Author's Note: This was originally an unfinished one-shot I started back in the spring, and it got lost in the archives of my Word account XD But, after lots of revising, I think it makes a fitting prologue to "Blood Brothers." Thank you for reading, and replies are located at the bottom, as always!

You're in a position of power now. How does it feel?

Rex unholstered his DC-17 and let fly. A barrage of bolts tore through the stifling air of the empty storeroom and met their mark. Blue sparks dissipated, revealing a charred hole simmering through the slab of durasteel.

He had given up trying to silence Krell's voice. The general was dead, but he was by no means gone. His infectious last words still seeped into Rex's thoughts like a poison. If Rex could not silence them, then the only other option was to drown them out.

Unsatisfied, Rex fired three more rounds. The sound ricocheted off the ceiling. It was a jarring sort of noise, rattling the inside of his skull; yet he found it strangely pleasing. What did it matter if someone heard?

It feels good, doesn't it?

"Kriff right, it does," Rex said under his breath. Bitterness throbbed in his chest, with an unmatched hate he had never felt before.

This seemed the only relief. Lashing out with all his tireless energy—away from people and noise, away from questions.

Rex spied the faint flash of his comlink, but ignored it. For once, he didn't care. If he could just seize this one moment, unleash all the anger he had caged back since Umbara, then maybe he could somehow learn to move on…

I can sense your fear. You're shaking, aren't you?

Krell's menacing words struck a cruel cord. Rex knew well enough that he was his own worst enemy. It was impossible to run from his own conscience.

A scream threatened to tear at the back of his throat. He wanted to shout, wanted to curse. But who else was there to blame but himself? He had been given the opportunity to end Krell. It practically lay in his hand, within the simple pull of a trigger. Over and over, he had the chance to set an example for his men, to be the fearless leader they expected of him.

And over and over, he had failed. His rigid code, ingrained in him since birth, prevented him from doing what needed to be done.

For a general to betray the trust of his men, and the Republic they fought to protect, was unthinkable.

But a Jedi?

The Jedi, whose judgment was never to be questioned. The Jedi, their friends , who cared more for the men under their command than they did their own welfare.

For a Jedi to betray their clones...it was impossible.

Or was it?

Rex found himself questioning everything he had known. Everyone.

Rex hated himself for hesitating that day. It had taken Dogma, a shiny, to get the job done and follow through with Krell's execution. His faith in all he was and once knew, was wounded indefinitely. How could he possibly learn to trust again, or even trust his own judgment?

He wished, for a split second, that he had someone to explain it to. Someone to confide in, other than his own distorted memory. But that would be selfish, hardly plausible. If he couldn't understand, then how could he expect someone else to? It was his own mental burden to shoulder, and his alone.

You can't do it, can you?

Rex paced the floor of the warehouse, subconsciously stamping out the apparition's taunts. He didn't remember drawing his other twin blaster. But, before he realized it, Rex was once again attacking the makeshift target with untamed ferocity. Even when his HUD informed him that the steel plate was thoroughly dismantled, he kept on.

He had been so restrained by programming and unquestioning devotion. Now it was like seeing the galaxy for the first time. Now the blinders were off. Still, the same question prodded at him from the back of his mind:

If he could relive the moment, would he have pulled the trigger?

Rex didn't know the answer. To put a blaster bolt through the back of an unarmed man was a sickening idea, even a monster like Krell. Next time—if there ever was a next time—he would not hesitate.

Rex's hands fell to his side. The pistols hung limp in his fists. The onslaught of blaster fire left the wall behind the target marred, pounded with laser bolts until it was almost unrecognizable. Rex sank onto a stack of crates, feeling just as utterly beaten and broken as the day it all happened. When he had unknowingly slaughtered his own brothers in a crossfire. When he had faltered under Krell's manipulating hand.

Faint smoke trailed up to the ceiling as Rex put away his blasters. His fingers glided slowly across the wall's maimed surface.

CT-7567, do you have a malfunction in your design?

"Stop. General—" Rex's words came out broken and weak as he pleaded with the imaginary voice.

Kriff! He isn't your general.Rex leaned one arm against the storage wall, clenching his fist in frustration. His entire body shook, as if caught in a Kaminoan gale.

Are you reading me, CT-7567? I asked you a question!

Rex's pulse thundered in his ears. Each breath steadily grew into an ache within his chest, but he hardly noticed.

You should have listened to the ARC trooper from the beginning, Captain. He was right! I was using you.

"Get out of my head!!"

Rex's fury returned in one last stormy surge. He drew his arm back and lunged at the wall, his knuckles burning upon impact. The only reward he received was a small dent in the wall. It was hardly worth the pain crawling all the way up into his shoulder.

He was once a steady, confident captain. Now all he felt was failure.

That's all you are. All you'll ever be. Inefficient. Cowardly. Inferior. You're nothing.

Rex sucked in a breath, but his airway seemed to tighten the more he tried.

I'm nothing…

Rex tugged off his helmet and let it drop beside him. By the time he felt his knees begin to buckle, it was too late. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

Moments dragged on as Rex knelt on all fours, slowly regaining control of his erratic breathing. It was not the first time he had fought off a panic attack. And each time, he thanked the Force no one was around to see it happen.

Rex tried to pull himself up onto the storage crate, but his worn muscles would not allow it. A kind of paralysis seemed to have swept over him. So there he remained, one arm tucked under his head as he leaned against the side of the cold metal trunk.

The voice was gone, finally. But he could not erase Umbara. They had finished the campaign; but who was to say their next mission would not end the same way?

Rex sat up, his back against the crate. The dusky glow of the ceiling lights cast lonely, twisted shadows across the storeroom floor. His eyes wandered the room aimlessly, taking in the stacks of boxes and piles of ammo. He stopped when his gaze settled on the worn helmet laying in front of him. Rex pulled it onto his lap, fingering each familiar groove with solemn care.

He remembered a time when the color was pure white, back when he was only a shiny. Before he had joined in any real battle. Before he understood the cost of freedom. Now it seemed only the dirty relic of a war-weary soldier.

He turned the helmet over in his hands, glancing over the tally marks etched into the armor. There were far more now, than there used to be. Some of the other boys kept record of kills and successful missions, others of their months of service. But he did it to remember his fallen brothers, a memorial to the men he had lost in the battalion. A sobering reminder of just how detrimental and drawn-out the war had become. Rex rested his forehead against the front of the helmet and sighed.

Cody was right. Sometimes it was difficult to be the one that survived.

Rex jolted at the sound of his comlink fizzling to life. Fives' voice filled the otherwise silent storage room.

"Captain? Come in."

Rex cleared his parched throat, then clicked on the comm's mic.

"Here."

Relief seemed to sweep over the other clone's voice.

"Rex, General Skywalker has been trying to contact you. He's ordered all ranks to report to the hangar. We're about to come out of hyperspace."

"Alright, I'll...I'll be there."

Rex hoped his brother hadn't detected the slight stammer in his voice, just dismiss it as a glitch in communications. But a long pause followed.

"Rex, are you ok? Where are you?"

"I'm on my way."

"That isn't what I—"

Rex clicked off the communicator and pulled himself to his feet, tucking his helmet under one arm.

He couldn't keep on like this—guilt shadowing his days, dreams plaguing the nights. His men needed him here, physically and mentally. He couldn't lead his brothers into another campaign, with a clouded mind.

But that was now the only option.

I'll deal with it. Later…

Rex swallowed back his doubts, and the mounting distrust that had been welling up in him since Umbara. Now was not the time for doubts. His vode needed him, and he would not fail them again.

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@Guest~ Thank you for reading! I love clone cuddles too :D And yes, Jesus is truly the reason for the season!! Hope you have a nice New Year.