I equipped my external plating and checked the charge on the blaster. It didn't look like much but it had been heavily modified and all the safety settings designed to keep humans from blowing their own hands off removed. It now only had two settings. Kill and Overkill. I mag clamped by Blastsword to my leg. Sure it wasn't the most refined weapon and when engaged it looked and sounded like a lightsaber on the fritz. What with the hum and the glowing tip. But in the heat of battle everyone focuses on the blade that really would do little more than dent most armor. The look on a targets face as the blaster bolt fired out of the tip made all the hours refining my programming in proper sword technique worth while. I let out a little chuckle at the thought of a particular Jedi whose arrogance proved fatal. It was quite the accomplishment that my designers where able to impart a little of the human range of emotions in to me. But admiring the air breathers who made me and would surely die by hand had to wait. I need to find work.
I headed to the closest cantina. Its a little hid secret that Hutts where always looking for someone to do their dirty work, and back rooms of back water planets where the rocks that the slugs hid under. There I met Zarka, a loathsome, tyrant of being even by Hutt standards. He hired me to eliminate a Twi'lek. Apparently she had done something to offend his warped sense of honor. It didn't make a difference to me however. A job is a job.She was easy enough to track down. Even easier to slice in to her apartment. Three standard hours later when she returned she came face to face with the business end of my blaster. She started chirping something in her native language. I wasn't programmed to understand. Makes for a more passable human I suppose. So I introduced her to my "universal translator". The job done I returned to Zarka. Perhaps emboldened by the entourage of thugs he had gathered he refused to pay. As I released my hand and the flash grenade fell to the floor my external visor darkend.The room filled with sensor splitting squeals of blaster fire, followed by the thuds of lifeless bodies bouncing off of permacrete. As the visor returned to normal the only ones still operational where Zarka and I. He begged and pleaded made promises he could never fulfill. I slowly stalked over from him as I activated my Blastsword. The trail of red sparks the slid down his throat were most likely not part of his normal diet but it did make for a nice show. As I was claiming my promised wages plus a little for the aggravation I came across port records. As Zarka wasn't really going to be needing it any time soon I decided that I may as well make sure it doesn't just rust away. Once aboard the Dragon's Wake I found his real secret. A cash load of spice! Enough for at least two air breather lifetimes.Enough that I could of settled off in the rim and lived quietly for decades. But what a waste of engineering that would be......
