Chapter 1: Wrong Orders (first draft(Part 1))

Heavy footsteps are heard throughout the bustling street of people. The clank of armor made most of the bystanders shudder in fear. They knew what was coming. A machine of pure evil, and what came from it was no remorse for any soul that stood in its way. A corrupt soul that wandered the galaxy in search of its next victim with the intention of getting paid or seeking revenge. The armored person continued walking with a sack in its right hand and its other hand closed. Along this armor was an array of weapons, including smoke grenades, thermal detonators and two pistols crafted by hand. Its maroon armor shined in the dim street lights as many people scattered, with men guarding their wives and children, hoping the death tap wouldn't look their way. Of course these lights were always on in the Underground of Coruscant, for light barely found a way to break the webs of crime that formed in this place. The man kept walking, letting his footsteps echo in the now silent street, a smile reaching across the person face, even if there was a visor that covered their face. Having come back from a risky mission, with the head of an Imperial delegate, the machine was happy to finally see fear on these people's faces. It reached it destination within moments, staring at the entrance of a diner. Its outside was unkempt, but one could easily tell its owner cared about its customers as you could see sparkling white tiles on the floor through its glass doors. It kicked in the door with sheer force, walking in like it owned the place. A bartender, losing control due to shock, dropped his tray, letting the glass' and plates shatter against the tiled floor, scratching them up. Luckily, they were clean, so there was no issue of cleaning up food, but a trandoshan in a fancier apron than the young male gave him a dirty look. The armored being assumed the boy would get his pay deducted for the day. The trandoshan soon came around the corner, handing the boy a broom and pan, pointing at the mess and revealing his massive gut. His orange scaled skin was remarkably dull, but his big tail swung happily as he finally caught eye of the monstrosity that stood there, observing his actions with care. He walked up the machine, and one could easily tell the machine was half his size as he looked down at it with anticipation.

"I thought you'd never come visit."

"I'm only here for a business deal and my weekly bottle of Corellian whiskey."

"Could you at least take off that helmet and take a seat with me? You finally get a decent job and you treat me like bantha poodoo."

The machine lifted its arms, slowly grasping its head, and pulling of the metal contraption the protected its head. What was underneath would surprise an average man. It was a young girl, about 15 years old with long brown hair and crystal blue eyes. Her lips were bland but still beautiful and there wasn't even a mark or injury on her little face, making someone believe she has never seen combat. They would be dead wrong.

"Its not you, I just had a very difficult time getting here. I hope you understand."

"I wish I could."