[LTC - M17 - Darkknell - FZ] Law & Order: Darkknell - Part Three

The droid killing didn't make sense.

That was the thought grinding against the inside of my skull as I rubbed my temples for what had to be the hundredth time that day. Droids were woven into Darkknell like hyperspace lanes through the Galaxy. Freight movers, med-techs, labor units, clerks... even judges. They kept the planet alive. More importantly, they were built to obey. Built to serve. Built to be harmless.

So why would anyone murder one?

I watched Tivvak Renn work across the room, his long gloved fingers moving through the open shell of an RA-7's head with the kind of care a surgeon might give a living patient. Tiny tools clicked and whined between his fingers. The Rodian looked more comfortable around dead machines than most people looked around their own kin.

The droid morgue felt like a tomb someone had forgotten to bury. Cold air hissed endlessly through vents overhead, biting through my jacket and settling into my bones.

I folded my arms tight across my chest.

"Why is it so frakking cold in here?" I muttered. "These things aren't exactly rotting."

Tivvak tilted his head without looking up. "Bo shuda chee kajidic. Ka shee stuka frizzka kee droid circuu no bongo."

I looked over at the officer beside me. He shrugged. Useful. Too much of Darkknell's police force were career cops, looking to punch their card at the end of the day, nuke their dinner, and do it all again the following morning. I couldn't blame them...

This job would devour your soul if you let it.

I sighed. "In basic, Tivvak."

The Rodian stopped for a moment. I could practically hear his frustration.

"Ahem. That might be true, but freezing temperatures keep droid circuitry offline. You don't want plasteel hands snapping at you during an autopsy, just because you hit the wrong switch by mistake."

I stared at him. Then at the rows of sealed body lockers lining the walls. Then back at him.

Some jobs didn't pay enough. Sure the credits were as cold and hard as they'd be from any other line of work, but a Darkknell officer's pay barely covered rent in the Meatpacking District...

Tivvak's Ugnaught assistant threw a switch and one of the compartments slid open with a hydraulic hiss. I caught the glint of a gold arm hanging limply over the edge.

Funny thing about bodies: after enough years in this line of work, they stop bothering you. Flesh, blood, faces frozen in their final mask... eventually it all becomes paperwork.

But this place... This place felt different.

The silence wasn't silence. It felt like a vacuum, swallowing every part of my remaining sanity if I stayed here a moment longer than I had to.

"So what exactly are you doing?" I asked. I wanted out of here yesterday.

Tivvak kept working.

"Most people think droid autopsies are just circuitry and electronics." Tiny components clicked onto the table. "Not true. Droids aren't so different from beings. If anything, they're more complicated. Thousands of wires. Connectors. Pathways." He paused, carefully pulling a thin line from inside the RA-7's skull.

"You develop a feel for it after a while. Like pulling a thread and following it back to where it starts."

I glanced at the officer, raised an eyebrow. The officer raised one back.

We were both thinking the same thing: Tivvak had spent too much time talking to corpses.

Then... Click.

A low warbling noise broke the room's stillness. Blue light spilled across the table.

I turned. "No..."

A flickering hologram stood between us. It was a protocol droid, its arms stretched outward, frozen in motion. No protocol here- it wasn't welcoming, not translating, not serving. Its blank face held all the secrets of threatening, murderous intent.

Its photoreceptors stared out through the blue haze. Empty. No anger. No fear. No life. Just intent... cold, mechanical intent.

The officer took a slow step backward. "What does this mean, detective?"

For a second, I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. I just stared. At the dead thing staring back at me.

Then I felt the pieces begin shifting around in my head.

"It means we have a suspect." The words felt heavy leaving my mouth.

"It means there's a 3PO on the loose, and whatever the reason, its one focus is killing droids."

The room suddenly felt colder. The vents kept breathing overhead as we turned toward the exit. Behind us, the hologram remained standing in the dark.

Watching nothing. Just dead eyes peering out from the darkness.

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