Heaps of rusted metal rose into the orange tinted, smog laden sky. Mountains of refuse, forgotten relics, a final resting place. A graveyard for the unwanted.
Acidic rain slowly ate its way through the scrap as it trickled down to a mixing pot of liquids that formed a flowing river of oils, accelerants, coolant, and hydraulic fluids; the lifeblood of machinery.
A sharp and ear piercing clank repeated in the distance like a dystopian bell. If you were to look close enough, wading through the mist. You would see them, the two cloaked figures, more machine than organic, clamoring through wayward piles. Tossing aside undesirables while searching for something more specific. They jabbered to one another in a strange dialect woven with binary. One prodding metal with a makeshift spear while the other melted a large wing segment of a ship into slag with a torch.
Clearly, the one with the spear was in control as a mangled hand stretched out and a cybernetic finger pointed excitedly to an object glowing in the filth. The torch cut off and the other Junker jumped up and clapped its hands before scooping up the cylinder. The softness of the orange light seemed weak, but it was still alive. If that term could even be applied to a seemingly inanimate object.
Chattering back and forth with one another for a brief moment. The leader swung his spear to point in a direction that the other immediately began to move in. They navigated the surface and mounds of debris with a unique expertise as the glowing red eyes on their faces at times flashed before going solid. Processing the sprawling data before them.
The journey of fifty thousand steps brought the two to the peak of a mound overlooking the landscape. The ever present glow in the atmosphere had dimmed but a small light flickered down below. This time the spear pointed multiple times with urgency at an A-Wing that still looked to be in working order. It sat idly by the light, which upon further inspection, would reveal a crooked door made from a slab of metal.
They made their way down towards the light which grew to reveal a ramshackle home built into one of the many inner-weaving tunnels that bore through the matrix of refuse. They couldn't help but to admire the A-Wing with lust and greed flooding what was left of their organic minds. Yet, they knew better as the lightbearer reached out to skim its belly with its fingertips only to be swatted by the leader.
They hushed themselves and approached the door, one on either side as they pushed against each other, both fighting to look through the cracks in the door.
The faint glow came from an assortment of lamps wired to a generator gasping for air. They heard talking coming from an adjacent room so immediately scurried around the side where a flat piece of metal with carbon scoring had made up a wall with a porthole window. Upon looking inside they saw a being not much different than they were. He sat in the middle of the circular space cross-legged as four protocol droid heads perfectly spaced floated around him. Uniquely powered by something as they were not connected to a source by wires but something else entirely.
The bronze flesh of the shirtless being rippled with musculature, his right arm was cybernetic in its entirety and black patchwork pants were worn to cover the legs. Falling down his heavily scarred back were black dreadlocks seemingly tied together with wire.
A PIT droid was busy scouring through an assortment of parts on a nearby table and sitting in a corner chair was a droid the Junkers could not identify.
“They need you, more than they realize.” One of the droid heads spoke.
“They are taking the fight to Oligard's doorstep.”
“No, they threw him away. He doesn't need to go back. He's better off here. With us.” Another head argued.
Sweat flowed from the Kiffar and his face muscles twitched as he fought to concentrate, his eyes clamped shut as a war waged in his mind. He could see the faces of those lost, he could hear the echoes of the dead. The first life he had extinguished.
“Rakkasssss, his blood criessss out.”
“He butchered my friends.” Gui spoke through clenched teeth. “They all did!”
“Calm your mind, friend.” came robotic reassurance from the refurbished Architect droid in the corner.
“I have to go back.” He said between breaths.
“They don't want you back!” Uttered the pessimistic droid head once more.
Gui's eyes opened displaying resplendent emeralds and the heads fell to the floor. Once again becoming lifeless shells.
“So where do you plan to take us this time, Master? You swore to never leave Lotho Minor and you know we can't return to Kiast.”
The PIT droid stopped digging through parts and turned its head towards the former Knight of Allusis and High Councillor of Urr.
“So we'll go to Zsoldos. I still have friends there.”
“Zsoldos…” the droid calculated a response. “Surely you don't mean that lunatic mountain of fur and the little unhinged Aleena?”
Gui smiled. “Why not?”
“I can think of one thousand-three hundred and seventy seven reasons why. Or have you forgotten about that trip to Batuu?”
“Barry, prepare the holo.” Gui spoke, ignoring the warning.
The tiny PIT droid clamored to get on top of the workbench and began to record.
“I tried to rebuild the Order.” He started. “I just wanted what I thought was best for everyone. I grew complacent and neglected to see the true danger. What truly threatened us. My own pride. I was tired.” He hung his head, resting it in his hands. “So tired. Tired of fighting, of depression's stranglehold. Tired of routine. The Light, the Dark. The wrongs, the rights. Differing points of view wrapped in dogma. To whoever is listening to this. It may be my last message. But I can't go out like this. Not in this self imposed exile. I have to help. It's who I am, and to those I've hurt. I'm sorry.” He finished and stood to his feet. “It's better than nothing. Hold onto that for me, Barry. Keep it safe.”
The droid flanked its hand to its chest in a form of salute.
Just then, the door to his abode flung open and the two Junkers stumbled in and fell to their knees. The Architect droid tugged what appeared to be a Lightsaber hilt from its waist but Gui threw his hand out to the side to halt what would have come next.
Gui looked down at the kneeling Junkers as one of them pulled the faintly glowing object from its tattered poncho and raised it like an offering to a god.
“Is that your?” The Architect droid queried.
“My Lightsaber.” Gui reached out with his organic left hand and gripped it. The faintly glowing orange light began to grow in intensity as if it had been reunited with an old friend. “I thought you destroyed it?” He snapped a look to the Architect.
“Let's just say I laid it to rest.”
Gui closed his eyes and ignited it. The dormant Sorian crystal awakened and power surged into a blade once more. Vibrant and electrifying in appearance. The former Jedi panted as he felt at one with it before silencing it with deactivation. He clipped it to his belt and rested his hand on the Junker's shoulder. “Thank you, friend.”
“Barry, ready the Shuttle. You and Xod set a course for Zsoldos. Echo and I need to stretch our legs.” He added, looking out at his A-Wing.