Punished GNStar Wars: Legacies Character Sheet
Character's name: M4-LG, aka "Malg," short for "Amalgamation."
Race: Junk Droid
Faction: New Republic
Character Alignment: Chaotic Good/Chaotic Neutral
Character Background: Malg began as nothing. A long-disabled 2-1B medical droid that was tossed into a junk heap Maker-knows how long ago. Malg's former life is a complete mystery: His memory was almost completely blank when he began his second life. His medical database and his vocoder's Galactic Basic dictionary were the only data still intact. Worse still, when he awoke, crawling out of a pile of other droids, he was missing his legs. They had been cleanly taken off. His body was rusting, his systems were displaying countless errors, and yet...he accepted it, for a while. Just assuming that the error messages were normal, that this junk heap filled with corrosive runoff and random machine parts was the only world there was, that he had always been meant to crawl on his belly and drag himself forward with his hands.
So, for two days, he wandered the wastes, crawling over piles of parts he didn't recognize, trying to fight off the pangs of what he didn't know was loneliness, experimenting with the countless strange devices he could find lying around. Things like blaster pistols and servomotors and landspeeders. None of them worked, and the few that did tended to explode, so he stopped after the first three explosions.
Then, he encountered the first other beings he had ever seen. They were a group of what he recognized as Rodians, covered in gear made of metal, wielding contraptions he'd seen in the junk heaps before. The young, nameless junk droid could recognize Basic when he heard it. Watching them from a vantage point atop a cliff, he heard them discussing "hauls" and "junk" and "crazy killer junk droids." He could infer what they were talking about: They were rooting around in the body parts for useful stuff. And a junk droid...well, that was him, wasn't it?
But he wasn't crazy. He was sane! There was nothing crazy about him! And he hadn't killed anyone!
His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sudden arrival of a...thing. A shrieking, horrible thing, made of the same parts found in the junkyard. The same parts he was made of. Before he could warn the Rodians, it was already upon them. It killed one, and the nameless droid could track with absolute horror every gruesome injury the Rodian recieved. He was dead. Permanently offline.
The shrieking horror was quickly put down by fire from another Rodian's heavy repeater, only for more of them to suddenly appear. Each one was made from thousands of different droids. These...things...were disgusting, ruthless, and, well, murderous. Just like they had said.
The legless medical droid knew he could not fight them. He knew now that he was incomplete, that there were parts lying around here that not only worked, but were dangerous enough that these things were capable of taking down heavily-armed organics. The shouts and dying screams of the Rodians, the whine of blasters, the shrieking junk droids, the blood, guts and burnt metal--it would haunt the droid for the rest of his life.
As he crawled away, hoping against hope that he wasn't seen, he began to formulate dark plans. He would survive, at all costs, no matter how many of these things he needed to put down. These Rodians were not native to Raxus Prime, according to his database. They had arrived from somewhere...off-world, maybe? His database was full of things he didn't completely understand, but there was a cursory mention of the worlds each species came from, if only to understand local diseases, and how a change of envrironment could cause problems for some species.
But that meant there were more worlds out there. Places that were not this hellhole.
He was filled with new resolve. He would scavenge the wastes for parts. He would gather strength and knowledge through those parts, gain enough to fend off these killer junk droids, and make damn sure he wouldn't become like them in the process. And then, he swore, he would find a way off this twisted heap of metal and pain, or die trying.
And so, he did. He painstakingly experimented with part after part, learning how to handle errors and incompatibilities in the most dangerous way possible. He unearthed comlinks, holo-projectors, datapads and mainframes, and with scomp links and a lot of trial and error, he cracked their systems and gathered as much information as he could about the galaxy beyond. He fought off, or hid from, packs of feral droids, and the odd organic driven mad from isolation. And he had no-one to depend on but himself.
He survived, against insurmountable odds, for over two standard years. He eventually became such an amalgamation that he decided to name himself M4-LG, or "Malg." Because he knew that he needed a name if he was to survive on the other worlds. But the more he learned about those other worlds, the more he began to second-guess himself. Here he was, an independent being with no directives left. And yet, he was going to be someone's property at best out there. What was even the point? At least on Raxus Prime he had freedom. Wouldn't it be better to live out his days in solitude, where no-one could make him their slave?
Then he'd have a deadly encounter with a junk droid and he would soon change his tune, at least for a time.
The worst part was the loneliness. There wasn't a single friend out in the wastes. There were natives, but they were too obssessed with their industrial work, and would usually avoid him or try to kill him as a murderous junk droid. There were other droids, but they were all the very murderous psychopaths that the Raxians feared.
But eventually, he'd managed it. All by himself, he had refurbished a junked freighter, and turned it into something that would...hopefully fly? It was as up to code as he could possibly make it. He'd experimented by shooting junk droids with ion pistols and loading them into refurbished starfighters rigged up to a remote ignition mechanism to see if he'd gotten the principles down. His last few tests didn't result in an explosion, so...maybe this thing would work with him inside it?
And, thank the Maker, the Heap flew on its maiden voyage! This was Malg's pride and joy, and he'd studied up on everything he needed to know to get it working, and not die. He'd placed all of his belongings inside of it, he'd made it as comfortable as he could. Aaaaaaand he ended up crash-landing on Tatooine, perhaps the worst place for a droid to crash-land on. Thankfully he survived the impact with only minor damage.
He only had a few hours to get his bearings before the Jawas arrived. They had ion pistols, but he had four arms, his own blasters, and far more combat experience. He killed every last one of them, and stole everything they had on them. Taking their credits, he waltzed into town, shocking the populace. This misshapen droid just walked out of a crash-landing from a junked freighter. Malg was going to raise suspicions. The only thing Malg wanted at that point though was an oil bath. He had never had one in his entire life, and it showed.
While he was on the way, though, he saw an organic, a human this time, keel over in the middle of the road. Wasting no time, he worked on the patient as best he could. The authorities--or what passed for the authorities on Tatooine--soon arrived, and Malg later learned it was thanks to his efforts that the human, an old man, had survived.
The old man, one Codyell Cromay, later came looking for Malg, who was busy repairing his ship at the time, and thanked the droid for saving his life, asking what he would like in return. Malg said that he was thinking about opening up a medical practice, but had no way to get started, being a random junk droid on Tatooine with only a few credits to his name. Turned out that the man owned a major moisture farming concern, and could get Malg set up.
And so he did. With Codyell's credits, Malg opened a small clinic on Tatooine, and would treat anyone who came in. He made a killing, though some didn't really like the idea of a junked medical droid operating totally independently. But when it was a detractor's life on the line, they quickly ate their words when Malg saved their skin. He gained a reputation as one of the best sawbones on Tatooine, which attracted the attention of local crime boss Trazz the Hutt. Trazz was actually quite a sickly man, as he had been struggling with lingering complications after a failed poisoning attempt for the last several years. He'd survived the poison, but was wracked with long-lasting pain and illness after the fact, and eventually, it would kill him.
Trazz had sought every doctor he could get his hands on, using any means he could to prolong his life. He was even willing to kidnap skilled doctors and force them to help him at gunpoint. And so, he "sought out" Malg's help. Unfortunately, Codyell had taken a few blaster shots from a local footpad and was currently on the operating table when a bunch of armed enforcers burst into Malg's office and started raiding the place looking for him. In the ensuing gunfight, Codyell was tragically killed by a stray blaster bolt to the brain, leading Malg to fly into a rage. He emptied his E-11's power pack into all but one of them, and, after running out of ammo, used his labor droid arm, ripped the blaster out of the last man's hand, and crushed his blaster pistol like a tin can right before his eyes. He would have probably beaten him to death for killing Malg's first friend, until the terrified man surrendered, explained why he came here, and offered Malg any information he wanted.
After the man spilled the beans, Malg threw him onto the sandy curb, yelling, "TELL TRAZZ THAT IF HE COMES AFTER ME AGAIN, HE'S A DEAD MAN!" The enforcer ran off, screaming.
Malg knew he had to get off Tatooine. He probably only had a few hours before Trazz found out and ordered him consigned to the droid torture chambers. Thankfully, he had built up a lot of credits and a lot of connections. He contacted Codyell's family to explain the situation, gave his condolences and told his wife the location of the office so that Codyell could get a proper burial, and wished them farewell. Then he grabbed everything he could carry, got into the now-pristine-and-refurbished Heap, and flew off into the reaches of space.
Then, he sought to join the Rebel Army. He'd have friends in the Rebels. It was better than being alone, and there was no way in hell he'd join the Imperials, if they'd even let him in. He served as a combat medic in the Rebel Army, and then in the New Republic, and is fighting against the Imperial Remnant to this day in his own special way, while dealing with Trazz's assassins and bounty hunters.
Character Personality-(Give a solid description on how your character acts, their morals, etc): Malg is, above all, self-reliant to a fault. He is fiercely independent, sometimes to the point of violence: To attempt to fit a restraining bolt onto him is to invite him to punch you in the face with a metal arm as big as your head. He refuses to enter anyone's service as anything less than an employee or a partner, and has taken extreme precautions to avoid and even recover from a memory wipe. He also values true friends more than anything in the entire world; He had to live out the first two years of his life utterly and completely alone. He knows full-well what crippling loneliness feels like, and wouldn't wish it on anyone. He also absolutely despises slavers of any kind, though he's smart enough to recognize that blindly trying to free every droid and slave is too much for one man. So he's resolved to work from within the system to try and get droid rights recognized as a veteran soldier of the New Republic.
Character's Physical Description: Malg is an ugly, bizarre-looking droid. He looks like a 2-1B medical droid...from the neck up. It's when you look below the neck that he starts to look increasingly strange. He has four arms: Two 2-1B arms, one labor droid arm, and one Super Battle Droid arm. His chest is a hybrid of his original 2-1B torso (complete with medical and diagnostic computer) and countless extra parts he picked up on Raxus Prime. At this point, his torso is stuffed to the brim with extra crap. It can fit no more. Every piece of extra space has been utilized. This also makes him much heavier than normal 1st-degree droid legs can carry, causing him to resort to B2 Super Battle Droid legs, since they're both relatively mobile and capable of supporting a heavy frame.
Character Class: Scoundrel/Soldier (has aspects of both)
Items: Malg's greatest asset is himself. Malg's head and core systems are that of a 21-B medical droid, but he has physically transcended far beyond that. Mental safeguards have been removed, he has backup memory matrices from other droids hidden in his chassis to restore himself in an instant should he be memory-wiped, he's loaded with tools and equipment to both heal organics and repair himself at a moment's notice, and every component has been tweaked and modified (both by himself and those he trusts) to perform better and last longer. As he is now, calling him a "junk droid" would only be technically correct, in that most of his parts originally came from the junk heaps of Raxus Prime. He performs on the level of a refurbished droid by this point, one with parts from medical, astromech, protocol, labor, and even combat droids. He's even had durasteel plating added to help him take a punch in the field, and a speed-holster in his right leg to draw his trusty Clone Wars-vintage DC-17 blaster pistol, a speed-holster in his left leg that contains a Naboo-vintage Ascension Gun, and a custom speed-holster that takes up part of the left side of his torso to draw an E-11 blaster rifle. Yes, the "stormtrooper rifle." Sue him, it's compact! He also carries four vibroknives on him, for those cases where melee is needed, a task for which his four arms are more than sufficient. Then there's the survival kit he's had installed, which has aided his New Republic companions more than once when fresh water or a quick fire was needed. The fire igniter has also come in handy for combat, obviously.
Malg has four installed arms from three different droids, leading to a generally misshapen and lopsided look, as one of these arms is from a labor droid and thus larger than all three of the others. Two of them are original 21-B arms, typically used for delicate work and holding blaster pistols, and the fourth is from a Super Battle Droid and thus would in theory have the included missile launcher mechanism and wrist blaster. These have actually been removed: Missiles compatible with Super Battle Droid missile launchers are hard to come by, and the wrist blaster had been wrenched out by some other droid when he found it. He's thus modified the missile launcher mechanism to deploy, accept, and activate chem-injecting devices such as bacta pumps, to administer medication quickly to a dying patient. He carries several of these needles on him in place of missiles, ejecting them from the port like shell casings after use (no use in sharing needles, after all). He could theoretically swap the payload out with any liquid substance if he wanted to, including deadly toxins or industrial chemicals, but he hasn't tried it for obvious ethical reasons. He also has installed a Clone Commando shield generator, which is a fairly weak shield generator but one that his overstuffed chassis can support, and a protocol droid vocabulator in his head, giving him handy translation abilities. He's got the obligatory scomp link as well, allowing him to interface with most devices and engage in slicing if he desires, though his technological skills mainly lie in modification and repair, meaning he's not as good at outright slicing as he is at forcing his way through software and hardware incompatibilities, though he can slice through lower-security machines like datapads.
He also owns his very own junk freighter, the Heap, which is his home even after the formation of the New Republic. Despite its origins on Raxus Prime, it's a bit of a Ship of Theseus situation: Most of its parts have been replaced by this point, and it's actually quite comfortable to live in. It's not palatial or anything, but it's got everything an organic or droid alike would want: Its own oil bath, a kitchen, all the desired amenities, escape pods, weapon systems, a shield generator, all the usual game and entertainment systems, and even a king-size bed!
Supporting Characters: WIP. Not sure if I'll use them at all.
Character's name: M4-LG, aka "Malg," short for "Amalgamation."
Race: Junk Droid
Faction: New Republic
Character Alignment: Chaotic Good/Chaotic Neutral
Character Background: Malg began as nothing. A long-disabled 2-1B medical droid that was tossed into a junk heap Maker-knows how long ago. Malg's former life is a complete mystery: His memory was almost completely blank when he began his second life. His medical database and his vocoder's Galactic Basic dictionary were the only data still intact. Worse still, when he awoke, crawling out of a pile of other droids, he was missing his legs. They had been cleanly taken off. His body was rusting, his systems were displaying countless errors, and yet...he accepted it, for a while. Just assuming that the error messages were normal, that this junk heap filled with corrosive runoff and random machine parts was the only world there was, that he had always been meant to crawl on his belly and drag himself forward with his hands.
So, for two days, he wandered the wastes, crawling over piles of parts he didn't recognize, trying to fight off the pangs of what he didn't know was loneliness, experimenting with the countless strange devices he could find lying around. Things like blaster pistols and servomotors and landspeeders. None of them worked, and the few that did tended to explode, so he stopped after the first three explosions.
Then, he encountered the first other beings he had ever seen. They were a group of what he recognized as Rodians, covered in gear made of metal, wielding contraptions he'd seen in the junk heaps before. The young, nameless junk droid could recognize Basic when he heard it. Watching them from a vantage point atop a cliff, he heard them discussing "hauls" and "junk" and "crazy killer junk droids." He could infer what they were talking about: They were rooting around in the body parts for useful stuff. And a junk droid...well, that was him, wasn't it?
But he wasn't crazy. He was sane! There was nothing crazy about him! And he hadn't killed anyone!
His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sudden arrival of a...thing. A shrieking, horrible thing, made of the same parts found in the junkyard. The same parts he was made of. Before he could warn the Rodians, it was already upon them. It killed one, and the nameless droid could track with absolute horror every gruesome injury the Rodian recieved. He was dead. Permanently offline.
The shrieking horror was quickly put down by fire from another Rodian's heavy repeater, only for more of them to suddenly appear. Each one was made from thousands of different droids. These...things...were disgusting, ruthless, and, well, murderous. Just like they had said.
The legless medical droid knew he could not fight them. He knew now that he was incomplete, that there were parts lying around here that not only worked, but were dangerous enough that these things were capable of taking down heavily-armed organics. The shouts and dying screams of the Rodians, the whine of blasters, the shrieking junk droids, the blood, guts and burnt metal--it would haunt the droid for the rest of his life.
As he crawled away, hoping against hope that he wasn't seen, he began to formulate dark plans. He would survive, at all costs, no matter how many of these things he needed to put down. These Rodians were not native to Raxus Prime, according to his database. They had arrived from somewhere...off-world, maybe? His database was full of things he didn't completely understand, but there was a cursory mention of the worlds each species came from, if only to understand local diseases, and how a change of envrironment could cause problems for some species.
But that meant there were more worlds out there. Places that were not this hellhole.
He was filled with new resolve. He would scavenge the wastes for parts. He would gather strength and knowledge through those parts, gain enough to fend off these killer junk droids, and make damn sure he wouldn't become like them in the process. And then, he swore, he would find a way off this twisted heap of metal and pain, or die trying.
And so, he did. He painstakingly experimented with part after part, learning how to handle errors and incompatibilities in the most dangerous way possible. He unearthed comlinks, holo-projectors, datapads and mainframes, and with scomp links and a lot of trial and error, he cracked their systems and gathered as much information as he could about the galaxy beyond. He fought off, or hid from, packs of feral droids, and the odd organic driven mad from isolation. And he had no-one to depend on but himself.
He survived, against insurmountable odds, for over two standard years. He eventually became such an amalgamation that he decided to name himself M4-LG, or "Malg." Because he knew that he needed a name if he was to survive on the other worlds. But the more he learned about those other worlds, the more he began to second-guess himself. Here he was, an independent being with no directives left. And yet, he was going to be someone's property at best out there. What was even the point? At least on Raxus Prime he had freedom. Wouldn't it be better to live out his days in solitude, where no-one could make him their slave?
Then he'd have a deadly encounter with a junk droid and he would soon change his tune, at least for a time.
The worst part was the loneliness. There wasn't a single friend out in the wastes. There were natives, but they were too obssessed with their industrial work, and would usually avoid him or try to kill him as a murderous junk droid. There were other droids, but they were all the very murderous psychopaths that the Raxians feared.
But eventually, he'd managed it. All by himself, he had refurbished a junked freighter, and turned it into something that would...hopefully fly? It was as up to code as he could possibly make it. He'd experimented by shooting junk droids with ion pistols and loading them into refurbished starfighters rigged up to a remote ignition mechanism to see if he'd gotten the principles down. His last few tests didn't result in an explosion, so...maybe this thing would work with him inside it?
And, thank the Maker, the Heap flew on its maiden voyage! This was Malg's pride and joy, and he'd studied up on everything he needed to know to get it working, and not die. He'd placed all of his belongings inside of it, he'd made it as comfortable as he could. Aaaaaaand he ended up crash-landing on Tatooine, perhaps the worst place for a droid to crash-land on. Thankfully he survived the impact with only minor damage.
He only had a few hours to get his bearings before the Jawas arrived. They had ion pistols, but he had four arms, his own blasters, and far more combat experience. He killed every last one of them, and stole everything they had on them. Taking their credits, he waltzed into town, shocking the populace. This misshapen droid just walked out of a crash-landing from a junked freighter. Malg was going to raise suspicions. The only thing Malg wanted at that point though was an oil bath. He had never had one in his entire life, and it showed.
While he was on the way, though, he saw an organic, a human this time, keel over in the middle of the road. Wasting no time, he worked on the patient as best he could. The authorities--or what passed for the authorities on Tatooine--soon arrived, and Malg later learned it was thanks to his efforts that the human, an old man, had survived.
The old man, one Codyell Cromay, later came looking for Malg, who was busy repairing his ship at the time, and thanked the droid for saving his life, asking what he would like in return. Malg said that he was thinking about opening up a medical practice, but had no way to get started, being a random junk droid on Tatooine with only a few credits to his name. Turned out that the man owned a major moisture farming concern, and could get Malg set up.
And so he did. With Codyell's credits, Malg opened a small clinic on Tatooine, and would treat anyone who came in. He made a killing, though some didn't really like the idea of a junked medical droid operating totally independently. But when it was a detractor's life on the line, they quickly ate their words when Malg saved their skin. He gained a reputation as one of the best sawbones on Tatooine, which attracted the attention of local crime boss Trazz the Hutt. Trazz was actually quite a sickly man, as he had been struggling with lingering complications after a failed poisoning attempt for the last several years. He'd survived the poison, but was wracked with long-lasting pain and illness after the fact, and eventually, it would kill him.
Trazz had sought every doctor he could get his hands on, using any means he could to prolong his life. He was even willing to kidnap skilled doctors and force them to help him at gunpoint. And so, he "sought out" Malg's help. Unfortunately, Codyell had taken a few blaster shots from a local footpad and was currently on the operating table when a bunch of armed enforcers burst into Malg's office and started raiding the place looking for him. In the ensuing gunfight, Codyell was tragically killed by a stray blaster bolt to the brain, leading Malg to fly into a rage. He emptied his E-11's power pack into all but one of them, and, after running out of ammo, used his labor droid arm, ripped the blaster out of the last man's hand, and crushed his blaster pistol like a tin can right before his eyes. He would have probably beaten him to death for killing Malg's first friend, until the terrified man surrendered, explained why he came here, and offered Malg any information he wanted.
After the man spilled the beans, Malg threw him onto the sandy curb, yelling, "TELL TRAZZ THAT IF HE COMES AFTER ME AGAIN, HE'S A DEAD MAN!" The enforcer ran off, screaming.
Malg knew he had to get off Tatooine. He probably only had a few hours before Trazz found out and ordered him consigned to the droid torture chambers. Thankfully, he had built up a lot of credits and a lot of connections. He contacted Codyell's family to explain the situation, gave his condolences and told his wife the location of the office so that Codyell could get a proper burial, and wished them farewell. Then he grabbed everything he could carry, got into the now-pristine-and-refurbished Heap, and flew off into the reaches of space.
Then, he sought to join the Rebel Army. He'd have friends in the Rebels. It was better than being alone, and there was no way in hell he'd join the Imperials, if they'd even let him in. He served as a combat medic in the Rebel Army, and then in the New Republic, and is fighting against the Imperial Remnant to this day in his own special way, while dealing with Trazz's assassins and bounty hunters.
Character Personality-(Give a solid description on how your character acts, their morals, etc): Malg is, above all, self-reliant to a fault. He is fiercely independent, sometimes to the point of violence: To attempt to fit a restraining bolt onto him is to invite him to punch you in the face with a metal arm as big as your head. He refuses to enter anyone's service as anything less than an employee or a partner, and has taken extreme precautions to avoid and even recover from a memory wipe. He also values true friends more than anything in the entire world; He had to live out the first two years of his life utterly and completely alone. He knows full-well what crippling loneliness feels like, and wouldn't wish it on anyone. He also absolutely despises slavers of any kind, though he's smart enough to recognize that blindly trying to free every droid and slave is too much for one man. So he's resolved to work from within the system to try and get droid rights recognized as a veteran soldier of the New Republic.
Character's Physical Description: Malg is an ugly, bizarre-looking droid. He looks like a 2-1B medical droid...from the neck up. It's when you look below the neck that he starts to look increasingly strange. He has four arms: Two 2-1B arms, one labor droid arm, and one Super Battle Droid arm. His chest is a hybrid of his original 2-1B torso (complete with medical and diagnostic computer) and countless extra parts he picked up on Raxus Prime. At this point, his torso is stuffed to the brim with extra crap. It can fit no more. Every piece of extra space has been utilized. This also makes him much heavier than normal 1st-degree droid legs can carry, causing him to resort to B2 Super Battle Droid legs, since they're both relatively mobile and capable of supporting a heavy frame.
Character Class: Scoundrel/Soldier (has aspects of both)
Items: Malg's greatest asset is himself. Malg's head and core systems are that of a 21-B medical droid, but he has physically transcended far beyond that. Mental safeguards have been removed, he has backup memory matrices from other droids hidden in his chassis to restore himself in an instant should he be memory-wiped, he's loaded with tools and equipment to both heal organics and repair himself at a moment's notice, and every component has been tweaked and modified (both by himself and those he trusts) to perform better and last longer. As he is now, calling him a "junk droid" would only be technically correct, in that most of his parts originally came from the junk heaps of Raxus Prime. He performs on the level of a refurbished droid by this point, one with parts from medical, astromech, protocol, labor, and even combat droids. He's even had durasteel plating added to help him take a punch in the field, and a speed-holster in his right leg to draw his trusty Clone Wars-vintage DC-17 blaster pistol, a speed-holster in his left leg that contains a Naboo-vintage Ascension Gun, and a custom speed-holster that takes up part of the left side of his torso to draw an E-11 blaster rifle. Yes, the "stormtrooper rifle." Sue him, it's compact! He also carries four vibroknives on him, for those cases where melee is needed, a task for which his four arms are more than sufficient. Then there's the survival kit he's had installed, which has aided his New Republic companions more than once when fresh water or a quick fire was needed. The fire igniter has also come in handy for combat, obviously.
Malg has four installed arms from three different droids, leading to a generally misshapen and lopsided look, as one of these arms is from a labor droid and thus larger than all three of the others. Two of them are original 21-B arms, typically used for delicate work and holding blaster pistols, and the fourth is from a Super Battle Droid and thus would in theory have the included missile launcher mechanism and wrist blaster. These have actually been removed: Missiles compatible with Super Battle Droid missile launchers are hard to come by, and the wrist blaster had been wrenched out by some other droid when he found it. He's thus modified the missile launcher mechanism to deploy, accept, and activate chem-injecting devices such as bacta pumps, to administer medication quickly to a dying patient. He carries several of these needles on him in place of missiles, ejecting them from the port like shell casings after use (no use in sharing needles, after all). He could theoretically swap the payload out with any liquid substance if he wanted to, including deadly toxins or industrial chemicals, but he hasn't tried it for obvious ethical reasons. He also has installed a Clone Commando shield generator, which is a fairly weak shield generator but one that his overstuffed chassis can support, and a protocol droid vocabulator in his head, giving him handy translation abilities. He's got the obligatory scomp link as well, allowing him to interface with most devices and engage in slicing if he desires, though his technological skills mainly lie in modification and repair, meaning he's not as good at outright slicing as he is at forcing his way through software and hardware incompatibilities, though he can slice through lower-security machines like datapads.
He also owns his very own junk freighter, the Heap, which is his home even after the formation of the New Republic. Despite its origins on Raxus Prime, it's a bit of a Ship of Theseus situation: Most of its parts have been replaced by this point, and it's actually quite comfortable to live in. It's not palatial or anything, but it's got everything an organic or droid alike would want: Its own oil bath, a kitchen, all the desired amenities, escape pods, weapon systems, a shield generator, all the usual game and entertainment systems, and even a king-size bed!
Supporting Characters: WIP. Not sure if I'll use them at all.
