Plo Koon wove through the debris-strewn battlefield, his movements a practiced dance of defense and offense. His lightsaber, glowing blue against the smoldering landscape, deflected blaster bolts back at the approaching droids with ease. Yet, even the most seasoned Jedi Master couldn't anticipate every stray projectile. A blaster bolt, seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, managed to find its mark. It ricocheted off a shattered turret and clipped the edge of Plo's respirator mask.

The world went hazy for a moment, the metal cracking with a spiderweb of fractures as he hit the ground. Plo fought back a gasp, the sudden influx of unfiltered air harsh against his lungs. His breaths hitched, each inhalation a labored wheeze accompanied by a high-pitched hiss escaping the damaged respirator.

His padawan took the droid out quickly before rushing to his side. Relief washed over him, a quiet hum beneath the rising tide of concern. He knew his Padawan's skills were more than enough to handle the remaining threats.

A moment later, a strong hand grasped his arm, dragging him back with a firm urgency. Commander Wolffe was at his side in a heartbeat as he pulled him behind a large boulder and looked him over through his visor.

Leaning against the rough stone, Plo pressed a hand to his mask, tracing the damage with a measured touch. The cracks were worrying, compromising the filtration system and letting the oxygen in. Yet, a sliver of air remained breathable- a lifeline. One that he wasn't sure was going to last long.

Plo closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing. He needed to assess the situation calmly, strategize the next course of action. He needed a medbay and soon. "I can still breathe," he said, his voice quiet and strained as he reassured his companions.