Jedi Fugitive (The Bad Batch)

69:

A/N: I'm several chapters ahead so I thought I'd drop an extra one this week :)

Crosshair closed his eyes and leaned his head against his arms, trying and miserably failing to drift back into some sort of unconsciousness. He'd lost track of how long he'd spent in this dingy, windowless cell - he'd woken up here with no idea of how much time had passed since he'd last been awake, and with no way to tell the time, the hours had blurred together until time was completely meaningless.

How had he ended up here? He thought back once again, sifting through his memories for anything that might be helpful. The avalanche after he and Mayday discovered the stormtrooper armour, the snow seeping into every crevice of his armour and chilling him to the bone as he struggled with the other clone back to the compound, Mayday's death because of that spineless Lieutenant Nolan refusing to take action...

Remembering the death of the clone commander left a surprisingly bitter taste in his mouth. Somehow, in the short time he'd known him, Crosshair had actually grown to like Mayday, and his death had left him angry. They'd struggled for days through the snow, Crosshair supporting Mayday the entire way, hiding against the wind in whatever little crevice they could find. The constant storms had stolen whatever little bit of warmth and energy Crosshair might have managed to garner every day, but still he kept going, determined to find Mayday a medic before it was too late.

Only for him to die right in front of him because Nolan cared more about some worthless crates than getting help to a clone. It had certainly made him angry enough to shoot the lieutenant in cold blood and let him die just as Mayday had.

He couldn't remember anything past then - he must have lost consciousness and been taken into custody. Pain pulsed through his temple and he winced, his hand automatically going up to his head, a habit that had formed since the Order. No, there had been something else. The memory was more than hazy - he still must have been affected by the sickness that the storm had inflicted on him. All he could remember was the blurry outline of a woman, one who looked strangely familiar in a way he could not describe. He was sure he hadn't met her before, yet the way she spoke, the features of her face... It reminded him of something. But try as he might, he couldn't concentrate enough to recall her any clearer. She'd jabbed him with something, and he'd lost consciousness again. That was all he remembered before he'd woken up in this cell, where he'd remained for days.

"On your feet." His head jerked up at the sound of voices, the energy barrier that served as the door of his cell disengaging and two of those civilian soldiers - stormtroopers - marched in, a pair of stuncuffs already in hand. He got up, holding out his hands without a word. After observing how other prisoners were treated when they talked back or resisted, he'd learned long ago to keep his mouth shut. There wasn't anything he wanted to say to them anyway.

The cuffs were snapped on his wrists and the stormtrooper shoved him forward with the butt of his gun. "Move out." He fought the urge to scowl - these stormtroopers had much less self control than the regs had, and they were more liable to brutalise him if he so much as breathed in their direction wrong.

Crosshair glanced into the adjoining cells as they passed, his steps slowing involuntarily as he realised that they were all, in fact, clones. He'd seen prisoners being brought in regularly, but he'd never cared to notice who they were. Now that he had, all he could see was face after face he'd stared into for more than a decade, copied millions of times into those he'd always called regs.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway was a mistake; the TK trooper behind him slammed the butt of his gun into his shoulder again, forcing him to keep moving forward. This time he didn't bother to hide the snarl as he turned on them, his hands starting to rise as if to strike them. Their guns clicked in response, both troopers whipping up their barrels to poke into his chest again, and Crosshair lowered his arms almost immediately. If he was going to die, it wasn't going to be in some terrible attempt to hurt a couple of civilians.