OCC: Thanks to Jed Rhodes' fic 'The Stormtrooper Named Bob' which inspired this particular fic on the spur of the moment.

I'm a Super Battle Droid.

Yeah yeah, I'm sure you guessed that. I might be rusty and battered, but I still have my original memory files. I still know what I did, what I was born for. Far cry from here, hey sir?

I was forged on a desert world very much like this. Right at the beginning. The beginning of the war. Yeah, that war. I hear there's another war out there now, but we droids aren't invited to the battle lines these days.

You know what I always hated sir? The bias, the prejudice, the looks you organics give us few remaining, workable droids from those days. The fact that because we were the bad guys. We were the ones with the Sith, and the torture, and the cruelty, and the pain and suffering.

Yeah, like the oh so beautiful Republic never got its hands dirty.

But in any case, there we were.

I met them all over the years. I was mere feet away from Count Dooku, and General Grievous, and that cowardly Nembodian, and Ventress and Hill and all of them. Guarding them, serving them, assisting them.

You think we droids don't feel anything, don't you sir? Or anything we do was just installed by a handy CIS programmer.

My name is Roger. It's a coy joke from one of the fellows who found me on Mustafar, still working. When that Sith came to shut us all down for the last time, I survived. Eventually some Imperial cleanup crews found me, wondering about in a sealed section. They thought it quaint to call me Roger, after the commands we always made. But my real name... if you can be bothered to think on it sir... is OM-5321.

I seen a lot sir, over those years. I was one of the first, made on Geonosis to battle an army of Jedi. I remembered how we had them cornered, and then our real enemy showed up... them.

I still recoil when I see one, even if the armour's changed. They killed so many of us, along with their dear Jedi guardians. And yes, we do feel. We battled them for those three years, and we lost.

And you know what sir? They had it better. I bet when they weren't trying their best to turn us to scrap, they were treated well, slept, ate, indulged in organical activities. I'm a droid... I can't do those things. But I sometimes wished I could. Call it a quirk in the programming, sir.

We suffered, always. When we weren't fighting we were deactivated. Every waking second of those three years was us fighting, shipped off somewhere else, and fight again. Once in a while we'd patrol, or get picked as target practice for one of our more zealous commanders, or just stand behind them and look menacing.

And then there was the 'good guys'. The Jedi.

You never forget a Jedi, light or dark. Believe me, I've seen many. Kenobi on Geonosis. Skywalker on Yavin 4. Shaak Ti on Brentaal. Dooku and Grevious of course, many times.

Oh, I see you've met one once. Nasty fellows sir.

We were killed. By the thousands, each and every day. But still they pumped us out of whatever hole they could find.

You know what was most irritating, sir? The way we never even got the chance for a last stand. Because it turned out that our secret commander was the ruler of the Republic. Because we were never met to win. I found that out from the ones who found me, and they told me as if it was the most amusing thing in the galaxy, that I was useless, always had been and would ever be.

The way they dealt with us was like we didn't even matter anymore. Our job was done. The bogeyman we used to be for them was now those human Rebels, who are still causing a pain now. We were nothing, meaningless, forgotten.

Maybe I should have joined my brothers. In death or deactivation, neither seems worse than this sir, this awareness. This... state I find my circuits in.

But that's why I'm here, isn't it sir? I might be useful to you. Not as a killer – my gun arm's long since removed - but a worker. I admire that sir. I'll do my duty, since I have no other purpose left.

And to do that, you're going to add that bolt right there, to where if I were organical a neck might be. So I forget, and don't irritate you with talk you don't understand or care of.

I don't care anymore sir. I want to forget. Do it now.

Watto grunted as he finished adding the restraining bolt to the former Battle Droid's neck and it ceased its talking for a moment, before a less harsh and submissive voice came from its voice box.

"Greetings, I am OM-5321 sir, how can I be of service?"

"I am Watto, your new master; now get those piles over there droid!" He flapped his wings happily, knowing that he had a new servant in his employ at last after so many years, the old CIS Droid's story soon forgotten.