Last of the Southern Gentlebeings
Location: Vandelhelm - Confederate outpost
Objective: Patrol
With a soft clack Morgan moved through the Confederate base. It was located deep in a mountain on the planet Vandelhelm. Honestly, the base was more an observation post, and supply cache. It housed large servers that dealt primarily with data collection for the area. Comm logs, sensor readings, who paid who and the like. It also housed enough ammo and supplies to wage a war in the quadrant, should something go wrong in the vicinity of the former ORC. As such, it was primarily housed by droids. Normally, two tactical droids ran the place, and a handful of organic agents oversaw everything. See, it was a ‘secret’ that the based was heavily visited by the various “intelligence” agencies of the CIS.
Now, Morgan wasn’t one to complain. But he hated jobs like this. See, there were many of him. One was always with Little Jazzy. Frankly, that was his favorite job too. This far out, it was difficult to get real time connections to the other entities that made him up. They all had a general idea of what the others were doing, but it wasn’t like it was when they were closer. Besides, babysitting a low level target...it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Not to mention, the servers were “off limits”.
DRAM. Droid. It was almost an insult. The mechanical being moved off to the side, into a break room, where he took out one of his favorite cigars, lit it, and began to smoke it. A small slit in his faceplate opened up, he took it in, internal ventilators breathed the smoke in deep. Internal sensors analyzed the smoke in great detail. Ahh, Corellian. They knew how to do it right.
Many who encountered him, found his habits odd. He gained nothing from this action. He didn’t need it. He wasn’t able to be addicted to the nicotine either. However, despite their opinions, he could taste it, sense it, smell it, and it was an enjoyable activity as he focused on others more important things.
Far away on Geonosis, while it was hard to connect, he could see Jazzy. She was playing in a local park that was outside the complex. The assigned instance pushed her on a swing set. She was the most adorable thing in the galaxy. He was there for her. All the others protected her little world, by defending the CIS, bringing money back home, and making sure danger stayed as far from her as possible. He didn’t have the benefit to slack off. Each was part of a whole, and understood how they fit into it all. Still….
As he finished smoking, Morgan went back to work. Scanners searched for any unusual activity, and he searched through every passed droid for any sign of tampering, or anything else worrying. Hands went into the pockets of his officer's coat. Colonel. His abilities had earned him a fairly decent rank. It was odd to think about. He doubted any other government would have allowed such a thing.
Then, something odd began. It started quickly, a flutter in his programming. Immediately defenses came into play, shielding the AI from damage. Error…..error. “What…” The being’s deep, drawled voice exited the vocabulator. Droids began to show massive errors all around him. Immediately he extended himself, connecting to a group of nearby droids, and doing what he could to shelter them from whatever was happening. However, even under his protection, much of their programming became corrupted.
Photoreceptors swept the area, as the droids further became erratic. He traced the signal that was causing the issue to the server suite. Something had gotten captured there that was taking control. However...it had infected far to much. A twitch, it was trying to spread. His metal legs rushed quickly, he ran through crowds of erratic droids. It was strong enough to over power much of the protections the CIS had placed in, after damned virus had nearly taken control of the entire army.
There was only one thing he could do for now, slow it down. He needed time to figure out a fix. The main transmitter needed to be shut down. He had no clue how the droids would react once fully infected. As he passed, he attempted to shield as many as he could, to slow down the spread. All four arms extended from his coat, two held onto blaster pistols, in case they were needed. Upon reaching the heavy armored door to the main transmitter, Morgan pushed in a security cylinder. That static in his mind was growing. It was difficult to communicate with the others...so he stopped trying. It would be more telling in this scenario if he stopped transmitting to the others altogether. The door opened and he rushed in, with the intent of shutting down the transmitter so it didn’t escape to the rest of the world.