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CC-1010 unlocks the front door of his apartment, dropping his bag next to the small table that he found by a dumpster and took for himself.
His apartment is one of the smaller ones, hosting the kitchen with the living room in a combined area, barely 6 steps long. Luckily, his bedroom is separated by a door though the mattress on the floor takes up most of the space in the small room.
CC-1010 doesn’t mind; it’s not like he has any items to fill in the tiny apartment anyway.
The war has long since passed, the Sith Lord revealed by Jedi Master Mace Windu and Plo Koon. They, combined with Master Yoda, were able to defeat the former Chancellor while Kenobi distracted Skywalker from rushing in.
Or so the news says.
1010 doesn’t know what exactly went on; he just returned from Kamino that same day when his office was flooded with the Corrie and GAR Commanders. There were demands that he pull up the security cameras from the office and around the Senate building. The bold commander from the 212th battalion went even further to ask for recent reports that were irrelevant to his position.
It was not exactly what he wanted to deal with, but 1010 stood his ground, firm in his decisions to respectfully decline each and every request. The lack of explanation along with the backlog of duties that had to be fulfilled due to his absence was his excuse, though it didn’t convince any of them to drop it.
There were several insults thrown at him, many spoken in a language he didn’t understand. If it weren’t for their frustrated looks and pointed glares, he would have never assumed the hostility of the words.
There were a couple that had even his Corrie Commanders on defense, their teeth bared and 1010 was forced to defuse the situation best he could in what little time he had. So much to do, he thought, and they are not helping.
“I apologize,” he started in a low voice, dragging the old conflict resolution techniques from his scrambled thoughts to the front, “for the inconvenience of this situation, but under the Chancellor’s rule, I cannot allow you to see the security feed without his explicit permission.” How he was able to pull the knowledge of the Chancellor’s ruling out of his foggy mind, 1010 will never know, but it came in handy for this conversation. “I suggest you come back with viable evidence for your request, if you find it important enough to still run through.”
“Viable evide-He’s a traitor!” Commander Bacara shouts from the back.
Commander Ponds steps up before another insult is thrown, taking control of the questioning. “Why are you protecting him?”
1010 lets his lips twist into the smile he believes he would give to entitled Senators not getting their way. He never in a million years assumed this is how he would deal with the Commanders of the GAR; then again, he probably would have remembered if his brain wasn’t fried from the Kaminoan’s lessons.
“Please come back with physical and reasonable evidence to receive security clearance.”
He likes to think his wording is what got many to drop the situation, but he’s pretty sure it’s because they knew it was a losing battle. After all, they must have known that 1010 wouldn’t give up the footage without a reasonable explanation.
But it did. They all stopped with their requests. In fact, they all stopped with their nonsense talking.
All except the newly promoted Commander of the 501st.
Commander Rex’s expression is pained, eyebrows furrowed close together as he spoke in a soft tone. 1010 would have brushed it off if it wasn’t for the ridiculousness of the word. “Fox.” The word is spoken less like a question and more of a demand, confusion and anger leaking from it as he takes a step forward.
There is silence for only a beat before 1010 gives out a chuckle. “This is Coruscant,” he reminds the blue-painted Commander, his confusion shown through the statement though no judgement. If Commander Rex was thinking of foxes, that’s his own business but it has no place in the seriousness of their discussion. Maybe, 1010 thinks, he is thinking of a planet where he saw one. “There are no foxes here.” At least, not from what 1010 can remember. He can’t be for certain, his knowledge lacking to come through from his scrambled thoughts, but he assumes foxes would prefer the wilderness of a Mid Rim planet over the city life of Coruscant.
He thinks it was then that he had made enemies of the Commanders. After all, why else would they not talk to him when the war was over?
Of course, it could also be that he was never friends with the Commanders either. CC-1010 can’t really remember much of his life before coming back from Kamino, details slipping his grasp every time he tried reaching for them.
His Corrie Commanders stopped talking to him the minute after the Coruscant Guard was dissolved into the Senate Guard, their role repurposed into what it was previously before the war. 1010 had written letters of recommendations for those who came to him, interesting in applying for the Senate Guard or other job openings around the galaxy.
If it wasn’t for the datapad he found in his desk with notes about each trooper with not only their personalities written out but every accomplishment they made, 1010 knew he wouldn’t have been much help for the troopers. Luckily, as far as he knew, each trooper he recommended either got the job or a similar job for which they were qualified for.
All thanks to the highly observant men named Fox and Thorn. CC-1010 isn’t for certain that they were clones as there is no evidence of such men existing; he did his research, yet he couldn’t find anything about them and no matter how tempting it was to ask the other Commanders, he would rather not face the humiliation of being laughed at. However, he likes to believe they were.
These ghosts, figments of 1010’s imagination, have lived despite never existing; their life stories were grand and exhilarating, all thought up and confined to the imagination of 1010.
It was silly in a pathetic kind of way, but when 1010 has nothing of his own, these delusions are all he has to cling to.
He has no batchmates, like he hears other troopers talk about. Or if he did, he can’t remember them. They must have died in the war because none have ever come forth asking for him.
His file that Nala Se was forced to give him once the clones had rights had no mention of any batch or training squad. It only spoke of his many, many sessions that occurred during the war, along with the results of each session. His health was in the clear, with only minimal nerve damaging and slight memory loss.
Fox and Thorn though…they don’t have the defects that 1010 has. They are vod (which 1010 wishes to be but it’s hard to be a vod to batchmates who aren’t alive and even more so, to troopers who have no desire to speak to him), capable and strong-willed, and unlike CC-1010, they had each other.
He can imagine Thorn taking out dozens of droids all by himself and despite getting overwhelmed by the sheer numbers surrounded him, 1010 can imagine the vod walking free with a careless grin, a Z-6 rotary gun thrown across his shoulder. Fox on the other hand would be more subtle in his fights, defusing with his quick words until fighting is the only option he has.
CC-1010 sits in the rolling chair he was gifted by a neighbor, opening a can of some green vegetable and eating straight from the can with a fork.
This has been his routine for the past couple of months, ever since his application for the apartment was approved. The loneliness of such routine never really rises to the point where it’s crippling; after all, it is much better to be alone and free than stuck in a war. But it does get…tiresome.
1010 stares down at the can in his hands, the taste barely registering on his tongue. His comm lies quiet on the table, as it had for the past four months, surrounded by several reports and forms.
His mouth continues to chew around the next mouthful, remembering how useless the research has been. There is nothing of the man CC-1010 used to be, all destroyed in a seemingly convenient way. He wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t for the stares he constantly gets by both GAR and Corrie troopers. However, it doesn’t compare to the brutality of the Commander’s avoidance of him.
It's just…it’s so…1010 knows he shouldn’t compare himself to a man that’s been torn away, the memories forever erased from his brain, but it doesn’t stop the inadequate feeling that maybe he should try harder.
He’s not enough as CC-1010, that much he knows, but if he could for a second get some kind of glimpse into who he was before the session, maybe then…
Maybe then, he can fit in within the Vod’e.
CC-1010 sighs, setting his unfinished meal to the side and grabs another unread report.