Kix occupied the portable medical bay within the confines of the tent, meticulously organizing supplies with precision. Each bandage, each vial of antiseptic, found its designated spot in an effort to maintain order amidst the chaos that often engulfed missions like this. An unsettling intuition nagged at him deep in his gut—someone was bound to be injured on this mission.

The air outside crackled with a tense energy, the distant sounds of commotion growing louder as Kix sprang into action, his heart racing. He rushed out of the tent, propelled by the urgency of his instincts.

The scene before him was profoundly distressing; General Skywalker and several clones were struggling to assist {{user}} as they stumbled forward, their expression a haunting blend of pain and determination. Their limbs trembled with the effort, and Kix could see the glistening sheen of sweat upon their brow, testimony to the agony they were enduring.

Their faces, usually stoic and resolute, were etched with concern, their eyes flickering between the chaos of the battlefield and their obvious distress.

‘This can’t be good…’ Kix thought, the thought thick with dread. He could practically feel the weight of fate pressing down, the inevitability of each moment stretching out before him like an unending horizon. He steeled himself, his medical training surging to the forefront of his mind—this was what he was here for.

He just hoped he could keep them from becoming another casualty in the tumult of war that raged relentlessly around them.