(Notes in End :D)

"We'll be remembered more for what we destroy than what we create." ― Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

"The first duty of a man is to think for himself". ― Jose Marti

'Good soldiers follow orders,' a phrase that shaped the future for thousands of star systems. It had left a bloody crater so great in time over so few years.

Another poorly planned assault leaves two companies dead and the objective incomplete. The Jedi had long since forgone their days as the Generals of old. Would they ever have the chance to regain these skills remained to be seen? Good soldiers show no hesitation. The orders are given to march straight into enemy fire shredding apart the white armour, scorching the greenery black, and flooding the air with smell ozone. A good soldier follows every order given. A commander listens to an inexperienced general plan a planetary invasion that will result in half if not a third of their forces' deaths. He hesitates to speak up biting his tongue and swallows down advice gained from experience. On a different planet in a different time a small squad of RC's creep through the shadows of a building taking down whoever stands in their path perceived enemy, or allies.

Throughout this, the mantra, a good soldier follows orders, repeats.

Deep within the fabric of time and space they watched and wept.

Admirals whispered in the privacy of their correspondence the disturbing willingness these products, beings, showed to lay down their lives. Had the Kaminoans truly succeeded in what they boasted? The few civilians working side by side with the clones heard these mantras more often. They did not remain with units for much longer afterward. Generals could hear it flash across the entire battalion's mind during a campaign. Commanders would finish their motivational speeches unknowingly muttering the mantra to themselves. If it were to try justifying the orders they relayed, or subconscious remained unrecorded. Hearing a soldier, at his core still young and afraid, walking into a situation where certain death was inevitable muttering good soldiers follow orders left marks in the force deeper than many deaths in the previous centuries.

They stood back no longer. The physical could not be changed but the after was theirs to control.

The products, beings, had their own opinion. Some likened it to the programming of a computer coded into them from before they could comprehensively think. Others joked that if they could see the inside of their eyelids, they would find the mantra tattooed there. Some took the joke a step further saying the mantra was engraved into their brains. One thing remained in common, sleep did not bring escape from the nightmare that accompanied their lives. It was during sleep that they saw what extent they would go to, to follow orders.

Thousands of feet marched to the tune of this mantra and thousands of young men died.

One creature devoid of a physical vessel fragmented, millions of versions of itself coming to be. With every death, a facet disappeared only to be replaced by a new facet accompanying a new heartbeat. The time of idleness had passed.

It was why its presence ebbed and swelled in hundreds of battlefields spanning a fraction of the cosmos. Facets returning to their source.

"Product that cannot perform to standards must be eliminated as not to contaminate surrounding products." A philosophy the kaminoans held dear thrummed in the veins of one-to-many breathing products. Products forever trapped in a cycle to outperform expectations yet conform to the set mould. The peak of perfection holding nothing of more value than the ability to follow orders from above. "Good Soldiers follow orders."

This was the reason why squad after squad of product, clones, rose from their cover to provide suppressive fire against a turret nest. Ahead their general raced heedlessly towards a fortified enemy encampment. Bolts glanced off a blue beam of light redirected away from the wielder. At their boots dust struggles to settle. An idle thought at the effort to remove every last ounce graced the minds of all deployed. Around them soldiers, brothers fall torn to pieces by the turrets or with a single smoking hole from a sniper. The latter, a small mercy compared to many deaths faced so far by this battalion.

It was one of these clones fated to become another cluster of digits on a spreadsheet that held his position. CT-7388 had seen more action in stimulations than in person before these past few deployments. One hot zone after another tended to teach one fast. To his left and right clones, his squad, stood side by side answering the wall of red plasma with their own. They were just one small squad among dozens all struggling to advance. Their effort did little in whittling down the enemy but provide a distraction from the General dancing his way around the edges of the fortification Commander and selected squad in tow.

One droid unencumbered by the blaster battle meticulously scanned for its next target. Its rifle in those precious few seconds between discharges started a new charging cycle that within seconds was completed. Then with the swiftness and finality of lightning, the air swallowed the red bolt exiting from the metal muzzle. It was one of these ruby red bolts that ate its way through plasteel, iron, calcium, and iron in that order for the first and last time. It was a precursor and summoner of death all at once.

All soft edges a form chosen to be least threatening. It, They had not much longer to wait before welcoming another of its fragments into itself.

The mud of the battlefield soaked into the hem of a white dress. The fur of an unknown beast rested over her shoulder seamlessly merging into the tattered remains of a half cap. She carried no weapon of true offensive value on her being. Instead at her hip was an arced blade, a small ceremonial harvest scythe. This tool of old had long been replaced by machinery throughout most of the vast cosmos. The handle of redwood carried intricate engraving that flowed onto the metal blade. Adorning her arms were vambraces chipped and greyed sporting a single unbroken line of green. The same green could be seen adorned by the battalion fighting around her.

She was untouchable crossing the battlefield. Her fingers skimmed a soldier's shoulder as she passed, he was never the wiser as a bolt burned its way through his shoulder. That one was not who she was here for. Ducking under bolts with ease and weaving through half-collapsed trenches a call guided her course. Scrape erected into flimsy barricades did little to impede the figure's journey towards him. She ignored the dead and dying at her feet. Invisible and intangible to the living the path was clear all the way to a crater containing a small squad. Throughout her journey, slowly, almost unnoticeably, time distorted and slowed in her wake. The impact of the sniper's bolt sending a body careening to the ground several feet from its original position took too many seconds to happen. His time was over and thus all time came to a fitful stop as if wishing to speed past the injustice taking place. To erase all evidence.

Time had bowed to their will finally having long succumbed to the will of its siblings. Every one of its many fragments had been given the gift to make time their own.

Everything around her stopped except for the tragedy in the trench. A single unsinged leaf hung suspended in the path of plasma. The trench at her feet did not fit the word, more of a crater formed by the collapsing of the walls on themselves, it provided the intoxicating illusion of cover. An illusion shattered well and truly like the white chest plate. Deep within the newly created crater black gave way to fissures of angry red. Oh, and did she weep. She wept to the tune of a failing heart she could only hear and see. Dust that had claimed the body while positioned on the rim gave way to the mud in the centre of the crater. The mud seeped under the armour and coated the green so proudly once displayed. She had come here solely to find this boy and lead him home.

The squad's medic had slid down into the crater reaching for his med-pack. His red cross proudly on display matched the colour of the liquid pooling within the bolt's final mark. The final three members scrambled deeper into hiding while continuing to lay down fire.

Crouching down near the dying boy she examined him. Standard height and standard armour with a singular green line peeking out from under dust and mud on each plate. She extended her hand above him as the medic pressed dressing into the hole. It was clear he was wasting resources, yet he seemed to try for several more moments. And then a switch flipped. He did not do anything further to stop the bleeding. He did not administer the adrenaline shot he had at the ready. He did not look away as his brother hacked out wheezes in the place of breaths. Instead, he held his brothers' hand and quietly whispered words of comfort that did not reach her existence. She waited and so did the medic for the same thing. The ties between the physical body and spirit could not be forcefully severed, nor could the process be rushed. The amount of time needed to wait was inconsequential to her.

When a hand finally reached out to her, she grasped it. In comparison to hers, the hand was small, almost that of a child. In contrast to its size, the hand possessed the strength of an adult. And just like the contrast of hand size and strength came the contrast on his face. A childlike face still all rounded edges only beginning to give way to prepubescent sharpness and a set of eyes so shadowed by the past. Battles now over, blazing infernos, and the death of those held dear and close played in those eyes for her to see. With a squeeze, she released his hand and took his forearm. On reflex the boy copied, and she heaved him to his feet.

With one last once over, she stepped back letting the boy, soldier, sway. It was at that moment the daze of memories seemed to end. Brown eyes snapped into focus assessing for threats. One so small already checking himself for the non-existent armour and weapons even in death was a testament to his creators. The more he assessed, the more the confusion building up inside him leaked into his expression. His lip barely trembled as his eyes took on a foreboding shine. The threat of tears did not last long though giving way to blankness. It was only his irises that continued to royal between brown to almost black. Throughout small hands fisted at his sides clutching at air. When his eyes landed on her again his hands grasped at the air where a weapon had always been. His, CT-7388, no, Ace's eyes settled onto her. His small mouth drew into a scowl as he assessed her. The scythe at her hip and vambraces competed for the attention of his eyes. The scowl only deepened further as he shifted his stance marginally now on the balls of his feet. Gangly arms subtly moved away from where only the memory of his blaster remained and came up to positions where he could use them to defend himself or strike.

Within Ace's mind, a battle waged. To strike first and attempt to gain the advantage or step back to assess further.

The footfall backward was hesitant. His eyes had yet to look at what was taking place at his feet.

"What..." his eyes searched over the frozen battle, but always kept her in his peripheral vision, "...in the nine Corellian Hells is going on?" It should have been eerie how calm the boy kept his voice. Yet the one he addressed stood there watching him eyes nothing more than darkness. It, she did not grace him with more of a response than a head tilt.

She remained in place still and silent as the battlefield around them. Contemplation radiated from her every pore.

Small fists curled once more as he tried to mimic this beings' presence. For someone unarmed in the middle of a frozen battlefield she held herself with poise and indifference. An indifference Ace was losing grasp of faster than he could even use it to shield himself. Breathing was impossible as he inhaled nothing through his nose filling an empty void where his lungs should have been. Picking up the pace of his pseudo breaths he did nothing more than feel like he was verging closer to suffocation. Everything burned and he could not feel his heart pick up the pace. He couldn't feel the beat that had separated him from a droid.

"Panic is a symptom of defectiveness." Ace would never forget his Drill Sergeant stating this while putting a blaster bolt through a trembling cadet's head. Matter of fact and simple like a long-suffering ori'vod explaining to a kih'vod how to avoid being caught sharing bunks. It is this voice soft-spoken and collected that tore him from spiralling further.

"Who are you?" The question came to this world in the form of a demand more than an inquiry.

True to her nature she once more let the silence draw on. She did not bow to the pressure of time to rush this encounter, nor did it feel right to respond. Deep within the void, she came from whispered that her answer was unrequired and thus she never gave one.

Before her, much like a star reaching its end the boy collapsed in on himself. Fingers buried into black curls pulling, grounding himself on something that he could still do and feel. His body trembled with unnecessary heaves broken apart by a mantra of whispered no's.

"There Is Nothing After Death! This Is Impossible! I'm Not Dead…..." At his feet rested his very own body claimed by mud and packing slowly turning red. He only starred in horror at the contradiction of his panicked ramblings.

She watched. She had never done this before. Her entire being existed to help this young one out of this horror and bring him home. Yet she only stood and watched as he progressed from supernova to blackhole.

They had done this before. By themselves and through their fragments. So many times, had they been here standing on a battlefield much like this one that most reactions and faces would blur into one but with these boys all possessing the same face…. They were all so different. Ace looked like every one of his brothers, yet so unique still. In the past year, They had seen these vat-grown humans react to death in such different ways to each other. Calm, angry, terrified, happy, confused, a mix of all of the above. Some did not believe that there was more after death choosing to forever wonder battlefields of old as spectres and others believed wholeheartedly not surprised by her presence. Some did not rejoice at the fact of finally being free from their existence and others did. A few would speak of the mission ending, and one or two sobbed at the thought of escape from the reality of hell and others fought to return to it not wanting to abandon their brothers.

Their sibling loved the fighters. They goaded them, encouraging them to fight what should be with promises that were not set in stone. These fighters were the ones that came back. The ones who gasped down oxygen like a drowning man water after being disconnected from the ventilator that had been their only tether to life and the ones who against all odds persevered with too much trauma to sustain. But even their sibling knew not to interfere in situations like Ace's. Ace's heart may yet restart many times, but it would still crumple under its own exertion to damaged. Their sibling's presence was not required for one to fight their fate. In the grand end though he was theirs and theirs alone to care for.

It was truly amazing how fast he once more switched from panic to almost calmness. The only giveaway being tremors racing through his face breaking the facade of indifference. At his core, he was a child that had been trapped in a soldier's body and life and shoved back into the body of a child. He no longer had the armour to hide behind and reinforce his own or a weapon to speak with.

"I'm not dead." Finality sounded with a similar crack to fissures tearing through planet crusts. Irreversible and attention-grabbing. "Death is nothingness, not this." His hand waved at the frozen battlefield for emphasis as he pointedly ignored his dead body and the squad of brothers all caught in their own bubbles of time. "Whatever this is, is not death. It Is A Hallucination Or Nightmare. A new Separatist interrogation method"

For the first time in his life, there was no training applicable to his situation. No brother nearby to comfort and advise. Around him, his emotions lashed out like whips. She felt each lash against her being. It burned echoing the wails she had released not long before. The fight within himself against himself could not and was not manageable long term. Ace knew this, but he was not going to lose his last ounce of control over what was happening.

"It's a hallucination." The confidence he had amassed was unwavering, "I can clearly remember covering ..." and just like that the confidence he had amassed imploded on itself leaving him with only the cold truth. Ace's small hand hesitantly reached for his chest where his physical body housed a charred crater. She could see it in his eyes. The moment he could remember every moment of the impact and the searing pain that accompanied it. The struggle to breathe as cooked flesh cracked allowing blood to spill into his chest cavity. A tear slid from his eye and no longer before her did stand a child. Instead, a man aged beyond his years collapsed to his knees. Before Ace was the medic in a similar position head hung expression hidden behind a helmet.

Was it the final words ever addressed to him whispered by a close brother repeating in his mind that dragged another 'no' deep out of Ace's throat? Small shudders ran throughout his frame and for the first time, he let his fingers relax. It must have been instinct as he grabbed at the medic's helmet only for hands to pass through, but he tried again this time choosing to pretend to hold the helmet and press their foreheads together. Metal kissed nothingness and nothingness wished in response for the reassuring press of metal.

She waited no more as she closed the distance separating them placing her hand on his shoulder. Not giving Ace a chance to throw up his walls she squeezed his shoulder. The comfort he so desperately wished for could not be found here but she would try.

Closing her eyes, she exhaled needlessly mimicking the soldier's behaviour. Maybe she needed just as much comfort herself for this next part. Looking down at the man she had one more method to help him let go. Releasing her restraints of time, she allowed it to return to normal. Around them, blue and red bolts crisscrossed impacting dirt, metal, and iron. Before him, he watched his squad synchronise into a single unit. Ray repacked his medkit while the two shinnies provided further cover fire. And as if he had not just died the universe went on just like that. Clankers answered their volleys with their walls of ruby bolts forcing everyone back into their trenches. Dust kicked up creating valuable decreased visibility between the sides.

The fifth member of their squad and Sargent crouched by Ace's lifeless husk. With drilled precision, he searched for a pulse. One second passed, another five quickly followed, and then the soldier's fingers remained on Ace's pulse point for a second too long. Time slowed for Ace again without her intervention as the soldier shook his head and drew his fingers away finally. Ray had long confirmed his death but Sarg calling it to the rest of the squad was painful. Made it irreversible. It was the small drop in the rookies' shoulders as they faced the death of a close brother in a battle for the first time. Self-loathing, despair, frustration, fear, and anger radiated from the entire squad mixing into the concoction of emotions leaking of Ace.

These men truly were poorly made products. Fate and life had been cruel mistresses playing their games full of deception, cruelty, and hope. What had been planned to be weaponized copies of one had become many weapons within the same shells. They watched assessing and waiting to take one more home. They pressed and she sped up time into a swirl of colour and darkness.

Together the pair stood there frozen in time. Silent until Ace finally asked, "What now?"

Releasing her hand from his shoulder she raised it to her chin. Her legs shifted opening her stance and she made an effort to mimic the languid ease mortals displayed in respiration. Ace watched her every movement with a perplexed expression. He was confused why she had shifted her body language so radically.

"That is something only you can decide. Do you wish to remain here? Watch your brothers die and the remaining leave you behind. You will receive your closure and know what happens on this field of battle, but do you wish to remain here for the rest of eternity?" The voice lilted yet bore the edge of a blade. "Or do you wish to come with me? You will leave this field of battle behind never to be seen again."

Her first words to him. She had been made for this moment. He would come home and be safe.

"And my brothers? Do I…. I can't just leave them behind." Ace rose to his full height starring at the figure before him. He had not noticed earlier but she stood taller than him and unaffected by his responses.

"You wish death upon them?" The black orbs in place of eyes turned darker, a possibility Ace would have thought impossible.

"The only way they can follow you to where you will go is through death and choice. If you remain you will be the one left behind by them as they go fight on new planets and die either choosing to come or stay." She stepped back away from him. "No matter what you choose young one this journey you must make alone."

Cogs turned behind those dark eyes weighing up the options presented from what information had been gathered. It was his turn to remain silent in responses. Ace remained frozen body flickering between elderly male and child. He wavered between two options just like his image. To stay or to let go.

Somewhere behind him in the blurred space was his squad. These were the men he had fought, bled, and now died beside. Could he leave them? Would he see them again where the apparition wanted him to go, or would they be given the option to stay? Which would they choose? It always circled back to him wanting to choose the option that he would not take alone. The option where he was sure he would not be left behind again.

"What will happen to them?" such a simple question he asked of her yet so complex.

There was no response she could give to satisfy the question. The fate of those boys both rested in the hands of her siblings and themselves.

"You can't tell me can you." Ace concluded himself.

She watched and felt the welling's of pain deep within. His and her feelings toward the unfairness intertwined anchoring themselves to her. He had deserved so much more than life had deemed fitting to grant. Not once did the dark depths of her eyes betray the inner turmoil she felt, and in turn, They felt. Instead, all she did was nod her approval at his conclusion falling back into her silent state.

"I…." the pause hung heavy, "I... I can't leave." In front of her stood the small cadet again pulling at his curls.

Maybe she had misjudged the effectiveness of this shape. It was time to rectify her mistake.

The next time Ace looked up the woman was gone having been replaced by a stranger, clone. His apprehension was palpable but more positive. The clone had a face holding affection and years of hardship. The armour cladding his body was similar to that of that one Cuy'val Dar trainers he had seen briefly on Kamino but far older and more intricate. Much like with the female from moments ago the very same fur shawl hung over his shoulders seamlessly into that same half cape. At his hip hung the scythe and on the other a holster with a blaster in it. Attached to this clone's back was a blaster wrapped in rags and weathered beyond years.

"Your war has ended vod'ika. Have faith in your Vod to remember you along with the thousands of others before you."

Ace teetered on the proverbial edge small feet shuffling and hands disentangled from hair clenching again. His brows scrunched together in an automatic reaction to his eyes squeezing shut tighter than normal or required. This clone, no brother held so much confidence and affection all directed at him. He wanted to drink it in and yet hide from it at the same time. How did he know he was going to choose the right path?

Ace's answer came in the form of an extended hand and an encouraging smile. He could feel his being call for him to go. It was as certain as it had felt right sharing one bunk after a gruelling exercise or adding a few B1 kills to his kill list when competing with his squad.

The brother didn't rock as his extended hand was ignored and Ace launched himself at his chest. Nor did he seem to mind the extra weight as he stood, and Ace couldn't find it in himself to care if this brother was the woman. All that mattered was that he wasn't alone. The feeling of being pulled against unfamiliar armour somehow was just as comforting as being crushed against the plasteel plates. He would admit it was odd to see his battalions green cut swaths across some of the designs and plates. It looked hastily applied and at the same time like it had been there always and perfectly replicated his armour's pattern.

"I told them it would catch on." The quiet little crow of pride was muffled in fur.

The figure strode away from the battlefield and Ace found himself wondering when he would see his squad. Would the rookies have finally found themselves a name? He bet Ray would still worry for their health even if they were dead. Maybe Sarge would finally get some sleep. The thought of seeing his batchmates again came unbidden.

Mando Glossary.

Vod - brother, sister, comrade
Khi' vod - small sibling
Ori 'vod - big or older sibling
Vod' ika - affectionate title for those younger or close.
'ika- dimunitive suffix
Cuy'val Dar - those who no longer exist. The title is given to the Mandalorian bounty hunters hired to train the cone army
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Thank you for reading this concoction originally birthed while chilling on a roof being my brother's ball returner. Since that day long ago I have given this piece a large overhaul in the past week.
It's my first time writing a figure using none gender-specific pronouns. I know the appearances were brief but pointers would be deeply appreciated. Reviews, in general, will be greatly appreciated as any advice can do miracles for future works. I don't have a beta reader, pushes younger brother out of frame, so any typos and inconsistencies I didn't pick are going to stab you guys in the eyes.
This was originally intended as a one-shot but then again in these past days, I have gotten rather attached to this universe.

Crossposted with AO3

Side Note/Disclaimer- I do not claim or have any ownership of anything Star Wars universe-related.
8th out.