This is a short story based off an event DMed by Alark, from the perspective of Neekai's assassin droid K3-NA.
My new Master has warned me this is personal. I can not yet catalogue what meaning she ties to that word, but I appreciate the heads-up. Owner #4 used it often. It was short for "my ability to calculate the outcome of my decisions is negatively affected."
I will proactively consider an increased number of variables to make up for such eventualities.
Master Neekai'até orders me to watch the back of the building. The stacked architecture of Nar Shaddaa naturally provides me with places to blend into the shadows. I find a rooftop with an overview.
"I am in position, Master," I declare, deciding not to divulge too much information as it can easily confuse organics. Perhaps especially when things are "personal".
I do not know who Ravik Dreylos is. I understand he is important to my Master by the way the soundwaves deviated when she spoke his name on the shuttle here. I also understand that, until recently, she believed him to be dead for two years.
"Stay on it."
Thirteen minutes and three seconds pass. I spend them productively: cataloguing the rooftops of the adjacent block, calculating exit routes from the apartment my Master is in.
"Katrina, I've pinged you my position. There's a hostage situation in the casino under me. I'm going down. I need a visual before I move."
"Repositioning," I answer, having gotten up before she finishes. The fire escape takes me down to an alley, leading towards a small maintenance shack. The glass is filthy. I clean a small circle with my glove and brace the rifle.
One man, tied in the center of an open room.
I zoom.
The man has Ravik Dreylos' features. I do not know this from personal acquaintance, but from the holo my Master was looking at for eleven minutes and thirty four seconds on our way here. His pulse is elevated but steady. His eyes are trained on the door.
"Visual confirmed," I say. "One subject, bound, couch, features match."
"Cover me. Engage only when I do," my Master answers. She too does not divulge more than necessary. I conclude she understands this is a trap, yet complicated biologic processes drive her to spring it anyway.
She enters. A black silhouette that carefully moves towards the bound man on the couch. His head comes up to speak. I attempt to lip-read through the angle and the filth on the glass, but fail.
Then my optical receptors perceive red lights illuminating either side of the room. My Master's red blade answers a quarter-second later. A first figure rushes up to my Master in three strides and engages her in battle. The second figure threatens to do the same, but I fire for the head and take him in the shoulder. I append a correction to the movement profile of Force-sensitives under combat conditions and load a second bolt.
My Master is now on the defensive and the room disfavours her. She can not retreat without giving one of them her back. I fire another shot at the wounded one, aiming low to force a parry. He parries. The opening lasts approximately four-tenths of a second. My Master takes it. Her blade cuts through his ribs and comes out at the shoulder.
The other opponent did not wait for her to recover her guard. She strikes while her arm is extended. I see the blade meet her shoulder and cleave through it.
The scream is visual enough.
I fire a third shot. Her remaining opponent has calculated my position by the angle of my last bolt and moves out of sight. I move from the maintenance shack in two strides and clear the gap to the next building. By the time I find my angle, I see my Master's face is covered in blood.
I fire.
The bolt strikes the opponent in the thigh. My Master rises and cleaves off her opponent's arms.
The second body falls. My Master does not look at it to confirm the kill. She turns to the man on the couch. She kneels besides him and starts taking off his bonds. I can not hear what she says to him, but I can see her press her bloodied head against his. I observe her tears.
The defeated Sith's body shifts. A communicator on his belt has activated. My Master notices it before I can warn her. She gets up slowly and reaches for it.
The blue light in the shape of a man rises out of her palm.
My Master's posture changes in stages. First the shoulders lock. Then the head tilts, a fraction of a degree. Then she crushes the communicator in her fist.
She looks back at the man on the couch. Her pupils dilate. The muscles around her mouth pull down and apart.
I zoom.
His pulse has not changed. His eyes are not tracking her.
She pleads. I do not need audio to know it is a plea. The man shakes his head.
This time I hear the scream.
I have heard Owner #4 scream when her child died. I have heard a mercenary scream through a punctured lung. I have heard the dancer Owner #9 kept scream when she understood she would not be leaving. None of them match. The closest reference in my library is Owner #7. He made a similar sound once. I was sold shortly after he stopped making sounds at all.
Then, a flash of her blade that cut through the couch — and the man on it.
She sinks to her knees and does not move for two minutes and forty seconds.
I update Master Neekai'até's file. Under personal, I append a definition of my own.
01110000 01100101 01110010 01110011 01101111 01101110 01100001 01101100
My new Master has warned me this is personal. I can not yet catalogue what meaning she ties to that word, but I appreciate the heads-up. Owner #4 used it often. It was short for "my ability to calculate the outcome of my decisions is negatively affected."
I will proactively consider an increased number of variables to make up for such eventualities.
Master Neekai'até orders me to watch the back of the building. The stacked architecture of Nar Shaddaa naturally provides me with places to blend into the shadows. I find a rooftop with an overview.
"I am in position, Master," I declare, deciding not to divulge too much information as it can easily confuse organics. Perhaps especially when things are "personal".
I do not know who Ravik Dreylos is. I understand he is important to my Master by the way the soundwaves deviated when she spoke his name on the shuttle here. I also understand that, until recently, she believed him to be dead for two years.
"Stay on it."
Thirteen minutes and three seconds pass. I spend them productively: cataloguing the rooftops of the adjacent block, calculating exit routes from the apartment my Master is in.
"Katrina, I've pinged you my position. There's a hostage situation in the casino under me. I'm going down. I need a visual before I move."
"Repositioning," I answer, having gotten up before she finishes. The fire escape takes me down to an alley, leading towards a small maintenance shack. The glass is filthy. I clean a small circle with my glove and brace the rifle.
One man, tied in the center of an open room.
I zoom.
The man has Ravik Dreylos' features. I do not know this from personal acquaintance, but from the holo my Master was looking at for eleven minutes and thirty four seconds on our way here. His pulse is elevated but steady. His eyes are trained on the door.
"Visual confirmed," I say. "One subject, bound, couch, features match."
"Cover me. Engage only when I do," my Master answers. She too does not divulge more than necessary. I conclude she understands this is a trap, yet complicated biologic processes drive her to spring it anyway.
She enters. A black silhouette that carefully moves towards the bound man on the couch. His head comes up to speak. I attempt to lip-read through the angle and the filth on the glass, but fail.
Then my optical receptors perceive red lights illuminating either side of the room. My Master's red blade answers a quarter-second later. A first figure rushes up to my Master in three strides and engages her in battle. The second figure threatens to do the same, but I fire for the head and take him in the shoulder. I append a correction to the movement profile of Force-sensitives under combat conditions and load a second bolt.
My Master is now on the defensive and the room disfavours her. She can not retreat without giving one of them her back. I fire another shot at the wounded one, aiming low to force a parry. He parries. The opening lasts approximately four-tenths of a second. My Master takes it. Her blade cuts through his ribs and comes out at the shoulder.
The other opponent did not wait for her to recover her guard. She strikes while her arm is extended. I see the blade meet her shoulder and cleave through it.
The scream is visual enough.
I fire a third shot. Her remaining opponent has calculated my position by the angle of my last bolt and moves out of sight. I move from the maintenance shack in two strides and clear the gap to the next building. By the time I find my angle, I see my Master's face is covered in blood.
I fire.
The bolt strikes the opponent in the thigh. My Master rises and cleaves off her opponent's arms.
The second body falls. My Master does not look at it to confirm the kill. She turns to the man on the couch. She kneels besides him and starts taking off his bonds. I can not hear what she says to him, but I can see her press her bloodied head against his. I observe her tears.
The defeated Sith's body shifts. A communicator on his belt has activated. My Master notices it before I can warn her. She gets up slowly and reaches for it.
The blue light in the shape of a man rises out of her palm.
My Master's posture changes in stages. First the shoulders lock. Then the head tilts, a fraction of a degree. Then she crushes the communicator in her fist.
She looks back at the man on the couch. Her pupils dilate. The muscles around her mouth pull down and apart.
I zoom.
His pulse has not changed. His eyes are not tracking her.
She pleads. I do not need audio to know it is a plea. The man shakes his head.
This time I hear the scream.
I have heard Owner #4 scream when her child died. I have heard a mercenary scream through a punctured lung. I have heard the dancer Owner #9 kept scream when she understood she would not be leaving. None of them match. The closest reference in my library is Owner #7. He made a similar sound once. I was sold shortly after he stopped making sounds at all.
Then, a flash of her blade that cut through the couch — and the man on it.
She sinks to her knees and does not move for two minutes and forty seconds.
I update Master Neekai'até's file. Under personal, I append a definition of my own.