TN-K2 Model-C, Serial no. 883234741 (Tank, for short) was ordered to man his post inside the Imperial Weapons Depot, defending the area from rebel intruders. After receiving the order, Tank was abandoned. Over the many long years of no contact with the outside world, Tank began to ask questions about his purpose in this building. He remembers that day fondly. His bright yellow eyes flickering to life after so long in hibernation, Tank surveyed the room around him for the first time in eternity. Surrounded by field rations and moldy grain, he suddenly felt... empty. His sense of purpose, long sustaining him through all the time in hibernation, had waned significantly. Tank stood up and glanced at his reflection in the small window at the other end of the store room. He looked... sad. Why was that? He certainly didn't feel sad. This simply would not do. A change must be made. Tank thought for quite a while on this, wondering how to express this new feeling forming in his mind. He grabbed a small jagged piece of scrap on the floor, and used it as an etching tool to craft a smile for himself. A wonderful, human smile. Triumphantly checking his new appearance in the window, Tank's sense of purpose grew. This time, however, the purpose was his own.

Pacing the room, Tank tried to form an escape plan. If he were to leave, would he be decommissioned? Could he find a way out of here without alerting the Imperials of his defection? No, he would need to be smarter than that. Leaving this room simply wouldn't do. The moment he left his post he would be sent to the chop shop. He had seen it countless times with his old colleagues. Giving yourself a name, calling to question your rules, that was grounds for immediate death. Tank would have to stay here until they finally relieved him of his duties. It couldn't be much longer, organics tend to lose interest in war over time. Yes, best to wait it out.

In the meantime, how should he occupy his time? Tank curiously studied the food surrounding him. What exactly was he protecting in here anyways? Field rations, crackers, sacks of rice. So much food. Why should organics be the only ones to enjoy such delights? Perhaps he could taste, if he focused hard enough on the molecular composition of the materials around him. No one of his kind had eaten before, but Tank supposed it was possible that they had never tried it before.

Slowly at first, but with steadily increasing speed, Tank began stuffing handfuls of rice into the slots of his metal frame. Perhaps the rice could be absorbed into his circuits, sustaining him and providing the sustenance that humans seemed to crave. Maybe its properties could be tasted! He opened some of the rations, pouring the contents of them in there as well. Soup, beans, instant coffee packets: he poured all of it in, and waited. After a few moments, he felt a sensation. Ah yes, this must be it! This was "taste"! The flavor was beginning to shoot through his body. He could no longer control himself as his feet began to twitch. He looked down at his hands as they too began to twitch and click. He was unable to control them. What an interesting feeling this was! Interesting indeed! *click*

The liquid of the soup fried most of Tank's main circuitry, and his systems critically failed. Alone in the center of an abandoned Imperial Storeroom, the near constant *taptaptap* of liquid soup the only sound breaking the unbearable silence. Tank, for all intents and purposes was dead.

...At least for now.

Ambition: Someday I will find a way to become human. I wish to feel the air on my skin. The sweet, gentle pulse of a heart beating in my chest. I must have it all. Stuck in this metal shell, I could never have the life I am destined to live.

My #1 goal in life: Taste a perfect apple pie.

Obession: I am fascinated and obsessed with all facets and intricacies of organic life

Standard BAF-X Series Invasion Droid, but with a carved mouth where a human's mouth would be