With my Kaminoan cloning technology, the process was almost insultingly simple. Rick Prime's memories gave me the blueprints; the Reality Stone gave me the resources. All that was left was execution. And I executed flawlessly.
The first batches of clones floated in their nutrient tanks—tall, pale, engineered for obedience and brutality. They weren't just death troopers. They were my death troopers, sculpted with the precision of a Kaminoan artisan and the ruthlessness of Imperial doctrine. Their minds were optimized for combat, infiltration, and silent efficiency. No emotions. No hesitation. Just purpose.
I began their training the moment they stepped out of the tanks. Thanks to the death troopers I had previously summoned through the system, I already had access to the full array of Imperial training protocols—physical conditioning, urban warfare, advanced blaster marksmanship, linguistic distortion techniques, and encrypted squad‑based communication.
The clones adapted fast. Too fast. Their neural pathways were engineered for it, after all. And I pushed them even further.
But the most important step came afterward—conditioning their loyalty.
Each clone was psychically, biologically, and psychologically imprinted to be utterly devoted to a single O5 member. No room for betrayal. No room for personal ambition. Only one truth burned into their minds:
Serve the hand that commands you.
And so, I built the Red Hand.
Fifty elite death troopers for each O5 council member. Fifty perfectly obedient, enhanced super‑soldiers ready to move, kill, or vanish at a single order. Their armor—black with crimson insignias—made them look like shadows dipped in blood. Their presence alone warped the atmosphere of any room.
The O5s didn't ask how I made them.
They didn't need to.
All they needed to know was that the Red Hand existed…and that they were loyal.
To us.
To our future.
And, in a way, to me.