Chapter 13 – Lies & Deception

Hello, hello everyone! Guess who's back?!

And guess who's still alive :D

So who else is watching The Bad Batch?

An unnatural, animalistic howl of pain echoed through the corridors of the fortress.

It was this noise that started Ronderu awake.

For a few moments, she didn't remember anything – where was she? What was going on? Why did everything hurt so much? She stared blearily at an unfamiliar ceiling of rough, uncut rock banded with colourful streaks of minerals; dark red, deep brown and bronze… She closed her eyes for a moment, letting everything come back to her – her near-escape, General Grievous capturing her, their conversations, the arrival to his personal fortress and finally, her fight with the Magnaguards. She couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down her back as she recalled her last moments of consciousness.

But what had happened? Why had they stopped? And had she really felt Qymaen, or had it merely been a pain-induced hallucination? And where was she now?

Stiffly, she propped herself up on her elbows before sitting up completely. Looking around, she saw she was in a room, sitting on a pile of blankets that had been laid out over raised stone slab against one wall. Ronderu grimaced inwardly, and tried not to compare the slab to a sacrificial altar. Swinging her legs off the bed, she found the walls a plain, pale grey. To the right of her bed were floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down upon a steep slope that led to the forested shore of a high-altitude lake. There were two doors; one was set in the wall opposite the windows, the other one in the same wall her bed was against.

Other than these, the room was bare.

Ronderu got to her feet and approached the first door. It was made of metal, set in a solid frame. Placing her hand against it, she looked to the wall on either side of the door, searching for a panel or button that might let her open the door. But, there was none; and apparently, no way for the door to open – or at least, no way for her to open it from the inside. But even so, she tried to pry the edges of her clawed fingers into the small gap between the door and doorframe to try and pry it open. After a few failed attempts, she drew away with a barely-suppressed sigh. Turning, she walked stiffly to the second door, to find out if she could at least open this one. Ronderu blinked in surprise as the second door slid open, but to her disappointment, it led into a refresher.

Closing the door, she turned around and leaned back against it, giving herself a few moments to rub the sleep from her eyes. She then walked to the windows, looking for something that might indicate them being able to open. No luck there, of course. Clenching her hand into a fist, she pounded half-heartedly against the glass a few times before reaching the conclusion that she couldn't break it; not with her bare hands, at least.

With a groan, she sat down heavily at the foot what served as her bed, leaning back against the cold rock. Soon, though, she heard another noise – faint and echoey – that started as a low growl before building into a roar. When the fortress grew quiet again, Ronderu found herself wondering what that could have been. Just what else was in here with her?

Some hours earlier, Grievous had loped into one of the innermost chambers of the fortress. Once, it had been the throne room for a monarch that was now long-dead, but now it had been repurposed into a control room from where the rest of the fortress could be monitored. The only thing that remained from a previous age was a large, intricately carved stone throne. The walls, too, were carved – but these with scenes of a forgotten planet's forgotten past – but they were mostly obscured with more modern technology. The stairs leading up to the throne had been cut away, and set in the dais below the throne was now a door that led underground into a separate chamber. Grievous paused before stepping through the door, his senses telling him that there was someone watching.

"Doctor!" Grievous called out. "Where are you?"

"Oh, there you are, Master," came a snide voice. "I was wondering where you had got to – did you perhaps forget the route to take? Sometimes, even I get lost in this place."

"I doubt that," Grievous responded sourly.

From across the room shuffled an EV-series medical droid – EV-A4-D, Grievous' personal doctor. A4-D's programming possessed a massive flaw in the eyes of his creators; one that had led to him nearly being decommissioned several years ago. Nevertheless, here he was – in perfect condition as long as the long scorch mark across his body was ignored (a reminder of when he had been cut in half by a Jedi). A4-D's white photoreceptors were focused intently on Grievous, eager to hear the latest news from the battlefronts.

"Master, what have you been doing to yourself?!" A4-D demanded, his tone aghast as he took in Grievous' battered appearance.

"What do you think happened?" Grievous snapped ill-temperedly, not in the mood for A4-D's usual conversation. "Just do your job and get my repairs done!"

"Very well," conceded the droid.

The two of them stepped through the door set below the throne and into a concealed turbolift. It took them down, coming to a halt after a few moments and letting them out in to a large cavern. This was where all of Grievous' spare parts were housed and in the center of the cavern was an operating table; a door to one side led into Grievous' trophy room – it contained the lightsabers he'd taken from the Jedi he'd slaughtered, as well as other trophies.

Grievous seated himself on the worktable, swinging his legs up onto it as well before lying down completely. A4-D approached, quickly scanning Grievous' mechanical body to ascertain what damage he'd obtained. If it were possible, the droid seemed to eye Grievous with disdain.

"Honestly, Master, I find myself having to repair worse and worse damage with every visit of yours," A4-D remarked. "Did a Jedi do this?"

Realising that A4-D's question was being directed rather pointedly to something – most likely one of his various injuries – so Grievous raised his head and looked over to what A4-D was pointing to. His eyes quickly fell on the puncture holes in his armour plating, the ones given to him by the Jedi's clone troops. With a non-committal grunt, Grievous lay back down again.

"A Jedi," Grievous answered, "and his clones."

"Clones!" Echoed A4-D incredulously as he retrieved the necessary parts. "I believe that this only proves how terrible a fighter you are! Now, if you were any better – "

"Just get on with it before I regret having you rebuilt," the cyborg growled in warning.

A4-D wisely complied and began with Grievous' repairs. The first things to be replaced were both the cyborg's legs; A4-D's scans had revealed to him that the motor functions in the left had been impaired by what looked like a grapple embedded in it. The knee joint of his right foot seemed to have been subject to a well-aimed blaster bolt. Next to go was the entirety of Grievous' left arm, armour plating and all. A new one was swiftly installed in its place, the fingers flexing as Grievous made sure they were responsive and properly integrated. Moving onto his damaged chest plates, A4-D spoke up.

"So, Master, I am curious – just who is that organic you brought in today? A prisoner?"

"She is here for reasons you would not understand," Grievous muttered.

"This is very unlike you, Master," A4-D observed as he fitted in a new chest plate. "After all, why would you require a slave when you have droids to get a job done?"

Grievous' newly-installed left hand slammed against the table in anger. A moment of tense silence elapsed, during which Grievous' incensed eyes didn't leave A4-D. the droid in question was too surprised by the sudden show of hostility to say anything, though he did take an involuntary step back. While it was true that the EV-droid had seen Grievous angry before, this kind of anger had never before been directed specifically at him.

"She is not a slave," said Grievous, his voice dangerously low.

But A4-D could not help a response to that; it was simply a flaw in his programming.

"Really?" His tone was bordering on sarcastic. "I would have thought the shock collar she wore said otherwise."

His eyes widening in fury, Grievous' left hand shot out, his taloned fingers closing around A4-D's neck joint before proceeding to lift him clear of the floor. Only once before had the medical droid experienced terror – and that had been right before he'd been cut in half by that Jedi – but this was different. This was an actual, genuine fear of Grievous himself; the very same cyborg that A4-D had spent so many years repairing and chiding and subtly insulting, as well. But even so, he knew that despite his presence often grating on Grievous' nerves, the Separatist General still put up with him. Why? The logical answer was that Grievous needed A4-D to keep him functional; but over the years and many sessions, the droid suspected that the General had even come to view his medical droid as – almost – a friend.

The thought was flattering one, and at some point, A4-D had actually come to believe it. He knew that Grievous would never raise a hand – or even lightsaber – to A4-D like he did to the several B1 droids that annoyed him.

But now, as Grievous' claws tightened their grip on him, a cold, calculating anger in the cyborg's eyes, A4-D was no longer so sure.

"She is not a slave." Grievous repeated to A4-D, his voice icy. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." Had A4-D been human, there might have been a tremor in his voice.

"Consider her a guest," Grievous paused a moment. "She is only here because I could not allow Zygerrian slavers to possess a Kaleesh slave!"

"I see," A4-D said, his voice unusually cautious. "Perhaps you could put me down now, Master? After all, it would certainly benefit no one if I was accidently damaged."

Grievous eyed the medical droid for a moment before begrudgingly setting him down. Equally reluctantly, it would seem, he lay down again – impatient for his repairs to be done so he could get away. The droid got back to work, replacing the armour damaged by blasterfire. At the expert handling of the controls beside the operating table, a set of mechanical arms extended from the ceiling, these ones helping A4-D to replace the damaged plates on Grievous' back. Soon, that too was done. Now, it was time for the most… painful replacement; Grievous' faceplate.

A4-D's specialized arms reached over to either side of the cyborg's head.

"There may be some discomfort," he said out of habit.

A grunt told him to carry on, even as Grievous' claws curled around the edges of the table and tightened their hold there. And without hesitation, A4-D removed the damaged faceplate. Grievous' limbs spasmed with pain, his eyes widening with it as the inside of the faceplate came unstuck from his burned and half-mutilated face. Eventually, though, the job was done and Grievous could breathe a sigh of relief.

But then, barely a second later, a searing pain cut through his skull. Grievous hissed, his eyes screwing shut as he cradled his head in both hands; a futile effort to shut out the agony he felt now.

A4-D was beyond alarmed when the rest of Grievous' body began to spasm, his back arching so far back that A4-D feared it would snap in half. Abruptly, Grievous' hands left his head, only to stiffen and slam against the tabletop. A strangled noise escaped the cyborg's throat – a noise that was reminiscent of a scream.

"Master! What's wrong?!" A4-D asked with what could have been concern in his voice.

One of Grievous' eyes – the left one – opened to meet A4-D's photoreceptors briefly, maddened with a pain that was beyond comprehension.

"It's in my head," Grievous hissed, just loud enough for A4-D's audio receptors to pick up. "Make it stop, Doctor...! Get it out of my head!"

The cyborg's head lifted up suddenly, before it violently slammed back down against the table, his legs jerking like they had a life of their own while his arms flailed at unseen figures, fingers clawing at empty air. Grievous panted heavily, his breaths coming in wheezes now. Wasting no more time, A4-D hastily pushed a button on the control panel beside the operating table and metal restraints sprung out of the table's surface, securing down Grievous' limbs. Working more controls, a different machine descended from the ceiling to stop on the right side of the table.

"Do not worry, Master, I will soon find out what's wrong with you," A4-D said as he approached the new machine as fast as he could.

Grievous' eyes snapped open to stare at the droid madly, a strange look in them that A4-D could not quite place. Opting to ignore it, he got to work; working the controls of the new machine – a high-power scanner that could only be found in select few places – A4-D activated it, quickly initiating a scan of Grievous' head, where the source of this pain appeared to be. Almost immediately, the scan singled out two anomalies in Grievous' brain. Peering at the screen in confusion, A4-D came to the conclusion that they must be shrapnel from an explosion or an old accident – – because what else could they be?

But how odd it was that there seemed to be no entry points.

"Master, I know what is wrong," A4-D told Grievous. "However, the matter will require some surgery to fix."

"What… iss it?" Grievous hissed.

"There appear to be two pieces of shrapnel that have managed to enter and become lodged in your brain. Will you require anesthetic?"

"No!" The cyborg managed to gasp out. "No drugs! Just… do it!"

"As you wish," A4-D conceded.

A4-D had long since learned not to question Grievous about his strange aversion to sedatives and painkillers, so he moved into position, standing behind Grievous' head. Reaching out, he removed Grievous' faceplate for the second time that rotation. A few minutes passed before A4-D was able to remove the rear part of the helmet that enclosed his head. How strange it was to see an organic head underneath all that metal and armour. Noticing two scars along his skin, however, the droid was puzzled; what could those be from? They were too neat to have come from the shrapnel's entry and, on closer inspection, seemed to possess a sort of medical-like precision to them. Now that was odd. While it was true that A4-D was equipped to perform surgery on organics, it was also true that he had never done so for the General.

Referring to the scan again, he reached the conclusion that to reach these (deliberately?) embedded pieces of shrapnel, it would be easiest to reopen the old wounds. So, after what was only a microsecond's pause, he got to work.

Grievous opened his eyes, only to be greeted by surroundings that were very out of focus and bright. Too bright.

With a grimace, he closed his eyes and waited a moment before opening them to look around properly. Gradually, his memories returned and he wondered briefly what had happened. A4-D had mentioned surgery… was it already over? He blinked blearily a few times, feeling like he had woken up from a very, very long sleep.

Suddenly, A4-D's head popped into view directly in front of him, peering down at Grievous who in turn was too surprised by the sudden appearance to say anything.

"Welcome back, Master. It seems you have finally returned to your senses," A4-D said, an almost smug air about him.

"What… what happened?" Grievous croaked, his throat dry.

"Well, I'm sure that you will be happy to know that the procedure was a success; I was able to remove not one, but two pieces of shrapnel from within your head. However…" the medical droid trailed off, mid-sentence.

Grievous eyed him suspiciously.

"And?" He prompted. "What are you not telling me, Doctor?"

"… After I removed what I had believed to be shrapnel, I then discovered that they, in fact, weren't." A4-D admitted.

"Then what were they?" Grievous frowned.

"That is what puzzles me as well, Master. They appear to be chips of some sort," the droid informed him.

"Chips?" Grievous echoed, something stirring deep in the recesses of his mind.

"Yes," A4-D nodded. "From what I was able to make out of the first one, I would say that it was in place to stimulate your rage centers. But I will only be able to know more after a more thorough inspection – as for the second one, I cannot say what it was for," A4-D paused. "Master?"

Grievous was now sitting up, his eyes distant; haunted, even. He was no longer paying attention to the doctor. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts instead, no longer aware of his immediate surroundings.

"I told him," the cyborg muttered to himself. "Yes, I told him… that-that I didn't want them to alter my mind…"

Memories were now returning to Grievous; long forgotten, long-suppressed memories.

The Kaleesh closed his eyes and inhaled shakily, letting them come back to him. He remembered what seemed to have been another life entirely; a life that he had left behind on his homeworld, Kalee. There was an early memory – one of his father teaching him to use a Czerka rifle; Huk swarming through a Kaleesh settlement; himself – Qymaen jai Sheelal – fighting them off. Rallying behind the many clans of Kalee. His name – Sheelal… it meant The Dreamer, did it not?

The story of The Dreamer and The Dreamt came back to him, and with it, memories of his soulmate. Or – was it Qymaen's soulmate…?

Her name… what had her name been…?

And then it came to him – her name – and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

It couldn't be…

Ronderu lij Kummar. She was alive.

And she was in his fortress.

Now Grievous realized the purpose of the second chip. It had been an inhibitor chip; there to suppress his memories. His past. His life. And what had it been replaced with? Lies, thought Grievous.

"Lies," he hissed almost to himself, his hands clenching into fists.

Everything that he had thought had made him into who he was now, had all.

Been.

Lies.

For a moment, the thought of contacting Dooku and venting his anger while promising the Count that Grievous would have his revenge, was all-consuming. But then, a more rational part of himself – one that felt new to him – stopped him from doing so. Your anger will not help you now, it told him. It was true, the cyborg realized, but it felt strange not having to rely on his anger like he had before.

Grievous checked his emotions, and – for the first time in years – mastered them instead of them mastering him. And then, he looked down at his hands; at himself. And what he saw filled him with disgust. Claw-like fingers of grey metal and beige ceramoplast flexed themselves with a mere thought from him. They joined to sharp-looking arms, pointed armour plates protected his forearms, his feet were hideous, taloned limbs with two forwards and backwards-facing toes. Improvements were what he'd once thought this body to be.

"What… did they do to me?" He breathed in horror, as he saw this new body – his body – in a new light.

Because he knew now that he had never voluntarily chosen to have these… these upgrades installed. No, it was because his shuttle – The Martyr – had crashed. A bomb had been planted inside it, had gone off inside it. Dooku had insisted it was the doing of the Jedi, the lapdogs of the Republic and its Senators, who wanted his atrocities against one of their members to cease – one way or another. At the time, Grievous had believed him. But now, he seriously doubted that the bomb had been the work of anyone but Dooku. After all, if he had been lied to about so many other things, who was to say that Dooku wouldn't have lied about the bomb as well? Suddenly, Grievous was hit by a fresh wave of emotion and he closed his eyes in anguish at yet another newly-resurfaced memory.

He had not been the only one aboard that shuttle.

There had been others; brave warriors who had loyally followed him into battle – his Izvoshra – his generals… They had not deserved to die. None of them had deserved to die.

Yet there was no denying the facts; someone had planted a bomb aboard his shuttle, and when it had gone off, it had paved the way for him to be rebuilt as a cyborg. And no one had stood to gain anything from this. No one, that was, apart from Dooku.

A mixture of outrage, anger and loathing reared their heads inside Grievous like some sort of monstrous hydra. All this time… All this time, Dooku had known. He had done this to Grievous. He had used him, treated him as nothing more than a pawn to be discarded at a moment's notice. To the Separatists, he had been little more than a tool to be used in the war. That was all he was; all he would ever be to them.

"Doctor," Grievous said, his voice level, "do you know why I am a cyborg?"

A4-D hesitated before answering, unsure as to what Grievous was leading upto.

"Certainly," he began. "You are a cyborg because you agreed to have your old body replaced with this, thus making you as efficient as a droid and a much more capable fighter against the Jedi."

"No, A4-D. I neve agreed to anything," Grievous spat bitterly, "I am this monstrosity because I almost perished in a shuttle crash. I only wanted to be rebuilt and in return I agreed to aid Dooku. The only thing I asked was that my mind would not be tampered with."

He startled A4-D by turning to look at him, his eyes ablaze with a cold, frigid anger.

"And do you know what he did?" Grievous asked, his voice barely audible.

"No, Master." A4-D admitted cautiously. "I do not."

"He went back on his word," Grievous seethed.

"What will you do about this, Master?" Concern tinged A4-D's voice.

And Grievous surprised A4-D by not responding with an immediate, expected reply of "I will kill him!" Instead, Grievous was silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful.

"For now, nothing." He said finally. "Remember, A4-D – tell no one of this. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Master," A4-D replied, "no one will be hearing about this from me."

"Let Dooku think I am still his mindless pawn," Grievous said, distaste in his voice. "When the time is right, I will act."

A4-D was quiet. Today had been a very surprising day for him, and this new Grievous would certainly take some getting used to. Without the chip enhancing his rage centres, he seemed like a different cyborg entirely. But then, perhaps this was what he was really like? After all, the chip had not been a part of him; so then this 'new' Grievous was perhaps the 'real' Grievous? It was a lot to take, A4-D decided.

Slowly, deliberately, Grievous got off the table, his mind suddenly flashing back to something Kenobi had said to him once – "And what has that quest for power gotten you, General? A mutilated body? An errand boy in Dooku's bidding?"

Grievous could not help but utter a snort. How ironic it was that Kenobi had been right; he could now see the sense, the truth in the Jedi's words – even if at the time, he had vehemently denied it. If only… If only Grievous had known of this treachery and deception sooner, things could have turned out differently. Briefly, the cyborg wondered of it was possible that Kenobi had known something of his condition, but quickly dismissed the idea. No one besides Dooku and the Geonosians that rebuilt him would have had any inkling of the truth.

His thoughts soon turned back to Ronderu, though, and he found himself wondering – what would she think of him? Of what he had become? It seemed foolish to hope that she could – or would – accept him. Grievous was known far and wide as a monster, a murderer, the Jedi Killer. More than anything, he feared what Ronderu would do should she find out his identity. Grievous was ashamed of what he had become. He couldn't let her know – no matter what – but at the same time, he could only just feel her consciousness at the edge of his own. How long had it been since he'd felt this? He took a moment to savour the feeling, a sense of contentment – something he had not felt for a long time – making itself known to him. She was awake, he realized slowly, surprised by the sudden nervousness he felt.

He… should probably go and check on her…

Grievous got to his feet slowly and walked to the lift, feeling like he was navigating a dream instead of reality. Gods, how could his memories, his feelings for Ronderu have been suppressed? How, when she meant so much to him? Grievous quashed the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him, focusing instead on what he was supposed to say when he saw Ronderu.

"Where are you going, Master?" A4-D piped up from somewhere behind him.

Still in a bit of a daze, Grievous waved away the question, finally stepping into the lift. The doors slid shut silently, leaving a bewildered A4-D to shake his head slowly.

Finally. Chapter 13 is finally done and Grievous has his memories back…

*breathes sigh of relief*

And I am so sorry this chapter took so long to get here; I was originally hoping to get this posted by January, but there was no time – what with my sister's wedding and all the rest of the accompanying jazz. Also, she's moved out too, so there goes like half my initial audience (the other half being my brother) and unofficial beta reader :/ But hey, I'm not here to complain.

So. Grievous now has his memories back and is rightfully pissed with Dooku. I have done my best trying to combine both Star Wars Legends and Canon material, but I will admit that I myself have never read the comics and books detailing Grievous' backstory, for all that information, I have relied on Wookieepedia, a real life-saver. So if there are any gaps in my storytelling or some bits of information are not canon or legends-compliant (or not even there at all), I apologise. Sorry, folks.

And this is now the longest chapter! Yay! Maybe that's part of the reason it took so long to get here…

Thank you for reading, everyone!

Stay tuned for the next chapter – where food makes an appearance!