I do not and never will own the rights to Star Wars.
Grievous was no droid. He could actually feel emotions. Hate was the strongest.
The Count, as annoying as his fancy, chosen style of swordsmanship made him during their fencing lessons, was right about that. Hate could be used to smash and crush, to twist and snap armor, bone, and metal. It burned hot, and the sheer power it gave each of his limbs -
"Master, you have not slept for thirty-seven hours. In your condition, you can not avoid it forever."
Grievous ignored his "physician's" nagging, synthesized voice. He put up with the incessant, quirky snark of the EV series models only so long as the droids performed their duties without failure.
"Master, I believe that a minimum of ten hours rest might actually decrease the odds of me having to replace another set of limbs - "
"Do not try my patience, Doctor."
A4-D made a sound which mimicked a scoff before relinquishing the argument. After all, A4-D was replaceable. A4-D was only a droid.
Grievous was not. Grievous was unique. He was a living being.
The general would always insist on these illogical measures for reasons that the droid could only file away as being motivated by pride. A stupid, stubborn, organic emotion that A4-D was glad he could never express.
The cyborg grunted, then recentered his attention as he continued to spar with his quartet of IG-100 Magnaguard droids.
Droids could only act in a sequence according to patterns that were preprogrammed and easy to predict after only a few clashes. Organics like Grievous could adapt and change, becoming unpredictable. A true challenge. True warriors.
A4-D was observing him closely. Grievous could never tell what was going on behind the blank, pale photoreceptors that substituted for eyes.
Was it assessing his performance, looking for any drop in ability that it could recite as a statistical indicator that his counsel must be adhered to? Was its processor flipping through countless preselected vocal arrangements that would articulate a sense of smug superiority at this very moment?
The moment of distraction cost him. Grievous felt pain as an electrostaff made contact with his augmented torso, sending a surge of electricity through the metal and wires that were connected to his fleshy organs.
His vision turned red as he cut the droid into four pieces.
Grievous found that driving a lightsaber through a droid's torso, or using it to remove their cranial units, was stress relieving at best on a good day.
Puncturing a clone's heart, or piercing a Jedi's brain, now that was euphoric on any day.
"That was the third strike in the last two hours and forty-six minutes." A4-D commented.
Grievous rounded on the droid.
"Doctor..." He growled in a low, menacing tone that would have made a living creature collapse in fear, but failed to phase the medical unit.
"I believe that your performance would be restored to peak efficiency if you took the time to sleep."
"... Fine. Seven hours. No more."
"I suppose I should be grateful. I'll go prepare your chamber."
A4-D shuffled out of the room, his metal feet clinking and echoing off the floor.
Grievous stifled a cough as he tore through the remaining three combat droids.
He hated working with droids.