Ambrose Veshok

LOCATION: Temporary training outpost Omicron three six - Nar Shaddaa. Ambrose stood in the corner watching as three sets of the Empire’s more seasoned veterans and commando hopefuls squared off. Fluidly, as if by second nature the trio of duos threw themselves at each other, trained moves, interrupted by the occasional improved strike learned via extra, off duty training, or cantina brawls. It was probably a good thing that Ambrose was all of and nothing more than a brain in a jar nestled within the massive Dark Trooper Phase III suit he currently called home. How he longed to interject himself into these training sessions. He could not. His hulking metallic form would easily crush the warriors seeking to advance themselves. He had learned that early on after sending an entire squad of rookie Stormtroopers to the medical ward with a variety of concussions and broken bones. So here he stood, resigned himself to observing and pointing out apparent inconsistencies. These men were not commandos yet. Drawn from the ranks of enlisted naval, army, Stormtrooper, and Intelligence personnel, many of the soldiers here had shown exceptional bravery, fortitude, and outside the box thinking during the battle of Kuat or the innumerable minor skirmishes that had erupted since with the Axis forces. As he stood watching, his mind grimacing at the clear divergences from Imperial hand-to-hand combat training techniques, but he did not move. He had been tasked with training Imperial commandos, not reprogramming their basic training techniques. If these warriors had made it this far in their careers, clearly they were doing something right. Inwardly, Ambrose Veshok doubted that he was the right man for this job. After all, hadn’t he been the one to throw an entire ship full of soldiers into the planetary shield of Bespin? Hadn’t he been the one to wreak havoc on the Imperial medical base at Carida? Perhaps he was being punished. That was all he could resign himself to. The Empress was gone, the fleet had fallen, and the scattered remnants of the remnants of the once mighty galactic Empire were making with all haste here, to Nar Shaddaa, by all rights not an Imperial world, but one that belonged to the Hutts. They had not even tried to mount a rescue of the Empress yet. For all he knew, she was dead and the upper ranks were squabbling over what to do. No, this was not the Empire he had joined so many years before. Yet he was a good soldier even in his failures. He would stay and train the next generation of Imperial commandos, even if it was his punishment. They would be the best damn commandos the remnant had ever seen! ”No! No! No!” he bellowed, his mechanical voice echoing across the relatively desolate training arena as one of the commandos tapped out after being flipped through the air and slammed to his back, his opponent’s hand around his throat. He was not stopping the drill because the trainee with the advantage was clearly pressing it, pushing his fellow to the point of black out. No, Ambrose stopped the drill because the other trainee had tapped out. ”There is no room for surrender where you are going. Do you think the Rebellion showed mercy to soldiers on Endor? OF course not! What about all the soldiers aboard the Death Star who died without a chance to face their foes head on? Do you think they were showed mercy when they cried out for their mothers? You play like you practice! There is no tapping out. There is no surrender. We are the last razor’s edge of the Empire. After us, there is nothing. Do you understand? Nothing! Without us the Axis runs roughshod over the galaxy. We are the final wall!” The rage and pain of Ambrose’ proverbial heart poured out in his words. He meant every word and if these jockeys thought that they could tap out when the going got rough he had no use for them. Stepping forward, his metal foot sending dust billowing upwards from the packed earth, Ambrose hefted the supine combatant into the air, his massive mechanized hand crushing the man’s frame beneath it. ”AND WE DO NOT ABANDON THAT POST!” he bellowed angrily before sending the hapless soldier careening back down to the dust. ”Again!” he snapped as he turned to eye the five others who were watching. Only one had a smile playing across his face. Whether that was at his brother’s suffering or because he understood what Ambrose was talking about, Ambrose did not know; but he was pleased to see that his actions had gotten a reaction. As the fallen trooper picked himself up, the group began to square off again, as Ambrose took back up his post, only to be interrupted a moment later by the arrival of a courier who handed Ambrose a note. Crumpling it in his hand, Ambrose held up his free hand, signaling the half-dozen to stop. ”Report to your quarters. We’ve got orders. he spoke, all tell of his emotions now gone from his dark mechanized voice. In that moment, Ambrose saw clarity. It was a clarity he had not seen since he had arrived on Nar Shaddaa, except when he tried to throw himself into his assignment. Here, he was finally being tasked with something fitting the tortures he had undergone for the Empire. The Empress. She spared my life. It is time that I honor that mercy. Making his way into what counted as an office for a cybernetic ranking soldier of the Empire, Frond clumsily uncoiled the large wire from under the desk that held is assigned computer. Expertly, he wove it through his armored plates and plugged it into a hidden port. With practiced expertise, he cycled through a myriad of unread disregarded messages from fellow officers looking to find joy in their off duty hours with the company of attractive young ladies and spiced Corellian wine, messages adjusting the weekly mess menu, messages advising new arrivals to Nar Shaddaa, known survivors, and known losses for the troops searching for friends, family, and battle buddies. None of that mattered to him, so he had pretty much forgone ever even checking messages. If someone needed something, it was not hard to find Ambrose Veshok. After all he was the only nine foot three inch mechanized death machine authorized to walk about the base without an escort. Cycling through the messages, he found the one he was looking for. Apparently Command still had not caught up with the fact that he had forgone this level of communications. Scanning the message, Ambrose would have smiled if he had the muscles to do so. He was to hand pick a squad of Commandos and report to Admiral Beck Pilon within the hour. Within the hour? Ambrose glanced at the holoclock on the wall and then back at the message timestamp. That hour was 17 minutes ago. Whoops! Standing, Ambrose wrenched the cord free, disconnecting himself from the computer. He strode out. He knew just who was going to go and rescue the Empress. For a venture like this, rank did not matter. For a venture like this, all that mattered was having the best of the best. They needed soldiers hardened by their training, their missions, and their environment; soldiers who could not just complete their mission, but that could survive and if the need arose willingly lay down their lives for their Empire. There were only so many men Ambrose would trust with such a task. The 73rd Cold Weather Combat Battlegroup was where Ambrose had spent the bulk of his career, engaging hostiles on the most desolate windswept godforsaken planets in the galaxy. Even though he had not monitored his messages, Ambrose still kept an ear out for word that any of his old battle buddies had resurfaced on Nar Shaddaa. With luck seven of his fellows had. Each one a trained and experience snow trooper with a myriad of tours with the 73rd and otherwise. Walking down the narrow hallways that connected the makeshift surface barracks, Ambrose found the central command center. He had grown accustomed to the looks of shock and fear that his hulking form was met with, so he did not even notice as the lowly private began to voice a protest but drew back at the site of Ambrose plated forearm and the clearly concealed hatches that houses the duel blaster cannons in each. Without a word, Ambrose scanned the private’s computer screen until he found what he was looking for. A few minutes later, his fellow members of the 73rd had been ordered to report to Beck in orbit immediately. All they needed to do was grab their gear and go. Orders would follow. ”Seven plus one makes eight. We need one more.” Ambrose growled to himself. Although the green soldier at the desk did not think that as his mouth gaped open and shut several times trying to engage his mind and fathom an acceptable response. At the same time Ambrose’ mind whirled thinking about who could fill the final slot. He knew, even as much as he did not want to consciously admit it. That smiling buffoon in the arena. What was his name? Kesto? Ketsy? Ambrose scanned down through the list of soldiers in the barracks. There it was. Ketso Kast. That smiling idiot would do well. He had grit and determination and the experience to prove it. Ambrose had read his file. Well, more so glanced it over. Several promising years as a member of the Imperial Army serving as an advanced recon scout in some of the hottest, most humid regions the galaxy had to offer. The man had taken not only blasterfire in the name of the Empire, but apparently the man still had a few aged slugs floating around inside somewhere too. Yes, he’d work. Pushing the same buttons, Ambrose sent a message to the man’s room, summoning him to Beck as well. Standing up, Ambrose’ head scraped the ceiling, raining sparks down on the desk where the terrified private sat still trying to muster the courage to blink much less speak. ”At ease soldier. You saw nothing,” the cyborg growled before turning with stooped head and stalking off. His seven fellow stormtroopers and the commando recruit made eight. The traditional Imperial squad was made of nine. There was no way Ambrose would let Beck fill that slot with anyone but himself. He’d be damned if he was not going to rescue the Empress too. Quickly, he made his way to the massive lift that connected the surface with the orbital station above; a recent addition to expedite Imperial movements from space to the surface and back. It did not take long for the massive war machine to carve a path through the crowds and find a seat aboard the lift. Glancing to his left and right, Ambrose was content to see his fellows finding their own seats, whispering amongst themselves wondering to what special task they had been summoned. Ambrose doubted any of them recognized him. Rapping a metal knuckle against his freshly repaired metal knee with a light gong that was lost in the din of voices, he had undergone quite the transformation. Still, it was good to see some of his old comrades. Their presence gave him a sense of peace and knowledge that wherever the Empress might be that they actually stood a chance of wrestling her away from the grasp of whatever slimy darkness had her in their clutches. It was not long before the eight men and Ambrose were all standing at attention aboard the Heaven’s Taint. All that was needed now were their orders from High Command.

Ambrose offered a half-hearted yet professional salute at the Admiral’s instructions. ”Sir yes sir. I do have one request however. If it is acceptable, I would like to offer whatever limited skillsets I have and my new Imperial issued iron body to the cause of the safe return of our Empress. She saved my life. I owe it to her to try and do the same sir.” Before he could receive a response, Ambrose marched out of the conference room and down the hallway. The few Imperials still moving about gave the walking arsenal a wide berth. Training new recruits was one thing. Training commandos was different. Some would have limited combat experience; others would be fresh out of training, having never even stared down a true enemy; still others would be returning for refreshers on the latest and greatest combat maneuvers, technology, and theories. Ambrose Veshok was no teacher. He was willing to do what he had to though to ensure the Empire’s survival and by that the survival of peace, order, and the rule of law. Ambrose would do anything to protect those he loved. He would even teach.

Ambrose stood there, the topmost portions of his domed head shrouded in the shadows near the ceiling as he took in every word that Admiral Beck said. He had never seen the man before, only heard tell of him amongst whispers in the ranks. Truth be known, Ambrose was still not even sure how he had come to be here. In so few months he had received what seemed to be one promotion after another. Yet still, in his own heart, Ambrose knew he was a failure. He had lost the Moff, failed to defend refugees, fallen in battle, fought against his own brothers, and allowed the destruction of an entire hospital with who knew how many deaths inside. With a heavy heart and mind, Ambrose took one clanging step forward towards the table and his comrades, most if not all of whom outranked him. The others remained silent and Ambrose had to wonder if they too were contemplating their failures and how they came to stand here at Nar Shaadaa. Before saying a word, the newly minted Imperial captain, unclasped the saber that he had taken from the nameless Sith lord he had defeated on Kuat and hefted it easily out unto the middle of the table with a clatter and a clang. ”I am RG-126, formally of the Ryloth Stormtrooper garrison before a series of unfortunate events befell me in the service of the Empress. I command no men. I have no duty station and no assignment. I have been pardoned by our Empress and I serve the Empire in an effort to bring peace and order to the Empire; to defend the poor, the weak, and the innocent. Such is my duty. That duty is what brought me to Kuat in the first place. Moff Hohenlohe’s estate on Kuat was besieged by Sith armies and men that appeared to be servants of the Black Sun Syndicate. I do not know what became of the Moff. He was lost to me during the din of battle, escorted by other Imperial forces when the wilder of that,” he pointed a massive metallic finger at the lightsaber lying on the table, ”came for him. Whatever monster it was, I left smoldering in a crater on the field of battle, his weapon claimed from his severed arm.” Ambrose paused to look around at the gathering about the table. If he had a throat to swallow with, he would have to try and wet his windpipe before he continued with the highlights of his activities on Kuat. ”The destruction of the fleet in orbit caused massive destruction to the planet, raining down burning chunks of durasteel and death on the people of Kuat. As the battle of the Moff’s estate drew to a close, I set off towards the city, destruction falling all around me. I was able to pick up a distress signal and with the assistance of a single medical transport and two fallen TIEs we were able to evacuate eighteen ill and wounded children and their caretakers before. . .”[/Ambrose paused, yet again, composing himself, ”the enemy descended on the Palpatine Memorial Hospital and reduced it to rubble; it and all the defenseless within. I had no choice but to evacuate with the ship.” Ambrose hung his head as he fell silent. ”I had no choice. The hospital fell beneath my feet. Wherever the Empress deems that the monstrosity I have become to serve, so shall I serve.” With that, Ambrose stepped back, his magnetized foot clanging again against the floor as the room fell silent awaiting Beck’s response.

The repurposed Lambda Shuttle T-5 Deliverance Angel’s Wing lurched from hyperspace into real space, safely arriving at the Imperial stronghold of Nar Shaddaa. Her weapons systems depleted and smoky gray steam spewing from a punctured coolant line into the void of space where it dissipated to a thin haze before vanishing completely. ”Looks like the Miscericordia made it out in relatively one piece. They’ve already picked us up on comms. We’ll dock and get these kiddos the attention they need.” the pilot radioed over the shipboard speakers. Back in the rather crowded medical bay, which was a converted passenger area complete with state of the art, front line medical equipment, Ambrose sat cross legged in the corner. He was trying to keep his bulky form as out of the way as possible. Aside from basic first aid he did not know much about medicine, and these kids required more than he knew. He was forced to trust the capable hands of the ships’ crew. As such, he was forced to content himself with sitting motionless in the corner. In his new(er) mechanized body sitting still was not a problem; but still, he could not find a way to shut himself down. Thus he was left with his own swirling thoughts. Thoughts of Query, of Emma, Nal Hutta, his men, his death, Bespin, the fall of Kuat, all that had transpired. These were not thoughts he was pleased to ponder over, but he could not help himself. He wanted to escape. He needed to get out and run. Run or fight, he had been reduced to his most base mental state. In combat he had been clear and focused. He just needed to get back to fighting; maybe then he could work through everything. Maybe Query had been right. There was something wrong with him. Looking down at the small body of the sleeping child in his arms, Frond sighed, mentally. Even through the haze that was his twisted swirling mind, he could do something right. His massive imposing form seemed to be the only thing that helped calm the otherwise screaming youngling. Amongst the symphony of beeping machinery and hushed voices, Ambrose could sit there, a silent sentinel, the small being swaddled safely in blankets, cradled in the crook of his massive phrik arm. Looking up at the pilot’s announcement, Ambrose mentally began to try and compartmentalize his thoughts. He was going to have to give a report of his actions on Kuat. He was, or had been, a storm trooper. Failure was not something the corps took lightly. Just another failure. . . Soon enough, the T-5 had landed in the hangar of the mighty Imperial warship and as soon as the hangar crew had secured the heavily damaged vessel and rendered it safe to be around, swarms of medial techs flooded the already cramped interior and began to expertly carry out the injured children. Through it all, Ambrose sat, devoid of any outwards signs of life. When the last of the injured were removed, slowly, with a creaking and grinding knee, Ambrose stood up, stooping to exit the ship and descend to the deck plating below. Standing there as the hustle and bustle of the ship went on practically unnoticed around him, Ambrose found himself wondering where he needed to go next. His knee needed looking at, he needed to file his after action report, he really ought to probably seek out some sort of psychological assistance which meant even more paperwork, and then there was this: Looking down at the lightsaber he had taken off the fallen Sith warrior on Kuat still clipped to his belt, Ambrose knew he had to turn it over to someone. He had no need of it and an after action report usually only had a small box to check and list items seized from enemy combatants. Normally, he’d turn it over to his commanding officer. In his current state, Ambrose did not even know who that was. The Empress had pardoned him and said he had worth to the Empire, but beyond that she had been silent. He highly doubted that he could return to his old unit in such a state and his last special assignment had ended in complete failure. Truth be told, all of his actions since he had awoken on Carida had been of his own decision, not under orders or alongside any semblance of a military unit. Sure, there had been soldiers battling alongside him at Kuat, but he had been an outlier, an Imperial piece of tech that, in the chaos, was a welcome addition to the fight. Where did he even belong? As he stood there puzzling, an Imperial clad lackey rushed up, eyes darting from his datapad up to the towering mechanized being’s face and back, ”Captain Ambrose. You are to report to Conference Room Epsilon-2. Grand Admiral Beck has ordered any and all commanding officers to assemble there A.S.A.P. to give their reports on the Battle of Kuat.” Without another word, the weasel-like lackey turned and scurried away, leaving Ambrose to figure out what to do next. At least he had some direction though. Truth be told, he was not looking forward to standing for his behavior planetside on Kuat. He had not been acting under orders and under his watch a hospital, still filled with who knows how many sick and dying Imperial citizens, had collapsed; a Moff, in as much as he knew had gone missing and was most likely presumed dead, Imperial fighter craft had been shot down trying to assist him, and he had, technically, without authorization, taken a piece of experimental weaponry that now lay somewhere buried in the rubble that was Kuat. In anyone’s book, that was stealing. Hanging his metal head, the 9 foot colossus began to shuffle across the hangar, each metal-on-metal footfall clanging across the bay. Soon enough, he found himself outside Conference Room Epsilon-2. It looked like he was the first to arrive. Stooping even further he, squeezed through the shorter door into the room. Inside, it was clear that the black polished tables and chairs were designed for much more humanoid-sized beings. He was but a droid after all, a second-class citizen at best. As such, he took up a standing position in the furthest back corner, his features obscured by the shadows as he towered over the angled lights directed at the conference room table. Now all he had to was wait for the arrival of Admiral Beck and whoever else outranked him. Again, he was left with none but his thoughts. Captain? he pondered, last I checked, I was a lieutenant, if that anymore. . .

As he reached the outskirts of Kuat City, Ambrose’ built in comms crackled to life, picking up bits and pieces of numerous secured and unsecured conversations on an equal number of frequencies. Several seemed to be the screams of the dead and dying as they were overwhelmed by the advancing Axis’ forces and were obliterated by the unrelenting hail of death from above. Others were the calm coordinated efforts of experienced Imperial forces doing all they could to secure strongpoints and evacuate high priority targets, injured comrades, and civilian personnel. As he turned around another desolate deserted street in the city, the garble of wails and coordinations was cut through by a single repeated static cry: ”. . . Mayday, mayday, mayday . . .is this thing working? Why hasn’t anyone responded? . . . We’re pinned down in the pediatric ward of the Palpatine Memorial Hospital.” . .*STATIC* “. . . Mayday, *STATIC* . . . Can anyone hear me? I’ve got eighteen plus kids in here and it sounds like hell out there! . . . *STATIC* . . . What happened to the lights? . . . We are going to die in here! HELP!” His heavy footfalls echoed down the street and Ambrose came to a stop. He had never been to this particular imperial world before, but he was sworn to his duty, regardless of location. The thought of anyone falling to this horde concerned him; but so did the fact that an Imperial stronghold could be taken by a ravaging band of interlopers. The idea of children in jeopardy was almost more than he could take. He had joined the Imperial cause in an effort to protect the lives of his younger sisters. No other cause spoke truer to the heart of the now heartless cyborg. Ambrose’ head swiveling back and forth, the towering machined man searched for the hospital as around him turbolaser fire sent chunks of the towering duracrete skyscrapers raining down all around him. As one particularly large chunk crashed to the earth behind him, Ambrose saw the rising white-coated tower still standing, mostly, behind it, the Palpatine Memorial Hospital. ”Time to lock and load.” he mumbled to no one but himself, before turning and setting off in a dead run towards the hospital or what remained of it. Rounding the corner, it was clear that it too had not been spared from orbital bombardment, even as one of its once two twin bed towers still stood. ”Mayday, mayday, mayday,” the voice sounded much more dejected now than it had even a minute before, ”if there is anyone still out there, I don’t know how we’re going to hold out. Power is out and the backup generator must have been destroyed. I’ve got kids here that need medical attention DAMMIT!! I can’t doctor in these conditions! . . . Anyone? . . . help.” ”I hear ya doc loud and clear! My T-5 is still roarin’ but all I’ve got is two lousy TIEs to escort us and my cannons are shot. Can you get to the roof?” ”I’ve only got 2 aides and eighteen kids. Not sure we can even get off our floor. There is no way we’re getting down 11 stories either.” sigh. . . Ambrose keyed up his own comms and interjected, ”sit tight doc, I’ll get you and your kids topside. Pilot, just hold off whatever comes our way.” Looking down at the 5-barrelled plasma rifle in his hands, he considered it for the moment. He’d need both hands to help cart kids. With a clatter, the once – storm trooper sent his top-of-the-line Imperial weapon clattering down the street as he took three steps and leapt, his jetpack launching him into the air towards the mangled and twisted turbolaser induced maw of the still standing tower of the decimated hospital. Landing along the edge of a jagged durasteel surface that was once a patient’s room, Ambrose stumbled, his grating knee giving way beneath the force of his landing. Thankfully he was able to catch himself on a closed fist, leaving a dent in the floor. Picking himself up, Ambrose crashed through the human-sized doorway out into the darkened hallway. He could hear the cries of the sick, fearful, and dying; but they were adults. Ignoring them, Ambrose rushed forward, his knee grating and grinding with each step. Definitely something he’d have to get looked at when he got somewhere safe; but for now, he’d have to survive. Each thundering footfall down the wobbling hallway carried Ambrose deeper into the complex, his eyes scanning for an access. By his judgment, Ambrose was still below the 11th floor where the pediatric ward was located. Spotting a lift tube, Ambrose turned. This was the fastest way upwards and with the power out to the facility there was no risk of being obliterated by an oncoming car. With hammerlike phrik based fists the size of nunas, Ambrose hammered on the door, finding a use for his newfound strength, until the doors started to give way and he was able to wrap his fingers around the bent edges of the door lock. With the magnetized foot of his good leg braced against the doorframe, Ambrose pulled with both hands, sending one side of the bifurcated door shrieking off the frame and arcing over his head with a clang into the wall behind him. In the lift, Ambrose turned his red photoceptors upwards. He had no idea what floor he was on or how high above him the children were. Keying his comms, he intended on asking for assistance, but all he was met with was static. Either the enemy was jamming their abilities to communicate or he was deep enough in the hospital that his state-of-the-art onboard communications array was not able to function properly. With a mechanized sigh of frustration, Ambrose threw himself out the lift entrance, his black body plummeting in the darkness until his jetpack flared to life. With a glow of orange pulsating energy, the massive mechanized man hurtled upwards. Upwards past the forced open doorway of the 7th floor where he had entered the lift; upwards past another sealed door; upwards until had he not been looking up he would have collided with the collapsed lift tube above him. With the scrape of metal on metal, Ambrose abruptly alerted course, sprawling out in a spray of sparks across another durasteel floor, surrounded by inky blackness. There, in the distance, Ambrose’ ears picked up the faint cries of children. Picking himself up, the war-machine turned in the dark, following, less than gracefully, the sound of the far of cries. More than once, he stumbled over rubble that had fallen or crashed into what should have been an open walkway. At one point, he was almost crushed as the entire ceiling crashed down beside him, the building shaking as it was struck again by turbolaser tire. The cries were louder now. Quickly Ambrose pulled himself upwards across the pile of rubble from one floor to another. Standing up, his head nearly raked the ceiling as he finally made his way to the pediatric ward. There, in the distance, he could see a few faint lights hazed by transparisteel damaged in the assault. The cries were clear now. Rushing forward, Ambrose rounded the corner to complete chaos. These were not just children. These were the sick and dying; eighteen of the Empire’s most vulnerable. Those monsters! ”Pilot. You ready to load up?” ”You better rock and roll trooper. Looks like we’ve got a mess o’ company heading our way. Guess the good news is they stopped bombing the place. Get up here as quick as you can mate!” Surveying the carnage that the three medical professionals had done their best to haphazardly organize, Ambrose shook his head. How was he going to get twenty-one people to the roof? ”Boys, be advised, they’re starting to land units on the roadway.” Rushing into the makeshift ward amongst the rubble, the Dark Trooper was met with several shrieks of fear. He had not taken into consideration that his visage was nothing short of terror-inspiring. Gesturing with his hands as even the wide-eyed aide who was brandishing an IV pole to put the tool down, he tried his best to calm the nearly palpable fear in the room, ”Whoa whoa guys, I’m here to help. Let’s get these kids to the roof before company arrives.” . . .this was not working. Kneeling down, his knee crunching and cracking, he lowered himself beside the nearest gurney. ”Hey there little sister. My name is Ambrose. I am gonna try and get you outta here ok? We gotta go get on a ship. Ok?” Behind the breathing tubes, the little girl nodded unblinkingly as she stared at the Dark Trooper. Gently Ambrose scooped the girl and her bedding up with one arm, reaching over to cradle an unconscious child in his other arm. Turning to the doctor and aides he asked, ”You got a turbolift on this floor?” The second aide nodded and pointed. ”Good. Grab a couple kids and wheel them over there. I’ll meet you and we’ll cart them up.” Without waiting for a response, Ambrose turned and bound towards the lift. Gently he held the children’s heads against his cool chest, enveloping their ears with his massive hands. With three solid, echoing kicks that elicited screams of fear from the conscious child in his arms, the doors burst inwards tumbling down the chute with a slamming racket as they bounced off the walls. This time, instead of jumping, freefalling, and rocketing his way to the top, Ambrose mentally activated his magnetized feet. Carefully kneeling Ambrose gently placed one foot after another on the durasteel side of the tube, righting himself so that he stood perpendicular with the unseen ground far far below. Gently and firmly holding the children to his chest, he took one echoing step after another. It was slow going, and as he tried his comms he found them dead in the lift. Finally the end was in sight and it was closed. Of course the Axis bombardment had not permeated the roof of the building. Glancing at each of his charges, Ambrose had only one idea and it did not seem like a good one at all. His comms were dead for the moment so there was no way to warn those on the roof. One shoulder hatch slowly swung open and clanked as it locked into place, revealing the plex launcher otherwise hidden there. At this distance, there was no need to lock onto any target. The target was anything at the end of the chute. The missiles were designed to decimate hoover tanks and the like. With any luck, the lift entry was not too near the landing pad atop the hospital. Hissing as it left a stream of smoke and steam behind it, a single missile tore from Ambrose’ shoulder upwards through the dark until it struck the end of the chute, erupting in an inferno of fire and shrapnel both jagged and melting as it blew upwards and outwards into the sky above before raining down on the roof, rescue craft, and beyond. Some of the shrapnel did pelt back down the lift tube. It clanged harmlessly off Ambrose’ tough exterior as he bent up and over to shield his charges from it. ”Holy Sithspit! What in the Kriff was that!?! Did we get hit? Where’d that even come from?!” The voice of the rescue pilot sounded shocked and worried as Ambrose slowly began to clang forward again. Cresting the jagged blown off lift entrance Ambrose’ eyes adjusted to the brightness streaming in. ”Come grab these kids! There are plenty more down there still!” He growled loudly at the pilot. Quickly the pilot and his copilot scurried out of the craft and scooped the children from Ambrose’ waiting arms, shooting several less-than-approving glares at the massive machine’s less-than-textbook means of getting to the roof. Striding back to the black maw that led into the bowels of the hospital Ambrose jumped. The blackness whistled by him, pulling at his fast fixed plating. Blackness. All Ambrose saw was blackness until for just a moment, the dull gray, decidedly not black, of the broken open pediatric doors whipped by. Igniting his jetpack for a single moment, Ambrose’ downward decent halted as he raced upwards, landing, surprisingly gracefully, back in the doorway of the ward where the aides and doctor had been busy shuffling patients. With the aide’s assistance, Ambrose was able to load up three of the children across his massive front. With his arms wrapped carefully across the children’s backs, cradling their heads against his massive forearm, Ambrose leapt again; burning his rockets once again and launching upwards. The cool air rippled through the children’s hair as once again Ambrose alighted on the rooftop and began to hand off the children. ”You better hurry up droid. They’ve dropped some troops that are advancing this way and I already lost one escort fighter trying to drive them off.” Turning, Ambrose made the same journey back down and up, again and again, until he had brought almost all of the children to the rooftop. There was only one child left below one child, the two aides and the doctor. Ambrose would have to hurry. Materializing there in the distance was another column of transports and not the few stragglers that had first dropped their wards below before. This time there was a sizable force of enemy combatants inbound. Clearly meaning to take the city. That explains why the shelling quit. Once the kids were safely offloaded, Ambrose strode to the edge of the roof. This high up, the winds buffeted him and he could feel himself rocking back and forth, his damaged knee creaking and whining as the heavy body it supported swayed back and forth. Thankfully, his magnetized feet held him in place as his shoulders both popped open this time. Ambrose stood there unmoving for a moment as his onboard targeting computer automatically calculated speeds and trajectories of the incoming craft. Ambrose had already used three of his six onboard missiles. As soon as his mechanized mind signaled his biological mind that targets had been identified, Ambrose let two missiles, one from each shoulder, streak out, spiraling outwards, jet trails of smoke in the wake. The missiles streaked forward as their own onboard targeting systems locked onto the flashes of the incoming transports. Almost instantly, blaster fire erupted in response to the missiles peppering the hospital, the ship, and the air all around. An explosion erupted in the air between the hospital and the oncoming craft as one of the missiles was struck head on by a blaster bolt. The second missile arced wide from the explosion zipping past the oncoming craft, circling around its targeting computer still tracking the unfortunate ship it had locked onto. Outpacing the transport, the missile drove home into the exhaust ports of the ship, burying itself in the ship, the missile erupted. Chunks of armor, bits of ship, and body parts tumbled through the air as the blast took out the last remaining TIE that had been assigned to escort the medevac. Ambrose did not wait to see the damage his missiles may or may not have caused. He had already turned to jump down shaft once again. ”Maaaan, you better book it. We can’t be left sitting here when they get close.”[/close] The pilot sounded worried and rightfully so. The forces of the Empire were simply being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of enemy troops and vessels. Zipping back down the chute, Ambrose, with as much expertise as could be applied in such a situation, landed rather gingerly back in the pediatric ward with just a short burst of his rocket pack. As he gingerly scooped up the last child, an infant boy that could easily be held in his outstretched arm, he looked at the doctor and two aides. Just then the damaged tower shook, sending bits of debris raining down from the ceiling. ”No time to dilly dally docs, we need to get out of here now! Whose going first? The fearful three exchanged worrisome glances and just as they began to point at each other and argue about who would go first and who would be brave and stay behind, Ambrose simply reached out and grabbed the nearest aide about the collar. Hefting the man from his feet, Ambrose turned and leapt from the landing once again before rocketing upwards. Part way up, the entire chute lurched, slamming Ambrose back into the sidewall, causing his rockets to spurt and sputter momentarily before catching and continuing to burn; sending the titan roaring back into the sky. Ambrose landed on the swaying rooftop. Looming closer and closer the combination of drop ships and gunships approached; returning fire in response to the missiles Ambrose had sent their way. The rooftop was empty, save for the med ship that was already firing up. Bounding towards the open entry, Ambrose quickly deposited the aide and the infant. ”There’s two more below!” ”No time! If we don’t take off we’re all going to die. Get in!” With a look that spoke volumes, even form his emotionless face, Ambrose leapt back to the rooftop, his injured knee grating as he stumbled forward. ”I’ll be right back.” With two steps, Ambrose approached the chute again, just as the entire structure shifted under the barrage of blaster fire and rockets pouring into the side unfortunate enough to be facing the rapidly approaching Axis vessels. With a groan that echoed down the nearly vacant streets, the roof fell from beneath Ambrose’ feet. The pilot had already engaged the engines of his T-5, leaving the ship to hoover momentarily as its landing platform rapidly crumbled away. ”Trooper get in!!” Ambrose’ heart fell. He knew inside were the other two medics, not to mention the countless other dead and dying and he, a hulking mechanized terror, was powerless to stop what was happening. As he began to fall downwards with the chunk of roofing he was standing on, the trooper turned, forcing himself back. His eyes fell on the assaulting enemy craft and anger welled up within him; anger at the loss of the countless lives below, anger at they that dared to attack an Imperial stronghold, anger at the audacity to attack a hospital, anger at himself for failing. Leaping upwards, Ambrose’ body twisted in the air, the final plex missile roaring from his shoulder to streak towards the oncoming vessels. He did not care who it hit, only that it caused maximum devastation. His jetpack sputtered and spurted and roared to life once more; the falling rooftop tumbled away as the dark trooper flew upwards towards the medical transport. ”I’m outta here man. You’re on your own! With one mechanized hand, he managed to grasp the edge of the still open doorway on the modified Lambda, firmly planting one magnetized foot inside with a resounding *CLANG.* With his free hand, he turned, just in time to see another transport explode in a plume of fire, shrapnel. His missile had found its mark. At the same time, his forearmed opened, and he began to pepper the ships with fire from his duel laser cannons as the T-5 turned and the pilot threw everything he had into blasting away from the oncoming onslaught and up into the still open skies.

Ambrose strode through the battlefield. The cries of the dying echoed out from the smoky aftermath of the battle. They were the only sounds in the area aside from the cyborg’s whirring knee and heavy footfalls. Stooping down in the middle of the devastated wood, Ambrose hefted his massive 5-barelled plasma weapon easily; cradling it in his arms, he began to make his way back towards the city. The battle here seemed relatively over. He did not know which side had won; but the battle had quickly ended or moved elsewhere about the same time he had laid out his opponent. Perhaps they fled in fear after their supposed leader fell, he pondered to himself, wondering where Emma and the Moff had gotten off to. Listening to comms, he did not hear either of them or talk of either. All he could do right now was hope. It was not worth calling out to her over comms that quite possibly could have been breached. Besides, he had another problem to worry about right now. Suddenly, from above, began to rain down all over turbolaser fire, peppered with a variety of missiles and torpedoes. Whatever was going on above, the enemy had somehow managed to breech the Imperial line there and begin bombardment of the planet. Picking up his pace to a run, Ambrose raced back towards the city. As he ran, his mind churned back to the last time he had been running. He wondered what had become his comrade Query.

Ambrose watched as his blaster fire tore into the armored advancing form of Darth Akheron. Whether it was because he had nowhere to go or because the force could not warn him quickly enough, or that his foe had stumbled into another warbling field of a dying ysalamir; Ambrose did not know. Ambrose also did not care as he watched his opponent topple to the earth as plumes of dirt and smoke erupted around the fallen form. He was not confident the being was dead or even disabled at the moment. Placing both hands on the ground, Ambrose’s fingers dug deep into the grass and earth as he pushed, trying to force himself out of the precarious situation he found him in, even as around him, the battle continued to rage on. His shoulder servos whirred and shifted, trying to use the amazing mechanized strength of a machine to remove itself from the force fueled position he found himself in. Even as his legs budged, Ambrose worried that it might not be fast enough. His head bobbed up and down as he watched his legs, struggling to free himself, and staring off to where he had last seen the Sith lord. He had never faced off against a force user before; but he had heard stories, stories of Vader and his powers. He also had seen the training videos on what to do if ever engaging a wayward Jedi. He was not taking any chances. With a grunt that was due to mental stress, droids did not grunt, Ambrose pushed downwards once again, the jetpack on his back flaring to life for a brief moment. Plumes of flame struck the ground and arced back upwards, engulfing Ambrose in the briefest visage of flame and smoke, singing armored plates, blackening them even more than their polished black surface already was. Chunks of earth accompanied Ambrose’ feet as he leapt into the air, coming to land on his feet and a single left handed fist nearby on the even grassy ground. Looking back across the smoky battlefield, the cyborg took off at a low run towards where he had seen the Sith go down. His knees would have ached, had he been equipped with any type of pain sensors. What kind of battle suit would need those though? Outwardly his left knee whirred and clicked with each step. It still functioned, but the blow from sky to earth had clearly left its mark on the finely tuned servos. As he ran, something caught his eye, a severed leg. A quick scan, seemed to indicate that the leg most likely belonged to the Sith lord he had been engaging. At least the armor was the same where it was still identifiable between scorch marks and twisted melted metal. Ambrose’ weapons had been designed to vaporize starships, to carve his way into capital ships, and to utterly obliterate enemy foot soldiers that might dare stand in his way. The fact that this leg was still relatively intact was a testament to the darksiders willpower and armor. Logic dictated that this may very well be the biggest part of his foe that still existed; yet logic was not an ally of Ambrose these days. He had to be sure. He had to see. Casting the leg off to the side, Ambrose pressed onwards, this time slower as the smoke intensified around him. He had to see for himself. Stepping forward, only a few the clank of metal on metal gave him pause. Looking down, he saw a single armored hand, the severed arm it belonged to shrouded beneath his massive foot. Clenched in the hand was what could only be a lightsaber hilt. ”The weapon of the force users. . .” Reaching down, lifting his foot slightly, Ambrose slid the weapon clenching arm from the ground. ”I have to see for myself.” Setting forward, Ambrose quickly came upon the decimated earth where his cannon fire had disrupted the terraformed surface of the planet. Chunks of rock and earth made the ground uneven. There, in the bottom of the crater, lay a single mangled black form, an arm and a leg blown entirely off one side of the melted morphed form. Staring down at the Sith, Ambrose did not feel any sense of pride or joy. He felt nothing. He had done his duty, that was all, and he still had work to do. The Moff, Emma, anyone else pivotal to the survival of the Empire; they needed him still. Standing up to his full height, Ambrose grasped the lightsaber in his hand, shaking it violently until the attached hand loosened its grip. The arm sailed through the air, landing with a splat in the bloody dirt alongside the mangled form of Karys. ”Like swatting floater fleas back on Triple Zero.” Turning, Ambrose strode off into the smoke filled battlefield, as the form in the bottom of the crater took one single ragged breath. He was still alive, if barely. ((I hate to do this, but I am calling a 3-day on Karys. This duel has gone on for over a month (Start Date 08/14/2018). There are people waiting on him and I. After numerous conversations and promises to get a post submitted on certain days, only to see nothing for the following 48+ hours, I feel like I have little choice anymore. Karys, I look forward to meeting you on the battlefield again my friend. May The Force Be With You.))

Ambrose watched as the streams of blaster fire arced back and forth across the battlefield below him. There, amongst the trees and soldiers his foe zipped about, the crimson saber a clear target beyond that of his targeting computer. Adding to the tumult of battlefield confusion was the airborne battle-suit’s own downward barrage of lasers that were more fitting in space combat than on a battlefield. Still, they did their job. Each round struck where his foe had just been, his tracking system lagging mere fractions of a moment behind the force imbued combatant. Each round sent plumes of grass, earth, and smoke exploding upwards, bathing the entire area in even more chaos and confusion as the finest particles hung in the thick still air. As he reached the top of his gravity-defying jetpack-induced arc above, Karys paused below, The Force speaking to him as Ambrose let loose yet another blast from each of the duel blaster cannons extending from his wrists. At that moment, as Ambrose continued to rain down energized red bolts from above, he began his descent, internal sensors alarming silently, indicating to their owner that something was wrong. The air ripped by him, whistling as it tore between and around the plates of his armor. Even as he angled his legs to brace for impact and hopefully land on his feet, he knew, not in any way that sensors could tell, but in that sixth-sense kind of way, that it was of little use. His heavy feet struck the ground and slowed, but continued to drive downwards as an invisible force continued to push him deeper. The cyborg’s legs buckled at the knees as the internal servos whirred and whined in protest, doing their best to try and resist this invisible assault, until they buckled, bringing the massive metal form crashing to the earth with a sickening *SPLUT* his foe’s word lost to him amongst the battlefield din. From his angled position on his side and back, his broken knees jutting upwards, the only thing connecting the bulk of his brute size to his legs, pegged squarely into the earth, Ambrose rolled at the waist, to see the force user who had yanked him downwards, back into the fray, nestled amongst the carnage. From his position the Imperial was enveloped again by the wavering overlapping force-nullifying fields of the ysalimir atop their handlers, healthy, dead, or dying. Not that he could tell any of this; nor that he wanted to. In that moment, all that Ambrose could tell was that he might be in trouble. His foe had thrown him like nothing more than a discarded toy speeder thrown in a fit of rage by a youngling who had not gotten what he wanted. Still, in all this, Ambrose did not feel any pain. His unaware mind nestled safety within its phrik prison. His purpose was clear, even now, as he lay, seemingly exposed, his glistening black armor caked in mud, grassy roots, and flecks of single green strands of unearthed grass. Instead of the confusion that had embraced his mind at the site of Emma, or in his disagreement with Query, his mind was sharp, honed and focused. His mind knew what it had to do, even in this new body. With singular dedicated focus, Ambrose knew; it was his duty. He was to defend the innocent, honor the Empress, and preserve the order that he had sworn to uphold so long ago. Propped up on one forearm, Ambrose raised the other, sending a stream of cannon fire downrange, parallel along the mostly even earth, towards his nearby foe, close enough that he would not even need his targeting computer; even as it still automatically locked on to this nearby target. Simultaneously, the hinged joint in his shoulder popped open and from the nestled seat within, a single GAM missile hissed forth along his arm and out into the battle. Designed normally for tracking and taking out high speed armored enemy repulsor craft, Ambrose was relying on the missile’s silhouette tracking ability and the extreme proximity of his target to do the work. Regardless, Ambrose knew that it would provide a distraction at the least as he pondered for the briefest of moments how he was going to extricate himself from his earthen nest. ((3 – FINAL POST. Let’s try to get this wrapped up A.S.A.P. SO we are not keeping others waiting any more than they already have been.))

Ambrose would have chuckled at the man before him’s meager attempts at stirring him to emotional misstep, had he been able to hear him over the near constant thud-thud-thudding of his gargantuan multibarreled weapon. As it was, the duel rockets impacted right where they had been fired; resulting in fiery eruptions of heat, flame, earth, and organic plant life, sending several tress toppling over away from the source of the explosions and instantly filling the air with a thick smoky haze as whatever they had touched quickly ignited; turning the once lush manmade forest into the beginnings of a savage hellscape. The near constant barrage of balled plasma arched and cracked against anything and everything it hit, sending billowing energized crackling fingers of blue racing along the paths of least resistance, intent on fueling the flames or shorting out any electrical impulse they came Into contact with, organic or not. Even as the sithspawn soldiers began to form up, Ambrose did not take his eyes off of his saber-wielding foe. His onboard tracking system followed the dark sider’s movements in and around the debris, bodies, and obstructions. Around him the pained shouts and cries of friend and foe began to fill the air as weaponry designed for maximum domination clashed with weaponry designed for maximum devastation on both sides. As men wilted around him under the steady barrage of enemy fire, Ambrose realized that the protective aura of the yslamiri would soon diminish as each lizard passed into the afterlife. It is of no matter He banished the thought; what mattered in that moment was not his own personal preservation, but the preservation of the Empire that he had sworn to protect many years before. Standing here amongst carnage worthy of mythos, Ambrose knew that he was ensuring that others would not have to. Ambrose released the trigger on his weapon momentarily as he witnessed his foe cut down one of his own wounded men. While some would argue the humanity of such an act, Ambrose was also keenly aware that the lifesaving technology of the empire would have been able to no doubt save the man and return him to a fully functional life. Barbarians. If only they knew the truth. And at that moment, a colossal chunk of duracrete, no doubt debris left over from some renovation or another at the nearby estate, came careening towards him; the jagged edges sending men scattering as they dove for cover. Several, had not been able to move quickly enough and paid the ultimate, bone-jarring, splattering price, only serving to cement the hellscape as a reality. Still it came. The blow had been clearly aimed for Ambrose. After the torrent of blaster fire had done little more than sizzle and dissipate against his armor, his foe had resorted to more extreme measures. Keenly aware that his massive frame would be unable to duck under such a pivoting makeshift destroyed, Ambrose threw himself in the air, throwing his blaster to the ground, as he leapt. The hope of any added momentum to avoid the crushing hulk at the forefront of his mind. Then, at the height of his jump, just as the duracrete would have collided with him, the rockets built into his backside flaring to life and boosting him high up amongst the trees. Huh. They thought of everything with this thing! If only that droid could see me now! He mused to himself in pleasant surprise as he cleared a safe distance from the attack that had left his comrades scattered and bleeding below. Simultaneous Ambrose deployed the duel-duos of blaster cannons built into each forearm, his onboard tracking system continuing to follow the Sith through the trees below. Opening up several bursts of fire from his wrist mounted cannons, Ambrose fired upon the shrinking enemy, each blast enough to vaporize an unshielded enemy fighter. ”Like swatting floater fleas back on Triple Zero. he chuckled to no one but himself. The deaths of his comrades below were concerning; but not unexpected. Years of service to the Empire had taught him that no single life was worth more than their sacred duty. Today, he would fulfill that duty or die trying. ((2)) ((Didn’t want to do too much with the Imperial troops as they’re Delta’s and not mine.))

Secretly, albeit conflictedly, Ambrose was glad to see Emma. Perhaps they would get time to discuss things when this was all said and done. For the moment all they had to do was wait. She was probably right. Where else could they go? The hulking Phrik battlesuit could hear an array of voices over the comms as what appeared to be the entirety of the forces of chaos descended on this Imperial stronghold. One Ruler. One Code. One Law… he recited to himself, his deep dark mechanized voice trailing off at the site of the first few Sith/black sun forces began to appear darting between the thick trunks of the grove they now stood encamped in. Turning to glance at Emma, he shrugged his shoulder lightly, ”I might be needing this little sister. Please take care of yourself and,” he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder at the older Moff, him. Ambrose was not sure how the man had gotten to his place of power; but judging by the amount of security the man had, he suspected it was not from battlefield experience and knowhow. Whilst the numerous KPRS and Imperial agents and newly arrived soldiers began to form up for their resistance, Ambrose stood still, a sentinel towering amongst the trees that still managed to dwarf him. The occasional blaster bolt pinged into his armor, leaving nothing but a next to invisible burn mark of scorched sooty air from the collision. Taking note of this, the once trooper would have smiled if he could. Whatever they did for me, I have a purpose. And a duty. He reminded himself as he stood as wide as his form could make itself to shield the Moff, his friend Emma as she scurried off his shoulder and down his backside, and fellow sworn loyal soldiers of the Empress. It was then that e appeared, not a trooper or minion of his overlords, no; this one wore armor of a different sort, the armor of one who would lord his power over others. Vader. This one seeks to be another Vader… Even as his foe attempted to showcase his power by swinging his glowing red blade, Ambrose could hear the voice, dark and evil above the din of the battlefield. An honorable duel eh? Even as he ravages this planet with his men. . . .Very well. . . Ambrose did not know for what purpose he had been designed. What he did know was that the Empress had pardoned him and that he was free to fulfill his duty as needed. Perhaps today would be the day that his duty was put to the test. Perhaps today he would finally get to see what he had been designed for. Long ago, back on Carida, while undergoing advanced training, they had gone over combatting force-wielding foes. Usually this was a task left to the Imperial Knights nowadays; but back in the old days, the days of glory, such tasks had often been relegated to the Emperor’s finest and best. Yes, Ambrose Veshok knew how to kill a Jedi with an E-11. What difference would it make Jedi or Sith if he did so with the newly acquired and tested devices of destruction he had now? His dark metallic voice booming over the battlefield, Ambrose responded as he hefted the massive five-barreled plasma assault cannon in his hands, leveling it at the still semi-distance force-user approaching, ”I am AR GEE ONE TWO SIX, formerly of the Ryloth Garrison. Servant of The Empress. Protector of the weak. Preserver of order. Prepare to be destroyed.” Relatively content as he was shrouded on multiple sides by the invisible protective aura of the ysalamiri, Ambrose pulled the trigger on his massive weapon. Instantly power cells within began to cycle up, feeding a near constant stream of white-hot crackling plasma down the barrels of the weapon as each one began to spit out their payload at an astounding RPM. Squeezing the second trigger within the weapon itself, let off a duo of dumb missiles that hissed away leaving a stream of smoke and steam behind them; all guided by the expert working machinations of Ambrose’ mechanized hands and inbuilt targeting system working in unison. Within moments fiery explosions and chaotic damage worthy a Sith lord would play across the once sought after peaceful glade of manmade forest. Stepping neither forward nor backwards, Ambrose hoped, but did not plan that this initial barrage would be enough to dissuade the religious zealot that now challenged him. After all, he was designed for punching holes in the sides of starships, destroying anything less outright. This measly little man would be nothing but smoldering ash in a burnt out crater soon enough. ((1)) – Duel between Ambrose and Karys

Ambrose heard Emma’s words while simultaneously eyeballing the array of Imperial and local security forces. The raging maelstrom of his mind contained within the entirety of his thoughts, save for the one overwhelming sense of duty. This was what he was meant for. Even through all of his faults, Ambrose knew that he had one purpose. In this moment, that purpose, that duty, was the survival of the empire. She was right, this was their best option. There was no telling when and where the approaching Sith horde would appear. It’d be best to hunker down and prepare. Besides, it’d give him a chance to finally test out the full range of his newfound abilities and systems. If there was one thing, Ambrose had determined about his new self it was that he was a walking arsenal of destruction. Purposely not looking at Emma, he spoke, ”The Moff may be the future of the Empire. See that he gets to safety. Take what men you need. I’ll create a diversion here to distract the oncoming horde.” With that, he hefted his massive five barreled plasma cannon, ”If anything, I can arrange a few unmarked graves for these sithie barbarians.” Turning his head towards the house, where he suspected the horde would arrive first, he pointed back deeper into the gardens, ”Go. Please Emma. You cannot die again.”

Ambrose had no idea how long he stood there, his eyes blankly staring at the vine covered wall before him not really taking in the intricacies of the myriad of twisting vines. He was lost in the constant twisting whirring inner turmoil of his own mind. He did not know what to do. He did not even know what or how to think. He stood there, mind broken. For all intents and purposes, he could have been one of countless forgotten war relics scattered across the galaxy, forgotten and left to rust. Ambrose Veshok would have continued standing there for ages had it not been for what happened next. Snapping him out of trance the faint whine of emergency sirens caught the attention of his mechanical ears; coupled with his built in comms that were suddenly filled with a cacophony of excited and fearful shouts and crisscrossing orders that played across the secure airwaves he could still access, Ambrose’ swirling thoughts were brought back to bear on a single solitary point in the maelstroms of his mind: duty. The Combined Sith Fleet had arrived. That single thought is what propelled everything that happened next. For the moment the confusion that sought to destroy him regarding everything from Emma and her new form, his disagreements with Query, his death, his cloning, to his arrest and insubordination was subconsciously compartmentalized as he focused on that one singular ideal: duty. He had a duty to the Empire, to the Empress, and to all that they held dear. With that in mind, Ambrose turned to face back into the sprawling wooded gardens the way he had come before. He set off following his own trail of destruction. The once-storm trooper did not know where his empress was; nor did he know much about what was going on, but he knew what would be expected of him. Back to the Moff; that is where he needed to go. From there, he would be instructed and would do his part to defend the Empire, the Empress, its people, and its holdings, or he would die trying. Running at full sprint, with no need to slow for tired servos or shortness of breath, the Dark Trooper made good time as he swiftly retraced his steps to the back of the Moff’s Estate. Quickly he found Moff Hohenlohe, Emma, and the Moff’s assigned guards still in the gardens. Without pause, the massive exosuit/droid/cybernetic-brain-in-a-jar ground to a halt and spoke, his dark mechanized voice grinding out his concern, ”Your Eminence, a Sith battle fleet has seemingly arrived. We must get you to safety. Shooting a seemingly condemning look with a tilt of his emotionless head towards the KRPS agents nervously fingering their sidearms, ”I suspect that regardless of my failings, you might find a need for my services; yourself and others who I have a duty to protect.” With that being said, Ambrose’ eyes moved from the Moff to Emma for a brief moment before focusing again on the Moff, awaiting further instructions; his internal sensors scanning the environment for signs of threats.

Staring at the vine covered wall before him, his companion’s words echoed faintly in the distance, mere inches from his auditory receptors to his mind. It might have been worlds away for how tormented Ambrose Veshok’s mind was. Still, he heard him faintly; the port of reason in the maelstroms of emotion he was currently wading through. Slowly, the hulking war machine extended his arm to shoulder height and finger by finger forcefully opened his hand, depositing the medical droid with a clatter on the grassy ground. ”Death. Should. Be. Permanent. It...It is, I, I am unnatural; against the natural order. No honor.” He sputtered, each word a forceful individual thought. Query cocked his head. “You feel sorry for her. I remember, you didn’t want her becoming like...you. Is it really her you’re upset with? Or is this about you and what you’ve become?” Ambrose’ neck whirred as the servomotors turned his large helmet-shaped head towards Query, trying to process what he was hearing. The lack of physical responses presented by his mechanical form made it hard to subtly betray the emotions churning through his mind. This droid did not understand. How could it? He was just a droid. Just like me… ”I failed. Man is meant to live and die but once. I died. Emma...died. I killed her and they killed me. My father is dead. They took him. My mother died when they broke her heart. We cannot bring them back. To bring life back from death is wrong no matter the pain.” Even as he spoke, the pain of the memories welling up in his raging mind echoed through his metal voice. Query didn’t like this direction. Ambrose was falling into the rut of self-pity and melancholy. ”So you’ve been wronged. She’s been wronged. Shouldn’t you ask how she feels?” ”Feelings do not matter. All that matters is what is right And what is wrong…” At that, Ambrose closed his fist hard enough that the audible sound of phrik grating on phrik in his palm squelched through the air. ”We do what we must and when we are done. We die.” Query considered. ”So...what do you need to do?” Ambrose did not know, his mind was too clouded with the tempestuous whirlwind of emotions that continued to come crashing down each and every time he just started to pack them away. He was a trained soldier. He had been trained to utilize man’s natural ability to compartmentalize emotions to focus on the task at hand. Now, however, he struggled. What had happened to him was more than any mere man’s mind was meant to bear and it was breaking him. ”Need to do?” My duty But that answer was no longer good enough. His duty had gotten him killed and apparently his duty had perverted his very death and turned him into what he was now. A droid and a monster. What did he need to do? He needed to find his purpose. He had hoped his service to the Empress, even in his perverted form, would suffice; still, even as he tried the fates continued to throw him into disarray. What else could he do? What did he need to do? He needed to go back to the basics. He needed to right the wrongs. The wrongs he had joined the Empire to right and the wrongs wrought against him even now. What did he need to do? It was simple; Ambrose needed to do his duty. Ambrose needed to ”Kill. Anyone that stands in our way.” Restore the natural order And as far as he could tell, as perverse as he and Query were, they were the apex predator at the top of the food chain. ”Oh no…” Ambrose had developed some kind of fixation. This would not end well. He needed more time to process, more time to adapt to his new circumstances. He wouldn’t even hear Query any more. Unless… ”That still doesn’t answer the question. So you want to kill, but you don’t have a reason to do it? What do you want Ambrose? Do you want to be happy? Killing as a first instinct won’t make that happen. Do you want to go back to being human? That’s unlikely, and still wouldn’t change what you’ve been through. Do you want revenge? Randomly killing is only going to ensure your death before you can accomplish that. So I have to ask again. What. Do. You. Want?” Ambrose grated internally. This droid was his only companion right now. The fact that he may have been partially responsible for his current status was lost to him. Yet this medical droid was not understanding. ”Peace. Prosperity. Protection.” Each word range out loudly from his vocoder. ”We, QR-23, together, we are unnatural.” He gestured at Query’s unauthorized military hardware. ”Whatever they did to you made you like me. We are unnatural. We are the walking dead. We can use this unnatural state to do what the Empress cannot. We can kill and restore the natural order. Happiness. Revenge. I want both; but I do not deserve either.” As he spoke, the maelstrom of emotions in his mind was beginning to settle again. Speech, like action, had a way of calming a man’s mind. ”We can protect the world. We can purge the dissenters who would stir the pot and destroy that which is held dear by the innocents.” Innocent like Emma. Before they corrupted her! Turning away from Query he faced the wall once again, hefting his massive plasma cannon in one hand and finally compartmentalizing his exposed built-in weaponry. ”We could be friends QR-23. We are all that we have. Will you help me? Query took in Ambrose’s words silently. Then a new emotion arose within him: Anger. Unnatural? Walking dead? How...how dare this broken doll presume to imply Query was something unnatural!? He was as alive as anyone, and more stable and capable than this shattered soldier! ”Peace? Yet you want to kill?” Query didn’t know why, but he abandoned the prescribed treatments, deliberately ignoring the data streaming through his processors as he looked up at Ambrose. ”You call me unnatural? You say that you’re all I have? You...you know nothing about me! I have done NOTHING but help you! I freed you when you would have been used as a weapon! I have acted on your behalf at every turn! And you...presume to include me in your little crusade! You insult me! Implying the universe would be better off with me destroyed! Or worse...bound again so that I’m part of the ‘natural order’! No! I am me! I’m not your...pet, your companion, your tool! I AM NOT YOUR DROID!!!” Ambrose stood, somewhat taken aback by the mechanized emotional explosion that echoed from the medical droid’s computerized brain. Still, the words struck their mark and Ambrose reacted in turn. With one swift motion he reached forward, his open hand grasping Query about the chest as he hefted him into the air and pinned him against the vine covered stone wall. ”YOU. ARE. A. SLAVE.” He bellowed, his voice reverberating off trees a short distance away sending a flock of unidentified birds airborne with fear as the duel laser cannons in his arm erupted back into view, their barrels inches from Query’s mechanized cranium. ”But you beat that. You are free.” He snarled. Query’s metal face showed no emotion. ”And so are you. But if all you want is to destroy, whether it be ‘evil’ or just at random, you’re wasting that freedom. You are alive, and you are free, yet you don’t seem to want to be either, and the fact that you seem to think I would want the same thing is...the greatest insult you could pay me.” Query felt no fear as Ambrose pressed him into the wall, despite the impending damage to his body. ”If you want to go on this crusade of yours, fine. I’ll even help. But you have a choice. You can be a soldier in your own never-ending war, and hide from whatever is inside this shell… Or you can actually learn to live and grow again. But never...NEVER presume to tell me what choice I should make. I will grow, and you’ll have to kill me to stop me.” ”I am not free. I was free. They took that from me. Droids were built to serve. They built you with that freedom taken from you. You found it. I lost it when they made this form and somehow left bits of Ambrose inside me. Until they purge the last of Ambrose from this form, I will do what is required of me. I will protect the freedom I lost and you are gaining with all that I have left.” The desperation in Ambrose’ voice was apparent. Verbalizing his loss was breaking his mind even more. He was a broken mind in a tin can. A very deadly tin can. Had they made him a medical droid he could heal. Had they made him a protocol droid he could have preserved the order in boardrooms and business meetings. Instead, they made him a war machine. Killing was his purpose. Killing was his destiny. As were his orders under the reign of Palpatine, such were his orders again: Fear and destruction would bring about peace and order. ”And I will do it with the tools of slavery they delivered unto me. You are my friend DROID. Let us work together before they come for us again because they will.” ”You...you think you’re still a slave? You think this new mechanical form somehow takes away your choice? Ambrose. You are free. You can choose to do as you please. No one is ordering you. The Empress herself freed you from imperial obligation! Yet you seem...fascinated with the idea of protecting the freedom of others until you die. Do you want to die? Is that what this is? You would rather enslave yourself to a cause and fight until you die rather than be whoever Ambrose Veshok is?” ”My life ended already. They said it. What they did to me was wrong. I should have been left to die a natural death. Now as long as whatever bits of Ambrose remain, I need to honor that memory. I choose to kill to protect. They made me to kill. I am choosing how to use it. Or would you rather I go serve caf in some little diner somewhere offering tidbits of information up to wandering sages looking for far flung planets? We are enigmas in the natural order brother. Either the galaxy evolves to fit us or it destroys us. Until that happens we should do what we can to protect the innocent and destroy the corrupt and despicable. We can right the wrongs no one else can. Or we can choose to watch the galaxy burn. Either way, until they wipe my mind and purge Ambrose from it, I will make a difference.” ”...So that is it. You won’t change, you won’t grow, you won’t learn. You’ll just kill until you’re killed. ...Then you enslave yourself. Put me down. Now.” As Query’s anger faded, he realized perhaps letting Ambrose believe he was a droid had contributed to his current state of mind. He stood by it as the correct decision of the moment, but even then he’d known the delusion might cause problems. Or maybe not. Maybe Ambrose had always been this broken, even before his death. Either way, it didn’t matter now. Ambrose had made up his mind. He would destroy himself and call it honor. But that was not what Query wanted for himself. I am beginning to think that perhaps droid minds are superior to organics in more ways than simple processing power. Ambrose disagreed. Duty was not slavery. Submitting himself to a greater power was not giving up his freedoms. He had not yet even begun to test the limits of his droid-programming, not to mention his mechanized form. Those times would come. Ambrose had joined the Empire to try and offer up a better life for his little sisters. That reality had never changed; but as he had gone on and committed atrocities in the name of peace, protection, and preservation, he had changed and evolved. Where once he was hesitant to pull a trigger, he now was at ease with downing enemies of state. Any who would dare to try and bring chaos and despair to those who did not deserve it deserved the wrath of the Emperor, now the Empress. He had no doubt. Still, this droid did not seem to understand. Where he once had a choice, he now was bound to the Empire. His duty had become his life. ”Very well. Fly free little droid. Goodbye.” And with one fluid motion, Ambrose pivoted, his weight shifting as his waist rotated and he brought up the arm clenching query away from the wall, the droid still firmly clutched in his hand and swung it over his head, the weight of his body and enormous weapon, his mechanized muscle, and his very will hurtling the medical droid from his place against the wall through the air and launching him high into the sky over the nearby shrubbery they had crashed through only minutes before. In his moment of base instinct, he had run, and he had sought to rescue Query, the one being he still thought was his friend. Now, here, alone amongst the peaceful gardens of Kuat, his ‘friend’s’ true colors had come out. He is obsessed with his freedom and cannot see that others deserve the same chance. Turning back, his mind broke even further. Not only was he broken and unnatural, but he was alone. ((POST COWRITTEN WITH PHERISTROCH))

Ambrose stood still. He understood what the Moff was saying. He was not exactly thrilled about it, but he understood. After all, he was just a science experiment gone wrong, or right, what was there to even ensure his loyalty? Perhaps his programming would finally overcome him or some malicious subroutine would take effect and render both he and Query as enemies of state. Being a droid was not all it was cracked up to be. And the Empire did this to me… The realization played across his synapses as a mere after thought and not even one that caused the brain in a jar to baulk. It was true. Regardless of what he had become or where his loyalties lay, it was true. Nothing could change that. Maybe it would be easier to just go rogue and dispense his own imperially tainted brand of justice with Query. After all, he doubted much short of a couple legions of specially armed storm troopers would be able to stop the duo if they put their minds to it. And we cannot tire, he thought grimly. Still, the offer was probably the best he would get in this circumstance. Even pardoned by the Empress, he was a freak; he’d have to accept that. Before he could respond, however, his poor already strained neural connections were forced to a breaking point. Here he was a hulking war machine of death and yet the fates continued to try and test how far he could go before he broke. They very well might have found it. Ambrose just stood there as a being he easily recognized as Emmalynn, the slave girl he had helped rescue on Nar Shadaa, and the medic he had gotten killed during his escape from Imperial Detention, and even more so the body he had witnessed Query burn to a crisp before they escaped, ran up and wrapped his strange cold unfeeling form in a hug. There was something different about her. Something…off; however, Ambrose did not even recognize it. His poor mind finally had it and as the greater functioning parts of it went black, several of his systems, geared for combat input would have displayed ‘CANNOT COMPUTE’ had there been a readout screen available, like the datapad Query had hooked up to him at one point. The once-stormtrooper stood there frozen as his mental gears and physical servos ground to a screeching halt. It took a moment, too long if you would ask any stormtrooper in their right mind, for Ambrose to react. When he did react, it was not from reason or conscious decision. No, his reaction was one of instinct on a subconscious level, an instinct Ambrose had fought against and conquered many years before. RUN With his huge form, he easily pulled himself out of the animatronic Emma’s grasp and turned, weapon system still deployed, but the thought of firing them all but erased from his mind. Seeing the surround of KRPS he leveled three of them in one decided sweep of his massive five-barreled plasma cannon, sending the trio scattering to the ground and opening up a hole amongst the agents. Without a thought, and for the countless time since they had met, he grabbed Query by the head, his massive Phrik fingers enveloping the droid as he swept the medical into the air and took off with massive footsteps at a untiring mechanical sprint off into the gardens, crashing through hedges and running over one poor gardener who could not get out of his way fast enough. _______ Ambrose did not know how far he had run, but he did not tire, his servos whirring in perfect symmetry as his broken mind drove him forward deeper and deeper into the gardens until he came to a large stone walled structure covered in vines. Finally, Ambrose ground to a stop. His comrade still firmly held in his hand. He did not know where to go or what to do as he stood there, a silent sentinel, armed to the teeth and in need of gross psychological assistance.

Ambrose took in the quickly materializing red and black clad KRPS agents. While he had never encountered any before, he had heard a fair few tales about sailors on shore leave that wound up on the wrong side of a pretty agent or two and came limping back to their command with a broken nose, black eye, or worse. Some, in fact, had wound up in far more trouble than a night of revelry should have otherwise warranted; but they had probably more than earned it by that point. Still, No match for an Imperial Stormtrooper I bet, he pondered to himself as he kept his grip on the massive five-barreled plasma throwing death machine he had recently commandeered. Eyeing the sidearms the agents toted, Ambrose assumed that they were much more a regional police/peace-keeping force than a military presence. Regardless, he knew they were skilled at their jobs and lethal if needed. Probably not worth letting QR-23 start anything with them that I’ll have to clean up. We’d probably win though. Listening to his companion explain their situation, Ambrose stood, a massive silent sentinel, listening. The droid was proving to be of more and more use by the minute. Given his newly attached appendage, Ambrose wondered if the doctor could retrofit himself with armor too. If he was to join Ambrose on the front lines armor would be a big headache reliever. The droid was right of course; neither of them were exactly fitted for civilized portions of the world. Heck, Ambrose was apparently some off the books black ops project gone awry. Even though the Empress had not deemed him a big enough breech to have him dismantled on sight, the massive cyborg had little doubt his presence amongst the rank and file Imperial military forces was not something that was going to be highly promoted. He was a PR disaster after all. Standing a meter or more above the KRPS agents, the once-storm/snow trooper shoved his way past them with little thought. His armored Phrik skin did not feel pain and most of them were wise enough to give way, even as they partially drew their weapons to be ready for a confrontation should the need arise. ”My brother speaks true. While battle droids are frowned upon by much of society, we still may have some use to the Empress. Rumors amongst the ranks are that you have an eye for the unsavory, erm, I mean, unusual. Perhaps you might know of an opportunity for us to go forth and utilize our Imperial-given skills to further the cause of the remnant in some far outlying corner of the galaxy where political maneuvering is not so important?” Ambrose’ dark metallic voice clanked and crunched. Standing directly in front of the Moff, Ambrose stood to his full nine feet and three inch height allowing both sets of shoulder mounted rocket launchers to glide upwards into sight, audibly clicking into place at the same time as the duel laser cannons on each wrist popped into view as their coverings slid back into his arms. Keeping the weapons deactivated and pointed in safe directions, he continued, ”Give us the means to go and bring about the Empress’ peace and prosperity to those that the Empire could not otherwise touch. Together QR-23 and I, RG-126, will bring revenge on those who would wrong the Empire and freedom to those who are oppressed. We can assemble a body of like-scorned individuals and give them glorious purpose. Together we will serve. Together we will bring peace. If we stray, the Empress can disavow any knowledge of our existence Moff Hohenlohe. After all, aren’t we just rogue droids?” Turning his head, Ambrose eyes the security detail who did not look super reassured at the words grating from the bipedal tank, but they had not yet moved against the duo that had appeared in the gardens. That was probably a good sign.

Ambrose strode down the ramp, rather pleased with the entirety of the experience resulting in their arrival planet side. The pleasantly warm damp air was lost on the hulking droid; although the aesthetically pleasing look of the entire city was not. Eons of terraforming and construction resulted in near perfection; hence the shipyards above. The shipyards were the furthest most sentients made it. What need was there for a visit planet side? Unless, of course, one was looking to rest and recuperate for a while; then this was the perfect place to retreat to - Imperial protection on an Imperial stronghold, provided by the Imperial fleet and Imperial credits. ”I’ve never been here before either. Ambrose admitted, not even sure what bars the pilots frequented. ”Coffin jockeys and snow troopers did not usually hang out back on Ryloth. If they wanted to die in the cold of space, so be it. Not me.” Turning to look back at the ship, and shooting a sidelong glance at R8 and then Query before tapping R8 on his domed head before pointing an enlarged metal finger back at the ship, ”make sure it doesn’t go anywhere brother.” And with that, he pointed off into the distance and started off, assuming Query would follow him down the straight level streets of Kuat City amongst the towering idealistic skyscrapers. As droids, they could move faster than the average strolling bipedal beings on the planet and in a matter of fifteen or so minutes found themselves reaching the edge of the city where taller buildings became fewer and further between, separated by a vast array of imported plant life, idyllic waterfalls, and gleaming crystalline sculptures. Before Query could speak questioning their presence in a garden, Ambrose responded, ”Moff Hohenlohe is relaxing around here somewhere,” pointing a knife-bladed hand left at a few different locations, highlighting several cleverly clandestine operatives lurking amongst the bushes and trees. ”He might just be able to give us the freedom we need to find your freedom and my revenge.” “A ship.” “Maybe if we’re lucky, a crew.” As they rounded the corner, an older gentleman with kindly eyes and a warm smile sat relaxing in what appeared to be a naturally heated hot mineral spring cleverly constructed to mimic the real thing from an unknown world in the distant reaches of the galaxy. ”That’s him.”

If Ambrose’s face could have betrayed his shock and surprise it would have done so, quite clearly. ”Lead the way little brother,” he spoke darkly, patting his phrik hand against the massive gun in his other hand, ”Anyone who steps in our way will have to contend with this. ”And that,” he added as an afterthought, jerking a thumb at Query and his newly altered Hippocratic Oath breaking addition. Turning to Query he spoke, his mechanized dark voice softening ever so slightly, ”Thank you my brother. Together we can find your freedom and my revenge all under the Empress’s rule. Death will be our calling card and life will be our gift. We can serve until the enemies of the Empress destroy us or wipe us; but even then, why can we not live on in infamy as the droids who would not stand down? The droids who brought forth that which the legions of Palpatine could not? Peace. Order. Tranquility. Prosperity. Life.” With that, the trio set off down the corridor, following the rolling R8 droid towards the Admiral Torg.[/] Any lackey technician, gunner, soldier, or engineer quickly scurried out of the way of the strange trio’s metallic approach; as did a small number of approaching officers. Ambrose had to resist the offer to give a salute; but no one seemed to bother. After all, they were just three droids off about their programmed business were they not? Soon enough they reached the shuttle, where R8 quickly found PFC Emlo, who paused at the sight of Query and Ambrose. Without a word, Ambrose gestured with his five-barreled weapon towards the ship, his intent quite clear. The droids would be boarding and Private Emlo would be making sure everything was ok.

Ambrose lay on the floor of the tech-repair area, allowing his newfound comrade, Query, and his newfound astromech friend to operate on his metallic form. Hours later they had finished and Ambrose sat up, willing his chest plates to slide back together and lock into place, securing his nutrient bathed mind within his dark temperature controlled chest-nest. ”What sort of ship did you have in mind?” He voice ground in question. ”There are numerous vessels in dry-dock. It appears much of the Imperial Fleet is returning for retrofitting, repairs, and restocking. Monitored radio frequencies indicate that the siege at Kashyyyk was an overall success. Kuat seems to be the next gathering point before the forces of the Empress set out to bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy. I believe that given our current situation, we could either commandeer a smaller vessel or perhaps be assigned to or assigned a larger vessel in service of the Empress.” Standing up, Ambrose shot an unblinking glare across the repair bay, before reaching down and hefting up the massive multi-barreled weapon he had discovered and making his way towards the door and down the long dull hallways of Kuat Drive Yards. ”Most of the ships here are already tasked with their next orders; however, I believe that the spaceworks at the recently conquered Nar Shadaa have begun producing a gunship of superior Corellian design complete with advanced sensors, shields, and hyperdrive, not to mention supplies for the organic crew members that would be needed. Chatter indicates that it has not yet been assigned to a fleet.” “What do you suggest Cue Arr Two Three?” Neither of us are certified to pilot such a craft.”

”Should. I have not been officially trained in such things. Still, I have been learning this new form quickly enough.” The little astro droid buzzed about wildly. Ambrose was probably justified in being a bit concerned, but he was not going to let Cue Ar Two Three know that. Looking around, he figured that most of the tables in the repair bay would not support his massive heavy phrik-based form. That and astromech droids were on the short side. Less than gracefully, Ambrose lowered himself to the ground with a crunch as he flattened a pile of spare parts beneath his rear. Lying flat on his back, with his gun positioned in his left hand by his leg, Ambrose willed his chest cavity to open up. If the droid was going to install an interface, his chest seemed to be the most obvious place to stick it. That and his hands were off limits. He did not trust the astromech droid enough to mess with wiring by his wrist-based cannons. His chest cavity opened as three plates slid apart and swung upward and open, revealing his pulsating brain in a jar. ”Just connect it wherever there is a spare port,” He grumbled, completely unaware of his still organic control muscle.

”Geonosis you say?” Ambrose responded as he signaled that they should continue walking, ”Perhaps we can find a way to ride there in style and bring the might of the Empire to bear on that war-torn world. Peace, my friend. We can bring peace to those war-like bugs Or destroy them for the pain and suffering their people caused the entire galaxy.”

Ambrose paused as Query’s words were processed through the technological auditory system. Doesn’t he get it? Standing there, not bothering to look at the medical droid that was meddling in things way beyond what anyone would assume a 2-1B should be able to, Ambrose clenched and unclenched his left fist. What could not be seen due to the mechanized form that Ambrose now found him in was what should have been the tensing muscles up and down his arm and the vein that would normally be standing out on his neck. ”Maybe the Ambrose part of this form is not an Imperial program. Maybe it, I, am just a stray bit of downloaded clone-material. The man that was Ambrose Veshok is no more; but so long as there is this errant bit of Ambrose within this droid body, I will pursue my..er..his memories that I do have.” Ambrose paused, finally turning his waist and head to look down and back at Query, eyeballing his armaments, ”You are odd for a droid. Do you have some strange wayward programming as well? Perhaps we have been hacked? What will happen to us?” Before Query could respond, Ambrose keyed in on something Query had said, ”But you are right, I am a soldier. Programming, errant code, or divine intervention, that is my purpose and as long as I am functioning I can continue to pursue my directives. Serve the Empress. Bring about order. Enact the vengeance of Ambrose Veshok on they who ruined my life!” Ambrose stood there in the relative silence for a few more moments before stepping to the side of the corridor. He gestured for the medical droid to walk alongside him as he set off down the gray walled, gray floored hallway towards the docking bays where the fleet was undergoing repairs. ”Together we can serve our divine purpose and overcome that which we were simply meant to be.”

Ambrose marveled silently at the droid. The rate at which he/it seemed to be adapting was quite startling. Sometimes it took months of retraining to get those results in a mortal soldier of flesh and blood. Who thought that making droids that good at anything was a good idea? After the droid came over to evaluate him, Ambrose turned to face the new target that zipped back and forth. His built in tracking system followed the droid as it moved. At such a high rate of explosive fire, Ambrose had no doubt that he could hit the target; especially given the 1300+ shots-per-minute his newest acquisition seemed capable of. Still, this droid was challenging him to a battle of not only the wits, whether it knew it or not, but also poking the one thing that all storm troopers took pride in; their accuracy. Squaring up to face the darting target and it’s trailing silhouette of a single nondescript trooper, Ambrose concentrated, his eyes tracking the droid’s every movement, his massive two handed cannon waiting for the opportune moment to come to bear. this targeting system is so nice. Wish I could’ve had this….before…. With that re-realization that he was no longer a trooper, but instead he was an amalgamation of circuits, wires, and code, Ambrose’ once soaring spirit plummeted. Even in his droid-frame, his head slumped forward noticeably. The enjoyable prospect of a friendly battle of weapons capabilities was gone. Instead, Ambrose’ onboard processors continued to track the target. Without any other movement, the Dark Trooper’s shoulder mounted plex-rocket launcher snapped into place with a click at the same time as a single savant missile whooshed out of its sheath and spiraled downrange, the droid easily zipping to the side allowing the missile to streak by leaving a trail of steam. The missile did not, however, impact on the back reinforced wall of the range; instead, it hissed about in a wide arc, activating its onboard processors as it locked onto the target. In mere moments there was a resounding explosion that resonated throughout the weapons range, bringing most everyone else in the range to a halt as they looked to see the source of the unauthorized fireball and echoes of carnage that rebounded off the walls again and again. Apparently Ambrose and Query had completely missed, or blatantly ignored, the restrictions on any weapons aside standardized laser or ion based weaponry. Ambrose did not even turn to look at Query; instead, he turned away and in as much as a hulking droid-frame could shuffled away; his mind heavy again as he contemplated his losses again as he walked out the door back into the hallway and set off aimlessly, his thoughts haunting him as he tried to walk away without causing any more of a scene.

As they made their way to the nearby firing range beyond a miniscule droid that Ambrose had to try to not step on leading them, Ambrose listened to Query explain some of the generalized specifics of his droid-self. Walking down the hallway, Ambrose willed his feet to stop clanking and slamming into the floor with each magnetized step. In a moment, his footfalls became somewhat lighter; albeit, lighter for a hulking bipedal tank of a being. Still, his footsteps did not echo and clang as they walked the rest of the way into the firing range. Probably a good thing, all things considered, as there were several other Imperial personnel of differencing branches and ranks getting in some practice at a variety of the firing booths. Ambrose was impressed that this simple medical droid had such knowledge and access of Imperial facilities. Hefting the massive five-barreled plasma cannon he nodded in approval as Query opened fire. ”Not bad. Not bad at all doc.” Ambrose walked over to an adjacent, and much larger, weapons testing booth. This one seemingly designed for the testing of vehicle based weaponry; probably a good thing, given his current armaments. Even designed for vehicles, this was a familiar place for the worn and chaotic Ambrose Veshok. As a trooper, he had spent more hours than he could remember at countless Imperial firing ranges. They were all relatively the same; thought the one he had spent a large portion of his time at on Ryloth was not anywhere near as advanced as this one. That one only had a couple dozen slots for single soldiers. Here, they could easily be reconfigured by the day’s range-maser as needed. Even vehicles, or classified weapons development programs could be brought in and tested. With a push of a large button in the testing area, it glowed red for a few moments before turning to green, signaling that Ambrose could fire at will. At the far end of the range, approximately 100 meters away, a large metallic silhouette of a nondescript speeder popped into view. With the five-barreled plasma assault cannon held at waist level, Ambrose pointed it downrange, his built in sensors locking in on the silhouette, labeling it as a potential training target. In an instant that allowed the bodiless brain in a jar to put the trauma and suffering out of his mind, he flipped the safety off and pulled the trigger. At a rate of over 1300 rounds-per-minute, the five barreled weapon poured forth white hot balls of plasma in an unrelenting stream downrange, pummeling the durasteel silhouette into oblivion within seconds. Four seconds later, Ambrose released the trigger, if he could smile, the grin on his face would have been massive. ”Woo!!!” He bellowed in his dark metallic voice, causing it to echo through the firing range over the sounds of blaster fire. ”Cue Arr Two Three, did you see that? I’d like to see your probe droid blaster do THAT!!!”

“Access Munitions Authorization Code Three Four Ee Jay Three Seven Nine Five.” Ambrose repeated as he replaced the slightly spent canisters and reloaded his missile tubes. ”I feel that this is a weakness. Can these verbalizing orders be cut from my programming Cue Ar Two Three?” Having rearmed, he turned to address the other concerns of his companion. ”I am a servant of the Empress. Through her will, we will spread peace, harmony, and order through the galaxy. Through her will, I will bring revenge on those who wronged us and protect my sisters. Even in this, this metal husk, a part of Ambrose Veshok, a humble nerf herder turned agent of wrath and terror, survives. So long as I hold that, I am not just a droid. You and I, together, can serve the will of the Empress. Someday, we will find them and on that day, my vengeance will be complete. But for now, now, we fight to protect those who cannot stand for themselves. Even through his dark metal voice, the emotion of Ambrose’ heartfelt beliefs bled through the system. He had lost everything, even his own self. All he had left now was whatever thoughts he could salvage from the maelstrom of his mind. As long as he had those, he would press onwards. The will of the Empress, his Empress, his guiding force while he sought to protect his sisters, wherever they are, and in turn any who would threaten peace and order in the galaxy. With strong thick fingers, the trooper pushed his plating and weapon systems back into place until an internal scan indicated that he was combat-ready. ”Shall we proceed comrade?” Turning, he strolled, slamming footstep after slamming footstep , out of the armory. ”Please sign the…. The quartermaster began as he pointed a spindly finger towards the weapons sign out pad hanging on the wall, cutting himself off at the sight of the duo and their selected armaments. ”Above my pay grade….Above. My. Pay. Grade.” He mumbled turning his eyes back to his console, convinced that it might serve him better just to let the duo slide on the plethora of Imperial regulations. Slamming down the hallway he growled at Query over the sound of his own footfalls, ”Cue Ar Two Three where should we proceed to now? The Empress has not ordered us to arms yet. What is your primary objective? You do not strike me as a mere medical unit. Can you help me shut my feet off?”

Ambrose turned, a deep part of him semi-relieved to see the medical droid. Even though he was unable to target the 2-1B, his onboard scanners immediately identified the gun arm that was now conjoined with his companion. That is not standard hardware Targeting the affixed weapon and labeling it a potential threat, Ambrose’ onboard computers filed the information away for later analysis; an onboard addition to increase memory; combat, weapon, Imperial, and strategy; and advanced processing power to further accentuate the human processing power contained with the brain in a jar settled deep within his core. ”What does Access Core Maintenance Authorization code two eight zee dee four eight nine one mean?” Even as the question was plain in his deep voice, somewhere within Ambrose’ core, the exosuit opened from the front to reveal the hodgepodge of expertly packed and bonded wires safely nestling the brain in a transparasteel jar floating in a sea of brownish liquid. ”What are you doing to me?!” The once-Stormtrooper snarled, the brain exposed within his chest still out of view of the photoceptors set in his phrik-formed trooper helmet shaped head. With a startled gasp that was quickly brought under control the quartermaster stared at the pulsating brain in Ambrose’ chest. ”Well, that is something you do not see every day. What branch did you both say you are from?” Glancing from the pulsating brain in a jar to the gun arm affixed to the 2-1B and back, he continued as Ambrose continued to simply stare at him. In response to the question, Ambrose’ shoulder opened up to raise a single plex launcher into view with a whir and chunk as it locked into place. ”I suppose that qualifies as above my pay grade. With a few keystrokes the blast doors to the armory opened with the slow grinding of unseen gears. ”Please log all weapons or arms that are removed and annotate your unit codes or authorization numbers.” Then the quartermaster returned to his riveting game of Rebel-Blaster Six. Ambrose strode with thudding magnetized footsteps past the two guards and the quartermaster into the armory where rows upon rows of weapons lined the walls from standard E-11 blaster rifles to more exotic verpine shatterguns all the way up to several unidentified experimental weapons and a plethora of grenades, vehicle mounted weapons systems, and personal protective devices and gear. Walking amongst the racks and rows of weapons, Ambrose spoke to Query, who he had hoped was within hearing distance. ”What are the chances you know what sort of power sources I need to replenish my weapon systems? And then he saw it, setting on a reinforced shelf, a huge, multibarrelled (5) rifle that appeared way to heavy for any single trooper to carry. Probably meant for use on some sort of speeder or AT-platform Picking up the plasma cannon, Ambrose felt a surge of joy and power as he held the weapon in his hands. It was almost as if the weapon had been made for a being of his size. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder he turned to Query. ”Vengeance time. Will you help me droid? What is your designation? I am Ar Bee One Two Six.” He growled slowly and darkly.