“ I do not fear sadistic fantasies dreamt up by a machine. My masters were of the cruelest this galaxy has ever wrought, the threshold at which I have been tested is beyond what your processor can generate. My body divided will only come together again, and I will not forget the source of such an inconvenience. ”
Sion lets out a dismissive snarl. He shifts, and sits crossed-legged with his knuckles to the floor. With the cot taking up its center, there is hardly any room for him to pace in his cell. His eye rolls to the shield locking him in. It is a barrier he cannot simply crush. He knows, eventually, it will fall, and he will overpower whatever fool released him with ease. But a fantasy teases him, of leaving the other occupants of this ship with their stomachs ripped open on the floor and emerging from the dark only when he hears the exile’s terrified cries.
He recognizes the rust on the droid’s chassis as a sign of age- experience. Others of its model- silver-plated and always in packs of three- encroach on his hunt. They boasted their prime directive with utmost pride, without fail, in every scout report. This old droid and it’s line were constructed as machines of TERMINATION. An inappropriate tool for a jedi still enamored with her failing order, her broken code. Something that would find better fulfillment under HIS ranks than HERS.
“ What can an assassin droid provide for a jedi? You have but one purpose, one that CONFLICTS with your master’s. Should she survive, and emerge from this war victorious, all you will have to look forward to is your inevitable shutdown. For what can you serve something against your directive? ”
Mocking observation: “ How very fanciful of you, perhaps next you’ll describe to me how you plan on slaughtering us all while confined within your rather snug quarters or perhaps you’ll keep using intimidation tactics that are essential parts of my programming for both torture and assassination. You have my circuits a shiver at what you will do next.”
His behavior and display of emotions were on par with that of a captured kath hound who had been forced to fight in some constructed arena for some over grown slug of a hutt. Beaten, scarred, and yet still resilient. Judging by the scaring that seemed to define his body, and the talk of ‘masters’ the Hunter Killer unit surmised that this Sion must predate the Mandalorian War. Yet this would be pure speculation only led by assumptions and little evidence. But he had a hunch that this charred meatbag served under Exar Kun, during the Great Sith War.
The Hunter Killers photo receptors began to study the surface of the ‘sith’, he was intrigued to say the least. If this was one of the sith who in fact survived the Great Sith War his original Master like him would be left fascinated. From what he knew there was no mention or record of this Sion during the Jedi Civil war or even during the Mandalorian war. It was as if he appeared from the shadows, or imagined himself into existence. Yet that hardly seemed the case, however he was left with more questions than answers.
Smug answer: “ Why the death of you and any other sith that linger in the shadows. You see my master, my original master designated me, like, you to hunt down Jedi and eliminate them. And I was quite effective at that, however my master also inadvertently taught me how to dispatch of you ‘sith’ as well. And truth be told meatbag there isn’t much difference between you and a dead Jedi.”
The mere thought of being shut down once more was enough to make his circuits overload with both rage and pure annoyance. It was really becoming too common these days for this to happen, especially to a droid of his status. Or what status remained within the confines of this rather lackluster assortment of meatbag traveling companions that his master had acquired.
Yet, he felt compelled at this very moment to offer his captive some clarity on how wrong the meatbag was not just about HK but everything really. I mean look where it got him, a supposed mighty sith trapped within in a cell awaiting to either face judgement or massacre. If he were bright enough he would stage a coupe, yet manipulation did not seem to be a strength of his only brute force. And that would get him nowhere, really it was one disappointment after another.
Clarification: “ Allow me to explain it so even a meatbag such as yourself will understand my functionality even on the most basic of levels. While it is true I must serve the master and their simpering whiny meatbag companions for the time being, my true directive will become unlocked after this short period of servitude and I shall once again wreak havoc upon the galaxy with an army that will surely appease my original master. "
