[member="Rashae"]
Vixley had very few external sensors to pick up on the Doctors vitals, aside from the ones his armor picked up on. But they were not directly linked to primary protocols, but connected through secondary connections which made them secondary to all primary objectives. Anything that was critical would only come up after his initial engagement was complete. "I apologize, Doctor. I must reiterate; I do not mean to insult. Many Doctors considered as 'back alley' are professionals who provide a level expertise, through mannerisms or practices that are not normally or widely accepted. Many Doctors within the official field of the more common offices follow a specific routine, and do not stretch or cross boundaries. Your profile has told me you can not go back to official work, as much as this..." he looked around the room, "could be considered official."
Vixley noticed the womans' vitals by now, as his rotation ended from the before initiated protocol. "Allow me to apologize; a droid apologize for causing discomfort. The amount of knowledge I have on you is as much as public holorecords have on you. I do not... know you, personally, formally, or in any way. I have publicly collected records on you, which any prospective hiring individual would accrue. I do not have any mission, protocol, engagement, objective or otherwise forcing me to be here. If you request I leave, I will leave, no questions asked. What I know is limited, and doesn't matter. Installed in my processors and databanks, anything that has to do with anything medical, was given in order to save lives. Hierarchy, professionalism, kindness, opinions... none of them matter. I have a limited complex truth analyzer and rational negotiator mechanism. Under the heat of battle where bolts fly and explosions hurl, I make a rational decision based on appropriate algorithms on whether or not someone should live or die. The vast majority of rolls show positive, that even if this person will lose their lung, their legs, and arms, a few other organs, I will do anything in my power to keep them breathing. Even a soldier of a mortal enemy. If an order was given, to burn down your home, murder your family, do you condemn the soldier following orders, the commanding officer, or both? You do not know that soldier. You do not know their position. If they were indoctrinated at birth, or cloning. If they were organically programmed by cruel and unusual methods. If they were forced because of loved ones being held victim. If that soldier falls in duty, I will save them. because that soldier does not want to die for a war he didn't live for. People have many different ways of thinking. Even if you make a mistake, if you realize it was a mistake, You can always fix it. Then if you turn around, you will see the future. This must be realized by oneself." Vixley pulled back the badge and placed it inside his pouch pocket, and turned to the side, facing the wall between the entrance to the office and the Doctor. "My only question is how far will you offer medical aid, to who, to how many, to what devotion."
Vixley slowly raised his hands to clutch at his helmet. If the doctor told him to stop, he would not. "My mechanical hands are made up of a thousand minuscule and individual parts, both requiring the original blueprints to and explicitly compatible models. It would be like putting a droideka head on a B-one Battle droid. Except, extremely more complicated, as no one knows where those pieces all go." Vixley started the unlocking mechanism of his helmet and gas started to emit and spray out. It wasn't deadly, it was actually just helium. "My structure, including this armor suit, are extremely heavy. My models weight is modified for the extensively large datacore holding all of the known bio weapons and medical knowledge from an era long gone. If I am injured, my synthskin bleeds, and I attempt to cover, bandage or seal the damaged area, before the helium completely dissipates. Without helium, by body will drag itself down into heavy disrepair. It is not meant to make me float, but stress my mechanisms less than normal. I am not rusty, I am just aged, and require extensive shut down time to handle internal repairs. But I do not have time for rest or time for repair." The unlocking mechanism whirred to a halt and the helmet was released. Vixley slowly began to remove his helmet. "Just as my hands, not only is the synthflesh damaged, but it is also my structure." Vixley had turned so the doctor could see the damaged part of his skull near perfectly. "My entire left side is caved in, with minor damage to my primary datacore. There are shards of metal from the small components that rattle around." He turned his face to look at her. By facing this way, she could also see the damage to his suit. He had gotten into a fire fight just before he was shutdown. The armor was patched, but there were blood stains where the obvious injury had occurred. Synthflesh was different from synthskin, to where it was actual living tissue, and could bleed, and even bond with real flesh. Vixleys ocular device, or eyeball, looked blinded. The sensors in the eye no longer worked. "But I do not need to show you the frankenstein my doctor made me to be. You have no need of me, or the genetic knowledge I have installed in my core. You are..." Vixley began a positive reinforcement protocol, "very successful and professional. You could do better than being a lacky of a Faction."
'a lacky of a faction' - a remnant of his doctors phrases. During the Clone Wars, the doctor called the Republic ... forceful dictators, and the Separatists ... special unions. War was never necessary. It only had the goals of territory, control, resources and desperation. Vixley turned to face the entrance of the office and clutched his helmet under his arm. "I request my leave, Doctor. My job is done here. I thank you for your time."
