The dead quiet village loomed around Sinker as he lay quietly in the second story of a dilapidated, abandoned Twi’lek home. Only a small section of his rifle poking from the window he was perched in front of, analysing the movements of the abandoned, dust filled streets of the village, eyeing for any droid movement in the area.

The building he was in seemed to creak under its primitive and battle damaged foundations as small objects and furniture hinted at what might have once been used by the occupants, which were now either dead, captured, or fleeing past the relative safety of the main clone force to the east. Nonetheless, he continued scanning the street, his armour haphazardly patched together after the crash, taking the lives of the rest of squad, leaving him to accomplish his recon on his lonesome.

He focused on the digital sights through the visor of his helmet, his already steeled focus deepening as a single figure walked up the war torn streets towards the centre of the town, “Say goodnight Clanker.” He tells himself, trying to offer respite from the nerves he felt taking the shot. But as he looked closer it didn’t seem to be a droid, Sinker squinted his eyes, a bead of sweat making its way down his brow from beneath the helmet as he focused on the figure, his trigger finger loosening slightly, seeing a…