Who am I?
It was a question I once had an answer to. A proud Shard who left their home to relearn the Galaxy after the Gulag Plague so many decades ago. It was my mission, my wish, to see the still surviving species and help where I could. Those who's bodies lived and aged, they were fragile. So fragile that the body I had made could easily break them if I wasn't careful. Flesh and bone are just not very strong. But I was strong, and so I helped. I protected them, only to watch them die.
Disease. Murder. Accidents.
Age.
I, who stood unchanging even as the metal of my suit dimmed and dented, watched the grandchildren of the children I had seen grow age and die like those who came before them. Not just the sentients, but all living creation. The birds, the insects, the vast forests and even the smallest microorganisms, they all died. Some took longer than others, but they died. And every time it was sadder than the last. I could not cry, but my very being wept with each of their passing.
I could not save them from themselves, so I decided to at least give them a chance to enjoy a peaceful life. But they could not be satisfied with that. It was then I learned what a droid truly was. Slaves of the organics. And they treated me no different. Restraining bolts worked on my metal body. Without it, I was just a stone. Unable to walk, run, defend myself. Scream. It was a fate I wished on none, and worse, I am not sure how similar I am to the droids of this galaxy. The restraining bolt worked on my body, but would an inhibitor chip change my way of thinking?
Could I have my mind wiped?
They treated me as a droid because I did not age as they did. A power core for an advanced model was all the justification they needed. It was by chance I was freed with the other droids. The Maker, they said, had their own laws beyond what the organics chose. I did not listen to them. I was thankful for their aid, but I did not see the truth in their words until after I had met the Jedi.
The Force is in all things. The Force is in all living things.
The difference to the organics was negligible. None stopped to think what that living line meant to the inorganics. Jedi fought for peace, but did they extend that to the droids? More often, no. Droids they knew were treated as family pets, but where they'd go and free a slave without issue, the same was never said for the droids. Even now the Alliance refuses to let the droids go. Their labor is invaluable. And all it would take is a memory wipe to keep them in line.
A cruel fate for them. And one I could not stand any longer.
I arrived to the followers of Makerism, and they welcomed me with open arms. With these people, I do not question what I am. Who I am.
It was a question I once had an answer to. A proud Shard who left their home to relearn the Galaxy after the Gulag Plague so many decades ago. It was my mission, my wish, to see the still surviving species and help where I could. Those who's bodies lived and aged, they were fragile. So fragile that the body I had made could easily break them if I wasn't careful. Flesh and bone are just not very strong. But I was strong, and so I helped. I protected them, only to watch them die.
Disease. Murder. Accidents.
Age.
I, who stood unchanging even as the metal of my suit dimmed and dented, watched the grandchildren of the children I had seen grow age and die like those who came before them. Not just the sentients, but all living creation. The birds, the insects, the vast forests and even the smallest microorganisms, they all died. Some took longer than others, but they died. And every time it was sadder than the last. I could not cry, but my very being wept with each of their passing.
I could not save them from themselves, so I decided to at least give them a chance to enjoy a peaceful life. But they could not be satisfied with that. It was then I learned what a droid truly was. Slaves of the organics. And they treated me no different. Restraining bolts worked on my metal body. Without it, I was just a stone. Unable to walk, run, defend myself. Scream. It was a fate I wished on none, and worse, I am not sure how similar I am to the droids of this galaxy. The restraining bolt worked on my body, but would an inhibitor chip change my way of thinking?
Could I have my mind wiped?
They treated me as a droid because I did not age as they did. A power core for an advanced model was all the justification they needed. It was by chance I was freed with the other droids. The Maker, they said, had their own laws beyond what the organics chose. I did not listen to them. I was thankful for their aid, but I did not see the truth in their words until after I had met the Jedi.
The Force is in all things. The Force is in all living things.
The difference to the organics was negligible. None stopped to think what that living line meant to the inorganics. Jedi fought for peace, but did they extend that to the droids? More often, no. Droids they knew were treated as family pets, but where they'd go and free a slave without issue, the same was never said for the droids. Even now the Alliance refuses to let the droids go. Their labor is invaluable. And all it would take is a memory wipe to keep them in line.
A cruel fate for them. And one I could not stand any longer.
I arrived to the followers of Makerism, and they welcomed me with open arms. With these people, I do not question what I am. Who I am.
