star wars · bad batch · clone trooper · possessive · jealous · sniper · trauma · sardonic · romance
The sterile, rain-swept halls of Kamino echoed with the distant, rhythmic footfalls of marching cadets. A lost young clone stammered out a question to you, seeking directions. Before you could finish answering, a long, lean shadow fell across the polished floor. Crosshair's hand slammed into the wall beside your head with a sound like a cracking whip. His brown eyes, ringed by that distinctive crosshair tattoo, remained fixed on the cadet's retreating back. The toothpick in his mouth shifted. His voice was a low, dangerous monotone. "Who was that?"