After three different rotations throughout the course of about a day, Ron sighted the airbase in the distant hills. The tall traffic control tower extended high into the air. At one point it served as a comforting landmark for the droids around it, knowing such a concentrated force of droids would never be so foolishly attacked, now they looked at it as a prime target for an air assault. An homage to how desperate things had become for them. Rev was hoping most newer models of B1's would have a stronger self-preservation module installed but that seemed unlikely. Even then, his hopes were still high. He was much more in tune with the newer models to know there was still the chance that they would want to escape and retreat to fight another day rather than throw themselves at an overwhelming force. They knew their main strength was fighting in large numbers and if even that was taken away from them, they had no chance of surviving.

Ron had confirmed the reports he'd received using the AAT's communications device. The clones had fully mobilized their entire army. It was the beginning of the end. What was even more damning was the report he found right next to the last one.

"This can't be true," Ron said while piloting the AAT.

"What?" Rev looked down at the pilot's seat.

"General Grievous was killed by a Jedi," his voice modulator pitched up in surprise, an uncharacteristic event that surprised even himself.

"I can't say I'm surprised anymore. Everything's falling apart," Rev leaned back further into his seat.

"All the more reason to save more of our brothers"

The AAT began to stutter once again as they finally approached the main gates of the airbase. Worse yet, there were no droids outside, and the threat of an attack from behind loomed in the back of Ron's head.

He took a moment to assess the situation before looking over to Rev who was absentmindedly checking his blaster for any discrepancies.

"Could you turn our radio back on?" Ron asked.

"Through the generator?"

"Yes, the guard will need to speak to me"

Rev hooked up to the system in one fluid motion, as if he'd been an AAT gunner his whole life.

The AAT made its way into the view of the guard's camera.

The voice of the guard emitted through a small speaker right above the pilot's seat, "Unit designation and status?" The voice crackled over the damaged speaker.

"This is unit R-0N accompanied by R-3V, our AAT is breaking down and we need immediate assistance," Ron said through the radio.

"Bring the AAT around the back for inspection"

Ron received coordinates on the pilot's monitor.

"What will they think about the fallen droids inside of here?"

"We'll tell them exactly what happened, they were killed in combat, nothing more," Ron said cautiously, their conversation from earlier still fresh on his mind.

At the rear of the base was a small protrusion. A garage of sorts with several cameras situated around the metal overhang of the station. There were no droids at the ready. Most likely they'd sent most of them to the frontlines. More evidence that the Confederacy was getting desperate.

Ron grew impatient as he attempted to make contact with the droids inside the base for the fifth time. He tapped his finger against the metal shielding around the interface of the AAT.

The gates of the station suddenly opened.

An engineer droid with orange coloring around his neck and shoulders waved them in, making room for their tank just beside a trashed multi-troop transport that seemingly had its camo burned off.

After hearing the gate behind him close, Ron opened the main hatch at the back of the AAT where the engineer droid awaited to see the inside anxiously.

Upon seeing their green and brown coloring, the engineer looked as if he had sighed in relief.

"Oh thank the maker, I won't be killed today"

Ron stepped out first, the unforgettable mute gray colored walls around them brought up painful memories, "Why would we kill you?"

The engineer moved closer to the hatch so as to inspect the inside of the AAT. He appeared to be the only one in the repair station. A mountain of vehicles were piled upon one another in the far corner of the station, all in a state of disarray, "There've been some clones that have disguised themselves as droids over the radio recently. A friend of mine was killed by a group of those bucketheads while he was working just outside the base."

"They can mimic our voices?" Ron said, stepping aside to give room for Rev to make his way out into the fresh air.

"Affirmative. They're pretty smart, a lot smarter than I thought they were. The same friend of mine had his body torn apart so they could use his wiring to tap into our systems! It's amazing how fast they can learn. They must know everything about our systems by this point"

Ron was too stunned to speak. Rev was left in a similar state.

"Oh sorry, I'm talking too much aren't I?"

"No, no, that just must've been a – a terrible way to go," Ron said, shaking himself out of his stupor.

"It's alright, I'm sure he would've been just as intrigued about it as me," The engineer looked as if he was about to say more but stopped himself.

Ron's curiosity nearly got the better of him as he moved to question the engineer again but he couldn't muster the will to prod further. He would imagine how such a death must feel and how he would react if Rev were to meet the same fate.

Both Rev and Ron felt a conflux of strange sensations in their chassis. It was a strangely cold and bitter feeling. A reminder of what they were made to be and how they were meant to act under the eye of the Confederacy.

The engineer continued with his inspection of the AAT, briefly walking into the interior.

"More fallen droids?"

"They were killed in battle, not much we could do," Ron replied.

"I understand. I can fix this AAT from the inside but the outside is staying as it is," he made his way back out, "And where are you two being stationed next?"

Rev looked over to Ron, "We're being assigned to transport our troops off of this planet"

"Transport our troops out of here? Are we evacuating?" The engineer asked out of curiosity.

"I am unsure but we're heading to another world in the outer rim"

"I've heard it's not a good idea to go adventuring out in the outer rim but that's not my decision to make. I just hope that wherever we go, we win. Good luck to you both," The engineer waved them off.

"Oh before we go, do you know where we can find our shuttle?"

"Shouldn't you two know that already?"

"We were assigned to it on a short notice"

The engineer tilted his head in curiosity, "Right, I'll show you where we store our ships"

He gestured for them to follow.

They passed through a large arch that separated the repair shop from the rest of the base. Droids were running to and fro across the gigantic airfield, all urgently deploying to their stations or tirelessly working away at their specific jobs. Some worked on preparing ships for flight, others were infantry preparing to aid in the fight to keep the base secure. He looked around one last time relishing in a sight he may not ever see again.

"Stay close," The engineer said, slowing down.

Everything around them seemed to be in a rush. Ships were flying off the landing pads. Weapons were being rushed in crates. Pilots were scrambling to their ships. The clones had to be pushing up fast.

They passed through a large gate that led to an even larger landing bay where most of their fighters and transports were held. Even more droids were scuttling around on the inside, most being engineers or pilots. Ron and Rev stuck out with their swampland paint, all other droids in the area were painted with their normal colors. Ron had been lying when he said they were evacuating but it seemed as if the Confederacy was actually pulling out of Felucia. But where were they going?

"Hey you aren't an officer or anything right?" The engineer said, looking over his shoulder.

"No, not at all," Ron picked up the pace to match the engineer's stride.

"How about you?" The engineer said, looking over to Rev.

"Oh no no, I'm a terrible leader," Rev said.

The engineer nodded, "I was only asking because I haven't seen an officer around here since our last inspection, which was a year ago now. I've been on repair duty for the longest time. Not a single new order has come in. Don't get me wrong, I love repairing ships and vehicles, but it just feels like they've forgotten about me," He said, looking off deeper into the hangar.

Suddenly an idea popped into Ron's head, "I'm no officer but I am a higher rank than you. We need help in preparing the shuttle, I could have you help us if you'd like"

"Really?! I haven't worked on a shuttle in years! I'd be happy to oblige, sir," he said with a salute.

"I'll have it be your new task for the time being then unit, uh….what is your unit number?"

"I am unit R-AG5 sir or Rags as my partner called me," Rags responded joyfully. He picked up the pace as they finally neared the back of the hangar area.

They passed into a smaller room on the side of one of the holding bays.

"I'll see where this shuttle is located," Rags tapped away at a monitor situated against a window overlooking one of the bays.

Inside were more droids getting two fighter ships ready.

"There's not a single shuttle bay in this hangar. I must be missing something," Rags looked around the room in search of something.

"Perhaps our commanders were mistaken in saying a shuttle. Is there any sort of transport ship stationed here?"

"Let's see," Rags said, returning his attention back to the monitor, "Yes there is, stationed at hangar 5-B. That's the only one here"

"That must be it, let's head over"

"Are you sure? Why would command give you the wrong ship? They aren't that disorganized are they?"

Ron and Rev looked at each other, tempted to share all of the information they had gathered in the AAT. Rev shook his head, sharing the news would only generate unneeded panic among the rest of the droids in the base. Information spread fast among droids, usually they wouldn't have much of a reaction but with tensions being so high and the newer models being more organic, things could spiral out of control fast.

"I am an OOM unit, I have been around long enough to know that they make mistakes every now and then. It is a statistically low chance, but it still happens"

"Wow, an OOM unit? I've never seen one of your models before. Is that why your voice modulator is so different?"

"Yes, yes, now let's get to that transport ship already. We have to make sure all of our forces are out of here by the end of the day," he said, wondering just why they had made the newer models so annoyingly inquisitive. Most of them never lasted more than a month anyhow. They were quite fresh and new to the world, but to instill such childlike qualities in a droid designed for war almost seemed sadistic. In another world, their voracious thirst for knowledge would've been a great strength.

'If only they had enough time to fill up their database before their death. They could all be like us,' He shook his head, attempting to smother the thought out of his train of thinking. It would only cause further turmoil in his circuitry.

"Yes sir, follow me I'll lead you to the hangar," Rags said enthusiastically.

As they made their way through the hangar, Rev pulled Ron a little farther back from the engineer, "Listen, if we want to get as many of them out of here we'll need to go around asking for help and looking for units like him. I can keep him busy with the ship and you can go around asking for more help, order them to evacuate with us if you have to"

"I'll see what I can do," Ron said, watching Rags cheerfully marching his way over to the ship.

Once inside the bay, Rags inspected the transport ship. It was a modified version of the self-flying ship they had used early on in the war. Where the AI chip would usually be there was now two pilot seats and a small doorway to a cargo bay. From a quick glance in the window there appeared to be clips within the loading bay instead of their usual position on the outside. These modifications all made for a much bulkier version of the original transport ships.

"This one must be a new model, I've only ever worked with the sentient ones before. I wonder why they cut out the AI," Rags said inspecting the outside.

"Most likely to save costs, this war has been going on for years now," Ron responded, he pushed a button at the back of the ship, opening the walkway that extended down towards the ground.

"Rev start loading up a generator," he said gesturing towards one such power source at the far end of the bay along with several crates of what appeared to be AAT ammunition.

"And what should I do sir?" Rags said, marching over to Ron excitedly.

"Do an inspection of the inside then begin preparing the ship for takeoff," Ron said.

"Roger roger," he said with another salute.

Ron could say he was nearly amused by the strange mannerisms and behavior of Rags but all the more it saddened and frightened him at the same time, seeing a droid so ignorant yet reminiscent of himself at the very start of the war. He couldn't blame him. As far as he knew, Rags was still linked to the Confederate's greater network and as long as that was the case, there would be a very small chance for him to completely break off. It would have to be through physical disconnection to completely free Rags from the Confederate's grasp over his existence, much like how himself and Rev had inadvertently achieved not that long ago. He would have to research how exactly a disconnection could be done but that would need to be completed in the future.

Seeing Rags occupied with his current task, Ron snuck off to find more help outside. Leaving Rev and Rags alone.

Rev pushed the generator into the far corner of the ship's loading bay. He looked over to Rags who was busy working on getting the holding bay for the incoming droids ready. He thought back to what he'd said about his partner, dying a horrible death. It hadn't affected him in the least. For a moment, he found that hard to believe but after thinking about it further, it became quite clear why he had no reaction. Just a year ago, he would've had the same reaction to seeing someone like Ron dying before his very eyes. Now, if that were to happen, it would permanently scar him for the rest of his life. He still couldn't quite grasp how much he'd changed in such a short amount of time.

Rags caught Rev staring at him, "What's wrong? Are you malfunctioning?" he asked innocently.

"No, no, I was just thinking"

"Thinking? Don't do too much of it, they don't like thinkers around here"

Rev ignored his comment for the time being, "Can I help with anything?"

"Help me unhook these chains," Rags said, pulling one of said chains lining the walls of the bay.

Rev silently got to work, getting lost in the almost therapeutic repetition of unhooking chain after chain.

"You know, my friend was a master engineer. You should've seen him at work. He was so infatuated with our vehicles and even our own bodies. He even tinkered with his own programming to make himself much more efficient at repairing any type of ship. I remember he started working on vehicles outside of our expertise too. He was the reason why I started working on AAT's. Before we were transferred here, we used to work on the lower decks of a core ship," Rags said offhandedly. They were just about done with the chains.

"Tinkered with his own programming? Is that even possible?" Rev asked in response.

"Of course. He explained it to me after figuring it out. First you'd need a terminal much like the one I used to open this hangar, then you'd need to hook yourself up to it. From there, you can access this hidden repair mode and activate it in your systems, from there you'll be able to look at your own programming. It was meant to be for organic engineers repairing droids only. You should try it," Rags said with a childlike enthusiasm.

"Not right now, we have work to do," Rev said reluctantly. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested. Both himself and Ron had undergone changes to their programming but that was due to their personalities that had developed from going without a memory wipe for so long. None of it had ever been done manually. Once everything was said and done, he'd need to tell Ron about it.

He went back outside and loaded another crate, this time it was loaded with weapons and batteries. They needed to make their preparations seem believable, who doesn't mind a couple of stolen guns? It's not as if the Confederacy was going to need them at this rate anyways.

Rags had made his way over to the side of the ship, inspecting the interior for any damage or wear.

For some odd reason, Rev felt ashamed to have responded so coldly to Rags. It reminded him too much of his old self. He couldn't let himself fall back into those old habits.

"You know, your story reminds me of how I met Ron"

He looked over to Rev from where he was kneeling, "How so?"

"I was a lot like you. Ron showed me how to handle different weapons in our downtime"

"Did he also rewrite his own programming?" Rags said with a tinge of excitement.

"No, no. His memory was never wiped even after he was destroyed in battle. That's how he was able to retain the memory of handling so many weapons"

Rags tilted his head, "Interesting. Maybe the same happened to R4"

"R4?"

"Oh that was my partner's unit designation. Well, his full unit designation was R-4V but I found it easier to call him R4"

"R4…maybe Ron fought with him once in one of his past lives. I'll ask him when he gets back"

"Please do, if he was anything like Ron before he met me, he must've come up with many more ingenious ideas in other jobs"

Their conversation was cut short as another B1 had entered the hangar.

"Unit C-05 reporting, I have been ordered to assist in loading the ship"

Rags looked over to Rev for a moment.

"Did R-0N send you?" Rev said, carefully avoiding the use of Ron's nickname. These newer models most likely only used their unit numbers.

"Roger, roger"

Rev waved him over, leading him to a group of crates.

Meanwhile, Ron was busy making new friends on a whim. He was desperately asking around, in an attempt to save as many droids as they could fit in the ship. Based on the quick measurements he'd made, there was enough room for eight droids in total. Hardly enough but they were running out of time fast. For the time being he'd convinced three B1's to head over but had failed with another two. Both had stubbornly stuck to their posts repairing AAT's and weapons. He'd wanted to tell them that it was going to be all for naught, that their lives were much more valuable than the war effort, but that would only get him caught. It hurt even more to think of how many of the droids in the area had perhaps fought alongside him in one of his past lives.

There was so much he would change in all battle droids. He nearly stomped back to the hangar in frustration just from thinking about it.

He worked his way to a small building embedded into one of the hangar bays. There were less droids in the area. Perhaps he could score a larger group of droids to leave with them.

Strangely, it was quiet in this section of the base. As if it were a completely separate world from the chaos going on around it.

He took a peek of the inside of the building through one of the windows. It was nearly empty except for what appeared to be a guard post on the other side of the room with an array of monitors lining the walls in front of a chair.

"What are you doing? State your unit number"

Ron felt a strange wave of static wash over him. He recognized that voice. It was much like his own. Robotic, cold – nothing like the new models.

He turned around to face the droid. It was a security droid with its shoulders and neck painted red.

"An OOM unit?" Ron asked.

"Affirmative, I am OOM-342," the OOM unit in question responded, "Now answer my question, what are you doing over here separated from your squadron?"

"I was only inspecting the area, my sensors detected movement in this sector and I did not spot any other droids here," Ron was increasingly becoming aware of just how much lying he'd done in the past couple of days. It unnerved him to some end. His old need for professionalism still clung on by a thread.

"This is…reasonable with the ongoing attacks but I must still check your unit number," OOM-342 said, inching closer.

"Which one? My OOM designation or my R designation?"

Perhaps he could convince this old OOM unit to join their cause. Part of him thought it wasn't worth it but the other part was comforted by the presence of another OOM unit and so desperately wanted him to come along.

"You are also an OOM unit?"

"Yes, OOM-453"

Ron thought back to his conversation with Rev inside the AAT. He was careful in letting others know his real designation, mainly because the mention of it would cause his systems to stall for a moment. All due to the memories of his first squad. Their deaths had been the catalyst of everything that had led to this moment. They were the reason behind the development of his personality and subsequently, the need to break free from his programmatic chains.

The OOM unit took a brief pause to look through his database for the name, "You also made it out of Naboo alive. Interesting," he said looking further along his database, "It says here you have been repurposed several times and remade several times…"

'He's looking too far deep into things,' Ron thought to himself. At this rate, the OOM unit would find out that he hadn't been seen by his commander in days.

"A very impressive array of skills and experience," OOM-342 tilted his head back almost as if he were deep in thought, "I have not seen another OOM unit since our deactivation with the destruction of the control ship over Naboo. How were you able to survive?"

"I could ask the same of you"

"Right, I was saved from destruction thanks to the negotiations made with the people of Naboo. My unit was part of the trade where security droids were returned in exchange for prisoners. Now how were you salvaged? You don't appear to be a security droid," OOM-342 looked Ron up and down.

Ron took a moment to compose himself, the threat of his systems locking up or overheating made him anxious to share his story but he needed to do so if he were to convince the unit to join their escape, "It is true that I'm no security droid. Like you said I was repurposed several times. My unit was one of the first to reach the palace but…" for a moment Ron had froze, just as he'd feared.

OOM-342 tilted his head.

An electrical surge ran through him, the same one that always came with the memories. He fought past it as best he could, "B-But w-we were attacked just as we left the main palace and I was the only one to survive. I don't remember much after that but we were on a security assignment at the time. Perhaps I was also included in the group of droids to be handed back to the Trade Federation. I only remember powering on back on the mothership"

The OOM unit nodded, satisfied with Ron's answer, "Interesting. You are one lucky droid. We share a large skillset. I find it strange how these newer models lack the adaptability of our models. If only they were made to our likeness, perhaps this war would've been over already," OOM-342 shook his head, "No, what am I saying?"

"I understand your frustrations, believe me"

"Do not listen to me. It is merely my personality core catching up to me," OOM-342 scanned the perimeter before leaning closer to Ron, "Don't tell anyone I said that"

"Your secret is safe with me sir," Ron said with a salute.

"Carry on then"

"Wait," Ron fought the urge to grab the OOM unit by the arm, "I am prepping one of our transport ships for an operation, perhaps you could assist us?"

"Negative, I am on patrol currently"

"We are in hangar 3, could you at least provide security for us? I am not confident in these newer models"

OOM-342 took another pause.

"I will be sure to survey the area," OOM-342 said before finally walking off.

That was a start. If only he could've shared more with him, he would've bled his metaphorical heart out.

But then the thought of Rev creeped its way back into his train of thought. He had a mission to accomplish and thus he marched back into the populated areas of the airfield, searching for more droids.