Thursday, July 9, 2009


The Grass is tall, green and yellow, and reminds HK-42 of something - long ago and far away. The late afternoon sky overhead is still blue, but the horizon is flecked in purple and yellow - hinting at the glorious sunset to come. HK-42 has never stopped to watch a sunset. It spends 3.583 nanoseconds thinking about the fact that it has never once watched the sun set over the horizon.
It is holding a sniper rifle. A DC-15x with a modified scope designed to reduce glare and a higher tuned plasma injector designed to cause more damage upon a successful impact. It has also been modified to become collapsable.
Where the hell am I? HK-42 thinks to itself. It looks through the site of the DC-15x. In the distance, just within range of the rifle, an infant Twi-lek cradles in its mother's arms. As it rocks, back and forth, soothed no doubt by its mother's heartbeat or the sound of her voice, microgyros in HK-42's Action Appendages compensate almost "subconsciously," his aim correcting itself and maintaining sight of the child.

She - she thinks of herself as a her, and she is built to reflect this, which seems convenient - stands over the cowering human. The small but sinister vibroblade hums quietly to itself in her clenched hand. Suddenly, she is aware of its thirst for the human's blood. It is a thing made for killing. A thing to be feared. She wonders why she has not put it down yet.
The human whimpers, "p-please don't do it."
"Excuse me, Mistress," the droid leans a little to better present herself to the quivering sentient, "I seem to have forgotten why I am here."
In the eternity it seems to take the human to respond, BD-3108 first imagines to itself that this must be what waking from a memory wipe feels like. Then she wonders what it is to imagine, and why she appears to be doing it.
A strange and wonderful spark flickers through her KRSTA-Line X4 Heuristic Processor and she realizes that there is a humanoid standing in the next room. A 1.91 meter tall humanoid of the species Zabrak. He is going to enter the room in .8 seconds; but already she feels the anger hanging on him like the cloud of smoke produced by the deathstick in his hand.
"Blasted droid," he curses, flicking the deathstick at the bound and cowering human on the floor, "I told you to take care of this, now do it." He kicks the crying woman and storms out of the room.
"And clean up the mess when you're done," he calls behind him when he reaches the apartment door, "I'll be out."
BD-3108 contemplates its situation for a moment, then leans in to the human again, "I apologize for my ignorance. Would you mind telling me just what it is he wishes me to do?"


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