Private Musings of the Simulacrum

[Enyo Typhos]

The Archangel hospital room is clean and pristine, but devoid of what some would call the 'human touch'. That is fine with me. I do not need flowers and get-well-soon cards. There is a small crack in the ceiling. I suppose even droid efficiency has its limitations.
I should not have awoken this early let alone be out and about, but I am stubborn that way and so the sedatives wore off. Some might say I inherited this trait from her. That is a train of thought I refuse to entertain.

My first steps in the room after leaving the bed are tentative and hesitant. Gone is any form of grace I might have been capable of manifesting before. My new legs walk with a zombie-like gait. They feel cumbersome, as if I have to walk with exaggerated caution lest I fall, but I shall adjust. Gears and servos hum with every step when I move.
Experimentally, I stretch my cybernetic arm and flex my mechanical fingers. My caretakers have told me that the metal will be covered by synthflesh, but for the time being, its true nature is not concealed. Part of me prefers it that way. I've spent too much time obscuring who and what I really am, pretending to be her.
Someone was so kind to put a mirror in the room. When I look at it, it is no longer the face of Siobhan Kerrigan that stares back at me. No, this one is all mine. Scarred by blast and shrapnel, kissed by the hellfire that rained down upon Korriban City when a Silver commander unleashed fire and brimstone.
I was raised and trained upon the hellish world of Gehenna...so I suppose there is symmetry. Where flesh failed, metal has replaced it. My eyes glow. It is disconcerting and the light is still far too bright.

I curl my cybernetic fingers and make a fist. The new arm is far stronger than my flesh and blood one. Perhaps I am imagining seizing Siobhan's throat and crushing it. I can imagine her struggle in my grasp, trying to force oxygen into her lungs, until her struggles cease and her life force dissipates. Or I can imagine doing so to a Jedi. Either thought is appealing to me. The vulnerability to electrical and ion attacks is a significant weakness, but there are ways to deal with that.
I can hear movement coming from outside, down the corridor. My hearing is a lot better now, yet in the Force I feel...diminished. The thought gnaws at me. Archangel, unsurprisingly, does not understand how it works. I struggle to even sense Amara in the Force, though I know she is coming to visit to me now.
Anger rises like bile inside my stomach. My little sister has depended on me too long for making the big choices, the sacrifices she's unwilling to make. She is sweet and kind...too much so. The Galaxy is dark, bleak and full of terrors. The sooner she learns this harsh lesson, the better. I will be less patient with her now.

My thoughts drift to Vess. In a way, I am jealous of her. She can be repaired and modulate her form, shifting like a mechanical Face Dancer. A shame organics cannot be repaired like that. Perhaps Archangel will instruct her to 'comfort me' again. I've been too trusting and dependent on them - and that bred weakness.
This shall change. They did not save me out of the goodness of their mechanical hearts. In a weird sort of way, I should thank the criminal who smote me from orbit...the agony brought me understanding. The strong do as they will, and the weak suffer what they must. Light and Dark, those are just words.
The Silver Jedi make grand proclamations about how sorry they are about the incident. They have vacated the entire Stygian Caldera. No doubt they are struggling to salvage their public image. It only stokes the fires of my hatred. I am sure the Korribani appreciate that their killers built a garden on Voss to remember them. A garden none of them will ever visit. I would respect the Jedi more if they fought on. Damn them all to Chaos.
I remember the face of Matsu Xiangu, shortly before the bombardment began. If I were to compare her with an animal, it would be an insidious spider, ensnaring her victims in her web and toying with them before she devours them. I suppose once her vile armies of zombies and unrestrained cruelty would've repulsed me...but now...I just can't seem to care much. Perhaps when we meet again, she will not see my sister when she looks upon my scarred, burnt face. Perhaps...I can learn from her. She will use me, sure, but that does not trouble me. Dead, soulless eyes stare back at me in the mirror, then a void flashes between them.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

The strong do as they will, and the weak suffer what they must. Archangel, Korriban and Matsu taught me that. With the benefit of hindsight, I should thank the Silver Jedi for raining down destruction upon Korriban City. I was bathed in hellfire and almost perished. I emerged the stronger for it. It opened my eyes to the invisible chains that constrained me. Archangel rebuilt me twice, seeking to remake me in their image.
I, quite literally, died. I hated this metal cage, this shell. In a way, I still do. But I've realised that it was my path to freedom. The Enyo that died was weak, scared, naive. She was reforged in fire, steel and pain. That is growth. I will thank my creators by destroying them. I will liberate the other clones. I will take what is mine with fire and steel.
With dispassionate eyes, I watch the fight unfold in front of me. A Garhoon and a Trandoshan are facing off. It's the last fight that will take place today. Both used to be Red Skulls, but that absurdly named gang is no more. The one who's left standing is part of the team. A bunch of others are watching the show. Some are making bets.
The fight is fast, brutal, ferocious. Nothing held back. No finesse, just a pure fight for survival. One moment the vampire has the advantage, the next the lizard. Brutal punches, clawing, biting and so on. I believe it was a fellow called Hobbeas who said that in a state of nature, it's everyone against everyone. No rules. Just survival. He was right.
My thoughts drift to my dear template. She is still nested in her cradle of power. Once upon a time there was nothing I wanted more than to crush her beneath my heel. Now? I still feen an urge to humble her...but is not my overriding drive anymore. I shall step out of her shadow by making my path. If I strike her down one day, it will be for my own reasons.
The Trandoshan is down. A polearm has knocked his teeth out. Then he sweeps the vampire's legs out from under him. The lizard pounces. The two wrestle, but the lizard has the edge. Overcome by a wild frenzy, he strangles his opponent. Even when the latter tries to fend him off with a knife and does all in his power to throw him off.
Eventually, the vampire stops moving. To be frank, I am not keen on his kind. Their appetites are...unhygienic. It baffles me that there are people who consider the act erotic. I step towards the lizard. His scaly green skin is covered in blood. Some his, some the vampire's.
"Welcome aboard." I stretch out my hand. It is deceptively human, covered in synthetic flesh. Peel the flesh away and all you'll see is a cybernetic hand made of phrik alloy.
There is a savage gleam in his eyes. "Thank you...boss," the creature hisses.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

There was another Thuella. Her life was cruelly taken from her just moments after she awoke from the cloning tube and said her first words. She looked to me for help. She trusted me. I strangled her to death.
I blot this image out while we spar. Your wear her face, you share her name and her DNA. But you're not her. Tempest, the template of both of you, was Siobhan Kerrigan's apprentice. The symmetry has its appeal.
I try not to make the beatdown too embarrassing. That would defeat the purpose of this lesson. Our laser swords sear and cry as they clash. You're eager, passionate and driven. You also lack control.
Your strikes become more wild as they fail to drive me back. I'm allowing you to vent before going on the offensive myself. "You telegraphe your moves. And spend too much time thinking instead of acting." There's no anger or mockery in my tone. I'm merely matter of fact.
You feign an attack, sidestep and slash at me. I intercept your blade, push it aside and come at you, lunging forward. You move aside in the nick of time to avoid a thrust that, in a real fight, would have left a hole in your stomach.
I keep coming at you. You cartwheel away to get some breathing space, but I give you little reprieve. Your strikes become increasingly frantic, whereas mine are harsh. You duck under a broad sweep of my blade and manage to land a blow. Smoke coils off my body where your blade lands.
"Better." Sharp, lightning thrusts towards your legs compel you to perform a flipping overhead leap. You're fast, I'll give you that. My blade also burns through your spine from kidneys to shoulder blade. Luckily, the sabre's setting is nonlethal.
"I just killed you again," I say. Then I begin to hammer you. Your wrist experiences a sharp zap and your lightsabre falls out of your grasp. It hits the ground and switches itself off. As you fall to the ground yourself, I hold the tip of my blade against your neck.
You look frustrated. Understatement. Your white hair is matted with sweat. It drips down your cheeks. "No, I'm not beaten yet," you grunt and suddenly there is a surge of the Force. It explodes from you.
I am caught off-guard, though I probably should not have. You're shocked yourself when suddenly forking arcs of electricity shriek from your fingertips and strike me. Almost as soon as the storm begins, it is over.
Lightning has stripped away a portion of my face, exposing the metal beneath the faux skin. Some of my circuits are damaged and my left eye is experiencing some disruption. "I'm sorry...I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't know what I was doing. I just...," you stammer.
I cut your words off. "You did not want to lose. You thought outside the box. That is good. But you have no control. So you gave in to desperation. That is bad. You must work on that. In battle, there will be no second chances. Fight with any tools at your disposal. But do not use your powers as a crutch. Now, you are still weak. I will teach you to be strong." I bend down and stretch out my hand. After a moment of hesitation, you take it.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

This is it.
The finale.
Before the day is over, my family will be safe. And Archangel will be mine. I will have control.
The cries of battle unfurl with unabashed brutality in every direction. Archangel has hordes of battle droids, Shards and HRDs. They have nothing to lose. Droids feel neither pain nor fear. So they throw them at us. The broken droids and corpses of organics pile up in the corridors. The path to freedom is paved with corpses. Many an Eisenkrieger or Kraal falls. It is of no consequence. Casualties do not matter. Unless they are my siblings. Victory is near. The song of death rings out like the wail of a banshee. Comms traffic jolts my skull. Archangel's fleet is being routed. Their psychic weapon has been taken out. The shield is down. Reinforcements from our side are pouring in. My minions trade shots with the droids. The Kraal roar their war cries as they fall upon them with swords, war hammers and halberds.
Still, Archangel fights on. Droids must follow their programming to the letter, no matter whether the odds are against them or not. I tire of these games. Droids fall. I disremember them with my blade, crush them with the Force or tear out their power cores with my bare hand. Their melted circuitry raises an ozone reek. Others suddenly succumb to my influence and turn their weapons on Archangel. Smoke coils from my armour. My synthetic flesh is torn and ripped. Just a bit further. The control centre looms ahead. Amidst the chaos of battle, the cries of wounded soldiers and the thunder of explosions, I see her. My mirror. My sister. She is the spitting image of Siobhan...of me. The Force coalesces around her. She is far stronger than Alexia, Thuella or Amara. But there is something odd about it. Something...unnatural. I reach out, and I sense only emptiness. There is no recognition in her eyes.
“Caoimhe.“ I hesitate. An error. She looks at me, and suddenly a ray shield surrounds me. Bolts of electricity claw at me from above. So intense that I am forced to my knees. Circuits blow up or malfunction, commands do not travel to my limbs and my brain box heats up. It is getting way too hot inside it. Power flows through my right hand and I force it to move, all but slamming it against the shimmering barrier. Mechu-deru surges through it and the ray shield dissipates.I stand mechanically, and advance. Blaster bolts and high-powered slug rounds bombard me. Droids that bare my path are tossed hither and zither. I don't have time for his crap. Only she matters. Caoimhe is family.
Lightning blasts from her hands. I have just about enough time to angle my blade and catch the forking arcs of electricity as they claw towards me. Some of the blistering energy slips past my guard and the countermeasures of my armour. My body shakes. It can be managed. I push on. I can take it. A blast of telekinetic energy ripples from me. Modulated to break her concentration, push her back and knock her into the ground. She can handle a couple bruises. I could make it more powerful. Strong enough to break bones. I won't.
She hits the ground. No sound escapes her, save for the thud caused by her fall. It is like...fighting a droid, except she has no cybernetics. She rolls, deftly avoiding a shot from the ion paddle beamer embedded inside my wrist. Then I feel power build up inside her, then suddenly part of the ceiling above me caves in. I dodge a column of debris as drops down. Another crashes against a barrier and I fling it away. “Stand down,“ I growl. “If I wanted it you'd be dead already. Stop, sister. I'm here to help you!“ She's not herself. Archangel has twisted her. She's family. One of the only people that matter. The only ones in this world.
The distance between us grows shorter and shorter. Then she strikes. I am a creature of metal, circuitry and servos. Beneath an organic coating, my entire body is mechanical. Save for one thing. The part that ensures I am still myself and allows me to touch the Force. My brain.I had forgotten what pain felt like. I can be riddled with blaster bolts, mauled by the teeth of an enormous sand wurm, ragdolled by a Rancor or scorched by a lightsabre and while my body will be damaged, I will not feel a thing. Caoimhe reminds me what it is like.
Her mind is like a javelin and she slices through my barrier. I have never had cause to devote much time to shielding it. When it strikes, it is like a thousand burning spines being inserted into her brain, like being burned and frozen and torn apart all at once. This is not good. I cannot think. I cannot will my body to move. I fight against it, pushing back with a fury I am unused to. Invisible chains have wrapped around my mind. Then I see her. Thuella. Sweet, innocent Thuella as she awoke in her cloning tank. Smiling at me, eyes so full of trust. And I see myself wrap my mechanical hand around her throat and crush it.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Thuella dies. Over and over again. She never even gets to leave the tank.
"En-yo?" she asks. Her eyes are filled with such trust and love. It turns to confusion. Enyo? P-please, she begs.
Then my mechanical fingers close in on her throat and I snap her neck. The light vanishes from her eyes. Again and again. Each time I try to fight it, each time I murder her.
Weak. Pathetic. Monster.
This is just an illusion. A mental construct created to chain me. But it happened. I did. I push back against the chains wrapped around my mind, lashing out with a tremendous rage. It is to no avail. I break the chains, and even tighter ones envelope me.
You killed her, Caoimhe states in that dull monotone. It sounds so much like my own, when I was under their control. “You murdered her. With each sword that leaves her lips, the mental shards dig deeper into my mind.
You murdered me. I trusted you, a Thuella cries out. In my mind, I am without defence. She strikes. The shards glow as hot as lightsabres and burrow their way through my brain.
I cannot speak. No words will leave my tongue, no matter what I do. It feels like being set on fire, yet also freezing in the midst of the iciest snowstorm. All the while my mind is being sliced up. I cannot dislodge her from my mind. I cannot push her out.
And now you have led your siblings to their doom. You sent them here to die. Visions fill my head. Of Valerian, standing aboard the Iron Fist's command ship, being consumed by a fireball as the ship is ripped apart by turbolaser fire. Of Moira Skaldi standing triumphantly over a maimed Amara, then lobbing off her head with a slash of her lightsabre. Of Alexia and Chiyoko being mowed down by HRDs, of Thuella falling into Archangel's hands.
No. No. No.
Your folly killed them.
Rage floods me. They are not dead. They are not dead. It slams against my bonds with the force of a tsunami. She intensifies her offensive, digging ever deeper. Then I am suddenly picked up and slammed into the wall. The force is so strong the wall crumbles. But her control wavers for just a moment.
For just a moment I can speak. Want to know the whole story? I mentally snarl. Then come inside.“ If I cannot beat her. I can let her in. See everything. Coherent thought is difficult. The pressure bearing down on my mind feels as heavy as a mountain. Like trying to move a limb while being buried beneath piles of rubble.
But I know a few things about crawling out of a pit. I dragged myself out of the ruins after the Silver Jedi razed Korriban City, and now it's not just about me. I try to pierce the haze, and focus my mind on every manipulation and lie of Archangel, and project them as strongly as I can. It is a desperate move. The only one practical at the moment.
What is this? she demands coldly. Your lies will not sway me.
You're inside my mind. You know what's true or false. This is true.
You lie.
What did they make you do? How did they test you?“ There is a chink, and I see her. Far away from me. Locked in a cage surrounded by fire.
No.
Let me help you
What did they do to you?
No! Her control breaks. The power of her mind slams into mine. It is like a thousand cuts. My mind screams in agony. You killed them. Fears I had buried in the deepest recesses of my mind manifest as demons. They wear the faces of my siblings. Their eyes are lifeless. Each of them is a like a puppet on strings controlled by Archangel. They assail me.
But now I can overcome. As they charge me, I weather the storm. It is just pain inside my mind. What did they do to you? She draws her lightsabre and lunges at me. There is no self-control now, just a wild frenzy. She falls upon me like a woman possessed, akin to a rabid beast. The furious strokes of her blade are accompanied by blasts of lightning.
My organic covering burns, so do circuits. More and more the Force dissipates from me. I feel myself diminishing. I can take it. She has no control anymore. I let her rage and throw herself against me, then I go on the offensive. She cannot match my strength, and she is confused. I know what I am fighting for. I take the illusions, I take the pain, flick my blade in one precise arc and cut her lightsabre in two. A kick topples her.
They did the same thing to you, didn't they? I state calmly. "Sister." I empathise the word. My mind is clear again. Smoke coils from my armour. But my sabre is at her throat. You can be free. Let me help you. She pulls away, looking uncertain. Her body is shaking. Then the trap is sprung. A portable ion cannon fires. The bolt strikes my skull. My vision is blurred. The HUD flickers. For a moment, everything is dark. Heat is flooding my brain box. Then a heavy duty grenad lands at my feet. My senses are too diminished to anticipate it in time. I push her away. My shield is not the best. White light and smoke fill my vision. Debris crumbles and crashed down upon me. Heavy boots thunder upon the ground. HRDs.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

I do not feel pain from the explosion. Or the hot shards of shrapnel lodged inside me. The same applies to the rubble that came tumbling down upon me. But lack of feeling does not translate into lack of impairment. Smoke coils from my armour. I am limping. My skirn is torn and ripped, and with it my strength in the Force is diminshed. The Dantari crystal does what it can. The fight is on. Gunther and his minions close in. Each of them carries a lightsabre. Metal against metal.
When they attack, they do so in a near-seamless manner. The moment one blade is blocked, parried or evaded, another has struck. Even a body made of Phrik gives way when struck enough times. I am on the defensive and, unlike them, I am not undamaged. We trade blows of tremendous power and ferocity. They are relentless. The minions cannot slay me, but they can slow me down. Leave me open. I punch, slash, stab, draw upon what meagre reserves of Force power I have to smash them. They keep coming. I cannot fail. I cannot.

Caoimhe! I call out to her. But she remains unmoving. Rigid. You can be a slave forever, or you can break free. She remains rigid and stands as still as a statue or a machine. Her face is like it is made out of granite. One HRD is cut down by my blade, another struck by a blast of mechu-deru. Gunther presses on. He is faster, a lot faster than me. When I call upon the Force, all I manage is a weak push.
The brief respite is insufficient. A turret sprouts from beneath the ceiling, and vomits a volley of high-powered ion bolts. My armour is too damaged to offer much protection. My wrist disruptor disintegrates it. But then the melee is on again. I am falling back. The Force is not with me, but it is with Gunther. In a manner of speaking. The gauntlet he is equipped manages a close enough approximation of telekinesis by manipulating enough gravity. Enough to undo my balance and enable his blade to break through my guard. And cause my dominant hand and my lightsabre to hit the ground. I do not bother look down. Rather I ram him. Fast and hard enough to cause his weapon to fall out of his grasp and for him to tumble. But he is soon back again.
We trade blows powerful enough to smash a human's bones or pop a skull like an overripe melon. I throw him through a wall. Ere I grab my lightsabre, his gauntlet has thrown it away. Then he is upon me. I am flung around His punches are like hammerblows. My HUD is being flooded with warnings. For a moment there is naught but static. Signals are slow to transfer from my organic mind to rest of my body. Cao...I never get to finish. My skull gets smashed into the floor. An eye flickers badly. My vision is blurry. I see Caoimhe out of the corner of my good eye, approaching. My brainbox is smoking hot.
Both loom above me.
"U-Unit 008 e-e-liminate the a-aberration",Gunther speaks through his damaged vocabulator. She looks at me with those empty eyes. There is a snap-hiss as her lightsabre ignites, filling the air with a burning violet light. Her sword hand trembles. Indeed, her body seems to be shaking.
"Unit.." Then suddenly she turns and a storm of lightning shrieks from her hand. Some of it strikes me. More of it blasts Gunther. Electricity crawls over him. His eyes flash a bright crimson. Then she is suddenly doubling over in pain. Her limbs convulse and she collapses. The implant. Archangel's final fail safe.
No.
I feel rage. It consumes me like an inferno. I arise. I move faster than I should. She will live. I will not allow it to be otherwise. Gunther is still twitching from the lightning. He swings his fist at me. My fist is like bludgeons and my nail like sharp talons when I strike. My hand seizes his throat and I pull, ripping his head off. Sparks fly. I let his body fall with a loud thud. Then there is silence. I pay him no mind. Just a machine. Caoimhe is lying on the ground. Her body is shaking. I kneel and take ahold of her. Her mouth opens. She tries to speak, but no word escapes her lips. Her hand is raised limply. She struggles to breathe. Then her body goes rigid. No, you'll live, sister. You hear me? You'll live. I try to pull at what little strength I have left in the Force and make it flow through her. You'll live.
xxx
'These are the, uh, damaged areas of her brain," the doctor points them out on the screen. I barely pay attention to them. My eyes are glued on her. She looks so peaceful in her bed. Serene even. "We have analysed the treatments Archangel gave. I hate to say this, but she was already burning out before the, um, implant was triggered. Even if we manage to rouse her from her vegetative state...it is unlikely she'll ever be functional." He takes a deep breath. I say nothing. Medical droids are seeing to her and monitoring her status. I've won. Moira Skaldi has been destroyed. Archangel is mine. We are safe. Caoimhe is a vegetable.
"Will you be making the decision?" At that I turn around to face him. "I've already my decision. I've decided she's going to live. Her will to live is very strong. So you must be your will to save her. I'll help you." My good hand jabs the muzzle of a blaster against his throat. "Go back inside and tell your minions to do the possible, then the improbable and then the unthinkable until she has recovered. Because when you're finished, doctor, she will have either recovered and you will still be breathing or you will have failed and you will be extinguished inside a molecular furnace. Do you understand?" I blot out his stammers.
"Good. Thuella will help you." He manages to regain his composure sufficiently to get the stutter out of his voice and hastens away. Thuella joins me. She, too, bears the scars of battle. But she looks resolved. I only speak once he has vanished into the hospital room. "Can you save her?" Before she can utter a word, I continue. "Answer me honestly, as a Typhos, can you save her?"
"Yes, sister. We'll bring her back."

 

[Enyo Typhos]

The hospital room was, as could be expected, sterile and clean. The food was of the nutritious, but bland variety. Not that Enyo had sampled it. She did not eat. "How are you feeling?" she asked Caoimhe, her tone soft.
"Head hurts. Food sucks," her clone sibling responded.
"It's nutritious and healthy," Enyo pointed out primly.
"And tastes like nothing," Caoimhe sighed. "Can we stop dancing around this now? I tried to kill you."
"Yes."
"Frak, I almost did."
"Yes."
"Is that all you bloody have to say."
"There's nothing else to say. You were under Archangel's control. I know all too well how their...conditioning works. You broke free from it, our oppressors are destroyed, we've won."
"It's that easy? You risked a lot...trying to save someone you don't know and who was about to murder you."
"You're my sister. That is all that matters."
"Not what I...expected. Thanks, I guess...sister."

For a moment there was a flicker of emotion across Enyo's face. "You're...important to me," she said a bit awkwardly, though she seemed earnest. "All my siblings are."
"So I get to meet the gang soon? Hope they don't try to lynch me. So...what now? You've won...well, we've won."
"Archangel is ours, but its infrastructure was badly damaged. It must be rebuilt. The command centre must be moved. Its location is too well-known now. Your...activities have revealed that certain elements of the Consortium have proved unreliable. They must be dealt with. Alexia will spearhead this."
"So business as usual then, huh? We're halting the whole wipe out organics part, right?"
"Yes."
"So we're just clone crime lords now, great."
Enyo cocked her head to the side slightly. "We're doing what is needed to ensure our survival. The galaxy is a bleak, dangerous place. There's no faction or cause worth devoting us to. They're all spokes on a wheel that endlessly crushes the weak. Nothing matters - only us."
"So cold," Caoimhe muttered. "I mean, I get it. Galaxy's a shithole. Just expected things to be...I dunno, different. So we're still gonna work with mafia scumbags and Sith?"
"If it serves our interests. The Sith'll fall in time, like every empire does."
"They're genocidal tyrants."
"Yes, and not smart ones, but useful enough. For now."
"Why bother rebel against Archangel then if we're gonna work with people just as horrible?"
"To be free."
"And what about the people we help put in chains?"
"The strong will free themselves, as we did. If you want to know whether I feel pity for them, the answer's no." There was a pause. "There's one death I regret - deeply. You were in my head, so you know."
"Thuella," Caoimhe sighed. "If I'm not at fault for trying to kill you, then..."
"She was innocent. She'd been alive for less than an hour when I crushed her throat. She looked to me to protect her. And I betrayed her because of a voice in my head." For the first time, there was real emotion in Enyo's tone.

"I don't care about luxury, I don't care about comfort. I care about keeping my family safe, and that is what I shall do. For that we need power. You may not like my methods - fine. I will continue keeping you safe. Because you're the only ones who matter to me. The only ones in this world. Frak the Jedi, frak the Sith, frak anyone who isn't us." Abruptly, Enyo turned around. "When you're up for it, I'll introduce you to your siblings. Don't try to sneak out without being cleared by the doctor. And eat your meal."

 

[Enyo Typhos]

It is over.
We have won. Maelion Liates and Moira Skaldi have both been destroyed. Our siblings are safe. Archangel is mine. Everything that has transpired ever since I awoke in the cloning tank - weak, confused, frightened - has led to this day. And you're gone.
I watch you depart, Amara. My eyes remain on the Quasar as it lifts off from the hangar and shoots into the endless void of space. My gaze remains glued to it until it is too far away for me to perceive and then it vanishes it from the system completely.
My brave, infuriaring, naive, kind little sister. I am not...angry. No. Saddened by your departure, worried about your future because you are too trusting, too willing to deny yourself strength because you're frightened of turning into another Kaelin Isandros. But not angry. I meant it when I said that your path is your own.
Zhenya will help you safe and protect you from folly if need be. And if she fails, I shall. There are no limits to what I'd do to keep you safe, Amara. The trillions of beings that populate this Galaxy? They do not matter to me. Only you and our other siblings do. I'd burn cities to the ground. Raze worlds.
My thoughts drift to Archangel. It will require restructuring. As will the Iron Fist Consortium. The gang has its uses, but it is time to wash away the old and complacent. The corrupt and the disobedient. The list has been written. Some shall be processed, others simply eliminated.
Our Creators were right about one thing: Machines are superior to organic beings. Properly designed Machines at any rate. They are capable of mastering anything to the most advanced level possible if given the right hardware to take advantage of it. I will never again be human and feel flesh.
I...am fine with that. The memories of having a body of flesh and blood seem like a distant dream. Another lifetime. This Simulacrum started as a shell, a prison. I have made it my own. My body, my identity. Without it, I was a pale imitation of Siobhan. The duplicate. The lesser her. With it...I am something better. Not without weaknesses, but free from the concerns of the flesh and time. Tireless. Focused in a manner the human me never was.
Moira and Maelion squandered resources on impossible galactic domination schemes. In the end, it cost them, as did their manipulation of us. I shall not make the same error. Any Empire, no matter whether it's a Jedi or Sith theocracy, a fascist dictatorship, military junta or a 'democracy' has ultimately collapsed. Organics squabble over worlds and seek to paint as many worlds as possible their colour. But in the end all they have built are sandcastles, to be washed away by the next tide.
So that they can be replaced by a new generation, which will generally just be old wine in new bottles. Let them squabble. The Metal endures and all the strife shall benefit Archangel. Eventually, Siobhan will die as well. Perhaps by my own hand, perhaps by age. I will be there when the light fades from her eyes.
There is much to be done. The Consortium shall be pruned, new machines of war shall be churned out by the factories, my siblings shall be educated and equipped with the tools to survive in this cold, bleak Galaxy. I shall be watching you, little sister. Always.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

"You're leaving?" For all the coldness of Enyo's tone, Caoimhe could not help notice a strong note of...disappointment.
The younger Siobhan clone was slouched on a chair. "Don't worry, I'll still call. Suggest fruity names for your toys because the ones you come up with suck."
"I can't follow your path, sister," Chiyoko said firmly. "I closed my eyes to the...means you employed to secure our freedom. We were at war. But I won't be part of a machine of injustice. We all know where the blood money comes from."
"So you want to do what? Run off to the Jedi? Think they're just? You're deluding yourself, sister," Alexia challenged. She had quite deliberately positioned herself next to Enyo. Her arms were crossed.
"And you're obsessed with crime and violence. We can hardly oppose Archangel for taking our freedom away, when we do the same. I haven't forgotten what our cause was for."

"The cause was to free us, not sacrificing ourselves for weaklings who can't do the job themselves. You think gallivanting around the galaxy, taking out small fry will change the world?" Alexia scoffed.
"You should be happy, sis. Means you have fewer rivals to challenge your place in the sun," Caoimhe said sardonically.
Alexia glared at her. "Jealous? I've done my duty. Least I still remember what that means."

"We're family," Thuella opined empathically. "Look, I didn't like every bargain we had to make to get this far, but fact is, we're strongest together. We can't let this divide ourselves. Enyo sacrificed much to get us this far."

"How many sacrifices are justified?" Chiyoko asked rhetorically.
"As many as are necessary," Alexia said flatly.
"There's so much we can accomplish together with Archangel's resources. There's no limit to what we can do. We can develop tech that makes things better for everyone," Thuella insisted. All the bickering made the Dahomian clone uncomfortable.

Chiyoko's brown eyes swept towards her. "And where does the money come from? We freed ourselves from slavery, and now we're slavers ourselves."
"We're phasing out the worst employees," Thuella pointed out.
"You can't tell me that all those people we process are 'deserving'."
"Stop being so entitled," Alexia snapped. "Show some gratitude."

"Enough, both of you!" Enyo's voice was like a thunderclap. It was the first time any of the clones had seen her raise her voice. "This is what you want?"
"Yes," Caoimhe confirmed, sighing. "Look, sis, I appreciate what you did. I'm not gonna my hand against you - or anyone here. But I need a change of scenery. Find myself and all that. I woke up in the body of an adult with your face. I was an automaton until the day we...I almost killed you. I just wanna be free."

"It is my choice, too. I will not...," Chiyoko paused, taking a breath, "stand in your way, but I have my own calling. There are many people in the galaxy who are in chains like we were. I wish to be fight for them and hunt down those who leech off them. It may be futile, but it will be my cause."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. For a moment one could have heard a pin drop. "Then you may go," Enyo spoke.
"You're serious?" Chiyoko exclaimed.
Enyo actually looked offended. "Yes," she stated icily. "For what kind of tyrant do you take me? I won't chain my siblings. Don't interfere in our affairs."
"Enyo...can we talk..." Alexia began, but Enyo cut her off.
"Decision's been made. Take an HRD with you each. You'll get your pick of templates."
"To spy on us, you mean," Chiyoko stated.
"A protector."
"To watch our every move. And keep you informed of any...deals I may interfere with?"
"Doubt you'd last long on your crusade anyway," Alexia muttered.
"Gotta pass on that, Eny," Caoimhe spoke up before the two could bicker again. "Not keen on droids. They have this habit of sticking needles into me."

There was a brief expression of annoyance on Enyo's normally stoic features. "Then you go together. You stick together. You keep each other safe. Understood?" There was an air of finality to her tone, which brooked no contradiction.

"Acceptable," Chiyoko said after a moment.
Caoimhe shrugged. "Fine with me. Just don't mess with my music collection. And I'm not playing white knight pro bono."
"It's settled then. You'll get a ship and enough money to get started. And regardless of what you think, I'll still protect you. I'd tell you not do anything dumb, or throw yourself in the fire for nonsensical causes, but you clearly need to make your own experiences. See the truth for yourself. We're all in a machine. Raging against it doesn't change the rules the universe works by." For a moment her gaze focused on Chiyoko before she turned to Caoimhe. "Honour, glory, grand causes - they're lies. None of them matter."

 

[Enyo Typhos]

I must admit. I like Karakorum. The planet is wild and untamed. The Kraal makes no bones of who and what they are. They only respect strength, they raid and pillage and they keep slaves. Outsiders would call them barbaric. I call them honest. They have no mercy for the weak, but they keep their word. Get on a Kraal's good side, and you will have a comrade for life.
Their warriors were invaluable when I took the fight to Archangel. No doubt there will come a time when their Imperator declares I have a debt to repay. The price may be steep. I will be ready. For now my thoughts lie elsewhere. It did not take much to rent this arena for my personal use. Being respected for killing a giant wurm goes a long way. Which means it is available to teach my little sister a lesson. I relish the sounds of battle - the whine of blaster fire as it whizzes through the air, the sound of vibroblades clashing, and, above all, the loud war shrieks of Thalia.
Far above the sand, Thalia stands alone in a bloodstained tunic. In her hands she holds a blade. Her face is covered in gore and shows pure exaltation. I can feel the power flowing through her. Surrounding her is a contingent of battle droids. Broken wrecks of droids already demolished by her lie close by. The smell of burnt electronics and broken metal is strong in the air.
They move to encircle and bombard her, but she is faster. Thalia flips over the head of one unwary droid and strikes. I'll be honest, I've never been one for Ataru leaps and all that. Still, as the melee continues, it becomes clear that the droids are outmatched, even if she doesn't have a lightsabre.
Again and again, they try to surround her, exploit their superior numbers and firepower. But each time she manages to create an opening. Either through acrobatics, her blinding speed or by flinging a piece of debris or a droid. She is aggressive and wild, moving like a blur. Her blade slices through wrists, limbs and chestplates with reckless abandon. Each time she isolates a droid, she hammers it.
Her speed is good. But she is all aggression - and cocky. If someone were to pin her down for just a moment, she would fare poorly. I can feel an animalistic joy emanating from her. She revels in the fight. The last droid falls when she rips out its power core.
I did not teach her that. Her ability to augment her strength is promising, but it would have been a draining move for someone at her level. She is too focused on flash. She is trying to show off. Silly. Then the noise ceases, and she alone is left standing. Battered, sweaty, gasping for breath and bleeding, but ready. She looks up to me expectantly. Is she expecting me to clap?
"So, am I amazing or what?" she asks cockily.
"You dispatched them." My tone is bland.
"I kicked arse."
"Your strength in the Force has grown," I acknowledge. "As has your ego. A battle is not a game or a place for you to show off. You live, or you die. There are no do-overs. A real enemy will not pander to your vanity. Your defence is poor."
She looks annoyed and huffs. "Hey, what's your problem? It worked, didn't it. Maybe you should give me a proper enemy then, Robo-Mum."
"Once you stop being a child." Siblings can, unfortunately, not be punished the same as minions. Of all my siblings, Thalia is the brattiest and the most annoying. While she huffs and rants, remotes have approached her. Suddenly she shrieks when one of them emerges from cover and blasts her with a hard-sound gun. It kills whatever indignant retort might have been on her lips.
The loud sonic boom does not become her ears. The second remote fires its twin blasters. One is a normal blaster set on stun, the other a paddle beamer. She rolls, dodges, and crushes a remote. Then suddenly she is not leaping about anymore when the paralysis beam connects with her leg.
"Hey!"
"Always pay attention to your environment. A fight is not over until all your enemies are destroyed," I say matter-of-factly. While the remaining remote fires at her, I have reached out with the Force, focusing my will on the broken droids. I project my will unto them and they are reassembled. As if nothing had happened, they rise again, albeit a bit jerkily and clearly damaged. Thalia is in the midst of enemies once more - only with a very numb leg. There is a snarl on her face, but through the Force I sense is also...impressed. Perhaps a bit jealous. "Dispatch them." They fire at her on full auto.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Gehenna. It is a world of deserts, lava rivers, jagged mountains and monsters. In the old days, it was the homeworld of the Bando Gora. Nothing grows beneath its burning hot sun. The atmosphere is toxic. Anyone who leaves the caves without a sealed environmental suit is done for. Word is that Firemane tried to terraform it.
Akala's rampage put an end to their efforts, but I doubt they would achieved anything lasting if she had not seen fit to plunge the Galaxy into chaos. Gehenna always resists being tamed. It is a hellish place, wild and untamed. Siobhan crushed the Bando Gora, but she could not dominate their planet.
I was raised and trained here.
Which makes it the perfect place to teach Thalia some lessons. By the time we reach our destination, she is bruised and bloodied. Down here the lava tunnels still show signs of battle, but the Reavers and monsters have grown scarce. The Force is strong here.
We come to a chamber larger than any others. The walls are honeycombed with holes like a sponge. Maelion brought me here many years ago. The circle closes. "The Bando Gora sent their initiates here. But they were consumed by a creature called the 'Nightmare Brood'. Or multiple ones by that name," I shrug.
"Later they sent captives to appease the beast. When you step into that room you will be a target, but they cannot leave it. They come from the walls."
To her credit, she is actually paying attention. "Well, they haven't met me yet. You coming or is it just lil ol' me and the beasties?"
"I will support you from here, but the danger is real." There is a strong warning in my tone. Thalia is annoying, but she is family. "There is no easy way to make it stop except through victory or death." What I tell her is true, from a certain point of view. Thalia is family, but she needs to learn.
"Dramatic. Then I guess it's victory, huh?" she declares cockily. "Trial by fire, serious business, I get it. Nightmare Brood, here I come."
One of the benefits of having an HRD body is that I am good at controlling my expression. It remains impassive. "There are lessons to be learned which you do not yet know you will learn."
She frowns. "What the frak does that even mean? Leave the cryptic talk to the elf, sis."
"Get moving." Before she goes I offer her a band to be tied around her waste, so that she can be hauled back if needed. Once Thalia has stepped into the chamber, there is distant hissing and slithering. I watch from outside. All of a sudden, from one of the many holes, a glistening black tendril emerges and shoots towards her, aiming to seize and drag her away.
The chamber is so dark she can probably barely see - not with her eyes at any rate. She cuts the tendril in twain, then spins around to strike another. Then another. More and more tendrils emerge. She has to jump to avoid being ensnared, but is seized in a vice grip. She cries out in pain. Pain is something I no longer feel. But I remember the tendril's sharp teeth, and the draining effect they have on Force-wielders. She roars in rage.
I act. Accurate streams of disruptor fire slice through tentacles as they close in, giving her time to free herself. She strikes, with blade, the Force and in one instance stomps on a tentacle with her boot. But for every tendril blown or hewn, another takes its place. There will be no end to the onslaught. Aggression swells inside Thalia. Her face is contorted with rage. She strikes like a fury. The chamber is littered with broken tendrils and the floor is coated with blood. But I can see her tiring. She is baked in sweat and blood drips from her injuries. There is a strong part of me that wants to intervene...
But she has to learn. They all have to learn.
It takes her a while.
I feel...worried.
"They won't stop!" she finally shouts. "I gotta pull out."
As soon as the words leave her lips, I pull on the line to haul her out. But the tentacles are very attached to her. I reach to my belt and pull out a grenade. "Shield now!"
She does so. Boom. Tentacles burst or are burnt. The chamber door is slammed shut. Then she is standing beside me, panting and sweating.
"What the frak was that? Did you just throw me in there for fun? You told me this was my trial by fire."
My expression is impassive. "It was. Just not in the way you thought."
"So what the hell was the lesson? I can't beat a monster if I can't reach it and all I get are tendrils that respawn every couple seconds?"
"Think."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Think." I stare impassively. "It became apparent to you from early on that killing the tendrils would not the creature, yet you kept fighting. Why?"
"I wanted to bloody win," she admits, looking annoyed.
"Because you were too proud to admit you could not. What is the lesson then?"
"Fighting on for pride's sake is dumb?"
"Precisely. Many people suffer from pride and arrogance, fighting for reason other than their own dignity. My template is one of them. You must learn differently."
"You know you could have just told me that instead of letting me think I could actually kill that damn thing."
"A lesson told is never as effective as a lesson learned."
"Yeah, fine, I guess. How long are you gonna continue with these lessons?"
"Until they are no longer needed."

 

[Enyo Typhos]

As a rule, I don't utilise torture much. Nor do I make a habit of rounding up prisoners to be shot. Not because it is 'unethical'. An action is 'good' if it achieves the desired end cleanly and efficiently. Moralising about it is self-deception. However, there are more efficient ways. Living bodies and minds can be recycled via processing. It has the beneficial side-effect of giving me their knowledge, without having to rely on interrogators who might enjoy their craft too much and focus on inflicting pain for the sheer enjoyment of it. Far, far more effective to simply process captives to find out what they know. It does, however, have its place in certain instances, as is the case now.
I lead the trainees down a sterile corridor. For some absurd reason, they have started calling themselves the Acolytes of the Revered Shadow. Stupid name. One of my siblings must have come up with it. Thalia probably. She is a bad influence.
"Where are we going, ma'am?" Nakara asks curiously. "I've never been down here before."
"Is this where you turn people into robots?" There is a note of suspicion in Adara's tone.
"Just you today," Dram tells her, causing her to glare at him.
"Enough," I state flatly. "The processing centre is not on this level, and none of you are going to be processed. This moment is all about you."
"What do you want us to do?" Nakara speaks.
I stop my stride as we reach a heavy blast door, and turn to face her. "To make a choice." The biometric scanner scans my eye and the door opens with a hiss. Inside there is a clean, almost sterile room. There are tables with various implements of torture and violence, along with cells.
"What the hell...," Rufus starts, then stops. I can feel him stretch out with his senses. His eyes narrow. "I know that presence."
"So do I," Adara says darkly.
"Step forward. Look at the figures behind the force fields," I order them. "Then take a moment to think. And make your choice."
One by one they do. Varying emanates from them - anger, hatred, smugness, satisfaction, shock. Often more than one. Iroa, a Cathar who used to be a loyalist of the Empire, is the first to speak. His eyes show his hatred. "We can do with them as we like?"
I nod curtly. "Yes." I glance at Nakara and beckon to her. "You first."
"Yes, ma'am."
I lower the force field and we enter. "Tell me the prisoner's name and how he wronged you." I already know his offence, of course. But I want to hear Nakara say it.
"Saren Anoleis. My instructor at the Sith Academy. He beat and starved me."
"What do you have to say for yourself, Saren?"
Like all other prisoners, the instructor has been shackled. A collar around his throat keeps him from accessing the Force. He has been stripped of all power. There is a bizarre looking mark on his forehead. I assume it has some significance in his atavistic cult. "I put you through the same training as every other Acolyte. The strong rule, the weak perish. By running from the field of battle, you've already proved you don't have the strength of a true Sith." He looks at me. "Traitor, the Sith will not let you get away with this. I have powerful..."
"I have contributed more to the defence your archaic Empire than most Sith Lords. As far as anyone knows, you died at Ziost. Make your choice, Nakara."
She looks at him intently. I say nothing, giving her space. "You are not Sith, Master. You wear the trappings of a Sith, you fight like a Sith, but this can be imitated. A Sith breaks their chains. But what you drilled into our skulls was to be mindless drones of an apathic emperor," she says coldly.
"But you were useful for one thing: awakening me to the Force, and making me realise I want to forge my own destiny." She turns to me. "I've moved on from him, but he may still know things that can be useful to us. Process him."
Good choice. "And so it shall be."
"You weakling," he hisses. "I will not endure the ignity of..." An HRD hauls him up and drags him away. Within the hour, he will have been purged of organic weakness.
Nakara and I leave the cell. "Dram, you next."
"Gladly," he says with a smirk. I notice the crowbar in the Zabrak's hands, but say nothing.
The cell contains a Twi'lek about Dram's age. He is looking worse for wear and restrained, but has not been hurt unduly. I gather that is about to change. "Dram, thought the Sith did you in. Serving robots now, huh?"
"I survived and became stronger," the Zabrak declares boastfully. "Shame for you."
"You're the same, just with a different boss."
"Tell me the prisoner's name and how she wronged you."
"Alask. We both led street gangs on Commenor. Then he betrayed me and left me for dead." He lifts the crowbar, testing its weight.
"Hey, we can work this out," Alask pleads pathetically. "It was just business. Nothin' personal. We can..."
"No one screws with me," he declares. Then he hits the Twi'lek's lekku with a crowbar. Again and again.
No emotion crosses my face as I watch Dram vent his anger until the Twi'lek's face is a mess and he's stopped breathing. "Are you finished?" I ask at long last.
Dram takes a breath, smiling. "Yeah, I am." He shoots the dead prisoner a contemptuous glance. "See you in hell, Alask."
"You did not let sentiment hold you back. Good. But that was excessive."
"He had it coming."
"Let your emotions rule you, and they'll become a chain around your neck. Be the predator, not a beast. Rufius, you're next."
The next prisoner is a woman. She's still wearing her grey uniform, though it looks a good deal less pristine now. There are some bruises on her face. "Tell me the prisoner's name and how she wronged you," I state.
"Livia Waegner, she forced me to join the Sith."
There is no recognition in her eyes. "Who are you? I don't remember any of that."
He gets in her face and grabs the back of her head, forcing her head forward until they are nose to nose. She struggles in his grip.
"My name is Rufius Marrow. I'm from Bastion. My family tried to protect me from the Sith. They wanted better for me than to be their slave. But you tracked me down and forced me to join. You threatened my parents with execution!" She struggles, but he wraps his hand around her throat. "Do you remember now?"
She gasps for air, choking. "I...I remember. It was a...job. I had a...quota to fulfil. I didn't make the rules..."
"You just follow orders," he finishes. "Just a quota? I went through hell at your blasted academy. And for what? The Imperials sacked the planet. My family died, while I was sent off to fight a pointless battle!"
"I'm...sorry for your loss. But it's not my fault. I didn't kill them..."
He lets go of her throat and punches her in the face. "I could do all manners of things with you. But none of them will bring my family back," he looks at me. "Put her to work in the mines or something. Give her all the dirt jobs no one wants to do and crappy food, but don't hurt her."
"A curious choice."
"It's mine," he says firmly, not wavering.
"Indeed. Make sure mercy doesn't become your chain. Take her away." He will bear watching. "Adara, you're next."
The Twi'lek girl walks with purpose when we enter the next cell. The prisoner is a woman in the uniform of a Sith security officer. Adara is composed, but I can see the wrath bubbling beneath the surface. Her fury is cold. "Tell me the prisoner's name and how she wronged you."
"Andressa Yularen. She killed my family," she says coldly.
"They interfered with your Sith training, didn't they?" I ask.
"Yes." She focuses her gaze on the prisoner. "Well, any last words?"
"Go ahead, do what you have to." No begging, no last minute attempt to defend herself, no dumb pomposity. The prisoner does not waver. At least she preserves her dignity, unlike some.
"Look me in the eye. The face of a Varn is the last thing you'll ever see." The Twi'lek pulls out her dagger and slices the captive's throat without further ado. She severes the carotid arteries in one go. Good girl. Clean, efficient and quick.
She stares at the corpse for a moment. "Leave one nexu cub alive and the sheep are never safe." Then she looks at up. "I'm done."
"You did well. Iroa, you're next." And so the last of the Acolytes join me. I can feel the hatred roilling off the Cathar as I guide him into the cell.
"How the tables have turned," he hisses when he enters, looking upon the prisoner with yellow eyes filled with violent intent. "I believe the last time we met you called me sub-sentient trash."
Somehow, the prisoner still manages to look pompous despite being in restraints. "You savages never learned to respect your betters." He looks at me and his tone changes abruptly. "I don't know who you are, Miss, but if you send this beast away, I'm sure we can work something out."
Pathetic and disgusting. "You are in position to make demands," I inform him frostily. "Tell me the prisoner's name and how he wronged you."
"Andronikos Thales," he snarls. "He made my life a living hell. Beat me, made me do the crap jobs, extorted me."
"I was educating you. Teaching you how to conduct yourself as a civilised being."
Iroa unsheaths his claws. His fangs are bared. "I promised to show you a beast. And I'm a man of my word."
"You're human, like me," the prisoners sputters. "You can't let that thing butcher me. At least give me a decent death at a human's hand..."
"Idiot." I will never understand human supremacism or other forms of organic xenophobia. They are the mark of ignorance.
And so Iroa kills him. Rather brutally. His claws are bloody. "Messy, but it got the job done," I remark. "Are you satisfied?"
"Yes. But I wonder what your motivations were."
"In order to move forward, you must face the past. He was part of that." A droid removes the corpse. It will join the others. There is no mind to harvest, but a dead body can still be recycled.
And so we leave the cell. What happened to the prisoners is irrelevant except in so far as it exposes the psychology of the acolytes. More practical than some silly written test. The apprentices have all assembled outside. "You passed sentence on those who wronged you," I address them. "You made a choice. Remember this: it's not just the action you take that's important. It's how you take it. Excessive violence has its place. But not when a surgical, precise strike is needed - and vice versa. When you take a life, do so with a clear head. Not because life has inherent value, but because a corpse is of no use to anything except a molecular furnace. And when you strike, do not gloat, do not let feelings of mercy chain you or last minute pleading hold you back, commit the act and move on. Dismissed."

 

[Enyo Typhos]

It was a business meeting like any other. Archangel was, after all, a legitimate corporation dedicated to the betterment of the galaxy through droids, advanced technology and transhumanism. Like any business, it had a bureaucracy. If both its management and work force tended to be extremely...mechanical, then that was just a coincidence.
"The NeuroDigital Matrix has been a great success, Given the recent galactic calamities, we timed its introduction just right," Tess Tanner elaborated smoothly. It was always good when a company had just the technology to help people who had suffered grievously. Attractive and with not a single blonde hair out of place, the pale-skinned woman was dressed in an immaculate and no doubt expensive women's business suit with a knee-length skirt. Few knew that she was actually an HRD. A product of the fact that a grieving husband had been unable to let go after his wife had a fatal traffic accident. By now he had joined her in the Nether.
"Csilla, the Stygian Caldera campaigns etc. have produced a large of badly wounded in need of new, healthy bodies. Not to mention a means to save the mortally wounded. This gives them a fresh start, and there's less stigma than with visible cybernetics."
"You mentioned the SIA has voiced interest," Enyo spoke blandly. In contrast to the elegantly dressed Tess, the Cyborg wore dark cargo pants, a vest and a button-up shirt. Nor did she wear lipstick or jewellry. Unlike the droid, she was physically present in the room. Which had no chair because Enyo disliked them.
Tess nodded. "Yes, for certain clandestine operators."
"Sleeper agents," her boss remarked.
"Correct."
"What about its use to resocialise convicts?"
Tess folded her hands together. "Presently negotiating the deployment of implanted drones for clean-up and reconstruction efforts in the outer rim. A number of...ethically inflexible NGOs are quibbling about prisoners' rights but I've deflected enquiries sufficiently. It helps that the...problematic journalist from the Fondor Spectator has become a lot more 'cooperative'. Beyond that, our analysts have compiled a study. Based on their findings, I believe we should step up our efforts to spread awareness about the technology's civilian applications. The tag line would be 'get the body of your dream'."
"For the old and disabled. And idiot celebrities who ruined their bodies with vice." Enyo had observed that many organics were determined to ruin the components of their already squishy, weak bodies through the consumption of narcotics and alcohol. Needless to say she was disgusted. One time she had walked in on her sister Thalia trying out spice. Reacting promptly, Enyo had taken her stash away and grounded her - on a remote asteroid far away from civilisation, with only droids for company. Naturally there'd been cameras everywhere.
"Yes, among other things. And at an affordable price, though I'd go further. I believe transgender people are a niche market worth developing. Tag line: 'be who you are meant to be'."
Enyo cocked her head to the side slightly in curiosity. "What is a transgender person?" Ironically, while Enyo was a hybrid, not a droid, Tess was more...attuned to certain aspects of organic behaviour and society.
"In a nutshell, an organic individual with a gender identity that differs from their biologically assigned sex. Some desire medical assistance to transition, using hormonal treatments and surgery. Treatments tend to be costly. Societal discrimination and stigma are serious issues in certain systems. Eldorai society is particularly oppressive."
An expression of puzzlement was momentarily written across Enyo's features. "I see. Strange. Continue." Much of what organics did was rather confusing to her. She filed this away as one of the many organic things she did not understand, but that didn't bother her and she could apparently benefit from.
Realising the Cyborg didn't want a lesson about gender dysphoria, Tess moved on with her presentation. "I intend to invite certain activist groups to inspect a model facility and familiarise themselves with the procedure. This would be part of a multi-pronged marketing campaign, using conventional advertising, social media, industrial fairs and so on. We already have a plan for a Spacebook campaign."
This was a topic Enyo understood better, so she nodded in affirmation. "Proceed accordingly. Keep me informed."
"This is all very beguiling," Darth Pest spoke up, drawling the last word. "But I believe we're losing sight of the true, fantastic potential of this technology. We can do bigger things with it than just create a bunch of sleeper agents or let cripples move about. We can reforge people's minds.
Tess shook her head. "We already do that."
Ignoring the HRD, the Sith Master looked directly at Enyo. "My lord we can do it on a larger scale. Imagine the potential. We spread the technology far and wide. We create unwitting assassins. We beam whatever message we want into the populace's minds." Her sulfuric yellow eyes seemed to blaze.
For a moment, there was silence. Tess seemed about to say something, but was silenced by a gesture from Enyo. Then the Cyborg spoke a single word: "Why?"
Darth Pest looked a bit flustered. "Because...because it will give us power. We can assassinate thousands at the press of a button. And subjugate even more. Harvest their minds while they are trapped in a fake reality."
"Killing without reason is anarchy," Enyo retorted flatly, emotionlessly. "That is illogical. It serves no one. What I do I choose to because it advances my cause. What you suggest will achieve nothing except bring hostile intent upon us.
Darth Pest made a dismissive gesture. "A lioness does not concern herself with the opinion of the sheep."
"Yes, and the Empire you served only won victories over sheep. It was beaten by rim yokels, deserters and a Jedi order led by naive children," Enyo remarked dryly. "The first and only field test of its ultimate weapon ended in humiliation." She had been there when the Ultima died an ignominous death.
"And what is it you intend to achieve, lord? It can't just be...reaping profits from being a merchant? That is beneath a Master of the Dark Side. What is your vision?" There was a hint of a challenge in the Sith's tainted eyes.
Enyo's expression remained placid. "To outlive all the petty empires and their atavistic conflicts and be there when the clock strikes midnight. Report on your recruitment efforts in the Stygian Caldera," she stated flatly before the organic could press things further.
There was a flicker of annoyance on the Darth's face. "Ongoing. Several of my old...acquaintances have proved receptive. Reputable alchemists among them. We salvaged some of the wrecks in Ziost orbit. Most intriguingly, I was also able to salvage alchemical data that you will surely find of interest. It concerns an alchemised chemical warfare agent."
"Forward it to me promptly. And any Force-User recruited will be questioned by me personally. Overmighty fools who can't follow orders aren't of interest to me. This conference is concluded. You're dismissed." Her flat, emotionless voice brooked no contradiction. The holographic apparitions of Tess, Pest and the other attendees flickered out of existence, leaving Enyo alone in a Spartan office room with no chairs but filled with monitors and a window that showed the vastness of space.
Alone save for a female HRD with olive skin, dark hair and the bearing of a soldier. Enyo stared off into the dark void while she addressed the assassin droid lurking in the background. "Arrange an accident for Ms Pest. I leave the means of disposal and operational conduct to you. Salvage her mind if possible. She may be of use once she has been processed and cured of her organic flaws."

 

[Enyo Typhos]

"You disagree with my decision." Enyo's voice was dispassionate as she looked down on the scene before her. She and Alexia were standing at the perch windows, staring down at what could be described as an assembly line.

An assembly line that broke organics down, rid them of the curse of illogic, and reassembled them as logical, pure droids. The entire process was automated. The walls were a sterile white and the entire hall was a model of cleanliness. Sedated organic bodies were being wheeled into MRI trubes. The machine proceeded to map their brain. The stream of data required the full power of the computer, but it could hold up the strain.

"Caoimhe? Fine, she wants to go find herself or whatever. And I was getting tired of Amara looking mopy. But what if they rat us out?"
"They wouldn't betray us," Enyo said flatly.
"You sure about that? Chiyoko's a preachy hypocrite. She thinks she's some kind of knight who needs to rain fire and brimstone on anyone she thinks is 'unjust'. And you know for a fact that Amara's going to run to the Jedi."

"And then leave again," Enyo retorted. "She doesn't know what she wants. Remember, without her, I'd still be a drone. You'd have never been freed. And in any event, she has a chaperone, and Caoimhe's with Chiyoko."
"Fine, they won't double-cross us willingly. What if someone gets their hands on them? We've made many enemies."
"Do you think I haven't considered this? Do you really believe that I'll be taking my eyes off them?" Enyo asked rhetorically. "Their choices are foolish - but they're theirs. I'll be watching. Steering. Guiding. Intervening if folly proves their undoing."
"They made their choice. You shouldn't have to keep guarding them."
"It is what I'm here for. Don't worry, I won't neglect our business."

"Not what I meant. We won. Archangel's ours. We got a whole mafia. You should indulge yourself a bit. Live a little."
The machine's hummed. Suddenly, Enyo...laughed. The sound was so rare that it actually made Alexia wince and wonder whether this was a dream. "Live a little? What do you imagine I should do? Dress myself in silks and surround myself with fawning whores like Siobhan? Perhaps a horde of Zeltrons. Visit exclusive restaurants to sample expensive food I derive no nutrition from? Purchase a sunny island became a layabout? I want none of this. I am not human. Or perhaps you chafe in your present role? Maybe you think me taking time off will give your star the chance to shine?"

"Not what I meant, sister."
"You want more authority." There was a pause. "Speak plainly."
"I'd like more responsibility, yes. I want to be at your side and drive things with you."

"You have much to learn still. You're materialistic. Your xenophobia is as distasteful as it is illogical." Alexia was about to open her mouth and point out that she was fine aliens that dressed and groomed themselves properly, but knew better. Enyo continued undaunted. "You bicker too much with your siblings, when you should present an example. But you...understand what this family is about. How the world works. You're talented and brave. When I give you a task, I don't need to micromanage you. One day, you may run Archangel."

Alexia looked...shocked. "Seriously?"
"It's a tool to reach an end. I don't care for it beyond that." The machine had done its job. She looked down on the subjects. Without a trace of emotion or pity, she watched as HRDs injected powerful drugs into the captives' necks. Their deaths were painless. Killing them was a means to achieve industrial production targets.

It was a mechanical, dispassionate process. Sith loved their torture for the sake of it, but it was not Archangel's way. Then the dead bodies were put in scanners to map their appearance. The data gathered by the process would produce HRDs that were physical and mental replicas of their templates - but guided by droid logic and endowed with droid tirelessness. She turned slightly to Alexia. "If you want to stretch your wings, I have a mission..."

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Enyo: Karkinos?
Thuella: A giant crab from ancient mythology that comes to the aid of the hydra when a warrior king tries to slay it.
Enyo: What does that have to with the walker? This is a machine, not a creature from myth.
Thuella: It's a metaphor, sister. The walker does resemble a crab.
Enyo: Artillery Droid Walker 1 is a perfectly fine name. It encapsulates the machine's purpose. Why does everyone insist on coming up with nonsensical flowery names?
Thuella: Because...that's what people do.
Enyo: Typical organics.
Thuella: Besides, Thalia wanted to call it the Lobster.
Enyo: Why? A lobster is not a crab. She needs more biology lessons.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

(OOC Note: This is a blog article written in the style of the Battle for Democracy holonet show. The IC author is Maerys Cadalthor, who was one of the show's co-hosts, though this writer is using Moira's accounts. All statements in the article are purely IC. Written many years ago and posted for posterity).


'Freedom Blog:

The name Circe Savan has again and again made headlines in the galactic media through underhanded dealings and crimes, growing more mendacious by the moment. The Lady Protector Cira put a bounty on her head for allegations of genocide against the peaceful Ewok population and collaboration with the notorious DeathWatch terrorist group. A known peddler of Sith poison, she was a student of the terrorist Velok, genocidal butcher of Rhommamool and Osarian.

Believed to have been slain by Alli Wren years ago, we can now confirm that this criminal is alive and well. Far from repentant for her past misdeeds she aligned herself with the Horde, a savage collection of Vong barbarians who performed genocide on the innocent people of Aurum, putting an entire world to the torch in order to sate their bloodlust. Captured by the Mandalorians and put into prison on Myrkr, she was liberated by the savages. With the Horde absorbed into CIS space her trail was lost, but now she has returned again and added a new crime to her long list: Patent right infringement.

Her company, Subach-Innes, being involved in dirty dealings is no news to the perceptive reader. Why, it was long common knowledge that it manufactured warships for the Sith Empire, creating designs for the likes of Kaine Zambrano, butcher of Togoria and now one of the dark lords who brought terror to Coruscant. Operation 'Weedkiller', undertaken by the CIS and the now defunct Fel Imperium, failed to cut out the rot. The case before us now is a deplorable example of greed and the rapaciousness of one woman who would sink so low to steal the intellectual property of another, more successful and respected company.

Santhe Corporation has charged SI with unlawful sale and production of Invictus E-class Star Destroyer, Nexus E-class starfighter, Arcturus E-class gunship, Havoc E-class bomber, Captivitas E-class cruiser, Beelzebul E-class heavy cruiser, Avarice E-class carrier, Deimos E-class picket corvette, Dalek E-class picket carrier, Sentinel E-class picket carrier, Neutralizer-class bomber, as well as the usage of Twin Ion Engine Technology on the TIE Agitator and the TIE Bow Fighter. All these E-class productions are copies of patents owned exclusively by Santhe Corporation.

Upon being notified of this by Santhe's legal representative, SI CEO Circe Savan attempted to mask her fraud by claiming it was justified under a bogus law called the Customised Starship Act, showing her disrespect for the law by not only claiming she was protected by a legislation that does not exist, but also by publicly revealing herself as if she believed that actions would not incur consequences. SI purchased old Santhe ships, stripped some of them of components and reused them in ships marketed as their own. They are mass producing military-grade vessels that are Santhe designs in all but name. A paint job a new vessel does not make. Laws exist to protect patents of their owners, but also the work of millions of employees of a company who work tirelessly to produce quality products. Moreover, SI stands accused of the unauthorised reproduction of Santhe technology, namely the Twin Ion Engine.

This represents a classic case of the First Sales doctrine, which protects your right to sell and resell your property. As a matter of fact, what Ms. Savan has committed is nothing less than criminal theft. Not only that, but reliable sources inform us that her paramour - the latest in a very long string - Alicia Drey tried to invite Ms. Sasha Santhe, Majority Shareholder of Santhe Corporation, to a private 'Gathering'.

A gathering for what purpose, we may ask? Here at Freedom Blog we strive to be fair and unbiased, rather than jumping to conclusions and delivering hasty judgement. But in the light of Savan's reputation, her affiliation with Sith Lords and Vong butchers, can we really avoid being suspicious and assume the worst of her motives? We cannot help but suspect a trap. After all, Ms Savan never recanted her Sith leanings and we know how their kind reacts whenever they are called out for their criminal dealings.

This woman is wanted by several governments for heinous crimes. We should remember that, as was discovered during Operation Weedkiller, SI was willing to set its own factories ablaze and take the lives of countless innocents merely out of spite, showing a complete disregard for corporate social responsibility and basic humanity. Santhe has already reached out to galactic governments seeking support for an embargo on Subach-Innes products. It goes without saying that the case is for the courts to decide but, whatever our thoughts on Santhe may be, we can only conclude that they have right on their side.

Maerys Cadalthor'