R&D Department

A.N: Deleted the notice chapter, enjoy this one instead.

The rhythmic click of Governor Wilhuff Tarkin's boots echoed through the vast, sterile corridors of the Imperial Research and Development complex. Cold, artificial lighting bathed the floors and walls in an unforgiving glare, a reflection of the Empire's unyielding efficiency. 

Reports streamed across his holopad, each update detailing the latest breakthroughs and setbacks across multiple projects. His sharp eyes moved over the latest findings regarding the Star Forge caches, yet another underwhelming return compared to the early discoveries. 

The first caches had been monumental, filled with ancient Sith designs, schematics beyond modern comprehension, and records of a war machine that had once rivaled galactic civilizations. However, as the search expanded outward, away from the heart of the Sith Empire, the findings had dwindled in significance. 

What was once a goldmine had become a trickle—historical archives, rudimentary weapon designs, and obscure data from long-forgotten conflicts. 

It was not what they needed. 

But it had still served a purpose. 

The final analysis confirmed an important truth: any object forged using the remnants of the Star Forge, even if it was only data, was inherently linked to it. If not through programming, then through the Force itself. 

A terrifying implication. 

It meant that every Imperial weapon or warship constructed with Star Forge remnants was a piece of something greater. If one could harness that connection, the possibilities were endless—remote coordination, energy transference, and perhaps something even more terrifying in scope. 

A notification blinked on his screen. 

The Silencer and Sun Razer projects were progressing at breakneck speeds. 

The Silencer, aptly named the Fleet Killer, was the pinnacle of precision firepower. With rapid, concentrated bursts, it had already annihilated capital ships in testing. A devastatingly efficient weapon—if mass-produced, it could redefine space warfare itself. 

But even that was nothing compared to the Sun Razer. 

The Sun Razer was not merely a weapon—it was an energy solution. A crude but effective attempt at replicating the sheer unfathomable output of the Star Forge itself. 

But therein lay the problem. 

Power was meaningless without control. 

The biggest hurdle was storage and transfer. The energy generated was beyond conventional means of containment, far surpassing the limits of known technology. The brightest minds of the Empire were already salivating over the challenge, throwing themselves into research, but the problem remained unresolved. 

At this rate, Tarkin mused, he would need to construct multiple off-world research stations—far from the Core Worlds. The risk was obvious. If they lost control, the consequences could be catastrophic. 

A black hole was bound to be born in one of them anyway. 

The thought amused him. 

As he entered the engineering wing, the sheer ambition of the Empire was on full display. 

Colossal prototypes stood like titanic sentinels, each a testament to Imperial ingenuity and ruthlessness. Some would define the future of war, others would be scrapped, repurposed into more practical endeavors. 

A hulking bipedal monstrosity stood before him. 

He recognized the dreadnought-class walker immediately. 

Its bulk was a necessity, not merely to support its own weight, but to withstand the titanic power core buried within its frame. The engineers had pushed the limits of walker technology—if given time, it could be perfected, turned into a mobile fortress. 

But time was a luxury they did not always have. 

The lead engineer approached, offering a curt nod of respect before gesturing toward the war machine. 

" Governor," the man greeted, his tone clipped with professionalism. 

Tarkin's gaze remained on the dreadnought. 

"Your assessment?" 

The engineer exhaled through his nose, running a gloved hand along the reinforced plating. 

"The core is stable. The armor holds against direct turbolaser fire. Mobility remains the issue, its mostly due to the size of the reactor, but we are hopeful as we are still in the early stages of testing. It's slow, but if given proper time, it will be unstoppable." 

Tarkin's eyes flicked toward him. 

"And the naval model?" 

A grimace. 

"That… is where things become difficult." 

The man pulled up a schematic on his datapad, and a sleek, humanoid silhouette appeared—one of the Knightmare Frames. 

Tarkin studied it. 

The design was radical, given by the hand of the Emperor himself as a case study. 

Where the hulking dreadnought walkers were built for sheer endurance, the Knightmare Frames were meant for speed, adaptability, and versatility. 

They could swap loadouts instantly, adjust their weapon systems depending on the battlefield, and outmaneuver nearly every other mechanized unit. 

It was the future of warfare. 

But there was one glaring flaw. 

"The power source," Tarkin stated coldly. 

The engineer sighed. 

"We're at an impasse. The current reactors are too large. The portable ones? They don't last. We need something compact and powerful enough to sustain it while being light enough to not impact maneuverability to where it becomes pointless." 

Tarkin's expression didn't change. 

"Understandable." 

The engineer winced but nodded grimly. 

"Sadly so. The flight-capable models have the most promise. While the ground-based models lack the sheer endurance and mass of the dreadnought class, being quite literal glass in comparison, the flight capable models outclass anything in our armory. But until we solve the power issue, a reactor of suitable weight and power can only sustain them for about five to ten minutes, varying on the output provided by the pilot, but without a suitable energy source, the Knightmare Frames will remain stuck in development." 

Tarkin turned back to the prototype. 

The research and development division of the Empire was a colossus of progress, its many wings dedicated to various aspects of military advancement—shipbuilding, energy research, mechanized warfare, and, of course, small arms and infantry equipment. 

While much of the Empire's focus had been on fleet dominance and heavy firepower, there was no denying that the face of war was still the soldier. 

A soldier was only as good as his weapon. 

And the Empire would ensure that its soldiers wielded nothing short of the best. 

Blasters had long since replaced slugthrowers as the standard for most galactic militaries. With cleaner wounds, unlimited ammo as long as one had a power pack, and sheer destructive force, the logic of their adoption was sound. 

Yet, despite their efficiency, blasters had drawbacks—drawbacks that kinetic weaponry could potentially overcome. 

Kinetic projectiles lacked the instant cauterization effect of blasters, making their collateral damage far more severe. Against unarmored foes, a solid projectile caused greater internal trauma, breaking bones, rupturing organs, and leaving behind grievous wounds that could not be shrugged off. 

Against clone armor and high-grade military plating, however, standard rounds were ineffective. 

A direct hit to weak spots was required, and even then, success was not guaranteed. 

But not all enemies would be Imperial troopers or armored warriors. 

Some foes would be more susceptible to kinetic force than blaster fire. 

Some creatures could resist heat but not raw impact. 

And beyond that, kinetic rounds had another overlooked advantage—sheer versatility. 

Where blasters were limited to energy damage, kinetic weapons could be modified in countless ways: 

Armor-piercing rounds, designed to shred through even the toughest metals. 

High-explosive rounds, turning every shot into a miniature grenade. 

Flechette rounds, designed to spread and tear through soft targets. 

Subsonic rounds, for silent kills where blaster fire would give away a position. 

Toxic-tipped rounds, capable of introducing deadly poisons into a target. 

A low-priority project, to be sure, but one that had seen unexpected success in naval engagements. 

Admiral Thrawn himself had proven the effectiveness of sheer mass as a weapon—launching entire droid fighters as kinetic projectiles at enemy ship bridges, bypassing shields and rendering vessels inoperable. 

What worked in space could work just as well on the battlefield. 

A separate research team was already attempting to counteract this particular flaw in shielding technology—either by refining current deflector systems or implementing a secondary shield that could detect and repel solid objects. 

Until then, kinetic weapons remained an alternative, to traditional energy-based arms. 

Blasters were the bread and butter of the Empire's infantry forces, but that did not mean they could not be improved. 

The DC-15A blaster rifle, the standard weapon of the Imperial military, was reliable but also flawed—prone to overheating and with accuracy issues at long range. 

New designs were being tested, ranging from modular blasters that allowed for quick modifications to compact sidearms with increased stopping power. 

Among the projects were: 

Magnetic Rail-Assisted Blasters – Using electromagnetic coils to accelerate plasma bolts, increasing both range and impact, though previous results hinted to no improvement on impact given its temperature. 

Dual-Mode Blasters – Weapons capable of switching between lethal and stun settings instantly, allowing for flexibility in combat. 

Heavy Repeater Variants – For elite troopers, these weapons could sustain longer, high-energy bursts without overheating. () 

Silenced Blasters – Still in development, these models aimed to reduce the flash and sound signature, making stealth operations far more feasible. 

Alongside these, the Empire's elite units were being equipped with weapons tailored to their specific needs. 

Shadow Troopers were outfitted with dark-matter infused disruptors, ensuring instant disintegration upon impact. 

Royal Guards were testing shock-based melee weapons, designed to bypass armor through sheer kinetic force. 

The Empire had no shortage of creativity when it came to ensuring its dominance. 

Even the finest weapon was useless if the soldier wielding it fell too easily. 

The Phase IV Clone trooper armor, a refinement of earlier designs, had increased resistance against both blaster fire and kinetic trauma, but it was still far from perfect. 

Too heavy, and mobility was compromised. 

Too light, and protection was sacrificed. 

The current three-tiered approach to armor development was as follows: 

Elite Trooper Enhancements – Experimental powered armor, integrating limited shielding and enhanced servos for increased reaction speed. 

Standard Trooper Refinements – Lighter plating with enhanced energy dispersal, reducing vulnerability to direct hits. 

Specialized Armor for Specific Environments – Variants designed for extreme conditions, such as radiation-heavy battlefields or deep-sea operations. 

A key breakthrough was the Magnetically Reactive Plating, capable of temporarily hardening upon impact, absorbing kinetic force before returning to its normal state. 

Still in the testing phase, but promising. 

No battlefield was truly won without explosives. 

While standard thermal detonators remained in heavy use, newer designs were pushing the boundaries of devastation. 

Current developments included: 

Plasma Charges – Capable of burning through even the thickest defenses. (under review for improvement) 

Disruption Grenades – Emitting short-range EMP bursts, crippling droids and energy weapons in a localized area. (under review for improvement) 

Hull-Breaching Charges – Experimental—one that had bitten its own creator, his head being caught within in its first activation, and as such was pending review... and pending for a new head researcher. 

Some of these bordered on overkill, but in the Emperor's vision of warfare, no weapon was too extreme if it ensured victory. 

Governor Wilhuff Tarkin strode out of the Research & Development complex, his crisp Imperial uniform as pristine as when he had arrived, despite the ever-present scent of burnt metal, ozone, and chemical coolant that filled the halls. 

He did not slow his pace. He did not look back. 

The strategic weapons division lay deeper within the complex, but he had no intention of visiting it today. 

It was not that he had no interest—on the contrary, few things fascinated him more than the weapons that could shape the course of history with a single deployment—but that department had provided no actionable updates in recent weeks. Their latest project—something related to planetary-level containment fields—was progressing agonizingly slow, and until they had something more concrete, he saw no reason to waste his time with their theoretical nonsense. 

Instead, his focus remained on the practical developments. 

The expansion of the Imperial war machine, the evolution of its infantry, and the next step in fleet doctrine were far more pressing concerns. 

All of which he would need to summarize and present to the Emperor. 

Tarkin had jumped at the opportunity to oversee the R&D department, and why wouldn't he? 

It was the most valuable post in the Empire that did not require commanding a fleet or governing a sector. 

Every technological advancement passed through him before reaching the Emperor's desk. 

Every breakthrough, every failure, every prototype—it all went through his review, his discretion, his hand. 

It was a position that commanded great respect and even greater fear. 

Those in R&D knew that a single misstep—a single wasted project—could see them reassigned to a less fortunate division. 

And if there was one department he had absolutely no intention of being transferred to, it was the Bio-Warfare division. 

Tarkin was no stranger to monstrous weapons. 

Some of the machines being developed here—the artillery walkers, the dreadnought-class Knightmare Frames, the orbital bombardment silos—were horrifying in their own right. 

Yet, they were predictable. Controlled. Practical. 

Bio-warfare? That was something else entirely. 

One wrong calculation. 

One containment breach. 

One sniff in the wrong direction… 

And that was it. 

An exemplary service record, reduced to a tragic footnote in an autopsy report. 

No. Tarkin had no delusions of invulnerability—he was intelligent, but intelligence could only protect one so much from an airborne mutagen or a strain of neurotoxin that could dissolve flesh in seconds. 

There was a reason the Bio-Warfare division was placed under heavy security, deeper underground than any other R&D wing. 

He had only been down there once. 

That was more than enough. 

A facility filled with researchers in sealed hazmat suits, genetic experiments stored in reinforced stasis tubes, and bio-engineered monstrosities that defied nature itself. 

The lead scientist at the time—a brilliant but deranged individual—had personally escorted him through the sector, enthusiastically discussing viral agents that could liquefy organic matter, bacteria that could infest and control their hosts, and even parasitic organisms capable of spreading through the Force itself. 

Tarkin had cut the tour short after witnessing a test subject—a fully grown Wookiee—convulse violently as its own body tore itself apart from the inside. 

That day, he made two firm decisions: 

He would never step foot in that facility again. 

If he ever needed to silence an enemy without leaving evidence, he knew exactly where to requisition a solution. 

As the blast doors sealed behind him, Tarkin exhaled softly, taking in the sterile, crisp air of the main corridor leading out of the R&D complex. 

He tapped a command into his holopad, bringing up the summarized findings of today's inspection. 

Kinetic weaponry remains an alternative but not a priority. 

Blaster advancements continue, with promising modularity projects. 

Knightmare Frames remain stalled due to power limitations. 

Dreadnought-class armor proves viable but needs further refinement. 

Explosives and tactical ordnance show promising results. 

It was a solid report—progress was being made, but challenges remained. 

His lips curled slightly as he scrolled further down. 

There was one section, however, that would certainly interest the Emperor. 

The continued development of the "Sun Razer" energy system. 

Though still pale in comparison to the legendary Star Forge, it was proving to be a worthy medium until the Empire could truly replicate or construct additional planetary-scale energy forges. 

If perfected, it would revolutionize the Empire's ability to harness and store vast amounts of energy—something that had been a limiting factor even for the mightiest of warships. 

With a satisfied nod, he closed the report, already anticipating the conversation he would soon have with the Emperor. 

There was work to be done, and as always… 

He would ensure that it was done efficiently.