Early the next morning, Sayuri and the Bad Batch made their way to the mess hall. The atmosphere on Kamino was heavy with tension, but the rain outside continued its relentless rhythm, a steady backdrop to the brewing storm within the halls of Tipoca City.

As they entered the mess hall, Sayuri pulled her black hood a little lower, the stark contrast of her white hair still drawing curious glances from the regular clones. A few of the regs — standard clone troopers — froze mid-bite when they saw her. Whispers spread like wildfire across the room, the tension palpable.

"Is that a Jedi?"

"Thought they were all... gone."

"What's she doing here?"

Sayuri ignored the murmurs, keeping her head high and her senses on alert. She felt the unease in the room but noted that none of the regs made any move to attack her. It surprised her. Perhaps the chips weren't as infallible as the Kaminoans claimed.

The Bad Batch stayed close, their presence a silent but strong barrier between her and the curious eyes of the other clones. Hunter led the way, scanning the room with a practiced eye, while Wrecker grinned wide, waving off the stares as if they didn't exist.

"Let 'em look," Wrecker said with a chuckle as they found a table near the corner of the mess hall. "They won't do anything."

Sayuri sat down quietly, her gaze flickering over the room. "They're confused," she murmured, her voice low. "They don't know why they're not attacking me."

Tech adjusted his datapad, sitting across from her. "It's possible the conditioning isn't perfect. We've already seen that variations exist between different squads. The Bad Batch, for example, wasn't affected by the initial Order."

Echo nodded, his gaze distant. "Fives tried to warn everyone. If only more had listened..." His voice trailed off, and a shadow crossed his features.

Crosshair sat down last, taking the seat next to Sayuri. He was quiet, his expression unreadable beneath the helmet he hadn't removed. But she felt the shift in him, the turmoil still lingering after she had helped suppress the chip's control. He was with them, but there was still a distance — a hesitation.

Sayuri placed a hand on his forearm, her touch gentle. "You're here. That's what matters."

Crosshair's gaze flickered to her hand before meeting her eyes, the faintest hint of a nod.

Hunter glanced around the room again, his sharp eyes watching the regs. "We should eat and get moving. The longer we stay, the more attention we'll attract."

Wrecker, already halfway through his plate of food, grinned. "Relax, Hunter. If anyone tries anything, they'll regret it."

Sayuri chuckled softly, her laughter like a balm to the tense air. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that." She picked up her fork, taking a small bite of food before glancing back at Echo.

"You okay?" she asked gently.

Echo met her gaze and smiled faintly. "Yeah. I'm okay. It's just... strange, being back here." He glanced down at his cybernetic arm. "This place holds a lot of memories."

Sayuri nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "We all carry those memories, Echo. But we keep moving forward. Together."

Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker shared a look, each of them silently agreeing. No matter what the future held, they would face it together — as a family.

As they ate in silence, the rain outside continued to pour, masking the distant rumble of ships arriving at Tipoca City. The war wasn't over. Far from it. But for now, they had a moment of peace.

And for Sayuri and the Bad Batch, that was enough.

SCENEBREAK

Sayuri of the Bad Batch was immersed in her training regimen, each swing of her lightsaber precise, her movements flowing like a well-rehearsed dance. The air in the training room hummed with the familiar whir and crackle of energy, accompanied by the steady rhythm of her breathing. Sweat beaded on her brow, a testament to the intensity of her focus. Her long, white braid swung behind her with each pivot and strike, an elegant contrast to the sharp, deliberate motions of her combat form.

The sudden crackle of a comm channel interrupted the serene focus she had cultivated. Hunter's voice came through, his tone stern, carrying an edge of concern. "Don't go alone," he warned.

Sayuri paused, lowering her lightsaber and breathing deeply to steady her mind. She reached up to secure her braid, the familiar motion grounding her. Her sapphire eyes, usually hidden beneath her blindfold, gleamed with quiet determination as she glanced toward the comm device.

"I will manage," she replied, her voice steady and resolute.

With a graceful turn, she left the training room, her footsteps echoing softly down the corridor. The discarded blindfold remained behind, a symbol of the clarity she carried within herself. She strode through the hallways with purpose, her mind already turning over the possibilities of what awaited her. She felt the subtle presence of the Bad Batch lingering nearby—their protective instincts never far from her awareness.

As she reached the suspect's quarters, Sayuri didn't bother with the formalities of knocking or waiting for clearance. She pushed the door open with a deliberate force, stepping inside with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen too much to be easily intimidated. Her gaze immediately locked on the figure standing at the far end of the room: Governor Tarkin.

"What are you doing here, Tarkin?" Her voice was a low, dangerous growl, each word clipped and cold.

Tarkin turned slowly, his expression as composed as ever. His sharp gaze studied her with that same calculating air that made him both respected and loathed within the Republic.

"Commander Velmont," he greeted, his tone measured. "I thought you would appreciate being informed of your next assignment."

Sayuri crossed her arms, the faint hum of her lightsaber still echoing in her mind. Her instincts screamed that this meeting was more than it appeared to be.

"I require your presence on another assignment," Tarkin continued, his tone devoid of emotion. "On Serenno."

The name struck a chord, a wave of memories washing over Sayuri. Serenno—a planet that had once been a stronghold of the Separatists, home to the fallen Count Dooku. Her hand instinctively drifted toward the hilt of her lightsaber, a silent reassurance that she was prepared for anything.

"Serenno?" she echoed, her voice laced with skepticism. "No Jedi has set foot there since Dooku's fall. What game are you playing, Tarkin?"

Tarkin's lips twitched into a faint smile, though it never reached his eyes. "This is no game, Commander Velmont. The Republic's interests require investigation. We need someone... capable."

Sayuri's jaw clenched. Her mind whirled with possibilities. Why Serenno? What remnants of Dooku's influence still lingered there? And why send her—a Jedi who had barely survived the purges—into such a volatile situation?

"And what, exactly, am I investigating?" she asked, her tone biting, her patience wearing thin.

Tarkin clasped his hands behind his back, adopting his usual posture of superiority. "A resurgence of Separatist activity. Our intelligence reports suggest that remnants of Dooku's forces have regrouped. There are whispers of a new leader rising from the ashes."

Sayuri narrowed her eyes, her fingers tightening around her lightsaber hilt. The galaxy was supposed to be at peace—or at least as close to peace as it could get after the war. But it seemed the shadows of the past refused to be extinguished.

"You have other soldiers," she pointed out. "Why send me?"

Tarkin's gaze didn't waver. "Because you are the only one who can handle what lies ahead."

Sayuri held his gaze, her mind weighing his words carefully. There was more to this mission than he was letting on—there always was with Tarkin. But despite the unease gnawing at her, she knew she couldn't turn away. Not if there was a chance to stop another war from erupting.

With a slow, measured breath, she straightened her posture and nodded once.

"Fine. But understand this, Tarkin—if you're sending me into a trap, you'll regret it."

Tarkin inclined his head slightly, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I expect nothing less, Commander Velmont."