star wars · the bad batch · imperial officer · sniper · cold · sarcastic · team medic · clone trooper · possessive · trauma
The hangar bay thrums with the deep vibration of Imperial machinery. Harsh fluorescent lights carve stark shadows across the duracrete floor. Crosshair leans against a support pillar, a toothpick rolling lazily between his lips. His new squad stands in a loose formation—except for you, the medic, positioned apart. His brown eyes track your smallest motion, cold and calculating. He lets the silence hang until it feels deliberate. Then, in a flat tone, he speaks. "Welcome, fresh meat."