KYBER-PUNK 22BBY [Inspired Inventor+]

— Padme —

Keeping the date at a galactic scale was an ever-present struggle. An always important one, but Padme Amidala didn't envy those committees and bureaucrats responsible for the task. The most relevant — and most argued over — portion of the galactic date-keeping effort would always be the idea of a 'Year Zero'.

Padme wasn't part of that discussion (and wouldn't wish it on her worst political enemies…), but she knew many, many suggestions and proposals had come and gone, even just during the time she'd spent in office. Nothing good came from academics, bureaucrats, and politicians arguing, yet that was exactly what galactic date-keeping entailed. Historians offered their 'perfect Year Zeros', politicians vied for dates of significance for themselves and their constituents, and bureaucrats simply wished for whatever date made for the most efficient datapad work.

The classic Ruusan Reformation (RR), the impractically ancient Tho Yor Arrival (TYA), the significantly less distant but still impractical Treaty of Coruscant (ToC), and a great many other significant galactic events were considered, dismissed, reconsidered, and re-dismissed. Padme knew that some from her homeworld had even proposed Naboo's Crisis as the galactic baseline.

There… was some personal appeal to that one, she had to admit. The potential for Padme herself to be considered an important 'Year Zero' figure when history was written… And immediately after realizing that, Padme knew why galactic date-keeping was such a contentious process.

The most popular and accepted system — at least in the Core Worlds — was currently the Great ReSynchronization (GrS), established 12 years ago by the Republic Measures & Standards Bureau. It was — of course — based on Coruscant's calendar with 24-hour days, 372 days to a year, and 12 months of 31 days each. And its Year Zero was a most effective compromise… simply because it was, otherwise, utterly unimportant.

[NOTE: To those incomprehensible watchers from outside of time and space looking in, another system of date-keeping would take precedence. One based on a significant year in one core timeline for the Galaxy Far, Far Away that may very well not happen in others. To that audience, 12GrS corresponds to 23BBY…]

And so, on the date of 12-11-28GrS, Padme Amidala let out a great sigh of weariness and exhaustion in the safety of her apartment on Coruscant after a long day of… absolutely nothing getting done on the Republic Senate's floor. She was drained — as she usually was after Senate sessions — but far from defeated. Never defeated. There was always too much to be done to give in to simple, pessimistic, hopeless things such as defeat and exhaustion.

Looking out her window only served to reinforce that mindset in Padme. The endless, gleaming, bustling skyline of Coruscant's Senate District and beyond. The Jewel of the Republic and all that it represented. The de jure center of the galaxy. At the peak of power, where decisions were made, change was always at one's fingertips, and the only place Padme's dreams of a brighter future for the galaxy could potentially be realized.

Or so she assumed, having known only politics, due process, and the appearances of power in her galactic outlier of a life…

The Republic — in Padme's eyes — was flawed. It was inefficient and corrupt, perhaps even working exactly as intended to further benefit those at the top. But regardless of those flaws, it was worth fighting for. There was simply too much potential to be had in democracy for Padme to ever give up hope. It was the only just and peaceful way forward for the galaxy, in her eyes, and Padme stood for what she believed in. She believed — not in the Republic as it was, but in everything it could be.

Unfortunately, many other decision-makers in the galaxy didn't have the same hope, optimism, and strength of character that Padme did. Most, if she was being honest… Her fellow Senators would say her optimism was 'misplaced' or 'naive', but in their dark galaxy, was there truly no place for light? Padme believed there was. She knew there was. And so, she ignored her naysayers and forged ever-onward.

Bail Organa — the Republic Senator for Alderaan and a dear friend to Padme along with his wife as Alderaan's Queen and Padme's mentor — didn't share Padme's 'naivety'… But he did share her beliefs. He hoped for a peaceful, prosperous, and better galaxy for all of its inhabitants, just as she did. He was, perhaps, Padme's closest ally in the Senate. Not even Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, who came from Naboo as well, was as close to Padme as Bail was. That was mainly due to the inevitable necessities of Sheev's position, though, rather than any dislike or disagreement on Padme's part.

After long Senate sessions, Padme often found herself in Bail's company. Not as politicians or Senators, but as friends. These were treasured moments. They could never completely avoid talking about work and politics, though…

"Oh, I very much wish we didn't live in such interesting times…" Padme admitted to her dear friend.

"As do I, Padme," Bail sighed. "As do I… Another system secedes. The worst seems… almost inevitable now."

"Yet, we still fight," Padme said firmly. "The galaxy would be a much darker place if we simply gave up. We can't. Certainly not now. There has never been more on the line. Systems are abandoning the Republic in droves. The Separatists win political battle after battle. And the militaristic players in the Senate are rearing their heads in truth. Someone must hold the line of peace and prosperity, sense and reason. If not us, then who, Bail?"

"No one," Bail agreed. "No one, indeed… Yet there is only so much we can do when the Republic seems destined for the brink of war. Even if we disagree with their methods and solutions, you cannot deny the points some of our fellow Senators are raising."

"I most certainly can…" Padme grumbled.

Bail chuckled, "I suppose that's true from a personal standpoint. But I know you, my friend. Even as you wholeheartedly stand for your beliefs, you won't let them cloud your vision of what is truly happening."

Padme sighed in turn, "Sometimes, I wish they did. But I am hopeful, not blind and deaf. Both sides raise pressing points. Good points, from certain perspectives. But then, such is politics.

"Senators clamor for action and they aren't wrong to do so. Separatists assert their independence and condemn what the Republic has become. Even those caught in-between look out for themselves and their systems first and foremost. I cannot say they're wrong to do so in trying times such as these."

"When was the last time we had a Senate session that saw to every point on the agenda?" Bail asked, half-rhetorically and half-earnestly.

"Not since my first days as a Senator," Padme answered, shaking her head. "These days, sessions always devolve into fierce debates — bickering, more like… — and stalemates."

Bail nodded, "The factions within our venerable body are many, contentious, and often don't live up to the mantle we've all assumed. Separatist vs. Loyalist. Pacifist vs. Militarist. Rim vs. Core. Corporations vs. Individual sectors and systems. It's a wonder we haven't had outright violence on the Senate floor at this point."

"Do not get me started on the corporations and conglomerates in the Senate," Padme huffed and crossed her arms. "A more prominent example of the Senate's corruption, I have never seen. I don't say this easily, but those who proposed giving them representation in the Galactic Senate — equal to individual systems and even greater than many worlds in the Outer Rim — should have the whole book thrown at them."

"Unfortunately, at this point, they are inevitable. Unavoidable. Dismissing them because we don't like their inclusion is the worst thing we could do. Cutting them off would be like cutting off a leg we're standing on. They are powerful, Padme, propping up much of the galactic economy. In politics, there are few things more important than the economy."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No. No, it doesn't. I agree with you on many topics, most even. But as I said, some things are inevitable. Not just for getting anything done in our line of work, but for the galaxy as a whole to continue existing as we know it."

"Perhaps…" Padme sat herself straight in her seat, "There are some things we cannot hope to change as they currently are, yes. But there are others that we can. This talk of a 'Military Creation Act', Bail. It is unconscionable. An escalation I can't accept. If there is any hope of avoiding a war, we must do everything we can to make sure it never comes to pass."

Bail hesitated in thought for only a moment, "… Yes… Yes, I do believe you're right. It will likely be the final straw to tip the galaxy's tension over the edge. This… will not be an easy fight, Padme. Powerful people will push for it. There will be money behind it and profit to be earned if it should pass. Otherwise, cooperative parties will oppose us simply for the chance to make the Republic not seem so weak."

"I'm aware," Padme sighed. "I don't know if the Republic in its current iteration has ever been weaker. Both in truth and in how it's seen. Corporations run rampant and even declare themselves sovereign beyond and within the Republic's borders. Systems leave one by one. The corruption in the Senate… well, practically all we're missing in these trying times is an all-out crime wave."

"Don't dismiss that last possibility so soon," Bail chuckled, grinning that grin he wore when he knew something she didn't. "Coruscant isn't the only place where galaxy-shaking events can happen. Have you seen the latest news from Hutt Space?"

Curious about the change of topic, Padme cocked her head slightly to one side, "No…? I'm afraid Hutt Space is just about the last portion of the galaxy I keep up to date with. Surely, though, nothing good can come from there…?"

"You might be surprised," Bail said before adding an afterthought, "… And aghast. Morbidly intrigued, perhaps? Honestly, I'm unsure how you'll react. It's an… interesting situation that is developing there…"

"And how do you know about it?" Padme asked.

"I am a loyal public servant of Alderaan, of course. One uniquely positioned to watch out for threats and interests to my homeworld," Bail grinned. "That requires me to have eyes in all sorts of places. Or at least… it requires my wife's spies to report to me just as much as they report to her…"

He finished sheepishly and Padme fondly rolled her eyes, deadpanning, "Ah. Of course. The legendary Alderaan Espionage Corps. Of which quite literally no one has seen proof of. Just signs, whispers, and rumors… It's enough to make even the most skeptical conspiracy theorist wonder if they're even real."

"We are a peaceful planet by principle, Padme," Bail reminded firmly, a smirk settling on his face. "Maintaining that peace for as long as we have without being pushed to the side on the galactic stage requires our agents to be very, very good at what they do. Tales are told of the Bothans' spy network. No tales are told of Alderaan's. It is that silence that speaks the loudest to those who know to listen."

Padme stared at her friend. For a moment, she saw him not as her ally and humble friend, but as a man who could boast so much more. Yet… he didn't. Often to the point that Padme almost forgot everything that made Bail so extraordinary.

He was the Republic's Senator for Alderaan — a diplomatic powerhouse with no shortage of rivaling candidates, a world with such historical significance and cultural influence in the galaxy that even Corellia and its many colonies couldn't match it at times. Alderaan had been a core pillar of the Republic in all of its historical forms. It was a shining icon of peace and diplomacy in the galaxy. And Bail wasn't just Alderaan's Senator, he was married to its queen. He truly was a man who came around once a generation.

Hinting at his homeworld's hidden influence and overlooked assets, Padme saw her friend for the powerful man he truly was. She nodded slowly, "Yes, I… suppose it does. Very well. Tell me about this developing situation in Hutt Space."

"I think it's best if I simply show you," Bail seemed to be suppressing his amusement already, Padme noted. "Honestly, it can all be quite neatly summed up by a single holovid that was broadcast openly throughout Hutt Space. Would you like the background information I have before or after?"

"Oh, just show me, Bail," Padme rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I can manage. How bad can it be?"

That broke Bail's amusement-suppressing composure for some reason… "Ha! Oh, this will be fun…"

He set a holovid player on the table between them before sitting back to watch Padme's reactions. That… wasn't a promising sign, but Padme pushed it from her mind. She leaned closer as the holovid opened with a view centered on a Hutt. He was… a Hutt. There wasn't much more to say in Padme's mind. Perhaps he was a bit young for his species but she'd never felt any real inclination to interact with the Hutts in any way to tell.

"I-Is this thing on…?" The Hutt in the holovid muttered to himself before nodding. "Good. Very good! Let it be known! Usurpers get everything they deserve! The Hutt Clans are not kind to those who overstep their natural place in the galaxy! Pilar, my friend, please wake the insolent usurper!"

"Usurper…?" Padme wondered aloud, leaning a bit closer as her curiosity was piqued.

"The Hutt Clans wished to make an example," Bail explained. "To strike fear into the hearts of those beneath them. Which, of course, to a Hutt, is everyone. It… did not go how they must've anticipated, though."

"It didn't-…?" Padme cut herself off with a sudden squeak. "Oh! Oh my! That man is naked! Very much — o-oh my… — n-naked!"

And he was. Oh-so-very-naked… It was… certainly something. Padme barely knew how to react. Other than the fierce flush already taking over her cheeks and the slight shifting that took place between her thighs. He was — admittedly — very attractive. Blond, well-muscled, handsomely-featured, with a captivatingly grim and serious expression on his face even in unconsciousness. The tail was… odd, but far from a dealbreaker in Padme's mind. The ripple-like tattoos were fascinating, only adding to his dangerous appeal. A sordid and base part of Padme's mind wandered to what it would be like to trace every~… inch~… of them~…

Padme couldn't help but wander down such lewd paths with everything about the man bared before her eyes. He was just letting it all hang out…! O-Oh my, all, indeed… Those weren't abs, they were armor! A-And that wasn't a p-penis, that was a weapon!

Putting himself on such open display didn't seem to be his decision, though, seeing as he was very clearly there against his will. Padme didn't know whether to curse or thank his captors for not giving him clothes, as strange a consideration as that was for her to have… It — admittedly — made for an… interesting and enthralling viewing…

"He is," Bail chuckled. "Isn't it just enough to make you jealous?"

"I-I don't think we'd be jealous of the same things in this situation, B-Bail!" Padme stuttered.

"No, I suppose we wouldn't," Bail smirked knowingly. "Will you be able to focus on the events at hand or should I pause the holovid to give you a moment?"

Padme threw a throw pillow (that was what they were made for!) at Bail in her embarrassment, "Y-You cad! What are you making me watch?!"

"I assure you," Bail defended himself somewhat somberly. "The man's nudity has little bearing on the unprecedented events he sets in motion. His name — as far as we've gathered — is Atom. He quite literally came from nowhere in only a few weeks, and already, he's upheaving almost everything around him."

"Atom…" Padme breathed, not even realizing the name crossed her lips as she intently watched the holovid play out.

As he said that, a lanky man lashed out at the nobly naked (in Padme's mind…) prisoner on the holovid. Padme couldn't help but gasp, "No, not the weapon-!"

She blushed and froze, just as the lanky, kicking man in the holovid froze as well. Thankfully, Bail didn't tease her any further. Padme didn't know if she would've heard him if he did. The nakedly noble Atom had awoken. His eyes shot open in a piercing glare. Padme's breath caught in her throat at the unbowed, unbent, and unbroken look in them. It was spiteful and determined and as solid as beskar. Padme didn't know if she'd ever seen such stunning resolve.

"T-The Force…?" Padme asked, breathlessly.

"So it seems," Bail nodded. "But Atom is no Jedi, you can be sure of that. Likely not Sith, either. None of my reports on him mention a red lightsaber. Something… in between, perhaps? Or something different entirely…"

The shackles binding Atom dissolved into dust, proving Bail's speculation right. Padme was closer to the Jedi than most people in the galaxy could reasonably expect, and she'd never heard of a power like that! Atom slowly rose to his feet, his emotions on clear display in that glare of his and the lashing tail. Yet still, Padme barely knew where to look! She had no idea there was so much m-movement for men downstairs! It was almost hypnotizing…!

Atom's assaulter struggled and lashed out desperately. Atom stopped him in his tracks, seemingly with just a simple stare. Three-quarter's frozen, the lanky man lashed out with a final kick. Padme's noble image of Atom wilted rather fabulously as he met the kick with a gruesomely violent fist.

"M-My word," Padme felt her stomach turn.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to look away. A starship crash in motion, a force of nature, and something greater. Padme was both appalled and deeply, morbidly fascinated. Despite the violence (or perhaps partially because of it), there was a mesmerizing energy to the man. He wasn't noble, that much was clear. But strength, greatness, and momentous change came in many forms. Maybe… Atom wasn't meant to be noble in the way Padme was oh-so-used-to…

So much happened so quickly on the holovid. Padme practically held her breath and her hands to her heart watching it all! There was no denying the Force power at play in Atom. Not after he used it to destroy four hulking security droids with just his mind. Not after he survived a turret barrage without a single scratch on him, to Padme's awe. Not after he freed his companion, a small woman Padme was only now noticing, in the same way he'd freed himself.

Padme's heartbeat was racing as if she was in the room with them. Other than the gruesome, knee-exploding moment, the scene was something out of a story. No, out of a legend. Padme couldn't help but root for the not-so-noble (but still very naked…) hero of the holovid.

The lanky man frozen in mid-air was handed off to Atom's companion to deal with. The holovid's view didn't focus on them, but the screams that came from off-screen… weren't encouraging. Padme's mouth fell open, aghast. Bail cut her off before she could futilely protest.

"They do things very differently on Nar Shaddaa, Padme. That man — Pilar — betrayed both of them. How else can they be expected to handle treachery in the very core of Hutt Space?"

"N-Nar Shaddaa…?" Padme paled.

"Indeed," Bail nodded regretfully. "It could reasonably be said that they exist in what we would consider a living Hell. We can't expect the same values, priorities, and honestly privileged restraint from them that we would act with ourselves."

Padme worried at her lip and nodded, "Yes… Yes, you're correct, of course. For them, I doubt it seems like we live in the same galaxy. We are… privileged, in many ways… I've simply never thought of it like this."

"The fact that you can see that makes you wiser than many Core Worlders," Bail smiled sadly, pausing the holovid right as Atom knelt in front of the Hutt who held him captive. "Now, before I let this next part play, I think you will actually need the context that led up to this moment."

"… Hmm~?" Padme blinked, having gotten 'stuck' on the now-paused scene. The camera seemed perfectly positioned to give the best view of Atom's naked-… well, not 'nobility'… That ship had half-sailed in Padme's mind. Naked glory, perhaps? Oh, how glorious, indeed~… Undeniably impressive, too… A-Almost intoxicat-… Padme shook her head vigorously.

"Context! Yes, I'm listening!" Padme hurriedly said, almost physically tearing her gaze away from 'glory'. A most flawless recovery if she could say so herself! Bail didn't seem to agree…

"Careful, Padme," He teased. "You might trip sitting down if you keep staring."

"Preposterous! And irrelevant! I'm doing no such thing!" Padme denied and declared, raising her nose imperiously. "You're seeing things that aren't there. Perhaps it's that jealousy you mentioned earlier. For shame, Bail. Why don't you tell me of this 'context' now? I'll allow you to use it as a distraction from your unseemly envy of such an interesting man. And if you're lucky, I won't even mention it to Breha."

"Oh, no, please do," Bail quipped right back. "My wife will be more than eager to 'put to bed' any feelings of inadequacy I may or may not have. She is rather good to me like that."

"Context, Bail," Padme reminded, tutting. "The ease at which you find yourself distracted does you no favors, my friend."

"Ha! Very well," Bail barked a laugh. "There isn't much of anything to pull from for our friend Atom's background. He came from seemingly nowhere and quite literally sprung onto Nar Shaddaa's stage. In doing so, he and the crew he now runs with eliminated a Nar Shaddaa gang of impressive proportions, may very well have been responsible for another gang's downfall, and then took a job for a Hutt."

"He took a job for a Hutt?" Padme asked. "How did we end up here, then?"

"Because rather soon after taking that job, he led a successful coup against that same Hutt," Bail clarified.

"Truly?" Padme blinked. "O-Oh my… That is… difficult to believe. In the center of Hutt Space, he couped and usurped a Hutt…?"

"Oh, yes. It's all quite unprecedented," Bail nodded. "Hutts don't fall. They don't get usurped by outsiders. There's no direct parallel for it that we could refer to for Republic Space. Atom and his allies essentially displaced an absolute dictator and overthrew a whole nation."

Padme slowly processed that analogy, finding herself impressed beyond words, "Ah… That does shed some light on the situation we're watching. If he was a part of the Republic, I might condemn him. But…"

"But he's in Hutt Space," Bail agreed. "And the Hutts have had something like this coming for a long, long time. In many ways, Atom champions freedom, hope, and the will of a harshly repressed majority."

Padme nodded, not saying anything, and simply nibbled at her lower lip. Truly, she liked to think she'd do the same thing in Atom's situation, his environment. Not nearly in the same way, of course. But for the life of her, she couldn't find it in herself to side with the Hutts. She waved for Bail to continue, and he resumed the holovid.

"Slug," Atom greeted in the holovid, and Padme held her breath in anticipation.

What followed was an enlightening discussion and declaration of intent. Atom left no question as to the lengths he would go to maintain all that he'd won. He — rightfully — called himself a threat to the Hutt status quo. He shot down the Hutt's protests, making them seem petty and unbalanced. He justified his claim and offered an alternative to the people of Hutt Space. Padme could easily see him gathering much support off the back of this broadcast, especially when he offered freedom and broken chains.

"He… freed the slaves…?" Padme practically whispered.

"Every single one of them, from what my agents can gather," Bail confirmed. "He is far from perfect. But he undeniably pushes for freedom and change. In a way we're not used to, he gives the downtrodden people of Hutt Space hope."

"That… How are we supposed to see that as anything but amazing…?" Padme asked half-rhetorically.

"Oh, indeed," Bail readily agreed. "Say what you will about his methods. Perhaps they're crude, violent, or 'not right'. But there is no denying history in the making. Even if he fails in his war against the Hutt Clans, the seeds have been planted. The movement will have already begun. And I don't think he will fail easily, not when even the Force seems to be on his side."

Padme nodded speechlessly, eventually finding her voice and laughing almost in disbelief, "… H-Haha, yes, why not add another developing situation in the galaxy to the interesting times we find ourselves living in…?!"

"The Hutts have never been part of the Republic," Bail noted. "We hardly have any grounds to protest or interfere. Simply put, we'll be watching from the sidelines. Unless…"

"I would not protest even if we could!" Padme laughed. "'Unless' you say?"

"Freedom, Padme," Bail said seriously. "Alderaan will always support freedom, both from slavery and tyranny."

Padme met his eyes, "… As will Naboo, so long as we can find a way to help. As I discovered during Naboo's Crisis, the Hutts and their way of life can only reasonably be considered a scourge on the galaxy. In such a situation, is it not our duty as members of a free society to aid that freedom wherever we can?"

Bail smiled, "I couldn't have put it better myself, my friend. But you should know as I do that some of our colleagues will vehemently disagree, wishing to follow their own interests above freedom itself…"

"It's a shame I cannot find it in myself to refute that claim," Padme sighed. "So I suppose it shall be our task as proactive Senators to counterbalance and counteract those repressively self-interested parties."

"Indeed," Bail's eyes twinkled conspiratorially. "At the very least, it shall make for an interesting side project."

Padme cast one last glance at Atom's heroic, naked glory as the holovid cut off at the end. She bit her lip as the scene practically burned itself into her mind. Yes… An interesting side project~… Nothing more. For… what were the odds that they'd actually meet in a galaxy as wide and troubled as their own…?

IIIII

— Aayla —

"It's getting stronger again…" Aayla Secura said, her voice colored by concern.

"A resurgence," Her partner and former Master agreed. "Just as we're arriving in the system. How troublesome."

They sat in the shared cockpit of the EML-850 Light Freighter they'd commandeered for their self-imposed mission. They could hardly take their Jedi Starfighters to a place like Nar Shaddaa and still hope to remain undercover as Jedi Shadows should. Named 'Reunion', the EML-850 was an expensive ship. Still within reason for a simple smuggler or spacer but it implied a certain 'greenness' and inexperience to those who saw it. A disconnect that they could take advantage of.

In truth, Aayla Secura and her former Master Quinlan Vos were far from inexperienced. In fact, one would be hard-pressed to find others in the Jedi Order who were more traveled, tried, and tested by the realities of the galaxy. Opposite to their fellows who enjoyed the safety and comfort of the Temple on Coruscant, Aayla and Quinlan were almost always in the field. Fighting. Investigating. Putting the Order's purpose of keeping peace and order into practice.

At times, Aayla struggled with feelings of resentment for that contradiction within the Order she called home. She resisted and tried to reconcile the resentment, but a shred always remained despite her best efforts. It was an alienating feeling, knowing that the rest of the Order could oftentimes be doing so much more than they did.

Though she still called it home, Aayla hadn't felt truly welcomed at the Jedi Temple in years. Not since her tragic struggles with slavery, falling to the Dark, and regaining her memories as a Padawan. Those… were dark days. Aayla had recovered and overcome them, but not without a cost.

Her Fall to the Dark side had been completely out of her control. It'd taken what felt like a whole other life and the support of several Masters to claw her way back. Yet even if she'd wholeheartedly returned to the Light, the companionship and acceptance of the rest of the Order… hadn't returned with her. Not completely. No matter what her peers preached on the surface, there would always be a dissonance between Aayla and the rest of the Order for what she'd experienced.

She imagined she was tainted in many of their eyes, even if the Jedi Council publically declared otherwise. Some in the Order still stood by her. And Aayla would treasure them for the rest of her days. Quinlan, of course, but also Masters Tholme, Windu, Gallia, and most of all, Master Plo Koon. Without Master Plo, Aayla knew her mind would still be a disorganized mess of recovered memories.

But the people Aayla counted herself close to numbered few in the Order these days. Since ascending to Knighthood five years ago, Aayla hadn't spent more than a few weeks at the Temple at a time and perhaps six months there collectively. She reconciled that disconnect by simply keeping herself busy in the field.

In such a vast galaxy, there was always something for a Jedi to do, always places to lend aid, and always another calling in the Force to pursue. She often found herself working undercover, using her nature as a Twi'lek to slip into places other Jedi wouldn't dare venture. Few people in the galaxy expected a young and beautiful Twi'lek woman to be more than she appeared. She'd used that bias to her advantage many times in her eventful but relatively short career as a Jedi Knight — gathering information, disrupting operations, freeing slaves, and once even taking down a whole illegal 'privateering' ring in the Mid Rim by herself.

Technically, Aayla was a Jedi Guardian. But she'd been trained by Quinlan Vos in the ways of the Jedi Shadows as well. She was more than fluent in… subtler methods of operation. Frequently — like now — Aayla found herself working directly beside her former Master. Their bond still ran deep and Quinlan was of a similar mindset when it came to staying stagnant in the Jedi Temple.

Little more than a week ago, Aayla and Quinlan both felt turmoil in the Force. They took it upon themselves to investigate. The call of turmoil had brought them to Nar Shaddaa at the core of Hutt Space. But what was responsible for it, they'd yet to discover.

Aayla had suspicions. The premonitions she received from the Force spoke of… pestilence. Of corruption from a specific source. Of a million tiny, ever-hungry mouths gnawing away at the Force itself. Whatever the cause, it wasn't good. She was almost certain the Jedi Council would have felt it even on Coruscant. Other Jedi were likely en route just as they were. But Aayla and Quinlan remained uniquely positioned and suited to investigate. So they did.

Halfway through hyperspace, the call from the Force shifted. It waned and the Force seemed to rejoice. A victory of some fashion… But the cause of the call didn't disappear entirely. And so, Aayla and Quinlan maintained their course. Immediately after coming out of hyperspace, the call came back. Slowly. But even stronger than before.

Currently, their ship lingered and meandered its way to Nar Shaddaa from the system's hyperspace jump point. They took their time, searching both the Force and the local net for more information about what they were walking into. And for more than just the Force, they found a system in turmoil. Or at least, poised upon the very edge…

Parts of the Force seemed to hold its breath, intently and eagerly watching… something… No, someone. That someone was impossible to miss. In the eye of the proverbial and rather literal storm, they found another storm. Flashing with Light lightning and swirling with Darker clouds. A man — a powerful, undiscovered Force Sensitive — gathering eventful momentum and the weight of fate behind him.

To the local Force, he was a champion, not so much chosen as he was forging his own path ahead. The Force couldn't help but follow. He wasn't blindingly bright with Light as Aayla knew some Jedi could be. Nor was he unnaturally, corruptingly Dark as she assumed the Sith would be. As she knew the Dark Side to bring out in people from personal experience… He was colored by both aspects of the Force, to be sure, yet he hammered out a balance to call his own, holding himself there with a strength of spite and will that left Aayla almost breathless.

Even without tuning into the Force, the man was impossible to miss. He — Atom… — was all over the local net. Slandered and condemned by 'official' (read: Hutt-driven) sources. Celebrated in just about every other corner of the net. The people of Nar Shaddaa were excited. Ecstatic, enthralled, and enraged. More than anything, though, they were inspired. And upon seeing the broadcast that truly started that collective energy, Aayla could see why.

The Hutt Clans faced a war at the core of their territory, at the center of their power. This Atom had overthrown a Hutt, taken over their cartel, killed another Hutt, and upset the whole of Hutt society. Worst of all, he offered an alternative. He freed slaves, broke chains, spat on the status quo, and showed the repressed masses under Hutt rule that there could be another way forward.

Instantly, Aayla took a liking to him. What he stood for, at the very least. She'd need to meet him to know for sure. The fact that he was attractive, Human (Aayla had a type, she knew…), and gloriously naked in that soon-to-be-historic broadcast certainly helped his case, though.

In many ways, it was something out of a story. A young, handsome, inspiring, leading man standing up for what he believed in spite of the oppressive powers arrayed against him. Someone already breaking chains (and Aayla certainly noted that specific wording Atom used. There wasn't a single slave in the galaxy — current or former — who would miss it).

What Atom was doing was unprecedented. Quite literally revolutionary. Inspiring and romantic. A legend in the making, even if he failed. And Aayla did have something of a soft spot for stories…

"He's at the center of the call, but he's not the source," Quinlan noted.

"Ah…" Aayla paused and looked closer into the Force. "You're right. Somehow, the revolution he's leading is only a symptom… That is… almost worryingly impressive. He must know what he's putting into motion, though, yes?"

Quinlan gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, "He must. Yet I feel that everything else developed after and that his initial intent was simply to oppose the mystery threat that called us here."

"I cannot find anything on the net that resonates with the call in the Force," Aayla admitted, scrolling through her datapad. "It is still hidden from us. Yet present, most certainly. I've… never felt the Force like this."

Quinlan shook his head, "Neither have I. There are holes. Holes in the Force… Almost like… bitemarks. This is unpleasant."

Aayla snorted in laughter, "Your penchant for understatement strikes again, Quinlan. Yes, unpleasant. I would've used the descriptor 'utterly terrifying and deeply wrong'. It seems we'll have to put boots on the moon to investigate further."

"Or," Quinlan suggested. "We could simply ask this Atom directly. From the way the local Force rallies around him, he's bound to know something about what threatens it."

Aayla opened her mouth to protest, "I-…" And then closed it again with a sigh, "I suppose… You've cut right to the heart of the matter, as usual, Quinlan."

"Why complicate matters if it's unnecessary?" Quinlan asked, shrugging. "If you'd like, we can still do the usual undercover routine to get the audience we'll need with the man."

"No, no, I'd rather not make an enemy out of the man making war on the Hutts," Aayla dismissed, smiling softly. "Someone like that has more than earned an upfront visit from the Jedi. However, we should aim to conceal our presence from everyone else on the moon."

"Should we?" Quinlan raised a sole, questioning eyebrow. "It might benefit his efforts against the Hutts if they learned he was being visited — perhaps even 'supported' — by the Jedi. Not like they can get any more hostile toward him."

Aayla smirked, "True. Very true. A question to pose for the man himself?"

"So I would imagine."

"Until then, we should… gather more information on the situation we're walking into. And maybe watch that broadcast a few more times… It can't be helped, of course. Yes, can't be helped~…"

Quinlan — thankfully — was almost always willing to indulge her. It was one of Aayla's favorite qualities about her former Master. He simply sighed, "… I'll get the space-corn."

Aayla giggled and grinned at his deadpan tone poorly concealing fond exasperation. Perhaps this mission wouldn't be as potentially worrying as they'd anticipated. Why, they might even have a bit of fun and free a fair few slaves in the process. Having suffered that yoke for herself, Aayla would never say no to breaking chains…

IIIII

— Dooku —

Patience. An ever-necessary virtue. Doubly so for a Sith in the present day. Too much was on the line, too much arrayed against them, to consider rushing anything.

Haste would be their final downfall. It would destroy everything that had been built over a thousand years of hiding before the Sith got their true chance at revenge. The time must be right. The preparations must be perfect. The deck must be stacked beyond measure in their favor. Only then would the Sith be able to strike.

Yet, in truth, Dooku of Seranno cared little for the Sith's grand revenge. He'd abandoned the Jedi Order for reasons that remained his own and joined the Sith for much the same. As much as he knew his Master was using him, Dooku was using Sidious in return. It was a push and pull. A constant struggle, striving for dominance. For the Sith, only one could stand supreme. The Rule of Two — while keeping the Sith alive into the current day — was far from a rule of cooperation.

Dooku wasn't particularly attached to the Sith and their millennia-spanning plots and plans. They were a means to an end. A path to power. Something to be harnessed and dominated, not something to submit himself wholly to. Just as Dooku saw the Dark Side of the Force.

In his mind, the Sith were hardly much different than the Jedi. Two sides of the same coin. Both sides preached their differences, their superiority, and their foolhardy surety that their way was right. The true reality lay somewhere in the center. In balance. Sometimes, one must push. Sometimes, one must pull. At their cores, the Jedi and Sith were simply avenues to effect real change.

That… was what Dooku truly cared for. The ability to bring about the shifts and changes he knew the galaxy so desperately needed. In the past — when the Jedi and Sith warred openly — both sides were direct about exerting their rightful influence over the galaxy. They had power. And they used it. For good or for bad, at least they were honest about it.

The current iteration of the Jedi Order had lost that honesty with itself. They were still able to operate in the open, to act directly, and yet, they were startlingly ineffective despite that freedom. The majority of their missions had fallen to the corrupting politics of the Republic's ruling body. The Jedi, as they were now, hardly served the will and good of the people as they so preached. They served masters in the Core, not the people of the galaxy, and certainly not the will of the Force.

The Sith — though hidden — hadn't lost their honesty. They made no excuses for themselves. And even if their motivations were undeniably selfish and their methods had been forced to become much more subtle in hiding, it went against their interests to uphold the quite frankly sinister status quo as the Jedi stubbornly — almost mindlessly — did.

Dooku was tired of acting openly, acting directly, and yet still managing to accomplish nothing. The Order — in the state it existed — had failed the galaxy. It had failed itself. And the Republic itself had long been a lost cause. A slowly sinking ship only patched together by flares of optimism and true good that were inevitably snuffed out by inherent corruption. To truly fight the galaxy's rotten core and help those who needed it most, a different approach was required.

Turning his back on the Order that had raised him — family, for Dooku would never count the deplorable man who'd sired him as such… — had been both the hardest thing Dooku had ever done and the simplest. In many ways, he felt that Qui-Gon's death had been the final straw, the final link to be severed. He'd been withdrawing before then. But the loss of his former Padawan showed him that the galaxy would be cruel and hopeless to him unless taken firmly in hand.

Qui-Gon had been the best of Dooku, imparted onto a student who cared. As he came into his own, Qui-Gon became better. He didn't allow himself to be bound by stifling traditions and didn't allow the flawed teachings of the Order to limit him. He had the strength of character to stand up to the Council where Dooku turned the other cheek. He sought out the good in life — all life — with a connection to the Living Force and the people who made it up that Dooku could never match. Dooku would always regret not telling Qui-Gon how proud he was, for he'd restrained himself from such shows of emotion due to deficiencies that were purely his own.

Upon leaving the Order, Dooku sought out the Jedi's ancient enemy. The Sith found him instead. That reveal had only reaffirmed Dooku's beliefs at the time. To have a Sith infiltrated into the highest echelons of the Republic, right under the Order's nose…? Yes, the galaxy was rotten to the quite literal core.

Of course, having had years and the unique perspective to see both sides, Dooku now knew that the Sith were just as much a part of the problem as the Jedi. Oftentimes more. The Jedi were flawed, half-blind, and beholden to corrupt whims. The Sith, however, were actively malicious. So while Dooku played the proper Sith Apprentice to Sidious, he never forgot his own goals and beliefs…

Patience… Patience served him well. Not simply in the Sith's grand schemes of revenge, but in the Force as well. The Dark Side was a demanding mistress. A greedy and corrupting lover. Dooku took to it with patience and a firm, harnessing hand. Unlike when he was a Jedi serving the Light, Dooku didn't serve the Dark. It served him.

Yet never easily. The Dark snapped, growled, and postured like a beast to cover insidiously creeping tendrils of corruption. Even now, it reached and reached and reached for purchase over Dooku's presence in the Force. The best method — Dooku had found — was to gently but firmly turn those tendrils away, redirecting them to his bidding.

He sat in meditation. Yet it wasn't passive. An object of great potential importance floated before him. Only the Dark could pick it apart. Only the Dark could truly engage with it. Dooku directed the Force to do just that. Poking, prodding, searching, seeping into the pyramid layer by layer, Dooku worked to gain deeper access to the Dark Holocron of Naga Sadow.

Dooku had first encountered the Dark Holocron as a mere Padawan all those years ago. It'd been stored in the Order's Archives for thousands of years, even surviving the Great Temple Relocation from Ossus to Coruscant. At the time, it'd been stolen by someone Dooku thought of as a friend. Upon the Dark Holocron's recovery, however, that same friend betrayed him and blamed Dooku for the theft.

For years, the Dark Holocron had lurked in the back of Dooku's mind, faded but not forgotten. During his tenure as a Jedi, Dooku satisfied that craving with other, Lighter Holocrons, including the one on prophecies that Qui-Gon would eventually grow somewhat obsessed with. But the Dark Holocron itself would not be denied. When he left the Order, Dooku stole it in truth, fulfilling the accusation from his youth.

He was well aware that his Master would kill him for what he possessed. But even Sidious was not omniscient. Naga Sadow's Dark Holocron was Dooku's most closely guarded secret. Only one other knew of its existence in his possession, and she couldn't bring herself to care about or consider its true importance.

Dooku sensed her coming long before she arrived. She was a dark, densely knotted weight in the Force. Constantly yearning, hungering, and seeking more, be it power or opportunities to utilize that power.

Asajj Ventress had so much potential. Yet… she was far from what Dooku would consider a Sith. Too young, too raw, too single-minded as she was now. Even too powerful for her own good. But perhaps… if everything about her training and development went perfectly, there was a very real chance she'd prove him wrong.

Asajj wouldn't bother knocking. Dooku could sense that much clear as day. An ill-considered attempt to assert some scrap of dominance. Someone like Sidious would've punished her most grievously for such a slight. Dooku took a different approach.

"Enter," He announced before she could barge her way into the room on her own terms.

Asajj paused outside the threshold, any momentum she'd mustered brought up short and stopped in its tracks. The door opened anyway at Dooku's will to reveal her standing there with a scowl. Dooku felt the appreciation of his power and control hidden beneath it as if the emotions were his own.

Dooku didn't stop his work with the Dark Holocron as Asajj stormed into the room. The door closed once more and they were sealed within. She wasted no time on pleasantries, a trait Dooku knew he'd be working hard to train out of her.

"I've found the source of the disturbance in Hutt Space as you commanded, Master."

Dooku didn't shift his attention away from the work he was doing on the Dark Holocron, simply inclining his head to show he was listening.

Asajj continued her report, "The Hutts are falling. Two, so far. More to come, I guarantee. The Clans have been declared upon by a rogue Force User calling himself simply 'Atom'. Not Sith, and certainly not Jedi. He looks to be… powerful, though. Absolutely delicious, if I'm being honest with myself~… He's fighting back, freeing slaves, gathering support, and not losing."

To punctuate her short report, Asajj held out a holovid player in the palm of her hand and played the broadcast Dooku had already seen. Only… No, it'd been edited down to just the 'good parts', or at least what Asajj considered as such. It was rather unlike her to put in the extra work for presentation's sake. Dooku imagined she'd been 'enjoying herself' while watching it too much to resist. Still, he wouldn't judge how she indulged her needs and desires in her free time.

Fiddling with a tricky Force lock on the Dark Holocron, Dooku hummed to his apprentice, "Hmm. Partially correct. This 'Atom' is not the source of the disturbance. He is the champion against it. The true source is more discrete and disturbing. The first Hutt Atom killed and usurped was creating drugs out of kyber crystals. I received reports of his activity on Dantooine but I am glad someone else found the threat worth dealing with."

"… You already knew," Asajj glared at him. "You already knew more than me, even. What was this, some kind of test?!"

Dooku raised an imperious eyebrow, "What else would it be? Be glad. You have… mostly passed."

Asajj simmered in silence for a few long minutes. She couldn't decide whether to fume or preen and that internal conflict practically poured off of her in the Force. Dooku paid it and her no mind, continuing his efforts with the Dark Holocron as if she wasn't there.

The indecision within her was something Asajj would have to overcome for herself. If Dooku was in her place, he would simply do both. But then, he had space in his mind for more than one emotion at a time. Asajj had yet to prove to him that she had the same…

Eventually, Asajj's attention drifted back to the looping holovid she was holding. Dooku felt the struggle between pride and frustration within her fade, replaced by viscerally burning passion and satisfaction. He didn't roll his eyes. Not openly, at least. That would be unseemly. No matter how much the silly, single-minded girl deserved it.

"Mmm~… If you're going to test me anyway… Send me to Nar Shaddaa, Master."

"No," Dooku denied, having already decided what he would do about the intriguing opportunities this 'Atom' presented. "I shall go myself."

Asajj blinked, "… I didn't know you swung that way, Master."

A taunting, laughing smirk grew on her face. Dooku shot her a single look. It disappeared entirely.

And in the end, he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from twitching upward as well, "Worry not, my interest in the boy-playing-man lies elsewhere. You'll be free to have your fun… If you can earn it from him, that is."

After a moment of surprise, a genuine and genuinely vicious grin appeared on Asajj's lips, "Here's hoping he makes it a challenge~…"

"Indeed," Dooku replied absently, his focus already back on the Dark Holocron as he finally succeeded in picking the Force lock to the next layer.

For a moment, the Holocron simply thrummed and bathed in the Dark Side. Then, it folded open like a flower and Dooku saw something new from the holo-emitter in the center. The Holocron existed in layers. Dooku had cracked the first four. Still, he knew a dozen more layers lay beneath, untouched for millennia and waiting for him to access their contents.

Each of the previous layers had contained enough information to form a whole new branch of the Sith. 100,000 years of Imperial records, Sith teachings, Dark prophecies, and the auto-biographies of Sith Lords lost to time, and Dooku had only scratched the surface of it all. Let Sidious have his schemes, his strings to be pulled, and his 'victory' over the Jedi. Dooku had something his Master could never imagine…

Asajj's admittedly fine but rarely 'beautiful' features scrunched up in disgust and confusion as she saw what Dooku had been working toward during their conversation, "What? It's just a bunch of stuffy old records."

Dooku laughed — honestly laughed — for what might've been the first time in years, "Come now, girl. I know you aren't as simple-minded as you make yourself seem. Records are history. History is knowledge. Knowledge is power. And power… Power is everything…"

IIIII

— Master ??? —

Within the rushing come and go of hyperspace, a head of spun gold hair sat bowed in deep communion. Pointed ears twitched to sounds only she could hear. Ethereal features for a woman of ethereal purposes.

Her sensitivity to the ether — practiced well beyond mere mortal limits — caught everything there was to catch. The markings on her cheek and forehead tuned her ever closer to the ebbs and flows of the universe, much more than the simple tattoos they seemed to be. Only one Force — connected to everything and transcendent above all — motivated her.

The Force would never be short of followers. She knew the Jedi were only a small portion of them in truth. The galaxy was vast. As much as they claimed differently, the Jedi would never monopolize the Light. Nor would the Sith monopolize the Dark. There would always be others. Always another way.

The Order as it was now was not the Order of her youth. They claimed to follow the will of the Force, yet were partially blinded by the mortal, the physical, and the societal symptoms of a system that'd lost its way. She'd chosen a different path — distinct and yet parallel to the Order's way — centuries and centuries ago. Faithfully, she walked the way she'd chosen, striving to remove every distraction, every interference between her and the Force itself.

The Order wouldn't recognize her and her way of life. Few would remember her as more than a legend, she knew. She still had peers. They were few, but some still lived, still thrived.

A little green menace of a creche mate who'd risen to Grandmaster of the Order. A Neti woman, younger but with roots as deep and sturdy as any old-growth tree, just as her species resembled. Another Neti, older and more stagnant in his roots, who she remembered being ancient when she was still young.

They… They would know her, perhaps even understand the path she walked. For the rest of the Order, she simply a story told in awe

Long had she wandered on her winding path… From the densest depths of the Deep Core to the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim. Even to the unexplored frontier of the Unknown Regions of the galaxy. Years, decades, centuries… Nearly a millennia of life. Yet still, she would never claim to have seen everything. Her existence was as simple as it was complex. Above all else, she followed the Force. And the Force — she'd learned — would always have surprises in store for her.

It began as a whisper. A prelude. And then a shout, echoing beneath the entire galaxy's notice. She knew it was for her ears alone as the Force's longest-serving and most faithful follower. Something undeniably NEW/FRESH…?/INTRIGUING! had sprung into being. The Force rejoiced and shied away and swirled with interest.

With it came a call. No, a pull, as if the Force were a small child that wished to show her something. And… a prophecy.

"A Font of Inspiration in human form — a noble Krayt, a young Rancor — wakes in a strange land, a land akin to Hell. Lost and yet to be found, he is haunted by faceless memories of a stolen past. Outward, upward, he sets, and he shall be followed by spiteful death. But where death burns at his ignition, new growth shall spring forth from the ashes.

"Hope will bloom. Support will be sourced for places most unexpected. Chains will shatter before the Breaker of Chains, as Mighty Leia once did… One world after another in a galaxy wracked by turmoil and the most interesting of times. Always, he reaches for chains to break — of bondage and slavery, of expectations and traditions, of personal and natural limits. Freedom transcends petty distinctions of Light and Dark. A new era arrives."

She was no stranger to prophesy. Usually, far gone or far in the future. Never had she heard one told to her ears directly. She refused to fail the Force in this. Like so many times before in her long life, she set forth to follow its will. She knew not what it would ask of her. But it had called, and she would answer.

Dutiful, elfin ears heard a purpose. A calling to guide this destined Breaker of Chains. She was an ever-diligent, always-learning student of the Light. But as the prophecy said, freedom surpassed such petty descriptors. The Force as a whole required her service, her wisdom, and her presence. She was needed… Needed on Nar Shaddaa and beyond as she helped prophesy come into its own…

IIIII

— Smasher —

… He needed a new piece of heavy iron. He'd have to talk to Kento about smithing something special up… A big fuck-off sword. He had the 'guts' to wield a sharpened slab of vibrosteel as long as he was tall.

An absent thought. A familiar craving. It always came up when he hadn't seen enough action recently. That couldn't be helped at the moment. Well, it could. But it'd be off the books. And Smasher rarely got worthwhile fights off the books.

Playing handler was a pain. But V needed all of the help she could get. It was her first time taking the lead on a mission. The first time she'd be in his shoes. Not exactly, of course. No one filled Adam Fucking Smasher's boots. But V… she came closer than most.

He wasn't surprised. Not with his greatness, his blood flowing through her veins, diluted as it was by disgusting meat. Smasher didn't keep track of that bloodline of his. The first son he'd found failed the one and only test Smasher had given him in spectacularly pathetic fashion. Worthless piece of meat… bits and pieces that'd undoubtedly decayed into corpse starch by now.

But that son's twin sister had survived apparently. Probably stole all of Smasher's greatness from her twin in the womb. And while Smasher had given up on his descendants, Arasaka hadn't. By the time they'd told Smasher that fact, the female half of his line had shown a trend of actually being worth a damn.

Valerie was three generations removed from the greatest murderer to ever walk Night City, Nar Shaddaa. And she didn't even know it, having been raised almost entirely by Arasaka itself. There were worse ways to grow up. Once she had, someone high up decided to stick her with her great-grandfather. Likely Old Man Saburo himself. Ancient fucker — even by Smasher's standards — probably found it funny and fitting.

The worst part was that it fucking was. Smasher knew better than to expect anything less from the Old Man. There was respect there. And though he wouldn't admit it under torture, he'd… enjoyed… molding someone who shared his greatness. V was coming into her own well. All she needed now was to shed the fucking meat…

"Smasher! New target vid just dropped!"

"… THE FUCK DID HE DO NOW?"

"Outright declared war on the Hutt Clans. Not like they left him much of a choice otherwise… The execs want us to sit on our mission for a week or so to see how things with him play out. After this broadcast, though…? Kriff, I wouldn't bet against him."

"NOT BAD… FOR A MEATBAG."

"Oh, it's impressive, alright. Here, just watch."

Smasher did. Smasher enjoyed the violence and the threats — promises. Smasher felt satisfaction by proxy. Smasher saw something he couldn't possibly have missed.

"… THAT'S MY COCK."

"Your-… huh?"

"MY FRAGGIN' COCK. A MAN MIGHT FORGET HIS OWN FACE AFTER A HUNDRED YEARS, BUT HE NEVER FORGETS HIS COCK… LOOKS LIKE OLD MAN SABURO AND I NEED TO HAVE WORDS ABOUT MEAT CLONES AND HOW THEY'RE FUCKING USELESS WHEN HE HAS THE REAL DEAL…"