3rd Person
All clones are the same.
Such a statement was true in physical sense. Upon further examination, such a statement was blatantly false.
All clones came from the same template, the notorious bounty hunter Jango Fett. Draped in traditional mandalorian beskar armor, he was said to be so adept at his craft he'd even killed Jedi. Such a hardened hunter made the perfect base for an army. Birthed on their home planet of Kamino, the clones were bred for war. Surely it must have been peculiar to look through the cloning facility cafeteria and see thousands of the same identical faces.
Despite this, the clones were not the same. Anyone who'd ever held a conversation with one would tell you otherwise.
They all received the same combat training, the same armor, the same flesh and blood. However, as they aged together deep within the island city, each individual clone developed their own uniqueness. Whether it was a gift for diplomacy, a good sense of humor, or innate leadership skills, the clone branched out. Their eventually chosen names were proof of that; a code of digits and letters was no name for a living being. The name of a clone immediately told you a little about them.
"Rex."
"Fives."
"Fox."
"Cody."
"Rys."
"Keeli."
"Burst."
All clones are not the same.
Burst
"Why do you continue to attack us?" Chirrut pleaded.
"Why do you continue to prevent us from entering the temple? What do you have to hide from us?" Hela fired back.
"The crystals must be protected and safeguarded. It is our job as guardians to defend them from anyone looking to use their power maliciously." Chirrut retorted plainly.
"And a fat lot of good you've done safeguarding this place." Hela spat, pointing to the dozens of empty cavities in the wall where crystals once grew. "You guardians won't be able to keep up this facade forever. We will catch you in the act eventually."
"Your church has been quite open about your desire to harvest kyber in the past. Wouldn't that make you a more likely culprit?" Chirrut countered, becoming a bit flustered.
"Only to aid the Jedi Order. Have you forgotten who this sacred land belongs to?!" Hela questioned viscously.
"This land belongs to no one but the force!" Chirrut roared.
"Will you two shut up? You're acting like children." I snapped, unable to tolerate the bickering of our supposed guides. Part of me wanted to simply quickdraw my twin DH-17 blaster pistols and stun the both of them.
"Keep in mind this guy is literally eleven years old. He's right though." Slipstream added, to which I rolled my eyes as per usual.
"The Jedi serve the will of the force!" Hela continued, ignoring Slipstream and I.
My fingers slowly crept toward my holster, itching to end this torture. Then Slipstream intervened.
"How do you know either of you are serving the force? Does it speak to you? I'm a little confused." Slipstream inquired. He still retained a bit of his joking tone, but there was a dash of genuineness to his curiosity.
"The force expresses itself through all living things. If you seek to understand the natural order of the galaxy, the will of the force becomes clear." Hela divulged, her attention still directed toward Chirrut. Slipstream rubbed his chin, deep in thought.
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The Weakest Jedi
Fanfiction*OC version of The Weakest Jedi.* The story of a young boy and his foolish dream. Born into the hellish underworld of Coruscant, Zevon was found by the Jedi at a young age and welcomed into the order. There's a slight problem, though... Zevon's forc...
