Personal Log of Dr. Kenneth Torch, Former Senior Researcher of Project Whiteclaw
They say only the dead know true peace. I used to disagree. I used to think that peace could be won by living beings. That stout hearts and courageous men and women could secure peace and security for more than just the dead. I used to think that it was my duty, both as a living being and a scientist, to further that goal.
Yet as the years wear on, peace continues to be an elusive target. The Republic tried to bring peace, but only managed to tear the world apart in a galaxy-wide war that threatened to consume everything. The Jedi claimed to fight for peace but ultimately succeeded only in hastening their own destruction.
The Empire claims to have brought peace now. The Emperor and his minions proclaim that a great golden age is upon us and that their iron fist brings about a peaceful and stable galaxy. But the longer I live, the more I begin to think otherwise.
When I was assigned to Project Whiteclaw, seemingly an eternity ago, I was so proud. Finally I was being put to work on something big! Something that would matter! Something that would help bring true peace, once and for all, to a largely lawless and unjust galaxy.
The aims of Project Whiteclaw were simple: research the effects of cross-species gene splicing in order to amplify the human potential. Only near-human races were studied of course; Kiffar, Echani, Zeltron, and Arkanians were among the more promising subjects. These species were similar to us in almost every way, yet possessed powerful abilities far beyond those of normal humans. Whiteclaw was meant to harness these abilities and use them for ourselves.
The result was to be incredible. Imagine an army of stormtroopers with the reflexes of Echani warriors, or Inquisitors with the psychometric abilities of the Kiffar. Imperial agents with Zeltron DNA could have used pheromone-assisted persuasion to break down even the most stubborn terrorist suspect, and Special Forces troopers could have used Arkanian heat vision to see in the dark.
With such tools at our disposal, the Empire could bring true peace and could more effectively protect those under its protection. Gone would be the days of raids and stormtrooper patrols unjustly targeting nonhumans or innocents. Gone would be the need for Inquisitors or Shadow Guards, those mysterious hunters tasked with sniffing out traitors or fugitives by any means necessary.
With Project Whiteclaw, the Empire would be transformed into a powerful bastion of efficiency, where humans would no longer live in fear of their superior nonhuman counterparts and could instead stand with them, shoulder to shoulder, for the good of all. Whiteclaw sought to push human evolution into a glorious new era where humanity would be brush the threshold of utter biological perfection. In such a state, galactic peace would be within our grasp.
But science, of course, is more complicated. One cannot simply splice genetic strands together and expect superhuman abilities. Indeed, those first days of the project were met with failure after failure. The first test subjects were killed almost instantly during gene therapy treatments. They were willing recruits, the best the Empire had to offer, and they dropped like flies when the injections began. We solved the problem and moved on to the next problem, each time inching closer and closer to our target.
The years wore on. The list of potential genetic donors grew slimmer. Arkanian DNA melding caused violent deformations of the skin and skeleton and subjects were often killed by their own internal organs rupturing. Echani DNA caused instantaneous neuronal degradation and electrical overload in the brain. Zeltron DNA bonding was successful, but no changes in human physiology were noted besides a slight reddening of skin pigment.
Obviously these species would not work. Of the original list of over one hundred potential candidates, soon only a handful remained. And of that handful, only the Kiffar were the most promising.
The Kiffar are almost identical to humans in both a physiological and genetic sense. If not for their cultural practice of facial tattooing, most would be indistinguishable from us. Yet a rare few – about one in every hundred Kiffar subjects – possesses an incredible ability: psychometry, or the ability to read the memories of inanimate objects via touch.
Subsequent research yielded further results: a subspecies of the pureblood Kiffar known as the Salpatians. Salpatians were nearly identical to their pureblood counterparts, but thousands of years of evolution and mutation produced truly remarkable specimens. Salpatian Kiffar were stronger, faster, and often smarter than the average being.
They weren't superhuman like the Empire wanted. But they were close enough.
Unfortunately, the Salpatians suffered from a single evolutionary flaw: chromosomal mutations over millennia meant the subspecies could not successfully reproduce with anyone but their own dwindling race. Their population had started to shrink around the time of the Mandalorian Wars due to conflicts, genocides, and their own biological deficiencies.
By the time the Empire discovered them they were nearly extinct. Those that survived had long ago blended into general Kiffar society, hiding their genetic gifts and further damaging their chances of survival by trying — and failing — to breed with the pureblood race.
The prospects of the Whiteclaw Project seemed grim. What had once seemed like a glorious leap of technology and evolution began to be seen as a flight of fancy or the realm of science fiction. Many Whiteclaw researchers were reassigned. Others, frustrated at the lack of progress, resigned from the project.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
A Salpatian Kiffar walked right into the Empire's grasp. Cin Vhetin, a young Mandalorian convert barely out of infancy, was recruited into the Imperial military. This young man was a precious Salpatian Kiffar and the first viable test subject in almost twenty years of study. His genetic code, we were sure, held the key to our research.
We believed his appearance a sign of our imminent success. With his consent we could continue our research and finally complete our mission. All the remaining researchers were giddy with anticipation at the findings that now lay before them. I remember those days fondly; laughing, joking, pouring over research notes with colleagues. How giddily naive we all were.
But, unknown to any of the researchers, the Whiteclaw Project had changed.
Previous test subjects were volunteers. Soldiers and smugglers, mercenaries and everyday citizens were approached with offers to join the Whiteclaw project in return for solid compensation and a chance at changing history. And while certain individuals – usually Echani – were less than cooperative, the project never had any lack of recruits.
But as the years wore on, the Emperor had grown tired of the constant delays and failures. The days of working cooperatively with our patients were over. They would now submit to testing by choice or by force. There was no third option. Testing would begin on the Salpatian Kiffar subject immediately, without his knowledge.
But we underestimated ourselves and the secrecy of our project. When our Primary Subject, Cin Vhetin, realized what we were doing with his medical samples, he resisted. Violently. He killed half a battalion of stormtroopers during his escape and vanished into the stars.
The Emperor was… displeased. He sent his favored servant, Lord Vader, to personally oversee the continuation of the project. When he learned of the Primary's escape, he sent some of his best bounty hunters to track the young man down. More violence ensued, both within and without the project.
If I had known what Whiteclaw would become, I would have turned in my labcoat then and there. But by the time I realized the true nature of our deeds it was far too late to leave. And with Lord Vader hovering over us… well, none of us were particularly eager to displease him. Our necks were very literally on the line.
The research grew more invasive. Patients were no longer willing recruits but prisoners, kept in a massive underground prison facility on the planet Quorbus. And though the Kiffar DNA reacted violently when merged with the human genetic code, our research continued.
We were no longer making supermen. We were making monsters. The gene therapy process twisted our subjects' minds, driving them into violent insanity. Genetic degradation led to lesions, boils, and bruises. Teeth and fingernails fell out. Eyes became bloodshot. Normal human behavior degraded until these "patients" became little more than animals.
We knew the genetic code of the Primary held the key, and the Empire was desperate to find him. After much bloodshed, he was eventually captured and forced into Whiteclaw custody once more. His body was harnessed for the "good of the project," used as a breeding ground for genetic carriers that would spread his DNA to other subjects.
My shame at this stage of the project was – and continues to be – all-consuming. I never agreed to mutilate the bodies of innocent men to breed our hellish serums. I never agreed to willingly destroy the mind in the hopes that we could somehow overcome natural evolution.
Needless to say, the Primary was not within our grasp for long. But the damage caused by his escape was astonishing. A small contingent of men and women – the Primary's compatriots – infiltrated the research facility and freed him. Hundreds of Whiteclaw personnel were killed. The facility was destroyed. The project teetered on the brink of complete failure.
But the Empire always has contingency plans in place, and Project Whiteclaw was no different. Far too late we learned that genetic superiority was only one possible goal of our research. If such an outcome was impossible or too difficult to achieve, Whiteclaw would fall under its top-secret secondary orders.
Thus the Blackwing Project was born, with the mission to use our standing research to drastically improve current methods of viral warfare. Research into genetic bonding and physiological mutation became casualty reports. Willing volunteers, eagerly hoping to become supersoldiers, became terrified prisoners yearning for the mercy of death. Rather than improving the living being, our aim was now to more efficiently destroy it.
This is where we stand now. We began as determined and motivated scientists and became executioners and perverters of the natural world. This is the truth of Imperial peace; those who do not conform are doomed to imprisonment or death. Now I am as much a prisoner as those we subject to testing. And as our research descends further and further into the obscene, I am terrified for what the future of this project holds. Of what we will inadvertently birth on an unsuspecting galaxy.
They say that only the dead know true peace. But I fear the Blackwing Project will soon take even that.
My name is Dr. Kenneth Torch. Should these logs one day fall into the hands of a sympathetic mind, I wish for only one thing to be known above all else: I am eternally ashamed of the part I played in the creation of this dreadful project. History will not forgive me. I hope you can.
May the Force be with us all.