Within the dimly lit command room, Commander Thorn stood before a glowing holotable, its blue light casting sharp shadows across his scarred face. A flickering hologram of a clone trooper snapped into focus.
"Sector 25B3 secured, Commander," the trooper reported crisply. "All rioters have been apprehended and are en route to confinement."
Thorn gave a curt nod. "Good work, Lieutenant. Continue your patrol."
"Yes, sir," the clone replied, before the transmission blinked out.
Orders given. Distractions deployed. It was enough to keep the eyes of the Republic turned elsewhere — for now.
Thorn exited the command room, the heavy doors hissing shut behind him as he stepped into the light of Coruscant's newborn sun.
He paused under the sun's rays, letting the warmth wash over him, a rare sliver of peace in an age of war.
"A new day," he murmured, almost to himself. The sunlight kissed his face, but his moment of calm didn't last. His features hardened once more.
"It's time," he thought, slipping into the maze of the depot's corridors — unseen, unnoticed.
---
Level 1315. A layer of Coruscant rarely spoken of in the Senate chambers above. Home to the working class, crowded speeder lanes, and back-alley deals that greased the underworld's gears.
Amidst the tangle of neon signs, market shouts, and the constant hum of urban life, a lone figure weaved effortlessly through the crowd.
Draped in a weathered cloak, the figure moved like shadow — unremarkable, unchallenged, naturally camouflaged in the chaos of the CoCo District.
Eventually, he slowed, stopping in front of a modest storefront. Above the doorway, a blue neon sign buzzed faintly: GREYWIRE.
He entered.
The shop was small, cluttered, alive with the soft whirring of old power cores and half-gutted datapads. Shelves were stacked high with salvaged tech — circuit boards, processors, Imperial-grade routers… all secondhand, all valuable.
Behind the counter stood a female Cathar, her short fur streaked with soot, golden eyes sharp and calculating. She wore a skin-tight black top and mechanic's trousers, her utility belt heavy with tools of her trade.
The figure approached, silent as a shadow. The shop's hum didn't falter, but tension danced quietly between them.
"I'm in need of a processor," the figure said, his voice low and deliberate.
The Cathar didn't miss a beat.
"Check the horizon," she replied coolly.
"Enemy moves at dawn," he answered, the coded exchange falling perfectly into place.
She smiled — a slow, knowing grin — but beneath the counter, her clawed finger released the hidden trigger of a concealed blaster. Just in case.
Without a word, she turned and strode toward the storefront, flipping the neon OPEN sign to CLOSED with a practiced flick of her wrist.
"Follow me," she said, her tone clipped but calm.
The figure obeyed, slipping through the cluttered store and into the back room. The air was thick with the scent of soldered metal and dust. They stopped before an unassuming row of shelves.
With a quiet breath, the Cathar reached for one shelf and slid it aside with a hiss of hidden mechanisms, revealing a small circular platform embedded into the floor.
She motioned to it silently.
The figure stepped on, and with a sharp click, she threw a switch. The platform shuddered once, then began to descend into the depths below — swallowed by shadow and silence.
The hood fell back, revealing Fives. His eyes scanned the space around him — and widened.
Beneath the modest tech shop above stretched a hidden underground chamber, easily twice the size of the store.
Cold lights cast sterile shadows over rows of medical equipment and arcane instruments, their purpose unclear — some alien, some advanced beyond anything in standard Republic medbays.
At the center of the room stood a single surgical table beneath a broad overhead lamp. Around it gathered five familiar faces: Echo, Kix, Tup, Dogma, and Slick.
"You're the last one. Let's begin," said the Cathar, already donning a strange pair of mechanical gloves that whirred to life with a quiet click.
Fives blinked. "Begin what? What is this place? And who exactly are you?"
Kix stepped forward, his brow furrowed, discomfort flickering in his voice. "Yeah… what is all this? These tools… I've never seen half of this tech before. You're not planning to use that on us, are you?"
The Cathar paused, then spoke with practiced calm. "This? Let's call it an off-the-books hospital — one your Commander put together himself."
She activated the surrounding equipment with a simple gesture, bathing the room in a soft electronic hum.
"As for me?" she continued, smirking. "Name's Nyx. I'm what Thorn calls a ripperdoc."
At her signal, a spherical medical droid — AZI-13 — rolled in, pushing a cart brimming with gleaming cybernetic components unlike anything the clones had seen. Limbs, neural interfaces, reinforced bone-plates… cutting-edge tech from across the stars.
Kix narrowed his eyes. "A ripperdoc?"
She nodded. "I tear people apart — and put them back together. Stronger. Faster. Better. Thorn briefed me on what you boys are about to face. This tech? You'll need it."
Her eyes locked onto Echo.
"You're first. Strip. On the table."
Echo hesitated, glancing at the others. One by one, the clones gave solemn, uncertain nods — a silent show of trust.
Nyx's voice took on a final note of gravity. "By Thorn's orders, each of you is getting cybernetic enhancements. You're going to need every edge you can get if you're going to survive what's coming."
She adjusted the controls on a nearby panel as the anesthetic hissed into Echo's system, his body relaxing into the operating table.
"That's enough talk," she said, slipping a surgical visor over her eyes. "This is going to take a while. Get comfortable, boys."
Hours slipped by in a blur of surgical precision and mechanical whirs. At last, Fives — the final clone to undergo the procedure — stirred.
He sat up effortlessly, rising from the table as though waking from a brief nap, not major surgery.
His senses adjusted instantly. As his eyes swept the room, streams of data overlaid his vision — schematics, readouts, heat signatures — all processed through his new cyber-optics with inhuman clarity.
His body felt… lighter. Sharper. Stronger.
As if the weight of war had been replaced with pure, focused power.
"What did you do to us?" he asked, voice low, awed — not in fear, but wonder.
Nyx smirked. "Incredible, isn't it?"
The other clones, now fully awake, nodded wordlessly, each feeling the same quiet astonishment. The difference was undeniable.
Every movement was smoother. Every breath felt deeper. They were no longer just elite soldiers — they were something beyond.
"Yeah," Nyx chuckled, "I had that same dumb look when I first got my hands on this tech. What you had before? Republic scraps. What you have now?" She tapped her temple. "The future."
She turned and retrieved a datapad from a nearby bench, then tossed it lightly to Fives.
"At Thorn's request, each of you received the highest-grade cybernetic enhancements available in this sector — maybe the entire galaxy. Go ahead. Take a look."
Fives caught the pad and tapped the screen.
One by one, lines of specs and features lit up, revealing their upgrades — precision reflex systems, skeletal reinforcement, neural uplinks, adaptive combat interfaces.
On the surface, the clones appeared unchanged — at least to the untrained eye.
Even Echo, once visibly more machine than man, now looked remarkably human. The only remnants of his transformation were his pale complexion.
"Damn," Fives muttered, eyes locked on the datapad. "This isn't just cutting-edge… this is high-level research-grade tech."
"With eighty percent beskar purity," Echo added, his voice cool but reverent. "Only Mandalore's elite get this kind of gear purity."
Nyx crossed her arms, a proud smirk tugging at her lips. "Thorn made sure you boys got the best of the best. Paid through the nose for it, too."
Kix frowned as he scrolled through the list of modifications. "Where did he even get this stuff? Half of this tech doesn't show up on any known registries. Hell, I didn't even know some of it existed."
Dogma glanced up from his own readout, genuinely impressed. "Seriously… where did all of this come from?"
Nyx only shrugged, casually unlocking a reinforced door on the far side of the room. "From Thorn. As for where he got it?" She smirked. "Even I'm not crazy enough to ask."
She gestured for them to follow.
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a wide chamber beyond. The clones filed in, their boots echoing against the floor. It was a combat simulation room — or more precisely, a shooting range.
Rows of reinforced concrete targets lined one side of the chamber. The far wall bore the violent aftermath of past trials — scorched impact zones, deep pockmarks from live rounds, and faint traces of explosive residue.
Nyx strode over to a line of crates stacked neatly along the side wall. With a smooth motion, she flipped one open, revealing six sleek, black bodysuits folded with precision.
"You didn't think that was it, did you?" she asked with a smirk, her eyes gleaming as she gestured to the suits. "Put them on."
The clones exchanged glances, but obeyed without hesitation. As they slipped into the bodysuits, the difference was immediate — subtle to the untrained, but glaring to seasoned soldiers.
The fabric was nearly an inch thicker than their standard-issue undersuits, sculpted with fine grooves that mimicked the contours of muscle tissue.
"Whoa," Slick muttered as he flexed, testing the range of motion. "These feel incredible. Way better than the usual plastoid wrap."
Nyx nodded, satisfied with their reactions. "Those are muscle suits. Woven with cortosis and songsteel filaments. Lightweight, highly durable, and partially resistant to blaster fire and lightsaber strikes. Partially," she emphasized, lifting a nearby blaster pistol from the crate. "So don't go testing fate."
Before anyone could stop her, she raised the weapon and fired.
"Hey, what the he— Argh!" Slick staggered back, gripping his abdomen. The clones immediately reached for their weapons, tension skyrocketing, but Nyx held up a hand, calm and unimpressed.
"Relax, drama queen," she said dryly, motioning toward Slick's suit. "Take a look."
Slick blinked down at himself, then straightened. The suit was unharmed, save for a black scorch mark smoldering where the bolt had hit.
"Okay… that's impressive," he admitted, still wincing.
"At least warn me next time!" he snapped.
Nyx laughed. "Sure, next time I feel like shooting you, I'll send a memo."
The clones couldn't help but chuckle, the tension breaking as they admired their new gear.
"The best part?" Nyx said, crossing her arms with a smirk. "They're indistinguishable from the standard-issue bodysuits. So no need to worry about raising suspicion when you're topside."
With that, she moved to the next crate, flipping it open. Inside gleamed a polished chrome cybernetic arm, a pair of finely crafted katanas, and a circular, jet-black shield lined with faint silver etchings.
"These were custom-made for you three," she announced, pointing them out. "Slick, Tup, Dogma — Thorn had these commissioned specifically for your combat styles."
Each clone stepped forward, eyes wide as they claimed their gear. Slick took the shield, Tup grasped the twin blades, and Dogma studied the gleaming cybernetic arm.
"Thorn's been watching your progress. He was impressed — said it was time you had weapons to match your growth. Go on, try them."
Slick stepped forward without hesitation. Empowered by the upgrades coursing through his frame, he drew back and hurled the shield with brutal force.
It tore through the air with a high-pitched whirr, slamming into a concrete target and obliterating its upper half before embedding itself deep into the back wall with a thunderous crack.
The room echoed with impressed whistles.
"That shield — like the katanas and arm — is forged from pure beskar," Nyx said, her voice proud. "Strong enough to take a direct saber hit. Durable enough to survive it."
Slick stared at the embedded shield, eyes wide. "How the hell am I supposed to get it back?"
"Stretch out your arm," Nyx said coolly. "Like you will it to return."
Slick shrugged but obeyed — and to everyone's shock, the shield shuddered, wrenched itself from the wall, and hurtled back, locking into his forearm with a magnetic clang.
"What in the Force—?!" Fives gasped.
"Retractable weapon tech," Nyx explained, grinning at their astonishment. "Mandalorian design. Paired with a magnetic grip keyed to your cybernetics. No Force tricks. Just science and a lot of credits."