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Apr 5, 2022

Shadows and Shades - Part 5

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A/N: As always, a huge thank you and shout-out to @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this chapter for me! :)

Crosshair pulled the cap he was wearing a little lower as he watched the flash of grey uniform in the observation window above. Rampart gazed out over the floor, Ba-Ran standing next to him, reading from some datapad and occasionally gesturing at the crates stacked against the far wall. Rampart’s gaze was as bored and condescending as ever, his expression never changing as he occasionally spoke. Crosshair glanced at the chrono on the wall just as Rampart gave a final nod and said one more thing to Ba-Ran before turning and exiting the observation room.

Right on schedule.

Crosshair had been compiling notes the last week on Rampart’s daily schedule. Arrives just before the morning shift. Spends most of the morning in his office. Heads down to observation just before lunch to check and see how work is progressing. Disappears during the afternoon, likely to the other wing where I’d bet the droids are working. Leaves a few hours after the morning shift takes over. Normally a guard escort of at least two when he enters and leaves the facility.

He’d started a hidden file of notes on the datapad he and Iden shared. At some point, he planned to try and track Rampart during his hours outside of the factory, but he hadn’t found the opportunity yet that would allow him to do so without tipping off Iden.

Iden.

His eyes searched the floor until they landed on her figure, bent over one of the work benches inspecting a blaster. He watched as she held it up, closing one eye to focus on what he assumed was the cooling circuit, nestled along the barrel. They’d been seeing a common error with the soldering on those, so they had been certain to spot check more of those. She smiled to herself, nodding as she put the weapon back down on the station, entering some information into the datapad that rested next to her.

His stomach twisted as he watched her, completely unaware of the plan and the lie he was keeping from her. She never doubted me. Didn’t even hesitate to accept what I said. She trusts me that much. And I’ve betrayed that. The lie had seemed to weigh him down more with each passing rotation. He’d ensured to keep his contacts with Hunter brief and to try and plan them when she was busy or out of the dwelling. Iden had never been very interested in the debriefs, but he felt an additional pressure to keep them secret to avoid her finding out that he hadn’t told Hunter about Rampart. It was creating an additional level of stress that she’d started to note.

“What’s got you wound so tightly?” she’d asked the night before, her thumb working at some of the tightness in his neck.

“Just a lot on my mind.” Not technically a lie. It felt as though everything that fell out of his mouth since his first lie went through that sort of evaluation in his mind.

“Would you like to talk about it?” she had asked, leaning down so that her breath fanned across the back of his neck.

No.

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly. “Just thinking about how we can get access to the other half of the factory.” Also not a lie.

She’d hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple as she slipped her arms around his neck, nuzzling against his cheek. He’d sat stiffly, allowing one of his hands to reach up and clasp her forearm.

“You sure that’s all?” she’d asked.

He’d met her gaze, nodding firmly. “It is.” Definitely a lie.

Now as he watched her from across the factory floor, he wondered if she’d forgive him for his lie. It had just been one three-letter word that had set off this chain reaction, and as much as he tried to keep it in check, he couldn’t help but feel like that one word was the snowflake that was about to set off an avalanche.

Does she need to know I killed him? He flicked the toothpick between his teeth to the opposite side of his mouth. She’s no fool. She’ll know something’s happened. I’m not sure I can keep up this lie forever.

And I shouldn’t.

“ABAN!”

Ba-Ran’s voice jarred him from his thoughts, and he tried not to glare at the Gran as he approached.

“Yes?” he drawled.

“You get through that last dozen crates?”

“I did. Zo is finishing the last few of hers as well.”

The Gran nodded, which Crosshair had come to learn was the closest they’d get to gratitude. “Very well. I’ll have them moved over to the main shipping bay. There are a few other things I need to run over to the other side of the factory as well for the project they’ve got going there. Think you can keep an eye on things here while I make that happen?”

“I could deliver whatever it is over to the other side,” Crosshair offered, trying not to seem too eager at the prospect. If I can just get over there, I might be able to catch a glimpse of something helpful.

“Nah, think I can manage. Just make sure nothing gets too hectic on this side until I get back.” He glanced over Crosshair’s shoulder. “I’d especially watch that Twi’lek talking to your wife. He seems…a little too friendly.”

Crosshair glanced over his shoulder and felt jealousy roil in his gut as Iden tipped her head back and laughed at something the Twi’lek said, gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

“No timeline on when our new coworkers will go back to where they came from?” he muttered.

“‘Fraid not. There’s plenty to do around here for them, so play nice.” Something happening across the floor caught Ba-Ran’s attention, and he blustered off, shouting something at an Aqualish that had apparently done something he wasn’t supposed to. Crosshair waited half a beat before starting to make his way towards Iden. She let loose another laugh, and the Twi’lek leaned in a little closer, speaking almost conspiratorially in her ear. Crosshair felt his teeth tighten around the toothpick as he bent to pick up another crate, walking over and unceremoniously dropping it on the table next to Iden with a loud thunk that made her and the Twi’lek both jump.

“I’ll see you around, Zo,” the Twi’lek crooned before tossing her a wink and sauntering off.

“You do know you and I sleep together, right?” Iden snarked, watching the Twi’lek leave to ensure he made it out of earshot. “No need to be jealous.”

“You could make it a little more obvious to your new friend there,” he grunted in response.

“Relax,” she cooed in his ear. “You said I should be more friendly, and it would seem you were right. Garm was quite talkative. Turns out, he doesn’t get to socialize much in Imperial Prison 15 that’s just a klick west of here.”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow at her, and she winked at him. “Seems like I had more luck than you did holding that wall up across the way. What did Ba-Ran want?”

He rolled his eyes, flicking the toothpick with his tongue. “To pester me about whether or not I’d completed my tasks. He also was moving supplies over to the other wing. I offered to help, but he turned me down.”

Iden glanced at him. “Well, you’ve planted the seed that you’re willing to help. Perhaps next time he’ll remember you volunteered and you’ll get asked.”

“Perhaps.”

She lowered her voice. “You see your buddy stop by to oversee things?”

His stomach tightened at the mention of Rampart. “I did.”

“He didn’t see you?”

“I was out of his line of sight. I’d have been grabbed by now if he did.” Crosshair pulled the damp toothpick from between his teeth, flicking it towards a waste bin. “Seems he doesn’t take his other officers with him everywhere. Haven’t seen the two he was with since the first day. Wonder what they’re assigned to.”

He didn’t miss how Iden froze at the mention of the other officers. He hadn’t been certain the first day what exactly had shaken her since he’d been trying to keep himself in check. Now, he noted the way her grip tightened on the crate she was leaning over, her breath hitching in her throat for a moment before she recomposed herself.

I’m not the only one with secrets then.

“I assume they have their own tasking,” she said evenly, not meeting his gaze.

“You knew one of them.” It wasn’t accusatory, but it left no room for argument.

Iden hesitated. “I thought I did. But it’s impossible for her to be here.”

“Her?” He was watching her carefully now. There are very few women that Iden’s mentioned that could make her freeze like that. Suddenly, it clicked.

“You thought one of them was your sister.”

Her eyes met his, her nostrils flaring angrily.

Bullseye.

“It wasn’t her.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“I am.”

He gripped her arm. “Iden.”

“Not here,” she hissed. “I am not Iden right now, and we are not having this conversation.” She glared at him until he released her arm, his gaze following her as she stalked off with the crate.

Imperial Prison 15. That’s a place to start at least.

---

The prison tip turned out to be a jump off point for the other problem that Crosshair was trying to solve: it gave him a reason to not head straight home after their shifts at the factory, enabling him to follow Rampart and add to his log of Rampart’s routine. Iden had tried to push back at first, insisting that she should tag along and watch his back, but he’d ultimately convinced her that one person would be less conspicuous. They’d hoped that choosing a shift where they left after the sun had gone down would afford Crosshair a little bit more cover, enabling him to move through the city with a little lower risk of detection in the dark. A few rotations later, as they exited the factory from their evening shift, his eyes were already scanning the other doors as they stepped out into the chilly night air.

“Hey,” Iden said softly, and his eyes flicked down to her. She pulled his cap a little lower and pushed the collar of his coat up a bit more to hide his face better. “Be safe,” she whispered.

“Will do. Don’t wait up.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead as a twinge of guilt twisted his insides. He hadn’t pressed her on the Nisa issue, feeling as though he had no right to pry her secrets open when he was harboring one of his own. Now, as he looked down at her, that twinge grew to a violent twist of his insides. She trusts me implicitly. And she shouldn’t. Iden opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask him something else, but apparently decided against it, giving his arm one more squeeze before she turned, heading off towards their dwelling.

Crosshair slunk through the shadows, mentally following the map of the factory in his mind. He’d noted Rampart heading for the northwestern corner of the building towards the end of the day a few times, normally after coming back from the other side of the factory, and he had assumed that was where there was a more secure access point. It didn’t take him long to spot the glow of a security scanner embedded along the wall near a door he’d never used before. Quietly, he found a doorway of a shop that was already closed for the evening, and he ducked into it, tucking himself back into the shadows far enough to where he wasn’t easily spotted but could still watch the factory door. The wind whipped at his cheeks, tugging at his beard gently, and Crosshair shivered, pulling his collar up a little higher and blowing into his hands to thaw his fingers. Should have brought some gloves. I’ll remember next time. He could feel his teeth clench and grind with nerves, so he reached down to his pocket, pulling a toothpick from the pack he carried and flicking it between his teeth, giving him something to chew on.

He couldn’t be sure how long he stood there in the cold, shifting from one foot to another and breathing into cupped hands to warm them before the door opened with a loud clang, making him jump. His heart thundered in his ears as he caught the glint of plastoid in the light that spilled out the door followed by Rampart’s unmistakable silhouette.

“Have a good evening sir,” came the voice of what Crosshair presumed was a guard at the entrance.

“You as well,” Rampart replied flatly, pulling his Imperial cap on, his long black coat with the Imperial logo stitched on his left breast fluttering in the breeze. He nodded to the two stormtroopers flanking him, and they fell in step behind him as he walked across the entrance to the alley Crosshair had hidden in.

The sniper checked his chrono, noting the time mentally before taking a deep steadying breath and jogging to the opposite end of the alley. He walked quickly, keeping a block in between Rampart and his guards as he tracked them in between buildings, making sure to not look too hurried while not losing sight of them in the dark. After a few blocks, Rampart and his detail took a left, dumping them out into the street in front of Crosshair. He slowed his pace, ducking his head to hide his face as he passed under a streetlight. One of the guards spared him a glance, but didn’t seem to consider him a threat, turning back around and falling into step next to his counterpart.

After another few blocks, Crosshair realized that they were heading in the same direction as he was. He must stop by the prison to check in on things before heading to wherever he stays. I can’t follow him for that far, at least not this close. At the next intersection, the sniper swung onto another side street, putting space between them once more. Knowing their destination, he picked up his pace, hoping to find a place to lay low where he could watch them without drawing too much attention.

Ten minutes later, the side street he was on dumped him out right in front of the prison. The area was well lit, floodlights illuminating the frosty ground for at least ten meters in front of the main gate. Crosshair ducked his head again, making sure it appeared that he knew where he was going. He walked past the entrance and around a building at the far end of the street, stepping behind its corner and crouching to peer back around the trash bins that rested against the building’s wall. He wrinkled his nose at the stench, but hardly had time to think about it before Rampart and his guards appeared, striding confidently towards the front gate. Crosshair yanked the binocs loose he’d carried with him, focusing on the vice admiral.

Admiral now, apparently, he thought, noting the rank insignia on the shoulder of Rampart’s coat. Ambitious, aren’t we? Rampart pulled a card from his pocket, holding it up to a scanner, and Crosshair smirked. He recognized the card as a standard identification access card that most Imperials carried. He’d even had one at one point. Unlikely that it’ll be hard to get a hold of one with all the Imperials walking around. Just have to make sure to obtain one of a high enough rank. Should be simple enough. The harder part will be getting uniforms to wear in. I’d likely need a bucket to cover my face. He noted Rampart’s guards didn’t scan in. Must just need a high enough ranking official to escort.

As he squatted behind the trash receptacle, his joints stiffening in the cold while he considered their options to infiltrate the prison, his attention was caught by the flash of the front entrance opening again. Rampart once again stepped out into the cold, his detail half a step behind him. Crosshair stood quickly, trying to shake some of the soreness from his knees as Rampart and his guards headed back out into the night, heading north towards a more upscale residential district. Crosshair followed them again, a shadow chasing one of his ghosts from his past.

It was only a few more blocks before Rampart paused outside of a beautiful residence, nodding to his detail, who bid him farewell, heading off towards what Crosshair assumed was the barracks. He ducked back into the shadows, watching as Rampart keyed in a security code for the front door, also stooping to submit to a biometric scan. Crosshair noted the address and security measures as the admiral stepped inside, disappearing from view. A few seconds later, a light came on in the second story of the dwelling, and Crosshair observed Rampart removing his coat, tossing his cap somewhere. Another minute passed before Rampart reappeared near the window, a datapad in one hand and a tumbler of some amber liquid in the other, apparently reviewing some reports from the day.

Crosshair leaned back against the wall, watching Rampart before he closed one eye and raised a pointer finger at the window, his thumb standing in the air, resembling a blaster. He took aim with his imaginary weapon, centering the barrel on Rampart’s skull.

It would be so easy, he thought, feeling the weight of the real blaster at his hip. In his mind, he squeezed a trigger that didn’t exist. Rampart took another sip of his drink.

Not tonight. But soon. You’re mine.

---

“So, how exactly do you propose we do that?” Iden asked quietly, pretending to focus on the blaster at her inspection station. Crosshair had gotten home very late the night before, slipping into bed next to her sleeping form and catching as much sleep as he could before her chrono had buzzed, alerting them it was time to get back to work. He’d downed several cups of caf as they’d rushed through breakfast, but had not had much time to brief Iden on what he’d seen. His brain was running as fast as it could, attempting to come up with justifications as to why he’d been out so late, what details he’d been gleaning that warranted a return well after midnight, but Iden seemed uninterested in his pre-planned excuses, instead wanting to get to the meat of the matter, which almost made his insides twist more with guilt. That or it was the amount of caf he’d ingested on a nearly empty stomach, he couldn’t be sure.

He shrugged. “Shouldn’t be that difficult. All Imperials carry those cards. Just need to find one with a high enough rank.”

Iden’s gaze was focused on something to her left, her eyes squinting. “Do you think a…uhhhh…captain might do?” He followed her line of sight, his eyes landing on the male human officer that had been following Rampart during the tour during the first day. He was speaking to one of the other foremen, a Rodian that Crosshair had seen around a few times. The captain was vehemently indicating something on a datapad that the foreman just didn’t appear to be understanding. Their voices were beginning to raise enough to carry over to Iden and Crosshair.

“I was told that this report would be available to me today.”

“I’m sorry sir, you were misinformed. We don’t typically have output on that particular product until the end of the week. I apo-“

“I’M MISINFORMED? How dare you?”

“Sir, I-“

“The admiral will be hearing about your incompetence, foreman.”

The Rodian seemed to accept his fate, nodding sullenly as the Imperial turned and stormed off, heading straight towards Iden, his focus on his datapad as he muttered a few choice curses under his breath before taking a sip from the paper cup of caf in his other hand. Iden met Crosshair’s gaze, tossing him a wink before heading straight towards the captain, her steps accelerating as she approached him.

Kriff. And she says I’m reckless.

Before Crosshair could stop her, she crashed into the captain, sending him stumbling and his cup of caf sloshing across the chest of his uniform as he somehow managed to hold onto his datapad. Fortunately, the caf in his cup didn’t appear to be scalding, but apparently it was warm enough to draw a hiss from the captain. One of Iden’s hands flew to his chest, the other gripping his hip to help steady him. Crosshair had to look away to hide the smirk as he watched her nimble fingers slip into his pocket, pulling out the identification card Crosshair had described. The card disappeared into her palm as she apologized profusely. The captain’s face was red, but he’d apparently spent most of his energy berating the foreman earlier, so after swearing at her a few times, he shoved past her, grumbling about how this was decidedly not the way he wanted to start his day.

Iden waited until he was out of view before sauntering over to Crosshair, flashing him the badge in her hand subtly before reaching for the datapad at his hip. He’d become more protective of it since he’d started his hidden file on Rampart’s movements, but he did his best to appear indifferent as she snatched it from his belt along with a set of cables.

“We can’t take that. He’ll figure out it’s gone in minutes,” he hissed.

“We aren’t going to take it. Come with me.” Quickly, she led him across the manufacturing floor towards the locker room. Next to the locker room’s entrance was a locked door with a keypad and scanner. “Keep watch,” she whispered, quickly working the cabling into the side of the scanner, hooking the other end to their datapad.

“What are you doing?” he asked, pressing his back against the wall, his eyes scanning the floor to see if anyone was paying attention to the two figures crouched near the door.

“Before we left, I had your brother show me a few tricks. If I can get this hooked up properly, I can make a copy of the card’s scan on the datapad, and I should be able to clone it when we get home.” She paused. “No pun intended.”

He rolled his eyes. “Less jokes, more working.”

She scoffed, punching into the datapad a few times before bringing up some code and running a program. Pulling the card from her pocket, she swiped it across the scanner, and Crosshair watched as lines and lines of the card’s data scrolled across the datapad’s screen. A few seconds later, Iden nodded, quickly unhooking the datapad and shoving it back into his hands before she strode back out to her station, dropping the card to the floor and kicking it back towards where she’d crashed into the captain. She’d just turned back to her station, picking up the blaster she was inspecting once more as the captain stormed back into the inspection area, the caf stain still evident across his chest as his eyes frantically scanned the floor. Crosshair turned his back, keeping the card in his periphery as he pretended to rearrange some weapons in a crate. After a few minutes, the captain halted before jogging over to where Iden had kicked the card. Crosshair watched him stoop to pick it up out of the corner of his eye. The captain tucked the card back into his pocket, his head turning left and right to see if anyone had noted his carelessness. After a few seconds, he appeared satisfied, turning on his heel and making his way back the way he’d come. Crosshair released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, glancing at Iden, who just winked at him again.

Maker, I love her.

—

The rest of their shift flew by without incident, at least until they were putting on their jackets to leave.

“YOU THERE! Girl!”

Crosshair had his back to the door, buttoning his coat, but he felt Iden tense next to him. He kept his eyes down as the captain from earlier strode up to her.

“You know, I haven’t been a girl in a long time,” she said with a hint of heat in her voice. Crosshair cringed internally. Dammit, Iden. “The name’s Zo Kress if you’d like to speak with me,” she continued, turning to face him and leaning a shoulder against her locker, obscuring Crosshair from view.

The captain smirked at her, and Crosshair noted he’d changed into a clean uniform.

“Well, Ms. Kress-“

“Mrs. Kress, actually.”

The captain’s eye twitched. “Very well, Mrs. Kress, since you caused me to be late to a meeting with the admiral earlier, I believe it’s only fair that you run my uniform that you stained down to the laundry center to be cleaned, don’t you?”

Crosshair’s teeth clenched. Just another Imperial drunk on power. Suddenly, a thought struck him.

Iden was already loading a snide response into the chamber. “Do I look like your maid, Captain?”

The Imperial leaned closer to her, and Crosshair clenched his fists. “You look like someone that wouldn’t do well in a prison, Mrs. Kress.”

“All because I didn’t do your kriffing laundry? You’ve got some-“

“Zo.” Crosshair gripped her arm gently. “We can take it. I believe it’s on the way home. Over on 13th, correct?”

The Imperial’s eyes flicked to Crosshair, barely registering him before he turned haughtily back to Iden. “Yes, that’s correct. Good thing your friend here has some sense, my dear.”

Iden’s jaw clenched as she glanced back at Crosshair, who nodded at her, hoping she’d back down. She watched him for another half a second before turning back to the captain, snatching the laundry bag from his hands. “Yeah. Good thing.”

“Good girl. Tell them I’ll be by to grab it in the afternoon tomorrow.” With that the captain turned, strolling out of the room, whistling to himself. Iden watched him leave, her eyes boring holes into his back until he disappeared from view. Then she whirled on Crosshair.

“What the kriff was that?”

“He was going to arrest you.”

“On what grounds?”

“He doesn’t need any,” Crosshair said quietly. “He’d have made them up. Don’t you have that figured out by now?”

Iden sniffed, but said nothing.

Crosshair sighed, reaching to take the bag from her. “Plus, this helps with the other aspect of our plan.”

One of Iden’s eyebrows raised at that. “How so?”

He smirked before leaning in to speak quietly to her. They were alone, but after the close call with the captain, he wasn’t about to get careless. “This gets us access to where they keep a store of Imperial uniforms and stormtrooper armor. If you can clone the card quickly this evening, we can take the uniform in and likely gain access to where they keep the clean uniforms.”

Iden’s eyes widened before she broke into a grin. “See, I told you he’d be useful.”

---

“Have I mentioned how much I despise these uniforms?”

“Yes, well at least you’re not wearing a helmet that barely has any field of view.”

Iden glared at him from underneath her Imperial cap, staring him down before shrugging. “I suppose you’re right.”

Getting the uniform and set of stormtrooper armor had been alarmingly easy. The woman at the intake counter could not have been less interested in any stories or excuses they had prepared to offer her, barely tearing her eyes away from the cheesy holodrama she was absorbed in as she snatched the stained captain’s uniform from Iden’s hands. The death stick clenched between her teeth wafted a stream of putrid smoke towards them, and Crosshair wrinkled his nose. I wonder if all the uniforms she touches smell like that thing. How unfortunate.

After that, they’d encountered no security measures aside from the broken lock on the storage room where they’d found a captain’s uniform that fit Iden and a set of stormtrooper armor for Crosshair to wear. They’d walked past the woman again on their way out, who didn’t even glance in their direction as they hauled their spoils past her and out the door.

They’d waited until they had a day off, giving Crosshair a few more rotations to scout which shifts at the prison appeared to be the lightest. As expected, the night shift appeared to be the least staffed and also the one with the most junior officers on it. Iden would blend right in and could claim that she was new if questioned, giving her an out for not having knowledge of the facility. From experience, Crosshair knew stormtroopers were largely ignored as long as they kept quiet.

The plan was fairly straightforward: find a data center, which would likely have only one or two people in it if any at all, access the record that was directing prisoners to their factory, gather as much info as they could, and leave. The simplicity of it was what made Crosshair the most nervous; that was typically an indication of things unaccounted for, things that might send their plan skittering off the rails.

Perhaps in this instance, it really is just that simple. Perhaps not, but as she said, we’re adaptable. This is what we were sent here for.

Hunter hadn’t liked it, but he’d acknowledged that time was of the essence. They had no idea when new droids might arrive for the factory, and then who knew if the records would be kept in the prison or transferred to some other data bank. It needed to happen, and it needed to happen as soon as possible.

Their feet crunched against the frosty ground as the two of them approached the front entrance of the prison. Crosshair glanced down and noted Iden already pulling the card from her pocket. She’d tested it at the factory and it had worked, but the rank being high enough to get them into a prison had been a gamble. He heard her take a deep breath before raising the card to the scanner and swiping. It seemed as though an eternity passed before the screen flickered green and the gate clicked open. Iden squared her shoulders, and he nodded at her, following her through the front door.

Iden strode into the lobby, nodding a greeting at the bored front desk attendant before swinging down the far right corridor. Crosshair ensured he was half a step behind her as Rampart’s guards had been. He waited until they’d gotten out of earshot of the lobby before leaning forward slightly.

“Do you know where you’re heading?”

“There was a placard in the lobby. Data center should be this way.”

He straightened, glad his face was hidden. He’d missed the placard. He rarely missed things. You’re distracted. Pull it together. The briefing with Hunter just before they’d left still had him on edge. Iden had been sitting next to him the entire time, and he’d felt as though his lie was on the verge of being discovered. Every nerve in his body had felt alight with adrenaline, as if he were ready to leap up and try to outrun the lie he’d told at any second, and the walk to the prison had done little to abate the tension that was tightening every muscle in his body.

They passed through a large atrium, and Crosshair ensured he noted the markers on the wall this time. Exit. Cell Blocks. Offices. Cafeteria. Data Center. He followed Iden down a corridor that was lined with cells, their ray shields glowing red in the dim lighting, before she turned again, halting outside of a door with a card scanner that was clearly labeled in white lettering.

Data Center.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath. The door sprang open easily after Iden scanned her card, and she and Crosshair stepped inside. Crosshair breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the small, empty room. At least this part is simple. Iden quickly moved to a terminal, scanning her card and plugging in her datapad to the side of it. The card gave her access to the prison’s files, and she immediately began scanning by date, searching for any reference to their specific factory. Every heartbeat seemed like a drum beat in Crosshair’s head, pounding against his ear drums to mark each passing second, and in his mind, bringing them one step closer to being caught.

“Here it is,” Iden whispered.

“Great. Copy it over and let’s get out of here.”

“Already on it.”

It only took another minute for the file to copy, and Crosshair couldn’t stifle the huff of relief as Iden snatched the cables from the console, tucking them back into her pocket and slipping the datapad back into its holster at her hip.

“Let’s go then.”

Crosshair felt some of the tension slip from his shoulders as they stepped back out into the corridor. Focus. No reason to muck this up when you’re so close to making it out unnoticed. He took a deep, steadying breath, tuning into his surroundings as he’d done a thousand times before while perched on top of a cliff by himself, with no back-up in sight while his brothers stormed whatever their target had been. An absent mind means death. Be aware of your surroundings. Every clank of their boots against the durasteel grating that made up the floor registered in his mind, his breathing echoing loudly in his helmet.

As they made their way back past the cell block, a loud cough and a clearing of a throat made him jump. Crosshair whipped his head around, staring into the cell just to his right, and his feet turned to lead.

“HURRY!” Iden hissed from up ahead.

Crosshair couldn’t move, his boots rooted to the spot as he stared through the ray shield at the clone sitting in the cell. He was sitting on his bunk, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore a faded teal shirt and matching pants, the color not differing too much from the paint that had once adorned his armor. Turning his head, he glared at Crosshair. He looked a little more haggard and his hair had grown out since the last time they’d seen each other, but he still sported the webbed scar on his left cheek and the matching one on his chin. His amber irises practically glowed with animosity as he stared down Crosshair, unaware that he knew the man beneath the helmet.

“Got a problem, buckethead?” the clone mused, cocking an eyebrow.

Iden was standing in front of Crosshair now. She followed the line of his stare, gazing at the clone in the cell.

“Do you know him?” she asked quietly.

“I do,” Crosshair replied. “His name is Howzer, and I’m the one that put him here.”

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