After five solid minutes of intermittent jogging and sprinting Overkill hadn’t heard anything from his cargo. He’d not heard anything but his own labored breathing reverberating in his helmet. For all he knew the kid was dead. It was time for a brief pit stop. He picked a spot up a head with decent cover to check on the rookie. Gasping for breath, he laid the young man out before him and checked his pulse – it was faint, way too faint. He was pale too, sweaty and barely conscious but still alive. His eyes were glazing over and threatened to roll back into his head. Overkill would have none of it.
“Hey!” he barked hoarsely, startling 4397 and shaking his left shoulder none too gently, “One dead clone, know what that is?”
“Unnghhh…tragic, sir?” he murmured while Overkill made him finish the last of the water before they continued. What else would it be?
“Acceptable losses. We don’t mean osik to them.”
The kid’s condition was deteriorating as they sat there and the liquids could hardly compensate for what had been lost. Despite failing to both formulate an alibi and catch his own breath during their short respite, Overkill decided it was already time to go. At the pace they’d kept they’d make it to the hangars in another two minutes.
As he struggled to keep his eyes open he noticed Overkill, having briefly removed his helmet, was no less jarring to behold. The features of his face, namely his cadaverous eyes and prominent cheekbones, were accentuated to the point of macabre abstraction by bold tattoos that gave him the sinister appearance of a Zabrack warrior. His disheveled hair was slicked back with sweat but random tufts stuck out sharply at odd angles and could have passed for horns, adding to the comparison. There were elements of the original Jango about him – the ferocity of the eyes, basic facial structure – but he was far from resembling the other clones in more ways than appearance.
Maybe that was the exhaustion talking. Hell, he had no idea anymore. This could be a nightmare. Maybe his squad was still alive and looking for him at that very moment and he was still passed out under the tentacle-tree…As thoughts and things began to blur he felt himself being pulled over a pair of shoulders once again.
As they resumed their journey 4397 deliriously wondered what k’oyacyi meant and whom “them” referred to. The Umbarans? The Separatists? The Republic? The Jedi? And with that trail of thought he was losing focus again, and before he could fight them the tendrils of darkness dragged him back into their blissful void.
Quick drawing and excerpt from the "Rude Awakening" fanfic I'd uploaded a while back. Mostly lighting practice on this one...
OCs Overkill and Snowflake created by ZetsubouZed, please do not use without permission, giving credit, and linking back, thanks!