Missing

(A Week After The Attack)

Coruscant was in chaos. The attack on the Jedi Temple had shaken the core of the Republic. The Holonet buzzed with endless streams of updates and commentary. Reporters stood outside the smoldering ruins of the temple, their voices filled with speculation and condemnation. Headlines flashed across the screens of every public space: "The Fall of the Jedi?" "War Comes to Coruscant." "Separatist Strike or Internal Sabotage?"

The Senate chambers seethed with tension. Senators shouted over one another, demanding answers. Chancellor Palpatine stood at the center of it all, taking advantage of this gift he'd been given. He denounced the attack as a cowardly act. He called for swift retaliation. Many senators nodded, their faces grim, convinced the Separatists were behind it. Others raised doubts, their voices drowned by the uproar.

Inside the Jedi Council chamber, the Masters convened in a closed session. Yoda sat silently, his brow furrowed. Mace Windu paced the floor, his expression dark. Plo Koon snd Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke quietly, reviewing reports. The Council had been meeting non-stop with the Chancellor and heads of Republic Intelligence. The attackers captured during the assault refused to speak. Their hatred for the Jedi burned through every action and expression. The Force revealed no deception in them, only rage. The Council could find no leads. The captured mercenaries bore no insignias, no identifying marks. The weapons they used were untraceable. Every clue led to dead ends. The mystery deepened, and the Jedi felt the weight of their failure.

The Holonet amplified the uncertainty. People speculated wildly. Conspiracy theories spread across the galaxy. Some claimed the Jedi had staged the attack to gain sympathy. Others accused them of negligence, blaming their hubris for the destruction. Public sentiment turned against them, fueled by fear and propaganda. Amid the chaos, Coruscant's citizens panicked. Streets overflowed with traffic as people fled the city center. Police and Clone forces struggled to maintain order. Power outages rippled through lower levels, creating further confusion. The capital felt like a battlefield without a clear enemy.

For a few, the storm outside mattered little. Padmé sat on the steps of the Senate, her gaze distant. She had spent the day pleading with judicial representatives, requesting leniency for Jaden. His absence weighed heavily on her. This was the second attack he had endured at the heart of Coruscant. The representatives agreed to lift his confinement, citing the extraordinary circumstances. They warned that if he did not appear for his trial next month, they could do nothing. Padmé felt the chill of the durasteel steps beneath her. She clasped her hands tightly, her mind racing. No one knew where Jaden had gone. He had vanished after the attack. The others—the Padawans, Master Leska—were accounted for, though shaken.

Aubrie sat beside Padmé, silent and pale. She had said little since the attack. Her connection to Jaden through the Force gave her no insight. He felt distant, as if he had been swallowed by the void.

"I should have stayed with him," Aubrie muttered.

Padmé shook her head. "You couldn't have known."

Aubrie didn't respond. Her hands trembled as she stared at the ground.

Zule and Scout stood nearby. Zule's jaw tightened as she watched Aubrie. Scout leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since the attack, her usual levity replaced by a hard edge. Master Leska approached them. She knelt beside Padmé. "The Council continues to search. We will find him."

Padmé nodded but said nothing.

...

Elsewhere, Palpatine met with his advisors. Mas Amedda stood beside him, relaying updates from the Senate. Sly Moore hovered in the background, silent and observant.

"They suspect the Separatists," Mas Amedda said. "The Senate is eager for retaliation. They want the war to escalate."

Palpatine's expression was unreadable. He rested his hands on the desk before him. "Good. Let their anger guide them. Fear will solidify their resolve."

Mas Amedda hesitated. "The Jedi are conducting their own investigation."

"They will find nothing," Palpatine said. "Let them exhaust themselves. Their time grows short."

He dismissed his advisors with a wave. Once alone, he activated his holoprojector. A shadowed figure appeared.

"Report," Palpatine commanded.

The figure spoke in a distorted voice. "The target escaped. We lost him in the lower levels."

Palpatine's eyes narrowed. "Find him. He is too dangerous to roam free."

The projection flickered and vanished. Palpatine leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. He didn't know who was responsible for the attack—something that irked him to no ends—but he did know it wasn't the separatists, Dooku wouldn't dare go against him and launch such a strike against the heart of the republic without his permission. Nonetheless he would take advantage of the chaos and he would push for more funding for the war. He would also take this opportunity to find that lowborn trash before the Jedi could.

He would still kill the man who had put his plans in jeopardy, but he would thank him for delivering Jaden on a plate to him before he died.

Now he just needed to find him.

___________________________

In the Coruscant lower levels a certain unknown and unimportant club was having its most successful week. The club stank of spilled booze, sweat, and burnt spice. The music was loud, pounding bass thundering through the filthy walls and shaking the floor. Lights flickered and flashed, cutting through thick smoke that hung over the room. Twi'lek dancers rubbed themselves on poles and platforms, their barely-covered bodies drawing leering stares and thrown credits. A greasy kitchen in the back churned out plates of questionable meat that left a slick on everything they touched.

In a dark corner, a crowd surrounded a table, roaring with laughter and shouting bets. Bottles clinked. Credits exchanged hands. At the center of it, a massive Weequay with jagged scars on his face glared at his opponent. Across from him sat Jaden, leaning back with a cocky grin. The table between them was bare except for a vibroknife and a battered blaster pistol. The Weequay growled something in his language, slamming his fists on the table hard enough to make the vibroknife jump. Jaden smirked, lifting a drink to his lips and taking a slow sip. He muttered something in the same alien tongue in his lazy tone.

The Weequay snarled, standing up. Jaden didn't flinch. The crowd surged closer, the tension thick as spice smoke.

"Raathka!" the Weequay bellowed, flexing his thick fingers.

Jaden grinned wider. "Raathka," he repeated, but his tone made it sound like an insult.

The game began.

It was simple in theory. They raised their hands, forming rapid gestures—snap, claw, thrust, fist, swipe. Each move was a creature, and each one "devoured" or destroyed the other.

The crowd chanted with each move.

"Thrakka!"

"Volossk!"

"Graashta!"

The tempo picked up. Hands slammed the table between each round, making the weapons jump. The crowd grew louder, their cheers and jeers drowning out the music. The final round came. Jaden and the Weequay locked eyes, waiting for the right moment.

Then they struck.

Jaden grabbed the vibroknife. The Weequay lunged for the blaster.

Jaden was faster. He slammed the knife through the Weequay's hand, pinning it to the table with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed as the crowd exploded into cheers. The Weequay howled in pain, trying to yank his hand free, but the blade was deep.

Jaden leaned back, laughing, and grabbed another drink. He threw it back in one go, slamming the glass down as a Twi'lek dancer slid into his lap. Her lekku draped over his shoulders, and she pressed her lips to his. He kissed her hard, grabbing her hips as she moaned into his mouth. The crowd cheered louder, some tossing credits at the table.

A Rodian jumped onto a chair, waving a filthy napkin. "We got a new king of Vraakal! Master Shan!"

Jaden threw his fists in the air, shouting along with them. He shoved the Twi'lek back onto the table, grinning as she laughed and leaned forward, kissing his neck. The Weequay growled, pulling the blade from his hand, but he didn't reach for the blaster. The crowd booed him as he stumbled off, clutching his bloody hand. Jaden grabbed the Twi'lek by the waist, pulling her back onto his lap. He shoved a handful of credits into her belt, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh and bite her lip. He raised another glass, drinking deep as the Rodian slapped him on the back.

"Let's keep it going!" Jaden shouted.

The crowd roared as another round of drinks was brought over. He grabbed the Twi'lek's hand, dragging her into amother kiss that left her gasping. His other hand grabbed the bottle, tipping it over the side of his mouth, letting the liquor spill down his chin and onto the table. Someone brought out a large Sullustan who claimed he could drink anyone under the table. Jaden grinned, slamming a stack of credits on the table. "Prove it!" he barked, grabbing a new bottle.

They started a drinking contest, pouring shots as fast as they could drink them. The Twi'lek climbed back onto his lap, laughing and encouraging him with kisses between rounds. The Sullustan lasted five shots before slumping forward, drooling onto the table.

Jaden stood, slamming his glass down. "Next!" he shouted. The crowd howled as more challengers stepped up.

After a while Jaden decided to take a break from it after beating his third challenger. He walked over to his own private space and grabbed another drink from a table, downing it in one go. The burn hit his throat, but he welcomed it. The pounding bass of the club rattled his bones, and the haze of smoke and sweat clung to his skin. He leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling, the glass still in his hand.

It had been a week since everything went to hell. He didn't know who the bastard was that burst into the room, but he remembered the sound. The door exploded inward, and before anyone could react, a device hit the floor. It wasn't a standard flashbang—no, this thing was something else entirely. The light was blinding, the noise like thunder in his skull. The Jedi Masters were caught off guard. They dropped like rocks, clutching their heads. Even Jaden, who had his eyes closed at the time, felt the shockwave hit him like a rancor's fist. The force of it knocked him off his feet, his vision swimming. The only one who stayed upright was Plo Koon, his Kel Dor physiology apparently resistant to whatever the hell that thing was.

Jaden didn't remember much after that. Instinct had kicked in. He'd felt the panic, the surge of energy bubbling in his chest. He let it explode. The room shattered. The walls bent outward, the furniture disintegrated. The device, the stranger, and anyone else nearby got flung like debris in a starship crash.

He ran.

He didn't head for Padmé's apartment. Why would he? This was the second time someone had tried to kill him on Coruscant. What was the plan—just go back and wait for another attempt? "Oh yes, another assassination attempt, please. Let me roll out the red carpet for you!" He snorted to himself, slamming the glass back on the table and grabbing a bottle instead.

He'd been wandering the lower levels ever since. It was strange. Something felt different. He didn't know if the brand was gone, but something inside him had shifted. His body buzzed, his senses heightened. He craved... everything. He didn't even know what he wanted, so he tried it all. Drinking. Food. Women. Gambling. Fights. He devoured it like a starving bantha, unable to stop.

He poured more booze into his glass, spilling some onto the table. The lower levels were alive in a way he'd never noticed before. This place, the gutter he'd grown up in, was vibrant. The smells, the sounds, the energy pulsing through the streets—it was intoxicating. How had he never felt this way before?

Maybe he'd been too numb back then, too focused on surviving to notice. Now, for the first time in his life, he felt alive. His blood rushed through his veins, his skin tingled, his heart raced. It wasn't just the booze or the spice-laced air of the club. It was everything. The chaos, the filth, the rawness of it all.

He laughed, loud and shameless, slamming the bottle down. He grabbed the Twi'lek dancer who had been eyeing him and pulled her into his lap. She yelped but laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he kissed her.

The crowd cheered again, a drunken Rodian trying to toast him with a half-empty glass of something that smelled like engine degreaser. Jaden broke the kiss, grinning as the Twi'lek whispered something in his ear that made his pulse quicken even more. "Oh I like the sound of that," he said with a grin on his face.

This was it. This was what life was supposed to be. Not trials. Not assassins. He figured he'd enjoy himself here until the trial though a growing part of him wanted to get the hell off this planet. He slightly regretted not taking the offer of escaping from Novak, in hindsight it would've been better for everyone if he disappeared. Though now that was a little harder, so many people had put themselves on the line from him and regardless of his want to be free he couldn't just abandon them like that. For now however. He would enjoy everything he'd been missing.

___________________________

Collan lounged in his apartment, sitting on an oversized chair that resembled a throne. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the city lights streaming through the massive transparisteel window. He held a glass of Corellian wine, swirling the dark liquid lazily. The taste didn't matter. It was just a habit, something to do while he watched. Across the room, Darren was on the floor, blood smeared across his face. He gasped, struggling to pull himself to his knees, but the Mandalorian standing over him wasn't finished. She drove her armored boot into his ribs, sending him sprawling with a sickening crack. Darren coughed, choking, spitting blood onto the pristine floor.

"I didn't know," Darren wheezed, clutching his side. "I swear! I didn't know the Kel Dor would resist it!"

The Mandalorian grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up like a discarded piece of trash. Her fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head back. Blood and saliva sprayed the floor. Darren cried out, his voice breaking.

"I swear!" he screamed. "I didn't know! Please!"

She punched him again, splitting his lip wide open. Darren collapsed onto the floor, groaning as his face hit the tile. The Mandalorian leaned down, grabbed his head, and slammed it against the ground. The impact echoed through the room. Blood pooled beneath him.

Collan sighed, taking a sip of his wine. The liquid burned his throat, but he didn't flinch. His face showed nothing but boredom as he leaned back, resting his chin on his knuckles. Darren's cries grated on his nerves, louder and more pathetic with each hit.

"I'll fix it!" Darren screamed as the Mandalorian kicked him again, this time targeting his legs. The crack of bone made Collan raise an eyebrow, but his expression quickly settled. "I'll fix it! Please, stop!"

The Mandalorian knelt down, gripping Darren's face and forcing him to look at her. He whimpered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. She said nothing, her visor reflecting his bloodied, swollen features.

"I can find him!" Darren shouted, desperation leaking into every word. "I can track him! I can bring him here!"

The Mandalorian froze, glancing toward Collan for direction. Collan waved his hand lazily. "Stop."

She released Darren, letting him crumple to the ground in a heap. He clutched his side, groaning as he tried to push himself up.

Collan stood, setting his wine glass on the armrest of his chair. He walked toward Darren slowly, his boots clicking against the floor. Darren flinched when Collan stopped in front of him. Collan crouched, staring into Darren's eyes, his expression flat.

"Can you?" Collan asked, his tone quiet. "Or are you lying to save your miserable hide?"

Darren shook his head frantically. "I can! I swear! I know his habits. I can track him. He's in the lower levels—he won't get far."

Collan's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. "Good." He stood, looming over Darren. "You have until the trial. Bring him to me by then. Fail, and I'll drop you on Level Five without your legs."

Darren's face paled. He nodded rapidly, his whole body trembling. "I won't fail. I won't. I'll find him."

"Get out," Collan said, turning his back on him.

Darren staggered to his feet, hobbling toward the exit. Blood dripped onto the floor with every step. He reached the door, hesitated for a moment, then slipped out, leaving a smeared trail behind him.

Collan returned to his chair, picking up his glass of wine. He didn't drink, letting the liquid swirl as he stared at the Mandalorian. "Prepare to take Padmé at the gala next week."

The Mandalorian nodded, her movements precise. Without a word, she turned and walked out, her heavy footsteps fading into silence as the door closed behind her.

Collan sat alone. He tilted the glass, watching the wine swirl. Such a fortune spent on hiring the right people, getting the right equipment and bribing the right officials, all of it for naught. He sighed. Not like it mattered, he would recover that fortune in a few months, a mere drop in the ocean. His anger lay in not getting what he wanted, he needed that Holocron, the rest of the society believed in his words, that he could offer them power, and he had proven that with his own abilities. But they wouldn't be satisfied with only that, soon they would ask for more and if he didn't provide it, then things would soon get bloody.

___________________________

Padmé sat in her apartment as a medical droid hovered nearby, providing her last treatment. She barely winced as it worked. Aubrie paced in front of the couch, her movements were agitated. She had offered to heal Padmé earlier, but Padmé had declined.

"They're minor," Padmé had said. "Save your energy for something that matters."

Aubrie hadn't argued, but it was clear she wanted to do something, anything, to distract herself. The lines on her face were deep. Her hand clenched and unclenched as she muttered under her breath. Padmé watched her out of the corner of her eye, but neither of them spoke. Aubrie had been relentless since Jaden disappeared. She had already spoken with Admiral Novak, who promised to put out feelers through his network. She'd also contacted Lieutenant Lock, though he'd been redeployed and could offer little more than advice. It wasn't enough, and Aubrie made it clear to anyone who'd listen that it wasn't enough.

Across the room, Sabe leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. Anakin Skywalker stood beside her, his face unreadable. He hadn't spoken much since arriving, but he'd agreed to help search for Jaden. That alone had made Aubrie suspicious.

"Why do you care so much about finding him?" Aubrie asked. Her voice was sharp, and her eyes locked on Anakin.

Anakin stared back, his tone flat. "I can admit when I'm wrong. Jaden saved an entire planet of people. Even I'm not dumb enough to think someone who does that is a Sith Lord."

"That doesn't explain why you're here," Aubrie said. Her voice was cold.

Anakin shrugged. "Doesn't it?" He folded his arms and glanced toward the window. "If he's not a Sith, then that means the only reason I'm standing here is because of him. The only reason anyone made it off Jabiim is because of him. I owe him for that. Anyone who fought at Cobalt Station owes him."

Aubrie narrowed her eyes, trying to sense any deception through the Force. She felt nothing but resolve. Slowly, she nodded. "Fine," she said. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Let's get to work."

Before anyone could respond, the protocol droid entered the room. It stopped in front of them, its voice cold and mechanical. "Miss Xiss is no longer in the apartment."

Aubrie froze. "What do you mean she's not here?"

"She is gone," the droid said.

Aubrie and Anakin exchanged a glance before sprinting toward Zule's room. Padmé watched them go but didn't move. The droid continued its tasks as if nothing had happened.

Aubrie reached the door first and shoved it open. The room was empty. The bed was untouched, the drawers barely opened. There were no personal items, no signs that Zule had even stayed there at all.

"She's gone," Aubrie said, her voice tight.

Anakin stepped inside, his eyes scanning the space. "Where would she go?"

Aubrie shook her head. "I don't know."

Anakin frowned, glancing toward the window. "Then we find out. Start with the hangar logs."

Aubrie nodded. She didn't bother saying anything else. She turned and walked out, her pace quick and determined. Anakin followed close behind, his lightsaber bouncing lightly against his side.

Meanwhile Zule pulled a hood over her head and kept her eyes low as she moved through the busy crowd heading into the undercity. The further she descended, the worse everything became. The clean walkways of the upper levels gave way to cracked duracrete and corroded metal platforms. The air smelled of burnt oil, cheap spice, and unwashed bodies.

Vendors with ramshackle stalls barked out offers for food that looked half-rotten or gear that clearly didn't work. Twi'lek women leaned against poles or hung out of windows, eyeing passersby with fake smiles. The glow of neon signs flickered, advertising back-alley gambling dens and worse. Trash lined the streets, pushed into piles by droids that looked more like scrap than functioning machines.

Zule shoved her way through the crowd, ignoring the sneers and muttered curses from the beings she passed. A Rodian selling stim sticks called out to her, but she kept moving. She didn't need to see the product to know it was probably cut with something that'd kill half the people who bought it.

A Klatooinian stumbled in front of her, reeking of Corellian ale. He muttered something slurred and grabbed at her arm. Zule spun, her reflexes sharp. She grabbed his wrist and twisted until he yelped, then shoved him into a stack of crates. He fell into the pile with a loud crash, drawing a few laughs from nearby onlookers. She didn't stop to check if he got back up. She kept moving, her boots crunching over broken glass. The shadows grew thicker the deeper she went, the artificial lights above failing to reach the narrow alleys and walkways. Zule passed a group of Trandoshans in dirty combat gear arguing over a vibroblade. One of them glanced her way, but she stared him down until he looked away.

This was nothing like the upper levels, but she didn't care. She was done pretending to belong up there. Maybe down here, she could find something real. Something that made sense.

(AN: So a little aftermath chapter of wat happened and how things are now. Jaden will be a bit more realistic now and not some NPC like before he'll have his own growing wants and desires but right now he's being overloaded with them. Anyway now we are moving into the second part of whatever this is and soon we will be moving to the trial and the confrontation with a certain woman who may or may not have been empress of the eternal empire. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)

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