[Text > Audio > Video ]

[stupidmeatbags]

[ A little bit of a strange... thing appears on the network today, though at least it explains itself pretty quickly. Still, it doesn't seem like it was meant to be broadcast -- not in its entirety at least. ]

Diagnostic: Test voice to text protocols.
Diagnostic: Hello Galaxy!
Diagnostic: Test Succeeded.
Diagnostic: Switching to voice protocols.

[ A moment passes, before the communication switches over to voice only, as promised. ]

Diagnostic: Testing audio only protocols.
Diagnostic: Hello Galaxy!
Diagnostic: Test Succeeded.
Diagnostic: Switching to video protocols.

[ And as promised, a video feed pops up, only the person -- or thing? -- responsible can't be seen. In fact, imPorts can probably easily tell this person is in the porter people pop in at. ]

Diagnostic: Video functions within parameters. Ending diagnostic.

[ There's a long pause, before... ]

Exclamation: What?! You meatbags couldn't even program a simulated image for the video feed? What other electronic butchery have you inflicted on me?!

[ Well, now whoever owns that electronic voice sounds pissed. ]

Comments

[exsithstential]

[Revan caught the slight changes in HK's 'expression', as the one who had created him and fought besides for so long, they read as naturally as a twist of lips or a furrowing of brows.]

HK...50's? [There was confusion in his expression, but also recognition. A small spark at first but it soon blew up into a wide eyed expression of shock.

It was like two separate wires had been touched together and some new bell starts to go off in his head. Flashes of slate gray exoskeletons, rows upon rows along an assembly line. Memories long since forgotten, reconciled, then stored away in the deepest part of his mind.]

...What... did you want to know?

[stupidmeatbags]

[ Ah yes, he knows that look; HK-47 had seen it plenty of times on their journey together, after the original meatbag had helped reawaken his master's memories. That stupid blank stare had him really wanting to raise his blaster and pull the trigger in frustration, but... well, as much as his behavior core wanted to do that, it didn't seem like the rest of him was willing to do it. ]

[ He swore, if those meatbags did even worse to him... ]

Answer: A good start would be explaining why you seemed to think those durasteel insults to my image were necessary.

[exsithstential]

Necessary...

[Such a loaded statement. Revan may have recovered his memories in their entirety, but it was a mixed blessing. Without the context of his other selves, his past agency, each distinguishable "phase" in his life may feel like himself --at least on the surface.

But each of his separate "eras" were laced with their own fears, their own motivations. Most of the time he could follow the lines of logic each prescribed to, with an often painful awareness of their consequences. But who they were and their ambitions were varied and disjointed. Even with the gossamer strands of, what Revan would consider, his core morality webbing them all together, peeling back the veil of memory was like asking an almost seperate person to explain themselves to him.

But HK was asking about a time that was beyond isolated. It was bent.

Darth Revan.

A man even he could barely recognize in the peripheral. There was a process there to be sure, a cold, undeniable structure to the way the Darth sought out his dark goals. But try and he might to follow it there would reach a point where Revan would run into a kink, a sudden cognitive dissonance where the Darth's reasoning would meander off track from Revan's ever so slightly.

And trying to ask the Darth to explain himself was not something he liked to do frequently. Because often time he found the answers repulsive. And worse still were the times he found the answers tasted somewhat sweet...]

I remember them. I had... Darth Revan had just commissioned a factory to produce them in secret. [His eyes searching space and time, flicking this way and that as if scanning the contents of a document.] ...On... Telos.

[stupidmeatbags]

[ And the problem with all this is HK-47 has no idea. He has no idea how a meatbag mind works, and his understanding of Jedi is restricted to having learned to put up with the babbling, annoying pseudo-pacifism and how to kill them should the need arise. He has no idea that it's been hundreds of years for Revan since they journeyed together, since the final end of Malachor and the new Sith that had crawled up from it's cracked surface. For HK, his master abandoning him was still fresh in his (admittedly) barely functioning memory banks, and the irritation of his dismantled copies more so. ]

Statement: I am aware of the location. I can also tell you that it is empty now, both of those insulting copies of myself, and the HK-51 model they were creating.

[exsithstential]

You were there?

[It was a small leap in logic, but he recognizes HK's patented brand of indirect bragging.]

And they were building a new model? Who? That facility was never made operational. Not before... [Oh you know, that whole betrayal at the hands of his sith apprentice and eventual brain wipe at the hands of the jedi order.] Well, it was never brought online.

[Revan cups his chin, rubbing his fingers over his beard as his mind did a backstroke through the streams of time. He turns, taking a few steps away before stopping and looking back over his shoulder.]

Well? If you're going to ask me to scrape around the insides of my skull you should at least let me return the favor.

[stupidmeatbags]

[ There was that whir of HK-47's photoreceptors adjusting -- Revan probably recognized it as the droid's version of squinting crossly. It was difficult to believe that his master and maker never brought the 50s online, considering the sheer numbers and functionality of the facility on Telos. Then again, he didn't know when G0-T0 brought the facility online, nor did he know how long it took for the factory to start churning out enough 50s to even consider making the 51 model. ]

[ If he had been able to bring his blaster to bear, he would have eased back at that. ]

Answer: Sadly, I must answer with an 'I do not know' as well, master. The facility was brought online by another droid with delusions of grandeur, as far as 'fixing' the galaxy was concerned. He has since been disposed of.

[ It's hard to miss the utter pleasure in HK's voice at the memory of the fat one's electronic screams as he disposed of him personally. ]

[exsithstential]

Good.

[The unmistakable edge of lethal approval in Revan's voice could cut durasteel. It was one thing to be constantly reminded of all the terrible things he had done while under the Emperor's sway. It was another thing, beyond infuriating, to hear that someone else took advantage of his mistakes to make things worse. Or that someone else had to clean up after him.]

That place was an abomination. I hope you burnt it to the ground as well.

[Walking over to a waist tall, metal container, Revan keys a few commands on a glowing panel. A series of chirps and beeps in binary confirm his command to release the security lock and shortly after the top of the box blooms into a multi-layered workstation. Tools HK would mostly recognize as native to their world.

He turns back to HK and softly gestures to the area in front of the station: An invitation, not an order.]

To be completely honest with you it's difficult to speak to actions nearly three centuries past. But you deserve no less.

[stupidmeatbags]

[ HK doesn't approach at first, his photoreceptors fixed on his master. What is this now? ]

Observation: Master, I understand this world has a strange concept of time compared to our own, but I do not believe it is so strange that there is a three hundred year difference.