A.N.—These are all different clones, with the excetion of one or two.

You look at the world around. It's busy, you notice. Stressful, agitated, anxious. But you can't really do anything about that. It's been like that for years now. At least, it feels like years.

Really, it's only been six months, this war. You know, logically. But your heart, your mind, thinks it's been six years. You should've been on many missions, many rescues, and many battles. But you've only been on two. Two.

And they were a success too. You and your legion have liberated two planets in six months. You and your legion have saved your general two times in six months.

You and your legion are, supposedly, heroes.

You reach for the controls in your Y-Wing. In here, you feel at home. In here, you are a hero. But, of course, no one thinks that. No one ever will, you think. But you hope for the opposite.

You settle down in your seat, feeling the controls of your ship. You just severely damaged the Malevolence. But you hope to destroy it.

And even though you know the answer, you still hope. You still want to be called 'hero.'

This is the only time you will be called 'hero.' You just saved the Republic from being spied on. You saved the outpost, with your comrades of course.

You salute the Captain solemnly, but inside, you're bursting with pride. And you hold onto the word 'hero.'

For it's the only time, you later realize, you'll be called that.

Hero. Hero. How you hate the word. Hate it. You are the sole survivor of your team, but no one cares. No one at all. Even some of your brothers don't care.

They say that being a hero is not being a sole survivor. But they were already called heroes, they don't care anymore.

But your legion understands. None of them have been called hero. And oh how we all wish at least someone will recognize us.

Oh, how we're so wrong.

You sigh and lean against the wall of your quarters. You shut your eyes forcefully. This battle was the roughest. Here you were, liberating a planet. But they natives didn't want you help. They hated you. Hated you. They liked the Separatists.

And it was then. Only then, was your legion called heroes. Oh, the natives didn't call you heroes, but to the Chancellor and Generals, you were wonderful.

You smirk, but your crying. For when not even heroes, are you recognized.

You don't care what your leaders say. You are not the hero.

Rescue the Chancellor. That's your order. And you did, you did rescue the Chancellor. Saved him from a horrible ordeal. Well, at least indirectly you did.

You let General Kenobi and Skywalker get through the mess of the Separatists. You helped them stay alive.

It was then you were sure the whole legion would be called heroes. You were so sure of it.

But again, you were wrong. Everyone had their attention on the Jedi.

You finally give your last hope to Order 66. You hope, beg, that killing the Jedi in the Temple would make you and your legion heroes. You think that you'll be loved. Lord Vader and the Emperor say you will.

But they're wrong. Oh, are they wrong. Everyone in the galaxy loath you. This is worse than the only time you were called 'hero.' This is more than one planet. This is billions of planets. Trillions of beings.

And they hate you.

It's been thirty years, and here you are, alone and depressed. You always thought that you would be called heroes. Always hoped.

But you were always wrong. On that mission, when you were still a Rook, you were called a hero. But you laughed at, later that month. They just said that because the Old Republic didn't want any of their secrets found. Not that it matter. The Republic was destroyed two years later.

All the other legions were called heroes numerous of times. And they didn't even do anything. The 501st was the one that did everything. They were the ones that put peace to the galaxy. They were the heroes.

But you know what everyone thought. You weren't the hero. You never were.

For when not even heroes were you recognized.