blue coveralls. She stands up straight. She can handle this. 

“Hello,” she says, offering a small wave. “Have you seen my dad?” 

The man glares at her. “He said not to let anything off this ship.” 

“Oh,” Omega says, “he didn’t mean me.” 

“I think he did.” 

Omega frowns at him and crosses her arms. “He told me to bring him more credits. He just commed me. Said he didn’t have enough.” She pats her very empty coat pocket, and then adds, in a low voice, “I don’t think he’d be very happy if he found out you kept him waiting.” 

This gives the man pause. “Fine. Go straight to the office then. Don’t wander around.” 

“I won’t,” Omega chirps, jumping down from the ramp. She flees into the crowd before the man can change his mind. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Syko returns to his ship, mechanic in tow.

His impromptu guard blinks at him as he approaches. “Where’s your kid?” he asks. 

“What?” Syko asks. “Are you saying a kid got off this ship?” 

“Yeah, your kid,” the man hedges. “Said you commed her to bring more credits to the office.” 

Syko resists the urge to pull his blaster and shoot the man where he stands. “You kriffing idiot! Where did she go?” 

The man points into the swarm of people buzzing around the port.  

Syko turns to the mechanic. “You, start the repairs. And you,” he turns on the man, “you’d better hope I never see your face again, or I’ll blow it off, you understand?” 

The man swallows and hurries away. 

Syko takes a steadying breath before starting his frantic search for his bounty. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega runs and runs and runs. She doesn’t stop running until she feels a pain pulling at her side. Turning into an alley, she hides behind a stack of empty crates, and works on getting her breathing back to normal. She’s thirsty, hungry, and sore. She wishes she had thought to find a canteen from Syko’s ship before she fled, the way her throat feels aflame and her tongue thick. Dehydration can be very dangerous, Omega, Tech’s voice warns her in the back of her mind. 

Omega leans heavily against the wall. Finding water shouldn’t be too hard. And while she won’t die from hunger, it would be nice to have something to eat. She’d even take Javik’s moldy tasting rations about now. 

However, her main concern is finding secure, long range communications. 

This is one situation she has not been trained for. Where should she even start? 

Water, she thinks with a small cough, I’ll start with water.

TBC

Up Next: The Batch get an unexpected message, and Syko gets an unwelcome visit.

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Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @dumfanting

[kybercrystals94]

Spoiler for episode 14…

Wrecker: Did, uh, Rampart make it?

The emotional whiplash I had between these two little words was unsettling 😂

[kybercrystals94]

Sounds Like Him

Read on Ao3 here!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 24 | Prompt 24: Ghost of You

Rated: G | Words: 435 | Summary: Wrecker and Crosshair talk about their lost brother. | Character Focus: Wrecker, Crosshair 

Wrecker groggily wakes to the sound of sure fingers typing. “Go to sleep, Tech,” he grumbles, turning over in the pull down bunk to face the wall. 

The typing stops abruptly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Crosshair’s voice. Not Tech’s. Never Tech’s. 

Tech is dead. 

Wrecker rolls to his back, stares at the bunk above him. “Sorry,” he says. 

Crosshair makes a scoffing noise. “What for? I woke you up.”

“I thought you were Tech for a second,” Wrecker says. “It just sounded…like he was here. The way you were typing. Haven’t heard typing like that since before.”

Crosshair is quiet for a few moments, and Wrecker isn’t sure he’s going to answer, and then, “Hunter types like a newborn blurrg’s first steps.” 

Wrecker barks out a surprised laugh, turning his head to look at his brother. Crosshair smirks back at him. 

“I missed you, Cross,” Wrecker says. “A whole lot.” He isn’t sure why he’s suddenly feeling sentimental, but the words need to be said. 

He misses Tech. Every day. 

But he also missed Crosshair. 

Every day.  

Crosshair blinks at him, smile dropping. He glances away. “I missed you too.” 

Wrecker sits up, ducking his head so he doesn’t hit it on the upper bunk. He leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Did Omega ever tell you about Tech winning a pod race?”

A half shrug and a nod. “A little. No details, but I got the gist of it.” 

“You should’ve seen him,” Wrecker says, becoming animated. “He was the craziest racer there.” 

Crosshair chuckles. “You sound surprised.” 

“Nah,” Wrecker says. “Just proud of him.” 

His little brother hums. “I would’ve liked to see that,” Crosshair mumbles, looking down at the data pad gone idle in his lap. He pecks one finger at the screen, igniting it to life, but he doesn’t do anything else with it. “There’s a lot of things I should’ve been here for.”

Wrecker swallows, but only lets his silence agree. 

“Maybe,” Crosshair continues once the quiet between them has settled, “you can tell me what happened…with the pod race.”

Wrecker grins so big it hurts. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted to share this story with Crosshair. All the details, even the ones he and Tech and Omega had carefully left out when reporting to Hunter and Echo. 

“Well,” Wrecker says, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. “I’ll have to start at the beginning.” 

Crosshair rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Well, that’s obvious,” he snarks. 

And kriff, if he doesn’t sound just like Tech when he says it. 

@the-little-moment @just-here-with-my-thoughts, less than a week left of Angstpril! But that also means less than a week until the end of the Bad Batch 😭 I'm not ready!!

And I'm posting this story before the second to last episode airs just in case it ruins me emotionally....eeeeeep!

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

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49

[kybercrystals94]

Our little cadets 🥰 I love them 😭

Angstpril Day 22: Little One

Prompt: Drained

Words: 745

Summary: When everything becomes too much, Cadet Hunter, his brothers, and their favorite doctor help Tech through a meltdown.

Senna straightened from her computer in shock when the small clone burst into her office, dark curls escaping from his bandana. 

“It’s Tech,” Hunter panted, looking like he’d run all the way. “There’s something wrong with him. Can you come?”

The doctor rose immediately to join him by the door, her unfinished forms forgotten. “Where is he?” She bent to meet the boy’s wild eyes. “Is he conscious, breathing?”

“Our barracks. Yes, it’s—it’s not like that.” The cadet’s face twisted in dismay, fingers tense and fidgeting at the hem of his tunic. “He—I couldn’t get him to come with me. Crosshair and Wrecker are watching him.”

“Come on then.”

Senna snatched her travel kit from the couch as Hunter practically fled her office, leading her out of the medbay and down the hall towards the cadet barracks, dodging past older clones who parted, wide-eyed for the doctor in his wake.  

Inside the boys’ room, she paused while her eyes adjusted to the dimness. “Over here!” Hunter beckoned from the edge of a bunk across the room where the object of his panic sat, knees to forehead, skinny arms wrapped tight around his legs. Wrecker and Crosshair were looking up at her with frightened eyes. They made room for the doctor on the bed beside their brother.

Senna lowered herself onto the bunk next to the young clone, setting her kit on the floor. “Tech, sweetheart, can you tell me what’s wrong?” He hadn’t moved as she’d sat down, not reacting at all to the sound of her voice. She looked him over for any obvious injuries.

“What happened?” She turned to the others.

Hunter bit his lip. “He just shut down like that. He was angry that he couldn’t get his pad to work and then he went all quiet. We didn’t…do so great in training today.” The last part was almost a whisper. 

“But he didn’t get hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Senna could see frustrated tears building in the boy’s eyes as he tried to answer her questions. Behind him, Wrecker shook his head in fervent confirmation. Crosshair was quiet, eyes fixed on Tech.

She laid a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Tech?” Turning back to her patient, Senna lightly touched his arm, pulling away when he made a low moan. He suddenly began to rock back and forth on the bunk, pulling in an occasional gasping breath. As she watched, his grip on his sleeves grew alarmingly tight. 

Oh.

“Boys,” the doctor lowered her voice as she faced the others, “you’ve done a great job, but if you could go sit at the table, I think your brother could use some space.”

They obeyed, and Senna shifted to the other end of the mattress. “Sweetheart,” she murmured to the small cadet, “I’m right here. Everything is fine. You’re safe.” The lights are down, it’s quiet, just give him some time.

She leaned back against the wall, smiling calmly at the three brothers on the bench and continuing in the same soft voice, “We’re just gonna be quiet a little while for Tech, okay?”

Their heads bobbed earnestly.

Ten minutes passed while Senna willed herself to exude serenity. When a shaky sigh was heard, she turned back to Tech. He’d stopped his anxious movements, but his head was still buried in his arms. “Tech?”

“I’m sorry, Senna.” His thin voice was worn with exhaustion.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, little one. I understand.” She raised her hand, then paused, “Do you mind if I touch you?”

The boy unfolded, revealing a tear-stained face beneath his large goggles. Tech wiped his nose on his sleeve and shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. Senna touched his shoulder gently, pleased when he didn’t flinch. “It’s alright, dear.” She was surprised when he turned and pressed himself into her side, his forehead against her collarbone. His delicate hands were tucked between them and she sighed in relief as her arms came up to hold him. 

Senna stroked Tech’s soft, brown hair as his brothers made an apprehensive approach. Bolstered by the doctor’s smile and lifted arm, Wrecker immediately snuggled into her other side. Hunter took his place next to Tech, one small hand on his brother’s back, and Crosshair climbed onto the far end of the bed, not touching anyone, but still wanting to be close. 

“You boys did such a good job.” Senna sighed again as she let her eyes close, just for a bit, she told herself. Then she’d go back to those karking forms. “Thank you for helping me.”

This one was more whump or hurt/comfort than angst, but that's okay 😅. I love the little Batch so much, especially little Tech.

8 more days of Angstpril! 😳 As always, the rest of the fics from this collab can be found by following our hashtag, #littlekyberthoughts, and by visiting @kybercrystals94, @just-here-with-my-thoughts, and my blogs.

Happy reading. 😬

Taglist: @clonethirstingisreal @lightwise @freesia-writes

[kybercrystals94]

"close is not good enough for a sniper"

[kybercrystals94]

“There was a fine line between arrogance and insecurity, and Mayday was an experienced enough commander to recognise when one was masking the other.”

I love how determined Mayday is to bond with Crosshair 😭🥲❤️💔

Welcome To The Outpost: Part 2.2 - Broken

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: CT-9904 Crosshair, Clone Commander Mayday, Lieutenant Nolan Word Count: ~3230 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Mayday might have lost his squad, but a new mission – and a new companion – gives him focus. After all, Crosshair doesn’t know how to survive out here.

Read Part 1.1 - Frozen Read Part 1.2 - Rise From The Ashes Read Part 1.3 - Lost Battle Read Part 1.4 - No Way Out Read Part 1.5 - Rock And A Hard Place Read Part 2.1 - Last Chance

Mayday’s fingers ghosted over Hexx’s empty helmet, lips twisting in a grimace. He bit the expression back to neutrality, forcing his face into an impassive mask. Wouldn’t do to break down now.

Reverently he placed his friend’s helmet onto the crate beside Veetch’s, turning it to face in. He took a few moments to adjust it until, satisfied with the alignment, he brushed his hand over Veetch’s helmet too and stepped back to survey his work.

Eleven helmets. Eleven blank visors, staring unseeing up at him. Eleven empty buckets, holding nothing but ghosts and bad memories, each bearing the scars of their owner’s deaths.

Some leader he was, without a squad left to command.

Crosshair had stayed quiet throughout the ritual, unobtrusive yet watchful. Mayday felt the other’s eyes on him, but the sniper wasn’t his focus.

The funereal silence was broken by the lieutenant storming in.

“What are you doing just standing around?” he demanded, pushing past Crosshair to immediately crowd into Mayday’s space. “Those raiders stole two crates of cargo in that attack,” he accused, jabbing an angry finger at the clone commander. “Send your troops to retrieve it.”

Mayday took a deep breath, closing his eyes just for a moment. When he sighed the breath out, his voice was gravel.

“Hexx, and Veetch, were killed in the ambush.” He said their names slowly, rolling them round his tongue like keeping the sound of their names in his mouth might keep their memories alive a little longer. Just as slowly, he turned from the memorial, lifting his bowed head to glare at the lieutenant.

“We don’t have the manpower, or gear, for a mission beyond the perimeter,” he said flatly. “Especially just to recover a few crates.”

The hollow pit of loss gnawed at his stomach as he remembered the last time they ventured beyond the base to retrieve stolen cargo. Back then, he’d had men to lose.

Nolan was having none of it.

“It’s not up to you to determine what is of value to the Empire,” he pouted, puffing himself up to glare at the clone commander.

Mayday grit his teeth and returned the look with his own uncompromising glower.

“Then I need all your men for this mission,” he said, calculating the likelihood of success as he spoke.

“And leave this outpost vulnerable to another attack?” trilled Nolan in disbelief. “I think not.” He turned, and now his pointing finger encompassed both the clone troopers. “This task falls to you two, and you two alone. Recover the cargo. Is that clear?”

Mayday’s eyes flicked up, and he found himself meeting the gaze of the defective clone who had, as before, remained silent through the lieutenant’s tirade.

Crosshair’s jaw worked around a toothpick, and his eyes slid away.

Mayday swallowed his bitter pride and returned his glare to the Imperial officer. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he ground out, watching as the man retreated.

Behind him the sniper turned the toothpick over in his mouth as he chewed anxiously.

Taking a deep breath, Mayday rolled his neck to ease the tension and came to join Crosshair, seating himself on a crate and leaning forwards to warm his hands and face in the meagre glow of the heater. He glanced at the still-standing sniper, offering him a hollow smile.

“A special mission, just for us clones,” he said, not bothering to mask the resentment in his voice. “So what did you do to get on his bad side?”

Crosshair shrugged his thin shoulders, not meeting Mayday’s eyes.

Mayday sighed, letting his gaze drop, before sneaking a glance up at the other clone again. At least Crosshair’s reluctance to look at him gave him chance to study the man. He had tried not to stare when the CT-99 first removed his helmet, but it was hard not to want to.

He'd expected some slight variance from the standard template, but Crosshair's narrow face and sharp jaw were a far cry from the mirror he was used to seeing when he looked at his clone brothers. His skin was paler too, and his shorn-back hair hugged his scalp with stubble that showed shades of grey despite his youth.

Mayday had politely averted his attention from the pitted scar at the other clone's temple - it was bad grace to ask about these things.

Looking closely, he noticed the characteristics they did share. Narrowed though they were in constant suspicion, Crosshair had the same shrewd brown eyes that Mayday was so familiar with, restlessly darting and framed by the tattoo around his right orbit. Mayday briefly wondered if the clone had picked his name first, or if it was the tattoo which had earned him the moniker.

And the gauntness of his face was also familiar. Enhanced by his jutting cheekbones, Mayday recognised the look of someone gone too long with too little food, the hollow hardness that came with dire situations. He would never ask what Crosshair had been through, but he'd bet his meagre credit balance that it wasn't so different to what Mayday and his own squad had suffered.

His gaze drifted back to the line of empty buckets, to the two most newly added to the end of the row.

“That man is going to be the death of me,” he muttered, reluctantly pushing back to his feet. “Come on. I’ll grab my gear and we’ll head out.”

*

“I’ll say this about the tunnels,” said Mayday with false levity, “at least they’re warm. Well, relatively speaking. We’re out of the wind… that’s something.”

There was a lingering silence before Crosshair asked, “Do you always talk this much?”

Mayday huffed a laugh at the acerbic comment. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he said without remorse. "Why, remind you of someone?"

If anything, Crosshair's silence got colder. Mayday glanced at his recalcitrant companion before turning to face ahead once more.

"Not much of a talker, are you."

"Better than people who talk when they've got nothing to say."

Mayday’s grim smile was hidden inside his helmet. "Not gonna give an inch, are you? I was hoping you'd lighten up once we were away from the Imperials."

Crosshair swung to face him, torchlight bright in his face and the muzzle of the firepuncher just above it.

"We're all Imperials now," he said, in a voice which warred between conviction and reticence. "Or did you miss the memo?"

"Oh I got it," said Mayday darkly, tapping his temple. "I just chose to hang onto my own faculties despite it."

He moved past the sniper, one hand casually pushing the firepuncher down and away. Crosshair lingered for a moment before falling back into step behind the commander.

"They say loyalty is bred into us clones," continued Mayday softly, sounding out his thoughts slowly to his unwilling audience. "Under the Republic, I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. I was proud to do my duty."

He let the thought trail off, chasing the indistinct feeling of discomfiture that had lodged inside his chest after Order 66 and hardened into something immoveable during the long months on Barton IV.

"The Empire is different," he said at length. "I don't know. I'm still loyal. Always have been. It's just..."

"You've been questioning," supplied Crosshair unexpectedly.

Mayday pulled up short, regarding the sniper with a shrewd look.

"Perhaps you've thought about this after all."

"Perhaps," said the younger clone non-committally. Then he gestured with his rifle. "Keep walking, or we'll never catch them."

Mayday rolled his eyes and breathed a shallow, sarcastic, "Sir, yes sir."

*

They had been following the tunnels for an hour before their torches lighted on a pair of boots sticking out from round a slight bend.

When they reached the man, Mayday crouched down and checked for vitals. The raider’s thickly padded clothes were stained dark from the gunshot wound Crosshair had inflicted; the sniper didn’t react to that, surveying the corpse dispassionately.

“He didn’t get far.”

Mayday rocked back onto his heels, shaking his head. “Not sure what bothers me more,” he said, voice soft with introspection. “That he’s wearing armour stolen off my men, or that his cohorts just left him here.”

He remembered the lengths he and his men had gone to in recovering each of their fallen brethren’s bodies. The final chance for a farewell. Looking at the dead raider, abandoned by his comrades, filled him with a hollow kind of sorrow.

Crosshair merely scoffed.

“No point carrying dead weight.”

There was a fine line between arrogance and insecurity, and Mayday was an experienced enough commander to recognise when one was masking the other. He glanced up at Crosshair, wondered again about the scars and the gauntness of his underweight frame.

Wondered who had left the Imperial sniper behind, that he was now so callous about the fate of others.

With a grunt, he pushed to his feet.

“Remind me not to die on your watch,” he muttered, and they left the fallen raider behind.

*

Mayday stiffened instantly at the familiar click, stomach dropping into a pit of dread.

To his credit, Crosshair didn’t panic. He froze, going stock still as Mayday turned to face him.

“Pressure mine,” supplied the commander helpfully.

Crosshair hummed an irate acknowledgement of the obvious statement.

Mayday knelt on the ground before Crosshair, laying down his blaster and positioning his torch to light the other clone’s feet. Ignoring the chill of the snow through his gloves, he carefully brushed the powdery stuff away until he revealed the edges of the innocuous, deadly metal plate.

Unable to resist, he huffed a laugh. “What were you saying about dead weight?”

“Do you know how to disarm it?” bit Crosshair, his annoyed tone not quite masking the anxious undercurrent of tension that thrummed from him.

With a shrug, Mayday rocked back to his heels. “I’m not an explosives expert,” he said bluntly. “But since I don’t feel like carrying your body back to the outpost…” He left a deliberate pause, glancing up at Crosshair to find the other clone’s visor turned towards him, gaze riveted on his position. “Guess I’ll give a shit.”

Mayday had an unexpectedly intense longing to know what Crosshair’s expression was behind the featureless black helmet. Was he glaring at Mayday in disdain… or was he moved by his assertion that, even if he died, Mayday would show him the same care he had the rest of his brothers in recovering his body?

He hoped it was the latter. Eleven empty helmets crowded his memories. He didn’t want to add a twelfth, but if he had to, he wanted Crosshair to know that someone would care about his death.

Breaking the long stare, Mayday turned back to the pressure mine. “This one’s a little different to the ones I’ve seen before,” he said, leaning to inspect it from all sides. Crosshair’s shin trembled, with cold or with tension, but he kept his foot carefully weighted on the pad. Then, with another injection of feigned casualness, “I’m pretty sure they’re all the same. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

His cold-numbed fingers didn’t want to co-operate as he withdrew the set of small metal pegs and hammer from his belt. He took a moment to inspect them, checking that the ends were sharp enough to bite into the frozen ground, before leaning in and beginning to tap the first peg into place.

“Wish I had the proper equipment for this,” he said as he worked, talking through the thudding of his heart whilst Crosshair remained completely silent. Sweat beaded on his brow inside his helmet, despite the ambient temperature. “But the Empire’s ignored all my requests. I’ve learned to improvise, though.”

As the first peg came to rest on the mine he opened his hand, displaying the remaining tools to Crosshair. Thought of all the times this home-made kit had worked.

Tried not to think of Telmer.

“I guess all clones have had to learn to improvise since the war,” he continued softly, shuffling to the side as he positioned the second peg. He kept his gaze trained on the mine, carefully measuring the gap as the peg closed on the pressure plate.

Crosshair’s silence was beginning to unnerve him. Anxiety roiled in his stomach, wishing the other clone would say something – encouragement, scathing remarks, anything.

“Can’t say I ever thought much about the war ending,” he said, hoping it would prompt the other to speak. “Until it did.”

When that failed to elicit a response, he switched to a direct question.

“What unit were you with?”

He heard the intake of breath as Crosshair hesitated. It was hard to avoid such a straight query from a commander, but the sniper made a valiant effort.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Humour me,” said Mayday. His hands moved past Crosshair’s foot again, reaching to position the final peg. “I could use the distraction.”

There was still a long moment when the only sound was the delicate tap of the hammer on the improvised disarming peg. When Crosshair finally spoke his voice was soft, missing the acid edge of his earlier snark.

“Clone Force 99.”

Mayday nodded slowly as he worked. He recognised the name, although he had never worked with the unit.

“What happened to them?” he asked, hoping his gentle tone would invite elaboration.

“They’re… gone.”

The sniper’s choice of words was more telling than he realised. Mayday wasn’t about to pry, but it was easy to see there was something complex going on there.

He thought of his brothers, his men who had been with him through the unrelenting hardship of Barton IV. Geo and Dene, Krake, Recon and Axis, Ferox, Atlas, Telmer and Helix. Veetch. Hexx.

They weren't ‘gone’. They were dead.

Gone… gone implied something else.

He also sensed that Crosshair wasn’t going to open up any further, no matter how carefully he angled his question. Instead, he turned his thoughts outwards to what remained.

“And here we are, the survivors.” The derision in his tone drew a hum of agreement from Crosshair, and he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his next words. “Combat troopers, stuck babysitting cargo shipments.”

Now Crosshair shifted his frame ever so slightly, the first movement since he triggered the mine, as his shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“Mission’s a mission,” he said, his voice thin with disinterest.

“Yeah.” Mayday pondered the other clone’s words, trying to remember a version of himself that had arrived on Barton IV over fourteen months ago. “I used to say the same thing.”

*

Crosshair employed every ounce of his training to keep deathly still as the reg commander worked to disarm the pressure mine under his foot. Endless hours cramped in one place, waiting for his target to come into position, was nothing compared to the strain that this put on his body. Every muscle ached, screaming against the cold to be allowed to shiver, to move, to warm him. He clamped down with iron willpower to supress the urge to twitch even the slightest amount. He daren’t move, or the pressure mine would send them both to an early grave.

A lacklustre thought at the back of his mind wondered if that might be better. He quickly quashed that too, with a growl of annoyance. Thoughts like that weren’t helpful.

He had survived so much. He would survive this too. He’d be damned if he failed this mission; he wanted his success to wipe the smirk off Lieutenant Nolan’s face when the clones came through.

If only the damn reg would stop talking. The susurrus of his conversation was stopping Crosshair from concentrating on remaining perfectly still.

Especially when he asked about Clone Force 99.

Crosshair had let the name escape from behind clenched teeth, unwilling but seemingly unavoidable. Now memories he didn’t want flooded his mind, after all his hard work to put aside everything that had ever tied him to the clones he had once called brothers.

Not that the mindless babble Mayday had provided the rest of the day had been any easier to bear.

Loyalty. He’d talked about it, how loyalty was bred into the clones.

Crosshair had always thought he was different. He was enhanced.

Defective, whispered the poisonous voice in his mind.

But listening to Mayday talk, all he could hear was Rampart���s gently mocking voice.

“How long were you left stranded on that Kaminoan platform before being recovered?”

“Thirty-two rotations.”

“Hmm. All that time. Left for dead and yet you still came back. Why?”

He came back because he was loyal. He was a soldier of the Empire, proud to be one of the clones chosen to support the new regime instead of being sidelined by it.

Had to be proud of that, to balance the loss.

And his loyalty was his. He’d been so sure of that. It wasn’t bred into him. It wasn’t, like the kid had said, some chip in his brain controlling his actions. After all, he’d had his chip removed after Bracca, and had still worked for the Empire.

Only now it felt like that faith was fracturing, breaking as readily as the cracks in the cavernous ice around him.

He hated the reg commander. Hated his compelling, measured voice. Hated the uncertainty he planted in his mind.

Hated how reassuring it was to hear another clone voice the same doubts he’d been afraid to turn over in the dark privacy of his thoughts.

Mayday couldn’t be right. The Empire had to be worth defending.

Otherwise he’d lost his brothers for nothing.

“There. That should do it.”

The hint of triumph in Mayday’s tone pierced Crosshair’s thoughts and instantly his body was ready to move, the words the signal he needed to relax his cramped position.

“Woah, woah, woah!” warned Mayday in alarm, backing up and holding his hands up cautiously. “Don’t pick up your foot yet. Wait until I tell you.” He turned his bucket up to face Crosshair, the cloth-wrapped helmet dusted with snow. “Then lift your foot, but real slow like. I’ll wait around the bend.”

The commander began to back away, turning his back to Crosshair.

“If I don’t hear a boom, then I’ll know it worked,” he called back, almost casually, over his shoulder.

Crosshair grit his teeth, scrunching his eyes shut behind his helmet. How he wished it had been Wrecker attending the mine.

“Glad you’re confident in your work,” he spat icily.

“Oh, I’m confident,” Mayday’s voice drifted to him. “I’m just not stupid.”

Crosshair wriggled his fingers round his rifle, testing his balance on his numb legs. A shiver of cold made its way down his leg to the foot still atop the pressure plate.

“Remember, nice and slow. On the count of three. One.”

He steadied himself.

“Two.”

Took his weight on his back leg.

“Three.”

Lifted his foot.

The pegs held the pressure plate in place. Crosshair couldn’t control how his breath whooshed out in relief and he staggered back against the tunnel wall, sagging his aching body against it.

Mayday reappeared, surveying the pressure mine before clapping a hand to Crosshair’s shoulder.

“You did good, lad.”

Crosshair snarled. “Get off me.”

Mayday’s casual laugh was infuriating.

“Don’t say thank you, then,” he said, releasing him and turning to continue down the tunnel. “Keep up. Wouldn’t want you to get left behind down here.”

Welcome to Angstpril!

This writing project is a collaboration between myself, @the-little-moment and @kybercrystals94 to bring you a fabulous series of angst-based Bad Batch fanfiction. We've shared the prompts between us so don't forget to check all of our blogs to catch the whole month's worth of stories!

We're over half way through Mayday's story now, and there's hardship yet to come for him to face alongside Crosshair. Stay tuned to follow their journey to the bitter end...

will do my level best to get the next chapter finished on time but it's been A Few Days so we'll see

[kybercrystals94]

Self

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 21 | Prompt 21: Faking a Smile

Rated: G | Words: 238 | Summary: Omega tries. | Character Focus: Omega

She is supposed to be happy. 

To be free, to be with her brothers again, to be home. She has Lula and Trooper. Her gunner’s mount room just as she left it before…all of it. Before they lost Tech, before they lost her. The Marauder hasn’t changed in her months away, not that she expected it to. It feels different. Empty and sad and lost. 

But she should be happy. 

Hunter and Wrecker want her to be happy. Desperately. They want their Omega back. So Omega tries to resurrect her, to stretch the mindset of her old self over the growth and pain and loss and grief and guilt…but it only tears and rips apart, jagged edges, a throbbing reminder that nothing will ever be the same again. She thinks that her brothers know that. That she can’t be the same. That they aren’t the same. That time and experiences have worn them all down to shadows of who they were before.  

But she wants to be happy. 

So she pulls on a new version of herself. It fits loosely, but she’ll grow into it. Happiness will come again when she has grieved. Guilt will ebb when she makes reparations. Grief will melt into the memories of happier times as they are remembered. Loss will become gains, and pain will be soothed. Because that is one thing Omega hasn’t lost, hasn’t given up, hasn’t forgotten. 

Hope. 

@the-little-moment @just-here-with-my-thoughts, only 9 days left?? I can't believe April is almost over! I'm excited to finish strong with my writing buddies!!

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @proteatook @merkitty49

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

[kybercrystals94]

“He hadn’t been strong enough for any of it. To get Crosshair to stay. To save Tech from falling. To protect Omega. To convince Echo to come with them.”

Angstpril Day 19: Slipping

Prompt: Not Strong Enough

Words: 270

Summary: Hunter has one goal, to hold onto what he has left.

Hunter paused, bone-weary, in the doorway to the back of the ship, focusing on the slumped form of his brother, sleeping on the floor, using Gonky as a pillow. Focusing on the tooka doll in one of his large hands. Focusing on the little wooden trooper in the other. 

He hadn’t been strong enough for any of it. To get Crosshair to stay. To save Tech from falling. To protect Omega. To convince Echo to come with them. 

All Hunter had left now was Wrecker. His big, little brother with an even bigger heart, who he knew would never quit, never give up until they found her. A small, persistent, evil voice in the back of Hunter’s head whispered, “What if he’s next? What if you’re the reason you keep losing people? Everyone you love? What if the day comes, and you’re not strong enough to save Wrecker either?” 

Hunter felt his hands clench into fists at his sides, but the voice kept going. “You know that’s why Echo left, don’t you? To go back to a real leader, someone he can trust. Someone who isn’t going to get him killed, like everyone else.”

That’s not going to happen. Hunter gritted his teeth, snatching a blanket from the back of a chair. He knelt beside his brother, covering as much of him as he could. That’s not going to happen. He focused on Wrecker. Focused on the unscarred side of his brother's face that was turned towards him. Focused on the thought of bringing her home. That was what was going to happen. He just had to be strong enough. 

Whew! Almost 2/3 of the way through Angstpril! I hope you've been enjoying the ride with @kybercrystals94, @just-here-with-my-thoughts and myself.

Taglist: @freesia-writes @clonethirstingisreal @lightwise

[kybercrystals94]

🫶 Thank you!!! ❤️

Thank you so much to everyone that submitted recommendations this week! A comprehensive list of this week’s submissions can be found under the cut! Recommendations are organized by show/media, and any main pairings will be listed after the title.

💕 = 18+ content 🟪 = contains spoilers of a currently running show

Fics:

The Clone Wars: It Only Takes a Spark (Purge Trooper Cody x f!Inquisitor Reader) by @vodika-vibes 💕 Time After Time (Commander Cody x f!Reader) by @the-rain-on-kamino Theirs (Commander Fox x f!Reader x Commander Wolffe) by @vodika-vibes 💕 Don't Stop on My Account (Commander Wolffe x f!Reader) by @dickarchivist 💕 One Spotchka Too Many (Captain Rex x f!Reader) by @twistedsarchive Captain Rex x OC Nia Ficlet by @eternal-transcience 💕 The Last Word (Fives x OC Mal Darroch) by @ariadnes-red-thread Shattered Sunrise (Mace Windu x OC Danica Morrow) by @pickleprickle The Choices We Make, The Paths We Tread by lildropofmagic (AO3) The Number Lads by @jgvfhl

The Bad Batch: The Hostage by @kybercrystals94 Freeze Thaw by AnEchoInHere (AO3)

The Book of Boba Fett: 💕 This Tender Love (Boba Fett x f!Reader) by @daimyosprincess 💕 Worth the Risk (Boba Fett x f!Reader) by @daimyosprincess

Star Wars Original Trilogy: Revelations by shOokspeared (AO3)

Republic Commando: 💕 Off the Grid (Niner Skirata x f!Reader) by @the-rain-on-kamino

Batman: Lavender Blood by @starkskypines

Hetalia: Axis Powers: Grey Skies Over London by Gemini Star 01 (ff.net) Every Generation by Gemini Star 01 (ff.net) Gutters by Glassamilk (ff.net) Ditches by Glassamilk (ff.net)

Call of Duty: 💕 Riptide (Price x f!Reader) by @the-californicationist

Crossover AUs: Edward's Babysitting Service (Hetalia: Axis Powers X Fullmetal Alchemist Crossover) by orphan_account (AO3) Conversations With Patronizing Jerks (Hetalia: Axis Powers X Star Wars Crossover) by @basketofnova

Art:

The Clone Wars: Republic Troops 501st Poster by @boggsart Clone Wars Band Art by @pinkiemme Captain Rex Art by @vivaislenska Captain Rex Art by @kheimerios Captain Rex Art by @rackcty Mace Windu Art by @mudpuddless Fives and OC Elara McTavish Art by @aliettali OC Kazi and OC Daria by @eyecandyeoz (from I Yearn and So I Fear by @enigmaticexplorer) Clone OC Atlas Art by @orionfrommars

The Bad Batch: Bad Batch Selfie Art by @collophora Happy Ending Bad Batch Art by @mroddmod Hunter and Omega Art by @blxem1lk Hunter Redesign by @snw-faatuatua 🟪 (TBB S3) Hunter Art by @soularsss 🟪 (TBB S3) CX-2 Art by @notnyxxy Tech Art by @rexxdjarin Tech and Phee's Children OCs by @nightskyfoxyy A Place to Hide by @the-rain-on-kamino

Star Wars Original Trilogy: Young Boba Fett Art by @mrs2224

Jedi: Survivor: BD-1 Art by @eriadus

Batman: Batman's Boys by @inverted-typo

How to Train Your Dragon: Meatlug Art by @spacenintendogs

Call of Duty: Wraith by @bluegiragi

GIF Sets:

The Book of Boba Fett: Kia Kaha, Kia Maia, Kia Manawanui by @bobafettdaily

[kybercrystals94]

Gah! Thanks so much for the shoutout 🥰

The Hostage chapter 6 will be coming soon!

And I ABSOLUTELY second Freeze Thaw 😭 SOOO GOOD!!!

A couple ways to get hurt this week:

The Hostage series, by @kybercrystals94

https://www.tumblr.com/kybercrystals94/746217418255384576/the-hostage-part-5

Listen - Kyber doesn’t go easy in their fics, so you can basically expect to get your heart shattered. But this little series has me on the edge of my seat, with the worry and anxiety of TBB after Omega is taken hostage. I can’t wait to see where this one goes!!

The Last Word by @ariadnes-red-thread

https://www.tumblr.com/ariadnes-red-thread/705732688009691136/chapter-one-burn-with-laughter-series

18+! I re-read the first chapter of this fic and I absolutely adore the way they wrote this awkward morning-after-drunk sex encounter between OC Mal and Fives. The “oh shit what did I do” morphs into some panty-combusting memories. The best part is that we see the memories from both sides and I tell you - the heat is THERE. 🔥🔥 The way she writes Fives is cocky, but also self-deprecating and perfect. ❤️ Love her version so much and intrigued by Mal. Again - can’t wait to see where this one goes!

Finally, Freeze Thaw by AnEchoInHere

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49683310?view_adult=true

This one is about Echo almost dying on a mission and therefore heavy on the Echo Whump. Honestly it’s Wrecker’s guilt that does me in every time. Bring the tissues. ❤️❤️

OOOOH I love all of these. I've read The Last Word, and I LOOOOVE where Aria is going with it. Mal is FANTASTIC and I love how Aria writes Fives and his interactions with Mal. And The Hostage and Freeze Thaw both seem like PHENOMENALLY angsty fics that are going to curb-stomp my emotions. I KNOW WHAT I'M ABOUT. Thanks so much for sending this list in!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[kybercrystals94]

Teal Paint

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 18 | Prompt 18: Left Behind

Rated: G | Word Count: 1526 | Summary: Memories left behind... | Character Focus: Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Omega, Echo

*some slight spoilers at the very end for Season 3*

Tech finds a reasonably tame city to spend their brief period of downtime between missions. It took several months, but they’ve finally scraped enough credits together, and today is the day. The streets are crowded with evening traffic, the Batch walking close together to avoid being separated.

“Did you know,” Tech says, informatively, “that facial tattoos are among the most painful, depending on the location on the face?” 

“Thanks, Tech,” Hunter grumbles, “that’s really helpful.” 

“You’re not going to talk us out of it,” Crosshair adds resolutely.

Wrecker nods. “Yeah, we’re gonna do it no matter what you say, Tech!” 

Tech huffs. “On the contrary, I’m quite eager to observe the process. I just believe that being well informed is beneficial when making a life altering decision.” 

“Maker, Tech, getting a tattoo isn’t life altering,” Crosshair says. 

“It’s awesome!” Wrecker declares. “You should get one too, Tech.” 

“I prefer modifications that can be modified,” Tech retorts.

Crosshair leans close to Wrecker, puts his hand up to shield his mouth from Tech, and loudly whispers, “He’s too scared.” 

“That is not true.” 

“Aww, Techie’s scared,” Wrecker crows, throwing an arm around Tech. “I can hold your hand, be brave for the both of us.” 

Tech tries to extract himself from Wrecker’s grip. “I am not scared! I have stated my reasoning clearly and concisely. Fear has nothing to do with it.” 

Hunter rubs his hand across the left side of his face, a fist of apprehension balling up in the pit of his stomach. He isn’t having second thoughts, he’s almost positive that he’ll be happy with the results. He and Crosshair spent hours with a pad of flimsi sketching and scheming. Crosshair wanted something subtle, meaningful, a reflection of himself. Hunter, to his brothers’ surprise, wanted something bold. A statement. Memorable. Of the Batch, he most resembles, in appearance and speech, a reg. But he is no more a reg than any other member of his squad. He might not be able to easily change his facial structure or vocal pattern; however, inking half his face with the dark contour of a skull seems like a good start. 

“What do you think?” Crosshair asked, holding up the sketch he’d made of Hunter. 

Hunter grinned, taking the pad and admiring the simple lined likeness to himself, the skull motif shadowed deeply with graphite. He loved it. It was perfect. Exactly as he’d imagined it. “Looks good,” he told his brother.

Wrecker, at the last minute, decided that he also wants a tattoo, although his ideas are scattered and untethered to any sort of theme. Even as they approach the tattoo parlor, he is still undecided, claiming that it is going to be a surprise. 

“A tattoo is permanent,” Tech tells Wrecker again, having resigned himself to being tucked under Wrecker’s arm for the remainder of their trek. “You should at least have some sort of idea.” 

“I do,” Wrecker says, “My idea is that it will be the coolest tattoo in the entire galaxy.” 

“That is not an idea,” Tech sighs. 

At Tech’s direction, they turn off on a side street, the crowds petering off the further they walk. It doesn’t exactly feel like a bad part of town; however, it is less kept, the buildings showing their age and wear. Hunter is beginning to wonder if Tech got them lost when they turn another corner and a neon sign blinks the word “TATTOOS” at them, the flashing light practically searing into Hunter’s retinas. 

“They should get a brighter sign,” Crosshair snarks, “we almost missed it.” 

They step inside, and find the business deserted except for a human who stands up from a chair behind the counter. He is covered in colorful ink, his natural pigment completely lost under the tapestry of mismatched designs across every inch of his exposed skin. 

“Now that must’ve hurt,” Wrecker mutters to Tech, but he might as well have screamed it from the rooftops. 

Tech rolls his eyes. 

The man smiles, flashing white teeth. “Only hurts ‘til the pain goes away.”

“Naturally,” Tech agrees sardonically.

“I’m gonna guess you lot are here for some ink,” the man says. 

“They are, I am not,” Tech replies quickly. “I am here to observe.” 

“Not a fan of needles, huh?” the man asks. 

Tech opens his mouth to deny the accusation, but Wrecker gasps out, “Wait, needles?” 

Crosshair groans. “We went over this, Wrecker.”

“Yeah, well” Wrecker says, “it sounds different the way he says it.” 

“How?” 

Wrecker heaves his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I’ll just wait on my tattoo. Until I think of something good, ya know?”

Crosshair steps around Wrecker and jerks his head in Hunter’s direction. “He and I are getting tattoos. These are what we want.” He pulls two pieces of flimsi from his pocket with their chosen designs, pushing them across the counter. 

The man takes them, looking over the details. “Straightforward and to the point. I like that. C’mon around and we’ll get started.”

Hunter takes a deep breath. 

He’s not turning back now. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter and Crosshair decide to add to their armor to coordinate with their new tattoos. The next time they’re on Kamino, they find their leftover paint and set to work, Tech and Wrecker joining them. Inspired by Hunter’s new half skull tattoo, they decide to incorporate the symbol into all of their armor in some way. 

“So help me, Wrecker, if you tip over another can of paint…” Crosshair mutters, snatching up the at-risk bucket from Wrecker’s proximity. 

Wrecker is sprawled out on their barrack’s floor, taking up far more than his fair share of space. His paint brush flicks up, sending a spray of heavy duty white across the room. 

“You’re cleaning that up,” Tech says from his place at the table.

“No one will notice,” Wrecker assures them. “Maybe they’ll look like clean spots!”

Hunter sighs. “That’s not a good thing, Wreck.” 

Wrecker ignores the comment, instead dropping his paintbrush onto the tray Tech ordered him to use and holding up his helmet. “What do you think? It’s a skull.” 

“Not a human skull,” Tech points out. 

Wrecker shakes his head. “Human skulls are boring.” 

“There’s supposed to be red on your helmet somewhere,” Crosshair gripes. 

Wrecker reaches over and plucks Crosshair’s fine tipped paint brush out of his hand, the bristles still dripping red paint. Crosshair sputters a curse as Wrecker happily begins painting with the stolen utensil. 

“Hunter!” Crosshair cries, “Tell Wrecker to give it back.” 

 Hunter doesn’t even look up from his work. “Let’s share our toys like big kids,” he coos, earning a chuckle from Tech. 

“I’m gonna give it back in a second,” Wrecker says. “Almost done.” 

Crosshair growls something rude in Huttese. 

“There!” Wrecker says, tossing the brush back at Crosshair, the sniper catching it from the wrong end, paint staining the palm of his glove. Wrecker turns his helmet again to the room. “See? It’s perfect.” 

The number 99 is brandished across the forehead of his helmet in dripping red. 

“Subtle as usual, Wrecker,” Tech says. 

Wrecker grins. “Thanks!” 

Hunter sits back and admires his own helmet’s new design, carefully imitating his inked face. It’s exactly how he imagined it. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“I like this color,” Omega says, pointing at a swatch of teal paint. “Oh, and this orange is nice.” 

Tech glances at Hunter, clearly questioning the decision to let Omega choose their new armor colors. Hunter shrugs. At least it will look…different. Which is exactly what they want. 

“What about this one?” Wrecker asks, pointing at the yellow swatch.

“Yes! I like that one too!” Omega cries. 

They purchase the three cans of paint and some brushes before heading back to the Marauder. Omega is beside herself with excitement. “Do you think the paint will work on my helmet?” she asks. 

“Sure, kid, ‘course it will,” Wrecker says cheerfully. 

“I’m gonna use orange on mine, then,” Omega says. 

That evening, spread out under the Marauder’s wing, the Batch set about repainting their armor. Wrecker can’t bear the thought of covering up the skull on his helmet, so he settles for removing the bright 99 from it instead, sanding it down and repainting the area white. With Omega’s help, he uses orange and yellow to accent the rest of his armor pieces. 

Tech and Echo decide to monopolize the orange paint, leaving very little to Hunter. With a sigh, he picks up the teal paint, and pries it open. Omega beams at him. “I think that will be a very nice color on you,” she tells him sincerely, and suddenly, the color doesn’t seem so bad. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“All the armor’s been stripped. But we’re still not gonna blend in,” Echo says, tossing Hunter his helmet. 

The colors of his past lives have been removed with finality. He knows it is necessary; however, he can’t help but feel the pang of loss as he stares at the familiar piece of himself he’s had for so long, devoid of the visible memories lingering like ghosts behind him. 

Maybe they’ll paint their armor again, when all of this is over. 

If they all make it back. 

END

@the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts 🥳 I can't believe we've only got 4 more stories/chapters each to go!

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

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49

[kybercrystals94]

Be careful, little sister, she thought as she turned to leave. We're going to be okay.

GAH! I want all of them to be okay. I know this isn't realistic...but I can hope nonetheless 🥲

Angtspril Day 16: That Small, Bright Light

Alt Prompt: Emotionally Distant

Words: 686

Summary: Emerie understands Omega more than her sister knows.

Dr. Emerie Karr stood outside the door of her sister’s quarters, looked down at the doll in her hands, and sighed. She'd spent the day thinking about the little thing, lovingly woven from some kind of dried grass, perhaps from the kennels where Omega fed the animals each day. It rustled softly when she lifted its small, delicately-made arm.

Personal possessions weren’t permitted, of course. The girl had known that, had tried to keep the toy hidden. A small part of the doctor was impressed that she’d managed to succeed for so long, but when Emerie had taken it away, she’d thought it was for the best, despite her sister’s heartbreaking pleas. The sooner Omega got used to her new life, the better.

It had been hard for Emerie too, being taken from the only life she’d known to become Dr. Hemlock’s assistant. She had been the first attempt by the Kaminoans to create a force sensitive, female clone, or at least one with the ability to replicate that sensitivity in others. The male clones had proven to be useless for such a cause, and, in the end, so had Emerie. So she had been given up, discarded in favor of a new attempt, and because she was not created to be a soldier, she had had no purpose, at least until her life here on Tantiss. 

After the war had ended, many more clones had been sent to protect the facility here. It had felt strange, something she hadn’t realized she’d missed, to be suddenly surrounded by more brothers than she had seen in years, to hear their familiar voices every day. Commander Scorch, the doctor’s head of security, was the one she saw most often. If she was Hemlock’s right hand, Scorch was his left. Emerie thought she should feel something, a sense of camaraderie towards the commando, after all, he was her brother, but if she was reserved, he was only moreso. She and the troopers stationed here on Tantiss, they were nothing more than coworkers, more loyal to Hemlock and the Empire than each other. Sometimes she felt the faintest ache when they went back to their barracks together and she returned to her private quarters, alone. But Emerie knew she wasn’t like them, not a soldier, a scientist. Dr. Hemlock had given her a purpose when she’d had none. That was why he deserved her loyalty. 

Then Omega had come. The girl hadn’t even recognized Emerie as another clone, but why would she? All the time that Omega had spent on Kamino with Nala Se, Emerie had been here, learning to become a scientist. 

Mistress Se and the other geneticists had learned a great deal from their failure with Emerie, the main point being that the result they desired could not come from a clone whose DNA had been modified for accelerated aging. And so, Omega was as pure a genetic replication of Fett as could be produced, except, of course, that she was female. And blonde. Emerie turned the doll in her hands again, smiling faintly at the memory of that little surprise. She had wondered if the girl’s hair would have darkened with age, but when Emerie had seen her again, after all those years, Omega was just as fair as ever. It seemed right, in a way, a deviance that matched the brightness of her sister’s heart. 

Emerie had watched that light fade as the months passed, but she knew it still smoldered dangerously inside. This doll was a clear sign of that. If only she could convince Omega, for her own good, that this was the best place for her. That she could learn to be content here, like Emerie had. Omega simply needed time. Emerie could give her that, at least, and, perhaps, one other thing. 

When she finally opened the door and Omega refused to speak to her, Emerie understood. She set the doll on the step with a last, lingering look at the miserable shape on the bed. Be careful, little sister, she thought as she turned to leave. We're going to be okay.

Day 16 is in the books! Check out @kybercrystals94 and @just-here-with-my-thoughts blogs for the rest of the installments in our month of Bad Batch angst!

[kybercrystals94]

Crosshair has entered the chat!! 😍😭

**Cries for my boys**

Welcome To The Outpost: Part 2.1 - Last Chance

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: CT-9904 Crosshair, Clone Commander Mayday, Clone Trooper Hexx, Clone Trooper Veetch, Lieutenant Nolan, Assorted Imperial Troopers Word Count: ~3045 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: The Imperial relief ship finally arrives, marking the end of the squad’s long posting on Barton IV. Mayday is surprised to see a CT-99 listed on the crew roster.

Read Part 1.1 - Frozen Read Part 1.2 - Rise From The Ashes Read Part 1.3 - Lost Battle Read Part 1.4 - No Way Out Read Part 1.5 - Rock And A Hard Place

“COMMANDER!”

Veetch’s yell was enough to summon Mayday at a run. He weaved through the stacks of crates to where his squad member was bent over the computer console, tapping excitedly.

Veetch turned with a wild-eyed grin. “Transport is incoming.”

The young clone stepped aside, letting Mayday see the screen for himself. Disbelieving, Mayday scrolled through the transmission, reading and re-reading until he was sure it wasn't a joke.

“Go get Hexx,” he ordered, voice shaky with something between excitement and dread. “This is it, lad. We’re getting out of here.”

Veetch was off like a shot, the lethargy of their long posting dissipated as ready as snow in the sun. Before long the three clones were clustered round the screen, avidly reviewing the transmission.

It’s concise – what Mayday has come to expect from the Empire.

[Cargo retrieval ship scheduled to arrive 1600 Galactic Standard. Ensure all stored goods are ready for transport.]

What it doesn’t say is the bit that Mayday reads between the lines. That he and his boys are finally leaving Barton IV and all its bad memories behind them.

Hexx was reviewing the ship’s manifest with a frown.

“Says they’re bringing a contingent to secure the depot whilst the cargo is transferred,” he said with a dour tone, “but there’s no clone troopers listed here.”

Veetch leaned in to peer over his shoulder. “There’s one,” he pointed. “CT-9904.”

“The only one,” Hexx muttered.

“A CT-99?” said Mayday mildly, eyebrows raising towards his hairline. “I didn’t realise there were any left in service.”

Veetch glanced at him in confusion. “What’s different about a CT-99?” he asked.

“Defective clones,” supplied Hexx. “But still combat-worthy.”

“He must be one of the last ones,” said Mayday. “Well, a brother’s a brother. I’ll see if I can pin him down when they get here, find out what his view of this new Empire is.”

Hexx snorted. “If he’ll talk to you,” he said. “I’ve heard the 99’s are notoriously difficult to work with. Only interested in others like them.”

“You’ll keep those thoughts to yourself,” said Mayday flatly, his commander’s tone brooking no argument. “If the rumours are true, and the Empire are phasing out clone troopers, those of us that are left need to stick together.”

“What do we need to do to get ready for the ship’s arrival?” asked Veetch, the plaintive note of hope in his voice almost painful to hear.

Mayday straightened with a humourless smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Better get out there and sweep the snow from the landing zone. First impressions count, boys. Let’s make sure this place is looking spick and span before the transport arrives.”

The wry sarcasm in his voice made the other two grin.

“You don’t mean that, Commander,” said Veetch, pulling on his helmet and tightening the fabric coverings.

Mayday huffed a laugh. “Sure I do. If the ship skids on ice when it lands and crashes into the depot, none of us are getting out of here.” He clapped a hand to Hexx’s shoulder, then copied Veetch in gathering his helmet.

“Come on. We’ll do this together.”

*

Mayday’s expectations hadn’t been low enough.

The narrow-faced Lieutenant who disembarked the transport had immediately started making demands which betrayed that he hadn’t bothered to read the briefing about the Barton IV depot.

“Your orders were to protect this facility and its cargo, yet this outpost is grossly unguarded. Where are the rest of your men?”

“Dead,” answered Mayday shortly. The man would have known that, if he’d read the brief. He glanced at his two remaining troopers, nodding in their direction. “Hexx, Veetch and I,” he said slowly, keeping his voice low and calm, “we’re all that’s left.”

To his mind, it was impossible to miss the sombre line of empty, damaged clone helmets lined up on the crates behind them. The lieutenant’s pale blue eyes slid past them, glazing past the evidence of their loss to settle in a scowl directed at Mayday once more.

“Your failings will be dealt with later,” he said haughtily. “For now, I am in charge until the cargo is transported.”

Mayday bristled at the man’s tone, bit back the reaction. Instead he settled for a sardonic smile, glancing at Hexx and Veetch with a barely-concealed eye roll. “I feel safer already,” he drawled, confident that his two troopers shared his thoughts. He couldn’t wait for this so-called Lieutenant to discover the realities of the outpost.

Sarcasm was the wrong approach. The small man’s pinched face narrowed further, mouth puckering in evident anger. “Look here, clone, you will speak to me with respect.”

The change was immediate. Hexx and Veetch, leaned back against the crates, straightened. Mayday dropped a hand to his side from his crossed arms, a flick of his fingers telling them to stand down.

“In my experience,” he said, drawing himself deliberately to his full height, “respect is something to be earned.”

Fourteen months of hardship had only weathered confidence into Mayday’s tone.

But he wasn’t prepared for what the Lieutenant threw at him next.

“Yet the Empire assigned you to this desolate rock, where you let the majority of your squad get killed.”

Mayday stiffened, a dark glower spreading to his face. He knew his own failings; knew the decisions he had made during the Clone Wars and since that had sent good soldiers to their deaths. The guilt of ordering patrols during the blizzard six months into the Barton IV posting haunted him.

Everything had gone wrong after that; but the rest of it could have been avoided. The rest of his squad died because the Empire ignored his requests for support time and again.

“Tell me, Lieutenant,” he said when he had control of his voice once more, “how many missions have you commanded?”

The smaller man’s shoulders rose towards his ears with a defensive, embarrassed glower.

“That’s what I thought,” said Mayday softly.

Inside his chest his heart raced, adrenaline demanding his aching body take action. Instead he dragged his gaze away from the lieutenant, trying to make it seem like the man was beneath his attention.

“Boys, why don’t you help the new boss get situated?” he said, an order rather than a suggestion.

Wordlessly, Hexx and Veetch slipped past him. Hexx turned briefly, a questioning hand sign thrown his commander, but Mayday signalled for him to leave. He cast a pointed glance towards the dark armoured figure who had shadowed the lieutenant silently throughout the confrontation, rifle stowed at his back but seemingly tense and ready to fight.

Hexx merely nodded and turned to follow Veetch, less than gently escorting the Imperial lieutenant away from the sheltered space behind the stacked storage crates.

Once they had the space to themselves Mayday turned his attention to the silent sniper, assessing. The man was taller than Mayday or any of the brothers he had ever served with, yet he wore clone armour, albeit a dark-painted variant. It was enough to confirm this must be the defective clone from the ship’s crew manifest.

Mayday straightened, wondering how best to begin his overtures towards the newcomer. He’d never met a CT-99 before, which would have given him pause enough, and that was without knowing how deeply the man’s loyalty to the new Empire ran.

He decided that was the first thing he wanted to know. Forcing himself to relax back against the crates again, he stared into the impassive green visor and asked, “You, uh, know the lieutenant well?”

For a heartbeat he wondered if it was the right question. Then the sniper spoke, voice laden with acid.

“For about two hours,” he said, the derision in his tone clear.

Mayday huffed a relieved laugh. “Two hours too long, I bet,” he said, having decided he’d had enough of the man after only two minutes.

The only reply was a noncommittal ‘hmm’. Deciding this was better than meeting a severe response that berated him for disparaging the Imperial officer, he pressed on.

“So, what did you do to get stuck with this mission?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

The bite of sarcasm drew a genuine if bitter laugh from Mayday.

Lifting the portable heater, Mayday shuffled it forwards a few steps and dropped it in front of the other clone. The glow of the device did nothing to dispel the shadows that seemed to cling to the black-painted armour and shroud the sniper in darkness.

The 99 barely looked at him. Or perhaps sharp eyes were following him from inside the helmet – there was no way to tell. The man didn’t move; hadn’t moved, even to relax a little when the lieutenant departed.

“The name’s Mayday,” he offered after a pause.

The silence that followed was so long that Mayday was sure the other must be ignoring him, wishing for the conversation to end.

Then, so softly it was almost lost; “Crosshair.”

The commander raised his eyebrows, then let them fall back into a frown. The clone had been so slow to give his name, said it so uncertainly, that Mayday found himself wondering if it was the first time he had spoken it aloud since The Order reduced them to mere numbers in the eyes of the Empire.

“Crosshair,” Mayday repeated, and he gave weight to the name, added conviction. Desperately hoped that this small act of connection would bind the CT-99 to him in something approaching brotherhood.

He summoned a dry smile, and gestured around him with a flourish. “Well, Crosshair… welcome to The Outpost.”

*

“Why aren’t they loading the kriffing cargo already?” snarled Veetch in disappointment.

Hexx shared his younger companion’s frustration. The three remaining squad members from Barton IV were more than ready to leave, but the newly-arrived Lieutenant Nolan had other ideas. The Imperial Troopers who were with him with were filing from the ship and making their way into the depot. It seemed clear that a quick turnaround was less important than meticulously checking each crate for signs of tampering – as if the clones had any motive or desire to do such a thing.

They were stood in the shadow of the damaged storage building, fairly certain that it would keep them out of the way of the industry now overtaking the base, but they were hailed anyway.

“Hie, clones,” called a voice, neither friendly nor welcoming. Hexx glanced at Veetch and gave a weary shrug before stepping out from the sheltering wall, setting his body against the driving wind as they crossed to the Imperial Trooper.

“Yes?” he asked, scraping the thin reserves of his patience for some measure of politeness.

“Show my men where they’re bunking whilst we’re here.”

Hexx barely contained his derisive snort. “What?”

“The barracks area. Show my men the way through that maze of damned crates you created in the main building.”

“They’re not your barracks,” said Veetch uncertainly, hovering beside Hexx’s shoulder.

The Imperial Trooper stepped closer, looming into Veetch’s personal space. “Seeing as most of your squad is dead, I’m guessing there’s plenty of spare bunks. Go and show the others where to stow their kit.”

Veetch surged forwards in anger, but Hexx caught his arm before he could do anything.

“Yes sir,” he bit, making his voice as much like Mayday’s derisive drawl as he could manage. His commander had set the tone for this encounter in the words exchanged with Nolan; Hexx would follow suit.

He hauled the younger clone away with him, tightening his grip when he felt Veetch fight against him.

“What are you doing?” hissed Veetch, a shaky, outraged whisper. “You’re not doing what he said? After that?”

Hexx shook him hard, fingers pressing bruises between the seams of his upper arm armour.

“Listen here,” he spat, leaning in close to the younger trooper even though his voice would be perfectly clear on the com. “This might be our last chance off this forsaken rock. I’m not going to spoil it by losing my temper with these prissy Imperials. So suck it up, Veetch, and we can finally get out this kriffing hell-hole.”

“But the others… Dene and Recon and Helix and Axis-”

“-Are gone.” Hexx’s voice was flat. “But we’re still here.” He sighed, loosening his grip on Veetch’s arm, transferring his hand to his shoulder instead to grip with supportive pressure. “If you were older you’d have learned this during the war. There’s always another mission. Another posting. Some of your brothers get left behind. But they’d want you to go on, so you fight another day, you keep living for them. You hear me?”

Veetch wasn’t listening. His focus was over Hexx’s shoulder, gaze fixed on something distant. Then his hand flew to his com.

“Commander! Raiders spotted inside the perimeter.”

Instantly Hexx’s hands went to his blaster, spinning to follow Veetch’s gaze, dropping into a battle-ready stance.

“Over there,” Veetch told him, gesturing, and Hexx nodded.

“I see. Come on, kid. Let’s not let the Commander down now we’ve got an audience.”

The two clones sprinted for the perimeter breach, weaving between Imperial Troopers who stood around, slower to react. Veetch’s blaster fire lit up the hard-standing, arcing towards the raiders who broke from cover as they realised they had been made.

“I’ve got the west,” came Mayday’s voice over the com. “The sniper’s taking the east tower.”

They closed on the raiders, the cluster of enemy combatants quickly splitting up to try and escape. One of them crouched to the ground, steadying their rifle before taking a shot.

Veetch stumbled, veering out the way to take cover behind one of the base’s low barricades. The shelter was a brief respite, chance to catch his breath and look to Hexx for their next move.

Only Hexx was no longer at his side.

He was sprawled on the ground, throat torn out by blaster-fire.

The world narrowed. Inside his helmet, Veetch struggled to draw breath. By rote he raised his hand, activating his com.

“Hexx is down.” He was surprised at how calm his own voice sounded. His throat constricted around a thick lump of sorrow, but somehow it hadn’t stayed his words.

His fingers trembled beside the com button, feeling like he should say something else, not knowing what.

Confused shouts and blaster fire sounded as the Imperial Troops joined the combat. Veetch poked his head up from behind cover, quickly surveying the battlefield. The Imperials weren’t used to fighting in the dark and low visibility of Barton IV snowstorms. He was.

“Thee raiders heading towards the shuttle at zero-one-five,” he reported, and then he was on the move again. Two of the raiders peeled off in one direction but he was closer to the third – he stuck on them as they skirted round the lowered ramp to the far side of the shuttle.

He slowed to a jog as he neared the shuttle. The raider hadn’t noticed him; Veetch found himself softening his footfalls in the hope of ambushing his target.

An explosion. The light craft was consumed in intense nexus of fire which blossomed outwards with the strength of an inferno.

Veetch felt the wave of heat hit him first. Then lethal shrapnel pinwheeled from the wreckage to pierce his body, and he didn’t feel anything at all.

*

Crosshair left the chaos of the base and its burning debris field behind him and followed the spattered path of blood behind the buildings, the dark red stains stark against the snow even in the early twilight of the bad weather.

He blinked and squinted inside his helmet, trying to banish the bright dots dancing in front of his sensitive eyes. Even through the heat sensor, the after-image of the exploding shuttle had been seared into his retinas.

Normally, if there was an explosion on the battlefield, he knew the cause. Wrecker would give him a heads-up.

The attack on the outpost had been an ambush, and he'd had no time to avert his gaze from the sun-bright nova which engulfed the destroyed craft.

Now he slithered down a snow-slope, traitorous memory supplying unwanted thoughts of the last time he had fought on terrain like this. His head had hurt then, too, an intense pinpoint pressure at his temple. He had wondered if it was a migraine, the kind Hunter was prone to.

There was nothing there now but pitted scar tissue, shiny and stretched from the ion burn. At least this time the headache was due to the bright light, nothing more.

His descent brought him to a lip of ice and he dropped lithely into the channel below, landing on his feet. Blessed, cool darkness enveloped him, soothing to his overstrained eyes, but still the blinking afterglows remained and prevented his low-light vision from kicking in.

Crosshair drew the torch from his belt and flashed the beam ahead. The crevasse opened into a tunnel which bored into the mountain-side, winding round a corner and out of sight.

"A snow skiff took off down the western ridge," called a voice from behind him. He turned and looked up to see the reg commander following his route down the snow-slope, crouching at the top of the drop. “The rest must’ve fled on foot into the mountain pass.”

"Wrong," was all Crosshair said, casting his torch back towards the tunnel.

The commander dropped next to him and followed his gaze to a slick of red on the rocky floor.

"So that's how snuck past our defences," he breathed, his voice grim.

"We should go after them," said Crosshair, starting down the tunnel.

"Hang on," said Mayday quickly. He caught Crosshair’s arm, stalling his advance. "You'll freeze to death if you head out there. You think it's cold now? You've got no idea how it gets after true nightfall.” He didn’t fight Crosshair as the sniper shook himself free, instead folding his arms across his chest. “Besides, I've got brothers to bury."

The hitch in his voice was worse than sorrow. It was resignation.

Crosshair hesitated. He’d watched the clone trooper run alongside the shuttle, and barely given a thought to whether he had survived.

“Fine,” he said, his voice a thin, displeased whisper. He shifted his stance, resting the rifle on his shoulder. “But Nolan isn’t going to like this.”

Officially on Part 2 - now canon-compliant instead of pre-canon!

RIP Hexx and Veetch :(

Here's a reminder of the Angstpril prompts that @kybercrystals94, @the-little-moment and I are sharing; mine are the ones in red! :)

Here's @the-little-moment's stories:- Day 1 - Homesick Day 4 - Longing Day 7 - Bad Dreams Day 10 - Phantom Pain Day 13 - Learning The Truth Day 16 - Emotionally Distant

And @kybercrystals94's stories:- Day 3 - Broken Hearted Day 6 - This Isn't Going To Work Day 9 - Trust Issues Day 12 - A Little Too Late Day 15 - Confrontation

[kybercrystals94]

Them talking about Veetch's first leave ... gah! My heart!

Welcome To The Outpost: Part 1.5 - Rock And A Hard Place

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Clone Commander Mayday, Clone Trooper Hexx, Clone Trooper Veetch Word Count: ~1065 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Mayday, Hexx and Veetch are the last survivors of the squad of 12 initially assigned to the Barton IV outpost. Supplies are dwindling and the relief ship is overdue.

Read Part 1.1 - Frozen Read Part 1.2 - Rise From The Ashes Read Part 1.3 - Lost Battle Read Part 1.4 - No Way Out

The base was quiet, the only light cast by blinking computer lights and the yellowish glow of the portable heater. Mayday, Hexx and Veetch sat close to the heater, chairs pulled up to a crate which served as a card table, a lacklustre game of sabacc being played.

Drawing a card, Hexx said, “Hey Commander, where are we going to take Veetch on his first leave?”

Mayday managed a crooked smile. “That’s right. We’re all well overdue a break.” He glanced at Veetch, the young clone’s eyes shining widely in his gaunt face. “Where do you think, lad? Coruscant? The Outer Rim?”

“Somewhere warm and sunny, with strong drinks and beautiful women,” suggested Hexx with a wolfish grin.

Mayday chuckled drily. “I wouldn’t say no to a tropical break.”

Gaze roving between his two companions, Veetch laid down his playing cards, the game momentarily forgotten. “You’re kidding,” he accused, half a smile tugging at his face as he looked for the jape. “You… we… we’ve been stuck together in this base for over a year. You’d still want to spend… leave time with me?”

“Kriff, Veetch,” said Hexx, leaning over and clapping him on the shoulder, “we wouldn’t go anywhere without you.” He grinned. “Besides, you’ve not seen anything of life other than Kamino and this frost-encrusted hell-hole. Mayday and I wouldn’t let you get into trouble out there.”

“Brothers stick together,” Mayday agreed. “Hexx and I won’t leave you behind.”

The faintest smile glimmered on Veetch’s face. Breath clouding the air, he recovered his cards and played his turn. “So… somewhere with a beach, for Hexx to rest his old bones,” he teased, although his voice was strained.

“Watch it,” Hexx growled affectionately, “or I might change my mind.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Veetch softly, gaze falling to the sad pile of cards before them. “We’re never getting off this planet.”

Mayday sat up straighter. “Hey. None of that. Relief ship is due any day.”

“Relief ship was due two weeks ago,” Hexx reminded him.

“Which is why we’re expecting it any day.”

“They’ve said that before,” said Veetch, a miserable whisper.

“And I have it on good authority that they are finally retrieving this damn cargo we’ve been guarding all this time,” growled Mayday. “Which means the end of this posting.”

With an irritated noise, he slapped his sabacc card down harder than necessary.

“It’s got to show up.” He tried not to think of their dwindling rations. “It has to.”

Conversation tapered into morose silence, the three clones playing cards without deriving any real joy from the game.

Eventually Hexx spoke again.

“Where do you think we’re getting posted next?”

“I’d be happy with a Core Worlds posting,” said Mayday gruffly. “Get a handle on what this Empire is all about.”

“Not about loyalty to us clones, that’s for sure,” said Hexx with a bitter laugh.

Veetch was looking sombre again. Mayday reached out, tapping his vambrace briefly against his young squad member’s.

“Don’t worry, lad,” he said. “I’m requesting you for my squad, wherever we end up.” He summoned another rough smile. “It’s like Hexx said… we’re not going anywhere without you.”

*

Alone except for the quietly whirring droids endlessly stacking and re-stacking the cargo, Mayday let his head drop to his hands. He was sat in front of the main console, knowing he needed to open the long-range com channel, dreading doing so.

He raked his fingers shakily through his hair, steeling his nerves. He had to do this. His men needed him to.

His men. All two of them.

A glance to the shadowed corner near the heater showed him Hexx and Veetch, curled so tightly into each other in sleep they were almost one. Veetch’s once-youthful face was pinched, lined with worry, and Hexx was similarly aged, face slack with exhaustion. Even in sleep his body trembled with cold.

Mayday stood, venturing to his Commander’s berth and pulling the blankets from it. He draped them across his brothers, tucking the extra layers tightly in around their bodies. His own faced creased in a deep frown.

Snapping to attention, he turned to the com and activated it.

“Commander Mayday, contacting from the Barton IV Outpost.”

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“The relief ship didn’t arrive today.”

A brief silence. Then, “The ship has not yet departed.”

Mayday held a growl in his throat, swallowing it and forcing his voice calm.

“Our supplies are almost out.”

“Orders remain unchanged. You are to guard the cargo until retrieval.”

“How are my boys supposed to do that when they’re half-starved? The only reason we have food left is because-”

He choked on the words. Helix’s hand in his, heavy and cold. Holding him long after his life had slipped away.

“Because one of my squad died,” he grit out. His mouth was thick, bitter with sorrow, anger leaching into his tone. “We’re sharing his rations between three of us, and they won’t last.”

“I suggest you find a way to make them go further,” came the short response. “Imperial troops will arrive in due course, but there are other priorities.”

“Not to me,” growled Mayday. “My men-”

“-Will have to endure,” he was interrupted.

Mayday’s teeth clicked together hard as he clenched his jaw. “When will the ship be here?” he said forcefully.

“You will be notified when the ship departs so you can ready the cargo for retrieval.”

“WHEN?”

“Check your tone, Commander. I am terminating this transmission.”

The com went dead.

Mayday breathed out a stunned exhale, staring helplessly at the dark console. His thoughts scattered, abstractly dancing between decisions he couldn’t focus on.

Imperial orders remained the same. They were dependant on the Empire – completely dependant on them coming to retrieve what was left of his squad.

There was nothing he could do to make it happen sooner. Nothing to do but watch their supplies dwindle further; watch the hope fade from his brothers’ eyes.

He blinked when he realised his cheeks were wet, dragged a forearm roughly across his face. The dirty cloth wraps on his arms rubbed grit into his eyes, which only made them water further.

Bitter anger coiled in his stomach as he sat, alone, and considered their options. Their lack of options.

Rely on the Empire.

Or die waiting for them.

It wasn’t so much a choice, as a matter of which would come first.

Read Part 2.1 - Last Chance

Hello lovely readers, we are half way through Angstpril - and this is the end of Part 1!

Have you enjoyed reading about Mayday and his squad? Drop me a comment to let me know what your favourite thing has been so far!

In Part 2 we'll meet a certain snarky sniper...

Don't forget to check out @the-little-moment's stories:- Day 1 - Homesick Day 4 - Longing Day 7 - Bad Dreams Day 10 - Phantom Pain Day 13 - Learning The Truth

And @kybercrystals94's stories:- Day 3 - Broken Hearted Day 6 - This Isn't Going To Work Day 9 - Trust Issues Day 12 - A Little Too Late

[kybercrystals94]

This story is ABSOLUTELY canon in my mind for Mayday and his men 😭

Welcome To The Outpost: Part 1.4 - No Way Out

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Kick Them While They Are Down

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Clone Commander Mayday, Clone Trooper Hexx, Clone Trooper Veetch, Additional Clone Troopers Word Count: ~2075 Warnings: Minor Character Deaths, Suicide Mention Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: A request for extraction is ignored, with Imperial orders reiterating that Mayday and his remaining squad members are to keep the base secure and protect the cargo at all costs.

Read Part 1.1 - Frozen Read Part 1.2 - Rise From The Ashes Read Part 1.3 - Lost Battle

“I’ve never seen a shiny lose their spark so quickly.”

Mayday was standing at the top of the metal stairs, watching Veetch sweep snow from the hard-standing in front of the depot buildings. Hexx passed him a cup of caf as he joined him, both of them focusing on the young clone who moved stiffly, shoulders hunched against the cold and against his own inner turmoil.

“Kid’s got nothing to distract him,” volunteered Hexx. “Usually they go through a tough battle, but then there’s another mission to distract them, or an influx of new shinies who need their support.” He glanced at Mayday with a wry smile. “Worked for me.”

The comment drew a faint huff of amusement from the commander, an increasingly rare sound. “I remember,” he agreed. “I didn’t realise you’d only been deployed six weeks longer than me.”

“Helped me to have a new shiny to adopt,” said Hexx softly. “Didn’t think back then that this is where we’d end up.”

Mayday knocked his vambrace affectionately against his friend’s. “Glad I’ve still got you to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Is that what I do?”

“It’s the reason you’re my second-in-command.”

They lapsed into silence, tense with the unspoken weight of their situation. Hexx knew as well as Mayday how dire things were becoming.

The weeks following the ice wyrm encounter had been tough on all the remaining troopers. When Atlas had snapped out of his catatonia to corner Veetch and beat him bloody for his perceived role in Axis’ death, it had taken Hexx and Helix both to pull him off the young clone.

Brothers coming to blows cast a further pall over the diminished squad, the camaraderie which had sustained them through the long months of the posting all but evaporated. Half a squad meant double the work for each of them, and the clones were constantly running on the edge of exhaustion.

Mayday’s request for additional troops to be sent was declined. The Empire’s assessment was also that, if three of their number had died, they could stretch their remaining rations further and defer sending the next supply ship to save on the fuel cost of the run.

The doors to the storage unit which had been blown open couldn’t be repaired. Ferox was in a foul mood almost daily, no matter who was assigned to help him with his duties.

The next time the perimeter sensors failed, Helix suggested they stop sending daily reports to the Empire. The Empire might bother to send a team to investigate the outpost; it would be the quickest way to secure reinforcements and new supplies, he said.

Telmer was overheard saying they’d have more luck abandoning their post and joining the raiders.

Mayday cracked down on such chatter quickly, quelling the mutterings of rebellion with his usual brand of calm, confident leadership. He let them see his frustration though; didn’t hide his disdain at the repeated rebuttals the Empire gave him to his daily appeals for support.

It was only when he and Hexx patrolled alone, far from the others, that he confided his sympathy for his trooper’s views.

Six months stretched into eight, then ten. The isolation ate at the squad’s morale so that Mayday’s whole focus became the wellbeing of his men.

The only saving grace was the weather. A new storm front meant Barton IV’s climate went from being merely inhospitable to actively endangering life. It was all they could do to keep the base running; but at least the same cold that degraded their equipment and caused them such discomfort stayed the frequency of attacks from the raiders.

*

Ferox’s luck ran out when he tried – again – to repair the heating systems in the base. The corroded component sparked, and electricity surged in a lightning-bright snap to course through his frame and blast him across the room.

For three days he hovered on the threshold of death, skin blistered and cracked, burned inside his body in a way none of them knew how to treat. His groans and sobs were a constant soundtrack of pain permeating the main building, grating on his brothers’ resolve.

In the end Atlas took it on himself to put Ferox out of his misery. Then he turned his blaster on himself too.

Two more helmets joined the sombre memorial in the crowded room. The empty buckets now outnumbered the living members of the squad.

*

“Commander.”

“I hear you, Veetch. What is it?”

“There’s… something in the snow. I… I think you should come look.”

By the time Mayday and Helix had found Veetch he was shivering from standing still so long. His gaze was riveted on a dark metal pad on the ground, the edges just uncovered by the way the wind gusted away the powdery snow.

“Pressure mine,” breathed Mayday, crouching down to inspect the device. “Where did it come from?”

Helix surveyed the horizon through a set of binoculars. “I can’t see anything out there.”

Veetch had relaxed marginally now that his commander was there. “What do we do about it?”

“Let’s head back to base,” said Mayday. “Go through the kit boxes again and see if we’ve got something to deal with it.”

“Protocol would be for every member of the squad to carry the equipment to disarm these at all times,” said Helix dubiously. “Reckon they’ll have sent us enough for that?”

Mayday’s reply was grim. “We can hope.”

*

There was no proper equipment to deal with the mines. Mayday sent a request for additional supplies, despite his misgivings about the likelihood of such things materialising.

Telmer bodged together a set of tools for each of them to use and showed them the theory of dealing with the pressure triggers using scrap metal to practice on.

The appearance of the mines marked a resurgence of activity from the raiders. With the storms abating, their probing attacks tested the degraded defences of the outpost.

Every fight was a fight to protect a brother. Yes, the clones were still aware of their duty to guard the outpost and its Imperial cargo. But it was a lesser concern than banding together to defend each other, five of them against everything Barton IV could throw at them.

Every skirmish with the raiders was an outlet for their frustrations about the unfeeling disregard of the Empire.

The pressure mines eventually did their job. Without proper detection equipment, noticing them, and therefore disarming them, was a matter of chance.

They claimed Telmer as their victim, a quick and bloody death that painted the snowscape red.

The rest of the clones added the raider’s blood to the scene in vengeance for their fallen brother.

*

Mayday gently turned Helix’s foot in his hands, inspecting the necrotic flesh without flinching.

Helix offered a strained grin. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his skin pallid and greying.

“Sorry, commander. Don’t mean to leave you like this.”

Ghosting his fingers over the blackened decay that was eating at Helix’s leg, Mayday shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied, voice little more than a murmured growl. “I’m just glad this transport is arriving today. We can get you the treatment you need elsewhere.”

“Are they bringing reinforcements too?”

Mayday pulled out his datapad and checked it. “Additional labour to assist with storage and management of Imperial cargo,” he read off. “So yeah, sounds like it.”

“Better late than never, right?” said Helix with a forced laugh.

Mayday patted his trooper’s knee and carefully re-covered the frostbitten flesh.

“I’m going to go meet this ship. Com me if you need anything.”

“Yes, sir.” Helix managed an exhausted salute before flopping back in his bunk, shivers of sickness wracking his body.

Mayday stalked from the base, pulling his helmet on as he stepped into the frigid world outside. Veetch and Hexx were waiting impatiently on the hard standing, gazes trained on the distant dot against the skyline that was rapidly growing bigger with approach.

“Better late than never indeed,” Mayday echoed gruffly. Then, “Veetch, get a pallet, be ready to unload any supplies they’ve seen fit to furnish us with. Hexx,” and the clone turned to look at him, “You and me will carry Helix to the transport. Make him as comfortable as we can.”

“Yes, sir,” came their dual responses, and the three waited together for the ship to land.

Snowflakes swirled in dizzying eddies as the ship touched down on the outpost’s forecourt, dancing streaks of white against dark grey. Almost before the ship was still Mayday was striding towards it.

The pilot descended from the cockpit to meet him. Mayday fought the urge to crane past him and watch for other troops departing the transport.

“Welcome to the Outpost, sir,” he said with a smart salute. “Glad you’re here.”

The pilot turned his visored helmet to regard Hexx and Veetch over Mayday’s shoulder.

“Is this all of you? Gonna take a while to stack the cargo with just three.”

Mayday’s thoughts stuttered. “The cargo?”

“Yes,” drawled the pilot, as though Mayday was slow of mind. “The cargo. To be stored in the depot.”

Shaking his head cautiously, Mayday said, “I was expecting troop reinforcements.”

It came out more plaintive than he intended. The pilot was unmoved.

“If you’re due reinforcements, they’re coming on another ship. I have a delivery of fifty crates, plus four droid units to help manage them, but they’ll need to be hooked up to your power supply to charge before they’ll be any use.”

“Droids,” echoed Mayday in disbelief. Some small part of his mind registered that he wasn’t sounding particularly authoritative, but the sudden reversal of his expectations had thrown him. He had been waiting for more clone troopers. He needed them.

Taking Mayday’s echolalia as reason to ignore him, the pilot hailed Hexx and Veetch. “Hey. You two. I’ll drop the cargo ramp and you can start unloading these crates.”

Mayday grabbed the man’s arm as he went to climb back to the cockpit. “I have a man who is injured, sick. He needs evac. You’re taking him, right?”

The pilot snorted. “Does this look like a medical transport to you? Don’t be stupid. I’m not equipped to carry passengers, let alone provide treatment.” He brushed Mayday’s hand off roughly. “Now do your job, trooper, and unload the cargo.”

Hexx and Veetch had drawn alongside them now, shifting uneasily as they sensed the tension between the two men. Mayday stared at the pilot a moment longer, visor to visor, willing him to change his mind. To say it was all a joke. Of course they were taking Helix.

The other merely stared him down in silence. Mayday broke first, turning away, gesturing to his troopers.

“C’mon, boys,” he muttered, voice hollow with defeat. “We’ve got some crates to stack.”

*

Clasping one of Helix’s hands in both his own, Mayday bowed his head and pressed his brother’s chilled fingers to his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Helix.”

Helix’s breathing was laboured. His words were slurred, but he still managed a grimace of a smile for Mayday.

“Won’t… hold it ‘gainst you, c’mmander. Know you did… ev’rythin’ you could.”

Mayday reached out a trembling hand and smoothed it across Helix’s clammy brow, stroking sweat-laden hair back from his face.

“Try and hold on a bit longer for me, Helix. I sent an urgent com for aid.”

“Y’did that… before… c’mmander.”

Helix’s gaze roved, glassy, over Mayday’s face, seeing but unfocused.

“Empire aren’t… coming f’r us,” he panted out, fingers spasming weakly in Mayday’s grip. “No way off… this rock. No way… ‘cept the way th’ others went.”

Mayday forced a false smile to his lips, face aching with the rictus grimace of it.

“Don’t talk like that, vod. You’re going to be fine.”

The blankets rose and fell shallowly with Helix’s rapid breathing. “Maybe… Atlas had it right.”

“Helix-”

“Would y’do that f’me… c’mmander?”

Mayday gazed in despair at the glint of lucidity in his trooper’s eyes.

“What Altas did… f’r Ferox….”

“Go to sleep, Helix,” said Mayday, voice trembling. His eyes prickled unexpectedly and he rubbed at them, then dragged a hand through his own untamed hair.

“Sure.” Helix wheezed a chuckle. “Sleep… sounds good.”

“Yeah.” Mayday squeezed his hand hard. “When you wake up, we’ll have a transport ready to evacuate you.”

“’Vacuate…” Helix’s head lolled on the pillow, eyelids drifting closed above sunken cheeks. “Sounds… good. Y’re… th’ best…… c’mmander…”

Read Part 1.5 - Rock And A Hard Place

How's it going, reader? Have you been here for all of Angstpril so far, or just stumbled on this story today?

This writing project is a collaboration between myself, @the-little-moment and @kybercrystals94 to bring you a fabulous series of angst-based Bad Batch fanfiction. We've shared the prompts between us so don't forget to check all of our blogs to catch the whole month's worth of stories!

My series of 10 stories will focus on Clone Commander Mayday and the Barton IV Outpost. Stay tuned to follow Mayday's journey to the bitter end...

I think my Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt 'Kick Them While They Are Down' applies to pretty much the whole cast of characters in today's chapter...

Don't forget to check out @the-little-moment's stories:- Day 1 - Homesick Day 4 - Longing Day 7 - Bad Dreams Day 10 - Phantom Pain

And @kybercrystals94's stories:- Day 3 - Broken Hearted Day 6 - This Isn't Going To Work Day 9 - Trust Issues

[kybercrystals94]

Focus Up

Read here on Ao3!

Angspril 2024 | Day 15 | Prompt 15: Confrontation

Rated: G | Words: 816 | Summary: A training exercise doesn't end the way the siblings expected. | Character Focus: Omega, Hunter, Echo

Slight content warning...someone gets a bloody nose.

“Focus up, Omega!” Echo calls from the sidelines when Omega’s gaze drifts again to the sparkling white beach and frothing surf. 

Omega turns her head to look at Echo and misses Hunter’s quick sweeping motion that knocks her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling forward across the soft, silty ground. Pushing herself up, Omega spits out a mouthful of grit. “That isn’t fair,” she growls, “Echo distracted me.” 

“You distracted yourself,” Hunter chides gently. “Do you think your enemies will wait for you to be focused before they strike?” 

“No,” Omega huffs, rolling over into a sitting position. “But why do we have to train today? I’ve never been on a beach before, and Wrecker promised he’d show me how to build sandcastles.” 

Hunter smiles at her and holds out a hand. “There’ll be time for fun after training. C’mon, let’s go again.” 

Omega takes his hand and Hunter hauls her up to her feet.

“Get in position,” Hunter says.

Halfheartedly, Omega changes her stance. Hunter adjusts her left elbow and right shoulder, and lightly kicks the heel of her boot to make her bring her foot up. “Good. Now bend your knees a little more, keep your center of gravity low.” 

“Will my enemies wait for me to get into position?” Omega snarks irritably. 

Omega is slightly annoyed when Hunter chooses endless patience instead of reacting. “With enough practice, getting into position will be second nature.” 

Once her brother is satisfied with her posture, he stands in front of her, slipping into his own familiar placement. “Start!” 

Omega is a flurry of frustrated movement, going through the maneuvers she’s been taught while Hunter easily blocks each strike. With a surge of adrenaline, Omega decides to try something different, wanting to catch Hunter off guard. She goes for an uppercut, which Hunter starts to block; however, she aborts the movement just before making contact and dives for his knees. Hunter isn’t ready for the sudden attack, and is nearly toppled; however, he moves to recover his balance. As he disentangles himself from Omega’s grip, his knee comes up and catches her hard in the nose. 

Omega lets out an involuntary yelp of pain, her vision going black for a moment as her body registers the blow. Falling back, she cups her hands over her nose, already leaking blood. She isn’t crying, but tears run down her face and blur the image of Hunter kneeling in front of her. 

“Move your hands, let me see,” his voice is saying over the roaring in her ears. She gives a tiny shake of her head, but Hunter gets more insistent. “I need to check if it’s broken, Omega.”

 Gingerly, Omega lowers her hands, being careful not to touch them against her clothes. Not that it matters with blood dribbling down her chin and neck. 

Hunter inspects the damage, gently prodding the cartilage. “Doesn’t seem to be broken. That’s good. Here, lean forward a bit and pinch here.” He guides one of her hands up to do as he says. “Echo’s getting a cold pack.”

Omega groans, closing her eyes as tears continue to escape without her permission. “I’m not crying,” she tells him, her voice sounding funny with her nose plugged. 

“I know you’re not,” Hunter soothes, patting her shoulder. 

“That’s one way to get out of training for the day,” Echo’s voice says beside her. 

Something soft and chilled presses lightly against the bridge of her nose. Omega hisses in surprise. “I didn’t do this on purpose!” she protests weakly. 

“We know, kid,” Hunter says. “And good job. You almost got me there.”

Echo chuckles. “Getting an injury during training is like a right of passage.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Omega,” Hunter mumbles. 

Omega grins behind her hands, peeking one eye open to look at Hunter. “But I almost knocked you down? Really?” 

“You should’ve seen his face,” Echo says. “If I had taken a holo, we would’ve gotten a good laugh out of that for years to come. I guess we’ll just have to settle for describing it in great detail to Wrecker and Tech later.” 

Hunter frowns over Omega’s shoulder where Echo is situated. Omega giggles, the pain and tears of her injury nearly forgotten. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega adjusts Eva’s left elbow and right shoulder. She nudges Eva’s heel to prompt her to shift forward. “There,” Omega whispers. “Keep your knees bent. Good.” 

“This will help us to fight?” Eva whispers. 

Omega can’t train these children as her brothers trained her. She can’t teach them to throw a punch, or hold a blaster, or how to avoid detection. However, she can give them a foundation, as small as it might be. She can teach them to slip into position until it’s second nature, until her brothers find them and rescue them. 

Smiling grimly, Omega puts a reassuring hand on little Eva’s shoulder. “It’s a start.”

END

@the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts 😱 This is the halfway mark??? YAY! Go team!! 15 more angsty prompts to go 😇

(Make sure to check out all of our stories this month for ultimate heartbreak!)

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