War; the destroyer of worlds and the catalyst in which all life dies. It can either bring prosperity to one's country, or leave it in a wake of devastation and suffering. All beings are affected by war, whether it be directly or indirectly; their minds are permanently altered, sometimes causing them to warp into something that is slightly less than human.
Meetra Surik gazed vacantly at the Galaxy map in the cockpit of the Ebon Hawk, counting and reminiscing over the planets and the lives she, herself, had had a direct influence on. So many had perished in the Mandalorian War because of her. The Jedi Order, the one place Meetra had once found solace and understanding in, had coldly rejected her and cast her out, with nothing left but a hollow void festering within the depths of her mind. Everything had been stripped away from her, even her ability to use the force. Feelings of vulnerability and self-hatred washed over her, and she pounded the Galaxy map with her fist as hard as she could, shattering the glass screen.
"So you've decided to take your anger out on the only thing that can help us get around the galaxy? I'm kinda starting to see why the Jedi are a dying breed." Meetra turned around and was face to face with Atton, who was crossing his arms and looking quite disgusted. While he had been patient with the Jedi thus far out of pity and curiosity, there was a limit to such generosities. Atton had retained a fair number of battle scars, both physically and mentally, himself but could not understand why the Exile's sanity had deteriorated so much over the past several weeks. She spent most of her time either in her chambers, blankly gazing into space, or mumbling incoherently under her breath. "Look, I know I'm not exactly the nicest of guys, but you can talk to me about what's going on. I think that old hag has had too much of an influence on you lately."
"This doesn't concern you, Atton." Meetra hissed, placing her hand on the hilt of her lightsaber. The scoundrel's unnatural interest in her and his opinions were once interesting, even amusing, but now they were becoming a source of extreme irritation. She knew that his sympathy was most likely false and nothing more than a ploy driven by the hidden lust he had for her, as it was with most men she had dealt with. Even at that moment, his eyes were averted to her breasts. "I suggest you cease your staring; it was tiring the first time you did it. You'd be much more tolerable if you were blind or dead, preferably the latter." Atton's eyes widened with shock, and he stepped away slowly.
"Well, aren't you the queen of ice today.. You know, I don't know what's happened to you, but you have way more in common with a droid than a human." Atton muttered something about having better things to do than deal with moody Jedi and walked off, leaving Meetra to the shadows of her thoughts. It had felt strangely satisfying to threaten him, and she felt the urge to follow after him. His spirit was fragile, even under the cloudy gaze of aggression and recklessness. She could easily break him to her will and contort him into her puppet, dancing wildly to her every whim. She could conqueror the minds of her entire crew, exert dominance over the peaks of their thoughts and the valleys of their souls. The need for control and primal violence began to consume what was left of her mind, her sanity cracking apart in the midst of her anger.
Then, as suddenly as it began, those feelings dissipated, leaving her numb and hollow, as vacant as a droid. Maybe this journey to restore a sense of order to the galaxy was in vain. Entropy would take over and reduce it to chaos and anarchy even if she did establish temporary order. Maybe it would be better to just sit there and gaze into the distance and contemplate the life she could have had if she hadn't entered the Mandalorian War. Meetra sank to the floor, crossing her arms around her knees and melded in with the background until it seemed she was no one, her existence merely a figment of the universe's imagination. The void in her mind had created a black hole, consuming every trace of humanity and life within her. She felt absolutely nothing. She was nothing.
Hours seemed to pass, and still Meetra sat there, not moving and not thinking, until she noticed a figure out of the corner of her eye. Kreia. Her mind snapped back into function, as droid's did when prodded with a command, and she regarded her mysterious teacher. How long had she been there staring? "How long have you been there, old hag?" Meetra snapped.
"Rage is the only thing that sustains you now. You'll perish without it because you have yet to come to terms with your past. I can barely sense you through the force; it is as if you are slipping away in all aspects." Kreia whispered. Meetra began to grow impatient with her cryptic explanations.
"What's your point?"
"You are weak. That is all" Though a hood partially covered her face, it seemed as though Kreia was sneering at her, mocking her. Meetra felt the familiar feeling of rage coarse through her veins, and whipped out her lightsaber and shoved it next to Kreia's creased throat. She made no effort to defend herself and only sat there silently, waiting. Meetra paused for a second, regarding her teacher, but then slashed right through Kreia's neck, and watched as the old woman's head fell to the floor without making a sound. Panting, Meetra collapsed beside the corpse, relishing the rush of adrenaline the killing had given her. She felt no remorse for what she had, only the minute hint of pain as the force bond between her and Kreia decayed. As the rush she felt subsided, a new realization struck her. Her life, her presence, could be preserved through the elimination of all other life besides her own.
Suddenly, there was a hiss and almost what sounded like the crackling of laughter in the background. Meetra gasped, recognizing the familiarity of the voice. She turned and saw the sleek frame of HK-47 lingering in the shadows. The droid had seen everything. "Amused Statement: Ah, it is quite nice to see the Master coming to her senses after all this time of believing in pacifism. Although I highly doubt that incompetent crew of yours will be able to process this without taking some kind of violent action against you." How could she have forgotten about the droid, always stalking her in the darkest of places, as if waiting to attack. "Consolation: Do not worry, Master, I will not tell a soul about the events that have transpired here. However, I never knew you had such a gloriously sadistic side to yourself. It makes my behavior core glow with something similar to joy!" HK-47's artificial eyes appeared to glow vibrantly.
Meetra regarded the droid curiously. She had momentarily forgotten the droid's primary function and penchant for unadulterated violence. It was bound to her, and wouldn't say a world. She could trust it and even...relate to it on some level. From the rush she felt earlier after slaughtering Kreia, she now understood its need to exterminate organic life. It was his purpose, what kept him alive. Meetra gazed at him in a different light, and suddenly felt so hot and dizzy that she almost collapsed. Kreia's death must have had more of an effect on her than she thought. That must be what was causing the unbearable heat and dizziness, right? She leaned forward and rested her forehead on the coolness of HK-47's chassis, much to the confusion of the droid.
"HK, I want you to do a favor for me. And no, it does not involve any sort of menial labor. I think you'll quite enjoy it. My crew and I...are no longer compatible. They are worthless, and find every excuse they can to meddle with all of my affairs. As you would say, they are meat-bags. Kill them, kill all of them. As violently as you can." Meetra said, in an almost pleading tone. Of course the droid was more than happy to oblige, fired up his carbine blasters and slunk off into the bowels of the ship.
Throughout the ship, Meetra could hear the iron clanking of HK-47's footsteps, the sharp and electric sound of a blaster rifle as it cut through flesh and the screams and wails of her crew as they were viciously cut down in the droid's rampage. It was quite intriguing how the droid managed to kill so easily, it was almost an art-form, albeit a more macabre one. She could hear the sound of Mical begging for his life; he had always been weak. His simpering words were silenced, and he gasped for breath as his life fled his body. Meetra felt a strange sense of peace, even as the blaster rifle ceased, and HK-47 sauntered back to her side, dragging Atton by his hair behind him. "Exclamatory Statement: Master! I do not believe I have been permitted this much fun since my previous activation." He kicked Atton away from him. "Clarification: I have brought this meatbag to you because he is being irritatingly defiant about his inevitable death. I assumed you would rather dispose of this annoyance yourself. Please, may I watch as you kill him, Master?"
Atton thrashed about on the ground, most of his bones mercilessly broken. He sputtered, gagging on a sonic grenade that had been shoved inside his mouth. The disbelief that Meetra had actually caused this to happen to him ebbed away. The droid had not malfunctioned and gone on a murderous rampage; the Exile had order the exterminations to quell the void within her mind. A desolate darkness descended upon him as HK-47 instructed Meetra in the best way to end his life. Electrocution, blunt force trauma, suffocation; Atton had gambled plenty times but now a new sort of slot machine had been activated, the method of death being left entirely in the skeletal hands of fate. Meetra bent over him with a plasma torch, leering at his incapacitated frame. He squirmed, vainly trying to inch away, until HK-47 pressed his icy, metal foot upon his forehead to hold him in place. He barely felt any pain as the plasma torch burned through his eye, charring his skull and brain to ash. The horrific massacre was over.
A twinge of guilt wafted through Meetra's mind, but like everything else, soon dissipated into familiar nothingness. She grinned at HK-47, grateful for his help in lifting the massive burdens off of her. The droid, now soaked in the blood of it's victims, now looked like a worthy companion and even an object of comfort. He would help her restore the galaxy to its proper place: chaos. A wave of heat and dizziness swept over her once again, and she collapsed to the floor, gazing up at the towering figure of HK-47. "Query: Is there something troubling you, Master? I do hope you are not feeling any remorse after all of this fun we had." The droid regarded Meetra and her flushed face, and bent down, brushing his metal hand across her forehead. "Exclamatory Statement: Master! You are generating more heat than the explosion of Peragus. It is imperative that you receive immediate medical attention. Meatbags are so fragile!" HK-47 picked up Meetra, and began to walk toward the Medical Bay.
"Wait...HK, I need you to do something else. I want you to de-activate T3-M4, he is only going to get in the way and I would feel much more comfortable if you were the one in control of the ship and everything. Please..." Meetra gasped, before succumbing to unconsciousness in the grasp of HK-47's arms. The droid regarded Meetra, his behavior core glowing with amusement.
"Consolation: Do not worry Master, I will have everything under control."