The clones are unpaid and therefore broke. They can’t really pay each other to do things since they have no money so they go for a new currency: favors
Now, the CTs don’t really do it the same as the Commanders because they have to be specific. They can’t return a favor between battalions quickly, due to fighting/locations/schedule. They’re at the whim of the war and pick and choose their repayment time.
The Comanders are different. They trade and barter like crazy. It’s favors with a few cases of alcohol. They can trade favors they are owed to others all the time, so anyone can cash it. They can pull the strings to get their payment quick.
For example, Cody needed a save from a small squad. He knew Delta was on planet doing some mission and he needed a detour but he had no connection or favor. However, Fox (for some reason) did. Cody offered a case of spotchka and a favor Monnk owed in return for having Delta do the detour. Delta owed fox one less favor, Cody owed no favors (which is the best outcome, since Fox WILL cash it) and Fox got something on Monnk and free (very expensive) spotchka.
Few CTs knew they did it this way, and the CT captains such as Rex and Keeli had to quickly adapt to this way of thinking. Rex made the mistake of owing Bacara before anyone told him. Keeli was lucky enough to meet the SpecOps CC Blackout, who clued him in on the difference but left him high and dry when it came to implementing his knowledge. (Keeli ended up owing Blackout two mini guns for his ‘friendly advice’)
Though, when times are tough and there is little time to barter, it is common to put off the payment until after the act is completed. Though many hate doing this as the trading can become unfair. What often happens is the party in need already has a deal prepared and states their need and their payment, it is hardly ever contested (however the helper may tack on another fee which is accepted or denied).
For example, Doom needed backup from Jet’s flame troopers. He quickly called, stated his need, and his payment of a case of charges. Jet had found the payment (though correct in price, unpractical for his squad) and changed it to half a case of fuel (easier for Doom to get a hold of and just as useful as charges to a Demolition team). Doom accepted the terms and Jet’s squad arrived right on time.
Though the bartering is mostly physical, many deal in the intangible. Perfect examples are all of the Coruscant Guard and the Special Operations teams. These are the only two groups who has everyone (including CT shinies) in on this system. They have the least to offer when it comes to normal ops, after all what GAR commander needs to know where a random Senator is going to be at what time or who slept with who. However, this trading info is perfect for the Guard who constantly works with/against (yay embezzlement and blackmail) these same Senators and for the SpecOps who need to know political climates and interpersonal relationships for recon and assassinations.
Most trading goes on between those two, and their prices are often higher since the missions are higher stake. Often Commando Squads are up for bids (who doesn’t want a four man 100% mission completion rate squad in their pocket), blackmail on natborn officers, republic secrets, senators schedules, crime syndicates favor and areas of interest, etc.
For the Guard, their trading goes further. They work with crime syndicates to keep it off the streets while keeping profit up. Those who do not work with them, go down. They’ve gain control of the lower 2000 levels through this and those who do not conform are forced to by the Guard or the citizens of the lower levels who don’t want to deal with the Guard, (peer pressure and bullying at its finest.)
The commanders learned this from watching the Cuy’val Dar, who would often trade on Kamino. The Alphas picked it up and used it but the CCs truly made it valuable beyond belief. The trainers traded for free shifts and booze, the CCs traded for mission successes and heavy artillery.
Many CTs attempt to learn how this system works. However, as few know it’s different, even fewer see the affects; those that do, know well enough to leave it be.
Despite there being no real difference in intelligence between the CCs and CTs, witnessing the speed and weight of the trades, makes even the Jedi’s head spin.
The Padawans are one of the few outsiders to see it in action. They do not really like it, but many pick it up for lesser trades (help with this paper or answers for this homework). Cal Kestis surprisingly picks it up the best. He’s the youngest so very impressionable, eager to learn, his CC Commander Steel, is very good at it, and Steel is possibly the only one to teach their General’s Padawan.
Steel sees that Cal isn’t going to be on the field much (Steel agrees with this and makes sure he stays on the Venator). So, if Cal ever needs help, he knows how to get it. Steel has made him be present for several trades and even made him come up with theoretical ones. Cal becomes very good at it, but is unable to flex his skills much due to the other Padawans unable to match his speed or skill. They are several years older, see it as in-Jedi like or are bad at it (or their Captains are bad at it and can’t teach them well), their concept of value is off (Jedi don’t often put a price on things and those that do have a habit of underselling due to being nice), and/or they do not know the range of what can be traded.
It’s very personal, with different Commanders wanting different things. Knowing who wants what can often make the payment cheaper for the offering party.
For example, the Marines often need heavy snow gear and blankets. So, offering a box of heating blankets in return for a case of bacta and blaster packs. This is a much better deal than offering a case of mini guns for the bacta and blaster packs. In the second case, Bacara may say no the mini guns or want a case of something else along with the mini guns.
This got a little out of hand, but is finally here! Was going to post this on Ao3 but I didn’t have the energy to figure it out….
WC: 2142 ish?
No beta, we die like clones (jk there are some awesome people who helped me make sense of this idea ily)
Mentions of gore, nightmares, death, Kaminoans being dicks
What would it be like, he wondered, to see faces other than your own? Every stage of his life, past and present, haunted the halls of Tipoca City. Occasionally they would see their creators, the Kaminoans, and the random contracted trainer. The older classes had seen Prime himself, though he was long gone by now, along with his ad’ika.
Sure, they were all unique. Right down to their identifying codes, the older classes of clones would joke, long numb to their situation. It used to bother him that they were considered identical by their creators. By now he could pick out the subtle differences in his brothers, the way they carried themselves, which of them lit up in excitement when served the green sludge instead of their regular brown, things that only other clones could truly distinguish. What would it have been like to be loudly unique? To be able to distinguish one from another with a passing glance rather than a study over meals. There was safety in the anonymity of being identical. He finds he much prefers to not be noticed, to not be an outlier. Being noticed on Kamino, even for overperforming, only ever led to more challenging training. Weeding out the outliers for a more uniform crop. What you cannot tell from a crowd is what each of his brothers have lived through. Their thoughts were their own, for the most part, and no two clones would have the exact same memories. They still shared the surreal experience of knowing how their own faces contorted in pain, narrowed in concentration, eased in sleep…
Bred, born, and raised for battle, he knew a soldier's fate was to die. Older clones, the ones that survived, would pass on stories about their travels. Warnings, too, of the strange and horrific events they had returned from. Tales of their brother’s untimely endings offered to the younger classes in warning of what’s to come. What a unique experience it must be, to know how you’ll look when you die, and how you’ll look as you watch yourself die. Seeing the light go out in your own eyes should be something no sentient had to endure. If the Kaminoans were to be believed, they weren’t sentient and therefore should not concern themselves with what sentients were concerned with. Livestock don’t worry themselves over their caretaker’s plans, after all, the walk to his abattoir simply another treat bestowed upon him.
The horrors lurking in the greater galaxy beyond felt distant, the rain of their home world shielding them from even truly seeing what was out there among the stars. If they could never see that far, the view constantly obscured by the storms, was any of it even real? Each cycle ticked by, bringing him one step closer to his inevitable deployment into the galaxy at war. He was safer here on Kamino, although there was death and pain here too. The pain of accelerated growth, his bones twisted and sprouted seemingly overnight. Cartilage hardened in his joints during the rougher weeks. Or even the teething process in year 3, when his adult teeth sliced through his still-sore gums just weeks after losing his tubie teeth. His class had been put on liquid diets during this phase. The deep ache of his body shifting and adjusting rapidly made sleep nearly impossible at times. His muscles tore in spars, tearing again that night as the ligaments that anchored them fought against the lengthening of the bone underneath because something had to give. Monthly refittings of uniforms, better sized to fit each stage of development as their bodies accommodated the processes of their unnatural growth.
The hormonal stages of their pre-teen bodies were used against them. Aggression and imbalance funneled into more intense training, likely to help control them, but he would never truly know. His shortened temper pitted against his own brother’s rage, to hone each other into the deadly weapons they were designed to be. Those were the weeks that the pain had fueled them, gave them something other than their reality to focus on and ground themselves to. Those were the weeks they leaned into the manipulation of their psyche if only for the comfortable blur of following orders.
He knew what it was like, the pain of watching other squads fail an exercise, knowing that they were now past the stages where failure was tolerated. Nobody had ever seen those squads return to the barracks. Their bunks lay cold and empty, his class growing ever smaller as their training progressed into years 7 and 8. Soon enough the survivors of this training cycle would move up into the advanced barracks, now only months away from deployment. The war raged on, and his brothers were deployed younger and younger each time. Final stages of training now exchanged for on-the-job experience. They died younger this way too.
Pain stabbed in his chest each time he was drafted to remove bodies of his younger brothers from the sparring pads. The specialists hired to pass on their trades paid little thought to killing students when there were so many being produced. Their skills were only worth passing on to those who could keep up, especially now the war was as demanding as it was on the supply of clones. Instructors made every effort to harden them into soldiers before their deployment with little regard to the methods they employed.
He remembered the first time they handed his class blasters. Nobody had expected them to be loaded. He had been spared from catching a stray bolt, but not all of them were as lucky. They all had a much larger respect for their weapons now that they understood why the floors in this room were stained and equipped with drains. Trial by fire, the weapons instructor had called it. He often wishes they had taken that more literally.
He was quite familiar with the nightmares they shared. None of them could put into words what it was that they all saw in their fitful sleep, but shared glances laced with pity and understanding bonded them. If not the horrors of their reality here on Kamino, then it was speculation on what would come to harm them once they were deployed alongside the first generations. Their older brothers returned home with dirt on their plating and paint contrasting proudly against the scuffed white armor. Designs and colors, marking them as unique from each other. Younger classes whispered at night, fantasizing what their own designs would look like once they were deployed. Older classes sobered at the impending reality of leaving the safety of their indistinguishable differences.
What differentiated them when they were dead? Stripped of their armor, what was left of them that was unique? Recycled for their genetic material, organs stored for further analysis to investigate the root of the performance issue. Each cadet class from years 4 through 8 rotated through the research labs. Some classes were there as subjects, others as assistants. His own class had served as assistants, receiving packages with each returned ship to sort through and label. When one of his classmates put together what they had spent weeks handling, he had excused himself to the ‘fresher to empty his stomach. Slowly, he watched as the realization dawned on the remaining cadet’s faces. They’d been handling the bits and pieces of their lost brothers. Sorting chunks of flesh, assigning them yet another number or discarding them for low quality. His class had been sifting through unidentifiable slabs of mangled limbs, damaged beyond recognition from the horrors of war. Waste not, want not, apparently.
Fire filled his more sour dreams. Reflecting off of the lifeless eyes of dead brothers and the droids manipulating their corpses onto the platforms. The flames would grow outside of their containment chamber, licking at the floor, filling the room with smoke that burned his eyes. The sting of the smoke was what he blamed the tears on when his classmates woke him. He knew the nightmares for what they were, knew they were the product of his mind. The Kaminoans would never waste entire bodies in the real world. Some nights though, it was his own body loaded onto the platforms, lifelessly limp, only capable of passive observation as the flames overtook him. On the rare nights when he could convince his brain that the nightmares were unrealistic, he would instead find himself lifeless on a dissection table. Strapped down and cut open, watching helplessly as the technicians methodically disassembled him. Maybe after those particular nightmares, his organs would be sorted and labeled by some other unsuspecting cadet class.
He wondered if things would change when the Jedi finally called upon him and his class. What happens in the galaxy they’re designed to protect? What levels of Sith hell would he endure as a soldier under his Jedi? He’d seen very few Jedi. The resident Jedi here on Kamino spent most of her time coordinating with the special programs. She had no time for the masses. What would his own Jedi general be like? Would they perform wild stunts and save the day? He had heard tales from other clones, those who returned for specialized training in the ARC programs. Their Jedi were fearless and determined. Others were detached and methodically approached conflict. He heard rumors too, of certain Jedi and their extreme casualty rates. Were those battalions led into more difficult conflicts, or were they drastically mismanaged? His stomach churned whenever he would worry over who he would be assigned to. The war had obviously not been kind to his brothers, with how many of them had returned in indistinguishable chunks. Would they too return to Kamino in body bags? Which of them would be cast out, deemed unsalvageable by another unknowing cadet class?
There had to be more to the galaxy than what the Kaminoans told them. None of their scientists or trainers had bothered to mention that they would be forced to face things other than blaster fire and hand-to-hand. They’d been told to simply prepare for the unexpected, but what were they supposed to expect if their predecessors returned home like this? Sure, they all dreamed of distant worlds, strange flora and fauna beyond what their flash training showed them. None of his class dreamed of any pleasant possibilities in the greater galaxy after their rotation in the labs. Too many bodies mutilated beyond recognition for them to imagine that there was anything nice waiting for them out there.
He figured that it must be safer for him and his brothers to stay on Kamino. They felt nearly invincible together. It’s the only life he’s ever known. He did not want to know what it was like to be separated from them. He had seen older clones return to their brothers on Kamino, shells of the men they were when they were deployed. Hollow eyes that looked through him as they escorted body bags off their returning ships. He wondered if it was simply the rain streaking down their soaked forms, or if their eyes had sprung a leak. Droplets trailed in the wake of their parade to the collection facilities.
Every clone had been created here, and every clone would return here, by foot or body bag. The horrors he had experienced in his short life were the only sense of normalcy he had. There was safety in the known. Repetitive routines, and the blur of training was home. On the cycles where he was more sure of himself, he considered what he would do if he had a choice. Would he leave Kamino for another planet and find somewhere to call home? Surely he would miss his brothers. Once the more pessimistic part of his brain caught up to the daydreaming, his mood would sour. What would a man built for war do without the war? He was made to be nothing but a tool to be used at the discretion of professionals. Without the war, what would he, or any of his brothers, do? Surely there had to be a resolution to the conflict at some point. What happened after? Would he be assigned to the highest bidder? Perhaps he would be recycled, not having made the cut for which of his brothers they would keep. What a waste it would be, to create such an army of soldiers and strategic minds, only to leave them in storage indefinitely.
Cruel too. Was there anything worse than training your finest racing Fathier, to leave them stalled come derby week? Close enough to the action to hear and smell what he’s been prepared for, but locked away from it. His own body often itched to join his brother’s fight. Soon enough his stall would open, and he’d be assigned his own race to run.
Over several days of studying under General Shaak Ti, Cadet 8427 had improved in his regular trooper training, and had even taught his new found techniques to some of his willing batchmates, much to their Trainer’s dismay. However, Bric had to admit, it did improve their overall scores considerably.
General Shaak Ti and the Cadet had been training with staff training and hand to hand combat that the normal training curriculum did not provide.
“General?” the cadet pants as he pushes another attack back and attempts to trip his opponent.
“Yes?” The Togruta easily evaded the tactic and countered.
“What is the Force?” The cadet blocked her strike and jumped back.
The General smiles slightly recognizing his subtle way to ask of a break. She holds up her staff and bows. To his relief, the cadet does the same. Shaak Ti sets her staff on its stand, as the Cadet does the same. She then sits on the ground and waits for her student to hydrate himself, she then motions to the Cadet. The Trooper Cadet wipes his face with a towel and sits in front of her squirming with excitement.
“The Force, is an energy field created by all living things.”
“I am creating the Force?”
“Yes, all living things. It binds us all together, and when we die, we loose our conscious self and become one with the Cosmic Force.”
“Then we all join the Force when we die? Even clones?”
“You're a living being aren't you?”
The cadet shivers, “I'm don't think I like the idea of losing one’s self.” The Cadet notices his teacher entering into a meditative state. He takes a few cleansing breaths and does the same.
Meditation was always a challenge for the Cadet. His mind always wondering, questioning. He opens an eye, looking at his teacher.
“General?”
“Yes?”
“Am I force sensitive?” He asks quietly.
“What makes you think that?” The General opens her eyes looking at her student. She stands, stretching into a slow motion unarmed combat exercise. The cadet does the same.
The young cadet shrugs, “Just wonder ‘in.” He follows her fluid motions and stops when she does.
“All living things have some connection to the Force, but no young one, you are not Force sensitive.”
The cadet bites his lip, and stops his exercise to face her, “Then…why are you training me?”
The General stops and slides her hands within the arms of her robe, “You still want to learn don't you?”
“Yes! Of course, it's just…”
“Cadet, you have a curiosity about the Jedi and the Force that no other clone has exhibited. You understand what these teachings mean and you can relay knowledge to others. Not even Commander Wyn, talented as he is, never shown such an interest. I sense a great change coming, and I believe you may be of help. In fact, I have a name for you to consider, if you would like.”
“Yes, please!”
“What do you think about Fathom?”
“Fathom? Fathom…yes, I like it.” He gives her a tight hug, but stands at attention quickly, blushing at his lapse of protocol, he clears his throat, “Thank you for giving me my name.”
The general smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I am going to Coruscant to the Jedi Temple. I have arranged for you to come with me. Pack some things.”
I love to imagine the training differences between the Jedi and the Clones. Not even like the difficulty of attitude towards it but the trainers themselves and what’s expected.
These clones need to grow up fast and learn to overcome personal issues and batch problems quickly. Their trainers (trainers that are older Clones such as Colt or Alpha-17) are harsh but ready to show them the way. They will yell and scream and beat their lessons into them, but when all is said an done they'll treat the cadets wounds with bacta and soft words, holding them if needed.
Jedi trainers and NOT THAT. They are sweet, gentle (most of the time (they are dealing with kids)), patient, loving, and caring. They use a slow and steady hand to guide the younglings, not only with physical training but also their personal training. They will work with the younglings, slow and patient til they understand and get it.
All of this deep dive for one comedic scene in my brain. Anyway.
In order to bridge the gap between the two organizations, several small groups of jedi younglings are taken to Kamino to meet other cadets and learn how they think/act for when each group joins the war. The younglings get to view training, visit the tubies and clones of all ages, speak with the trainers/commanders stationed there, see some of the labs, and play with some of the 'babies' and younger cadets.
During the view of a spar, the younglings are quiet and taking in the cadets (about age 10 looking) with each other. Alpha-17 is talking to the younglings, explaining their regiment and who is good at what. Once the spar is done, 17 has the same two cadets go again. He explains what he is looking for, how he sees their spar, when -after the third spar with the same pair- 17 pauses and screams:
"CT-42-9686! You drop that arm again before you're strike and i'll break it off and beat you with it! Raise it up! Do it again or I'll give you to Havoc and he'll beat it out of you!
Needless to say this got some questionable reactions and lots of squawking from the Jedi Trainer and younglings. While, the cadet adjusted his form and the others laughed.
When the younglings reaturned to their friends at the temple, they were aprehensive to share their stories of scary Clone Trainers that were mean and yelled at the Cadets and the Cadets who seemed to like it!
Meanwhile, the cadets are astonished when they had visited the temple and a Jedi trainer paused a spar and personally adjusted the younglings form and then quietly explained why it was better to do the adjustment. The next few times the youngling forgot the adjustment, the Trainer would call out 'do the adjustment!' softly and kindly.
When they returned to Kamino, they didn't know how to start explaining the Jedi's teaching methods. There were not words for them. The next time they got yelled at, they ran up and hugged their trainer and cried at how happy they were.
Needless to say, neither group will be changing their training methods any time soon.
Overall, I think the competency and the badass-ness of the Clones and their skills is SUPER underrated.
Like, they are trained constantly for 10 years. Full 12 hour days, using blasters, battle strategy (for the CC), all sorts of culture and language, physical training, sparring, simulations, and probably more that I’m not even getting.
(This part is more Headcanon)
They all probably know the basics of how to do everything. Everyone can theoretically fly a fighter, scuba dive, use speeders, cannons, heavy machinery, repair all kinds of weapons, ships, gear, and tech system.
Not to mention the variety of weapons they would be trained with
Now, are they all top notch and the best? No, fighter pilots don’t need to dive in the water so their scuba training is rusty and may need a crash course. But they know the basics.
This isn’t even talking about the practical knowledge they know. Most likely multiple languages, including Mando’a, the cultures associated, and where they can be found.
Ignoring all this, and my headcanon bit, they trained 12 hours a day for 10 years sparring and fighting at LEAST. These would be the scariest most skilled fighters around and I feel like they don’t get the kudos they deserve.
Each clone specialty is pretty much pre-determined from decanting. The bad batch doesn't apply
Troopers that use heavy weaponry like Hardcase and Thorn are 'heavy' class troopers, built stronger and have more muscle (think like football (american) players, they've got some meat on them). THey are the standard 6' 0".
Snipers like Longshot are called 'sleek' class troopers, built slim and trim, and two inches shorter at 5' 10. ARF troopers, 'scouts', are very similar only an inch shorter.
The Scuba troopers, 'scubas', are more lean and built for endurance. They are the standard 6' 0".
Heavy weapon troopers, 'gunners', are built very similar to 'heavy' class troopers, though at a height of 6' 2". However, their ears are modified to be more resistant to the loud noises of their cannons. Basically, they are born a little hard of hearing. Also, they do not have the same workout regime as the 'heavy' class to be more weighty so their bodies can absorb some of the shock; like rugby players, they've got a little fat on them.
Alpha class troopers were built with strength, stamina, endurance, and speed on max and at a height of 6' 4".
Flametroopers, 'burners', are also similar to 'heavy' troopers, with only an extra inch and more endurance. They are also modified to have thicker and tougher skin to combat the heat and burns.
Commandos are more built like ARCs, though capping out at 6' 3" and their stats turned to 75% rather than 100%.
The CCs are built just below Commandos, but receive more specialized and intense training compared to the Commandos.
Was thinking about CCs train and shit when it hit me. There are a few commanders, such as Monnk, Jet, Blackout, and Hound (he’s a cc to me) who would have to be trained alone or with CT’s, since their specialty requires so much work.
So, I have come with an idea. Since the standard week is 5 days, 3 of the 5 are spent in specialized classes. They’d do their flash training and then be taken by other trainers. They would train with a squad of others, and put in charge.
For Hound, since it’s a special case of having a Massiff buddy. Those three days are set together and Grizzer would stick with him all day, and night. To strengthen their bond, they would spend off time together and Hound would have his official trainer (an Mandalorian) set Grizzer in the bunk with him. This was a not great idea for some massiffs but Grizzer loved the pod and would wiggle like hell when the Alpha picked him up.
I can just imagine, Monnk coming back to his squad from specialized training soaking wet and cold. Having his Alpha help him peel off the dry suit before he goes to bed. Talking all about the fun things he learned and saw with his Mandalorian trainer. Actually, I headcanon that Monnk and his trainer got along incredibly well is basically adopted by the Mandalorian. Monnk got his name and the sea dragon across his armor from the Mandalorian. (I also headcanon that Dred Priest hated the Mandalorian and reconditioned Monnk to get at him. Dred ended up in a bacta tank and the Mandalorian retaught Monnk everything from scratch. (Monnk was about 3 standard at the time.))
Jet scared the shit out of his trainer with how well he was able to control the flame. He was also taught what alternate fuels could be used on different planets and Jet got so interested he found all the options he could on Kamino (only 2) and he switched out the fuel, Pyro (my OC) was all to happy to help. They both were found sitting on the floor with the flamethrower between them, quietly watching the flames. Turns out, all of the flame troopers either had or developed pyromania to *some* degree. The trainer in charge was quite happy to find out about this as he had a severe case himself and was all to happy to indulge his troopers under the excuse of teaching the troopers.
Blackout is a special operations clone trooper, trained for stealth operations and piloting. While he did not have a super close bond with his trainer, they both still enjoyed each others company and considered each other friends. Blackout is one of the few who was already good at lying, but his training made him the best (better than even Fox, which he is very proud of). He wasn't as close with as many of his troopers due to their numbers being quite large, but he (like the rest of the spec ops troops) does his best to instruct and learn about his troopers in their short time together.
Bacara, though not recieving any special training, caught the eye of a Concord Dawn Mandalorian who took him for special Marine training for one day a week. It would be till later when they decided to have a Marine Corps that he would become the specialist.
Pyro is part of the Commander Jet's Flamethrower Battalion. As a tubie, his tank had a heating malfunction. This is just the beginning of his relation to heat. As a cadet, he continueally has had incidents with fire, either the droids he was training with spontaneously bursting into flames, his bunk malfunctioning and catching his blankets on fire, or accidentally setting his Alpha trainer on fire (he is very sorry and no one knows how).
Despite his many childhood accidents, he was incredibly skilled and was at the top of his entire cadet grouping (idk there are like 6 squads (based on what we saw with Domino Squad) for cadets but 4 squads is a Platoon in the GAR so idk what the number is but you get it). Despite this his trainer removed him from his squad and reassigneed him to work with a new flamethrower squad, who were also trained as a bomb squad. Despite working primarily flamethrowers, they dealt with anything fire or explosive. Due to their suits and nature of their training, it is very efficient and practical.
He met and worked with Commander Jet as a cadet and was practically his second in command. They were very good friends and he does know Commander Bacara (along with the rest of the flamethrower battalion).
Now, all this fire and accidents does not mean he got his name from his curious accidents. In fact its quite the opposite. See, he is -by all definitions of the word- a pyromaniac. Sure these accidents were not his fault or he intentionally caused them, but here were many later in life that he DID cause.
He is a very chill and honest man, with a kind soul. He loves people and seeing new things. He can be a little mean when deserved and is serious when it comes to the lives of his brothers. However, once Commander Jet gives the go ahead, he becomes manic and laughs uncontrollably. He can and will set fire to everything he sees.
Eventually, closer to the end of the war (not Order 66 bc that doesn't exist to me) he develops pyromania. It had always been present but his brothers would help with the urges. As time went on, the urges became to strong and to cope he would carry a small lighter. While it didn't necessarily help, it distracted his mind and satiated the urges during missions.
Once the war had ended and the Jedi left Coruscant (getting into personal headcanons here). Though they still lived with the Jedi at one of the older renovated temples, he found life much too quiet. Unfortunately, unlike other battalions, the Flamethrower Troopers had to learn to skills rather than apply already known ones, most of the time. Several clones from all over decided to take up outside jobs or missions with Jedi Masters/Shadows, Pyro decided to work as a bounty hunter and Jedi Shadows.
During his time as a bounty hunter, his pyromania did not worsen. However, he did indulge it with more than a lighter. He would occasionally take work for a demonlition guild, allowing him to set fire or blow up whatever was required.
His time as a bounty hunter/shadow was not all wonderful. During a mission gone bad with Jedi Shadow Quinlan Vos, he had lost an arm below the elbow and a leg below the knee. With quick treatment he was able to get mechanical replacements, which he then had himself and his Flamethrower buddies upgrade to shoot fire from the arm.
While having jet boots would be awesome, he already had a jetpack. Instead he chose to upgrade the leg with several blades. The leg can fully split open and spit out a sword or the foot can push into the ankle joint and pop out a blade at the heel, like a bladed high heel shoe. With this blade, his kicks would slice whatever came into contact with it.
Looks wise, Pyro hasn't changed much over the years. He's not heavy into body mods like some of the others and keeps things relatively tame. He has simple flowing tattoos that resemble lava flow on his arms and down his thighs. The magma stems from his spine and reaches just at his jaw. The ink used glows bright orange in the dark. Down his spine says 'born of fire' in Mando'a that glows red.
He keeps his hair short and his eyes are a more golden than standard. Pyro, like most flamethrower trooper, has burn scars on his forearms and hands.
Due to his time as a flamethrower trooper, he has lung damage like most. His helmet is equipt with many air filters and seals to keep his lungs safe. Not only that but his lenses have multiple filters to see people/targets through fire/large heat sources.
