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Ronin
29 September 2006, 12:18 AM
This is a short fanfic of a character concept for an upcoming game...but it snowballed a little from an original paragraph...

Utapau, some time after the Battle of Coruscant
He was rich.
Nobody else knew it yet, but he was stinking, filthy rich.
His secret account on Muuniliinst was filled, figuratively, with a veritable mountain of credits. And he hadn't earned a single dactari of it himself.
That's what he thought about as he followed his master aboard the Sheathipede transport to Mustafar, watching the brainless Niemoidian and the towering crown atop his sickly green head.
As soon as the thought of cracking the alien's spine appeared in the 3PO's main processor, safety protocols stopped the process and he wished he could have ground his teeth. Had he had any. Or a moveable set of mandibles for that matter.
His time would come. He didn't know when, but the 3PO knew that with millions of embezzled credits in the bank, he needed to cut loose from the Niemoidians.
Firstly because if they ever found out what he'd been up to all these years they'd surely melt him down.
Secondly because he really needed to get his head fixed. These petty Do No Harm...Do Not Endanger Or Allow To Be Endangered...the whole of lot protocols and behavioural programs were really starting to become a boring hindrance.

While his master Daultay Dofine reclined in a comfortable acceleration couch with the other members of the Separatist Council, the 3PO was sent aft to where the B1 and B2 battle droids were storing themselves for the journey from Utapau to the new HQ. He looked at his mechanical peers with distain; limited power supplies, lacking heuristic processors, lacking all capacity for independent thought, destined to die by blaster or laser blade on some nameless battlefield.
The 3PO let out a mechanical sigh.
The OOM command droid next to him, dutifully plugging his troops into the ship's power-supply, looked at him.
"What's eating your circuits?" the officer asked.
The 3PO sighed again, "I'm stuck here with the likes of you and these other brainless automatons."
"Errr...that doesn't compute."
"Indeed it does not," the 3PO muttered, watching the Niemoidians and other aliens inebriating themselves as the ship lifted off.
He continued to watch them with envy as the other droids shut-down for the journey.
His time would come.

Mustafar, the secret Separatist Headquarters
"What?!" Dofine trembled with barely contained rage, his hat already having toppled from it's precarious perch.
"It appears to be true," San Hill of the InterGalactic Banking Clan explained; "the diverted funds have been traced to your droid."
"Unbelievable!" Dofine whined, "that useless, ungrateful bucket of bolts!" He turned to the OOM officer by his side, "find him! Now! Comm me when you do. I'll have him melted into scrap by sundown!"
The droid saluted, about-turned and marched out of the command center as a small Eta-class starfighter began to descend through the thick sulphurous clouds.

"Sabbacc!" the protocol droid laid his cards face up on the table to the surprise and chagrin of the other players; a Neimoidian and a Geonosian. Both muttered curses in their own languages and stood up to leave, stopping as the OOM command droid and a squad of B1s marched in, blasters levelled at the 3PO.
"Looks like someone's angry with our chrome cardshark," the Niemoidian chuckled and stood aside.
The 3PO raised his hands, a skifter falling from his loose forearm plate and eliciting a curse from the Geonosian. The two aliens took their credits back and left the room full of droids as the B1s fanned out around the dirty-dealing protocol droid.
"Is this about that 'brainless automaton' comment?"
The OOM didn't answer, instead he drew his holocomm and signalled Dofine.
There was no answer.
A couple of the battle droids looked at each other nervously.
The 3PO watched the dimwitted drones and silently prayed to The Maker that he'd some way get out of this. Clearly his master had found out about the protocol droid's nest egg.
"Err...what do we do captain?" one of the B1s asked the OOM.
Possessed of marginally more processing power than the baseline B1 combat droids, the OOM accessed his memory banks and opened the file pertaining to the orders Dofine had given him.
"...I'll have him melted into scrap by sundown!"
"Blast him!"
As one the whole squad of battle droids raised their carbines.
And froze.
The protocol droid heard the faint whine of gyros powering down within the battle droids.
Then he ran as fast as his rather restrictive knee joints would let him...

He was rich.
He was free.
He was I-3PO.

Darth_Xanthor
29 September 2006, 07:48 AM
nice story man. I like it., I reaaly did.

gmjabreson
29 September 2006, 08:15 AM
Indeed that was pretty good to read. Gonna do more on it later? Like what happens to him through the Empire Years, since droids are considered second class at best?

Ronin
29 September 2006, 11:10 PM
Cheers gents! :)
I have to work out some detail about his background, since he's going to be a PC in an upcoming campaign, but since that's set in the Rebellion era I may well explore the years inbetween...
:threepio:

Crymoon
23 October 2006, 02:30 AM
Nice one. congrats

Yan Kai
4 November 2006, 07:20 PM
Very interesting story concept Ronin! I hope you write up more I-3PO short stories!

Ronin
4 November 2006, 07:24 PM
Thanks man. I-3PO is actually going to be a PC in one of Coldskier's upcoming games, so I'll probably develop the character more in-game.
At the moment myself and Johnny Putrid are working on a 22nd Regiment (not-so)short story as a prequel to One Shot.

Yan Kai
6 November 2006, 11:03 AM
Awesome! I look forward to seeing those!