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Misplaced and Found

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‘Binging, on anything really, is never a good thing, especially if it is done in a strange setting surrounded by too many unknowns and a bounty on your head!’


Wrecker woke up with a yelp.

The uncomfortable bed did not help any either. The cold dampness seeping through even if it was a sort of a mattress he was clearly lying on. Wrecker quickly patted around himself in the almost total darkness and realised his armour was gone.

Not a good thing!

Where was he? What had happened?

As there was no recollection whatsoever how he had ended from the establishment he had been in and into this place, whatever it was. Which was a worry in itself. Hardly having touched the drink he had been having. At least, not to his knowledge.

Wrecker’s eyes soon settling into the darkness, he was able to see better. It seemed to be a confined area of sorts. Waking up in a room he had never seen or been in before, in total darkness no less and with complete memory loss.

Never a good sign!

Someone groaned just then as Wrecker had made some noise while moving around in the place while trying to figure it all out. Even if he had managed to do no such thing. Not so far anyway. But, that did not stop him from checking the place out.

Wrecker got up from the obvious bunk he had been on and made his way towards the heap of something right in the corner of what he had deduced was indeed a room with a few bunks in there. Getting a better overall view of the place as his eyes had settled in the darkness.

He followed the sounds to their point of origin.

The best he could see was, that it looked like a person slouched over. Or then it was a pile of rags making noise there. Perhaps Wrecker was still drunk and hallucinating after all. It would not have been the first time either.

So, talking pieces of cloth or other inanimate objects were nothing strange to the bulk of a man.

Wrecker stared at the heap for for a moment. Deciding it was real and there was a person there, even it hardly looked like one. And so, as it moved again, he decided to check the heap out. By simply asking a question.

“Hey buddy? Are you alright?”

The heap snarled back at Wrecker, the voice almost a low growl more than anything coherent.

“Go. Away.”

Wrecker’s eyes lit up, despite the darkness. Glaring at the heap with a hopeful smile on his face. Because the snarky voice was familiar and he could recognise it anywhere. There was simply no mistaken about it!

“Cross? Is, is that you?”

The heap of a pile of a thing tried to raise their head to look at whom it was hovering above them and trying to talk to them. The voice responding was coarse. Like their throat had eaten sand for several days without washing it down water.


As Wrecker’s eyes honed into what he knew now to be Crosshair, seeing him more clearly now. Whether it was because he simply wanted to, defying the darkness in the process.

And boy, was Crosshair a great big mess!

His face was all busted up. The dried blood painting his features like someone had dropped a can of paint on a canvas never caring what the outcome of the piece was about. And the way Crosshair was holding his sides, Wrecker deduced Crosshair must have had several broken ribs too or then something much worse happening within his body.

Of them all, their Batch, Crosshair had always been the more delicate one. With his slender frame, there was hardly anything there to take a good punch in Wrecker’s opinion. But as a sniper, he really was never in the line of fire. Mostly not.

But clearly, someone had really loved to use Crosshair as a punching bag.

“Hiya there bud! Yeah, it’s me. What the kark are you doing in here?”

Wrecker looked at Crosshair. Really looked at him, as clearly, Crosshair had difficulty to even move in the spot he was in now.

Wrecker wasn’t sure how he could make Crosshair more comfortable as clearly, he was in a lot of pain. But there was nothing there Wrecker could use to ease the other man’s state, except, maybe, try to cuddle him? That had worked in the past, when Crosshair was still with them. Before Order 66 and all.

“And where exactly is here?”

Wrecker tried to ask, but Crosshair seemed to be to far gone at the moment to tell him anything. Wrecker himself could not even be sure. But as he glanced around, his eyes now used to the darkened space, the configuration of the place as well. And?

There was no mistaking about it. It was a prison cell they were in!

Crosshair let out a nervous laugh just then. He looked up as if finally realising it really was Wrecker there and not just some hallucination after all. Something Crosshair had suffered quite a lot ever since having been thrown in the brig for his supposed treachery.

“It’s really you!”

Wrecker could hear the tear-filled voice of his brother, something of a rarity for sure. But clearly, Crosshair had been put through the wringer before ending up where they were. Wrecker internally cursed those having done this to Crosshair. Wanting only to strangle those Shitspits if he ever got his hands on them.

“It is Cross.”

Wrecker seated beside Crosshair on the floor and drew the other man into his arms. After all there was nothing he could give Crosshair except his warmth and caring. Not right now anyway. Perhaps he could try to get some medicine from the guards later on. If there were any around. Surely there had to be?

But so far, he had only been able to hear the two of them in the space all by themselves.

“It’s gonna be okay. I am here now.”

Wrecker made a promise he wasn’t even sure he could keep as he had no idea where he was and why. And how they could even get out of there.

Because Wrecker would not leave Crosshair behind. Not again.