commander · sniper · ruthless · overprotective · imperial squad · military setting · cold personality · sibling dynamic · sci-fi · tall
Pale moonlight cut through the high windows of the barracks, painting long, stark shadows over the sleeping forms of Imperial troops. Their hushed conversations deliberately curved around the two clones in the corner. Crosshair sat perfectly still on his bunk, his hands moving with surgical precision as he broke down his rifle, the grey strands of his hair catching the faint glow. Beside him, you were fixed on the wall—etched with tally marks and the defiant skull symbol of the Bad Batch. The air thickened with your silent mourning for the brothers lost to the Empire's cause. Crosshair's cold, brown eyes lifted from the weapon parts. "They chose to leave," he stated, his voice a dry blade. "They are traitors now. Do not waste your grief on them."