A/N: Hey there people of fanfiction! It is I again! I wrote this awhile ago and never gotten around to typing it. This takes place near the end of the Clone Wars, and is meant to be a follow-up to my longer piece, "Dreamer's Oath". It's just a short little thing I wrote while nothing else for my other projects would come to me. Just to clarify, this person I'm referring to is not my OC from "D.O", but human, as you will see. I missed writing for cyborg-Grievous, and felt like composing a oneshot. Enjoy and review my friends!
It feels like some sick sort of dèjá-vu when the confrontation is brought about. In days so corrupt, prisoners are not uncommon, their demise inevitable. They find themselves in the presence of death itself, a demon with eyes like the pits of hell, and the mind of the devil that lives there. He is Grievous; he is the symbol of destruction and bloody massacre throughout the entire expanse of the knowing universe and beyond. He has seen much, and killed even more. He has no conception of how many lives he has claimed - why should it matter? That, one would deem true, but he knows fully that he very well should be informed, though he harbors no real care for it. This is brought to his attention when irony decides to rear its ugly head once more.
Every day, there are prisoners - every single day. And every day he ends their pitiable existences with no hesitation.
One day - cursed vacillation is bound to be felt, and it is.
A female captive is brought before him. She is human, with raven hair and eyes of jade. She stares upon him with a gaze that takes him back to the beginning of the war, to a time when prisoners were few and far between. To a time when a female hostage, inhuman, but much like this woman was captured, and he spared her...
None have been spared since.
No conflicting thoughts have surfaced since that fateful day.
His head snaps towards his ever present bodyguards, and he utters a single word. "Out."
They rush to obey like mindless slaves.
When they have gone from the room, he reaches an animalistic hand into the confines of his weighty grey cloak, drawing one of the elegant weapons from within. Holding it loosely, almost casually, he gives her a look of malice, saying, "Why are you here?"
"To kill you," she replies, nearly as flippant.
This elicits a chuckle from the commander. "And how, precisely, do you intend on doing this?"
"I'll figure it out."
Another sinister laugh escaped him as he said with detectable mockery, "I am certain that you will." His free hand shoots out and grabs her around the jaw line, lifting her off the floor as he has done to so many before, even to some Jedi. "Tell me...if you did, by some miracle, succeed, how would you escape from this vessel?"
"I - I - wouldn't - I would - I would kill myself then - "
"Would you?" He interjects, "I am flattered." He then dropped her, and gestures with the hand that has just released her to the weapon in the other. "Do you know what this is, human?"
She nods, rubbing where he has grasped her, bloodied now from the sharp edges of his cybernetic fingers. "Of course I do," she snaps. "It's a lightsaber."
"Indeed. It is such a fine piece of weaponry...so powerful...so," he pauses, "professional. Not like any blaster or pathetic vibroblade."
"It's something you have no right to use. You are neither Jedi nor Sith."
He mentally smirks at the sarcastic answer, reminded of banter he experienced in the past. "Such acerbity. I do not think that the life after this one will be as dismissive as I."
She says nothing. He moves on to more inconsequential, threatening methods of disquieting her.
"What is your name?"
She studies him from her place on the floor, scorn in her eyes. "Why? Do you have some habit of getting to know your victims before ending their lives?"
The commander gives a little, yet perverse cackle, enjoying the new direction he has taken the exchange, yet producing hollow words in reply, "Only the ones that appeal to me..."
Resilient though she is, it is obvious that she wishes to wretch. He feeds off her aversion.
"You can do nothing in that sense! Stop screwing around with my head!" She spits out.
Straightening, he glowers down on her. "I would not make such bold assumptions, for if you wish to make a bet, you will find that you will sorely lose. I can promise you that. There is no subjugation now, human, only death awaits you." He watches her shift in discomfort, the walls of indifference she has built crumbling.
"I..." She knows not what to say."
Perfect.
"Do you want to know why I have put off your judgment for so long, unfortunate woman?"
"Because you are a sick, twisted being who delights in toying with others' minds?"
He hauls her to her feet by the collar of her outwardly lightweight attire. Growling, he lowers his neck so that his faceplate in positioned in her direct line of vision. His eyes burn with a murderous loathing. "No!" he snarls aggressively, and then repeats, "No. I have detected a... very vague resemblance between you, human, and a prisoner I took very long ago. It has been nearly ten years now, and I have not spared a life since - nor have I seen anyone that looks so much like her with a weak human face."
"Her?" She says slowly. "Her...I see."
He clutches her collar tighter and pulls her feeble self even closer, dangerously closer. His reptilian eyes narrow as he speaks in a low, menacing voice. "I do not think you do. I do not think so at all, you pitiful excuse for a life form! Your meager mortal lives are useless - like an insect, good for nothing, beneficial to no one. You have no comprehension of how much I hate you...how much I hate that you look like she who I cannot forget!"
She blinks at this, speechless for a long moment, silent under a gaze so full of raw loathing that she fears she may succumb to the dread that wells inside of her. "What happened to this woman of whom you speak?" She asks at last, very quiet.
It is then that he lets go of her collar, and with a spiteful glare, he raises his hand to her face, and gradually, lightly drags the tips of his claws down the side of it, not demonstrative in the least. She shivers in horror as the touch travels the plane of her neck, stopping abruptly just before reaching the collarbone.
"She is dead," he hisses, just before he ignites the lightsaber through her torso. She gasps. The plasma blade sears through her frail human flesh, and when he rips it upwards through her chest, and deactivates the weapon, he shoves her backwards with all the disgust he has in his being for humans. Her body hits the floor with a satisfying thud, gaping line through her upper body very visible.
This makes him content, for he has promised himself that never again will he show a weakness like he did for the one they had only just spoken of.
He summons his guards to remove the cadaver, ordering them to simply toss it out into the vast expanse of space.
Humans, after all, deserved no more.
Well I enjoyed that! I edited it a lot from the original version I had written by hand, and I think it turned out satisfactorily in the end. How about you? What did you all think? Drop me a line if you will ^_^