Cadet Training
Cadet training for the clones was never easy. Although it was just about bearable for the regular clones. It was constant torment for Clone Force 99. They never got a day off from training like others did. From the moment they had been able to begin training, it had been non stop, a constant pressure to succeed, to obey the orders given or face punishment.
TECH
Tech’s training consisted of testing his knowledge. He’d be hooked up to an array of machines, some to monitor his brain waves, other his heart rate and blood pressure. Another that would give him a nasty shock. Once he was hooked up the testing began, he was normally given questions on the screens before him, he had a certain amount of time to answer them. If he succeeded, another question would appear. If he was to fail, he would receive a electric shock. If he ever asked for it to stop, the instructor would only up the power. Being sure to stop before he lost consciousness. As soon as the shocks stopped he was told to get back to his feet and continue. Maker help him should he ask for a bathroom break or any break in general.
On the days he wasn’t facing the quizzes, then he was normally dragged to the medical bay, to undergo horrendous scans. The worst part always being he could feel everything they did. The pain being unbearable, the few times he was able to get strangled words out, he was always calling for his brothers, begging them to make it stop and rescue him from the constant pain. He’d be poked and prodded with needles and other things as if he was a pin cushion. Normally thirsty and hungry as he would be denied food and drink for hours before these scans and tests. If he was to say he was hungry or needed a drink, he would be harshly told to be silent and wait.
When it was over it was a struggle to even walk, most of the time he used the walls to prop himself up on his way to where ever wanted to go. His words would be slurred, the best he could do with the splitting headache to be blurring his vision. He’d struggle to hold eating utensils when in the mess hall, only just being able to grip the cup to drink something. After a while he’d give up completely and settle for returning to the barracks, another night of going hungry. Crosshair would never allow it and always followed behind his younger brother, helping Tech along to ensure he got there safely. Upon making sure Tech got to his bunk, he retrieve a few ration bars, ensuring Tech didn’t go hungry.
WRECKER
Wrecker’s training wasn’t as bad as his brothers to look at. He’d be constantly pushed to his limit with blasters, bombs and other explosives. Often being sent to the training rooms to test his skills against droids. If he was ever hit by one, the course would be reset until he got it right. Often times had he missed meal times because of this. He’d be forced to repeat the disarming over and over again, until he got it right first time. Yet he hated destroying things that had meaning to him. Like one time an instructor noticed his original tooka doll and picture of his brothers. Both had been stuffed into a metal box with little care, a detonator thrown in with them.
That day he’d been tasked with disarming an bomb within a time limit. If he succeeded, he’d get the things taken from him back. If he failed then the blast would destroy the small metal box and the things stuffed so carelessly inside. That day had broke Wrecker, losing the photo was like losing his brothers, he cried himself to sleep that night, believing he had failed them. Although a new Tooka doll had appeared on his bunk, a small tag in messy writing saying its name was Lula.
Wreckers worst training session by far was the one where he was training with blasters. He’d only spoken of his exhaustion and strains before then. But that day his trainer had dragged Hunter, Tech and Crosshair to the firing range. He been informed their lives were on the line this time, they would be on the firing range, between each target. If he missed any target his brothers would ended up being hit. Wrecker had protested as did his brothers, their lives were in his hands, he knew his brothers trusted him, but he didn’t want that responsibility just yet. He didn’t want to hurt them in any way.
He knew it would be difficult, with the trainer tying each of his brothers to a make shift stake between each target, blind folding them so they couldn’t see what was happening. To Wrecker it was like they were set to be executed by firing squad, like they were the criminals and he was the executor, like he was the hand that would bring swift death. He tried so hard to protest against it, refusing, even when his train held a gun to his head, even when he was smacked in the face with the butt of the gun he still refused.
He eventually fired upon hearing the encouraging words of his brothers. Hearing they trusted him and believed him even when he didn’t believe in himself. Although he had hit every target, he’d come dangerously close to each of them. A bolt had hit just to the right of Crosshair, mere inches from his shoulder, another had been close to hitting Hunter, the bolt hitting the wall above him, where as Tech’s had missed by inches, instead hitting the floor in front of him. A comment or two had escaped the train’s lips, yet nothing of support but instead patronizing him further, stamping out the confidence he had gained. Something to do with a gag for his brothers next time.
Tech, Crosshair and Hunter had all bared witness to Wrecker’s beating that day. Tied helpless to the make shift stakes as he was beaten for his words in response to the sadistic trainer, beaten for standing up for himself and them. Despite their efforts to free themselves, they had been force to listen as Wrecker shouted for it to stop and screamed in agonizing pain when the side of his face was held to one of the metal containers, mere seconds before it exploded. The Trainer didn’t seem to care, instead pulling the crying Wrecker to his feet afterwards, ignoring the pleas to be left alone. Nala Se had been the rescuer that day, investigating upon hearing Wrecker scream. She took him with her, ordering Tech, Crosshair and Hunter to be freed and sent back to their barracks.
Despite her best efforts Nala Se couldn’t save Wrecker from permanent scaring. She kept him in her lab for days, doing her best to take away his pain as she removed shrapnel and his left eye. Replacing the eye with a cybernetic one. Her examinations showing he’d be partially death in the left ear. Yet she had also showed kindness, even more so when she had taken the punishment of the Bounty Hunter into her own hands, ensuring he wouldn’t be heartless to one of her special five again.
CROSSHAIR
Crosshair’s training normally consisted of being isolated for days on end. His accuracy was beyond that of any other, so his path of a sniper had been chosen for him. Forced on him even. At first it would be overnight stays in the training facilities, perched in a snipers nest, flat on his stomach, he’d be allowed breaks to move around and join the others in the mess hall. But as time went by, the conditions got worse. He’d be denied simple breaks to stretch his limbs, bathroom trips or even sleep. Food and water became a method to reward him for his good work in training.
After a while the trips to the training facility wasn’t enough. His instructor insisting he needed something more real. So would take him out to a landing pad in the constant rain, there he’d be tasked with eliminating all distractions and fire on his fellow cadets, each time they’d be unaware. If Crosshair was to refuse then he’d be beaten, stamped on and other things, at times his own instructor had used a electric torture device to deliver a shock, all in an attempt to get him to comply. If he still refused a loaded gun would be held to the side of his head, or he’d be put in some sort of strangle hold. Crosshair had bones broken one more than one occasion. Normally ribs, wrist, ankle and fingers.
Many a times Crosshair had been taken outside in the pouring rain, without cover, food or water, he’d be left their for days, only being sent a location of his target, normally another cadet but occasionally a fully trained trooper would would fire back. He was tasked to stun them all. To make it easier, his instructor told him to make up stories about them, to make himself think they deserved it, he was told to ignore his guilt over firing at them and ignore they were clones just like him. Instead he was told to think of it like a game, with everyone he stunned he’d be earning the right of bathroom use, of food and water, of being able to return to his barracks and see his brothers again.
But it only got worse. Eventually stunning his fellow cadets and fully trained troopers wasn’t enough anymore. His instructor wanted him to use live rounds, to potentially kill them. He was branded as teaching them a lesson, of setting an example to other cadets who misbehaved. Every time Crosshair refused he was met with a brutal beating, already weak from days without food and lying flat on his stomach. Already weak from his countless other beating from answering back with snarky comments. He’d been denied medical attention until he completed his training session.
When he was sent to the med bay, he found no comfort. It was made perfectly clear to him by the elegant Kaminoans he wasn’t welcome there, they tolerated him a best, doing the bare minimum to ease his pain and ensuring his injuries and wounds would heal. Pain killers weren’t a luxury extended to him, instead he felt the pain, eventually growing to accept it as a companion, refusing to show it to another unless he couldn’t bare it any longer.
By far his worst training session was when he was up on the landing platform, the rain pelting down on him, hardly bothered him anymore. He was told via a comm link four targets were heading into his directory, he was to shoot them. At first Crosshair was certain he wouldn’t have a problem with it, he grown used to using cadets and troopers as a target practice. Yet this time was different, the targets in question was a fully grown trooper and three cadets. Tech, Hunter and Wrecker along with ninety-nine. Almost instantly Crosshair yelled he couldn’t, no wouldn’t fire on them. They were his brothers and one of the few who actually showed care to him. Ninety-Nine had named each of them, treated them like he did with all the other cadets, with care and loved. Always helping them with something.
His instructor had come on to his landing pad after that, demanding he shoot all four to kill. Stamping on Crosshair’s back when he refused, the beating when on for quite some time. Only stopping when Crosshair had managed to grab his rifle and point it had the vicious man tasked with training him. Even then no emotion escaped his blush pink features. Instead his instructor called him names, often accompanied by the words useless and defect. Through it all Crosshair would yell even scream he didn’t want to kill his brothers, loud enough they could hear him and pin point his location, loud enough they would know what they’re being used for this time.
The nightmares were always the worst part of his torture. They were the mental scars of his training. When he was actually allowed to sleep, he’d been tormented by the nightmares, a scenario being played out where he’d have to hunt his brothers, torture them for information and eventually kill them in a public way. Every time he’d wake up screaming he didn’t want to kill them. Each time Wrecker would offer him Lula, as comfort. Tech would reassure him it was just a dream and they were all there, alive and well. Where as Hunter would stay by his side until he fell back to sleep. The cycle would repeat itself several times over, each time the stun setting on the gun becoming more appealing, until Crosshair would eventually give up on the idea of sleep. Instead he would be content watching over his brothers and reading something on Tech’s data-pad, all while playing with Hunter’s knife and protecting Lula for Wrecker.
HUNTER
Hunter’s training mainly centered around his senses and tracking. Much like Crosshair it was far more physical than most. Although he’d also find himself locked in a lab for what was supposed to be testing but felt more like his own personal brand of torture. His favorite training was when he got to spend time with his brothers. Normally when they were in training facilities together, going through different scenarios. They worked well as a team and was sure to let his tired brothers know it.
His training as an individual however he hated, with a vengeance. Often times was Crosshair the one he had to track, with the order to subdue my any means necessary. Every time his sharp eyed brother would be under the impression the person coming would be trying to kill him, as if he’d been brain washed. Each time he would be in for a fight even when Crosshair had been starved for days. He’d always say I’m sorry before stunning him, he’d hold his brother close, maker knows what would happen to him for being caught.
The days in the lab he hated most. Mostly due to be stuck in some kind of tub, helpless to do anything as Tech yelled for help and for someone to save him. In his tub he’d be subjected to a manor of different things, noises only he could hear, with a pitch high enough to frazzle his hearing for days. Smells powerful enough to burn his air ways and leave a metal tinged after taste in his mouth. multi-color lights so bright, he would be blinded and couldn’t see the Kaminoan outside the tube. He’s be left with lights flashing behind his eyes long after the bright lights had been turned off.
When not in the tube, he would be strapped to a table like Tech, poked and prodded, different tests administered. He’d always know when they were due, being forbidden from drinking or eating anything for hours before hand. His struggles only resulted in pain, multiple times he’d been struck with something across his midsection. The blow hard enough he could feel his ribs crunch beneath the object, and the air leave his lungs from the pure shock of it. He’d always think of his brothers in those times. Think about needing to be strong for them, so he could help them when they all returned to the barracks.
Although even those thoughts had been used against him. Manipulated to serve a purpose. Countless times had the Kaminoans in the lab put goggles on him while strapped to the lab table. They’d play videos of his brother’s training, specifically when they would be punished for failing, answering back to the instructors or just doing something considered out of line. Each time it was when he wasn’t there to save them or when he was unable to get to them. The clips of Tech when he was being electrocuted in his tests or yelling out from pain during his lab stints. Wrecker’s being his scarring injury or when he’d been called every name under the sun, being hit with objects and humiliated by his awful instructor. Where as Crosshair’s was pretty much every training session, when he was starved for days, beaten and berated, shocked and had guns held to his head or a knife to his throat. Where the people he loved most were used against him.
One such occasion where the videos were shown to him. Hunter had yelled out for it to stop, as always being ignored, so he had constantly belted the side of his head off the equipment so close to him, shattering the goggles. The Kaminoans had removed the remnants afterwards scolding him, as the injuries sustained were patched up. Although it would leave a scar as a reminder, a scar he’d eventually hide beneath his trademark bandanna. Yet he always felt as he deserved the scar as it reminded him of the times he failed to protect his brothers.
Returning to the barracks after those tube tests was never easy. The lights in the halls were always bright enough to blind him, to the point he would hold his hands out and feel his way around to find his way back. Countless times had the bleach smell to radiate through the Military facilities burn his air ways, making it hard for him to breath. Tech would always help by turning the lights down to the lowest setting possible, although that was to help Crosshair too. He’d also find a sweet smelling fragrance of some kind, normally vanilla and cover the bleach smell in their room with it. Although their private barracks always had the smell of home. A cross between engine oil and gun powder.
Yet still he felt the need to protect his brothers. Guiding Tech to his bunk and putting the data-pad at a safe distance on the table in the center of the room. He’d make sure Wrecker had a picture of them together near him and his favorite blanket and Lola if Crosshair didn’t have it. As for Crosshair, he’d always be there when he woke up screaming from nightmares, just as he knew when Crosshair had gotten his knife as something to hold on to. Yet he didn’t say anything as it gave both comfort. Getting to sleep on the other hand was a far more difficult task. Often times he’d wait until his brothers were asleep, or at least Tech and Wrecker. More often than not he’d end up crying himself to sleep, knowing the only one to hear would be Crosshair, who often helped by placing a hand on his shoulder while pulling his blankets up to keep him warm. Crosshair being their somehow eased the pain and sent him into a somewhat peaceful sleep.
