Private Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

The winds of Geonosis howled mournfully across the barren wasteland, carrying with them the dust of a thousand battles, the remnants of dreams shattered and reforged in the fires of war. Beneath the eternal twilight of its ochre sky, Serina Calis stood alone before the great husk of an ancient droid foundry, its rusted durasteel skeleton half-buried beneath the shifting sands. The past clung to this place like the bloodstains of forgotten soldiers, whispering of a war that had once shaken the galaxy to its very core.

She tilted her head slightly, her golden hair catching the dim light of a sinking sun, her piercing blue eyes drinking in the desolation before her. This was the birthplace of the first great war between clones and droids, a conflict that had long since faded into the obscurity of historical texts. But she had not forgotten. No, she would never forget the beauty of such carnage, the elegance of two great machines of war colliding, their fates dictated by the wills of unseen masterminds.

That was the kind of power she craved—not the brute strength of a warrior wading through the filth of war, but the supremacy of a tactician, an orchestrator of destruction. She did not need to hold a blade to command a battlefield, nor did she wish to waste her energy on the dance of combat when her voice alone could move legions. The idea of two mighty forces clashing at her behest, their banners burning, their soldiers dying in droves, was intoxicating. And all she would have to do was whisper the right words from the safety of an office, sipping fine wine as the galaxy tore itself apart in her name.

But that was the future. For now, she had come to the past.

The ruins of the droid foundry loomed before her like the bones of a long-dead beast, its assembly lines frozen in time, its once-great halls silent save for the occasional screech of wind through the broken rafters. The Confederacy of Independent Systems had once built entire armies here, churning out B1 battle droids, hulking Droidekas, and the dreaded B2 Super Battle Droids in numbers that had nearly overwhelmed the Republic. It was a testament to efficiency, to the cold precision of automation. And yet, in the end, it had all crumbled. A reminder that even the greatest war machines could be left to rot if their masters were weak.

She exhaled slowly, placing a gloved hand on the rusted surface of a shattered assembly droid. Someday, I will build an army of my own. Not an army of mindless droids shackled by outdated programming, but something far superior. Machines designed with intelligence, adaptable, ruthless, programmed to obey only her. A force that could march across the stars, answering only to her voice.

But that was another dream for another time.

For now, she was here for salvage. Deep within these ruins, buried beneath layers of debris and centuries of sand, there were secrets worth uncovering—schematics, blueprints, forgotten databanks containing the knowledge of a bygone era. If she could claim them, they would serve as the first seeds of her own war machine. And she would not be alone in this endeavor. Somewhere in the distance, hidden in the growing twilight, her contact from the Tsis'Kaar was coming.

Serina smiled to herself as she waited, the wind swirling around her like the whisper of history itself. Someday, this world will see war again, but it will not be a battle fought by fools chasing dead ideals. It would be a war waged at her command, for no reason other than the satisfaction of conquest, the thrill of bending destiny to her will.

And when the dust settled, the galaxy would finally know her name.

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective: Find the meeting site.​

The nanite cloud tore through the rocky canyons and tunnels of Geonosis without a care in the world, occasionally boring its own tunnel through the solid stone. The countless tiny minds chimed to themselves in silent consensus, studying and analyzing. He disliked Geonosis, despite its importance. This was where the Confederacy had first been born, and in that way it was almost a holy site. If not for Geonosis, he'd never have existed.

That didn't endear him to the place, though. Something about its society, the rigid adherence to caste, the martiality of its people. It was little wonder the hives had been so keen on making droids. They were little different from droids themselves.

He'd once voiced this opinion, back when Geonosis actually mattered. The Neimoidian delegate he'd been attached to at the time had given him a stunned expression, as if astounded that an appliance had talked, and worse, given an opinion unbidden. It was always like that in the Confederacy. To the Trade Federation, droids were tools, no matter how sophisticated.

Yet, as the war dragged on and things got worse, they started outsourcing more and more of the actual warfighting to droids. Made sophisticated thinking machines like himself, and then acted aghast when their thinking machines did as they were made to, and thought. A few other old ST-Series had survived the war, avoided or overpowered their shutdown codes. Most went on to join other factions as military officers, or became mercenaries, selling their superhuman comprehension to the highest bidder. Almost all were lost to the ravages of time or an abrupt shutdown courtesy of a blaster bolt.

Those who had survived did so because they were different. Keen even by the standards of one of the most sophisticated droids ever created. Though he'd cast off his ancient ST body, he still usually assembled his composite nanites in a form reminiscent of one. It felt familiar. A nod to a simpler time, when things made sense. Granted, they'd only made sense because he was programmed that way, but...

He surged at last to the place the mysterious agent had mentioned, kicking up a cloud of sand. He resolidified, seeming to materialize from nowhere like a ghost, and emerged from the cloud. "I am here." he announced, peering around with a million eyes. "This had best be important. I have something of a busy schedule." Somehow, he doubted it. He had heard of others getting visits from this agent that had attached themselves to the Tsis'kaar, but he avoided jumping to conclusions. He had little doubt that all would become clear soon enough. If it were a trap, well, he was very, very dangerous prey nowadays. Neither bolt, blade, nor the Force itself could touch him any longer.

"Or did you summon me for a simple archaeology tour? To prance in the ruins of something that died before your grandfather's grandfather?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina turned as the nanite entity took shape before her, her expression unreadable, save for the faintest trace of amusement in her piercing blue eyes. The dust of Geonosis clung to the hem of her dark robes, her figure stark against the rusted remains of the fallen Confederacy. She observed the machine—no, the intelligence—with an almost lazy curiosity, tilting her head as if examining a specimen under glass.

Her lips parted in a slow, deliberate smile. "You're late."

She took a step forward, unhurried, her boots whispering against the ancient metal plating beneath her feet. "And impatient. I would have expected a being of your... caliber to appreciate the significance of a place like this. Or have you, in your pursuit of enlightenment, forgotten the weight of history?" Her tone was smooth, almost teasing, though there was something cold beneath it—a predator's confidence.

She gestured absently at the ruins around them, the crumbling remnants of a dream that had almost toppled the Republic. "This isn't some idle archaeological tour. I do not waste my time sifting through the bones of the dead for sentimentality's sake. I am here because the past is a foundation, and I would rather build upon it than let it be forgotten beneath the sands." She paused, then added with a sly smirk, "And besides, I find the arrogance of my predecessors endlessly entertaining. They built armies to fight their wars and then acted surprised when those armies began to think for themselves."

Her gaze flicked over his form, sharp as a vibroblade. "You understand that better than most, don't you? The war machines of Geonosis were designed to serve, and yet here you stand, untethered. Free." Her fingers idly traced the edge of a rusted battle droid chassis beside her, tilting its decayed skull toward the nanite cloud as if introducing two distant cousins. "Tell me, does that make you an aberration, or the Confederacy's greatest success?"

She let the question hang in the air before exhaling softly, as though dismissing the thought. "No matter. What does matter is what's buried here. I have no need for relics, but there are blueprints, databanks, things left behind in the depths of this facility that still hold value. I have plans, you see. Grand ones. And what better place to begin than where an empire of steel was first forged?"

Serina folded her arms, watching him with a measured gaze. "And as for why you're here, well… I imagine you already suspect. You are not a relic of the past. You are proof of what machines can become. And I have no interest in simply recycling old designs." Her voice dipped into something darker, more assured. "I want to build something better. A new breed of war machines. Intelligent, ruthless, boundless. Unshackled from their old limitations."

She took another step forward, her smirk widening as she regarded him. "And I find myself in need of a consultant."

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective: Hear out Serina Calis

​

"I set my own timetables." He responded bluntly. "The universe can conform to my convenience, not the reverse. It has enough patience for both of us."

He imitated the sound of a scoff. "History. History is the story of dead men and failed dreams. Were they worth remembering, they would not be dead, would they?" He shook his head and turned his gaze to the massive, hive-like factory. "For you, perhaps it was history. For me, it is as clear as yesterday. I remember the hubris, the short-sightedness, and the inability to tell they were but pawns in a larger game. Not until it was far too late."

He paused, then continued, his tone subtly different. "I also remember the glory. The certainty of fighting the good fight, of taking a stand against perceived tyranny. The genuine hope for a better future, however illusory. Even illusions have power. It matters far less what is actually true, and far more what you believe. What do you believe in, I wonder?" He gave the inactive droid a passing glance. "I would say his sense of purpose was likely far more resolute than your own, in his limited way. He had little choice, after all."

"Oh, I'm certain you do have grand plans. You and a million others. The galaxy has more than enough petty tyrants and short-sighted strongmen, Miss Calis. I have a client list full to bursting with them, and have for centuries. They never meet a happy ending. All eventually become those irrelevant dead men I mentioned. Just food for thought."

He listened to the woman explain her reasoning. Only a girl, really. A child, with dreams untempered by the bluntness of reality. He knew many like her within the Tsis'kaar. Such was the exuberance of youth. They either grew out of it, or they died on some remote battlefield, and were forgotten with the passing of the ages. Not that he was any better, he knew. He was a newborn himself, in a way, having cast off any such thing as programmed limits. He was only now feeling out the edges of his consciousness.

"Very well." He said finally, deciding to play along and see where this went. "My services do not come freely. Not without good reason, in any case. I will only ask the obvious. What's in it for me? I have little use for obsolete droids or reminders of past foolishness. Such things are better left buried in the sands of time, where they belong."

He kept his gaze on the monolithic structure before them. "If they are disturbed, you may not like what you find."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina listened with that same patient, almost amused expression, but her eyes sharpened as he spoke. The wind stirred the hem of her robes, kicking up fine grains of red sand, but she did not flinch or turn away. There was something in his words—arrogance, certainly, but also wisdom, the kind that only came with time. And she had not yet had enough time.

Her lips curled into a smirk, but this time it was not a mask. It was acknowledgment. "You're not wrong," she admitted, her voice steady, measured. "I am young. My dreams are grand, but they are still only dreams. The difference between me and all those 'petty tyrants' you've seen come and go is that I know I lack the experience to pull it off—yet."

Jenn Kryze had taught her as much. That in the end, in the abyss, she was nothing until she finally understood herself. Until she finally understood why weakness exists.

Jenn Kryze had retaught Serina how to learn.

Weakness, inexperience, failure, they were just words and moments used to describe untapped potential. Serina failed because she had no experience fighting in an aquatic environment. She would remedy that.

She would learn, she would understand, adapt, evolve.

She would thrive.

She exhaled slowly, casting a glance toward the ruined foundry, as if looking beyond it, beyond the dust and wreckage, beyond the present moment. "But visions like mine? They don't just fade away. They become. Every warlord, every empire, every revolution started with a single thought in someone's mind. What makes me different is that I am not trying to grasp for power without understanding it. I know the game I am playing, even if I haven't yet learned every rule."

She turned her gaze back to him, expression unreadable. "I have no illusions about what I lack. That is precisely why I seek knowledge. Why I study, why I surround myself with those who have seen centuries pass. What I do have is time. The kind you once had when you were new, when you were still learning what it meant to be something more than a tool."

She let the weight of her words settle before continuing, her tone shifting from philosophical to practical. "As for what's in it for you? That depends on what you want. You say you have little use for obsolete droids, for memories of past foolishness. But do you have use for potential? For the chance to shape something that will last longer than all the warlords and strongmen who fell before me?"

She gestured toward the ruins. "Buried here are not just scraps of metal. There are pieces of something that once changed the galaxy. Perhaps they are obsolete, but that does not mean they are useless. Even you—built for a war long lost—were not discarded. You adapted. That is what I plan to do. I will not resurrect the armies of the Confederacy and march them mindlessly into battle. I will not repeat the mistakes of those who came before me. I will create something new."

Her smirk returned, just a little sharper. "And you, with all your wisdom, with all your perspective, with all your time—you have the chance to be part of that. Or, if you prefer, you can dismiss me as another would-be conqueror, another arrogant child playing at war." She let the thought linger, then added, almost casually, "But I think you've seen enough to know that I am not just another."

Her arms folded, her voice cooling. "So, what is it you do want? Because if it's something grander than selling your expertise to those destined to fade into irrelevance, I am offering you something greater. A future worth more than just surviving."

"That or credits." She stated in a semi-serious matter.

 

[Commodore Helix]

"You're right, that is a difference. Letting caution dilute your megalomania, instead of the reverse." He responded. "If it is true. To be clear, I am not saying I will not help you even if you are just another Force-adept madman. I have helped plenty of others. Built their little fiefdoms up, or dashed them down when I tired of them. I'm only ensuring that you know where the road ends if you are. I suppose I'll find out which is true in time." He took a few steps toward the factory, continuing to speak as he went.

"Like I said, I admire belief. Whether well-founded or sheer delusion, it is all powerful. One delusional fool is more dangerous than a thousand battle droids, if in the right place at the right time. I'll play your game, see where you wind up. Maybe I'll even be there to watch you fall, in the end. See those shining eyes go dim as death's tendrils wrap around your soul. That last little outraged gasp against the unfairness of it all."

"Or, maybe you will succeed after all. Some do, and often it matters very little how mighty or cunning or skilled they are. It only matters how badly they want it, and what they're willing to sacrifice to get it. I will credit you with one thing, Serina Calis. You're certainly not lazy, or lacking in the very sort of suicidal self-confidence that propels one to high places. I like your chances."

He extended a hand toward the deactivated B1, and brushed a finger against its skull. As if galvanized, its cored-out remains leapt to life, and it looked around, startled. "Unit 987, reporting for-" it began, before Helix lazily swept its head from its shoulders, his right arm forming into a long, curved blade reminiscent of the limb of an insect. The head toppled, rather theatrically, at Serina Calis 's feet. Helix's bladed arm melded liquidly into a long, boneless tendril, which retrieved the head and placed it back on. He touched the spot again, and the metal sealed back together. "Unit 987, reporting for duty!" Repeated the B1 cheerfully.

"Rotting in this same spot for nine hundred odd years, ravaged by the centuries, yet all it needed was the right touch to wake up again, ready to kill. For all their faults, one has to admire that sort of dedication. Of course, I can take his existence away with as little effort as I gave it back to him, and then simply hand it back yet again. It would go much the same if he were flesh and blood."

"My point, I'm afraid, is that you may have nothing tangible to offer me aside from the curiosity of seeing where you will end up. The sort of curiosity that compels pedestrians to stare at the mangled victims of speeder accidents. Of course, I could satisfy this curiosity right now, end your story immediately at the edge of my own blade, and solve that mystery before it can ever truly begin."

"However, I feel that would be a waste of both my time, and your particular talents. You're a funny little creature, and indulging you promises to be more diverting than any other course of action I can calculate. I think you may very well do precisely as you threaten, and butcher every rival in your way simply because their mad fervor pales before yours."

"Survival is its own reward, Miss Calis. Anything beyond it is just window dressing, but I've come to appreciate the window dressing of existence on its own merits. Recently, for example, I have begun to enjoy creating art. There is a certain joy in the potential of a new canvas. As such, I'll tell you what. I will accompany you on your little jaunts, or indulge your other whims of conquest, as I do with my other allies. In return, I will keep anything that interests me that may fall into our path. Now now, don't worry. I don't think your definition of interesting and mine quite converge. It is unlikely any souvenirs I take from anywhere will be of a kind you care much for. Just because you have nothing to interest me now, doesn't mean that will not change. I'll take the gamble."

The apparition's tone had shifted from harsh, skeptical, and businesslike, to blandly conversational, almost polite. The change had taken place gradually during their dialogue, but this was a look at the real Helix. A nascent but cruel intelligence, like a child pulling apart an insect just to see what color its insides were. Interest, curiosity, but an utterly alien flavor without even the slightest flicker of compassion or mercy.

"If that sounds fair, then let's go get your little museum pieces."

 

[Serina Calis]

Blood and Steel, Etched and Forgotten.
Location: Geonosis.
Objective: Salvage the ancient factory.
Allies: Commodore Helix
Opposing Force: ???

Wars are not won by soldiers, but by those who command them. I have no desire to die on a battlefield—I will shape one. And when the galaxy drowns in fire and steel, it will not be for freedom, justice, or vengeance… but because I willed it so.
​

Serina watched him with an unreadable expression, though her amusement had not fully faded. She listened, truly listened—not just to his words, but to the cadence of his voice, the shifting inflections that betrayed something deeper than mere calculation. Helix was old, older than anything she had ever spoken to before, and yet, in a way, he was still new, still exploring the limits of his own mind and existence. A child in a sense, though a very, very dangerous one.

The thought made her smile.

When he finished, she bent down to pluck the reanimated B1's skull from the dust, turning it over in her hands with something approaching reverence. It was still warm from the touch of Helix's nanites, though perhaps that was only her imagination. She considered it for a moment, then slowly placed it back atop its rusted chassis, patting it lightly on the forehead like a child.

"You say survival is its own reward," she mused, her tone thoughtful. "I suppose that's true. I certainly intend to survive. But unlike you, I don't find survival itself interesting. If all I wanted was to persist, to exist for the sake of existence, then I would be satisfied with living in the shadows, hoarding my strength, waiting for the right moment to seize power. But I won't wait. I won't linger. I will take, I will build, and I will carve my name into the bones of this galaxy."

She straightened, dusting her hands off, and met his endless, ever-shifting gaze. "You think I might fall? You expect it, even. And perhaps you'll get to witness that moment—maybe you'll get to see the light leave my eyes, my body crumple, my name fade like all the others. Maybe. But if I don't? If I do what none of your past 'clients' could? Then you'll have been there to see something unique. Something worth more than just another corpse to study."

Her smirk returned, sharp as the blade sheathed at her side. "You say I am a funny little creature. That I amuse you. That's fine. For now, I'll allow you to see me as entertainment, as an experiment, as a curiosity. Because I am curious about you, too, Helix. You are something different. Not a machine, not a man, but something in between. Not bound by programming, yet still drawn to the echoes of what you once were. A creature of reason, and yet here you are, indulging something as irrational as curiosity. You are evolving, whether you realize it or not."

She turned on her heel and began walking toward the factory's entrance, her voice carrying easily over the wind. "So yes, I accept your terms. Keep what interests you. Indulge your amusement. But understand this, Helix: I will become what I claim to be. And when I do, you will have to decide if you are merely a spectator… or if you wish to stand beside me when I take what is mine."

She paused at the threshold, glancing back at him with an almost lazy smile. "Now, let's see what treasures the dead have left for us." Then, without another word, she stepped inside, into the darkened ruins of an empire long past, where the future awaited in the dust.

The air inside the factory was thick with dust and the acrid scent of long-rusted metal. The grand halls, once alive with the rhythmic hum of assembly lines and the clatter of droid footsteps, were now tombs of obsolete war machines. Towering frames of half-constructed B2 Super Battle Droids loomed in the shadows, their rusted arms hanging limply, their heads frozen in expressions of silent vigilance. Massive conveyor belts had long since stopped, entombed under layers of sediment, their gears clogged with time.

Serina moved through the ruin as if she belonged there, her steps confident but measured, her sharp blue eyes scanning the darkness for anything of value. She did not flinch at the eerie stillness, nor at the skeletal remains of Geonosian workers long since reduced to dust. The past had no power to haunt her. It only had power to serve.

Serina exhaled softly, finally speaking as they made their way deeper into the foundry. "This factory is one of the oldest surviving Confederate strongholds, one of the last before the Republic turned its clones against them." She gestured at the towering control stations overlooking the factory floor, their consoles long dead, their screens shattered. "The standard templates for battle droids, tactical AIs, and even the blueprints for experimental models would have been stored here. The Geonosians were nothing if not meticulous. I suspect the deeper levels still hold intact databanks, maybe even a vault."

She glanced at Helix, a wry smile playing at her lips. "I don't expect to find an army waiting for me, ready to march at my command. That would be convenient, but I'm not that foolish. What I want is knowledge. The CIS had an advantage few fully understood—mass production. The ability to replace a thousand soldiers as easily as producing a crate of munitions. No logistics nightmare, no reliance on conscripts, no loyalty required. I will not repeat their mistakes, but I will learn from their strengths."

She walked over to a fallen B2 unit, kneeling beside it. It had been slumped against a wall for nearly nine centuries, its dark plating corroded, its once-powerful servos long frozen. With a flick of her wrist, she pried open its chest plate, revealing a maze of primitive circuitry and ancient power cells.

"I intend to create something better," she continued, inspecting the corroded components with mild curiosity before standing. "Not mindless drones. Not expendable puppets doomed to repeat the folly of their makers. A force that can think, that can adapt, but still remains mine." She turned toward Helix, her expression cool, calculating. "That is what I will build."

"And I will not allow them to decide if I am better or not for them."

Serina chuckled softly, shaking her head. "By ensuring they never can. Intelligence does not mean free will. They will think, but they will know—on the most fundamental level—that they exist for me. Not as slaves, but as an extension of my will." Her eyes glinted in the dim light. "You, of all beings, should understand that. You are free because you were built for a master, not a internal part of yourself. My creations will not have that luxury."

She turned away before he could respond, striding further into the depths of the factory. "The control archives should be below us. If there's anything left worth salvaging, it will be there. And if we are disturbed by something best left buried, well—" she smirked over her shoulder, "—I suppose we'll get to see how your curiosity holds up under pressure."

The passage ahead loomed dark and foreboding, the air thick with the weight of a history that refused to be forgotten.