Atop a sky scraper in the middle of a Screecher infested world, the Utaru Clan seeks haven for at least a few days before they continue their journey to escape Bondo III, and return to the cursed planet with legions of Clones behind them.

The remains of General Zen's squad: R.P. Officer Tim Rolando, Captain Bronze, and the Jedi General's droid unit, K1-R4, and their temporal brother-in-arms, Waxer are alone for miles...but then again, no one is alone on Bondo III.

The names of the troops he lost under so little time repeated over and over and over within the Jedi's mind. Tormenting him, scoffing him, and screaming his failure as a leader. 

A close friend of Tim, Lieutenant Rojo was infected by the Screechers, and within a few seconds, he was gone. Just like that, his best friend is dead.

Then there was the squad's sniper, Acc. He was shot within a matter of minutes because of Zen's command, because of Zen's failure.

Finally a brother, a comrade, and a friend, Boil was with Waxer since the beginning of the war. Suddenly within the blink of an eye, he was infected by the Screecher hordes. He lost someone who was more than a brother, more than a comrade, more than a friend, he lost Boil. 

Again and again the memories of the past played over and over again, torturing all of them relentlessly without hope of an end. 

The screams of the Screechers below the sky scraper could be heard echoing through the night like a vibro-blade through the waters of Glee Anslem, the clanging and the crashing of the dead walking through garbage and feeding on flesh made more noise than a pack of Rancors on Felucia.   

Their weapons were each low on ammo, both of them with an average of twenty blast flashes each, and no ammo was within reach for miles.

Waxer's body drained energy as an infection began to develop in his arm missing a hand, the armor nearly melted into his skin and bone marrow. 

Seeing that at last, they were able to speak without the threat of Screechers interfering, Zen broke the silence at last, his voice shaking with emotions.

"R1, scan the area for any personae with a body temperature below boiling. This will determine where we will go after dawn."

Using its heat sensors within the dome of his head, R1-K4 responded with a series of beeps and woops, "[There are no heat signatures will body temperatures below boiling with a 5-mile radius.]"

Sighing with disappointment, Zen decided to change the subject with hopes that his clan will forget about the horrors for at least a couple of hours. 

"Men, I think it is best that we move farther down south, the Screechers will suffer under the extreme temperatures and that may slow them down. This will give us enough time to avoid trouble, and develop a shop where we can rebuild."

His men were silent. Zen could feel their anger towards Zen, his failure as a leader, costing the lives of three soldiers held dear to all. 

"Guys....I understand that you all are very angry at my past actions. I too am...disappointed at the commands that I gave, and the decisions that I made,"  

"My mind is...fogged, I no longer know know what I am to do under stress. My mind is not focused..."

The Jedi began to sob, "...I have lost so much under so little time,"

"This war, the survival fight...I cannot take much more of it."

"But I must. I must force myself. But I cannot do it alone. I need you all to help...to clear my thinking for the sake of all of us."

"We are all going through this," Bronze stated, "We are all suffering as you are. This is not war, Zen, this is not a battle between the dead among the living. This is survival, and we are losing the fight for it. Rojo, Acc, Boil, they were the lucky ones. I would most rather die than to continue to live in this sarlacc pit." 

Suddenly, R1 begins to scream beeps and shrieks and whistles,

Waxer and Tim rush for their guns as they all understand why the droid was beeping so loudly.

Zen's hand rushed for his weapon, igniting his light saber and brandishing it.

"How are they close?!" Bronze growled, considering that were hundreds of feat in the air, "We are in a star-ending skyscraper for the Force's sake!"

"No matter, they're here and we need to focus guys, come on!" Tim groaned, raising his rifle, "Waxer, you got my 6?"

"Yeah, I got you, Bronze, check my 6, Tim, get Zen's," the 212th Officer ordered, 

Suddenly, the four soldiers stood waiting, the dawn was rising from the hill of buildings, the sounds of growling and scratching growing louder and louder by the second.

"Tim, put out the fire, although the heat is more lethal to them than us, we don't want to risk burning down the building, taking us with all the other Screechers." 

"Yes sir."

Just as the fire went out, the screeching went louder at the blasted edge of the roof, Waxer and Tim moved towards the sound, ready to back away at any moment.

The sound of Tim's footsteps were blocked out by the screams of the dead rising from below.

Tim Rolando stood there at the edge, fearless and ready for combat...ready for survival. 

"What the Hoth?!" Tim yelled, he backed away from the edge with his grip tighter on the rifle, "They climb now! They climb now!"

"I thought that were just walking up the stair cases but they're climbing up the pillars and ledges! They're coming!"

"They're coming!"

Just then a tremor reached Zen's mind, understanding that the threat he sensed was the incoming Screechers before his eyes, he batted the though away as he raised his weapon for a fight.

But like the others, this fight was destined to be a failure.

"Ugh, no, no!" screamed Bronze as a Screecher passed on its sickness,

"Kill me!"

"Kill me pleassssscrrrreeeeaaaacccchhhhh!!!"

Just then, Zen rammed his blade into Bronze's chest, killing both screechers with one stroke.

"I'm so sorry, so, so, sorry." Zen sobbed, once again he failed, and he no longer could stand himself...

After he pulled his friends through this circumstance, he was now going to leave them for the sake of their survival.

TO BE CONTINUED....CLAN UTARU WILL RETURN!

Within a Trade Federation base on Bondo III, two Cato Nemiodians have found security and hope for themselves guarded by their own droids. 

According to the deal which had been promised to them by the mastermind, the droids were given their own life chargers, allowing them to serve their commanders without risk of deactivation.

"Lieutenant Gord," Commander Sol said as he swiftly walked towards his second in command,"We have new reinforcements of droids moving in towards our position."  

"Ahh, yes. Well the more droids the better. We'll be safer, and will continue in our....goals." Sol finished sighing with cowardly confidence,

"I would rather blast the skulls of a couple dozen Screechers than have an army of droids to our control. This is cowardly of us...."

"To hide and let a pack of computers do the job for us." Gord growled angrily after days of conflict between his commanding officer.

Just then, a droid marched up to the two, 

"Sirs, we have two incoming: B type: #1 battle drones. They are coming into this control center as we speak."

Marching in were the two droids, one of which was missing an arm, and was lagging behind. All the same, they were reinforcements, and Sol accepted all battle droids...limbless or fully functioning. 

"Yes, yes!" he cheered, raising his arms as if he was reaching out for a hug to a held dear relative,

"Your contributions will help us greatly." 

Tossing the complement away, the droid lowered his weapon, and replied bluntly, "We have a report to transfer about our journey."

"Do you request a "U.T.D", commander?" the droids replied,

The Nemiodian chuckled, "No, no, no. We can do that later, get your comrade repaired. I want my troops ready and fully functional to protect me...and Gord."

"Yes, sir." the droid replied,

The other stammered, tripping over himself as he attempted to reply respectfully to his commander, "Y-y-y-yes, sir-sir-sir!"

Listening to his commander with disgust, he knew that he could serve as a greater leader than Sol ever could. He was cowardly like all of Gord's brothers before him. He could end the apocalypse if he wanted to. He could have ended the Clone Wars if he wanted to! But he was always held back by Sol...but no more.

It was his time to rule, his time to control, his time to make his mark in the galaxy, the Trade Federation would respect him for his power, his courage, his strength as ruler.

"Ah, don't you feel it, Gord? Do you see the tide changing? The Clone Wars will be over soon. Sidious will be pleased, and Duku...How do you suppose he'll react when he sees Bondo III under such...such...control?"

"Yes," Gord replied, his hand moving towards his hidden blaster, "they would be very proud, but I can see then more thankful."

"Well, they aren't exactly the thankful type. But I am, we will be safer more than ever with those troopers added to our numbers."

"I don't know the mastermind's plans, but I do know this: I am glad that I never have to go out there and put myself in danger." Sol stated, "Never try, never fail. Those are words that I live by. Don't forget them."

"With all do respect," Gord mocked, "Don't you think that risks come with the territory in the field of battle, and if you don't take them, you risk failure, and the full wrath of Sidious upon you."

"I see it as saving money and time, more money means more pay...and more time means more chances of escaping when it's necessary." Sol corrected proudly, 

Angered and disgusted by his Commander's words, his green fist turned yellow as it tightened around the grip of his blaster.

"You cannot believe what you are saying, Commander! Such selfishness is what lost us battles throughout these three years of war!"

"But at least we have our lives, and at least we don't get blood on our hands." Sol fired back, slightly put off by his second in commands back-talking.

"My life," he continued, "maters more, than any other Trade Federation employer in this base, and I must be protected within these walls, or I will die!" 

No longer could Gord take the sound of his commander's voice, he yanked the blaster from his back, and aimed it firmly at Sol, 

"I am sick and tired of your cowardice! The galaxy would be better off without our people, do you realize it?!"

Trembling before his second in command, he held his hands to protect his face from the sight of a blaster putted at his chest, 

"P-please! Don't kill me, I don't want to die!"

 "Precisely why I plan on killing you, Sol," Gord replied, "you could never take risks, you could never die for your Confederacy."

With that, Gord fired a blast through his commander's chest, ending his life before he hit the floor.

Staring at the body for a few seconds, Gord smiled with satisfaction as he felt the weight of control fall upon his shoulders, he was in control. 

Looking upon his soldiers, he was awed and hypnotized by his troopers lining side by side waiting for his first command as the commanding officer of all.

"Go out, and clear the fortress of any impurities before we begin phase 2, do what we must be done!" the droids replied with a loud and strong, "Yes, sir!!"

After the troops had moved out, Gord walked towards the spectacle, the image of phase 3 which was to come soon, and Gord was impatient for it.

Sol was right about one thing: the Sith will be pleased, but after the completion of the mastermind's genius plan, and he would be promoted, respected by all.

"I love being the victor." Gord grumbled to himself,

"And soon...my General, you will get a chance to get a taste." 

"I pray for your return, and be it the will of the Force, others will follow you."

"I would follow you."