Chapter Text
The dreams started when he was very young, still only a cadet, still only CT-7567. He did not pay attention, at first. They were not disturbing, even if they were unpleasant.
He was the first of his brothers to know what sand looked like, what stifling heat was, what real thirst felt like, way before the trainers began sending them in various environmental simulations.
The dreams were filled with endless sand, endless heat, endless sun that burned the eyes and left the throat dry and aching.
They were also filled with pain.
Waking up, in a clone's life, was a swift and efficient as everything else. Morning bell, get out of bed, dress up, line up for roll call, quick breakfast, daily training, quick wash, go to sleep, repeat on endless mode.
But that was the theory, the perfect routine expected by the Kaminoans.
Reality was a bit different.
For the last seven years, it went like this :
The morning bell would ring and most brothers would wake with a start.
They would dress.
CT-5597 would hop on one foot while searching for his boot.
Said boot would always be under CT-5385's bed, who had light fingers, and he would try to throw it away to avoid being accused one more time.
Every single day, he would miss and the boot would land on CT-7567's head, startling him awake after he went back to sleep.
« Kriff dammit, 5597, put away your boots ! » he yelled, throwing the boot at CT-5597's head.
Like every morning.
Dragging his hand across his face, he got up, sighing. He dreamt, again, of heat and pain, nothing new. It was, however, tiring.
While putting on his uniform, he looked briefly at the mark on his chest, on the left pectoral, under the collarbone but above the point of the heart.
Every brother had one, in different places, but they didn't know their meaning.
Some assumed it was another kind of number to ID them.
Some supposed it was a way for the Kaminoans to differentiate them, even if some locations were pretty weird.
But they were never used, never talked about, and some of them were not even words.
He shook his head, putting his vest on.
In the afternoon, they were paired up with clones from other batches for an exercise. With two hundred thousands brothers older than his generation, one million the same age, and at least two million younger, it was an evidence that they didn't know all the other clones.
The point of the exercise was to break up the usual squads and to made new ones, where they didn't know each other, and to make sure that their training overcame that issue.
So CT-7567 was with eight brothers, facing nine other ones, and he wasn't familiar with a single one of them.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing should have been different.
Except it was.
Two vode on his squad began to work in sync like they had known each other forever. They were a bit younger than him, a bit less trained, but their sudden flawless teamwork made up for their inexperience and, in the end, brought them the victory.
Later, CT-7567 ended up with them, and the rest of the squad, in the same room, cleaning weapons and using the opportunity to talk.
« How did you know ? » asked the first one of the pair to the other.
CT-4686-11, that was his number, was in definite need of a shave, facial hair growing awkwardly on his face, the joy of an early puberty.
« How did YOU know ? » replied the second one, CT-4641-05 if Rex remembered right. « My mark is not in an accessible place, and you had no way to read what it said. »
Turned out that, upon meeting, they said the other's words to each other, despite never seeing those before.
Moreover, their marks were in the exact same place, under the right foot.
It was the first time Rex witnessed something like that, but not the last, and it was not unheard of among his brothers.
Two would meet, exchange first words, and they would be the ones on their vod's body.
And that vod would always become their best friend, their confidant and, as they grew up, sometimes, their lover.
The Kaminoans would not talk about it, were almost upset by it, and so, it was kept quiet, a secret bit of their own culture.
Ashnar Urcir. Those who Met.
Other forms of identification, of differentiation, appeared. Hair cuts, tattoos, facial hair.
More importantly, names.
Their marks, which had once been kept mostly hidden, were sometimes put in display, with the hope that their bearer would find his match.
Most of them were words.
That was not true for all of them, though. Some brothers had words in unknown languages. Some had images, patterns, fingerprints, music notes, even light spectrums or chemical formulas corresponding to a scent.
However, Rex was pretty sure that he was the only one, among all his brothers, whose words were blurred.
His mark was words in a strange tongue, unknown and unfound in the library. They were sharply written, like they were carved with the point of a vibroblade, and ink black. Nothing too unusual, except it was like rain had fallen on the wet ink and diluted it..
Rex didn't know what that meant. Maybe his miit'jorir, the one carrying his words, was a brother not yet born, one of the generations to come, when the Kaminoans would try new modifications.
When Rex was eight, as his training was almost done, as he began the waiting for their purpose to be fulfilled, for the Jedi to come and claim them, the dreams changed.
Gone were the heat and the sand and the thirst, replaced by a golden cage, a place which felt nice, seemed pretty, but was no less than a prison. One he was not allowed, nor capable, of leaving, when he was trapped, feeling furious, but most of all, afraid. Afraid of what he would do once he was let out, like a predator kept hungry to kill without thinking.
The pain, however, never stopped.
The very first Jedi the clones met was Grand Master Yoda.
Rex would have felt guilty for staring when he came to Kamino, except he knew every single one of his brothers was doing the same.
Not for his height, or his colour, or his strange speech. Those were surprising, of course, but not why they were gobsmacked.
On the left ear of the strange little Jedi, there were words.
Every brother was able to tell if words on skin were a tattoo, or a mark. There was a... quality to a Ashnar Urcir mark that just felt different.
For the first time, they were seeing this precious mark on someone else's skin. Someone who was not a brother.
Suddenly, every single strange mark began to make sense. What if everyone had a mark, every single living being on the galaxy ?
They had never seen those on Kaminoans, but their makers saw outside of the human color spectrum, didn't they ?
Rex's miit'jorir could be out there, far from Kamino.
More than ever, the clone felt the call for the stars.
When Master Yoda asked for clones to come to the rescue of the Jedi on Geonosis, he was one of the first to volunteer.
He found the courage to ask the Jedi about the marks just before they reached the planet.
« What are those, Sir ? » he said, with a real curiosity but a fake nonchalance. « The mark on your ear ? Or is it impolite to ask ? »
The Jedi stared at him for a few seconds before answering.
« Soulmarks. » he answered. « When your soulmate you meet, the very first words they will say to you those are. »
Soulmate. Someone that would be perfect for you, the other half of your soul.
It fit. They weren't just clones, belonging only with each other.
They were human beings, they were sentients and there was, somewhere in the galaxy, someone for them, just as they were for someone.
« Have them, you do not ? » continued the old Master.
« We do, Sir. We were simply never told what they were. »
Rex did not see the scowl on the Grand Master's face as they were nearing a huge arena carved in the rock, where hundreds of lightsabers were parrying bolts and cutting down droids.
After that, thoughts about soulmates, or miit'jorire, were put aside for the moment.
Rex was not about to leave those new, fascinating beings behind, and jumped on the vessel that went after Count Dooku's speeder.
On board were Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, his Padawan Anakin Skywalker and a human woman named Padmé who was as fierce as her two companions.
When the shuttle was hit and she fell, along with Jesse, Rex learned that she was the miit'jorir to Skywalker.
« I will not leave her behind, Master ! She's my soulmate, for Force's sake ! »
Jinn sighed.
« Yes, Anakin, I'm quite aware that she's your soulmate. I was there when you met, I've been the unfortunate witness of your love-filled letters, you ill-advised poems, and your awful pick-up lines. I'm aware, believe me. »
The light dressing down was enough to calm the young Jedi, who gave him a guilty smile.
« Calm yourself, my young Padawan. Padmé is in capable hands, I believe. »
Rex nodded. Jesse would take care of her, protect the Jedi's soulmate.
« She'll be carrying a gun before you know it, and taking names. Let us concentrate on Dooku. »
Correction. It seemed that Jesse and the young woman would share guns, take on the first droid squad they would meet and probably leave a crater behind.
Once they reached the cave carved inside the cliff, things went quickly. Rex only had time to jump out of the aircraft before a missile took it down, sending debris everywhere, one hitting him in the head.
Note about their armor : they were crap and needed to be upgraded.
The two Jedi ran inside and, even with his ears ringing, Rex managed to hear enough to understand that Dooku was Jinn's former Master.
Skywalker's hot temper pushed him to rush the fight and Jinn followed soon after.
Rex opened fire. Shooting while concussed was not a first.
The rest was a blur. Rex remembered flying at high speed towards a wall, barely being able to stand but trying nevertheless to drag the two unconscious Jedi out of the path of a falling pillar, and being pretty sure that he was hallucinating as the pillar began to float.
After that, blackness.
It's time. The words are ringing through his head. They're harsh, almost metallic, and they seize him.
He is not in control of his own body anymore.
He will kill, without choice, without care.
Waking up in medical to the deadly glare of his own face was not a novel experience to Rex.
« Hi, Kix. »
« Don't Hi Kix me. » growled the medic. « I have a boyfriend making puppy eyes to a Senator after they blew up a command ship, two injured Jedi and an exhausted one, dozens of dead vode, and a very stupid one that got into a head smacking contest WITH A WALL. »
Rex shrugged.
« First time in the field ? » he suggested.
« You'll note that it was the first time for all of us, and I'm intact. Cody is too, if you were wondering. »
Rex smirked.
« Two vode among all of us, that's not the norm. You're the exception. »
« If you do not shut up, I'll hit you, » muttered the medic.
They were interrupted by a laugh. Rex froze, as he believed they had been alone. The laugh was not one of his brothers', but Skywalker's.
« It seems Healers are the same everywhere. » said the Jedi.
« Patients. Bad patients are the same everywhere. » corrected Kix, going to him to check on the bacta cuff around his severed arm.
Kix was the one in the right, there. It didn't take long for Rex to be at ease with the Jedi, either with the easy-going Skywalker or the pragmatic Jinn.
And when Senator Amidala joined them in the medbay, (and Kix marched off while holding Jesse by the ear), the subject of soulmates came up.
As the clones recently understood, most beings in the galaxy had them. There were variations, of course, for certain species did not have a spoken language. Or for beings for whom skin was a matter of perspective.
It explained the disparity in his vode's marks, and Rex knew that some of them must have pretty interesting miit'jorire.
Despite the many variations of meaning between races, most of the galaxy still understood that bond through a human-tinted lens, meaning in a very physical way, but it was not always so. Sometimes they were not lovers. Sometimes, the soulmates were the very best of friends, the most close-knit of brothers, formed the absolute partnership.
The Jedi, for example, had hundreds of platonic soulbonds. Most Jedi were celibate, but it was more a matter of tradition and soulbonds were always accepted.
Even if the Jedi Order was a very slow institution to move, the disasters born from their previous rule of non-attachment, way before the Ruusan Reformation, were enough to teach them tolerance, and that love was not an instant doorway to Darkness.
Nowadays, most Jedi with soulmates were in the friends or partnership category, but those with lovers were neither uncommon nor ostracized.
The Droid Wars had begun. They were named so by Master Yoda, now General Yoda as the Jedi took their rightful place at the head of the GAR, and the name rang true. The Separatist alliance had thousands, millions of the damn things.
They probably could have been named the Clone Wars. The clones were, after all, the element of surprise there, the decisive factor during the very first battle but...
But the name was given by a superior officer, yes, but by an ally as well. A Jedi who knew that the men fighting for them, with them, were human beings. Unique sentients, with a soulmate for each and every single one of them.
Some of them would die before they met each other. Some of them would die and be ripped from the other's life, the other's arms, the other's heart.
They did not deserve to bear the name of the conflict that would cause such pain.
Commander Skywalker was the poster child for the acceptance of romantic soulmates within the Jedi Order.
As he claimed Rex's legion as his own, the clone captain ended up knowing more and more about the hot-headed Padawan.
He had met his miit'jorir when he was nine, on his homeworld of Tatooine. Their words were circling around their left biceps.
He thought that she was an angel, she marveled at how kind he was despite his life.
(Later, when the 501st and the 212th would meet up, Rex would tease Waxer and Boil with a smirk. THIS was a very romantic Ashnar Urnir, with very symbolic words on display on their arms. His vode were lucky their sentences were written underneath their feet, because 'did you sit on a stick, you're walking funny' and 'how the kriff did you look under my foot ?' were far less classy.)
(Not that they cared.)
Commander Skywalker was one of the Jedi that thrived on attachment, on affection, on love. He was very close with his Master, was friend with half of the Order, spent hours in the creche playing with younglings, grew attached to every single one of the troops that were assigned to him and General Jinn in mere days.
Where the ancient rules of the Jedi of Old would have repressed and strangled him, the new ones were very freeing for the former slave and allowed him to shine through the Light.
It was not very surprising that he had a strong soulbond.
« I stayed in contact with Padmé even after we came back from Naboo. My Master was still recovering from what happened, and I was stuck in the Temple and bored senseless. » explained Skywalker, while tweaking his new prothesis. « I sent her countless letters via the 'net, even a memorable old-fashioned one, on flimsi and all. She kept it, it's a masterpiece of whining and awful writing. »
The Jedi shook his head, smiling at the memory.
« We missed each other, of course, but I was a Padawan, and she was a Queen, then. And we were very young. We agreed to stay in contact but to wait until we were older, and freer, before we tried to see what kind of soulbond we could have. »
The soppy grin he had made it clear that, somewhere along the way, they went with a romantic one.
« It's recent. » added Skywalker with a small grin. « You're projecting loudly. Anyway, Padmé and I are in love, and it's the most wonderful thing in the world. Did you meet your soulmate already, Rex ? »
« Not yet, sir. »
Rex dragged his fingers without thought on his chest plate, above the blurred words.
« We call them miit'jorir. I will, one day. » he said, with more certitude than hope.
« Good. » nodded his Commander.
He closed a small panel on the artificial hand he was making and stood up. But, before he left, he paused and Rex cringed slightly when he saw his Commander's smile.
That was never good.
« To be honest, Padmé and I are going to make the whole thing official. Next time we're on leave, I'm going to marry her. » He did not leave enough time for congratulations. « Padmé's family is pretty large. I only have my mom and my Master. Friends are welcome too, of course. »
Anakin grinned and added, like it was perfectly obvious :
« I cannot go with the whole 501st, that would be difficult. Would you like to come for all of them ? »
Rex was so gobsmacked that he never said yes, even if it was clear that his Commander took his presence for granted.
Damn Jedi.
The wedding took place on Naboo, as per Padmé's request.
Amidst the idyllic landscape, full of lakes and more greenery than Rex had ever seen, the clone felt a bit out of place.
It was clear that his Commander was not at ease either.
He greeted his Master with an embrace and his mother with a bear-hug, smiling softly as he was teasing them. Rex was surprised to see that General Jinn's soulmate was Anakin's mother.
That explained a lot of things, especially concerning the two Jedi's interactions.
A few of General Skywalker's friends were here as well, offering congratulations and teasing in turn, but the Jedi's circle of relatives was completely dwarfed by his future wife's.
Rex and Anakin ended up leaning on a beautiful marble rail, with a breathtaking view, fleeing the endless socializing.
« I asked her to marry me here, when I was healing after Geonosis. » Rex's Commander admitted. « I forgot every single line I was planning to tell her, went back to the awkward, awful teenager I had been, and ended up comparing her to sand. It was a disaster. »
Anakin quoted a few chosen sentences from that terrible proposing and Rex couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.
He felt fair to share a few embarrassing stories about him and his brothers as well and they both ended up relaxing.
When Grand Master Yoda arrived, surprising his great-grand Padawan by announcing that he would be the one officiating the wedding, the last remains of stress were lifted from the Jedi's shoulders.
Rex stood witness to a wedding filled with love and tenderness, willed by fate. It was a beautiful ceremony he made sure to remember and tell in detail once he was back with his brothers, for they had all been there in spirit.
With a single act of kindness, born from General Skywalker's loving nature and tendency to grab and hold on to every lifeform that he considered his, the Jedi won himself Rex's loyalty and, through him, the loyalty of the whole 501st.
Of course, not everything could stay smooth and soft, to quote a certain Jedi Commander, and the other shoe had to drop.
First, Rex's dreams took a turn for the worse.
He had dreamt of killing before, but never his brothers. Loyalty to each other was something they were born with, bred with. He would never turn his blaster on one of them.
And yet, he was doing it, again and again in his dreams, cutting a swath through a whole platoon, taking lives by the dozen.
Then, as if his dreams were not bad enough, he ended up covered in blood in real life as well.
Jaguada was a desert-like planet, the dust-like sand sticking to their armor. The battle was more a skirmish than a real engagement, with quick bursts of intense fighting followed by waves of calm. The droids were sent out in very small contingents, following a strange, unidentified strategy they would later realize was stalling.
Rex never saw the bolt coming.
One moment, he was running towards a droideka, turning his head for a fraction of second... the next, he was down, choking on blood, pain flaring in his chest and unable to breathe as his too fragile armor had caved in under the shot.
With shaking hands, he managed to push on the release latches, throwing the chest piece away, his charred bodysuit being ripped apart in the process.
Good thing : it allowed him to breathe, chasing away the black spots dancing in the edges of his vision.
Bad thing : it removed the pressure the armor was putting on his wound, allowing the blood to flow freely.
The black spots quickly returned, blood was flowing between his fingers, and the only thing Rex could think about was that they really needed upgraded gear. Those first-gen armor were utter crap.
Something walked near him and stopped. Rex's vision was tunneling so bad he could not see what it was, or who. A brother, a Jedi, a droid, it could be a kriffing bantha, he would not know.
Whatever it was, it left without giving him assistance, but without finishing him off either.
He blacked out for a few moments and woke up to the scowling face identical to his.
He was making a bad habit of it, it seemed.
« If you die, I'll kill you, » hissed Cody as he was pressing bloody hands on Rex's chest, putting far more pressure than Rex had managed on his own. « Then I'll bring you back to life to kill you AGAIN. »
Rex looked down. He was in pain, but felt very detached. The pain was not bothering him. Rex had been made to endure, to survive, and he was used to far worse. He had known pain for years, now, the fact that it was mostly in dreams not relevant. He knew what fatal wounds looked like and that his, while severe, would not kill him. He was mostly bothered by the fact that he was useless for the fight right now.
And that he had been taken down that easily.
« I cannot die, vod, » he answered Cody, finding what he was looking for.
Amidst the blood, between two of Cody's fingers, one blurry word stood out., ink black smeared with red.
« I have not met them yet, » he reminded his brother.
Clones did not have many beliefs. Most of them were from the old Mando'ade culture, taught to them by Jango Fett, but some were created by them, for them.
Most surrounded the Ashnar Urnir.
You would not die before you found your miit'jorir.
Sometimes, meeting them was as good as a death sentence, but worth it.
« That is a kriffing stupid reason to walk into the path of a blaster bolt, » growled Cody. « Especially since we still not have the new armors. »
« Well, now, I'm first in line to receive one, aren't I ? »
Cody probably knew that he would live, by then, since he struck him, hard, on the shoulder.
Or he was really, really pissed off.
Or both.
Once released from Kix's tender care, Rex finally learned about what went on while he was down.
The Seps had a new weapon.
A new type of droid, human-shaped but quicker, stronger, deadlier than any human had any right to be. It had cut down fifteen squads on its own -the casualty list for the 501st and 212th was the worst one since the beginning of the war- and disappeared before General Jinn or Commander Skywalker could even approach it.
(General, his Commander was now a damn Jedi Knight, a General, whose stupid idea was THAT, that was, like, the worst permission to do even more crazy shit that Rex had ever heard of.)
« It went near you, actually. » said Jesse, his feet kicking in the air, his left boot missing.
Again.
« Must have thought I was already dead. Or dying, » shrugged Rex. « There was a lot of blood. »
Jesse nodded.
« You should go to bed. You look like crap. »
« What are you, my medic ? » groaned Rex, but he was already walking towards the dorm.
« Nope, that's my boyfriend, but it makes me scary by association. »
The war went on.
The Separatist movement gained momentum and, as more and more systems were leaving the Republic, there weren't any sign that the conflict would ever end.
It was not slowing down, it was even getting worse. The droid that decimated their troops was an ace Dooku was sending to every critical location.
It was still unclear what kind of souped up droid the Seps used to make it, but since there was only the one, it was probably an experiment, or too expensive.
Or an expensive experiment.
But what an ace it was.
Clad all in black, to give the illusion of life, it was masked and wore a thick gorget made with a strange metal. There seemed to be carvings on it, but the waving pattern on the metal blurred them, making them unreadable.
Besides, if you wandered close enough to see them, you would not live to tell what you saw. The droid was a killing machine, cutting down brothers and Jedi alike.
Lightsabers were ineffective against it. The metal around its neck was something General Jinn called 'cortosis', and it shut down their weapons as soon as they touched it.
Some Jedi learned that at the price of their life.
Even if they learned not to swing at the droid's neck, it had two vambraces made of the stuff, used to parry (and, of course, it was also resistant to blaster bolts, and was not even scratched by blades). The damn clanker was never touched, while it was killing hundreds.
Since all major things went by two, were they good or bad, Rex's dreams worsened as well.
Every night, he would lose his mind, and turn against his brothers. He would kill his General, kill General Jinn, kill Cody, Waxer, Boil, Jesse, Fives, Echo, Tup, all of them, one after the other, while their blaster bolts and their strikes would not even slow him.
The morbid parallel was not lost on him and when the deadly droid was given a name, Rex felt something in his gut twist.
The Assassin.
The clones were calling it Davaab, Execution, when they talked about it but, in low voices and behind closed doors, the words Jate'kara Shukur were whispered like a curse, like a bad omen.
Breaker of Destiny.
Some brothers had died before meeting their miit'jorire and, to a clone, that felt like the worst of taboos, the most horrible of crimes.
Rex dragged his thumb on the scar in the middle of his words. He would not die before meeting them. He would not let his fate be changed.
The scarring was not a mark of bad luck, it was a protective charm. He had survived, and he would keep on doing so.
But not dying was not enough. He could not go on like he was, jaded and tired, with dreams filled with blood and gore and death, and not break.
Rex sighed and finally managed to knock on the door he had been standing in front of for the last ten minutes.
« Cody. I need help. »
Cody was startled to see a ragged-looking vod on his doorstep. He had known that Rex was not doing well, not since Jaguada, but seeing him like that, without the upper part on his armor, and with very worrying circles under his eyes...
He had not thought it was that bad.
He stepped aside, letting Rex in.
For the very first time, almost two years after the beginning of the war, Rex told someone about his dreams.
« My sleep is not restful, not for my mind. My body is relaxed, but the rest... I'm dreaming of blood, Cody. Of endless fighting fields. I'm... I am not in control, I'm a prisoner of my own body, and I kill. »
Cody looked at him like he had a sour lemon in his mouth. But there wasn't a single shred of judgement in his brother's eyes. Only understanding, and companionship.
« Who ? Who do you kill, vod ? »
Rex sighed. Who did he not ?
« Everyone, Cody. Everyone. General Skywalker. Your General. I kill... »
Cody placed his hand on Rex's forearm and shook his head, not letting him finish.
Rex realized there was not only compassion in the other's eyes. That was understanding.
That was knowledge.
« I know. You're... not alone, Rex. Not the only one. I think... for whatever reason, I think we all dream about that. It's like, as soon as we're asleep, our brains play our worst fears for us. They're not true, Rex. They're not to be. »
Rex exhaled. He was not the only one.
He felt keenly for every brother that had to endure similar dreams, but the knowledge that he was not the only one...
« How can you know ? » he asked, in a very rare moment of doubt. « How can you know that we'll never break, that this war will not drag out the worst of us ? »
Cody gave him a very small smile, but it was an assured one.
« Because of my mark. Because of what my miit'jorir will one day say to me. »
Rex frowned. Cody's mark was visible for all to see, a jagged pattern that looked like a scar from afar, beginning under the left eye and curling around it, on the temple, and then above the eyebrow, reaching his hairline.
The words were in Basic and said ''Thank you, Commander Cody, you may rest now.''
That could be said at any moment, especially while they were at war, and many brothers were speculating that Cody would end up with a Jedi, for those words could easily be said by a superior officer.
However, that was not a clear indication that things would get better and Cody was not known for his optimism. He would not read things where they weren't.
« I don't understand, » Rex finally admitted.
« They don't end here, » answered Cody.
« What ? »
« My words. They don't end here. There's a second part. »
Cody made a come-hither sign with his finger, still smiling (smirking. The bastard was smirking), inviting Rex into his personal space, where any other clone would get punched, until he almost had his nose on his brother's hair.
There were words under the hair. The sentence continued above Cody's brow and, when Rex parted the strands hiding it, his breath rushed out of him.
« You absolute, kriffing, lucky bastard, » whispered Rex.
''Thank you, Commander Cody,'' the words said, ''you can rest now, the war is over.''
After that, Rex's dreams began to change. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the horrors they were speaking of were not to come, but he was not seeing as many bloodbaths as he used to.
Instead, he was dreaming of strange things, that did not really make sense. A droid factory, an unknown planet, a richly decorated palace with a lot of hiding places, a group of smugglers dying before they even knew he was there, a man never seeing the blade that pierced his heart...
Places, faces, murders, but nothing that made sense.
The only constant was the never-ending pain.
When they learned that the Assassin was not a droid, Rex was flying a too-kriffing-slow ship towards the planet where his stupid General was stranded with half a droid army, half a lightsaber and would soon be half a Jedi if Rex did not reach him in time.
Anakin faced the deadly droid and, even with the sparkling remains of his only weapon at his feet, could not keep himself from making taunts.
The Assassin had never talked, probably did not even have vocal protocols, but Anakin could not help himself. The whole 'Dark' look was just asking for jibes and innuendo about Dooku's kinks.
It attacked during one of those, and Anakin snickered.
« Did I hit a fuse ? » he asked, vaulting above the droid's head.
He did not expect the droid to jump and grab his leg, violently throwing him against the ground. Breath knocked out of him, Anakin dodged the blade that would have gutted him only thanks to the Force, and kicked the Assassin by pure reflex.
The damn thing dodged, of course, but it left Anakin enough time to get up and attack.
He was not the best at hand to hand, but the Assassin had been kind enough to leave its blade buried in the ground and the wicked thing was only a bit shorter than a lightsaber shoto.
The droid parried with its cortosis vambraces or with a matching blade to the previous one, and the two opponents exchanged a furry of blows for almost a whole minute.
Anakin had rarely felt so glad for his artificial muscles, for a real arm would have been in serious pain with that much quick and short movements.
Now, Anakin was what some people would call a tank, hitting hard and heavily, not really bothering with tactics, but he had been taught by Qui-Gon Jinn, who was the only being in two hundred years who could claim the honor of winning against Master Yoda at a dejarik game.
Not using much strategy did not mean that he didn't know some, and, really, his tactics were only that much more efficient when nobody was expecting them.
He left a small opening on his guard and the droid, following its stupid programmed protocol, took it and jabbed its blade through Anakin's bionic hand.
In return, Anakin pierced its arm from side to side, the tip going out just were a human armpit would be and were a lot of droids' servos were.
The Jedi was expecting a lot of things. A complete shutdown, an explosion, at least a useless arm and so, an advantage.
He was not, however, expecting blood.
Bright, deep, red blood, dripping and running along the blade's edge.
Human blood.
There was silence for five whole seconds, total stillness, and then, Anakin was submitted to the worse beating of his life.
He could not get a single strike through, could not parry a single hit, as fists as hard as steel hit him without mercy, as sharp blades pierced his skin, as a solid boot broke two ribs in one blow.
The Force was screaming at him but he did not have the time to follow its warnings. The Assassin was just too quick, infuriated and deadlier than ever.
Anakin really believed that he was going to die and, when he saw a bloody dark glove approaching his throat, he lashed out by reflex. Every lesson, every tactic had flown out of his mind long ago. The only thing remaining was the Force and it was the Force he used, making a fist with his hand in a desperate attempt to crush his enemy, to stall him and escape him.
It turned out that cortosis was not Force-resistant. The collar around the Assassin's throat constricted and he faltered, his hand leaving Anakin's view to clutch at it.
He retreated. He fled, leaving Anakin gasping and coughing blood.
The droids would have taken care of him, finishing the Assassin's work, if Rex had not arrived, raining fire on the stupid clankers.
« Impeccable timing... » coughed the Jedi, before fainting.
No one ever heard his best lines.
Something strange happened.
During one of the new, strange variations of his dreams, Rex walked through one of the Seps' biggest droid plant. A vast part of their army was made there, it was a very important and strategic place.
And the system just next to the one where it was situated had just negotiated its return to the Republic.
He knew the GAR would come soon to try and take it.
He was counting on it.
Rex woke up, puzzled. It was the first time he had names, specific places, concrete things.
It would not have been that strange on his own, but, two days later, General Skywalker made an announcement that startled him.
« After months of behind the scenes negotiations, the Gerzob system is going to rejoin the Republic. As the ones familiar with the Hunnovers sector will know, the Gerzob system is very close to the Siskeen one. »
Murmurs spread among his brothers, but Rex was too shocked to listen.
« Precisely. It's our door to Olanet. We're being sent on a secret op there, so we can act before the announcement about the Gerzob system is made. The Seps will not see us coming, and they will not be able to act in time. Taking and blowing up that factory could very well win us the war ! »
The cheer that came up barely managed to throw Rex out of his stupor.
What did that mean ?
His unease never left him. He was not reassured when they joined up with six other battalions, including the 212th, bringing their numbers close to one million, almost a third of their numbers..
The Senate was not taking risks with that op, it seemed, but the overpowered strike did not sit well with Rex.
Something was definitely amiss.
When Rex saw the planet, he knew it was the one he had seen on his dreams. It did not make sense, but it was.
Rex clutched his blaster and scowled. He would find out the meaning of this, but first, they had a plant to destroy.
The 501st, with General Skywalker at the helm, was the legion sent on recon inside the plant. A whole legion as recon, that was a good way to measure both the size of the factory and the magnitude of the op.
Hundreds of ships in atmosphere, running interference with the communication network, preventing all Separatist actions, as the elected Senators of the Gerzod system were making a vibrant speech at the same time.
Hundreds of thousands of clones, ready to invade and destroy a factory the size of a small country, as soon as Rex relayed the order his General would give.
No pressure.
He would feel way more ready if he had slept at all the past five nights.
« Let's go, » ordered his General, and they went inside.
No recon had ever been this messy, and this violent. Gone was the stealth approach : the sheer size of the plant prevented it. They just had to fight their way in, check that there was nothing of interest to bring out of the factory, and send the signal for all of their brothers to go in and destroy everything.
Rex was next to his General when they reached the same conclusion : there was nothing here but droids and machines.
« Rex, give the signal. Send them in, let's blow this up, » smiled his General with a smug grin.
Rex nodded and raised his hand, pressed his com-switch, connecting him to all of his vode, a third of the GAR.
His eyes landed on a viewing room farther away, and he froze.
He knew that room.
The whole plant was vaguely familiar, a sensation of deja-vu that he managed to put aside, but that was not a mere sensation. He knew that room like he knew himself.
« Fall back, » he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, louder, he repeated, « Fall back ! All units, fall back, get as far from the plant as you can ! »
Trusting his brothers to do what they were told, Rex turned to his General that was staring at him.
« What are you playing at ?? » yelled his Jedi. « We have to- »
« Please. Please trust me, » he said, and his voice was so full of desperation that General Skywalker could not do anything else than nod.
They ran out of the building. Outside, the army had obeyed, some were already in the air, leaving the planet. the rest were almost far enough for Rex to feel at ease.
The 501st was the nearest, and he knew what was going to happen.
When the factory blew up, with enough force to be compared to a sunflare, he threw himself against his General's back.
He was wearing full Phase 2 armor, complete with helmet, something his Jedi was not. Maybe, maybe it would be enough to save his General's life.
They felt the airblast first, the air pressure sending them flying dozen of meters, before the heat reached them.
Despite the temperature-regulating specs of both his armor and his bodysuit, Rex could feel his skin heating up, way past the point of discomfort.
He hoped he was a good enough shield for his Jedi, and passed out.
His Master is furious. That is far worse than any ire he had ever felt from him, and the punishment that follows was pure agony.
But, for the first time, in the middle of the excruciating pain, there is a new feeling.
Triumph.
And hope.