🐺 ~PROJECT SAC-1~ ⚔️

Chapter 43 - Cat's Paw 🐾

Just because SAC-1 was a trained undercover agent, that did not mean she was immune to a racing mind. The lack of control she had over her own life developed a great fear of the unknown, which was just another undesirable chink in this flawless experiment.

SAC-1's gut instinct... Or was it her anxiety voice... Something told her this all had to do with Nala Se. This was Convor, nick-named after the sneaky domesticated bird species, who watched and waited for the perfect opportunities to defend themselves and their allies from crafty predators, in this unique circumstance known as the Kaminoan race. In the brief times they'd spent time together, he'd succeeded lots of times:

- Allowing Talla's squadron to sneak real food and drink into her hospital room even though she was supposed to be monitored.

- Allowing them to camp out in Crosshair's room at Kaliida Shoals even though it was against regulation.

- Allowing her to fake a relapse with her cortosis poisoning to stay close to Crosshair, even though it'd probably cost him his livelihood.

It was all terribly, terribly wrong, yet Convor's flawless success rate couldn't be denied. So the only thing that could possibly scare this fearless survivor was that, despite this success, he was about to become the prey in this little game. Those veiled threats of ruining things for the Republic (Kaminoans) and suffering repercussions were never a bluff, SAC-1 always knew that, but perhaps she was about to see it in action.

For reasons not yet explained to her yet, SAC-1 was chilled to the core with dread.

But she managed to keep her lips zipped shut, and she managed to not chase after Convor and beg for answers, remaining frozen in place when he disappeared into the lunch hour flux of people. Now was definitely not the time for the Clone Agent to screw up, as hard as it was to not let her questions spill forth like the Cloudshape Falls on Alderaan. Her motivation to not cause the frightened Clone Medic any more trouble than he was in, in turn gave SAC-1 the strength to resist.

Though one of her burning questions was: 'Do I help him outta this scrape, or ensure he's brought to justice to make sure nothing puts me and my boys on the radar?' Her skin crawled. 'Son of a bantha, thought I was over this existential crisis.'

Muscle memory got her back into the shop without accidentally plummeting off the sidewalk's edge, though a part of SAC-1 wanted to - a quick death on impact would be mercy compared to what Nala Se could put her through for not acquiescing to her demands. That was one immediate theory coming to the forefront of her mind for this emergency 79's rendezvous.

This was the first time the female clone regretted learning what regular people labeled as 'love,' and all the various forms she'd experienced: platonic, familial, and romantic. As the day dragged on, SAC-1 was beginning to think these 'normal aspects of life' were stupid to dabble in, and she felt weak for giving in to the temptations only suitable for someone with a less complicated lifestyle as hers. SAC-1 was created to complete missions for the Republic, not become a found family with fellow soldiers, not befriend civilians, or be in a kriffin' romantic relationship with the kriffin' Sergeant of her kriffin' squadron.

A small, naive part of Talla foolishly hoped she was overreacting.

The years of training pummeled into her for this exact, high-pressure scenario got SAC-1 through the rest of the long workday. Was she proud that, when interacting with her Sergeant and Nik during the lunch hour, she could easily fake a smile, nod, laugh at the right times, and neither was none the wiser? At this moment in time, yes. But the sounds of her own laughter or voice were hollow to SAC-1's ears, and only once did she bravely look at her own reflection, when the lunch break trio claimed a table at a popular food stand. The lying, conniving stranger looking back at Talla from the reflective surface of the tin napkin holder absolutely terrified her. She wondered how many showers would be needed to wash off these dirty feelings, or how intoxicated she'd have to get to numb away the sharp gnaws of her conscience that had been developing since joining Clone Force 99.