A Mentor of Old

[Miranda Frost]

"Papers please... right... next."

"Papers please. You're good to go. Next."

"Papers please. Good Emperor, you are quit the daft fellow arn't you? Gaurds, help this man"

 "What no! my license is still valid! let me talk to someone, let me ta----", the man would frantically reply, his figure stepping back from the man in the booth as two white clad soldiers came to him, blaster weapons leveled and ready. The citizen would recoil, stepping back possibly out of shock of what had just happened. The soldiers clad in shining, white armor would flank the man, their hands gripping a hold of his shoulders, beginning to drag him off to a nearby, and quite fortified, building.

 "NO! I've done nothing wrong... Y-you! Woman, help me!", the man would scream, his weak struggling doing him no good against the strong soldiers. The old man who kindly gave her a ride to the gate was now being dragged kicking and screaming. Miranda balled her fist, her eye tightening shut. She only just arrived in a place radically different from the Ashen. This place was more developed and with a heftier police force. As much as she hated watching the man being dragged away to Omni knows what.

 "Next!"

 Miranda would open her eye and step foreward, a manila folder containing all of the supposed papers. Her fists clenched at her side, her eye watching the guards as they approached. She would do what she must if the situation demanded it.

"Ah, a research invitation by our vary own Grey Cybernetics Corps.", the imperial officer behind the checkpoint's window would raise a brow, his eyes glancing up at Miranda's towering form. "And you're transitioning from the Ashen Plains to Coruscant, your travel visa checks out as do..."
He'd flip through the papers, looking over the the quite sizable packet , his  inquisitorial eye rapidly scanning over her augmentation's licenses. This government were taking no chances it would seem.

 "Well then, your licenses are up to date and have quite the buffer to them! I must say madame, I am quite impressed by the work you've put into this transfer packet." ,he'd say with a laugh that just made Miranda's blood sink within her. Positive emotion certainly did not suit this man. "Step into the scanner Madame and stay still, this will only take a moment.", he'd say, motioning to pad centered upon the narrow entrance to the courtyard welcoming those to Coruscant.

 Her heavy step fell upon the metal pad, a field of translucent blue light enveloping her in a column.  Rays of beams rapidly flowed over her form, the ruby scales of her coat reflecting the light in a mirriad of vibrant colors. The coat itself was quite beautiful, its form catching the eyes of the guards, who quickly retained their military bearing once the officer noticed.

 "Very good. You're good to go. I've put an indefinite extension on your visa for dealing with one of are more prestigious organizations. If you wish to obtain a proper Citizenship, all you need is to visit our Naturalization sect. They will help you from there. I will take the additional liberty of sending you digital copies of your papers directly into your interface.", the Officer would explain, his hand waving her off before turning to the next one in line.

"Next."

[Miranda Frost]

Coruscant definitely wasn't the place Zack once said he'd visit. The air itself stunk of metal and emissions and the sun bore down upon the first tier in an almost unpleasant way. Crowds of people commuted on with their daily lives upon many of the vast network of walkways and even more so crowded the skies with various styles of aircraft. Some were primitive in appearance with those particular machines forged from crude steel plates riveted together in an unsightly fashion with a pair of propeller driven engines strapped haphazardly to their wings. On the other end of the spectrum were sleek, unhuman designs that soared through the air smoothly and silently. Miranda would drift to the edge of the walk way, sifting through the crowds of citizens and police, her hands gripping firmly on the metal safety rails. She'd peer her head over the edge, her eye glancing down out of curiosity. What she saw defied all that she knew. The buildings could be possibly touching the sky! Her eye could not see the bottom of the abyss she gazed upon. Clouds and dense fog formed not too far below where her eyes could see. 

 Her stomach sunk and she'd step back from the railing, her head catching a faint dizziness. Curses were thrown her way as the crowd was forced to flow around her. Her body slouched, her head resting in the palm of her hands. "T-this is insane...", she'd mutter, her mind only barely comprehending how advanced the technology here had progressed. There were some things similar to this in the Ashen, but this was completely maddening. While the Ashen was for the most part a barren, molten wasteland, this place was a sprawling utopia she couldn't even begin to dream of. "Perhaps coming here was a mistake", she'd think to herself, her mind still lingering over the fact that she was perhaps miles above the actual ground. One misstep would have have herself falling and falling for almost no end. When she'd eventually hit the ground....

 "No!", she'd yell, her arms flexing back at her side, her claws balled into tight, shaking fists. Many would turn even stop to see her struggle before dismissing it and moving on.  To them it must be obvious that she wasn't from around here. It was quite easy it see it upon her face. The corners of her mouth twitched, her mechanical eye glancing up at the various waypoints and signs hanging above the walk way. If she could just follow the signs and focus on where she needed to be, it could distract her from the very  probable chance of death. 

 "Just... keep walking Frost... one step at a time.", she'd mutter, her heavy boot clacking against the metallic walkway. The building in question was not that far from the entrance if the note left for her held any weight.  The sooner she was inside that building the better.

[Miranda Frost]

It is astounding that rudeness of astronomical proportions can be tolerated. The good doctor wrapped her brittle knuckles against the stainless steel of her desk, the cold blue grey of her eyes staring deep into the sporadic snow broadcasted through the dim light of her screen. The woman's frown deepened the sharp canyons brought about years of her work, work that seemed to ever degrade in its momentum.  A rough exhale pushed a light cloud of heated breath at the screen, coating it in a layer of fog. Another customer had backed out of their agreement. At this rate how was she to pursue her research?

 The Empire had turned a blind eye to her dealings but without the state's funding she had been left alone to find some way to pay for her research. Her side business was lucrative, but the selection of those her services could be provided to was challenging to say the least. The Empire had indeed overlooked her research, but everything else was fair game. Many didn't feel as if her services were worth it, despite the high quality of products she offered.

 Her bony hands would brush the fragile, pale hair from her face, her glazed eyes glanced up at the mosaic of monitors covering her walls, each one a camera providing a watchful eye over her building. The few workers employed here remained in their spaces, running the tests the good doctor had provided. All was well. All was quiet, and then the front doors opened.

 Miranda's heavy steps echoed over the open room. Her eye flicked from one end of the room to the other. Nothing seemed to be within the light of her sight but polished, silver tile and cameras. Her eye's retina  contracted, pushing her crimson light further, its rays penetrating deep within the reflective surfaces. What she uncovered was quite unsettling. She'd take a step back but it was too late. Tiles burst and exploded into thousands of gravel sized shards, the black barrels of various sizes expanded from robust metal arms, the ends of which pointed towards the intruder. Before Miranda realized what exactly was going on, her vision would fail, blinded by a myriad of bright lights. Her eye slammed shut, her arms raising to cover her face instinctively.

 Her body would be assaulted by countless projectiles, most of which ricocheted  harmlessly off the tough scales of her coat. Higher caliber rounds drilled through the heavy piece of clothing, sinking into her degrading flesh. Her teeth would grind together, her body sliding back from the amount of heat she was receiving. She couldn't move. She couldn't parry. She couldn't escape. A hurricane of lead welcomed her into this building, a reception she wasn't quite fond of.

 "F-fuck", she'd stutter as the furious storm of turret rounds ceased. Her ears rang and her body was overcome with a growing numbness, an ever encroaching darkness encircling her  vision.

[Miranda Frost]

The sound of limitless gunfire was not unknown to Miranda, nor was the feeling of a bullet boring through flesh and bone. Her eyes would open and her brow furrowed. Before her lay the Raiders' battle plan and a physical representation of the enemy forces. Upon the long sheet of parchment colored wooden blocks designated all known infantry divisions both hostile and friendly. The numbers were definitely on Miranda's side, but there lies the problem. She'd step from the table, her hands peeling back the entrance to the Officers' tent. The relentless desert sun beamed down upon her, its blinding light forcing the former Black Knight to bring her arm about to shield herself from its light. Her steel grey eyes gazed over the distance between her encampment and the enemy fortress.

 "Bah... Fortress..", she'd snarl under her breath. This damned fortification was much much more. Those walls of stone reached hundreds of meters up into the sky, far beyond any use of ladder and rope to scale it.   Atop its ramparts lined hundreds if not thousands of riflemen, ready for their advance. Massive machine gun batteries lay in wait among the face of the daunting walls. The walls could not be scaled and would be hard pressed to be breached meaning their only solace would be its lone entrance. Unfortunately that was not even the worse bit. The massive doors were at least a hundred meters from the base of the fortress, with a narrow bridge reaching into the neighboring dunes. Miranda had numbers for sure, but did that really matter with all of that firepower trained on her battle lines? Bah!

 It was dicey, but they had their own tools of battle. Miranda would turn towards the Raider council, a group of five raider warlords,  as they stood about discussing the plan of attack.  She'd  move closer to the table, her hands of steel resting upon the edge of the old oak table. "Do we have a plan?", she'd ask, her eyes glancing over the Lords.

 "Plan? Hardly!", Said Bo, Lord Commander of the army's berserker regiments, his meaty arms waving  a pint of ale with enough grace to surprisingly not spill its contents everywhere. "Send in my men, we'll dismantle those flimsy walls with our very grip! Ha Ha!"

 "Fool, they will be cut down before they even reach the walls.", Laughed Romarion, the Raiders's Commander of the army's tank regiments, or rather what was left of them. Miranda noted that most of what remained were from captured machines. It wouldn't be incorrect to say that their production of such war-machines were lacking.  "I say we concentrate  our remaining armor on one point of the wall and create an opening outside its kill-zone."

 "Aye, I agree, but let my penal divisions soften the Bastion.", Offered warden, the cold man waving his gauntlet. Miranda didn't like the idea of creating suicide battalions from conscripted prisoners but in this case she could see the benefit of their deaths benefiting the greater good. Miranda knew the deeds the wrought given a majority of them are imprisoned because of her purge of the Raider's compliment. They would have been put to death if it weren't for the other warlords dissuasion.

[Miranda Frost]

"I'll provide the necessary air cover to your assault with the remaining air wings we have left. The contribution is negligible at the very worst, but I believe I may able to take out a few artillery pieces.", a quiet voice would make itself known, silencing the rambling of the three warlords. Miranda and the rest would turn their attention to the newcomer, an older woman sporting a tattered flight jacket blackened with various oil stains. This was the woman who supposedly plucked the dying Miranda from the hostile sun of the dunes and through her technology saved Frost. She never had the proper chance to thank the woman and it would seem she would not get that chance, not yet.  

 As quick as the woman had entered, she had already gone, her thin frame ducking through the tent's entrance, the light of the sun illuminated the jagged 'X' upon the back of her jacket. "X, huh?", Miranda would murmur, her attention caught by that single character emblazoned upon that woman's back. 

 "Pay attention, Lady Frost.", yet another voice would command, a gentle gloved hand landing upon her shoulder. She'd turn, her eyes looking into the dimly radiating azure eyes of the other newcomer. They had met only once prior, back in the damned city, but she had assumed he was just another spectator reveling in the blood sport. "My bets are on you two. Good luck.", he had said that day prior before vanishing into the crowds. 

 "I didn't expect you to be here...", Miranda's voice cracked, her mind still lingering upon the events after her meeting with this man.  The man merely smiled and tilted his wide brimmed hat over his face, casting a shadow upon his features. His other hand moved to to softly pat at the woman's other shoulder in reassurance. 

 "I've never been good at these kind of things. Let us return to the task at hand.", he'd state before turning towards the battle map of the city.  His hand glided over the aged paper, his finger gliding towards the center towards Monument Square. This section of the city  over looked the grand stadium and served as the council chamber of the city's ruling members as well as headquarters of the Black Knights, the executors of the councils will. "Taking the city is a challenge in of itself but that shouldn't be the goal here. With the plan as it stands now if you were to push all the way to the capital building, you would lose your momentum before you step foot in the council chamber."

 His eyes glanced over the warlords, his lips quivering solemnly. "Your normal warriors and soldiers can't hope to put up a fight against the remaining Black Knights but you four certainly can. Therefore, I suggest an alternative." A grin would stretch across the man's slender face. As if on cue men would enter the tent dragging behind them a trolley containing massive suits of silvered armor, each seemingly tailored specifically for Warden, Romarion, Bo, and Miranda.

 "We will drop in in specifically where we need you the most."

[Miranda Frost]

The armor itself was heavy, its immense weight oppressive in regards to her remaining strength. Her hot breath fogged her vision, the heat inside the armor laying thick against her drenched flesh. It was dark save for the soft scarlet glow of her eye barely lifting the veil between her and the helmet's inner components. Hastily taped wires weaved themselves through the helmet's protective harnesses, its sharp bends protruding to prod Miranda's head. She could feel the others prepare the armor for power up with each clumsy movement jostling her within the tight prison with each twist of various switches embedded the back and joints of her armor. She'd snap frustratingly at the assistant, but both movement and sound was silenced by this walking coffin. The assistants wouldn't hear even the slightest whisper from her complaints.

 And then there was power, or at least the minimal amount. The whirring of machinery vibrated through the armor's steel. Her digits would tighten to a tight fist and her arms flexed to test its function. She could move. Although the harnesses clung tightly to her body, her movements weren't hindered in the slightest. If it weren't for the unbearable heat she could perhaps fool her body into believing she felt weightless and unhindered, but it still didn't do much to make the rag-tag armor any less bearable. As her arms flexed, she could feel the warped metal grind into her robust prosthetic, producing a sickening vibration that radiated up to her ears.

 The other electronic systems the suit hosted would follow suit in a rough manner similar to the armor's motor functions. The device pressed against her ear would sputter and crackle and the visor's video feed would be  riddled with a layer of digital static. Surely this suit would spare no expense. Had her limbs had not been replaced, such a suite would be quite impossible to utilize.

 "Miranda. Can you hear me.?"

 She'd tilt her head down as far as she could given the neck brace restricting her movement. She'd wince, her eye straining  to look down at the lower part of the screen lining the wall  of the helmet's face facing Miranda. 

 "Yes. Can YOU hear me?", Miranda would growl as a bead of sweat finessed itself into her eye. Something had to be done here or she'd cause more trouble than it was worth. in The person in dirty fatigues scribbled on his little note pad before looking over her.  His gloved hand would reach behind her and slam itself into the back plate, rattling the entirety of the armor's frame.

 "Oh... the fans aren't working?", he'd reply, his eyes widening in astonishment. 

 "Out of all the things you could be surprised about.... no. They aren't. Its hot as fuck in here."

 "Oh. Of course. Right away."  The man would move behind her. His hands fiddling about with unseen controls. Only the slight shift in the armor's apparent weight showed he was doing anything, yet nothing he did appeared to fix the problem she desired.

 "Jesus Christ. Have you tried unplugging it and plugging it back in? I heard that works", she'd remark, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

 The armor was almost not worth the plan that required it. Almost.

[Miranda Frost]

 “Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl”, the old woman would sigh, gazing over Miranda’s unconscious body. The strong woman had suffered many wounds at the hands of the tower’s defenses. The body before her was riddled with bullet wounds and the table the girl lay upon seeping with blood and oil. For all intents and purposes, she should be dead. Miranda’s lungs were punctured, her heart grazed and her intestines cut. Her scars had been reopened, her crimson life force flowing free to pool around the silhouette of her body. Despite this, her body steadily rose and fell with each breath. She would not die, not from this.

The doctor would tap her bony fingers at the slim data-pad upon her wrist, beckoning a couple of multi armed droids to roll into the room, taking their positions on either side of the body.  The good doctor’s hands would fall to the large, steel pair of wheels in which her seat was fixed upon. She’d roll back, making room for the droids to operate.  She’d turn and wheel herself to her desk, her thin fingers dancing over the holographic display of Miranda’s body. The doctor could see nearly everything. She could see her engagement at Death Mountain through the organs that had been displaced as a result to her impalement. She could see her involvement in the recent invasions by Nebula through the damage to her cybernetics. She could see the clumps of ash that had been collecting inside the crooks and crannies of the woman’s artificial legs. She saw nearly everything, but one thing was peculiar.

The doctor would frown, the imaging focusing on the gargantuan woman’s skull. She’d swipe a fingertip across the screen, narrowing in on the mind. Her eyes would narrow at the readings she received from the woman. Two non identical brain waves were being broadcast from the woman’s mind. One wave was reminiscent of a dying woman, the other representing a healthy woman.

“Interesting. Dissect”, she’d command, separating the two waves on her display. “Locate”, she’d murmer, her old hands elegantly gliding over the smooth display. She’d have the computer highlight the sources of those waves. One signature would be would be highlighted in red, the other blue.  What she god by the time the system loaded these settings was something completely different.

“Purple…” she’d whisper, glancing back at the woman laying across the table. There was not one single portion of her mind that did not produce one of the other. Two different waves from the same origin. “Impossible. Unless…”, She’d contemplate, before turning to the screen, her grey eyes following the patterns. A twisted idea formulated within her mind, one that would bring a shiver down her spine.

The doctor would reach down upon the control panel, her digits a blinding blur as they moved effortlessly over the controls. The mind was the one thing responsible for the halting of this woman’s recovery. Her body would heal correctly as is, but the mind, unfortunately, will not. Primes were quite a mystery. They held the power to create and destroy within their very being.
Anomalies occur every day. Unexplainable happenings would appear only to vanish as soon as they arrived. It was strange, but quite fascinating. Here upon her table was something she could sink her teeth in.

“Opportunity of a lifetime.”

[Miranda Frost]

A man clothed in a black, leather  trench coat. sat upon the mildly sloped tower that overlooked the Coruscanti skyline. The sun just barely peeked over the horizon. Streaks of red and orange stretched unhindered across the cloudless sky with the twinkling light of stars barely piercing through the day’s fading azure veil. The man tipped his hat upward, his cerulean eyes peering out towards the passing day. His other hand would grasp an electrum coin, the leather bound fingers gliding over its damaged features. He’d twirl it effortlessly between his fingers, the heavy memento resting perfectly balanced over his index finger. His thumb would flick upwards, sending the piece twirling gracefully into the evening sky. As it continued to climb his eyes would watch, its movements representing his time here in this mundane land.

 There have always been two sides to a coin.  The world itself would paint an illusion of multiple sides, the choice to make any decision regarding one’s potential future. This was all a lie of course. There are only two choices per subject. There are only two sides: Yey or neh, life or death, black or white.  As the coin began to fall, the man would hold out his open hand to catch the priceless artifact upon the palm of his hand. The image that faced him was a portrait of his father etched upon its ancient surface. Latin lettering traced the edge of the coin but time had taken away its legibility. The expression upon the portrait’s face was a solemn one, its eyes staring deep into whoever carried it.

 The man would pocket the coin, his arm reaching down towards his belt where a dense coil of hempen rope hung. Tied to one end a rusted three pronged hook lay, ready for it’s owner’s mission. He’d stand, removing the length from the metal clasp that secured it to his belt. The man would begin unraveling it, his gloves sliding gently over its entirety. He would move down to the edge of the tower, gazing over the building’s edge.

 “I fucking hate heights, why did I think this was a good idea?”, he would chastise himself, grimacing at his future demise. Swarms of speeders and air vehicles zipped  in massive air-lanes across the city. Sky-walks provided a way from building to building  just outside the area these vehicles were allowed to operate. He’d sigh  and drag  the hooked end of the rope, leading it over to a rather thick communications array. Quickly he’d  secure the rope to the antennae and would give it a hefty pull to test its ability to not let him fall to a rather messy death.

 Once he was done making the proper preparations he’d step back to the edge of the skyscraper, the heels of his boots teetering over the edge. “You can do this. You can do this”, he’d encourage himself. He would take a single step back onto the side of the building, his figure moving to a more horizontal position. He would breath long and hard, easing himself down the side, his steps short and slow. He would hear the quiet sound of a dagger sliding from its sheath, forcing him to jerk his head to the side to investigate. The sheath bound to his calf seemed to have grown loose during his time in Coruscant it seemed. The corners of his mouth tensed, his eyes watching the knife slowly slide free. He had to secure it, but his hands were quite occupied at the moment. On guided him down the rope while the other held the rope securely behind him. 

 “Maybe if I am fast enough”, he would think aloud before briefly letting go of the rope in front of him to grasp at the knife. 

 Fortunately he’d catch the dagger.

 Unfortunately letting the rope go was a really bad idea.

 The result of this brilliant maneuver left the man rolling down the strand of rope, his feet struggling to steady himself. His hand would luckily catch himself upon his lifeline, his shoulder popping as his body attempted to continue its downward descent. A sharp pain stabbed into his shoulder but he dared not let go again.

 “Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. This was not worth it. Totally was not worth it.”, he spat out, continuing to lower himself down the  building side, his digits straining to hold both the knife’s hilt and the rope simultaneously.  The wind assaulted him. Nearly causing his feet to slip upon the building’s sleek exterior.  His body shook from the pain and his mind raced from his near death experience. He had never created brilliant ideas, but this one just takes the cake. 

 “I can’t do this. God, I can’t do this. Just shoot me now. Fucking shoot me now.”, he’d groan, his feet taking bigger steps backward. Rappelling was not his forte. In fact this was his first time doing this besides various training exercises he’d partaken. Those were on a fifty foot tower, not this behemoth of a spire. A fall from the former may result in a broken bone for him. A fall from this… this thing would turn him into straight up carrion food. Maybe he might get lucky and hit a vehicle on the way down. 

 "Yeah... that'd be preferable", he'd gripe, his feet finally  catching an edge. He'd ease himself on its small clearance, his arms outstretched wide as if to hug the building for his survival. "YEESSSSS!!", he'd yell, his voice muffled from the face of the building smashed into his sweaty face. His hand latched onto a small window, just big enough for him to squeeze through. He'd test its integrity, the knife he held prying at its edges. Luckily for him it was loose. Only a moment would pass before he had the window open, allowing the man to slip in. The man would collapse to the cold floor with a hefty thud. He'd begin to recover but the cool barrel of a gun wedged itself firmly against his cheek.

 "Warning: Do not make any sudden moves meat-bag. I do not object to spilling your grotesque innards over my Master's walls."

 "Duly noted."

[Miranda Frost]

The operation was going smoothly. Miranda's vitals were steady and unwavering. The multitudes of the droids' slim arms darted in and out of her wounds with surgical precision and lightning speeds. The tray holding the misshapen rounds withdrawn from the woman's body rattled from the sheer speed that the tall, tower like droids worked. They spoke very little, their focus unimpeded at the task at hand. The old woman glanced at the taller woman's face. Even when unconscious she didn't seem to be at ease. Her brow was furrowed with long stress lines etched from the corners of her eyes. Her face was tense, as if she felt every bit of the work the droids were putting on her.

 She'd bring her hands at the wheels, propelling herself slowly towards the operating table. The droids were done at this moment and shifted away from the woman,  letting the doctor examine the droids' handy work. Her grey eyes scanned over the exposed body, her fingers testing each stitch that bound the bullet holes shut, ensuring that each thread was tied taut. "Good good." , she'd commend the droids before pulling a small pad from the breast pocket of her lab coat. The symbols designating the function of each of the numerous buttons had since faded away during her stay in this wonderful tower, but at this point she had long committed them each to memory. She'd  press one of them, but nothing would happen right off the bat. Clicking and whirring could be heard just behind the the nearby wall before it opened up. A metal beam would extend, carrying with it a rather large frame. To it was secured a large suit of grey, unadorned plate armor, or so it appeared. Its  back faced the crippled woman, its large back pack featuring a small compartment in the center of its structure. She'd press another button, causing that small hatch to open. Having the armor here now would best revealed at this moment.

 Grey would hold out her hand. "Scalpel", she'd command, and the droid would drop the tool within  her hand. The doctor would lean over the unconscious girl, her eyes tracing about her body. Primes had the innate ability to regenerate, yet she had chosen to retain them all. From long jagged lines to star shaped puncture scars, each one a potentially lethal wound. From the bite mark upon her neck to the large patch of pale skin beneath her breasts, each one was significant enough to her that she'd keep a hold of it, a reminder of the events that had transpired. That's why she bore the creation Grey had given her so many years ago when she and her colleagues fished her out of the burning red sands.

  The doctor would bring the scalpel down, its blade centered upon the woman's chest, but the blade would not move beyond Miranda's flesh. The Doctor hesitated, her eyes glancing at the woman's face. Frost wanted help, as her messenger had told, but she never explicitly asked for what she was about to commit. The Doctor's plan could possibly backfire and cripple her if not outright drive the tortured soul mad. Her teeth gritted tightly together, her index finger laying over the cold spine of the steel tool.

 "Step one.", she'd mutter, applying the pressure needed for the precision device to slice through the skin.  She'd drag the tool down the woman's torso with ease. Her assistant droids moved in closer, their thin insect-like arms reaching around the doctor as she worked, gently pulling the separated skin apart. She'd pause catching a glimpse of the rudimentary mechanics that dwell within. Miranda would fool the old woman. While the surface would indicate great trauma and damage, the steel crystal housing located below her diaphragm along with various other power hubs and centralized data storage for her systems. Everything looked as pristine as the day Dr. Grey installed them if not more so. Not a single bit of rust could be found upon the components nor anything as small as a scratch for that matter.  One of the droid's many arms would bring about small tray filled with a sanitizing solution. She'd drop the scalpel into its clear surface and return her hands to the massive cavity.

 "Step two", she'd continue, her finger sliding across a black, glass-like space upon the surface of Miranda's crystal housing. The screen reacted to her touch, the surface illuminating in a bright cyan hue before fading into the black in which it came. Slowly the hexagonal cage would open and unfurl, revealing two long, jagged crystals,  a bright one emanating a peaceful glow  the other darkened one devouring any bit of light that strayed too close.  levitating in the same space it was contained. The instruments' monitoring Miranda's vital's would sound a distressing alarm. Grey didn't need to look up to see what the blaring siren represented . The body regarded these two objects as vital necessities. Its energy allowed the body to live and thrive and Grey had just cut that off from the rest of the body.

"Step three", she'd growl  her eyes narrowing and her brow dripping with sweat. She'd reach down into the space, her hand attempting to grip at the dark one. "Cold..", she'd wince the bare skin of her hand sticking to the crystal by it sheer icy temperature. Quickly she'd yank it free from its zone and deposit into the armor's open power bay.  The other hand would frantically shut the cage, her index finger sliding over the illuminated surface to engage its seal. Only then did she roll herself away from the table, cradling  her mist covered hand. 
 
 "Step four and five... complete", the old woman sighed, getting a glimpse of her  now less than functioning hand. The skin lining her palm  had been pulled away, completely reduced to a state a non existence. Id didn't bleed, but the exposure to the air around her left it in a throbbing state. \

"I need to stop taking risks like these. I might live longer."

[Miranda Frost]

"Command: on your feet now, meatbag."

The corners of November's lips twitched nervously, his hands slowly but immediately raised to the air. The man would stand carefully, not willing to make the sudden move to force the Droid's deadly trigger finger. He was no prime. A wrong move here would be his last.  November glanced back at the droid clad in the old power armor, his steel eyes scanning for structural weaknesses. He'd find a few in the joints of the armor, but as the droid pressed the barrel of his weapon more firmly to the back of his neck, he was reminded of the being's mechanical nature.  Those weaknesses would not take this mechanized being so easily should the swordsman strike out against it.

"Sarcastic Suggestion: Try not to squeal too loudly when I pull the trigger. Master need not know of my good deeds.", The towering droid stated. November could hear the strain of the droid's steel fingers as it began to squeeze its trigger. The swordman's finger twitched, and droid pulled the trigger. A flash of crimson light filled the room as the blaster bolt left the barrel of the droid's weapon, hitting only a cloud of sensor clogging smoke.  The form of November had burst into a cloud of thick soot that jetted over the armored droid.

"Exclamatory query: WHAAT?!", The droid cried out, recoiling back from the cloud of smoke, right into November's blade.

The man clad in blad smiled in pleasant surprised at how smooth his sword was able to slice into the droid's armor. The omniverse certainly had a few interesting quirks.  November stepped into his offense against the squirming droid, his shoulder pinning him against the window. His wrist would twist his blade, shredding the sensitive components within. The man would grunt and withdraw his sword from the back of the droid, allowing the massive structure of its power downed body to slump to the cold slate floor below.

"Confused st-t-t-aaatteemeennt...", the droid spoke as the last sparks of its power core ran dry only then did the black-clad swordsman withdraw his blade from the back of the powered down droid sheathing the oil-drenched edge.  The soft blue glow of his eyes glanced back at the body as he lay his hand on the door frame. 

 "I need to get me one of those", He mused pleasantly before exiting the room.

 "Don't think I don't see you, Frost.", a human voice would call over the hallway intercom, the old straining voice echoing across the durasteel bulkheads. "You've been plenty a nuisance to track down, but fret not. I have you now. Do enjoy your stay in this lovely prison of mine. "

 The ground beneath the man's feet would shudder and one by one the soft white glow of the lights above shattered, the glass showering the swordsman. He'd shield his face from the puny shards as they fell, his teeth gritting as the annoying sparks burnt into his fair skin. If the near complete darkness weren't enough of a pain to him, the durasteel panels lining the passageway's bulkheads would open, with more of the cheery but violent droids stepping out to greet him.

 These, however, lacked the power armor the one prior donned. He could see the fiery glow of their optical sensors focusing on his frame, their swords and blaster rifles leveling to strike. Their skeletal structures were of a lighter silver compared to the dull steel hue of the hallway.
 
 "Congratulatory reception: We've been expecting you. You've won today's door prize. You have three seconds to prepare to accept your award.", the group of droids snarked in uncanny unison. 

 "Oh fuck me."