Star Wars: Warforged

The first thing I remember is the dust. It clung to everything. Our armor, our weapons, even my mind. Geonosis was a wasteland of sandstorms and red rock, and it was where we were born into war.

I was CT-7744, just another number in the endless ranks of the Grand Army of the Republic. A clone bred for one purpose: to fight. The Kaminoans made us perfect soldiers—obedient, disciplined, efficient. But what they couldn't manufacture was leadership. That was something earned in the chaos of battle.

We dropped into the battlefield on the back of LAAT gunships. The noise of the engines drowned out the sound of my brothers' thoughts, but I could feel the tension. We'd trained for years, but this was different. Real. No simulations, no controlled environments. As we descended toward the chaotic surface of Geonosis, blaster fire from Separatist droids filled the air like deadly fireworks. The ground was a writhing mass of clashing forces, and it was up to us to break through.

My squad was assigned to the 191st Legion—a specialized unit, not yet tested in battle. Our colors were crimson and silver, a mark of our commander's respect for tradition. But out there, in the dust and fire, those colors meant nothing. We were about to be forged into something stronger. Or shattered.

The first moment our boots hit the ground, all hell broke loose. Our mission was simple: secure a ridge to the west and provide covering fire for the main forces advancing on the Separatist stronghold. But nothing on Geonosis was simple.

"Move out!" barked Sergeant Pax, our leader. His voice was strong, cutting through the chaos, but the lines of tension on his face betrayed the pressure he was under. We moved in tight formation, the dust turning to mud under our boots as we made our way through the trenches. Droids were everywhere, their cold, mechanical precision terrifyingly efficient.

It didn't take long for the first brother to fall. CT-8772, or "Rook" as we called him, took a direct hit from a blaster. He was gone before he hit the ground. The sight of it snapped something inside me. I didn't feel fear or sadness, just an overwhelming urge to protect the rest of my brothers. I wasn't ready to lose another one. Not yet.

"Keep moving! Don't stop!" Pax shouted. His helmet turned toward me, his visor unreadable. "7744, take point! We need a clearer path up that ridge!"

I was a trooper, not a leader. At least, that's what I believed. But in that moment, as the weight of command briefly rested on my shoulders, something shifted inside me. Without thinking, I nodded and pushed forward, blaster rifle at the ready.

We advanced in a staggered line, blaster bolts zipping past us, each step bringing us closer to the ridge. The Separatist droids were relentless, but we pushed harder, determination overriding the pain in my legs, the sweat in my eyes. I knew that if we faltered, the main force behind us would be cut down before they even reached the stronghold.

The ridge was within sight when it happened. A rocket whistled through the air and exploded just to our left, throwing me and several others into the dirt. My ears rang, and for a moment, everything was disorienting. But when I looked up, I saw Pax lying still, his armor scorched from the blast.

He was gone.

I didn't have time to process the loss. My brothers were scrambling, confused, leaderless. Something had to be done. I grabbed the nearest trooper, CT-6213—"Lucky," we called him—and shouted through the helmet comm, "Get them up! We're taking that ridge!"

Without waiting for a response, I stood, firing at the advancing droids, and moved forward again. The others followed. Step by step, meter by meter, we clawed our way up that ridge, my mind focused on one thing: survival. Not just mine, but my brothers'. I couldn't let them die like Rook, like Pax.

When we reached the top, we had a clear line of sight on the droid artillery pounding our forces below. I ordered the squad to set up E-webs and prepare for an assault. We were just seven troopers left, but we made every shot count. Blaster fire rained down on the droids, and within minutes, their artillery was silenced.

We held that ridge for what felt like hours, providing cover for the advancing troops. When the Jedi finally arrived with reinforcements, the battle below had turned in our favor. The Separatists were retreating, and victory was in sight.

But for me, the real battle had just begun. I stood on that ridge, the body of Sergeant Pax still lying in the dust behind me, and I realized something. I wasn't just CT-7744 anymore. I wasn't just a clone, a number, a follower. I was a leader.

I hadn't asked for it. I hadn't wanted it. But it was mine now, and I wasn't about to let my brothers down.