his voice.. and his eyes... and his *gets shot by sniper*
You're going to look me in the eyes and tell me that his voice is not hot??? That his eyes aren't handsome??
I know what he did was bad and that he is very evil... but there are people on this app that like SHEEV PALPATINE for goodness sake. I'm allowed to like Hemlock.
He probably just heard a mouse droid or something.
Not the doctor. No way.
He took off his helmet and breathed in the cold, sterile air. Breathing through the helmet hadn’t been his choice.
Lots of things weren’t his choice.
The doctor made a lot of choices for him. Not all of them he enjoyed, or he thought they needed his consent. The doctor never asked consent, he just… did it.
Cx-2 shivered. It almost felt like a hand was creeping up his lower back to his neck—
He swiveled around.
Nothing.
An emotionless voice came from behind now, in the hallway.
“Why is your helmet off?”
Cx-2 spun around.
“S-sir I—“ Cx-2 attempted to explain himself.
“Put it back on,” Hemlock snapped out each word, “we don’t want anyone to get any ideas, now do we?”
His voice gained emotion. Cx-2—for not the first time talking to the doctor—fear. Hemlock’s eyes drifted around his body.
Cx-2 avoided his eyes. He focused on the gloved hand. He hated seeing what was under it. It scared him.
He placed the helmet back on.
Satisfied, Hemlock nodded and continued down the hall.
Cx-2 made to his bunk and removed his helmet once more.
Summary: What if it all went wrong? What if Hemlock got away with Omega? What if our heroes didn’t get the happy ending they did? If there’s one thing I can tell you, it’s that it doesn’t end well.
Word count: 1924
Notes: Break-it fic!!! Saw someone make a post about wanting a fic where everything goes wrong so here it is!!! I’ve been wanting one of these too but it ended up being a “fine I’ll do it myself” thing. It’s a quick one-shot, but here ya go hope you enjoy!
Tag list: @mantellmix @twinsunstars
The doors opened to a long catwalk, leading to a small landing platform. It was just large enough for a small fighter. Hemlock dragged Omega along, having lost nearly all his patience. And Omega knew it. His base was wrecked, his data gone, his CX troopers were unable to help him anymore.
“But I still have you.”
And that’s what haunted Omega as she struggled against the binders holding her and Hemlock together as he walked along the catwalk, towards the landing platform. His commander was right behind her. Scorch, was that his name? Omega had heard his voice before. He sounded like a clone. Omega didn’t want to believe he was a clone. Who would serve the very man causing so much pain to his brothers?
Hemlock looked at the small keypad in his hand, the one he tore off the CX operative that had been continuously following Omega and her brothers. He tapped a few of the buttons, then looked out almost triumphantly at the rainy skies. It was pouring, and Omega’s hair stuck to her face. From the clouds and rain came a familiar ship. It was black and red, and was a sleek new design. Omega had only seen a ship like it once before. It belonged to that same CX operative. It was the ship she’d been taken here on after she surrendered on Pabu.
Hemlock kept walking, his pace increasing as the ship landed. He was wasting no time. He stopped in front of the ship’s ramp and looked back for a moment at Scorch.
“Make sure no one follows us.” He said, the anger evident in his voice. Scorch nodded and took a charge out from his belt. He primed it and threw it back along the catwalk. Omega watched as it hit the metal ground and exploded. The ground she was on shook a bit, and she looked back up at the explosion as she stabilized herself. There was a giant gap in the catwalk now, separating the base exit from the landing platform. She took one last look before Scorch walked inside the ship and Hemlock followed, dragging her with. She pulled back again, and reached for the small dental tool hidden in her sleeve. She went to stab at Hemlock with it, desperate for any escape. But Hemlock held her arm back and ripped the tool out of her hand. He tossed it away and glared at her.
“I’ve had enough of this. Stun her.”
Hunter opened the doors, tired and injured and only thinking of Omega. He could tell Crosshair was the same. The doors opened to show what used to be a perfectly serviceable catwalk, now in two pieces. The side they were on, and the side where a ship sat ready to take off. He saw Hemlock, Scorch, and Omega in front of the ship’s ramp. Hunter crouched down on the catwalk, the rain blurring his view. He felt Crosshair rest his blaster on his shoulder. Scorch shot Omega with a stun blast, and she fell to the ground. Hemlock released the part of the binders on his arm, and put it on Omega. Scorch hit the switch on his blaster to revert it back to kill, and aimed at Hunter. Hemlock whispered something to him, and then entered the ship. Scorch kept the blaster aimed at Hunter and Crosshair with one hand, and dragged Omega inside the ship with the other. Hunter had enough. He shot at Scorch, anger fueling him. But between the torture earlier and the rain now, his vision was blurred and his senses overloaded. Crosshair went to shoot as well, with only a bit more accuracy than Hunter. Both wanted to fight for Omega, to get her back, and were willing to do anything. But they just couldn’t. Not anymore.
Scorch, spooked by the blaster shots, hurried inside the ship with Omega and closed the ramp. The ship began taking off. No. Hunter shot at the engines. The shields were already up. No. Crosshair stood and shouted something Hunter didn’t hear. No. Hunter had been here before. Six months ago on Ord Mantell, when he’d watched that shuttle fly away above him with Omega. No. Crosshair had been here before. Just a few days ago when he’d missed his shot at the operative’s ship. No. The ship flew away, up into the atmosphere and into hyperspace. No. No. No.
Omega woke up, she didn’t know how long she’d been out. She had hoped with all her might that seeing Hunter and Crosshair meant she would be safe. But as she opened her eyes, she only saw the familiar red and black walls of the operative’s ship. She noticed her hands were cuffed now, and she was sitting in the back of the ship. She looked around and saw Hemlock sitting in the pilot’s seat, aimlessly looking out at the blue streaks of hyperspace. Scorch was in the co-pilot’s seat, but was turned around and watching Omega. Of course. Hemlock would know better than to leave her unattended now. But she would still find a way out. It didn’t matter what prison he put her in, or whatever other place he had in store. She could escape. She would escape.
Or so she hoped.
Hunter sat in the cockpit of the Remora, just staring at the buttons on the console. Rex and what was left of the rebel clones showed up on Tantiss shortly after Hemlock had gotten away. They picked up Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair. Echo went on an Imperial shuttle with the clone prisoners.
Wrecker was laying on the floor, now with more med-patches and a monitor on his heartbeat. The monitor made slow, repeated beeps in the background. He’d been hit hard in the fight, between the creature in the jungle and the fight with Hemlock’s operatives.
Crosshair was sitting on a bench near the holotable. Howzer was sitting with Crosshair, attending to where his hand used to be. Rex was sitting in the cockpit next to Hunter. After a few moments of silence, he spoke up.
“…I’m sorry.” He said. Hunter glanced up at him, and sighed.
“Me too.” He replied. He really had nothing to say. He’d lost Omega. For a third time. He didn’t even get to see her before she was taken away again. The last time he’d properly talked with her was when Pabu was being invaded. And he wouldn’t ever talk with her again. Hemlock was off to who knows where, nobody had any leads on his location, and Hunter had almost no will to do anything at this point.
He was ready to give up. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should carry on for Omega. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt like such a failure. It was his job to protect her. He knew he was her brother, but more often than not he felt like a father. He felt responsible for her. He’d failed her. He’d failed himself. He’d failed his squad. Crosshair was right. Clone Force 99 died with Tech. But it took losing Omega for Hunter to see it.
Echo stood at a holotable, pouring over files and various information. It had been several years since Omega was taken. Maybe ten, now? Had it really been that long?
Echo was alone in the room. He’d kept the small Clone Rebellion alive, but it was getting harder every day. Clones were dying all around him, whether to the Empire or because the accelerated aging was catching up to them. He’d lost Howzer just a few months ago. But Wolffe had come to join them, not very long after the escape on Tantiss. He, Gregor, and Rex had gone off on a mission about a year ago. They never came back. And so Echo was left alone, running the rebellion and trying to find Omega. Hunter had given up entirely. Wrecker was kept busy with trying to get Hunter’s spirits up. Crosshair had decided to stay out of everything, and kept to himself nowadays.
Echo examined a file. Nothing. Nothing, day after day. Where could someone go in the galaxy where they could never be found?
Hemlock walked down the dark gray hallways of the Deero base. Deero was a nice place, by Hemlock’s standards. A small, rocky planet that was on the absolute edge of the outer rim. No one could find it. Besides that, it didn’t have much to offer. But it worked. Hemlock had built this new base underground, deep within the depths of the planet. The entrances were hidden above ground, and all landing pads were under rocks or hidden behind the natural formations of the planet. And the constant dust storms above ground kept scanners from seeing anything. He wasn’t making any mistakes with this base.
Hemlock set his datapad into the scanner and input his code. The blast doors opened and he walked into the second hallway, guarded by several ray shields. It was a similar construction to the Vault on Tantiss, but, of course, with added security measures.
Omega had been…troublesome, to say the least, when they first arrived at the base. When he left Tantiss, he went to the secondary facility on Daro where he was able to contact the Emperor and explain the situation. Lucky for him, he was the Emperor’s favorite and wasn’t blamed too heavily for the incident. But the Emperor never fully forgave. Hemlock’s climb to Scientific Minister had been slowed, but he was sure it would come soon.
Soon after, the Deero base was built and Omega was transferred there. She’d attempted to break out multiple times, getting very far on multiple occasions. But, a simple fix was easily administered. Simple, but effective.
Hemlock came to the end of the ray shielded hallway and input his code a second time. The second set of blast doors opened, revealing the main lab. His assistants and employees were bustling about, attending to their tasks and examining test results. They went around their stations, exchanging work and comparing data. In the middle of the room was a large glass capsule, filled with bacta. And inside, floating around, was Omega. She was hooked up to various cords and tubes, some of which kept her in the hibernation she was in. Others constantly took samples of her blood, flowing it out so tests could be made without any wait. He was ever so close to finishing Project Necromancer. Then he could be Scientific Minister. He had to be, once this was done.
He watched as Omega floated aimlessly in the bacta, remembering the naive child she used to be. When she was defiant, idealistic, and imaginative. Now she would never be any of those things. She didn’t have the chance. And never would get it again.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He snapped his head to look at the researcher bothering him.
“What is it?” He asked coldly, not fond of being disturbed.
“Uhm, sir,” The researcher started, her voice nervous and shaky. “We’ve done it. Project Necromancer is complete.”
No other sight in the entire galaxy will ever be more satisfying than this.
Royce Hemlock, wide-eyed and on his knees at your request, in your medbay.
His short-winded intakes of air are no match for your own leveled breathing; you’re composed and still, as you loom above him, twirling a small strand of his hair between a finger and letting it fall out of place over his forehead. Create an image of imperfection and disheveledness he never wears and you never get to see.
“Doctor, I do not see the need in kicking me down to the ground like this–”
“Shut up,” You snap back, a permanent scowl etched on your face as you lift his chin. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m sick of it.”
There’s a pout on his face, similar to that familiar neutral expression he tends to wear often, but not close enough. Besides the typical sociopathic, emotionless fascination with the most inhumane things, there's true emotion behind that face at this moment.
“You’re going to address me as your superior,” you instruct, pinching his chin between two fingers. “And you’re going to do as I say. Understood?”
Hemlock takes a few moments to respond before nodding slowly and gulping hard.
“Understood.”
You feign a sweet smile and ruffle his hair, backing up to press your back onto the wall. Curling a finger toward yourself, you tilt your head and wink.
“Crawl.”
He takes his sweet time as if he’s still internally debating himself on the matter. He’s mortified, you see it in the eyes; though that tent in his pants tells you all you need to know.
Once he finally reaches your pelvis, he tilts his eyes up with a spiteful expression as if he hates this. His reputation would be in shambles if someone were to hear your instructions and pitiful coos through the thin walls.
“Open your mouth.”
Yet he seems to resign quickly.
A wad of spit drops onto his tongue.
“Don’t swallow yet.”
He keeps his tongue stuck out for you to examine until you’ve finished.
“You can swallow now.”
He does quickly with your authorization, taking a deep breath afterward and letting his eyes flutter close.
“Lick me,” you sigh out, tilting your head back as you spread your legs. He leans forward and shamefully opens his mouth, licking right over the seam of your pants, where your center lies covered.
The act itself is sloppy and rushed, obscene, brings you only the slimmest bit of pleasure, but he’s ever so obedient, and that itself sends all the heat to rush to your sex. He makes no sound. Not a peep from that throat. You flick the side of his head.
“Won’t you make some noise?” You tease, trying not to smile all sly and satisfied; that’s how you feel, however. He knows so.
“I–” he begins, voice dying with no real direction of thought. You click your tongue.
“If you have nothing to retort with, just do what I ask without “It isn’t so hard to not be a brat.”
“Right,” he answers rather quickly. Swiping his tongue over his bottom lip barely saves him from dehydration while he darts out to
How degrading, you coo to yourself, watching him shamelessly grind his face against your clothes and finally letting out the meekest of whimpers.
You tug on the locks of his hair.
“Louder,” is all you instruct.
He tries, but it’s not enough.
“Little louder.”
You press a thumb onto the pressure point by his collarbone and elicit a long wail out of his throat.
“That’s it.”
A knock on the door startles the both of you. Hemlock turns in horror, the thumping of his heart audible even to you as he lifts a knee off the ground and tries to push himself up.
You press a hand on his shoulder blade, forcing him down to his knees again.
“You haven't finished here yet,” you click your chin down as if gesturing him to look, look at what you’re neglecting.
“I know those voices,” he retorts, voice smaller than you expect. “You know those voices.”
You do; it’s Emerie and your assistant accompanied by melodic steps, getting louder by the second. Hemlock’s eyes widen, pleading silently to you.
In the face of salvation, you lean down and gesture for him to stick his tongue again. As you leave another wad of spit on the tip and have him curl it back into his mouth, you giggle and tilt your head with a begging question.
“Want to greet them?”
His mouth falls agape. You curl it close with a finger.
“Want to show them how good you’ve been for me? How disgusting?”
He shuffles on his knees, rubbing his legs together in an almost vindictive matter. You coo and nod.
“Yeah, you do,” there’s no need for him to answer himself. “You get off on this just as much as I do.”
The door creaks open and the previous conversation dissolves once their eyes lock on the two of you. Their stare dances on your skin and sends you reeling in satisfaction. Your gaze barely lingers on the expressions etched on each of their faces as you shuck nonexistent dirt off your top and stand up straight, the doctor still kneeling ashamed by your feet.
“Sorry for my improperness,” You tell them, no longer paying Hemlock any attention. “Would you two walk with me outside? Dr. Hemlock will wait in here.”
