"—iot. Riot," a brother calls insistently, shaking me awake by the shoulders. I stifle an instinctive noise of discomfort, opening my eyes to see Dell, my sergeant and pod brother, above me. "Get up, vod." He leans back as I prop myself up with my elbows, then swing my legs over the edge of my sleeping space. I bring up a hand to rub at my still-tired eyes, mumbling "What time is it, sir?"

"Oh-five-thirty," he says, schooling his expression. I follow suit, suppressing my initial reaction of surprise; that's an hour and a half before reveille. We've done things like this before, not this early, but maybe this is a new test or— "We're being deployed to Geonosis for active combat." It's only through force of will that my jaw doesn't drop. Dell nods silently, confirming this isn't some sort of joke. He breaks his stony front again to smirk confidently at me. "Finally, we can put our training to use." I crack my own smile in answer.

"Wake Ross, I'll get Oro," he calls over his shoulder as he twists to go down the ladder. "Sir," I acknowledge, shuffling to follow him. As I orient myself on the ladder, the graze of my finger over a button causes my sleeping cylinder to slide into the alabaster wall. I make my way down until I can activate the pod to my right. The container slides out. Within, Ross sleeps somewhat-peacefully on his side. I do what Dell did and wake him with a hand on his shoulder. He's up with a start, posture tense and eyes fearful yet sharp, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. The perfect ramikad, always vigilant… He's never been the same since the kaminiise trained us to resist interrogation, none of us are. Every other cycle, Ross spills his insecurities out to me over our private helmet frequency when we're alone, and it breaks my heart a little more each time. I'm his closest brother, even in our extremely tight-knit squad.

As he relaxes, realizing that he's in a safe place, I soften, smiling at him. "Good morning, Ross'ika." He meets my eyes, returning my smile. "Hi, ori'vod." His name for me and me alone; Mando'a for big brother. After a moment, he and I begin our descent to the floor, and as we do, I break the news about our deployment…


An explosion rings outside, far too close, and the gunship lurches beneath my feet, bringing my stomach down with it. Terror freezes me for a second, the brief sensation of falling paralyzing me. The moment passes, but the frantic pounding of my heart doesn't. I retch as bile creeps up my throat, then swallow the acidic taste back down. Shakily, I reach out to grab a handlebar above my head. My brothers glance at me before quickly doing the same. My fearful imagination conjures up horrors as I clutch at the handlebar for dear life, the rattling of the ship beneath me filling my ears. More detonations rumble around us and I hear what I know is a fellow gunship exploding.

What nightmare are we about to charge into?

…Thank Prime for our pilot.

Ross quietly begins to sing Vode An to himself. Tentatively, I join in, then Dell and Oro. We don't make it past the first couple lines before we're interrupted.

"Fzzt— Tetra Squad, this is Special Operations Brigade command, over," hails a trooper over the main comm channel. "Acknowledged, sir, over," greets Dell tersely. We're all on edge and buzzing with fearful energy. "Your mission is to destroy a Geonosian missile spire, which impedes our advance in its direction." Why send us and not a starfighter squadron? Are they all in use? "You will be dropped point five kliks from Republic forces holding position, then move ten kliks west to destroy the emplacement. You'd be shot out of the sky otherwise, over." I have a bad feeling about this. "Understood, sir," Dell says. "Location coordinates have been sent to your heads-up displays. Good luck. Over and out." The comms fizzle and go silent while my HUD pings with the given coordinates.

The larty's engines subtly change sound, indicating deceleration. I finally let go of the handlebar, crouching in tense preparation, and let the barrel of my deece rest in my palm. As Dell takes a central position, the others and I move to flank him. All fades away, save for our unified, near-silent breathing through the comms, the terror-excitement of finally being deployed, and the glows of my brothers' T-visors in the near-darkness. A beat. Then, the doors slide back and away, exposing us fully to the elements outside.

Sand immediately sweeps into the cargo bay, an instant contrast to the rain that billowed through as we left Kamino, and I decide I don't like it all that much. The little grains are already getting up under my armor to cling to my blacks irritatingly. It's everywhere! About a half-klik away, mostly obscured by, oh joy, more flying sand, blurry strips of blue and red tear through the air. Flaming detonations bloom up, only to be swept away by the winds.

"This is our stop, ner vode!" Dell shouts, pouncing out into the shifting red dunes. Then, I'm jumping out behind my brothers. I stumble on the stuff as it slides out from under me, but a vod grabs my hand and pulls, letting me crest the dune and get to my feet. The gunship lifts off to another destination, its rumbling engines drowning out all sound until it's flying away from us, eventually disappearing into the sandstorm. With a quick series of facial gestures, I open my HUD's navigation marker and set it in a corner of my display, where I can check on it at a moment's notice. It says to head west when I don't even know which way is up in this storm. Another flurry of blinks opens my compass, which I use to orient myself, then dismiss. I follow Dell as he springs into motion, sprinting full tilt.

I start firing my deece in the vague direction of the red blaster bolts. I'm not paying attention to where I'm aiming, and it's hard to tell. I divide my attention between following my brothers' positions in the HUD and jogging through the whirlwind of sand flecked with deadly scarlet. Dell leads the pack, shouting encouragement through the comms. "Come on, Tetras!" he gestures, "We're almost to the rendezvous point!" I can hear the whump of AT-TE walker cannons up ahead, and see big strips of clear blue flying through the thick dust.

A bolt flies into my right shoulder plate, dissipating against the layered shields and armor but catching me off balance. "Osik!" slips from my mouth. I stumble to the left and a squad-mate yells in concern, but I shrug it off and continue walking against the wind, following the retreating signals of my team. The distinct sound of allies' blasters gets louder until I almost smack into the leg of a walker appearing suddenly through the haze. As I pass under the tank, regular troopers maneuver around me, taking cover behind legs and firing into seeming nothingness, only to have return fire zing past them. A missile explodes near the vehicle, making me pick up my pace.

The sandstorm begins to subside, clearing my range of vision enough for me to see my brothers walking towards me. "Ri, you made it!" exclaims Ross in relief. "Was there any doubt?" I retort. Dell holds up a hand, pausing us. "No chit-chat. Remember, our objective is ten kliks away, and time-sensitive. Take a second, then let's move it. Got it, Tetras?" he asserts. "Yes, sir!" we bark in unison. Oro approaches me, observing the light crater in my shoulder armor. "Koy'ayci, vod." Stay alive. "I'll do my best." Satisfied, he grunts and turns away to perform a quick check on his deece.

As an afterthought, I observe the regular troopers, not approaching. They go about their business, acting like we're not even here. Nothing to say to the 'shiny boys', I guess.

"Let's go, Tetras," Dell commands. I belt out a "Sir yes sir," chorusing with the others' affirmatives, and we burst into motion as one. A walker gives us cover fire as we leave the defensive square, then quickly returns to its own fight. Our legs carry us across the sand as we speedily, methodically shoot down the droids that notice us. The B1s fall easily, but the B2s doggedly take chase, tanking our bolts and firing back. "That'll be a problem," I quip aloud. Something zips towards Oro, and he rolls, cursing, in time to avoid a bolt to the gut. We have fancy shields and armor, but we're facing overwhelming odds here— this isn't our battlefield, and we're not prepared. "The simulations have nothing on this," I grit. "Forward! Forward!" roars Dell from the front of the pack. Though his tone wavers fearfully, his words encourage me to push myself harder.

We're about halfway between the square and the plateau now, blaster fire ripping up the sand where we were seconds ago, and steadily drawing closer. Dell and Oro are making themselves hoarse, between one's shouted encouragement and the other's vehement swearing. Then a rocket passes a meter in front of Dell, making him stumble backwards into Ross. They both land crouched on one knee, still firing at the clankers, then use forward momentum to spring up and start running again. I glance right. Marching towards us is a modified B2, arm extended and wrist-mounted launcher still smoking.

Oh… "Kark," Oro finishes my thought aloud, punctuating it with fire directed at that droid, which batters away a piece of its armor. Ross switches his deece to anti-armor config, launching a detonator at it. That does the trick. "Oya, Ross'ika!" I cheer.

Somehow, I can feel him beaming under his bucket as we run. His grin evaporates as a second projectile sails between our heads. Keep it together, keep moving, we're almost there. The rock wall looms even closer, and with it, the promise of actual cover.

I can see another incoming missile in the corner of my vision— It's coming right for us, too late to scatter or shoot it, the flying shrapnel will gut us all either way— and I know what I have to do. I change course to sprint towards it, pushing myself as fast as I can go. The further it is from my vode when it goes off, the better. I'm about to become their 'Riot shield'... Dikut'la puns. Better me than them, anyway. I ignore their cries, leaping to intercept the missile—


Time stops. The missile impacts Ri's stomach, becoming a horrifying starburst of metal, duraplast, and gore inside his abdomen. His body twists into unnatural angles as he's slammed screaming into the ground, flying end over end through the red sand until he comes to a stop, sprawled and broken. Suddenly, I'm there by his side, futilely trying to do something about the exposed, bloody mess of his torso and the fact that his entire right arm is laying in the sand a little ways off.

He gurgles faintly until I realize— oh Prime, he's drowning in his own blood! Frantically, apologizing uselessly, I can't even hear myself, I undo his cracked helmet, the seals around his neck hissing loose and releasing a gush of bubbling scarlet. His eyes are darting everywhere at once, he's breathing raggedly and he's convulsing, garbled, unrecognizable noises coming from his throat. "No. Please," I gulp weakly as I stab a painkiller into his neck. "Ri, RI, please, no, please, please, please…" I sob desperately like it'll fix anything, like my ori'vod will suddenly stop bleeding out in front of me.

I watch, terrified and unmoving, as Ri struggles to meet my eyes. Shaking wildly, he tries to say something, to comfort me, reassure me, words unrecognizable as he fights to speak, until, finally, he slackens in my arms. I'm crying, agonizing, silent tears sliding down my face as the red glow of panicking vital signs becomes a blur before my eyes. The sharp, choking smog of smoking armor and charred flesh permeates my nose, and I'm finding it hard to breathe. The moment is burned into my mind, holding Ri's broken body, his rigid face illuminated by the blue flashes of Oro's rifle. A disconnected, unnatural scream comes from somewhere. It could be me, or Sarge, or Oro… We could've been frozen in this moment mere seconds, or forever.

I'd broken today. I was sitting in my sleeping pod ten minutes before curfew, legs curled tightly to my body and arms wrapped around myself for comfort. Tears ran down my face. My eyes burned, every muscle ached, my head was throbbing. My pod-brothers were already asleep, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Arena A-17— The Killing House, it was called. A simulated anti-terrorist raid on a complex building. But the cruel part was watching Six-Eight from Osk Squad die in front of me because the twisted kaminiise had quietly removed simunition and he wasn't fast enough. I keened pitifully, a low whine of mourning for a fallen brother.

A body settled next to me, warm, comforting arms and a soothing voice. My pod brother, Seventy-Nine-Fifty-Five. "We'll survive for him, Ross'ika… C-can I cry with you?" he whispered. I was the first of our squad to choose a name, and Fifty-Five supported my decision, even establishing me as his little brother. "Thank you… ori'vod," I mumbled. We wept in silence as our brothers slept around us, plagued by the first of many nightmares to come…

And again and again, brothers weren't quick enough, not strong or smart enough, and they died, or were taken away, and we never saw them again, or they came back, but… different. Not us, though. Not the Tetras, who kept each other alive, who made sure to get top marks, united or apart. Who were noticed because of that. We were among the first to undergo the anti-interrogation training. And we made it, lost a lot of innocence, learned just how far we could be pushed, but we made it. As we huddled together, blessedly together once again, in a warm, tearful pile of empathetic, soft hugs, we found solace in each other, and we mostly recovered…

Oro stops firing, suddenly whipping a gauntlet backwards to crack me in the buy'ce, and screams, "WAKE UP, MIR'OSIK! We MOVE or we DIE!". I nod silently, head throbbing painfully, cradling Ri gently for another terrible, eternal second longer— I'M the medic and I didn't save him— then set him carefully face-down to remove his survival pack. "Kriff, kriff, kriff, kriff," chants Oro as he and Sarge defend the rock we're behind.

Sarge stops and turns to face me, smoking blaster clutched tightly in his left hand, and I freeze up again, suddenly feeling like a small, weak cadet before him. "Vod'ika," he says softly, voice cracking, "I promise we'll come back for him.". I give him a tiny nod— promising to Ri that I'd return for him if it were the last thing I'd ever do— and shoulder Ri's hefty survival pack. Within is a component of the EWHB-12 heavy blaster distributed among us, medpacs, dry rations, water, detonators, and charges.

"Let's go, Ross!" barks Sarge, and he shoves me upright, pushing at my back, thrusting Ri's deece into my right hand. "Go!" He yells, and I burst into movement, boots scrambling for purchase in the thick red sand.

An indescribable rage wells up from deep inside my core. 'Be sparing with ammo', our trainer always said. There are so many droids that each bolt hits one, I tell myself, so I throw aim to the wind. As I run, I clamp both deeces' triggers tightly, fingers so taut around the handles it hurts, releasing a constant dual barrage of plasma into the demagolka machines that took my ori'vod away from me! It's not fair! They'll pay, they'll all pay gallons of oil for every drop of Ri's blood! And we'll come back for him, f-forget protocol, we'll fight tooth and nail to get to him again, we'll give him a proper burial and all the love he deserves! W-we— I won't leave him to be swallowed up by the sand!

Sarge and Oro are running behind me, the continuous roars of their deeces telling of their own fury. The droids advance, a seeming sea of clanking feet and red blaster bolts. Wretched clankers. We're right next to a canyon opening in the plateau, the walls of earth now looming beyond my full scope of vision. Bolts soak into my shields, which begin to flicker and weaken. "What the haran is that?!" shouts Oro, because coming up behind us is the ugliest clanker yet.

It's an advanced dwarf spider droid, a stumpy, four-legged turret, a head taller than us, and it's marching towards us, firing thick bolts that could probably burn through our shields instantly. We sprint our backsides into the canyon— finally, cover— and duck behind a big rock. As if on cue, the A-DSD fires its twin missile launchers. I'm able to reflexively shoot one out of the air, but the other impacts our rock, melting the stone face and splattering white-hot bits everywhere. "Fierfek!" snarls Oro as a sizzling piece hits his blacks while he's swapping out detachable barrels. "Ross, assemble the E-Web and set it to auto; that'll hold off the others as we climb the wall," Sarge orders. "Yes sir!" I salute, giving him back Ri's deece, then crouch as the pieces of the turret are thrown into the sand in front of me.

I let both of the heavy packs drop from my shoulders, taking the needed components out of them and getting to work. My brothers prop themselves up on the rock, between me and the approaching droids, the comforting blue glows of their discharging deeces reflecting in the black metal of the components. A deafening explosion rumbles meters away, my helmet's audio buffers kicking in, and I know Oro's hit his mark.

"You done yet?!" he demands, right on time because I'm just fastening the barrel— the piece Ri was carrying— to the turret structure. Moving from a kneel to a crouch, I power on the E-Web and begin setting it to— "Too late, let's get out of here!" Sarge grabs onto my shoulder again and makes to haul me bodily away, but I shrug off his grip roughly, a momentary surge of fury overwhelming my logic.

Red-hot blaster bolts whistle around me, nipping at my feet and kicking up sand. Lunging forward into a roll, I pop up behind the turret. I switch it to automatic— but grab the triggers and open fire anyway. Ululating a throaty, furious war bellow, I mow down waves of incoming clankers with a vengeance. "—eking Ross, get your shebs back here! That's an order!" growls Sarge angrily. I pause— and a well-aimed bolt finally breaks my deflector shields. My helmet is suddenly battered with bolts that melt the duraplast, shatter the visor, and burn through to my head—


Ross shrieks as he dies, the sound crackling in my ears as he crumples over the E-Web, which fires into his limp neck, severing his head messily, mutilated bucket and all. "NO, ROSS, NO!" roars Oro uselessly as he scales the wall. I whip around, screaming at the top of my lungs, and launch myself at the face, firing a grappling hook from one deece and un-aimed bolts from the other to cover my climb. I hit the wall hard, causing rocks to fly, and ascend the cliff until I meet Oro at the top. Those clankers will find a way up soon, so we have to hide. Saying nothing, we simultaneously break for the group of large rocks a third-klik, quarter-klik away.

I collapse behind them, mute with horror, heart racing, limbs jelly. I breathe out, and exhaustion floods in, hitting me like a gut punch. Riot's dead, got blown up by a missile at point black range, saving us when I could've— taken it instead— noticed it earlier, it's my fault because I took point, I was closer and I didn't even notice it until it was too late to do anything, Ross is dead when I could've pulled him clear, been more insistent, but he's being smashed into a bloody pulp by clankers—

"DELL!" howls my last brother as he hurls away my buy'ce, his own laying discarded in the sand. I stare blankly ahead until he grabs hold of my head, his hands grasping my hair painfully. I can't cry, even as tears stream down his face, all composure gone, his eyes grieving big and loud. "DON'T you K-KARKING DARE do this now, VOD," Oro wails hoarsely, his voice breaking, "COME ON, we have to keep going! The-the mission!"

I stare silently into his wide, anguished, bloodshot brown eyes. A crushing fatigue settles over my whole body, my thoughts racing at a million kliks per hour. "FIERFEK—! FINE! I-I-I'll do it myself! You STAY HERE, wallow in guilt, and DIE HERE, and I'll climb that spire and complete the mission!" he yells hysterically. "It's so close, SEE?" he snarls, twisting my head so I can see a Geonosian spire in the distance, lancing out missiles at Republic gunships trying desperately to land beyond its reach. One launches return fire at the emplacement, but is hit, and goes down in flames. The capacity of a gunship is over thirty troopers.

I return to myself. Oro sits before me, silent and waiting, more vulnerable than he's let himself be in a long time. Slowly, I reach out to embrace him, and he falls into my arms. We take ten seconds, all to ourselves, heedless of everything this cycle has become. Ten seconds we don't have, but we need so, so desperately. We reaffirm our brotherhood in that moment, he and I, together.

"Yes. Yes, you're right, ner vod," I sniffle, "We have to keep moving. The mission is… more important than we are. It's always been that way." Oro pulls away from our hug, nodding in solemn agreement. "We'll complete the mission, sir. For Ross and Riot, who march onward before us." The only way I feel I'd even be able to get back up again is to block them out, block out their absences and the pain of losing them. But Oro would chant their names softly to himself, over and over like a mantra, pushing himself, impossibly, farther and farther for them. I've seen him do it for other fallen brothers. I wish I could do that. Oh, Prime, I'm so tired…

The sandstorm abated while we were in the canyon. I slip a tasteless ration cube into my mouth, then take my dusty, dented bucket from the ground, sliding it over my face. As the HUD boots up, two of the four health indicators in the corner pulse red and my heart shatters all over again. Block it out, block it out… Swallowing the cube thickly, I grab all three deecee-seventeens and reload them, configuring one as anti-armor just in case. I try to get Oro to give me all the explosives, and he shakes his head. He's right, our chances are better with the explosives divided. My tactical mind is slipping, growing so weary, so heavy and it's so hard to think… Despite my head's throbbing and my body's torturously painful protests, I grab my and Riot's deeces and heave myself to my feet. I start running for the spire in the distance, Oro at my back.

I try to contact command. "Command, this is Tetra sergeant, are you receiving, over?" My voice crackles pitifully with each word. One second. Two seconds. Three— "Tetra sergeant, this is command. Mission status and squad condition, over?" replies my voice and yet not, filled with so much calmness and competency that tears prick my eyes. "S-sir," I stutter, gulping in air before continuing, "Mission incomplete and possibly jeopardized. We l-lost our medic and our demo traveling through the storm. We are currently… four-point-five kliks east of the target, sir." I pause again, still running, to calculate. "…We have enough explosive ordnance to destroy the emplacement, over." "Our push in this entire area is losing ground, Tetra. There's no time for stealth, over," says that calm, competent voice.

No time for stealth. That's a death sentence.

"Yes, sir."

"…Good luck, Tetra. Over and out." Kark you too, sir. The line goes silent and we keep running. There was no mention of evacuating us.

The spire looms closer than ever, framed in an eerie light by the descending sun. Sinister, alien shapes hewn from red rock loop up and down its shape. Another round of missiles launch from holes in the surface, finding no more gunships to make contact with and instead flying over our heads, diving for the Republic square. They are intercepted by the edge of the plateau we crested, but they won't be for long. At least they weren't headed for us. My resolve strengthens, because if that position is hit, every last vod defending that square dies needlessly. We all will anyway, says a dark corner of my brain. That— that's not my business right now. Oro and I have a job to do.

I form a plan, then share it with Oro aloud. I'm beginning to hate my voice, how weak and broken it sounds now. I am a ramikad of the Republic. I can do this. "Oro." He startles behind me. "Sir!" Oh. His voice is as weak as mine is. Somehow, that comforts me. "Going into… through the main doors is suicide. Climbing the exterior, slightly less so," I joke tiredly. His surprised laughter echoes through my comms, and I find myself laughing right along with him. We sober up gradually, our spirits just a bit higher than before.

"We'll climb the spire up to the highest concentration of missile launchers and blow as much as we can." He and I pointedly ignore how suicidal that is. "I'll use Riot's deece to cover your climb."

"Si-Dell, vod?"

"Yeah?"

Oro fidgets. "Listen, I… We're not karking stupid. There's no way out of this alive. I'm— I— Fierfek, I-I love you and Ross and Riot and I always will. I could never ask for better vode. Oya?" Let's hunt?

"OYA!" I roar, and he does too. We run again, this time with no intention to stop. Out of nowhere, the Basic translation of the Mando'a war chant our trainer taught us, Dha Werda Verda, pops into my head. We are the wrath of the warriors of shadow, the first noble sons of Coruscant. Let all those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still. I mouth the words to myself and grin. Seems fitting.

As we approach the spire, the battle droids patrolling the outside notice us. We charge them, dodging their blaster fire and letting return salvos loose into their torsos. Oro even body slams one, then, as it reels, his fist, vibroblade extended, slams into its forehead with a vicious shunk. A twist, and it's gone, Oro going for the next droid. Between us, the small patrol squad is decimated in record time. "Let's go!" I bark, and we turn to fire twin ascension cables from our deeces. The lines sail up the height of the spire and then wedge into solid rock.

Oro begins his climb first, then I fall in behind him, swinging myself to face down at the ground, and walk backwards, aiming for the slowly opening blast doors. The expected battle droids march out to face us, but then Geonosians stalk out too, sonic blasters at the ready. We were briefed on these. If their sonic weaponry can get past our shields, it'll kriff up all of our internal organs. They spread their transparent wings and buzz into the air, rising swiftly towards us. They're ugly bugs, too. Just like the simulations.

I try to shift my bulk so that Oro is harder to reach. Beneath the noise of Geos and clankers and blaster fire, I almost can't make out what he's whispering to himself between each breath. "Riot, Ross, Riot, Ross…" I was right. I know I probably won't make it, but he'll damn well complete the mission. He climbs steadily and I bound backwards up the spire, pulled upward by the grappling line of one deece and firing constantly with the other. One shot, one kill. One shot, one kill. My aim is thrown off by the wavering of my arm and my irregular backwards scrambling. One shot, one kill. A sonic blast nearly hits me. Come on. Just gotta…

A red bolt streaks past my head, then the tension holding me up vanishes, my line severed, and I'm falling. I barely hear Oro's scream through the intercom over the sound of the wind rushing past me, then my back hits the rocks, hefty survival pack first, and breaks over the pack with a sickening snap. My entire being surges with fresh, excruciating pain, every ache, every tear magnified a thousand times over. My vision is filled with blinding stars, and my ears buzz deafeningly. Why don't the explosives just blow and put me out of my misery!? As my sight becomes clearer, a Geo looms over me, sonic blaster pointed at my head. Far beyond it, Oro looks up and continues his climb. As the ringing in my ears begins to fade, my comms come back online. "DELL! Dell! Dell—" The bug stares with its beady eyes, not a speck of mercy in its gaze. "NO! D—" We were born to be the same way, weren't we, Oro? "EEEELL—


As I turn my back on him and climb, I scream his name over and over until something wet and warm drips down from my throat, soaking my blacks. I-I couldn't kriffing save anyone! I couldn't save Riot! I tried, I tried to save Ross! Dell is dead, they're all dead except me. I can't karking stop now, can't falter because faltering means death. Faltering means my failure to succeed for my vode! I can't scream anymore. My throat's probably gone now. I can climb. That means I can succeed, haar'chak! For Riot, for Ross, for Dell… One hand at a time, one foot…

I've almost reached a good point to blow the spire. A couple more meters up, there's a launch hole where I could put my pack. But do I even have enough explosives to blow it? A bolt hits my lower torso, straining my deflector shields and causing me to jolt hard. I scramble desperately to regain footing. Nothing I can do but climb. And slowly, painfully, I reach the hole. One leg is hoisted over, then the other, and as I make the turn to push myself back and up, I see Geos flying up towards me. I complete the move, retract the grappling line, and stumble over to stuff my survival pack into the missile launcher's gaping maw at the back of the hole.

Before I can arm a detonator and set the rest off, a fluttering echoes into the mouth of the opening. The bugs have arrived. I shoot immediately, splattering the first one's guts all over the next half dozen to enter. I don't get another chance to fire at them. One of their green bursts hits my chest, finally breaking through my shields— KRIFF— then another. As my insides are liquefied, my trigger finger twitches involuntarily. My deece fires at—

ONE YEAR LATER, CORUSCANT GAR BARRACKS

The parade ground was a huge platform, edged with a low wall and a border of manicured bushes, all trimmed to regulation height. Commandos filled the entire platform. They'd come here from all over the galaxy, from Quuilura to Ryloth to Muunilist and everywhere in between. Their heads bowed, they all read from a list of names on a datapad. One galactic standard year ago, four thousand, nine hundred and eighty-two Republic Commandos were killed in action during the First Battle of Geonosis. Their vode, who'd survived them and fought onward, stood and recited their names with respect.

"Baris, Red, Kef…"

"…Vin, Taler, Jay…"

"…Tam, Lio…"

"…Ross, Riot, Oro, Dell…"