To the most of clones, this was just part of the job, but to the Clone in the back of the legion, the one slightly shorter, slightly mutated, this was more. This was his first time in the Jedi Temple. He had heard stories about the guardians' secret refuge, the massive building few outsiders had seen into. As he marched up the stone steps behind the Fallen Jedi, he realized that this massive stone and glass structure, was someone's home. More than just someone's, hundreds of Jedis' home. The effervescent laughter of younglings echoed in the hall, the quiet whispers of the elders hung in the air. To the thousands of Jedi, the columns that marked the entrance, represented peace and sanctuary, stability and familiarity. And here he was, a clone trooper just following orders, about to slaughter these people in the one place in the galaxy they actually felt safe in. The protectors of peace, were about to be robbed of their one true haven in the galaxy. And the Clone trooper, shorter than all the rest, ducked around a corner away from the rest of the executioners. Away from the Temple, away from the violence, away from the death, away from the Jedis' home. And he knew, from that moment on, he was just like them. On the run, scorned and hunted by society, never to feel truly safe again.