Chapter Text
It was days like this- dry, hot, and quiet- where the only sound that could be heard was one's own breathing, which made you think about where it all had gone wrong. This made CT-2022, nicknamed Ammo, wonder: was it worth it?
The end of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire were supposed to bring a new age of peace, justice, freedom, and prosperity throughout the galaxy; at least that's what Emperor Palpatine claimed when he and the Galactic Senate reorganized the Republic into the Galactic Empire. Instead, the galaxy was left under the new government's oppression. Governors claimed to keep crime at bay, but many profited from exploiting those unable to stand against either criminals or the Empire. Worst of all, worlds that refused to give up all their resources to the imperial body were laid waste by the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps, turning beautiful planets into shattered, war-torn rocks. Hundreds of worlds were destroyed under Imperial rule, just as many had during the Clone Wars. The Clone Wars: the war that had been named after the millions of brave soldiers bred in the laboratories of Kamino, like Ammo, to fight in that bloodbath and die for the glory of the Republic before it had become the Empire.
Like his many clone brothers, Ammo had trained long and hard for years in preparation for that inevitable war. He'd fought with every fibre of his body throughout the bloody conflict against the Separatist droid forces. He'd watched so many of his brothers die, including all of whom he'd trained alongside as kids.
Within the first couple of years after the Empire's formation, conscripted soldiers recruited from across the stars slowly replaced what remained of the surviving clone troopers. Their training was significantly shorter than the clones', and their skills were roughly equal to those of the simple B1 battle droids, who succeeded in battle only in overwhelming numbers.
Yet the Empire praised these conscripted troops, these Stormtroopers, for being the backbone of the imperial military machine and keeping alive the lie that the Empire had fabricated across the galaxy of being the perfect government.
Not everyone agreed with this ideology, but no one could do anything about it. From what Ammo had heard, each time an insurgency sprang up, the Empire would send its unlimited supply of troops and weaponry and eliminate those who dared defy them. Few remained, and those that did were branded villains, chaotic monsters hungry for bloodlust, suffering, wealth and power. Showing sympathy for a single insurgent would label one a traitor. This led to a swift arrest and possible execution.
That wasn't how Ammo wanted to go down. After all the violence he'd lived through, the aging clone desired to carry out his remaining years in peace. Even if it meant wandering a backwater world in a remote corner of the Outer Rim, relying on a tiny old Republic scout walker that carried the essential supplies one needed for survival, including his only protection from the heat, which was his Phase II armour.
When Ammo had first gotten the armour, he'd given it markings: an aqua-green stripe running down the center of his helmet and chest plate to identify him as a member of the 211th battalion, along with stickers on his shoulder plates bearing his signature weapon, the Z-6 rotary cannon. He still had it, along with a pair of DC-17 blaster pistols, a few ammo clips for the guns, and even a couple of grenades.
He kept these weapons both for defence and because he couldn't find a buyer for the antique equipment. When the new stormtroopers were unveiled, so were their new armour, weapons and ships. Even the efficient Venator-class cruisers were being replaced by the new Imperial-class Star Destroyers. The Empire appeared to be trying to erase all traces of the old Republic and its grand army, even though the military had saved the galaxy.
Just another reason to avoid listening to the holonet whenever possible. Not like the Empire cared about him. They didn't even give him or his brothers the promised pensions to retired clones. Nor did they try to defend the war veterans when clones were abducted and never seen again.
Ammo shook those thoughts aside. He wasn't gonna spend his retirement living in fear. The war was over. His time as a warrior was as done as the Republic itself was.
Reaching the nearby town, Ammo trudged through the busy streets, ignoring the glances from those who bothered to notice him. The world he was in had suffered devastation during the Clone Wars. It had ended in tragedy, and no one was thrilled to see a veteran from the war. The only good thing about being on this planet, which was linked to the previous battle, was the many warships that had crashed during the conflict. They littered the far side of the eastern hemisphere, and most of the parts were salvageable. Yet no one went there, as many considered the wreckage cursed.
That didn't stop Ammo, for he spent most of his time there recovering parts, which he brought into town to sell for cheap credits to buy food and water. He'd even created a home inside one of the abandoned AT-TE walkers. And it was where he'd gotten the one-person reconnaissance walker he was riding in right now. The thing had saved him quite a bit of time walking between the planet's barren wastelands towards the only town that would buy his salvaged parts.
After reaching his primary customer, the local junk dealer, Ammo took the net off his walker, which carried his loot, and went inside to negotiate a fair price for the parts. Luckily, the junk dealer, a former podracer named Sebulba, desperately needed decent parts to pay off someone he had recently tried to screw in a sabacc game. So, the price negotiation wasn't complex. It also happened that Ammo had found some rare parts he knew the dug could sell for more than he offered. Enough to pay off his debt.
After receiving his credits and a curse in Huttese from Sebulba, Ammo headed back to his walker and toward the local cantina. He was hungry and not in the mood to cook dinner when he got back to his own junkyard of a home.
Parking his walker in an alley – the owner didn't like the walker being seen by his customers in front of his establishment – and arming it with a defence mechanism that kept jawas and other vermin from scraping it, he headed inside.
The cantina was only partially full, but most of the seats taken were in the center of the establishment. This suited Ammo; he didn't like to draw attention. It only caused trouble that he didn't want to deal with.
The cantina's waiter droid, D5, rolled over towards Ammo. She was the only one on the whole planet who greeted the clone with kindness, almost as if she actually cared for him, as shown when she sometimes gave him an extra refill or a side on the house from time to time. Aside from his brothers and the Jedi before the Purge, this droid was one of the nicest beings Ammo had ever known.
"The usual, Ammo?" the droid asked in her rusty feminine voice. Ammo wished her owner would use the credits he sometimes tipped her for an upgrade, or at least an oil bath. But the guy was a cheapskate when it came to his employees' well-being, droids included.
"The usual," he replied. D5 then rolled off to place his order, leaving Ammo alone to listen to whispers from other patrons, who were discussing different kinds of things, including what was on the holonet.
"Can't believe that Syndulla guy tried to assassinate Palpatine," a patron – a Duros – said to a Twi'lek.
"Hey, don't look at me," the Twi'lek said as if he were defending himself. "I'm not part of that crazy movement on Ryloth. I left that dust ball after the Republic dumped those clones there after they retook the world," he said, pointing to Ammo, much to the clones' disdain.
"Yeah, well, at least there weren't any Jedi on Ryloth this time," a Quarren spat. "Not unlike Kashyyyk. The holonet reported last week that a Jedi was helping Saw Gerrera and his terrorists disrupt imperial trade."
"Hopefully, those inquisitors will deal with him as they've done with the other survivors of that blasted cult," the Duros said. "Last thing we need is more troublemakers tightening the Empire's grip on us out here."
"I'll drink to that," the Twi'lek stated.
"Same here," the Duros added.
"Here, here!" the Quarren cheered as the three raised their mugs and toasted to… whatever it was. Ammo didn't care. And quite frankly, he was done listening in.
The Jedi were a thing of the past, and every time he thought of his former generals, he questioned what had happened when Palpatine had issued Order Sixty-Six.
One minute, he was blasting clankers alongside his brothers and their Jedi leaders. Then the next thing he knew, over half his platoon was dead; two equally dead Jedi surrounded their corpses with far more blaster holes than he thought were possible.
"Here's your order, Ammo," D5 chimed in, interrupting the clone's trip down memory lane.
Confusion quickly gave way to hunger as Ammo caught the scent of his food. Nothing fancy: just a fried rodent native to the planet, served with vegetables from the cantina's cellar that the rodent now being served had been eating, as evidenced by the tiny bite marks on it. Luckily, the veggies had also been fried, so they were somewhat appetizing. And to wash it all down, D5 had brought a mug of Ammo's favourite ale; not an expensive brand, but it still had plenty of flavour.
Not wasting any more time, the old veteran began to chow down on his meal. Grateful that despite all that he'd lost, he at least had a friend, a warm meal, and a peaceful life.
