Author's Note: This was Alice the Revan's request for the Holiday-o-rama-rama challenge, and I am her Secret Santa... which means I wrote her request... secretly... until now. Hee hee. So here you are Alice! I hope you enjoy! (Her request was: HK assassination fest, no Revan present.) NOTE: It's an assassination fest people, so it's violent. But not too violent, because I had to stay within the T rating. It is very possible this will become a multi-chaptered fic someday, btw...

True Love

Sleheyron was not a completely disagreeable planet, aside from its frighteningly large population of meatbags – and, of course, it's domination by those most blubberous of meatbag species, the Hutts. But then again, if there was ever a species that would take full advantage of HK-47's assassination protocols, it was the Hutts.

So, as HK leisurely strolled down the crowded streets of the city generally known as Bootana Bunko, his central processor came to the conclusion that there were many other less satisfactory places he could be at the moment. Likewise, there were many less satisfactory Masters he could have besides Bochaba the Hutt. And while the rotund gastropod was the epitome of all things gelatinous and squishy – two organic qualities HK-47 loathed most of all – at least the notorious crimelord allowed the droid the luxury of exercising his assassination protocols to their fullest extent. And that was something that made HK's core tingle with pleasure.

To maim, kill, torture, and otherwise cause pain was the kind of work he had been created for, and it was certainly the kind of work he enjoyed most. His current assignment was much like the ones that had come before. And due to his success in the previous 199 assassinations, HK had no doubt as to his chances of success in this one. In fact, being that this would be his 200th meatbag slain while in the employ of Bochaba the Hutt, the droid felt some kind of celebration was needed. Perhaps he would entertain himself this time with a few hours of torture administration before finally ending his principle target's worthless organic life.

Such extrapolations occupied HK-47's processor until he reached his destination: The Jeema Freight and Transport Shipyard. The facility was owned by Bochaba's archrival Jeema the Hutt, a much younger, much thinner gastropod who had fast been making a name for himself on Sleheyron. Jeema's business didn't work in Bochaba's best interest, and whatever did not benefit Bochaba… HK eliminated.

The shipyard's perimeter was heavily guarded and fortified. The droid ignored such guards and fortifications and walked straight up to the humming energy barrier that served as the only entrance into the impenetrable outer wall. HK straightened his posture and pressed the small button on the provided communication box.

"What you want?" the rough, gravelly voice of the gate guard demanded. HK could see the dim outline of the Trandoshan through the blueish glare of the energy shield. His photoreceptors filtered out the barrier's electric interference and determined the Trandoshan was accompanied by two large Gamorreans. The three alien meatbags were equipped with heavy blasters and stun sticks.

HK-47 affected an innocent tone. "Answer: Oh, most honorable guard of the gate, it is I, Bochaba's trusted protocol droid. I am here on behalf of my Master to discuss contract negotiations with this facility's manager."

"You have appointment?" the Trandoshan asked in broken Basic.

"Answer: Of course I do, most honored gate guard. Only call Mr. Dennik and ask him yourself."

There was a brief silence as the alien complied. A moment later the energy gate shimmered and died, and the three guards stepped forward. "You follow us," the Trandoshan ordered. "And no try any funny business, or we make you scrap."

HK stepped through the gate and the energy shield hummed back to life. The assassination droid's photoreceptors blinked at the Trandoshan's threat. "Indignant Exclamation: Why, I wouldn't dare try any of your self-proclaimed 'funny business'. Statement: Funny business, after all, is not my business." The change in HK's tone was lost on the three guards as they led him slowly toward the shipyard's interior.

A short time later HK-47 stood in the large and rather plush office of Jeema Freight and Transport Shipyard's manager Jak Dennik. He was a tall human with very broad shoulders and a lean body. He looked to be in his late forties; his hair had started to gray and his tanned face was marked with as many scars as wrinkles. He gripped a cigar in the corner of his mouth and blew a smoke-ring into HK's olfactory sensors as his gray eyes swept over the droid in a clear expression of disapproval.

"What the hell is this?" Jak Dennik's voice was as smoky as his cigar.

"Introduction: I am HK-47, loyal protocol droid to Bochaba the Hutt."

"I know what the hell you are, I mean what the hell are you doing here? I'm supposed to negotiate a contract for customized ship parts with a flaming droid? Ha." The man plucked the cigar from his mouth and jabbed it in HK's direction. "And I know about you. I've heard about you. 'HK-47' they say, 'that droid is trouble.' Every time Bochaba sends you anywhere, trouble follows."

HK tilted his head to one side. "Insistent Denial: Why sir, I can assure you I have no idea what you mean."

"Heh," the man barked. "Like hell. I ain't doing business with you. No way. Bochaba wants parts, he can send a real representative. I don't like droids. Can't trust 'em. Look around this facility. See any droids here? No, no, no. We operate on slave labor. Cheaper, more reliable, don't break down as much… you know."

The droid's photoreceptors dimmed. "Statement: I do not know. How you could so foolishly believe that any organic, sloshing meatbag could be more efficient at any task than a highly sophisticated machine is truly beyond my central processor's computations."

Jak Dennik's eyes narrowed. The guards posted at various points around the room shifted uneasily on their feet. But then the shipyard manager chuckled, blowing another cloud of smoke into HK's face. "A droid with a sense of humor. Very funny, very funny." He nodded to the three guards that had escorted HK-47 into his office and gestured toward the door. "Get this hunk of scrap outta here."

The two Gamorreans stepped forward, and HK turned to face them. "Warning Statement: If you wish to avoid unfortunate circumstantial harm to your organic being, I would stay where you are."

They hesitated, looking to Mr. Dennik, and HK-47 took the opportunity to address the facility manager once more. "Statement: I am afraid you have not yet allowed me to mention the most important matter of these negotiations."

The man grunted. "Oh yeah? And what might that be?"

HK's photoreceptors brightened considerably. "Answer: My Master has reconsidered Jeema's initial offer of customized ship parts in exchange for a share of his excellent spice crop. Instead, my Master has decided that he would very much like full control of all aspects of this facility, effective immediately."

Jak Dennik stared at HK for a long moment, the cigar hanging limp from his lips, but then he suddenly broke out into raucous laughter. "A droid with a sense of humor!" he roared, slamming a fist down onto his desk in his amusement. "Never knew Bochaba was one to make jokes… he's lost it this time!" The man laughed for a good while longer, and HK-47 waited patiently for the human to regain control of himself.

At last Dennik's laughter ceased, and the man wiped tears from his eyes with one finger. "Ah, good times, droid. Didn't know your type could be so amusing."

"Wry Admission: Neither did I. Clarification: However, I was not attempting to create a so-called 'joke' for your entertainment. My Master's proposal is serious."

"Right, right." The man waved a hand dismissively. "That fat Hutt can be serious all he wants, Jeema will never give up this facility." Dennik leaned forward over his desk, his gray eyes locking on HK-47. "And I'd like to know how the hell Bochaba thought his offer would even be considered."

Had HK had lips, he would have smiled a very predatory smile. But instead he simply met Dennik's glare and said, "Answer: Why, it all begins with your death, of course."

There was a moment of shocked stillness, in which the assassination droid activated his built-in energy shield.

"Scrap him," Jak Dennik ordered abruptly, and then the office erupted in chaos.

There were a total of seven posted guards in the room, plus the three that had walked HK in. All of them fired simultaneously in HK's direction, and Jak Dennik suddenly disappeared. While the shipyard manager was the assassination droid's principal target, HK knew he wouldn't be able to track down the man with the bothersome guards still alive. Therefore, the droid popped open his left forearm casing and removed one of the mini-concussion grenades he had stored there. He armed the device and tossed it across the room into the knot of Weequay.

Blaster bolts ricocheted off the droid's energy shield as he marched over to the Trandoshan gate guard. The alien stumbled away from HK's advance, holstering his blaster and pulling out his stun stick. But no sooner had the reptilian humanoid grabbed the weapon than HK caught him around the neck with one mechanical hand, lifting him a meter off the floor. The Trandoshan dropped the stun stick, his fingers clawing at HK's metal digits. The droid ignored the meatbag's futile attempts at escape and drew the heavy blaster from the guard's utility belt.

The concussion grenade exploded, filling the room with light and shattering the large window that lined the far wall. The five Weequay shrieked; all but one dropping dead to the floor. The last staggered with the force of the explosion and HK felled him with a well-aimed shot from his borrowed blaster. The Trandoshan still in the droid's grip began to kick in desperation; HK tightened his grip until he heard the neck bones snap and the alien went limp. HK-47 dumped the expired meatbag unceremoniously to the floor, then took the blaster in two hands and put a bolt between the eyes of each Gamorrean.

Now there were only two guards left standing, a young male human and a tall male Twi'lek. The human threw down his blaster and made to leap out the broken window. HK shot him in the backs of both thighs and the man dropped to the ground, writhing in pain. The Twi'lek glanced around at his fallen comrades, at the screaming human, and then turned his fear-filled eyes back to the droid that now steadily advanced toward him.

The Twi'lek tossed his weapon and raised his hands high in the air, sinking down to his knees as HK continued to approach.

"No, please," the humanoid begged, "please don't kill me. Please spare me, I beg you-"

HK-47 stood over the Twi'lek, studying the weak organic creature at his feet, and his behavioral core shivered in disgust. "Reluctant Proposal: Perhaps I would be inclined to spare your pathetic organic existence if you were able to tell me where your Master has gone."

The Twi'lek's eyes shifted over to Jak Dennik's desk, but HK's photoreceptors stayed locked on the humanoid, lest the foolish creature attempt to flee. "M-Master Dennik," the Twi'lek stammered. "He… he has a preplanned escape route… in case things get rough…" The eyes wandered around the ruined office.

"Impatient Statement: Yes, my central processor was indeed capable of discerning that information. Now, if there is any useful information you could offer me, I suggest you say it quickly. The servos in my trigger finger are beginning to feel a little tight…"

The Twi'lek's eyes widened. "I – I… there's a trap door, over by his desk. It leads to some underground tunnels-" The humanoid broke off, tossing a worried glance over to the human male, who still rolled and moaned on the floor, clutching at the burns on his thighs.

HK-47 also looked to the human, his photoreceptors blinking. "Irritated Query: Can you not see we are trying to have a conversation, meatbag? Keep your noises of misery quiet or I will be forced to silence you in a most unpleasant manner." The droid turned back to the Twi'lek, who swallowed hard. "Command: Continue your narrative, crude organic vessel."

"The tunnels… lead outside," the humanoid offered weakly. "Outside the facility… somewhere."

"Statement: I require a specific location. Query: Can you not provide me with a specific location?"

The Twi'lek opened his mouth, but the expression of blank terror that mottled his pale complexion was enough for HK to know the meatbag had already said what he knew. The droid lifted the blaster; the humanoid curled into a protective ball. "No! Please don't kill me!"

"To the swoop garage," the male human suddenly gasped, his voice ragged with pain.

HK-47 turned to the young guard. The man's face was slick with sweat and he was breathing fast and heavy. But his dark eyes focused on the assassination droid.

"The tunnels," he continued hoarsely, "they lead to Dennik's swoop bikes. Not sure… what direction… from here. But not far… from perimeter wall. A low, rectangular building. From there… he'd take the main highway. Go to some Jeema safehouse."

HK straightened his durasteel frame. "Statement: Ah, now this is very useful information, meatbag. A shame I have wasted such valuable time on your more dim-witted compatriot."

The Twi'lek opened his mouth to protest, but HK shot the humanoid several times in the chest and the alien dropped back to the floor, his yellow eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling and lekku twitching reflexively.

The lone remaining guard scrambled backwards away from the rust-colored droid, his face a mask of horror. HK-47 faced the human, his red photoreceptors gleaming brightly.

"No," the man whispered gruffly, still dragging himself backwards across the floor. "I – I helped you… I told you what you wanted to know… I'll – I'll work for Bochaba… I don't even like Jeema… don't kill me…"

HK cocked his head to one side. "Acknowledgment: Hrm, I suppose you are correct. You did provide me with information that will surely lead to Jak Dennik's capture and subsequent demise. Therefore, it would not seem entirely fair to shoot you in the same manner as your fellow miserable guards."

The man nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Statement: However, my Master has quite enough insignificant, incapable, under-qualified meatbags in his employ already," the droid continued. His right forearm casing whirred open and HK extended the appendage in the human's direction. "Statement: Consequently, you are of very little use to me alive."

"But… please, I could do something…"

"Appeasement: Do not worry, I will end your wretched meatbag existence in a truly unique way. Such will be your reward for aiding me as you did."

"But, but I -"

HK fired the carbonite projector embedded in his right forearm and the human meatbag was frozen in the middle of his protest. The droid then casually walked up to the solid human guard and smashed the blaster butt into the man's head. The meatbag's body shattered as easily and completely as the window glass had under the force of the concussion grenade.

All the guards having then been extinguished, HK-47 surveyed the office. Bodies lie everywhere. Dark blaster burns marred the once-beautiful paintings, sculptures, and tapestries that lined the walls. The Sleheyron sunset shone through the broken window and turned the scattered shards of glass and frozen human flesh into glimmering pools of fire.

Feeling immensely satisfied by the scene of carnage, HK moved over to Jak Dennik's desk and looked for the trap door the Twi'lek had mentioned. It didn't take him long to find the trigger for it, and soon a small, square section of floor began to grind downward, opening a tunnel into darkness.

The droid did not hesitate to jump in, and his steps were light as he made his way along the dimly lit underground passageway. "Gleeful Exclamation: Oh, it is ever so much more exciting when a good chase is involved!" His voice echoed and re-echoed off the stone walls, until it eventually faded into nothing.

HK-47 emerged from the tunnel network with another heavy blaster and a repeating blaster rifle, both taken from the Mandalorian mercenaries Dennik had apparently hired to watch over his escape tunnels. The Mandalorians had not gone down so easily as the office guards, but the assassination droid had ultimately prevailed, adding another seven meatbags to his body count.

He stood on the surface and looked around in the growing twilight. A low, rectangular building sat a mere twenty yards away, and HK moved in that direction at a steady trot. He came to the mouth of the garage and slowed, bringing the blaster rifle up in readiness as he peered around the corner into the darkness within. His photoreceptors landed on a row of sleek, shiny swoop bikes… and one empty parking space.

Dennik had already gone.

Though HK-47 had no doubt the man had foolishly followed the preplanned escape route previously detailed by the human guard, the droid thought it pertinent to have a look around the building. A true assassin never underestimated their prey, no matter how spongy and fluid-filled they were. HK stepped into the garage, intending to investigate the door on the far wall. But before he could proceed, a single blaster shot hissed against his durasteel plating. The droid swiftly reactivated his energy field, turning to face his lone assailant just as the Zabrak fired again. The second shot bounced harmlessly off of HK's shielding, and he took the moment to speak.

"Criticism: It would seem to me, meatbag, that if you were imprudent enough to assault an assassination droid, it would be wisest to ensure your first shot struck some vital component. Say, for example, my central chassis. Or, perhaps, my behavioral core." The droid looked down at the burn that now charred the paint on his left shoulder. "Observation: It seems, however, that you have failed to hit any of these vital components, thus giving me ample chance to retaliate in turn."

And with that HK fired the blaster rifle; the bolt plowed into the Zabrak's shoulder and the creature cried out in pain, dropping his own weapon to the permacrete. HK stalked toward the horned humanoid, but the Zabrak pulled a vibroshiv from his belt just as the droid reached him and sliced the blade through HK's energy shield. The knife buried itself into HK's left hip joint, severing one of the connection wires and sending up a shower of sparks.

The assassination droid's internal diagnostics immediately analyzed the damage as minimal; the functionality of that leg decreased only by a fraction. But it was enough to make HK's behavioral core burn with anger. He lashed out with a fist and caught the Zabrak in the jaw. The humanoid spun with the force of the impact, his vibroshiv skidding off across the pavement, followed shortly by several of his teeth. He hit the ground with a grunt, his mouth a mass of blood.

HK-47 reached down and bodily lifted the Zabrak to his feet by his throat, then slammed him back against the wall. The humanoid's boots kicked futilely at the air; his fingers struggling to loosen the droid's deadly grip around his neck.

"Statement: You are a most troublesome creature, meatbag. However, perhaps you can be of some use to me before I terminate your useless organic life. Query: Are you in the employ of the meatbag known as Jak Dennik?"

The Zabrak's answer was in his native tongue and had nothing to do with Jak Dennik, but instead made reference as to how HK-47's visage resembled the feces of a certain large herbivore. The humanoid then spit a large wad of blood in the droid's direction; it splattered across HK's chest plate.

The assassination droid tightened his mechanical digits ever so slightly around the fragile neck and said, "Statement: If you tell me in which direction the meatbag Dennik has gone, perhaps I will refrain from strangling you with your own entrails."

The Zabrak growled more expletives, and HK's photoreceptors dimmed in resignation. "Statement: I see you will need further convincing. Very well." The droid dropped the humanoid, then opened his left forearm casing and removed several small instruments. The Zabrak abruptly scrambled for the fallen vibroshiv, but HK kicked out and caught the meatbag in the side. Ribs cracked under the metal toe and another shiver of disgust for the fragility of organic frames passed through the droid's core. The Zabrak fell back to the ground with a cry, clutching at his chest.

"Statement: The regrettable amount of time I have spent in the presence of meatbags has shown me that the organic structure you meatbags possess, although weak as a whole – as I have undoubtedly proven even in these past few minutes – has a few specific points which are even more vulnerable than the general sloshing entirity," HK said conversationally. "Explanation: These excessively susceptible points are ideal for my purposes in information gathering, as injury to any one of such places is sure to cause horrible, unbearable, blinding agony that no creature of flesh and blood can long withstand."

HK-47 stood over the Zabrak. "Clarification: As you are a humanoid species, I will start with your knees. If you still refuse to answer my questions, I will remove those crude organs of visual perception you call eyes from your skull. And afterwards, should you continue to offer useless insults in place of useful information, I will break your teeth – individually, of course." The droid activated one of the small instruments, and the high-pitched whine of a drill echoed in the spacious garage. "Statement: You do not wish to know what comes after your teeth. I recommend you answer my questions before I reach that point. Query: So, shall we begin?"

Eleven minutes later HK-47 had his information… as well as the Zabrak's full name, his home planet, the names of his relatives, the names of several other high-ups in Jeema's employ, the location of three of Jeema's safehouses, and Jak Dennik's course and destination. As well as knowledge of the bomb Dennik had planted in the garage in the hopes of blowing up any potential followers. Had HK stepped one more meter into the building, he would have been torn to pieces in the explosion.

The assassination droid considered the irony of such a thing as he nonchalantly tossed his last mini-grenade over his shoulder. The device landed next to the Zabrak who had, in all respects, kept HK from becoming nothing more than several hunks of scrap metal. The meatbag had been surprisingly resistant, and though he still clung to a last thread of life, his body was badly mutilated. His injuries were beyond any medic's treatment.

The grenade would end his misery.

It exploded shortly after HK moved beyond the blast radius, and the shock wave triggered Dennik's bomb. The entire garage detonated in a brilliant flash. The droid ducked, barely avoiding a flaming piece of shrapnel. The debris rained down all round him, a thick column of smoke rising up to cloud the sunset. HK stood for a moment, looking after where he now knew Jak Dennik's swoop had joined the evening interchange. Taking the swoop's average speed in heavy traffic into account, as well as the time that had elapsed since Dennik departed the garage, HK determined the man must be at least 75 kilometers away by now.

The droid knew what had to be done. He turned away from the burning remains of the garage and made his way back toward the entrance of the shipyard. He did not hurry, because Jak Dennik could not escape. The man just didn't know it yet.

Scarcely fifteen minutes later, the hunter-killer droid stood atop the roof of a warehouse several yards from the wreckage of Dennik's swoop garage. The vantage point allowed HK a clear view of Bootana Bunko's main causeway, and an unblocked range of all eight lanes. In his arms he held his contingency plan: an Aratech sniper rifle. HK-47's photoreceptors searched the highway, focusing in on swoop bikes until he found the one he was looking for. Being a highly sophisticated assassination droid, HK's photoreceptors had the ability to telescope to a limited distance. Because of this, he had little difficulty honing in on Dennik's vehicle, despite the fact the man was now 115.24 kilometers away, and clad in full racing armor.

The droid noted his target's location and speed, then calculated the man's projected course over time. Having finished such computations, HK took the tri-light scope from the utility belt looped over his shoulder and carefully attached the accessory to the rifle's provided mount. He lifted the weapon, watching as his principal target drew farther and farther away.

HK-47 emulated a weary sigh. "Lamenting Query: Oh, will these wretched meatbags never learn?"

He tracked the swoop bike in the cross-hairs; the scope's distance meter quickly calculated the precise length of space between the assassination droid and his prey: 116.52 kilometers. HK did not have to compute the odds of hitting a moving target from that distance; he already knew they were long. If he had had lips, he would have smiled a very contended smile. But as it were, he simply took very careful aim as the distance meter continued to add up, and waited patiently for a clean shot.

117 kilometers… 118 kilometers… 119 kilometers…. 119.5 kilometers…

HK squeezed the trigger; the rifle bucked in his metallic arms and he watched his target eagerly. The sniper blast chewed into the swoop's engine and the back end of the bike exploded violently, throwing Jak Dennik into the air. The man hit the ground a hundred meters later and rolled several more meters before coming to a stop in a motionless heap. The droid adjusted the rifle to put the man's body in the cross-hairs and waited for any sign of life.

Sure enough, a few moments later Dennik began to stir; he had obviously chosen wisely in the selection of his racing armor, for it had protected him well. A thrill of pleasure passed through HK's behavioral core and he tightened his grip on the sniper rifle. After all, if Jak Dennik was still alive, then HK's hopes of fitting in an hour or two of torture before finally ending the man's life could be fulfilled. Therefore, as the former shipyard manager got unsteadily to his feet, the assassination droid's intent was not to immediately assassinate the meatbag, but rather prevent him from continuing his plans of escape.

HK again took careful aim, noting that the scope's distance meter read an even 120 kilometers. He waited and watched as Dennik adjusted his helmet and brushed off his shoulders. The man looked around uncertainly, almost fearfully, and then took one step forward.

HK fired for the second time, and Jak Dennik's left knee shattered in a spray of blood and bone. The man dropped back to the ground, and even over the great distance HK's audio receptors faintly heard the meatbag's screams of agony. The droid calmly began dismantling the tri-light scope. He returned it to his utility belt and replaced the sniper rifle in the sheath he wore across his back. HK straightened his rusty-red durasteel shoulders and descended from the warehouse roof. He resolutely began the long walk to where his target now writhed and howled with pain, occupying his central processor with thoughts of which torture methods he should use to celebrate the success of his 200th – or rather, 218th – slain meatbag, and whether or not Bochaba the Hutt would want the hide of Jak Dennik to add to the wall of his trophy room.

So happy was he with contemplating such thoughts and his remarkable two sniper shots that he found himself indulging in the mimicry of a meatbag habit. A habit he normally thought to be useless and irritating. But for this situation it seemed especially fitting….

HK-47 whistled cheerily for all 120 kilometers.

"Definition: 'Love' is making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometers away using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope... Love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticule, and together, achieving a singular purpose against statistically long odds."

THE END!

Notes:

1) A BILION THANKS go to Rian Sage, my wonderful beta, who caught some very important things regarding swoop speed and distance and all that scary math stuff. However this fic did not get a second beta read over, so if you can tell which sections I wrote at the last minute I apologize! Please comment if you notice mistakes and I will fix them.

2) For you non-metric people (that's me): 120 kilometers equals 74.56 and some miles. Yah, WOW.

3) Bootana Bunko means "Garden Palace" in Huttese, and yes, it's supposed to be ironic.