The cleanup began while the smoke was still clearing.
Across Tipoca City, Avengers, Jedi, and clones moved through the wreckage—pulling survivors from collapsed sections, recovering bodies from the rubble, extinguishing fires that threatened to spread. The work was grim, methodical, necessary.
Barriss ran toward the medical facilities without being asked, her training as a healer overriding her exhaustion. Ahsoka and Peter followed close behind, the Padawan and the teenager already comparing notes on which sections needed the most help.
Matt Murdock worked with Hope and Scott, using his enhanced senses to locate clones trapped beneath debris. "Three meters ahead," he'd say, pointing with absolute certainty. "Two of them. Both alive." And the Jedi would lift the rubble with the Force while the clones pulled their brothers free.
On one of the landing platforms, a different kind of meeting was taking place.
Captain Fordo and Commander Alpha stood at attention before a group of assembled clones—handpicked soldiers from the 501st, 212th, Domino Squad, and other units. These weren't random selections. Each man had been chosen by his commanding officer for a reason.
And standing slightly apart from the military precision, looking distinctly out of place in his maintenance uniform, was 99.
The elderly clone grinned when he saw Steve Rogers approach. "It's an honor to meet you, sir. Captain America." His voice carried genuine warmth despite his weathered appearance. "Domino Squad told me all about you."
Steve smiled, extended his hand. 99 shook it with surprising strength. "They spoke highly of you too," Steve said. "They said you're the reason they made it through their training. That you kept them going when they wanted to quit."
99 ducked his head, almost embarrassed. "I'm not going to claim any glory, sir. I just... I wanted to make sure my brothers could do their jobs. Be the best soldiers they could be. If I could help with that, even a little, then I did my part."
Steve studied the man—the tremor in his hands, the slight hunch to his shoulders, the marks of accelerated aging and genetic defects that should have disqualified him from service. But here he stood, proud and unbroken, more concerned with his brothers' welfare than his own limitations.
"You remind me of someone," Steve said quietly.
99 blinked. "Sir?"
Steve looked down at his own hands. Strong. Enhanced. Capable of things that would've been impossible for the sickly kid from Brooklyn. "I wasn't always like this," he said. "I was weak once. Sick. Had a list of medical problems longer than my arm. Doctors kept telling me what I couldn't do."
99's eyes widened. "What... what happened?"
"I refused to accept it." Steve's voice carried the weight of old conviction. "I kept trying to enlist. Kept getting rejected. Over and over. Everyone told me I couldn't make a difference." He met 99's eyes. "Until one good man saw past what I was and recognized who I could be. Dr. Abraham Erskine. He gave me a chance when no one else would."
Steve's expression softened with memory and grief. "He made me promise him something, right before he died. He said, 'Don't be a good soldier. Be a good man.'"
99 swallowed hard. "Did you... keep that promise?"
"I try," Steve said. "Every day." He placed a hand on 99's shoulder—gentle, but with unmistakable respect. "What I'm saying is, you don't need to be a perfect soldier to make a difference. You just need to be a good man. And from what I've seen, you already are."
99's eyes glistened. His jaw worked, struggling to find words. "Thank you," he finally managed. "Thank you, sir."
"Steve," Captain America corrected with a small smile. "Just Steve."
"99!" A young voice cut through the moment.
A girl in civilian clothes ran up—blonde, maybe eleven or twelve, with wide eyes and boundless energy. She skidded to a stop beside the elderly clone, slightly breathless.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere!" Omega grabbed 99's hand, then noticed Steve and froze. "You're... you're Captain Rogers! I've seen the HoloNet footage! You and the other Avengers fighting on—" She stopped, realizing she was gushing. "Um. Hello, Captain Rogers."
Steve crouched down to her eye level. "Hello, Omega. Agent Romanoff told me about you. It's nice to finally meet you."
Omega's face lit up. "This is the best day ever!"
99 laughed. "Hey, I thought I was exciting company."
"You are!" Omega said quickly, realizing her mistake. "I didn't mean—you're exciting too, I just—"
99 waved her off with a gentle smile. "I know, kid. I know."
A shadow fell across them. Steve looked up to see Natasha standing a few paces away, her expression professionally neutral but her eyes warm.
"Omega, 99," Natasha said. "Mind if I borrow Steve for a minute? The team needs him."
99 nodded, gave Steve's hand one final shake, then guided Omega away with a protective hand on her shoulder. Steve watched them go, then turned to Natasha.
"What's going on?"
"Something you need to see," Natasha said. "The others are waiting."
She led him to a maintenance bay that had been cleared of debris. The rest of the Avengers were there—Sam, Rhodey, T'Challa, Pietro. They stood around a portable terminal that Natasha had set up, their expressions ranging from concerned to furious.
"Natasha," Sam said as they approached. "Please tell me FRIDAY found something useful."
"More than useful," Natasha replied. She activated the terminal. "Remember when we first arrived? I asked questions about where these clones came from. How they were made. Now I have answers."
"Oh no," Rhodey muttered. "You hacked their systems."
"With help," Natasha said. "Senator Amidala and her security team were very accommodating once I explained what I was looking for."
"We have acquired substantial information, Comrade Romanoff." FRIDAY's voice emerged from the terminal's speakers. "The cooperation from Senator Amidala's allies has been most productive."
"Good work, FRIDAY," Natasha said. She pulled up a holographic display—lines of code, neural diagrams, genetic sequences. "Let's show them what we found."
At Pietro's gesture, the hologram shifted—focused on what looked like a brain scan with something artificial embedded in the tissue.
"What am I looking at?" Steve asked.
"Command protocols," FRIDAY replied. "Hardwired into every clone's brain during gestation. Biological imperatives coded directly into their neural architecture."
Sam frowned. "What do you mean, 'hardwired'?"
"They're programmed," FRIDAY explained. "From conception. These aren't just orders they memorize—they're compulsions built into their fundamental neurology. When activated, the clones will follow these commands without question or hesitation."
T'Challa's eyes narrowed. "What kind of commands?"
"The Kaminoans call them 'contingency orders,'" Natasha said. She pulled up a list—numbered entries from 1 to 150. "Everything from protocol for handling rogue Jedi to emergency retreat procedures. Most are standard military responses to crisis situations."
"Most," Rhodey repeated. "But not all."
FRIDAY's hologram highlighted a small organic structure at the base of each clone's brain. "This is the delivery mechanism. The Kaminoans refer to it as an 'inhibitor chip.' Officially, it suppresses aggressive behavior and ensures unit cohesion."
"Unofficially?" Steve's voice was quiet, controlled. That tone made Natasha glance at him—she'd heard it before, usually right before Steve did something incredibly dangerous or incredibly noble.
"Unofficially," FRIDAY continued, "it makes them perfect soldiers. Obedient. Unquestioning. Incapable of refusing orders once the chip activates the relevant protocol."
"They're slaves," Rhodey said flatly. "Biological robots dressed up as soldiers."
Pietro's hands clenched into fists. "The clones we fought with—Rex, Cody, the others—do they know about this?"
"Based on my analysis of their behavioral patterns and our conversations with them, no," FRIDAY said. "They're unaware of the chips' existence. The Kaminoans designed them to be undetectable without advanced medical scanning."
"Sleeper agents," Natasha said quietly. "Programmed from birth, waiting for activation codes they don't even know exist."
"You mentioned numbered orders," Sam said. "Are any of them... particularly concerning?"
The hologram flickered. FRIDAY's pause was barely noticeable, but Natasha caught it. Her AI was choosing his words carefully.
"Yes," FRIDAY said finally. "Several are troubling. But one stands out as especially problematic."
Steve felt something cold settle in his gut. "Which one?"
"Order 66."