"Yes sirree, celebratin' is the name o' the game right now. Ain't that right cloney boy?" The General's voice was lower now, more controlled and yet more excited.

"THIR, YETH THIR" came the muffled response, the chemical smell of the rubber mask suffusing the goons senses.

"Good to hear soldier. Just remember you are aidin' the cause just by standin' there and obeying orders, oh yeah, you sure are" whispered the General, rubbing his crotch with one hand and stroking the goons big beefy butt with the other.

The General's words triggered another surge of pure programmed pleasure in the goons chest. Obeying orders! What could be more perfect for a young clone fresh from the tanks. He felt dizzy from the excitement, or was it that strange chemical smell inside the mask?

"Now you just keep breathin' them fumes from that lil' ol' pad inside the mask. Them's yer orders cloney boy, just obey them orders"