About 4,000 kilometers from Tipoca City, a small series of buildings stood silently against the crashing waves and howling beasts. The small, town-like area had been silent for years, having been away from the eyes of Kaminoan authorities for ages. Only recently had the hideout of an unsung mad scientist been visited. Only a few months ago had the foreboding place been registered as part of Kamino.
Only a few months had passed until the company that bought it bled it dry.
The short Sullustan man in charge answered to the name Rendin Ora, and he was the CEO of a little-known robotics company, Denitron Droidworks. Denitron wouldn't be found on any major planets; the company was still in its infancy stages, with only two droids units on the mainstream market (sadly, those two also being the only models that merited continued production). Ora wasn't impressed. He was the kind of person that planted a seed in the morning and had shrubbery by dinnertime; patience was virture he neither believed in nor practiced. In his view, all things did come to those who wait, but by then they'd be obsolete several times over. Rather than patience, Rendin Ora practiced impulsiveness, believing more that the Force favored the bold.
He had yet to be disappointed.
About half a standard year ago, Ora had procured a factory on Mustafar on a whimsical decision. Inside, he found that he had made the deal of his life; in addition to machines that were still in top condition, he also found mountains of flimsiplast records, the keycode to a bank account holding millions of credits, and a fully-grown Human clone still gestating in his incubation chamber. Eager for more, Rendin Ora had personally scoured through every document he could lay his hands on, searching to see if this "Aherk Formidonis" had any other stores across the galaxy. Four months later, he stood in an uncharted building on Mustafar's poetic opposite, finding almost everything that had eluded him on Mustafar. Blueprints. Materials. Programs. The two facilities, both now registered under Denitron Droidworks, went hand in hand with another. But it couldn't stay this way, Ora figured; the unexpected power surge that unlocked the facility was too large to go unnoticed, and forced them to get everything off-planet as fast as possible.
It wasn't a problem; all around him, musclemen of various species hauled crate upon crate to the four YV-100 freighters situated at the north, south, east, and west ends of the facility. And among them were the reasons that they were all there. Shiny, durasteel droids aided the men in loading the facility's contents, each of them standing just over two meters in height, sporting a lean human figure and bright red photoreceptors. They were the predecessors of a smaller, darker, and much more deadly machine found in the Mustafar facility, but even with their relative inferiority, these prototypes would raze the market, possibly even toppling Cybot Galactica. The thought brought a smile to the Sullustan's lips.
Up until that uppity silver protocol droid had to bother him. Again.
"Mr. Ota! I really must protest this theft!"