A Greenhouse. It seemed harmless enough; as Echo entered the building, each step quiet and purposeful, arms and shoulders squared with weapon in hand, his eyes darting to and fro behind the dark visor of his helmet. To let his guard down now could be a mistake he wouldn't recover from, and he certainly didn't want that to happen here. Minutes pass, feeling like an tense eternity before he eased up, expelling a soft, vocabulated sigh.
"Clear." Saying the word when no one else is around to hear it had become a force of habit for the ARC Trooper – one that oddly comforted him in his newfound solitariness. "Not a soul in sight."
It was both a good and a bad thing: good because he could take some time to study the Datapoint and the walls covered in drawers before moving forward; bad because anyone (or anything) could still surprise him with their arrival if he relaxed too much.
But curiosity eventually got the best of him, and soon he made his way past the lobby after his initial surveillance, heading on up to see what else was there. And when he was through, he went back down...and toward the other building that sunk beneath the surface. To cover ground and check for any signs of life. Just in case.
A Storm
[Echo's breath hitches, audibly incredulous at what he's seeing. Maybe the HUD of his helmet is acting up, but he can't deny what's there – who's there, yards away from where he stands. The blaster, once held level, falters from its previous stance, its barrel lower yet still on point as his military composure is compromised.]
99? [That name. It's a fresh memory. A wound that still needed time to close. He nearly shakes his head.] How– no. This isn't right...
[He suddenly feels helpless, watching as the bent figure begins to hobble away further into the distance beyond. And yet, despite the fatigue weighing upon his body, his mind silently reels, trying to make sense of it all.]
This isn't right. [Repeating these words leads to the steeling of his resolve, adjusting the blaster so that he still has a grip on it. But it doesn't mean he's completely undaunted and unfazed by these strange occurrences...]
Echo | Star Wars: The Clone Wars
A Greenhouse. It seemed harmless enough; as Echo entered the building, each step quiet and purposeful, arms and shoulders squared with weapon in hand, his eyes darting to and fro behind the dark visor of his helmet. To let his guard down now could be a mistake he wouldn't recover from, and he certainly didn't want that to happen here. Minutes pass, feeling like an tense eternity before he eased up, expelling a soft, vocabulated sigh.
"Clear." Saying the word when no one else is around to hear it had become a force of habit for the ARC Trooper – one that oddly comforted him in his newfound solitariness. "Not a soul in sight."
It was both a good and a bad thing: good because he could take some time to study the Datapoint and the walls covered in drawers before moving forward; bad because anyone (or anything) could still surprise him with their arrival if he relaxed too much.
But curiosity eventually got the best of him, and soon he made his way past the lobby after his initial surveillance, heading on up to see what else was there. And when he was through, he went back down...and toward the other building that sunk beneath the surface. To cover ground and check for any signs of life. Just in case.
A Storm
[Echo's breath hitches, audibly incredulous at what he's seeing. Maybe the HUD of his helmet is acting up, but he can't deny what's there – who's there, yards away from where he stands. The blaster, once held level, falters from its previous stance, its barrel lower yet still on point as his military composure is compromised.]
99? [That name. It's a fresh memory. A wound that still needed time to close. He nearly shakes his head.] How– no. This isn't right...
[He suddenly feels helpless, watching as the bent figure begins to hobble away further into the distance beyond. And yet, despite the fatigue weighing upon his body, his mind silently reels, trying to make sense of it all.]
This isn't right. [Repeating these words leads to the steeling of his resolve, adjusting the blaster so that he still has a grip on it. But it doesn't mean he's completely undaunted and unfazed by these strange occurrences...]