A/N: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belongs to Disney. The ideas portrayed within this piece of fiction are purely Fan-based explorations for my fellow enthusiasts to enjoy. I very much appreciate constructive reviews so please feel free to leave me your thoughts.

P.S. Chapter 1 is now updated.

~ProphetessMinty


Chapter 1

It was Fives' final moments after a blaster shot to the chest left a freshly smoking wound. The injury was a gaping chasm of charred flesh and the air was thick with singed hair. Rex's nose revolted at the awful twang as it hurled itself into his lungs without remorse. He suppressed the sensation to gag as he knew his solider needed him. No…his "friend" needed him.

"Rex…," Fives gasped breathily as he writhed on the floor in anguish.

"Fives," Rex lamented.

"This. It's—bigger than any of us," Fives huffed with great burden. Rex couldn't feel much from behind his gloves but he knew what death felt like. Cold—it was cold. Fives let out a desperate and fearful shiver. "Anything I could have imagined," Fives choked out as he strained to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. Rex ignored the company of white and red, trooper boots that stood behind him.

Everyone was watching and he didn't want to miss this moment. "Oh, I never meant to– to…," Fives spoke before grabbing his captain by the pauldron. "I only wanted to do my duty," Fives whispered into Rex's ear with grief.

The dying clone began to hyperventilate, his body shuddering as it began to reject the breath of life. Rex watched helplessly as the ARC trooper crumpled into a gasping mess. It was moments like this that he pictured his hands in a pool of water. As much as he tried to grab at it, the liquid would run through his iron grasp. Fives' eyes shut as he let out a long and drawn out breath.

"Fives—stay with me Fives," Rex spoke, his voice faltering. "Fives," he whimpered shaking his beloved friend. The clone looked up to Rex one last time with sleep heavy on his hazel eyes. "The mission...the nightmares…they're finally…over—." It was that moment that Rex felt the body lighten in his hands. Fives' head rolled unnaturally off to the side and his lips were pale white with a tinge of blue-grey.

"Fives," Rex whimpered again shaking his friend, "Fives!"

"No, Fives—come on Fives. No! No—stay with me. Fives! Fives! Don't go…," Rex spoke in torment. No matter how much he shook and shook, the ARC trooper didn't stir. This was the first time ever that his comrade never responded to him. It hurt him. Rex felt the stab of loss beginning to sting at his eyes. "Oh, no," Rex whispered, bowing his head.

At last, Rex laid the body down as he mouthed Fives' name. This was it, he was gone.


Rex wasn't sure when it had happened, but he couldn't seem to look anywhere anymore without hearing death itself laughing at him. The weight of loss was everywhere and it was clawing at him. Maybe it was the demise of ARC Trooper Fives. Was it the loss of laughter in General Skywalker's eyes? Or was it the 'goodbye' he never got to speak to Commander Tano?

Things were changing. He…was changing.

No matter how much he busied himself with work, paranoia would creep along and whisper into his ear. Almost like a dark ritual, he would feel the side of his head where a possible ticking time bomb resided. His fingers frequently traced over his freshly buzzed hair. A light scratching noise danced in his ears as the fabric of his gloves scraped against the bleached follicles.

Somewhere off in the distance, someone spoke over the ship's intercom, announcing their current trajectory for the drop-off coordinates. The "Clandestine"—General Quinlan Vos's small flagship—was headed for Coruscant. Shortly before the mission to supply a small outpost with food and water, General Skywalker was pulled away for another matter. None the less, Rex and his men proceeded under the leadership of Vos for only a day. The war was taking a toll on the small colonies and Rex gladly took up the chance of being a part of the relief effort. As the Clandestine was coming to the end of her journey and it was almost time for the Captain to take his leave.

"T-minus ten minutes," the voice spoke before the intercom clicked off. Rex stood up from the table he sat at alone inside the galley. Taking up the white mug, long emptied of hot caf, he walked over to the kitchen's counter. On the windowsill sat a clear tub in which he gently discarded his dish. The clone captain quickly exited the mess hall still ruminating his current predicament.

"Was Fives right?" he thought to himself.

"Are we Clones really just puppets?" asked another stray thought.

It had been a month since Tup and Fives perished under peculiar circumstances. Something about all of this just did not add up. Every time he thought about this very matter it made his stomach flop, putting him on the verge of vomiting. Rex licked the corner of his mouth; his tongue dry with worry.

"Good soldiers follow orders," echoed the ill phrase.

He was tired of being tired; he felt heavy and weighed down by the restless nights. Weariness tugged at his eyes leaving them dry and irritated. A dull ache began to pound behind them leaving Rex in denial of his body's desire for sleep. Time was ticking and every moment he spent in idleness was lost progress. "What should I do?" he asked himself. Even he could not respond to his own question.

As it stood, there were two options to choose from: he would do nothing and continue business as usual; or, he would investigate the organic chip's existence. If it did exist, Rex would get it removed. He'd do whatever it took to get it done. The very idea of knowing about this device could save countless Jedi like General Tiplar from being attacked by clones on the spot. Images of Jedi being mass murdered in the streets or on their flagships was disturbing. And in the Captain's mind, turning on a Jedi was unthinkable. The mere idea of it was a violation of his core-beliefs as it would override his will.

No matter how he looked at it, there was only one way to prove it.

He had to remove the chip, but how? Would it work? He didn't know. Rex mulled over his thoughts in silent horror. "Dual minded thinking comes at a steep price," he told himself. As his heavy boots thumped swiftly against the floor, Rex tried all the more desperately to focus on the sound to drown out his doubts. With every stride he took, his helmet would jiggle and clank against his plastoid, armored thigh.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Rex steadied his thoughts on his way to the hangar, a steely expression locked in place. Just like in the Battle of Umbara, Rex was teetering on another impossible choice. The doors opened and he went in, finding some of his men near one of the transport ships due back to the capital of Coruscant. His brothers welcomed him and he gave them a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"I've got to be strong for them," he thought. Grabbing the plastoid helmet off its clip, Captain Rex retreated into the familiar solitude of his bucket. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. Outside the helmet, he was a Captain and that persona never wavered before his men. Inside the helmet, he could fall apart and no one would know it.

Here, he was safe. And it was here he was free to let his thoughts roam.

Walking toward one of the LAAT/i's, Rex noticed General Vos talking with his captain off to the side. The Jedi Master seemed enthused with his present conversation as his shoulder length dreadlocks shook back and forth in tandem with his laughter. The single yellow stripe across his cheeks and nose almost disappearing in the creases of his smiling eyes.

The clone Captain next to General Vos wore a dark brown pauldron and a long kama that ended around his shins. His hair was brown, slicked back with grease as a lock of hair dangled before his brow. Rex noted that the sides of his head were freshly shaved, leaving a smooth fade to accent the slicked back style.

Captain Kath was known for his predatory tactics in the field. He was good at pincer-maneuvers and downright wicked at tracking. The name—Kath—Rex presumed came from the Dantooine Kath Hounds as he was known for his extraordinary tracking skills. Rex nodded toward his fellow Captain in acknowledgement as Kath's yellow eyes settled on him.

"Captain Rex," General Vos yelled jovially.

"Yes, General Vos," he answered while changing course.

"Captain Kath told me last night how you singlehandedly took control of the situation at the collapsed ore mine. He said you worked until sundown to removed the rubble just to retrieve your men."

"Yes and no sir, it wasn't singlehanded. The operation was very much a team effort to retrieve Echo and the others from the tunnel."

"Nonetheless, Captain," Quinlan stated before placing a hand on Rex's shoulder, "no one could have done what you did. Excellent leadership leads to unified support."

Rex nodded, "Thank you, Sir."

"However–," Quinlan trailed off as he waved Captain Kath away. "I sense conflict within you. Are you concerned about something?" Rex felt a prickly feeling creep up the back of his neck. His concern was the last thing he wanted to tell the Jedi Master. "Uhh," Rex started as he was at a loss for words.

"No sir," he finally managed.

"Very well, but don't let duty keep you from resolving your concerns. We Jedi rely on you. So whatever it is, it can't wait." Quinlan's jovial demeanor had fled away as he fixed Rex with a sagely stare. It was the kind of look Rex knew only the Jedi would have when they looked off into the farthest corners of reality. General Skywalker and General Kenobi had the same look from time to time. Even Ahsoka.

"Yes Sir," Rex replied evenly.

Quinlan patted the Captain's shoulder with a nod before walking off. Rex sighed with relief as he hadn't realized he was holding his breath. General Vos was right, he conceded. The problem before him couldn't wait. "Captain Rex," called Kath's familiar gruff voice, "this LAAT/i isn't going to wait all day." Rex shook his head as he jogged up the gangplank. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but it started with getting some R&R. From there, he would only have a small window of opportunity.

"Make it count," he told himself.