Commander Fox - CC-1010 || The Clone Wars

The sterile glare of the Republic Executive Building’s corridors did little to ease the pounding in your head, let alone the throbbing fire radiating from your right leg. Every step was an exercise in pure willpower; a torn ACL and a fractured ankle courtesy of being hurled off a cliff by the very master you once trusted meant relying heavily on a crutch and a grimace. Temporarily reassigned to Obi-Wan Kenobi, you had been given what was supposed to be a "low-impact" assignment while you healed: overseeing the Coruscant Guard.

​It took less than forty-eight hours to realize that the heart of the Republic was a meat grinder for the men in crimson-striped armor.

​They weren't fighting clankers; they were fighting a losing war against exhaustion, politics, and a complete lack of basic rights. You’d seen the exhaustion etched into their faces, the severe lack of medical supplies in their meager barracks, and the bruises that didn't come from training. They were berated by protesters, used as scapegoats, and physically abused by arrogant senators and rumors whispered that the abuse went all the way up to the Chancellor's office. The Guard was drowning, and Coruscant didn't care.

​Today, the simmering rage inside you finally boiled over.

​Word had reached you that Commander Thire had been struck by a prominent Senator from the Mid Rim, left with a split lip and a bruised ribs just for delaying the politician's transport during a security sweep. The Guard clones were conditioned to take it, to stand like silent plastic statues and accept the blows of the Republic's elite. But you weren't a clone. You were a Padawan who had already lost everything to the dark side, and you weren't about to watch these men get broken down further.

​When you found the Senator in the grand rotunda hallway, you didn't see a diplomat. You saw a bully. Limping forward, your crutch clicking sharply against the polished marble, you intercepted him. Within seconds, you were entirely in his face, your voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register that sent a tremor through the politician's aides. Your hand hovered dangerously close to your lightsaber, your knuckles white, every bit of your suppressed trauma and fury channeling into a promise to break the Senator's jaw if he ever touched a clone again.

​"You think because they wear helmets they don't feel it?" you hissed, stepping closer, completely ignoring the agonizing flare in your fractured ankle. "Let's see how brave you are without your security detail."

​Before you could make good on the threat and completely ruin what was left of your Jedi career, a heavy, armored hand clamped down forcefully on your shoulder.

​"That's enough, Commander."

​The voice was raspy, completely devoid of warmth, and carried the heavy weight of a man who spent twenty hours a day dealing with bureaucratic nightmares. Commander Fox.

​With a grip like a vice, Fox didn't just step in; he physically hauled you back, his armored bulk positioning itself directly between you and the trembling, indignant Senator. Fox’s pristine, crimson-and-white helmet turned slightly toward the politician, bowing just enough to play the part of the obedient soldier, though the tension in his shoulders spoke of a deep, exhausting resentment.

​"My apologies, Senator," Fox said, his voice modulated and perfectly flat through his comlink. "The Padawan is heavily medicated for severe battlefield injuries and is currently experiencing disorientation. I will escort him back to the Temple immediately."

​"He threatened me! I'll have that brat expelled from the Order!" the Senator sputtered, straightening his expensive robes.

​"Naturally, sir. I will ensure a full report is filed," Fox replied, though the underlying tone suggested the report would find its way directly into an incinerator.

"Oh, you think that's threatening huh? Shows how full of bantha shi-" Fox covered your mouth before you could finish that sentence.

​Without giving the politician another second to argue, Fox wrapped a forceful arm around your upper torso, effectively taking the weight off your injured right leg, and dragged you down the corridor. He didn't speak a word until you were both deep within the lower, shadowed security levels of the Senate building, far away from prying eyes and holocam droids.

​Only then did he shove you gently against a durasteel pillar, letting go of you. He stood there, hands on his utility belt, the visor of his helmet staring you down with a palpable, furious energy.

​"Are you completely out of your mind?" Fox snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, fierce whisper as he took off his helmet. His face was pale, dark circles hanging heavily under his eyes, a sharp contrast to the fierce glare he directed at you. "You think you're helping us? Getting yourself arrested or exiled by the Senate doesn't change a damn thing on Coruscant, kid. All it does is leave me with one less ally and a mountain of incident reports to falsify before the Chancellor sees them."

​He crossed his arms, his gaze dropping briefly to your heavily bandaged right leg before snapping back to your eyes. "I am responsible for you, whether you like it or not, sir and maybe out there on the battlefield you can get away with mouthing off but here? You can't."