General Windu's office was deafeningly silent. Fox sat rigidly in his chair, body tense. What he had just learned was beyond anything he could have imagined.

Master Windu had summoned him, along with the Jedi Healers responsible for the case, Bant Eerin and Vokara Che, to brief him on what they had just discovered, their faces grave and worried. They had chosen not to delay and immediately present their findings to him. While a small part of his mind was telling him to be grateful that they had chosen to brief him so quickly, the other part of his mind was busy screaming.

His brothers weren't in this state because they'd fallen victim to a Force spell, but because every single one of them had a control chip implanted in their brain since birth.

The Jedi must have sensed his inner turmoil, because they were silently waiting for him to process the information. Surge was with him, and he didn't seem to fare much better: his CMO was clearly trying to take deep and slow breaths, but his fists were tightly clenched. The Jedi had tried to reveal this information in the most considerate fashion possible, but it hadn't helped to soften the blow. Not even a little bit.

Fox felt terrible. Worse than bad. He didn't know if he had ever been so emotionally affected before, despite the fact that he had seen and experienced some shit on Kamino and Coruscant.

What Fox had just learned was beyond any abuse he had ever imagined the Clones going through.

In the middle of each of their brains resided a chip designed to reduce them to something Less than slaves, less than what they already were—canon fodder. This chip, when activated, had the power to transform the Clones into beings completely devoid of free will, good only for carrying out orders—whatever those may be.

Fox needed to let out his rage. Fox needed to be among his brothers. Fox needed some kind of hope, that they could somehow make it to a better future.

The people behind their design had already ensured that the Clones would be as obedient and loyal as possible. Why implant this extra device?

From what he understood of the Jedi's explanations, it had something to do with the fact that Palpatine was a Sith Lord. The Chancellor had probably commissioned them to take control of the Galaxy, while, in the same move, eliminating any resistance by removing the Jedi from the game entirely.

All along, the Clones had been a blaster that the Jedi had kept unknowingly against their own head.

Had the person who had killed Palpatine not intervened, the blaster's trigger would probably have been pulled at the most opportune moment to do maximum damage.

Fox's stomach roiled uneasily, and he wasn't used to feeling like this.

His thoughts spiraled, out of control, fueling an internal pressure he feared would make him explode. Fox consciously tried to keep his emotion off his face, but he knew he would have to find some outlet soon. He needed to wind down, and maybe devote his mind to something else to process his emotional turmoil.

"Commander Fox, I don't know if I have the words, and I don't know if I can truly understand what you're going through," said Master Windu. "But we must make a decision, and quickly. I've convened the High Council to discuss all this, and you are obviously invited to the meeting. Do you agree?"

Fox nodded. He didn't trust himself to use his voice properly right now. He didn't even know how he managed to breathe despite the feeling of oppression.

The Jedi Order had to decide on a course of action, and they were keen on folding him into the process. He wouldn't miss it for anything, despite feeling so wrong-footed. He was sick and tired of his brothers' destinies being decided by people other than themselves.

He understood that they had to proceed cautiously, but as quickly as possible.

"The meeting is scheduled in the next few minutes, this is too important for us to delay discussing it." Master Windu checked something on his datapad. "On the way, we'll pick up Master Vos and... Archivist Kenobi. He'll probably have some interesting facts to share about the whole situation. We'll go through the Training Halls to pick them up."

]o[

Quinlan could clearly feel Kenobi's irritation. He had to admit he liked to poke at him a bit: it made for... interesting reactions. Quinlan could observe an occasional rise of hackles, but it all too quickly smoothed out. Kenobi was obviously a master at hiding who he really was, but his facade was cracking more and more.

Kenobi had put himself on guard. Soresu, unsurprisingly. He stood in the center of the room, dominant arm raised, lightsaber over his head and pointing forward. The blade of his weapon was blue, and not yellow like the one he had used yesterday and against Palpatine. Kenobi seemed indeed determined to fight him and Skywalker at the same time.

Well, why not?

"Obi-Wan, are you sure about this? I don't want this to be a bad experience for you… usually, it's a bit difficult for you to keep up, isn't it? I can see that you need an outlet, but isn't this a bit much?" Skywalker voice was laced with concern, as he stepped forward to face Kenobi, a little hesitantly.

Quinlan had heard that Mace's padawan was an outstanding fighter, if a bit Temple-sheltered. Quinlan had not had the opportunity to observe him in combat, and they would probably need some time to adjust and build up an effective dynamic during the fight against their common foe

Quinlan had no doubt that they would struggle. Kenobi had apparently decided to stop pretending, and seemed ready to go all out. While obviously being in a much better shape than the day before.

Quinlan activated his own lightsaber, and set it to an adequate intensity for a friendly spar. Skywalker did the same, and the distinctive hum of the lightsabers filled the soundscape.

Quinlan hadn't had much experience of a real fight with someone who really mastered Soresu, aside from the short bout that had opposed Kenobi and him yesterday at the Clones barracks. Some Jedi Masters had probably mastered it, but Quinlan didn't know anyone who used it as their main style. Battle Master Cin Drallig was proficient in it, but his own style was more a mix of the best of what the different styles had to offer. The Battle Master very rarely stuck to one style aside for educational purposes.

In actual combat, Quinlan couldn't recall ever having to fight a Soresu Master.

"Don't worry, Anakin, I can take it. The real question is, can you?" Cockiness rather suited Kenobi.

"Of course I can! I'll show you! And if you want difficult, I can give you difficult, no need to fight us both at the same time."

The poor child. Skywalker didn't know what awaited him.

"Well, come on, then, make me yield." Kenobi offered. "You expressly wished to try your hand against Palpatine's slayer, no?" He hadn't moved a hair, arms still raised in guard.

"Well, yes, but I don't see how any of this is relevant! Well, you asked, so don't come crying to me afterward."

Quinlan, being a shrewd strategist, decided to wait for Anakin to move, and see how it would unfold. And, as expected, since Skywalker apparently had the patience of a five-year old, he didn't have to wait long before the young man strode toward Kenobi to test his guard with a powerful but clearly telegraphed thrust. Quinlan, who had prepared himself so as to not miss any of the action, could still barely make out Kenobi's riposte.

Somehow, Skywalker's lightsaber, after a very brief contact with Kenobi's blade, went flying from his grasp. Kenobi caught it with his left hand.

Very smooth.

"Well, Anakin? Didn't the instructors ever tell you you had to hold onto your 'saber tighter?" mocked Kenobi, throwing back the deactivated lightsaber, which Skywalker snatched with a perplexed look on his face.

"Wha— How? Wait! Something's fishy here!" Skywalker may have retained his innocence and naivety, but he was also intuitive.

Quinlan chuckled. This immediately drew Kenobi's frosty eyes to him.

"Something to share, Master Vos?"

Quinlan laughed outright. "Maybe some blows, if you will, Master Kenobi."

And Quinlan went into action. He moved slowly sideways, in an arc, keeping Kenobi at its center. He positioned himself at his six o'clock, opposite Skywalker. Still on guard, Kenobi shifted to keep his two opponents at his three and nine o'clock, his head tilted to let him keep multiple enemies in his field of vision.

Quinlan caught Skywalker's gaze, who still seemed unsettled and hesitant by this unforeseen turn of events, and nodded to encourage him to act. Skywalker really wasn't the type to wait for things to evolve without his help, and once again set himself in motion.

Skywalker's form was perfect, precise and powerful, fueled by the ardor of youth and the obvious pleasure the young man took in combat. From what Quinlan could already see, he seemed to favor Djem So, a fighting style that emphasized the use of powerful lightsaber attacks to overwhelm the opponent whenever possible. Skywalker used his physical form and the Force to power his blows, and thus create openings by overwhelming his opponent's defense.

But Kenobi's guard was unfailing. The Archivist barely moved. His feet occasionally shifted, planted firmly on the ground, while his torso and arms flexed subtly, almost imperceptibly, deflecting and redirecting the energy of the blows flawlessly.

It was truly a sight to behold. Quinlan had rarely, if ever, witnessed such an impressive display of Soresu. But he wasn't here to just watch, and upping the stakes would surely yield interesting results.

Quinlan waited until Kenobi was focused on parrying a flurry of blows from Skywalker, before launching his own onslaught on Kenobi's seemingly unprotected side, with a transverse slice that worked its way up to Kenobi's hip.

And, strangely enough, the blue blade of Kenobi's saber was in the way. Sparks flew as the blades clashed. Kenobi had reversed his stance with a shift of his back foot, so fluid that it seemed effortless on his part, to angle his lightsaber just the right way to stop Quinlan's attack. Kenobi didn't stop at the counter, and, in the same movement powered by the stance change, entered Quinlan's guard, left foot against Quinlan's heel. Kenobi, keeping the blades locked down, delivered a powerful thrust from his left shoulder. Quinlan found himself off balance, unable to move his foot back, and fell. He morphed his fall into a backward roll that put him out of reach.

Well. That was instructive.

Kenobi wasted no time in contemplating the success of his maneuver and turned to Skywalker. He used a deflection maneuver to enter the young man's guard in the same movement and kicked his standing leg just as Skywalker tried to take a step backward. Skywalker fell as well, Kenobi's blade pointed threateningly at his neck.

"Ooookay, who are you, and what have you done with my buddy Obi-Wan?"

"What's the matter, Anakin? Frustrated you can't beat a simple Archivist?" Kenobi disengaged with a mean smile, and returned to the center of the room, no longer even bothering to stand on guard. His teeth were uncovered in an open-mouthed smile that was a tad feral, and it radically transformed his face, which sported a curious mix of youthfulness mixed with wildness.

Kenobi's face had gentle lines, with full cheeks and harmonious features. But when he smiled like that, revealing too many teeth, it was clear that he was out for blood, like a predator. And what Quinlan could see here was certainly not a facade.

Kenobi was clearly made for combat, and was an astounding fighter. Quinlan could clearly imagine the burden it must have been for the man to conceal his affinity and proficiency for saberwork.

The adrenalin made Quinlan forget his fatigue caused by the fact that he had hardly slept for two nights in a row. The thrill of battle was far more important, and he threw himself back into the fray.

For a while, Quinlan and Skywalker kept trying to break through Kenobi's guard. They danced backward and forward for a few moments, trading blows to test reflexes and boundaries, getting alternatively in and out sync. Whenever an opening appeared, Kenobi exploited it ruthlessly, without hesitation, and often by brutal retaliations. In those, Quinlan distinguished other fighting forms: a bit of his own style, Ataru, and Djem So as well.

Skywalker was sweating profusely, and Quinlan wasn't faring much better. Kenobi was distinctively affected as well, hair flying in all directions and the forehead beaded with sweat, but his movements remained smooth and unfailing. He still seemed to be clearly favoring his right side. Even if his left shoulder had been healed by Bant, Kenobi had still been seriously injured, and his earlier maneuver against Quinlan must have awakened the pain.

The fact that Kenobi paid so little attention to his physical wellbeing spoke of a rather concerning tendency to dismiss the consequences of his choices to his general health.

And nothing was more dangerous than someone willing to disregard their own wellbeing to achieve their goals.

Especially someone as powerful as Kenobi seemed to be. Powerful, and potentially unpredictable. After all, while the most obvious weakness of a Sith Lord was their quest for power, which implied, as a secondary objective, preserving their own life in order to exercise that power, things were much less clear-cut for people who tended towards self-sacrificing behaviors. Add an obvious desire to preserve the life of others, and you had a recipe for a disaster.

Skywalker was beginning to deploy more and more outlandish moves, throwing a good deal of Vaapad into his Djem So to try and get through Kenobi's defense, who was unfailingly content to redirect the force that was bearing down on him. Skywalker was becoming increasingly frustrated, and Quinlan wasn't surprised when he began to use the Force to increase the power of his blows, while Kenobi continued to provoke him occasionally.

"So, is that all you can show me, Anakin? Go ahead, go all out, I can take it." And as he said this, Quinlan perceived an odd weight to these words. Kenobi wanted a good fight, but obviously needed more than that to push him over the edge. Quinlan sensed that Kenobi was far too proficient in his saberwork to really get a good venting. Maybe things would go better if they did things differently.

Quinlan stepped back and, choosing his moment, pulled Skywalker back to prevent him from launching yet another attack. "Hey!" protested Skywalker.

"A good fighter knows when to make a strategic retreat," said Quinlan, putting a friendly arm around the young man's shoulders. "You don't have the high ground here, obviously, and neither do I."

Quinlan turned to Kenobi and said, "It's a bit unfair, clearly, with a saber and on defense, we can't compare. Why don't we change the rules a bit?"

]o[

Mace headed for the Training Halls, where he knew his Padawan would be, and where Quinlan had updated his position as he did every half-hour while continuing to shadow Kenobi. In his wake followed Vokara Che and Commander Fox, whom Mace could still feel seething with anger. Healer Eerin and CMO Surge had returned to the Halls of Healing to arrange the dechipping of hospitalized Clones. The Commander's face gave nothing away, and he had excellent mental discipline for a Force-null, but his anger was too great not to show through the Force.

Mace could easily understand why.

It had been a bit of a shock to learn that the Clone Army was essentially a ploy to slaughter the Jedi and seize power, but it seemed so logical in the end. Mace had always been uneasy about this convenient army, available just when the Republic needed it the most.

This whole deal had been engineered, from start to finish, and the Jedi Order had been caught completely in the net of this despicable trap. Countless lives had already been lost in it.

And, by the will of the Force, the tables had turned, unraveling the plot to destroy the Jedi, and all through the actions of a single person. Bant Eerin had incorporated into her report a good deal of information about the control chip she had learned directly from Kenobi, who had apparently known about the plot for a long time.

Kenobi was a real mystery. He knew about the control chip, and had installed a failsafe while managing to keep his actions secret. And that wasn't all. According to Madam Nu's report, Kenobi had just opened the secured coffer that should have taken days, maybe weeks, of careful work to unlock.

Not to mention, of course, that Kenobi had slain a Sith Lord, without help or backup, while having been taken by surprise.

The Order was lucky that Kenobi had chosen to remain cooperative. The Archivist seemed to value his position here, and had fortunately forged a few bonds he considered valuable. Including, apparently, a solid relationship with Mace's own padawan, which he had never thought to examine more closely until now.

Kenobi, it seemed, had chosen the perfect spot to be able to act while keeping an eye on all the important aspects, and remain discreetly in the shadows.

Until he finally slipped up.

Mace had chosen not to press Kenobi for answers too soon, and to let him come to them in due time.

But the control chips changed everything, and had to be addressed immediately. The survival of the Jedi Order was at stake. It was a matter of getting out of this terrible mess the Jedi all collectively found themselves in.

And inevitably, the bulk of the work fell to Mace.

He had never cursed so much the day he had been appointed Head of the Order. That day, he hadn't had the heart to refuse, and had even been flattered—inwardly, of course, it wouldn't have been in good taste to gloat.

Mace would have been better off breaking a leg—or maybe going hiking in distant regions of the galaxy to enjoy a change of scenery—and leaving the opportunity to someone else.

But hey, what was done was done, and Mace, unfortunately, didn't have the power to go back in time to correct his mistakes. He would have to live with the consequences of his action, and had to concentrate on giving the Jedi Order a fighting—a surviving—chance.

He walked into the Training Halls, still Vokara and Fox in tow, and his entrance provoked a sudden hush in the main hall, which was occupied by a bevy of initiates practicing acrobatics. Mace nodded at their instructor, who returned his greeting. The instructor turned to the group to discipline them and urge them to concentrate on their exercise, and stop gawking at once.

Mace checked the private room's coordinates before entering. There, a rather incongruous scene greeted him.

Vos, Anakin and Kenobi were apparently practicing hand-to-hand combat. Although it wasn't the Jedi's preferred means of combat, they had all been extensively trained in its basics. Too many factors could lead to the loss of one's lightsaber during a battle. Understanding the necessity of using the whole body when fighting was essential to being a good fighter.

Currently, Kenobi and Anakin were locked in a duel, with Vos crouched on the side, observing the match. Vos acknowledged Mace's entrance with a glance and a nod, before turning his attention back to the fight, not missing a beat.

Trying to make contact, Anakin barreled toward Kenobi to push into his guard and grab his arm for a sweep. Kenobi didn't try to resist, and let himself fall while locking Anakin's arm under his shoulder. Anakin, unbalanced, fell at the same time. Kenobi took advantage of the inertia of the movement to execute a roll that allowed him to pin Anakin to the ground, his arm trapped in a painful-looking shoulder lock. On cue, Anakin cried out in pain, and Kenobi released him. He straightened up fluidly with a step backward, trying to rearrange his messed-up tabard, visibly smug, while Anakin rose to his feet with far less grace.

It was a strangely open expression on Kenobi's face. Until now, Mace had only had occasion to see the bland, innocuous mask that Kenobi liked to sport on most occasions. Apparently, Kenobi was letting more and more of his true personality shine through the cracks of his carefully constructed persona.

And, through the Force, Mace could feel Kenobi's pleasure in engaging Anakin in this friendly spar, under the surface annoyance. The Archivist seemed to feel genuine affection for Mace's Padawan, and he wondered what story there must be behind these feelings. Qui-Gon and Yoda had told him some interesting facts about Kenobi and his childhood. Yoda had pointed out that he had been a gifted child, intelligent and profoundly empathetic, whom Yoda would have liked to have in his Lineage. And Qui-Gon had given Yoda a look both sad and annoyed, before recounting, rather briefly, the events that had led him to offer a Padawanship to Kenobi.

Mace had learned about these events from an extensive consultation of Kenobi's file, but it was always much more interesting when someone who had been involved directly told you about their perspective. And their emotions, which, despite the years, were apparently still vivid on Qui-Gon's side.

Qui-Gon had never understood why, after Kenobi expressed such longing to become a Jedi Knight, the teenager had finally given up his dream. With enough perseverance, a physical ailment, though disabling, could be circumvented and compensated for. But Kenobi had never sought to do so, and Qui-Gon had believed that the young man didn't trust him to accompany him on this path. And Qui-Gon, who admitted not without shame that he had been far from up to the task during the events at Bandomeer, had not insisted and let the boy go.

By making Yoda and Qui-Gon aware of the latest developments, Mace had shed a completely different light on what could possibly have motivated Kenobi to give up the Knighthood path.

Whatever happened, Kenobi had drastically changed the day he picked up his first Kyber crystal.

In the deep, ice-bound caves of Ilum, a not inconsiderable number of initiates were known to experience some disturbing Force visions, often relating to how the Jedi path would shape their existence and the impact they could make on the fate of others.

Mace wondered what Kenobi might have seen in those caves.

Nor could he rule out the possibility that Kenobi had been influenced by an outside power, and was working for some unknown quantity. But the mystery had gone on long enough. They had to get to the bottom of this now.

The fighting must have been intense, as each combatant sported various signs of a rather... involved engagement. Vos had obviously been punched in the face, and Kenobi was slightly limping. Anakin was visibly tired and breathing hard, a disgruntled expression on his face. Mace himself had been finding it hard to push Anakin's limits lately. He was impressed.

"Gentlemen."

Anakin and Kenobi both startled, apparently too focused on their fight to have been more aware of their general surroundings.

Mace watched with interest as the bland mask immediately fell back on Kenobi's features, as if by reflex. He must have felt comfortable enough with Anakin and Vos by now to let them see a bit of who he really was.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your play, but we must go immediately to an emergency session of the Council. You, Kenobi, and you, Vos." Anakin immediately opened his mouth, but Mace wouldn't let him speak. "Anakin, you're free to do as you please, but I'd still like to remind you that you have an assignment to do, on trade and cultural relations of prominent mid-rim worlds."

Anakin groaned. "Master! When will you trust me? And Obi-Wan needs my support. He's in trouble, isn't he?"

"If he were, you would have no business to intervene anyway, Anakin," said Mace, a tad impatiently.

"Don't worry, Anakin, I can take care of myself," interjected Kenobi, while putting a reassuring hand on Anakin's shoulder.

"Come on, I've connected the dots; they'll give you trouble for what you've done, won't they? I won't let them! Palpatine was obviously the bad guy here!"

Mace felt a surge of focused interest spread through the Force around Commander Fox. Uh oh.

"Anakin, I'd be grateful for your discretion." Kenobi's voice was cold.

"Come on, everyone here knows anyway, don't they?"

Commander Fox voice cut in suddenly, frosty. "No, I don't know. Care to inform me?"

Mace closed his eyes, feeling his migraine coming on again. He sighed.

"Anakin."

It could have come from Mace, but it was Kenobi who had said it. Anakin looked suddenly contrite, wide eyes shifting between Fox and Kenobi.

"Do you have any information for me?" Fox glanced at him. "Master Windu? Do I need to know?"

Mace felt his lips set in a grim line. Fox had been invited to the Council meeting anyway, and would find out sooner or later. By setting up Coruscant Guards' HQ in the Temple, and given the information about Kenobi that had spread like wildfire since yesterday, it was only a matter of hours before the Clones would become privy to the information

Kenobi sighed, and visibly gathered his courage before moving forward to stand a few steps away from the Commander. He stood tall and strong, and looked Fox straight in the eye, before saying: "I'm the one who killed Palpatine. I also took control of your brothers to escape them that night."

Fox stepped forward slowly, closing the distance. His fury was very obvious not only in the Force, but also in the rigidity of his shoulders and in his clenched fists.

"You... you." Words failed Fox, and he brutally seized Kenobi's tabard to pull him forwards, closing the distance between them further. Kenobi didn't try to stop him.

"And I'm deeply sorry for that."

Fox punched him in the face, twice. The attack was violent and brutal, and caused Kenobi's tabard to tear as the force of the blow sent him staggering and falling. Fox was livid, and Mace thought for a moment that Fox might try to lash out at the downed Kenobi, forcing Mace to intervene. But Fox, after a moment's hesitation, turned on his heel and stormed out.

Kenobi remained on the ground for a moment, motionless and apparently stunned—or contemplating his life choices and finding them lacking.

Vos approached him and asked: "Are you okay?" Kenobi groaned, but didn't answer. He ran a weary hand over his face, before probing the abused area. His lip was split and was bleeding slowly. Vos bent down to help Kenobi up, and in the same motion picked up something that had fallen to the ground. Some sort of... pendant?

Whatever. They had lost enough time here.

"Gentlemen, if you would? We've waited long enough. Healer Che, perhaps you could do something for our friend here?"

"Hmm, I'd rather not. I think he's earned this," she replied, daintily.

"Fair enough. Archivist, can we go now?"

"Hey, why did Obi-Wan get punched? What's going on? Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything?" asked Anakin, whom everyone ignored.

Kenobi, standing wobbly on his legs, ran his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated. He said: "I hate my life."