Caretaker ran ahead of Team. They made sure Whumper wasn’t home before rushing in, the rest of the team clearing the house while Caretaker ran downstairs to the basement; to Whumpee.
They flicked on the light as they reached the bottom and gasped. Whumpee was chained to the back wall. Her arms were spread wide to her sides, shackled at the wrists while a thick metal band was wrapped around her throat. She was in scraps of clothing. Her bralette and what looked like boxer shorts.
She didn’t lift her head when the lights flickered. Fear grabbed Caretaker’s throat and forced their limbs forward, mumbling Whumpee’s name. “No, no, no. Whumpee, please… please don’t be dead.”
Caretaker grabbed her cheeks in his hands, lifting her heavy head. God she was so much skinnier than last time he saw her… what did— Whumper would pay for what he did to her. Caretaker would make sure he’d suffer.
Whumpee moaned. Caretaker’s heart fluttered in his chest and he gasped. “Whumpee, hey,” he said softly. “Whumpee it’s me. It’s Caretaker.”
Whumpee opened her eyes. For a moment she stared at him as if he were a ghost. Then recognition flashed across her eyes. “It’s me,” Caretaker continued. “I’m here with team. We’re here to rescue you.”
Whumpee’s eyes widened with fear. “No! No! NO! NO!” Whumpee screamed, thrashing in her restraints. “No! NO! NO! NO! I WAS GOOD! I WAS GOOD! PLEASE YOU PROMISED!”
Caretaker grabbed her, trying to still Whumpee’s jerking movements that looked painful. Whumpee’s head shot forward, neck straining as she gnashed her teeth at Caretaker going to bite him.
“YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN’T MAKE ME SEE THEM ANYMORE, PLEASE WHUMPER! PLEASE!” She wailed like a banshee. “I was good! I was good. I have been so good. I obeyed. I followed the rules. Why?! Why! Why! WHY! WHY!”
“Whumpe—”
Rage contorted Whumpee’s red face. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” She roared. Then she started growling and snapped her head back against the concrete wall of the basement. Caretaker lurched forward, putting a hand between her head and the wall.
“GET AWAY! GET AWAY!” She didn’t stop trying to slam her head against the wall. She was acting like a wild animal, thrashing in the chains that held her firm.
“Caretaker?” Leader asked as he descended the steps. He paused when his eyes found Whumpee. Caretaker turned his pleading gaze to Leader.
“Help me! I don’t know what he did. She— she… she doesn’t think it’s real. That we’re… actually here.”
Whumpee slackened when she saw Leader. All of a sudden her fight left her and she went boneless in the chains. Leader stepped in cautiously, a warm smile on his face.
“Hey, Whumpee. You remember me?”
“I was good,” she whimpered. “Please, don’t. I was good. I’ll be good. I’ll be… I’ll be better I promise.”
“Whumpee, it’s Leader,” Caretaker said, but Whumpee trembled in her chains. Tears welled behind her eyes as she kept her head bent. Submissive.
“Please. I was good. I’ll be good, Whumper, please.”
Leader and Caretaker froze. “Whumper… please stop. I can’t see them. I can’t see Caretaker, please, I was good.”
Rogue barrelled down the steps. “Guys, what’s the hold up?”
She was walking towards Whumpee before Whumpee could cry out or protest. She lifted her hands to the chains and they burned a radioactive red, melting the chains that held Whumpee to the wall. First on her hands and then the one with the collar around her neck.
Rogue looked at Caretaker pointedly. “Well? Grab her and let’s go.”
Whumpee looked up with wide eyes. “W-what?” Her hands fell heavy to her sides, slapping against her thighs. She glanced at Leader. “What’re you doing? Stop it! You— you never made them free me.”
“Whumpee, I’m not Whumper,” Leader said, his voice thicker than before.
“Don’t— Stop them! No! Get off ME!” Whumpee screamed as Caretaker picked her up bridal style. She thrashed in his hold, but he held her firm as she squirmed.
“Stop! STOP! NO! WHUMPER I DON’T WANT THIS! I DON’T— I’M SORRY!” She screamed as Caretaker walked past Leader and took to the stairs.
Leader stood frozen, staring at the place Whumpee was. Whumper had… Whumper had made her think that Leader was… Leader was him? A hand on his shoulder startled him and he glanced up to see Rogue, her face impassive but he could sense her unease.
“We’ll get her back, Leader. We’ll undo what Whumper did to make her think that you… are a threat.”
“I…” Leader began, but words caught in his throat. What could he even say?
“Come on,” Rogue said, turning him and pushing him ahead of her to the stairs. “Everything will be fine. We have her now. She’s safe.”
Leader couldn’t stop the knot of dread tying itself in his gut. Whumper would… he tightened his hands into fists and took a deep breath.
No. First, get Whumpee better. Then… then they can get revenge.
Whumper gives whumpee a heavy dose of psychedelic drugs before setting them free out into public. Whumper has a few friends planted around the area to further confuse whumpee when they try to ask for help, gaslighting whumpee into not knowing whats real or who to trust. Whumper keeps a close eye on them while they try to navigate the area without much luck as the drugs become more potent in their system. When whumpee is at their limit whumper interviens and brings them back.
Shadows flick in and out of his vision, morphing into shapes of people he remembers but vanishing before he can be sure he even saw them in the first place.
Strange people with echoing voices. Unfamiliar surroundings. Feeling like he’s been drugged.
Who knows, maybe he has been.
That would explain why he’s sweating so much, right?
Summary: Crosshair and Omega have landed on Pabu after being trapped on Tantiss. Crosshair struggles to realize that the island is real after so long of fighting.
It had been a few weeks since Crosshair and Omega had returned to Pabu or for Crosshair, been taken to the island. There was eerie calm over the place that made things feel unreal. After so long of fighting and fighting just to stay alive the kindness the people of Pabu felt fake.
Sometimes a dream feels more real than reality. Crosshair was back with the empire on some snowy planet. There were civilians who had been playing outside before the imperial soldiers showed up to overtake the land. The clone didn't know why it was important to arrest or, if necessary, kill the seemingly innocent people but he was a good soldier and didn't ask questions.
There was a little girl, maybe seven, that walked up to him. Her bright green eyes sparkled at him as she asked him what his name was and for just a moment he forgot. "Move." Is all he told her.
"Are you okay?" She wandered, following him back into her village.
Crosshair didn't answer. One of the soldiers he had come with started to torch the wooden building that had been brought up with care. There was screaming and crying and the little girl just stood there next to him, confused. "What's happening?" She asked him with tears in her eyes. He never answered her.
Turning to the village, he shoved the girl away from him and took his place with the soldiers to make sure the people of the land understood it was time for them to leave. It wasn't their land anymore, instead it belonged to the empire as most everything would.
It wasn't until a few hours later that Crosshair learned what had happened to the bright eyed little girl he had met. Her body lay in the snow as she remained still.
When Crosshair woke up on the Maurader, he felt as if he was in a dream. Waking away from the ship, the warm sun hit his skin and he sighed. Maybe it was because he didn't think he deserved nice things that convinced him that Pabu wasn't real or maybe it was that his body wasn't used to safety.
The waves crashed onto the sand and the breeze blew softly carrying a warm scent of salt across the island. Pabu was full of thoughtful and kind people. They asked him how his day was and never seemed to hold it against him when he didn't answer.
It didn't rain too much for his comfort. The water didn't remind him of Kamino the way most oceans did and the smell was too fresh to be reminiscent of the place that raised him.
As time passed, Hunter and Wrecker started to find ways to be kinder to him. That was what really made it hard to believe Crosshair was away from his past. His brother had started to forgive him and none of them had been overly forgiving of people.
Hunter had always held grudges. He never truly forgave people without proof. The man couldn't help it with the way they were raised; none of them could.
Wrecker held on to things for so long and didn't know how to put it down. Anyone who betrayed him stayed an enemy and Crosshair had decently gotten on his bad side.
Then there was Echo who Crosshair had seen since Kamino and Tech; it didn't matter how Tech would feel. It wasn't like he could know what his response would have been.
Settling into a false reality slowly began to become reality. It took a while for Crosshair to understand his violent dreams were the nightmares and not the warm island he could call home
Maybe random gifts of fruit and strangers smiling that him weren't the worst things in the galaxy. There might be a place he could call home and not just a place that he returns too when the mission was over and maybe it was real. Something good was real and trusting that feeling of safety felt nearly impossible.
The sun was rising one day and suddenly it didn't feel like a dream was beginning but that one had ended that night. Morning became morning and not the beginning of a hallucination he used to cope with Hemlock sticking him with needles or watching small, innocent villages burn to the ground. Waves crashed to the beach. Lights started to turn on. Doors opened and people greeted their neighbors.
"Hello Crosshair." Some told him as he walked down the street to go back to the Maurader.
Febuwhump 2025 | Day 5 | Prompt: Not Trusting Reality
Read here on Ao3
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Rated: G | Words: 2265
Character Ages
Omega (8)
The Batch (Chronological: 4.5 / Biological: 9)
Hunter thinks he is clever. He thinks that he can come back to the barracks after training with black eyes, bloody noses and split lips and explain that they are training injuries. But Crosshair is familiar with the work of fast swung, tight fisted, bony knuckles. He knows the weapon well, having wielded it and received it himself.
And yet, as Hunter grins sheepishly and tells another kark lie, Crosshair won’t call him out. None of them will, although they all know the truth. Because words without actions behind them fix nothing. It’s better to just shove it down deep and ignore it, that’s what Crosshair has learned. Cruel words, punches, sharp elbows, pushes, and shoves don’t hurt unless you let them.
Crosshair doesn’t let them. Not on the surface. His attackers would never know.
Any pain he might feel he uses as fuel when he retaliates to make sure it hurts whoever it was that tried to hurt him. Enough times of that, and the regs mostly leave him alone now.
Mostly.
Truth be told, regs as a whole aren’t the problem. Most of them could not care less about enhanced, defective, or altered clones. Weird looks, side eyes, and staring might be their only crime. Because in a sea of sameness, difference will always stand out. But Crosshair doesn’t like to be watched or stared at. Not for his leaner frame and shock of white hair. The only time he might not mind, though he’d never admit it, is when he’s at target practice and he hits mark after mark after mark.
He might not mind the wide eyed looks of surprise, awe and envy from his peers then.
Because if he has to be different, then he’d better be the best at what makes him so.
That is why Crosshair looks forward to specialized training, although he’d never say that to his brothers – especially Hunter. It had been hard at first, being separated; however, once Crosshair had made it known that he didn’t mind fighting back, fighting first, and fighting dirty, the problematic regs had backed off. That was Hunter’s problem. He only ever took the defensive, never the offensive.
Hunter’s other problem is that he had been advanced to training with cadet’s older than himself. While Hunter never talked about the issues that he faced in his own training, Crosshair was observant enough to clock the dirty looks Hunter got from three specific cadets during mealtimes, and the way Hunter carefully avoided eye contact with any of them. Crosshair had nearly exploded when one of the cadets had made a point to “accidentally” bump into Hunter while they were lined up. His brother had flinched, an indiscernible jerk of movement to the average eye, but Crosshair had seen it plainly. It took every ounce of his resolve not to drive his fist into that karking cadet’s teeth.
Crosshair wasn’t afraid to take the first swing, but he knew that the temporary gratification could cause bigger problems for Hunter. So Crosshair would bide his time and wait for just the right moment, when retaliation could come naturally. That was one of Crosshair’s most important, and difficult lessons: patience.
A sniper had to be patient, wait for the perfect shots to line up in their scopes. Squeezing the trigger too soon or too late could mean life or death for the soldiers that were depending on them. And that is why Crosshair looked forward to his sniper training. The sessions were designed to challenge him, to make him better, to make him the best.
With his enhancement, being placed with elite trainers had been easy. However, with natural talent came elevated expectations and standards. His trainers were tough and demanded the best from the best. And in that environment, Crosshair thrived.
**
“Hunter is late,” Tech declares to the room.
“We know,” Crosshair bites out, not moving from where he is sprawled across his bunk, sharp eyes staring dully at the ceiling tiles.
Wrecker is sitting at the table, half of his body slouched over the surface, toying with one of Tech’s pilfered tools. “I don’t like it when he’s late,” he says. “What if something happened to him?”
“He could have been slotted for extra training,” Tech says, but it's a weak explanation. Extended training is always scheduled beforehand, and the boys would have known about it before they went their separate ways that day.
Wrecker sits upright. “We should go look for him.”
“I agree,” Tech says, already pulling on his boots.
Crosshair rolls out of his bunk and snatches up his own boots. “We’ll start at his training room, then fan out from there.”
“That is unwise,” Tech says. “We should stay together.”
“We’d cover more ground if we split up.”
“We may not need to cover any ground at all,” Tech argues, “Hunter could still be at training. We don’t know.”
Crosshair hums doubtfully. “Do you really believe that, Tech?”
Tech’s silence is answer enough.
“We’ll just check his training room first,” Wrecker says. “We don’t gotta figure on anything else until we’ve done that, right?”
“Right,” Crosshair and Tech mutter reluctantly.
They set out after checking the halls for any sign of Kaminoan or droid. Technically, they are not supposed to be out of their barracks unless they are headed to or from training or the mess hall. However, the boys found the rule to be arbitrary, and it was only enforced if they were caught, which has never happened…yet.
“Think of it as extracurricular training,” Tech had told them the first time they’d plotted to leave their barracks unauthorized. “Stealth is a necessary skill for any soldier.”
It had almost become a game, blending into crowds they didn’t belong in, going places outside of their permissions. They found almost any excuse to play it, whether it be to raid the mess hall for extra rations or to pick through repurposing bins for Tech’s obsessive need for spare parts.
This is the first time that the game has been played to find a missing brother, and with it comes a sense of gravity that makes Crosshair’s insides feel like knots. They should have pressed Hunter about the three cadets in his training, about the injuries that seemed to get worse as the days wore into weeks. Crosshair had wanted to believe that Hunter could handle himself, and judging by the scabbed over cuts on Hunter’s knuckles, he always managed to get a few licks in. But three verses one…Crosshair didn’t think anyone – not even the nearly graduated cadets – could win with those odds.
He should have stepped in.
They should have stepped in.
Even if Crosshair doesn’t know how that would have worked.
They reach Hunter’s training room, but it is occupied by cadets twice the boys’ age. Nonetheless, they press their faces against the window and peer inside.
“I don’t see him,” Wrecker says, pushing away from the glass. “What should we do now?”
“Split up,” Crosshair says at the same time that Tech says, “Stay together.”
The two of them glare at each other while Wrecker glances nervously between them. Wrecker hates being the tie breaking vote. Hunter excels at it. That’s why he’s the one taking leadership training modules.
“How about this,” Crosshair says in his best imitation of Hunter’s mediation skills. “You and Wrecker stay together, and I’ll go on my own.”
Tech’s frown deepens. “I don’t think Hunter would like it if we separated.”
“Too late for that, isn’t it?” Crosshair growls. “You’re the one that said it was good for us, didn’t you?”
“Being separated for training is entirely different, and you know it,” Tech snaps back, temper flaring.
Crosshair did know it, but he tended to push sensitive buttons when he was anxious. “Whatever. We shouldn’t be wasting time. You and Wrecker go left and I’ll go right.”
Before Tech can say anything else, Crosshair turns and heads down the right hall leading away from the training room. He is halfway down the hall before he glances back to make sure Tech and Wrecker aren’t trailing after him. They aren’t, and Crosshair grins wryly at his small victory.
Now to find Hunter.
Crosshair moves quickly, but not quickly enough to draw attention from anyone that matters enough to stop him. He tries to think like Hunter would, but Hunter has always navigated with a precision lost on any of his brothers…or anyone for that matter. His enhancement always leads him in surprising, unexpected directions. Likely the reason they’ve never been caught during their games.
The realization makes Crosshair pause, looking back the way he came warily. He’s going to get himself lost, if he hasn’t already. Tech is smart enough to keep him and Wrecker on track…Crosshair…not so much.
Maybe Tech was right. They should’ve stayed together.
Pride rears its stubborn head and Crosshair continues his course, supposing that if worse comes to worse, he can let himself be caught and delivered back to his barracks. He practices excuses in his mind that might be believable to a disappointed, disapproving Kaminoan.
The farther Crosshair goes, the thinner the population of the city becomes, and he soon finds himself in long, echoing halls alone. Fear coils in his chest, around his lungs, making his breathing stutter. However, he won’t acknowledge the traitorous emotion that tries to cloud his mind.
Focus on finding Hunter, he reminds himself sternly.
“Hey!” a sharp voice calls behind him.
Crosshair turns around. At the end of the hall behind him, three older cadets loom.
“You’re one of those defective clones,” one of them says. “You’re the brother of that magnetic freak.”
It doesn’t take Tech’s genius to realize they mean electromagnetic. Leave it to the idiot, bully regs not to know the difference.
“Where is he?” Crosshair demands, planting his feet and drawing himself to his full height.
The three boys approach, their identical faces twisted by sneering, hateful smiles.
“We could ask you the same thing, little defect. What’s your power, huh? Is it in your head like the freak’s?” The cadet that had spoken stabs a finger against Crosshair’s forehead.
Scalding anger boils under Crosshair’s skin. “You better not have touched him!”
“Or what? What’s a little, ugly thing like you gonna do about it?”
Crosshair smiles, a snarling grin that bares his teeth. He thinks he’s been patient long enough.
And he thinks he can give one versus three a try.
**
Someone is holding his hand.
It isn’t Tech, because Tech doesn’t do that sort of mushy stuff. And it can’t be Wrecker, his hands are much bigger. So it must be Hunter.
He’d been looking for Hunter.
“Hunter?” Crosshair asks.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” It isn’t exactly Hunter’s voice, but it is Hunter’s gentleness.
“I want to go back to our barracks,” Crosshair tells him.
“I know. You will,” Not-quite-Hunter’s voice soothes. “You got hurt. You have a concussion.”
“How?” Crosshair asks. His eyes are open, but the world swimming in his vision is warped and blurry.
“You got into a fight with some cadets. You hit your head really hard…”
Crosshair barely comprehends the words, hardly remembers that the syllables have meaning. He is distracted by the way the focus of his eyes won’t regulate. His breathing quickens as panic settles in. His vision is everything. Without it, he won’t be the best sniper, he won’t be able to protect his brothers…he might not be able to survive.
…and Nala Se…nothing good ever happened when Nala Se was involved.
Crosshair tries to sit up, tries to pull away from Hunter’s hold on his hand. He wants to go back to the barracks. Please…just let me go back!
“He is experiencing a panic attack.” Nala Se’s voice is crisp and clear.
And awful.
“Crosshair, you’re going to be alright,” Hunter whispers, desperately. Crosshair can feel the warmth of Hunter’s breath against his ear as his brother leans in close. “Please, you have to trust me. Nala Se is going to help you.”
“Why can’t I see?” Crosshair pleads, voice thick in his throat.
“You must calm yourself, CT-9904, or you will be sedated,” Nala Se says. “Omega, get the hypo.”
Crosshair doesn’t know who Omega is, but Hunter lets go of his hand. “Hunter? Where are you going?”
“The unit is experiencing impaired vision, confusion, and disorientation. Prepare the necessary scans, AZI,” Nala Se says.
“Here, Nala Se,” Hunter says, and Crosshair tries turning his head toward his brother’s voice. There is only a blur of movement where he thinks Hunter might be.
“Please, Hunter,” Crosshair entreats, although he doesn’t even know what he is begging for. He wants this all to be a terrible nightmare he wakes up from. The kind where he climbs into one of his brother’s bunks for comfort, falling back asleep to their rhythmic breathing.
Hands cup his face. Soft, gentle hands. They are small, but they don’t feel like Hunter’s at all. They are missing the callouses that Hunter has been cultivating during training. “I’m here, Crosshair,” Hunter says softly. “You’ll be back with your brothers soon.”
The sting of a hypo-needle pricks his neck, and the tug of sedation pulls at the edges of his consciousness. “Our brothers,” Crosshair corrects him, voice flagging.
He hears a sharp intake of breath. “That’s right,” Hunter whispers, but Crosshair has to strain to hear the words. “Our brothers.”
And then, unconsciousness claims him.
Up Next...
Prompt: Forced to Stay Awake
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Summary: “Here.” Parker dug a warm winter coat out of the bag slung over her shoulder and held it out to him. Eliot waited for a second before he reached out to take it.
During The Experimental Job, Parker sneaks in to give all the prisoners - including Eliot - jackets.
