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Imperial troopers swarm the place and Rex curses quietly, carefully lowering himself behind the remnants of duracrete structure.
These ones are obviously clones, their movements synchronized and alert and the way they are sweeping the area irritatingly thorough. Cautious.
Shit. Rex would be proud of them unless for the fact that they are more likely to execute him as a traitor rather than to wait for him to praise their performance.
Some of these men could have been close to him, once. Like his own men – those he’d once sworn to protect. Only these here are alive, while his men are dead. By him and Ahsoka’s hand. Dead and buried into that fucking freezing wasteland they absolutely did not deserve.
Sunlight is too bright in his eyes even through the shitty helmet he is wearing as a precaution and there is something blocking his airways. He can feel sweat trickling down his spine and gathering in his armpits while he tries to breathe around the tightness in his chest and throat. He feels pathetic; fuck this really is not a place to have these kind of attacts. He needs to be functional.
He thinks he used to be, once.
Rumbling engines somewhere above his head jerks his brain back on track and away from the dead. Imperial transport descends menacingly and Rex can only imagine what will step out of it.
More men, probably. He would bring in more troops if this was his operation. In reality it could be something worse because he knows there’s a Jedi here somewhere and Ahsoka has just gone to try to find them and –oh Force he needs to warn Ahsoka.
It could be one of those ordered to hunt and destroy all of the Jedi in that transport.
He’s heard rumors about what some of his brothers have been made into. He’s seen footage of black-and-red clad troopers who move like ARC-trained Commanders and fight like the same Commanders when someone threatened their Jedi a while – a lifetime – ago. The difference is that these men stand by, emotionless and indifferent, as someone else’s lives are destroyed in front of them and they don’t look back as they march into Imperial shuttles behind the Inquisitors they serve.
They leave behind worlds and cities in flames.
Rex grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut and can’t prevent his thoughts spiralling. He should leave now, immediately (should’ve been gone already) but he’s frozen in place. The transport is closer but Rex sees images, faces of his old – friends, brothers, one-time lovers – above black and red gear and isn’t able to make his body move.
Do they laugh and share stories of Jedi hunting and atrocities together, these Imperial monsters, while lounging in grey, durasteel mess halls and rec rooms? Do they press their black-armored shoulders against each other’s in support and comfort when needed? Do they remove their menacing helmets and armor and seek closeness and skin on skin contact in narrow bunks and showers?
Is there anything like that left, after the Order and the chips and –
Rex feels like he’s far away, like something or someone is whispering in his ears. Sick and awful things that are the truth. He’s not in his body but is choking on the lump in his throat at the same time – he should just fucking breathe because what he feels is just some shit that’s in his mind, he knows. Ahsoka seems to think so, at least, and she’s a Jedi, she should know. Ahsoka is also his friend who tries so hard to help, he thinks with a small twinge of guilt. It’s not Ahsoka’s fault Rex feels like he’s drowning in blood, sometimes.
Rex gasps, digs his nails into the skin of his arm as hard as he can and that little flare of pain helps ground him.
He’s sweating but breathing works better, one slow inhale at a time. He sighs, annoyed with himself but it still feels like he’s back in control of his body and his senses. He risks a peak from behind his cover and now his every instinct screams at him to fucking run. Transport lands and the troopers waiting for it snap at attention. Someone with markings of an officer approaches the vehicle.
As the ramp is descending, an armored figure in black and red has already started out and jumps the rest of the way down, swinging a mean-looking rifle over his shoulder. Cold dread fills Rex’s mind because he recognizes those steps, the way the man carries himself and he’s again unable to take hold of his comm and contact Ahsoka because this is Cody.
His Cody.
Rex’s vision is blurring and he blinks back tears and sweat and the horrible realization that Cody is alive.
Because of course Cody is one of those chosen to be a part of this new Imperial elite. CC-2224 was always the best and there really is no reason why he would’ve stopped being that after changing allegiances.
The ramp is down and another figure, tall and lean, marches out, in a more leisurely fashion. He takes his time to observe the surroundings. Assessing or listening–sensing and it’s eerily reminiscent of something tingling on the edges of Rex’s conscious mind but he can’t quite grasp it. He continues his controlled breathing and tries to come up with a plan that would include getting Ahsoka as far from this place as possible.
Even at the price of leaving the hiding Jedi here without aid because Rex can’t–won’t lose Ahsoka. Not after everything they have been through.
Abruptly his brain manages to make the connections through anxiety thrumming in his system. The fucker with Cody is a Force user. He’s seen that behavior thousands of times with Skywalker and with his former General’s Master – Kenobi.
An Inquisitor.
It’s possible they are already doomed. He’s seen Maul, all unhinged rage and power. This Darksider looks much more calm and controlled and it’s a bad fucking thing.
Rex watches with ice cold terror in his veins as his brother (his love), Kenobi’s murderer, strolls casually towards his Inquisitor and probably makes his report or asks for orders. He has no delusions about this Cody –2224– not following given orders to the letter.
At the lazy wave of the Inquisitor's hand, more men emerge from the transport and fall into step with their superiors. The other officer salutes with picture–perfect precision and his men move about, continuing their search of something. Survivors, most likely. If there even are any.
Rex needs to get the fuck out of here. He also should have better weapons and preferably a small army because the idea of facing Cody –this Cody– will most likely mean his own death. He tries to think around attacking Cody and taking him along unconscious but he’s only ever bested Cody a couple of times in a spar and he knows this chipped one would rather shoot him on sight with that fancy rifle of his than risk hand-to-hand.
A bitter laugh almost leaves Rex’s lips and he bites the inside of his cheek harshly. Not that much of a risk, is he even. Not for this Cody with his armor and weapons and a dark side Force user by his side.
He comms Ahsoka. It only takes one word. Inquisitor.
The reply is equally short. Noted. And coordinates for a rendez-vous point.
Rex swallows and slides down from the heap of crumbled duracrete and slinks into the shadows. Uneasiness increases as he realizes this is the exact direction Cody and his men and his Inquisitorial thing took as well.
He meets with Ahsoka in a half-collapsed building. Her montrals are stained with soot and grime, blood trickling from a small cut on her cheek. She’s so young but she looks like she has the weight of half a Galaxy on her shoulders as she hugs Rex and presses her forehead against his, for the shortest of moments.
“Rex I think I know where the Jedi is but we need to leave, immediately, because we can’t have the Inquisitor–
Ahsoka’s voice is strained and quiet. ”I don’t think I’m strong enough to face him. I’m sorry.”
And Rex already knows this. Cody, as he is, is lost to the Empire and even as he nods at Ahsoka a part of him is rebelling inside, hating the idea of leaving one more of his own behind.
Leaving Cody behind.
Even smaller part of him questions the present situation. If he was with the Empire as well, with Cody would it really be that bad?
It absolutely would. He knows that but sometimes the pain of missing the man he loved is too much. He absolutely despises himself for those thoughts.
They run from one destroyed building to the next and Ahsoka keeps reminding him of shielding with choked out whispers. Rex knows she’s terrified even though she hides it well. She worries of the Jedi and of the poor citizens of this thoroughly ruined little moon.
At a small plaza Ahsoka stops and grabs Rex, dragging him behind a sturdy old fence and they drop low, a nanosecond before Cody’s –not his Cody, Rex tries to think desperately– troops march out of an old warehouse. They have gathered a group of survivors.
Rex’s chest constricts and Ahsoka’s eyes are blue pools of pain as the Inquisitor slowly approaches the group, Cody trailing behind him, swinging an electrostaff from his back and igniting it in one smooth motion. His visor is tilted slightly, towards the Inquisitor.
Ahsoka gasps and Rex presses his palm over her mouth, praying all or any gods and the Force in all its impossibility that no one noticed.
It may have been Jedi precognition or just her misery at seeing the townsfolk herded together like animals. But the moment the Inquisitor's voice gathers volume and Cody widens his stance, posture alert and predatory, Rex also knows what’s to come.
”Kill them, PT-2224. All of them. Take your time and make it a thorough example for the rest of these good citizens. They hid a Jedi – that’s treason. They need to learn that actions against the Empire have consequences.”
Cody, or the Purge Trooper using Cody’s body, has already started advancing and he does not hesitate.
Afterwards, when Rex sits next to Ahsoka in their little shuttle and steers them towards their currently base he can still hear the echo of PT-2224’s flat, cold words in his ears.
”Yes, Sir.”