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A lonely door slid shut on The Resolute, and Captian Rex of the 501st let his knees buckle and his body plummet to the ground. Every inch of his armored body groaned and burned under the weight of the plastoid as he collided with the floor and laid out on his back. He didn't get up.
To anyone watching, the captain would look dead. His muscles ignored his mind's need to move, his lungs decided they could survive with little oxygen, and his eyes peeled themselves open, staring blankly at the wall.
A minute went by, and Rex groaned. Sleep begged for him, but the captain ignored it, even as it made his eyes feel like they were tearing open.
He took a deep breath, and stood up. Rex's fingers worked carefully, pulling his armor off and handling it like it was made of precious gems.
Sometimes, he wished he had less respect for his armor. It would make it so much easier to release his rage if he allowed himself to throw the plastoid, smash it with his heels, snap every piece in half until it was dust beneath his feet, and-
Rex stopped. He was letting himself loose control again. It would do him no good.
Another day of saving the Republic. Another mission that made Rex want to snap. Another moment that made him want to go against everything he knew, and put a bolt through Skywalker's brain.
They went in to rescue a droid.
Dozens- hundreds- fuck it, thousands of clones had gone missing, been captured, tortured, questioned, and not one person seemed to care. But then a droid goes missing, and suddenly the galaxy has to stop moving.
Kenobi said it was because the droid had Republic information.
So did all his missing brothers.
They said that the droid could give up information too easily.
Shitty programming then, should have gotten rid of it.
Skywalker said it was because the droid was his friend.
Rex never felt more worthless in that moment.
His fingers trembled as he pulled off his breastplate. His chest expanded dramatically the moment the unbearable weight was lifted from his aching ribs. Finally, with all his armor removed, Rex picked up his datapad. There was a new notification, an update on the mission report. Waiting to be read and signed off.
The captain felt like he was standing behind his own eyes, pushing them in the direction they were needed, and filing each word into his brain. They came together to create neat, precise sentences. The reports were never longer than they had to be. They were accurate, never dancing around a subject. Everything was fact.
Somehow though, the newest report made him feel like he was reading a fantasy novel. Because none of this could have been real. It was some crazy dream.
Rex felt so distant that it might have well been a dream.
His comm made a noise.
Rex didn't process it for a long time. He was too focused on the sheer incompetence dripping off the report in his shaking hands. When did they start shaking?
With careful movements, he read through the whole thing, wincing every time the fact seemed to turn to fantasy again. He was dragging it out. Trying to hold off the inevitable.
There, at the bottom of the report, were the KIAs. He was used to the number being high. He was used to seeing deaths in the dozens.
Why was is so much more crushing to read that there was only ten deaths?
Maybe, because with such a small squad, it should have been easier to get them all back alive. With a large scale battle, Rex knew that death was unavoidable. But with this? Every drop of blood could have been spared if they had just left the droid.
General Skywalker said they mattered once. He said he would fight for them, and do what it took to get the Republic to see them as people.
Rex can remember the face on his General, when he told him that they were worth more than droids.
Apparently not more than that droid.
Only 9 months into the war, and General Skywalkers list of lies was already longer than Rex thought was possible.
Honestly? He hoped that the General would get his brains shot out by a droid, so that Rex didn't have to do it himself.
Every day the thought grew more pleasing.