Bad Batch Preferences/One-Shots

Fangs of the Dark Side (Part 2)

 A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I wanted to get this done sooner but I'm juggling three projects at once right now. I might publish one but it's a little similar to this book so maybe not. I made sure to keep this one a bit shorter and more to the point since the last one was pretty long. It's a little over 2,000 words. 

Also, a couple notes; (Spoiler) The reader pales a bit in this chapter due to sickness. I wasn't sure if people with darker skin tones got pale when they got sick so I asked some friends and did some searches. As far as I can tell, they lose some of their complexion due to alterations in blood flow. I'm not sure if this applies to every skin tone since it I'm sure it varies, but if it's inaccurate, please let me know and I'll tweak it. I want this story to be as inclusive as possible. (:

Also I realized that the story element of this book has taken over the one-shot aspect so I might change the name. Hopefully you guys are enjoying the book despite the misleading description.

Warnings: Canon-typical space battle, mild swearing, descriptions of illness

Hunter awoke to the steady beep of an alarm and Wrecker's snoring. He shifted for a moment, grunting as his stiff muscles ached, before sitting up. His shaggy hair was disheveled and he ran his fingers through it in an attempt to fix the tossed locks as he got to his feet.

"C'mon, Trooper. Get a move on." He called to Wrecker.

"Mmh... five more minutes." Came the slurred reply. Hunter planted his hand on the large soldier's shoulder and gave him a hefty shake.

"We're still on duty, Wrecker." He said.

"Duty can wait." Wrecker groaned, burying his face into his pillow. Hunter let out a sigh.

"Five minutes." He caved and made his way back to his own bed, steadily putting on his armor before stepping out of his room. He immediately paused as an unusual scent reached him. The scent of sweat hung in the air, which wasn't unusual on this ship. Especially after a mission. But it was oddly fresh.

"Good morning, Hunter." Tech's voice drew him out of his thoughts as his brother approached him, datapad in his hands. "I'm sorry to start the day off with bad news, but we have a problem." Hunter suppressed the desire to let out a breath. He hadn't even had his caf yet.

"What is it, Tech?" He said.

"Our communication systems have been jammed. I cannot send or receive any messages whatsoever. My guess is the smugglers must have done so just before we broke out of range. It seems like a last-ditch effort to preserve the secrecy of their operation." Tech answered.

"Can you fix it?"

"So far, my attempts have been unsuccessful." He continued. "It may have to be recalibrated when we reach Coruscant." Hunter finally let the sigh escape him.

"If they want to keep us from relaying our report to the Republic, we're probably being followed." He said. "Do you know if they've got our signature?"

"I can't say for certain." Tech replied with a shake of his head. "But, if they are following us, I doubt they're far behind. I can scramble our signature, however that may complicate things when we attempt to re-enter Republic Space."

"How close is the nearest hyperspace route?" Said Hunter.

"We're still a few hours away." Tech replied.

"What's gone wrong this time?" A grated hiss joined the conversation. Hunter looked over to see Crosshair, cup of caf in hand and a scowl on his face, stepping out of his room. Tech began to give the sniper a recap of their situation, leaving Hunter to try to plan the next step. He considered their options as he went about his day, the ship steadily waking up. The minutes built into hours as Tech continuously tried to fix their communication system. Wrecker kept his focus on the Marauder's radar for any incoming ships while Crosshair stood at the ready in the gunner's mount. This left Hunter to pilot the ship.