#phase-I clone trooper helmet

[jastervhett]

Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor

Although the Phase-II Clone Trooper Armor always got a lot of love…The Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor was always the best design to me due to the Phase-I Armor's likeness to Jango Fett's Mandalorian Armor.

From the Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor. To the Phase-I Clone Commando Katarn-Class Armor. And especially the Phase-I ARC Trooper Armor with its numerous Mandalorian influences (Helmet mounted Rangefinder, Kama, Jetpacks, Wrist Rockets, etc.)

Phase-I Armor for the Win...!

[captainshyguy]

happy may the 4th! here's a waxer touching up his helmet with a friend <3

[wildlurker]

Working hard or hardly working?

My Paratrooper OC Puff, chatting with his 'twin' Huff (yet to be drawn) about the jetpack. Unsure on his battalion or squad currently. He and Huff also traded helmets. Uniformity who?

[antrylis]

✨More Clones Brickheadz !✨

Since I acquired the Small Cody (40675), I found that there was an untapped mine. Why would they only make one ? Well. I don't have an answer to that, but I decided to take matters into my own one; so behold : 11 more. I went mostly for commanders here, but then I went a bit astray and so I added some captains to the mix.

In order, row by row :

Tukk (Not cannon but the colours are so beautiful)/Vaungh (died too soon-)/Rex (obviously)/Fordo (I did Rex, so I had to)

Gree/Doom/Thorn/Neyo

Bly/Cody/Fox/Wolffe

It was a really fun project, and I hope to do more of them in the future - maybe even phase 1s, some day~); supposedly not commanders because I did most of them (except Bacara, I know...The helmet was too tough).

And because I really like challenges, if you want to see another clone turned into one of these (Be it cannon or one of your ocs) feel free to send requests in my aksbox !)

Anyway this post is already far too long for anyone's dashboard, so closeups and details will be under the cut !

Let's start with the easy ones : Cody, Doom, Fox, Thorn

Obviously, Cody was easy, I just rebuilt the original one virtually - Nothing too hard. The printed pieces here are not the right ones, because Cody's are not available on STUDio yet, but the storm trooper ones were relatively similar, so I used these for most of these models. Of course, it means I'm lacking the sun bands, and a few other distinctive elements, but it works well enough for now.

Now, Doom is essentially a colour variation (minus a few antennas). I also used an old space piece, which has this big yellow arrow printed on it. I's not exactly what Doom has, but I feel like it's close enough for a first attempt.

Then, Fox is relatively similar to Doom, but with two DC-17s. I also moved the printed torso brick up to get that red line he has.

Thorn works in a similar way to Cody too, except I removed both accessories on the side of the helmet. I also added this tile with diagonal lines to figure the wings he has. One day I'll slap some real wings on there, but I haven't found the right image yet. I also gave him a Z-6, obviously. I really like it, so I might actually make that one physically, because the way it's build (with old binocular pieces) is pretty nice; although I doubt the pieces are available in black.

Moving on to two captains : Vaughn and Tukk !

Admittedly, not really that different either, except for one thing : I learnt to do custom prints now ! Yay ! Well, these are really basic : the blue line for Vaughn, and some trapezoids for Tukk's helmet (which are, indeed, not visible here - shame, I spent so long making these fit). The Ahsoka pattern was already in STUDio (because Ahsoka already has her own brickheadz, which I'll get my hands on someday~)

I must also add that having some cyan in this whole thing added some much needed colours in here, I'm grateful some people give their clones amazing colours (If somehow someone doesn't know who Tukk is, well just check High Ground Animation. Right now. It's really cool, trust me). Anyway.

As for design changes, I modified the faces slightly by adding 1x1 tiles, to allow for different colours variations on the face. It makes them look slightly blockier, but given the overall size of the head, it doesn't do much.

I also gave Vaughn a DC-15A. It's a bit messy, but it works out well enough. Past me forgot to render it, so here is a raw, in-software picture of it (from Fordo(s hand, but it's the same design for both) :

BARC helmets ? Wolffe, Fordo, Neyo

As I've been told, these look a bit wonky, and I'll admit its wasn't exactly easy, but in my defence, it's relatively hard to get such round shapes with bricks (lego cheated by adding the visor). Anyway, given that doing that with a printed piece was out of the question, I tried to replicate the filter's shape with actual bricks, and I used a printed piece which, technically, is Lando's moustache, but downward. I'd say it does the job relatively well.

I also added a rangefinder to Wolffe, which is a little big compared to everyone else's antennas, but It's still relatively to scale with the head itself. No custom prints for him (not sure where I would find the correct pattern images ?), but I've done it for Fordo and Neyo. Fordo obviously has his well deserved Jaig eyes (and who knew it would be that difficult to find a picture of that on internet ?), and Neyo has his symbol on the helmet, chest plate, and the shoulder not shown here.

The really tinkered ones : Gree, Bly, Rex :

Here, it was a matter of trials and errors to figure out just how to get the shapes right.

I actually started with Bly, by removing the previous visor and adding the macrobinoculars first, then I tried to shape the helmet around. Truth is, it doesn't make sense technically : the two separated parts of the helmet do not connected at all, if you remove the equipment. Luckily, no one has to know that.

Next is Gree. It took me some time to figure out how to properly get a round feel, but I feel like it's as good as I can make it like this. Colour-wise, it was surprisingly difficult to find how to balance the different shades of green, and equally hard was to figure out which silvery colour would render well in STUDio. The answer lied, as it always does, in Bionicle. Of course, none of these pieces exist in this colour, but it's not really my main problem (because none of the coloured printed pieces exist either).

Finally, Rex...He gave me some trouble, I have to admit. Firstly, the part-designing software decided to have some trouble with custom prints, which was problematic, because I simply couldn't do Rex without jaig eyes (and Fordo already had his). Then, I started with Gree's base and tried to go from there to fit Rex's custom helmet. I ended up using Boba Fett's printed visor piece for Rex, because these were all triangles. I also got rid of the printed chest piece and used some black plates to simulate the pouch he has; while also adding a a few more custom printed pieces for the arms and pauldron (barely visible, but they're here. I'm not entirely happy with it, but I don't see much other solutions than more and more custom prints, which isn't my goal, so it'll stay like that for now.

Anyway, that's way too much rambling for one post, so I'll just end by saying that next week I'll post an alt version of this whole build [here !], with some 'slight' colour alterations. Definitely nothing big.

[loganpine]

Rex and Wolffe DO NOT have the black brow band that other Clone Troopers have

Live Action interpretations of Rex and Wolffe DON'T need a black brow band to be consistent, as we've seen both Phase I and Phase II Clone helmets WITH the black brow in the exact same show and animation style that depicted the two of them without. And if you're willing to just say "Animation inconsistency", then you can't complain about Rex's pauldron being different from the 327ths in Live Action.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Spice, Sabacc, and Stray Feelings”

Hound x Smuggler!Reader

The underworld of Coruscant never really slept — it just blinked slower, as if the planet’s lower levels were always two seconds behind the rest of the galaxy.

And in those two seconds?

You could make a fortune… or vanish into a garbage chute and never be found again.

You adjusted your grip on the handheld scanner, eyes flicking over the crates lined up next to your half-gutted freighter. Spice. Not the high-grade stuff, just raw, unrefined ryll — enough to make a profit off-medworld, nothing serious enough to turn Republic eyes.

At least, that’s what the broker promised.

Then again, brokers lied.

“You sure this is all?” you muttered, squinting at the readout.

The Rodian dockhand shrugged and snorted in annoyance.

You rolled your eyes. “Helpful as always.”

You weren’t proud of jobs like this. Freelance smuggling meant dealing with whatever scrap you could get — transport runs, forgery gigs, hot cargo you didn’t ask questions about. You stayed unaffiliated for a reason: syndicates like Black Sun or the Pykes wanted blood loyalty, and you weren’t giving that to anyone.

But a freelance run paid in clean credits, and clean credits meant fuel, food, and staying off the Republic’s increasingly watchful radar.

Well. That had been the plan.

Until a low growl rippled through the shadows behind you.

Your hand went instantly to your sidearm. You turned, heart thudding—

And saw a pair of glowing eyes watching you from the dark.

Massiff.

Your instincts screamed.

The beast crept into the half-lit landing pad, muscles rippling.

A long tongue lolled out of its snarling mouth.

“Easy,” you said slowly, hand still hovering near your blaster. “Nice beast…”

“You might want to keep your hands where I can see them.”

The voice was low, confident, and far too calm for your liking.

From behind the creature emerged a figure in crimson-red armor — Phase II clone trooper design, the kind you’d seen in bounty briefings. Coruscant Guard. Elite peacekeepers for the Republic. Unflinching, by-the-book, absolutely not the type to take bribes.

The clone’s helmet glinted in the overhead light as he stepped forward, weapon holstered but hand near it.

“I’ll only say it once, ma’am,” he said evenly. “Step away from the cargo.”

You didn’t move.

“Funny,” you replied, voice light. “Usually, I get a knock before someone invades my hangar.”

“This dock’s been flagged for suspicious activity. Your ship doesn’t match the beacon filed with the port authority. And this—” he nodded toward the crates— “looks a lot like spice.”

You let out a humorless breath. “If I told you it was just medicinal herbs for some Outer Rim clinics, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

The massiff edged closer. You noted the way his handler moved — calm, deliberate steps, but not afraid to get close. He hadn’t drawn on you yet.

Either he was cocky… or confident.

“Name?” he asked.

You smirked. “Most people buy me a drink first.”

“I’m not most people. And this isn’t a date.”

“Shame.”

He paused. You couldn’t see his face under the helmet, but the brief flick of his head said enough. Either amused… or annoyed.

Maybe both.

“Look,” you said, lowering your hand slightly, showing you weren’t about to shoot — yet. “I don’t deal with syndicates. I fly solo. I was told this cargo was clean. Just moving it for a middleman. I don’t even know what’s inside.”

“Then you’ll forgive me if I open it.”

He stepped past you, crouched beside one of the crates, and popped the latch.

Pale purple powder drifted out on the stale dock air.

Spice.

“Kriff,” you muttered, backing up half a step.

He stood slowly, the tension shifting in his body. No threats. No smugness. Just resolve.

“You’re under arrest,” he said.

That fast?

You weren’t going down over a job this small. You’d worked too hard to keep your name off Republic bounty boards.

He moved toward you — and you bolted.

You ducked under the ramp of your freighter, hearing the click-click of boots behind you, the snarl of the massiff giving chase.

You cursed under your breath, yanked a pipe loose from the stack of maintenance droids nearby, and used it to trip the beast mid-sprint. The massiff yelped but rolled and sprang back up. Tough bastard.

“Grizzer!” the clone barked. “Stay!”

The beast halted — but his handler didn’t.

You grabbed onto the side ladder of a stacked cargo container and scrambled up it like your life depended on it — because it did.

“Running only makes this worse!” the trooper shouted.

“Then catch me and write it down in your damn report!”

You leapt down the other side — and stumbled.

The clone was faster than you expected. You heard him hit the ground behind you hard, then felt the grip on your arm a second later.

You twisted, using his momentum to throw him off — but he was strong. Too strong. He caught your wrist mid-swing and yanked you around, pressing you against a rusted wall with practiced force.

Your breath caught.

His visor was inches from your face now. You were breathing hard. So was he.

The spice crate rolled to a stop near your foot.

“Going to shoot me?” you rasped, eyes defiant.

“No.”

He snapped binders on your wrists in one smooth motion.

“I don’t shoot unless I have to. But running, resisting, interfering with a Guard investigation — that’s enough to get you thrown in a deep cell for a long time.”

“Should I say thank you?”

He tilted his head slightly. “If you feel like it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s your name?”

He hesitated — just for a beat.

“…CT-6701. They call me Hound.”

You glanced at the massiff now padding toward you again, eyes gleaming with a strange… respect.

“Let me guess. That’s Grizzer.”

He gave the faintest nod.

You shook your head. “Great. I get taken down by a pair of matching dogs.”

For the first time, the edge of his voice dipped into dry amusement. “You fought well. Most smugglers don’t run uphill.”

“Most smugglers don’t get caught.”

“You did.”

You looked at him again — really looked. This close, you could see scratches on his armor, patches of carbon scoring, a faint dent on the side of his helmet. Someone who’d seen action. Someone who didn’t rattle easily.

You exhaled, tension bleeding from your shoulders.

“Guess I’ll need a new gig.”

He glanced at the spice, then back at you. “Freelancer?”

You nodded.

He considered something for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone had shifted — less rigid. Still professional, but not cold.

“You’re lucky I found you first. Pykes would’ve gutted you for mishandling product. Black Sun would’ve used you as a warning.”

You blinked. “Wait. You believe me?”

“That you’re freelance? Yeah. You fought like you had something to prove, not something to protect.”

That… stung a little. Because it was true.

Grizzer nosed your cuffed hand, grunting softly.

You glared at the dog. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Hound gave a quiet chuckle. “He likes you.”

“Must be losing his edge.”

“So’s his handler,” Hound murmured, more to himself.

The transport touched down moments later, red floodlights washing over the loading dock.

You sighed. “Well. This is going to be awkward to explain at the next freelance meet.”

“Don’t worry,” Hound said, guiding you toward the gunship. “First offense. With a clean record and no known syndicate ties? You might just get off with mandatory labor.”

“Oh joy. Picking up garbage for the Republic. A dream come true.”

“You’d be surprised what a little honesty gets you in the Guard.”

You looked sideways at him, eyebrows raised.

“Are you flirting with me, officer?”

He paused. Just for a second. Enough to let you know you hit something.

“Just doing my job,” he said.

But under the helmet, you had a feeling that smirk was there.

Maybe getting caught wasn’t the worst thing after all.

Blaster cuffs clicked tight around your wrists as Hound marched you out of Docking Ring 7B, Grizzer trotting at his side with his head held high, clearly proud of himself.

You… were less enthusiastic.

The pain in your shoulder from the scuffle was flaring, but it wasn’t the worst part.

No, the worst part was the LAAT gunship waiting just beyond the sealed perimeter — red floodlights bathing everything in that familiar Coruscant Guard glow.

You hadn’t planned on being picked up tonight. You’d had exits mapped, bribes lined up, fallback excuses prepped. But not for this.

Certainly not for him.

“Got a live one for intake,” Hound said, giving a nod to the gunship pilot. “Smuggling charge — possibly spice trafficking, resisting detainment.”

You snorted as he helped you into the seating harness. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

He ignored you — or tried to.

You could feel him trying not to look at you too long.

But when the gunship lifted off and the red lights flashed overhead, you saw something flicker behind his visor. Not regret. Not disgust.

Something closer to… confusion.

Maybe even disappointment.

You didn’t dwell on it. You’d learned to tune that kind of thing out.

Still — you weren’t ready for what waited at the Guard outpost.

The landing platform was busy with late-shift troopers, most of them still suited up and carrying out dock and street patrol rotations. When the gunship settled and the ramp lowered, a few turned your way as the boarding light went green.

And then one of them grinned.

“Well kriff me, if it isn’t the freelancer with a mouth like a vibroblade.”

Hound turned.

Thire was waiting at the base of the ramp, arms folded, helmet tucked under one arm. The scar along his jaw was unmistakable in the harsh hangar lights.

Sir?” Hound asked.

“She’s not new,” Thire replied, tilting his chin toward you. “Last time we picked her up, she was running counterfeit ration cards through a shipping scam on Level 1215. That was—what? Eight months ago?”

“Seven,” you said, lifting your chin. “And the cards worked. Quality craftsmanship.”

“You escaped through a sewer grate.”

“I crawled through a sewer grate. Let’s not cheapen my effort.”

Another voice spoke up, deeper and rougher: Commander Fox, the highest-ranking clone in the Coruscant Guard.

Fox had appeared quietly behind Thire, arms folded, expression unreadable beneath his helm.

“Caught again?” he said dryly. “What was it this time?”

“She was moving untagged spice on 1313,” Hound answered, still clearly confused by the unfolding familiarity.

Fox let out a tired sigh. “And here I thought you’d smartened up. Didn’t you tell me once you ‘only smuggle things that don’t hurt people’?”

You grinned, teeth bared. “I was lied to. What a shocking twist.”

Hound stared at you. “You’ve been caught before?”

Fox quirked a brow. “You didn’t run her background?”

“She said it was her first offense.”

“I implied it,” you said innocently.

Fox gave Hound a look that said rookie mistake, then looked back at you.

“You want me to put her through the usual holding process?” Thire asked.

“No,” Fox replied. “Take her down to Processing. We’ll pull her record and flag her with Judiciary. If the spice load checks out, she’s looking at a full felony haul this time.”

You felt the air grow tighter around you. Felony meant prison. No bail. No sneaking out a side hatch after bribing some underpaid clerk.

Hound stood stiffly beside you, helmet still on but the tension in his posture obvious. His silence spoke volumes.

He hadn’t known.

“Let’s move,” Thire said, reaching for your shoulder to steer you inside.

But Hound raised a hand. “Wait.”

Everyone paused.

“I brought her in. Let me finish the process.”

Thire gave him a brief, unreadable glance, then shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Fox added, “She bites.”

You smiled sweetly. “Only when cornered.”

As the others turned away, Hound finally looked at you — really looked at you.

“You’ve lied before. Broken the law before. Why keep doing it?”

You rolled your eyes. “You act like people like me have choices.”

“You could’ve asked for help.”

“Oh, please. From who? A Jedi? A senator? You?”

He didn’t answer.

You leaned in slightly. “You’re a good cop. Straight lines. Clear rules. The Republic loves clones like you. People like me? We’re just a liability until we’re useful. And when we’re not anymore? We disappear into the levels.”

A pause.

Then Hound said quietly, “You didn’t disappear tonight.”

“No,” you admitted. “Your mutt’s got a good nose.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, guiding you toward the corridor. “You’ll need a full scan and cell assignment. I’ll make sure they don’t rough you up.”

You arched a brow. “A little late for chivalry, officer.”

His voice was steady, but something behind it had changed.

“I’m not being chivalrous,” he said. “I just don’t like seeing smart people throw themselves into cages.”

You stared at him as the door hissed shut behind you both.

Maybe you’d underestimated him.

Or maybe you’d finally met someone who wasn’t so easy to charm… or to outrun.

[grissaecrim]

Studies of clone trooper phase 1 helmets. I wanted to draw and compare how they look between live action and animated versions. Drawn on the HEAVYPAINT app.

[silverwings22]

Forget-Me-Not Blue, In Red (Commander Fox One-Shot)

SFW, but injury, Order 66, and angst

This idea hit me out of nowhere, and I don't know if it'll turn into anything bigger like my Tech one-shot did. But have fun with it!

He’d woken up to the truth a little slower than some of his brothers, but Fox had woken up eventually. The Republic, the war, the Empire, it was all a farce put together to turn the galaxy upside down in someone else’s image. He and his kin had simply been the bullet in a loaded slugthrower, and the order had been a finger on the trigger. 

Order 66. 

He’d been aimless afterwards, watching things shift around him. Smoke belched from the burning Jedi Temple for days, while he and the Coruscant Guard ensured order. There were riots, there were planets resisting… then there were TK troopers and suicide missions as clones were phased out. Squad by squad, legion by legion, until no one was left between him and the chopping block. He’d always thought he’d go first, before the younger brothers. The shinies, the ones he looked after and protected. He’d always taken the first week of any posting when a new delegate requested a clone guard detail, so he could see what they were like. The bad ones got older, hardened brothers who could take it. He’d never let little brothers suffer under someone like Palpatine… that’s why he’d stayed so long. He could have transferred, there was one posting he’d always wanted… but he stayed. He took the abuse, the bruises and scars, the unexplainable gaps in his memory, the injuries that looked like lightning strikes on a planet that didn’t have lightning… 

He’d done it for his brothers. Now, most of them were gone. Some turned up dead, on missions or in the barracks without explanation besides a cold look from an Imperial officer. Others just went missing. There were rumors, whispered between clones, of a place you could go and words you could say. If you went, you didn’t come back. Like tales of fae on Stewjon, the mysterious Other Ones would whisk you to a new place. What it was, no clone had returned to tell. Some were willing to risk it. After a year under the Empire, Fox was willing to risk it. 

It was a derelict hangar bay in the lower mid levels. The instructions had said come alone, with only what he could carry and to give up the rest. “I’m looking for a ride home.” He said quietly, just enough he hoped someone heard. He hoped someone came, and it wasn’t a trap to weed out the traitors among the clones. His only answer then would be a blaster bolt to the chest for treason-

���You’re in direct violation of Order 66. You are guilty of treason, and will be executed.”

“Fox?”

The sound of footsteps made him turn, and he found himself looking at 501st blue paint on the white standard armor. Jaig eyes were on the helmet, covered in tally marks to represent fallen brothers… he knew that armor. His comrade, his friend, his brother. “Rex?”

“Fox.” Rex pulled his helmet off, revealing his blonde buzz cut and a new scar on the right temple. “I was hoping you’d show up one day.”

“The reports said you were dead.” Fox reached for his arm with unsteady hands, clasping Rex tightly. If the captain noticed his hands were shaking, he didn’t comment. 

“It’s better if the Empire thinks that. Come on. You’re safe now, vod.”

When Rex took him off Coruscant, Fox was whisked to a field hospital. He wasn’t even sure what planet he was going to, Rex apologizing when he told him the secrecy was needed. “There’s a chip in your head, vod. That’s why you carried out the Order. We have to take it out, and make sure you’re okay before you decide what you do with the rest of your life.”

“What have other clones been doing?” Fox asked, sitting blindfolded in a seat of a shuttle beside him. 

“Some decided to keep fighting. There’s a resistance, mostly clones but with some nat-born help. Others have been retiring. They’re exhausted. I can’t blame them… some go to a place a couple friends of mine found, called Pabu. Others have settled on Pantora. Senator Chuchi’s been helping us.”

“I can’t go to Pantora.” Fox said, too fast and he knew it.

“Did something happen, Fox?”

“I did something… during the Order. Something unforgivable.”

Rex patted his brother’s shoulder. “We all have regrets. It wasn’t your fault, it was the control chip in your brain. We’ll get it out soon, and you’ll be free. I promise.”

Fox wanted to call his brother a liar. He’d never be free from what he’d done. He wanted to confess right there, but his jaw locked and his throat closed at the memory of the night the Republic fell. “C-can I tell you?” He finally managed to rasp. “You should know… who you’re saving. What I’ve done.”

“You’re my brother, Fox. That’s all that matters.” Rex said it kindly, but Fox didn’t feel like he deserved any of it. “But I’m listening.”

Fox nodded, fists clenched in his lap. With the blindfold on, he could imagine every word he spoke as he stuttered out the story. The worst thing he’d ever done, the reason he had to get out of the Empire.

Kandri Chitose had been Senator Riyo Chuchi’s personal assistant, a golden-eyed beauty who always wore her rose-pink hair in a set of twin buns held with golden pins. He’d met her when Chuchi requested a clone detail for her, and Fox had arrived for his customary week-long observation. 

Most delegates, even the nice ones, didn’t address the clones at first. Most were nervous being around military personnel, and didn’t know how to break the ice. Some were intimidated. Many just didn’t view the clones as people, and acted accordingly. 

She’d offered him a cup of caf before he was fully in her office. “Good morning!” She’d been balanced precariously on a stool, set in a rolling desk chair, trying to reach the bag of caf on top of her office shelf. “Hold on a moment, I’ll make us both a cup if you’d like. My menace of a brother came to visit and he put my caf all the way up here! Do you like caf? I have tea if you’d prefer.”

“Do you need help, ma’am?” He could only watch her on the tippy toe of one foot, blue calf disappearing under her red dress. Her favorite color, he’d find out eventually. 

“I think I’ve- aha! Got it.” She clambered down with a smile. The gold tattoos on her face formed a bar over her nose and triangles on her chin and cheekbones. “Now then. I’m Kandri. What’s your name, and please don’t tell me a CT number. I get mixed up with numbers, but I’m good with names.” 

“Commander Fox, ma’am.” 

She held out a hand to shake, and her nails were painted red. He’d remember that polish forever. “It’s nice to meet you, Commander. Caf or tea?”

“Caf is fine, but you don’t have to go to the trouble-”

“It’s not trouble. There’s creamers in the fridge by my desk, pick whichever you like.” She headed to the caf maker and got it going with deft fingers. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever put creamer in caf.” He frowned, but took his helmet off so he could at least enjoy the offering she was so insistent on giving him.

She wrinkled her nose. “To each his own. If you ever change your mind, it’s right there. Here’s the sugar. Now, I know they didn’t tie up a Commander like you to babysit little me, so you must have stuff you need to get done. Can you do it here, or should we go to your office after caf? I can work anywhere. Riyo just has me drafting her speeches today.”

By the end of the week, Fox almost didn’t leave the posting. She made him caf every morning, and let him get work done. When there was time, she asked him about himself and his brothers. And he’d tried every creamer in her fridge.

He assigned her a shiny, because he knew she’d be good to his little brother. She’d given him her comm frequency and told him he had an open invitation to have caf in her office, and to call her if he ever needed anything.

Fox infamously didn’t like people. He liked Kandri after that. 

He didn’t intend to call her. He felt bad as he dialed the frequency, but it was 0300 and he had no one else to call for help. She hadn’t asked any questions, just showed up at the senate building in a red peacoat over her white nightgown, feet in a pair of ballet flats. He was on the bottom of the stairs with a broken foot and gash over his eye. Kandri had pulled his weight, armor and all, onto her narrow shoulders and helped him to her office so she could take a look at him. She’d cleaned his cut and put a bacta patch on it, then tried to argue with him that he needed to go to the hospital. 

He feigned embarrassment and told her he’d fallen down the stairs. Kandri had put her hands on her hips and stared him down, her hair out of its buns and falling in gentle waves down almost to her waist. He’d never thought about how pretty she was until then, in her pajamas with no makeup, golden eyes bright with worry. He eventually did let her take him in her skycar to the garrison medbay across the city sector, where she’d sat with him until a clone medic set and put his foot in a boot. Then she’d driven him to the barracks, taken one look at how many stairs he’d have to manage, and shook her head. “You can sleep on my couch, Fox. Call Thire and tell him you’ll be out until you’re better.”

“I can’t let everything pile up on him, Lady Chitose-” 

“Then I’ll pick up your datapad tomorrow and you can call it light duty. But you need to rest, or your foot won’t heal right. And please… just call me Kandri?”

After his foot healed, he made time to see her more often. She always had a cup of caf and a smile for him. Sometimes she picked up lunch for herself and Senator Chuchi and “got an extra” that always coincided with something he’d mentioned wanting to try or liking before. He watched her, bit by bit, moderate herself for him. 

If he mentioned that a certain phrase reminded him of the senator that threw a full cup of hot caf across the room at him or a brother, that phrase disappeared from her vocabulary. If he mentioned a delegate who mistreated clones, she stepped between them and her shiny guard the next time they met in the hall. Fox noticed, if he didn’t see it live he’d find out on security holo review later. Bit by bit, she showed him she was safe. She was kind. She could be trusted. 

Eventually, he started letting her visit his office after hours, when he was catching up on things and no one else was there. She sat in the chair by his desk, moving it closer day by day… until one day she was sitting on the desk corner itself. His helmet was sitting beside her, and her hand rested lightly on it. 

“Fox?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you get that scar across the bridge of your nose?” Her voice had been so quiet, so fretful and hesitant. Like she was afraid she’d scare him off.

He paused, stylus in hand, and looked at her. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I see how many other ones you have. Your hands, your arms under your blacks, your chest… when you stayed at my apartment, I could see there were so many…”

“I’m a soldier, Kandri. Scars are a part of the job.”

Her pink eyebrows furrowed, red painted lips parting as she fixed her eyes on him. “Fox. I know you didn’t fall down the stairs that night.” 

Fox stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do.” She slowly leaned a little closer. “I see you. The first one to step between your brothers and danger. The last one to back down. You didn’t even flinch when that Zillo creature attacked this building, but you twitch when we pass certain senators in the hall. You look around when you hear the Chancellor’s voice. And you’re a clone commander, the most graceful and battle-ready people in the galaxy. You didn’t fall. Someone pushed you. Tell me who.”

“I can’t do that.” He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. 

“But they hurt you.”

“I’m a soldier. A clone. We’re meant to be expendable.”

“That’s not fair, Fox.” Kandri kept leaning in, though her hand on his helmet tightened its grip. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve it.”

“Lots of people think so.” He swallowed hard. He had an idea of what she was going to say next, and he wanted to hear it just as much as he didn’t. Once the words came out of her mouth, he’d never forget them. They’d mean too much to him.

“I would never hurt you.” Kandri whispered. “But I know you can’t believe that. Too many people have already let you down.” 

He’d never been more seen than that moment, in the light of those golden eyes. There was no formality or procedure to hide behind. He’d already let her in too close, he couldn’t close the door again. “I want to believe you.” He admitted. 

“Would you let me try to prove it?” 

The galaxy had moved much too fast when he nodded. “... how?”

“Like this.” She’d kissed him, so soft and sweet and unlike anything he’d known since the day he came out of the growth tube. She pulled back after a moment, checking his expression for hesitation or distaste. When she found none, her cheeks flushed indigo and she slowly reached up to cup his face in both her hands. He closed his eyes when her thumbs stroked under them, tracing his scar and temples, where his black hair had started to gray far too early even for a man with accelerating aging. “I would never hurt you.” She said softly. “I’ll keep telling you until you believe me.” 

He was one of millions of men, made to die indistinguishably as numbers on a strategy board. He’d accepted it in his exhausted way, told himself he’d do what he could for as long as he could to keep the vod’ikase safe. But for a moment, under Kandri’s soft blue hands, he felt like he might actually matter. He didn’t quite believe, but he wanted to.

Her second kiss was on his forehead. He adored her after that.

Stolen kisses during caf time turned to sneaking out of the barracks into her apartment, or either of their offices. Riyo Chuchi wasn’t stupid, she knew there was more than a friendship and simply let Kandri off the hook early some days. If her skycar was still at the senate building when the Senator left… she didn’t say anything. 

Fox knew he was in love with her when she had to go back to Pantora for a month with Chuchi. She’d kissed him goodbye in an alcove behind the barracks, promising she’d be back soon. He’d missed her every single day, and thought about comming twice an hour at least. Only the reality that they both were working stopped him… but he found himself thinking about her constantly. Every petty jab from a senator who viewed him as barely more than a droid was easier to take when he imagined her rolling her eyes and whispering what an asshole she thought they were. Even the innate dread he felt whenever he was in Palpatine’s office eased slightly if he distracted himself with the thought she was coming back soon. 

The Chancellor had noticed. Fox should have realized that was odd. There was no outward sign, no change in behavior, he’d been sure of it. But Palpatine had looked suspicious, like he’d both anticipated Fox’s discomfort and felt slighted by its absence. He’d been worse than ever after that, but Fox ignored it. It didn’t matter. The job, the Republic, wasn’t his entire life anymore. It was just an assignment, something to get through so he could go back to where he wanted to be. Kandri waited on the other side of whatever shitty day he was having, with open arms. 

When she’d sent him a message that she was back, he’d asked Thorn to cover for him for the first time in his life. His brother had been delighted, grinning like a moron. “Please tell me you have a date. And please tell me it’s that cute Pantoran girl with the buns.”

“That’s classified.” Fox had left his helmet in his office, he was in such a rush. He never forgot equipment, and failed to give a fuck when he realized what he’d done. He’d get it again when he went back to work. All that mattered was getting to her apartment. 

Kandri had met him at the door, in a red sweater over her day dress, and threw her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much.” She’d whispered, snuggling into his chest. “It’s good to be home.” He’d understood then, that Pantora wasn’t her home anymore. He was, like she was his. He’d spent the whole night in her arms, lighter than he’d felt since he was a cadet. She was almost asleep on his chest when he kissed her rosebud pink hair and murmured. “I believe you.” 

Kandri had smiled, looking up at him in the dimness of her bedroom, the city lights from the window casting dynamic shadows across her face as she smiled at him. Her fingers trailed over the bridge of his nose. “I love you too.” 

“Execute Order 66.” 

When the Order went out, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. His head was in a vice, his thoughts muddled and discoordinate. He’d walked out of his office with other members of the Coruscant Guard, up to Palpatine’s office. The window had been broken. There were dead Jedi, traitors. The 501st was marching on the Temple, and he was to catch any who escaped them. 

All Jedi had to die. 

It had been a blur. His boots on the ground, orders given, the sound of breathing in his helmet, and then he’d turned down into an alleyway. 

Two kids, barely more than ten or twelve, were clinging to each other. They were dressed in brown robes, with beaded braids by their ears. Next to them were a pair of Pantoran adults, a male and a female. They were comforting the padawans, clearly trying to help them. When he turned the corner, the woman stiffened at the sound of his boots. Before she even turned around, Fox had recognized her red dress. “Kandri.”

“Fox.” Kandri’s eyes were wide, but she looked relieved to see him. “What’s going on? These padawans said the Temple was attacked! We were out walking-” She took a step towards him, but froze when his blaster lifted. 

Run, Kandri. Run. Take the padawans, take the other Pantoran. Run. Memory begged her, but she hadn’t. She’d pushed the other Pantoran and children behind her. “Lofi… take them and go.”

Lofi. Her brother, the one who hid her caf. She talked about him, he was a disability advocate and teacher at the fiber arts college at Coruscant University. He was blind. She was so proud of him. They were twins. Fox remembered all the facts but he couldn’t lower the blaster. 

“You’re in direct violation of Order 66. You are guilty of treason, and will be executed.” His own voice had said, dull and uninflected, like he was complaining about the pre-programed weather and not pointing a blaster at her. 

Kandri’s eyes watered up with tears. “Fox… please.”

“You are a traitor to the Empire.” There hadn’t even been an Empire yet, but he’d said it like it had existed for decades. 

The tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks. There were freckles across her nose, darker blue and barely visible in the dim alley light. A constellation all his own, or it had been. “I love you.” She whispered, because of course she had. What else could she have said, in the moment before he pulled the trigger? Before the blaster bolt struck her dead in the chest and she collapsed backwards, head slamming into the pavement. Sprawled on her back, one bun coming loose and dipping pink hair into a puddle, knees tucked together and one foot bare where the blast had knocked her right out of her shoe. 

He’d ripped his helmet off and vomited immediately, tears in his eyes. 

He’d shot her. He’d killed her.

Kandri. 

He wished she had run. He’d never have seen her again, and she’d have thought he was a child-hunting monster for the rest of her life but she would have been alive. Instead, she was dead in an alleyway. And Fox should have called it in, but he couldn’t make himself get any closer to the corpse of the woman who’d only this morning had been alive and sneaking him a breakfast pastry from a Senatorial banquet just because she knew he liked cinnamon. 

Fox had left her there, because he couldn’t make himself look at what he’d done.

When he finished the story, Rex just let him squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry, vod. I’m so sorry.”

After the chip was removed and he recovered, Fox didn’t know what to do with himself. He refused Pantora, he was hesitant about Pabu… so he decided to join Rex’s fight. Senator Chuchi was helping Rex, and it was a fight worthy of going to battle again. It was something he could imagine being proud of eventually, if he could ever be proud of anything he ever did again. 

No matter how much his vode assured him that the chip had forced his hand, he still remembered he’d been the one to pull the trigger. He’d hunted those padawans. He’d declared Kandri Chitose a traitor. He’d killed her for the very thing he’d fallen in love with, her willingness to stand between someone and what hurt them. She’d been willing to save someone. She’d saved him, and those padawans, and her brother. 

He couldn’t save her from himself.

“The base here is staffed with mostly clones, but there’s a couple civilian volunteers. Trace and Rafa Martez own the hangar you came to, you’ll see them. There’s a couple mechanics, one really smart and obnoxious droid technician, and a cleaner.” Rex explained, walking Fox in. “Don’t eat anything Howser says he cooked. Don’t stand near Gregor if he says he’s got an idea…. Anything else he should know, Vik?”

The bearded clone beside him, with gray eyes and a tired expression born of a place Fox had only heard whispered about, “Tantiss”, nodded. “Be nice to Kitty. Every clone in here will punch you if you make her cry.”

“Kitty?” Fox frowned. 

“She’s the cleaner. A couple of the guys who defected like you did found her barely alive on their way out. She had a sucking chest wound, but they had some spare bacta and managed to save her. She doesn’t talk, we’re not sure if she can’t or just won’t. But she makes little noises like a tooka, so we started calling her Kitty and she seems to like it.” Vik explained. “She looks after everyone, especially the new guys who just got out of the Empire. She likes to bring people food.” 

Fox nodded. “She sounds nice.”

Rex smiled. “I keep trying to get her to leave base, to see if we can find out who she is. She doesn’t seem to remember anything… but if anyone so much as mentions it, she hides. I found her in a walk in freezer once.”

“She didn’t get sick?” Fox frowned. 

Vik shook his head. “Pantorans can take the cold better than us.”

Fox winced, but nodded. 

“Here she comes. Someone must have told her we had a new arrival.” Rex nodded. 

Sure enough, coming from the back of the base was a Pantoran girl with pink hair tied into a messy braid. She was wearing what looked like clone blacks bottoms and an undershirt, with a gray poncho tucked into her belt, and too-big boots, while very proudly carrying a tray of fruit. Vik smiled as she got close enough to make out the details of her face. “Hey, Miss Kitty.”

Kitty made a definitively tooka-like purr-myrr sound and held up the tray towards him. 

Rex nodded. “She’ll get upset if you don’t at least eat a little.” He whispered to Fox. “She keeps this place spotless, and we give her little odd jobs outside of that to keep her happy.” 

Fox nodded, turning back towards her as Kitty walked up with her tray. Just as her boots stopped, inches from his own, he dropped his helmet to the floor.

There was a constellation of freckles across her nose, sitting under liquid gold eyes that looked back at him with a guileless smile. She wore no makeup, no gold pins in her hair, but Fox’s mouth went dry at the sight of a ragged blaster-burn scar peeking just out of the top of her shirt. Her braid, pulled over her shoulder, was tied with a tattered ribbon in a bright, cheerful red. She held up the tray again, squeaking at him curiously with tone instead of words. 

“Th-thank you.” Fox whispered, taking a piece of melioruun. Kitty kept squeaking until Rex and Vik took a piece, then trotted off after Howser in the distance. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Vik frowned.

“You don’t need to take her off base to know who she is.” Fox whispered, the fruit dripping juice down his gloves when he unconsciously squeezed it. 

“You know her?” Rex glanced over at Kitty again. He’d been trying to figure out what to do with a girl who could barely seem to look after herself, but who was determined to try to look after the clones fighting for their lives against the Empire.

“I’m the reason she can’t talk, or remember.” Fox swallowed hard. “It’s her.”

“Her?” Rex frowned.

“The one I told you about… Her name is Kandri Chitose.”

[mandowords]

I have returned for a moment because I might be able to get something signed by Temuera Morrison at a convention soon/ I'm just very indecisive and can't decide what to get signed 🤔

Here's my options: Jango Fett TBP Jango Fett: Open Seasons TBP Phase II Clone Trooper helmet My mando helmet Bounty Hunter Code book Bounty Hunter Code lockbox One of those redbubble Mando'a Notebooks I designed Mini polaroid of one of his characters

[hopefuldragonnerd]

Phase 1 clone trooper helmets evolution from episode II to the clone wars. I almost got the visor right for the live action version

[jastervhett]

Greetings everyone

And "Su'cuy'gar" to all Mandalorian fans….This is my first post here on this site.

I'm a VERY big fan of The Taung, The Mythosaur, Mandalorians, The Resol'nare, The SuperCommando Codex, Jaster Mereel, True Mandalorians, Jango/Boba Fett, The The Cuy'val Dar, Mandalorian Protectors, Mandalorian SuperCommandos, Clones, Alpha-Class ARC Troopers, Null-Class ARC Troopers, Kal Skirata, Clone Commandos, Phase-I Armored Clone Troopers, Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor, All associated Clone Trooper Weapons, Vehicles, Ships, Mandalorian Helmets, Mandalorian Armor, Mandalorian Armor Technology, Mandalorian Arm Gauntlets, All associated Mando Weapons, Vehicles, Ships, Planets, Characters & all Star Wars Armor.

(I also like ALIEN(s), Predator, RoboCop, Terminator, OG BattleStar Galactica & Sci-Fi, Blade (Daywalker), Batman, Video Games, Toons, Comix, Movies, & Animation.)

Also interested in: Armor, Armored Helmets, Helmet Cutaways, Helmet Interiors, Helmet Faceplates, Helmet Faceplate Interiors, Helmet Heads-Up Displays, Heads-Up Display (HUD), Heads-Up Displays (HUD's), HUD (Heads-Up Display), HUD's (Heads-Up Displays), Data Read-Out Displays, Data Read-Outs, Graphic User Interface (GUI), Graphic User Interfaces (GUI's), UI (User Interface) UI's (User Interfaces), Pictures, Blueprints, Charts, Diagrams, Schematics, Drawings, Technical Drawings, Mechanical Drawings, Industrial Designs, Cross Sections, Cutaways, Cutaway Views & Exploded Views.

[aliceparrilla18]

The promise of a new day

My fill for @codywanweek's Day 1. No/Different Order 66.

Posted also on ao3!

Happy CodyWan Week everyone! <3

»»————-　★　————-««

Cody grabbed Obi-Wan's wrist as he ran and pulled him behind the gunship.

“Cody! What are you…” Obi-Wan began to say, disoriented from being pulled from the fight, but Cody didn't give him a chance to finish.

“Let’s call it off,” he said.

Obi-Wan frowned, even more confused now.

“What?”

“We can still call it off. It's not too late to back out yet.”

Obi-Wan deactivated his lightsaber and sighed. They could hear the war cries of the troopers from behind the gunship.

“Cody, we all agreed to this plan,” Obi-Wan reminded. “It’s our only chance to end this war. We talked about it.”

“I know, but talking about it and doing it are two completely different things.” Cody put away his blaster, stepped closer to Obi-Wan and took his hands in his. “I don’t like this, Obi-Wan. Please, let's call it off. There has to be another way.” His voice broke miserably, audible even through the vocoder in his helmet, but he couldn't care less about that at the moment.

Obi-Wan's gaze softened.

“Oh, my dear, I'm afraid at this point, it's the only way. We're already in too deep. I know you're scared, I am too. But we're ready. We've discussed this scenario a hundred times, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“It's a good plan. Everything is prepared. Everyone knows exactly what to do.”

“There are still so many things that can go wrong, too many things. We can't control everything, no matter how prepared we are.” It didn't matter whether they liked it or not, it was the truth. They had both been fighting this war long enough to know that. “What if the bolt actually hits you or Boga? What if you fall just for us to catch you dead?”

“That won't happen. You chose your best and most trusted man to shoot, didn't you? You told me you trusted him with your life.”

“Because I do! But I still think it's too risky.” Cody's voice as he spoke the next words sounded the same as Cody felt - desperate for his Jedi to see things from his perspective and change his mind. “Obi-Wan, please.”

Cody knew the plan, and he knew that what they were about to do was necessary. He knew that in order for the Chancellor Palpatine, or - as it turned out - Darth Sidious, not to learn that they had figured out his plans, and to believe that the clones had successfully executed Order Sixty-Six, everything had to look believable, down to the last detail. Kenobi needed to go down, publicly, and then hide until they could move on to the next phase of the plan. Simple as that. A show.

Cody just didn't understand why it had to be his Jedi who had to play a key role in this show. He hadn't liked the idea from the start, and now that it was all in motion, he just couldn’t stop imagining everything going wrong - instead of celebrating a victory, suffering the biggest loss they had ever suffered.

And Obi-Wan was right – he was scared. There was so much at stake. The fate of the galaxy. The lives of Cody's brothers. Cody and Obi-Wan's future, one that if everything worked out, then maybe, just maybe, they could share together.

Obi-Wan looked at him in silence for a moment, with such intensity in his eyes that he seemed to want to see into Cody's soul. Maybe he did. Cody could only stare back, speechless, afraid that if he spoke again, his voice would break completely.

Then Obi-Wan put both hands on Cody's helmet and lifted it off his head, and Cody let him. He was only a little embarrassed by the tears that Obi-Wan could now see rolling down his cheeks.

“Cody, my love…” Obi-Wan said softly. He tucked Cody's helmet under his arm and reached up with his free hand to put it on the commander's cheek. They both leaned forward so that their foreheads touched in a keldabe kiss, and that's when a sob escaped from deep in Cody's chest.

“Just promise you’ll come back to me,” Cody whispered so quietly he wasn't sure Obi-Wan would hear him. But he did. For those few seconds the world around them went silent, the sounds of fighting gone. For those few seconds it was just them.

“I’ll come back. I promise,” Obi-Wan whispered just as quietly. When Cody looked up, he saw that there were tears on Obi-Wan's face as well. Neither of them were the type to make promises they couldn't keep, but it was all they had now, and it would have to be enough.

Cody took a deep breath, inhaling Obi-Wan's scent, trying to remember it as best as he could, hoping it would give him strength. “May the Force be with you, cyare,” he said.

Obi-Wan smiled, stroking Cody's cheek with his thumb. They both closed their eyes.

“May the Force be with you, love. I’ll see you in a better world.”

Cody allowed himself to keep his eyes closed for a brief moment longer, and when he opened them again, he was alone. Something exploded somewhere in the distance. He looked down at the ground where his helmet was lying.

Declarations and big words had to wait, or remain unsaid forever.

All he had was the promise, the promise of a new day.

»»————-　★　————-««

“The Promise of a New Day” - Paula Abdul

Eagle's calling and he's calling your name.

Tides are turning bringing winds of change.

Why do I feel this way?

The promise of a new day.

The promise, the promise of a new day.

[zarilia]

Sims 4: Echo's Armor S1

Domino, former ARC Trooper, war hero, more-machine-than-man, down-to-earth grumpy survivor, bad pun master, rebel clone and Mom to the Batch. Is there an Echo here?

Did you notice how they photo-shopped the official show poster with Echo:

Clearly there are some limits to bending this arm construction, which might not look great in promotional merch. Anyway, I found a way to animate it without adding any bones (which I can't do yet), and while it's not perfect, it looks good at most angles. I will be creating a separate arm accessory together with robolegs next.

bloopers!

Other cc (not mine): - face overlay by @nesurii - chiseled face contour by @golyhawhaw - portrait pose pack by @samsstudio - clone phase 1 helmet by Kynd

Echo sim based on ArthurKirky's TBB Batcher available in my in-game gallery (just search for "Batcher" with pet filter).

Set is base game compatible. Custom icons. Armor found under jumpsuits, for helmet check brimless hats. Batuu enabled.

Please leave me a like, it doesn't cost anything! Thanks!

Download armor + helmet Dowlnolad cybernetic headset Download hair (studs)

[madman479r]

Commander Cold of the 519th Clone Battalion of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Personality:

Cold got his name for his stoic and by the books attitude, but make no mistake, Cold genuinely cares for his brothers, but pushes through the grief of loss in order to maintain composure and confidence in his men.

Survive enough battles with him, and you'll see his inner warmth.

He personally doesn't like the idea of Jedis being Generals, thinking they didn't have the war mindset or experience needed to lead his brothers into battle but he makes an exception for those that do show they have what it takes, such as his own General.

He has enormous respect for his Jedi General, Weiss Schnee, and shows his emotional connection to her by painting a scar design of his left eye on the helmet, as a way to honour her and her battle scars.

He is appreciative that she can also maintain a serious attitude when needed (unlike Generals Rose and Xiao-long. How his brothers put up with their recklessness, he'll never know.)

A tactical genius, his Battalion has a reputation for having a good mission success rate, all thanks to his planning and tactics, but he has no time for loose cannons and will make that perfectly clear to his men.

Phase I Clone Trooper armour.

Weapons:

Standard issue DC-15S Blaster Carbine. (Preferred weapon of choice)

Dual wield DC-17

Bonus: sometimes, General Schnee can be... stubborn.

"So... Commander Cold... I was wondering if maybe you could-"

"General, for the 10th time, clean shaven is regulation. So no. I will not grow a beard."

[talesfrommedinastation]

"My children will have bullets in their heads before they have chains around their necks.”

Dr. Tanke Drummer, Far Past the Ring

----------------

OC Sunday, and an updated piece of my flawed, resilient, capable, foul-mouthed, Belter physician, Tanke Drummer.

I figured I should probably start drawing my OCs with their helmets, similar to the original TBB posters.

Tanke's helmet, unlike Sjael's, is a mixture of a clone trooper's Phase 2 helmet and that of a Martian marine. She's proud of her Belter heritage, but that Martian look!

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water”

Chapter Thirty Six: Built Again, Broken Already

The Bad Batch x Reader

The cold lights of the Kaminoan lab never flickered. They never dimmed. They never changed. They shone with the same sterile intensity day and night — not that the clones inside ever knew the difference.

In one of the deepest levels of Tipoca City, Nala Se stood alone before a massive cylindrical growth tank. Her delicate fingers danced over the controls, eyes narrowed. On the monitor, a single figure floated in suspension. Still forming. Still stretching sinew over bone.

Not a clone trooper.

Not a Kaminoan experiment.

You.

The genome was a mess, by Kaminoan standards. Scar tissue written into the DNA. Aged muscle memories, hybrid nerve patterns, irregular mitochondrial coding — some of it not entirely your own anymore, shaped by trauma, war, and survival. It was no wonder the reconstitution process had already started to strain the bioframe.

“She is not like the others,” Nala Se murmured quietly, to herself. “She never was.”

From behind, a second Kaminoan approached. One of the few geneticists cleared to know about the project.

“You are accelerating the growth curve beyond standard Phase I rates,” he observed, voice serene. “At this rate, the subject will reach full maturity within three cycles.”

Nala Se did not look away from the tank.

“There is no other option. The Emperor has requested results within the quarter-cycle window. Once she is fully grown, we will begin attempting deceleration — but only after cerebral stability is confirmed.”

The other scientist tilted his long head slightly.

“The clone’s mind will be… intact?”

Nala Se was quiet for a moment. The soft hum of the tank filled the silence between them.

“That is… uncertain,” she said at last. “We are rebuilding not just her form, but her identity. The engram preservation process from her armor was incomplete. What survives will be… fragments. Memory echoes. Possibly instinct.”

“And the rest?”

“Will be built.”

They watched as bubbles curled along the edge of the tank. Inside, the beginnings of your face took shape. Eyes closed. Lungs unmoving.

A warrior. A Mandalorian. A traitor. A sister. A mother-figure. A commander. A ghost.

Now — a science project.

⸻

Elsewhere in the facility, alarms briefly sounded for a training accident. But on Level 47, where the pod sat buried in hush-order secrecy, nothing changed.

No clone troopers patrolled here. No Jedi walked these halls anymore. The only company you had was silence, and the steady drip of nutrient fluids feeding your reconstruction.

“Clone Force 99 must not know,” Nala Se said firmly, turning to the other scientist. “Nor the Prime Minister. Nor anyone in the GAR.”

“And when she awakens?” the scientist asked.

Nala Se’s pale eyes narrowed.

“We will tell her she volunteered.”

⸻

Inside the growth chamber, you were asleep — but your mind was wide open.

Neural pulses flickered like thunder across your synaptic net. The liquid surrounding your body vibrated faintly each time a false memory struck root. You twitched, barely visible. A finger curling. An eyelid fluttering. The earliest signs of a mind awakening.

On the screen before you, in a sterile Kaminoan chamber, a series of footage began to play. Your face. Your voice. Your body in motion — pulled from surveillance, war footage, clone cadet helmet cams. But the audio had changed. So had the framing. And what was left unspoken… was just as loud.

“She was loyal to the Republic,” a calm narrator’s voice echoed.

“She was a weapon wielded by order. Until… her mind began to fracture.”

An image of you laughing with Wrecker.

A shot of you fighting beside Skywalker and Clone Force 99.

A long pause on the flames over Tipoca City, the end of Domino Squad’s time on Kamino.

“Emotion dulled her edge. Attachment weakened her focus. In the end, she betrayed her duty — and fell.”

The moment of your death — the fall, your helmet flying, the scream Wrecker made when he grabbed your lifeless body.

It played again. And again. But with the sound removed. The weight erased.

They fed this to the mind forming in the tank. Not as truth — but as programming.

Not your memories.

Just carefully controlled versions.

Nala Se stood outside, watching with unreadable calm. She took notes as the data cycle ended and the next batch of curated footage queued up.

This time, it was boiled-down ideology:

• Images of Jedi commanders standing with clone troopers.

• Propaganda lines about the “Republic’s perfect unity.”

• Carefully omitted footage of the inhibitor chips. No mention of Order 66.

Just enough to inspire fidelity.

“She will remember only what we permit,” the Kaminoan beside Nala Se said softly. “The rest will feel like fog to her. A dream too far to reach.”

“Good,” Nala Se replied. “The Chancellor does not want her to question who she is. Only to serve.”

Behind the glass, your fist twitched again.

You saw Crosshair — a filtered version of him, cold and loyal.

You saw Wrecker — a soldier who was unpredictable and dangerous.

You saw Bo-Katan — framed as a political extremist who manipulated you.

You were a weapon once.

You were fire and rage and loyalty.

Now… you were being built to burn for someone else.

⸻

The lab was quiet, but Omega felt the noise everywhere. Not in sound. In the way her stomach curled. In the strange ache behind her eyes. In the way the sterile lights seemed to flicker too long, even though they didn’t.

She sat at her small station — tucked away in the corner of Nala Se’s private laboratory, meant for delicate cloning operations that “required discretion.” Omega had been working with Nala Se more directly these past few months, ever since the others had left Kamino. She wanted to learn. She loved to learn.

But now…

Now she watched the screen, and she didn’t like what she saw.

The tank sat in the center of the room. Suspended inside, the shape of a woman — full grown, motionless but twitching beneath the neural crown clamped around her temples.

Omega recognized the face. Everyone on Kamino knew that face.

She was the one the cadets had talked about in quiet awe. The one who trained Clone Force 99 and Domino Squad. The one who died. There’d been whispers about her death, falling off a ledge during a mission. Of Bo-Katan vanishing into the storm afterward. Nothing official published, but whispers amongst the clones and trainers.

But now… she was here.

Only not.

Not really.

Omega’s voice was barely above a whisper as she looked over the neural memory sequencing.

“This… isn’t how memories are supposed to be taught.”

Nala Se didn’t look up.

“She is not being taught. She is being shaped. A difference you will understand in time.”

Omega frowned deeper, folding her arms over her datapad.

“You’re making her believe she was something she wasn’t. You changed all the footage.”

“Correction. We refined it.”

“But she had friends. A family. The Bad Batch—Crosshair, Wrecker—”

“They no longer matter,” Nala Se cut in, calm as ever. “This version of her will not suffer from such complications.”

Omega turned her eyes back to the tank. The woman twitched again.

Her face, though still in the final stages of regeneration, looked peaceful — too peaceful. Like her brain was asleep while screaming.

“I don’t like this,” Omega said finally, her voice small.

“I did not request your approval,” Nala Se replied. “Only your assistance.”

Omega’s throat tightened.

“She loved the clones,” she thought.

The woman in the tank didn’t move. But Omega imagined for a moment that her eyes opened. That they locked on hers. That she screamed silently behind the glass.

“She died once. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Omega asked.

Nala Se didn’t answer.

Instead, she keyed in the next batch of fabricated memory sequences.

Omega didn’t watch. She turned her head away, blinking fast.

Something in her gut said this wasn’t the last time she would question what they were doing here. And maybe next time… she wouldn’t stay silent.

⸻

The Marauder was quiet.

Not silent — the hum of systems, the soft hissing of recycled air, the click of Tech’s fingers against the datapad. But quiet in a way that felt unnatural. Unsettling. Like grief had seeped into the vents and couldn’t be flushed out.

Wrecker sat at the back of the ship, staring at the spot where he had laid her down. Bloodstains had been cleaned, but he could still see them. Still feel the warmth seeping through his gloves when he held her broken body.

He hadn’t spoken much since the funeral. Not in full sentences. Just small things. “She shouldn’t’ve gone first.” Or, “She was tougher than that.” Sometimes he’d whisper her name like a question, like he expected her to call back from another room.

But she never did.

Crosshair sat at the shooting bench, blaster rifle disassembled in front of him.

He’d cleaned it three times already. It didn’t help.

He kept going over it in his head. The bridge. The cable. The moment.

“I hit the shot. I did everything right. I had her.”

He spoke the words to no one, not even his brothers. Just to the air. Like saying it again might erase the memory of her body snapping like a ragdoll, the sickening crack when her head hit the lower level. The way Wrecker screamed her name.

“The cable was too long,” Crosshair muttered. “I should’ve calculated the distance. Echo should’ve let go earlier. Or I should’ve aimed for a different angle. I should’ve—”

He slammed his fist against the bench, the sharp sound startling even Tech.

“I should’ve been faster.”

Hunter had said nothing for hours.

He stood by the viewport, arms folded, head bowed slightly. Watching the stars move past.

He didn’t know what to say. To them. To himself.

He had pushed her away. He said she didn’t belong anymore. That the war had changed too much. That she wasn’t the same.

But neither was he.

And now she was gone.

“You said you’d come find us after the war.”

His hands clenched into fists. He hadn’t cried. Not yet.

But the ache was there. Heavy. Constant. Like he’d lost a piece of himself that would never grow back.

The Marauder’s engines hummed low in hyperspace, but Echo didn’t hear them.

He was sitting alone in the gunner’s seat, not because they were under threat or because anyone asked him to—but because he needed space. Somewhere to think. Somewhere to feel, where the others wouldn’t see the grief written all over his face.

The glow of hyperspace outside the viewport was steady, almost peaceful.

But Echo didn’t feel peace.

He felt hollow.

“Last one standing,” he muttered under his breath. “Again.”

He had whispered those words before. After Fives died. After the labs on Skako Minor. When he woke up with metal where flesh used to be.

But this time, it was different.

You were gone now.

And somehow, that hurt just as much.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely.

He remembered you back on Kamino, looming like a stormcloud during training sessions. You weren’t soft with them like you were with Clone Force 99. No, you were tough, sharp-edged. You called them out when they bickered. Made jokes that sometimes cut just a little too close. You didn’t hand out affection easily—but when it came, it meant something.

There was respect there. Earned, not given.

And Echo had respected you. Even when he didn’t understand you.

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Fives used to tell people you were secretly half Mando, half Nexu,” he said quietly to the empty ship. “Said you could gut a man with one hand and make a clone cry with the other.”

Echo chuckled, just once.

“I guess that was his way of saying he liked you.”

You and Fives had argued constantly. About everything.

Training schedules. Squad strategies. Nicknames. Who was better at hand-to-hand.

“You called him a degenerate,” Echo murmured. “He called you a softie in denial.”

He paused.

“I think… he was right.”

You cared. He knew that now. You just had a harder way of showing it. But he remembered those little moments. A nod. A pat on the shoulder. A joke that meant you trusted them to laugh.

When they passed their final test, you’d clapped them on the back like real brothers. Even let Fives get away with calling you “Mom.”

You rolled your eyes.

But you didn’t stop him.

“You got us through training. Got us to where we needed to be,” he whispered. “You were hard on us. But we needed that.”

His voice cracked.

“You kept us together.”

Echo’s mechanical hand clenched into a fist.

“And now…”

The gunner’s seat creaked as he sat back, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

He didn’t know what was worse—the ache of losing you, or the guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop it. That it was Crosshair who tried to catch you. Wrecker who carried your broken body. Bo-Katan who arranged your funeral.

“Should’ve been me.”

He wiped his face with his palm.

“Maybe it already was. I think the real me died with Fives.”

He sat there a while longer, staring into hyperspace.

The light from the stars danced in his eyes, but none of it reached his heart.

Tech sat cross-legged in the corner, datapad resting on one knee, analysis running in silence.

He didn’t speak either.

But every so often, he glanced to the central holo projector — the one Wrecker had taken to switching on late at night, when the ship was dark. It looped old training footage. Sometimes recordings from Kamino. Sometimes just the sound of her voice calling them to formation.

“Up! All of you! I don’t care if you’re bleeding or broken — if you’re breathing, you’re moving!”

Even Tech missed that voice.

Even if he didn’t say it.

“Statistically,” he whispered to himself, “the odds of surviving that fall were near zero.”

Still, he found himself rerunning the moment. Mapping out scenarios. Calculating the millisecond differences that could’ve changed the outcome.

It always ended the same.

None of them were okay.

Not really.

They didn’t talk about her much. Not yet. It still felt raw — like if they said her name out loud, the whole ship might break in half.

But in the quiet, in the moments when the others weren’t watching, each of them carried her. In their own way.

In the ache. The regret. The love that didn’t get said enough before she was gone.

And in the silence between them, one truth hung in the air:

They should’ve saved her.

⸻

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