Crosshair sat in the dimly lit medical bay of the Imperial cruiser, the sterile scent of antiseptic mingling with the faint hum of machinery. The pain from the third-degree burn on the right side of his head throbbed like a relentless drumbeat, a constant reminder of the betrayal he had suffered at the hands of his own brothers. He could still hear the echoes of blaster fire and the chaos of Bracca, the moment when everything had changed.

He clenched his jaw, the anger boiling just beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the physical pain that gnawed at him; it was the humiliation of having to shave off his hair. The once-proud, gray strands that had framed his face were now gone, leaving behind a patchy, uneven scalp that felt foreign and exposed. He could feel the stares of the medics as they worked around him, their eyes flickering to the burn and then quickly away, as if they were afraid to meet his gaze.

The burn was a cruel reminder of his brothers’ choices, their decision to turn their backs on him. He had been the one to follow orders, but now, he was left to stew in his own anger, isolated from the very team he had fought alongside for so long. The Empire had promised strength and unity, but all he felt was a growing chasm between him and the rest of the galaxy.

Crosshair’s fingers brushed against the bandages that covered the burn, and he winced at the sensation. The pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the betrayal. His gaze flickered to the door as he noticed one of his squadmates entering the ship's medbay this time. He sighed and glared at them. Well, at least they were interested in seeing if he was still alive. "What?" He asked as they approached him