He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He watches the smoke float across the surface of the water, the black clouds hiding what remains of Tipoca City. The flames are beginning to die down, but he knows the singed pieces will remain on top of the surface for the next few days. The waves of the never-ending ocean lap against the beams holding the platform in places, the splashing a constant beat with a few interjections from stray pieces of the city he was created in.

Yet Crosshair can't help but feel like this moment means more than just the end of the Republic.

The end of an era with his brothers.

He knows they offered him a chance to join them again, but still, he feels like they didn't want him.

And why would they?

Even he can't think of a reason why.

After all, he was vile the entire time they were trying to escape. He complained about every call made, poisoning everyone's attitude as if he were actually a snake. He had been the one to lure them all into coming to Kamino. He coiled around them until he finally got his opportunity to strike them with his tormented bite, chiding them for how they treated him.

So yes, Wrecker was right. It was his fault for getting them into that situation. He's the one who was endangering Omega just as he accused Hunter of doing.

And though Tech claimed he wasn't defending him in that underwater tunnel, it still felt good to have someone speak up for him.

Because even after Hunter said they were never enemies, it still feels like it was one against five. No matter what he said, none of them seemed to agree with him. Hell, they had their weapons trained on him every time he moved towards his rifle. He couldn't adjust it without getting a cautious glare from Echo.

They even placed him in a tube with Hunter so they could keep an eye on him.

They didn't say it was for that reason out loud, but it was obvious.

And when he saved their little sidekick, all he saw were the ends of their guns all aimed at him. Seeing Wrecker so defensive actually hurt. He always stood up from him, but clearly, those days are gone.

He didn't hear a single thanks, not even muttered under their breath like they used to.

They still don't trust him.

Not that he really blames them.

Omega was the only one to give him the benefit of the doubt, and he somehow turned her against him too. Was it what he said to her in the lab? He wasn't trying to be mean, he was just trying to warn her not to get her hopes up.

Because he's a clone too, their defective batch brother, yet he doesn't think he was ever one of them.

At least not in the way the rest of them are brothers.

Hunter promised they would never leave their own behind. He proved it time and time again. When they went back for Wrecker after he took a hard blow on Kashyyk. Or when they worked to save Tech from those odd creatures on Geonosis.

And just like he predicted, they came back for Hunter without a second thought. There was no moment of hesitation for them. He laid a trap that should have been obvious had they opened their eyes and placed themselves into his shoes.

Crosshair sighs, staring at the armor that he had taken off. He forces himself to look at the reflective black plates, his slightly warped face glaring back at him. He hates to admit it, but seeing his brothers in their old armor made him miss his.

He closes his eyes, thinking of how many hoops they jumped through to make sure their newest member had a matching set. They had to let him know that they truly accepted him as one of them.

Is he really the only one who had a change of heart after they saved Echo on Anaxes?

Before that mission, Crosshair probably wouldn't have gone back for any of his brothers. He would have been heartbroken to know of their death, obviously, but it would've been for the best. They wouldn't have to live with the injuries or nightmares. He would rather they be dead than suffer in horrible conditions.

But after rescuing Echo and seeing how grateful he was for their sacrifice and determination, Crosshair saw it differently. Rex and Echo were actual brothers. Their evident loyalty to each other made the war seem somewhat endurable for a moment. It felt good to be reminded that the ones you fought beside actually cared about what happened to you when it seemed like the rest of the galaxy only thought of you like walking bacteria grown in a tube.

So why did his brothers leave him behind?

Why didn't they ever try to come back for him?

Crosshair knows that he's irritable.

And snarky.

And a real pain in the ass.

Did they even notice he was gone?

Crosshair shakes his head. Of course, they did. They didn't have the dark shadow lurking behind them anymore. The drag of the group was finally gone. They didn't have to listen to him groan and complain.

It's no wonder they didn't want him back.

Wrecker offered words of comfort in the underwater tunnel, but it didn't hit the way the gentle giant wanted it to. Crosshair already knew he could have left the Empire to join them. But he isn't one to beg. He wasn't going to chase them around the galaxy then plead for them to take him back.

He wanted to know that they missed him. That they actually thought about him.

A pain stabs the side of his head, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. Crosshair hisses, pressing his hand against his temple.

One of Rampart's doctors told him that the headache was a side effect of getting his chip removed. She claimed that it would go away after a few weeks, but it only seems to be growing stronger, especially when it comes to Clone Force 99.

He feels a lump grow in his throat.

He just wanted them to be together again. He vouched for his brothers to everyone who asked, even after they clearly left him behind. He laid out a plan to get them to join him so they could be safe under the Empire. They would have had a purpose, missions that the Empire would have only given to the best squad the Republic ever had.

It would have been just like old times.

And they threw it away.

They didn't even think about it.

Did all those missions together mean nothing to them? All the secrets spilled and inside jokes made, how could they have forgotten about them so easily?

Crosshair quickly wipes under his eyes, too filled with pride to let himself shed a tear.

He always thought he was the cold-hearted one of the group.

Seems pretty cold-hearted to him to abandon someone you claim to care about.

Breaking his thoughts, one lone ship breaks through the atmosphere. He rises from the ground, his limbs screaming as they wake back up. He looks out at the burning city one last time, but he finds that he isn't saddened in the least by its destruction.

Omega was right. He has always hated Kamino.

The testing. The treatments. The remarks made by regs to him and his brothers.

All it's ever been to him was a place for him and his brothers to rest their heads.

Well, that's not entirely true.

He does feel bad about losing their barracks, but he has been mourning its destruction since his elite squad moved in. He came back one night to find his targets peeled off the walls and Wrecker's droid parts tossed out with the trash. Echo's makeshift bed was crumpled in the hallway beside the damaged box stashed with Tech's random trinkets.

The worst was finding one of Hunter's bandanas tucked deep inside his pillowcase.

Crosshair forgot that he stole it before the mission on Kaller. He was going to prank Hunter with it when they returned, but he can't remember what the joke was anymore.

"Commander, are you alright?"

Crosshair turns. "I'm fine. Contact Rampart." He growls, picking up his armor off of the ground. He marches towards the shuttle, his head held high. He isn't going to let this trooper see that he is hurting.

xxx

It's a long, silent ride back. Usually, Crosshair doesn't mind the quiet, but even this is strange to him. Troopers talk low under their breath. Their hands are glued to their blasters. They try to avoid the sniper as much as possible, leaving him alone in the back of the shuttle.

Something is going on.

Crosshair suddenly becomes aware of every move they make. He knew he wouldn't be receiving a warm welcome back. All after, if his brothers didn't rejoice to see him again, why would the Empire?

But everyone is on edge. So he will be too.

Eventually, they meet up with a destroyer.  Immediately upon landing, he is escorted to the command center. The troopers move in sync, two in front of him and two behind. Oddly, this doesn't feel so much as them respecting his command.

It's more like they're transporting a prisoner.

"You've survived," Rampart says, his hologram humming to life.

Crosshair doesn't reply, straightening his back. He's not going to comment on something obvious. He instead remains neutral, refusing to show any emotion.

"I don't believe that you escaped alone." Rampart continues, his eyebrows furrowing. "Where did Clone Force 99 flee off to?"

"They're dead." Crosshair instantly replies, his voice hard. He reaches for a toothpick but stops himself. "I offered them a chance to join, they refused. We all know what happens to traitors of the Empire."

A smile creeps its way onto the admiral's face. "Yet you came back."

This almost makes Crosshair break his straight face. What is he talking about? He isn't a traitor. He stood up for the Empire every single chance he's been given. He's remained loyal to the Empire.

"Take him to the brig," Rampart says with a wave, no longer interested in the conversation. "Send one of the interrogator droids in. I want to know where those clones ran off too."

"What?" Crosshair asks. Hands grab his arms and he forces his feet into the ground. "I'm telling the truth. They're dead, I killed them myself." He huffs, narrowing his eyes at the hologram.

All he gets in reply is Rampart's hologram flickering off.

Not wanting to put up a fight this early into his unlawful imprisonment, Crosshair lets them take him to the brig. They toss him into a cell without much care, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

What a joke.

He patiently waits, psyching himself up for the droid.

He's been poked and prodded at before.

This shouldn't be much different.

He hears shuffling outside his cell, troopers changing shifts. He perks up, listening for anything that might be confidential information. Any information is better than none at all.

"Rampart doesn't want the droid anymore, take it back."

"We were told the clone is to be interrogated for information."

"Not anymore. They're sending doctors down to check on his chip."

Chip? Rampart told him that his chip was removed after Bracca. After the confrontation on the artillery deck, he insisted that they remove the chip from his head. He was assured by doctors, Kaminoans, and other officers that it was gone.

They gave him the blasted chip for proof!

The door to his cell opens and Crosshair jumps to his feet. His heart rate is rising, both out of anger and, unfortunately, fear. "I don't have a chip." He declares. His voice slightly cracks, making him internally cringe. "I'm not being controlled like the regs."

The silent exchange between the two troopers answers his unasked question.

He finds himself trying to catch his breath. How could they lie to him? All this time, he truly believed that he's been doing this of his own free will. Has he been programmed to think that too?

Normally, he doesn't put up a fight. He sees it as pointless when he can be easily outnumbered, but he's had enough. He won't go back to that stupid operating room. He grounds his feet into the floor, refusing to leave the brig as the troopers attempt to pull him out.

He'd rather be killed here and now than be forced to undergo yet another surgery.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get a choice.

Another trooper, who overheard the commotion, stuns him before he can even get another word in.

xxx

Crosshair slowly rises from the surgical bed, his head spinning. He blinks, trying to adjust his eyes to the bright, blue light from the medical pod. He takes a deep breath, his foggy mind starting to wake back up. He doesn't remember leaving his cell, let alone undergoing surgery.

A droid comes teetering over, but he can't hear a thing it says. His stomach is swirling just as much as his mind is. "I'm going to throw up." He mumbles, his eyes fixating on his reflection in the one-way glass.

"I'm sorry?" The droid asks.

He leans over the edge of the bed. Vomit immediately follows, hitting the floor as he loudly gags. Crosshair tried but was unable to keep it down. He doesn't bother apologizing for his mess. He just groans and holds his head in his hands.

He pinches his eyes shut, hoping to block out everything so that he can think.

Is he out at sea? Because he can't seem to stay upright on this bed. With each breath he takes, he shifts forward and backward. His brain feels like the soup the Kaminoans used to serve, sloshing around in his head with no connection to the rest of him.

"CT-9904, can you hear me?" The pesky droid asks.

Crosshair doesn't reply. He raises his hand to swat the damn thing away, but pain surges through him. He groans, squeezing his head hard to try and ground himself. He was on Kamino. He was picked up by the Empire and sent to the brig. He wants to ask what else has happened to him, but he needs to find some balance before he can speak.

A whisper of comfort from the back of his mind soothes his worries. Its familiar, repetitive pulse calms him. It washes over him, trying to rebuild his brain back to how it was. Oh, he hasn't heard its sweet reassurances since Bracca. How he's missed its company.

His eyes snap open, his heart stopping.

No.

No, the voice is back.

The voice that belonged to his chip.

"CT-9904, I need a verbal response." The droid insists, somehow incapable of seeing that he is not okay.

The voice starts its quiet chant, emerging from its deception of a charming whisper.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

But this time it's different. The voice no longer sounds like his own. Rather, it is almost distorted and raspy. It causes shivers to run down his arms as it grows more and more frequent, the phrase mixing into his brain soup.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

This nothing like before. It drifts from crisp dictation into mumbling gibberish. The words start to tumble into one another, no longer making any sense. They fall into place wherever they can fit, creating chaos.

Good orders follow soldiers.

Soldiers follow good orders.

But the beat of the phrase remains the same, the incantation loud in his mind. It has an unforgettable pulse that makes him want to shout.

Why is this happening to him? What have they done to him?

He didn't even realize one of the doctors had entered the room until their clammy fingers pull his chin up. He freezes, meeting eyes that he's never seen before. Crosshair is used to cold glares, but this one quickly pulls him out of his downward spiral.

"I think we've pushed him too far." The doctor mumbles.

"Give him some time to adjust." A nurse calls out from behind.

"Look at how dilated his pupils are." Another says.

"Someone mark that down."

Crosshair gulps, his throat raw. Has he been screaming? Crying? "Take it out of me." He growls, narrowing his eyes as threateningly as he can.

The rambling nurses behind the doctor suddenly fall silent, their eyes wide and staring. The doctor's head tilts slightly. "You know of your chip?" He asks, disbelief in his eyes as he loosens his grip on Crosshair's chin.

"They told me they removed it." Crosshair answers, his voice raspy. He snaps his head out of the doctor's hand. His right hand shakily rises up and presses against his temple. "Take it out."

He thought he might get some sympathy. Care for clones is rare, but after the loyalty he's shown to the Empire, he hoped that medical professionals would be somewhat kind. They should know when their patient is suffering and want to help them.

Instead, the doctor's eyebrow arches. "Why would we take it out?" He asks, causing Crosshair's stomach to drop. "Its purpose is to manipulate your thoughts and actions. It would be illogical to remove something that keeps you loyal to the Empire." He slowly explains, as if this decision is obvious.

"But I am loyal to the Empire. I don't need the chip to remain loyal." Crosshair says through gritted teeth. His hands clutch the doctor's robes, pulling him close. "Take it out of me." He demands, his nose scrunching.

The doctor straightens and clenches his jaw, his eyes darting down to glare at Crosshair's trembling hands. "Unless Rampart says otherwise, nothing will be removed from you. Understand?" He spits.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Follow orders good soldiers.

Crosshair doesn't get a chance to reply, the voice overwhelming him. He hisses, dropping his grasp on the doctor so he can squeeze his head tightly. He doesn't even hear the doctor and his noisy nurses leave the room. He's too busy trying to drown out that awful, raspy voice.

He needs to do something, anything to combat the obnoxious inflection taking place inside his mind.

He pounds on the bed.

Good soldiers follow orders.

He stomps the floor.

Soldiers follow good orders.

He even resorts to screaming, hoping his own voice will muffle it, but it's useless.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Nothing can stop the droning of that wretched voice.

Crosshair lays on the floor, exhausted from fighting that damn chip. He wants to cry out of frustration, the jumbled phrase seeming only to grow louder and stronger as the minutes pass by.

Hunter said it was in his head, which he already knew. He gestured to the side, but which one? Was it his right, the one where he already sports a gnarly scar from Bracca?

It's worth a shot.

Slowly, he claws at the right side of his head. One way or another, that chip will get out. If he has to remove it himself, then that's what he has to do. Anything to stop that awful phrase from repeating in his head.

He digs at his temple, trying to break through his skin. He doesn't know the exact location of the chip, but he will find it if it's the last thing he does. He has to rip it out.

Pain surges through him with each scratch. Still, he pushes through.

Pain is temporary. This voice will be forever until it's physically removed.

He feels his blood staining his fingers. He doesn't have to pull his hand away to know that his fingernails are tainted red underneath.

Before he has a chance to really get at it, he feels a stab in his neck. He gasps, feeling himself going limp before he has a chance to realize what is happening to him. He's rolled onto his back, staring at one of the nurses. As he begins to drift into darkness, the last thing he hears is Hunter's offer, which somehow overpowers that awful, selfish voice.

"We can help you."

xxx

It's been days since his surgery. When Crosshair woke, he found himself tucked in a separate but watched room to recover. He's not sure where he is exactly. He could still be on a destroyer. He might be on a backwater planet to be studied for the rest of his life.

Not that he really cares where he is.

All he knows is that these first few days since waking up have been absolute hell.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Over and over. Louder and louder. Faster and faster.

He wants to press his hands against his head and make it burst. He can almost picture it in his mind, specifically his chip flying out and landing somewhere across the room. But after the stunt he pulled in the operation room, they've tied his arms behind his back to prevent him from harming himself or removing his chip.

So instead, he has to make do with what he has. Currently, banging his head against a wall repeatedly for hours upon hours every day does just about as good as a job. He hopes that hitting his head enough times might knock his chip loose, but he doubts it.

He would never receive such mercy.

One day, after Crosshair seems to slightly settle into his new life, Rampart comes and visits him. Crosshair was in the middle of a complete breakdown and already knew he looked insane. But did Rampart have to scrunch his nose in such disgust when they made eye contact?

After all, he made him this way.

Rampart kneels on the floor beside Crosshair. The sniper lifts his head from the wall, the bags under his eyes darker than the new armor the Empire had given him. His face is more angular than admiral remember, not that he really cares.

"I have a deal for you, Commander." He declares with a quiet, smug grin.

Commander.

Not once has Rampart referred to him by his name.

Crosshair arches his eyebrow up at him, showing he's listening and interested. He refuses to verbally say anything to this bastard. Not that he's really said much in the past few days anyway. He's spat a few times at the nurses that feed him and check his vitals, but he doesn't really consider that anything close to a conversation.

"If you tell me where Clone Force 99 has gone, then I'll have your inhibitor chip removed."

Crosshair's jaw clenches. He glares. "Clone Force 99 is dead. I killed them on Kamino." He hoarsely replies.

Rampart narrows his eyes. He was hoping a few days spent with his destroyed chip would make the clone cave faster. He doesn't really understand the science of it all, but seeing the state that the fantastic sniper is in now, he knows that it must be worse than anything an interrogation droid could do. "We're not stupid." He spits, his glare narrowing. "They're very much alive. You couldn't have escaped Kamino without help. Now do yourself a favor and tell us where they are."

After all that they've done to him, Crosshair should jump at this opportunity to save himself. He should be begging to do anything to get this chip pulled from his brain. He should tell Rampart that they're alive and promise that he'll help hunt them down.

Yet he can't do it.

He can't betray them as they did him.

Instead, he turns his head away, done with the conversation.

Rampart rises, understanding the clone's answer. If there's one thing he's admired about the blasted sniper it's that he's never spoken unless necessary. All action and no talk. He was perfect to lead the elite squad.

Without another word, Rampart turns on his heels, exiting the room.

Once the door closes yet again, Crosshair lets out a sigh.

There's no winning for him.

He will always be the galaxy's biggest loser.

He remained loyal to the Empire and they've completely destroyed his mind. But by remaining loyal to his brothers, he's been forced to live with the Empire's medical mistake for the rest of his life.

Why can't he ever have good luck? Why can't he ever make the right decisions?

Is he destined to always suffer in the end?

xxx

After accepting his fate, it seems like the voice becomes easier to manage. Rather than it being the only thing he can hear, he's able to tune it out. It's sort of like a ringing in his ear. Sure, some moments are more overwhelming and powerful. But most of the time, he can basically ignore it.

After figuring out how to basically block out the voice in his mind, Crosshair begins to get better. Upon seeing his sudden and rapid improvement, the doctors actually release him for testing. Slowly, he's introduced back to his lovely weapon and armor to see if he's still as good of a shot.

Thankfully, the malfunction in his chip hasn't affected his ability to accurately shoot. He's just as perfect as before. Not a single target missed.

But there are random times where he zones out and seems to forget everything and everyone around him. He caves to the voice, letting it wash over him with its horrible chanting. After all, the dam he builds to keep the flood back can only hold so much.

At some point, he has to let some water escape. Only, he isn't really in control of when it happens.

It could be in the middle of a meal or while he's shooting.

He just sort of freezes for a few minutes, locked in a trance. Listening to the voice repeat its damn phrase until he's able to gain control again and block it out.

Rampart refuses to take him back because of this. Crosshair loses his position as commander and is quickly demoted to a regular trooper. They take away his scuffed black armor and give him shiny white armor instead. He's sent to a planet that has no need for him.

Crosshair knows Rampart wishes that he could justify killing him.

But he would be a fool to get rid of his best sniper.

So Crosshair lives out his mindless life on a planet he's never heard of before. He follows his commander's orders and obeys the rules. Occasionally, he's pulled out to do some odd job for Rampart then returned back to his base.

The others ignore him. They know he's a clone, but they've all been told that he's gone mentally insane. They all try to avoid him like the blue shadow virus and just let him have his odd moments of staring off into the distance.

He uses this to his advantage.

When he's not actually zoned out, Crosshair likes to make them think that he is. He learns all kinds of new information regarding the Empire's plans since they think he's unaware of everything going on around him.

Occasionally, he even gets left unattended in rooms with communication devices to outside sources.

And thanks to Tech's nonstop info-dumping, Crosshair is able to make contact with others across the galaxy and the Empire has no idea.

Tonight, he sends out one request.

And he hopes the right people find it and agree to follow it.

~~~~~~~~~~~