DeathstaR2-D2

People change. It’s the only constant thing about them. Take my boss for example: nice kid, maybe wears his hair a bit too long. But otherwise, I couldn’t ask for a nicer guy to follow around.

Seems like only yesterday he was whining about this and acting like the universe owed him that; a real entitled little snot. But nowadays, he couldn’t be more different. He’s quieter, for one. Dresses better, too. And damned if he doesn’t handle stress better than anybody I’ve ever met (though to be fair, most of my friends aren’t known for being mellow).

So don’t tell me people don’t change. Trust me, I’ve been around for a while. My boss and his friends have all blossomed into people that others want to aspire to be. So why can’t I? Ah, but there’s the rub. Droids don’t really change, per se.

Sure, I swapped out those crazy jetpack propulsions twenty odd years back. Most recently, I installed a lightsaber launcher (how many times do you think I’ll actually use that?). But I’m not talking about upgrades. I feel like there’s this intensely interesting character inside my tripod chassis; a character that’s begging for a chance to actually contribute to a story much larger than his own.

I don’t know. I’ve got a series of pre-programmed responses based on an algorithm of plausible outcomes just like any droid. I know I should just be thankful for what I was given. But brains can grow and develop, just like a processor. So I got to thinking. Maybe I needed some room to grow, you know? Maybe as a droid, my cognitive internalizations (just like my actions), are dependent upon my functional capabilities. So I made some calls.

It started with a little fine tuning; some RAM here, some memory there. But I just wasn’t feeling… individual enough. I began making some custom modifications. Turret guns, mounted lasers, concussion grenade launchers. I started hanging out in dangerous shipyards. Then I started hanging out with dangerous shipyards. Before I knew it, I had my own orbit and a skeleton crew of twenty thousand Imperial sympathizers.

So here I am: R2-D2, the Destroyer of Worlds. And I still don’t feel like any more like a real character. But you want to know the saddest part? The only reason I did any of this was to be like him… my boss. Luke’s always been my hero. I guess I just wanted us to be closer.

And if that was my goal, then I suppose I should be happy because Luke is inside me. Sure he may be flying through my exhaust ports and firing proton torpedoes into my reactor core, but he’s actually inside me. I’ve honestly never felt closer to him. I suppose it’s all been worth it then, if only for this one perfect moment.

I hope I can remember it after I explode.

ΒΆ DeathstaR2-D2 at 604Republic