Private Blade-n’-Blaster

[Lirka Ka]

Paperwork. Paperwork. Paperwork. That is what Lirka had come to loathe about her job as the chaos of the Galaxy came rolling in. She wasn’t particularly unfamiliar with paperwork, she had been a Grand Moff back in the days of yore and that certainly had its fair share of bureaucratic drivel to drown in. Yet, Lirka knew better than to let negativity consume her. The Sith kept rather nice collections of documents on the various fellows that filled up their ranks, Lirka had certainly read her own file a handful of times.

It was not pretty.

Yet it also provided that certain…motivation. Lirka was a hunter at heart, one of the many predators stalking their way through the political landscape of the Empire. Many of the current lot would gladly focus their attentions towards the favor of those already sitting pretty within their power bases, Lirka had certainly been guilty of it before. She had quickly learned to rectify it. Sephi lived a long, long, time - with that fact in mind, Lirka instead focused her mind towards the future. The rising stars. Those that could become something grandiose with the proper guiding hand.

So did she begin this next bout of examinations to the legions. The troopers that filled up the expendable bulk of the Sith-Imperial army - with her paperwork now thrown off to some poor aide Lirka decided it was time for a little roadtrip. Meetings were a very important thing after all, and with the Ministry of Order at her back she could whip up any excuse she wanted to get one.

She’d certainly done it before.

One CT-312 had become her target today. The trooper had become something of a regularity in her last couple of outings serving the good Sith-Imperial cause, and after the third time? Well it would simply be bad form not to at least learn a name. She had already been making the acquaintance of some of the other warriors, and after the display on Malgus and Serenno this “312” had seemed to evolve into quite the star of the show.

The set up had been much the same, the guise of interview for the Ministry of Order to make sure all things were operating with lawful intent instead a warrior’s brain. As if Lirka cared about such a thing. What it really meant was a chance for Lirka to flex her political muscles, get herself a spartan office set up devoid of cameras and listening devices. Send out the summons, and learn. Oh how she loved to prod, to understand all these whirring gears that made this Empire turn.

And now, she waited. A hulking metal goliath behind a desk far too small for one of her war-like stature, datapad in hand already clicking away at nonsense to make herself seem more busy than she actually was. Impressions were important after all.

 

[CT-312]

//: Lirka Ka //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: Vibroblade Knife//:​

Orders came down in a way they always did. Efficient, curt, and impersonal.

:// Report to Ministry of Order //:
:// Designation: Interview //:
:// Summoner: General Lirka Ka //:

CT-312 had to read it twice.

She wasn’t unfamiliar with mission briefings, squad realignments, debriefs, or disciplinary panels. Her file wasn’t exactly clean. CT-312 had seen it once. Half the reason it was so thick was because she kept getting written up for things that worked. Pages of disciplinary actions, field complaints, and command transfers. Half commendations, half court-martial threats.

Her service is solid, but on paper? Questionable.

And now? A summons. Interview. By General Lirka Ka. The name Lirka Ka wasn’t one that could be easily forgotten. Cutting down opponents like it was an afterthought. Radiating warlike authority. CT-312 had seen plenty of officers and higher ranking officials with delusions of grandeur. All talk. Never willing to put themselves on the line. General Lirka didn’t need delusions. She was grand. In the most terrifying, reality-affirming way. A warrior.

CT-312 respected that.

But under something called “Ministry of Order…” CT-312 frowned behind her helmet. No idea what even that meant. Was that the same branch as Minister Lowe from the Crimson Wake operation? That Imperial Clergy type with the hollow stare and a voice full of judgement?

Was this the same group? Or something else entirely? Either way, she was being pulled into it now. This was new. And unsettling. CT-312 preferred to keep a low profile. Still, the question stuck in the back of her mind. Why her?

Not used to being summoned and always just sent to the isolation cell or detention center. What was the protocol anyway? CT-312 checked her armor, making sure it was clean from the dirt and grim. Leaving her blaster in the locker, as required. The lack of the weight made her uneasy. She slid her vibroblade into the sheath at the back of her belt. Technically not against regulation.

CT-312 stopped at the marked door. Knocked. Stiff and professional.

Hiss…

The door slid open. There she was. General Lirka Ka. Seated behind a desk far too small for her bulk. A walking tank of burnished metal, busy tapping away at a datapad like some overqualified secretary. CT-312 had to fight the corners of her mouth from twitching– helmet or not, the image was absurd.

As she entered, CT-312 in her camouflage armor stood at attention. Spine straight, boots locked, hands behind her back. From their brief encounter, she remembered how the General had greeted her before.

CT-312 brought a fist to her chest in a warrior’s salute.

“CT-312 reporting as ordered.”

 

[Lirka Ka]

Troopers made for such an interesting gaggle, infinitely more unpredictable than the machinations of the Sith that Lirka had become so accustomed to in her veterancy. An unburdened sort in their own way, all they needed to do was follow orders to escape the ravenous self-interest that consumed all Sith in time - yet it was the free thinkers that always drew in Lirka's watchful eye. Every tally against CT-312 in her record served only to motivate the Once-Sephi's clawing tendrils to reach out further.

Upon Holy Rhand, the wretched Sorcerers valued their ability to scry the future above all else. While Lirka herself may scorn such prophetic gibberish, she most certainly kept her mind focused to the future. The prospects, those people that flooded the Empire that danced upon the edge of potentiality. All Lirka desired was to push them over that edge, to guide them to the Dark Path she followed so feverously. As politicking went.

Glowing slit-lenses watched the form of the trooper as she entered, a look over once, twice, a check for weapons, posture, and every little thing that Lirka could pull out in a moment. Lirka understood the absurdity of her current situation well - it had been intentional. Better to add that smallest veneer of unassuming humor to cover the malicious edge that followed the Once-Sephi wherever she went. Putting the pad down to the table now, Lirka felt it was only proper to match the salute with her own.

It was a quaint thing to see. A gesture rarely shared these days, yet far more importantly it exemplified why poor 312 had caught Lirka's wandering eyes. The warriors, the fighters, the bedrock of Sith-Imperial expansion and the gears that allowed the Empire to turn - the girl represented it well, and with such a life came certain...perspectives the Once-Sephi most certainly would enjoy to coax out.

Among other things. It had become something of a curiosity in the back of Lirka's mind, hearing the trooper speak once again - did this one actually even have a name?

"At ease, Warrior."

Lirka spoke with a perhaps uncharacteristic casualness, today she wore the mask of an unfortunate woman stuck doing a job she hated. Let her true intentions ooze out the ichor that ran through her veins, a slow reveal of purpose. Casualness and exacerbation mixed quickly in her ploy as Lirka quickly went over what she was "officially" here to do.

"This is a routine checkup on behalf of the Ministry of Order in response to some of our recent bouts against exceptionally horrific enemies - we are making the rounds to see if any of the Warriors deployed have been put into a state of...unpredictability. Tarnished minds we can not trust with ordinance, so on and so forth."

It was of course, a wonderful excuse for Lirka to start digging into what these bedrock of Sith-Imperial power actually thought.

 

[CT-312]

//: Lirka Ka //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: Vibroblade Knife//:​

CT-312 watched the General closely the moment she stepped inside. Both of them were fully armored, helmets on. An odd mirror of one another. It added to the surreal weight of the moment. When General Lirka Ka matched the gesture, it was unexpected. It just added more to the surreal weight of the moment.

"At ease, Warrior."

She gave a short nod. Shifting into a more relaxed stance. Not by much though. CT-312 remained alert. The kind of alert that never really turned off. Her body eased, but her thoughts stayed sharp. Eyes behind the visor not only observing the General, but the office’s surroundings. Hearing the words again:

Ministry of Order.

Not liking those words still. It sounded like a trap disguised as a protocol. And now this? A “routine check-up”? This was definitely a first for CT-312. As General Lirka Ka spoke of warriors becoming “unpredictable”, that cannot be trusted. Unfit for command or a blaster. She didn't move. Her Camo Scout armor held rigid, but her thought churned. A subtle furrow creased her brow beneath the helmet.

‘I’ve always been thorough.’

CT-312 followed mission parameters with precision. For the most part. Sometimes she’d had to get creative, but the objectives were always met. Main objectives, side objectives, field eliminations. When a trooper snapped, going AWOL, cracked under pressure or fear. She handled it. That’s what she was ordered to do at times. It was part of the job. Quiet, clean, necessary. Having the weak soldiers that would crack facing ‘horrific enemies’, especially when it was something even she couldn’t fathom. Those Troopers were liabilities. CT-312 would have none of that. That would jeopardize the mission as a whole.

‘Was it not enough?’ her mind raced, quickly replaying the last few missions. Every execution, every cleanup, while completing the main mission objective. She recalled the accounts of disposing of the liabilities. Had she missed someone? Did one of them slip through the cracks? ‘Is this what this is?’ An investigation disguised as a ‘routine check-up interview’? A way for the Ministry of Order to probe her judgment, under the guise of concern?

Logically it didn’t track. If someone had doubts, they’d just toss her into another cell or dispose of her. But now… a one-on-one? Not just with anyone, but with General Lirka Ka? A name that carried weight, blood, and battlefield presence? The uncertainty gnawed at her.

Or maybe…. This wasn’t about others at all.

Did the General think she was ‘Tarnished’ and could not be trusted? CT-312’s jaw clenched beneath the helmet. Was that it? Someone who couldn’t be trusted with a weapon? The thought stirred something sharp in her gut. Offense, irritation, insult. The Scout held it down. Normally she would’ve silently struck out, but buried it beneath layers of discipline. Now was not the time. Letting it settle cold instead of hot.

Taking a slow breath. CT-312 spoke, her voice came out low and steady, modulated through the helmet. “If there were any unsatisfactory marks from any of my last deployments General, I’ll accept responsibility. If I missed a liability… a Trooper who should’ve been put down. I’ll be more thorough next time. My methods aren’t always clean, but the results are consistent.”

She paused. Letting the truth settle in the air. “Is there something in particular that raised that concern?”

CT-312 already knew the answer. ‘There always is with me...’ Her previous command, even the DeathDrop command never seemed satisfied. There was always ‘another box’ she didn’t check. Another ‘angle’ or detail she didn’t do to the tee or within regulations. It didn’t matter if the job was done. Not really. It was always her fault.

“As for these so-called ‘exceptionally horrific enemies’? That isn’t my problem, General.” CT-312’s tone was flat and sharp. “I was made for the mission, General Lirka Ka. Whatever it is— I get it done.” Her eyes narrowed, not in anger. But in conviction. The kind that couldn’t be taught in a briefing room or squeezed into a clean service record.

CT-312 wasn’t asking to be understood. She was reminding and telling this ‘Ministry of Order’ who she was.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Helmets, masks, everything in between. They were far from an uncommon thing among the Sith, the dangerous game of hidden expression and masked emotions. A reliance of words alone, the removal of identity till one only became the metal they wore upon their visage. It was a life Lirka had lived for a long, long, time. So in the moment, she would let the weight of surrealness hang upon the two's meeting - Lirka loved little more than to flex her metaphorical weight to cause vague discomfort.

Everything the clone did was studied by the emotionless slit-lenses of Lirka's marred mask. The alertness, a killer's edge. It was a beautiful thing to see, the sort of potential that Lirka hunted for so viciously in this Empire with the Ministry of Order at her back as a veneer. A concept that amused the Once-Sephi to no end. Order...such a meaningless, fleeting thing. The ministry would declare itself a tool of justice and peace, but really Lirka understood it was little more than another veneer for the Kainate's slaving ways and the perpetuation of the grand suffering the Sith declared "Order".

Lirka wouldn't have had it any other way.

Had the monstrous slaver been a mind reading, she would have been even more pleased with herself at the tumult in mind of CT-312 . Chaos was everything, the what-could-be and what-was-done. The raw potentiality of violence and the grim teacher that was mistakes...yet mere torment was not Lirka's purpose today. She was guided by a far more resolute purpose - understanding.

Lirka listened to each word out of the trooper's mouth in silence, a small grin growing beneath her helm. Good. An acceptable enough answer from a warrior who wasn't quite as...slimy as her usual preference.

"Your consistency is far from in question, Warrior. Not from me, you have survived longer than most and battled things well beyond one of such meager stature. I do not care for clean, it is the clean that drag us down. The dirt, the grime, the unwanted and broken things are what win wars after all."

The dark things that slipped through the cracks, those were the beings Lirka coveted. A guiding hand to herald the worthy into a form most suitable for the inevitability of a Darkness Primordial. Lirka spoke with a calm beneath that thick alien accent, a friendliness that, regardless of intent, came as a cold thing: a sheathed knife waiting for the moment to strike. But such was Lirka Ka. For she was a monster forged of the mercilessness of murder and war, friendliness only got one so far in Sithdom.

"Concern? Far from it. You're interesting, little Warrior. A potentiality. In my long life I have come to understand one must keep their eyes focused on what may rise in the future rather than what stands tall in the present. I see potential, yet I see a woman who talks like a droid and wears a name like one: I'm sure the Empire is very proud of their three hundred and twelfth warrior made for the mission."

Lirka leaned back, with her seat surprisingly still standing. Her datapad now placed before them, with the screen down.

"Nobody is listening today, warrior. It is just you and me. I too am a thing that was made, and yet I am compelled to question: You were made for the mission, but what is it that you want? What does the mind compel beyond what they grow and train?"

And like always, Lirka Ka was a monster that prodded and probed. Knowledge was the ultimate tool of power after all.

 

[CT-312]

//: Lirka Ka //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: Vibroblade Knife//:​

CT-312 listened. Attentively. Every word General Lirka Ka spoke was weighed, measured, and filed. Her visor never wavered, though behind it her eyes shifted subtly with each vocal inflection. Every micro-pause. This interview, assessment, whatever this is. It was one CT-312 that refused to fail. But it wasn’t about her performance…Then what?

There was truth in the words that Lirka was speaking. Grime and dirt won wars. Those who refuse to believe that, clearly lived in ignorant bliss and never once truly understood war. The wars fought ‘cleanly’ rarely make it to the end. It was the unwanted, the broken, the ones who knew how to disappear into the cracks. Those are the ones that lasted. Those are the ones that tip the scale and change the tide of the wars and battles fought. Those willing to dirty their hands and soul.

Her mind flickered through brief memories of underhanded missions. Missions classified beyond black. CT-312 hadn’t just survived. She adapted. Improvised. Done what needed to be done. There was no glory. No report. Just results.

She stayed silent as the General continued. It felt like Likra was probing something deeper. Studying the tone. There was something too smooth about it. Like a vibroblade sheathed in silk. It came off as friendly, but laced with something colder.

Interesting
Potentiality

Tugged at something dormant in CT-312. She blinked twice, processing the words. Feeling her brow twitch beneath the helmet. ‘Interesting, was it?’ The Camouflage Scout Trooper knew she drew looks. People noticed her. Not out of admiration, but in confusion. Her armor didn’t match, not the standard colors of the Sith Empire. Sticking out like a sore thumb. The matte, storm-washed charcoal. Jagged stripes of muted earth-tones layered over. Armor with scratches and dents, it wasn’t pristine. It came off as unsettling. Mismatched. It was not designed for the clean walls of the ships or the marble of the Empire’s polished installations, but for warzones.

‘Potentiality?’ That one made her pause a little bit longer. CT-312’s rank hadn’t meant much before the DeathDrop. Low. Unspectacular. A shadow in a squad that barely knew her designation. Just another file in the background. But now that she thought about it… since joining the DeathDrop and being deployed to multiple Sith operated missions. The missions itself started to get darker, deeper, and bloodier. CT-312 supposed she had been climbing the ranks. Silently, without ceremony. She didn’t keep track. Never had.

Now Lirka was here. Calling her a potentiality. CT-312 didn’t like that either.

It meant being seen.

The comparison to a droid grated at her. Something small, but sharp. ‘Talks like one… wears a name like one…’ CT-312’s silence deepened. What was the difference between a droid and a clone anyway? Built, programmed, numbered, and disposable. Technically… not much. Except, maybe… choice. Or at least the illusion of it. That sliver of rebellion that whispered when orders didn’t feel quite right.

Both brows raised in a slight amusement of the thought of the Empire being proud. ‘Funny.’ General Lirka Ka was darkly amusing. CT-312 was a number. One in an ocean of numbers. The Empire wouldn’t blink if she vanished. Cogs didn’t get eulogies.

Nobody is Listening today, warrior. It is just you and me.

CT-312 didn’t believe that for a second. There was always someone listening. Call it paranoia. Or maybe training. ‘Same difference.’ Something in the General’s words gave her a pause. She too was a thing that was made. Curious.

What is it that you want? What does the mind compel beyond what they grow and train?"

CT-312 stiffened.

Instantly her mind reacted, polished responses that were drilled into her tongue. That left no room for doubt or error.

‘To serve.’
‘To fight.’
‘To finish the mission...’

‘...For this karking meeting to be done and over with.’

But even CT-312 knew better. Fists curled slightly at her side.

‘Of all the damned questions to ask.’

The Camo Scout didn’t respond at first. The silence between them stretched. It wasn’t empty, but taut. Like the pause before CT-312 pulled the sniper rifle’s trigger on a target. Her breath was slow and even behind the mask, her face betrayed nothing. Keenly observing her target. No twitch of the finger, no glancing away. She was still as stone.

But inside?

Inside, something shifted.

What do you want?

Echoed in her mind. The question gnawed at her. It was not what the mission needed. Nor what the Empire required. But what she wanted? Her mind blanked. What was there without the mission? What filled the silence?

General Lirka Ka wasn’t asking as a part of the Ministry of Order. She was a presence that might want to rip open the Scout to see what spilled out. Her question came out dangerous. Provoking the whispers of self-awareness that CT-312 had spent years suppressing and burying.

“Want… is not of protocol.” She said finally, her voice low and flat. Metal against metal. It was a shield. Flimsy and Transparent. CT-312 kept her voice level. “I was made to follow. Built to bleed. Wanting… was not supposed to be part of it, General.” Letting the moment pass just long enough to seem thoughtful and not evasive.

Tilting her helmet slightly, “...What about you, General? You said you were made too… What do you want?” CT-312 was now curious about General Lirka Ka, being something made just like her. But want? She didn’t have answers. But she can still ask questions.

 

[Lirka Ka]

To exist was nothing but a series of challenges to overcome. Battles. Life. Even things as simple as a conversation between warriors, each dancing with the razor's edge of carefully weighted words. Lirka understood she represented the dangers of the commanders, those who would cut out failure at the mere sight of it.

Lirka did not need to cut out failure. The Primordial Dark would do that on its own. Failure was a teacher, a way to improve. To cast aside the weakness that exist put upon the worthy if one was only willing to learn. What was Lirka but another teacher at the end of the day? A guiding hand in eternal darkness, she would had walked the miserable path of power and would now share in the bounty of knowledge that she had gained in her agony. Sometimes with subtlety, other times with blazing fury.

Yet dirt and grime was but a framing, a distraction from the truth of it. She knew CT-312 was a warrior, of that there was no denying. Why would she bother framing it any different than the holy garden that was the battlefield? Dirt and grime were beyond mere victory though. The struggle, the scraping and scampering born of living on the edge where petty morality became secondary to the mere act of survival. Well, that was all but godly. It was where power blossomed, where the Dark Path would always begin.

The girl was wise. Lirka certainly was something deeper than a mere pencil pushing stooge working for "law enforcement". She was a believer. A preacher. A guiding hand driven by dark ambition born from endless underestimation. Belief born of agony, suffering, and the unburdened vision of a force dead monster.

Yes, Lirka had seen 312. Lirka saw many things. She was the lenses that stalked in the night, watching, waiting, observing, pondering. So much of the ministry of order laid at her fingertips, and with that came the power of the surveillance state. She saw everything non-standard about his newest quarry, but Lirka coveted that which was different. Epiphany had come to her by the grace of her "marriage" to Carnifex, to understand that the guiding hand of an Eternal Mother must reach out to all that was different and guide them upon the path of...productivity.

The girl thought of rank, but rank meant nothing to Lirka Ka. All were warriors, at the end of the day. And the praise a warrior earned was by action alone, not the meandering politics that came with the task of rising up the ranks of the legions. Lirka had certainly done enough politicking for a lifetime - and she certainly wasn't done yet.

Lirka adored the simple questions of self, for they offered the most pertinent insight she could ever desire about the many faces that filled this current Empire. Who to track, who to disregard. So on, and so forth. Lirka most certainly wanted to rip the woman's mind open, to dissect it like it was just another slab of meat brought into her labs - another thing to contemplate and consider.

Three decades had Lirka been trapped, left to ruminate on her own self-awareness. To unlock the thoughts in her mind, to allow her mind to grow beyond the unenlightened state of being she had walked for so many years prior - it was agony. It was a miserable thing. It was the strongest force that would ever compel her forward, for Lirka had many missions. Yet one was particularly simple: she would share her agony with as many people as possible.

The response was not unexpected, yet was unsatisfying all the same. More prodding would be required, it seemed. Or...motivation.

Then she laughed, a humorless thing.

"BAH! What is protocol but the shackles for those too feeble to think for themselves? Do the greatest of us burden themselves with protocol, or do they pave their own path? Forge results from dirt and grime!"

Yet she did not allow herself to fall totally to dismissals, the clone had spoken. And words were a thing to be carefully considered after all

"What is supposed to be, and what is, are two very different things, warrior. I am supposed to be dead. I am supposed to be a shackled brutish thing, yet, I sit here before you alive and of my own volition: a curious thing, no?"

What did Lirka want? It was a curious question with many answers. Lirka ka coveted many things in this Galaxy of theirs - yet to ask the Once Sephi a question was to invite another, unspoken, question. Would she lie, or would she tell the truth? A question with no answer, for Lirka ka lied as easy as she breathed, and told the truth just as often.

"To see a Galaxy of the worthy. Such a vague thing, isn't it? But it is what I desire, ultimately. I am but a guiding hand, warrior. I let others see the path that appeared before me, a path of power to prove ourselves worthy before cosmic entropy that couldn't care less about us. I want to see how many in this Galaxy can do what I have done, and survive. A thought so far from protocol, no? What can become of the mind of things like us, wretched creatures born in vats and tubes, crawling our way to life of no choice of our own."

She was goading now, for Lirka Ka would never think so little of herself anymore. She was a masterwork of sculpted flesh, a new evolution. But this nameless clone didn't need to know that fact right now.