Teaser of a possibility

The Zeltron sat in the dark gray cell with the dark red ambient lights over-and-under-head, a long black hall of black lusterless metal outside, gleaming white soldiers inside the room looming over him, sections of their armor tinted nearly as pink as his own natural skin in the reflections of light. Long silver chains connected him to the bunk. Long black rifles were pointed at his face.

He was smiling.

The hard and predatory angles of the smile and the color of his skin in the red lights and the dark, dark gleam in his eye seemed far less like a Zeltron and more like a Sith, the species; his teeth were badly maintained and stained by dyes, his face was heavily scarred on one side around the eye, which was in place still only with a circular black rivet that looked more like a eyepatch than a monocle or a preserving agent, and his pink skin looked crimson in the prison lighting. The eerie green glow of it didn't help the ambiance at all. They wanted to shoot him.

He wanted them to shoot him.

The gray uniformed and pale white skinned human officer was recording notes. "It's been a long time coming, Gerran. Five years of preying on military supplies and personnel does not promote one's life plan, but Command is interested in just why you did it. You never made any rebellious or declamatory statements. You don't serve Black Sun or the Hutt cartels. You aren't involved in any known smuggling rings, and you never sold the material you stole... just like you never left any survivors."

He tapped his pen against his datapad. "They want the whole story. How does a Zeltron of all things become a bloodthirsty menace? How does a man who designed hologames for children in the Old Republic go methodically kill men and women with families and careers in the real world? How does the nephew of a tailor known in her time for kindness to strangers above that of even your people's standards turn into-"

"Me?" the pink man chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. His voice cords were ragged from Death Stick abuse and a metallic feed-cable that ran from his chest through his ruined windpipe and up into the cybernetic optical unit, producing a guttural metallic grating noise under an otherwise pleasant baritone. It was a discordant and disturbing harmony, like the voice of a demon speaking with him. "Well, Commander Weqin, it all began awhile back when I got bored..."