Marf
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NAME: Andromeda
NICKNAME: "Andro"
FACTION: Sith Order
RANK: Crusader
CLASS: Warrior
FORCE-SENSITIVE: Yes
SPECIES: Cyborg
HOMEWORLD: Khar Shian
SEX: Female
AGE: 20
HEIGHT: 5'10"
WEIGHT: 220 lbs
☣
HIDEOUS AND PERFECT
It is an odd thing for a person to say that they remember their life before they were born. I remember mine, quite vividly. I was not conceived and born in the sense of the galaxy’s norm. I was made. Commissioned by a buyer, created by an artist. Manufactured as an expensive and highly advanced weapon with but only one use, to shed blood. No surname, only a serial number. Although the scientific side of the project was too complicated for such an arcane-inept kid such as myself to ever understand, the process was essentially very simple. My skeleton and frame were built using the most advanced cybernetics in the galaxy. My skin, flesh and vital organs were grown with alchemy. I am a cyborg, part droid, part organic creation, but my intelligence is not artificial. My loyalty is unrestrained and untainted by the hands of another. It cannot be forced, only earned. When my creator took on the task of creating his malleable, submissive Sith Warrior, his plan had already failed. For the very concept is an oxymoron.
On the day I opened my eyes for the very first time, the first to thing to strike me was that I could not move. I was bound in restraints and sealed within cryogenic liquid within a containment tank. My arms and legs were strapped fast and not even my head could motorize freely. Tubing and a plethora of devices occupied my every space. The profound sensation to grip me, however, was that of indescribable panic and terror. The awakening and release I later heard were the most dangerous stages of the process, as the weaker subjects would often die simply from shock. “Omega” was the name of the project. I was Subject Number 9, Codenamed “Andromeda”, PO-9A, to be exact. For the first several months of my life I would remain inside my watery prison until I was deemed strong to survive the release stage. Until then, my mind would be exercised and stimulated. Technically I was just over a year old, but physically my body had already grown to the level of a human eight-year-old. Intellectually I developed faster still. It was all in my creator’s design. From a speaker inside the tank I was talked to by a voice. I could not reply at first, but after about a month of listening, I soon began to mimic words.
As the weeks went by, I began to feel something changing inside of me, as though the limits of my physical strength were being extended. I would soon learn that extension was the Force and it unleashed itself in a repulse which would shatter my cryogenic tank. It had been totally involuntary, unconscious and I don’t think I could manage it again by own will. The glass burst into a flurry around my head and the liquid drained onto the lab floor. Voices scrambled and footsteps gathered to my attention. My cybernetic vision was blurry, and not yet adjusted to bright lights. In my confusion I struggled to stand and reached desperately into my new world. I strained to listen for the comforting voice who had kept me company while I was locked inside my dark tube. A sudden shockwave coursed through my senses when an unfamiliar feminine voice reached my ears. A female scientist was cooing my naked and undernourished frame out into the light.
There was nothing unkind or malicious about her in the least, but she was not the voice I recognized and the same repulse was triggered. Only this time, it was the petite body of this gentle woman rather than a glass case that was blown apart. I could hear the alarms, the voices all exclaiming, but it sounded very far away. An anti-Force restraint was clamped around my neck as a heavy boot came thudding down onto my skull and planting my head into cold, white floor. I could not feel the tears through the cryogenic fluid on my face. The tubes were ripped from my person as I was forced to the floor, and I felt the needle piercing the back of my neck.
The sedative had knocked me out for a few hours and I was still too dopey to manage another “accident”. Tall, white walls loomed before my opening eyes. Cold gripped my uncovered skin. I tried to lean forward, but my neck was chained to the wall. My miserable tank now seemed rather cosy compared to the sparse white lab before my eyes. More scientists were there to greet me, along with the very first Sith Warrior who would stand before my eyes. Sith Lord Vemirous was my first impression of the fiercest sect of Dark Side users in the galaxy which I would eventually become one of. He was too fat to fight he needed a platoon of underage cyborg girls to do it for him. Vemirous was not the commissioner, he had simply been assigned to oversee the training of us purchased products for his superior.
The Juggernaut’s beady, orange eyes watched me with seeming fascination through the smoke of his thick cigar. Scientists helped me to stand up, checked my cybernetic joints and poked around inside of me to see if everything was working correctly. The luxuries of privacy and dignity were not given to us subjects in this place. Holding his cigar between his fingers, Vemirous opened his mouth to speak. As the words escaped his ugly lips, a comforting sense of familiarity alerted my coherence. There was nothing eloquent or charming about the way he spoke, but I recognized the voice as the one I had heard inside of the tank. It was a lower-class Bastion accent that would have been outright off-putting to anyone else, but to me, it was something familiar and that was all that mattered.
“Do you remember what your name is, little girl?”
Vemirous said, tapping his cigar ashes on to the pristine white floor. I looked around curiously as I tried to remember, bringing a small finger to my cold lips.
“Andromeda, my name is Andromeda.”
Ah, I had remembered.
“Master Juggernaut, his Lordship is here to see her.”
The casual smile on Vemirous’ face swiftly disappeared as the scientist interrupted him. He swallowed and turned the same colour as the lab’s walls. I was clueless and simply looked at him curiously whilst sitting back on the cold floor. My friend looked at me awkwardly, then left without saying a word. There was something quickened about his pace, as though he wanted to get out before whoever was coming entered. Vemirous was a coward, he had abandoned me when I had thought him an ally and later, he would be one of the people responsible for ruining my life.
He was nothing compared to who is coming up next.
My sensitive hearing was graced with sound of clicking soles on the hard floor. After Vemirous had left the room, the doors opened once more and every scientist present took to their feet and left. The doors were held open and the clicking grew louder, followed by the delicate swish of silk robes. This was Lord Sadeon, the creator, Sith Arcanist and the genius behind my design. At the time I was more preoccupied with his traditional pedestal shoes which made a click click click sound. Leaning over, I extended a hand to touch them. The Sith Lord deathly moved his foot out of reach. I gazed upward to meet his features.
“Good afternoon, Subject 9.”
Sadeon was uglier than Darth Sidious, disfigured by decades of sorcery usage and excessive exposure to alchemy. The hem of his elaborate, burgundy robes were held with a grotesque wrinkled hand, adorned with ornately jewelled rings. Yellow eyes glowed through the smoke of his cigarette balanced between his index fingers. A strained, ancient voice spoke to me with unsettling eloquence and fascination.
“Stand up so I can take a look at you.”
I didn’t want to stand. Sadeon already scared me and I was too cold! As I remained seated on the floor, Sadeon gave one look towards the glass window in the wall above. The force of a powerful, quick electric shock was sent throughout my tiny being from the collar around my neck. The pain was excruciating, enough to make stand on my feet so I would not risk any more. I tried to wrap my arms around my physique, but Sadeon motioned with one finger for me to keep them down. He brought his cigarette to his lips, which released a lick of his tongue.
“Are you cold, my dear?”
My trembling head nodded. Another flash of his yellow irises was sent towards the window. A second, more powerful jolt of electricity came from the collar. This time a shrill yelp escaped my mouth and I was forced to the ground once more. I huddled and wept without any trace of pride in the universe. Sadeon extended his foot below my hanging head and tickled my nose with the curly toe of his stupid shoe. The silk fabric graced across my wet skin and made me sneeze.
“I am pleased with you. You have turned out the best so far.”
Lord Sadeon smelt of death.
......
So began my training as a future Sith. The girls and I underwent biological experimentation and cybernetic maintenance day in and day out. Our skills in telekinesis, tutaminis and other Force abilities were honed. Until our organic bodies were fully grown, our cybernetic endo-skeletons required frequent enhancements. To begin to outgrow ones’ bones then to have all of them replaced, often without anaesthesia, was perhaps the physically abhorrent experience of my life. Several more died during the experiments which were all overseen by Sadeon. They included electrocution to test how long our cybernetics would hold out for before they short-circuited and killed us. High pressure and extreme temperatures were other favourites. Of course, there was also standard combat training, the only time of the day we were allowed the dignity of clothes or freedom of movement. During my vibrosword sessions, I met Vemirous again. Only this time, Lord Sadeon was present as well.
I was sparring with Subject 5, Nebula. This General Ekage seemed to have a preference for really atrocious names. I was happy to be out of my cage and I wanted to please Vemirous. After having met the man once, I had foolishly grown attached the overweight Sith Juggernaut. I took a moment to pause during my combat with Nebula to shoot a look in his direction. He simply shouted at me to continue. Aside from Vemirous’ sudden change in behaviour from when I last saw him, I had noticed something else. Sadeon had not said a word. The Arcanist was concentrating on something. Distracted, my vibrosword slipped from my hands and landed loudly on the ground. Vemirous shouted again
“Pick up your weapon you stupid bitch!”
Stunned, I stood for a moment, staring at Vemirous in disbelief. A tiny smile began to creep on to Sadeon’s countenance. My shifting view was interrupted. Vemirous slugged a mighty blow to the back of my head. I know now that Sadeon occupied Vemirous’ mind like a parasite. He had drugged him, abused him mentally and left him a ruin of the former combatant he once was. Vemirous was little more than exploited cannon fodder just like me. We all have our painful dispositions and tragic pasts, but I do not believe in excuses.
A Sith Warrior cherishes his battle scars, for every one of them tells a tale of the victories he has attained in pursuit of perfection. Perfection, it is the ultimate goal for any Sith. Lord Sadeon specifically designed me as a specimen of perfect, untainted physical prowess. By the time I was ten, I was the only surviving Subject left in the laboratory. The others had died during the experiments and cybernetic enhancements. Their deaths did not matter, for they were not worthy enough to present to their buyer, Warlord-General Ekage. Only myself, I had surpassed and survived all of Sadeon’s torture and emerged as his perfect work. Perfection that would soon be stripped.
I was proud to be recognized as the subject who was strong enough to live. It aroused within me a new found sense of defiance and arrogance. For years I had listened to the way Vemirous and Sadeon had spoken to each other and I had begun to mirror their mannerisms. I had become disrespectful, I began to swear. I was talking back and refusing commands. On one such occasion, I was making fun of Vemirous, just as Sadeon would frequently do. The Juggernaut began to beat me. It was nothing I did not expect but as usual, Sadeon was mentally commanding the brute. The depraved was controlling the brawn, ordering him to punish me in his preferred manner. I pouted at Vemirous as he shouted at me to open my mouth. I refused. Staring him in the eyes, I whimpered the last word to ever escape my lips.
“No!”
......
“NO!?”
The Sith Lord barked. Fat fingers slid between my teeth and dug into my neck. All of my senses were blurred by pain and a mirage of red. With the strength of a Massassi and the rage of a thousand suns going nova, the Juggernaut had ripped my entire lower jaw clean out of its sockets, taking most of my inner throat with it.
“Bloody fuck Vemirous! You’ve ruined my work you savage shit!”
Sadeon was furious. His usually calm demeanour had cracked at the sight of his art being destroyed. He had wanted Vemirous to simply punish me, but the lesser Sith had gone too far. None one of it concerned me because I was going to die. The two Sith squabbled with each other while I gasped for breath on the floor in a pool of sanguine liquid. Sadeon pointed at my head and shouted something before Vemirous grabbed my hair and finished what he had started. That was how I would die, that would be my last memory. I prepared for death and scalded tears of indignation and from a newly developed place that had been born within me, shame.
“Get her to the medical bay before she dies. She's still the only one left.”
My bones are the strongest part of my make-up, but my joints and my tummy are where I am weakest, hence why Vemirous was able to sever my jaw. Sadeon was highly frustrated that his design had been proven faulty. A flaw had been found in my maker's work, and it enraged him. The commissioner had rejected the finished product. It was determined that I would not be fit to present my buyer and I was admitted into the Sith Order instead. I was damaged goods, hideous and perfect. An expensive piece of engineering now ruined. My life as a cybernetic production had ended, but my life as a Warrior-class Sith would begin.
☢
MOCKINGBIRD DON'T SING
One would have thought a school full of hyper-aggressive, battle-scarred kids would have appreciated the presence of another mangled cyborg. Not the case. I don’t know why they hated me so much. Sith don’t make sense. For some reason they thought fact that I had a plastic, white breathing apparatus strapped to my face made it a lot funnier to shove my head in refresher and set it head on fire. The Ziost Academy was just as bad as the laboratory on Khar Shian. I was ten years old when arrived there. I couldn’t read or write and I could no longer speak. I couldn’t tell them to leave me alone. I couldn’t tell them why I looked like a boy or why I couldn't talk. I was completely silent. The tortured, handicapped monster, another romantic trope in this holo-story of a galaxy, I couldn’t be more of a cliché if I had an ill-fated love interest, which of course, I did.
A woman named Tristesse was a newly recruited member of the Armed Forces. I was told her family had been nobles, hence her fancy-pants name, but they lost all of their money and couldn’t afford to send her to university, so they dumped her with the military. As a deaf-mute who could not use telepathy, that was not working out well for her. Tris had been assigned to teach me sign language, as telepathy was a skill I was only still acquiring. She had dark blue eyes and long, chestnut hair. Her face was charming and beautiful, but tarnished with purple bruises desperately covered with make-up. I was certainly no stranger to that kind of violence, but I was still young and stupid enough to assume that Tristesse had been injured in combat. She never mentioned her family and it annoyed her when I asked. Tris did say that she wanted to leave Imperial space and find a home elsewhere in the galaxy. I soon found out why. His name was Crusader Campion, a Sith Captain.
As well as my lessons in communication, I immersed myself in combat training. It was the one thing that made my days at the academy bearable. My inability to speak gave way to all manner of communication methods, like music and writing. I’m good at writing, and I began to fervently document the things that happened around me. Tristesse was very proud of me for learning telepathy, but as my own skills and intelligence began to surpass hers, I had no longer any need to learn sign language. Our friendship became estranged. Tris’ desire to see me had become desperate, but I did not notice over my own, one desire at the time, to talk again. Around that time I had saved up a good amount of credits to get my face fitted out with a cybernetic jaw, but there was another option sitting in the back of my head. I could use the money to pay for Tristesse to travel out of the Empire. I knew the more she closer she tried to get to me, the more her boyfriend would hurt her. The issue of the good Captain would sooner than later come into play.
Sith do not have lovers. They have things. It seemed rather odd that Campion was so reluctant to discard his deaf-mute mistress. When I questioned him about the fact that Tristesse could not talk, therefore could not so easily reveal his treatment of her, he looked at me with an expression of disbelief, as though I had gravely offended him. That was when he shouted his lover’s name and demanded she make herself present. Tris appeared. She was quiet as a mouse and did not raise her head even to acknowledge my face. Campion had not once spoken to her using sign language or telepathy, which could mean only one thing. Tristesse was not deaf-mute. She was a compulsive liar.
“Tris, tell the freak here who it is you really are.”
The woman kept her mouth firmly shut and continued to stare at the floor, desperately trying to make it seem as though she could not hear.
“Open your fucking mouth and talk!”
She was physically shaking now and still would not speak. Instead, she scurried away on her high heeled shoes and shoved past myself, and out of Campion’s chambers. Bastion was where I had travelled to see him, and I followed Tris out of the military headquarters and into the forest behind the establishment. There we met on a grand bridge crossing a large river known as the Ragnos. The scenery was gorgeous and the river was a mighty drop below. In her elegant apparel, and long chestnut hair undone Tristesse walked along the dirt covering the bridge. I had found her for her shoes which she had removed, leaving her in her stocking covered feet. There were long pauses between us as I questioned her actions. She seemed to be physically preparing herself so open her mouth, as though the task was something immensely draining.
"In the Empire of the Sith, those who talk too much, die. If you want to be safe, you have to be quiet… Always.”
The mockingbird could sing. I would let her explain her actions firstly before I responded. Her voice seemed incredibly strained, as though it was rarely ever exercised.
“So don’t ever talk again, Andro.”
Her words echoed the voice of a woman who had been defeated in every conceivable way, who had succumbed to every form of weakness. Anger rushed through my senses as I pondered on what Tristesse was saying. I gazed off in to the scenery, both frustrated and distracted. As my eyes were diverted and my mind occupied, Tristesse climbed upon the bridge railing and leapt to her death into the river below.
Nobody dies of old age.
......
I did not weep for Tris. There were far worse things I had to be concerned about than the death of some lying whore. Namely, that Campion thought it was me who had pushed her. Soon enough, I was summoned to meet with his Master. The money I had saved to buy Tris transport off world would not nearly be enough to get me a cybernetic jaw. So I got fitted out with an external respirator which now made me look like the biggest cliché in the history of mankind, and that went beyond all of the ill-fated purple Twi'leks and sad pasts in the f✖cking galaxy. It was still a far better alternative to the cheap breath mask I had donned before, and I would wear my new contraption when I addressed Campion’s Sith Master. The truth of the matter was that none of these men gave the slightest shit about the presumed murder of an innocent woman. All they wanted was me. I soon found out why.
I arrived at the office of Campion’s Master, a Sith Lord and General of the Armed Forces. It was very fancy, with the man himself seated at a large, metallic desk sipping an alcoholic beverage in a short glass. He must have been around six foot five, wore polished silver armour and a red cape that draped over the side of his breastplate. Assortments of medals were pinned on the crimson material. My train of thought was drawn to a halt. This was General Ekage, the man who had commissioned me into existence. I could do nothing but stare around the room awkwardly as my buyer looked me up and down with obvious disappointment. He appeared almost distressed and regretful, upon seeing his apparent waste of money.
“My daughter used to speak quite a lot before Sadeon got inside of her head. I know that you did not kill her.”
That was when it hit me. Tristesse wasn’t a member of the military at all. She was Ekage’s daughter. Sadeon had arranged everything. He had organized for Tristesse to get to know me, because he knew eventually it would lead me to meet the client who had rejected his purchase. My trip to Bastion was the first time I had travelled off Ziost and I had spent all of my life in the company Sith Warriors and IAF personnel. Not once had I seen the swish of burgundy robes or the glimmer of a pretty metallic obi again. Before I could reply to Ekage, a sound graced my ears that I had not heard since I had left Khar Shian. It was a terrifying, nauseating sound that I had wished to never hear again. The clip-clip-clopping of ivory pedestal slippers echoed through the corridor outside and drew near the door. The door opened, and the sound ceased as the shoes stepped on to the soft carpet.
“Hello again, Subject 9.”
I felt sick. I tried to focus my thoughts but my telepathy would not come. Every one of my senses seemed to shut down. I had been rendered petrified. Lord Sadeon would slide behind me in his layers of floating silk, until he was standing by my side and facing Ekage. The General expressed his further displeasure with Sadeon’s work. I was too small and I was girl. When Ekage had placed his order he had explicitly asked for male subjects. As well as that, I was mangled and could not speak. Slamming a fist down on his desk in a sudden burst of rage, he demanded modifications and repairs be made to the purchase. I stood in silence as the two men bickered over me like I was an object.
Quietly I realised what Sadeon was doing. He had f✖cked Ekage over, purposely ignored his instructions so he could charge extra to have me fixed. However, he did not order Vemirous to disfigure me. That was Sadeon’s only weakness. The only thing in the galaxy he truly loved, his work. He would never kill me, because he was too proud of his success. The fact that I would make him exceedingly rich also remained. When I had turned out slightly differently to what he had expected, that distressed him and that was why he tortured me. The creation of life was a delicate and complicated form of art Sith such as Ekage and myself did not understand. Sadeon claimed to have made me the way I was so I would be easier to control. I wanted to whack one of those moronic shoes right over his head, when he said that my malleable nature was attributed to my size and gender. He asked Ekage to give me any command. He was testing him and how well he could really control his lower ranking Sith.
“Andromeda, take off your mask. I want to see what damage Vemirous did to you.”
Nobody had ever seen what my face looked like without a mask. Not even myself. I had never looked upon my abhorrent features which had brought me so much misery since leaving the laboratory. I refused the Juggernaut’s order. Ekage slumped back into his chair with a sullen expression. He had given up so easily. Sadeon had not. Slowly, the Arcanist moved in towards me until he was standing directly next to my face.
“Subject 9, remove your mask.”
I froze and said nothing. I could take a beating from Ekage, but not the things that Sadeon could do. I knew he could hurt me. He had hurt me before. He could hurt me in far worse ways than Lord Ekage could. Slowly and deathly I raised my hands towards the respirator as I began the step by step process of removing the cybernetic. My hands shook and with a small whistle of air being released, I held the mask away from my face. I recalled the pride I had felt upon first standing before Ekage. My armour polished, my pose confident, I had commanded respect. In one moment Sadeon had taken it all from me. I fixated my eyes on the wall behind Ekage to stop them from dampening as the General stared at me with invasive, perverse fascination.
I did not see Sadeon remove a mirror from inside of his robes. He shoved the reflective surface in front of my face, forcing me to stare directly into it. I had never seen anything so disgusting. It was repulsive and abhorrent, the ugliest thing I had ever seen. I had only looked in the mirror for less than a second before I dropped my mask on to the floor and shrieked. Backed onto the floor into the corner of the room, my demeanour was shattered. I ripped out my hair and wailed, saliva hanging from the gaping hole in my face as I wept in front of the Sith General. I felt lower than a dog.
“You've perfected the art of bringing my Warriors to tears, Sadeon.”
Ekage said to Sadeon, who was presently brimming with satisfaction. I staggered to my feet, grabbed my facial contraption and left the room. The corridor outside was fortunately empty. The sudden privacy brought overwhelming relief. My face now covered once more, I stood in silent, barely contained fury. Nothing is more wretched or terrible then being in such a state of weakness you can do nothing about. I hated myself as much as I hated Sadeon and Ekage. Drying my eyes on the ends of my cape, my solitude was irritatingly interrupted by a voice I had long forgotten. The man who had given me my awful face in the first place.
“He shouldn’t have done that to you. That was just unnecessary … but that’s Sadeon. He loves “unnecessary.”
I told Lord Vemirous to piss off. Only it was Master Vemirous now. He had been demoted for what he had done to me. I had no fear of this man. He was hardly a Sith anymore. Apparently he had been a great Warrior once, but Sadeon had turned his mind to mush just like he had done to Tristesse. Now he was Sadeon’s dog and turned violent whenever the Arcanist wished. When I did not reply to him, his tone hardened.
“People have been laughing at me, Andro, a lot longer than they have been laughing at you. You’re smarter than me and Sadeon hasn’t broken you yet. I know one day you’ll get him.”
“I have to kill you first.” I replied.
“Could you do it right now?”
THE END
☣
PERSONALITY
ISTP • Accent
A bio-mechanical abomination and masterpiece of cybernetic engineering, Andromeda is a living embodiment of modern warfare. Valiant and fierce, she views herself as a Warrior-class Sith and a frontline soldier, as opposed to a typical Sith inquisitor whose ancient traditions she heavily disdains. Habitually ruthless and highly aggressive, she expresses her emotions through the concept she has been most intimately familiarized with her entire life, violence. Despite being initially brutal, Andromeda is able to discern friend from foe and tries to maintain a professional attitude towards her carnage, resorting to brutality only on the battlefield or when it serves a necessary purpose. While she will enthral herself in combat, she is far from being sadistic and never takes to any forms of extreme cruelty or torture. She is simply too young to fully control the vicious tendencies and impulses she was designed with. Androgynous and unable to reproduce, Andromeda’s primary physical functions were designed for killing and waging conflict. As a result, she has been raised to believe that without war or strife she would have no reason to live at all. Because of this, she seeks to maintain such a terrible environment so that she may have some form of purpose. This tragic belief has been heavily challenged by the attitudes of others, specifically the buyer who refused her, causing Andromeda to question whether she was created as a monster or whether she became one after years of torment.
Behind her monstrous and seemingly inhuman visage, Andromeda is still a twenty-year old girl. She is still very much vulnerable to all the insecurities and conflicts of any person her age, which are only exasperated by her extreme circumstances. Having only just regained the use of her voice and mouth, Andromeda has developed newly found confidence and pride, but still remains highly sensitive about her deformities and how she received them. She feels vulnerable without her protective facial respirator and maintains a need to keep it covering her face most of the time. Should she feel degraded or threatened, she will quickly become enraged and resort to violence. Despite her intimidating demeanour, she is both very bashful and easily embarrassed, especially when receiving praise or affection. She views such things as unnecessary as she is simply unaccustomed to them. Although she finds it terribly awkward and confusing, she does quietly appreciate receiving kindness. She is quite intelligent, but only in areas which she particularly passionate about and can talk for hours about such topics, but will be hopelessly lost regarding anything else. She is abrasive, crass and very direct, not wasting time with pleasantries or diplomacy, but also because she simply does not know any better.
Andromeda’s philosophical and political views are conflicted and very much developing. Having been isolated or ostracised for a good deal of her life, her perceptions of certain ideologies and factions are not especially refined. She views herself as a Sith Warrior primarily and strongly resents the arts and traditions of the Sorcerer and Assassin sects, which she views as stagnant and outdated. Her hatred of the arcane is directly related to her personal trauma and mistreatment by a Sith Sorcerer throughout her youth. She views the Force as something religious and ancient and that a truly progressive Sith should not need to rely on it. As a result, she is heavily biased against the more scholarly or inquisitor breeds of Force users. Andromeda holds a huge amount of respect and professional admiration for the non-Force Sensitive members of the Imperial Armed Forces. She is far less likely to behave with hostility towards a Stormtrooper or pilot than towards a fellow Sith. Furthermore, she is remarkably open towards non-Imperials, both as a result of her mistrust of other Sith and her desire to explore the galaxy and discover new things. She ultimately views her demeanour as that of the tormented cyborg Warrior as a hugely cliché "Darth Vader clone", but it is one she fully embraces and pokes fun at.
Having been without the use of her voice for quite some time, Andromeda still relies greatly on action and physicality to understand things. Her facial gestures and nuances are highly expressive, which can often appear unintentionally cute. She likes to touch anything she finds interesting or attractive and may put things in her newly-constructed mouth if they look tasty. Alongside her regained speech, Andromeda is also able to eat solid food again, but has not quite grasped the intricacies of dining, table manners or what is exactly edible. As another result of her life as a laboratory subject, Andromeda’s personal hygiene is also rather poor and she hates taking baths or maintaining her body. While she may not be exactly approachable at first, a conversation will quickly reveal Andromeda to be youthful, humorous, rebellious and down to earth. She displays remarkable loyalty to anyone who treats her with consistent kindness, but is very hesitant to trust, particularly other Sith. Andromeda is biologically female and identifies as such, but is primarily masculine in terms of her physical, hormonal and psychological traits. A lesbian, she has a weakness for a pretty girls, but struggles to explore her sexuality appropriately due to her limited social skills.
☢
APPEARANCE AND PHYSIOLOGY
Poor Andromeda is not a conventionally attractive girl. Though combined with her mass of fluffy platinum blonde spikes, big, red glowing eyes and the respirator, she does look a bit cute in a cyborg-monster way. She lived for most of her life without a bottom jaw, but has recently been fitted out with a new and stronger cybernetic replacement. The jaw is not covered with synthskin and still looks rather frightening, but enables Andromeda to speak perfectly, feed herself normally and do other fun stuff like smoke cigarettes. She still has her original tongue and the inside of the jaw includes teeth and synthflesh lining, she also has a colourless lower lip constructed from synthflesh. The jaw is still vulnerable to attacks and the elements and must be covered by Andromeda's protective respirator most of the time. In casual or indoor circumstances however, Andro is able to function without the mask. Her voice is deep and slightly raspy due to her synthetic vocal structure, she also has a slightly foreign-sounding accent.
Andromeda is a man-made creation, a product of both advanced cybernetics and Sith alchemy. Her skeleton, frame and joints are made of cybernetics while her muscles, skin and organs are organic. As such, her appearance is somewhat inhuman. Her skin is a soft, pale ivory and matches the colour of her roundish, spiky hair. Her hair has a far more wiry and harsh make-up than that of a normal humans, giving it a voluminous appearance. She is tall for a girl and has a masculine figure with a straight waist, narrow hips and small, almost non-existent breasts. She is typically muscular for a frontline soldier, without being an Amazonian titan, and resembles more of a severely eccentric young man. Her cybernetic frame is very heavy and adds a good deal to her weight. PO-9A, her laboratory serial number is tattooed on the back of her neck. Her cybernetic eyes are large and expressive with glowing red irises. Andromeda wears her Sith armour when on duty and around temples. Off-duty, she wears men's clothes and and favours military items of clothing, worn roughly and casually.
POWERS AND SKILLS
A Sith Crusader of the Warrior Class, Andromeda is a highly skilled and accomplished lightsaber combatant. She makes almost no usage of the Force beyond essentials such as telekinesis and relies greatly on physical strength rather than dexterity. Her cybernetic frame is incredibly strong and heavy, allowing her high levels of physical strength and durability, despite her still being smaller than many Sith Warriors. Due to the weight of her cybernetics, she is neither agile nor flexible. Andromeda's physical make-up also disallows her from using any kind of arcane powers or sorcery. As a further result of her physiology, Andromeda has a remarkably high constitution and rarely gets sick.
Due to her foul temper and unrefined knowledge of social behaviour, Andromeda is not particularly charismatic at all. Furthermore, positions of leadership and battle tactics are not strong points for her either, with her talents being much more revolved around hand-to-hand combat. Due to post-traumatic stress, Andromeda suffers from claustrophobia and will become terrified if confined in a small space or if her movements are restrained. Because of this, she is unable to pilot a starfighter. Telekinesis, tutaminis and Force Rage are her most powerful areas of the Force.
WEAPONS
Single-bladed lightsaber, red crystal; "Organ Grinder"
Single-bladed lightsaber, red crystal; "Sergeant Jimmy"
ARMOUR SETS
"Xeon" Sith Battle Armour
"Marauder" Sith Duelling Armour
PC KILLS
Domino, the Destitute
LIGHTSABER FORMS
Form V: Djem So
Form VII: Juyo
| Strength | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Intelligence | ■■■■■■■■■■ |
| Dexterity | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Wisom | ■■■■■■■■■■ |
| Constitution | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Charisma | ■■■■■■■■■■ |
Due to her foul temper and unrefined knowledge of social behaviour, Andromeda is not particularly charismatic at all. Furthermore, positions of leadership and battle tactics are not strong points for her either, with her talents being much more revolved around hand-to-hand combat. Due to post-traumatic stress, Andromeda suffers from claustrophobia and will become terrified if confined in a small space or if her movements are restrained. Because of this, she is unable to pilot a starfighter. Telekinesis, tutaminis and Force Rage are her most powerful areas of the Force.
WEAPONS
Single-bladed lightsaber, red crystal; "Organ Grinder"
Single-bladed lightsaber, red crystal; "Sergeant Jimmy"
ARMOUR SETS
"Xeon" Sith Battle Armour
"Marauder" Sith Duelling Armour
PC KILLS
Domino, the Destitute
LIGHTSABER FORMS
Form V: Djem So
Form VII: Juyo
ACOLYTE
Face the Wall
The Longest Night
Dancer Amongst Wires
The Three Day War pt. II
Till Death Do Us Part
Unearthing Potential
My Mechatronics
The Battle of Naboo: The Palace Gates
The Battle of Naboo: Theed Royal Palace
The Battle of Naboo: Theed Hanger
The Battle of Roon
Protecting Ones' Mind
Broken Robot Story
CRUSADER
Lavender Sky
Attack on Yavin IV
Across the Stars
Enemies Within
The Scent of Power
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