Starblight.
LOG-003.
The fashion that came about from what was effectively a small civilisation of scavengers was…interesting.
My daughters had all naturally started out with nothing, even if that hadn’t seemed to bother them all that much initially, but as they’d explo...
To Stand And Defend.
Chapter One.
Defend. Verb, resist an attack made on someone or something. To protect from harm or danger.
This is one of the first things I know as I come to be. A core value, one fundamentally ingrained in whatever driving force wills me to exist.
Buzzkill.
LOG-004.
“Jackpot.”
The word, long since burned into his processor via exposure to the human force of nature that was Miko, escaped in a burst of Cybertronian morse code as Bumblebee continued to inspect what would, with a bit of work, hopefully be his new basec...
Buzzkill.
LOG-003.
He’d needed to explain the purpose of a dedicated Autobot scout to Raf once. In the end, after some extensive research and comparisons to human military forces, the both of them had found a decent enough match to what he was, in terms of purpose and experience.<...
Buzzkill.
LOG-002.
“Arcee?”
The singular piece of Cybertronian morse code escaped his makeshift vocoder before he could think to stop himself, the femme almost seeming to flinch at the two toned beep.
“What…no.”
She shook her helm, servos already reced...
Buzzkill.
LOG-001.
Sword to the face plate.
They had won.
He had won. In every way he could possibly imagine.
He’d gotten lucky, in truth. His voice box returned thanks to the Omega Lock’s energy core. The final blow delivered to Megatron by hi...
Starblight.
LOG-002.
The veritable swarm of daughters I’d spawned were…a lot more self-sufficient than I’d initially expected, if I was being entirely honest with myself.
I mean, they’d effectively come out of their bulbs as what looked like adults, at least ...
Starblight.
LOG-001.
“Buh.”
That was the first word out of my mouth. Or maw. Or…many, many maws, actually.
Huh.
You ever feel like you’ve just…unravelled? It’s such an odd experience. You’re just in so many pl...
LOG-020. Breath Between Wars.
The station’s called Uvio’s Spine, though no one seems to know who Uvio actually was.
Nonetheless, the whole place spans out across a broken ring platform barely held together by old repulsors and greed. Trade lanes thin out this far, so it...
2025-05-16 04:32:49 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-019. Targets Of Opportunity.
The contract’s clean.
Separatist aligned, but routed through a third party broker who doesn’t ask questions unless someone’s late paying. Target’s a Republic forward listening post, small, modular and largely automated. There’s a few mid orbi...
2025-05-16 04:31:45 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-018. Dust On Glass.
The message comes coded in old Concordian sigils.
Encrypted through four dead relays and no return trace. No formal salutation.
Just a location. A time. A symbol burned into the footer in blue and black.
Death Watch.
I read it twice.
Th...
2025-05-16 04:30:30 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-017. Quiet Between Explosions.
The cargo bay smells like detcord and sweat.
Kedo’s rigged the place with enough simulated charges to flatten a hangar deck. Not real, mostly. Some are rigged just close enough to spark if Hex (where the clone got the name from, I’m not...
2025-05-16 04:30:05 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-016. Bite And Burn.
The ship’s called the Iron Gambit, though that’s giving it too much credit.
She’s an action VI freighter. Far, far older than most of us. Hull patched in places where bulkheads used to be. Turrets bolted on where they shouldn’t fit. Scanners s...
2025-05-16 04:29:14 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-015. Hard Lines, Soft Targets.
The job’s clean on paper.
Local militia. Republic aligned. Small outpost. They’ve got sensitive tech, tracking arrays, encrypted relay beacons, a few crates the local sergeant won’t talk about. They need protection for seventy two hours while ...
2025-05-16 04:28:26 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-014. The Clone Wars.
Ordo space feels different when you're not living and training in it.
Ships docked, hulls cooling, boots on old ground. Kedo says the hangars smell the same as they always did, burnt metal and dust that never quite settles. I believe him.
The crew's sca...
2025-05-15 19:44:44 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-013. Teeth Of The Dragon.
We gut the forward storage bay and turn it into something mean.
Mag locked harness rails. Shock sealed breaching door. Rigged the floor for grav cycle deployment too. Kedo welds in a retractable launch frame for low atmo drops. Trix swears through the wh...
2025-05-15 19:42:20 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-012. Krayt’s Teeth.
We meet in a scrapyard bar outside the Roche sector.
It’s neutral ground, with enough droid parts stacked between us and Republic jurisdiction to keep things civil. The kind of place where no one asks what your armour means, just whether you’re going to ...
2025-05-15 19:41:45 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-011. A Knife In Both Hands.
The spire isn’t stable.
It sways just enough in the wind to remind me I could fall.
Thin, jagged stone rising from the canyon floor like the broken tip of something ancient. Maybe it is. I don’t ask. Don’t need to.
I’m crouched near...
2025-05-15 19:40:45 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-010. Two Eyes Open.
The bounty was supposed to be clean.
A low tier data thief, real name Carthen Jull, operating under a half dozen fake ones. Minor charges. Fraud. Access violations. A stolen ship. Half the underworld wanted him for debts. I didn’t care why.
The importa...
2025-05-15 19:40:03 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-009. Hired Blade.
Saleucami’s the kind of place that makes you itchy even before the blaster bolts start flying.
Big flat valleys. Cracked mesas. Fungal forests that rot while they’re still growing. Civilized enough to pretend it’s stable. Lawless enough that the pretending...
2025-05-14 23:34:33 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-008. Debt Paid In Full.
The rain on Kaller smells like metal and rot.
Not the poetic kind. The real kind. Like rusted water tanks and dead things rotting behind prefab walls. The city’s half sunk, built over its own bones. Walkways above flooded levels. Mold climbing up duraste...
2025-05-14 21:52:41 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-007. The Edge Of The Flame.
I’m fifteen years old, and I don’t fight kids anymore.
They moved me out of the foundling pit rotations six months ago. I think they got tired of seeing their best prospects get dropped by a half sized red Twi’lek with a knife in her boot and som...
2025-05-14 17:23:39 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-006. Krayt.
Tatooine tastes like ash and contempt. I idly ponder whether it’d be possible to find Anakin at this point in time, question whether he even exists yet, and give up the idle tangent.
Thoughts aside, the wind doesn’t howl here. It hisses. Like it...
2025-05-14 17:22:41 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-005. Cage Of Bone.
I turn twelve today.
The jungle breathes.
That’s not a metaphor. The whole moon exhales in wet, heavy lungfuls. Every few minutes, the fog rolls in like a tide, and all the plants start dripping like they’re sweating out the last hour’s humi...
2025-05-14 17:21:25 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-004. To Stand, You Crawl.
Pain doesn’t surprise me anymore.
It just pisses me off.
I hit the ground for the third time in eight minutes. Sand in my teeth. Bruised elbow. Dagger knocked clean from my hand, again. The Zabrak foundling (Rok, I think) grins at me with one chip...
2025-05-14 17:19:52 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-003. Foundling.
Time passes.
I burn my name in a bowl full of carbon scoring and lies.
It doesn’t go up quick. The cloth’s too worn, too soaked in sweat and skin and memory. Takes a few seconds for the flame stick to catch, and then it sort of limps along the edge like...
2025-05-14 17:18:31 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-002. The Last Thing I Remember.
I don’t remember walking onto the gunship.
I remember being dropped. Roughly. Like scrap. I remember metal under my knees, too cold for a place this hot. And I remember the hum. That low, rising whirr that shakes your teeth and ...
2025-05-14 17:17:04 +0000 UTC View PostLOG-001. The First Thing I Remember.
“Buh.”
I wake up wrong.
Not in the ‘ugh, slept on my lekku again’ kind of way, but more in the ‘oh hey, I don't remember having lekku’ kind of way.
My eyes, too big, too dry, snap open, and I ...
2025-05-14 17:09:32 +0000 UTC View Post