"RCC-1129. Talon Squad." Kal's response was immediate, reflex. Like blinking. Morad would probably accept that and move on, he didnt look like the type to 'know' clones, know that some of them were more human then the credit given them.

Names were sacred, secret things to Commandos, almost treated like contraband. He bristled every time he was forced to give it to maintain his guise as a civilian. The commando supposed he would, eventualy, have to give his name to this one, too, lest he be called by a number in public.

"....Kal." The word comes begrudgingly, but it comes. The clone stops at the end of the alley, waits for a rush of people being evacuated from the area, and joins the flood of humanity with the Jedi in tow. He's dropped his DC-17 to his side again to avoid immediate recognition of the weapon. Dark liquid occasionaly gathers at the tip of the barrel before dropping to the filthy street, lost as Kal drives them swiftly foreward within the crowd and out of the area as Troopers file in from all directions.