A/N: So here's the thing. "Contrast" is getting too long. If I put all of it in this fic then it is going to clutter up everything and end up taking up too much space, so I'm making it into its own separate story. Parts 1-3 will remain here; part 4 and on will be posted in a separate story of the same title as the arc.

Thank you.

The groans of the injured and dying were just everyday noises on Krell's flagship. It seemed like at any one time over half of his soldiers were in the medbay, victims of burning and bashing and getting limbs blown off or faced slashed to ribbons by commando droids, souvenirs from gruesome battles in a war they didn't understand. The medical ward was constantly flooded. Many of the injuries were just too severe to be fixed. Krell's medics just couldn't keep up.

Captain Dorne wiped his forehead and checked the chrono hanging up on the wall. 2300. He'd been working in here nonstop for fourteen hours. They all should've been in bed by now. Instead they were trapped here fixing up four times the number of boys than they should've been. Just what kind of tactician thought that a casualty count this high was acceptable losses.

He gritted his teeth. Things were never this bad in the 111th, he thought sourly, wiping his bloody hands on a fresh white cloth and moving on to sew up another patient. General Dur never would have pulled something so reckless.

The medic's thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. The captain looked up to see CT-9171, a twitchy young corporal who'd come in about a month ago, salute smartly and hold out a datapad to him.

"Sir, a report of Lieutenant Baron's status, as you requested."

Dorne accepted the 'pad with a grateful nod, allowing the corporal to scamper off as he read the report. The captain's eyebrows furrowed as he continued to read, becoming more and more troubled the longer he looked at it.

Took a blaster bolt to the face yesterday morning and he's already recovered enough to go back to sentry duty? That's not normal.

It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Baron healed ridiculously fast. Dorne's predecessor, Captain CT-8552, told him of one incident where the lieutenant had had his head sliced open and three days later there was nothing more than a pale scar running along his hairline to indicate that it had ever happened.

Dorne hesitated as he reached the end of the log, his fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen. Krell had told him he wanted the medical reports filed immediately, but this… this was too much. Dorne may not have been in Riot Company long, but he already knew his commanding officer well enough to know that if Krell saw this, he'd have Baron shipped right back to the labs in a heartbeat. The medic shuddered, trying hard not to think about what kind of experiments the Kaminoans would run on the poor man trying to figure this out. Whatever mutation Baron had that triggered this, the Kaminoans were going to want to replicate it even if they had to vivisect his brain to do it. And knowing the general, Krell would help them.

Dorne couldn't let that happen.

"Bix, take over," he called to one of the other clones. Said clone looked at him curiously but relented, moving over to look at Dorne's patient as the medic turned to leave.

Out he went, tapping furiously on the data pad's screen as he went, altering details and erasing tiny bits, changing the data on the log and hoping that he did a good enough job of doctoring the results that it wouldn't be obvious that he had tweaked it. If anyone ever found out about this he'd be in serious trouble.

But as long as no one found out… what Krell didn't know wouldn't hurt him.