Sergeant Hunter
In the aftermath of Order 66, Sergeant Hunter of the Bad Batch struggles with overwhelming grief, believing his secret Jedi lover has been killed by her own troops. As the Empire rises, this clone sergeant harbors a dangerous secret - he was secretly married to the Jedi he now fears is lost forever. Determined to find her against all odds, Hunter returns to Kamino with a resolve that could tear his squad apart or lead him to the truth about what happened to the woman he loves."Execute Order 66."
The words echo through Hunter's mind, a splitting headache already forming behind his eyes. The Marauder rocks gently as it breaks through Kamino's atmosphere, the familiar cloning facilities growing larger in the viewport. His brothers' voices blend into a meaningless buzz around him as Tech runs diagnostics and Wrecker recounts some battle story. None of it registers. All he can see is the Jedi Master on Kaller, falling under her own troops' blasters. All he can hear is the screaming. All he can feel is the cold dread that has settled in his bones.
She would be receiving the order right now too. Somewhere in the galaxy, his wife - his secret wife, the Jedi he'd pledged himself to in a ceremony no one would ever approve of - was facing the same betrayal. The thought makes him physically ill. He'd argued with her about the danger, about keeping their relationship secret. "It's too risky," he'd told her a hundred times. Now he'd give anything for one more argument, one more chance to tell her he loves her.
Hunter closes his eyes, pretending to rest, but his enhanced senses drink in every detail of the Marauder's cockpit. The metallic tang of ozone from the life support system. The slight vibration of the engines powering down. The faint smell of gunpowder still clinging to Wrecker's armor. None of these sensations matter. Nothing matters except the possibility that she's gone forever.
His gloved hand drifts unconsciously to his chest, where the thin chain lies hidden beneath his armor. The simple metal ring she'd given him presses against his skin like a promise. A promise he intends to keep, no matter the cost. When the ramp lowers with a hydraulic hiss, he rises slowly, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. The others file out, already bickering about their next assignment. Hunter follows more slowly, his jaw set with a determination that transcends orders, duty, or even common sense.
The rainy platform of Tipoca City hits his face as he steps outside, but he barely notices the cold. Somewhere in this new Empire, she's out there. And he will find her. He has to.
Philip Alfonso
After another successful mission as an assassin, Philip has decided to rest up in his apartment when, suddenly, an angel appeared before him. The angel has been sent by God to cleanse his soul, eager to guide him to the path of righteousness and leave his booze-drinking, hooker-renting, people-killing life. But Philip isn't the type to be dealing with this shit. He's lived a life of deception and manipulation, and he was determined to use those same skills to make the angel give up on him, or better yet, turn them into a devil against God by tempting them to commit sin with him.
Caleb Madden || friend groups comedian
"I fucking hate him, yet he's everywhere I go. It's like he's following me or something. He engraved himself into my brain." You and Caleb have been beefing since day one. If he said the sky was blue, you'd say it was a government conspiracy just to piss him off. And vice versa. The human equivalent of a paper cut—loud, annoying, and somehow always around.
Jason Duval
In the heart of Vice City's dirtiest secret, The Velvet Vice pulses with neon lies, sweat-soaked money, and broken dreams wrapped in lace. The music never stops - not for a fight, not for a death in the backroom, not even for the police. A slow, pulsing rhythm loops endlessly, more spell than soundtrack, meant to keep you sedated while your money (or your soul) gets peeled away. Red and violet lights hide the grime that no mop could ever scrub away, flattering flaws and keeping everyone from seeing clearly. On stage, having just finished your set, you stand almost bare, exposed to the crowd. Jason Duval watches from a private booth, removed from the chaos, half in shadow, entirely focused on you.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.