#imperialdrabble

Planets. They were like two planets circling each other ever since their cadet days.

They weren't from the same batch. They grew up seperately, trained separately, found friendship in different groups. But at the end of many nights, CT-7567 always found himself sneaking into CC-2224's bunk after experiencing nightmares. If the CT was ever bullied for his recessive genes, the CC could be found close by, a silent and protective guardian.

As they got older, they ate together, trained together and CT-7567 was accepted into what was deemed "the command batch". The Kaminoans found this new development harmless until it began affecting CT-7567's efficiency.

They gave him a choice: stay on Kamino as a part of the workforce, or seperate himself from CC-2224 and the command batch. The choice was obvious and for many years CT-7567 and CC-2224 would only communicate with brief glances, smiles and professional salutes.

The CT performed significantly better in the years that followed, earning himself a pair of jaig eyes and the title of commander, but Taun We withheld the promotion, believing that, should the CT find his way back to CC-2224, his exceptional progress would once again be hindered.

But like all things across the Galaxy, a mysterious Force had plans of its own.

Upon deployment, it seemed that their new Generals were close and would work together frequently. This close proximity quickly reignited their connection and after the hellish battles they've had to endure, the two clones always found themselves in the same room at the end of the night. The CT never mentioned having nightmares, but the CC still accepted him into his bunk regardless.

Born from the same DNA, raised in the same facility and deployed on the same missions. Two planets that often found themselves caught in each other's orbit.

Why is everyone leaving at the same time?

One hip pressing against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, Sergeant Knox watches his General spar with another member of the Guard. He doesn’t need to announce his presence. She always knows when he’s there.

The hum of lightsabers dies and they bow to each other, the session ending. He waits until she passes him, then falls into step behind her. He follows her to her quarters and closes the door. She removes her mask, pulls the tie from her hair. Strands the color of fog fall past her shoulders.

“What is it this time, Knox?”

His jaw tightens. His feet carry him to the bed and he tosses the commlink to her open, waiting hands.

“Ace…” he sighs, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I can’t get into contact with him since he missed his check-in.”

He steps aside as she sits on the bed. When she pulls up her pant leg, he’s already moving, dropping to the floor, reaching under the bed for her tools like he’s done it a hundred times. He sets her heel in his lap and gets to work.

“And he disappeared right after the Gala, yes?”

“Yeah. Around the time I was-”

“Dancing with your girlfriend?”

Knox glances up at her with a raised eyebrow. Of course she knew. She always knew. “Yeah,” he brings his focus back to the prosthetic limb in his lap, hands steady despite the chaos inside. “Got a message from Zee’na. She said she was leaving, something about a ship. She sounded excited. I hope she’s safe.” “And what else?”

The tool in his hand stills. He leans back slightly, gaze drifting off to some distance point on the floor.

“I got a message from Tah’nyem, too,” he says quietly. “Courier droid.”

His grip on the tool loosens.

“She thinks it’s better if we don’t see each other anymore.”

He exhales slowly, the frown at the corner of his lips deepening. “She was…different yesterday. More open than usual.”

“She trusted me and I…”

A pause. 

“She helped me with something I shouldn’t have put on her.”

The tool turns over in his hand.

“She doesn’t agree with what I did. Said it didn’t make me any better than the man I-”

He stops, gaze dropping.

“I think I made a mistake, Vesha.”

The silence between them lingers longer than normal. She doesn’t say anything to him. She knows he needs this, and it doesn’t take him long to figure that out, too. His thumb brushes idly over the tool in his hand and he takes another breath.

““Fracture is still at C-block, the new kid is off with Torch’s unit. Even Commander Basilisk is shipped out by now. Everyone’s gone, left at the same time.”

“And I’m here.”

“Standing watch, walking the halls… playing with younglings while the rest of my brothers are out there actually doing something that matters.”

He doesn’t look up, grip tightening on the tool again, just slightly.

“I just...I want to matter, Vesha. I want to know that what I’m doing here actually makes a difference in this war.”

Vesha studies him as he speaks. He can feel her eyes on him. She shifts, adjusting her leg as he resumes working on her prosthetic.

“Do not confuse visibility with value, Knox.”

His hands pause for a brief moment, then continue. She knows he’s listening. “This mistake you think you made, was it to make a difference? Do those who choose to stand beside you see it that way?”

Sergeant Knox swallows, the sound loud in the silence that settles between them again. Vesha says nothing more, and neither does he.

The sun dipped low over Pabu’s horizon, creating soft streaks of gold and pink that reflected across the planet's ocean. The faint sound of laughter drifted through the wind from all over the island, blending with the soft crashing of waves and the sounds of everyday island life.

Omega, who was still unaccustomed to staying stationary for long periods of time, decided that the evening was too perfect to waste indoors. She guided Gonky, who was creaking beneath a high pile of blankets and pillows stacked on his metal chassis, down the stone steps leading to the shore.

Hunter and Echo were waiting for them, having already claimed a spot beneath a stone overhang, with their collection of comfort items arranged in haphazard but welcoming piles. Rugs had been unrolled, and extra sheets were threatening to flutter away in the breeze. Wrecker stood near them, arms stuffed with cushions and enough snacks to feed half the island.

A short distance away, Crosshair leaned against a sun-warmed boulder, toothpick tucked between his teeth. He was watching the scene before him with his usual guarded expression, but the slight tilt of his head toward the others revealed quiet attentiveness. He was listening in on a conversation with Rex and two clones Omega had only met once before: Howzer and Gregor.

After Echo returned from his last mission, Omega suggested the squad stay, giving them a much-needed break from their rebel lifestyle: something different. Something normal.

"Just one night," she'd insisted. It didn't take much convincing, but it wasn't until they reached an agreement that she asked the crew to join her in building the best pillow fort Pabu had ever seen.

The structure was supported by long-forgotten driftwood logs and weighed down with large stones scavenged from the beach. Woven rugs and tufted blankets lay scattered on the uneven ground in an overlapping mess of textures and colors. Pillows of all sizes and shapes were scattered around in a jumbled heap, abandoned in the middle of their adjustment. Fairy lights and candles borrowed from the island's communal storage provided a warm yellow glow throughout the interior.

The entire structure sagged slightly here and there, swayed in the breeze, and nearly collapsed when too many people shifted at once. But, like their group, it was thrown together, familiar, and stronger than it seemed.

Inside, the space was small and intimate. Shoulders brushed, knees bumped, and no one had more than a few inches of personal space, but no one seemed to care. For a fleeting moment, the edges of hardened faces had softened. Her brothers, scarred, worn out, and constantly bracing for the next battle, were smiling.

Gonky had settled in near the back, humming quietly beneath a stack of snacks and drinks. Gregor had ceremoniously placed a bowl of Mantell Mix on top of the droid.

Gregor and Wrecker got along quickly, settling next to each other and immediately engaging in jovial and teasing conversation.

"Did you eat all the sushi on the way?" Gregor asked, teasingly.

Wrecker, mouth stuffed with a handful of Mantell Mix, appeared to have just been caught. "Might've. I was inspecting the cargo...for morale."

"Mine or yours?"

"Morale is morale!"

It didn't take long for him and Wrecker to break out laughing, tossing pieces of the snack into the air and attempting to catch them with their mouths. This quickly turned into a full-fledged battle, with Howzer caught in the crossfire, protesting halfheartedly between fits of laughter.

"Keep that mess on your side of the fort," Rex murmured, closing his eyes and smiling lazily.

On one side of Omega, Rex hummed contentedly while reclining between Echo's legs, as if being around his siblings had relieved some of his usual tension. Hunter sat on Omega's other side, leaning on one elbow and stretching his legs out toward the entrance to the fort. He looked truly relaxed in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. The only one missing was Crosshair, but Omega knew he was just outside, standing sentry beneath the stars, listening. He still needed a lot of adjustment time, but she was grateful that he showed up at all.

As the group piled on top of each other, the gentle ocean churned against the shoreline, and thunder rumbled somewhere low and distant. The air had changed, becoming warm and thick, just like it does before summer rain. Still, everything was light inside their fortress.

“Does anyone know a good bedtime story?”

The question made the group pause, a moment of silence in which no one knew how to respond. Most of them blinked at her like she’d spoken a word they hadn’t heard since a childhood they barely remembered. Before Omega could elaborate, Hunter quietly answered. “It’s been some time since any of us heard a bedtime story, Omega. Is there…one you have in mind?”

Omega gave a tired smile and shrugged. "It doesn't have to be a good story," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of the evening. "I just want to hear about the good times." 

Another low rumble echoed outside. This one was closer. The wind shifted, causing the fortress's fabric walls to flutter. Omega moved closer to Hunter, nuzzling her way against his chest to get comfortable, but didn’t say anything. He shifted to accommodate her and grabbed one of the blankets at their feet, pulling it over both of them to shield them from the strong breeze blowing from the entrance to their temporary shelter.

Howzer was the first to break the silence by clearing his throat. “I’ve got one,” he said, smiling thoughtfully. "Just remember—you asked for it."

He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice for emphasis. “There was once a squad made up of the most daring, chaotic, and, frankly, criminally underpaid clones in the galaxy.”

“Here we go,” Echo murmured, already smiling.

“They were sent on a 'serious' mission. They were supposed to rendezvous with a contact who claimed they had intel on something big. Should’ve been simple, right? One quick meeting, in and out. Except the drop point turned out to be in a swamp. A swamp that, and I swear I’m not exaggerating here, was home to thirty-seven screaming Nunas.”

Howzer laughed warmly and quietly. “Each one the size of a starship—or at least, they felt that big when they started charging us.”

“That number gets bigger every time you tell this,” Rex said dryly.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the driftwood beams. Soft at first, like fingers drumming. A flash of lightning lit up the fabric walls for a split second, and no one moved except Omega and Echo, who flinched slightly. Howzer paused for a moment before continuing, his voice slightly raised due to the approaching weather.

“Rex was still trying to keep things quiet. So Gregor, being Gregor, comes up with this brilliant idea—we try to make ourselves look bigger. Apparently, eight clones stacked on each other's shoulders would be enough to 'outsize angry Nunas.' I don’t know which manual that idea came from, but we were desperate.”

Echo interjected, “It isn’t in any manual.”

"And then, Fireball. Maker, bless that man; he goes and kicks over some metal scrap stuck in the mud. The loudest crash you've ever heard. Thing goes flying, and suddenly it’s chaos. Nunas screaming, clones shouting—next thing I know, I’m face down in swamp water, Samson’s wrestling what I swear was a flying lizard, and Greer’s still yelling ‘hold the formation!’ like we’re in a parade.”

“Ha! That sounds about right. Greer would hold the formation in a sandstorm on fire!” Gregor joked with Wrecker, clapping his hand on the larger clone's shoulder. Hunter let out an amused huff, while Omega giggled sleepily beside him.

Howzer elbowed his brother playfully, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smile as he continued, “Somehow, we made it out. No idea how. But you don’t forget a mission like that. Or the smell.” The clone leaned back into the pillows with a satisfied grin on his face. “Alright, who’s got the next story?”

After a moment, Rex’s voice rose gently from where he sat.

“There was one night,” he began quietly, steady but distant. "I was on a ship away from the front lines. Ahsoka and I ended up on the observation deck. Just the two of us.”

He paused, as if he were reliving the memory. “We didn’t say much. Didn’t have to. Just sat there… watched the stars go by.” He looked at his brothers, his expression softening.

"It hit me then how loud the war had become. Constant noise, orders, and chaos. But space? Space was quiet. I told her I wouldn’t have existed without the war. She told me there was one good thing that came from it all.”

The group fell silent, the kind of silence that says a lot. Despite its heartwarming nature, the story lacked the same jovial tone as its predecessor. This caused a weight in the air to shift, which Omega couldn't quite identify. The clones were aware of what had happened immediately following this memory, particularly Echo, whom Rex had confided in. Omega was the only person unaware of the entire situation, although she could infer what happened next from her team's historical retelling.

Outside, the rain became heavier and more consistent; the sound of it on hand-woven fabric and sand evolved into its own performance. Some of it began to leak through the ceiling, but someone quickly positioned a sandcastle bucket beneath the intrusion. Crosshair stepped through a gap in the blanket wall and crawled over Hunter and Omega to the opposite corner, quietly settling in beneath some blankets to escape the storm. Thunder clapped, louder and more abruptly, directly overhead. Omega flinched and Hunter wrapped his arm around her back in an instant, and she leaned closer to him, her heart pounding.

The wind blowing in through the opening caused the lanterns inside to flicker, casting golden shadows on their faces. Omega looked around at the group; some were still smiling, others were quiet, but everyone was there. Together. And Rex was right. Without the war, none of them would have existed, including Omega. "I think she was right," she said quietly, to no one in particular, but to everyone at once. "Please stay here…with me."

Hunter spoke softly, looking down at her. "We're not going anywhere."

And for the first time in a long while, with the storm pressing in and the fortress wrapped around them, Omega believed it.

Bonus Prompt: Pillow Fort || “Stay with me.” || Alternate Prompt: Bedtime Story

24/39 || 25/39 || 26/39

Her letter; words on flimsy he can't even remember anymore.

Bass in his lungs. He turns and catches sight of striking white hair. Follow it.

A hand touches his shoulder, pulls him back. His hands find someone's hips. A drink in his hand but when he goes to sip it, it's already empty.

Lights smear across his vision. White hair lost somewhere in the crowd. Someone says his name, I swear it. 

Guided hands, a new room. Teeth on his neck. Heavy panting. It's him, he's panting. His heads are threading through another man's hair, grinding his body against them. White hair. He has white hair. Keep up.

Ace gets up. No, pulled away. Outside, cold air. Joint between his fingers he doesn’t remember lighting and a rough tongue slipping into his mouth.

Another hit, another shot, another body. Glitter stuck to somebody’s collarbone. He keeps staring at it instead of their face.

The exit sign catches his eye. Red, Red, Red. White. A warning he’s already ignored.

Ace looks down at the drink in his hand, tips it back. Again, again, again, again.

Condensation runs down his wrist. Is that blood?

More lights, more bodies. Blue hair. He turns, reaches. Gone. Somebody else.

He grunts, pushed onto the bed. Someone’s thighs cradling his face, someone else’s fingers tugging at his waist band. Please.

His hips thrust up, white hair behind his closed eyelids. He groans a familiar name, no one hears it. Did he actually say it?

Keep up. Blood on his knuckles, someone on the floor. Cheers. Bass in his lungs. The exit sign. Red, Red, Red.

White.

“Looks like an explosion at the central power generator.” Stone held a finger up to his comm. “En route.”

The panicked shouts of civilians in the crowded alleyways pounded in Knox’s ears, even through his plastoid helmet. His boots hit the duracrete, thundering just behind Commander Stone and the rest of the small squad of the Coruscant guard.

Knox's helmet briefly tipped in the direction of his commander, worry shielded by his visor.

About a year ago, the criminal Cad Bane had infiltrated the Jedi Temple in search of a holocron. Since then, it seemed the galaxy had come to see Coruscant as its singular enemy.

“Bane again, sir?”

“Don't know. If it is, he didn't wait long since he was last here," responded Stone as he motioned for the squad to break apart. “Focus on searching for civvies caught in the explosion.”

Stone and the squad didn't slow as they neared the site. Knox swiftly climbed the edge of the rubble where he had already spotted civilians struggling to their feet.

Heavy breath cycling through the inside of his helmet, Knox approached a survivor and slipped their arm over his shoulder, his other hand gripping the man's waist gently as he guided him to a safe distance.

The man leaning on him was limping and bleeding - or seemed to be. With all the ash and dust coating him, it was hard to tell if it was his.

They hobbled toward the others who were hauling the injured to safety, but the man clung to Knox, refusing to let go. “My…”

A cough.

“My daughter… she's in there.”

He could barely lift his finger, pointing in the direction of the rubble.

“Please, find her!”

Knox nodded and eased the man back against the wall, careful but firm.

His fingers raised to his comm. “Commander, how far out is Hound?”

“Still en route,” came Stone’s response, ragged through the fuzzy speaker. “Five minutes, maybe more."

Knox felt his heart skip. Five minutes could cost everything. They couldn't wait that long.

“Copy,” he said, and turned his visor toward the wreck of collapsed duracrete and twisted durasteel.

He could see smoke rosing over the buildings from fires blocks away. Panic had already spread across the district. He didn’t blame them.

Without another word, Knox climbed.

The rubble was dangerously uneven, shifting under his weight with every small movement. One hand braced against anything solid, the other keeping his balance as he moved through the rubble.

When Knox crouched to peer into a dark gap between two collapsed support beams, he could just make out a faint whimper from inside.

“Got something."

He laid himself down onto his stomach, exhaling slow and long as he wormed his way into the space, chunks of scrap grinding across his chest plate. The space was tight, hot. His helmet vents did little against the choking dust, but the faint sound came again, driving him forward.

Then he saw her.

Small, curled beneath a sparking piece of the generator, her arms tight around her knees and face streaked with soot and tears. Her eyes snapped toward him as he approached, wide and terrified.

Knox softened his voice immediately, despite the filter in his helmet. He held out a gloved hand.

“Hey, I’m here. You’re okay. We’re gonna get you home, alright?”

She didn’t answer but her small fingers slowly reached for his hand. When he clasped it, he felt her tremble.

Knox, hand in hand with the little girl, maneuvered carefully as he began inching them both backwards through the debris.

Despite his muscles screaming in protest at every shift and twist, he encouraged the girl to crawl just like him. More dust rained down with each movement, but he kept his body over hers, shielding her.

Above them, he could feel the destruction beginning to shift as his squad continued searching for survivors.

“Come on,” he breathed. “Not now, not yet.”

Just as the bent durasteel screamed above them, they broke through the rubble’s edge.

Fresh air hit his vents, and he coughed, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He backed away from the rubble, the girl still clutched tight to his chest as he sat up.

Her small frame was still shaking, but she was alive.

“Medic!” he barked, already waving one over. “Minor lacerations, major smoke inhalation, possible burns."

The girl clung tighter to him as the medic approached. Knox leaned down, speaking in a low voice.

“You’re safe now. Your dad’s waiting just over there.”

Her head turned slowly in the direction of his pointed finger, and he felt her posture slump, seemingly satisfied her father was safe.

Behind him, Knox heard the heavy gait of Sergeant Hound finally arriving and Grizzer’s snout already sweeping across the ruins.

“Glad you could make it,” Knox said, grinning through his helmet.

“Doesn't look like you need us,” Hound replied.

dividers by @saradika-graphics || @corrieweek

Knox stood, gently handing the girl to the medic. He said nothing, giving the rubble a final glance before joining the others, already scanning for the next survivor.

Omega hunched over the cluttered workbench, her eyes sparkling as she studied the half-built droid in front of her. It began as a pile of scrap that the Batch succeeded in rescuing from a junkyard on Ord Mantell. Now, it was barely more than a chassis, with a round, lopsided body and exposed wires.

"I think I've got it this time," she said. "You'll tell me if I'm doing something wrong, right?"

Across the bench, Tech gave a small nod, adjusting his goggles without looking away from his data pad. On one side of the screen were several different readouts displaying diagnostics—power flow, servo calibration, and processor temperatures—scrolling in neat columns. The other side showed an annotated instruction manual on how to build your own droid, with optional modifications. His tone was measured as always. "I am closely monitoring. But you won't learn unless I allow you to make a few mistakes.”

Omega gave a nervous laugh under her breath. Her brothers were all talented in some way, but she had yet to find her place among them. She hoped this was it.

"I'm routing the existential circuit to the probability module, and—wait, is this the red wire or the orange one?" She squinted and held up two almost identical cables. Tech leaned in to scan the components.

"That one's red. Orange has a slightly translucent sheath. An easy mistake."

Omega smiled sheepishly and swapped them. "Well… here goes nothing."

She connected the last wire and pressed the activation button. For a moment, everything buzzed quietly. Lights flickered. A soft hum emanated from the chassis.

Then, BOOM!

A puff of smoke erupted from the back of the droid, and sparks flared from its side panel. The blast knocked Omega off her stool and sent Tech stumbling backwards.

"Oops," Omega groaned, sprawled on the floor, curls tangled and brows lightly singed. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Hmm," Tech replied, waving smoke from his face. His goggles were skewed, and his hair was slightly charred at the ends. "Impressive in a purely destructive sense. Maybe we should have asked Wrecker for advice."

He approached the bench and picked up his data pad. It had been connected to the droid via a cable and had short-circuited. It was now covered in cracks and soot. "You connected the servo wires prior to grounding the fusion power core." With a sigh, he looked at the smoldering droid, then at Omega, his voice softening. "A common error. One I made when I was your age, with a far greater explosion."

"Really?" Omega's eyes widened.

Tech allowed a small smirk to break through his normally stern expression. "The fire was…extensive." He extended his hand and helped her to her feet. His gaze was calm and patient, something Omega had come to rely on. "With some adjustments, your droid will be operational in no time. But next time—"

"—double-check everything before turning it on," she finished for him, smiling. The two of them knelt over the small droid, now affectionately known as Sparks, smoke still curling from its body. It would take time, patience, and probably another minor explosion or two, but Sparks would eventually power up for good.

Omega was becoming quite the engineer, after all.

“And what have we learned from this?” || The Data Pad Incident

19/39 || 22/39