Paintings

[HK-36]

They are here, they must be.

My body fell limply through the empty elevator shaft, how foolish I was to not notice that concussion grenade. I will learn, I will remember next time. My limbs extended, they are strong, my claws and talons pierced the walls, they are sharp, my body slows down as I cling to the metal wall, it is old.

I look down into the darkness, not much father, I look up there is a glimmer of light from where I was pushed out. A man appears, looking down into the darkness,
"Do you see it?!"
Somebody calls,
"No, I don't think- wait, there's something glowing there!"
My eyes, I forgot to dim them. My hand shoots to my side, unholstering my pistol with a quiet snap of the leather, I take aim and pull the trigger. Projectile is sent silently, a whoosh heard as it passes the distance, and then a cling as the man's armor is shattered and his body knocked back.
I am sorry. I did not want his death, I did not came to kill him on this day. I hope he will find peace in a world where there is no war.

I look down once more, my claws release as I fall again, ready to tumble. My body crashes down silently, my sound dampeners droning out the sound as a soft cloud of dust raises around me. I look to the doors in front of me.

They are here, they must be.

I come to the door, my hands pressing into the crevice between the two slabs of durasteel, and I strain. My hands are strong. The crevice starts to slowly get bigger as I pull it apart, big enough for me to push more of my body into the space between durasteel doors. I press harder, push more, I raise my foot and press with it as well.
I am old. But I am strong.
With a creak the doors open and I am let inside the old hall, long since abandoned beneath the towering buildings of Coruscant. No more lair to culture and its treasure ignored, it was now nest of petty criminals and thugs.

I look about, scanning, and I see what I was looking for. Old canvases hang on the walls, protected in sealed glass domes.
They are here, as they must have.
I walk to one and look at the holo-note in front of it.
"Unknown Author, Circa 3000 BBY, the Bombarding of Serroco."
I look back to the canvas, the golden orbs of nuclear bombs descending towards the serene surface of Serroco, inhabitants beneath ignorant to what was about to face them.

They are paintings, my paintings, my memories, confessions, pains, blessings, emotions, and coldness. I am a droid that was forged to kill yet choose its own path to live in peace. These are my paintings, and this is my story.

 

[HK-36]

Bombarding of Serroco, I remember that day. I remember painting it, years later in my little workshop room in basement of the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine. The darkness of space, the blue of the oceans, green of the land, I made it with long smooth brushes. They were such quiet lands, such peaceful lands. I did not knew what it meant then, to be serene, to be peaceful, all I knew was what it meant to follow orders, and have a purpose. The bombs trailing through the skies, atom fires and their tails like whips of flames, I placed them on the canvas with multitude of small strokes, dips, and slashes. Chaotic, vengeful, raging above the serenity of the unsuspecting planet.

I watched this all happen, my arms folded behind my back, a sniper rifle hanging off of my bare back, my rust-colored body reflecting in the smooth surface of viewport I was standing in front of.
I watched and did nothing, in quiet calculations of how many losses the planet would face.

"Watching the final moments, Hache-Khe? It will not be long before the bombs detonate."
A voice behind me spoke, loud clanging footsteps were heard of a being in heavy armor as I turned about.
I faced him, in all his glory and majesty, red cloak and tabard cascading off of his body, that golden helmet covering his voice.
I lowered my gaze, and fell to my knees.
"Greeting: My lord Mandalore."
I answered to him, he motioned for me to stand up, watching the scene of the bombarding as well,
"Raise, Hache-Khe, you have killed enough Jedi and Republic men to stand in my presence."
I rose and nodded faintly,
"My lord, he's probably gathering intel on us to sell to Republic."
Another voice spoke, I slightly canted my head, I recognized it. Cassus.
"Nonsense, if he wanted to backstab us he could have put this all to end long time ago."
I looked out the viewing port and spoke in my monotone,
"Contrary: I would not for that would be going against my nature. Explanation: You are my master, and I live to serve you now."
I glanced back to the two armored men,
"Affirmation: I obey."

I looked out and the bombs erupted, flashes of light reflected on the dull cold surface of my photoreceptors, I watched as the death rained and thousands of people screamed out on the surface, their voices unheard to me. I watched and took it all in, speaking out.

"Query: Master, why did you bombard this planet instead of landing our forces on it?"
The Mandalore slightly glanced to me, taken by the view as well,
"The Republic hid their troops nearby cities in their camps, they did not want to meet us in battle. Cowards without honor like them deserve to die in fires."
He would pause, looking at Serroco as its surface was turning into ash and glass,
"Isn't it beautiful, Hache-Khe? Isn't it glorious."

I nodded simply, recording all of the events.
"Affirmative Answer: It is very beautiful master. Affirmation: Kote."
Glory.

There was no glory in burning innocent.

I watched the painting from behind the glass protective surface of the dome it was encased in. Could have I really stopped it? I was close enough to the Mandalore to be one of his guards, unseen but there behind curtains, could have I prevented death of a whole planet and many others? Their blood was on my hands as much as one those who pushed the buttons to launch the nuclear strikes. But, even deaths have their place in great cycles the Force moves about this Galaxy.

I nodded slightly as I began to move, slowly touching the glass of the dome protecting the painting in a farewell to old companion.

The dead are dead and I could not bring them back, but the weight of what I have seen is finally upon me. I may have not stopped it back then, but I will stop it in the future. I am not a simple slave anymore. I do not have a monster except my own conscience. I do not obey orders of warlords but I do that what I believe in, what I think is right.
I am not a killer anymore, I am the Iron Knight.

I stopped in front of the next painting my hands were on the Jedi's throat, blood running down his nose. Fear.
Fear in his eyes.