"My breath came out in a short and sharp rhythm and my throat burned with the telltale metallic tinge of overexertion. I peeled my helmet off and tossed it into the open, crouching behind a rust-colored boulder.
Dust stirred through the air all around me, the normally iron-tinged battlefield. My armor, too, was tinted a sickly beige by the dust storm fueled by battle.
From behind the boulder I could hear footsteps on the sand. Wiping the layer of sweat off of my forehead, I clenched my blaster tighter, the feel of the trigger uncomfortable in my scorched and scarred hands.
They'd said that it'd be glorious -- the vids I'd watched so few weeks ago showed holovids of great victories, entire legions of us cheering as we rushed the battlefield. They'd said there'd be strength in numbers -- we'd all make it out alive because we were all brothers.
Truth be told, I was as scared as a Gullipud on Hoth.
The thing, whatever it was, behind the rock took another step forward. I looked back towards the frontlines. If this piece of scrap-metal got the jump on me I was a gonner.
Aiming down the sights of my rifle, adrenaline kicked in and I screamed loudly, charging around the rock and opening fire on the droid behind it.
Each blaster bolt tore through the air with an almost titanic force, and for a moment, I did indeed feel glorious. The heat of the bolts and high-pitched squeal in my hands, the war-cry emanating from my rage and fear empowered throat almost seemed to block out any other form of reaction. This is what I'd been trained to do.
As each superheated particle beam impacted my target, my screams subsided, but, peculiarly, they did not falter. Time reached its normal pace and I dropped the blaster in my hands to the sun-beaten ground.
Looking back at me was not, in fact, a battle droid, or even a Geonosian, no. It was a clone. A clone wearing the same beige stained armor as I; a clone lacking a helmet just as I; a clone whose legs were wobbling as he stood in shock, staring back at me with the same sweating face and fear filled eyes as I.
My hands went up to my head in an involuntary expression of horror. The clone's eyes shifted from me down to himself: his plastoid-alloy chestplate riddled with four scorch marks, still glowing a faint gold as smoke from the four holes in his torso drifted past me in the wind.
We both remained speechless as his legs buckled and he collapsed into the shallow dune beneath us. I too, collapsed unto my knees, my almost incomprehensible utterings of 'what have I done' quickly turning into a nearly guttural sobbing.
I don't believe I moved until an exfil patrol located me after nightfall.
It was like killing myself, doctor, and it made me realize that nothing's ever going to change for us. No matter what, this is our purpose. We were bred and raised to die in the heat of battle and we were trained to accept this fate with no qualms and complaints, and from my point of view, this is what makes my existence so wrong."
The blue-skinned doctor nodded his head, jotting down something on his holopad. "That will be all, Mr. Lawquane.", he said.