Marshal Commander Bly ripped the helmet from his head as he fell to his knees.
The contents of his stomach were emptied onto the ground in front of him.
The words were still pounding through his head.
His ears were still ringing as his stomach became empty.
Execute Order Sixty-Six.
The words had taken him over, he had lost control of his own body.
Marshal Commander Bly had ceased to exist in that moment, and he had been replaced by CC-5052.
He had put the comm back into his utility belt and gave the ARC hand signals to the rest of the ARC troopers around him. The best of the best. The Boys In Gold.
They had gunned her down without a second thought.
It was only after the firing had stopped, only after their blasters were steaming hot, smoke wafting off of the barrels of their weapons even in the Felucia heat. It was only after they had checked that she had no vitals, after he had taken her lightsaber and clipped it to his utility belt with a cold almost methodical snap, that the world returned to him.
That Marshal Commander Bly had regained control.
The scream of pain had ripped itself from Bly as his brain caught up to him.
The tears had welled up in his eyes at that point, and then something pulled at his stomach, a knot that expanded exponentially. It tugged at him until it was crushing his stomach, and then his chest, and then his arms and legs, and finally his head. The pain was unbearable and for a moment he thought he was going to die.
Until the pain had vanished, and he had ripped his helmet off and fallen to his knees, his stomach emptying itself of its contents onto the ground beneath him.
His body was shaking, like he was freezing cold, yet there was no cold air to be had. The sun was shining on his exposed skin and the air felt warm. He took a couple deep breaths and tried to focus himself. He was a soldier, a clone trooper in service of the Grand Army of the Republic. He was a Marshal Commander of the 327th Star Corps, serving under Jedi General Aayla Secu…
Bly was ripped from his thoughts as the sound of plastoid hitting rock filled his ears, and he looked up to find Lieutenant Galle falling to his knees, his helmet ripped from his head and his stomach emptying on the rock beneath him. The ARC trooper before him spat out everything and had tears running down his cheeks as he did.
Then another round of plastoid hitting rock came from his left. And then again from the right.
Another one on the left.
This time on from behind him.
He felt something jostle him on his right.
Then there was startled yelp as a body collided with the rock of the ground and helmets were flying off, contents of stomachs spewing everywhere.
Bly looked around in horror as each of his brothers, his vode, fell to their knees and emptied their stomachs. Every single one of them were trained ARC troopers. The best of the Star Corps. Men who had been through everything and had come out on the other side.
They were durasteel given flesh.
And yet, here they all were, vomiting and crying, the pain was almost palpable in the air around them.
Bly swallowed the spit in his mouth and felt it burn down his throat, the stomach acid still ripe. He took shaky steps as he stood, his helmet in one hand, the other clenched in a fist so tight that he was liable to break the bones in his hand. His breaths were ragged as his eyes scanned his surroundings. His training kicked in as his mental state had deteriorated. The ARC trooper took over when Marshal Commander Bly broke.
He was immediately met with surroundings that did not match his last memories. The planet Felucia did not look like this. The fauna and plant life did not look like this. The vibrant colors of the odd plants and the truly strange animals that had skittered about were gone. In their place was instead brownish-red rock that was devoid of major fauna. He only spotted some small green vegetation sprouting through the cracks in the ground.
Everything else was devoid of life.
They were not on Felucia anymore.
Which meant…
His eyes darted around, trying to find her, but everywhere he looked, he came up empty.
He spotted the fellow ARC troopers that… appeared with him. He spotted their helmets that they had ripped from their heads scattered on the ground around them. He spotted the vomit that stained the ground as well as some of their gold and white plastoid. He spotted the discarded blasters that had been abandoned when their stomachs commanded their attention.
He didn't spot her though.
She was gone.
You killed her. You gave the order to fire.
Bly slammed down his mental shields so tight he felt like he might pass out. He had developed them later on through the war, when General Secura had asked him to meditate with her. They had sat cross legged in front of one another and meditated. Her voice had guided him through it all, building up his shields so that he was protected from potential sith attacks.
She had done it all and he had betrayed her.
Good soldiers follow orders.
He had killed her.
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
He had given the damned order to fire.
GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS!
The scream of pain ripped from his throat. It was a guttural thing, filled with pain, his entire soul screaming itself out through him. All of that time, all of those interactions, those conversations, every look and touch shared, every laugh and cry, it was all gone. He had gunned her down like a common battle droid. Like she was nothing…
He fell to his knees again, scrambling back until he hit a rock, tears streaming from his eyes. The galaxy didn't make sense anymore. The general that he served, the jedi that he fought with, the woman that he… that he loved, he had blasted her down without a second thought. He had not even hesitated, his finger pulling the trigger until it was liable to fall off. He had done it without a hint of emotion, just as he had checked her fresh corpse for vital signs before scooping up her lightsaber and clipping it to his utility belt…
His hand went down to where he knew he… no… where CC-5052 had put it, and his gloved fingers hit the familiar shape. Bly had tears running down his cheeks, his vision blurred, and he looked down and his eyes connected with the metal still covered in Felucia dirt.
His finger traced the blade, over all the ridges and bumps, over all the tiny components whose functions had been explained to him. He was as familiar with the blade as if it was his own. But it wasn't his blade.
It was her blade.
He didn't know how long he sat there, how long all of them had simply sat there on the ground and stared into nothingness. How long were their eyes blank he could not say. Maybe it was minutes, or maybe it was hours. No one spoke, for there was nothing to say. They had blasted down their general without remorse or second thought. They had betrayed the very thing they had trained their entire lives for.
What they had been bred for.
Soon enough the sun was setting, and the sky was growing dark. The air was getting colder, and the winds were howling. It was only then did he speak; his voice having become hoarse from his screaming earlier.
"ARC troopers, at the ready." His words came out as a croak, but they carried the same snap as they always did.
The men moved on reflex, falling back on their training, their autopilots running as their minds still reeled from what had happened. Bly stood with them and looked at each of their faces. Galle, Nix, Bes, Donn, Slot, Rod, Ball, Rocket, Dockson, Orn, Ninepoint, every one of them ARC troopers, and they all had the same look of pain in their eyes. They were ARC troopers, trained to be the best, yet there was only so much that training could do. They had learned to hide the pain away from the world around them, yet it was only so much that they could hold in.
They had killed their general, the woman who had called them what they were, men. Not clones, but men. She had seen each and every one of them as equals. Treated them all with respect and dignity.
And now they were here, on an unknown planet, brought here by an unknown force, without a clue in the world as to why. Their general was dead, everything had gone wrong, but there had to be a reason for them to be here.
Bly would figure it out, he had to, for he was a Marshal Commander, and his men needed him.
The lightsaber on his belt felt heavy in its place, and a slight tugging sensation had come to him when he looked down at it, but he thought nothing of it. She was dead, and now they had to move forward, wherever it led them.
