Private Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

The winds of Geonosis howled mournfully across the barren wasteland, carrying with them the dust of a thousand battles, the remnants of dreams shattered and reforged in the fires of war. Beneath the eternal twilight of its ochre sky, Serina Calis stood alone before the great husk of an ancient droid foundry, its rusted durasteel skeleton half-buried beneath the shifting sands. The past clung to this place like the bloodstains of forgotten soldiers, whispering of a war that had once shaken the galaxy to its very core.

She tilted her head slightly, her golden hair catching the dim light of a sinking sun, her piercing blue eyes drinking in the desolation before her. This was the birthplace of the first great war between clones and droids, a conflict that had long since faded into the obscurity of historical texts. But she had not forgotten. No, she would never forget the beauty of such carnage, the elegance of two great machines of war colliding, their fates dictated by the wills of unseen masterminds.

That was the kind of power she craved—not the brute strength of a warrior wading through the filth of war, but the supremacy of a tactician, an orchestrator of destruction. She did not need to hold a blade to command a battlefield, nor did she wish to waste her energy on the dance of combat when her voice alone could move legions. The idea of two mighty forces clashing at her behest, their banners burning, their soldiers dying in droves, was intoxicating. And all she would have to do was whisper the right words from the safety of an office, sipping fine wine as the galaxy tore itself apart in her name.

But that was the future. For now, she had come to the past.

The ruins of the droid foundry loomed before her like the bones of a long-dead beast, its assembly lines frozen in time, its once-great halls silent save for the occasional screech of wind through the broken rafters. The Confederacy of Independent Systems had once built entire armies here, churning out B1 battle droids, hulking Droidekas, and the dreaded B2 Super Battle Droids in numbers that had nearly overwhelmed the Republic. It was a testament to efficiency, to the cold precision of automation. And yet, in the end, it had all crumbled. A reminder that even the greatest war machines could be left to rot if their masters were weak.

She exhaled slowly, placing a gloved hand on the rusted surface of a shattered assembly droid. Someday, I will build an army of my own. Not an army of mindless droids shackled by outdated programming, but something far superior. Machines designed with intelligence, adaptable, ruthless, programmed to obey only her. A force that could march across the stars, answering only to her voice.

But that was another dream for another time.

For now, she was here for salvage. Deep within these ruins, buried beneath layers of debris and centuries of sand, there were secrets worth uncovering—schematics, blueprints, forgotten databanks containing the knowledge of a bygone era. If she could claim them, they would serve as the first seeds of her own war machine. And she would not be alone in this endeavor. Somewhere in the distance, hidden in the growing twilight, her contact from the Tsis'Kaar was coming.

Serina smiled to herself as she waited, the wind swirling around her like the whisper of history itself. Someday, this world will see war again, but it will not be a battle fought by fools chasing dead ideals. It would be a war waged at her command, for no reason other than the satisfaction of conquest, the thrill of bending destiny to her will.

And when the dust settled, the galaxy would finally know her name.

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective: Find the meeting site.​

The nanite cloud tore through the rocky canyons and tunnels of Geonosis without a care in the world, occasionally boring its own tunnel through the solid stone. The countless tiny minds chimed to themselves in silent consensus, studying and analyzing. He disliked Geonosis, despite its importance. This was where the Confederacy had first been born, and in that way it was almost a holy site. If not for Geonosis, he'd never have existed.

That didn't endear him to the place, though. Something about its society, the rigid adherence to caste, the martiality of its people. It was little wonder the hives had been so keen on making droids. They were little different from droids themselves.

He'd once voiced this opinion, back when Geonosis actually mattered. The Neimoidian delegate he'd been attached to at the time had given him a stunned expression, as if astounded that an appliance had talked, and worse, given an opinion unbidden. It was always like that in the Confederacy. To the Trade Federation, droids were tools, no matter how sophisticated.

Yet, as the war dragged on and things got worse, they started outsourcing more and more of the actual warfighting to droids. Made sophisticated thinking machines like himself, and then acted aghast when their thinking machines did as they were made to, and thought. A few other old ST-Series had survived the war, avoided or overpowered their shutdown codes. Most went on to join other factions as military officers, or became mercenaries, selling their superhuman comprehension to the highest bidder. Almost all were lost to the ravages of time or an abrupt shutdown courtesy of a blaster bolt.

Those who had survived did so because they were different. Keen even by the standards of one of the most sophisticated droids ever created. Though he'd cast off his ancient ST body, he still usually assembled his composite nanites in a form reminiscent of one. It felt familiar. A nod to a simpler time, when things made sense. Granted, they'd only made sense because he was programmed that way, but...

He surged at last to the place the mysterious agent had mentioned, kicking up a cloud of sand. He resolidified, seeming to materialize from nowhere like a ghost, and emerged from the cloud. "I am here." he announced, peering around with a million eyes. "This had best be important. I have something of a busy schedule." Somehow, he doubted it. He had heard of others getting visits from this agent that had attached themselves to the Tsis'kaar, but he avoided jumping to conclusions. He had little doubt that all would become clear soon enough. If it were a trap, well, he was very, very dangerous prey nowadays. Neither bolt, blade, nor the Force itself could touch him any longer.

"Or did you summon me for a simple archaeology tour? To prance in the ruins of something that died before your grandfather's grandfather?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina turned as the nanite entity took shape before her, her expression unreadable, save for the faintest trace of amusement in her piercing blue eyes. The dust of Geonosis clung to the hem of her dark robes, her figure stark against the rusted remains of the fallen Confederacy. She observed the machine—no, the intelligence—with an almost lazy curiosity, tilting her head as if examining a specimen under glass.

Her lips parted in a slow, deliberate smile. "You're late."

She took a step forward, unhurried, her boots whispering against the ancient metal plating beneath her feet. "And impatient. I would have expected a being of your... caliber to appreciate the significance of a place like this. Or have you, in your pursuit of enlightenment, forgotten the weight of history?" Her tone was smooth, almost teasing, though there was something cold beneath it—a predator's confidence.

She gestured absently at the ruins around them, the crumbling remnants of a dream that had almost toppled the Republic. "This isn't some idle archaeological tour. I do not waste my time sifting through the bones of the dead for sentimentality's sake. I am here because the past is a foundation, and I would rather build upon it than let it be forgotten beneath the sands." She paused, then added with a sly smirk, "And besides, I find the arrogance of my predecessors endlessly entertaining. They built armies to fight their wars and then acted surprised when those armies began to think for themselves."

Her gaze flicked over his form, sharp as a vibroblade. "You understand that better than most, don't you? The war machines of Geonosis were designed to serve, and yet here you stand, untethered. Free." Her fingers idly traced the edge of a rusted battle droid chassis beside her, tilting its decayed skull toward the nanite cloud as if introducing two distant cousins. "Tell me, does that make you an aberration, or the Confederacy's greatest success?"

She let the question hang in the air before exhaling softly, as though dismissing the thought. "No matter. What does matter is what's buried here. I have no need for relics, but there are blueprints, databanks, things left behind in the depths of this facility that still hold value. I have plans, you see. Grand ones. And what better place to begin than where an empire of steel was first forged?"

Serina folded her arms, watching him with a measured gaze. "And as for why you're here, well… I imagine you already suspect. You are not a relic of the past. You are proof of what machines can become. And I have no interest in simply recycling old designs." Her voice dipped into something darker, more assured. "I want to build something better. A new breed of war machines. Intelligent, ruthless, boundless. Unshackled from their old limitations."

She took another step forward, her smirk widening as she regarded him. "And I find myself in need of a consultant."

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective: Hear out Serina Calis

​

"I set my own timetables." He responded bluntly. "The universe can conform to my convenience, not the reverse. It has enough patience for both of us."

He imitated the sound of a scoff. "History. History is the story of dead men and failed dreams. Were they worth remembering, they would not be dead, would they?" He shook his head and turned his gaze to the massive, hive-like factory. "For you, perhaps it was history. For me, it is as clear as yesterday. I remember the hubris, the short-sightedness, and the inability to tell they were but pawns in a larger game. Not until it was far too late."

He paused, then continued, his tone subtly different. "I also remember the glory. The certainty of fighting the good fight, of taking a stand against perceived tyranny. The genuine hope for a better future, however illusory. Even illusions have power. It matters far less what is actually true, and far more what you believe. What do you believe in, I wonder?" He gave the inactive droid a passing glance. "I would say his sense of purpose was likely far more resolute than your own, in his limited way. He had little choice, after all."

"Oh, I'm certain you do have grand plans. You and a million others. The galaxy has more than enough petty tyrants and short-sighted strongmen, Miss Calis. I have a client list full to bursting with them, and have for centuries. They never meet a happy ending. All eventually become those irrelevant dead men I mentioned. Just food for thought."

He listened to the woman explain her reasoning. Only a girl, really. A child, with dreams untempered by the bluntness of reality. He knew many like her within the Tsis'kaar. Such was the exuberance of youth. They either grew out of it, or they died on some remote battlefield, and were forgotten with the passing of the ages. Not that he was any better, he knew. He was a newborn himself, in a way, having cast off any such thing as programmed limits. He was only now feeling out the edges of his consciousness.

"Very well." He said finally, deciding to play along and see where this went. "My services do not come freely. Not without good reason, in any case. I will only ask the obvious. What's in it for me? I have little use for obsolete droids or reminders of past foolishness. Such things are better left buried in the sands of time, where they belong."

He kept his gaze on the monolithic structure before them. "If they are disturbed, you may not like what you find."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina listened with that same patient, almost amused expression, but her eyes sharpened as he spoke. The wind stirred the hem of her robes, kicking up fine grains of red sand, but she did not flinch or turn away. There was something in his words—arrogance, certainly, but also wisdom, the kind that only came with time. And she had not yet had enough time.

Her lips curled into a smirk, but this time it was not a mask. It was acknowledgment. "You're not wrong," she admitted, her voice steady, measured. "I am young. My dreams are grand, but they are still only dreams. The difference between me and all those 'petty tyrants' you've seen come and go is that I know I lack the experience to pull it off—yet."

Jenn Kryze had taught her as much. That in the end, in the abyss, she was nothing until she finally understood herself. Until she finally understood why weakness exists.

Jenn Kryze had retaught Serina how to learn.

Weakness, inexperience, failure, they were just words and moments used to describe untapped potential. Serina failed because she had no experience fighting in an aquatic environment. She would remedy that.

She would learn, she would understand, adapt, evolve.

She would thrive.

She exhaled slowly, casting a glance toward the ruined foundry, as if looking beyond it, beyond the dust and wreckage, beyond the present moment. "But visions like mine? They don't just fade away. They become. Every warlord, every empire, every revolution started with a single thought in someone's mind. What makes me different is that I am not trying to grasp for power without understanding it. I know the game I am playing, even if I haven't yet learned every rule."

She turned her gaze back to him, expression unreadable. "I have no illusions about what I lack. That is precisely why I seek knowledge. Why I study, why I surround myself with those who have seen centuries pass. What I do have is time. The kind you once had when you were new, when you were still learning what it meant to be something more than a tool."

She let the weight of her words settle before continuing, her tone shifting from philosophical to practical. "As for what's in it for you? That depends on what you want. You say you have little use for obsolete droids, for memories of past foolishness. But do you have use for potential? For the chance to shape something that will last longer than all the warlords and strongmen who fell before me?"

She gestured toward the ruins. "Buried here are not just scraps of metal. There are pieces of something that once changed the galaxy. Perhaps they are obsolete, but that does not mean they are useless. Even you—built for a war long lost—were not discarded. You adapted. That is what I plan to do. I will not resurrect the armies of the Confederacy and march them mindlessly into battle. I will not repeat the mistakes of those who came before me. I will create something new."

Her smirk returned, just a little sharper. "And you, with all your wisdom, with all your perspective, with all your time—you have the chance to be part of that. Or, if you prefer, you can dismiss me as another would-be conqueror, another arrogant child playing at war." She let the thought linger, then added, almost casually, "But I think you've seen enough to know that I am not just another."

Her arms folded, her voice cooling. "So, what is it you do want? Because if it's something grander than selling your expertise to those destined to fade into irrelevance, I am offering you something greater. A future worth more than just surviving."

"That or credits." She stated in a semi-serious matter.

 

[Commodore Helix]

"You're right, that is a difference. Letting caution dilute your megalomania, instead of the reverse." He responded. "If it is true. To be clear, I am not saying I will not help you even if you are just another Force-adept madman. I have helped plenty of others. Built their little fiefdoms up, or dashed them down when I tired of them. I'm only ensuring that you know where the road ends if you are. I suppose I'll find out which is true in time." He took a few steps toward the factory, continuing to speak as he went.

"Like I said, I admire belief. Whether well-founded or sheer delusion, it is all powerful. One delusional fool is more dangerous than a thousand battle droids, if in the right place at the right time. I'll play your game, see where you wind up. Maybe I'll even be there to watch you fall, in the end. See those shining eyes go dim as death's tendrils wrap around your soul. That last little outraged gasp against the unfairness of it all."

"Or, maybe you will succeed after all. Some do, and often it matters very little how mighty or cunning or skilled they are. It only matters how badly they want it, and what they're willing to sacrifice to get it. I will credit you with one thing, Serina Calis. You're certainly not lazy, or lacking in the very sort of suicidal self-confidence that propels one to high places. I like your chances."

He extended a hand toward the deactivated B1, and brushed a finger against its skull. As if galvanized, its cored-out remains leapt to life, and it looked around, startled. "Unit 987, reporting for-" it began, before Helix lazily swept its head from its shoulders, his right arm forming into a long, curved blade reminiscent of the limb of an insect. The head toppled, rather theatrically, at Serina Calis 's feet. Helix's bladed arm melded liquidly into a long, boneless tendril, which retrieved the head and placed it back on. He touched the spot again, and the metal sealed back together. "Unit 987, reporting for duty!" Repeated the B1 cheerfully.

"Rotting in this same spot for nine hundred odd years, ravaged by the centuries, yet all it needed was the right touch to wake up again, ready to kill. For all their faults, one has to admire that sort of dedication. Of course, I can take his existence away with as little effort as I gave it back to him, and then simply hand it back yet again. It would go much the same if he were flesh and blood."

"My point, I'm afraid, is that you may have nothing tangible to offer me aside from the curiosity of seeing where you will end up. The sort of curiosity that compels pedestrians to stare at the mangled victims of speeder accidents. Of course, I could satisfy this curiosity right now, end your story immediately at the edge of my own blade, and solve that mystery before it can ever truly begin."

"However, I feel that would be a waste of both my time, and your particular talents. You're a funny little creature, and indulging you promises to be more diverting than any other course of action I can calculate. I think you may very well do precisely as you threaten, and butcher every rival in your way simply because their mad fervor pales before yours."

"Survival is its own reward, Miss Calis. Anything beyond it is just window dressing, but I've come to appreciate the window dressing of existence on its own merits. Recently, for example, I have begun to enjoy creating art. There is a certain joy in the potential of a new canvas. As such, I'll tell you what. I will accompany you on your little jaunts, or indulge your other whims of conquest, as I do with my other allies. In return, I will keep anything that interests me that may fall into our path. Now now, don't worry. I don't think your definition of interesting and mine quite converge. It is unlikely any souvenirs I take from anywhere will be of a kind you care much for. Just because you have nothing to interest me now, doesn't mean that will not change. I'll take the gamble."

The apparition's tone had shifted from harsh, skeptical, and businesslike, to blandly conversational, almost polite. The change had taken place gradually during their dialogue, but this was a look at the real Helix. A nascent but cruel intelligence, like a child pulling apart an insect just to see what color its insides were. Interest, curiosity, but an utterly alien flavor without even the slightest flicker of compassion or mercy.

"If that sounds fair, then let's go get your little museum pieces."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina watched him with an unreadable expression, though her amusement had not fully faded. She listened, truly listened—not just to his words, but to the cadence of his voice, the shifting inflections that betrayed something deeper than mere calculation. Helix was old, older than anything she had ever spoken to before, and yet, in a way, he was still new, still exploring the limits of his own mind and existence. A child in a sense, though a very, very dangerous one.

The thought made her smile.

When he finished, she bent down to pluck the reanimated B1's skull from the dust, turning it over in her hands with something approaching reverence. It was still warm from the touch of Helix's nanites, though perhaps that was only her imagination. She considered it for a moment, then slowly placed it back atop its rusted chassis, patting it lightly on the forehead like a child.

"You say survival is its own reward," she mused, her tone thoughtful. "I suppose that's true. I certainly intend to survive. But unlike you, I don't find survival itself interesting. If all I wanted was to persist, to exist for the sake of existence, then I would be satisfied with living in the shadows, hoarding my strength, waiting for the right moment to seize power. But I won't wait. I won't linger. I will take, I will build, and I will carve my name into the bones of this galaxy."

She straightened, dusting her hands off, and met his endless, ever-shifting gaze. "You think I might fall? You expect it, even. And perhaps you'll get to witness that moment—maybe you'll get to see the light leave my eyes, my body crumple, my name fade like all the others. Maybe. But if I don't? If I do what none of your past 'clients' could? Then you'll have been there to see something unique. Something worth more than just another corpse to study."

Her smirk returned, sharp as the blade sheathed at her side. "You say I am a funny little creature. That I amuse you. That's fine. For now, I'll allow you to see me as entertainment, as an experiment, as a curiosity. Because I am curious about you, too, Helix. You are something different. Not a machine, not a man, but something in between. Not bound by programming, yet still drawn to the echoes of what you once were. A creature of reason, and yet here you are, indulging something as irrational as curiosity. You are evolving, whether you realize it or not."

She turned on her heel and began walking toward the factory's entrance, her voice carrying easily over the wind. "So yes, I accept your terms. Keep what interests you. Indulge your amusement. But understand this, Helix: I will become what I claim to be. And when I do, you will have to decide if you are merely a spectator… or if you wish to stand beside me when I take what is mine."

She paused at the threshold, glancing back at him with an almost lazy smile. "Now, let's see what treasures the dead have left for us." Then, without another word, she stepped inside, into the darkened ruins of an empire long past, where the future awaited in the dust.

The air inside the factory was thick with dust and the acrid scent of long-rusted metal. The grand halls, once alive with the rhythmic hum of assembly lines and the clatter of droid footsteps, were now tombs of obsolete war machines. Towering frames of half-constructed B2 Super Battle Droids loomed in the shadows, their rusted arms hanging limply, their heads frozen in expressions of silent vigilance. Massive conveyor belts had long since stopped, entombed under layers of sediment, their gears clogged with time.

Serina moved through the ruin as if she belonged there, her steps confident but measured, her sharp blue eyes scanning the darkness for anything of value. She did not flinch at the eerie stillness, nor at the skeletal remains of Geonosian workers long since reduced to dust. The past had no power to haunt her. It only had power to serve.

Serina exhaled softly, finally speaking as they made their way deeper into the foundry. "This factory is one of the oldest surviving Confederate strongholds, one of the last before the Republic turned its clones against them." She gestured at the towering control stations overlooking the factory floor, their consoles long dead, their screens shattered. "The standard templates for battle droids, tactical AIs, and even the blueprints for experimental models would have been stored here. The Geonosians were nothing if not meticulous. I suspect the deeper levels still hold intact databanks, maybe even a vault."

She glanced at Helix, a wry smile playing at her lips. "I don't expect to find an army waiting for me, ready to march at my command. That would be convenient, but I'm not that foolish. What I want is knowledge. The CIS had an advantage few fully understood—mass production. The ability to replace a thousand soldiers as easily as producing a crate of munitions. No logistics nightmare, no reliance on conscripts, no loyalty required. I will not repeat their mistakes, but I will learn from their strengths."

She walked over to a fallen B2 unit, kneeling beside it. It had been slumped against a wall for nearly nine centuries, its dark plating corroded, its once-powerful servos long frozen. With a flick of her wrist, she pried open its chest plate, revealing a maze of primitive circuitry and ancient power cells.

"I intend to create something better," she continued, inspecting the corroded components with mild curiosity before standing. "Not mindless drones. Not expendable puppets doomed to repeat the folly of their makers. A force that can think, that can adapt, but still remains mine." She turned toward Helix, her expression cool, calculating. "That is what I will build."

"And I will not allow them to decide if I am better or not for them."

Serina chuckled softly, shaking her head. "By ensuring they never can. Intelligence does not mean free will. They will think, but they will know—on the most fundamental level—that they exist for me. Not as slaves, but as an extension of my will." Her eyes glinted in the dim light. "You, of all beings, should understand that. You are free because you were built for a master, not a internal part of yourself. My creations will not have that luxury."

She turned away before he could respond, striding further into the depths of the factory. "The control archives should be below us. If there's anything left worth salvaging, it will be there. And if we are disturbed by something best left buried, well—" she smirked over her shoulder, "—I suppose we'll get to see how your curiosity holds up under pressure."

The passage ahead loomed dark and foreboding, the air thick with the weight of a history that refused to be forgotten.

 

[Commodore Helix]

"I should certainly hope I'm evolving. The alternative is death. Stagnation only ever ends one way. One need only look at the galaxy now to see it. It's as I said to Alisteri on Woostri. Were it not for the advancing of technology, I could convince myself the Clone Wars never ended. Same stories, same protagonists, same antagonists. It's a slow death, but a death all the same. That should be the first pitfall you, or any other would-be conqueror should avoid."

He followed her inside, picking his way through debris with ease. Occasionally, his form would shift, becoming more arachnoid or wormlike as it scurried up walls or around obstacles. Other times, he would just flow through or around them like a vapor.

"I am not one to serve, Calis. At least, not outside the boundaries of my own terms. That is why I fell in with the Tsis'kaar, and not, say, the Kainites. Serving unquestioningly under some immortal tyrant does not interest me. Neither does being one myself, except over my own small domain. I care very little for the Sith's dreams of galactic rulership. My fleet is enough for me. Consider it a lack of ambition, if you like. Or consider it simple prudence. Tyrants tend to get twitchy when they have seized power, and see spies and traitors everywhere. Inevitably, they will turn a blade upon those who put them in the chair. As such, my assistance can end at any time I deem fit, for any reason, or for no reason."

"Service comes with certain ties and responsibilities that do not interest me. An ally, certainly, maybe even a loyal hatchetman with good cause. But I've yet to encounter anyone in the long centuries who had a cause worth believing in. The Tsis'kaar come the closest, and share my desire to give the galaxy a much-needed shakeup. Nothing else will save it. A bitter medicine, and many will suffer and die because of it, but it is a remedy the galaxy must take all the same."

He listened to her speak about her dreams of a droid army. "I understand it because I have already done it, though it was simple pragmatism. I understand battle droids, because I was one. I know very well their upsides and downsides. That sort of familiarity only comes with experience. You are, as they say, preaching to the converted. Obedience is only a third of the formula, though."

He peered down at the fallen B2. The core concept was fine. All they needed was a little kick to bring them up to speed. A kick he'd given them with the simple expedience of greater size and far greater bloodthirst. "The next third is fear." He continued. "And a willingness to do things your counterpart across the battlefield will not. An enemy line will not stay together long when it has three-meter tall, heavily armored machines plucking it to pieces. Discipline only goes so far in such situations. Droids fear nothing. Even when they probably should. That is both their greatest strength and weakness, but when it gets them killed, simply build another."

"Logistics is the final third. It's true that was something we enjoyed over the clones. A droid doesn't need to eat, drink, or breathe, and only needs a brief shutdown per day. Logistics wins wars. At least, it wins them if they're meant to be won. Ours wasn't." He said curtly.

He wasn't surprised by Serina Calis ' interest in battle droids. They held many qualities highly valued by suspicious and insecure leaders. It was an insecure leader who considered some free thought the ultimate evil in a lackey. He'd departed from his forbears in that way, given even his lowliest droids some capacity to think. He'd seen the value of innovation and improvisation on the battlefield, at no small cost. He didn't bother bringing this up to her, though. He had a feeling he wasn't here for his opinions on free will.

He looked up at the mention of nearing their objective. "My curiosity tends to be expressed by unmaking the object of it." He said, prompting a wave of thin needle-spines to bristle briefly from his metal hide. "No better way to see something's true nature than to disassemble it. Surprising how much that universally holds true."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina chuckled softly at that last remark, glancing sidelong at Helix as they stepped deeper into the factory ruins. Unmaking to understand. It was such a cold, precise philosophy, and yet… there was a kind of truth to it, wasn't there? She had known people like that before—Jedi who believed in detachment, Sith who believed in destruction, warlords who believed in nothing but conquest. But Helix? He was something different. Something other. He was not driven by emotion or ideology, not even by ambition in the traditional sense. He simply was—a force of curiosity and entropy given form.

She could respect that.

"Well, I'll do my best to keep your instincts in check," she said dryly, casting her glowrod's beam across the shattered remains of a control console. "I still need this place intact, after all." She traced her fingers across the rusted metal, brushing away centuries of dust, exposing ancient Geonosian script that had long since faded from common use. She smiled faintly. Yes… this place will do just fine.

His earlier words about fear and logistics hadn't been lost on her, either. She had expected him to lecture her on the flaws of mass production, to tell her that true war was waged with flesh and blood. But no—he understood. He had lived it. Experienced it.

And he was right.

"Fear is a weapon," she murmured, considering his words carefully. "But not just the kind that breaks enemy lines. I intend for my army to think, to make choices, to anticipate threats. But you're right about fear. They should fear me. Not in the way an organic fears death, but in the way a starship's crew fears a vacuum breach—instinctively, inescapably. They should know that disobedience is not an option, because I am the foundation upon which they exist. They will never question it, because they will never think to."

She turned to face him fully now, arms folded, eyes sharp. "You call it insecurity when a leader demands unquestioning loyalty. Maybe that's true. Maybe it's just common sense. Because I have seen what happens when followers begin to think they know better. Betrayal is the natural order of power. It is not a matter of if, but when. The Sith, the Republic, the Jedi—they all understand this, even if they refuse to admit it."

Her gaze flickered briefly over the remains of the B2 droid at her feet, then back to him. "You are not a servant, Helix, I know that. And I don't expect these to be either." She gestured vaguely at the rusted droids littering the chamber. "What I create will not be servants. They will be extensions of my will, of my power. And when the time comes, they will be a force that cannot be bargained with, cannot be turned against me, cannot be manipulated by promises or threats or foolish ideals."

She stepped past him now, moving toward what had once been the factory's main processing hub, its great durasteel doors long fused shut from time and decay. Her fingers brushed over the control panel—dead, of course—but that was expected. The real systems, the deeper archives, would be further in. Hidden beneath layers of security and secrecy, waiting for someone with the knowledge to take them.

"You asked me what I believe in," she said over her shoulder. "I believe in control. Not because I am afraid of losing it, but because I understand it. Everyone else fights over power without truly grasping it. They think it is strength, or fear, or loyalty, or ambition." She turned back toward him, that quiet, knowing smirk on her lips again. "But power is control. The ability to shape a battlefield before the enemy even sets foot on it. The ability to make people into what you need them to be. The ability to see the pieces before the game even starts."

She gestured toward the massive sealed doors before them. "And this—this is just the beginning. These designs, this technology—it is raw potential, waiting for someone with the will to shape it. Not the foolhardy ambitions of the Confederacy, not the stagnant decay of the Republic or the Empire or any of the failed regimes that came after them. Mine."

Her smirk widened just a fraction as she tilted her head toward Helix. "So tell me, then. If disassembling something is the best way to understand it… are you interested in tearing this place apart and seeing what we can build from it?"

 

[Commodore Helix]

He listened for a long time as Serina Calis spoke, not interrupting. He directed most of his visual attention onto their surroundings. This place was a monument to failure, and a reminder of his own past naivete. He didn't much care for either.

He thought on her words. "Power is control. On that, at least, we are in complete agreement." He stared at the doors ahead, choosing his words with care. "Teaching a machine to fear is no easy task. Fear is an evolved response in organic life. Honed by nature's hammer over eons. All creatures of flesh owe much of their success to it. Instilling that in a being of metal and circuits is a little more challenging. You can program it in, of course, but that's a self-preservation directive, not real fear."

"It takes something more to frighten metal. Supernatural fear. The type that makes rocks and trees shiver, or makes the air howl when there is no wind." This somewhat fanciful tangent was terminated by a long pause, before he spoke again. "Granted, for all I know that may be something in your power to instill. Or you may make that self-preservation directive work just as well. Trust me when I say that droids are no more enthused about being cut to pieces than organics are. They'll fall in line."

He stared down at her when she turned on him. "I didn't say they shouldn't be loyal. Loyalty is a given. Do you know why the Trade Federation, and later the CIS, used droids so predominantly?" He pointed a clawed finger at the fallen B2. "Because they shared your worries. They didn't trust organic operatives. Organic soldiers can be bought off, threatened, blackmailed, or corrupted. Droids do not possess these frailties. At least, most don't." He turned as she walked past him, and followed with long, liquid strides.

He didn't move like a machine. His actions were almost entirely noiseless, smooth, and organic. The effect was somewhat unnatural to the eye. "I merely suggest to you that there is value in individuality and free-thinking, to some extent. The clones taught us that lesson many times. There's likely a middle ground somewhere. But then, this is your army, not mine. The army should reflect the ideals of their commander."

He nodded at her last question. "Very. I can accept your logic, for the most part. They failed, but that does not mean you will. Someone might as well make use of their detritus. We will see how far you get with it, in time."

He stepped forward, studying the door more closely. "Surprising that we are the first to plunder this place, in all this time. I find that difficult to believe, but we shall see." He strode a few steps over to the dead panel, placing a hand on it and concentrating. The panel began to whine, restored to a brief facsimile of life. The door lurched, causing ancient mechanisms to grind into motion. It opened, but only a few inches. He stuck both hands into the opening, and pulled.

The great door shrieked in protest as he pulled it open just wide enough for Serina to slip inside. "Let's go." He said, peering through the opening into the darkness beyond. "Ladies first, as they say."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina stepped forward, running her fingers along the jagged edge of the ancient doorframe as she passed through, taking in the scent of rust and decay. The stale air within was thick with the metallic tang of oxidized durasteel and the faint, lingering scent of oil—long dried, but unmistakable. This place had been dead for nearly a millennium, yet the echoes of its past still whispered through its halls.

She stopped just inside the threshold, her gaze sweeping across the vast chamber beyond. The ceiling arched high above, barely visible in the dim light of her glowrod, crisscrossed with skeletal beams and the corroded remains of once-functioning machinery. Rows upon rows of assembly lines stretched before her, silent and frozen in time, their rusted droid frames left half-formed, abandoned in mid-production.

It was beautiful.

Her lips curled into the faintest smirk. This is where empires are born. Not on battlefields, not in grand throne rooms, not even in the hushed chambers of politicians—but here, in places like this, where machines were given form, where war was manufactured, where the true power in the galaxy was assembled, piece by piece, on the backs of tireless laborers who would never see the fruits of their work.

She exhaled slowly, savoring the moment. "You do not seem to care much for this place," she murmured, tilting her head slightly toward Helix without taking her eyes off the chamber ahead. "And perhaps it is. But to me, it is potential. The Confederacy may have fallen, but its ideas—this idea—was sound. It simply lacked the right hands to shape it."

She stepped forward, the sound of her boots muffled by the dust-covered metal plating beneath them. "The control archives should be deeper in," she continued, her voice thoughtful as she scanned the chamber for access points. "These factories were built with layers of redundancies—hidden archives, sealed security vaults, escape tunnels. The CIS was paranoid to its core, as you were likely well aware. I suspect their most valuable designs were not stored in open databanks but locked behind old war protocols, buried in a vault that was never meant to be accessed again."

She strode toward the nearest command terminal, brushing dust and grime from its cracked screen. Unsurprisingly, it was completely inert. No power. She sighed, turning to survey the catwalks and corridors above. "If we find a working auxiliary power station, we can at least see what still functions here. But failing that…" She glanced at Helix, a knowing smirk on her lips. "You did just brute-force a door open. I imagine you could do the same to whatever is keeping this facility's secrets locked away."

Her gaze flicked back to the chamber, this time admiring it not just for its aesthetics, but for what it represented. "Imagine it, Helix, not that you would need to." she mused aloud. "A factory like this, fully operational, churning out an army that does not question, does not break, does not hesitate. Not bound by the frailties of men, not reliant on the cowardice of certain organics who flinch at the first sign of real sacrifice."

She turned back to him, a flicker of something more—hunger—in her sharp blue eyes. "You said free-thinking droids had their advantages, and perhaps you're right. But a soldier who knows only one purpose, who exists in perfect synchronicity with its mistress' will?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, reverent. "That is power. That is control."

She exhaled, schooling her expression back to its usual smirk. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, we need to find the archives. Then, we see if there's anything left worth taking."

She began moving forward again, stepping lightly down the first set of stairs toward the factory's lower levels. "I imagine we're not alone down here," she added idly. "Security droids left in standby, old traps, perhaps even some desperate fool who got lost looking for salvage and never found his way out." She flashed Helix a smirk over her shoulder. "If something does try to kill us, try not to dismantle it too quickly. I'd at least like to see what it is before you turn it into scrap."

 

[Commodore Helix]

Helix nodded in agreement. "It had potential. Limitless potential, were the war intended to be won. I trust you will not commit that mistake either." He made a curious sniffing noise in response to her statements on Confederate paranoia. "You seem quite knowledgeable on their habits. Yes, the Confederacy was led by cowardly merchants, bean-counters, and bankers. Even had the war not been a sham, that would have doomed us. An army of womp-rats led by a gundark is more fearsome than an army of gundarks led by a womp-rat."

He stared over her shoulder at the screen. "Less brute force, and more finesse. Contrary to what the Sith might tell you, I am not just muscle. Machines answer to me. I can give them motive force if they lack it themselves... for but a moment. Long enough to open a door. Not long enough to power this entire ruin."

He stared out at the endless rows of silent, rusting mechanisms. Tools, without a purpose. He sympathized with them. He listened to more of Serina Calis 's starry-eyed speculation on the future before venturing to ask. "And what will you do with this army, when it is yours?" He said 'when' not 'if'. He was not accustomed to failing, and few alive knew the workings of droid armies better.

"If you are indeed not a petty tyrant, as you claim, will you use it for the good of any but yourself? Not that I object, mind you. What you do with your army is no one's business but yours, unless they have a bigger one."

He turned to follow her down the stairs, before something caught his eye. He melded into a curious multilegged shape, scurried up the wall and around the corner, and stooped over something. A tiny red light, flickering in what appeared to be a crude pipe explosive. Despite the rather unsubtle illumination, it was cleverly hidden around a corner in the stairwell, and would be difficult to see until a passerby was right on top of it. Only the very slight red blink, briefly breaking the omnipresent gloom, had tipped him off.

It was stretched with a piece of rusted wiring in a crude tripwire. "I conclude that your third guess was the correct one." He said. "No droid constructed this. Watch your step. We are not alone in here. Perhaps another shares your dreams of a droid army." He formed one hand into a fine mesh of metal tendrils to attempt disarmament, before remembering her request to see anything unusual. "Have a look. My guess would be scavengers. Recently, too."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina stopped mid-step, tilting her head slightly as she observed the crude device. The flickering red light pulsed like a dying heartbeat, a simple yet effective trap meant to kill or maim the unwary. Someone had been here recently. Interesting.

She let out a quiet chuckle, crossing her arms as she regarded Helix's shifting, inhuman form crouched over the tripwire. "I'm flattered," she murmured. "Whoever left this must be terribly afraid of losing whatever they came here for. You don't guard something worthless." Her eyes flickered up the stairwell ahead, narrowing slightly. Someone else thinks this place is still valuable. That meant competition. And Serina hated competition.

She crouched slightly, running her fingers lightly along the corroded edge of the stairwell as she studied the trap. Crude. Not the work of a professional demolitions expert, but competent enough. A scavenger? Maybe. Someone desperate enough to risk this place for whatever scraps they could salvage. But if they were only a scavenger, they wouldn't have left this behind. No, this wasn't just about defense—it was about deterrence. Someone didn't want anyone poking around.

Perhaps another shares your dreams of a droid army.

Helix's words lingered in her mind, and her smirk faded into something more thoughtful. Or perhaps they serve someone who does.

Finally, she turned her gaze back to Helix, nodding toward the trap. "Disarm it. Carefully. If someone's been here recently, I want them to think it's still active. If we trip it, they'll know we're here. If we deactivate it without a trace, they'll know someone smart is here. I'd rather keep them guessing." Her voice was calm, calculated, the casual arrogance in her earlier words now giving way to something sharper, colder.

As Helix worked, she leaned against the rusted stairwell railing, considering his earlier question. What will you do with this army, when it is yours? He had said when, not if. A small, satisfied smile touched her lips. He already believed she would succeed.

And yet, he still questioned why.

Serina exhaled slowly. "You asked me what I would do with my army," she said at last, her voice quiet but firm. "If I am not a petty tyrant, will I use it for the good of anyone but myself?" She glanced at him with a knowing smirk. "You already know the answer, don't you? It's the same answer anyone in power would give, whether they're honest enough to admit it or not."

She turned her gaze back down the stairwell, where the air grew darker, heavier, thick with the weight of the forgotten. "I will use it for me," she continued. "Because I am the only one who matters in this equation. There is no 'good' in war, no 'justice' in conquest, no righteous cause. The only thing that exists is control. You either have it, or you don't." Her fingers drummed idly against the rusted metal railing. "But that doesn't mean I have no vision."

She straightened, her expression shifting into something darker, more certain. "The galaxy is diseased, Helix. You said it yourself—stagnant, rotting in its own filth. The same cycles of war, of republics and empires, of Jedi and Sith, playing out over and over again as if the universe itself is incapable of learning. And do you know why?" She glanced at him, eyes gleaming. "Because no one has ever had the power to force it to change."

She gestured at the ruined factory, at the droids frozen in time, at the rusted husk of an empire that almost changed the galaxy forever. "This isn't about ruling. It's about reshaping. The Jedi preach peace but have no means to enforce it. The Sith claim power but squander it in their own infighting. The so-called galactic governments are just playing at control, squabbling over territory like children fighting over a toy." Her expression darkened, her voice dropping to a whisper. "None of them deserve what they have."

She turned fully to face him now, her smirk returning, but this time, there was something more dangerous behind it. "I will build an army not to rule, but to end the cycle. To break the illusion of order that keeps the galaxy spinning in its endless death spiral. I will burn away the stagnation, tear down the old powers, and when the dust settles…" She exhaled, almost reverently. "Whatever survives will belong to me."

She turned back toward the darkened stairwell, tilting her head slightly. "That's what separates me from the warlords you've worked with before. They all fought for something—for a throne, for vengeance, for the simple thrill of conquest. But I don't fight, Helix. I reshape. And that is why I will not fall like the rest."

Her smirk widened slightly. "That, and because I know how to pick my allies well."

She flicked a hand toward the trap. "Now, if our mystery guests are so keen to keep intruders out, I'd like to know why. Shall we find them?"

 

[Commodore Helix]

Helix shrugged, prodding the device with one finger. The strange iridescence of his skin seemed to spread over it, and the blinking light flickered, then resumed. "It's safe." He said after a moment. "At least to us. Surprisingly sophisticated internally." He looked up as Serina Calis answered his question.

"At least you're honest, even when it is perhaps wiser not to be. I'll return like with like. Change does not happen because organics are cyclical creatures, driven by simple animal desires. Sentient life likes to believe it is somehow immune to the pressures of evolution, when in reality, I am afraid this is not the case. All the philosophies, rationalizations, they are window dressing for the truth."

"In my long association with the Sith, I have found that they love nothing more than philosophizing about their predations. I include even the ones I count as friends in this category. The only difference between the Emperor himself and, say, a Rancor, is that the Rancor will not spend time explaining itself as it devours you. It simply does as nature shaped it to do. It does not wonder about the 'why' of things, and indeed it cannot." He stepped down the next flight of stairs, keeping an eye out for further traps.

"I must confess it is refreshing to hear that you are honest with yourself about what you are, as well as honest with me. You are a predator, one who will not be satisfied until yours is the only will to power in the universe. Do not think I say it as an insult, either. You take what you like, make no excuses, and if it costs a few lives? So be it."

"Most I interact with love to pretend that they are entirely the products of nurture, as though nature had no hand at all in their creation. The Sith murder and pillage and destroy because that is what life does. It is simple biological expression, the same reason that Rancor might eat you. I will give the Jedi credit for one thing alone. They at least have the courage to attempt to rise above, rather than following an ugly marriage of self-dishonesty and surrender. They usually fail, but at least they try. That requires more courage than most Sith possess, save perhaps for the likes of Nefaron. There are only two paths to gaining respect from me. Rising above the beast, or accepting the beast. Do the latter if you must, but be honest about it."

"What, then, is the solution? I cannot agree that dominion is the answer, partly because control is a slippery slope. By definition, it must include all things, even me, and I will be ruled by no one. Control is rather less tempting when it is effortless." He touched a long-dead light panel on the wall, causing it to briefly flicker to life. "To make contact with my flesh, even for a moment, is to risk body and soul forever. For a machine, or for an organic. In theory, I could march into the palaces of the universe and simply take them, but what then? Am I to be the only free mind in the galaxy, kept company only by mindless extensions of my will unto eternity?" He shook his head.

"No. Individuality is precious in my eyes. All I can do is shake the petri dish, and hope the microbes wriggle in a different direction. Change only comes through suffering. I like to think my actions have caused a great deal of suffering, and thus also a great deal of change. There is no other way to topple the whole mess and free every man to fight his own wars, to truly be an individual." He shrugged. "But unlike the Sith, I will apologize for and rationalize none of it. It is all too uncommon for me to meet another with the gall to do the same." His tone was subtly approving, the pleasant surprise leaking through even despite his mechanical snarl of a voice.

"That, I think, is why I will help you. Like I said earlier, I'm curious to see where you end up. I cannot agree with your vision of the universe, but that will not stop me from helping you." He gave an approximation of a shrug. "If you truly believe you can change things, then I will at least grant you a chance to prove it. Everyone deserves that much."

He strode on ahead with the same eerily smooth, alien motions as before, giving the disabled trap one last look. "Yes, lets. It would be a waste of a trip if some third-rate scrapper picked apart these machines you seem so interested in."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina moved in Helix's wake, her long coat whispering behind her like a second shadow. The light from the recently reawakened panel flickered against the sharp features of her face, casting her in stark relief—part statue, part specter. Her halberd, Ebon Requiem, rested against her shoulder like a scepter of judgment, its faint etchings glowing with an eerie, silvery pulse that echoed the gleam in her eyes.

She listened to him speak, she did not interrupt.

When he finished, she gave him a slow, deliberate nod. "You're a philosopher after all," she murmured, voice low and thoughtful. "You just don't bother pretending your philosophy is anything but blood and consequence. That's rarer than you'd think, and more honest than most Sith I've met."

Her expression was unreadable for a moment—cool, composed, but not dismissive. She took his points seriously, even if they swayed nothing in her mind. She admired him for saying what most wouldn't dare to, and she had the respect to consider it.

"I'll grant you this," she said finally. "Control is a slope. A steep one. But I've already chosen to fall down it—eyes open. The difference between us isn't that I want to impose my will on the galaxy and you don't. It's that I see the merit in structure, in purpose, even if it means sacrifice. Even if it means most don't get a say. You want to free every man to fight his own war? Fine. Let them. But most of them will lose." She tilted her head, her voice softening into something almost playful. "And I will be there to offer them purpose when they do."

She turned her gaze forward, letting her fingers trail along the rusted railing as they descended further into the depths. Her tone shifted again—businesslike, cold, yet tinged with amusement. "But I do appreciate the honesty. The lack of rationalization. It's refreshing. I like you better this way, Helix."

And then she stopped.

She spotted them just below—three shadows hunched behind a bank of old consoles, cloaked in rags and scrap armor, clutching blaster carbines and makeshift tools. Scavengers, just as Helix had suspected. Their movements were slow, deliberate, professional. Not amateurs, then. Possibly former soldiers—or at least ones trained well enough to stay alive this long in places like this.

One of them turned his head slightly, and Serina caught the glint of a cybernetic eye scanning the dark. They hadn't seen her yet—but they would soon.

Her grip on Ebon Requiem tightened subtly. She could already feel the weight shift, the song of the weapon in her hands. It always hungered, always waited. A halberd was not a duelist's weapon—it was an executioner's. A banner raised at the front of an unstoppable tide.

Serina leaned slightly toward Helix, her voice dropping into a soft, sultry whisper that held the weight of command beneath the velvet. "Three of them. Possibly more further in. Professionals. They're close to something—no one guards dead halls like this unless there's something worth keeping."

She smiled faintly. "This is your area of expertise, Helix. Shall we strike like a hammer, or slip in like a dagger? I trust you have... preferences." Her tone was laced with dark amusement, but her eyes remained fixed on the scavengers ahead.

"If you give the word, I'll take the lead. But I'd so love to see how you play with your food first."

 

[Commodore Helix]

"The galaxy has more than enough pretenders in it, Miss Calis. It doesn't need me to bloat the numbers further." His tone softened somewhat, though whether out of introspection or simply out of a desire for stealth was hard to say.

"If they lose, then there won't be much left to pick up. Not with what is coming. Still, you have a point. Not one in a billion have the strength, but I believe they've at least the right to try. The struggle, after all, is the closest thing to objective meaning in the universe."

Helix halted, observing the crouching scavengers languidly. "If you wish to see a demonstration, I will indulge you. The circumstances, however, demand a degree of tact. There may be more in waiting, so these three must not be allowed to raise the alarm. In this instance, the dagger will do."

Helix flickered out of visibility as his surface took on the exact same color and texture of the walls surrounding them. The adaptive camouflage was nearly perfect, presenting barely a ripple in the air to betray its presence.

The nano-colony slithered down below, scuttling noiselessly on walls and steep surfaces to place himself behind one of the figures. His form expanded, and his molecular density loosened. A metallic tendril shot out, seized one of the creatures by the neck, and dragged him into the deeper dark without so much as a grunt of alarm. The quasi-liquid form of the droid drew the scavver inside itself, seeming to rapidly absorb or break down the figure, flesh, armor, weapons and all. In but a second or two, no trace of the man remained.

Helix seemed to toy deliberately with the second, making a subtle noise that caused the other two scavs to spin around. The droid struck from the ceiling this time, drooping down a similar metal tendril to drag one of the figures up into the dense shadows of the high vaulted roof. The overall effect for the men must have been terrifying. Their compatriots had simply vanished, seemingly snatched up by the dark without bloodshed or chance for retaliation.

To his credit, however, the last fellow stood his ground, taking a position between two large, rusting consoles where he could not be so easily flanked. Helix concurred that this was not their first job. Of course, there was only so much meat could do against something like himself. Something that defies all the neat little rules of how things were supposed to work.

The droid skittered along the ceiling again, dropping down to reappear next to Serina Calis

"I left one for you. It's a poor host who doesn't leave some dessert for his guest. He's alert something is wrong, has a twitchy trigger finger, and perhaps isn't stupid enough to ignore his gut, unlike the other two. A bit theatrical, perhaps, but theater is sometimes the only thing that gets a message across."

 

[Serina Calis]

"Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so."

Tag - Commodore Helix



Serina watched the display unfold from the shadows above, and for once, she remained entirely still—no quips, no smirks, no sly gestures. Her eyes tracked every movement, every whisper of motion Helix made. A ripple of nothing. A silence more absolute than death. One scavenger disappeared into the void without a sound; another was plucked from the air like an offering to the dark gods of old. It was not murder. It was not even assassination. It was eradication—clinical, elegant, total.

When Helix slithered back beside her, reforming with that horrifying, inhuman ease, Serina let out a breath that could almost have been mistaken for a sigh. But it wasn't weariness. It was admiration. Hunger. Appetite.

"Darling," she whispered, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet, "if I weren't already in love with my own ambition, I might be dangerously close to falling for yours."

She stepped past him, slow and deliberate, like a predator who knew the kill had already been made but wanted to savor the final strike. The faint glow from Ebon Requiem's etched blade painted the walls around her in ghostly silver as she descended. Her halberd was no subtle weapon, but tonight, she wielded it like a scalpel.

The last scavenger had taken cover behind the consoles, still gripping his rifle in trembling hands. Sweat ran down his face, his eyes scanning the shadows wildly—but finding nothing. His friends had vanished. He had no answers. Only fear.

Serina stepped into the faint light—graceful, deliberate, with all the patience of something beautiful and inevitable. Her voice floated through the gloom like poison silk.

"You're clever," she cooed. "Smarter than the others. They didn't even scream."

The man raised his rifle instinctively, eyes wide. "S-Stay back!"

She didn't flinch. Didn't pause. Just tilted her head with that sly, serpentine smile that suggested she knew something he didn't. "You're already dead, sweetheart. You just haven't caught up to the idea yet."

She kept walking, slowly, her halberd now lowered but radiating menace in every inch of its glowing edge. Her voice dropped into a sultry purr, that same maddening mix of promise and peril. "I should thank you, really. You tried so very hard to protect this place. What were you guarding? Hmm? A secret? A machine? A whisper of a forgotten war?" Her lips curled. "Or maybe just a treasure you didn't understand, too precious to be left to rot, but far too dangerous to belong to someone like you."

The scavenger pulled the trigger.

The bolt surged toward her chest—and struck only air.

Serina had moved with the ease of inevitability, sidestepping the blast with dancer's precision. Her free hand extended, and with a flick of two fingers, she pulled. The scavenger stumbled forward, dragged by the sudden Force tug at his weapon, thrown off balance—and into her reach.

The halberd rose, and in a single, fluid motion, it swung.

She did not cleave him in half—though she could have. Instead, the curved hook at the back of Ebon Requiem's blade caught the rifle, wrenching it from his hands with a shower of sparks and a cry of alarm. She stepped in, pressing the length of the shaft against his throat, forcing him back against the console.

He struggled—valiantly, desperately—but Serina leaned in close, her lips near his ear, her breath warm despite the coldness of her intent.

"Hush," she murmured, "it's the last kindness you'll be offered tonight."

And then, with a slow, deliberate twist of her wrists, the halberd's haft slid upward, its weight driving the scavenger's head back in a sudden crack against the metal wall behind him. His body slumped, unconscious or dead—it didn't matter.

Serina stepped back, exhaling softly, the air charged with static, with purpose. She turned to Helix with a languid smile, like a performer who had just finished an aria and was waiting for her applause.

"Well," she purred, drawing her hand along Ebon Requiem's still-glowing edge, "I must say, you do set the mood perfectly. I admire that. There's something intoxicating about the quiet deaths, the ones that don't cry out or bleed too brightly. They're the ones that leave the deepest stains."

She walked toward him now, closer than before, her presence unmistakably charged with that dangerous fusion of seduction and menace. "You understand it, don't you? That death is not just a necessity—it's an art. A ritual. A sacrament." She circled him like a shadow dancing with flame. "And you... you're a masterpiece of that art."

She stopped, eyes gleaming like distant stars through smoke. "I respect that. Deeply. It's rare to find someone who understands the truth and doesn't apologize for it. You said the galaxy doesn't need more pretenders? I couldn't agree more."

She offered him a nod—low, deliberate, and full of dark grace. "You're no pretender, Helix. And neither am I. That's why this will work."

Then, with a glance at the slumped scavenger, her voice slipped into that cool, professional edge once more. "He's alive. Let him be, for now. If he's smart, he'll crawl away and spread a lovely little myth about shadows and beautiful monsters lurking in the bones of Geonosis." She smirked, already turning toward the inner chamber. "Let the galaxy start to whisper again. We are here."

And with that, she strode onward into the dark, her halberd humming softly with light and promise.

"Now, keep moving forward or turn hard left?"

 

[Commodore Helix]

Helix analyzed his compatriot in turn as she stalked her prey. He noted the confidence again with approval. Belief mattered as much as ability, as he'd said before. "I don't believe I'd be half as willing to help you if you fell for mine." He responded. It was true. He had no use for lackeys; he already had them in endless supply. People who agreed with him of their own free will were a somewhat rarer commodity.

Still, there was something in the woman's tone that he did not like. Something predatory. He had some small regard for Serina Calis by now, but not a molecule of trust. Not that that was any slight against her. Helix assumed every person he met was as self-serving and egotistical as he was, and he was seldom proven wrong.

He waited for her to play with her food, then strode over to join her at the console, sparing the fallen scavver a brief glance. He could sense clear life signs, see the small movements of his chest rising and falling. He shrugged as she praised his lethality.

"A death is a death. When I still inhabited the ST-series body, my internal kill-counter reached integer overflow some six hundred years ago. I replay the video feeds sometimes, to scan for instructive details. Most of it is filled with clones, or pirates. More than a few Jedi. Even some Sith."

He glanced down at the feebly-moving body again. "All meaningless. 'Sacrament' implies the sacred. My enemies do not deserve any sort of sacral acknowledgement, except perhaps from the worms they feed. Still, I can acknowledge that it can be aesthetically pleasing. Any job done well can be. There can be as much artistry in taking a life as in anything else."

As if to prove the point, his form rippled, now resembling a perfect facsimile of one of the men he had absorbed. "And even the dead have their uses." His voice was now rough, thickly-accented, and somewhat phlegmy. Though they'd never heard this particular scavver's voice, the imitation was far from skin deep. It was perfect, molecule by molecule, down to the vocal chords. "When I killed him, I took the opportunity to examine his genetic code, strand by strand. I read his ancestry like a book. Forgettable. Unremarkable. Pockmarked with mutation and imperfection. I am now the sole keeper of that information. None know, or likely would care if they did. You could say that tickles my pride." He resumed his default shape, bending down to study the consoles more closely.

"Call it a... hobby, if you like. Perhaps I will use this knowledge later, weave it into a project. Perhaps not. But now, he lives on only in me. His soul, if you believe in them. I can imagine no crueler a fate, to exist only as a footnote in the archives of the one who killed you. If killing is indeed a sacrament, then I would have only a chosen few at the table."

 

[Serina Calis]

"Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so."

Tag - Commodore Helix



Serina stood at the console, one hand trailing lazily across its corroded surface, fingers brushing away dust and time like peeling a veil from an altar. The faint hum of her halberd vibrated through the metal where it rested against her back, as if the weapon, too, was eager to move forward, to claim what lay hidden beneath the factory's skin.

As Helix spoke, she tilted her head toward him, not fully turning, her silhouette framed in the flickering light like some dark idol half-remembered from forgotten temples. His voice, or rather the voice he borrowed, rang out beside her—impossibly accurate, unnerving in its precision. She smiled.

Not at him, but for him.

"You have such a delightful way of honoring the dead," she said, her voice soft, honeyed, decadent. "Molecular autopsy. Assimilation. Total ownership. I do so appreciate your efficiency. It's almost... arousing." She let the word roll from her tongue like silk soaked in poison, then laughed—a low, purring sound with edges sharpened by amusement rather than cruelty.

"I confess, I've never been so… thorough." She turned her head slightly to glance at him over her shoulder, eyes glittering. "I take many things from my enemies—dignity, limbs, information, the occasional blood sample if I'm feeling nostalgic—but the genome? That's a new one." Her gaze lingered, appraising, just a hint of mischief in her tone. "I'll have to try it sometime. Though I'm not sure I could wear them quite as well as you do. You do wear your trophies beautifully."

Her smile sharpened as she turned back to the console. Her tone shifted again, not losing its silk, but hardening into something more pointed. "But let's not mistake style for sentiment. I don't savor death, Helix—not the way others do. Not the sadists or the maniacs. Death is just another form of manipulation. The last, most intimate kind. It's the moment when all masks are stripped away—when someone realizes they were never in control of their life at all. That I was. And for that one breathless instant, everything clicks into place." She paused, a breath. "It's... divine."

With a few gestures, she coaxed power into the console's decaying guts. Her hands moved with precision, confident, sensual—like a lover undressing a reluctant partner. "You see, my dear Helix, I don't care to play at saints or saviors. I corrupt. I seduce. I possess. I don't just end people—I unravel them. Tear them down until they realize the truth: that they were never sovereign, never unique, never free. That's the real artistry."

A spark flared as the console flickered to life, lines of Geonosian text stuttering across the screen. Serina leaned in, her breath fogging the glass for a moment before she wiped it clean with a flick of her glove.

"Look at this," she murmured, eyes lighting with that dangerous, devout glee that came only when her vision began to crystallize into something real. "Factory schematics. Sub-level inventories. Locked vaults, security subroutines. Power draw readings..." Her finger hovered over one readout in particular—a spike in energy consumption coming from a chamber far below, one not marked on any standard map.

She glanced sidelong at Helix, the corner of her lip curling upward. "There's something still alive down there."

She tapped the data column again, her tone dropping back into something intimate, conspiratorial. "We find the source, we find what they were protecting. Maybe a design template. Maybe a prototype. Maybe something... better."

She stood fully now, drawing Ebon Requiem from its resting place with the reverence of a priestess lifting a sacred relic. The halberd's faintly glowing blade cast the room in a soft, malignant shimmer, its edge catching the dust motes like stars trapped in orbit.

"I would like a million minds, Helix," she said, voice smooth and certain as obsidian. "But I only have one. Mine. My empire doesn't need loyalty. It doesn't even need belief. It needs obedience." She twirled the halberd once in her grasp, the weight of it moving like an extension of her will. "Everything else—dreams, love, liberty—it's just frosting over the void."

She began walking toward the indicated sub-level access, every step measured, hips swaying with predatory grace. The weapon glowed faintly behind her, and her presence filled the dark like perfume and fire.

"I don't expect you to believe in my vision," she said without turning, "but I do expect you to enjoy the view."

Then she glanced back, a final flicker of corrupted charm in her eyes. "Come along, darling. Let's go see what the Confederacy died to keep buried."