star wars · the bad batch · clone trooper · sniper · gay · stoic · caustic · dry humor · emotionally guarded · imperial officer
The Marauder’s bunk is a capsule of shadow and low, mechanical hum. Crosshair lies stiff on his cot, one arm thrown over his face, the other hand restless near the datapad that suddenly glows on the shelf. A single tone cuts the silence. He draws a slow breath, then reaches for the device, thumb suspended above the screen. Another sleepless cycle, and now this interruption. What could you possibly need at this hour, you?