I have a copy & paste men problem

The ventilation shaft of the Separatist droid factory was never designed to hold a fully armored Clone Commander and a Jedi Knight with a flair for dramatic gestures. It was cramped, smelled of industrial lubricant, and was rapidly running out of air.

"I feel it’s important to note," Obi-Wan Kenobi gasped, his cheek pressed firmly against the cold durasteel floor, "that your tactical assessment of the 'unlocked' hatch was… optimistic."

Cody, pinned beneath Obi-Wan’s left shoulder with his DC-15S digging into his own ribs, gritted his teeth. "With all due respect, General, my assessment was based on the schematics. Your decision to ignite your lightsaber inside a gas-filled cooling vent is why the emergency shutters slammed shut."

"I was providing light!"

"You were providing an explosion!"

A chorus of metallic clanking echoed from the floor below them. A squad of B1 droids shuffled past the vent, their tinny voices debating whether the 'clunk' they’d heard was a structural failure or a very large space-rat.

Cody held his breath, praying the droids wouldn't look up. Beside him, Obi-Wan’s hair was a mess of copper strands and soot, and his tunic was snagged on a rogue bolt. They were supposed to be team mates, the shining example of Republic cooperation, yet here they were: stuck in a metal tube, smelling like burnt wiring.

"They're gone," Obi-Wan whispered after a minute, his voice vibrating through Cody’s chest plates. "Now, if you could just move your elbow, I might be able to reach my—"

"If I move my elbow, we both slide down into the intake fan, sir."

Obi-Wan sighed, a long, dramatic sound that ruffled the hair near Cody’s ear. "Well. This is certainly a mission for the history books. I don't suppose you have a thermal detonator in that utility belt?"

"In a pressurized shaft? No. I’d prefer to keep my skin attached to my body."

"Fair point." Obi-Wan shifted slightly, trying to find a modicum of comfort. In the cramped darkness, his eyes met Cody’s through the T-visor. Despite the heat, the grime, and the looming threat of being turned into scrap metal, the Jedi’s eyes sparked with a sudden, misplaced amusement. "You’re very grumpy when you’re trapped, Commander. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Usually people are too busy following my orders to comment on my temperament," Cody retorted, though the bite was gone from his voice.

"I shall make it my mission to break that trend," Obi-Wan hummed. "I have a feeling we’ll get along interestingly. Provided we don't suffocate in the next ten minutes."

Cody looked at the Jedi—this chaotic, brilliant, ridiculous man—and felt a strange, terrifying shift in his gut. It wasn't just the lack of oxygen.

"Force help us," Cody muttered, though he didn't move away. “If you can reach the manual override lever near my left hip, I can kick the vent cover out. But you’ll have to brace yourself."

"Bracing is my speciality," Obi-Wan replied, his voice muffled by Cody’s shoulder. “Aside from beating Sith Lords, that is.” After several seconds of ungraceful fumbling—which involved a lot of 'sorry' and 'was that your rib?'—Obi-Wan’s fingers found the lever. "On three?"

"On three. One, two—"

Obi-Wan yanked the lever. Cody delivered a two-booted kick to the grate with every ounce of clone-engineered strength he possessed.

The grate flew off. But they hadn't accounted for the fact that this specific cooling vent was positioned directly beneath the factory's primary waste-reclamation vat.

As the hatch swung open, the pressure differential released a literal tidal wave of what could only be described as industrial sludge.

It was a thick, neon-green viscous liquid used to cool droid processors and lubricate heavy gears. It smelled like a mixture of rotten eggs and ionized ozone. With a wet, echoing squelch, the two of them were ejected from the vent and dumped unceremoniously into a massive collection bin five meters below.

Cody hit the sludge first, disappearing beneath the surface of the glowing goop. A second later, Obi-Wan landed on top of him with a heavy splat.

They scrambled to stand, slipping and sliding in the knee-deep slime. Cody wiped his visor with a gauntlet, only to realize he was just smearing the neon green film further across his vision. He groaned, the sound vibrating through his helmet.

Obi-Wan was in a worse state. His once-pristine Jedi robes were now heavy, dripping, and a shade of green that definitely wasn't on the Jedi Council's approved color palette. A long string of sludge was draped over his nose like a glowing mustache.

"Well," Obi-Wan said, wiping a glob of slime from his eye. "On the bright side, we are no longer in the vent."

Cody looked at his pristine white armor, now stained a permanent, sickly chartreuse. He looked at the Jedi Master, who looked like he’d been coughed up by a giant space slug.

"General," Cody said, his voice flat. "I’ve been a soldier since the day I was born. I’ve crawled through mud, ash, and blood." He gestured to the glowing, stinking mess dripping off his pauldrons. "This is officially the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me."

Obi-Wan reached out, patting Cody’s shoulder with a wet thwack, leaving a fresh handprint of slime. "Don't be so dramatic, Commander. It builds character."

"It builds a rash, sir."

"Perhaps." Obi-Wan grinned, the neon light making his teeth look unnervingly white. "But look at the positive: the droids won't be able to track our scent. We smell far worse than they do now."

Cody sighed, a long-suffering sound that would eventually become the soundtrack to their entire partnership. "Let's just finish the mission, sir. Before I decide to join the Separatists just for access to a sonic shower."