he low, steady hum of the Marauder thrummed through the cabin, a constant, comforting rhythm against the unnerving silence that hung between the crew. Outside, hyperspace stretched endlessly—a blur of light and stars—but inside, the ship felt smaller, weighed down by the unspoken tension curling through the air like smoke.

Wrecker sat near the bulkhead, his broad shoulders slumped beneath the invisible weight pressing on him. He winced as another sharp jolt of pain lanced through his skull, a phantom reminder of the inhibitor chip lodged deep inside. His massive hand hovered near his head, as if trying to push the ache away.

Sereandre knelt beside him, her touch a quiet anchor against the storm brewing inside his mind. Her fingertips traced slow, deliberate circles over the knots of tension in his shoulder—a wordless gesture of comfort. Her presence radiated calm, a silent promise that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Honestly... I don't know about this plan," Wrecker muttered, his voice rough with uncertainty. The usual booming confidence was gone, replaced by something fragile, something that made him feel smaller than his towering frame suggested.

Hunter, passing by on his way to the cockpit, shot him a glance—steady, firm, but not without empathy. "We've agreed to meet Rex on Bracca," he reminded, voice low but resolute. "It's our best shot."

Wrecker let out a breath, though it sounded more like a growl of frustration. His fingers tapped anxiously against the side of the seat. "Yeah, sure," he mumbled. "But Rex wants to cut open my head."

Tech's voice chimed in from across the cabin, where he was tinkering with his ever-present chip scanner. "Correction," Tech said, not looking up from his work. "We're all going under the knife. Every one of us."

Omega perched next to him, her wide, curious eyes following his movements as he adjusted the device with meticulous care. "Not me," she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade of clarity. She tilted her head, glancing between the crew. "I don't have an inhibitor chip."

Her gaze shifted to Sereandre, studying her with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You don't have one either... right?" There was something unspoken in the question—something almost hopeful, as if she wanted reassurance that someone else among them was free from the weight of the chips.

Sereandre met Omega's gaze with a soft, steady smile. "No," she said simply, her tone unwavering. "I don't."

It was a quiet truth that set her apart from the others—a reminder that she wasn't born into their shared tragedy. Yet the bond she had forged with them ran deeper than blood or programming. She stood with them. She chose them.

For a moment, the hum of the ship filled the silence again, but the tension had softened, the cracks in their defenses letting something more human shine through. Omega's gaze lingered on Sereandre a little longer before she gave a small, satisfied nod.

Wrecker sighed, leaning back against the wall. "Still don't like it," he grumbled, though his voice had lost some of its edge. "But I guess there ain't much choice."

Hunter's voice echoed from the cockpit. "There never is."

Tech gave his scanner a final adjustment, snapping the cover shut with a quiet click. "The alternative is far worse," he added matter-of-factly. "The chip is a ticking time bomb. Better we deal with it now."

Omega watched him with thoughtful eyes. "What about Crosshair?" she asked softly.

The name hung in the air like a ghost, casting a shadow over the cabin. The unspoken loss of their brother weighed heavily on all of them—a reminder of what the chips could take from them. Of what they already had.

Sereandre's gaze flickered toward Wrecker again. She placed a hand over his, grounding him in the present. "We'll handle this," she said gently, her voice firm but compassionate. "One step at a time."

Wrecker glanced at her, and for the first time that day, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he rumbled. "Guess we will."

The Marauder continued its journey through hyperspace, the stars streaking by in endless ribbons of light. In the cramped, metal confines of the ship, there was no escaping the weight of what lay ahead.

But in that fleeting moment, amidst the uncertainty and fear, there was something stronger—something unspoken, yet deeply understood.

They weren't just fighting to survive anymore.

They were fighting to stay free. To stay themselves.

And whatever waited for them on Bracca? They'd face it together.

SCENEBREAK

The Marauder pierced through the dense, storm-laden skies of Bracca, its hull groaning as the ship cut through swirling clouds heavy with industrial rain. Below stretched a graveyard of forgotten wars—twisted hulks of star destroyers and shattered starfighters, their rusted frames half-submerged in pools of murky water. Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating the wreckage in brief, haunting flashes.

At the console, Echo's focus never wavered. His cybernetic hand adjusted the controls with precision as a faint signal blinked to life on the scanner.

"I've got him," Echo announced, his voice steady. "Rex's beacon is coming from the north sector. Looks like an old hangar."

Hunter gave a curt nod, his gaze narrowing as he studied the decaying landscape below. "Let's get this over with."

The Marauder swooped lower, skimming over the skeletal remains of starships until it found a clearing near a battered hangar. With a hiss of hydraulics, the landing gear deployed, and the ship touched down on the slick, metal ground.

As the ramp lowered, the Batch filed out, their boots splashing through shallow puddles. The air was thick with the stench of rust and oil, mingled with the distant rumble of thunder.

Waiting beside a weathered Y-wing, Captain Rex stood with his arms crossed, rainwater streaking down his armor. His helmet was tucked under one arm, revealing a face etched with experience—familiar yet aged by the burden of survival. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of the Batch.

"Glad you made it," Rex greeted, his voice carrying both warmth and urgency. There was no time for pleasantries.

Wrecker grunted as he scanned the junkyard around them, his discomfort evident. "This place is a dump," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "How's a junk planet supposed to help us?"

Rex's expression remained calm. "You'll see. Bracca has its uses."

Without further explanation, he turned and gestured for them to follow. The Batch fell into step, their movements cautious, weapons at the ready. The sprawling graveyard seemed to stretch endlessly, each pile of debris holding secrets long forgotten—or dangers yet to be uncovered.

Before they ventured too far, Rex hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Sereandre. His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern breaking through his composed demeanor.

"You should be careful out here, too," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Bracca's not exactly welcoming. And not just because of the environment."

Sereandre met his gaze with a soft smile, brushing her fingers over the edge of his shoulder plate in a gesture of reassurance. "You worry too much," she teased gently, though there was warmth in her tone. "I've handled worse than a few rogue clones."

Rex's lips twitched into a faint smirk, but the weight of his concern remained. "Still. This mission isn't without risk."

Before Sereandre could respond, Hunter stepped in, his tone pragmatic but laced with quiet respect. "We don't want to risk you getting hurt," he said, his gaze steady as it met hers. "Why don't you stay with the ship? If things go sideways, we'll need someone ready to get us out."

Tech nodded in agreement, already calculating contingencies. "The Marauder is more valuable if it's operational. A swift exit could be necessary."

Sereandre tilted her head, considering their words. She understood their caution—it wasn't about doubting her abilities. It was about trust, about the bonds they'd forged through battles and hardship.

"All right," she agreed at last, her voice carrying a note of understanding. "I'll keep the ship ready. But don't think I won't step in if you need me."

Hunter's mouth quirked into a rare smile. "We wouldn't expect anything less."

With a final glance exchanged, Rex and the Batch pressed on, disappearing into the maze of wreckage and shadows. Their silhouettes were swallowed by the labyrinth of Bracca, each step taking them closer to danger—and the answers they sought.

Left behind, Sereandre lingered by the Marauder's ramp, her keen eyes scanning the horizon. The wind tugged at her cloak, and she pulled it tighter around her shoulders as the rain continued to fall. She stood in quiet vigilance, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the atmosphere.

Bracca was a graveyard, yes—but Sereandre knew better than to assume the dead stayed buried.

With a slow, deliberate breath, she turned and climbed back into the ship. The Marauder's systems hummed beneath her fingertips as she checked the controls, ensuring everything was ready for a swift departure if needed.

But her thoughts lingered on the Batch. On Wrecker's headaches. On Rex's warnings.

And on the storm that loomed ahead—both on the horizon and within each of them.

This mission wasn't just about survival. It was about reclaiming their freedom. Their choices. Their very identities.

And Sereandre would be ready for whatever came next.

SCENEBREAK

Time seemed to stretch interminably for Sereandre as she sat aboard the Marauder, the hum of the ship's systems the only sound in the stillness. The minutes passed like hours, each one heavier than the last, as her mind drifted between thoughts, the quiet solitude giving her too much space to think. Her hands rested idly on the controls, but her body remained on high alert, ever ready for what might come.

The silence was shattered abruptly by the unmistakable sound of the ship's hatch sliding open—low and metallic, followed by the echo of boots striking the floor. Her senses sharpened instantly, every muscle tensing as she turned toward the door, her posture straightening with practiced readiness.

Two clone troopers appeared in the entrance, their helmets gleaming under the dim light, their expressions set with grim purpose. The one at the front, a tall figure with deep-set eyes, raised his weapon and barked an order. "Hold still!"

Before he could react, he pulled the trigger, sending a stun blast sizzling through the air toward her. But Sereandre had long ago perfected the art of reacting before thinking. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she redirected the arc of electrical energy, sending it wildly off course. The blast ricocheted off the side of the ship and hit the second trooper square in the chest.

The clone dropped to the floor, twitching in surprise, his stun weapon falling from his hand as he crumpled against the cold metal floor.

The remaining trooper, stunned for a heartbeat, took a cautious step back. His eyes widened as he recognized her. "Y-you're the Sereandre Hunter!" The words came out in a rush, disbelief and recognition flashing across his face.

Sereandre allowed a small smirk to pull at the corner of her lips, the confidence she exuded making her presence all the more formidable. "That's me, alright." Her voice was steady, almost disinterested, as she took a slow step forward, towering over him. "Now, be a cute little cloner and get the hell away from here."

The words were calm, but they carried an unmistakable command, an authority that didn't leave room for protest. Her eyes locked onto his, daring him to disobey.

The trooper hesitated for a brief moment, his fingers twitching toward his weapon as if considering his next move. But Sereandre's unwavering gaze, the sharpness in her expression, broke his resolve. He stammered, then turned on his heel, fleeing the ship with a hurried shout, his boots clattering against the hangar floor as he bolted.

She watched him go, satisfaction flickering in her chest. It wasn't the first time she'd had to put a clone in his place—and likely wouldn't be the last.

As the hangar door slid closed, silence settled once more, this time with a deeper tension. Sereandre's muscles remained coiled, her senses still heightened. The boredom she'd felt moments before had vanished, replaced by a sharp awareness, every sound, every shift in the air now commanding her full attention.

But even as she prepared to settle into her post, a small figure in the shadows caught her eye. She didn't know it yet, but unseen eyes had been watching her the whole time.

Behind the labyrinth of rusted starships and debris, a Scrapper Guild scout observed her, a wiry figure with a cloak of grime and grit blending into the surroundings. He had been hidden just out of sight, his movements practiced and silent. His keen eyes took in every detail—the flash of her movements, the calm confidence in her gaze, the way she handled the trooper with ease.

He took a deep breath and turned to his companion, his voice a low grumble of urgency. "We better tell the Empire," he muttered, recognizing both the threat and the opportunity in what they had witnessed.

His companion, equally stealthy and sharp-eyed, gave a brief nod. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the wreckage around them. "If they're here, the Empire's gonna want to know. Could be a big payoff."

With efficient movements, the two scouts slipped deeper into the debris-strewn landscape, their feet silent on the slick metal. Information was the most valuable currency on Bracca, and they knew that the Empire would pay dearly for it. A group like Sereandre's could be a complication—or a golden opportunity.

Meanwhile, Sereandre remained oblivious, her mind focused on the next step of their mission. She stayed near the Marauder, her senses alert to any other disturbances. The threat from the troopers had been dealt with quickly, but she knew better than to think that would be the last of their problems.

She checked the ship's systems once more, ensuring all was in order. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she stared out into the wasteland of wreckage stretching before her. This was Bracca, a place of ruins, of hidden dangers. It was a far cry from the familiar hum of battle, but that didn't mean she was unprepared.

No, she wasn't just waiting. She was watching, ready for anything.

What she didn't know was that a new threat was already beginning to stir just beyond the horizon—one that could soon turn this already precarious mission into something far more dangerous than any of them anticipated.