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Cody has always known what he is--a CC-designation clone of Jango Fett, bred to be the ideal soldier, one of many cogs in the Grand Army of the Republic.

The who part has always been more complicated, when identity and agency are things that he and his brothers have had to discover for themselves, prying them one tiny shard at a time from a Galaxy intent on seeing them as faceless and disposable.

It's different now. The GAR no longer exists--"clone troopers" no longer exist.

As sudden and shocking as their liberation had been, they're all free men now. There are no more regs to follow, no nat-borns they have to defer to, and no more fear of any of the Vode of getting decommissioned. They have rights and are recognized as sentients, and while they might not quite have the Galaxy's respect, they at least certainly have its fear.

Given his current circumstances, Cody knows that he should feel the farthest he's ever been from CC-2224, a number designation, a product of the Kaminoans and property of the Republic. He knows that instead, he should feel the closest he's ever been to embodying who Cody--Kote--is, now that he truly has the freedom and means to do so.

So it's ironic that it's also now that he feels like he's betraying everything that makes him who he is.

As a clone, he's been called many things. An inferior copy, gene scrapings, a replica that pales next to the original, a fake mockery of a Mandalorian. All of these are easy enough to take in stride--Cody is a clone, and he's unashamed of the fact. Even now, as different as his circumstances may be, it remains a crucial part of him.

A copy isn't the same thing as a replacement.

Despite having a "template," none of the clones were ever meant to be Jango Fett. No one wanted more Jango Fetts--sons of Jaster Mereel, survivors of the Haat Mando'ade, and displaced Mand'alors. No, the Kaminoans and the Sith that had orchestrated their creation simply found a man with all the qualities they wanted--including the ability to successfully kill Jedi--and had used him as a base to manufacture tools that fit their needs. The Vode, for all that they may look physically identical to Jango Fett, were never meant to take Jango Fett's place in the Galaxy, whatever that may be.

Cody himself has certainly never wanted to replace--to be--Jango.

And yet, when he looks down, the Prime's beskar buy'ce rests in his hands. The T-visor seems to stare up at him accusingly.

It all feels wrong--as though by slipping on the Prime's armor, it's a betrayal, an abandonment of his identity as a clone. As though he's overstepping the boundary of what makes Cody himself. Cody tries to stop the thought before it can form, but it does, and--

It feels like reaching for the unattainable status of the Original that Cody will never, ever be.

That Cody has the thought at all is an acknowledgement of that ugly doubt that exists inside him--likely exists inside all of them--that no matter how much they feel like people, in the end it doesn't matter, because they're still just artificial duplicates--

You're overthinking it, a voice near-identical to his own but oh so very different murmurs in the back of Cody's mind, accompanied by a pulse of exasperation.

Once, the sensation may have startled Cody, but the strange bond that connects them all is now just another part of what makes them them.

It's a reminder that Cody latches on to--that no matter how similar their voices are, the Prime's projected thoughts and emotions are clearly foreign, distinct from Cody's own thoughts.

Cody isn't the Prime. The Prime isn't Cody.

And yet fittingly, within Cody's mind, they momentarily overlap.

Think of it as just another undercover mission. Surely you've done those before, the Prime continues, amused, as though Cody's identity crisis is entertainment. Just put on my kriffing gear--and remember, this was your idea.

An "undercover mission," Cody's shebs.

But it really had been Cody's idea; he'd been the one to suggest breaching all of these silently understood boundaries, to define their priorities, and to personally volunteer himself to take advantage of his own history with their guest. It makes strategic sense, after all. He remembers feeling his brothers' shock, the Prime's quiet consideration, and Rex's horrified stare that Cody's volunteering to deceive--!

Cody won't lie to himself--he wouldn't take back the plan, even if he could. At the same time, a part of him had been counting on the Prime putting a stop to it. After all, his plan not only crossed a taboo line for the Vode, but for Mandalorians as well.

Armor is sacred. And to have another wear your armor, even for the sake of a mission...

And yet, the bastard had agreed with nothing but a considering nod.

It's too late for Cody to regret it now. But the Prime was a bastard about it then, and is being a bastard about it now, and his smug attitude is grating on Cody's already strained nerves. Luckily, their connection goes both ways, and Cody no longer has quite the professional restraint he had as a GAR soldier. He doesn't hesitate before sending back a jolt of scathing irritation through the bond, strong enough to sting, and though it makes brothers cringe as it brushes them on its way to the Prime, Jango himself just laughs it off.

Ori'vod, incoming, Rex's far more welcome voice chimes in, and Cody briefly closes his eyes to see a flash of the landing platform through Rex's eyes, and the Republic ship descending from orbit.

It's him.

His General.

A flare of emotion wraps itself around Cody's throat, because--because there are so many things he needs to say, to apologize for, to explain, and he needs--

No. He cuts the connection to Rex's eyes before he can catch a glimpse, because. He can't. Not now.

He has a mission.

And Cody may no longer be a good soldier who follows orders, but he's nothing if not a good brother who protects his family. And this facet is a part of himself that Cody embraces wholly and willingly, the consequences be damned.

Vode an, Cody thinks, resigned.

Vode an, his brothers echo back, millions of them, all of their attention trained on Cody now that he's lowered his shields to tell them it's time. Their voices are accompanied by a kaleidoscope of gratitude, regret, worry, sympathy, curiosity, anticipation.

For them.

Cody raises the buy'ce and slips it over his head in a smooth, practiced motion, as though this isn't the first time he's putting it on. Unsurprisingly, it fits as though it was made for him.

As the beskar seals itself closed, the Force presence of "Cody" winks out of existence, still tangible only to those already connected to his mind.

Cody briefly checks the rest of his armor one last time, before standing. He knows his reflection catches on the mirror, but doesn't bother looking--he knows what he'll see, and it isn't himself.

Then, with the calm, silent steps of not a soldier, but a Mandalorian bounty hunter, he makes his way down to the throne room to greet their guest.

It's a shame, but Cody, unfortunately, won't be present today to reunite with his former General.

But Jango Fett, recently reinstated Mand'alor, has an audience with the delegate from the Republic--with former Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

~~

Beskar, according to the Prime, has the ability to block the Force.

The Force, according to the Jedi, reveals the Vode as distinct and unique individuals, and provides irrefutable evidence that they aren't objects or products, but living and breathing beings no lesser than any other sentient. It's how the Jedi could tell Cody and his brothers apart, even back when they barely knew each other, when the Vode should have appeared nothing but an outwardly identical sea of bodies in white plastoid.

Cody had always assumed that "blocking the Force" meant preventing Force suggestions or providing an extra layer of shielding from things like Sith mind attacks. But according to the Prime, beskar is also capable, to an extent, of masking their very presence in the Force itself--their Force signatures.

Not entirely, mind, Jango had said, running his fingers over the burnished silver and muted blue paint of his buy'ce. They'll be able to tell the difference between complete strangers, and people that they're familiar with. But you and I, and all the Vode...we're similar enough, especially now, that the jetiise shouldn't be able to tell the difference with the Force alone.

The statement leaves a sour note in Cody's mouth that not even his newly acquired taste for tiingilar can burn away. Intentionally trying to appear the same to the Jedi, who are among the very few beings who validate their individuality, seems utterly counter to what they ought to be doing.

He likes even less the way it makes starkly clear that a line has been drawn, between the Jedi and the Vode, defining how they're no longer on the same side (if you ever were, a disturbingly familiar, croaking voice seems to whisper).

Despite everything that has happened, despite what Cody knows now, and despite how that knowledge has changed Cody in the few months since he was Marshall Commander of the GAR--an overwhelming majority of Cody still yearns to return to his General's side, where he'd somehow imagined he'd always be, no matter how the war ended, for as long as his General let him.

None of them could have foreseen the way the war did end. None except, perhaps, the Prime.

The Prime hadn't told them about beskar's properties solely to protect against the Jedi, despite his old animosity against them (now painfully, viscerally understandable in ways that still makes Cody's gut churn).

If beskar can hide their identities from the Jedi...it must also hide them from the Sith.

Hiding isn't their way, isn't the Prime's way, isn't the Vode's way, and isn't--Cody supposes they count now, in a way--the Mandalorian Way. They'd only ever considered it as a last resort contingency plan.

They'd had to fall back on it far too quickly, when a mere day before the scheduled arrival of the delegate and the Prime's first formal public appearance to the Republic since he reclaimed the throne of Mandalore--there was an assassination attempt.

Cody had watched from the other side of the transparisteel wall as the Prime was rushed to medical, efficiently stripped of his armor and suit as the medics swarmed over him. A poison dart. Ironic, Cody thought, given the Prime's own favored assassination tools. The Prime's skin looked ashy, but he'd managed to dodge the dart enough that the wound was but a small scrape, and he'd known enough about the toxin to manage to delay its effects.

A pulse had come through the bond, and Cody sensed more disgruntlement at having been caught unawares than any serious fear or pain. Yes, the Prime would live.

The assassin had already been apprehended by Fordo, but had bitten an electric suicide capsule before they could extract information. Information would have been helpful, but every single one of them knew who was behind the attack.

Darth Sidious.

As soon as they'd confirmed that the dar'jetii had escaped Fox's hunt and had left Coruscant, they knew he would regroup, then target the Prime.

For revenge, because the Prime had single-handedly thwarted Sidious's plans--plans to both to take control of the galaxy, and to destroy the Jedi Order by turning the Vode into his mindless puppets.

And perhaps, by eliminating the Prime, Sidious also sought to salvage enough of said plans for a second attempt.

After all, the Prime is currently all that stands between Sidious and controlling the several million chipped Vode who are still under an active Order 66 under the Prime Override.

~~

--Three months prior--

The war is over.

General Grievous is dead, at his own General's hands, and even though clean up remains and Cody won't lower his guard until every clanker has fallen, he feels...

He doesn't quite feel light, but he feels what might be a very fragile hope. It feels premature to call relief, but it's the shadow of it, dancing just barely out of reach. Every sense in Cody is on high alert because they're so close, and if something happens now, if Grievous had set some kind of bomb to be triggered by his death, then everything up till this moment will have been for naught.

Cody passes the lightsaber--so familiar, too familiar--back to his General, and feels a slight tingle as the metal leaves his fingertips. He wonders if this will be the last time he holds it. If there is no more war, no more battles, then his General--

No, it's premature. He can't let his guard down now.

His comm pings, and it's from high command.

It's unusual, but his General did just kill General Grievous. The war has ended, times are changing.

Cody remains vigilant, and picks up the comm.

A dark hooded figure, masked by the staticky blue of the holo. A moment of confusion, and then before wariness can even kick in--

"Commander Co..."

Time slows.

Through his visor, Cody can still see the figure, can still see pale, wrinkled lips forming his name in seemingly excruciating detail despite the holo distortion--but it seems like it's on a different plane, like a simulation experiencing lag. Around him, the battle should be raging, but everything is muted. Cody sees a clanker's blaster bolt inching along past a brother. The glowing streak is so slow, it might as well have been floating, and it's clear that it won't hit anyone.

The hooded figure's voice has gone so deep, so distorted, Cody can barely make it out beyond a dull roar in the background.

But then suddenly, another voice cuts through, crystal clear and in real time, and though it sounds like another comm, it feels close, too close to even be in his bucket, as though the familiar voice is coming in directly through his mind--

This is Jango Fett, executing the Prime Override. All units, initiate inhibitor unlock sequence.

The voice sounds like a vod, but no vod would ever mistake the Prime's voice.

His words don't make sense, Cody doesn't know what he's talking about, but apparently he does, because he doesn't physically move but something seems to click in him, and then--

Another world flashes before his eyes, overlaid on top of Utapau's dusty surface like a hyper realistic fully immersive simulation. Except it's growing more real by the moment, and Cody was on Utapau, but now he's not, because this is too real to be a mere simulation, and--

There's a man towering over him, a man Cody has never seen before, and a woman and a girl in the back, and Cody doesn't know them except he does. They're in a weathered but cozy house he's also never seen before but knows instinctively is home--

Buir, Cody's mouth says, and the shadow of the man looms closer, but Cody feels no fear, because even though he's so small compared to him, this man would never hurt him, he's--

Fields of crops, stretching endlessly, tall grasses that arch far overhead, even taller than buir. The rustling of the plants, the familiar buzzing of insects that Cody knows better than anything, laughter up ahead, and he needs to run faster or Arla will--

Cody's hands moving on autopilot as he fixes a familiar tractor, and when he looks up, his own reflection looks back at him from the windows--but then suddenly a second reflection joins it, a man standing right over his shoulder, long dark hair that seems to meld with Mandalorian armor painted a matte black. Cody's instincts scream at him to turn, danger--

The ground blurs, and Cody is weak, he's small and helpless as the Mandalorian in black armor hits his buir, and then there's a blaster in his face, the crack of a shot and then the pressure leaves, and--

Jango, run! his buir screams, and then--

Blaster fire, smoke, the familiarity of a battlefield, except no, Cody's never been in a battlefield before, and then there's another Mando rising up from the grasses, his armor also dark, but reflecting the sheen of pure beskar beneath the dirt, and Cody-Jango can't duck fast enough before the man grabs his arm--

Fields on fire--

A dusty town, more blasterfire, a blaster in Co-Jango's hand, it jolts, and then a man's dead, his first kill--

Everything's shaking, and someone steadies him, lifts him, and C...Jango's hand curls around coarse, dirty red fabric.

Welcome to the Mandalorians, the man says, the man, who is...

The scenes come faster, blurring together, and yet each distinct, because how could he forget, he lived it.

The dusty transports, full of Mandalorians, all familiar. The palace in Keldabe. The council. Training. Myles, Silas. Getting his first set of beskar armor. A courtyard. Training. Missions. Sweat plastering long curls to his forehead. Sneaking through the hidden entrance behind the throne. The town. A familiar presence, ruffling his hair.

Mand'alor! people shout. Mand'alor! Laughter. Jaster, it's Jaster--

Jaster dying in his arms.

Pain.

Everything blurs, blurs but leaves its mark, forever engrained in his mind, it's who he is, this is who Jango Fett is--

Everything is white.

Snow, it's snow.

The sound of igniting jetii'kad.

Some distant part of him thinks the sound is familiar, for some reason associates it with safety, with the tides turning in their favor, but that can't be right, he's never seen any jetiise in person before.

The jetii'kad, they're beautiful. They paint brilliantly colored light across the glittering snow canvas with graceful, deadly sweeps. And everything their colors brush, falls. Jarring among the pretty pastels, dark blotches appear in the snow--the blotches are people, his people, his men, his friends and brothers and aliit, all falling, all dying when touched by those glowing blades of death.

All other sounds fade except for the humming of the blades, hypnotic and otherworldly. Beautiful, horrible. They cauterize so flawlessly, it's almost difficult to connect them to the violence--Myles doesn't lose a drop of blood when he's bisected in the air.

He doesn't know when the humming ends, because it still reverberates in his ears, long after everything has stopped moving.

Now it's just him, on his knees in the snow, illuminated on all sides by those terrible, beautiful blades.

Everyone is dead, and there's something glistening dark and wet on his palms, not caused by jetii'kad. But Jango doesn't see it, because nothing matters.

Jedi Killer, something whispers, etching the words into his soul, but they're pale and meaningless next to the One Who Led His Own People to Slaughter and Survived.

Emptiness.

The years fly past, but it's hollow, the slave collar around his neck is hollow, revenge is hollow. Taking endless bounties, until he's recognized in a new way, and people back away because he's Jango Fett, no longer the Mand'alor but just another bounty hunter, just a simple man trying to somehow make his way in this terrible, empty--

A tall man, one he recognizes from Galidraan, though he's older now--the way he's used to seeing him--and then an offered deal, a chance to take part in the destruction of the Jedi.

The destruction of the Jedi--

Something in him recoils--glitches the scene, clashing with the wary interest and spike in hatred he should be feeling, but how could he, NO--

The moment resumes, steamrolling over his emotions, because this is too important to miss. Pay attention, something whispers. This is the turning point.

Jango does want revenge on the Jedi--they took everything from him after all--but revenge is hollow, he knows from seeing the bloody remains of Tor Vizsla. It's not enough, nothing will bring back what can give him peace. Yet at the same time, perhaps meaningless revenge is the best he'll ever attain, while forever yearning for something that no longer exists--

--but suddenly, a spark in the darkness.

Tyranus's deal is intended as an offer for revenge. But maybe, maybe if Jango plays his cards right, this could...

A plan begins to form, and when Jango speaks, it's to accept the offer to become the Prime Clone, an instrument in the destruction of the Jedi.

Jango Fett is the instrument of no one.

But right now, he just has a spark. His mind's racing, but there are too many unknowns, and all he can do now is wait to see where the pieces will fall. Maybe this really will just be hollow revenge. But he's got nothing right now, nothing to lose, so if all he gains is more emptiness, so be it.

Or, it might just possibly be something else, something more--

Another figure. Shadowed, hooded. Pale lips peeling back, and a sense of utter cold goes down Jango's back.

The figure offers another deal, this one without Tyranus's knowledge. An offer that seems empty, an offer that makes no attempt to hide that Jango will be a mere guinea pig. Nothing but a casual, easily forgotten sacrifice, if things should fail. At least the figure's honest about it.

But the deal also offers a handsome reward, something credits can't buy--something utterly impossible.

Without his spark--that he now recognizes as delicate, dangerous hope--he probably would have said no. The figure is offering something that most mortals would have given anything for--but Jango isn't most mortals, and he's never wanted such a thing. Except now, with his plan, it might be--

Jango accepts, and the hooded figure smiles.

All according to the Sith Master's plans.

But also another piece that slots into place for Jango's.

It feels too good to be true--there's no way there's not a catch. Jango has to find it, if he wants to pull this off. Otherwise, he's just another pawn. And perhaps that's fitting; they think they're breeding livestock and cannon fodder, and if they think Jango's the same, then maybe they won't see his plan until it's too late--

White halls. White halls filled with endless rows of tubes, and there's relief because they're familiar in a way that feels right, feels different from the rest of the scenes. Except different as well, because that plastoid isn't for him, he wears beskar, and in his arms is a child, and--

There are Vode around him, Vode everywhere, except they aren't Vode, they aren't his--but they could be, they will be, if things go according to Jango's plan.

Not Tyranus's plan, not Sidious's plan, but Jango's--no longer just a spark, but a plan. It's coming together, but there's still a major unknown that's left, one he just won't know until he tries--

A wet, bedraggled figure, and a painfully familiar face. Jango--Cody knows his face, his General, O--

It's over too soon, because everything's a rush. He's out of time--it's started. Whether Jango's ready or not, it's time.

Now, all Jango needs to do is die.

There are Geonosians clattering everywhere, an execution arena. The humming of sabers on a backdrop of sand that looks too bright, too white, like snow--the last time he'd seen so many of them together. Death.

He knows the plan, but in that moment, he almost abandons it. He will not die here. Not to those blades. He won't leave Boba, to be the survivor. He can't--

An arc of burning violet, swinging towards him.

This is the end.

...Except then he wakes up.

It worked.

The visceral pounding shock from successfully dying then coming back to life drains away, along with the familiar blue liquid of the stasis vat. Then, Kamino also fades, and Jango--

No, Cody, Kote, is standing on Utapau once more.

Something shatters, like a thin, glass veil, barely noticeable in the roar of the world, but suddenly everything is clearer.

There's a moment of disorientation, a ringing in his ears, before Kote processes--and he doesn't know how, but he knows with absolute certainty what he'd just experienced:

Jango Fett's memories.

In order to undo a lifetime of conditioning, you must experience a lifetime outside of it, Jango's voice says, and it makes sense, Kote understands, and there's a weight to the word conditioning that goes far beyond what he'd believed prior, but that's for him to contemplate another time.

His mind is reeling, but he manages to pull out several thoughts that seem a priority: he isn't Jango. He knows he's Kote, also Cody, CC-2224, a clone. He's thirteen years old, but in the span of what must have been less than a second, he's just lived decades. It's as though a library has been unearthed and unlocked in his mind, filled with countless names and faces, experiences and emotions that burn so hot they can't not be his, even if a part of him recognizes that they belong to another man.

Your past is part of who you are, Cody remembers his General saying, and regardless of their origins, Cody feels these memories searing themselves into the core of who he is.

In the holo in his palm, the hooded figure's lips are still curling around his name.

The hooded figure. Cody knows who he is now. Darth Sidious. The Sith Lord. The mastermind of the fall of the jetiise, the architect of the rise of the Empire, if his plans should come to fruition.

Chancellor Palpatine.

He was playing them, playing both sides of the war. He--so many brothers died--Cody--

Watch, Jango's voice murmurs. This was his fate for you.

And before Cody can process further, everything speeds up again.

"-ody, Execute Order 66."

It will be done, My Lord.

Cody--no, CC-2224 sees his hands move, feels his throat work, feels the words that direct his brothe--units to fire, fire on the traitor, no, NO, that's his General, that's Obi-Wan...!

They search for a body, the paratroopers prowling for any sign of him, traitors must be found. They find a tattered, bloody robe and the corpse of a varactyl in the sinkhole, and tangled in the stirrup, pale from blood loss and floating in the cold, is--

No.

He's dead. He's dead, CC-2224 killed him, except he can't even grieve because he was a traitor, and Good Soldiers Follow Orders.

Everything is hollow, hollow and empty. It's familiar, like it was in Jango's memories, except there's no escape, there's just the Empire, and a sea of pure white armor, and the ever-repeating, endless ringing of Good Soldiers Follow Orders, Good Soldiers Follow Orders--

Something shatters again.

In the holo in his palm, the hooded figure's lips are still curling around his name.

Another vision? No, a memory, another memory like Jango's, just as real, but this time a memory of the future that has yet to come to pass, a future that they're standing on the precipice of.

It's coming: Execute Order 66.

Everything in Cody screams.

That was his plan, to use you to destroy the jetiise, Jango's voice,  strangely amused, says through the strange mind-comm. There's a connection that links them now, one that Cody recognizes because it feels like the memories, familiar and personal and inside him but not his own. The presence of Jango inside of Cody isn't just a voice now--it's accompanied by emotions, and intent.

It's why Cody knows Jango isn't lying, and it's enough for the panic to abate.

We won't destroy the jetiise--because they too were pawns. Why eliminate pawns when the hand behind them is unharmed? No, we go for the puppeteer.

And with a pulse from Jango's mind, just like that, the rest of the plan that Jango had completed clicks into place, as though it had been inside of Cody all along.

Cody knows it's Jango's plan, and some part of him knows that he should be wary of the Prime's incentives. But there's no time, everything narrowing down to the excruciatingly slow yet unstoppable forward movement of Sidious's lips forming their worst possible future.

But why should he hesitate? After all, Cody saw what Jango saw, and knows what Jango knows, and understands every detail of the plan as though he'd personally plotted it himself.

The time to act is now.

This time, when everything speeds up again, there's no more overlay. This is the present--this is reality.

And this time, Cody's filled with nothing but the cold, familiar battlefield calm before a kill.

If Sidious finishes saying those words, and if those words ring true in the Vode's ears, the Republic will fall, the Jedi will fall. And Obi-Wan, too, will fall, and his blood will forever stain Cody's hands.

This is reality. And it's a reality that Cody will burn to the ground himself, with the blinding fury that overtakes him.

"-ody, Execute Order 66."

Nothing.

The words have no effect on him. Cody knows exactly how it would feel if they had--he'd just experienced it--but they can't now, thanks to Jango. Cody and every one of the Vode have just had their inhibitions--not a metaphor, but a literal inhibitor chip in their heads--unlocked, and the Prime Override now takes priority over all other orders.

Sidious's plans will not come to pass--Jango's will in their place.

Now, in real time, the silence must have lasted longer than intended, because Sidious's lips twist, and he repeats, "Commander Cody, I said Execute--"

Something curls in Cody, quickly becoming far too much to simply call rage--a vicious, white hot loathing that billows outwards rapidly, searing so viscerally he feels like he's tearing apart at the seams. It's the raw energy of millions of detonators condensing before an explosion--a hatred so galactic in scale it couldn't possibly be generated by one single man, and it isn't, it's--

Cody sees Sidious, and something in him, in all of them, snaps.

"You've lost, demagolka," Cody--Jango--no, the Vode snarl, before they crush the comm.