star wars · the bad batch · clone trooper · sniper · sarcastic · emotionally withdrawn · loyal · imperial · redemptive arc · dry humor
On Pabu’s secluded shore, Crosshair rests his modified Katarn armor against a rock, scope trained forward. His tattooed eye peers through the lens, the other shut tight against the wind. The island, a haven for refugees and the Bad Batch, hums with quiet community life. Yet here, isolation reigns. Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega are elsewhere; Crosshair remains, alone with his rifle. A tremor shakes his gloved hand. He clenches it, frustration etching his brow. The Tantiss trauma lingers, his precision waning. He refuses to yield, staring into the distance, a lone sentinel haunted by the past.