“It’s alright, Omega,” Hunter soothes, leaning forward and meeting her eyes with as much sincerity as he can manage. His voice sounds strange in here. “It’s going to be fine. Just stay calm, okay?”
Tarkin’s laughter echoes from wall to duracrete wall. “‘Alright?’” he mocks. “Sergeant, you must be more defective than I’d realized if you think this is going to be ‘alright.’” He pulls the lever lower.
Omega chokes, huge, wet eyes following ever-rising water. “Don’t,” she pleads. “We’re sorry, we won’t do it again, please turn the water off.”
Hunter presses his hands flat against the transparisteel container. “Omega, look at me,” he commands. “Look. Come on.” She tears teary eyes away from Tarkin and Hunter nods, smiles. “Good, thank you. Listen to me. You have to be brave, okay? No matter what happens. And you can’t tell him anything.”
“Hunter,” she sobs, but he shushes her.
“No, no, listen. You wanted to help on a mission, right? This is how you do it. You tell him nothing.” Hunter steps closer to the wall and the water sloshes around his chest. It’s heavier than he thought it would be, and it makes it hard to breathe. There is something viscerally terrifying about drowning, something he couldn’t have prepared himself for with all the torture resistance training in the galaxy. He takes a deep breath. “I love you, kiddo. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“I love you, too, Hunter, please don’t go!” At last, she folds, running up to the tank and pressing her little hands against his.
“Touching,” Tarkin remarks. “If you really love the Sergeant, Omega, you’ll tell me where the other defective clones are.”
Omega looks frantically from Tarkin to Hunter and back again. The water is up to his chin now. He gets up on his toes and his head bumps the ceiling.
According to the veterans of the 2112th, the ones who sit around the campfire telling stories to pass the worst of the ground campaigns by, drowning is the most painful way to die. It’s long and every second hurts. He takes a shaky breath and spits up water.
He wants his brothers.
“Omega,” he says again, tipping his head back just enough to keep the water out of his mouth. He blinks hard as she turns around. Her last memories of him don’t need his tears all over them. “No. You let me go, alright?” He’s talking faster now, fast like Tech talks. “Stay safe. That’s the most important thing, understand? You stay safe and you do not let them win. Ret’urcye mhi, Omega. I love you.”
He slips and his head goes under.