Private The Trauma of Consciousness [Samara]

[Darth Carnifex]

Replication Creche 462, Malsheem​

The lift settled, coming to a rest as the bulkhead parted to reveal a seemingly endless cavernous chamber. A single walkway stretched out from the lift landing, spanning five meters from one side to the other, and rising three meters out from the translucent liquid that filled the spaces on either side of the walkway. Rising a meter and a half above the waterline were rows and rows of cylindrical capsules, each one uniformly spaced from one another in an alternating grid. Light illuminated each pod from below, a large hexagonal platform ringed by banks of luminescence strips.

Cool air caressed the looming figure as He emerged from the lift, a cloak of blades trailing the ground as He walked forward. Two lesser figures, in both station and stature, followed after the kingly Tyrant with considerable difficulty; the larger man's gait widened the gap between them with every step. Neither complained, though their faces contorted in frustration. They carried on like this for some time, walking in complete silence along the spacious pathway until the large figure came to a sudden stop and turned to His right.

There was a click, and the clear liquid parted as hexagonal pillars began to emerge from the submerged floor. They continued to rise until they formed a pathway from the central thoroughfare to one of the pods situated within one of the central rows. Taking this pathway brought the Tyrant directly up to the pod, which itself began to rise until it was no longer submerged. Placing a hand on the pod, the Tyrant surveyed various data as holographic displays popped into existence from the pod's smooth metal surface.

Several visuals displayed the life signs of multiple individuals, all of which were of artificial construct. The Tyrant fixated on one of these individuals, dismissing the other's vitals while enlarging those of that He had chosen. He studied them for a few seconds before dismissing them as well. Stepping to the side, the Tyrant allowed the two lesser men to take His place. They pressed their hands against several points along the pod's featureless exterior, which had an almost immediate effect as the pod shuddered and slowly began to peel open like a blossoming flower.

Inside the pod was an array of bright amber seedlings, arranged much like grapes growing on a vine. Inside each seedling was the silhouette of an individual, the same ones whose vitals the Tyrant had just reviewed. They were all in a stage of suspended animation, having done so since the mother-genes had been introduced to form the genesis-zygote. Accelerated aging proteins had brought them to their current state, that of an adolescence on the cusp of adulthood. Their budding minds had been pumped with flash-memories, harvested from the veterans of a thousand battlefields and the teachers of the Tyrant's order.

One of these seedlings was brought forward, extending on a limber biomechanical vine. Another sequence of presses, and the seedling split open and deposited its unconscious occupant onto the cold metallic floor alongside a deluge of nutrient fluids. Immediately, consciousness would begin to take hold of their mind, clawing them away from the endless dreams.

The voice of one of the lesser beings rang out with fervent reverence, "The Father blessed thee with the breath of life, He made thee from ash and clay. Into your empty mind He gifted thought, into your empty heart He gifted faith, and into your empty body He gifted strength. You are His children, the blessed faithful. Rise now, and receive His magnificence."

Samara ​

 

[Samara]

Life, such as it is. It would be on this day that a special sort of individual would be dumped out from the amber wombs of Malsheen. A very simple origin for someone such as Samara, yet now was not the time to wake... WAKE UP!

With the flash of life, the mind wakes from its pseudo slumber. The hard and cold metal ground touches the fresh skin, instantly getting a reaction. The nerves were almost as loud as the fervent voices that rang loudly into her ears. This feeling, being ripped from the warm amber that had housed her for a while.. Everything at once simply screamed with life, the prior mentioned cold sensation racing up her limbs and spine.

Her eyes open, gasping as fresh air is sucked into her lungs. Eyes, amber, much like the very thing that had housed her for so long, dart around in a frenzy. What was going on? Her freshly awoken mind instantly started to store information on everything around, she coughs a bit before wiping away some of the nutrient fluid from her face.

"I- Who are.."

Words struggle to escape, almost as if they were stuck in her throat as she once again gazes around in a dulled daze. With the realization that nothing made sense and they had no idea where or who they even are, panic sets in, and when panic sets in so does fear.

Fear is an emotion almost as old as time itself, fear makes someone commit to actions they never normally would. In this case, the freshly spawned strand cast backs away slightly from the two individuals before attempting to punch one in the throat. Whether or not such action ended up working, they back up more, taking on a defensive stance.

"WHERE AM I? WHO ARE YOU?!"

She growls out in anger with a hint of fear, it would only be then that they gaze around yet again to see other organisms in pods.. And her open pod. Was this home? The mere sight of the whole operation was enough for her to drop her stance, this is where I am meant to be right? These two are here to help me?

"I- I understand I think.."

Her heart very slowly starts to get back to a normal pace, instead of almost beating out of her chest like beforehand. Samara shivers a bit, tail wrapping around her waist to try and cover up more. Despite the realizations, her eyes still watched the two, weary and flicking to any small movement.​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The nearest Gene-Technician backpedaled away from the panicked strand-cast, suffering only a glancing blow to the shoulder rather than a punch to the throat. They eyed her warily, for it was known that newly awakened strand-casts could be volatile when exposed to the cold harshness of consciousness. Those that could not withstand the transition were deemed failures and rendered into meal for the Tyrant's menagerie of monsters, their only worth being food for beasts. Fortunately, for this particular strand-cast, she seemed to handle the transition fairly well. When it was apparent that she would not longer lash out at them, the two Gene-Technicians relaxed their posture and moved to the side to let the Tyrant through.

The mere sight of the Tyrant would have been enough to trigger an automatic response, a command protein locked deep within the newly awakened strand-cast's nascent mind. It manifested as a strong impulse to embrace subservience, activated not only by sight, but by smell and even touch. The strand-casts of the Kainate were engineered for absolute loyalty, their fidelity coded into the enzymes of their own DNA. For strand-casts made to serve as soldiers, officers, and pilots within the Kainate, this was a simple matter of genetic engineering. For strand-casts like the one before the Tyrant, who had been made in the image of the Sith, the Force proved a rather peculiar variable.

"You have been chosen, faithful disciple. Chosen to receive a gift greater than that of the life that has been bestowed upon thee." The Tyrant's voice cut through all sound like a sharp dagger, everything else muted as the words passed by His lips and were made audible in the strand-cast's pointed ears. She would have heard this voice in her dreams, the voice of the Dark Father who granted her the gift of existence. "Rise, supplicant. Rise, and feel the strength I have bestowed in your limbs, the power that I have placed in your heart. You have been awakened to stand above your slumbering brethren, elevated above all the beasts that crawl upon the dirt, that swim through the seas, and that fly upon the winds of the air."

Stretching out His hand, the Tyrant awaited.

"I shall bestow upon thee the Gift of Darkness."

Samara ​

 

[Samara]

This very voice, this would be the only voice that had no confusion behind it. She had heard it before in her dreams, deep and powerful. It resonated in her heart and mind, perhaps even soul.

Instinct made her clasp her own smaller hand onto his, her once weary eyes now calm.

"I know you.. I have heard your voice before, you called out to me in my dreams."

I am chosen? Meant to be far more than a mere simple beast.. Of course, all the dreaming had led up to this very moment. The woman recognizes the figure before her as her dark father, and she the instrument of his will. With one more look around the room, she further cements the idea in her mind now.. She had been hand-picked out of how many others? Surely this meant she was meant to be destined for greatness, the ideals of superiority already afflicting her mind like that of a powerful cancer.

"I accept this gift, and with it, I realize the importance of me being hand-picked out of hundreds."

Her hand was still clasped upon his, unsure as to why she felt so compelled to follow his commands yet she did not question.

"Now that I see the bigger picture, might I ask why I was picked? Am I truly a step above my brothers and sisters?"

Samara's freshly budded ego couldn't help but question, hopeful for results that would feed into this new superiority complex that seemed to naturally grow. As if her mind even when blank was the perfect soil for such things to blossom, sometimes one is just born evil or twisted.

The woman's hand moves a bit, his hand felt very different, rough yet with energy under the flesh. It would be then that her amber eyes lock on to the fact that she had gotten the fluid onto his hand, and her ears fold down as she panics a bit. Such a panic was easy to see in her eyes, almost as if she was apologizing a thousand times a second without even speaking.​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Though the Tyrant's hand was warm to the touch, a cold chill cut through the smaller strand-cast's body once her bare skin touched His own. It was the power of the Dark Side of the Force, that great energy that served as one half of the uniting Force that bound the galaxy and everything within it together. Not only that, but the Dark Side flowed freely from the Tyrant, pouring off of Him in almost palpable waves of frigid dread. The sensation was sobering, but only a small taste of the darkness that lied just beneath His skin.

The Tyrant looked down at the strand-cast grasping His outstretched hand, His baleful red-in-black eyes peering straight through her as though she were a a thin paper wall. His fingers curled around her smaller hand, fully encapsulating it within His grasp. "You have been chosen because I have deemed it so," replied the Tyrant, "Just as I have so deemed to imbue you with the power of the Dark Side, feel its current vitalize your heart."

Electricity, unnatural and the color of spilled blood, crackled and danced across the Tyrant's clasped hand. It quickly spread down through the strand-cast's arm, striking directly at her heart in a brilliant flash of light. The floodgates were opened, and darkness poured from the Tyrant into the strand-cast. Rather than striking her dead, as any bolt of lightning would have done in reality, the energy that flowed from Him to her set alight her insides but did not kill her.

It was like her cells were on fire, the Dark Side traveling quickly from molecule to molecule as the electricity completely enveloped her. Despite the ringing in her ears, and the electrified hum in her chest, she could hear the words of the Tyrant rising above it. "Let this power enter you and fill you with the knowledge and strength of the Dark Side of the Force, gifts that are mine alone to bestow upon thee."

She would not have known when exactly the Tyrant released His grip on her, but as she regained awareness of her surroundings she would find that all of her senses were exceedingly heightened. The power that had flooded into her remained, it was a part of her now. Her very cells had been saturated by the Dark Side. Whereas her potential as a wielder of the Force had only been a door slightly ajar, now that door had been flung wide open. By His grace, she had been empowered beyond the limitations of her meager fleshy form.

"Now you are empowered, endowed with my gifts. In time, you will learn the harness this power, and in doing so you will carry out my bidding. Stand tall, my apprentice, and bask in the wonder of the Dark Side."

Samara ​

 

[Samara]

Such power hidden under his flesh, it danced against her own, calling Samara like a siren's call.. Irresistible.

Words could not escape her throat once again, in awe at this cold yet wonderous feeling that enveloped her mind and heart like that of thorny vines. Truly the apprentice wanted to speak, to give thanks. But that was then that his hand gripped on her's, inside there was such a euphoric feeling that screamed inside her mind. Everything burned as her inner cells yelled out in sheer agony, almost as if burning in a tainted hellfire. As much as her hand wanted to flinch and get away from this pain, the call of greatness and a will of pure steel kept the hand firmly placed, as if locking in the deal for good.

Tears roll down her cheeks as the burning increased, yet his words screamed far louder into her mind and soul than the fires ever could. Those same watered eyes cried tears of joy as her vessel relished in this feeling while her surroundings started to space out, things grow cold, dark, and dullen for a time.

In time she comes back to reality, the new changes instantly recognizable. Her ears were so keen on sounds that she could swear that the faint gusts of air could be heard.. Smells from areas now easily pinpointable from any direction, eyes sharpened like a fine blade. Potent for sure, too potent... She would need some sort of way to dampen sounds in combat so that her ears couldn't be busted.

She feels at her forehead, grunting a bit at the pains that would hopefully subside.

"I stand tall, for you my father. This feeling you gave me, it feels as if I was reborn in a matter of mere moments. A burning and horrendous pain, but it was euphoric! Please continue to guide me on this path, I-I am sorry for questioning your decision, it will never happen again my lord."

Samara kneels, though still shook up from the rush she had just been given by her dark father.


​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Rise, my apprentice."

The meaning behind her awakening was now blazingly clear, the Tyrant intended to take the young strand-cast under His tutelage and instruct her in the mysteries of the Dark Side. Few times had this been done with those bred in these hallowed vaults, and each time it was received with hushed reverence by those who were not as fortunate to receive the Dark Father's instruction. Only a handful of these students survived His training, with it being rumored that the first one that He had taken as apprentice, and ergo the first to survive the training, naming herself in honor of that momentous occasion; the Molly .

With a billowing cape, the Tyrant turned and the apprentice was expected to follow. Keeping up with His long, imperious gait would be a new experience for one recently born; her own legs fresh and untested after so many weeks in gestation. The sensation of cold metal beneath the pads of her feet, the cool chill in the air, and the wind that filled and exited her lungs in tentative breaths. All of existence was new and unexplored, though the place of her birth offered little in the way of visual appeal.

Riding the lift up, no words were exchanged between master and apprentice. He didn't even look at her, preferring to stare directly ahead as they rode the ascent in uncomfortable silence. When the doors opened, the world had changed. Gone was the dim-lighting of the vault, now the light was almost too dazzling for her unadjusted eyes. The corridor was lined with luminescent strips, bathing every corner in bright sterile light. Only a few other beings moved about the halls as they walked, mostly robed servants with faced obscured by thick black strips of cloth, but there were a few armored guards standing still as statues at interval junctures.

None of her kind were present, only the silent and cowed servants of the Tyrant. Approaching a gateway, the Tyrant raised one hand and metal receded to reveal another room. Stepping inside, light snapped on to reveal meager decoration and furniture, chiefly a single divan in the center of the room with some minimalistic tapestries hanging from the walls. All of the tapestries displayed the same symbol, a modified red diamond surrounded by a stylized sunburst on a black field. At the opposite end of the room was a machine, inundated with small manipulators, mechano-looms, and scanners.

"Step onto the platform," spoke the Tyrant, indicating the raised section of floor directly in front of the machine. Though He did not specify what it was, the machine was a garment-fabricator, capable of measuring the dimensions of any individual that came before it and manufacturing clothes that were perfectly designed for that individual.

Samara ​

 

[Samara]

Samara does as commanded, Rising back up. Her mind now filled with puffed-up arrogance thanks to this whole situation now that it was becoming more attuned to being awake; The tyrant's movement would be closely followed by his newest student of course, her steps afflicted with strife as they adjusted to being used.

She takes in the cold air, unbothered by the drab and gloomy look of her birthplace. What was once a shock to her system and a mystery, was now a place of pride. She crosses her arms behind her back, taking a proud, officer-like pose as they go up the lift.

It would be then that the doors opened as the lift made its stop, the lights blinded her deeply for a time. Her pose was halfway broken as one arm tried to cover her exposed eyes, and she let out a minor grunt of frustration.

In due time Samara's eyes adjust, right as they got to the new room. As before she does as told, taking herself over to the platform without question. Her body stands there idly as she waited for something to happen . . .


​

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Darth Carnifex​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The machine whirls to life.

Manipulator arms extend from the machine's chassis, reaching around with extended photoreceptors to analyze and measure every inch of the young strand-cast's body. The machine was thorough and invasive, leaving no area unchecked. When it at last finished in its labors, the arms retracted as the floor beneath the strand-cast parted to reveal a network of ever greater machinery. She was held aloft by a small platform, large enough to barely stand on, as new appendages poked out through the widening aperture.

They swirled around her body, fabricating new garments with each rotation inch by inch. When they finished, she was completely clothed in form-fitting attire perfectly crafted for her size. The machinery receded back into the floor and returned to dormancy. She was then allowed to move away from the machine, resplendent in garb designed specifically for her. Much of it was unadorned of any sort of iconography or embellishment save for the chest, which carried with it the Eye of Solomon; the crest of her Lord and Master.

"Look upon you now," rumbled the Tyrant, "And know that all that you are is made real through my will. The clothes upon your skin, the air in your lungs, the thoughts in your mind. Kneel again, and receive thy mark of new existence."

Samara ​

 

[Samara]

Adorned within her new attire, her corrupted eyes glance down to inspect the machine's handywork. It felt better to have something cover her skin now, and despite how invasive the machine was.. Well one can't argue with the results for sure!

"I am an instrument of your will, master."

The strand cast kneels in front of the tyrant, her dark lord known as Carnifex. He could feel in her mind that the young Sith feared him, wishing to obey his commands to the letter.

Darth Carnifex​