As promised, here's the tie-in piece between Bastion and Alchemy. Enjoy!

The Choice

(Classified) Report of RC-6520, "Ferro," Commando, Teroch Squad following Order 66:

After crash-landing on the planet Ambria, we made a distress call that the Jedi in question answered. They arrived within four standard hours and offered assistance, but were unable to prevent the death of our squad-mate, Exer, from the injuries he sustained during the crash. Because our ship was irreparably damaged, General Halcyon determined that we would accompany her party to Coruscant the next morning.

When we received the contingency order and were preparing to fire on the Jedi, I was wounded by the trooper who traveled with them, whom I was then forced to kill in self-defense. Once he was disabled, we incapacitated General Halcyon, after which we were able to terminate her with a thermal detonator.

From that point we fought the remaining Knight and her Padawan. It wasn't an easy battle – as they attempted to perform mind-tricks on us – but we were successful in the end. Their bodies were destroyed in the fight, so we took their lightsabers as proof of their deaths before re-activating our distress beacon and awaiting rescue.

Everything was wrong.

RC-6520 felt lost, as though he were tumbling through the void of dead space and had no way of knowing what was up or down, right or left. Nothing made sense to him any longer and he was starting to think that his own brain had betrayed him. To add to the confusion, he grasped at fragments of memories and broken strands of thoughts, things that had settled over his mind like a tarp, beneath which he could discern that there was something. Something with shape and substance that he couldn't quite make out.

For the umpteenth time since he'd written it, the clone commando known as "Ferro" stared at the transcript of the report that he'd given once he and his squad-mate, Archer, had been picked up from Ambria, the day after Order 66 had been issued. He'd long since memorized the words, to the point where the letters held no meaning; now they looked to be only gibberish, incoherent bits of script that meant nothing.

But I killed the Jedi. I shot her knee to disable her, then shot her through her heart, right before we used the thermal det. I remember. Those were the words that he told himself, over and over; they had become his mantra.

But despite all this, there was an empty place inside his brain where sensations should have been: the press of the blaster's muzzle to unyielding breastbone; the lift of the Jedi's throat as she took her last breath; the piercing blue bolt of plasma that entered her chest and burned through her pale tunic before she collapsed at his feet.

RC-6520 had killed before. Ferro knew how it felt to take a life.

And it didn't feel like nothing.

From your earliest memory you were given a number, and for a long time that was your only identity. But one day something changed, and you found a name and added it to who – not what, but who – you are.

Ferro considered the possibility that, if his brain was lying to him, he would have no idea, would have no way to answer the question. So he thumbed through his datapad, again and again, staring at the words he'd written and searching for a clue. A glimmer of truth. A sign that he'd been traumatized or confused...the thought crossed his mind that it was he who'd been injured, not poor Exer, and that they just weren't telling him how bad it had been, because what did it matter, really?

I'm just a clone. No one cares what happens to me. It was a thought that had never brought him any bitterness until now, and he didn't understand why.

His dreams were strange, too. Not that they'd ever been particularly pleasant, but now they were filled with images and sounds that he couldn't quantify. The first time it happened – the night after the night, actually – it was a word that he didn't remember the next morning, when he'd woken up sweating and shamed.

Later, his dreams held the sound of fire. Not the belch of flame and smoke that would accompany a thermal det, but a small, soft crackle over dried wood. There was a woman's voice in the distance, and another voice so much like his own it may have been, whispering a hoarse warning.

But that's impossible. Who could have given warning? No one knew. No one saw it coming...least of all us.

One night – last night, actually – he'd woken up begging someone for mercy, for release. His throat felt coated with dust even as it ached from words that seemed like they were trying to claw their way out of his esophagus. Luckily he'd been alone, as Archer spent all of his free time in the gym. Come to think of it, Archer hadn't talked to him at all, since...

Since Ambria.

Ferro frowned and set the 'pad down on his bunk, using the base of his palms to rub his eyes. His and Archer's quarters on the new base was small, sterile. No different from any of the other places they'd spent bits of their lives, but there was a certain utilitarianism to the room that made him uncomfortable. It was too blank. Too new. It smelled like fresh plastic and he often felt cold here, which caused his mind to flicker back to Ambria and the memory of fire.

Idle thoughts. Silly, pointless musings. There's no place in my life for such nonsense. Ferro shook his head to clear it, but the choking dust, the hissing fire, and the sound of the Jedi's voice remained in their places at the corners of his mind. It wasn't a voice he would ever forget, but it was not her dying gasp, as he'd told his CO. It was not the final shudder of her body before she collapsed to the yellow, Ambrian dirt that he could see playing like a holo-vid in his waking mind, but rather the firelight that glinted off of her eyes as she watched him without seeming to.

As if she was searching for something.

You act as though you are not afraid of anything, but you feel fear every time you take a breath. It never goes away, and you think it never will.

Ferro shook his head again, rose from his bunk and went to find Archer.

It was late – or early – and there were few troopers around the gym at this hour, but even if he'd been within a sea of identical bodies Ferro would have found his brother-by-choice in a heartbeat: right now Archer was alone, as he'd been since Ambria. He was lifting weights in the corner and watching his reflection with the bearing of a man who was trying to look anywhere but his own face. At Ferro's approach, his eyes closed – briefly – then opened as if in resignation. Archer set down the weights, rose, and turned to meet his brother.

They stood in silence for a moment, caught beneath a vent that was shooting out cold, recycled air that held a metallic edge. Finally Ferro shook his head, as if answering the question he was about to ask. "Can't sleep either?"

Archer looked away, frowning. "No. Not since..." His feet shifted as he left the word unsaid.

"Yeah." They hadn't talked about it – not at all – and Ferro didn't know how to start. So he pretended to study the series of weights, regimented against the mirror. "I've had strange dreams," he said at last.

His brother crossed his arms close to his chest, as if the action was all that was holding him together. "Me too." He frowned again; perhaps the expression had never truly vanished. "There was a fire, wasn't there?"

As he studied his fellow commando, Ferro felt his own brows start to knit. "There was. And...she talked to us. Didn't she?"

At this, Archer's frown deepened, etched on his face like it would never leave, and there was fear in his voice when he replied. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Jedi like – liked – to talk a lot. Right?"

"I'm not sure." Ferro glanced around the gym, noting the presence of only two other clones, both of whom were engrossed in their own workouts, separate and uninterested in himself and his squad-mate. No one really talked to the commandos, and Ferro suddenly realized that he kind of preferred it that way. Orders had come through a few hours ago – soon they'd be absorbed into another squad. The 501st was apparently taking all of the commandos, sucking them up like a sponge; the words duty, unity, and purpose were being slapped over them like paint on armor that was against regulation now, because they were all servants of the Empire. Still faceless, still nameless. But somehow so much more than before.

He shivered and stepped away from the air vent.

-But there is always going to be change...as long as you're alive.

-And how long might that be?

Archer tracked his brother's movement with his eyes. "We got their lightsabers."

"Yeah..." Ferro nodded. He remembered the feel of the weapon in his hand; it was a slender cylinder, heavier than he'd always imagined, simple but elegant. The blade...he'd ignited it once before he'd handed it in – just because. It was unexpectedly yellow. The color reminded him of Ambrian dust so he'd shut it off after a few seconds. "We did, didn't we?"

He frowned and rubbed at his forehead. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. "It feels...strange," he added in a muted voice, not daring to meet Archer's eyes, in case he really was going mad and would see the truth mirrored in his brother's gaze. "Like...a memory, but of watching a holo-vid or something." There was no shudder, no dying gasp. Her heart didn't stop beating. The Jedi's blood didn't pool at my feet, as it should have. As I said it did.

I'm a liar. Or I'm kriffing crazy. Does one negate the other?

Archer gave him a careful look. "I had the same feeling." There was a pause while he cleared his throat. "Guess we got banged up worse than we thought?" His voice held an edge of hopefulness that made Ferro want to laugh. Or cry.

He was pretty torn right now.

You are more than what you've always been told, Ferro. I want you to understand that you have a choice, always.

"Maybe." Ferro felt the muscles in his shoulders pull into a shrug, but the movement was stilted, as if there were strings on his body that jerked him along in the expected motions, while he watched from above. He'd made his report, he'd returned to his post, as he was supposed to. As he expected himself to. Each morning he woke up and did his job, then went to sleep that night and tried not to think too much in between. Tried not to wonder if he was a liar, or worry that he was losing his mind.

I killed her. I killed the Jedi, as I was ordered. Because I was ordered. Because I didn't have a choice. I know I killed her.

Don't I?

Ferro looked at Archer; for the first time in his memory it was like seeing his own reflection. Within his brother's eyes he saw echoes of his own doubts and confusion, which frightened him like nothing else he'd ever experienced. Then Archer looked away, dropped his gaze to his own feet, but it was too late. The damage was done. Ferro felt his jaw tighten as if he'd eaten something sour and his body was rejecting it. I have to know. He spoke the words aloud.

"Yeah. Me too." Archer's face was drawn, his frown was deep and permanent, but his eyes were fixed on some distant stretch of space.

At some point the other clones had left; the gym was silent. It was only the two of them now, along with the fragments of their memories.

Ferro decided that it wouldn't be that way, much longer.

Ferro and Archer are an interesting pair...reviews and comments are always welcome!

Look for a sneak preview of Eye of the Storm: Alchemy this Thursday, and thanks for reading!