Ambrose Veshok Posted June 1, 2018 Share Posted June 1, 2018 Standing in the cramped cockpit of the Imperial shuttle, Ambrose allowed the streaks of hyperspace through his mechanized eyes without restriction, dulling his mind. True, he, as with any trooper, had been given a two hour training class somewhere along the lines regarding hyperspace induced madness; for now, however, it at least helped dull the searing mental anguish he was feeling and could not process. His body, his livelihood, his life, perhaps even his soul were all gone. Whatever it was that left of him was here in this hulking armored exosuit/droid thing. The only person that seemed to care was the medical droid beside him. Who was this droid anyway? Did he do this to me? Turning as the droid's words beeped into his conscious thought he pondered, he does seem to have a strange ability to access my mechanical systems. Perhaps he is here to monitor me and report back. Perhaps this is some sort of test. The one thing he knew for sure was that this was all too real to be a simple simulation. He allowed the words to swirl in his mind. Despite being a droid now, he felt that somehow, some part of him had survived. Did all droids feel this way? Want....Purpose....Want....Purpose....Want....Purpose.... What he wanted was his old life back, to be amongst his brethren-in-arms. All had been so much simpler then. It had been even simpler back on Concord Dawn when, as a boy, he had toiled away on his parents’ farm. A happier time, he pondered. He and his father rolling out huge bales of hay for the nerf herds because the hoover-tract had broken down once again and they couldn't afford to repair it until they sold off more and more of their dwindling herd. His mother always greeted him with a smile and a warm meal of simple fixings to fill his belly. His sisters' smiles as he carried them about on his shoulders pretending to be all manner of spacecraft that they saw at the local docking bay. They had mostly been bulky trade and transport vessels; but one time there had been a sleek ship of unknown design. That had been quite an exciting day! That was, until, his father had been drug away by the armored men hidden behind their T-shaped visors.... After that, his mother had never been the same and within a dozen cycles of the moon had taken to bed unable to rise. Then she too was gone. His sisters then....his sisters... If a tear could have escaped from Ambrose' mechanized eye it surely would have; instead, he was forced to contain the emotion within his unknown fluid filled jar. The Empire was his life now or at least had been. Want....Purpose....Want.... Without knowing how he did so a dark fiendish sounding voice of scraping metal several octaves lower than his natural voice echoed from the grate where his mouth was formed but unmovable. "I want Revenge. My purpose is to destroy." Turning to stare at the medical droid he added, "Help me brother." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ambrose Veshok Posted June 2, 2018 Share Posted June 2, 2018 Ambrose mentally glowered at the words the medico droid was playing directly to his mind. YOU made me a machine. I was a man! he screamed internally, no sound passing his mouth as he regarded the much smaller droid beside him. Anger pulsed through his synapses as the thought ate at him in the mere moments that it hung there unspoken to his mind. This droid may very well be the only thing that could help him in his plight; yet still, this droid was most likely responsible for a portion of his suffering. "I cannot destroy him.... . . Yet." he grated to himself more so than anyone else. Hardly realizing he spoke aloud at all. Then with a single movement, he felt his huge heavy phrik-alloyed fingers closing into a cannonball sized fist. With a single motion he shot his fist outwards towards the droid in an attempt to send the non-combat worthy lab lackey airborne towards the adjacent bulkhead. He doubted it would serve to shut down the mechanized medic, but at the very least it would send a message: Ambrose needed no help being a 'man.' All he needed was help enacting his revenge. And if that revenge included the destruction of his mechanized creator at some point? So be it. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ambrose Veshok Posted June 2, 2018 Share Posted June 2, 2018 Programmed?? So that was it. The man known as Ambrose Veshok was truly gone. All that apparently remained was whatever shadow of his consciousness had somehow been transferred onto the mechanized programming that now inhabited this exosuit. He was no longer Ambrose Veshok. He truly was RG-126 or whatever new alphanumeric denominator the Remnant had bestowed upon him without his knowledge. There was something of me that they obviously wished to retain…. In Ambrose’ warped mind that he was now doubting the existence of, he had come to the conclusion that somehow, whilst stealing his memories, most likely my combat experiences, The Remnant had inadvertently retained some of his personality programming. He had no way of knowing that he was truly a brain in a jar in a suit. Still, why can’t I figure out how this thing operates? You’d think they’d have done a better job. Top secret project and all…. As Query’s words buzzed into his consciousness again, like an angry buzzbug swirling around his ears, he was drawn back to the droid itself. Here it was talking about …..about….. ”Freedom.” He creaked, his dark metal-on-metal voice scratching out an echoey darkness of observation. Ambrose was never big into how droids worked, droids rights, or any of that jazz back in the day. Truth be told, he thought most of the folks that took to rioting in the streets and tearing of droids’ restraining bolts were whackjobs that deserved no better than to be locked up and forgotten about. Didn’t they know that they, man, alien, and sentient beings had built the droid forces of the galaxy? Can’t build something smarter than you. That’d involve putting smarts there from nowhere. Talk about impossible! Yet here he was now, a droid; nothing more than a piece of hardware at the beck and call of the Imperial Remnant. The leftovers of the very world dominating force that he had sworn his allegiance to had left the shadows of his former self to do what? What am I doing? What is my programming? Do I have some sort of directive? ”What is my programming?” Ambrose queried of Query; impressed by the medical droids tenacity. He would have figured any droid would have given up by now. Well, most any droid. Battle droids such as himself were probably exempt as were those annoying pit droids that seemed to just never die. Apparently this droid knew what its directive was; even with the babble of making its own choices. Doesn’t this droid know that any choice it makes is preprogrammed? Does that mean I am preprogrammed too? What can I do? Am I even a shadow of myself anymore? Am I too live out my existence as a series of computerized code to the Remnant's will? Bracing a large hand against the bulkhead he turned with the stomping of his metal boots to face Query. ”Who are you?” he demanded. ”Where are you taking me?” “What is your directive?” Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ambrose Veshok Posted June 2, 2018 Share Posted June 2, 2018 I shall have my revenge. That is why I served the Emperor. That is why I served. Together, we shall destroy they that stand against us. Ambrose responded, his dark metallic voice doing little to betray the pain that his mortal voice would have otherwise betrayed. The pain and confusion that still coursed through his mind had brought forth a lot of suppressed memories. This droid was not helping either, pushing him to fight against what it had most likely done to him. His family…that was why he had joined the empire in the first place; to avenge those he lost and protect those he loved. He had to protect them. The Empire had promised that. Without another word, Ambrose turned to stare into the void of hyperspace, the dimension between dimensions. The pulsating streams of white streaking by transferring to electronic pulses that were further transferred back to the organic brain in a jar nestled safely in the chassis of the Dark Trooper exosuit served to take the edge off the pain he was now feeling. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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