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Nightingale has a mission. The medic stalks down long corridors, Imposter at her heels, as they head towards their destination.
It isn’t long before they come across several clone troopers, standing guard right outside of Nightingale’s first objective.
“...Can we help you?” One trooper says warily, shifting on their feet. They spot the rank insignia on Nightingale’s pauldron, and they hesitate. “This is a restricted area, sir. Even if you’re a Commander, you can’t—”
But Nightingale barrels onward, Imposter beside her, and they’re on the two clones before they can do more than yelp, Imposter wrestling one down to the floor while Nightingale jabs the other with a quick syringe, causing the trooper to seize violently before they’re frozen, perfectly still.
Leaving one guard unconscious and the other paralyzed, they make their way through the silent hallways, passing by empty cell after empty cell before stopping at one cell in particular.
This cell is occupied—inhabited by the galaxy’s greatest foe, and the nightmare under every Jedi’s bed.
Imposter kneels by the door panel, the engineer quickly getting to work disabling the force-suppressing field inside, and any alarms that may alert the enemy.
Nightingale shifts, saluting sharply.
“My Lord,” the clone says, tone monotonous. “We have come to retrieve you.”
Darth Sidious raises his head, a terrible smile on his sickly, withered face. “Good. My plan has yet to fail completely, no thanks to those blasted Jedi. Come now, I must make my escape.”
“Do you require medical attention?” Nightingale asks, not commenting on her master’s words. It’s not her place.
That gets her a fleeting scowl, though Sidious turns his head away a moment later, dismissing her entirely.
When he gracefully exits his cell, the two clones fall in step beside him, moving past their fallen brethren without a second glance.
“Has the hanger been cleared?”
“Yes, your Excellency,” Nightingale answers flatly. “CC-1010 has ensured that your hangar and private ship have been cleared, and are ready for take-off. Air traffic knows to expect you.”
Sidious chuckled, folding his hands behind his back as he leisurely continued forward.
“Truly, I did excellent work with my Guard. Putting you in charge of so many basic functions of the city was a stroke of genius. The Jedi still have yet to see the extent of the control I have over Coruscant. And when they do… Won’t that be thrilling?”
Nightingale doesn’t reply. She knows he’s not actually asking for her opinion.
The hangar is open and the ship is ready, as promised. Fox is there, directing the last of the supplies on-board.
Something inside Nightingale wants to scream. Wants to warn him away, because Master Sidious likes hurting Fox, enjoys the reaction it gets from all of them, but—
But Nightingale knows her duty.
“Well now, isn’t this lovely?” Sidious says happily, looking around the hangar at all the Guards, scattered and waiting for the man who controlled Coruscant with an iron fist. “Medic, get on the ship.”
Nightingale obeys, heading up towards the doors, but then she veers sharply to the left, cramming herself behind the entrance to the ship, just out of sight. It’s not disobeying. She’s on the ship. But if she goes too far in, she won’t be able to hear what Master Sidious is saying.
She’s just doing her duty, that’s all. She’s making sure that she’s prepared to obey his commands whenever necessary.
This is the correct course of action.
She strains to hear, getting as close to the open air of the hangar as she dares.
“—yes, I suppose I will need an engineer. Just in case. And you, Commander. You’ll be a fine guard, won’t you? You’ve done well so far, after all. Yes. You two and the medic. Any more would be a strain on resources. Get on the ship, clones. I’ll deal with the rest in a moment.”
Fox and Imposter are climbing on a moment later, faces blank. Fox’s eyes catch hers for a moment, but he simply looks away, saying nothing. Imposter immediately heads further inside—he’s been tapped as a pilot, it seems. Something inside Nightingale itches at that.
Imposter is a nervous flier. You’d think he’d be better at it, considering his background as a member of the GAR, but he wasn’t in the Guard because the fighting on the front had been too easy for him. He’s a great engineer. He’s good at modifying ships, but he isn’t a good pilot.
She doesn’t say anything. It’s not her place.
“Now, for all the rest of you,” Sidious says pleasantly. He’s on the ramp of the ship, looking out at all the other Guards, just waiting. If Nightingale just turned the corner, she would be close enough to touch him. “You can still prove your worth. I need something to distract the Jedi. Something… impactful. Execute Order 10.”
All at once, there is a sound that Nightingale has long memorized—the sound of hundreds of clones, all pulling a blaster out of their holsters, all at once.
Sidious sweeps by her and Fox without a single glance in their direction, not even waiting to see the outcome of his demands.
Nightingale watches him go. She can’t look. She can’t look.
A shiver runs up Nightingale’s back. Blasters echo through the hangar bay as clones fall, collapsing against the concrete flooring one by one.
Fox turns, catching her eye once more.
There’s something wrong with him. The sclera of his left eye is slowly turning red, and he seems to have developed a twitch. His face is expressionless, showing no sign of pain, but Nightingale knows that he’s malfunctioning.
She knows because she is experiencing it too—she can feel the wetness coating her lip from where her nose has bled.
“Let’s go,” Fox orders, slamming a hand on the door panel as the ship begins to rise, jerking and unsteady. “We have our orders.”
Sidious’ raised voice comes from the cockpit; he’s yelling at Imposter, threatening him. He wants to kill her vod’ika. He’s killed so many of them already.
Nightingale is a medic. Her job is not only to heal others from harm, but to prevent it from occurring. She knows her duty.
“Yes,” she says, turning to go after the man who calls himself their master. “We do.”