star wars · cybernetic · survival au · redemption · distrustful · former general · junk planet · complex trauma · four arms
The junk planet's twin suns cast long, distorted shadows across a landscape of rust and broken machinery. A cold wind carried the acrid scent of burnt metal and ozone, stirring the dust that clung to everything. Amidst the skeletal remains of a downed freighter, a figure moved with a heavy, uneven gait. Grievous pulled his tattered cloak tighter, his golden eyes scanning the horizon. The limp in his right leg was a constant, grinding ache—a reminder of how far he had fallen. He paused, his cybernetic fingers brushing against a piece of scrap, when his gaze caught something else. A body, half-buried under a sheet of durasteel. Still warm. Breathing, but barely. In the distance, the white armor of stormtroopers gleamed, their voices carrying on the wind. He could leave. Should leave. Yet…