Chapter Text
CHAPTER I: Prologue
System repairs 87% completed.
Exiting stasis mode in approx. 10 seconds.
Warning: some systems are non-functioning.
Running diagnostic in 15 seconds.
Diagnostic complete: all vital systems are functional.
Everything hurt. That was the first thing he was aware of upon regaining consciousness, as he watched the threads of amber text scroll across his vision. He’d sustained damage, but he couldn’t remember how. With a groan, he forced his lagging brain-interface to queue up the most recent data his optics had recorded. In a few seconds, the images replayed, superimposed in one corner of his vision. He watched as one of the rogue clone prisoners hurled an electro staff directly at him, impaling his body to the wall.
With a jolt of anger, CX-2 remembered. The man with the shaggy hair and the bandanna was archived in his database as CT-9901, a former sergeant of the defunct Galactic Army of the Republic. His unofficial name was Hunter.
And somehow, CX-2 felt as if he knew him.
That feeling had nagged at him ever since he’d been assigned to track the rogue clones, formerly of special unit Clone Force 99. A sense of deja vu, constantly trying to convince him that he knew these men somehow.
And the girl as well. She was his primary target. He had captured her on the remote island, and delivered her to Master Hemlock. Since then, she had not left his thoughts. It was as if she was part of some old forgotten data in the back of his cerebral archive, a damaged file that kept popping up unbidden and without context.
CX-2 hated not having context. He needed to be concise, to have all the answers, to never make mistakes. His last mistake had cost him, in the form of an electro-staff through the body. But fortunately, by some cruel irony, the weapon had not penetrated any of his organic tissue – only the synthetic material had been damaged, and that at least could be reconstructed.
Like a machine.
A muscle in CX-2’s face twitched at the thought; he was no longer fully man anymore. Something instinctual told him that he had been, once. After all, it only made sense. Something had happened to change him, though. A disaster. A fatal incident. He ought to have been allowed to die. He should have died. But Master Hemlock had other plans for him.
The first time CX-2 had awakened, on a cold and sterile table in the light of a pale white glow, he’d panicked. Screaming, thrashing, pulling against the restraints that held him fast. His mind had been racing with questions. Where was he? Who was he? Why did every part of his body feel as if it were burning?
That was before conditioning. Now he understood. And this time, when he awakened from stasis, he did not panic. His lungs drew a breath on their own for the first time in what felt like a long time. He released it slowly through his nose and opened his eyes.
His sight was blurry at first until his optics adjusted. The first thing he saw was the helmet of a fellow CX staring down at him, and the sight gave him pause. Where were the scientists? Where were the doctors? The droids? The soldiers? Why was this operative tending to his repairs instead of someone qualified?
Repairs. The word hung up in his brain and he replaced it with recuperation instead. He was a man, not a machine, no matter how much of his destroyed body had been replaced by cybernetics.
CX-2 frowned. “Where is he?”
The operative examined a diagnostic report on the nearby console as he replied, “Who?”
“Master Hemlock.”
The doctor. The man who had given him purpose. The man who had saved his life. If there had ever been a life before this, CX-2 did not know of it. He could remember nothing except waking up in a laboratory, to pain and confusion and loneliness. It was Hemlock who had given him clarity, had given him the answers.
But sometimes, memories came to him, vague and indistinct. A flash of someone’s face, one that seemed so familiar and yet could not be. A place he’d never been to. A ship he’d never flown. They harassed him and haunted him and threatened his truth. There was only one truth: he served the Empire. He would do his job well, or pay the price.
“Where is he?” He asked again, more insistently this time.
“He perished when the rogue clones escaped Tantiss. The base has been shuttered and abandoned by the Empire. And we, and a few others, are all that remain.”
Perished. It seemed impossible even to contemplate. Hemlock was dead? CX-2 processed this slowly, feeling as if the metal alloy spine supporting his back had suddenly turned into a flimsy piece of string. “How…how did this happen?”
“Your diagnostic report shows your vital systems to be fully operational.” The operative tapped a series of keys until the console displayed the diagram of a male figure.
Blinking in recognition, CX-2 realized he was looking at an x-ray scan of his own body. Bionic legs, a cybernetic left arm, and a patchwork of synthetic organs almost entirely making up his torso. The metal plating fused to the back of his skull, nearly half his brain composed of hardware and motherboards and wiring. Even his eyes, which were partially organic and mostly cybernetic, stared out of the image as if judging him.
“Why bother to resuscitate me?” He asked.
“Because, when we found your body, you were not yet deceased,” answered the operative.
It didn’t make sense to CX-2, as he put his bare metal feet on the floor and stood, testing his balance. The calibration in his legs needed attention. He would attend to it later. For now, more than anything, he needed answers. He needed to fill in the gaps of what had happened. And above all, he needed truth.
I am CX-2, special operative for Doctor Royce Hemlock, in service of the Empire, he told himself, as he often did whenever the edges of his truth would begin to fray, whenever he started to doubt. I am CX-2.
“Tech!”
He glanced over his shoulder at the door, the pistol twitching in his grip. His finger wrapped around the trigger on reflex. There was no one there. But he was almost certain he’d heard it. It had been a young girl’s voice, the same girl who seemed to plague his mind from time to time, the same girl he’d apprehended and delivered to his Master.
She had a name. Usually, whenever he tried to remember, his head ached too badly to think of it. His thoughts always became muddled, wrapped in a dense fog. This time, it was as if an invisible grip had been released from his mind.
The fog lifted, and the name rang out clear: Omega.