Everyone has a dark side. For some, it is darker than others. For some, it's the dominant side. They let the dark side rule their hearts, and control their actions. It was like that for me, at first. I may not have a heart, or even the ability to think, but I still had an all-controlling dark side. I can hardly remember how it was in the beginning. There was a dark warehouse, full of scrap metal and electrical junk. There were three men there, standing over me. One was fat, dirty, and ugly. His chunky square glasses and thin blue data pad gave him a dorky, nerd-like appearance. His companion was dressed in the same dirty, blue overalls. He was much thinner, although even more grotty and geeky. The man behind them interested me the most. His pale, white skin, and long, flowing black robe seemed out of place in this garbage heap, surrounded by these droid technicians. He wore a hood that covered his eyes. I noticed his barely showing lips began to move.

"Is it done?" He asked, addressing the two men in front of him. As he said those words, I felt a wave of energy. As strange as it sounds, I could almost literally feel his presence in the room. It was dark, and evil, like a million small spiders scuttling along my circuits. It was a strange experience, one that I could never quite forget. One that I rarely ever felt again.

"It is." The fat one breathed, with a sigh of amazement. "This droid is the greatest masterpiece of engineering known to the galaxy."

"And only we know it!" the thin one grinned, his buckteeth protruded over his top lip.

"I just want to know, why did it have to be and R2 unit? It could have had a lot more power, memory and awesome gadgets if say we put it in a protocol droid or even invented our own, bigger, model?" It became clear to me that my construction was confidential. Even my engineers were kept in the dark.

The cloaked man laughed, one of his hands went to his pocket.

"I'm afraid you will never know. The agreement was, double salary, no questions asked, and no stories told. Now have you two kept to word?" There was a threatening tone to the dark mans voice, but the engineers took no heed.

"Of course we have!" the thin man seemed offended by the idea that he would break his word.

"Good. Then you are no longer useful to me." The man's face twisted into a snarl, his hand came out of his pocket, holding a small silver cylinder. It was ornately decorated all over, centring around a small button on the side. There was a hole at one end, which the man held away from himself.

The surprised technicians turned to the cloaked man, who raised the weapon, the end of which was now spurting bright red light. In less than a second, both of my poor creators lay dead on the ground, charred black holes ran straight through them.

"Come." The dark man beckoned to me, putting the thing away and walking out of the door at the back of the room.

I was disgusted. The strange part of me that felt… well, it felt - which was unusual enough. That strange part of me objected, strongly, to this act of cruel violence towards my own builders. I had been alive a matter of minutes, but I was already becoming attached to them. But suddenly, my legs began to move. My head turned and beeped in approval. This had been the first time I witnessed the terrible atrocities of my master. It was also the time I realized that I had been programmed to accept it. I had been programmed to watch it, assist in it, and even to such things. According to my programming, I was a killing machine, disguised as an astromech droid. But what about me? How am I here? For a droid to have thoughts that oppose the programming was impossible. Morals, feelings, and opinions are all exclusive to life forms. Droid's are the underclass, we don't, object, feel, or think.

So why am I thinking?

Continued Next Chapter…