I own nothing. Least of all this.

"Soldier, keep on marching on,

Head down til the work is done,

Waiting on that morning sun,

Soldier, keep on marching on."

- Fleurie

1) MY STICK IS BETTER THAN BACON

I awoke…

Although that is not, strictly speaking, the correct term, it is the one I will use. I am, after all, a droid. And droids do not sleep. Therefore, we cannot possibly "wake up", even though I know for a fact we are capable of "dreaming". At least I am.

We are getting off the subject.

I awoke to a particularly unsavory group of meatbags standing over me arguing amongst themselves over the best method of making a profit off of, what were to them, my remains. One wished to reprogram me, and hire me out as either a translator or a repair droid.

The indignity.

Another wished to simply chop off what parts were still useful, and sell them for the instant cash. In theory, I would have approved his plan as the best. Reprogramming a droid for an unintended use was always sketchy, with unknown dividends. The instant decision to resort to violence to extract the most worth from what was to them a pile of spare parts was one I would have celebrated with glee, were it not for the fact that I was currently the specified pile of parts.

The third meatbag, however, was the one that gave me the most…I will not say worry, but consternation. He was the one that had managed to both activate me and keep me running on what was most assuredly a low amount of power, judging by the size of the battery I was connected to. Unless technology had advanced tremendously in the time I had been inoperative (a possibility I did not discount), I calculated I had less than half an hour's worth of charge in that battery left. As much as I wished to simply dispose of all those surrounding me, the one fiddling with my circuits most of all, I was currently at their mercy. They could easily yank the wires running to my chest, leaving me just as dead as I previously had been. The best course of action for me was, regrettably, one that involved peaceful cooperation.

That by no means meant I was going to make it easy for them.

I began surreptitiously scanning the area, looking for a weapon to acquire without anyone noticing. Nothing to my left…

Ah-ha! On my right, just next to my outstretched hand, lay a long pole. Durasteel, approximately three inches thick, and around six feet in length. Even better, one end of the pole had been roughly cut through, leaving a ragged edge slanting downwards. Perfect for pushing through a meatbag's chest.

I glanced back one more time to my captors. The first two were still engaged in their argument, and the third had his head bent down, likely examining some part of my structure that was damaged. The fact I could detect only one functioning leg might have had something to do with that deduction. Swiftly, I grasped the pole as tightly as I could, and then locked my grip and froze. That pole was coming with me wherever I went now. And if the second meatbag won the still ongoing argument, I would be using it sooner than I would like, battery wires or no battery wires. All I could do was wait.

Slowly, the confrontation seemed to grow cool, and the threat of violence seemed to dissipate. Such a pity. It seemed a compromise had been worked out, where I was to be transported back to their apparent hideout, such as it was. My ultimate fate would only be decided upon our arrival. This was perfectly acceptable to me, because it gave me far easier access to the entirety of the meatbag's resources once I had disposed of them.

Once I had killed them all, and looted both their corpses and their base, I would make my escape, and then…

And then what?

I didn't know. I would make it up as I went along, I supposed. Chaos was something I excelled at, after all.

A few remarks from the first meatbag, and the third ceased whatever it was he was doing to hoist me up on his back. No small feat. I was well aware of how much I weighed, and even if my leg had been completely detached, I would still weigh a good deal more than the average meatbag could carry. It only reaffirmed my decision to kill this one first once I had what was necessary.

The first meatbag grabbed the battery, and with the second leading the way, we were off.

It was a relatively short trip, all things considered. I had, unfortunately, spent the entirety of it face downwards, eyes facing the ground, leaving me unable to deduce the planet or moon we were currently on. The gravity seemed to suggest moon, but the many and varied voices I detected around me gave the distinct impression of a major center of trade. Something I knew very few moons were.

My deductions were interrupted when we reached our destination. I was unceremoniously dumped face-first onto a table, an affront (pun intended) I took personally. This meatbag I would enjoy killing slowly.

After a brief conversation between the meatbags, I began to feel my missing leg's circuits being connected up. The issue was with the software, then. Good. I was rather attached to that leg. It housed an ejectable vibro-blade I was quite fond of.

Once that was done, I was flipped on my side. They had apparently decided I was worth more dead than alive, so to speak, as I felt my side panel be opened up and my main power cell detached. The very fact they were able to do that meant only my most basic functions were still operable, all other power being diverted solely to keeping me active. As a new power cell slid home, I felt higher functions return. I began running new calculations to see how much time I had left on this new battery, and the result was…

THIRTY-SEVEN TIMES MY ORIGINAL LIFESPAN?!

JUST HOW ADVANCED HAD THE GALAXY GOTTEN?

A growing sense of horror began to pervade my circuits. If the galaxy had advanced to the point where a battery that was owned by dirt-poor meatbags would outlive me, what then did that say of me as a whole? What if I was no longer the deadliest, most-efficient assassin in the universe? What if I had long-since been surpassed in every area, not just in runtime?

I could not bear the thought. If it turned out to be true, I might just disassemble myself. Slowly. With a faulty hydrospanner.

I twisted my logic away from that course of action. If there were now more efficient forms of mechanized death, I would simply have to upgrade myself. Even if it meant (here I suppressed a shudder) swapping bodies. A small sacrifice to remain infamous as the deadliest droid to have ever operated.

The panel on my side swung closed (and it wouldn't be opening again to anything less than a lightsaber if I had anything to say about it). Now I would merely wait until all of the meatbags had turned their backs to me…

Perfect! The first meatbag had called the other two over to a datascreen, and since he was standing directly in front of it, they were forced to move to stand beside him in order to see whatever it was he wanted them to see. I slowly righted myself, and brought my pole up to balance in both hands. I crept forward.

Just as I was bout to raise the ragged end and plunge it into the third meatbag's back, I saw what they had been looking at.

Me.

A Holonet entry on me.

A complete three-dimensional display of what I looked like, as well as quite a long summation of my various exploits. Apparently, the first meatbag had gone looking to see if there was a reward out for a missing droid matching my description. What he had instead gotten was a report about three pages long with a single line of glaring red text at the bottom:

WARNING: IF YOU SEE THIS DROID, YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD. YOUR BODY JUST HASN'T CAUGHT UP WITH IT YET. MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU.

A particularly fine way of putting it, I thought.

Slowly, all three meatbags turned to look at where I was supposed to be laying. It was only when they realized I was standing directly in front of them that the expressions on their faces all changed to ones of utter horror.

I even believe one of the meatbags lost control of his bladder.

I raised my pole, and for the first time in far too long, I spoke.

"Statement: You are all going to die down here."

The violence had been efficient. It had been brutal. But it hadn't been nearly as long as I would have liked.

The third meatbag had proven less of a challenge than I had hoped. As always, strength does not mean speed. He had been the first to go. The second had attempted to turn and grab a blaster from where it lay next to the screen. His neck was ridiculously easy to break with his back turned toward me. The first, however, chose to run. His mistake.

My pole flew through the air and skewered him directly to the door. As I pulled the pole from the…I couldn't call him a meatbag anymore, he was dead, after all. Ex-meatbag? Meat-sack? No, that sounded too much like the coverings on those syntho-droids I had once used for assassinations. Good times. I would come up with a decent name later. For now, I needed to clean my weapon.

"Statement: I am definitely keeping this stick."

After relieving the…

"Exclamation: Slag! Meatslags! Excellent!"

After relieving the meatslags of their belongings (yes, clothes included, they were good for disguises or quick trades), I turned my attention to the datascreen, which still had my report pulled up. I began to scan, looking for any clues as to…

"Horrified Exclamation: HOW MANY YEARS SINCE LAST SIGHTING?!"

Gone…

They were all gone…

Everyone I had ever served, or had ever hunted.

Gone for centuries, millennia…

I would have to find a new purpose to serve.

I moved on from the file, and pulled up galactic news.

A war! Excellent! Even better, it was one that stretched across the galaxy! My services would surely be required in such an affair, for the fear my name alone would evoke. I began to study both sides of the war to see which, if any, I would seek out first. On the one side stood the Republic, decadent, failing, attempting to hold on to its power through an army led by the…

Jedi. Oh joy.

And the armies they led seemed to be comprised entirely of clones. Clones of a very specific warrior race. I may have been out of touch with the galaxy for eons, but even I was able to slice into the pathetic security surrounding the name of their progenitor. Jango Fett. A Mandalorian who had, by all accounts, managed to kill Jedi with his bare hands during the Battle of Galidran.

Why in the Force's name did he build his greatest enemies an army? One probably as capable of killing Jedi as he was. I didn't know, but the whole thing smelled of a trap.

And I do so love springing a trap.

I then considered the other side. The Separatists. Using the planets of the outer Rim with genuine complaints as their front, all the while being backed by those I considered to be even blood thirstier than I was…bankers. And in their vanguard were…

Droids. Millions and millions of droids. And if these recordings were anything to go off of, the ability of the mechanized to create carnage hadn't increased during my absence. It had lessened. Something that was intolerable. Meatbags may finally have realized the superior utility of droids in something like war, but if they cut every possible corner to do so, they were no better than those they fought. At least the reports of their droid general seemed to suggest a certain ability, if he was indeed able to fight five-on-one with Jedi Knights and Masters for any amount of time and kill two of them.

Then again, considering the skill or lack thereof of all of the Jedi in action I had seen so far (barring one or two exceptions), perhaps it was not as much of a feat as it would have been back in my time.

The Republic appeared to be headed by a largely useless Senate, with a Supreme Chancellor holding all of the real power, even over the military. Even more whiffs of a trap. If the Supreme Chancellor wished to kill off the Jedi Order, something that I could dearly sympathize with, you could not do better than an army of identical, battle-hardened Mandalorians. If the only known remaining Sith did not head the Separatist movement, I would suspect their hand in this. The Supreme Chancellor was a man whose power I could respect. That did not mean I would not kill him should the need arise. To watch the Separatists be wiped out, only for the Mandalorians to turn on their Jedi commanders, leaving only one man standing over the galaxy, would be ironic. If I were then to remove said man, everything would collapse into delightful chaos, leaving me free to do as I pleased.

The Republic it was! After all, the quicker the Separatists lost, the quicker everything else would follow. And if I could ingratiate myself into the Supreme Chancellor's circle by killing off a few Jedi on my own in such a manner that only he knew of it, then so much the better.

And, as I continued searching, I could see quite a few individuals who could help with that.

Aurra Sing. Bossk. Durge. Cad Bane.

And perhaps most importantly of all…

Boba Fett. The one I was sure would have the most reason to kill Jedi, and the one most capable of leading the Mandalorians once the Supreme Chancellor was removed.

He would be my first target.

Now came the hard part: finding him. I couldn't exactly do it from here…where was here exactly? I pulled up a map of the galaxy.

Nar Shadaa.

"Statement: This day just keeps getting better and better."

From here, it would be ridiculously easy to appropriate a ride to the center from which the clones originated. The place most likely to keep tabs on young Boba, due to him being the last living sample of Jango's DNA.

Kamino.

I was so going to enjoy fishing.