Part One:
Part Two:
Part Three:
Part Four:
Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, sloshed as he walked. He was a midwife droid in all ways, save for the circuitry-pierced brain within that still held the essence of his twisted self. This body was made for the creation and care of newborn life, though Anakin had built enough droids to know he was little more than a motile blue milk dispenser, a breastfeeding device on legs. Even Watto would have left him rusting on a scrap heap.
Gallons of warm, nutrient rich milk roiled in Anakin's tits with each step, matching the rage that roiled in his dark soul. Obi Wan will pay for doing this to me! he screamed silently each time he caught sight of his reflection. An Ubrikkian DD-13 doctor trundled down the corridor, its polished metal casing making Anakin recoil once more at the vision of himself.
They sculpted the midwife droids to be abundantly female, offering a sympathetic aesthetic to the women undergoing that most feminine rite of passage, childbirth. His ass was a thick bulge of rubber, his hips wide and pneumatic, sashaying in the extreme but with machine precision, using the counterweights of his buttocks to perfectly balance the opposite slosh of his milk-swollen breasts. His thighs were plump, squeaking as they rubbed over one another. Other than the articulated plasteel skeleton around which he was constructed, and which provided all his motile power, he was nothing but soft, spongy silicone warmed to body temperature by internal heating elements to provide comfort when cradling newborns, and with every hard edge filed away for safety, like a child’s toy. Every part of him curved.
The softness, the weakness, repulsed him. He wished nothing more than to block out the sensations but the electrodes implanted in his brain fed him the intimate shift of every nano-inch of his feeble form. Even C3PO would beat him in a fight, he knew.
As Vader turned away, the DD-13 doctor droid intercepted him. “You are required on creche-12, milk unit,” it rasped. “The children are hungry.”
“Not now,” Anakin snapped back.
This flummoxed the droid. Such a breach of protocol! it thought. It was unaccustomed to being countermanded by such a lowly device. Whatever next?! A GNK droids telling me how to perform a pancreaticoduodenectomy!
While the DD-13 spluttered, Anakin slipped past. I have to find Padme, my beloved, he thought.
In life, in love, their bond had been intense, passionate, and he’d always been able to locate her in the Force. Those days felt like years ago, though in truth it was only days. Now he felt nothing of her. Either their bond was broken or… or his connection to the Force was all but extinguished.
There, an information terminal! Perhaps he could locate Padme using that. Anakin wiggled in front of it, only to find his soft silicone fingers merely squished against the buttons.
A Mon Calamari doctor noticed him lingering there. “These droids have more breasts than brains,” he gurgled.
Seizing the midwife droid, the Mon Cal bent it over and drew a data cord from the terminal, tipped with a thick connector. His squidlike fingers traced down Anakin’s silicone shell, the suckers of the bulbous fingertips leaving sticky marks. He thumbed open the data port nestled between Vader's buttocks. Vader disconnected his vocabulator to stifle the moan as the data cord slid deep, deep within his port. Surges of electronic stimulation pulsed through his brain matter as the hospitals databases spilled into him, a disgusting intimate sensation as it meshed with his circuits. Dizzying electronic data filled his vision.
Synching with hospital databases… Droid hardware full... Erasing unneeded data...
Anakin's focus was elsewhere, watching for when the Mon Cal doctor stepped out of sight, so that he could rip the data cord out without blowing his cover. Alas, the man had paused to talk with a human nurse and Vader was forced to play the part of dumb droid, as his 'programming' was brought up to specification.
Erasing Teräs Käsi... Uploading suckling techniques. Erasing Djem So... Uploading prenatal etiquette parameters. Erasing Ataru. Uploading Oooba Protocol.
Enforcing behavioral constraints... care… nurture… feed.
Anakin focused his mind, as he might if reaching out with the Force. The interface registered his desire.
Searching patient database… Senator Padmé Amidala is currently resting in maternity suite F3 with Bail Organa and her newborns, Luke Organa and Leia Organa.
Luke. Leia. The words filled Anakin’s vision. They’d all survived. After everything and everyone he’d sacrificed to avoid the premonitions of death, fate had taken another path regardless. He was… a father. He didn’t know whether to laugh with joy or weep bitter tears as he looked down at his doll tits pressed against the console. It had all been for nothing.
But their surname, Organa, what was the meaning of it? Does Bail Organa intend to take my children into his royal household? To steal my family from me!? Anger and hatred returned like old friends. Vader tore out the data cord, strutting with murderous intent towards suite F3.