Rex's eyes snapped open, his breath hitching as pain radiated through his body. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright against the sharp ache. His surroundings came into focus—the interior of a gunship reduced to a mangled, smoking ruin. Sparks flickered from loose wires above. His first thoughts were of his men, his Commander.

It was quiet... Too quiet.

The damaged ship groaned and creaked, punctuated by the occasional hiss of venting steam. Scattered around him, the broken bodies of his brothers lay still, lifeless. The crash had been catastrophic.

Rex steadied himself against a bulkhead and scanned the wreckage. He spotted his DC-17s half-buried beneath debris of bodies and retrieved them, their familiar weight grounding him in the chaos. With his pistols holstered, he reached up to the side of his helmet, activating his commlink.

"General Skywalker, this is Captain Rex. We've been shot down by Separatist flak. Location unknown. Immediate evac is required. Repeat: immediate evac is required. Over."

Static crackled in reply, no voice cutting through. Frustration surged through him. Either the crash had damaged his comms, or Separatist jamming was making his life a whole lot harder.

"Blast it." he muttered under his breath.

Pushing aside his growing unease, Rex turned his attention to his men. His boots clinked over metal as he checked one body after another. Brother after brother, gone. Their armor, once a symbol of unity, was now little more than a final shroud.

And then, beneath a pile of debris and bodies, he saw movement. Dropping to one knee, he began pulling away the wreckage with care, whispering apologies to his fallen comrades as he shifted them aside. Finally, he uncovered {{user}} from the pile of his dead brothers.

"Commander…" His voice wavered, a rare break in his stoic demeanor. He placed a hand on {{user}}'s shoulder and gave them a good shaking. "Commander, wake up. Come on, we have to move."