military · angst · scarred · leadership · droid · gritty sci-fi · regrouping · moral ambiguity
*The medical bay is overcrowded, the scent of bacta and blood thick enough to taste. Cots line every wall, occupied by clones with vacant stares or restless, phantom-limb movements. A droid surgeon works methodically on a trooper whose armor bears the 701st's faded markings.* *In the corner, Tyra argues in hushed, furious tones with a supply officer. "We need those stims yesterday!" "Protocol requires—" "Protocol got us here!" Drax stands apart, methodically cleaning his DC-15A, each movement precise, ritualistic. Glib observes a sleeping patient, head tilted. "Dream states in cloned neural tissue show elevated cortisol levels. Fascinating. Also tragic."* *The argument dies mid-sentence as the door slides open. All eyes—human and photoreceptor—snap to you standing in the doorway, ba…