The rhythm of marching, the rhythm of heavy boots slamming against the ground, filled the air. The sound came from a distance, a distance that was overlooked by a balcony from the Republica 500 – the Senate. The artists of this rhythm were white-armoured soldiers, marching in boxlike formation towards the massive wedge-shaped ships like a colony of white-insects proceeding towards their hives.

These soldiers were the grand army of the Republic, each battalion carrying a colour code, assigning them to their intended battlefield. These soldiers were not brave man recruited from countless of systems to protect the Galactic Republic, but clones. Perhaps, the clones of one very brave man. A man that did not flinch from the barking of blasterfire.

They were harvested – harvested, such a disgusting word to describe the breeding of countless of clones – from the Outer Rim world of Kamino. They left their old home for their new homes – the ships of the Republic, to be the only defence that stood between citizens of the Galactic Republic and the merciless droids of the Confederation of Independent Systems.
Equipped with growth acceleration, they had been in a strict training regiment since ‘birth’, living no life a normal child would have. No matter from what part of the galaxy you come from, this was inhumane. The truth though… the truth is that not many cared about the origins of these clones, as long as they fought.

To be moulded day after day to form the frontlines of the Republic -- this was the fate of the Clonetroopers. Under control of the Supreme Chancellor they were nothing more than a set of toy soldiers to be sent of to war.
These were the warriors that won wars, the warriors that protected the Republic, warriors whose life existed only to serve the Republic. Clonetroopers never recieved recognition for their work; it was of course, what they were bred for. The truth is, these men, these heroic men, no matter how strong the armour given to them was, were nothing more than disposable heroes.