Chapter 2

The arena is set into the floor about three stories down, various walls of different sizes and shapes set in the rectangular space to serve as both cover and obstacles. The floor slopes towards one end, the highest part being near the entrance. Droids, silver-white and lifeless, stand like ghosts in the arena, heads hanging and blasters clutched in their cold hands.

The children wait in anxious anticipation in the dark elevator, the small space lit by a single overhead light. In hushed tones, they go over their plan again, one more thought-out than their previous one, which ultimately lead to their failing the simulation.

One child, 7567 isn't sure who, bounces in place, fidgeting and rocking back and forth on his heels. 7567 wants to tell him to stop, that that was what had gotten 3328 pulled out of lessons and examined.

It's been two weeks since the group was decanted, two weeks since any of them last saw 3328.

"We need to make sure we watch the right side of the simulation this time," 8419 says. "That was what took out most of us."

There are small noises of confirmation scattered about the group, and the elevator falls silent again. 7567 is left to his thoughts, something he does not like. Adrenaline pumps through his tiny body, causing his hands to shake and grow damp. He looks down at the cool grey blaster he holds, too big for his hands and almost too heavy for someone his size to properly wield-but he knows how to take it apart. He knows how to hold it and aim and fire. He knows what real-life laser fire will do to the human skin, nerves, bones, how there were always sensitivity issues for months after.

But he feels almost confident, holding the blaster in his little hands. He knows what he is doing, and although they failed the last simulation the day before, they were not terminated like they had all thought they'd be. They got a second chance, which means that they could mess up and still fight to their best. It is both a comforting and stressful thought. What would happen if they mess up too much? Is there a strike system they have to be mindful of? Too many mistakes would make him a poor soldier, a poor fighter and protector of the Republic. 7567 doesn't want that.

A Kaminoan female's voice-he can tell the difference now-sounds from a speaker above them. Her voice is smooth and formal, much like the species itself. Her words cut off 8826's sentence and 7567 realizes he hadn't been paying attention. His stomach grows sick.

"You all know the objective," she says. "Your simulation will be completed successfully if you reach the flag at the end of the course. Do not break formation or you will be penalized." And her voice clicks off.

The elevator jerks and they move upward, past things 7567 can wonder about for only a second as he feels his muscles tense with each centimeter. A child readjusts the strap to his mini Z-6 rotary blaster in the corner of his eye. Signs of adrenaline display themselves in all the children's bodies. The elevator stops.

Light floods into the dark chamber and for a blinding second, nobody can see anything.

The buzzer sounds with a startling blare and the children take off, each diving behind a cover. Blue-white lasers fly over their heads, leaving an acrid scent in the air as they pass. They aren't powerful enough to kill, but the pain they bring is not something any of them wants to experience again.

"On your left!" 7567 screams. He watches as 3636 doesn't move quickly enough and is hit by a laser, his shoulder taking the brunt of the blast. He struggles to get back up. "Man down!" Another laser whizzes by his head and he returns fire, blasting a silver-white battle droid in the chest. It crumples into a heap of metal.

"I've got him!" 1010 runs to cover 3636, who's still on the ground. Through the group's shared helmet comms, they can hear him crying.

7567 can't hold back his annoyance. Tears are unacceptable and 3636 knows that. They'd been told time and time again that they had no time to spare for emotions, that in order to become a true soldier of the Republic, they had to forsake emotions and focus on the mission.

"I think it's broken!" 1010 yells. "Someone help me cover him! I'm gonna try and fix it!" 1010 pays the most attention in health class and thinks he knows the most about a clone's body. They'd learned to set some bones, but not all of them.

"8826," 7567 says before anyone else can take over, "Help 1010 cover 3636. The rest of us are going to go for the flag." He fires at another droid, catching it's shoulder and throwing it off balance.

From 7567's right, 2224 fires and hits the droids head, knocking it dead. They share a look and plow on.

The group of children pushes forward, diving behind cover and warning each other of incoming laser fire from the practice droids. The three chosen to take point-7567, 6109, and 4050-try their best to clear a path to the raised platform that holds the flag. 6109 is just a few steps ahead of 7567. The pair dives under the cover of a low wall, waiting for the blue-white laser fire above them to stall.

2224, in second position relative to the three children at point, is the "eyes and ears" of the group, and he does his job well. "Watch out!" he screams. Without warning, a Super Battle droid springs up next to 7567, its blaster arm raised and ready to fire. Before it can, however, 2224 fires several shots into its metal hull. Its circuits fry and the droid collapses, almost crushing 7567.

7567 is grateful that he wasn't shot but also miffed he let something so large get so close. "Thanks, 2224," he says anyway, not one to let the others know how he feels.

1010 had since found a relatively safe place for 3636 to rest near the back of the arena and slightly to the left. He's also "eyes and ears" for the group but plays medic as well. Now that he isn't watching the right side of arena while 2224 covers the left, the group as a whole is essentially blind in one eye. It severely hinders their progression.

Droids from the right sweep in, being smart enough to see that they are in trouble. The laser fire on what would be 1010's side of the arena increases. 7567 can feel his panic rise but does his best to force it down. Good soldiers don't panic on the battlefield; they think through trouble and formulate a new plan to accomplish the mission. 7567's face pinches in concentration. He jumps when a piercing cry rips through the connected commlink systems in their helmets. They all flinch, he can feel it.

More tears. More wailing during a mission when soldiers are meant to be strong. 7567 can't quite hold back his annoyed huff.

"1784 is down!" 1010 yells. There's no need to because they can all hear his voice over the speakers, but he does anyway. "I need cover while I go get him; I don't think he can walk!"

7567 sees a chance to take control and try to prevent this simulation from failing like the previous one. He plans to redeem himself for the mess that was the first simulation.

4050 speaks up for the first time-literally. 7567 doesn't remember ever hearing his voice. "6612, move from the back and take 1010's place as visual scout," he says calmly. 7567 knows it would be ludicrous to cut in. "9973, you move from the back too and cover 1010 while he gets 3636. The droids toward our rear are taken care of, so it's safe for you two to move up now."

What he says makes sense. The group as a whole has made their way down the slope now and is either patiently waiting behind cover or returning fire with the droids. Compared to what 7567 had planned, 4050 was a genius. 7567 is embarrassed with what he wanted to suggest, which seems sloppy and infantile in the face of 4050's simple solution.

His embarrassment and irritation rise when both 6612 and 9973 respond with "Yes sir!"

4050 blasts down a droid. "6612, what do you see?"

"You've got a few-four-battle droids coming toward you," he answers. "Sir, 7567 is much closer to that side than you are."

7567 takes the hint and leans out from the side of his covering, shooting the chests of the battle droids slowly ambling towards him. A laser skims his arm and leaves the whole thing tingling. 7567 fires again, getting a droid straight in the head.

"I have an idea!" 6612 virtually screeches. His issues with volume control when he gets excited would soon leave the whole squad deaf. "4050, 7567, and 6109 should move as far right as possible, that way you can draw the droids fire towards you while 2224 goes for the flag." Anyone can hear the proud smile in his voice. "There's just enough room for you to slip by as long as 8826 covers 2224."

The children make noises of agreement and fall into the required order, 7567 and 4050 leading the way as they slowly move right. Just as planned, the droids and small turrets aim their fire towards the small group moving and away from 2224 and 8826.

7567 watches as 2224 makes his way along the edge of the wall, 8826 keeping parallel to him but sticking to the cover. No droid sees them. 2224 is at the edge of the quasi pyramid, the series of one-meter levels he has to climb up to get the flag.

8826 trips and yelps, drawing attention to himself. The turrets automatically hone in on his position, firing everything they have at the child. 8826 can't stop his screams as he tries his best to dive behind cover.

He isn't fast enough. He's hit in the leg and back.

8826 twitches but doesn't move.

"2224, get the flag! I'm going to get 8826!" 1010 yells. 8826 is all the way at the front of the arena while 1010 is at the back. Abandoning 3636 and 1784, he starts sprinting as fast as his little legs with let him to 8826's position.

The droids have caught onto the children's plan now and start firing at 2224. Up on the pyramid, he has no cover and had to drop his blaster in order to properly climb the levels, leaving 2224 completely exposed.

"Keep trying to draw their fire this way!" 7567 yells, firing haphazardly at the droids to get them to pay attention to him. It only semi works as three battle droids and a turret turn towards him and start firing.

2224 climbs up the last level, visibly fatigued but still standing. He grabs the flag's pole and nothing less than rips it out of its holder. The buzzer signifying the end of the simulation goes off and the turrets shut down, the battle droids straightening and hanging their heads again, returning to the ghosts they were.

A Kaminoan female's voice speaks over the arena speakers. Each child removes his helmet to hear her properly. "Congratulations. Clone Unit 23-4071 has successfully completed training level 1-0. Please clear the training area while the maintenance droids clean up and medical personnel come collect your squad mates."

"Guys...8826 is really bad," 1010 says, still hovering near the other child. "He says he can't really feel his leg."

"Which one?" is not the only question that's asked. Several of the children break off to rush to 8826's and 1010's side. They form a circle around their fallen squad mate.

When 8826 speaks, it comes out as more of a mutter. "...my leg hurts…" he says. "And my back…"

"Outta the way, kids. We got this." An older clone, full-grown by the looks of it, gently touches 8826's head. The bright red medic's insignia on his shoulder contrasts against his armor. "What's wrong, kid?"

"My leg…" 8826 whimpers. He's in an awkward position on the ground, half on his side with his neck at a painful-looking angle. His eyes well up with tears. "I-It hurts! And my back…"

"What about your back, kid?" a second medic asks. He has 3636 in tow, his shoulder set and wrapped up. "Can you feel it?"

"Yeah, but it feels weird," 8826 says. Tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

"Can you describe that weird feeling for me?" The medic's voice remains calm the entire time, soothing in a way that sounded genuine, unlike when a Kaminoan tries to comfort one of the children. "Is it stinging? Tingling?"

"It-It's tingly," 8826 confirms.

The second medic carefully removes 8826's boots. "Can you still feel your legs? Wiggle your toes for me, bud."

The other children watch in rapt silence, caught in a gut-turning mix of fascination and fear-fascination because none of them had seen an adult clone this close, and they all shared the same thought: what did their faces look like? Did they look at all like them? How old were they?

And fear because a squadmate could be dying in front of them.

His injuries could be serious enough to terminate him.

The medic mutters an expletive, the first one anyone of them has heard. "I told them to stop the simulation-"

"Now's not the time-"

"Their armor's not strong enough to hold against fire from that range! Not from those kriffing turrets! Look!" He points at 8826's back armor, at the twisted and cracked plastoid that was meant to be strong enough to protect him from the lasers. "And the other one's got a split shoulder from those blasted things." The medic turns to his wrist commlink, activating the speaker. "I need two gurneys down here, one's critical and might need bacta. Bring a neck brace."

The other medic stands suddenly, drawing the attention of the rest of the children. "You guys gotta get out of here. Head back to your barracks or your next lesson, wherever you're going."

The group obeys, too scared to say anything. They can still hear 8826's moans and whimpers from meters away.

"Is he going to be alright, Sir?" 2224 asks, looking wide-eyed and scared. "What's going to happen to him?"

"He'll be fine, kid," says the standing medic. 7567-all of them-knows he can't guarantee that.

7567 follows whoever's leading the group to the elevator. No one says anything on the ride up, and it's only when he looks down at his small hands that he realizes he left his blaster in the arena. He can't seem to bring himself to care.

Two weeks ago, they were decanted. In those two weeks, he learned he liked purple and what the Republic stood for. He had yet to learn what they were fighting against, but he learned new words and terms for everything he'd need in this portion of his life.

In the span of those two weeks, they'd lost a squadmate and were probably going to lose another. The realization of what that means hits him hard.

7567 can't stop staring at his hands, small, child like. The Kaminoans say they're two years old, ageing and developing faster than the average human, which is why they look four and talk like they're four-year-olds instead of two-year-olds.

Except 7567 doesn't feel two, and he doesn't feel four. He feels older, much older, incomprehensibly aged by what happened in the last thirty minutes that felt like thirty hours.

His head aches. His bones ache. His nerves, blood vessels, muscles all feel frayed and spread apart for the world to see. He takes a breath and realizes he's shaking from the inside out.

"67…" a disembodied voice says. "Are you okay?" His voice is soft as if the slightest change in volume would shatter him-7567 thinks it would.

He isn't sure if he needs a medic, or even sure if he wants one. "I'm fine," he lies.

He is not fine, and doesn't feel he ever will be.


Be sure to leave a review/critique etc.! Everything is appreciated!

~AAx