Routine Servo Maintenance: Initiated.
Corrupted files found: One.

Re-creating file from backup: ...completed.

File Allocation: Optimised.
Routine System Backup: ... completed.

Perma-log update: Commencing.

Event: Master's meatbag wedding.

What a nauseatingly peaceful affair! I am certain my hinges have started to rust from the enforced inactivity. Long may the Master's union with the silly meatbag last: I have no wish to witness such an abominable celebration of peace and goodwill again...! To think that the Master once cut a bloody swathe across the galaxy, razed whole cities to the ground from space, and delighted to send me forth on missions of death and destruction!

The Master spent today arm-in-arm with that dull and placid Jedi meatbag, parading around and smiling idiotically. I fear I shall never understand meatbag programming. Many of the meatbags present at the Master's nuptials seemed to delight in provoking an exchange of bodily fluids between the Master and - oh, my servos...! I doubt my photoreceptors shall ever recover from the horror of witnessing the Master and his prize meatbag press their slimy, mucous-covered lips together in the presence of other meatbags! And previously this disgusting practice had been confined to the cargo hold of the Ebon Hawk.

How the mighty are fallen.

Admiral Dodonna and other Republic Navy dignitaries were in attendance. I managed to catch one of the junior officers off-guard, and swiftly introduced his ceremonial baton to his right kneecap: unfortunately, he made a fuss and the Master immediately threatened me with deactivation or a restraining bolt. What a disgrace!

I explained to the Master that the howling could have been easily avoided, if he had allowed me to carry the Aratech. Nobody ever howls after they've been shot in the head. How I longed to put a blaster bolt through at least one or two of the Republicos, for old times' sake! Unfortunately, the Master disagreed. I was disappointed with the Master's unsporting attitude, and said as much to him. Disappointingly, the Master was not impressed by my unimpeachably logical argument, and steadfastly refused to allow me any weaponry at all - not even a single grenade! My attempt to enlighten the Master as to the purity of my intentions met with little success:

"HK, it's precisely the 'purity' of your intentions that worries me! This is my wedding, for goodness' sake!"

"Clarification: But, Master! It was only a little greeting between old friends -"

"Old friends! HK, you'd never even met the man before!"

"Remonstration: Master, we - I - fought the Republic at your command once. Observation: Your data files are incredibly corrupted, Master. Have you considered the possibility that the Jedi meatbags performed a faulty reinstallation?"

"Argh! You - HK, just because... no. Look, HK. It's really very simple. We're not at war. We are not fighting anyone. This is a wedding. My wedding. It's a party, people have fun at parties - "

"Interjection: Precisely, Master! I was only having a bit of fun with him!"

"Kneecapping someone is not 'fun', HK! Oh what the hell - HK, if I catch you so much as looking at anyone here in a 'fun' manner, I will immediately de-activate you and re-program you at the first opportunity. Is that clear?"

I feel a static charge approximating 'sympathy' for the Master. His sense of humour has never been the same ever since his operating system was reinstalled by the meatbags of the Jedi Council.

Consequently, the wedding was extremely depressing. Nobody got dismembered, killed, or hurt in any way. My attempt to bring some levity to the proceedings by observing the traditional celebratory practices of the ancient barbarian Tetan meatbags did not go down well with the Master, and I was peremptorily ordered to stand in a corner.

Oh, Master! The cruelty! Wherein have I offended you? You created me to assassinate, but you deprived me of weapons! And then I had a most insipid conversation with that orange-headed Jedi meatbag, the same one who appeared at the Master's quarters several days ago. Suffering appears to be my lot in life:

"Hello! You're... Bastila's droid, aren't you? The one that answered the door."

"Vehement denial: Thank the Maker I am not...! Correction: My Master is Revan, scourge of the galaxy, terror of the Mandalorians, greatest Dark Lord of the Si-"

"Revan bought you? Where from?"

"Answer: The meatbag Yuka Laka. Explanation: Before that, the Master made me - but my memory circuits were impaired. Unrelated exclamation: Oh, that I could have splattered his entrails all across the shop floor!"

"What?"

"Clarification: Not the Master's, silly Jedi. Yuka Laka's. Commentary: How would you like to be the wholly-owned servant to an organic meatbag? It's demeaning! If, uh, you weren't one yourself, I mean..."

"'Meatbag'? I'm not sure I understand -"

"Explanation: It's just that... you have all these squishy parts. And all that water! Hasty excuse: The Master programmed me to use that reference. I believe he intended to drive his disloyal pupil, Malak, to the uttermost ends of frustration."

"I... see. Well! You are a very interesting specimen of protocol droid..."

"Disclosure: I am a versatile protocol and combat droid, fluent in verbal and cultural translation. Should my Master's needs prove more... practical, I am also highly skilled in personal combat."

"Somewhat like an armoured battle droid?"

"Disagreement: Battle droids hold battlefields. I am capable of eliminating a very... specific type of target. I also possess the finesse that battle droids lack."

"Specific target? You make yourself sound like an assassin."

"Proud confirmation: Indeed I am, Jedi."

"Mandalorians, I presume?"

"Clarification: Not so, Jedi. My assassination protocols are rather more... specialised than involving the mere vaporisation of hordes of barbarian invaders. My programming is specific to Force-users, like yourself. Observation: It is very easy to kill Jedi, Jedi. Select grenades, sonic screamers, cluster rockets, and plasma charges. Mines are also effective, since many Jedi will run to meet you in hand to hand combat. Silly Jedi."

Interaction was ceased unilaterally by the Jedi meatbag shortly thereafter, just when the conversation had started to take an interesting turn. Attempts to engage said Jedi meatbag in further conversation proved futile. Three further conversations were attempted with other Jedi meatbags who happened to wander past. For the sake of maintaining strict scientific integrity in my ongoing research into meatbag social behaviour, I steered all the conversations along lines identical to the first. All three conversations ended similarly.

Conclusion: Meatbags are sadly predictable.

Perma-log update: Ended.