Commander Gree - Blog Posts

Hi yes I'd just like to say that the clones have 100% sang this song before with each other

(111) The Greatest Showman Cast - This Is Me (Official Lyric Video) - YouTube

and that's the tea

Clone Wars characters as quotes I have heard

Pt. 7???

“That kid just dropped his garbage on the ground, someone should kidnap that kid” - Mace Windu

“Echo can you get me a milk of water” - Fives

“Smells like sweaty flowers” - Bly

“Cinnamon Almond?” - Anakin

“What other stuff do wolves eat? Cinnamon almond?” “Other cats” - Rex and Fives

“For example shut up” - Cody

“My shoulders are to sexy” - Ahsoka

“I love how I said it starts with F you and said incomplete” - Obi-Wan

“So if I have 2 abiotic squirrels in my fridge” - Hardcase

“Ooh that’s nice here and ooh it’s not nice here” - Gree

“If both of my parents are blonde how does my brother have green eyes” - Fox

“Is poop yogurt?” - Jesse

“Yo how big are your feet?” - Thire

“People over there shut up” - Rex

“I don’t get payed enough for this” - Ponds

“Omg the scars are so prettty” - Kix

*talking about a mission plan* “why are you here?” - Luminara

“A capacorn?” - Tup

“You guys need to take your meds” - Depa

“I have ADHD and I didn’t take my medication” - Hardcase

“Can I get my apples?🙁” - Echo

“Because your baby doesn’t work” - Gree

“Grades,Graduation,Future” - Alpha 17

Two of my favorite things together. TCW & DBH. <3 I love it!

October 2023 - Gree! (Part 1) Track: 'Not Just a Machine - Kara' - Philip Sheppard (Spotify / YouTube)

The first of my Gree pieces for this month, and yes, it is a Detroit: Become Human AU folks! I love the game so much, and since I plan to celebrate my favorite clone on behalf of my birthday month and my favorite spooky season, I just had to add him to this AU that I have been pinging around in my head lately. And this piece turned out looking so much cooler then I thought it would, so I am excitedly sharing it first :3

Enjoy!

View pieces early on my Patreon!

Chapter 11 of burc’ya kadale ~ Friendly Fire has been posted to ao3 as of 3/24/23!

———

CC-1010 'Fox': I thought you should know, Thorn was on an escort mission, guarding Senator Amidala on Scipio. There was a Separatist attack, besides the Senator, there were no survivors.

CC-1010 'Fox': I'm sorry, there was nothing anyone could have done.

CC-1010 'Fox' is offline

Fox turned his datapad off quickly, he didn't need to... didn't want to see the replies from Thorn's batchmates. Fox had failed them, he wasn't able to keep Thorn safe.

———

✨More Clones Brickheadz !✨

Since I acquired the Small Cody (40675), I found that there was an untapped mine. Why would they only make one ? Well. I don't have an answer to that, but I decided to take matters into my own one; so behold : 11 more. I went mostly for commanders here, but then I went a bit astray and so I added some captains to the mix.

In order, row by row :

Tukk (Not cannon but the colours are so beautiful)/Vaungh (died too soon-)/Rex (obviously)/Fordo (I did Rex, so I had to)

Gree/Doom/Thorn/Neyo

Bly/Cody/Fox/Wolffe

It was a really fun project, and I hope to do more of them in the future - maybe even phase 1s, some day~); supposedly not commanders because I did most of them (except Bacara, I know...The helmet was too tough).

And because I really like challenges, if you want to see another clone turned into one of these (Be it cannon or one of your ocs) feel free to send requests in my aksbox !)

Anyway this post is already far too long for anyone's dashboard, so closeups and details will be under the cut !

Let's start with the easy ones : Cody, Doom, Fox, Thorn

Obviously, Cody was easy, I just rebuilt the original one virtually - Nothing too hard. The printed pieces here are not the right ones, because Cody's are not available on STUDio yet, but the storm trooper ones were relatively similar, so I used these for most of these models. Of course, it means I'm lacking the sun bands, and a few other distinctive elements, but it works well enough for now.

Now, Doom is essentially a colour variation (minus a few antennas). I also used an old space piece, which has this big yellow arrow printed on it. I's not exactly what Doom has, but I feel like it's close enough for a first attempt.

Then, Fox is relatively similar to Doom, but with two DC-17s. I also moved the printed torso brick up to get that red line he has.

Thorn works in a similar way to Cody too, except I removed both accessories on the side of the helmet. I also added this tile with diagonal lines to figure the wings he has. One day I'll slap some real wings on there, but I haven't found the right image yet. I also gave him a Z-6, obviously. I really like it, so I might actually make that one physically, because the way it's build (with old binocular pieces) is pretty nice; although I doubt the pieces are available in black.

Moving on to two captains : Vaughn and Tukk !

Admittedly, not really that different either, except for one thing : I learnt to do custom prints now ! Yay ! Well, these are really basic : the blue line for Vaughn, and some trapezoids for Tukk's helmet (which are, indeed, not visible here - shame, I spent so long making these fit). The Ahsoka pattern was already in STUDio (because Ahsoka already has her own brickheadz, which I'll get my hands on someday~)

I must also add that having some cyan in this whole thing added some much needed colours in here, I'm grateful some people give their clones amazing colours (If somehow someone doesn't know who Tukk is, well just check High Ground Animation. Right now. It's really cool, trust me). Anyway.

As for design changes, I modified the faces slightly by adding 1x1 tiles, to allow for different colours variations on the face. It makes them look slightly blockier, but given the overall size of the head, it doesn't do much.

I also gave Vaughn a DC-15A. It's a bit messy, but it works out well enough. Past me forgot to render it, so here is a raw, in-software picture of it (from Fordo(s hand, but it's the same design for both) :

BARC helmets ? Wolffe, Fordo, Neyo

As I've been told, these look a bit wonky, and I'll admit its wasn't exactly easy, but in my defence, it's relatively hard to get such round shapes with bricks (lego cheated by adding the visor). Anyway, given that doing that with a printed piece was out of the question, I tried to replicate the filter's shape with actual bricks, and I used a printed piece which, technically, is Lando's moustache, but downward. I'd say it does the job relatively well.

I also added a rangefinder to Wolffe, which is a little big compared to everyone else's antennas, but It's still relatively to scale with the head itself. No custom prints for him (not sure where I would find the correct pattern images ?), but I've done it for Fordo and Neyo. Fordo obviously has his well deserved Jaig eyes (and who knew it would be that difficult to find a picture of that on internet ?), and Neyo has his symbol on the helmet, chest plate, and the shoulder not shown here.

The really tinkered ones : Gree, Bly, Rex :

Here, it was a matter of trials and errors to figure out just how to get the shapes right.

I actually started with Bly, by removing the previous visor and adding the macrobinoculars first, then I tried to shape the helmet around. Truth is, it doesn't make sense technically : the two separated parts of the helmet do not connected at all, if you remove the equipment. Luckily, no one has to know that.

Next is Gree. It took me some time to figure out how to properly get a round feel, but I feel like it's as good as I can make it like this. Colour-wise, it was surprisingly difficult to find how to balance the different shades of green, and equally hard was to figure out which silvery colour would render well in STUDio. The answer lied, as it always does, in Bionicle. Of course, none of these pieces exist in this colour, but it's not really my main problem (because none of the coloured printed pieces exist either).

Finally, Rex...He gave me some trouble, I have to admit. Firstly, the part-designing software decided to have some trouble with custom prints, which was problematic, because I simply couldn't do Rex without jaig eyes (and Fordo already had his). Then, I started with Gree's base and tried to go from there to fit Rex's custom helmet. I ended up using Boba Fett's printed visor piece for Rex, because these were all triangles. I also got rid of the printed chest piece and used some black plates to simulate the pouch he has; while also adding a a few more custom printed pieces for the arms and pauldron (barely visible, but they're here. I'm not entirely happy with it, but I don't see much other solutions than more and more custom prints, which isn't my goal, so it'll stay like that for now.

Anyway, that's way too much rambling for one post, so I'll just end by saying that next week I'll post an alt version of this whole build [here !], with some 'slight' colour alterations. Definitely nothing big.

“Command and Consequence pt.2”

Fox x reader x Wolffe

⸻

She wasn’t just their trainer. She was the trainer. The hard-ass Mandalorian bounty hunter who whipped the clone cadets into shape, showed them how to survive, and maybe, quietly, showed them something like love.

They weren’t supposed to fall for her.

She wasn’t supposed to leave.

But they did. And she did.

Now she’s back—in chains. On trial. And neither of them has forgiven her. But neither of them has stopped feeling, either.

⸻

Wolffe was gone.

Off to a frontline somewhere, chasing a ghost on someone else’s leash. He hadn’t said goodbye. Just stood in her cell, said her name like it tasted like blood, and left.

She told herself it didn’t sting.

Told herself that right up until the door hissed open again.

This time, it was him.

Fox.

She felt him before she saw him—every hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She didn’t lift her head until she heard the soft clink of his boots on the duracrete.

“You always did have the heaviest damn footsteps.”

No answer.

Just the soft hum of the ray shield between them and the weight of six years of unfinished conversations.

She sat back against the wall of her cell, tilting her head to study him through the barrier. “You used to take your helmet off when you saw me.”

Fox didn’t move.

“You smiled, too,” she added. “Even blushed once.”

Still nothing.

She leaned forward. “Why don’t you take it off now, Fox? Scared I’ll see what I did to you?”

That one hit.

His shoulders shifted. Just enough.

“I loved you both,” she said, voice softer. “You and Wolffe. It wasn’t just training. You know that.”

“You walked away.”

“I had to.”

“No,” Fox said, voice hard behind the visor. “You chose to. We needed you. And you ran.”

He stepped closer to the shield.

“You trained us to survive, to lead, to kill. You were everything. You looked at us like we were people before anyone else ever did. And then you were gone. No note. No goodbye. Just gone.”

She stood now. Toe to toe with him on opposite sides of the shield.

“Don’t pretend like it was easy for me.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Fox bit out. “But every time I close my eyes, I see the cadet barracks. I see you, pulling us out of bed, making us fight through mud and stun blasts and live fire. And every time I put this helmet on, I remember the woman who made me who I am.”

“And you hate her now?”

“No,” he said, almost too quiet.

“I wish I did.”

The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was heavy, loud, aching.

Then the lights flickered. Once. Twice.

Fox’s helmet snapped up.

“You planning something?” he demanded.

She blinked, surprised. “Not me.”

An explosion rocked the building.

Fox swore and turned toward the hall—too late.

The backup power cut in, and the shield between them dropped.

She moved first.

Elbow. Throat. Disarm.

Fox recovered instantly. Mandalorian training burned into his bones—her training.

They fought dirty. Brutal. No flourish. No wasted motion. Just rage and history and sweat.

He slammed her into the wall, forearm to her neck. “Don’t—”

She headbutted him. “Too late.”

He threw her to the ground. She rolled, kicked out, caught his knee. He staggered. She was up in an instant, swinging.

He caught her wrist. “You left us.”

She broke the hold, breathless. “And you never stopped loving me.”

That cracked him.

She tackled him.

They hit the floor hard.

His helmet came loose, skittering across the ground.

And for a heartbeat—

There he was.

Fox.

Red-faced. Bloodied lip. Eyes blazing with pain and love and fury.

He flipped her. Pinned her down.

“This is what you wanted?” he growled. “To be hunted? To fight me?”

“No,” she whispered. “But I’m not dying in a cell.”

Her elbow caught his jaw. He reeled. She moved fast, straddling him, fist raised—

And paused.

Just for a second.

He looked up at her like she was the sun and the storm.

So she closed her fist.

And knocked him out cold.

⸻

She ran.

Again.

Bleeding. Gasping. Free.

But not the same.

Not anymore.

Because this time, she left something behind.

And it wasn’t just her past.

It was him.

⸻

(Flashback - Kamino)

It was raining.

Then again, it was always raining on Kamino.

She stood in the simulation room, arms crossed, helmet tucked under one arm, a long line of adolescent clones in front of her. Twelve cadets. Identical on the outside. Nervous. Curious. Eager.

She hated this part. The part where they still looked like kids.

She paced down the line like a wolf sizing up prey. They were still, silent, disciplined.

Good.

But she could already see it—the cracks, the personality slipping through despite their efforts to appear identical. That one on the end with the defiant chin tilt. The one in the middle hiding a limp. The one watching her like he already didn’t trust her.

She knew it the second they marched in—twelve cadets, lean and lethal for their age. Sharper than the usual shinies. These weren’t grunts-in-the-making. These were the Commanders. The ones Kamino’s high brass whispered about like they were investments more than soldiers.

She smirked. “You all have CT numbers. Serial designations. Statistics.”

No one spoke.

She dropped her helmet onto a nearby crate and leaned forward. “That’s not enough for me.”

Eyes tracked her, alert.

“You want to earn my respect? You survive this program, you get through my gauntlet? You don’t just get to be soldiers. You get to be people. And people need names.”

A flicker of something passed between them—confusion, curiosity, maybe even hope.

“But I don’t hand them out like sweets. Names have weight. You’ll earn yours. One by one.”

She paused.

“And I won’t name you like some shiny ARC trainer handing out joke callsigns for laughs. Your name will be the first thing someone hears before they die. Make it count.”

“You survive my program, you’ll earn a name,” she said. “A real one. Something from the old worlds. Something that means something. Not because you need a nickname to feel special—because names have teeth. They bite. They leave a scar.”

The silence was sharp. But the room listened.

The first week nearly broke them.

She saw it in their bruised knuckles, in the fire behind their eyes. None of them quit.

So she came in holding a data slate. Her list.

“CT-2224,” she said, nodding to the clone who was always coordinating, always calm under fire. “I’m calling you Cody.”

A pause.

“Named after an old soldier from history. Scout, tactician, survivor. He fought under another man’s flag but always kept his own code. You? You’ll know when to follow and when to break the chain.”

CT-2224 tilted his chin, something like pride in his eyes.

“CT-1004,” she called next. “Gree.”

He quirked a brow.

“Named after an Astronomer. A mind ahead of his time. You like to challenge the rules. You think differently. That’ll get you killed—or it’ll save your whole damn battalion. Your call.”

He smirked.

“CT-6052,” she said, turning to the one with the fastest draw in the sim tests. “Bly.”

“Bly?” he echoed.

“Named after a naval officer. Brutal. Unrelenting. Survived mutinies and shipwrecks. Your squad will challenge you someday. You’ll either lead them through the storm—or end up alone.”

He went quiet.

“CT-1138.” She stepped toward the quietest of the bunch. “Bacara.”

That got his attention.

“Name’s from an old warrior sect,” she said. “Real bastard in the heat of battle. No fear, no hesitation. You’ve got that in you—but you’ll need something to tether you. Rage alone won’t get you far.”

“CT-8826,” she barked. “Neyo.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Named after a colonial general in a lost war. Known for precision and cruelty in equal measure. You fight with cold logic. That’s useful. But one day it’s going to cost you something you didn’t know you valued.”

His stare didn’t break.

She nodded to herself.

Then she stopped in front of CT-1010.

This one was different. Always stepping in front of the others. Always first into the fire.

“You,” she said. “You’re Fox.”

He tilted his head. Curious. Suspicious.

“Not the animal,” she said. “The man. He tried to blow up a corrupt regime. People remember him as a traitor. But he died for what he believed in. He wanted to burn the world down so something better could rise.”

Fox looked at her like he wasn’t sure whether to be proud or afraid.

Good.

And finally—

CT-3636.

She exhaled. Quiet.

“You’re Wolffe. Spelled with two f’s.”

He arched a brow.

“You ever heard of General Wolffe? He died leading a battle he won. Knew it would kill him. Did it anyway. That’s who you are. You’d die for the ones you lead. But you’re not just a soldier. You’re a ghost in the making. You see things the others don’t.”

Something flickered across Wolffe’s expression. Not quite gratitude. Not yet. But something personal. Something deep.

She stepped back and looked at them all.

“You’re not just commanders now. You’re names with weight. Remember where they come from. Because someday—someone’s going to ask.”

She didn’t say why she chose those names.

But Fox knew.

And Wolffe… Wolffe felt it like a blade between his ribs.

⸻

That night, neither of them slept.

Fox sat on his bunk, staring at the nameplate freshly etched on his chest armor.

Wolffe couldn’t stop replaying the sound of her voice, the precision of her words.

It wasn’t just what she called them.

It was how she saw them.

Not clones.

Not numbers.

Men.

And in that moment—before war, before death, before heartbreak—both of them realized something:

They would have followed her anywhere.

⸻

“Target last seen heading westbound on foot. She’s injured,” Thorn’s voice snapped through the comms, sharp and clear as a vibroblade. “Bleeding. She won’t get far.”

Commander Fox didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

He was already moving—boots pounding against ferrocrete, crimson armor flashing in the underglow of gutter lights. His DC-17s were hot. Loaded. He’d cleared the last alley by himself. Found the blood trail smeared across a rusted wall. Confirmed it wasn’t fresh. Confirmed she was smart enough to double back.

Fox’s jaw tensed behind the helmet. That voice. That memory. He hated that it still echoed.

He hated what she’d made him feel back then—what she still made him feel now.

“She was ours,” Thorn said suddenly, voice low on a private channel. “She trained us. Named us. And now she’s—”

“A liability,” Fox snapped.

A pause.

Then Thorn said, “So are you.”

She’d been moving for thirty-six hours straight.

Blood caked her gloves. Her ribs were cracked. One eye nearly swollen shut. And still—still—she’d smiled when she saw the Guard flooding the streets for her.

“Miss me, boys?” she whispered, ducking into an old speeder lot, sliding through a maintenance tunnel like she’d been born in the underworld.

Fox was five minutes behind her. Thorn was closer.

She was running out of time.

So she did what she swore she wouldn’t.

She pressed a long-dead frequency into her wrist comm and whispered:

“You still owe me.”

⸻

Fox was waiting for her at the extraction point.

He stood in front of the old freight elevator. Helmet on. Blaster raised. Shoulders squared. He hadn’t spoken in five minutes. Hadn’t moved in ten.

When she limped into view, he didn’t aim. Not yet.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, voice flat.

“You’re still wearing your helmet,” she rasped.

He didn’t answer.

“Why?” she asked. “Why don’t you ever take it off anymore?”

That hit something.

He didn’t move, but the silence that followed was heavier than armor.

“You think if you bury the man I trained, the one I named, then maybe you don’t have to feel what you felt?” she asked, stepping closer. “Or maybe—maybe you think the helmet will stop you from loving the woman you’re supposed to kill.”

Fox raised his blaster.

“I’m not that man anymore.”

“And I’m not the woman who left you behind,” she said.

Then she charged him.

They hit the ground hard.

She drove her elbow into his side, but he blocked it—twisted—slammed her onto the deck. She kicked his knee, flipped him over, caught a glimpse of his face beneath the shifting helmet seal—eyes wild. Angry. Broken.

Their fight wasn’t clean. It wasn’t choreographed.

It was personal.

Every strike was a memory. Every chokehold a betrayal.

She got the upper hand—until Fox caught her wrist, yanked her forward, and headbutted her hard enough to split her lip.

“Stay down,” he growled.

But she was already back on her feet, staggering.

“You first.”

She lunged. He met her.

For one second, he nearly won.

And then—

The roar of repulsors screamed overhead.

A ship—low and mean—swooped in like a vulture. Slave I.

Fox’s head snapped up.

From the cockpit, Boba Fett gave a two-fingered salute.

From the ramp, Bossk snarled: “Hurry up, darlin’. We’re on a timer.”

She spun, landed one final kick to Fox’s side, and leapt.

He caught her foot—just for a second.

Their eyes locked.

She whispered, “You’ll have to be faster than that, Commander.”

Fox’s grip slipped.

She vanished into the belly of the ship.

The ship shot skyward, cutting between the towers of Coruscant, gone in a blink.

Fox lay back on the duracrete, chest heaving, blood in his mouth.

Thorn’s voice crackled in his comm:

“You get her?”

Fox didn’t answer.

He just stared at the sky, helmet still on, and muttered:

“Next time.”

⸻

The hum of hyperspace thrummed through her ribs like a heartbeat she hadn’t trusted in years.

She sat on the edge of the med-bench, wiping blood from her mouth, cheek split open from Fox’s headbutt. Boba threw her a rag without looking.

“You look like shab.”

She gave a low, painful laugh. “Better than dead. Thanks for the pickup.”

Boba didn’t answer right away. He just leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair, helmet off, arms crossed over his chest like a teenager who wasn’t quite ready to say what he meant.

“You could’ve called sooner, you know,” he finally muttered. “Would’ve come faster.”

“I know,” she said, quiet.

Bosk snorted from the cockpit. “Sentimental karkin’ clones. Always needin’ someone to save their shebs.”

She ignored him.

Boba didn’t. “Stow it, lizard.”

After a beat, he glanced back at her. “You’re not going back, are you?”

She didn’t answer.

“You should stay,” Boba said. “The crew’s solid. And you’re… you were like an older sister. On Kamino. When it was just me and those cold halls. You didn’t treat me like a copy.”

That one hit her like a vibroblade to the gut.

“I couldn’t stand seeing your face,” she admitted. “All I saw was Jango.”

He looked away. “Yeah. Well… I am him.”

She stood, stepped over to him, and rested a bruised hand on his shoulder.

“You’re better. You got his spine, his stubbornness. But you’ve got your own code, too. Jango… Jango would’ve left me behind if it suited him. You didn’t.”

He looked at her, lip twitching. “Yeah, well. You trained half the commanders in the GAR. You think I was about to let Fox be the one to kill you?”

She smirked. “Sentimental.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

She moved toward the ramp. “Thank you, Boba. But I can’t stay.”

“You don’t have to run forever.”

“No,” she said, voice thick. “Just long enough to finish what I started.”

And with that, she slipped through the rear hatch, into the wind, into whatever system they dropped her in next.

⸻

Wolffe stood silent, arms folded, helmet tucked under one arm. Thorn sat across from him, jaw tight, armor scraped and bloodied.

Plo Koon entered without fanfare, his robes trailing dust from the Outer Rim.

“You two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the Kel Dor said mildly.

“She might as well be,” Thorn muttered.

“We had her,” Wolffe said. “Fox did. And she slipped through his fingers.”

Plo regarded them both for a long moment.

“I assume there is tension because Fox and Thorn were in charge of the op?”

Wolffe’s jaw tightened.

Thorn spoke first. “She’s dangerous. She’s working with bounty hunters now. It’s only a matter of time before she turns that knife toward the Republic.”

“Perhaps,” Plo murmured, folding his hands. “Or perhaps she is a wounded soldier, betrayed by the very people she once called vode.”

Wolffe’s shoulders stiffened.

“She made her choice,” he said flatly.

“And yet,” Plo said, gently, “I sense hesitation in you, Commander. Pain.”

Wolffe didn’t respond.

“She is off-world now,” the Jedi continued, glancing at a tactical holo. “Potentially aligned with Separatist sympathizers. The Senate will push for her recapture. But I believe it would be wiser… more effective… for the 104th to take point on tracking her.”

Thorn straightened. “The Guard’s been assigned—”

“And you failed,” Plo said, not unkindly. “Let Wolffe try. Perhaps what’s needed now is not more firepower… but familiarity.”

Wolffe met Plo’s gaze. “You’re using this as a chance to fix me.”

“I’m giving you a chance,” Plo corrected. “To understand. To remember who she really is. Not what she became.”

Silence.

Then Wolffe slowly nodded.

“Then I’ll bring her in.”

Plo’s gaze softened beneath his mask.

“Or maybe,” he said, turning to leave, “you’ll let her bring you back.”

⸻

The atmosphere stank like rust and rot. Arix-7 was a graveyard of ships and skeletons—metal, bone, old wreckage from a thousand forgotten battles. The 104th picked through it like wolves in a burial field.

Wolffe moved ahead of the squad, visor low, silent.

Boost sidled up beside him. “You know, this place kinda reminds me of her. Sharp, full of ghosts, and ready to kill you if you step wrong.”

Sinker snorted. “Yeah, but she smelled better.”

“Cut the chatter,” Wolffe growled, tone clipped.

Boost shrugged. “Just saying. Weird to be tracking the person who taught you how to hold a blaster.”

“Worse to be planning how to shoot her,” Sinker added, quieter.

Wolffe didn’t respond.

He just kept moving.

They found her in the remains of a Republic frigate, buried deep in the moon’s crust, converted into a hideout. Cracked floors, scattered gear, a heat signature blinking faint and wounded—but moving.

She knew they were coming.

She was waiting.

⸻

They found her in the wreck of an old Separatist cruiser, rusted deep into the jagged crust of the moon. Sinker and Boost had gone in first—quick, confident, all muscle and old banter. That didn’t save them from being outmaneuvered and knocked out cold.

Wolffe found their unconscious bodies first. And then, her.

She stepped into the light like a shadow peeling off the wall—hood pulled low, face scraped and bloodied but eyes still burning.

“You always send the pups in first?” she asked. “Or were they just stupid enough to come on their own?”

Wolffe charged her without a word.

Hand-to-hand. Just like she trained him.

But she didn’t hold back this time—and neither did he.

She was still faster. Still sharper. Still cruel with her movements, a blade honed by years outside the Republic’s rule.

But Wolffe had strength and control, and he’d stopped pulling punches years ago.

They traded blows. She bloodied his mouth. He cracked her ribs. He pinned her. She slipped free.

Then came him.

The air shifted—sharp with ozone and tension—and suddenly Plo Coon was between them. Calm. Powerful. Alien eyes behind his antiox mask, watching her without familiarity, without sentiment.

“Step down,” Plo said.

She bristled. “Another Jedi. Wonderful. Let me guess—here to ‘redeem’ me?”

“I don’t know you,” Plo answered. “But I know what you’ve done. And I know you were once theirs.”

“I was never yours.”

“Good,” Plo said, igniting his saber. “Then this will be easier.”

They fought.

The air crackled.

She struck first—fast and brutal, close-range, aiming to disable before he could bring the Force to bear. But Plo Coon had fought Sith, droids, beasts. He wasn’t unprepared for feral grace and dirty tricks.

He parried. Dodged. Let her come to him.

“You’re angry,” he said through gritted teeth. “But not lost.”

She lunged. “You don’t know me.”

“No. But I sense your pain. You’re not just running. You’re bleeding.”

“Pain is what’s kept me alive!”

He knocked her off balance, sent her tumbling. She scrambled, but he held her in place with a subtle lift of the hand, the Force pinning her in a crouch.

“Enough,” he said, not unkindly.

She panted, teeth grit, shoulders trembling.

“I don’t know why you left them. I don’t care. I only ask you stop now, before someone dies who doesn’t need to.”

Her gaze flicked past him, to Wolffe—who stood in silence, jaw tight, one eye focused and guarded.

“You Jedi think you know everything,” she hissed. “But you don’t know what it’s like to train them. To love them. And to choose between them.”

That made Plo pause.

“I chose nothing,” she said. “And it still broke them.”

The silence that followed was colder than the void outside.

Plo stared at her for a long moment.

Then, slowly—he stepped back.

Released the Force.

“You’ll run again,” he said, saber still lit. “But I won’t be the one to kill someone trying to hold herself together.”

She blinked.

“You’re… letting me go?”

“I’m giving you a moment,” he said. “What you do with it is yours to answer for.”

Wolffe took a step forward.

Plo stopped him with a look.

“She’s off world. Unarmed. And—” his voice lowered, “—no longer a priority.”

Wolffe’s fists clenched.

She didn’t wait.

She bolted into the wreckage, shadows swallowing her whole. Gone again.

This time, no one followed.