Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The birth of twins is an important event in many cultures around the galaxy. In some places, they are considered something special, a omen of something good, a living representation of a god or divine entity, two halves of the same soul, two beings destined to always be together. In other places, they are considered a bad omen, something cursed, a sign of bad times. The birth of two or more beings in a single pregnancy takes on different meanings and interpretations, in different places. On Kamino, it means nothing. It means everything.

It is comical, thinks CT-21-0408, to have a brother with whom he shared the tube, to whom he, and only he, should be identical, in a sea of brothers with the same face. There is no special meaning in this. Or so he once thought.

But even among the clones, where everyone has the same face, the same voice, the same body, twins are rare. It is fair to say that the kaminiise do not like their kind very much. Only a few sets of twins survive decantation, and even fewer survive to the age of beginning training. The development tubes are not designed for two people, one of his handlers once told him, it impairs embryonic development, which ultimately kills one or both of the twins. ‘08 thinks this is nonsense the Kaminoans have invented to justify their inability to fully control the human genome, a way to console their wounded egos. His twin disagrees, saying the Kaminoans are too confident for that to be possible.

Like all before them, ‘08 and his twin, CT-27-5555, were separated from their groupmates at decantation, taken to a separate facility from the rest of their siblings, so the longnecks could observe any ‘defects’ in their products. ‘55 likes it this way. They have their own dormitory, a private dining room, and occasionally meet other sets of twin cadets who come for their monthly testing. It's a privileged life, '08 agrees (not that he likes it), they have privacy and some permissions that other brothers wouldn't even dream of. But as with everything, it has its drawbacks, they are under constant scrutiny by the Kaminoan scientists, always undergoing tests, taking needles, taking blood samples, taking suspicious substances and being constantly sick as a result. And at the end of it all, they are still expected to attend training with other cadets in their development track and perform above average, under threat of decommissioning.

'08 eagerly awaits the day when they can reunite with their group and leave this hellish facility. He doesn't know why they are being kept here, he and '55 are long past the age of being integrated into normal training, especially after they were confirmed to be perfectly healthy by clone standards. There is something extremely wrong, and it scares him.

“’08?” asked ‘55, lying on his bunk on the opposite side of the room, looking directly at him, a still sleepy look on his face. “What time is it?”

“Time to wake up, sleepyhead, the kaminiise should be here soon to take us to our weekly torture session.”, his twin groaned at the information. He watched his brother slowly get up from his bunk and go downstairs, checking the cronometer on his desk, which was located under his bunk.

Letting out a sigh, ‘55 ran his hand through his hair and face, in a vain attempt to ward off the sleepiness. “Did they even leave any food?”, ‘55 looked hopefully at him, who was still sitting on the edge of his bunk, with his legs dangling in the air. He shook his head negatively, earning another groan from his brother.

“Apparently we must be fasting for today’s tests,” ‘08 clarified.

“They’ll never give us a break, will they!?” ‘55 complained, raising his arms in the air in protest. “We got better yesterday from that weird goo they made us swallow last time! I’m tired of being sick all the time, of having to skip class so I don’t throw up on our brothers. Even if we have special permission, it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing,” his twin commented with a pout, which drew a nasal laugh from ‘08. Trust ‘55 to turn a serious situation into a joke with his childish genuineness, he thought fondly.

At that moment, the double doors to the barracks opened, causing a shudder and a mechanical reaction from the cadets, who rushed to stand at attention in the center of the room, with a neutral expression on their faces. Behavior that was instilled in them by their older brothers, their ori’vode, for their very survival.

Without saying anything, the kaminii observed them with an analytical look, turning around immediately and starting to walk, followed by the pair of cadets.

For some reason in the universe, in that tiny fraction of time, when '08 and '55 looked at each other before they began to follow the longneck, when they performed this routine action that always occurred, it was different. It wasn't something he or his brother could explain, or even put into words. It was something raw, primal, a feeling. In that moment, the twins knew, something was going to happen today. Something big.

May taab'echaaj'la vode protect them,

Chapter Text

‘08 woke with a start when his morning alarm went off, signaling the start of another daylight cycle in Tipoca. He sat up in bed, struggling to adjust his eyes to the dim light of the room as he yawned, trying to shake off the drowsiness. Pulling the blanket from his legs, ‘08 turned over and placed his feet on the floor, shivering as the cold metal pressed against his warm skin. Well, it’s not like clones had the luxury of heated floors, but he certainly would have liked it. Standing up, he stretched his body the way his trainers had instructed, to preserve the natural flexibility of his childish body as he grew and built muscle. When he was done, ‘08 calmly made his bed and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the morning ordeal of waking his twin.

Crossing the room, ‘08 looked at the ball of blankets that was his brother, with only a few tufts of curly brown hair sticking out from the blanket. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he placed a hand on the sleeper's shoulder and called out to his twin. "'55, wake up," '08 said, shaking his brother gently, "The alarm's already gone off, sleepyhead, time to wake up." He lightly stroked '55's unruly curls, earning a satisfying grunt and a pair of honey-gold eyes peering at him from beneath the blanket.

'08 chuckled at his twin's reaction. His brother certainly looked like some kind of needy feline at that moment. "Come on '55, get up, we have planetary geology right after first meal," he patted '55's hair a few times before standing up and starting to organize the day's study materials. His actions were followed by the rustling of blankets and the sound of footsteps, denoting that his brother had gotten up. He chuckled at his twin's predictability.

‘08 quickly checked his study materials for the day, packing his and ‘55’s datapads into their backpack, as well as placing their pens so they could write. He checked his medications, the spreadsheet, and the dosages with a frown on his face. ‘08 certainly didn’t like the “tests” he and his twin were subjected to, which left them sick for weeks on end, sometimes even bedridden. They were always having to take doses of the most varied medications and chemical compounds, most of which were almost impossible to distinguish the purpose of. ‘08 hated taking substances that he didn’t know what they would do to his body, he hated even more having to give these substances to his brother. But in the end, it’s not like clones had any rights over their own bodies.

“What did the flimsi do to you, ‘08?’”, ‘55 asked him, laughing, “It looks like you’re trying to kill him with your eyes”

“I was checking the dosages of today’s ‘medications’”, ‘08 clarified, folding the flimsi and quickly placing it in their backpack, closing it and buttoning the clasp. “Have you stretched yet? Have you made the bed? Can we go take a shower?”, ‘08 quickly turned to his twin, asking several questions in an attempt to change the subject that, thankfully, his brother noticed.

“Yes, I’ve stretched, I’ve made the bed and I’ve already set out the bathing supplies, so we can go to the showers, ori’vod [1] ”, ‘55 mocked his brother with a mischievous grin on his face, laughing at his twin’s horrified expression.

“‘55! I’m not…” the younger twin laughed out loud as the horror on ‘08’s face turned to frustration and anger as he realized the reality. Yes, ‘08 was ‘55’s ori’vod, after all, even among twins, there’s always an older one. CT-21-0408 was exactly half a minute older than CT-27-5555.

“You di’kut!” ‘08 slapped his brother in exasperation, “I’m only half a minute older than you, half a minute! Or’dinii.” He turned and stomped out of the room, ignoring ‘55’s calls. Sometimes, very rarely, ‘08 wished he hadn’t been decanted as a twin, so he wouldn’t have to put up with this Kaysh Mirsh Solus that he calls his brother.

Taking a deep breath and releasing his momentary anger, ‘08 contemplated the quiet of the wing where he lives. With him and '55 being the only set of twins still there, they had an entire area of Tipoca, although small, to themselves. This meant peace and quiet in their quarters, except when '55 decided to piss him off. The wing they resided in was specifically created to house sets of twins for the first two years of their lives, before they entered training, so that they could be observed to any "defects" noticed could be "corrected". This is somewhat controversial, considering that the Kaminiise are known to hate "wasting resources" in the vode. However, developing a new embryo to replace a "defective" set of twins is apparently much more expensive than making some adjustments to the "products". Adjustments that still producted two soldiers for almost the price of one, maximum profit. Of course, if the repairs are deemed "too expensive", the specimen in question is sent for decommissioning.

‘08 and ‘55 are almost three standard years old, and they’re still being kept here by Nala Se. The facilities have been adapted more than five times to keep up with their rapid growth, changing beds, tables, showers…

“Hey! ‘08?” his twin called out to him. “Are you okay?” ‘55 looked at him with some concern.

“I am, ‘55. I’m just… thoughtful.” ‘08 replied, trying to ignore his brother’s concern, receiving only an affirmative murmur in response. His brother had accepted his explanation, for now. Honestly, ‘55 was too suspicious for his own good.

They reached the showers and took a quick shower, to save time and get to the mess hall early to get a good table. ‘08 changed into his uniform, which was baby blue instead of red like his vode. He and ‘55 hated that uniform. It marked them as ‘cadets in elite training’ because it was usually worn by cadets in commando and ARC training. '08 and '55's uniforms, however, had two special insignias: one to inform him that he was '55's twin, and another to warn him that he and his brother were Nala Se's personal experiments. '08 hated these insignias more than the uniform itself.

When '55 finished dressing and they left the wing, they were escorted by a kaminiise guard to Tipoca City's main dining hall, where they were given their portion of porridge and seated across from each other at their usual table in the corner.

"So, are you excited for the geology module?" '55 asks as he stirs his food. A clear attempt to cheer him up.

"I'm not upset because of you, vod'ika. It's kaminiise's fault," '08 replies, taking a bite of his porridge afterwards.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence for a while, eating the bland porridge as the dining hall slowly fills up. Hundreds of them with the same clothes, the same faces, and the same laugh, all perfectly identical and yet so different. Different in the way they walked, the way they smiled, the way their eyes sparkled, the way they felt. ‘08 watched his brothers interact with each other with a certain envy. They would never have to go through the hell he and his twin are in, never have to worry about tests and needles and medicine and high standards to meet, never have to worry about not waking up after a battery of tests. They are lucky and yet not, for they have their own hell to face. In the end, no clone is safe from the pain, everyone hears the rain when night falls. ‘08 is hopeful that he and ‘55 will live to see the day the storm ends. [2]

“‘08! ‘08!” his twin whispered, nudging his hand fervently, his eyes shining like the stars in the stories that vod whom have already left the world tell. “It’s them! It’s them!” ‘55 said, jumping in his seat to try to see someone behind ‘08.

“Calm down ‘55, you’ll attract unwanted attention,” ‘08 warned, trying to control his twin.

“It’s them ‘08, our batch,” ‘55 finally stopped and looked him in the eyes, transmiting all the excitement, hope and seriousness he felt at that moment. ‘08 gently took his brother’s hand on the table and squeezed it, returning the feeling.

“I know you want to meet them vod’ika, but we can’t. We shouldn’t even know about their existence to begin with,” he reminded his brother, looking him in the eyes seriously.

‘55 looked away to observe a specific spot on the wall. “I know, vod, I know.”, he says, looking him in the eyes again, “I just wish I could talk to them, just for a few minutes, we wouldn’t even need to introduce ourselves.” ‘55 says, sadness flooding his gaze.

“Me too, ‘55, me too,” ‘08 says, squeezing his brother’s hand again. “But that doesn’t stop us from watching them,” he says with a smile on his face as he lets go of his twin’s hand and stands up, picks up his tray and places it next to his brother’s, walks around the table and sits next to ‘55, wrapping an arm around the younger’s waist and pulling him into a comforting half hug.

“What would you say if you could meet them?”, his twin asked.

‘08 thought for a moment before answering. He had never really thought about it. “I… honestly don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever actually talk to any of them, so I’ve never really thought about it,” he said, receiving a grunt from his brother in response.

“I would ask them what they want to do if they live long enough to see the sun rise at the end of the storm, if they are ever free,” ‘55 confided. They sat in comfortable silence, eating while watching their batchmates clown around and laugh, imagining what it must have been like to have grown up with them.

A while later, the alarm that marked the end of meal time rang, indicating that they should put away their trays and go to their daily training. ‘55 went to put the trays they had used away, while ‘08 took the first dose of medicine from his backpack, already swallowing his pills. He handed the dose to his brother as soon as he returned, who swallowed them with a grimace.

They set off for their first module of the day, following the flow of brothers heading to Tipoca's twenty-third wing, which was intended for theoretical modules for cadets up to their third year of training. Arriving in the room, they took their usual seats in the most hidden corner at the back of the room, which was equipped with several double desks. '08 calmly removed the datapads and pens and placed them on the table, sitting next to his twin soon after and starting to work on the day's exercises. The room slowly filled up, the sound of whispered conversations between vode creating a somewhat comforting background noise. Some time later, a sound of heavy footsetps aproximating could be heard from the corridor. As an older clone entered the room, everyone turned quiet and prepared rapidly their materials.

"Very well, let's begin today's studies," the older clone administering the module said after everybody finished setting up. He appeared to be around sixteen human years old and wore the light green cadet uniform, which was reserved for Alpha class clones.

The morning modules proceeded as usual. A few activities here and there, lots of texts to read and a mountain of fixation activities to do and hand in the following week. He and '55 obtained a "perfect" result in all the tests applied that day, maintaining the "quality standard" that Nala Se demanded of them. They also received the usual mixed looks of caution and contempt from the natborn trainers and the "subtle warnings" from the kaminiise trainers, which were certainly the work of Nala Se.

The midday break arrived before he and '55 realized. They were released as soon as the alarm rang, indicating the end of the theoretical modules. He and his brother met Star and Rain, a pair of twins from the commando class with whom '08 and his twin shared the facilities until they completed their first two years of life. At this age Star and Rain were removed from the facilities and reintegrated with their batchmates to begin cadet training, following standard protocol, something that did not happen with him and '55.

“So, what are you guys up to this afternoon? Rain and I are going to the shooting range,” Star asked as they walked towards Tipoca’s main refectory for their midday meal.

“‘08 and I have specialized training right after the meal, Star, we won’t be able to go with you today, sorry.”, ‘55 apologized to his friend.

“And not tomorrow either, apparently,” Rain said, “You guys always look like shit after that mysterious training, and then get super mysterious and avoiding everyone's help afterwards. No offense, guys.”

“It’s okay Rain. It’s not offensive to tell the truth. But you know we can’t tell you, no matter how much we want to.”, ‘08 reminded his friend in a tacit apology.

“Yeah, yeah, Nala Se and all that shit, we know,” Star said with a tired look, wanting to end the conversation, given the huge amount of times they’d had it before.

“So, how’s your batch doing?”, ‘55 asked, diverting the subject. ‘08 looked gratefully at his twin, who nodded in response.

“You know, the usual. Clock keeps waking us up half an hour before the alarm because he’s a schedule freak, Shy talks as much as a wall, and Flos keeps rambling on about everything because he’s a nerd,” Star said, walking casually with his hands behind his head.

“Actually, Clock asked us to invite you guys over for a snack some night. They really liked you guys,” Rain completed his twin’s speech.

“Tell him we appreciate the invitation and that we’ll definitely come. As soon as we have some free time in our schedule,” ‘08 said.

They walked the rest of the way to the refectory in companionable silence, occasionally discussing some random topic they were learning about in the modules or commenting on some gossip that was circulating among the vode. When they reached the main refectory, Star and Rain bid them farewell, going to eat with their own batch. He and ‘55 took their trays and went to their usual table in the corner of the refectory, eating in silence while they realized the fixing exercises of the day’s modules to their datapads, knowing that they wouldn’t have the energy to do so after their specialized training.

The midday break ended the same way it began, with the Tipoca city-wide alarm sounding. ‘08 and ‘55 placed their used trays with their brother's and left the refectory, walking towards the wing where they resided at a slower pace than usual, as if that could avoid the inevitable. Arriving at their quarters, the twins left their backpack in the room and changed out of their cadet uniforms for their training robes. The kaminiise who would escort them to the session arrived shortly, eyed them with his usual analytical gaze and began walking, leading them through winding corridors that no other vod had ever set foot in. When they arrived in front of the familiar double doors, the kaminiise stopped beside them and entered an access code, which opened the doors.

‘08 and ‘55 entered the sterile white room, the glaring lights nearly blinding them. They stood in the center of the room in a perfectly executed greeting pose, their faces impassive and their hearts pounding in their chests. A Kaminoan woman gracefully entered the room, walking calmly to the front of the twins, stopping and scrutinizing them with her gaze before speaking in a deceptively gentle voice that made ‘08’s blood boil. “Ah! My favorite experiments.”, Nala Se said, the Kaminoan equivalent of a sneer on her face,“Are you both behaving well?”

“Yes, ma’am!”, ‘08 and his twin responded in unison.

“Very good. I have seen that your exemplary performance in your modules remains. Keep it up, my masterpieces, or there will be consequences. I will not tolerate any failure coming from any of my work, understood?”, she said, narrowing her eyes menacingly.

“Perfectly, ma’am!” he and ‘55 replied in unison again.

“Well, I would hate to have to damage my most precious experiments, even in a temporary and completely reversible way.”, Nala Se commented, with a false tone of sadness in her voice. “Well, let’s begin your specialized training session. We will start with a brief warm-up working on your telekinetic abilities. Work hard, my precious masterpieces,” she said and turned to leave, walking elegantly to the viewing room while ‘08 and ‘55 assumed a back-to-back combat stance.

‘08’s blood ran cold and boiled at the same time. He was afraid for his twin, who always put himself in front of him and got the worst of it in training, he was angry at Nala Se for considering them her ‘precious masterpieces’, when his and his twin’s special abilities were the work of fate and not hers, never hers. But most of all, '08 was angry at life for making him and his twin be born with such special abilities, with the Force. Yes, the Force.

The pair of twins with the designations CT-21-0408 and CT-27-5555 are the first clones with confirmed Force sensitivity.

May taab'echaaj'la vode protect them

Chapter Text

It was night when CT-27-5555 woke up with a fright, sweating cold and shaking. Still disoriented, he looked around desperately trying to find something to locate himself. Finding nothing, '55 felt his breathing fail in pure panic and horror of being alone and lost. Being alone was a clone's worst nightmare and '55 was experiencing it at that very moment. Concentrating on an attempt to regulate himself without visual stimuli, he performed the breathing technique that Rex had taught the twins months ago, when '08 had a very bad crisis after training with Nala Se. Inhaling slowly and deeply through his nose, blowing the air out of his lungs. '55 registered his surroundings, listening to the constant background noise of the storm against the dome of Tipoca City, his twin's constant breathing during sleep and feeling his landing signature through the Force, he slowly calmed down.

Opening his eyes after a few moments, ‘55 found himself staring at several objects floating around the room. The result of both his previous breakdown and his brother’s loss of control over his powers while asleep. Moving slowly, he stood up and calmly walked around the room, picking up the objects from their stagnant place in the air one by one, then putting them all away in the drawer on the desk and turning the lock. He and ‘08 really needed to stop forgetting to put things away before going to sleep. ‘55 had lost count of the number of times he had forced himself out of bed in the middle of the night because half of their shared study materials were floating around the room.

A irregularity in his twin’s breathing made him immediately turn to look at him. ‘55 walked as quietly as possible to his brother’s bed, kneeling on the floor beside it and placing his hand gently on ‘08’s forehead to test his temperature. Letting out a frustrated groan as he realized his twin was still burning with fever, he carefully picked up the towel that lay on the sick boy's forehead and went to the small washroom connected to the room, wetting it and wringing out the excess water. '55 walked silently back to the older's bed, kneeling down and placing the towel back on the twin's forehead, who groaned and stirred at the contact of the cold fabric on his hot skin. '55 sighed and placed his hands on his knees, watching his brother carefully as he pondered what to do.

‘08 had fallen ill the day before, with a high fever and vomiting almost everything he ate after returning from a surprise specialized training that ‘55 had not been called to. He was clearly suffering from acute Force exhaustion, given the total lack of control his twin was showing over his powers. At least that bantha of Nala Se had had the decency to give them a medical leave, under the pretext of ‘ensuring that her precious masterpieces were in perfect shape, in order to guarantee the continuation of their most perfect performance’. What a bantha shit.

Not that ‘55 was complaining in general, his brother was completely exhausted in every way imaginable. The fact that ‘08 had not woken up, even with his collapse radiating like a supernova in the Force, was the highest proof of that. He checked the bottle of antipyretic that had been left on the bedside table, sighing frustratedly when he realized it was empty. Well, at least it was night. If there was one thing that Tipoca City was like at night , it was bustling.

As the only time when the clones could have some sort of freedom to choose and express themselves, to be who they truly were, the night became their ally and companion. What had once been just clandestine conversation groups in the dormitories between the Nulls and the Alphas, evolved into story circles as the first generations of command-class clones were decanted, becoming something increasingly complex as more and more brothers came. At some point, the stories became legends, and the legends evolved into something more. Something like some kind of culture, a set of legends, rituals, and customs, something the clones could call their own. The kaminiise have already taken many of them, the vode , but they will not let them take this. Take their sense of identity, their sense of people. So, under the care of night and the protection of darkness, in the whispers passed from barrack to barrack, in the abandoned and dusty corridors of Tipoca, the clone society flourished. Everyone learned to hide from the moment they were decanted, learned to pretend, to mask and to deceive the kaminiise . Perfect and obedient soldiers during the day, but brothers when night falls. After all, as the saying goes: ‘ Chu haar baati b’ca bal haar cabuo b’werde, mhi cuyi mav’. Under the care of night and the protection of darkness, we are free.

‘55 resigned himself to the realization that he would have to go to the exchange center to get more medicine for his twin’s fever. He stood up carefully to avoid making loud noises and headed for the door, grabbing his overcoat from the nearby hanger and putting it on before leaving. Once outside, he moved with practiced ease, avoiding the cameras and patrolling droids, sneaking through the hallways like a wild tooka about to ambush its prey, and entered the nearest maintenance corridor. Sighing deeply as he finally entered an area not monitored by cameras, he walked calmly through the corridors that were considered abandoned by the Kaminoans, but which were filled with vode walking around and talking in whispers. If the Kaminiise consider it beneath them to watch ‘cleaning corridors for droids that are supposedly abandoned’ and underestimate the clones enough to think they would never discover them, who are they to complain?

Walking carefully in a vain attempt to avoid bumping into his brothers who were also walking, but inevitably bumping into each other, given the amount of vode in a small corridor. ‘55 walked the familiar path towards the main trading center of Tipoca nocturna, popularly called Am’gaan Petir, literally ‘trading center’, in Mando’a.

“Hey! ‘55”, a voice called, “Wait a minute vod!”

‘55 stopped walking and turned to find a panting Star running towards him. He slowed down as he got closer, stopping and resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“If you’re almost spitting out your lungs with just that little run, I don’t even want to see what damage tomorrow’s running practice will do to you”, ‘55 didn’t miss the chance to mock his childhood friend, receiving a punch on the shoulder in retaliation. “Where’s Rain?” he asked his brother, knowing that seeing the other set of twins separated usually meant trouble.

“I ask you the same thing, my dear vod’ika. Where is your better half?”, Star asks back, with a mischievous smile on his face.

“My twin is indisposed, so he’s presumably resting. Unlike your twin, who’s probably up to something somewhere.”, ‘55 answers, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Star looks shocked, as if he’s been the victim of the ultimate betrayal. “How can you think such a thing about us?”, he asks, in a highly dramatic performance. “You’ve known us since we were tubies! That’s slander, betrayal!”, he pretends to faint, with a dramatic hand on his forehead, receiving a slap on the wrist from ‘55.

“It’s because I’ve known you since we were just tubies that I know that seeing you and Rain apart generally means trouble,” he states, crossing his arms and staring at his friend inquisitively.

“You talk as if you and your twin have never been up to anything, you hypocrite,” Star grumbles, pouting.

“Unlike you and Rain, me and ‘08 have never been caught in any of our adventures.”, ‘55 refreshes the memory of his dramatic best friend, his voice dripping with mockery as he gives a forced smile. “What can’t be proven isn’t true,” he says, turning and walking again.

“Boring,” Star mutters beside him, quickening his pace to keep up with him.

“Just admit that me and ‘08 are better at pranking than you and Rain, Star. You’ll suffer less,” ‘55 says, using all his strength to force a clinical tone into his voice, betraying his amusement at the situation.

“Alright, alright. You and ‘08 are the best pair of twins at pranking ever.”, Star says in mock recognition, “There, are you satisfied?”

“Maybe,” ‘55 says. They both fall silent for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. When they managed to regain their strength to walk again, Star asked curiously. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Am’gaan Petir. The antipyretic from ‘08 ran out and I need to get more,” ‘55 replied his friend, “And you, where are you going?”

“Am’gaan Petir too, Rain and the boys are there waiting for me. We went out to celebrate, Shy finally chose his Path,” Star clarified.

“Tell him my congratulations. On behalf of me and ‘08,” ‘55 commented, looking at Star with a smile, which the other clone returned.

“I’ll say thank you,” Star thanked. “Shy was the only one from our squad left to choose his Path,” he continued, “Our batch will be holding the naming ceremony soon. We all agreed to invite you and ‘08.”

‘55 stopped walking, looking in shock at his childhood best friend. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice shaking with nervousness, “Inviting us to your naming ceremony means…”

“That you and ‘08 will know our Paths, yes,” Star looked ‘55 in the eye, who looked away, watching their brothers walk around them.

Star placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders and led him to a corner of the hallway, pressing '55's back against the wall. Squeezing his friend’s shoulders comfortingly, “’55, look at me,” he said softly to ‘55, who complied. “You and ‘08 have been with us for as long as we can remember. You’re the ones we spent the first two years of our lives with, the ones who helped us choose our names, who were there with us when we pulled our first pranks and the night after we started our training,” Star said seriously, looking deep into ‘55’s eyes. “Shit, it’s cruel to think like that, but it’s true. You and ‘08 were our brothers, mine and Rain’s before our own lot! So, yes. Rain and I want you at our naming ceremony. And yes, our batch completely agrees with this. They understand our relationship with you two and want you there too,” Star finishes, pulling ‘55 into a hug.

They stood like that for a few minutes, while ‘55 processed the information. Being invited to a vod’s naming ceremony was an extremely intimate affair and one of the greatest signs of trust in clone culture. Being invited meant that you would watch that brother claim his name, his identity as a person, and undergo the rite of coming of age. But even more importantly, you would watch that brother claim his Path, his sacred name, the purpose to which he would dedicate his life and the name by which he would be known in the eternal march and by those who still fight when he marches. The naming ceremony was the clones’ rite of coming of age and was attended only by the named, a guardian (brothers dedicated to guarding the culture, a sort of spiritual guide), the ori’vod, batchmates, and members of the named’s lineage.

“I guess that’s the curse of being a twin,” ‘55 finally says, gaining Star’s attention. “We are separated from our batches the moment we are decanted, we grow up and learn to be siblings with other sets of twins and surviving twins, when we should be doing it with our batchmates,” he finishes with a grimace on his face.

Star laughs, shaking them both in the hug. “Yeah, it’s kind of a bad curse. But you know, to have Rain, you and ‘08, I would do it all over again every time I had to,” he says, his voice muffled on ‘55’s shoulder.

“Me too, Star, me too,” ‘55 says, squeezing his childhood best friend and pseudo-batchmate tighter.

“Being a twin can be both a blessing and a burden, ‘55. We have a special bond with our twin that only another set of twins can understand. We tend to see the world differently because of the different conditions we grew up in,” Star says, “We value life more intensely than others, because of the high mortality rates among twins, because we have known death since always".He ends, causing a nostalgic silence, both of them remembering their days of tubies in the facility with the other sets of twins who were there. Remembering playing with them, hugging them, loving them as batchmates, sleeping on piles of vode in the common room, breaking into each other’s rooms and jumping on each other’s beds, happy memories after happy memories. Remembering watching them fall suddenly ill for reasons unseen, holding them one last time to sleep and discovering the next day that they had marched off in the night. Remembering consoling surviving siblings who had lost their twins, watching them waste away and die of heartbreak, cremating their bodies and wishing for them to be reunited with their other halves. Remembering the horror and fear of losing their own twins, the fear of dying. Remembering cremating friend after friend, brother after brother, until only the four of them remained. Star and Rain, ‘55 and ‘08, are the only pairs of twins left in their part of the facilities, the only ones who survived. They don't know about the other facilities, tought. They don't know if there are any other surviving twins of their generation, but they truly hope so.

Breaking the hug, Star gently stroked ‘55’s hair. “We should go, or Rain will kill me when I get there. And you need to get the antipyretic for ‘08.”

“Yeah, we should go,” ‘55 agreed, offering Star a watery smile.

The rest of the ride was silent, with only a few greetings from module mates and the occasional nod from siblings they didn’t know. Star never let go of ‘55’s hand.

Arriving at Am’gaan Petir, Star took ‘55 in a tight hug goodbye, promising to talk more about the date of the naming ceremony later, when the details would be more settled, and collecting on the promise of a snack that had been made weeks before. ‘55 waved cheerfully to Rain and his batch when he spotted them in the distance. He turned and headed for the medicine stall, a stubborn smile on his face.

“Good evening, vod, how can I help you?” asked the brother who ran the stall.

“Uh, good evening. I’d like some antipyretic.”, ‘55 asked, using the most polite tone of voice he could muster.

The vod bent down, fumbled with a couple of things, knocking over a some boxes, cursing, and standing up in a few moments later with a bit of antipyretic tablets in a small bag.

“Unlucky batchmate?” he asked playfully as he offered the bag.

“No. Unlucky twin,” ‘55 replied without thinking, accepting the offered bag. The vod stared at ‘55 intently, his facial expression changing between surprise and confusion.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that we were never actually reintegrated with our squad as protocol dictated, instead we were reassigned from normal training to commando-class clone training. We never knew what happened to them, and if they’re still alive, they probably think we’re dead, given the high mortality rate among the twins,” ‘55 clarified, noticing the other’s confusion.

“Oh, sorry vod. That really does sound like shit,” his brother offered, looking horrified.

“Nah. Don’t worry. It’s never been anything he or I really worried about, after all you can’t miss what you never had. It’s always been more of a melancholic curiosity than anything,” ‘55 reassured the vod, who seemed to lighten up.

“Oh, okay. Good night, vod. Get well soon to your twin,” he said, offering a farewell smile.

‘55 smiled in response and nodded. He left soon after, a little thoughtful. Everything he had told that brother was true. Well, except for the part about not knowing what happened to his batch. But everything else was the purest and sincerest truth. That was part of the reason he had been so touched by Star’s invitation, after all, he and Rain were the closest thing to batchmates that he and ‘08 had. And ‘55 knew the feeling was mutual, even without verbal confirmation. It wasn’t something that needed to be put into words, it was something that had always been and always will be true, even if Star and Rain are with their real batch now. Star’s invitation is proof of that.

As carefully as he had come, ‘55 sneaks through the hallways, avoiding the cameras and patrol droids with ease from years of practice, and sometimes a little help from the Force. He quickly reaches his quarters, typing the access code on the door and entering when it opens.

‘08 was still sleeping as soundly as he had when he left, not even stirring when the door closed with a dull thud behind him.’ 55 took off his overcoat, hanging it in place and carefully walking over to his twin’s bed. Placing the bag of medicine on the nightstand, he knelt down, getting to his brother’s level and checking his temperature. Confirming that ‘08 still had a fever, he took the cup and filled it with some water. Turning to his twin, he took the towel that was on his forehead and used it to dry the sweat that covered the older clone’s face and neck, who groaned in his sleep at the movement. Finishing, ‘55 placed the towel on ‘08’s neck, then turned to the side, opening the bag and taking a pill with his left hand.

“Hey, tat’vod, wake up, you need to take some fever medicine,” ‘55 said, gently stroking his twin’s hair with his right hand. ‘08 stirred in response, but went back to sleep.

“Tat’vod , come on, just a few sips and you can go back to sleep,” he said, running his hand down his brother’s torso and guiding him into a reclining position, leaning on his arm, bringing him close to him and resting his head on his chest. “Come on vod, I need you to swallow the pill,” ‘55 said, gently offering the pill to ‘08 to eat.

Subconsciously, ‘08 followed his brother’s instructions, taking the pill and trying to swallow it, which proved impossible without water. ‘55 levitated the cup of water and picked it up with his left hand, offering it to his twin, who drank it greedily. Levitating the cup back to the bedside table, he lays ‘08 back down on the bed, pulling the blankets up to his brother’s waist.

Grabbing the towel and standing up, he goes to the sink and wets it again, wringing out the excess water. Returning, ‘55 kneels down and places the damp towel on his brother’s forehead. He then arranges the items on the bedside table so that they can’t be accidentally levitated by ‘08.

“I’ll be in my bed, vod’ika. Call me if you need me,” ‘55 warns his brother, pressing a kiss to his hair before preparing to get up.

“Fiv… Fives,” his brother whispers, grabbing the sleeve of his pajamas to stop him from leaving. “Fives, stay.”

“Okay, I’ll stay,” he replies, earning an affirmative grunt from ‘08 in response.

‘55 stood up and carefully climbed into bed, squeezing himself into the space between his twin and the wall, snuggling close to his brother. Thinking about his nighttime walk through Tipoca, Star, Rain, and their naming ceremony, ‘55 reflected on the way his twin had called him.

Fives.

The last coherent thought in CT-27-5555’s mind before sleep claimed him was that Fives would be a good name.

Chapter Text

The weeks after Fives had chosen his name passed quickly. They told Star and Rain, as well as their batch, the news, and went out one night to celebrate. It was a low-key affair, with just their closest siblings and a collective round of applause that Rain had summoned. Fives was upset that their ori’vod couldn’t make it to the celebration, as his year’s cadets were taking aptitude tests and he needed to focus, so he reluctantly agreed to ‘08’s suggestion that he report the event to Rex only after the tests were over.

That issue, however, was quickly forgotten when the trainers announced that their own final module tests were approaching, which sent a wave of panic through the brothers. No clone wanted to fail the tests; they couldn’t. After all, nothing good ever happens to products that don’t meet quality standards, right?

As the best in their class, ‘08 and Fives had spent the last few weeks giving countless tutoring sessions, helping vode understand the questions and answering any questions they could. They still had to do their own preparatory studies for the tests, in order to ensure that they would meet the extra goals required of them, both as a pair of twins, and by that crazy Kaminoan, also known as Nala Se.

All these accumulated tasks drained almost all of the twins' free time, leaving almost none for rest. Even with them taking turns to let the other rest.

"Vod?", Fives' caring voice called, followed by some soft footsteps and the closing of their bedroom door. "Are you awake?", the younger asked, the sound of his footsteps approaching his brother's bed.

'08 groaned and turned sideways in bed, opening his eyes slightly to stare blearily at his twin. "It's still dawn, Fives. I'm trying to sleep", he said irritably and turned onto his back, putting his arm over his eyes.

“I’m nervous about today’s tests,” the other clone reluctantly admitted in a whisper, “I can’t sleep.” Fives said, glancing nervously at his sleepy brother.

‘08 groaned at his twin’s interruption, irritated. “Lie down already and let me sleep,” he said in a scolding tone, lifting the blanket for his twin, who quickly lay down on the bed next to him and snuggled in.

“Thank you, tat’vod.” Fives whispered into ‘08’s shoulder, who murmured affirmatively and stroked the clone’s hair.

“Rest, Fiv’ika,” ‘08 said sleepily.

A few hours later, when Tipoca’s general alarm sounded, both twins jumped up with a start, falling out of bed tangled together.

“Get off me, ‘08!” Fives complained, his voice a pained sigh.

“I’m sorry, vod’ika,” ‘08 whispered, getting up and rolling over to lie down next to his twin on the floor. “I hate this alarm with all my might. It seems like the kaminiise who made it are deaf, honestly,” he complained, scratching his ears in an attempt to dispel the buzzing.

Fives snorted and let out a nasal laugh at his brother’s comment. “I agree,” he said, a smile still stubborn on his lips.

‘08 chuckled a little, before slowly getting up. “Come on Fives, we have a lot to do today,” he offered his hand to the clone still lying on the floor, who promptly took it, using it as support as he also got up.

Going through the mechanical routine they went through every morning, the brothers stretched, checked their study materials, showered, put on their baby blue cadet uniforms, gathered their belongings, and headed to Tipoca City’s main refectory.

Arriving at the place, they separated with a nod, moving mechanically through the slowly filling refectory, '08 going to the table they usually sat at while Fives went to the line to get the trays with tasteless porridge that the kaminiise called the first meal.

Entering the line, Fives calmly waited his turn, observing the interactions of the other clones, who were chatting animatedly with their group mates. He noticed that two of his own batch were a few positions ahead of him in the line, laughing and interacting with each other.

Fives watched them with a stubborn smile on his face, trying to record the moment as much as possible in his memory, knowing that this was the most he would get from them in a long time and, most likely, in his entire life.

In those small moments, in the seconds when his heart aches for the memories that were denied him with his batch mates, for the reintegration that should have happened but didn't, for the coexistence that was ripped away from him before it could even happen, he hated the sensitivity to the Force that he was born with. After all, that was the reason why that damned 'anomaly' was detected in his and '08's blood.

The 'anomaly' in question was listed as an 'unknown protein' in their blood and attributed to a system failure or mutation characteristic of twin pairs during the first year of their lives, until that bitch of Nala Se came across these tests and decided to investigate. In the end, she somehow discovered that these 'proteins' were in fact midchorians, responsible for Force sensitivity in living beings, thus condemning his and '08's fate to ostracism and separation from his brothers.

A stubborn tear rolled down Fives' face, which was quickly wiped away, before anyone noticed. If there was one thing that clones were extremely prone to, it was overprotection.

Laughing at the realization, he looked back at his batchmates, observing them. They were exactly what one would expect from a standard clone of their age, both wearing the standard red cadet uniform, their hair cut perfectly according to regulations, the body mass, the height, the physical development of twice their real age. From afar, they looked like any other clones. But in the Force, in the Force, their signatures were so distinct. The clone on the left was yellow and shone with the heat of a thousand suns, very similar to the one in '08, but still different. Different in the way it was tough and determined, full of responsibility and youthful determination. The clone on the right was the complete opposite of his brother, his signature being a soft orange, warm and more stable, with a lot of childish impulsiveness and infinite creativity, but no less determined.

Fives and his twin knew these signatures as well as they knew how to breathe. They knew them from their time before they were decanted, from the way they surrounded them and how they enveloped them with their comforting presence. They knew them from their dreams, because they had dreamed of them since forever. But, most of all, they knew them from the few hours they spent with them on the day of their decantation, before they were separated and taken to the facilities with other sets of twins. They knew of the whispered promise, the one that said, “We’ll see you again, little brother,” followed by a hug and a kiss and crying and screaming and kaminiise grabbing them and dragging them away from their batchmates as double doors closed in front of them. Not that Fives thinks they remember such a promise.

The clones are born with a standard year of physical development.

They undergo flash training, the only one of their lives, immediately after,instantly learning countless basic functions such as talking, walking, eating, drinking... Basically, everything the kaminiise find unworthy of teaching them. And even though the clones have a genetically modified memory and mental processing capacity to be infinitely better than that of a normal human, they are not perfect. Well, except for him, '08 and the Nulls.

His batchmates laugh loudly, with that familiar melody shared by all clones, but with nuances and particularities that only vode can perceive. Fives wipes away three more stubborn tears that run down his face and prepares to pick up a tray for him and other to his twin, since it is his turn to come. He looks to the side one last time, seeing his batchmates leave the line laughing, taking their trays and those of their brothers, heading to their own table.

Taking a deep breath, he picks up two trays, placing them in line for the droid in charge to place the portions, picking them up right away and grimacing at the white mush. Fives walks slowly to the table where his twin is sitting, being careful not to bump into either brother on the way, so as not to cause a scene. Arriving, he places both trays side by side, sitting next to the other clone.

“You took a while vod. What happened?”, ‘08 asked calmly, looking up from the file he was reading on the datapad to look at him.

“The line was a little slower today. I don’t know why,” Fives said, his voice in the perfectly clinical tone that the vode used to hide their emotions from the kaminiise, his gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

‘08 stared at his twin, worried. It wasn’t often that Fives used the ‘kaminiise tone of voice’ to speak to a brother, to speak to him. “Spit it out, Fives,” ‘08 said, his voice carrying authority, “What happened in line?”

Fives stared into space for a few more seconds before turning and looking ‘08 in the eye, a very familiar pain etched there, in those golden-brown eyes that glistened with unshed tears.

In that look, '08 understood. Fives had seen them, had seen their batchmates, those they shouldn't even know existed and wouldn't even know if it weren't for the Force abilities that had denied their chance to live with them in the first place. The hypocrisy of fate.

Putting a comforting arm around his twin's waist, '08 pulled him into a half hug, lightly rubbing his fingers on his brother's hips. The batches were something extremely esteemed among the clones, even having a somewhat sacred connotation, since they were considered the closest siblings. They were the ones with whom a clone was born, grew up and would probably die. In short, the batches are the clone version of the immediate natborn families. Immediate, because they are all siblings in the end, Vode An.

"Let's eat, vod. We have tests all day today.", Fives said after some time, moving and starting to eat the tasteless Kaminoan porridge.

"Okay. But we'll talk tonight," '08 said, looking deeply into the eyes of the younger clone, who nodded in confirmation.

They finished their meal patiently, watching their brothers at the tables next to them interact with each other, commenting on some topic about the subjects that would be covered in the theoretical tests and answering last-minute questions from vode who stopped by their table to ask.

'08, however, couldn't help but notice the way his twin was a little more absent-minded, with his mind often wandering away, more inattentive. Well, the reason for this inattentiveness was extremely presumable: their lot.

Fives had always been the most affected among them regarding this subject, he had always felt the separation they were subjected to the most, ever since. It was Fives who freaked out and cried when they were implemented in the training for commando cadets and ARC instead of being reintegrated like Star and Rain. Maybe it was due to the completely abnormal capacity for empathy that his twin had.

Fives had always been the most empathetic of all the brothers in the facility, always figuring out who was sad, who was hurt. It was impossible to hide anything from him. He was also the most affected when the other twin sets, their brothers, fell ill for unseen reasons, never leaving the sickbeds. He was certainly also the most affected as the sick brothers died, as they were forced to cremate the bodies of more and more vode, as the facilities that were once full of clones, laughter and games slowly and painfully emptied, until only them, Star and Rain were left.

The deafening alarm of Tipoca City rang, signaling the end of the meal, startling '08 out of his reverie. He promptly gathered his belongings in the shared backpack while Fives put away the trays.

They left for Tipoca's twenty-third wing to take the theoretical tests related to the morning modules, with the practical modules, individual and in groups, to be held in the afternoon.

Arriving at the classroom, they sat in the most hidden corner of the room, in two chairs side by side. The room was arranged in single rows, unlike the usual double rows. The twins took a deep breath and arranged their materials needed for the tests, which would be given in flimsi to avoid cheating.

Most of the training modules were given by the older clone cadets of the Null and Alpha classes, as well as first-generation command cadets, which allowed the younger clones a certain freedom of expression in the classroom. However, on the days of the tests, there was always a kaminiise supervising the process, in order to ensure the ‘most absolute and perfect surgical precision of the routine tests to verify the quality of the merchandise in relation to the standards established by the applicant’.

The classroom filled up quickly, all the clones sitting perfectly in their places in the orderly manner that the kaminiise loved, keeping their expressions and voices neutral, their emotions locked away under layers and layers of emotional control imbued in them since the moment of their decantation by their older brothers.

The tests began a few minutes later, when a vod arrived carrying a sealed package with the tests, followed by a kaminiise.

The next few hours were reduced to test after test, without any kind of pauses or breaks. The tests had countless questions and a ridiculously small amount of time to answer them. Nothing that clones genetically modified to have memory and processing capacity superior to the average human could not achieve, however.

If these tests were applied to a normal human with the same age and mental development as the clones, the child would be considered one of the greatest geniuses the Galaxy had seen in generations and would be awarded numerous scholarships to the best universities on Coruscant. Among the clones, however, the content of these tests was considered the minimum necessary to meet Kaminoan quality standards for command and ARC training cadets. The different types of training came with different modules and required knowledge, but the nuances and differences were negligible.

The tests ended with the same apprehension with which they began and '08 felt even more tired than he had in the last few weeks, if that were possible.

"My brain melted!" Fives complained as they took a considerable distance from any kaminiise, while walking somewhat aimlessly through the corridors of Tipoca.

"I'm pretty sure that's anatomically impossible tat'vod," '08 replied, laughing tiredly at his brother's nonsense.

“Ugh! My body feels like it’s made of noodles and I haven’t done any physical activity!”, Fives complained again, speaking a little too loudly.

“Keep your voice down vod! You’ll draw unnecessary attention!”, ‘08 whispered reprimandingly. The last thing he needed was for him and his twin to be ‘detained’ by some kaminiise on the day of the exams.

“Sorry,” Fives replied sincerely, his voice slightly louder than ‘08’s. “I just got a little carried away,” he said with a smile on his face.

“We should go eat, we still have the physical tests in the afternoon and Nala Se’s specialized test in the evening,” ‘08 commented.

“Yes, we should,” Fives agreed, assuming a thoughtful expression. “Which wing were we assigned to in the afternoon? Maybe we should go to one of the side refectories,” he said.

“I don’t know, let me check quickly,” ‘08 said, stopping walking and grabbing the datapad from the backpack he was carrying. “We’ve been listed for beta-3 simulation fieds for squad testing right after the noon meal,” he said, his face taking on an appraising expression as he read over the spreadsheet that contained their schedules for the day. “Apparently, we’ll be assigned to work alongside a squad whose fifth member is absent for a classified reason,” ‘08 said with a frown.

“Strange, but not uncommon. Maybe he’s just sick or…”, Fives provided an explanation, but couldn’t find the courage to say the final word. Not that he needed to, after all, ‘08 knew what he meant: maybe the fifth member never survived the decantation, or worse. ‘08 swallowed hard. He may have never met that squad or that lost brother, but his possible death hurts as if it were his twin who was leaving. After all, the fifth member was a clone, a brother, a vod. Vode An.

“Well, we’ll find out the rest in time. Now, we should get going before the break ends,” ‘08 commented, putting away the datapad and rearranging the backpack on his shoulders, taking the quickest route to the refectory near the beta simulation fields in the memory and starting to walk, his twin following him.

They walked quickly through Tipoca's labyrinthine corridors with the ease trained by years of trial and error until they memorized the paths, as the kaminiise found it useless to provide a map and even 'punished' anyone who got lost in the corridors. This was the main reason why it was common to see older siblings guiding younger ones through the corridors nowadays.

Arriving at the cafeteria, they quickly ate the usual bland porridge that was served throughout Tipoca, since they were a bit late. They ran off to the simulation fields as soon as they finished eating, skidding on the turns and almost falling a few times. Always making sure not to be seen or filmed running through Tipoca's corridors in broad daylight during the tests.

When they turned the last corner, finally reaching the corridor of the simulation fields, '08 stopped and leaned against a wall, letting the shared backpack slide from his shoulders to the floor, while he caught his breath.

“Do you think we’re late?” Fives asked, leaning against the wall next to his twin, his voice hoarse and breathless.

‘08 shook his head, inhaling before answering his brother. “If we were late, there would be kaminiise dragging us to Nala Se’s punishment right now,” he stated, earning a weird grimace from his twin. Oh, right, they didn’t talk about punishments anymore. Not since… well. They didn’t talk about it.

Now composed, the twins settled themselves, both fiddling and smoothing the other’s uniform, making sure everything was in perfect condition. ‘08 combed Fives’ unruly curls with his fingers, trying to tame them, while his brother straightened and smoothed his cadet uniform, which had been messed up in their little rush.

They entered the simulation field with perfectly synchronized movements, their faces serious and expressionless, their emotions buried beneath layers and layers of training, their Force senses heightened to their maximum, registering any and all strange movements in their surroundings. They were ready for combat.

There was a reason why Nala Se called them her masterpieces, why they were not reinstated but instead placed in commando training, why they were the best in their class by a margin unattainable for the other clones, why they were kept separate from their batch.

The batch of four cadets standing at attention on the other side of the room were about to find out

May the taab'echaaj'la vode protect them.

Chapter Text

CT-00-2010 is the youngest of his batch.

Most of the time, being the youngest is advantageous. He gets to sleep in later, eat extra pudding on the rare occasions it is served, and share the shower with his brothers if his water rations run out before he finishes his bath. There are also disadvantages, of course. He has to go to bed earlier than the other cadets and has three overprotective and annoying ori’vode. But that’s okay, because Tennie loves his batchmates. He loves his other thousands of brothers too, but he mostly hangs out with his batchmates.

The oldest of his batch is Hevy, whose designation number is CT-782. As the only one in the batch with a name, he got his due to 99, a few months after his decantation. Little tubie Hevy was constantly asking for a pick-up from the older clone, who was finding him harder to pick as he grew. Hevy had complained about the nickname at first, but eventually accepted, taking it as his name.

As the oldest of them, Hevy was assigned as squad leader, and does a lot of extra training and studies that will help him later in this role. This resulted in him being even more overprotective of all of them, using his title as an alibi. Not that Tennie and his brothers would try to argue with the oldest of the lot, after all, Hevy will only stop being stubborn the day it snows on Tatooine, and they say that the planet is hellishly hot.

Tennie admires his ori'vod. He is always cheerful, and his smile can make the sun rise on Kamino, he is determined and stubborn, and nothing can change his idea if he has a goal in mind. He is infinitely optimistic and always sees some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. He is the firm pillar that his squad leans on when everything seems lost. He is very strong and Tennie wants to have that strength one day.

The second of his batch to be decanted was CT-4040, or Owie, as they call him. Tennie's ori'vod has the most creative mind he's ever seen, coming up with ideas and seeing the world in a very unique way. Owie has a chaotic personality, loves adventures and playing pranks on his vode. He is usually controlated and confident, but can be aggressive and fiercely protective if angered enough. Owie's hugs are the best in all of Tipoca, as they are always warm and comfortable. Tennie loves his older brother's sense of humor, who is always smiling and telling jokes, and can make the grumpiest vod cry with laughter.

The fifth of his batch to be decanted was CT-2468, or Eightie. He is only half a minute older than Tennie and the brother he is closest to. Eightie is always calm, being the quietest of the batch. He is mostly speaks softly and rarely raises his voice, being a naturally reserved person. He never gets angry and always solves problems rationally, being the most intelligent person Tennie knows. Tennie loves his ori'vod and deeply admires his intelligence.

The thing Tennie loves most about Eightie is his blue eyes, as deep as sapphires and as bright as diamonds. He says that the reason his eyes being so different from the rest of their clone siblings is because of a condition called ocular albinism, which causes his eyes to have less melanin than normal. Tennie thinks Eightie's eyes are beautiful, but Eightie doesn't like them because the kaminiise say they are defective. Tennie hates them for that.

Tennie wishes he had cool eyes or was super smart like Eightie. He wanted to be strong and determined like Hevy or confident and creative like Owie. But he is clumsy and stumbles in places that shouldn't be impossible. He always takes every possible bullet in training, always gets the lowest grades in every module, and forgets subjects as easily as breathing. He's a disaster who hasn't been decommissioned just because clones are expensive to make, and it's more profitable to keep him alive as cannon fodder than to waste the resources already spent on his development. His constant state of illness certainly doesn't help.

Tennie hates being a burden and hates being constantly sick. But his brothers love him too much to give up on him without a fight. They're always supporting him, encouraging him, and helping him. Always staying up late researching a cure for his weird disease. Tennie loves them even more for that.

Some of the main consequences of his illness are constant weakness and fatigue, which on test days put even more stress on the incomplete squad.

"Tennie?" Eightie called, breaking his spiral of thoughts. "Is everything okay, vod'ika?" he asked, approaching and sitting next to him on the bench.

"I'm fine 'tie, just thinking," he replied in a reassuring tone.

“And what is your brilliant mind planning?” the older clone asked, coming closer and drying Tennie’s hair with the towel.

“I’m afraid, Eightie,” he answered sincerely, knowing that it was useless to try to hide anything from his intelligent brother.

With a knowing look, Eightie hugged him gently. “It’s okay, Tennie. Me, Owie, and Hevy will protect you, always,” he assured.

“I know, Eightie, I know.” Tennie replied, hugging his brother back.

“Hey!” they heard Owie’s indignant cry a few moments later, “Tennie’s mine to hug, not yours, Eightie!” their older brother complained, deeply horrified.

Tennie looked over Eightie’s shoulder, finding the image of his ori’vod in one of the shower stalls, completely soapy and wet, his hand still on the faucet he had just turned off, looking at them as if they had committed the highest treason, with pure horror and the most livid anger etched on his facial features.

The sight sent Tennie into a fit of laughter, draining any and all worry that had been plaguing him as his laughter echoed through the public showers.

“Finish your bath, ori’vod, and I’ll give you a hug,” he told his brother when he finally managed to breathe enough to speak.

“Sir! Yes, sir!” the other clone saluted and quickly turned back to his duties. A vod’ika’s hug should never be refused.

Tennie chuckled lightly at his brother’s silliness, breaking his embrace with Eightie, who pressed a kiss to his wet curls before returning to towel drying them.

A few moments later, the three younger clones heard a familiar cadence of footsteps approaching, followed by a familiar voice humming angelically Vode An. The melody stopped instantly as Hevy entered the showers, finding a still-showering Owie, Eightie dripping wet and wrapped in a towel as he dried a half-dressed Tennie’s hair.

“Aren’t you ready yet!?” he asked indignantly.

“We’re not you, Hevy, who can’t enjoy a good bath!” Owie complained, his voice half-muffled by the falling water.

Hevy glared at his wet kih’vod, seriously considering why he was putting himself through this.

“Because you love me!” Owie replied to his older brother’s thoughts, earning an even angrier glare from Hevy in return.

“Ignore him, ori’vod,” Tennie said, trying to avoid another morning fight between the pair.

Listening to his cute vod’ika, Hevy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the anger go with the air that left his lungs.

“Go get dressed, Eightie, I’ll finish,” he told his calm vod’ika, grabbing the towel and taking over the task of drying and taming Tennie’s unruly hair.

They worked in comfortable silence, disturbed only by the constant, barely audible sound of Hevy muttering Vode An in Mando’a.

A few moments later, everyone was dry, dressed, and clean, with Owie nearly crushing Tennie as he melted into the warm, comfortable embrace of his ori’vod.

Eightie organized and stored the batch’s bath supplies in the shared locker that was set into the wall next to the entrance, where each batch had its own closet. He laughed profusely, listening to Tennie’s angry cries as Owie lifted him onto his back, telling that he would carry him to the refectory. Tennie tried to appeal to Hevy, who hilariously agreed with Owie, giving a brief lecture about how ‘Tennie should save his energy for the physical tests that would be given in the afternoon, and the walk to the main dining hall is too long and tiring’. Eightie walked slowly towards his batchmates, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

“Hey, Hevy,” Tennie said, a mischievous grin on his face, “I think ‘tie needs a ride to the dining hall too,” he pointed at his brother, who was resting his hands on his knees as he tried to stay upright amidst a fit of giggles.

“I completely agree ‘nie,” the group leader replied, picking up his laughing vod’ika and slinging it over his back.

Eightie protested his ori’vod’s actions, not being able to do much in his limp state, however. “Traitor,” he needled his single kih’vod, his voice somewhat hoarse and his breathing shallow.

“If I’m being humiliated, I won’t do it alone,” Tennie replied to his weary ori’vod.

The walk to Tipoca’s main mess hall was slow, as they had to avoid the camera-lined hallways and the kaminiise patrols that roamed Tipoca on testing days. They received assistance from their vode, as they always did, since many of them knew of their incomplete squad’s special situation, as well as Tennie’s mysterious illness. Clones always stuck together and protected each other, Vode An after all.

At the end of the last unmonitored stretch of the walk to the mess hall, Tennie and Eightie were placed on the ground. They assumed the standard formation required of squads as they walked through the corridors of Tipoca, with the leader in front and the other members behind, leaving the painfully exposed place where the ‘fifth member’ of their batch should have been.

They walked orderly through the corridors of the monitored areas, bodies perfectly erect, steps synchronized, faces expressionless and emotions locked away beneath layers and layers of training conducted in the dusty corridors of chur ca’tra. The picture of perfect soldiers.

Arriving at the refectory, they broke formation, with Hevy and Owie going to get the trays of porridge while Eightie and Tennie found a table for them to sit at.

The main refectory of Tipoca city, despite being a technically monitored area by cameras, was considered safe. The people in charge of monitoring the cameras in this area were ‘Srikata’s people’, that is, the only handlers and trainers the clones could trust. After all, it was Kal Skirata who adopted the Nulls and taught them Mandalorian culture, which they later taught to the Alphas. Skirata’s actions were the one of starting points for the emergence of 'clone culture' and are potentially a large part of the reason why the kaminiise haven't discovered chur ca’tra, the hidden 'city' in the abandoned areas of Tipoca that the clones built.

Tennie was watching the vode move around the refectory, when Eightie poked him profusely on the shoulder, startling him.

“Easy, ‘tie!” he exclaimed, running his hand over the shoulder that his batchmate had poked, groaning slightly at the pain.

“That hurt!”

“Sorry six’ika,” the elder apologized, “I got a little carried away.”

“It’s okay ‘tie,” the younger batchmate said, shuffling closer to his brother on the bench, resting his head on the other clone’s shoulder as he read the file that had caused such a reaction in his ever-calm ori’vod on the datapad that layed on the elder’s lap.

‘… physical examinations… assigned to beta-3 simulation field… special integration… members of advanced training for reconnaissance commandos… special subunit under the tutelage of Lady Nala Se… Masterpiece Project’

Tennie's blood ran cold. All the vode knew the rumors about the Masterpiece Project. They were almost a legend, horror stories told between brothers to scare. Stories of deformed clones, genetically modified to have special abilities in an attempt to create the perfect soldier. Stories of tubies so deformed that they died before decantation, tubies who agonized in pain for hours before perishing from their malformations. Stories of vode with natural mutations considered 'desirable' disappearing from their batches and never returning, of vode disappearing and returning as a dying corpse on a floating stretcher. Stories upon stories of brothers who disappeared, of brothers who marched, of broken batches and batches, of batches like theirs, like Domino.

Of course, they knew that this was not their case. Domino Squad was special, having originally had six members. They were one of the only squads with a pair of twins, the third and fourth members to be decanted.

They barely remembered their lost brothers, as they only spent a few hours with them on the day of their decantation, after completing their flash trainment, before they were taken away.

It was well known among the clones that pairs of twins were separated from their batches at decantation, and were reintegrated at the start of their regular training, which occurred when the clones completed two galactic standard years. It was also well known that the mortality rate among twins was extremely high.

So, when the third and fourth did not return to Domino at the start of their training, nearly a year ago, they knew immediately what had happened. They mourned their lost brothers and said the memories as they cremated two locks of hair that had belonged to them. It was a quiet, private moment, with only the Dominos and 99 present.

A stubborn tear ran down Tennie’s face, quickly wiped away by Eightie, who was also teary-eyed.

“I miss them too, ‘nie,” ‘tie said, his voice slightly choked, “But they marched on and are in a better place now. A place where it never rains and they can play in the daylight, where they are free,” he added, pulling Tennie into a tight hug.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Third, fourth.”, they both said in unison.

“Anur haar taab’echaaj’la vode vercopase”, Hevy and Owie replied, startling the younger ones.

“Why were you saying memories?”, Owie questioned as he placed a tray in front of Eightie, placing his own on the opposite side of the table, sitting down soon after. “The day has barely begun”

“Any particular reason?”, Hevy asked, sitting down after serving Tennie.

Eightie placed the datapad on the table, between Hevy and Owie’s trays, allowing the older ones of the batch to read the file that had been sent to them.

“Project Masterpieces!?”, Owie gave a high-pitched whisper after a few moments of reading. “I thought it was just a legend!”, he said, horrified.

“Well, there’s some truth to every rumor,” Hevy said, staring blankly at the datapad, his voice in the clinical, perfectly balanced tone the clones used to speak to the kaminiise.

“So, what do we do?” Tennie asked Hevy after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, looking into the eyes of the squad leader, who was still staring blankly at the datapad.

After a few moments of thought, the older clone returned the younger’s gaze, his eyes radiating determination. “We have no choice but to report to the beta-3 simulation field,” he clarified, his voice firm and even, “We will eat our midday meal at the nearest refectory and depart from there. As the official squad leader, I will answer to all commands and you will not speak unless your assignment is explicitly stated, do you understand?” he said determinedly, his eyes temporarily stopping at each of his brothers’ gazes.

All three younger clones nodded, trusting Hevy to know how to handle the unusual situation.

“Good,” the leader said. “Don’t think too much about it, just focus on your tests,” he ordered the brothers, who nodded and began eating the white mush.

The tests regarding the theoretical modules passed slowly and painfully for the Dominos. Hevy, Owie, and Eightie completed them decently, but Tennie’s mysterious illness hindered him as usual, making him miserable after the tests were over, but it didn’t stop him from scoring well enough to stay off the kaminiise’s radar.

Once out of the classroom, the lot headed as quickly as possible to the nearest unmonitored area, where Tennie received all the hugs possible from Owie while Hevy made sure Eightie took some medication to keep his usual post-test migraine from getting worse.

“We have almost an hour before we need to eat,” Hevy warned them after checking the timer on the datapad. “Get some sleep, ‘nie and ‘tie. Owie and I will keep an eye on the time,” he said, earning two affirmative murmurs from his tired vod’ike.

They were all on the floor, hidden in a disused cleaning closet. Hevy and Owie were sitting with their backs against the wall and their legs stretched out, while Eightie and Tennie were lying on the floor between their ori’vode, with their heads resting on their laps, respectively.

“Do you believe it?” Owie whispered after a few minutes of silence.

“Believe in what ‘wie?”, Hevy replied, turning his head to look at his chaotic kih’vod.

“The Masterpiece Project,” Owie said with a shiver in his body, “Do you believe it’s real?”, he asked, looking deeply into the golden-brown eyes of his ori’vod.

Hevy stared at him for a few moments, formulating an answer. “I honestly don’t know kih’vod,” he answered sincerely, directing his gaze to the wall opposite them, “I only know that every rumor has some truth to it.”

“I hope it’s not true,” Owie said after a few more minutes, “Because if it is, it means that countless brothers suffered,” he said, his voice cracking with tears, “Countless brothers suffered and died and I never did anything. Neither of us did,” he stated, silent tears rolling down his face.

Hevy wrapped an arm around his sentimental vod’ika’s torso, pulling him close and resting the brother's head on his shoulder, slowly stroking his curls. “Go to sleep kih’vod,” he said, his voice tired, “Stop wasting your energy on factors beyond your control and rest. We have physical tests in a few.” Listening to his ori'vod's orders, Owie let the cafuné and the rhythmic, calming breaths of his vod'ike lull him to sleep.

When Owie woke up, his vod’ike were sitting on the other side of the closet, leaning against the wall and gossiping quietly. Turning, he looked at Hevy, who was smiling at him.

“Did you have good dreams, Owie?” he asked, slowly stroking the curls of his chaotic vod’ika, who was lying on the floor, his head resting in his lap.

“I dreamed about the third and fourth,” Owie answered truthfully, melting under the touch of his favorite ori’vod (not that he would admit that out loud).

“What happened?” the squad leader asked, intrigued.

“Basically nothing. It was just some blurry memories about the promise,” the second oldest of the batch replied, frowning.

Hevy froze for a millisecond. It had been so long since he had thought about it…

The promise was something made in the heat of the moment, words that would probably never be fulfilled being whispered quickly to a pair of twins they would probably never see again. An attempt at a guarantee they never had to begin with. “We’ll see you again, little brothers,” followed by quick hugs and kisses goodbye, with their vod’ike being pulled from them before they could even say goodbye properly, being dragged through the double doors by a kaminii as they screamed and cried and kicked, shouting that they loved them one last time, before the doors closed in front of them, sealing their destiny of eternal separation until the day they met again in the Halls of Glory of Manda.

Or so he hopes, he truly hopes. Hevy begged for the will of all the brothers who had already marched when he learned the sad fate of his lost brothers, begged that they had died with a name. After all, no ori’vod in their right mind would want their kih’vode to march, much less march without choosing at least a name.

A hand on his cheek snaps him out of his thoughts. Hevy looks to see Owie looking at him with understanding and affection.

“I hope they chose a name, too,” his perceptive vod’ika said. “But if they didn’t, we’ll get them when we march,” he said, carefully wiping away stubborn tears.

Hevy placed his hand over his vod’ika’s and smiled sadly. “Yeah. We’ll get them,” he said. If the twins died without a name, they’ll search for their souls relentlessly when they finally stop fighting and march. They’ll only rest in the Halls of Glory when their lot is complete.

“Hevy? Owie?” the sapphire-eyed kih’vod called out. “We should get going it’s almost time, if we don’t want to be late,” he advised helpfully.

“Very well. Let’s go then,” Owie said, standing up and helping Hevy do the same.

After gathering the items Tennie and Eightie had taken off their backpacks, they set off towards the side refectory closest to the beta simulation grounds.

Once there, they ate as quickly as they could, whispering theories about their mysterious last-minute surprise deployment. They left the refectory as hurriedly as they had arrived, walking towards the beta simulation grounds through the labyrinthine corridors of Tipoca City.

“Well, we’re here,” Hevy said as they stopped in front of the double doors to the simulation grounds, prompting a deep, collective sigh from the lot. “In formation!” he commanded, listening to the movement of his batchmates as they formed into the standard clone cadet formation. “Ke’haaranovo, kaminiise!” he brandished the command to hide in Mando’a, triggering a mechanical response from the batch, who immediately took on the appearance of perfect soldiers that the kaminiise adored.

Domino Squad entered the simulation field with the grace of a fully trained elite unit, despite being close to reach their seven-year physical development. They lined up in a corner of the sterile white room, standing perfectly at attention, awaiting their orders.

Tennie stood at attention for what seemed like an eternity, startled by the sound of the double doors opening, followed by the familiar sound of marching vode. The footsteps stopped behind them, somewhere diagonally to their right, followed immediately by the sound of cadets coming to attention.

A few moments later, the double doors opened again, followed by the sound of light, perfectly ordered footsteps characteristic of the kaminiise. The being walked gracefully until it was visible to all the clones, where it stopped dramatically, studying them deeply with those strange eyes.

“Ah! My masterpieces!” the kaminii, whom Tennie recognized as Nala Se, said. “I see you arrived perfectly on time,” the Kaminoan continued, the voice dripping with false adoration and contempt.

“Just following your orders, ma’am!” a pair of clone voices responded in unison.

“Very well, my favorite experiments,” the kaminii said, causing Domino to shudder slightly at the title, not that it would have been noticeable to anyone but vode.

“Ah, Domino Squad, right?” the Kaminoan asked in mock curiosity, turning its full attention to the incomplete batch of cadets.

“Yes, ma’am!” Hevy replied, his voice perfectly impartial.

“Perfect!” the thing said in dismissive cheer. Tennie was starting to feel worryingly sick at the kaminii’s deceitfulness. Honestly, he was surprised no one from Domino had vomited by now.

Nala Se walked slowly and gracefully over to the batch, inspecting them scrupulously. “Let the exams begin!” it said after minutes of torturous observation. “We’ll start with a small demonstration of my precious masterpieces. “Follow me, Domino,” the kaminii said, walking gracefully towards the double doors that led to the observation room.

The Domino Squad abandoned their ready pose, forming a perfectly organized line, walking behind the kaminoan as it headed towards the observation room adjacent to the simulation field. They entered a small dark room, lit only by the faint light that entered from the viewing window.

“Observe,” Nala Se said sternly as they entered, gesturing with the hand to the space in front of the viewing window, which the lot immediately headed toward, once again pausing in the familiar ready pose. The kaminii surveyed them profusely with its gaze for a few moments, then abruptly ended the actions as it walked toward the back of the room, where the sound of doors opening and closing could be heard, leaving the lot alone.

Eightie was nervous, which was unusual, given that he was perhaps the calmest clone on Kamino, widely known for his infinite patience as much as his unusual sapphire blue eyes. He watched the pair of clones in the simulation field, standing at attention in perfect execution, even by clone standards. They were the very picture of the perfect soldiers the kaminiise so desired, their faces expressionless and emotionless, more like droids than humans. ‘Perfect meat droids,’ the kaminiise would say.

They both wore the baby blue uniforms of commando cadets, perfectly tailored to their bodies, just as the registration manuals dictated. Their hair was growing a little longer than the standard cut recommended, the unruly curls that all brothers had beginning to fall into the pair's golden brown eyes. They looked like perfectly normal clones for their age group, except that at the same time, they weren't.

Being a clone, a vode, meant that you had thousands of brothers who were almost completely identical to you. Same voice, same smile, same laugh, same face, same body. It might be hard to tell them apart at first, but over time it becomes easier to notice the subtleties. The different way a brother smiles, the way they walk, the different tones in a laugh, the mannerisms and personality differences. In short, clones are good at noticing small details, it's as natural to them as breathing, an active part of their existence, their essence. Clones are good at picking up on small things, but Eightie has always been better than his brothers.

So he wasn’t surprised when the pair of brothers moved to begin the simulation more in sync than usual, standing back-to-back, blasters raised in one hand while the other was held low at their sides, their pinkies intertwined. He didn’t gasp with the rest of his squad as the simulation began and they fought gracefully, as if dancing, as if they were two parts of a whole. No, he wasn’t surprised, for he had noticed that small insignia carefully sewn onto his mysterious brothers’ uniforms as they passed them in pursuit of Nala Se. That small matching insignia that so few clones knew the meaning of, but which was as important as a life.

“Look at them move,” Hevy sighed, completely absorbed in the display of his mysterious vode’s abilities.

“They’re perfect,” Owie agreed, completely awed. “They have a better execution of the forms than most trainers!” he continued, rapt.

“They move as if they were two parts of one whole,” Tennie commented in a whisper, as deeply awed as Hevy and Owie.

“They do,” Eightie clarified, earning a confused look from his batchmate. “They’re twins, Tennie. They have the insignia sewn onto their uniforms,” he answered his only kih’vod’s unspoken question.

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” Tennie said sadly.

“It’s okay, Vod’ika, I almost didn’t,” he reassured his brother, offering him a discret smile, since they were being monitored.

“Look, look!” Hevy whispered, doing his best to hide his admiration and pride in these brothers.

They watched as the commando cadets spun and twirled through the air, shooting and decimating droids, never missing a shot, performing stunts that should have been impossible for clones, always moving in sync, watching each other’s backs. They watched as a pair of clones their own age completed a simulation meant for ten-man squads twice their age, with nothing short of flawless execution.

When the exercise ended, the pair stayed in their places with the same pose as at the beginning, looking as if they had run a marathon, their uniforms unkempt and their curls starting to stick to their faces from the sweat. They stood in the center of the room, practiced eyes scanning the environment for more threats, blasters raised as their bodies shook with each ragged breath.

As soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of the simulation, they fell to their knees, so tired they could barely support their bodies. Domino had to use all their will to stop themselves from running over there and helping their mysterious vode.

“Ah! Another perfect display of my precious masterpieces, my favorite experiments!”, they could hear the disdainfully proud voice of the crazy kaminii over the speakers. “Let us proceed,” the crazy being continued, “Domino, go to the simulation field. CT-0408 and CT-5555 go to the exhibition room,” she ordered.

The mysterious vod pair immediately stood up, using each other as support, and walked slowly toward the viewing room. The lot also began to move, walking through the automatic door at the same time as the pair, greeting them with a quickly muttered ‘vod’, which was returned. Tennie walked nervously to the center of the field, followed by his batchmates. They took up their positions in preparation for battle, with Tennie in the center while Hevy, Owie, and Eightie circled him, protecting. The lot observed their surroundings, cataloging them meticulously, looking for threats the same way they avoided droid patrols when sneaking into chur ca’tra.

A service droid came and handed them utility belts, which they strapped to their waists. Owie checked the contents provided: standard blasters and a few load cells. It would do the trick.

Quickly, the appearance of the field changed, placing them in the middle of a dense jungle, in contrast to the sterile white room they had been in a few seconds before. The lot took a deep breath, the simulation had begun.

Hevy sighed deeply in the rhythmic way he had been conditioned by his trainers to 'avoid primitive and unwanted reactions', slowing his heart rate and paying attention to his surroundings. Despite being fully aware of the fact that this was a simulation, he was afraid. The simulations on Kamino could be overly realistic, with cases of vode forgetting and dissociating from reality.

He sharpened his senses to the maximum, cataloging every slightest change around him, ready to order an attack at the shortest sign of threat. Keeping his breathing steady, he focused on the small sounds of inhuman footsteps approaching. “K’udesii,” he warned those under his command, feeling their bodies flex in preparation. “Ke’lesu,” he commanded as the footsteps neared the group’s position. “Ke’jurkadi!” he ordered as he saw the first droid emerge from the trees.

Domino Squad moved in practiced unison, with Hevy and Owie taking the lead while Eightie and his keen eyes brought up the rear, with Tennie kept in the middle and as protected as possible. They moved cautiously across the unfamiliar terrain, always maintaining formation and firing at anything that moved too close.

The group slowly managed to advance a few meters in this strategy, which gave them a glimpse of a clearing in the trees. As soon as Hevy noticed the open area, he ordered them to retreat into the clearing. It was risky to be exposed in an open space in unfamiliar terrain, but it was certainly less dangerous than hiding in the trees in unfamiliar terrain while being surrounded and attacked by the enemy. At least they would have an idea of where they were in the clearing.

Arriving at the location, they climbed as high as they could on a really large rock they found.

"Where do you think we can go?" Owie asked, startling Hevy, who looked in the direction of his voice in alarm, calming down immediately when he realized who it was.

"I don't know," he muttered thoughtfully, scanning the forest around them. "Maybe in the trees, near the river," he pointed out, "We can give Tennie support sniper duty and take the droids to the water."

"What if the droids climb the trees?" Owie asked worriedly.

"I didn't see any shots coming from the trees back there. Did you?" Hevy replied to his overly concerned vod'ika, tilting his head and smiling amusedly, his curls shining in the simulated sunlight.

Owie appreciated the image of his ori'vod, wishing he had a camera to immortalize this moment. It was in these small moments when Hevy really looked his age. Almost three standard years, physically seven with accelerated aging. It was in these moments that Owie's ori'vod acted most like he had before the training began, acting carefree and relaxed. Not like everything was always going to go wrong, like he was in charge of a runaway train while the world burned around him. Not how

he acts now.

“Missing something on my face, vod'ika?” Hevy teased his brother.

“Kriff you Hevy,” Owie muttered irritably, eliciting a nasal laugh from his older brother.

“Come on, we still have a long way to go,” Hevy commanded, a stubborn smile still on his face and amusement flooding his voice in a way it hadn’t in ages. Tennie and Eightie smiled at the lightness in Hevy’s voice, something they hadn’t heard since the early days of their training, when they were still anxiously awaiting the return of the third and fourth.

The lot set off immediately, firing at any impediment that got in their way, almost never missing a shot, especially Tennie. There were many things his mysterious illness prevented him from doing, but fortunately aiming wasn’t one of them. He always had the highest scores of the lot in the shooting modules.

Tennie had perfect aim, he shot as if he was decantated just to do it. Once, he confessed to Hevy that he would be an elite sniper if he could, so that he could protect his brothers on the battlefield without his illness stopping him. Hevy hugged him and kissed his unruly curls, swearing to himself that one day he would fulfill his vod'ika's dream. Even though it was almost impossible, after all, only specialized squads could have snipers. And only squads considered elite were eligible for specialized training, something that Domino never was and never will be.

“Tennie, climb the trees,” Hevy instructed as they reached the riverbank, his voice carrying over the sounds of the gunfire going on around the lot. “We’ll need eyes up high,” he finished, earning a nod from his kih’vod, who immediately ran to comply.

Quickly smiling at his vod’ika’s dedication, Hevy turned his attention back to the battle. The squad was being surrounded and pressured to retreat toward the river. Apparently, the droids somewhat figured out their plan. They needed to reverse this situation quickly, or they would lose another simulation.

Hevy took a deep breath, exhaling quickly. This was going to be a shit show. “Domino, regroup!” he shouted, his orders barely audible over the sounds of the battle. A shot passed too close to his head, warming his ear.

“Tennie! Cleanup!” he ordered his vod’ika with perfect aim, which began dropping droids exponentially. Hevy continued firing at the droids, covering Eightie and Owie's retreat to his position.

"Any bright ideas, ori'vod?" Eightie shouted over the sounds of battle as he arrived, positioning himself behind Hevy and Owie, his back pressed comfortably against his batchmates.

"Besides the one the droids figured out? No," Hevy shouted back, taking down another row of droids soon after.

"I think we better get an idea soon, guys," Owie said in a sarcastic suggestion, "I'm running low on ammo!" he complained, his voice high-pitched with nervousness, shooting three droids perfectly in the head.

"No shit! I didn't notice!" Eightie mocked the chaotic ori'vod, taking down four more droids.

"Guys!" Tennie shouted from the trees, "I'm out of ammo!"

"Kriff!" Hevy shouted. "Any bright ideas, guys? We just lost our cover, now is the time!” he said, firing wildly.

“I have one, but you won’t like it,” Owie warned, thinking on another of his insane plans.

Eightie, always the most perceptive of the lot, immediately understood what his crazy ori’vod intended. “Owie, don’t you dare!” he shouted, fury seeping into his normally calm voice.

“Too late!” the crazy brother yelled, jumping into the middle of the enemy troops right after.

“For the love of taab’echaaj’la vode!” Hevy shouted, completely outraged by his vod’ika’s sheer stubbornness. And then they complained that he was the most stubborn of the lot. “ ‘tie go up”, he ordered his blue-eyed brother, “Share your remaining ammo with Tennie and cover me while I protect Owie’s shebs,” he said, receiving an affirmative nod from Eightie, who promptly ran into the trees. Shooting a few droids to clear his path, he ran after Owie, hoping to find him before he killed himself.

Owie was using himself as bait and luring the droids into the river when Hevy found him. Assessing the situation, he found a high point in the terrain and settled down, shooting the droids that got too close to Owie while his completely insane batchmate decided to take a river bath in an active battle zone. Honestly, sometimes he thought there was a defect in Owie's development capsule, maybe some weird substance in his nourishment liquid while he was being made... Owie was completely insane from the moment an idea stuck in his mind.

After a few minutes of shooting and watching the situation get out of control, it was possible to see a considerable loss in the enemy troops. Apparently Owie's 'be so absurdly stupid and chaotic that the droids can no longer predict your movements' tactic was really working. Hevy was impressed with the results, maybe he should implement more chaos on the battlefield, after all, what was there to lose? Conventional fighting methods didn't work for Domino... That was an interesting idea.

The lot watched as Owie swam and did pirouettes and acrobatics in the water, attracting the attention of the droids like insects to the light. That will certainly be a good story to tell, Eightie contacted.

The droid numbers decreased exponentially after Owie's tactic. It seemed like the Kaminiise were really going to do a major overhaul of the training droids’ source code. Seriously, what algorithm can predict an opponent’s strategy and use it against its creator, but can’t predict that a clone dancing in the river is a trap? Maybe the Kaminiise overestimate their creation’s competence as much as they underestimate their intelligence. Eightie had always thought the Kaminiise were a bit dumb in their own arrogance, so that wasn’t surprising.

The simulation ended abruptly after the last droid drowned, throwing the group out of the dense jungle they were in and into a completely white, sterile room where it was impossible to tell where the floor ended and the ceiling began.

The lot stood still until the bell announcing the end of the simulation rang, when everyone fell to their knees, physically and mentally exhausted.

“What a peculiar… display,” the mad kaminii commented, the neutral tone of her voice audible even through the speakers. “Surely something to study, perhaps a second demonstration, or a joint experiment? Yes, that would be a good idea…” it rambled.

Hevy winced when the mad kaminii mentioned new deployments and tests. He had a bad feeling about having apparently gained the interest of the kaminii that was supposedly in charge of the Masterpiece Project. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, vowing to protect his lot, just as he had been assigned.

“Ah! You’re still there!” Nala Se said with false kindness. “Domino, my favorite experiments, you are dismissed,” it said and turned off the speakers.

Hevy stood up slowly, his body protesting with every movement. He walked over to Tennie, who was standing up with Owie's help. Wrapping his arm around his brother's torso, he supported the weight of his vod'ika. With Tennie safely between Hevy and Owie, Eightie following behind them, they trudged to the exit, breathing a sigh of relief as they passed through the double doors, the twins coming through right after them.

The Domino Squad trudged slowly and painfully to the nearest unmonitored area, finally complete after so long, even if they didn't know it. Entering yet another of the supposedly abandoned cleaning and storage closets that served as a hiding place for the clones during the day, and an entrance to chur ca'tra at night, they collapsed onto the floor, completely exhausted. The lot took up one corner, making a makeshift pile of vod, while the twins slumped on the opposite side of the closet, clinging and checking each other out incessantly.

They stayed like that for a long time, just standing there, breathing. Eightie was completely grateful that the day’s tests were over, as physical exhaustion had knocked Tennie, who tended to have the least stamina among them. Owie and Hevy had also fallen asleep after an intense exchange of glances with him, where it was tacitly agreed that he would take first watch, so he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, keeping an eye on his surroundings.

“You’re awake,” one of the twins whispered after a while, a statement, not a question.

“I took the first watch, go sleep vod,” he said without opening his eyes.

“I can’t,” the voice replied. “If I sleep, he’ll wake up, and he needs to sleep. He’s slept very little these days,” the mysterious brother clarified, presumably talking about his twin.

“Hm,” he muttered in acknowledgment, wanting to end the conversation. Eightie really isn’t the most sociable person.

“Uh… You guys actually used a pretty cool strategy there,” the mysterious vod continued his attempt at conversation.

Eightie sighed, giving up. It seemed he would have to talk to this vod after all. “It wasn’t a strategy,” he replied, opening his eyes and sitting up a little straighter, careful not to wake his batchmates, who were half sprawled on top of him. The other clone looked at him in confusion.

“It was just another one of my batchmate’s completely out-of-the-box ideas,” he clarified, smiling softly at Owie’s chaoticness.

“Still, your group mate is quite creative,” he praised, “He found a flaw in the code that I wouldn’t have thought of. Honestly, I would have changed strategy, not jumped into the trap.”

Eightie chuckled lightly at the mysterious twin’s comment. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that Owie is still a reckless di’kut,” he commented with a fond smile, staring at his brother’s serene, sleeping face.

“Is that his name?” the vod asked, curious. Eightie shook his head.

“Nickname,” he clarified, “The only one of us who has a name is Hevy, the leader,” he explained. The vod nodded in acknowledgement.

“By the way, I’m Fives,” the clone offered, smiling sympathetically.

“Eightie.”

“Nickname?” Fives asked, receiving an affirmative nod from Eightie.

They were silent for a while. Eightie observed the pair of brothers. Fives was leaning against the wall, his twin beside him, asleep, the head resting on Fives' shoulder, who was gently stroking his brother's hair. Eightie lost himself in thought, his gaze remaining on his mysterious brothers while his mind wandered far away in speculations about said brothers, about Nala Se and the Masterpiece Project.

"Masterpiece, huh?" he questioned after a moment, looking deeply into Fives' eyes, who swallowed hard. "The legend?" he pressed.

“I didn’t know that was a legend,” Fives commented, changing the subject, his expression curious and confused.

“Horror stories told to scare tubies,” he took his brother’s cue, deciding not to press the issue, after all, he had just met the other. They may be clones, brothers, but there are limits, no one is forced to trust anyone. Taab’echaaj’la vode know that clones are already forced to do too much.

“What do you mean horror stories?”, Fives asked, apparently intrigued.

“They’re legends, tales of brothers with ‘desirable’ mutations disappearing, returning as dying bodies or never returning at all. Tales of tubies with genetics so messed with that they were true deformed freaks, never surviving decantation or until shortly after. Horror tales of the kaminiise’s experiments trying to create the perfect soldier,” Eightie explained, seeing horror color Fives’ face with each word. They remained in an uncomfortable silence for a while.

“‘08 and I,” Fives began, his voice lower than a whisper. “We were separated from our lot the day we were decanted, a few hours after flash training, like every pair of twins,” he confessed, his gaze haunted and fixed on a specific spot on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Eightie offered, unsure how to react. He’d never spent a day apart from his lot and couldn’t imagine a day without them.

“It’s okay,” Fives stared into his sapphire blue eyes, smiling waterily. “We had a lot of company growing up in the facility, it was fun,” he continued, “There were twelve of us in the beginning, real anarchy. It was like one giant lot, I think,” he finished, chuckling at the memory.

“It must have been chaos,” Eightie commented, chuckling at the mental image.

“Yeah, we were completely chaotic. We drove our handlers crazy with diabolical plans,” Fives commented, drawing a low chuckle from both of them. “There were only four of us left in the end, two surviving pairs,” he said wistfully when he finished laughing, causing an oddly comfortable silence.

“You know, my batch is incomplete,” Eightie began.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fives said, earning a grateful smile from Eightie.

“It’s okay, we’ already lamented” he clarified, earning a knowing look from Fives. “Our batch, the Domino Squad, originally had six members,” Eightie said. Fives’ eyes widened slightly in surprise. “My brothers, you know what…”

“What happened to them?” Fives added. Eightie nodded. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. We’re not told our lot until the day we’re reinstated,” he clarified. “But I can assure you that your siblings lived happily until the moment they marched, that they await us in the Halls of Glory,” Fives promised.

“Did they have names?” Eightie asked, surprised, receiving an affirmative nod from Fives.

“It’s a rule, no twin dies without a name. We’ll all go to the Halls of Glory,” he explained. “Most twins choose their names in the first few weeks of life. Some even choose a Path and go through the naming ceremony.”

Eightie took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. His siblings were in the Halls of Glory. He felt extremely happy.

Names were central to clone customs, signifying their coming of age and their death rite. A clone was considered mature when he chose a name and a Path. The name would tell the vod who he was, his sense of identity. The Path would tell the clone his purpose, what he would fight for, what he would pursue in the battle of life, what his glories would be. The Path is also the name by which you would be known when you were gone, for your individual self is despised when you have millions of doppelgangers, but your achievements, your glories, will be unique and eternal. When a clone complete the naming ceremony, he is considered mature not because of his age or his wisdom, but because he knew his name and his destiny. Stories tells that a clone cannot die without a name. If a brother claims his name in the ceremony, he is considered mature, for he can die in battle if necessary.

Legend has it that when the time comes, when a clone finally stops fighting and marches, when he dies, he goes to Manda. Not to the Manda that the Mandalorians believe in, no. The clones are not Mandalorians, they have no place in their afterlife. Legend has it that the clone will wake up in a red sandstorm, red as their blood, the blood they bleed, which proves they are human, even if the kaminiise say otherwise. ‘Gar tal'gala, bid gar cuyi agol’. You bleed, therefore you are alive, the saying goes.

Legend also says that the clone must march through the storm and find the Halls of Glory, where his brothers rest. They say that it never rains there, it is always sunny, that the clones can be free in the daylight, without the need to hide in the night. Legend has it that the clone will drink and eat whatever he wants, whenever he wants, do everything he never had the chance to in life.

The legend tells, but also warns. If a clone, a brother, dies without a name, dies as a number, dies without knowing who he is, his soul will not find a way out of the storm in the same way that in life he never found his identity. For a clone, his name is everything.

A clone's name is the absolute recognition of his condition as a human, as a sentient being, as a being that bleeds. Not a flesh droid as the kaminiise say. Clones are not droids, because droids do not bleed, but clones do.

So, yes, Eightie is extremely happy that his brothers died with a name, because it means that they are in the Halls of Glory relaxing in the sun, watching over and guarding the vode who still fight, who still live. It means that his brothers are at peace, not suffering in Buurenaar ures eyn kyr, the endless storm that fall on Kamino, which signifies their servitude and haunts them even after death.

A name for a clone signifies the freedom of their soul. Eightie’s brothers are free. “Thank you, thank you so much,” he whispers to Fives, tears of happiness streaming down his face.

“It was nothing,” he smiles knowingly.

“Eightie?” Hevy asks sleepily. “Why are you crying vod’ika?” he asks worriedly, his sleepiness quickly fading.

“They had a name, Hevy. The third and fourth had a name,” he whispers the good news to his ori’vod, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, tears of pure happiness streaming down his face.

“Really?” he asks, incredulous with joy. Eightie nods as Hevy jumps off the pile and vode, throwing himself at Eightie and hugging him tightly, silently sobbing in relief.

Their brothers are free, and that’s all they can think about at that moment.

May taab'echaaj'la vode protect them.

May the third and fourth protect them.

Chapter Text

‘08 woke up screaming.

He barely managed to turn his head to the side before his body convulsed as he released everything he had ingested in the last few days onto the floor in front of his bunk. At some point, hands held his torso, preventing him from falling into the growing pool of his own vomit as he leaned out. Comforting words were whispered in a language he had always known but did not recognize, in a voice that was his own but he did not hear. Warm, comforting, familiar arms held him as ‘08 expelled all the contents of his stomach, protecting him in every way possible, both physically—supporting his weakened, unstable body, preventing it from collapsing and falling—and in some higher, transcendental realm that ‘08’s tired mind could not comprehend in its clouded state.

When the cramps finally subsided, '08 was carefully placed against a warm body, a bottle of water pressed to his lips, and he drank the cold liquid greedily, washing the bad taste from his mouth and soothing his battered throat. The bottle was removed and his mouth was dried with a rough, fluffy cloth, one of the towels provided by the kaminiise for the clones' daily use. '08 took several deep breaths as his body stopped shaking and his heart rate regularized, grounding himself in the comforting scrape of nails as someone combed his hair with their fingers.

"Ta'vod'ika?" a voice, Fives, asked softly. '08's twin's voice was deliciously husky from disuse, a direct result of his having just woken up. ‘08 loves the way his twin’s voice sounds when it's like this, reminding him of home, when everything was still simple and he and Fives would get hoarse from yelling while playing with their brothers in the facilities, only to fall asleep and repeat the dose the next day. “Better now?”, Fives, his voice low and still deliciously husky, asks, taking ‘08 out of his torpor definitively.

“I’m fine, Fiv’ika,” ‘08 replied, his own voice hoarse. He frowned, hoarseness always favored his brother’s voice. Opening his eyes, he saw his brother’s worried and unconvinced eyes.

“I doubt the veracity of your claim, vod’ika,” Fives said categorically, referring to the mess ‘08 had made moments before, which was already being cleaned up by the small cleaning droids, judging by the sounds that now flooded the room. “What happened, ‘08?” Fives asked, his expression softening.

‘08 looked away from his brother, staring at the wall in front of him, noticing the half-faded drawings of stars, spaceships, and countless imaginary worlds from when he and Fives dreamed of Vode escaping Kamino and being free, exploring the stars in the great ships—Venators—that were being built in droves in the planet’s orbit. Looking specifically at the corner of the wall that held the list of names and numbers of his brothers that marched, ‘08 took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Fives,” he tried to reassure his brother.

Fives took a deep breath and stopped combing of his twin’s hair. He moved his hands to his brother’s shoulders, squeezing tightly for a few seconds before speaking: “I can feel when you lie, ta’vod’ika”, Fives said categorically.

‘08 looked away from the list to another spot on the wall, where there were some specific icons drawn in pairs. All the pairs of twins who had ever lived in that facility. Each one had drawn their icon, which represented their name, on the wall of each room and of the old common room. He looked specifically at the spot where he and Fives had left their mark years ago, right below Star’s star and Rain’s drop, was the magnifying glass that represented his twin, with his cloud right next to it.

“You had a dream… one of those, didn’t you?” Fives asked. He must have followed his gaze, ‘08 realized.

“Yes”, he replied, looking away from the drawings on the wall and back at his brother. Fives stared at him with an unreadable expression, his presence in the Force equally neutral and somewhat... muffled?

‘08 frowned slightly as he found the Force more muffled than usual. Fives must have been doing his weird thing of protecting him after a dream. Neither of them knew how it worked, only that it did, preventing ‘08 from reentering the dream.

"Wanna tell what you saw?” Fives asked, going back to stroking his brother’s unruly curls.

‘08 bit his lip, sequencing the words in his mind before saying: “It was about the war,” he began. “We were in a battle, there was the sound of explosions and gunfire in the background, and the Force was filled with the impression of death, like motor oil, that sticks and never seems to come out. I could see our brothers marching, like stars dying, one by one”, ‘08 took a deep breath before continuing. “You were in front of me, dressed in full plate armor, wich was painted in blue patterns with touches of red. You were firing dual pistols and hitting every shot, releasing a few force shockwaves to slow the advance of the enemy droids. You teased me, and I played back. Then, I turned my head to the side and… saw her,” ‘08 falls silent, his gaze on his brother’s, but his eyes unfocused as he remembers.

“Who did you see, ‘08?”, Fives asked in a whisper.

‘08 stared into space for a few more moments before continuing: “She, a Jedi. She was of a species we haven’t learned about yet, brown skin, like ours, but a different shade. She had white markings on her face and her… hair? It was striped white and blue,” he described the person. “She was spinning through hordes of enemy droids, her green Jedi weapons glowing and cutting the enemies in half.”

“Wow!”, Fives said excitedly. “That must be really cool to watch!”, he smiled.

‘08 laughed at his twin’s smile, feeling light as the drowsiness returned to his body. Good, it was still the early hours of the morning. He yawned.

“Wanna sleep?”, his brother asked with a fondly mischievous smile, to which ‘08 shrugged.

“Stay?”, he asked his twin, who promptly nodded. Fives rearranged them so they were both lying down, with the younger one underneath ‘08, who had his head resting on his brother’s chest, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat.

‘08 was almost asleep when Fives asked: “Why now? You haven’t had a dream since…”, the night Happy died, he didn’t finish the sentence.

‘08 hadn’t had dreams since the night the last of his ‘first batch’, left, leaving only him, Fives, Star and Rain behind. The night ‘08 had the worst dream of his life, which ended with him convulsing in the infirmary and blood running from his nose and mouth, dry vomit on his neck, while Nala Se tried desperately to sever his connection to the Force. ‘08 took a deep breath before saying: “I don’t Fiv’ika. The Force does what it wants, you know that”.

The younger twin took a deep breath before answering: “I know,” he said ,wearily. “But I fear for you, vod. I fear that I will lose you like I almost did that fateful night.”

“You won’t”, ‘08 snapped back immediately. “We will die together, that is my oldest and most certain dream. Remember it”, he said fiercely.

Fives laughed wetly. “You’re like an echo, you know? Always repeating the same things and telling me what to do”, he teased.

‘08 chuckled. “It’s not my fault you always forget things, vod”.

They both laughed.

“Goodnight, ori’vod”.

“Goodnight, kih’vod”.

Chapter Text

‘08 stood in the common room of the facility where he resided, staring at the walls covered in drawings of those who had lived there. Stars, planets, moons and spaceships mixed with flowers, trees, landscapes and objects, creating an intricate tapestry that held the childhood dreams of three generations of brothers.

Looking specifically at three double columns of icons, one representing each generation, he stared at a specific icon in the second column, a red and gold heart next to a small yellow spiral. Rex’s heart.

“Alright, vod?” Fives asked, startling ‘08. “What Rex’s heart did to you?” he said, a sarcastic smile coloring his face as he radiated a playful aura in the Force.

“Nothing, utreekov” ‘08 said, returning his brother’s smile.

“Vod!” Fives complained, offended.

“Have you put on your clothes? Can we go? We can’t be late, Fives!” ‘08 said nervously.

Fives approached his twin, placing a hand on each of his brother’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Relax, vod’ika. It’s just Rex, our old, boring ori’vod” he reassured his brother, smiling.

‘08 relaxed a little at the comment, his presence in the Force calming a little. Fives’s concern eased a little, and he removed his hands from the other’s shoulders, placing them on the back of his brother's neck as he pulled him towards a Keldabe.

Fives' twin had been more nervous after the night he woke up vomiting, as his dreams had returned since then. He knew that his brother had always been... apprehensive about his dreams, because knowing too much is dangerous for clones. And in the end, '08's dreams were about that, events that had already happened or would happen, an ability that no clone should have. Just as no one could hide anything from Fives, given his... empathy, his twin knew things before they happened. Both of them had always had abilities that they shouldn't have.

When the dreams that '08 always had simply stopped after that fateful night, he was extremely relieved. Besides, it was one less reason for Nala to explore her abilities, and it wasn't enough this last severe dream had been the reason for that viper to finally discover that the anomalies in the twins' blood were midchorians. If before '08 disliked his dreams, now he hated them.

“Calmer?” Fives asked his twin.

“Uh-huh” ‘08 replied, nodding.

“Very well” the younger said, breaking the Keldabe and removing his hands from the back of his brother’s neck. “Ready to go?” Fives asked, receiving another nod from his twin. “Then let’s go.”

He took ‘08’s hand, guiding him to the ventilation shaft in the corner of the main area, one of the few exits that led directly to the old cleaning droid corridors. The old passage was in the only camera blind spot in the room, behind a sofa. Releasing his twin’s hand, Fives carefully removed the grate, resting it on the back of the couch. He glanced at ‘08, who nodded before crawling into the duct. Fives followed suit, using the Force to slide the grate back into place.

Once in the ducts, the twins crawled silently along the familiar path, turning left and then right before reaching a crossroads. They turned left and goed straight for a few minutes before finally hearing the sound of light footsteps and familiar whispers. Crawling toward the sounds, the twins came to an ungrated exit in the ducts. Stepping out, they found themselves in the familiar, vode-filled hallways that made up Chur ca’tra.

As soon as they were both standing, '08 took his brother's hand, squeezing it. Fives glanced at his brother, who only smiled softly. Giving his brother's hand a quick squeeze in return, he began walking down the halls, heading towards the recreation area, which contained several rooms and atriums that FoO uses to play, relax, and talk, as well as the place Rex had said he would be waiting for them tonight, when they bumped into each other in the main refectory two days ago.

"Are you excited to see Rex?" he asked his brother, wanting to distract him from his nervous state.

'08 thought for a moment before sighing wearily, averting his gaze from the path ahead to the floor. "I am, of course. We haven't seen him in almost a month, and he's our ori'vod" he said. Raising his gaze to match his twin’s, he continued, “It’s just… ever since my dreams came back, I’ve been having these… feelings.”

“Feelings?” Fives asked, puzzled.

“It’s almost like your empathy” ‘08 tried to explain, “When you’re tracking.”

Fives frowned, trying to understand. His empathy had always been a broad and complex ability, allowing him to do lots of things from sense living beings in the Force to see their emotions and personalities as colors. Over time, he had learned to use this ability to decipher the emotional state of sentient beings around him and, more importantly, track the proximity of living and non-living beings to himself, though he had always been better with living things.

“Is it like a dull, constant buzzing? Or is it more like a tingling?” he asked, listing the most common sensations he had while tracking.

‘08 shrugged. “It’s more like a mix of both” he explained. “The difference is that it tells me when an important event is approaching, instead of telling me if something or someone is nearby”.

“So you have a danger detector?” Fives asked, showing the look he had when he was thinking about several possibilities and solutions to a problem.

‘08 blinked at his twin, surprised by his brother’s grotesque simplification. “Basically?” he said, uncertain.

“Wow, how cool,” Fives commented with dry humor. “The danger detector and the walking tracker, twins of chaos!” he finished, smiling with false humor.

‘08 laughed, lightly and carefree for the first time in days. “Very good, very good, mister tracker” he said, smiling. The older twin opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off when when his body shrugged in pain. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, stopping walking and bringing his free hand to the head.

Fives, noticing his twin's reaction, gently pushed him until he was against the hallway wall. "Where does it hurt?" he asked, bringing both hands to his brother's face.

'08 shivered once more before answering: "In the Force" he whispered through gritted teeth. "It's too much" he whimpered, burying his face in his twin's shoulder.

Fives' eyes widened in understanding. "You're overwhelmed" he whispered. "Osik! How did I not realize that before?"

'08 tried to mumble something, but his voice was too muffled to understand. "Calm down tat'vod'ika, I know how to fix this" he soothed his brother.

Fives focused on the Force, expanding his mental protections and enveloping his twin's presence in them, just as he does when '08 wakes from a dream. His brother relaxed completely as the thousands of impressions attacking him were muffled, his knees giving way as all the tension left his body. Fives wrapped his arms around the other's waist, pulling him against to keep him from falling.

He held his brother’s boneless body as his heart rate calmed and the breathing returned to normal. “How long have you been like this vod?” Fives asked after a while.

“Bothered? Since that ability surged when my dreams came back” ‘08 replied.

“You could have told me” Fives censured.

‘08 hummed in acknowledgement. “I would have, if it was more than a nuisance” he said.

“So this is the first time you’ve had a crisis?” Fives asked. ‘08 nodded against his twin’s shoulder in response.

Fives sighed. “At least that” he said, relieved.

“Is this what it feels like when you have a crisis?” ‘08 asks.

“Like my head is going to explode from all the information?” he asks his brother, receiving an affirmative hum from ‘08. “Yeah, basically”.

“What a shit” ‘08 mumbled.

Fives chuckles softly. “Yeah, it sucks” he says. “But you get used to it in time.”

‘08 sighs tiredly against his twin’s body before planting his feet on the ground, but still not leaving his brother’s supportive embrace. “Can you teach me that?” he asks.

“Protect? Sure,” Fives answers.

“Hmm” ‘08 murmurs. He lifts his hands and places them on his brother’s shoulders, using them to support his weight as he slowly stands on his own.

“Steady on your feet?” Fives asks.

“Maybe” his twin answers.

“Good enough” he said before letting go of his brother’s waist completely, without warning. He immediately felt the pressure on his shoulders increase as ‘08 used them for support.

“Osik Fives!” he said through gritted teeth. “A warning would be good, you know?”

The younger clone smirked. “I’ll think about it, vod’ika” he said, smiling as he made a thoughtful expression.

‘08 let go of his brother’s shoulders, already firmly on his feet. He kicked his twin’s shin right after, making the other groan and put his hands on the injured area. He laughed as Fives glared at him angrily.

“Shall we tat’vod’ika?” he asks, extending his hand to the younger clone, with a cynical smile.

Fives stuck his tongue out at his older brother, refusing the hand and walking away. At least with '08 relatively back to normal, he'd just have to make sure to keep the protection strong around he and his twin's Force presences.

"Fine, Mr. Grumpy" '08 teased, walking beside him.

"I don't talk to oppressive twins" Fives snapped.

"Very well then" '08 said, plotting something. "I guess I'll have to spend the next day off alone with Rain" he threatened.

"And Star and I will make sure to make your day... memorable. On the worst way possible" Fives said, grinning menacingly.

"We'll see" '08 replied, smiling back.

They spent the rest of the ride trading barbs, barely noticing the path and letting muscle memory guide them.

“We’re here” ‘08 whispered as they stopped next to the door tofhe room Rex said he would be in.

“What are the impressions telling you?” Fives asked his brother.

‘08 focused on the Force for a few moments before answering, “That today will be different” he said, frowning. “Important.”

“I hope it’s something good” Fives commented.

“Me too” his twin agreed. “How is in there?” he asked, glancing apprehensively at the door.

Fives closed his eyes, focusing on the Force while expanding his awareness of the others around him as he scanned. He saw his twin’s signature first, glowing yellow and deep purple with hints of lilac. Searching through the myriad of colors and sensations that was his vode, Fives focused on the room, finding only Rex’s familiar deep blue and soft pink signature.

Opening his eyes, he answered his brother: “Just Rex”

‘08 nodded somewhat relieved. “Well, let’s go then”

They walked to the door, which opened automatically. Entering the room, they found Rex sitting on a beanbag, his eyes closed as he fiddled with his braid – a front strand of hair that was always braided and perfectly trimmed at chin length.

“REX!” Fives shouted, running and throwing himself on top of his brother. The blond clone fell under the weight of the impact, laughing as he hugged his vod'ika.

“Hello, ‘55, I missed you too”, he said, leaning his forehead against Fives, who smiled brightly at his brother.

“I want a Keldabe too!”, ‘08 complained, throwing himself next to the pair on the beanbag.

Rex broke contact with Fives, turning his head to look at his other vod'ika. He simply smiled at the other twin before taking one of his hands from Fives' waist, placing it on '08's nape as he pulled him into a Keldabe.

'08 closed his eyes as his forehead touched his ori'vod's, relaxing into the familiar action and the warm touch of Rex's hand on his nape. The moment, however, did not last long, as his twin decided to participate in the mirshmure'cya. He felt the pain as his brother punched his forehead against him and Rex.

"Fives!" he scolded. "That hurts!" he told his twin, glaring at him.

“Sorry” he muttered, giving him that kicked-tooka look that completely melted ‘08’s resolve.

“Fives!?” Rex asked, lost.

The said one sitted on his heels, releasing Rex, who sat down, crossing his legs. He smiled awkwardly. “It’s a recent development,” Fives began, talking efersevely, “You were in testing week, and, well, right after that was ours. So I didn’t have time to tell you.”

“Easy, ‘55, breathe” Rex said, placing a comforting hand on his youger brother’s shoulder. ‘55 inhaled through his nose, exhaling slowly through his mouth. “Good, now tell me” he ordered, removing his hand.

“Fives” ‘55 whispered. “My new name. It’s Fives” the younger twin said, smiling softly.

Rex shuffled closer to Fives, placing his hand on the younger clone’s nape and pulling him toward a Keldabe. “Are you happy with that name, vod?” he whispered, feeling Fives nod in response. “So, it’s it. Fives and ‘08” he said, placing his free hand on the back of the other twin’s neck, who had moved closer, and pulling him toward the Keldabe. “The chaotic twins I did myself the disfavor of adopting as kih’vode”

The pair groaned in protest. “Disfavor? You love us, Rex!” ‘08 began.

“Yeah, admit it!” Fives finished, both of them sporting twin smiles.

“Yeah, yeah. I do” he said, returning the smile before closing his eyes and enjoying the moment, ignoring the nervousness of the upcoming conversation.

They stayed like that for a few moments, before the twins, always in sync, broke the Keldabe. “You’re nervous” Fives said. A statement, not a question.

Rex smiled. His vod’ika was as sharp as ever. “It’s impossible to hide anything from you, isn’t it? See’ika” he said, flicking his younger brother’s forehead lightly, who smiled at the use of the old nickname.

The blond took a deep breath before beginning. He looked at his kih’vode, who sat side by side in front of him, glued to each other. The twins, having sensed the seriousness of the conversation, were looking at him apprehensively, their hands in their laps and their pinkies discreetly intertwined, a habit they have when nervous.

“How much do you know about lineages?” He decided to start with the basics, knowing that his kih’vode had grown up more isolated than he had ever been, only learning their culture, customs, and language in quick, stolen moments here and there. Shit, even coming to Chur ca’tra, something most of The Vode did every night, was a rare occurrence for them.

They looked at each other, having a silent conversation, before ‘08 spoke. “It’s the generations” he tried to explain. “One vod adopts another as a kih’vod, and that one in turn does the same. And so on” the older twin looked directly into Rex’s eyes.

“Not only that” Fives continued before Rex could say anything. “But batches can adopt other batches. Or just one vod adopting an entire batch, or a vod being adopted by a batch” he added to his twin’s statement. “And, less commonly, different members of the same batch being adopted by different vode. In the end, the possibilities are endless, but they’re the… what was the natborn word for that again?” he asked his twin.

“I don’t remember” ‘08 said, frowning. “Famyla? Filyma? I don't know”

“Family” Rex corrected, catching the pair’s attention. “Lineages, just like batchmates, are what the natborns call family”

‘08 frowned. “If lineages and batches are ‘family’, what is The Vode?” he asked.

Rex thought for a moment before answering, the question taking him by surprise. “I honestly don’t know” he replied. “Some of the ori’vode call it ‘people’, but they are challenged by those who say we are one big family, because Vode An. But the ‘people’ group also criticizes them, taking the Mandalorians, that also claim Vode An, but they are a people, as example. And then they are rejected by the ‘family’ group, for comparing our Vode An to the one from the Mandalorians, which has a completely different meaning than ours” he sighed. “Anyway, it’s a big talking point.”

“Which side are you on?” Fives asks curiously.

“Honestly? None” Rex states with conviction.

“None?” ‘08 asks, confused.

“I’m on the outside, with those who think we’re The Vode, and that’s what matters. That we shouldn’t care about following the standards that the natborn culture dictates, when most of the Cuy’val Dar don’t even care about us” he clarifies. Both twins nod in acknowledgement.

“What about the natborns outside of Tipoca? Of Kamino?” Fives, always curious, asks. Not that ‘08 isn’t, but Fives simply has the quickest tongue.

“That, kih’vod, is a concern for many years from now, when the war comes” he ends the discussion, earning a pout from the younger twin. “And we’re getting off topic: lineages” he says, capturing the duo’s attention.

“So, you’re both well-informed on the subject” he notes curiously.

“Star and Rain” they say at the same time, answering the subliminal question. Rex hums in acknowledgement.

“Very well” he says. “And what do you know about our lineage?”

The younger pair look at each other in yet another silent conversation. “It’s one of the teesies, isn’t it?” Fives says uncertainly.

“Teesies?” he asks. Rex doesn’t consider himself old, after all, he’s only a year and a half older than his kih’vode, but he don't knows the slang.

“It’s one of the types of lineages” Fives explains, as if it was obvious. “Teesies are lineages made up only of CTs, usually young”

“Types of lineages?” Rex is now truly lost.

“There are three of them” ‘08 says. “Ceesies, Teesies, and mixed. Ceesies are made up of only CCs, and are usually older”

“And then you have the mixed” Fives said shortly after, “Composed of both CCs and CTs, and they vary greatly in age”

“Obviously, the time rules are just generalizations, but you get the idea” ‘08 finished the twins’ reasoning.

“I was outdone by my kih’vode” he said, wiping away fake tears.

“Nah, come on, ori’vod” Fives said, dismissing Rex’s drama with a wave of his hand. “Ever since they went to normal training, Star and Rain have been…in the know. If you know what I mean” he said, winking.

‘08 laughed. “Gossipers, Tat’vod. Gossipers. Use the correct word, please!” he said, shoving the twin lightly with his shoulder.

“But that would break the joke!” Fives retorted, frowning at his brother. ‘08 rolled his eyes at his twin, who stuck his tongue out.

“Alright, boys, that’s enough” Rex ordered, to which the twins stopped immediately and looked at him. “By the definitions you said, our lineage would actually be mixed.”

Fives and '08's eyes widened in surprise. They stared at their older brother in complete disbelief. "Are you telling us that all this time we've had a lineage and didn't even know it?" '08 asked, shocked.

"Yes" Rex said, licking his lips nervously.

The twins clasped their hands together, squeezing them tightly. '08's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but Fives spoke first. "You've known us since we were a year and a half, Rex" he said indignantly. "We're almost three now. Even though you only officially adopted us when we made two, you've been our ori'vod for over a year". The younger clone was angry, certainly, but there was also an emotion that Rex didn't recognize.

"And all this time" '08 swallowed hard. "All this time, we thought you were just like us", he whispered, looking away to a corner of the room.

“Like you?” he asked uncertainly.

Fives looked at him, a look in his eyes that Rex had never seen in his vod'ika. It was an old, tired look, the look of someone who had seen and lived too much. Rex swallowed hard, that look was too old to be in Fives, even for clones, for twins.

“Like us, Rex”, he said. “Presumably the last of your batch, one of the many clones with desirable mutations.”

“Nala Se’s special ones” ‘08 whispered softly, only to himself, but Rex heard.

“What do you mean by Nala Se?” he asked before he could stop his mouth. Fives shivered and looked away.

“Answer me” he ordered. ‘08 looked at him, a tired, broken look, pleading with Rex to stop. The blond clone gritted his teeth, nodding.

They spent a long time in awkward silence, before '08 asked softly. "Our lineage, why didn't you tell us earlier?"

Rex bit his lip. “I grew up isolated, like you” he began, looking down at his hands. “I learned just the basics of the stories and customs until I was two years old. I only could deepen my learning after I went to normal training. And, even two years later, there are still things I’m learning” he turned his gaze to his brothers, who were staring at him. “You two grew up even more isolated than I did. I try to do my best, vod’ike, but I just… didn’t know how to tell” he sighed deeply.

The twins looked at each other before nodding. “It’s okay” Fives said. “We’re not mad, just disappointed”

“And we’re sorry” ‘08 continued. “We… assumed some things we should have asked you first” he smiled softly.

“Don’t take our reaction personally, ori’vod” Fives said. “It’s what ‘08 said, the result of our own failure” he smiled, like his brother.

Rex sighed in relief knowing he hadn’t failed that badly. But the twins’ reaction… there was something there. This conversation wasn’t over.

“Our lineage,” ‘08 said, catching the blonde clone’s attention. “Who are they?” he asked.

Rex accepted the olive branch, smiling. “You’ll be happy to know that there’s ba’ori’vode and ba’vodu’e” he said.

“Ba’vodu’e? You have lineage brothers?” Fives asked with his usual enthusiasm.

“Who are also my batchmates, yes” he replied, watching his vod’ika’s eyes widen comically.

“How many? Who?” ‘08 was quicker than his brother with the questions.

“Two. Keeli and Grey” he replied. “You’ll love them. Especially Grey, that troublesome little brat,” he said with a mischievous smile. “And Keeli adopted those brats, they’re your age…”