DARK TIMES | 19 BBY

We were one of the small groups the Republic had sent to the Outer Rim to dissuade the Separatists from taking planetary control. There was a secondary advantage of the Republic gaining access to several more hyperspace routes. Thankfully the Separatists hadn’t made it this far into the Outer Rim yet.

 

Dusk had begun to fall on Vineiis III where we were stationed. Most civilians had gone home to their families, leaving me and my squad of clones patrolling the streets alone. The routine was the same as usual—we would walk around the city, close to the outskirts, handing supplies out to the less wealthy. The most intense that circumstances ever got was stopping the occasional theft or street fight.

 

Tonight something felt different in the air though, and none of us were sure what it was. We were all wary of something, but of what we weren’t sure. It was then that it happened—we had just turned a corner, and Sergeant Tem and the other clones suddenly turned to face me, blasters raised. They started firing. I was their target? They knew me, I trusted them. What had happened?

Done