Chapter Text
Crosshair was due to be executed and there was nothing Hunter could do to stop it.
Crosshair wasn’t even supposed to be here. They’d lost track of him after Kamino’s destruction and Hunter had assumed his brother might finally have accepted their choice to leave despite his own decision to stay. But no, they’d run straight into him and a small team of troopers just as they were escaping from the city guard itself and the resulting firefight had distracted them away from the reinforcements that had suddenly shown.
They’d fought to get out, they’d fought hard, and Tech was almost there to extract them when the Marauder had taken a direct hit from another ship ramming into it and both ships had spun away, trailing smoke and debris and the comms crackling with alarm and then-
Hunter closed his eyes.
-and then it was all hazy. Images and flashes of memory served nothing more than to tease him with snippets of information, the agony of the blow to his head destroying it even further until it was more an annoyance than comfort. All he knew was he and Echo had been captured and Crosshair was the only survivor out of his Imperial squad.
Oh, and that their captors hated the Empire even more than they hated thieving mercenaries, illustrated by the large vibro-blade held to a kneeling Crosshair’s throat so closely he could shave if he so much as twitched.
Thank kriff he’d insisted that Omega stay with Cid for this one.
“Sit down,” An impatient hand landed on Hunter’s shoulder and shoved him lower on his knees again, the blaster to his own head less of a concern than the killing knife at Crosshair’s.
Crosshair hadn’t moved or spoken since they’d been dragged in front of the crime leader, his jaw tense and his eyes steady on the armoured man in front of him. Not once had Crosshair looked round at them nor displayed any real signs of nervousness, but Hunter could read him like a book and Hunter really, really didn’t like this chapter.
The leader of the group was a heavy set man with a permanently furrowed brow and hands almost as large as Wrecker’s, currently eyeing Crosshair in front of him with a calculating look that Hunter knew he didn’t like.
“This is the one leading the scouting party for the Empire?”
“Yes, boss,”
“And the rest from his group?”
The heavy set brawler grinned an unpleasant grin, showing a range of broken teeth mottled with both age and damage.
“Don’t have to worry on them, boss,” the grin widened. “They won’t be bothering anyone no more,”
“Good,”
Hunter raised his head defiantly as the leader turned his attention in their direction, his hands curling into fists behind his back in his restraints. Dark eyes surveyed him with the slow indifference of one who knew he held all the cards and that was never comforting.
“And these two are the ones trying to steal the data from Nerlian Centre?” a small look of suspicion toward the guard. “It seems a small party.”
“The others were on board a ship. Emphasis on the ‘were’.”
Hunter didn’t want to think about that. The ship was damaged but Tech was the pilot and no one was better at finding an unusual exit than Tech when the mechanics failed and the proximity alarm screamed at them. He told himself he had no doubt that his brothers found a way out, but his worried heart beat a little faster and his fists clenched a little harder in their prison. His distress was noted, a small huff of amusement as the leader returned to him again.
“Personal team, was it?” The voice was deceptively sympathetic. “Think of it this way. You might have lost men but at least your personal profit margins have gone up for you and your…,” a small confused look at Echo. “.. whatever the hell you’re supposed to be.”
Silence from both of them and Hunter decided he wasn’t going to think about the ship at all. They’d get out of this, get out of this damned place and find their brothers, but there was nothing he could possibly do at this stage to help. Nothing. And yet it didn’t matter how often he told himself that, the need to do something had caused a prickling pins and needles sensation to set up home in his chest and he so badly wanted to move it was physically painful.
For now he had to get through this kriffing interrogation.
“But you’re not Empire,”
Still sullen silence from Hunter. The leader rolled his eyes.
“I’d recommend talking for this part. No answer means I conclude otherwise and you join him,” the smallest of gestures toward Crosshair. “on a very quick ticket to whichever afterlife you boys subscribe to,”
“No.” Hunter said finally, through gritted teeth. “We’re not Empire. But neither is he,”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Crosshair stiffen very, very slightly, and he could almost feel the small amount of bitterly cold rage aimed at him. But he didn’t care. If identification as Imperial was the main reason for Crosshair’s execution then Hunter could damned well pretend otherwise.
Of course the lie had to be believed first, and they had a long way to go to be convincing based on the expression on the leader’s face. Said leader ran his tongue over his bottom lip lazily as he studied them again with the detached manner of a scientist curiously probing a specimen.
“Friends, are we?”
“No.” Crosshair spoke finally, coolly.
“Apparently conflicted. How sweet.” The leader looked from Hunter to Crosshair and back again with boredom entering into his eyes, and Hunter could already feel the chance of talking him out of his execution plan slipping away. They were being toyed with, he could already feel it, and that feeling wasn’t helped when the leader looked idly toward the guard again. “You’re certain the others on the ship didn’t make it?”
“Be amazed if they did. We found the remains of their ship. Ain’t enough pieces to even see the make of the damned thing. Looks like it disintegrated on impact,”
Something cold dripped through Hunter’s body and settled in his belly. Wasn’t them. They always had routes out, exits, plans, smart ideas, there was no possible way it was them-
“Are you sure it was theirs?” It was like the leader was reading his mind, the voice was still bored and low as though a man working his way through a standard process before dinner.
“Yes, boss. The coil signatures show an offworld ship and matches the pattern,”
It wasn’t them. It wasn’t them. It wasn’t them. Body rigid, eyes staring directly ahead as though ignoring the whole damned conversation might be some way to stop things from occurring, Hunter stared sightlessly at a carving on the hard wooden chair in front of him as he pretended everything didn’t matter as his fists curled so tightly that his nails dug painfully into the palm of his hands in the hope that the tiny blast of pain might distract his mind.
It didn’t.
“Bodies?”
“Nah, boss. The fire’s still burning but there ain’t anything left.” the guard said. “They ain’t surviving that,”
Hunter was staring hard enough at the carving that his vision began to turn darker at the edges. His brothers weren’t just anyone. They’d have got out even if it was the Marauder. The whole thing was messy and chaotic, simple wreckage didn’t mean a thing and they’d all escaped things that had blown up immediately after. Didn’t mean anything. No bodies, no proof.
A soft grunt followed by a wave of the hand to dismiss the conversation before the leader turned back to Hunter again.
“I would ask what you were after but truth is I don’t really care,” a small critical look at him dismissively before turning back to the guard. “Kill the one associated with the Empire, we’ll decide what to do with the other two afterward,”
“Wait, no-,” Hunter pushed himself up, not knowing what he was going to do but knowing he had to do something as the knife moved and two guards rushed in to keep him back and Crosshair snarled when suddenly a clipped, furious voice sounded in the chaos of the room.
“You’re all a bunch of kriffing idiots,”
For a moment there was silence in the face of such anger. Even the leader looked uncertain, the look of one who had just encountered a chair tap dancing its way across the floor and out the door. Holding one hand up to stop the guards from moving, he focused on the source of the anger curiously. Hunter felt himself be slowly placed back on the ground as the guard’s grip on him struggled with gravity, a blaster pressing into the side of his head instead to remind him to behave.
Echo lifted his head to fix the leader with a look that spoke of sheer bloody rage and no one, not the guards, not Hunter, knew what the hell to do with that.
“You dare speak to the boss like that-,” A jagged knife was drawn as one of the guards stepped forward but the leader waved it down as he turned his full attention to Echo. Entertained, an eyebrow twitched upward as the boredom finally lifted for a moment..
“No, no, I’m always intrigued by novel approaches to beg for release,” the leader purred. “So go ahead, whatever the hell you are. Amuse me,”
The voice was soft and dangerous and the guards circled in the background but Echo’s fury was having none of it and Hunter was wondering desperately how the kriff he was going to protect him when Echo spoke up again.
“Gladly. I can’t believe this insanity! Everything we’ve heard of you states your significant economic influence and yet you’re about to let one of the largest sources of profit slip through your fingers!” Echo stared at him. “Is this some type of joke?!”
Well, if they weren’t dead before they were certainly dead now. Hunter’s gaze instinctively counted the exits again before scanning where the guards were and which weapons they carried, his heart rate slowly increasing as he readied himself to fight.
Echo, at least, had managed to provide a suitable diversion. Confused eyes studied him further for a moment before a soft sigh and a small regretful shake of the head as though Echo had failed at the first hurdle.
“I don’t do ransoms,” the leader said, raising his finger again in preparation to give the order to strike. “It’s a distraction and rarely works the way it’s supposed to. If that is it, then-,”
“Not ransoms,” Echo countered fiercely. “They’re modified clones. Do you know what goes into their creation? One single clone is 30 thousand credits to produce and train to fighting age, and I know you’ve seen how well they fight. I hear Trandoshans will pay handsomely for a clone who has war experience, and these are the most successful clones the base has ever produced. And you’re about to kill them?”
The finger paused, curious. “Modified for what, exactly?”
The look on Echo’s face was one of obvious disdain and Hunter gathered himself to spring again but to his amazement there was another soft huff of amusement and the leader rolled his eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know it’s for fighting. What is special about these ones in particular then, my little pedantic half droid.”
Echo’s gaze swept the room before it settled on a small fruit sitting on one of the counters.
“Pass me that,” he turned to the guard. “Please.”
The room looked toward the leader again who hadn’t bothered turning his head to look at the thing Echo was pointing at. Hunter didn’t like that look. That was the hunger look of a bored feline that was ready to torture something for its amusement, and he felt the sickening realisation that Echo’s ploy had almost certainly worked because a simple murder was too quick for enjoyment.
“If you’re scared they might suddenly disarm you all using a Karola fruit,” Echo said softly. “Then I don’t think we need to demonstrate anything.”
Still silence as the leader considered whether the hassle was worth the entertainment. The knife was back at Crosshair’s throat again, a hand tight in the neck of his blacks to keep him still. Hunter’s gaze finally met the sniper’s, a brief, frosty acknowledgement before Crosshair’s lips tightened and he looked away again with only the whites of his knuckles showing his tension.
“Release his hands,” Echo nodded toward Crosshair. “And we can demonstrate what we can do,”
“Is that a joke or an insult to my intelligence?” the leader replied softly. “And are you really still maintaining you’re not Imperial since you seem to know its squad leader so very well?”
The sound of several blasters readying to fire was noticeable, and Hunter found the tip of the blaster aimed at his own head suddenly shoved harder into his skull as though trying to imprint into his skin.
The urge to ask Echo what the kriff he was doing had never been greater but all that would do was ruin whatever the man had going. Hunter bit down the desire and kept his gaze steady, readying himself even further to strike but putting his faith in his brother.
Echo himself still seemed to be riding the wave of anger, fire in his eyes and the smallest scrunch at the top of his nose he always did whenever he was annoyed.
“I know him because he’s a clone too, and unless your army is so poor they can’t handle an unarmed man I’ll take your reluctance to mean you believe he’s extremely dangerous?”
The leader rubbed his lower lip with his finger for a moment before carelessly waving an instruction to release him. Several blasters followed Echo’s movements as he crossed to a still wary Crosshair and carefully handed him the round fruit. Crosshair looked at it for a moment, then at Echo, and then sighed irritably as he tossed it in his hand briefly to assess the weight and form.
“Target,” Crosshair’s voice was rough around the edges, a statement how hard he’d been dragged by the throat. The flat, bored tone was the statement on how much he was prepared to let it affect him, and Hunter felt a small blast of pride about that.
Echo took a step forward to assess the room.
“The trash can over there,” he made the smallest of nods in its direction but Crosshair’s sharp eyes had already spotted it.
“Mm,” Crosshair tossed the fruit in his hand again.
“Be sensible,”
The smallest of amused flickers in the corner of Crosshair’s mouth in answer. The leader folded his arms, and Hunter calculated how far away the nearest blaster was to him. Crosshair tossed the fruit again casually.
The room waited. And waited.
“So is he actually going to do-,”
It was a fruit. It had always been a fruit, and always would be a fruit until it either decayed or digested, a firm peach-like thing the size of a palm with a central stone and a sickly sweet scent. Until suddenly the fruit slammed off an angle of wall, back through the guards, bounced off the shoulder armour of one of the bodyguards, skittered across a couple of surfaces, plummeted a bottle to the floor before said fruit circling the trash can rim and then slowly, gently, delicately, falling into it with a neat thud of landing.
“Sharpshooter,” Echo said as the trash can slowly stopped rattling. “Anything’s a weapon if you throw it hard enough,”
“Are we supposed to clap?” the leader queried drily but his eyes rested on Crosshair thoughtfully and the sniper lifted his head defiantly under the scrutiny. Dark eyes moved to Hunter. “And that one? What does he do?”
“Enhanced senses,” Echo retorted just as furiously and Hunter was briefly reminded how Rex charged into attack, all fire and determination once an initial decision to strike was made. “Want to try? Get your best fighter and put Hunter in a blindfold and see how he does, hand to hand.”
It was surreal to be sold by his own brother, although Hunter guessed it was probably Echo’s turn. The predatory gaze turned his way and Hunter felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at that slow, careful deliberation of how valuable he might be to them.
“He did take down three by himself, no weapons,” one of the guards said doubtfully, and Hunter smiled grimly in response. That he did, although he couldn’t say it was one of his more pleasurable fights. There was a certain point in a battle where it could go either way and they’d been doing this long enough to know when they were genuinely fighting for their lives and the lives of their brothers. Still, here and now he could pretend everything had been fine.
“Mm,” a thoughtful grunt. “However, there is no point in having fighters if they do not fight for you.”
Echo laughed, actually laughed, and perhaps he’d had a knock to the head after all. Hunter shared the smallest of glances with Crosshair, but Echo wasn’t done.
“ Are you saying you can’t get two men to do what you want? I thought you ran this whole damned quadrant?”
Hunter instinctively mapped out in his head the almost hopeless fight that was almost certainly coming, from the way he’d kick the guard and push away the blaster to the twist from the almost certain shots from the guards surrounding them to grabbing hold of the weapon and hoping none of them had the ability to hold a shot and-
The silence was broken by a soft laugh and a wagging finger.
“You. Now, I like you,”
He .. did? A statement that felt impossible to trust and yet the blasters failed to fire and the leader’s body language remained cosy and Echo was still alive and so, incredibly, was Crosshair, and Hunter released his breath slowly.
Echo was still feeling in a suicidal mood.
“The feeling is not mutual,” he said irritably. “Sell them. And if you really want to have an unbeatable force, sell them as a pair and then see how they work together.”
Silence returned. It wasn’t a comfortable silence either but the type that felt electrically charged, an invisible shout in the stillness every instinct in Hunter’s body was screaming against. He had to get them both out, Echo and Crosshair, and it didn’t matter which side Crosshair was on, only that he was not going to die in this damned place on a threadbare rug and as a commercial consideration.
The stare between Echo and the leader hadn’t broken and Hunter shifted his feet to give himself the best possible advantage in his attack. And then, finally-
“There’s a fight auction tomorrow,” the leader said. “We’ll see how they do.”
Echo tilted his head slightly, gaze still steady. From the looks around the room, the decision was just as much of a surprise to the guards as it had been to them. One edged a little closer, clearing his throat apologetically.
“Sir, is this -,”
“Think very wisely about your next word,” The leader didn’t even bother to look at him and the guard bobbed his head nervously.
“Yes, sir.”
“And I’ll need to think about what to do with you, my little half droid,” the leader murmured. “You could sell for a pretty penny yourself,”
“You won’t separate us if you’re sensible,” Echo replied steadily. “I’m your guarantee they’ll behave themselves with a new owner.”
“Telling me what to do with my own property now, are you?” the leader mused. “You’ve got this worked out, haven’t you?”
A tired, sad smile lifted on Echo’s face.
“Well,” he drawled. “someone had to.”
*
The sounds and movements surrounded them in the dark. Hunter braced himself against the wall as the cage shuddered and moved again, his mind calculating their next best move. Easier said than done. Their armour had been stripped, their weapons taken long before that. Small injuries littered their bodies from the whips their captors seemed delighted in using and now they were headed for kriff-knew-where in a crate on some type of transport.
They being him and Crosshair. Echo had already been separated from them and Hunter’s arm still ached from the burn where he’d tried to stop it and the electro-whip had driven them apart. Hunter forced himself to focus on the here and now rather than the image of Echo’s worried, angry eyes staring back at him silently before he was dragged off. He couldn’t help anyone if he was dead and yet the fear was so damned strong it almost choked him.
There was a chance he might have lost Tech and Wrecker. He couldn’t lose Echo too. Not now. Not like this.
“Sit down,” Crosshair snapped as Hunter paced in front of the door and almost went flying as their crate hit something else. Hunter didn’t bother to answer. If it hadn’t been for Crosshair they’d not be in the damned situation. It had been Crosshair’s unit who had drawn the bigger guns to them, Crosshair’s damned mission that had thrown out all their contingencies, Crosshair’s presence that had meant they’d all been kriffing captured.
Just because he didn’t want him killed didn’t mean he was planning to forgive him.
The silence dragged on for a long, long time, interspaced by creaks and groans and vibrations and muffled shouts and a strange intermittent musky smell that suggested other creatures nearby. An auction house, Hunter guessed, not that he’d ever been to one.
“When the doors open,” Hunter said softly, not bothering to look at Crosshair. “We strike.”
Silence again before a soft chuckle filled the air. Hunter gritted his teeth, glared at the door for a moment and then looked back at his brother still sitting against the wall of the crate. The darkness of the crate wasn’t enough to stop him seeing the amused but hard expression on Crosshair’s face, just as he knew Crosshair’s keen eyesight would see his own.
“What?” he snapped back.
“If you think you’re still in charge,” Crosshair drawled. “You’re more of an idiot than I thought,”
Hunter’s hands clenched into fists. “You got a better idea?”
“Better than charging weaponless into a situation we don’t know with multiple guards expecting our rebellion?” Crosshair replied drily. “Yes. I’m sure I do. In fact, that womp rat over there probably does as well. Think, Hunter.”
Oh, he was thinking and most of those thoughts were neither polite nor peaceful.
“You realise what they’re planning to do with us? Arena fighters. Slaves that fight to the death for people’s amusement and those types of slaves are guarded to hell and back because they’re trained and dangerous and have nothing else to lose. We might not have anything but I’ll use my damned teeth to break us out if I need to,” Hunter glared at him. “We’ll only have a short gap between this cage and the next, so let’s make the kriffing most of it,”
Crosshair stared at him for a moment thoughtfully, and Hunter didn’t like that look. Quite frankly Crosshair could go back to the mocking, dismissive expression rather than the thoughtful one that was being aimed at him now, and Hunter flushed in annoyance and discomfort.
“What?” Hunter demanded.
“You’re scared.”
His teeth gritted together as every single emotion joined together to agree that his current view was ‘furious’. He stamped down on the initial childish response that popped into his head, knowing that the ‘kriff off’ retort of their childhood would simply confirm Crosshair’s assessment was correct no matter how much aggression he put in the words. Then again, he was never going to look good in Crosshair’s eyes, no matter how he answered.
Hunter took a deeper breath and told himself to calm. The desire to snarl and physical retaliate was high but it didn’t take a genius to know his brother would only be a scapegoat for his fury. Didn’t make it any easier, of course.
“We need out of here,” he said gruffly. “and we need it fast.”
“Is that a yes?” Crosshair purred.
He wanted to shout no. His pride demanded it. They’d been clone force 99, specialists, their success rate was off the scale and he was their leader. He couldn’t let them down.
Hunter stared at the steady and faintly curious look Crosshair was giving him and released a breath slowly. He could start a fight easily enough but he already had enough enemies.
“Two of our brothers are missing,” he said, a low voice as steady as he could make it. “They claim our ship is destroyed. They’ve taken our other brother to do kriff knows what with. We’re stuck without weapons, armour or boots, being transported far away from wherever we started with in a crate that’s barely big enough to stand while we wait to be sold to fight in arenas designed for blood. We need to find the others but it’s going to be hard just freeing ourselves. So yes, fine, I’m scared. I’m kriffing human.”
The admission felt wrong in his mouth, straining against years of conditioning never to admit it, but it had never come to this before. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and knew his hands were clenched into fists, ready for the mocking response that Hunter’s fears were clearly why everyone was either dead or captured. That this whole damned thing was yet another consequence of Hunter’s decisions.
That it was his fault.
Worse, he wasn’t even sure it wasn’t.
Crosshair merely stared at him as though seeing a new creature for the first time.
“Mm,” he said.
Well, it wasn’t a criticism and it wasn’t the argument Hunter was expecting, and the fury he’d expected to unleash hesitated on his tongue. The floor, however, had a different viewpoint on how the conversation was going to go as there was another clank and a vibration shot through the crate as it landed on the floor. It was only due to quick reflexes that Hunter didn’t find himself flung into Crosshair, grabbing onto whatever he could to save his balance.
And then, finally, the vibrations died down.
“Right,” Hunter murmured, his eyes fixed on the door. “Get ready,”
The instruction hadn’t needed to be said but there was a strange form of relief in doing so, as though whatever they ended up doing related to some type of plan. The doors shuddered and slowly opened, sending a beam of light slicing into their darkness, and Hunter’s vision took a moment to readjust before realising exactly how many blasters were currently aimed at them.
A lot, was the answer, far too many to fight off.
“Mm,” said Crosshair again, but he’d pushed himself up and was standing by Hunter’s side just as he used to do and despite everything Hunter felt the faintest glimmer of being comforted.
Not that this lasted. They were dragged out, their bare feet kicking up the dust and sand of the floor as Hunter surveyed the surroundings. Too many guards, several open cages, the sounds of cries and screams merging into the larger background murmur as though it was nothing more than day to day chatter.
A man with a badge and a clipboard stepped forward, staring at their faces briefly before writing a note.
“Well, at least the tattoos make them easier to identify,” he commented to one of the people at the back. “Get them marked up and set to unit 8. They’re going as a pair?”
“Or best offer,” Another man beside him, clearly bored with his role. “They’re raw.”
“Mm. Perhaps unit 5 then.” Another small scratch on the clipboard and Hunter stiffened as the man strolled around them. “No obvious injuries, some minor bruising, generally good health. Clones?”
“By the look of the clothing,” there was a frown. “Don’t look like any clone I’ve ever seen,”
“Well, perhaps they wanted to spice things up. Can’t say I blame them. Same face day in, day out, has to be a little taxing,” Another few scratches on the board before he strolled around them. “And anyway-,”
Hunter didn’t know what ‘anyway’ was going to lead to, nor even what happened next. There was a movement and then suddenly Crosshair had turned, grabbing hold of the man’s arm and twisting it violently behind his back as the sniper snarled his outrage toward the blasters immediately aimed in his direction. Fuck. Fuck. And he couldn’t have given any damned warning? Hunter intercepted a blow aimed at Crosshair, ducking under the arm and landing a heavy punch to the man’s jaw that sent him tumbling to the ground only to look up to find no less than five blasters trained at him.
They weren’t going to win this. Hunter growled but held his ground, scanning the impassive faces in front of him and then, slowly, looking up toward the overhanging footbridge where two others were aiming at them with the patient air of untouchables. No surprise, no emotion, as though this happened every damned day and worse, that was probably right.
Clipboard man was panting in Crosshair’s grip, the one small bargaining chip they possessed, and Hunter narrowed his eyes.
“Get out of our way or we snap his neck,” He had no idea whether that was an empty threat or not, and Hunter hoped that was the same for their guards. Not that the response was the best he could have hoped for. Clipboard man was still panting behind him, soft and fast and worried as he hung in Crosshair’s grip, but Hunter could also feel the vibrations of footsteps running in their direction and the last damned thing they needed were more people to fight when the only exit appeared to be through a heavily locked cage gate.
As a strategy, the whole damned thing needed work.
“What’s going on?” A bitter, slightly hissed voice, and a Trandoshan stepped into view.
“New slaves, sir. They’ve taken a hostage,”
“Have they?” The creature studied them for a moment and Hunter’s heart sank at the sheer indifference on his face. “New fighters, I assume,”
“Yes sir,”
“Good. If they’re this feisty here then they’ll sell well.” There was a nod and the supervisor turned as though to go. There was a worried shuffle from the surrounding guards and a small cough.
“Uh, sir, what would you like us-,”
“Do I care? They can either kill him or not. If they do, mark it toward their verified kill records.” A small wave of the clawed hand. “Avoid stunning them unless you really need to, it normally takes them a while to recover and bruises look better than confusion in the sales arena. Find another slave to replace D-312 if he’s dead.”
A pause, and then a critical look back before he started to walk again. “And a few lashes to the silver haired one once they’re back under control.”
And none of that was what Hunter wanted to hear. He scanned the blasters aimed at them, noted the heavier guards armed with batons approaching them, assessed the snipers on the railings above them and then, finally, carefully, back at Crosshair. The sniper’s eyes narrowed as he ran through options in his mind before he finally spat on the ground and moved back, shoving Clipboard - D-312 - stumbling into the dirt.
“Keep your kriffing hands to yourself,” Crosshair snarled at the gasping man, then raised his chin defiantly as blasters turned back to them. Clipboard shakily pushed himself back to his feet, gave them a nervous look and then, coughing, tried to find his page as he took a few steps backward.
“I .. yes.. Well… they need to go .. Unit… uh… ,”
“Five,” A small smirk from one of the guards at Clipboard. “Lost your fondness for clones, have we?”
Clipboard flushed and Hunter suddenly had a horrible suspicion he knew what had sparked off Crosshair’s impromptu attack. And guards getting handsy didn’t bode well either. Fights were expected but staff members taking advantage of their slaves’ vulnerable position for personal pleasure was quite another, and Hunter had instinctively moved to stand between Crosshair and Clipboard before he realised he’d done it.
Not that his protection was wanted. His movement did not escape Crosshair’s notice, and he pointedly moved slightly to one side to indicate that help was not needed. That, of course, was debatable given the small group of heavily armed guards who had stepped into their small area, and Hunter resisted the natural but suicidal urge to settle into a fighting stance.
They couldn’t win here. The only thing going in their favour was the loss of profit if they died, and even that would only go so far. Equally, if they rushed them to gain their blasters then the cages shut down again, trapped like fish in a barrel and picked off one by one.
“Get them into the stun cuffs,” An order barked in the cage, and the instinctive desire to fight crashed into the cold knowledge it would probably be the last thing they did if they tried. Hunter kept his eyes ahead as he allowed himself to be manhandled. Crosshair was approached with more caution but there was no push back from him either and within a short time they were both being shoved through the cage door and along the corridor made of wires, metal and mesh with the occasional wide eyed slave staring at them.
“Better get yourselves ready,” crowed one of the guards as the door was opened to their new cell.
“For what?” Hunter snarled back and jerked his head away from the immediate blow.
“For the fight. You don’t think they just stand you out there and people believe you can do things? Got to prove yourselves,”
Prove themselves? Hunter was pretty damned certain he would happily destroy any fighter near them, armed or not, and Hunter stepped through the cage door only to find it slammed closed behind him. He spun round, alarmed.
“Take the other one to the room,” the order was bored but that didn’t help. “Show him the concept of obedience,”
Crosshair’s eyes narrowed, his body instinctively tensing as he scanned the nearby guards suspiciously and held his ground. No. No. Hunter shoved the door but it was solid, firm enough that even Wrecker would have a hard time breaking out but he didn’t care, he just needed to get to him.
“Aww, your boyfriend is getting worried,” the guard chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him.”
Another turned up with an electro-whip glowing, the low hum already working into Hunter’s core and he kicked the door in frustration. Didn’t matter if Crosshair was still working with the Empire against them, he was theirs.
“Keep that up and we’ll take you with him.”
“Fine by me,” Hunter snarled, his foot slamming into the door again. They weren’t getting separated. Not here, not now, not ever, and Hunter threw his body against the door hard. Nothing, not even the slightest amount of give, but he wasn’t about to give up. The guards watched him for a moment and Hunter was about to hit the door again when Crosshair made the smallest shake of his head.
“Let’s get this over with,” he turned away.
“Crosshair-,”
“Drop it, Hunter,” Crosshair paused for a moment then straightened his shoulders and silently followed after one of the guards. Hunter was aware of a grin being aimed at him and snarled back before slowly and grudgingly moving back to sit down, watching the procession until they’d gone out of sight. He closed his eyes tiredly. Fuck. It hadn’t been five kriffing minutes and he’d already lost him.
FIve minutes later and he was back on his feet to pace. The lack of information was driving him insane.
Ten minutes passed.
Longer, and where the kriff was he?!
Just at the point where Hunter was considering attacking the door again there were sounds of movement, and it took every piece of willpower he possessed not to immediately move to the door and scan the distance for any sign of them. No. Couldn’t give them the satisfaction. Instead Hunter forced himself to sit back down, his backside hitting the bench just as the small party turned the corner with an inscrutable Crosshair at its head.
Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t look at the door.
Don’t make it seem like they’d got to them.
“There. Now be good, mm? Or at least until the battle. Then you can be as nasty as possible.” The door slammed shut, the lock fastened and Crosshair made one small glance over his shoulder to check they had gone before slowly and precisely moving to sit down on the small bench next to Hunter.
Hunter was already eyeing him. No obvious signs of injury but he knew his brother. His face was pale and drawn, a small bead of sweat on his brow as Crosshair stared ahead stonily. Each movement was calculated and perfect and no one put that much effort into working out how limbs moved unless the wrong answer was damned painful.
Around them were the background noises of the slave auction house, the shouts, the murmuring of the public, the rumbles of crates and vehicles and the occasional cheer. The cage itself was silent, so very silent, and Hunter turned his head forward again wondering how to ask.
Crosshair pursed his lips coldly.
“Don’t,” he said finally.
If only it was that easy. Technically it should be. They were on opposite sides of a damned war and Crosshair was still breathing and therefore ‘okay’. But he was still his brother.
Apparently even his silence was irritating as Crosshair huffed a breath pointedly. There wouldn’t be a technical injury he knew, that was the whole damned point of electro-whips that caused agonising pain without the damage to their asset, but no one just walked away from that without some type of impact.
Fine. If he wasn’t allowed to check on Crosshair’s health then Hunter was going to steer speech to a different subject and then drift back later. Pincer movements weren’t just good for physical attacks, as Tech liked to point out.
“They’ve been talking about the schedule,” Hunter said in a low voice. “From what I understand they send out each unit into an area to show what they can do. If they’re fighters then they’re put in some type of battle. If these guys are following the routine then we’ll be up after three more units.”
His senses had been on high alert since they’d got there, trying to tease out conversation and piece together sounds to build up some type of picture. He only hoped it was correct.
“We’ll be ready for that,” Crosshair said finally.
Hunter bit his tongue trying not to ask how ‘ready’ his body was.
Crosshair frowned harder, fully aware of what he was doing.
“If I have to tell you again..,” the words were low and dangerous and Hunter left it alone. He looked across at the door and then down at themselves once more. No boots. No armour. Just their blacks across their skin and their body their only weapon, but right at this point he was willing to use his damned teeth if it gave them an edge.
“Dunno how many will be out there,” Hunter said instead, quietly. “So I’d suggest back to back fighting rather than backs to the wall.”
Part of him was expecting a small sneer and a comment about foolish idiots who thought he’d be fighting alongside a traitor to the Empire but Crosshair remained silent, his eyes ahead, back straight, same as always.
He was going to take that as a yes. Hunter slowly sank back against the wall and looked forward again, running through tactics, techniques, anything that might be useful. After all, this was only going to be the first of many and anyway-
There was a chink chink sound that echoed through, and another muffled roar of the crowd. The guards that emerged were clad in enough metal to look Mandalorian, electro-staffs in one hand.
Another pause and the door swung open.
“Well, boys,” a toothy smile. “Show time.”
And Hunter had never been in a mood to punch people more.