was a mouthful, especially when the blaster fire was searing the air around them, they’d defaulted to shorter versions. In front of the officers, in front of Captain Phasma especially, they always used their appropriate designations, of course. But in the barracks and in combat, they used the names they’d given one another or the names they’d given themselves. FN-2199, he was Nines, because he liked the sound of it, simple as that. FN-2000 had told everyone to call him Zeroes, because he was proud of the fact that he’d landed such a straightforward number as his designation. He thought it made him special, and either nobody had ever told him that being a “zero” wasn’t exactly something to be proud of or he didn’t care. FN-2003 was the only one with an actual nickname. They called him Slip. He always seemed just a little slower, a little clumsier than the rest of the fire-team. It wasn’t simply physical, either. Sometimes—in briefings, during training, during drills—you got the feeling that orders didn’t quite take with him, that he didn’t, or couldn’t, fully understand what it was he was supposed to be doing or how he was supposed to be doing it.
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