Subject: MSgt Ontanas, Alexander

Designation: DG-08__216

Date: 11-6-REDACTED__\\

Experimental use of 'intelligent possession matrix' on Dreadguard Eight approved by the Monitor. Results were less than satisfactory. Eternal details attached to document...



The Intelligent Possession Matrix was our attempt at perfect evaluation of mental health in organic patients. It operates in a manner similar to Artificial Intelligence used by many organically in this era, as well as the running progress that keep our people functioning. 'Book' as his brethren call him was implanted with the matrix during augmentation.

The Matrix allowed us to record the thoughts and emotions displayed by Book any time he is in the vicinity of the High Architects. The technology has not been perfected, and the effects it has had on Unit Eight have proven it is far from perfected.

Analysis of latter issues is included in the document below. Here Unit Eight's thought processes, feelings, and memories have been recorded by the matrix interlinked with his FoF implant. Needless to say, this breaches every privacy law in the books.

This research is to remain highly classified until a time deemed by the Momitor and his council.

Play Logs__Y/N?__

Book stumbled down the flight deck of the Ge'hutuun. The massive fighter bay was devoid of life; only the sleeping spacecraft remained to greet the lone Dreaguard.

A swirling vortex of a thousand colors that the human mind could never hope to categorize stared at him just through the transparent bay shields. The myriad of colors swirled achingly slow, like the last few turns of a propellor on a child's toy plane. It looked as if it might finally stop, but it had continued that sluggish rotation since the day Book had arrived four months ago.

The Architects' ship hung just on the edge of known space. This anomaly was an unnamed black hole of sorts, though it held a million colors rather than the midnight swirls of blue and ebony Book had expected of the legendaries rips in space.

He wore his fatigues; a simple gray shirts with black pants to match. At his belt hung his sidearm, a well balanced weapon called the Woebringer, and a long combat knife.

He wanted to see these shifting colors one last time before the chance was gone. The rest of the Dreadguard were celebrating life - the fact that so many had survived the Vong Shaping and the slight bodily augmentations was a miracle. That, or the the Architects just knew what to look for in their candidates.

It didn't much matter to Book anymore. He was supposed to be dead.

He WAS dead back on Drunkenwell, but the Architects had taken that choice from him. They'd found him, him resuscitated him, and made him into one of their soldiers. Shortly after he and his team were deployed to a world on the outer rim. They started a war there for the Architects. Thousands died in the fires, including a Jedi Padawan, and two of his teammates.

Despite the stories, Dreadguard were not invincible.

There were no happy memories to think fondly of in these last few moments. His name, his purpose, and his allegiance before Drunkenwell were lost to him. It was a side effect that occurred in a few subjects after the shaping was done.

The problem was, no one would tell him what he was either. Every time he felt he was getting closer to the truth, it managed to slip through his fingertips.

Now, without his team, what was the point?

Book strolled silently toward the shields. He came to a pause a pace or so away from the opening. Space beautiful in its violence. The sea of bright white stars in the distance, the swirl of colors before him, all were born from destruction. There was something to be said about that, but for once, Book found himself lacking the desire to be philosophical.

He ran a pale hand over his shaved head, and breathed a heavy sigh.

"Sorry Nick, Riley, this wasn't my gig."

The Woebringer felt uncharacteristically cold in his hand as he brought the weapon up to his temple. The frigid steel of the sidearm pressed into his pale skin, right against the vein of his forehead.

The Architects were powerful creatures, but they were not gods he couldn't be revived without a head.

The pistol's blaster pack clicked to indicate it was ready to fire. Book drew in a deep breath, and stole one final stare out into the void. The cascade of color reflected the sharp blues of his eyes and stole his attention.

In that moment of beauty, all the apprehension faded from his mind. The great weight that kept him from pulling the trigger suddenly lifted. There was nothing stopping him now. He did not need to be alone anymore, did not need to be a tool for a galaxy that he couldn't care less about.

A single snap echoed through the hanger, and Book tumbled to the floor.

Tests show the IPM has fulfilled its purpose. We can access memories, emotions, all the things that make a creature sentient with the push of a button. All we need to do is implant them with the chip.

The issue now is the memory loss, which was reminiscent in Eight and all other implanted Dreadguard. Depression and inability to cope are attributed to the implant's hindrance on the creation of Dopamine in the brain. We will overcome this error soon enough.

Eight survived his attempt. Security intelligence unit STANLEY tampered with his weapon beforehand, as planned. It was permanently set to stun.

We immediately operated, and Unit Eight recovered. In the process, our scientists helped to stabilize his thought processes. Though the IPM remains, I suspect Eight will prove to be a useful asset in the future.

The surviving Dreadguard will need a leader once the threat has finally presented itself, after all.