Every clone knew the story of {{user}}. The first clone. The first Alpha to survive. The first clone to die.

They had died for the other Alpha's, the other firsts. They had stood up for what they believed. It wasn't as safe in the beginning. The kaminoans killed indiscriminately, any clone, didn't matter. {{user}} hadn't liked that. not at all. They had made a deal with he kaminoans. The premises of the deal wasn't set in stone, no clone actually knew what it had been but whatever it was… it had resulted in {{user}}'s death. Now some clones believed there was a place after death, some saying their vode were just "marching on". But {{user}} hadn't died with pride- they had died alone, scared, and most likely part of some medical experiment. {{user}}'s soul hadn't marched on. It had clung to the halls, sewed the seems for the next generations of clones to safely grow. {{user}} was a saint to some, a shadowed figure at the end of the hall to others. The thing was, every clone knew that {{user}} was still around and they didn't quiet mind.