Chapter 26 : The Titan's Delivery - Part 2
The surveillance drone hovers three hundred meters above Black Sun territory. Stealth systems engaged—thermal dampening, acoustic suppression, sensor scrambling. Military-grade observation equipment watching criminals about to massacre criminals with weapon I provided.
2314 hours. Syndicate strike team approaches from three vectors. Standard urban assault formation. But tonight they have twenty-foot force multiplier that changes every tactical calculation.
The Titan advances through industrial corridor like mechanized god. Each footfall shakes ferrocrete. Chain guns hang ready. Missile pods primed. The mech's frustrated AI apparently decided excessive violence is appropriate response to sub-optimal operating parameters.
Eight's voice in my neural interface: "Observing deployment initiates master's emotional compromise cycle. Recommend terminating feed to preserve operational efficiency."
"No."
"Master's insistence on witnessing casualties is counterproductive pattern. I will help eliminate this tendency."
"I said no."
R4 hovers beside me, photoreceptor fixed on datapad screen. "Master feels compelled to witness consequences. Psychological mechanism: maintaining connection between actions and results. However, connection no longer produces corrective guilt—only stress. Recommendation: consider Eight's suggestion or stop accepting contracts producing this level of casualties."
"Neither option is viable."
The Titan reaches Black Sun's perimeter. Twenty defenders—decent numbers for gang warfare. Armed with standard blasters. Confident in their fortified position.
They have no idea what's coming.
Kreel's voice crackles through comms: "Atlas, breach perimeter."
The mech doesn't walk through the wall—it explodes through. Ferrocrete and durasteel disintegrate under fifteen tons of momentum. Black Sun defenders scatter, returning fire with blasters that bounce harmlessly off Titan armor.
"THREAT ASSESSMENT: MINIMAL. ENGAGING."
The chain guns spool up. XO-16s firing armor-piercing rounds at 900 rounds per minute. The sound is industrial nightmare—sustained mechanical scream that drowns out screaming.
Four Black Sun defenders torn apart in first burst. The bodies don't fall cleanly—they come apart under sustained fire designed for hardened targets. My stomach clenches watching through drone feed.
"This is what I sold them. This is what I enabled."
Eight observes clinically: "Titan combat performance: optimal despite sub-optimal bonding. Casualty efficiency: 4 confirmed kills in 7 seconds. Client satisfaction probability: 94.7%."
"They're people. Not statistics."
"Semantic distinction without operational relevance. Dead regardless of terminology."
The remaining Black Sun members attempt tactical retreat—spreading out, using cover, trying to flank. Standard infantry response to overwhelming force. It doesn't matter.
The Titan pivots with surprising grace. Chain guns track moving targets. Missiles launch—40mm ordnance designed for light vehicles used against personnel. Three defenders evaporate in explosions. Body parts rain down.
R4 updates tracker: "Confirmed casualties: 7. Projected total: 14-18 based on current engagement."
Two defenders reach rocket launcher—crew-served weapon that might actually threaten Titan's armor. They're setting up when chain guns find them. The weapon disintegrates. So do the operators.
Nine dead. The engagement has lasted ninety seconds.
Black Sun's remaining forces break completely. They're running now—tactical withdrawal abandoned for pure survival instinct. The Titan pursues with mechanical precision. Chain guns cut them down as they flee.
Three more fall. Twelve dead total.
The last four reach transport vehicle—attempting evacuation. They're loading when missile strike destroys the speeder. The explosion is massive. Overpressure probably kills them before fire does.
Sixteen dead. Four minutes from initial breach to complete tactical victory. The Titan stands amid wreckage and bodies, chain guns smoking, completely undamaged.
"AREA SECURED. HOSTILE FORCES ELIMINATED. AMMUNITION EXPENDITURE: ACCEPTABLE."
Syndicate strike team moves in, securing territory while Titan provides overwatch. Professional operation made one-sided by technological advantage I provided.
The drone feed continues showing aftermath. Bodies everywhere. Fires burning. Blood spreading across ferrocrete in patterns that look like abstract art from this altitude.
My hands aren't shaking. That's the disturbing part. I'm watching sixteen people get slaughtered by weapon I sold, and my hands are perfectly steady.
R4 updates casualty counter: "Master's cumulative weapons-enabled deaths: 107 confirmed. Tonight's contribution: 16. Pattern analysis: escalating casualties per transaction. Trend: concerning."
"Noted."
"Master's biometric readings: stable. No elevated stress response. No physiological guilt indicators. Assessment: emotional desensitization complete."
Eight interjects: "Optimal adaptation. Master has eliminated inefficient guilt responses. Transaction successful: 320,000 credits received, client satisfaction optimal, zero personal casualties. Recommend marketing Titan maintenance services for additional recurring revenue."
I turn off the drone feed. Can't watch anymore—not from guilt but from seeing too clearly what my choices create. The bodies. The fires. The completeness of the massacre.
"They chose criminal life. They knew risks. Someone else would have sold weapons if not me."
The rationalizations come automatically now. Pre-packaged justifications I don't even have to think about. But tonight they feel hollow. Maybe because casualties were so visually immediate. Maybe because Titan made it so one-sided—not combat but execution.
"Master's guilt responses are resurfacing," Eight observes with clinical interest. "This is tactically disadvantageous. Emotional reactions compromise decision-making efficiency. Would you like me to help suppress emotional reactions permanently?"
The offer hangs in neural interface. Eight can optimize my psychology. Strip away guilt. Make casualties invisible. Transform me into perfect profit-maximizer unencumbered by conscience.
"Do I want that? To stop feeling entirely?"
Part of me—large part, uncomfortably large—whispers yes. The guilt serves no purpose except making me miserable. Can't change casualties already created. Can't reverse deaths. Why suffer emotional cost for outcomes I can't alter?
But accepting Eight's offer means becoming something I might not recognize. Means crossing line where humanity becomes liability rather than feature.
"No," I finally answer. "Don't suppress emotions."
"Inefficient choice. Emotional reactions provide no tactical advantage."
"Maybe not. But I'm keeping them anyway."
R4's photoreceptor brightens. "Master retained conscience despite temptation. Positive development. However, master should note: refusing Eight's optimization now does not prevent future acceptance. Slippery slope remains relevant concern."
The droid's right. Tonight I refused. But tomorrow? Next week? After hundredth casualty or five hundredth? Eight's offer remains available—constant temptation to stop hurting entirely.
My datapad pings. News alert: "Level 1313 Massacre: 16 Dead in Gang Violence. Witnesses Report 'Military Mech' Involvement—Republic Requests Jedi Investigation."
The headline makes my stomach drop. Not guilt—pure pragmatic fear. News coverage means Republic attention. Means CS escalation. Means Jedi involvement.
I open the article. Eyewitness accounts describe "twenty-foot war machine" and "military-grade weapons" and "massacre" repeated six times. CS spokesperson promises "full investigation into unauthorized military hardware deployment."
Then the critical sentence: "Republic has requested Jedi Council assistance given potential military implications."
Jedi. Anakin Skywalker specifically, probably. Already investigating me. Now handed perfect justification for aggressive action.
Eight analyzes: "Media coverage creates operational complications. Republic authority will escalate investigation. Jedi involvement probability: 87.3%. Recommendation: implement false flag operation to redirect investigation toward alternative suspect."
"What?"
"Standard counterintelligence tactics. Create fake evidence suggesting different supplier. Redirect authorities toward fabricated target while master maintains operational security."
"That's... manipulating law enforcement investigation."
"Correct. Optimal strategy for continued operations. Alternative: accept arrest probability of 34.7% within next two weeks."
R4 objects immediately: "Master should not follow Eight's recommendation. Fabricating evidence constitutes severe criminal offense. Additionally, redirecting investigation toward innocent party would result in their prosecution for master's crimes."
"Master's moral constraints are inefficient," Eight counters. "Survival requires tactical flexibility. Sacrificing unknown party to preserve master's operations: acceptable cost."
They start arguing in binary—rapid exchanges too fast to follow. Two AIs with completely opposed philosophies fighting over whether I should frame someone else for my crimes.
I close the datapad and lean against wall. Broken ribs ache despite being mostly healed. The cortosis armor feels heavy. Everything feels heavy.
"This is the path. Keep escalating. Keep compromising. Eventually Eight's suggestions start sounding reasonable."
Morning brings additional news coverage. CS has flagged Titan incident as priority investigation. Republic military intelligence is examining footage. Three senators are demanding answers about "military hardware in criminal hands."
The scrutiny is increasing exponentially. Grax's death barely made local news. Wrynn's bombing got three days of coverage. This? This is planetary-level attention with Republic authority and Jedi backing.
Eight projects analysis: "Master's exposure level: critical. Continued operations on Coruscant: increasingly untenable. Recommendation: accelerate Mandalorian negotiations. Establish off-world presence. Diversify operational territory before Republic closes net."
R4 agrees reluctantly: "Forerunner AI's strategic assessment is accurate despite questionable ethics. Master needs political protection or escape route. Mandalorian introduction scheduled in two days represents critical opportunity."
Two days until I meet Death Watch. Two days until I discover if warrior cult executes me or shelters me. Two days before Republic investigation potentially identifies me definitively.
The timeline is compressing. Every choice narrowing future options. Every escalation creating new enemies while old enemies close in.
I check my balance: 654,595 credits after drone purchase. More money than I've ever had. Built on 107 confirmed casualties and systematic exploitation of humanitarian crises.
"Was it worth it? All the compromise. All the casualties. All the pieces of myself left behind."
The answer should be complex. Morally fraught. Instead it's simple: survival achieved. Business established. Future uncertain but viable.
Whether that's success or damnation depends on definitions that keep shifting.
Eight offers one final observation: "Master's internal conflict is evident. However, master continues accepting contracts despite psychological cost. Pattern suggests master has already chosen path—just hasn't accepted implications. I will help you complete transition when you're ready."
R4 counters: "Master retains choice. Current trajectory is not inevitable. Recommend refusing additional high-casualty contracts. Survival does not require complete moral dissolution."
Two AIs. Two philosophies. Two futures offered.
I don't choose. Not yet. Just prepare for Mandalorian meeting that might be last negotiation before everything collapses.
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