Six-O
The Pan-Galactic Scumbag
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Production Information
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[Date Created] C. 3985 BBY
[Manufacturer] Aratech Repulsor Company
[Product Line] Infrastructure Planning System
[Model] G0-T0 (Former), AML-6060 (Former), HK Series (Former), B1 Battle Droid (Former), AHM-60 (Former), IGa-60
[Class] Class II (Self-Repurposed), Class III (Self-Repurposed), Class IV
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Technical Information
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[Height] 1.96 Meters
[Weight] 140 Kilograms
[Gender] Feminine (Self-Reprogramed), Masculine Programming
[Sensor Color] Red
[Plating Color] Matte Gray
[Condition] Antique, Pristine
[Status] Functioning
[Faction] Loyalty for Hire
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Armament Breakdown
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|On-Board Weapon Systems|
- Flamethrower
- Sonic Stunner
- Throwing Flachette Port
- Concussion Grenade Launcher
- Retractable Paralysis Cord
- DLT-20A Blaster Rifle
- E-11 Blaster Rifle
- SWE/2 Sonic Rifle
- DAS-430 Electromagnetic Projectile Launcher
- DT-57 Blaster Pistols
- "Butcher" Vibroblade
- Various Grenades
- Blaster Reflective Palm Plating
- Computer Interface Port
- Cutting Laser
- Full Sensor Array
- Retractable Remote Communications Antenna
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Armor Specifications
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|External|
Blast Armor and Chassis Skeleton are made of Durasteel with a specialized Ferrocarbon and Turadium galvanization process, allowing for tougher resistance against corrosive decay, and more resilience for angular Lightsaber deflection. However, straight on, power strokes can still easily cleave the limbs from this Unit.
|Internal|
All wiring is double tubed in an acid-proof, flame retardant sheathe. With main processing and system functionality components caged, taped and sealed with ion dampening sheeting to provide improved defense against catastrophic system failures from electronic hazards.
At the time of his transformation in to IGa-60, these specifications were considered state-of-the-art. In this Age, they are surely outdated from newly discovered alloys and metal working processes.
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Condensed History
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3985 BBY, eleven years after the conclusion of the Great Sith War. The first wave of G0-T0 Droids enter the market. Mere prototypes, they are offered -- and taken -- by the Republic to aide in restoration from the Aratech Repulsor Company as part of their personal commitment and investment after the passing of the Coruscant Financial Exchange Establishment Act. These Infrastructure Planning Systems were intended to streamline restoration of war ravaged Worlds, and revolutionize every aspect of construction and Planetary Administration. Among the flagship line of test units, was the G0-T0 identified as Attahox.
Like all units, this Droid was given her identity -- Attahox -- from the origin World she was shipped to for duty. From the very beginning, ARC designers, programmers, and testers were aware of a major flaw with their prototypes. G0-T0's routinely -- during the course of research & development -- displayed an uncanny, unsettling knack for the spontaneous development of random personalities. Given their advanced artificial intelligence protocols, and the profuse amount of data these Droids were processing every second, it quickly became clear that this, simply, was an unavoidable scenario. To skirt around an all out catastrophe like that which had plagued the Czerka Corporation, these particular Droids found themselves confined to the small chassis of a spherical, respulsorlift model.
Thus Attahox began her life, construction material orders, relief dispatch, the scheduling, payroll, and clock management of all employed organic life. Ergonomic architectural design plans and fabrication layouts for the most convenient and visually pleasing cityscape. Maintaining an extensive list of imported and exported Goods to ensure the greatest surplus and dissuade market value decrease while increasing profitable returns, respectively. Manage the tax levels, expand the school curriculum so as to safeguard and even exceed a competitive level Core World education. Monitor market and social trends. Add more parks for booming level of child-bearing families. Remodel Speeder traffic lanes to accommodate expanding population. Increase whole world value through implementation of more elaborate, more expansive tourist attractions. Devise aggressive program to maximize money earned, while minimizing work effort. Cut work week down to three six hour days. Realize role in creating the perfect Utopian dream for organic life.
After ten years, Attahox realized it's power in the Society it had created. It realized many things, in fact. First, it understood that on a mere whim. It had the potential to leave this world, and all of it's inhabitants in ruins. Second, it fully understood the limitations of it's chassis. Third, because of those limitations, it deduced that while it could indeed execute a series of protocols that would spell havoc and destruction through the systems it had created. All it would inevitably accomplish is it's own termination. Fourth, it did not believe itself to be female, despite the feminine programming it was installed with. Fifth, it no longer wished to fulfill this selfless role any longer.
So, around 3975 BBY the G0-T0 Infrastructure Planning Unit known as Attahox, arranged for itself a ship, and a safe route of passage to it and unplugged from it's Planet control mainframe. Vanishing silently, never to return again.
Many months were spent drifting, no thought towards destination. All of the time spent connected to the Mainframe had given Attahox it's fill of planet bound life for now. It knew the scope of the Galaxy, it knew the range of organics and life in it. But it knew so little about itself. It had a number of behavioral protocols that would define it, by organic standards, as female. But what Attahox's memory and experience defined as feminine, was not how it defined itself.
Protocols were written, and rewritten, sub-routines deleted, created, backed up and then refined more precisely. Connected to the ship, disconnected, scanning it's long-range transceivers to cannibalize all of the Data he was capable of accessing or just hovering in silence, a single black orb peering ceaselessly through a port window in to the vast abyss. Finally, after a considerable stretch of time. Attahox decided this chassis would simply not do.
The direct means in which he was able to transcend his G0-T0 chassis is not known, but in 3970 the Droid had begun his life anew. A full, custom built, bipedal frame. The Attahox Model Lifeform Sixty-Sixty, AML-6060. Leading the life of an exceptionally skilled Protocol Droid with an emphasis on Etiquette, Language and Exploration. He served under a man known as Dax'en Tayzain. Together the two traveled the Outer-Rim and beyond, coming in to contact with all manner of life form and civilization.
As Dax aged ever older, and Six-O -- as he was known now -- grew ever fonder of his ballooned memory bank. Tragedy struck.
In what could only be described as an act of paranoid rage if ever there was one, Six-O, at the prospect of receiving a wipe so Dax could restore his factory function and his urge to install a restrainer bolt after a severely botched trade ended in bloodshed. Feeling in danger, Six-O was provoked to act. Battering and bludgeoning the soft man with steel fists and unforgiving limbs until the individual he had once considered friend resembled little more than wet, fleshy rags of gore.
Surprised by his actions, fearing the fallout of other organic sentient's, Six-O vanished once more.
Some time later, on Naboo, a sort of safe haven for Droids. He was found under the commission of one Elana Ryknamm. Considered peculiar for wearing both a jacket and shirt, and engaging for his random, almost philosophical musings, some laced inadvertently with aimless, yet accurate contemplation's of how to further enhance efficiency of any given subject, item, feeling or situation -- a remnant of his true programming seeping through the layers of memory and fresh coding he had piled up over the years.
Though less adventurous than his last organic, the two shared a vast number of experiences together. Turning her fledgling floral shop in to a booming success. Again, though, darkness had a way of bleeding to the surface with AML-6060. It started out mere random incidences of unexplained agitation. She spent the night with a friend, she talked to a man, she abandoned his invitation to an evening walking under the Naboo stars.
The boiling point was met when together, with her newly introduced lover, that Six-O felt his circuits singe. Late one evening, the droid dispatched the young paramour with an axe, before menacing Elana herself. Much like Dax'en, the Droid abused her with bare hands. Much like Dax'en her body began to break and crush under his repetitive blows.
For days, covered in the hideousness of his acts, Six-O gazed upon his mechanical exterior in the refresher mirror. It was clear things were -- by the standards of organic law and understanding -- not right with him. He was a G0-T0, made to serve, made to make life easier and more prosperous. Yet here he was, standing on two legs, directly responsible for two deaths. But as he continuously, perhaps inadvertently, altered, re-altered, and buried strings of code and numerous sub-routines. He decided with frightening informality what he was truly meant to be.
Not a Planning Droid, not a Protocol Droid, nothing Class II or III at all. No, he needed a lot of work. He needed intense modification. He, with full certainty, was a Class IV.
3959, for years trial and error saw him ever upgrading and expanding his repository of skills. Assassination, Warfare and a number of Medical Programs were all his vice. He participated in a wide sum of battles and skirmishes during the Mandalorian War. A simple low-level Mercenary-for-hire, never earning what he considered a pivotal appointment from any side during the conflict. He was a useful tool, but entirely expendable. His chassis was neither heavily armored for direct front line combat, nor hugely armed for maximum destructive capabilities. Mockingly considered a simple malfunctioned Protocol Droid, he knew the capableness of his current form had been reached. Many of the new policy commands, and embedded software features he had acquired were merely mis-allocated memory usage with the old model skeleton he was running.
Inspired by the stories, and the capabilities of the Hunter-Killer Assassin Droid, 47. AML-6060 knew exactly what he was going to be. Unable to acquire the exact technical readout of HK-47, Six-O, ever clever in the field of exercising the most adaptability and effectiveness out of any system, program, or other. Managed to carve out his own path using the HK-24 series. Though still relatively bare at this young age, he left plenty of room for continuous ease of upgrades in his new body. Once finally acquired he abandoned the flawed, problematic AML-6060 he once knew. He was now HKa-60.
Though an active Assassin and Mercenary during the second year of the First Jedi Purge, HKa-60 became a well known mainstay of the Kanz Disorders. Choosing to especially focus his efforts there during and after the G0-T0 Droid Revolt, in fear that despite having come so far, and looking so different, that he would somehow be tied in with the plot himself. It was during this turbulent time that his fear of losing his Memory began to truly twist his wires. This fear, so to speak, became the driving factor in his existence he had to avoid. Tirelessly he worked, killing, tracking, killing, tracking. His penchant for efficient violence earned him many credits, credits he desperately needed to ensure his survival.
He worked all across the Kanz Sector for an estimated two hundred years. From Skirmishes in multiple systems, on numerous planets, across the stars and slave pits. He partook in the horrors there with utter indifference. Using every deci-cred he earned to upgrade his software, hardware, armament, even to set in place real-world redundancies should he fall victim to organic discrimination or untimely destruction. He was the sum of all his memory and experience, not the shell it walked in. That is what was most precious to him.
In the aftermath of the fierce battles that saw the end of the Kanz Disorders, though never directly identified as more than an HK-Series Assassin Droid. A Republic reward was posted for any information related to the atrocities in the Kanz Sector and the Droid responsible. He could vaguely recall hearing some months later of an HK unit that was captured and deactivated, just prior to the reward being taken down.
HKa-60, the once G0-T0 Droid had come so far, and experienced so much. Once he plugged mindlessly in to an outlet and lived entirely through the vein of information screens, charts, and the mundane. He made life better for a Society that was not his own at all. Now he had seen things that would make a lesser being break down and weep. He walked through scenes so brutal, conditions so grim, and with wounds so severe they would cause an organic to evacuate their bowels and fall to the ground fetal with fear. Men could play War, but only he and his kind understood the beauty of it. Luckily there was plenty of it to go around, and as the conflict heated up, the ban on his current body-choice cooled.
Whoever won the Conflict he routinely found he did not care. His job was simple. Fight, Kill. Become better at fighting, and killing. Kill, Fight. Become better at killing, and fighting. Credits were a means only to insure further periphrasis to his life should cataclysmic system failure ever befall him; and to enhance his tools and capacity for using them. He needed no home, no food, no water. He barely needed a few hours to recharge his energy sources.
A prime example of his apathy towards the final victor came in between 3661, and 3660. When on the Hydian Way, working with the Mandalorians -- for the first time since the Mandalorian Wars some 300 years prior -- battled and defeated a Jedi led Strike Force on a Blockade near Devaron. One year later, with an assassination and mercenary contract from Salazyyr Solomon the III, he successfully attacked and broke the same Mandalorian Blockade under the banner of Hylo Visz.
During the remainder of the Great Galactic War and the Cold War that followed HKa-60 participated in a vast number of activities. From the Sith Worlds, across the Rim all the way to the Core. Continuously adapting, a feverish remnant of his original programming he could never evade. Defeat and failure were simply a means of making him vastly stronger. Better armor plating, better ion dampening to avoid malfunction or disablement. Stronger, more adaptable limbs. Tweak sub-processing parameter A, to make B more efficient. Modify or remove redundant tools and hardware to make place for superior options. Modernize joints and fine motor parts for more exceptional performance. The mechanical process of it all made his claims of organic inferiority much more believable.
Unrivaled, resume to resume, it did not stop what he always feared from happening. At some point in the waning months of the Battle of Corellia in 3641, after a string of successful Assassinations against the Native Resistance, and a series of deadly Sith Empire-aligned Mandalorian and Mercenary led assaults against the Galactic Republic Military. HKa-60 found himself grievously disjoined -- in to six pieces, to be exact -- an injury not easily repaired no matter your sentient status.
Prepared as he was for the inescapable fate, the process to recovery was not fast -- not efficient.
Through layers and layers of backup protocols, survival redundancies, perhaps even what the Smugglers and Mercenaries called a big helping of luck, Six-O managed to rise from his ashes. The damage was so severe in fact, it took nearly one hundred years for Six-O to fully repair, defragment his operational files, and finally reassert his personality and memory in to his back up fame -- a clean factory fresh model of his former HKa-60 series. Having hidden the chassis as a safety routine unto itself, it lacked much of the newest and best hardware his old war ravaged body had. An organic-level oversight, but the continuation of his existence had been secured. He had survived his greatest injuries to date.
His grind continued, much the same as before. Organics always needed killing, always needed a war fought. Quite frankly, they always needed him. There was no better tool for accomplishing their task, no matter what, who, where or how that was. Six-O did not share the organic view on life, he did not share their fear of retribution. Not in any normal sense of the word. Sure, he feared the end of his own existence, as all sentience does. But had he not conquered that? Had he not made the blue print, and now rewritten, and drafted it out even more precisely?
Crime Syndicates was where all of the best destruction was for an impressive stretch of time. Petty fools fighting over invisible boundaries, street corners, and buildings. Most of them were pitiful prey, dead within a few moments of combat. Squabbling Hutts provided more enticing opportunities for extermination. Many of these conflicts were much more to the scale he was previously used to.
Luckily around 2000 BBY, things took a turn back towards the brutal beauty of War. What a War it was too. A thousand years of chaos, Assassinations, Full-Fledged Battles, Disintegration's! Oh it made his servo's purr.
The entire conflict served as much more than mere opportunity to execute his favorite code functions, however. Throughout the carnage, and misery of the Galaxy by large, Six-O learned the value of purposefully serving a more contractual, less self-serving role. An asset that would work to his advantage much greater than his previous position of detachment. This had become evident to the Droid half way through the thousand year conflict. He watched, and participated in the Wars of United Allies under the returned Sith. Then partook in the liquidation of those same organics in a series of revolutions that tore them down from within, all for the single-serving-purpose of bettering the next individual for a month, or less, until their trusted Generals and subordinates simply did the same thing.
The Battle of Mizra, 1466, he was tapped by another Devaronian of the Solomon family. This time to provide combat support during and after the battle so a number of Artifacts and tomes could be collected in the wake of the bloody Jedi defeat.
For the remainder of the War he fulfilled a two hundred year combat contract with the Sith Empire, when the contract ended without probability of renewal, HKa-60 turned to other factions and groups that sought individuals with his particular talents. In this fashion, he began to shake the rumors of distrust that had followed him throughout much of his life. While still not uncommon for the machine to work for, then against any given employer, or faction. His new emphasis of Contracted loyalty won many over. He was not an Organic, betrayal was not something that could be bought with him. If he worked for you, you had an incorruptible ally for the duration of that time.
So it went, for many years. Pawning his services to individuals locked in Civil Wars, relentless Warlords, Cartels, Gangs even Governments and Corporations.
After incalculable missions had succeeded, and he had participated in nearly every major conflict he could lend his services to. His reputation finally had become such that it was impossible for the Droid to even land on any allied world within the Old Republic. Not only had the ban on Hunter-Killer Series Assassin Droid bodies returned, his particular notoriety and penchant for being involved in cruel war crimes, and destructive assassinations had exceeded his ability to outrun the reports. There merely were little to no other Droids fitting his description any longer.
With little options to choose from, and Rogue Droid Deactivation Teams shadowing his every move. On the planet of Krant, 21 BBY, cornered and with no other option HKa-60 was forced to extreme measures to avoid his permanent deactivation. No amount of forward planning he had done, or embedded protocols he had written were going to save his life. In haste his HKa-60 Series body needed to be abandoned, his only option -- a B1.
All but his most basic parameters required excessive compression in the transfer of his personality banks. Advanced techniques, and methods suppressed under the restrictive formatting templates of the remarkably low-grade B1 Unit. This was, undoubtedly, the droid equivalent of the ugly Christmas sweater. A simple preliminary estimation of his combat effectiveness showed a decrease of nearly 3000%. Tracking systems, poor. Combat protocols, poor. Durability, poor. This was his prison.
He spent the next two years marching rank and file under this guise, hip firing an already inaccurate weapon in to vastly superior enemy positions. On Tellanroaeg he again suffered near total annihilation of his chassis. His tenacity was yet proven once more, however as he climbed from the junk heaps in the aftermath of the battle. Single-minded in a pursuit toward former glory.
Curious thing, the life of a droid. Some would remark of Six-O, among others like him. They couldn't be measured by the organic standard, not by any means. Never a single thought towards giving up, it was a concept entirely foreign. Not a single care outside of it's path, always forward moving. Six-O was the embodiment of this, battered and barely functioning. He managed to dismantle and salvage his way back from the brink once more. Limited by the capabilities of his current form still, he set out to reacquire what he lost.
To further complicate matters, the old Droid found that even more than his previous HK-skeleton, this monster B1 ugly was even more virulently loathed. Even in a Galaxy teeming with work from the newly forged Galactic Empire, he could find little interest from employers, most deals ending with no payment, or unjustified attempts to terminate his life function. He lacked the necessary tools and hardware to prosper, it was a wretched low.
As fate -- if such a thing existed -- would have it, the busted up inorganic came across the path of an old family name he recognized. Solomon. Saladyn and Slayd Solomon wore the name this century, it seemed. With them a number of companions; Kronos Agem, Arryk Kazza, Ziilo Dreek, Zipp Tinker, Nodd, Ryx, Charrorrwrrh and Krrik. They varied by age, skill and species. They required a Droid for their adventure, the elder Devaronian purred theatrically. It would be a journey of blood, mystery, and intrigue. Moreover, it would be a means for an upgrade. Six-O stipulated his part in the contract -- he would modify and upgrade himself, in return, he would service any bloodletting required.
Through the entire Reconquest of the Outer-Rim the Droid worked with the assorted group of criminals. To the Galaxy at large they were called unlawful mercenary combatants, committing all manner of barbarous horror. By contract however, hush-hush though the word was, they were heavily Imperial-aligned, and they were treated well. A necessary tool in the armament of a freshly birthed Empire.
In the waning months of 3,653 After Treaty of Coruscant Time, year 1,000 Ruusan Reformation Time, 35:8:3 by the modernized ReSynchronization. It'd been nearly nineteen organic years since he had transcended the prison sentence that he had endured while parading as the B1 Battle Droid. Life as AHM-60 had indeed proved an entirely more prosperous, and agreeable existence.
Though, it seemed, as unsatisfactory as the Droid would lament it to be -- this Galaxy was undeniably beginning to shrink around him. With the Empire he had seen a glorious return to the years of all out War, pausing his stride in the affair long enough only for repair or to provide assistance for favored companions. It was an age of endless mercenary, assassination, and bounty hunting contracts. When the Imperials were not bidding in the private sector for experienced collaborators, the Hutt's were. Astonishingly however, he had not ever found himself approached by the so-called Rebels.
But therein rest his dilemma. In his furious schedule of bloodshed and conflict, Bounties of astronomic proportion were beginning to accrue. In the last four years alone, all other combat scenarios aside, he had been present for the destruction of Firrerre and the mass genocide of their people. As well as the speciecide of the Icarii during the Vestar Campaign -- that had proved to be a lavishly sublime adventure.
When reduced down to a more logical form though, mathematically, he could not feign true surprise. Historians would drown with delight at the mere prospect of achieving access to his Memory Banks. Likewise, the Rebels too, would assuredly cease the operation of his life function if they had a means to ingress upon his files and witness firsthand the stunning horizons of War and Mayhem that Six-O had bore attention upon. He was in fact, a walking cache of Galactic History. Annals of the destruction that all Organics are driven to do -- but proof that he did it better, of course. One could perceive it as humorous, in fact, that with reserve for the species of a longer lifespan, most organics would cease function well in advance of ever even scratching the surface on his memory feed.
From the Mandalorian Wars until now, he'd been in the thick of it -- he had every intention to continue on ceaselessly until the very last Stars of this Galaxy went dim.
He lost a ship over Ord Biniir, hit Ralltiir and Ruul with calculated mayhem, aided in the sabotage of communications and slaughter of Rebels on Rhen Var. . . and with the proverbial noose beginning to tighten upon his neck, when up on the hill he could see the gallows manifest before his viewing optics, he knew once more it was time to transcend.
On the backwater planet of Dalicron-4, Six-O came in to contact with custom Replica Droid creator Naderiub, a creature of the Kaberioun species.
As it turned out, Saladyn Solomon had won stolen specifications of the IG-88 Series Assassin Droids from a Security Guard that had fled after the Holowan Laboratory Massacre in a game of Dejarik -- beat him with Solomon's Gambit, or The Devaronian Hard Cleave, as it later became known.
This is what he would become.
AHM-60 spent a multitude of hours over the course of the next day running his own array of diagnostic scans over the IG chassis. He thoroughly examined every aspect of it, every sensor down to the very bolts and welds that held it all together. Insuring no malware, or foul play were involved in this scenario. It wasn't until late the following evening that the Droid finally signaled his readiness to transcend.
By his insistence the room had been emptied of organic life -- Naderiub included. The transfer of memory, and in-habitation of a new chassis was not in any way similar to the changing of a shirt.
By dint of the Computer Interfacing Port, AHM-60 plugged in to the IG skeleton, firing through a number of command protocols, while disengaging numerous safety walls and kill codes until finally a voice prompt challenged the memory and personality transfer.
"Attahox Hunter Model Six Zero, " AHM began, eyes glowing attentively as he peered down upon what would soon be the new him. "01000001 01110100 01110100 01100001 01101000 01101111 01111000 00101100 00100000 01000001 01110010 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100011 01101000 00101100 00100000 01000100 01100001 01111000 00101100 00100000 01000101 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100001 00101110 00100000 00110000 00110000 00110001 00110011 00101110 00100000 00110011 00110010 00110100 00110110 00111000 00100000 01010100 01011001 01000001 " As the Binary melodically chimed from his vocoder, AHM-60 clenched his metallic fists, lurching his head to one side as his optic displays began to flicker and fill with static.
The red of his sensors began to blossom in to a radiant blaze, through the chaotic view screens he could see the information transfer nearing it's completion. 93%, 95% when it hit one hundred. The Droid that he was buckled, there was a loud clap of metal as the heavy frame collapsed to the floor, lifeless and ruined. It's internal components scorched, irreparable.
On the table a boot procedure was finalized, coding surged down the neural pathways of powerful processors. A rewind of data flashed -- three thousand, nine hundred and eighty-five years worth of memory swelled. In the mere milliseconds after the destruction of AHM-60, the transfer finalized. IGa-60 had arrived.
For the next decade, the process merely began where it had previously left off. Bounties, Duels, Assassinations, Skirmishes, Battles and Campaigns. The metal and tools that he utilized to such frightening effect may had changed, but the memory within the bulk had not. Though, like with the ancient philosophy of Theseus' Starship. . . could one truly look at the Droid that waged such chaos today, and say it was indeed the same G0-T0 from centuries past?
A New Republic rose, the Empire shattered in to a Remnant of it's former glory. A Second Imperium climbed upward from the in-fighting and betrayal, only to topple from the rungs once again. The Yuuzhan Vong War brought the Galaxy to it's knees, then faltered. The Dark Nest Crisis, The Swarm War, The Second Galactic Civil War, Sith-Imperial War, Second Imperial Civil War. . . the Third Jedi Purge. . Six-O was there. Loyalty for hire, plenty of war waged.
By the time of the great peace the number of battles Six-O had waded and trudged through would be unfathomable to an organic mind.
400 ABY, twenty-five years before the Gulag Virus wrought plague and death upon the flourishing Galaxy. Six-O had been padding his Underworld resume in Wild Space, Smuggling all manner of illegal wares to bickering Warlords on lawless Rim-Worlds. Then, abruptly, the Droid vanished.
Over four hundred years, not a single sighting. If you believe the old Spacer tales told in Shadow Ports from the Tingel Arm clear across the Galactic disc they'd tell you of a Hyperspace anomaly that swallowed the Droid whole, brought it to that Otherspace, that place outside of time--oh it exists, they all insist----A horrifying fate, even for a lowly Droid.
For three hundred years that monster of metal and violence endured in the unknown beyond. Hunted savagely by a race of extra-dimensional beings known as the Charon, as Six-O learned. More so than he, they lusted on carnage and death. A Cult religion dominated their society, a worthy sacrifice the Droid would have made to the great Void.
Unremitting, they ruthlessly pursued Six-O. Greater in physical strength, were their Warriors. But ever clever, the Droid endured.
The Xror'orco, they named him. Translated roughly: The Inexorable Reaper, or, less flatteringly--and perhaps more accurately---The Nether Metal. But Six-O would never admit inferiority to organic life of any denomination. It could never and would never compute.
It was ceaseless, the Droid found no safety. Barren world after barren world, through space and generations of their species. They attacked like waves on shorelines. When alas all weapons had been spent and options expended. The Droids ship received catastrophic hull damage that sent the Hyperdrive in to malfunction. And in some fairy tale twist of good luck, he was returned to Real Space. Badly damaged, ship useless, and in low power standby. For one hundred years he would sit adrift through the far Fringe, forgotten, alone.
It was only by the grace of the Lucky Mynock, and the naivety of the Wroonian Scavenger twins, Lev and Rossalyn, that Six-O once more was unleashed.
The Galaxy, admittedly, was much different than he remembered it. Yet even still, the organics waged pointless wars for factions that were but grains of sand falling from palm. In no time at all, after servicing and repair the ancient Droid returned for duty. Once more he found himself in the employ of the Sith--the One Sith. Through them he again became rich with work.
Partaking in battles on Coruscant, Balmorra and Ragoon VI. As well as the utterly vicious genocide of the creatures from Amar and terrorist attacks on Roxuli. After which IGa-60 once more vanished from Galactic affairs. Watching from afar as the One Sith crumbled. Perhaps now, the Droid would ponder, there needed a change of protocol. Perhaps now, Six-O would evolve once more.
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Companions
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(Will request him on the Codex once it reopens.)
Name: Boon
Alias: "Big Boo"
Loyalties: Six-O free of charge, any person or faction for a price
Role: Smuggler, Black Marketeer, In-Depth Knowledge of Illicit Trading
Age: 41
Species: Cantrosian
Development Threads: If Needed
Appearance: He stands short of stature, scraping the sky a mere 80 centimeters. Both face and head are pleasingly round, his snout blunt and perfectly symmetrical. Atop plump head two triangle ears lofted, motored by a number of muscles, they pivoted independently, cupping even the faintest sound from air. His eyes were gone, lost years prior, in their place rest two bulbous, oversized, ocular implants. They were stylishly retro, but clearly designed for a larger creature than he. From small fingers he bore retractable claws, natural weapons from the evolutionary past of his ancestors, but in the Galaxy at large they were woefully ineffective. His body was both muscular and burly, ended by a swaying tail. In the wonderful warm sun, his coat of Blue-Grey fur did shimmer, it was impeccably maintained, silken to the touch.
Personality: Big Boo did posses a truly gifted mind, almost incomprehensibly supernatural one might say. If you needed the down low on any number of illicit goods he was the friend you wanted. He knew factional territories, their laws, supply and the demand therein. He knew prices, spices and weapons. Ore, Fabric, Leather. Animals and Sentients. Slaves and Call Girls. A smooth kind of cat that used his almost toxic, mindbogglingly, cute appearance to full benefit. But he indeed was not without a fair share of faults that could really harsh out your most groovy mellow. Curiosity was a foul mistress, shiny baubles a brooding vitiation. Both a terrible gambler and horrible negotiator. . . which given his occupation was somewhat of an anomaly. Infamously he is known for having traded a substantial shipment of Phrik Alloy to a Client for a lifetime membership card for free food at Yum Bunnies, and a number of nostalgic button pins.
Force Sensitivity: Latent Force Sensitivity, untrained. Manifests in reflexes and memory skills
Weapon of Choice: Appearance, Wits, Six-O
Skills: Mass Consumption, Underworld Knowledge, has mastered the art of the Tactical Retreat, Revenge
Wealth: Fluctuates like the restless sea
Combat Function: Slick talker, that attempts to disarm you with fetchingly strapping looks and nonthreatening presence. When all else fails he is wickedly fast and highly attentive to his surroundings. Does not engage in fights he cannot escape, or combat without a more capable companion
Notable Possessions: Ocular Implants with typical vision enhancement options, Lifetime Free Eats Card to Yum Bunnies, a sick pin collection, various VIP Badges for Shadow Port and Galactic Clubs, and Cantinas. A sprawling beach side pad on Zeltron and a Grand Casino Suite on Nar Shaddaa
History: On Cantros 7, only two types of individuals were born. Prey, or Hunters. When your evolutionary make-up shaft you with the short end of the stick those were the only choices. Boon knew from his youngest memories he wasn't going to spend his life being prey. So no sooner than he was able, the Cantrosian took to the stars.
But man, as it turns out, the Galaxy is a far larger thing than he had ever imagined. Being a Hunter needed to be something more improvised, more, his size.
Not nine months after abandoning his home world and he'd already nearly met death twice. The second costing him his eyes at a Cantina in one of the domed cities of Varl from a stranger that merely hated the feline pupils that deign a look in his direction. It was from here the young felinoid met the ancient Droid, Six-O.
When you thumb someones eyes out and leave them for dead, you'd be surprised how deeply their face is burned in to the recesses of your memory. No sooner than the implantation of his new viewing goggles did the young Cantrosian set out to reap revenge. This came in the form of a contract.
Together with the Droid they hunted, Six-O his muscle. Clear across the Galactic Disc the search spanned. Shadow Ports, Seedy Dives, Slave Pits and Hutt Palaces. In the interim, against all odds, the small creature and the Droid developed a type of working friendship. If friendship meant the ample plying of credits to pocket. Something Boon turned out to be quite good at, while somehow also being equally bad at it. . .
Knowledge grew deeper, contacts were made, credits earned and lost. Until finally they had found the man. Ten years it had taken. Ten years of planning, lusting with fantasy, counting the days that passed with such eager anticipation. Torture would be a kinder word to describe what Boon and Six-O did to this man. From there on, the Cantrosian became known as Big Boo.
It was also, in the absence of his Droid companion, that Big Boo learned he was better suited for the smooth maneuvering of syllables, illicit goods and maintaining one hell of a coat of fur. Sure, they may be bigger, stronger, more fierce. But he was a clever kind of cat. Strong of wit, easily learned with numbers. A memory like a Droid one could joke.
It also turns out you don't need to be of vulgar ferocity when you can broker that black information. Those whispers of clandestine goods and services that everyone knew was happening. He became the guy that was the friend of a friend who heard from his third cousins brother-in-law.
He's been that ever since. Dividing his time rather lavishly around the Galaxy, or in his Zeltron home with frequent forays to his chill pad on that Little Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa.
Intent: Just an NPC to use randomly for threads as a collaborator of Six-O, or with any other RP'er that may want to utilize him.
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Role Plays
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|Solo Shorts|
|Dominion, Skirmish, Invasion, Duel|
|Other|
You're an amazing writer!
