#sentry droid

[pedroam-bang]

The Mandalorian (2019)

[animatedjen]

Cal Kestis | Jedi Survivor

[cmdrjanus-2]

『 Stark Concrete 』

[robcoopz]

Jedi: Survivor: Imperial Droids

[comicwaren]

This week on Marvel Comics (6th December 2023):

Alpha Flight Vol. 5 #005 (Finale)

Amazing Spider-Man Vol. 6 #039

Avengers Vol. 9 #008

Daredevil Vol. 8 #004

Fantastic Four Vol. 7 #014

Invincible Iron Man Vol. 5 #013

Marvel's Voices: Avengers #001 (One-shot)

Sentry Vol. 4 #001 (NEW!)

Star Wars Vol. 3 #041

Star Wars: Dark Droids - D-Squad #004 (Finale)

Thunderbolts Vol. 5 #001 (NEW!)

Venom Vol. 5 #028

X-Men Vol. 6 #029

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Climbing out of a hole on Koboh I was given the most polite "Hello!" from a B1 before it was going to shoot me.

B1s are endearingly dumb.

B2s? Spooky.

But not as spooky as a BX Commando.

[confusedblakex]

A burning hatred (Pt1)

Pairing: Takashi 'Shiro' Shirogane X (Male) Reader

Summary: Where most Galra find entertainment, you find nothing but disgust. Shiro arrived at Zarkon's arena one fateful day, perhaps he was just what you were looking for.

Wordcount: 1722

Warnings: TW - Very descriptive violence, Imprisonment, Death, Blood, Asphyxiation, Sacrifice

Requested by: I refuse to let this fandom die

Notes: Star Trek and Voltron feel quite similar now that I think about it; No romance yet; Galra commander reader

Last edited: 16th November 2024

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

There had been a new intake of prisoners.

As was expected of you, you took your seat with the rest of the Galra commanders. The sea of cheering people was overwhelming. Myzax was in the ring again.

The arena was not entertaining to you. There was no fight here, this was a public execution. The gladiators were Salixan wolves playing with their prey before going in for the kill. Disgusting.

Prisoners deemed fit enough to fight were bought here. Luckily, most of the new intake had arrived injured and were declared unfit to fight. You thanked the universe for even the smallest of mercies.

Behind the gates, there were a dozen different creatures of varying species. An Earthling stood at the front of the line, quivering and dressed in an oversized prisoner’s tunic. He was short, scrawny and - by the fear in his eyes - didn’t have the strength to fight.

Perhaps, you thought, by some miracle, this boy would somehow manage to scrape by with only a severe injury. Perhaps you could leave, tell your fellow commanders that the prisoners are too weak for a proper fight and it bores you. That way, you might not have to watch.

A sentry walked down to the gate, rifle pointed squarely at the Earthling boy. In a flash, another Earthling appeared, pulling the rifle from the sentry’s grip and pushing the droid into the wall. It sparked and slumped over, showing the Earthling’s strength.

You watched intently as the audience roared.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular enough to put up a fight. His back was turned to you, but his body language showed no hint of fear. With the bayonet he held, the man turned to his fellow prisoners and took a slash at the weak one.

Over the cheering and yelling of the area’s audience, you couldn’t hear a word of what he yelled, but another sentry arrived and forcefully took the Earthling by his arm. You averted your eyes momentarily as the gates opened.

There was clearly some relation between the Earthlings, and in a bid to save the boy who couldn’t fight, this man had put himself first in line to face Myzax. It was smart, you had to admit, but watching someone sacrifice themself somehow made it worse than just watching them die.

Myzax roared and the spectators cheered as the Earthling was handed a Galran sword. And the fight began at once.

The large gladiator let the energy orb on the end of his bat charge for a moment before hurling the orb at the Earthling. Barely dodging, the man tripped himself over to get away. Unrelenting, Myzax threw the orb again. In a desperate attempt to dodge, the man rolled over and jumped at the Galra, landing a shallow cut on his arm before retreating from the orb once more.

And the game of Salixan wolf and rodent began.

For a while, the Earthling only dodged, ducking behind the pillars of the arena, seemingly formulating something. The energy orb was thrown again, this time the man used his sword's flat edge as a shield. He was knocked back significantly, but didn’t fall. Once again, Myzax threw the orb. The man knelt down, raising his sword to cover himself as the impact pushed him into the dusty floor.

Myzax raised his bat, the orb flying back to recharge. As the mechanical wiring hummed deep under the loud yelling of the Galran audience, the Earthling lunged to take a swing at the gladiator. A large gash cut across the gladiator’s shoulder, slicing through his neck.

The Galra wobbled on his feet, purple-red blood spilling down his chest. Weakly, Myzax lifted the orb on its plinth and hurled it at where the Earthling had drawn back to.

Panicked upon seeing the energy orb once more, the man rolled away from the incoming projectile. One hit on the ground. The gladiator swung his arm around as much as his injury would allow, the orb flying back over to the Earthling. Narrowly dodged again, he was taking advantage of Myzax’s weakened state. Twice now, and the orb drew back for the final attack. The man raised his sword again.

A third hit. The metal sword shattered, and the orb flew back to Myzax. Before the hum of the recharge could even start, the Earthling jumped and plunged the blunted half of the snapped sword through the gladiator’s chest. With a loud roar, Myzax fell to his knees. The undefeated, killed by an Earthling - of all species.

The spectators cheered more, louder still, and the man standing in the centre of the arena let out a scream of victory. He played to the crowd well.

Without thinking for a moment more, you slammed your fist into the arm of your chair and rose.

“Who’s is he?” your voice sounded over everyone, quiet falling throughout the room.

You stood in silence for a moment, looking across the Galra commanders.

“The Earthling would be mine,” a commander a few rows down announced as he stood.

“I want him. Name your price,” you stated, voice loud and confident. If you could get a hold of this Earthling, you might just be able to do a little good in this universe.

“4000 GAC,” the commander you didn’t know requested.

“Done.” you said, definitively.

“I offer 5000!” A voice called a few chairs to your right. Commander Sendak.

“This is no auction,” you chastised.

“I will not stand down!” he called, turning towards to owner of the Earthling.

“Sendak! You and I both know that I can outbid you.” you reminded him, keeping yout voice level and confident. As a decorated warrior from a long line of commanders, you had the power of currency on your side.

Sandak huffed and stopped for a moment before turning to look up at the Emperor.

“Permission to exercise my Galra rights, my Emperor?” he asked, bowing slightly.

You lowered your head in respect and looked back up to see Zarkon nod.

“I challenge you to a Sar duel for ownership of the Earthling fighter!” Sendak called, as soon as he received Zarkon’s permission.

“Come now, we are in an arena, and the people want a fight,” he taunted as he saw the torn expression on your face.

“I accept.” you said, determined. You may not want to fight, but you couldn’t risk leaving the Earthling with anyone else.

“What are your terms?” the unknown commander asked.

“If I win, I get the Earthling and Commander Sendak shall be sent off to the Javeeno Star System with no crew, for reconnaissance and surveillance.” you called, the crowd surrounding you applauded your decision, “And you?”

“If I win, I take the prisoner. And you, Commander (l/n), will be stripped of rank and sent to Noxxal to die a dishonourable death!” Sendak shouted.

The room went quiet with murmurs. Noxxal… you would die from starvation, if the cold didn’t get to you first. A dishonourable death, to not be killed in battle.

“And the loser pays 5000 GAC for the victor?” you clarified, looking to the Earthling’s finder.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“The terms are set. Let us begin,” you announced. Both Sendak and you descended to the arena floor.

“Hold the Earthling!” Sendak commanded, and two sentries stood at either side of the man, leading him back out through the arena gate.

Sendak took gauntlets, his weapon of choice. They were great meatal things that pulsed with Galran energy. This was the only advantage he had over you.

You chose to take a battleaxe. Versatile and deadly, you knew them well.

“Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa…”

You immediately took first swing at Sendak, purposefully overshooting and missing him. The swing went past his ear, and took him off guard, leading him to turn in an attempt to throw a punch at your gut. In his moment of pivot, you took the haft of your axe directly to his face.

He stumbled backwards, nose dripping with blood. You swung again, leaving him no time for recovery, a jab at his chest that he narrowly avoided. And again, quickly, but he had recovered in time and grabbed your axe’s blade with his gauntlets.

He threw your axe to his side, and you barely kept your grip. This was how the fight continued. You would hit a blow, he would recover, and Sendak would send you backwards.

A slash to his knee, a hit to your stomach, a jab that very nearly took his ear off, a punch square to your nose - revenge for that first hit you got on him. Finally, after 10 minutes of equally balanced fighting, you decided to play dirty. This Earthling was worth the life of the idiot known as Sendak.

You backed up slowly, reaching a pillar, then swung and lodged your axe at an angle in the stone. You threw yourself at Sendak, going for the gauntlets. You sent a jab at his neck, causing him to lose his breath enough for you to kick with all your might at his left gauntlet. With a crackle of power, the purple glow dissipated and the glove stopped responding.

Sendak growled at you and shook the gauntlet off his hand, immediately lunging at you. You dodged, but not enough, as he grabbed you by the arm, spun you, and hooked his arm around your neck. Gauntlet to your throat, he held you there, spluttering for a breath that wouldn’t come. Your body burned with adrenaline and you stomped at his feet under you, kicking back at his shins.

Sendak walked backwards slowly to avoid your kicks until his back was pressed up against a pillar. Perfect.

With the last of your oxygenated strength, you reached out for the axe that was lodged in the stone. In one quick pull, the axe swung at Sendak’s arm and your face. At the last moment, you shifted your head to the side, lodging the axe entirely through Sendak’s arm.

His grip fell limp, and you took a great inhale of air.

The crowd roared in cheer, and Sendak made a barely audible noise - like a whimper - that only you could hear.

“Consider that payment for challenging me.” You spoke lowly in his ear, before turning to leave.

Where was that Earthling?

[the-robot-bracket]

Alright here is the Poll layout. These are the characters

Bracket Green Round 2 (27th of July):

Dummy (Iron Man) vs Deckard (The Brave Police J-Decker)

E-123 Omega (Sonic) vs Chassis Wheatley (Portal)

Intelligence Core (Portal) vs Angela (Lobotomy Corporation/Library of Ruina)

PS5 (Inside Your Brain/Meme) vs Soprano Turret (Portal) vs Anger Core (Portal)

Chibi-Robo (Chibi-Robo) vs E-102 Gamma (Sonic)

Screwbots (Rhythm Heaven) vs Digit (Cyberchase)

Sentry Turret (Portal) vs Cave Johnson Core (Lego Dimensions/Portal)

Megatron (Transformers) vs Optimus Prime (Transformers)

Bracket Blue Round 2 (3rd of August):

Markus (Detroit: Become Human) vs Wet Floor Bots (FNaF)

Computer (Courage the Cowardly Dog) vs Arcee (Transformers Prime)

Robot Mr. Krabs (Spongebob Squarepants) vs The Cogs (ToonTown)

Emmy (Emmy the Robot) vs Brainstorm (Transformers IDW)

Fi (Legend of Zelda) vs Tom Servo (Mystery Science Theatre 3000)

Frankenturret (Portal) vs Skipper (Legend of Zelda)

9 (9) vs Hyperforce (Superhero Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go! )

Sun (FNaF) vs Lore (Star Trek)

Bracket Purple Round 2 (10th of August):

Daleks (Doctor Who) vs Min-Droid (Ninjago)

Tlacey's ComfortUnit (The Murderbot Diaries) vs Atlas & P-Body (Portal)

Erek King (Animorphs) vs Shockwave (Transformers)

Cabinet Man (Spirit Phone) vs Sari (Transformers Animated)

Cait Sith (Final Fantasy 7) vs S.C.O.U.T. (Murder by Numbers)

Momo (Stray) vs CNMN (Hi-Fi Rush)

Cobalt (Astro Boy) vs Every Irken (Invader Zim)

Magearna (Pokemon) vs House (Invader Zim)

Bracket Red Pt 1 (13rd of July):

Bumblebee (Transformers) vs Atlas (Astro Boy 1980)

Bem (Astro Boy 1964) vs Calculon (Futurama)

Animal King Turret (Portal) vs Sophie (Persona)

Adam Frankenstein (Bungo Stray Dogs) vs Al Turo & Al Sada (Pokemon)

Max Headroom (Max Headroom) vs Blitzwing (Transformers Animated)

Bigweld (Robots) vs Doris (Meet the Robinsons)

Abomoton (The Owl House) vs Zib (Invader Zim)

Zenyatta (Overwatch) vs Mr. Butlertron (Clone High)

Bracket Red Pt 1 (20th of July):

Sky-Byte (Transformers) vs Freddy Fazbear (FNaF)

Jimmy the Robot (The Aquabots!) vs Curiosity Core (Portal)

Dinobot (Transformers Beast Wars) vs Roll (Mega Man)

B1-0516 (Star Wars) vs Canti (FLCL)

V2 (Ultrakill) vs Nanogenes (Doctor Who)

Fact Core (Portal) vs Al-An (Subnautica Below Zero)

Noodle Burger Bot (Big Hero 6) vs Lisa Basil (Ace Attorney)

Juice (17776) vs Gonk Droid (Star Wars)

[heirofazure]

Thrawn’s Musings: 2

A Mother’s Sacrifice

Summary: Sad!Thrawn shower thoughts. I wanted to explore what a Chiss mother’s lullaby would be like considering their culture of rematching to new families. Are they conditioned from childhood that one's birth family may not always be there? Is it taboo to speak of one's past if rematched to a new family? Do Chiss keep in contact with their former/birth relatives if they are rematched? Does a birth family only refer to one by their new name, or a variation of one's core name since it's the one that follows the Chiss for the entirety of their lives? I’d love to see more people exploring this.

Precision, precision, precision was Thrawn’s mantra as beads of sweat streamed down his face and onto the floor of his private sparring gym. Of all the private amenities provided to him as Grand Admiral, this had to be the one he was most thankful for. The vibroblade gripped in his right fist thrummed with energy as he wielded it with brutal efficiency, the blade flashing as it made contact with the Imperial sentry droid’s black plating. He swiftly lifted his left forearm to block a rapid punch from the droid, the vibroblade’s hilt dragging along his chest and plunging forward into the droid’s alloy abdomen. Energy crackled along the plating and caused the droid to seize, granting Thrawn mere seconds to catch his breath. Fatigue was beginning to take over, and when he glanced at the crono on the wall, he realized he had been sparring for over 30 minutes. If he continued, his form would become sloppy.

Absolutely unacceptable. 

“Override...Code Ruhk,” Thawn said between ragged breaths. The droid immediately shifted into attention stance and powered down, Thrawn’s reflection becoming clearer in the sudden darkness now occupying its dimming red eyes. He swallowed as he took in his appearance, noting his own red eyes hooded with exhaustion, and his blue skin a shade paler than usual. 

His reflection was the only Chiss he’d laid eyes upon in the years since he’d entered Imperial service. It had never bothered him before, but for the past few months, it had begun to weigh on his mind. A reunion with Admiral Ar’alani was anticipated in the future due to unusual events occurring within the borders of the Empire, but it had yet to come to fruition. Had he even spoken a word of Cheunh in the past standard year? A hollow feeling began to expand in his chest. His exercising garments, now saturated with perspiration, felt too tight as the sensation spread throughout his entire body.

Melancholy. A feeling he was never fond of but currently permeating every fiber of his being. He shook his head and exited the sparring gym. Light followed his movement as motion sensors tracked his path from the gym to his shower. The thought of warm water and soap washing away the sticky sensation he felt all over brought a smile to his face. Surely that would make him feel better. He strode into his refresher, settling on the fact that of all his private amenities, his spacious shower ranked second. He began humming as he removed his garments and entered the stall, stark white lights illuminating the space. Soaps from distant planets housed in a variety of containers lined the wall, each a unique piece of art that made his cleansing space akin to a private gallery of all his intergalactic travel.

He was still humming a tune as he pressed the buttons to activate the shower, releasing a sigh of satisfaction when steaming water hit his skin from various jets clustered along the ceiling and walls. However, as the realization of what he was humming began to process through his mind, the smile that was plastered across his face slowly shrank. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, tipping his head back as water ran through his hair and cascaded down his back. 

Rentor. His home planet. The melody? His mother’s. He could still hear her voice echoing within his mind as he stood under the jets, his humming increasing in volume as he remembered the words of the old Chiss lullaby.

Deep in the Chaos,

Far, far away. 

Cold unforgiving,

Our Ascendancy brave.

Resilient hearts,

Traditions of old. 

Fortune be with you,

Warrior soul.

Thrawn felt the weight of his sadness from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. He wondered if it was possible that his own reflection made him recall the characteristics he inherited from a woman he never spoke to again after rematching to the Mitth. The woman who gave him life.

Your name may change,

And your life may lead,

Down paths I can’t follow,

To places I won’t be.

He had never reached out to her. Although it was frowned upon, birth family contact had never been explicitly prohibited by the Mitth. As he lathered dzisnir herb soap on a cleansing cloth and began scrubbing his torso, he felt the reason for his choice rise from the depths of his mind. There was no question about the pain this topic held in his birth home. 

Vurika’s disappearance. Being an inquisitive child, a young Vurawn constantly asked about his older sister after she vanished. There were never clear answers from his parents, although he would catch a pained look sweep across his mother’s face if Vurika was so much as mentioned. After countless attempts, he at some point stopped asking. However, he always ruminated on it, hoping to solve the reason for her disappearance as easily as a tactical dilemma.

Oh, how naïve he was.

As the years passed, Thrawn did his best to excel in his studies and remain obedient to his parent’s wishes, if only to not be the next child that disappeared. In hindsight, he realized his parents could have never revealed such sensitive information as to Vurika’s whereabouts, even if they had wanted to. 

Even if the silence hurt them as much as it hurt him. Even if he had vanished as well.

But you, my dear child,

Remember in your heart,

That if I live in your memory,

We’ll never be apart.

As he rinsed off the last of the soap, Thrawn felt his throat tighten with raw emotion. His mother had not lost just one child, but both her children to the needs of the Ascendency. More so, his passion for art stemmed from her influence. The fondest of his childhood memories were those seated next to her easel, watching her blend colors and bring to life the faces of children she would never see again. Had she had more children? Had she sung them that lullaby? Had she seen his successes and failures on her Questis news feeds, reading about a son who no longer acknowledged her existence? Was she still alive? 

There was no way for him to answer these questions now. Unlike everything else in his life, he had never planned for this. 

He had never planned to think of his birth mother, let alone miss her.

He found he couldn’t bring himself to exit the stall as he shut off the water. The light around him seemed too bright, and his breathing was shallow and quick. He closed his eyes for a moment to settle his senses, and was stunned to see his face- her face, peering at him from the earlier reflection in his training droid’s eyes. 

In that moment, a sudden tremor emanating from the core of his being overcame all his logical faculties like a massive explosion; emotions that had been suppressed for survival finally erupting on the surface. He roughly grasped the handlebar along the wall with one hand, and a pitiful whimper escaped his lips. Then another, followed by another. He could feel the tears roll down his face as shudders racked his entire body. He had given everything to the Ascendency, and so had she. 

So had she.

Although I don’t know,

What harms you will face,

My love for you transcends,

Both time and space.

So go far, my child,

And if you seek me,

Within your reflection,

There I will be.

And as Thrawn finally cried for the mother he once had, he allowed himself to wonder if all their sacrifices would be worth it in the end.

Thank you to @stars-n-spice for the Thrawn divider!

[silly-mox]

What Fandoms I write for and who -

Marvel -

Yelena belova

Loki

Wolverine

Deadpool

Hawkgirl

Natasha Romanoff

Doctor strange

Wanda maximoff

Pietro maximoff (specifically Aaron Taylor Johnson)

Remy lebeau

Daredevil

Sentry

Tony Stark (maybe, I kinda hate him)

Spider man/Peter parker

Cyclops

Shang-chi

Bucky Barnes

Hockey -

Quinn Hughes

Jack Hughes

Marc Andre Fleury

Brad marchand

Jeremy swayman

Pyotr kochetkov

Joseph woll

Mitch marner

Vince Dunn

Sidney Crosby

Macklin celebrini

Will Smith (hockey, duh)

Kris letang

Evgeni Malkin

Brock boeser

Ethan Edwards

Nico hischier

Dylan Larkin

Alex Lyon

Auston Matthews

Luke Hughes

Seth Jarvis

(many more players! I also will take requests)

Formula one/indycar -

Kimi raikkonen

Sebastian vettel

Nico Rosberg

Sergio "checo" Perez

Carlos sainz

Max verstappen

Charles leclerc

Jenson button

Fernando Alonso

Esteban ocon

Pierre gasly

Jack doohan

Pato o'ward

Logan Sargeant

Oscar piastri

Alex albon

Lando Norris

Lance stroll

Yuki tsunoda

Colton herta

David malukas

Christian lundgraad

Marcus Armstrong

Kimi antonelli and Ollie bearman (platonic only)

Eurovision -

Joost Klein

Baby lasagna

Tommy cash

Kaarija

Jann

Maneskin (damiano and Victoria)

Lukas from Katarsis

Danya from ziferblat

Kaj (literally all of them)

Go-jo

Bojan from joker out

Erika vikman

WWE/AEW -

Rhea Ripley

Damian priest

Christian cage

Edge

Dominick Mysterio

Mcmg

Nick Wayne

Eddie Kingston

Jay white

Kenny Omega

Kyle Fletcher

Will ospreay

La Knight

Hook

Orange Cassidy

Iyo sky

Tiffany Stratton

Gunther

Hangman Adam page

Young bucks

Jon moxley

Wheeler yuta

Swerve Strickland

Willow nightingale

Toni storm

Mine shirakawa

Mjf

Speedball Mike Bailey

Harley Cameron

Mariah May

Joe Hendry

Ethan page

Chyna

Shawn Michaels

Mick Foley

AJ Lee

Cm punk

Drew McIntyre

Seth Rollins

Sheamus

The gunn brothers

Kip sabian

Mxm

Maxine dupri

Finn Balor

(and a lot more! I take requests and obviously will make a post for who I do not write for)

Horror movie characters/ horror characters -

Ghost face (stu macher and Billy loomis)

Hannibal lecter (2013 Hannibal)

Will graham (2013 Hannibal)

Mark Hoffman

Maxine (from X trilogy)

Lisa Frankenstein (x OC or platonic if reader only)

Jennifer check (another x OC or maybe reader depends)

Tiffany Valentine

Frank from Abigail

Patrick Bateman (depends)

Dennis crim

Umbrella academy -

Five Hargreaves

Ben Hargreaves (umbrella vers, maybe sparrow)

Klaus Hargreaves

Hazel

Victor Hargreaves

Diego Hargreaves

Lila pitts

Jayme Hargreaves

Sloane Hargreaves

YouTubers -

The boys (juicy, Eddie, mully)

Sam and Colby

Chrismd

Clooless gang (pezzy, grizzy, puffer, droid)

Smii7y

Sidemen (Harry, Simon, Josh.)

Alpharad

Yumi

Cjya

Blarg

Hasan piker

Mortal Kombat

Johnny cage

Reptile

Kenshi

Bi-han or sub zero

Raiden

Scorpion

Smoke

Kitana

Miscellaneous movies and show characters I'll write for -

The boys TV show (soldier boy, Billy Butcher)

Top gun Maverick (Bob, hangman, rooster)

Twisters 2024 (Javi, Kate, Tyler)

Pokemon horizons (friede)

Stranger things (Steve, Robin, Nancy, Billy, and Eddie)

Death of a unicorn (Shepard leopald, Ridley)

Final destination (Erik, Bobby, Erin, Ian, Rory, Olivia.)

Spencer charnas from ice nine kills

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Brothers in the Making” pt.3

Command Squad x Reader

The fortress was carved straight into the mountainside — dark metal and cold stone, its towers punching through the mist like jagged teeth. Separatist banners snapped in the wind, and scout droids buzzed along the perimeter like angry insects.

You crouched with Obi-Wan behind a ridge just above the valley floor. The cadets were lined up beside you, low and quiet, eyes locked on the compound.

Anakin was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen.

“Alright,” you whispered, tapping your datapad. “I count four main patrol paths. One blind spot. Minimal aerial surveillance.”

Kenobi nodded. “We can use the cliffside tunnel. I’ve seen this kind of layout before — there’s usually an access vent leading into the communications wing.”

You turned to your boys. “No heroics. Stay behind cover, stick to the plan, and no loud noises. Got it?”

They all nodded.

Except for Bacara, who raised a hand like he had a question.

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is about blowing something up—”

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“No loud noises.”

“Fine.”

Just as you leaned in to start your descent, a distant buzz and then a crash echoed from the other side of the fortress wall.

Everyone froze.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. “That wasn’t us, was it?”

You didn’t answer — because right then, Anakin skidded down the slope, cloak half-burnt, covered in dust and grinning like an idiot.

“Hey!” he called, too loud. “Good news! I found a side entrance—”

A siren wailed.

Turrets rotated.

Searchlights snapped to life and started scanning the cliffs.

You turned, face blank. “Did you trigger an alarm?”

Anakin pointed behind him. “Technically? The droid did.”

Rex, next to you, groaned into his gloves. “We’re all gonna die.”

Kenobi was already getting up, lightsaber in hand, perfectly composed as chaos exploded below.

“Plans change,” he muttered. “We improvise.”

“Oh yes,” you said flatly, drawing your blaster. “Let’s all just improvise our way into a heavily armed Separatist base. That’s definitely how I planned to spend my day.”

He gave you a look as you both started moving down the slope.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said over the rising noise, “I never thought I’d see the day you would be the voice of reason.”

You ducked behind a boulder, covering the cadets as they followed in. “Yeah, well, someone has to be the adult while your Padawan’s off starting a land war with a power converter.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You could always take him. Add him to your little army of foundlings.”

You gave him a flat look. “I already have five too many.”

Behind you, Fox tripped over his own boots and nearly bowled into Cody.

Kenobi raised an eyebrow.

You added: “And they bite.”

————

Inside the base, it was colder than the mountain winds outside — all durasteel corridors and flickering lights, the buzz of power conduits echoing through the walls like a warning.

You crouched behind a support pillar as another pair of droid sentries clanked past. The group had slipped in through the broken emergency access hatch Anakin had accidentally discovered — half of it still smoldering from whatever he'd done to override the lock.

You turned to Obi-Wan in a sharp whisper. “Splitting up is a terrible idea.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your foundlings run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your cadets run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“Your kids,” he said smoothly. “And as you’ve reminded me — foundlings are expected to fight.”

You clenched your jaw. “They’re not ready for this.”

He met your eyes. “Neither were we, once.”

That stopped you cold.

He lowered his voice, just a touch. “They need the experience. He needs the responsibility.”

You looked across the corridor — to where Anakin was gesturing wildly with his hands, trying to give the cadets some kind of whispered briefing. Bacara was clearly ignoring him. Wolffe already had a stun grenade in hand.

You exhaled through your nose. “If they die—”

“They won’t.”

You gave him one last glare, then looked back at the boys. “If anything goes wrong, scream.”

Fox raised a hand. “Like—?”

“I will hear you. I will end whoever hurt you. Just scream.”

The cadets nodded, suddenly a lot more serious.

Anakin gave a quick salute. “We’ll meet you back at the east exit.”

Obi-Wan glanced at you. “Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes and moved out, both of you slipping into the shadowed hallway like water down a blade.

———

Your part of the mission was quick and clean. Every step was coordinated — you swept forward through dark halls while Obi-Wan silently disabled security systems, his movements graceful and lethal.

You’d never worked with a Jedi like this before — and you had to admit, it was… oddly satisfying.

No words were wasted. He moved, you moved. You dropped a droid with a blaster shot, he caught its partner’s blaster arm mid-swing and twisted it clean off. The two of you cleared the detention block in under four minutes.

“Cell 14,” Obi-Wan said, checking the datapad he pulled from a guard’s belt.

You were already unlocking the panel.

Inside, the senator’s daughter was scared but unharmed — pale, dressed in rich fabric, bound at the wrists.

“I’ve got her,” you said, pulling her close and cutting the ties.

She stared up at you. “Who are you?”

You gave her a faint smile. “Someone your mother owes a drink.”

———

Elsewhere, it was less smooth.

Anakin’s plan — and you used the word plan very loosely — had apparently included sneaking into the droid depot and causing a “small, contained distraction.”

That turned into blowing up a weapons rack, stealing a tank, and getting stuck in a three-way chase down the hallway with spider droids, sirens, and Wolffe yelling, “I SAID I WASN’T GONNA BLOW ANYTHING UP, BUT THEN HE HANDED ME A DETONATOR—”

“I thought it was a flashlight!” Anakin shouted back.

Rex was clutching the controls of the tank like his life depended on it. Bacara was on top of the thing firing wildly and screaming gleefully. Cody and Fox were halfway hanging out of the hatch, shouting directions and laughing hysterically.

“THIS IS NOT STEALTH!” Fox screamed.

“I’M DISTRACTING THEM!” Bacara grinned. “DISTRACTION MISSION SUCCESSFUL!”

“DEFINITELY not ready,” you muttered, back with Obi-Wan as you made your way to the rendezvous.

You could hear the tank before you even saw them.

Obi-Wan glanced sideways at you with a completely straight face. “Would now be a bad time to say you were right?”

You stared at the smoke trail in the distance. “I hate you.”

———

The escape was… a mess.

They made it out, of course. Somehow.

With a half-destroyed tank rolling in front of the group as cover, explosions at their backs, and Anakin cheering like they’d just won a podrace, the cadets had sprinted across the canyon with blaster bolts chasing their heels.

You’d covered the senator’s daughter with your own body the whole way.

Kenobi had deflected shot after shot, graceful and impassive, the calm center of a storm.

Once they’d finally cleared the base and reconnected with the ship, you spent the first ten minutes pacing the ramp with your helmet tucked under your arm, muttering curses in three different languages.

Then, after a full headcount and emergency takeoff, you finally collapsed into a seat in the main hold.

Everyone was quiet.

Even Anakin.

The cadets sat in a circle, scratched and bruised, letting adrenaline drain from their systems. You watched them from your spot, arms crossed, boots heavy on the floor.

Cody was staring at his hands like they didn’t belong to him.

Fox hadn’t said a word.

Bacara was still grinning, but it was thinner now.

You leaned forward, voice low. “You all did good.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you.

“Not perfect. Not clean. But good,” you said, and your voice softened, just a touch. “You followed orders. You adapted. You survived.”

Wolffe swallowed, eyes flicking to the floor.

You stood, stepping forward, and placed a hand on the back of Cody’s neck — warm and grounding.

“You saw war today. The real thing. Not just drills. Not just training. And you all made it out.”

There was silence again.

Then Bacara mumbled, “Even if Skywalker tried to kill us all.”

“I heard that,” Anakin called from the cockpit.

“Good.”

You turned toward the boys again. “Rest up. You earned it.”

As they started to settle into sleep wherever they could — curled in corners of the hold, some using their packs as pillows — you moved quietly to the front of the ship.

Kenobi was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the stars pass through the viewports.

“You think they’re alright?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

He glanced at you. “They will be.”

You tilted your head. “So. What happened to your ship, exactly?”

He didn’t blink. “Mysterious failure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sabotage, maybe.”

“Right.”

“Couldn’t possibly have been someone crash landing our ship.”

You sighed. “You Jedi are the worst.”

“I get that a lot.”

———

You hated the smell of Coruscant. Too clean. Too bright. Like chrome and false smiles.

But the senator’s estate was quiet, at least. High above the clouds, the landing platform was bordered by hanging gardens and silent droids, the building towering like a temple to wealth and secrecy.

You disembarked with the senator’s daughter at your side — safe, whole, and grateful.

The senator met you personally, eyes shining with relief. They pulled you into a tight embrace and whispered, “I owe you everything.”

Then they looked at your five cadets, lined up neatly and looking everywhere but directly at the senator.

“These boys…” the senator said slowly. “Are they—?”

You cut in smoothly. “Foundlings. Mine.”

A pause.

The senator raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. They’re… sharp. Disciplined.”

“Lucky genes,” you said, smiling coolly.

Behind you, Fox was mouthing don’t say anything at Wolffe, who was visibly biting his tongue.

The senator looked thoughtful. “You know… there may be a place for them in security, when the time is right. We could find funding. Official channels.”

Your blood went cold.

But you smiled anyway.

“I’ll think about it.”

The senator nodded, clearly meaning well — but clearly dangerous.

You filed it away. Another warning.

They were not ready to be seen.

Not yet.

That night, back on the ship, the boys sat on the floor around you again, waiting for your orders.

But you just looked at them — really looked at them.

Wolffe’s bruise under his eye. Rex’s busted knuckles. Bacara’s scraped cheek. Cody’s silence. Fox’s slumped shoulders.

You said nothing at first.

Then, softly: “You did good.”

Five sets of eyes flicked up.

You gave them a small nod. “Get some rest. More training tomorrow.”

“Yes, buir,” they all said at once.

And you didn’t correct them.

Not this time.

————

Kamino had never felt this quiet.

Rain still lashed against the glass corridors. The white lights still hummed. Clones still trained, marched, sparred. But the air carried a tension now — tight and sterile, like the Kaminoans were watching every step.

Because they were.

The cadets noticed it first.

Extra cameras in the mess hall.

Silent observers hovering near the training chambers.

One of the newer units mentioned being taken aside and scanned after sparring.

And then, there was the way the five field cadets were treated.

Rex, Cody, Bacara, Fox, and Wolffe.

They were whispered about now — envied, doubted, even resented.

Rex heard a pair of cadets muttering behind his back in the armory.

“Think they’re better than us.”

“Just ‘cause they left Kamino.”

Bacara caught a shove in the hallway.

Fox started training harder, angrier.

You noticed it — how they stuck close together now. A small, tight unit. Good for war. Bad for brothers.

You were in the middle of correcting Bacara’s form during a sparring drill when you saw Jango watching from the overlook.

He didn’t call out to you. Just tilted his head, a silent signal.

You followed.

He was leaning against the wall in a private corridor, arms crossed.

“They’re pissed,” he said, voice low and steady.

You didn’t need to ask who.

“The Kaminoans?”

He nodded once. “Didn’t like you taking your cadets off-world. Especially not without their approval. You rattled their control.”

You leaned your back against the wall, arms folded. “That was your idea.”

He huffed a short breath of amusement. “They’re already talking about locking down field excursions. Increased isolation protocols.”

Your jaw tensed. “They’re kids. Not droids.”

“They’re property,” he said bitterly. “According to Kamino.”

You looked down at the floor, teeth clenched.

“They’re more than that,” you muttered.

He gave you a look. “Then you better teach them to act like it. Before this place eats them alive.”

————

Later that day, it happened.

Two cadets shoved Fox after a sparring match. Said he thought he was too good for the rest of them now.

Fox didn’t fight back.

But Wolffe did.

Cody pulled him off before it escalated, but not before everyone saw.

The whole training floor went dead silent.

You walked into the middle of it.

And no one said a word.

You turned, looking around at all of them — rows of half-grown clones, armor scuffed, breath caught.

“Line up.”

They did.

All of them. Even the ones still panting from the fight.

You stood in front of them, helmet tucked under your arm, rain streaking down the windows behind you.

“I’ve been too soft on you.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

You raised your voice.

“I wanted you to feel like brothers. I wanted you to find your names. To find yourselves. But that doesn’t mean forgetting what you are.”

You started to pace, slow and sharp.

“You are soldiers. You are Mandalorian-trained. You are disciplined. And above all — you are loyal.”

A pause.

“Not to me. To each other.”

They watched you like they were trying to breathe your words in.

“This?” You pointed at the dried blood on Wolffe’s lip. “This jealousy? This division? It’s not strength. It’s weakness. And weakness gets you killed.”

You stopped walking, facing them head-on.

“I don’t care who went off-world. I don’t care who hasn’t earned a name yet. You are brothers. And from today on, the training gets harder. The drills get longer. The expectations rise.”

A long, steady beat.

“Earn your place. Earn your name. Earn each other.”

No one moved.

No one dared.

You dropped your voice just enough.

“This is your warning. Tomorrow — the real training begins.”

You turned on your heel and walked out.

Behind you, they stood taller.

Silent.

Together.

————

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[darthasterisk]

Here's a two-pager from the photobook since the two Claptrap photos are related. They were part of this little photo story I had where they would go around recruiting other robots/droids to join their One-Eyed Brigade

Orignally posted: August 30, 2014 | August 23, 2014 | January 1, 2015 | March 21, 2016 | January 21, 2014 | December 21, 2016

Figures:

4.5" NECA | Borderlands | Claptrap aka CL4P-TP | Released in 2012

7" NECA | Borderlands | Gentleman Caller Claptrap | Released in 2013

7" NECA | Team Fortress 2 | Pyro (BLU) | Released in 2013

7" NECA | Portal 2 | P-Body | Released in 2014

7" NECA | Portal 2 | Atlas | Release in 2014

3" NECA/WizKids | Portal 2 | Sentry Turret | Released in 2012

1/6th Scale ThreeZero | Mass Effect 3 | Legion | Released in 2015

1/12th scale Hasbro The Black Series | Star Wars | Sandtrooper (Corporal) | Released in 2013

1/12 Scale Hasbro The Black Series | Star Wars: The Force Awakens | BB-8 | Released in 2016

3.75" scale Hasbro The Saga Collection | Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back | R2-D2 (Battle of Hoth) | Release in 2006

3.75" scale Hasbro The Saga Collection | Star Wars: Return of the Jedi | C-3PO (Battle of Endor) | Released in 2006

See other pages from my Toy Photography Photobook

[7x7-arayendian-sigils]

Clans of Arayend - Notan

The first head of the clan, Notan Warin, founded it after the end of the Rueand War, in which the Khaganate Space Empire fought to take control of Arayend's moon, Rueand, meaning to desecrate it, mining out hallowed metals and crystals dear to the Arayend people. Notan's family, clan Warin, were traitors to the planet and its people, and he opposed them, being a great benefactor to the Arayend's victory in the conflict. After denouncing his family, he changed his sigil, starting a new clan in his name, as is tradition.

His former sigil, that of the Warin clan, with the signature seal at the top right, was replaced by a new, original design.

Notan's new sigil symbolized his strife in the Rueand War, and the monolithic, stable foundations of the future to come.

Notan had two children, son and daughter, Adidius and Newa.

Adidius became the head of the clan after their father's passing of old age, a family which then consisted of him, his sister, their partners, and each one's children. Adidius upheld to his father's legacy, and showed himself a fantastic starfighter pilot. His ship, Delta-Star, bore his insignia on both wings, painted orange - The color symbolizing justice. Adidius protected the planet from many pirate conflicts, being a part of the space sentries guarding the Arayend system.

His sigil was that of his father, with the only alteration being the framed star in the corner - The one he was named after.

Newa was just as great of a pilot as her brother, but was shielded from major battles, as he feared to lose her. In a great assault on the space frigate of Taan Cip, a pirate baron trying to establish a spice trade route through the Arayend system, Newa's spaceship (not named or called in any particular way) was hit head on by heavy blaster fire; The then young Notan second elder's cockpit was decompressed, and a heavy metal combustion caused severe explosive damage to her lower body. Despite this, the woman survived, albeit losing her legs, and hearing.

The experience has made her insecure in her own skill as a pilot, causing her to quit spaceship operation beyond most basic flights. After Adidius' life lost in sacrifice facing the dread pirate Jiri Kolaman, Newa led the Notan clan for long 43 years, before dying at the age of 104.

Adidius had two children, Tari and Icarus. While Icarus led an unremarkable and responsible life, Tari became a prodigy. She honored the clan, but not her father, destroying countless Khaganate remnants all on solo missions in her Red Crow spacecraft.

She fell ill at the age of 50, and died in less than five months after infection. Some speculate it was poison that killed her, but truth is considered to be that the adventurous and otherwise unkillable woman was "Cut down by life itself on purpose, for if she wanted, she could kill the galaxy twice over". Tari had no children, but owned a droid named "Hardtack" AN5-65, which still lives in the ancestral home of the Notan clan, the Swiftwater Valley Mansion.

Tagonlotair Notan, and his twin, Youan, were both sons of Newa and a mysterious father of whom history doesn't mention much. Both twins grew up to be great politicians, and used their dual nature in various, sometimes scandalous, schemes. Replacing each other, playing a bigger game than others expected of them, manipulating knowledge of facts and secrets in their favor when dealing with outsiders to Arayend.

Tagonlotair owned a plasma sword which he named Moon Priest. With this sword, he carried out the beheading sentence of khan Kang Til, pretender to the Khaganate Space Empire's throne. The act was accepted by both Arayend people and the Khaganate; Kang was too dangerous and cunning to be kept alive, and was missed by no one.

While the left-handed Tagonlotair mastered the sword, Youan became a somewhat-known right-handed marksman with the handheld blaster. He, too, knew his way with the plasma blade, but never became as sophisticated as his twin.

Their sigils both portrayed the rose flower, symbol of politic proficiency. Youan's sigil was marked with a star, referencing their uncle, who taught the lad spaceship flight together with planting the seed of blaster mastery.

Wayora Notan was Tagonlotair and Youan's younger sister, who for long years have worked as a mercenary in the inner rims of the galaxy, bringing some notorious reputation to the family name. Her spaceship, the Steel Glove, was sabotaged, and her hyperspace drive compromised, by a rival bounty hunter named Nere Myrca. For ten years, she was trapped in hyperspace, one moment stretching an eternity of consciousness, before finally breaking free by mere chance, and found a month later, thrown at incredible speeds by an accidental gravity sling around the Iroku-VI black hole. Rescued by her twin brothers' efforts, she settled down in the Swiftwater Valley Manor and spread what wisdom she had with the younger clan kids - But not before finding Nere, and doing cruel, but just, alterations to the novorasian's physique, making him into a decoration for the manor's vaults. Her Steel Glove has been used by many Notan teens as a training ship, before being crashed beyond repair by the grandson of Tagonlotair, Akitam.

For a generation, peace ruled over Arayend, before the Holy Tajna Empire started the foolish and short Humiliation War. No particular Notan individual has arisen in the time being.

Akitam, grandson of Tagonlotair, has become the leader of the starfighter brigade on the spearhead of Arayend's counterattack effort. While his father Ioff didn't show great leadership as a head of the family, Akitam inherited the clan head role soon after. Together with the Etour clan, he fought back the invaders, and send a message by personally sparing the life of Pope Durak after he and his men slaughtered the religious zealot's entire crew. It showed the Tajna empire forces how meek they were against Arayend might, causing the end of the war.

His sigil portrayed Rueand, and its mirror image - How his ancestors fought for the moon of Arayend, and how he did.

Meanwhile, the granddaughter of Youand, Sadia, has become known in the whole major outer rim after being at the side of Ani Emig at the Battle of Nemphys, where the Khaganate Space Empire was destroyed completely once and for all. Sadia became distanced from the clan, and bid farewell to the Arayendian culture whatsoever, cutting ties, and leaving with Ani for the unknown regions. Her only legacy to the Notan clan she left behind, besides a great deal of respect from the galaxy, was a small argon time crystal, put in a pendant. The relic is kept until this day at the Swiftwater Valley Manor.

Her sigil was notable for using the symbol very similar to natural color marking on Ani Emig's left shoulder, a cross of four parts with a star in the midst. "Destiny-crossed lovers", was said of both women.

After the Humiliation War, Akitam's son, Arebetius, soon took the mantle of clan elder, and expanded the estates in the Swiftwater Valley. His role in life, he said, was "preservation of memory", and it is by his efforts I have been able to compile this overview of the Notan clan lineage.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 20: Robotics

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Mikey moans as he wakes with a headache. His nose is stuffed up and his limbs are plagued by a dull ache. Donnie is by his side in an instant, smiling at him as he presses a glass of water to his lips, forcing him to hydrate.

"Good morning, Angelo," he says.

Angelo? His name is Mikey...

"How are you feeling?"

Mikey groans wordlessly at him.

"You ready for some breakfast?"

"Mikey doesn't get out of bed today," he announces grumpily, pressing his face deeper into the pillow.

Donnie rubs his cranium, pressing his palm against Mikey's forehead as he checks for any remaining fever.

"Hmm. I guess you're right, you won't be getting out of bed today," Donnie states, placing the cup on a side table and turning the lights off. "You get some more rest and join us whenever you're ready, okay?"

Mikey nods with a yawn, shimmying deeper under the blankets and purring with contentment.

"Leo or Raph will be in with your memory medication from Draxum. But other than that, I guess nothing eventful or interesting will be happening today," Donnie says as he walks out of Mikey's room.

.

.

.

Professor Honeycutt is sitting in his lab office, silently working on a new droid design. This one is different from the other machines he's been forced to build while employed here. All the other designs were weapons, or used to create chaos, or made to hurt the experiments (with one in particular in mind). But this one will be a sentry guard. A protector. SENTRY AUTOMATIC LIFESAVER. He's nicknamed it 'SAL' for now.

The body of the machine is finished for the most part. He's still working on the arms, trying to create a spring mechanism that can cause them to stretch to extreme lengths without breaking. He'd also like to add the same kind of metallic-elastic springs to the legs, even though he's already finished with those. But hey, he doesn't mind working on them again! Anything to avoid the real thing that's stumping him.

Honeycutt is struggling with the robot's AI, specifically its moral center and higher reasoning. He never got around to finishing the moral center for the last AI he built, and now she's starting to unnerve him. He can program the three laws of robotics, but he knows that sometimes you need to make a decision that disregards logic. He's seen movies. They may be inaccurate, but he'd have to agree with a few of the points they make.

So he's procrastinating on the brain. Well, there is a brain in the head, but it doesn't have any information in it, apart from some basic codes for movement and functions.

Most days, Zayton doesn't even know why he's here. He joined the TCRI for the funding, plain and simple. The cause sounded good, and they would help pay for all his robotics and engineering. He had all the money and freedom he could ever want to 'play with his toys'. What could be better? He should have known it was too good to be true. After a month of getting to build whatever he wanted in a secret bunker off the coast of Buffalo, he was called in to help with some work in NYC. And now... he's stuck doing this. Building ice blasters and dart guns and training robots that fight you to the death.

He's a man of peace.

But lately, he's been confusing 'peace' with 'staying out of it'.

Honeycutt's phone buzzes. It's probably another order from Timothy, or Chaplin wants help with the A.LP.H.A. device, or something just as irritating and dangerous.

"Hello, this is Professor Zayton Honeycutt speaking."

"Hey, doc, it's Bishop."

Honeycutt drops his tools and quiets his voice.

"Ah, John. H-how nice to hear from you again... how are the plans for your -- ahem, 'mother's recovery'?"

The two of them have come up with a special code to talk about Mikey without attracting attention.

"We still don't have any information about her condition. But I think she's still with her 'extended family'."

Mikey is still hidden in the sewers with the other mutants like him.

"Have the doctors found anything?"

"Not to my knowledge. But I heard that they did an 'impromptu check-up', and I should be hearing more about that later."

They sent drones into the sewer tunnels. As to be expected.

"When do you suppose that they'll tell you the details of that check-up?"

"No idea. I get the feeling that I'll have to make some calls to a few nurses..."

"Well, if it helps, I could ask around."

Bishop's voice goes quiet.

"...Doc, I don't know if that's wise..."

"Why not? I built those dro-- ahem, I mean, I know a few nurses in the clinic. I could get some answers for you."

The line stays silent for a moment before Bishop answers.

"...Okay, Doc. Just... be careful."

"Of course!" Honeycutt chuckles nervously. "Don't even worry. But, eh, speaking of your mother, I was wondering how the 'quilt' she's sewing is coming along?"

The 'quilt' is code for their side project. Most of the experiments and actions of the scientists here are unsanctioned and illegal, covered up under all the red tape and paperwork and made to look as though they are for the 'greater good'. Bishop and Honeycutt have been working to find evidence of all the mutations and genetic experiments and legal workarounds that they've done here.

"I've been getting some more 'thread' for her."

Thread = Paper trails.

"Does she need any 'fabrics'? I know she was looking for some nice patterns, last time we spoke."

Photographic evidence of the mutated animals or krang parasites.

"She could use some later. But for now, she's worried that she might be overspending."

Bishop is afraid that they've attracted attention, he wants Honeycutt to lay low.

"Okay then. Tell her I said hello."

"Will do. And Doc? Really, be careful. I don't want you getting sick like my mother."

"...I thank you for the concern, John. It's very decent of you. But I should be fine. I'll look into the... ahem, check-up results for you."

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

The call ends.

Honeycutt exhales loudly, hoping that by the time all the used air in his lungs escapes him, he'll have also rid himself of the stress that lingers in him.

It doesn't.

Honeycutt lets S.A.L. rest on his desk. He stretches, cracking his spine and wrists before he walks out of his private workshop and into the halls. He could use an extra cup of coffee. He knows that he should try sleeping for once, but he can't really waste time right now. He has so much work to do, and now that Bishop recruited him he's busier than ever. It's a worthy cause and a noble sacrifice that he's more than willing to make.

Honeycutt walks through the halls, flinching at every door that opens and hurrying along his way. Every scientist that greets him with a wave or conversation starter, he simply hustles by them with a nod. He's never felt comfortable in this complex before, but now he's constantly unnerved.

Honeycutt shuffles into the elevator, down to the cafeteria to get a quick cup of joe, and back up to the security room. He considers stopping at the animal sections to see if he can grab any blood samples or photographic evidence... but Bishop is concerned, and the man has a surprising track record when it comes to following his gut. Maybe later... if he can find an excuse. A technical professor suddenly interested in genetics and bloodwork? Suspicious... but, maybe he can come up with some link between his work and the genetic studies... a robot that tracks DNA? Perfect! Only issue would be whether or not they'd buy it. A few might. But the big wigs in charge would ask questions. And Timothy and Chaplin might be against it, saying that none of the experiments can keep up against his tech thus far, so making a robot that advanced would be fruitless... he'll have to think of something else...

Prof. Honeycutt arrives at the security room, takes a quick swig of his black coffee for good measure, and then opens the door.

"Ms. Campbell," he greets flatly. "How are things?"

"Events are transpiring at a typical function and rate," she responds with a similar tone. "And I am working at full capacity, if that was what you were asking about."

"Thank you for the update," he says, moving beside her to watch the cameras. "How's the search for the escapee?"

"Still underway, but halted for the time being. Our drones discovered some odd wreckage in the tunnels, what looks like the ruins of someone's living quarters."

"Someone living in the sewers?" Honeycutt asks, feigning surprise.

"I detect sarcasm, unless I am mistaken," Ms. Campbell says, turning to look at him. "You knew beforehand about this?"

"Word gets around," he replies nervously. "I just wanted to know if it was true that there was something there. I'd heard that we were sending in drones -- and you know New York gossip, everyone thinks that there's some mysterious society of monsters living underneath us. And what with those mutants we've seen... I figured that perhaps one of them had made a shelter down there, possibly even our own little Mikey!"

Honeycutt realises that he's been prattling. It's a nervous trait. Ms. Campbell knows that. She can detect all sorts of tics and traits and habits and quirks. She has an incredible poker face, and she is a living lie detector.

She watches him, eyes analyzing every bead of sweat he creates.

"You are nervous."

"Q-quite so," he chuckles. "I'm just... concerned for Mikey."

That answer seems to satiate Ms. Campbell... for the moment. She turns around and starts to type something on the keyboard, and one of the screens plays glitchy feedback from a drone.

"Perhaps this will put you at ease, father," she says. "We found him."

Honeycutt watches in shock as a drone flies around the wreckage of a large opening in a sewer, complete with burst pipes, crumbled archways, and even broken down arcade games, though glory knows where those came from. On the walls are smeared paintings and spraypaint, words like 'cowabunga' and 'turtle power!' are scrawled across the stonework along with smiley faces, drawings of interesting action heroes and poses, and... what looks like portraits of turtles dressed as superheroes or ninjas. The drone flies through after looking around, hurrying down a corridor. After a several minutes of endless catacombs and passageways, it comes up to a light where the tunnels meet an abandoned section of the subways. The drone continues following a glow that leads to a secret hidden entrance. The drone presses itself up against the wall, waiting. After a few minutes, someone emerges from the door, peeking around. It's not Mikey, but...

"Is... is that...?"

"Another mutant creature like the escaped experiment, yes."

The creature looks down the halls nervously, before looking up behind him and shouting in fright as something dark green with yellow spots drops down on top of him. A flash of blue and the two vanish completely.

"What was that?!" Honeycutt yells, almost spilling his coffee as he moves closer to the video feed.

"Undetermined. But there have been reports of vigilantes that 'pop in and out' of crime scenes, fighting against the mutant outbreak. It is possible that he is one of said vigilantes," Ms. Campbell says. "And that is not all..."

Ms. Campbell speeds the playback to a moment several minutes later, when a human boy comes out of the entrance searching for something. He sees the drone and shouts, activating a high-tech chainsaw device and swings it at the drone, slashing it off the wall and shattering it completely.

"That was a human," Honeycutt says with hushed astonishment.

Bishop said that Mikey was with his 'family', so he sort of knew about the other mutants... but that was a human kid!

"I have been trying to run facial recognition on him to no avail," Ms. Campbell says. "He seems to have no identity."

In her voice, there is a twinge of disappointment, or rather, irritation with the failure. It shouldn't surprise him, he made her with the intention of resembling human in almost every aspect, so her exercise of emotions is not unprecedented. But the attitude, the dark personality lingering under the fake skin and steel grey eyes... that frightens him. Her AI was never completed, at least not in the ways he wanted. But she seems to be growing, evolving, learning. He didn't put that in there.

"Have... have you sent any more drones?" he asks, swallowing the nervous pit in his stomach every time he's with Ms. Campbell.

"Yes. But there seems to be some kind of electromagnetic field surrounding the area now, and any drone that crosses the threshold deactivates and short-circuits."

"Do we know why?"

"They mutants must be protecting their habitat," she states, going back to the original security footage. "But now that we know where they are, it is only a matter of time before we can discover more about their numbers and motives."

Honeycutt watches the screens at the bottom of the video stack, the ones with live drone feed. Three new devices are being sent to the previous drone's last known location. They fly up until a certain point before the feed warps into static and the drones crash, their live recordings die out with a high-pitched whine and crackle.

"I suppose I should contact Dr. Chaplin to make a new plan for the onset for the escaped experiment... Unless you have some theories, father?"

She still calls him father. All his creations tend to do that, he's noticed. But he's not sure how to feel about her calling him that. It feels eerie that she does, but the day she stops referring to him as such will be even scarier.

"I... couldn't say... p-perhaps I could create a device to counter the firewall?" he suggests. "Or maybe we could--"

The screens suddenly all glitch in unison, flashing quickly before turning a single shade of purple. Each monitor works in perfect harmony to create a large, singular image.

Professor Honeycutt steps back in shock. Ms. Campbell tilts her head slightly.

A series of words appear on the screen.

LEAVE US ALONE.

LEAVE US ALONE.

LEAVE US ALONE.

"Ominous," Ms. Campbell states calmly. "And quite interesting. I cannot say that the EPF has ever had any hackers before..."

The screens go dead, the room engulfed in darkness.

Before Honeycutt can say anything, a soft grey pixely static shows up on the screens, brightening the room again in time. The camera feeds return -- save for the drones, which still give no output nor input.

"I would say those vigilante mutants could be classified as hostile, wouldn't you agree?" Ms. Campbell says, turning to Honeycutt.

"Er, um, perhaps," he says nervously, loosening his shirt collar. "But you know me, I prefer to play the Switzerland of these mutant affairs. I'd rather stay out of it. I might suggest we do the same with these drones spies --"

"Why?" she asks, suspicion in her voice.

"Well, see... these mutants see us as an invading force. When an animal believes its habitat to be encroached upon, it will go to great lengths to defend it. These mutants may be doing the same thing, which could end badly for us..."

Ms. Campbell thinks it over.

"They have already fled one habitat," she responds. "So, in your scientific understanding, would they choose fight or flight over this new habitat they've created?"

"I-I'm not sure, animal science is not my area of expertise, but --" he swallows. "-- b-but I would assume that they would prefer to keep their new abode. Considering the lengths they've gone to thus far, they will not give it up easily."

"Hmm. Then this shall be a challenge, eh, father?"

Ms. Campbell smiles cruely.

He's never seen her do that.

"Q-q-quite so," he mumbles as he stumbles out of the room. "I should head back to work now... s-see you later, Ms. Campbell..."

His hand shakes, splashing the coffee in his cup. He's had enough of this for one day... he needs to call Bishop.

Honeycutt may not have the gut instincts that Bishop does, but something is telling him that things are about to get a lot more dangerous...

Prev || Next

[robcoopz]

Jedi: Survivor: Imperial Droid PNGs

[inkformyblood]

hey there darling

Obi-Wan x Cobb Vanth, ObiCobb. Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon The Mandalorian and Kenobi Show. Canon Era Star Wars. Post-Order 66

Ben drags his fingers through the warm puddle of his own spilled drink, considers the irony of trying to drown his sorrows on a desert planet, and presses his sleeve into it instead. It won’t make a difference on the slightly sticky residue on the cantina countertop, but it would keep the droid from circling back to hover over Ben’s small kingdom of empty cups for the third time since the stranger took up sentry at his elbow. 

He hasn’t drunk nearly enough to do anything other than bleed limply at the man’s chosen line of questioning. 

“Why?” Ben asks instead of answering. He selects a cup at random, pressing the pitted rim to his mouth, and tips his body backwards with a single fluid motion. There’s nothing but dregs left, the sharp sense memory of whatever moonshine had been poured into it, a whisper of another’s touch hot on its heels. He shoves the cup back amongst its fellows with a sigh, sliding his gaze along the countertop to the man.

He’s a tangle of wire drawn thin and taut, the tendons splayed over his knuckles carved into stark relief as he leans closer to Ben, one arm propped on the counter, the other tipped over the harsh angles of his thigh. His fingers trace over the fraying edge of a patch at his knee, the stitches holding up where the fabric doesn’t. “I need a reason?”

“Most people do.”

“Darlin’, I’m not most people.” 

Ben laughs despite himself, a harsh exhalation as he tears his gaze away to survey the rest of the cantina once more. It’s an obvious habit to anyone who would care to watch for it, the man’s gaze searing a deliberate hole through Ben’s temple, but not out of place in a cantina that’s just enough off the beaten track that the majority of its patrons are labourers or freed slaves. Here, Ben is just another rat in the nest, dismissible, forgettable. 

“Oh?” Ben draws his arm up from the countertop, the line of his forearm damp as he folds his hands into his lap. Again, the actions of another man, the death throes of a corpse that hadn’t been able to rot. “You will want to find someone more interesting than me to talk to.”

The man leans closer, starving for the space Ben has just seceded. His stool scrapes as he drags it closer, his arm braced against the countertop, his knees bumping against Ben’s thigh when he halts the motion firmly intertwined in Ben’s orbit. There’s intended flattery in the action, Ben hasn’t been removed from the world for long enough to forget this particular dance, and Ben considers giving in. It would be easy enough to brush his fingertips against the man’s, to lean a little closer into the scant space between them, to ghost a kiss over his mouth that’s cracking beneath the desert heat and taste the sharp bite of whatever he had been drinking moments before. 

“I think,” the man says, lengthening his words into a smooth drawl, his grin a shade too sharp to hide the way his gaze flickers over Ben’s face, “that you are plenty interesting. So, will you let me get you another drink?”

He’s young, desperately so, or maybe Ben is just far older than he had ever expected to be. 

There’s a faint scar at the nape of the man’s neck, his hair not long enough to cover where it branches around the junction of his shoulders. Ben’s gaze fractures there, studying the man beneath the sweep of his lashes, knowing he’d already made his choice the moment the man slung himself into the seat next to Ben and grinned at him so tentatively sweetly. Metallic dust lines the cracks of the man’s palms, a faint shimmer over the sharp line of his cheekbone where an old bruise heals sour and yellow, and some dust clings to his temples in a mimicry of the silver already bleeding through the red. His eyes are dark, something hopeful clinging to flotsam despite the rising tide. 

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

There’s that grin again, wide enough to fracture at the edges and shake some debris free from the fragile foundation Ben has been trying to maintain. The man stands in a lopsided slide, his leg braced against the crossbar of the stool as he leans his hips into the counter to brace himself as he waves both hands at the Twi'lek further down the cantina. “Two Sunrise mixes, please, Finu?”

The Twi’lek, heavyset and all the more smug because of it, sets her hip against the counter as she surveys him, her lower lip indented between her lower teeth as she assesses them both. The man huffs out a laugh, a flash of gold at his mouth, and he plucks a chip from a pouch at his belt and spins it over the flat of his knuckles before he drops back into his seat, his attention locked onto Ben once more. “Cobb Vanth.” He offers Ben a hand, barely a tremor threading through his outstretched fingers and Ben, helpless to stop the knife from boring deeper into his chest, thinks of Cody. 

“Ben,” he answers, taking Cobb’s hand in his own. It’s an easy pantomime to fall back into, to twist their joined hands so he can press a kiss to the gnarled surface of Cobb’s knuckles, tasting the ever-present salt and grit of the desert there. Looking up from beneath the sweep of his lashes, Cobb’s cheeks burn pink, the colour invading the exposed shells of his ears. There’s a pale scar through one lobe, near invisible against his tan skin but highlighted through his blush. It’s sweet to have him so besotted already when Ben is nothing special, just another body amongst hundreds.

(Cody had been another clone amongst thousands and Obi-Wan would have known him deaf and blind, Force-forsaken and dying.)

The man in front of him is not Cody, Ben knows that. However, Cobb carries with him the strange sense of being lost in time that the clones had, too old for his years and too young in action, and he looks at Ben the same way that Cody had, like Ben had hung the suns in the sky and stirred the stars in to fulfil a request. 

Intoxicating after half a lifetime of denial. 

It wouldn’t go further than a drink. Ben squeezes Cobb’s hand carefully, releasing the other man as he straightens back into his watchful perch, with a snapshot of his attention still locked onto the door behind him. Off the beaten path did not mean invisible, and the Empire had caught better Jedi than him from less information than a passing resemblance. Just a drink and an instance of delirious what-could-be to keep Ben human for the next decade. 

“So, darlin’,” Cobb says, coughing as he rights himself on his seat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

Cobb hands over the chip to Finu before their drinks touch the countertop of the bar, a smart way of working, and Ben grabs at his own. It’s strong, a generous allocation of cactus juice to cover for the bite of spirits, and Ben sips at it as Cobb picks his own up, dragging his finger around the rim before he tips his head back to drink it. It’s half-empty when Cobb emerges, his cheeks flushed by his own actions, a sly twist to his grin. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

“My darling,” Ben answers, echoes of a man he can no longer be in his voice. “You have no idea.”