Apocalypsis

"Ackbar plans to attack Coruscant," Isard announced at the council meeting.

Bertoff Hissa's face twisted in horror. Around the table, the other councillors shared that look—except for Isard. Just yesterday, they'd announced the Kashyyyk rescue operation to the entire galaxy, a move designed to boost popular support. And now, less than twenty-four hours later—this.

"How sure are we of this?" Hissa demanded, pushing himself from his chair, face flushed with fury. How could the galaxy be so cruel? Why—why, the moment he tried to save his soldiers—did the galaxy answer with another betrayal?

"I have agents embedded in the New Republic," Isard replied coldly. "They monitor movements in real time. The Republic's internal security is laughable."

Hissa collapsed back into his chair, his strength evaporating. Disbelief etched into his face as the Emperor's advisors began murmuring opinions—panicked, self-preserving, pathetic. Like frightened animals. They didn't care about strategy or the Empire—they cared only for their own survival should Coruscant fall.

"We must order the fleet to return," Pestage said, his voice unsteady. "Coruscant must be defended at all costs."

Of all of them, Pestage was the most hated man in the New Republic—second only to Isard. If captured, he wouldn't even be given a trial. Death would be mercy, and he knew it.

The Emperor remained silent, his expression unreadable, but he understood. These men didn't care about Coruscant out of loyalty—they cared because they were afraid. And yet, for once, fear aligned with necessity.

He raised a hand, summoning a vast holographic map of the galaxy. Glowing dots and shifting frontlines lit up the chamber—marking every remaining Imperial force.

The picture was bleak.

Three decisive battles loomed: against Degurechaff, against Grunger and Grant, and now, potentially, against Ackbar. The Empire had once been defined by overwhelming strength. Now, its numerical advantage merely kept it alive.

"If we lose against Degurechaff, Grunger, Grant, or Ackbar," the Emperor said, his voice emotionless, "the consequences could be catastrophic. The New Republic is playing its cards well."

"We can win," Hissa said suddenly, sitting straighter. "We don't need the fleet—we just need an army."

The council stared at him like he'd lost his mind. But they said nothing. The Emperor was watching him closely, his favor made Hissa temporarily untouchable.

"Would you care to elaborate?" the Emperor asked, his voice calm but authoritative—as if granting Hissa a chance at redemption.

Hissa seized it.

"The New Republic's army is their weakest link. Their soldiers have always needed five—ten, even—to match a single Imperial trooper. Yes, they've centralized, but an army can't be forged in days. Their ground forces are still the same: untrained militias led by populists and warlords, not professionals."

"We've never lost on land—only in space. And that was because of Skywalker. We could fortify Coruscant, turn it into a death trap. Let them come. Let them bleed. We could copy Degurechaff's defense: grinding siege, controlled collapse, calculated attrition. Ackbar might come personally—like Dooku once did. And if he does, we can kill him."

Adrenaline surged through him. He wasn't a genius, but he could copy genius. He would mimic what worked: guerrilla warfare, attrition, layered defense.

"Your idea is to make the New Republic… siege Coruscant?" Pestage barked. "Are you mad? Do you remember Grievous' attack? That was a week of hell. A siege would mean months!"

"Coruscant doesn't have food reserves for more than half a month," Li-An added. "If supply routes are cut, the underlevels will riot. And when they do, they'll rise—level by level—until they're tearing through the surface like a tide. Trillions, starving. Maybe cannibalizing."

"Unless," Martin Torman interjected, "we lockdown Level 101."

The room fell silent.

"We've run civilian models in COMPNOR," he continued. "Over seventy percent of food consumption happens below that level. And it's where our jurisdiction ends. We could seal it off. Nobody would notice. Nobody cares about them anyway."

Faces paled—some in horror, others in consideration. Isard and Pestage exchanged looks.

"Why not just recall the fleet from Kashyyyk?" Li-An asked, his voice straining. "That's a more humane option than executing seven hundred trillion people by starvation."

"They're not citizens," Isard replied coolly. "They don't pay taxes. No IDs. They're ghosts. If Alderaan's destruction didn't collapse the economy, sealing the underlevels won't either."

"How bold of you to assume Alderaan didn't trigger the collapse," Li-An snapped. "The panic caused by its destruction drove investors to pull out of the stock market. Confidence in the government tanked. That is what started the economic crisis—not the Rebels. The economy is driven by trust, and if we kill trillions, there will be none left. By far the best decision is to call back the fleet."

"Are you blaming the Emperor?" Isard asked, her tone sharp.

Before Li-An could respond, Hissa cut in.

"The problem is the army, Li-An! If we abandon our troops at Kashyyyk after announcing the rescue—our soldiers will lose faith. If the army collapses, planets will fall without a fight. Billions of troops will become mercenaries or traitors. The economy's already dead—we can't lose the army too."

Drich, head of the ISB, spoke with careful calm. "If we proceed with sealing Level 101, ISB can handle it. We've maintained Coruscant's security for twenty years. It won't be easy, but it's possible."

"Imperial Intelligence has greater capacity for such operations," Isard added, her voice like ice.

Amidst the new argument, the Emperor focused on the two of them.

"Would such an operation be wise?" he asked, quiet but firm.

Isard didn't hesitate. "It is the only viable solution. Without it, we risk losing the army. Nothing else matters."

Drich was more cautious. "I believe Hissa is overestimating the impact. This is not the collapse of the Empire. We still have time. The rebels may be approaching—but not imminently. Let's not act as if Coruscant will fall tomorrow."

The room went quiet again, turning toward Isard.

She didn't blink.

"My agents received the intel after the battle of Mon Cala but could not contact me until today. The rebel fleet finished repairs a week ago and then departed immediately. We estimate two to three weeks before arrival."

The Emperor frowned, trying to recall her earlier wording. He remembered her bragging—perhaps a little too much.

"Why were your agents not able to send this information earlier?"

"The New Republic is incompetent, but not that incompetent. They are trying everything to identify my agents, so they were forced to keep a low profile for weeks."

"How long would it take to turn our fleet from Corellia once we win against the rebels and the traitors?"

"One month," Isard answered. "Two weeks to return, and even then, they'd be damaged. We'd face the New Republic fleet—fresh from the shipyards—with exhausted ships and low morale. A siege is inevitable."

The Emperor steepled his fingers. "Li-An," he said, turning to his economic advisor, "how much food could we import before the siege and how much time would that give us?"

"With everything we have? A lot of food that would give us a month and a half, maybe two months if we ration the food. But we'd have to cut major trade routes to redirect cargo ships."

"And the cost?"

Li-An exhaled slowly. "Disastrous. But everything's been disastrous. The galaxy's economy no longer exists. The market is dead, trade is gone, the financial system shattered. The textbooks I studied are irrelevant now."

"Can it be saved?"

"In theory, yes. But we'd have to step back—deregulate, cut taxes, restore market freedom, let the economy rebuild naturally and most importantly not cut most of the trade routes in order to prepare for a siege."

"That's madness!" Hissa exploded. "We're at war! There's no breathing room! we need food and weapons at any cost."

"Degurechaff nationalized everything," he added. "And it's working! Your economic solutions would doom the war!"

"She controls nothing but undeveloped space!" Li-An shot back. "Of course her GDP doubles when a planet goes from nothing to something. One plus one is a hundred percent growth—but it's still only two."

Hissa bristled. He hated how much he agreed with her.

"She may not know economics," he said through clenched teeth, "but she knows war. And she is in a far better situation than us. Maybe your numbers would matter in peacetime. But now? They're fiction. Emotion drives the market? You, the bureaucrats, built the Empire's economy on emotions, magical numbers that growed and said that our economy was great—not on industrial might and real tangible things. And now we are paying the price."

Li-An slammed his hands on the table. "And whose idea was the Death Star, then?! A weapon to destroy planets—and somehow you expected stability?! For a thousand years the economic system worked and you, the armed forces, destroyed it everything with your foolish decisions, believing to know better than the civilian branch of the Empire"

"The army opposed it!" Hissa yelled back. "That was Tarkin's madness—and the Navy's!"

The Emperor raised a hand. Silence slowly returned.

"Enough," he said quietly.

Hissa sat. Li-An remained standing—trembling, cybernetics whirring beneath his skin.

"This is madness," he said. "The Empire was ruined the moment it chose to prioritize war over governance. Palpatine set us on this path. If you want war-mongering fools to burn what's left, do it without me. I renounce this job and my work for the Emperor"

He turned and left without looking back, the Emperor's eyes at all moments on his back. The doors shut behind him and the Emperor turned to Drich and Isard, who paid all their attention possible.

"No harm is to come to him. He's a good man, even if he's no longer useful."

Silence hung heavy.

"The economy… as we knew it… is dead," the Emperor said slowly. "And if saving Coruscant means sacrificing the economy—then I will make that sacrifice. The full capacity of the Empire will be given to the military. Trade, stock markets, all of it—it no longer matters. All that matters now is victory. Does anyone object?"

No one spoke.

"Then I am leaving."

Actions had consequences. And consequences demanded action. He could no longer act as he wished—not while surrounded by crisis. All he could do now was ride the tidal wave threatening to drown the Empire. Whether it ended in death or victory—he would see it through.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luke Skywalker saw the blue changing nature of the hyperdive dimension, it was magical to see how it changed shapes, how it changed colors, it seemed so beautiful that someone could believe it was harmless, but he knew that like in nature, the more colorfull it looked, the more dangerous it was.

The New Republic armed forces required him again, and as much as it hurted him to leave his apprentices in Mon Cala he had to take responsibility for his own actions, he had been the person that destroyed the First Death Star, the one that 'defeated' Vader and Palpatine. He was considered in every single operation of the New Republic because sometimes it would be impossible to obtain victory without him.

He was, in some form, a slave to his own success.

"I hate this dimension," Ackbar said behind him, as he walked into the hangar where Luke Skywalker was, "Not because of anything in particular, it is just that I know so little about this place that it scares me. If there was an alternative, I would use it, but there is none. Militarily speaking, hyperspace travel is the only practical way of moving through the void of Space, and the Empire has mastered the art of controlling it."

"The Interdictor you mean?" Asked Luke as he turned around, his robes were dark, a choice that his father said that looked good on him, implying also that he would get all the ladies he wanted. Luke felt uneasy about that statement but he let it pass, he craved love as much as he craved the victory of the light side. He did not want lust and appearances, even if he had indulged himself in those two often, usually trying to be careful to avoid leaving Skywalkers around the galaxy.

He had committed many mistakes as a man, but he had tried to be careful.

Discovering that Leia was his sister had left him deeply touched in the moment, and she married Han… he was his friend of course, but he still would have liked it had been in another way.

Having wrong feelings did not matter as long as you recognized that they were wrong and did not act upon them.

"No, the Interdictor was just a first step, I have heard rumors. Grant, the Grand Admiral that now works for us, warned me about a secret weapon the Empire was creating, he did not have much information but he said that the Empire, before its collapse, wanted to create artificial physical borders to be able to control the space movement, had this project come into conclusion before the First or the Second Death Star… we would be dead, executed by Vader, and the dreams of the New Republic too would disappear."

No one except Leia knew that Vader was his and her father. He felt that Ackbar, even with everything, could be trusted with some secrets, he wanted friends now that Han and many others that he trusted were usually gone, doing missions or other things.

Before it was him, Leia and Han going everywhere, now it was the same situation but with Ackbar.

"I would have not died," said Luke, "Probably indoctrinated and serving Lord Vader, maybe the Emperor would be dead too."

Ackbar looked confused at Luke.

"Mind elaborating? I know your powers are special and similar to those of Vader, but why would he want a rebel serving under him?"

"Ackbar, are we friends?"

Ackbar had been surprised by that question, and he began thinking about it, could their relationship be called friendship?

"I would not mind being your friend, we had come through a lot together, we spent a lot of time together. I trust you and I hope you trust me too."

Luke sighed, "What if I told you that Lord Vader was once one of the greatest heroes of the Republic? Saving it countless times from the Separatists that wanted to destroy it, and falling together with the Republic once it became the Empire."

Ackbar became surprised, "Vader just appeared after the fall of the Empire."

"Because he was injured. His clothes and his name were to hide that fact."

"Who was he?"

"Anakin Skywalker, my father, Leia's too. Several times he offered me the opportunity to join him and rule the Galaxy together. He hated Palpatine and he would have carried out a coup d'etat if the rebellion hadn't happened."

Ackbar looked concerned, the implications, had they been known by the public, would forever destroy Luke's and Leia's position in the New Republic. The masses were ignorant and the politicians would have used the moment to take them out forever, exiled or maybe just stripped from any power. Luke had given him such sensitive information… Ackbar assumed Luke knew full well the power he just placed in his hands. What could this mean?

"That is… and you rejected him?"

"I never lusted for power, Ackbar. I never wanted it, I just wanted to do the right thing."

Ackbar nodded, feeling that he had gained even more respect for Luke, more than he had before if that was possible.

"Thank you for your honesty Luke… I will keep the secret forever."

Luke nodded, seeing the colours of hyperspace with Ackbar at his side. Ackbar felt uneasy about the secret but nonetheless he felt somehow more attached to Luke after knowing the secret.

"Kuat is going to be a very powerful hit, but they are so heavily protected… we might take heavy casualties," Luke tried to change the subject after such a reveal, he had learned that it was always easier to tell something difficult and ignore it as fast as possible, it worked very well to ease any problem.

"I have a plan."

"Another genius masterful plan?" Asked Luke.

"If it works, we will win Kuat without casualties."

"Now that is difficult to believe, how?"

Ackbar smiled with a smug face, or that was Luke's interpretation of Ackbar's face, sometimes it is difficult to understand the emotions of non-humans.

"Greed, greed will win us this battle"

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week had passed since Coruscant had been preparing for the siege, news had spread fast, COMPNOR wanted to take as many people out of Coruscant as possible, economic concerns did not mattered anymore, they needed the less people the best in the city, free transport for those that did not have personal spaceships, those rich enough would come out on their own. In many cases those that left abandoned everything behind, believed that they would soon return, and it's not like COMPNOR and the ISB gave the civilians the mercy of carrying much equipment with them.

The Orbital Stations around Coruscant had served momentarily as chokepoints, millions would be left from Coruscant in the stations and then spaceships would come from other planets to take the refugees. Those planets that wanted to attract rich people took the opportunity by creating purchasable IDs and permissions of residence only affordable by the wealthy, those planets that needed cheap labour sent ships to collect those that did not had a choice, rumours said too that there were many cases of kids being kidnapped and disappearing in this massive population movement, not that there was any control in the stations.

On the planet, trillions still decided to live on the planet, believing that nothing would happen or that it would not affect them particularly.

In the Space Station 01 of Coruscant, two men in ISB uniforms walked among the thousands and thousands of refugees around them, their faces were new and unknown but it did not mattered, their clothes gave them all the authority needed and no one dared to stop them, fearing what could be the consequences of interfering with the Empire business.

"Look at this mess." the ISB officer said to his assistant, from time to time he would step on someone's limbs, some poor bastard trying to sleep best as he can on the durasteel door, after saying sorry for the hundredth time the officer had stopped saying anything, instead trying to move himself to his position without interruption.

"Do you think the plan will work out?" his assistant asked, both had been in the ISB for years and they had experience in the type of mission they were doing, but there was always some time of risk attached to this type of operation.

"She knows better than us, doesn't she?" He commented, finally arriving at the Imperial Soldiers garrisoning the entrance to the military part of the space station, he gave him his identification and they allowed them two to pass.

"First Empire, Second Empire, such a mess honestly." Said the assistant.

"Civil wars tend to be messy. I have been on many planets with local civil wars, brothers killing each other for political reasons, mothers who have to see their sons executed because of their ideas, fathers that have to betray their sons in order to survive. The worst part of the civil war is that it never ends, once it has begun it will drag on for centuries until time heals the wounds, and many times it doesn't. This civil war we have currently, might very much change the shape of the galaxy forever."

They walked through endless corridors, ISB agents, Army Troopers, Navy Troopers and staff members. Hundreds of men moved through these corridors to their current destination, not looking at anyone else, just centering on their mission, they were organized like good ants.

The white light of the corridor was soft, a specific tone that was meant to reduce the electricity consumption but also allow the eyes of the workers to feel less tired after being so many hours in highly artificially illuminated areas, apparently about a decade ago super-powerful lights were used which caused several eye problems, the Imperial Syndicate made the government to do a reform in all the lights used by the state. A time where one could argue that the Empire worked as it should be, as a common entity for the betterment of the galaxy and its people.

The Imperial Syndicate, what a changing factor it had been for quadrillions of workers in the galaxy, but it did not matter now, the Rebels ignored the good things obtained by this organization, the True Imperials believed that it was a weakness and the Reformist believed that it was a tool of the "corrupt elites" to control the citizenship and the workers, keeping them poor and in bad conditions in exchange of some "minor privileges".

"What consequences would these scars have?" The assistant asked, curious about his superior's thoughts.

"Who knows, maybe this is the last year we can dream of a unified galaxy under one government, so much conflict and if no state obtains supremacy in the next years we very much would see a stalemate."

The assistant nodded, "That's why we are here, no?"

"That's right, in the end we know we are on the good side of history, those in front of us are wrong, we are right, it is just that simple but in reality it is not. Yet we have to keep it simple, unless you want to be traumatized, do you want to live traumatized?" He poked his assistant arm with his finger as he walked, annoying his assistant on purpose.

"Cut the crap," he said, making his superior laugh a little bit.

Soon they arrived at the Central Command of the Space Station, it was guarded by Navy Troopers, some argued the most useless infantry in the Empire but to be fair they were still better equipped and trained than the rebel militias.

They showed their identification and entered the HQ. The Captain in charge of the Space Station was a fine man, you could call him handsome but it depended on the personal taste of the individual. With his short hair he looked young to be a Captain.

"Captain Tein, I am Director Red, I have come on behalf of the highest authority of the Empire to come and discuss with you security matters, would you mind giving us some time in private?"

He showed his identification to the Captain. The captain looked at it, it seemed real, he groaned in discomfort.

"Fuckers of the General Staff are using my Space Station as a refugee camp and now are giving me orders, since the Emperor is dead no one gives a fuck for military dignity"

"Are you disobeying orders Captain?"

"No, I am just complaining a lil bit before being sodomized by the General Staff, follow me."

The Captain turned around, walking slowly to his personal office as the staff of the "bridge" looked with curiosity, the ISB had never been appreciated by the Armed Forces, it was usually uncommon for the "dog" to like the "dog watchers". Bureaucrats that would never be in the field, just judging the Armed Forces without understanding why many times their actions had been as they had been.

And Captain Tein expected it to be one of those days where the ISB would touch his balls with sandpaper and then leave to trouble other military officers. "Feel welcome; sadly I do not have caff so water should be sufficient," he said, opening the door to his office and allowing the two officers to come in, closing the door as he came behind them.

He sat on his chair and the two ISB officers sat on the seats in front of the table, their trench coats hanging outside of the chair and the Captain looked at them with a little bit of resentment.

"Those were created for the troops in Mimban, military equipment becoming civilian fashion… ridiculous."

"The ISB has undeniable ties with the Armed Forces, Captain." answered the assistant.

"No they don't, they're just an over-glorified branch of COMPNOR."

The only good thing about the rise of relevance of Imperial Intelligence in this side of the Empire was that now everyone could say to the ISB what they really thought of them without real consequences. Imperial Intelligence, like a hunter, waited for any mistake to take more and more influence and power from the ISB, they were handicapped when related in protecting their honor or members.

"Well," commented Red, "If you want to believe that." Red looked at the Captain with a smug face. "Could you please hand him the documents Tober?" He said to his assistant.

Tober nodded in silence, giving a data-pad to the captain. It was unlocked and the Captain took it with a careful and precautions slow movement, unknowing what was this about, but when he looked at it he found a photo of himself, he looked confused, touched the screened and moved it to the right but nothing passed, he moved it to the left and a new image appeared. When he saw it, his heart beating at an abnormal speed, he began hyperventilating and looked with horror at the ISB officers.

Red gave a machiavellian smile to the Captain as he put his elbows on the table and his face on his hands.

"I wonder now, do I have your attention?"

"How…"

"Do you doubt the ISB competence in its work? In the South Supersector no one doubts our job, we tend to be… overzealous with our job"

A sound was heard under the durasteel table, the Captain, confused, looked at the direction of the sound and saw that the assistant had something under the table, he was not stupid enough to not understand what was being pointed at him.

"If you kill me, you won't come out of this alive."

"Are you sure about that? Pedophilia is a very big crime, and we have enough proof to convince the entire galaxy that your summary execution was justified, unless of course, you cooperate with us"

The captain gulped, "Why would that…" He was about to say whore, but he reconsidered his words, fearing for his life, "Woman care about me?"

Red always enjoyed this moment of his job, when the people he is manipulating begin to question every moment of their life. He had been an agent for her, but more specifically for Rano Resuci, and he had teached them many lessons and tricks for these moments.

"You? Oh no, no no no… She does not give a fuck about you, I am sure in fact she doesnt even know your crimes, but she does care about this space station, have you ever believed yourself to be safe? Really, do you believe everyone in the Core is loyal to your elite's rule? Too arrogant to believe that the reformist movement had no sympathizers in the Core… do you know how many space stations we control? Half of them, do you know what will happen if you don't obey blindly? That you will die and no one will care, because we will have proof that you have kidnapped children to predate. So tell me, are you a gambler? Do not worry to answer that question, we know that you are, we know everything about you, and you have always wanted to bet on the winning side. We have shown only what we wanted and look at you, shivering and near a mental breakdown, but do not worry, we don't want you to look like a calmed person, we just want you to do as we order blindly. Because you will bet on the winning side in this conflict… or will die for gambling everything on the wrong color of the roulette."

The Captain did not know what to do, but he did not want to die, the Empire? It did not matter if he was dead, so he took the only decision possible.

"I will… blindly follow your orders, but… what will happen with… that?" He asked, pointing at the photos of him doing the unthinkable to an uncorrupted soul.

"The reward of following blindly orders is pardon for your crimes against the Second Empire."

"What will happen… when my subordinates question me?"

"Do not worry Captain, we are bringing reinforcements"

"Reinforcements?" He asked.

"Yes, many Stormtrooper Legions and Imperial Armies, I am sure you can keep some of them in here, in the end… so many civilians, extra security is needed in case some of them are saboteurs, no?"

As a way to try and relieve stress Tein started to rub his chin, it had a three day beard, he was sweating constantly looking at the photos and the smiling ISB officers in front of him. His life was over and the only way forward seemed to be this, to change sides.

But… if it was true that Legions and Armies were changing sides, did that mean that… the Second Empire wanted to conquer Coruscant?

He shivered in fear.

"I asked you a question Captain." Insisted Red.

"Yes, more security… is needed."

"As a fellow gambler I can tell you, you just have put all your life and money in the winning color of the roulette, welcome aboard, we will be staying here with you for as long as it takes the ride."

Tein nodded slowly, fearing invoking the ire of those that had his life in their hands. Meanwhile, Red remembered what Degurechaff said to them before they departed: Humans are stupid and fearful, you don't need an army to convince a city to surrender, you just need confidence and appearances.

And she was so damn right.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tanya Degurechaff stared into the endless night of space as she was about to eat a steak and potatoes, she had a glass of wine beside her too. She poured the sauce the chef had prepared, trying to maintain an air of elegance—but that illusion didn't last. Instinct kicked in. She ate like a soldier, fast and focused. She told herself to savor it, but the motions were automatic, as natural and unnoticed as breathing.

When the plate was empty, she bit her lip. She was full—but hollow.

A smile crept across her face, uninvited and involuntary. It came from somewhere deeper than thought. She was eager for battle. Somewhere in the wiring of her brain, war still felt like home. Conflict, death, destruction—they weren't fears. They were expectations.

Her brain chemistry had been dictating her life since her first birth. No matter how sharp her will, it always came second to biology. She'd fought to gain some ground—she drank less now, controlled her spiraling thoughts better than before. She wasn't ruled by emotion. She clung to logic, structure. But even that felt like trench warfare. A stagnant front. Progress measured in centimeters.

Almost every day felt like a quiet battle against herself. She tried not to drown in desperation, clinging to the same alcohol that helped her stay afloat for so many years. Medicine was an option—but the idea of adding more dependencies made her hesitate. Mixing antidepressants and alcohol wasn't ideal either. She told herself she could handle the consequences. One of the perks of ruling a chunk of the galaxy like a dictator: she could afford it. Hell, if she wanted, her salary could match the GDP of a mid-sized planet. No one would question it.

But appearances mattered. She maintained a modest pay—twenty thousand credits a month. Less than what most high-ranking officers made. She preferred the illusion of restraint.

She finished the wine and stared into the crystal glass, then quietly poured herself another glass of wine. Somewhere in the silence of her office aboard the Star Destroyer, she emptied the bottle. She felt the weight of it in her body—but not the relief of being drunk. She reached for a second bottle but stopped herself. That extra moment—the effort of uncorking it—was enough of a deterrent tonight.

"I'll admit," Someone said loudly in the room, "despite the criticism that I might give, this plan's clever."

Salaryman appeared in the chair across from her, and next to him sat Tanya von Degurechaff—herself. It felt like a performance review. Two ghosts watching her work, judging every step.

"Of course it's clever," said the childlike Tanya with a smug grin. "She has my experience. Far more useful than your knowledge."

"It'll be beautiful," she added, "to watch it move from paper to battlefield."

Tanya allowed herself a small smile. "I have to admit, I think it's good too. But… Do you think I was right to compartmentalize it? Giving only small pieces to those involved? I'm worried it might backfire."

Salaryman rubbed his chin. "Given what I've seen, I'd say it was the right call. We can't trust Imperial Intelligence isn't compromised. If they were, the plan would already be over. Maybe you're right, you are being paranoid."

"It's not paranoia," Tanya von Degurechaff replied, "if they really are watching you."

She smirked. "And besides, it's better this way. You'll get what you want and fool everyone. The more people in the dark, the tighter the control. Tell me—has their siege preparation helped you?"

Tanya thought back to the moment she ordered the fleet to stop mid-void. The original plan was still usable, but it needed adjustment. Success now depended less on her and more on how the enemy reacted.

"It's complicated," she said. "It's caused delays… but it'll make the first step easier. At least I won't have to commit my initial forces in a space battle."

Someone knocked on the durasteel door and she looked at it, her eyes then drifting back to her "guests" for them to no longer be there, sighing she stood up and approached the door, she kept herself up and walking well even if intoxicated by the alcohol, but she appreciated being able to lay on the wall when opening the door.

The doors slid to the sides, showing the stormtrooper Field Marshal, who would hold command of all the Stormtrooper legions that she had brought to this battle, she looked at him waiting for an explanation.

"I have come to inform that the operation you have ordered me to supervise has been completed."

Tanya nodded, "Good job.", no more was needed, she was about to close the door when the Field Marshal took a look at the inside of the office, seeing no one.

"I thought you were with someone Generalissima, I heard you talking through the door before knocking."

Tanya damned everything in her head, she could not understand why the hell the durasteel doors were so bad at soundproofing but she could not let the Field Marshal go away thinking she was crazy.

"Were you… talking with yourself Generalissima?" Asked the Field Marshal, he was young and she hoped that he had a good sense of humor.

"Of course I talk with myself, Field Marshal Kante, even I need to talk with an expert from time to time"

She laughed at how egocentric that joke sounded, the Field Marshal laughed too at the joke, it was not funny but it had been shocking enough to break the military professionalism a little bit.

"I will use that the next time someone asks about my habit of talking my thoughts." He smiled, putting up his military cap as a sign of respect. "Have a nice night Generalissima, tomorrow will be a great day."

"It will be…" She said, the military officer walked away and she closed the door.

"It will be." She said again, smiling with a machiavellian and scary smile.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Belisarius Draneir felt overwhelmed by the paperwork, so many things were happening and he was unable to understand how Tanya was able to handle this amount of paperwork every day. Reading countless reports and information delivered by so many departments, having to answer them in some cases, having to give orders of what he wants specifically to be done in some other but usually him having to just take a simple decision, A or B, sometimes the options went down until Z. It was difficult so many times to understand what is probably the best outcome and so much reading had to be done for him to just understand what was the decision even about.

He needed a drink.

"Oh no, I am starting to sound like Tanya." He said as he stood up from the chair, his whole body felt like it was deteriorating every hour he sat in that damned chair, he felt sorry for Tanya and understood why she had left him behind, she needed someone to trust and he was in the end the person that she trusted the most, it did not changed his feelings of being abandoned.

How he was supposed to stay here knowing that she was going into a near suicide mission? He felt like he needed a rest, but he knew that was false, he did not need to rest, he needed to receive something positive on this day. He left everything except his identification on the table and abandoned the office room, beginning to walk in the corridors of the building. Passing by dozens if not more of death troopers guarding the mansion from any external or internal attack.

"Draneir" An annoying voice approached him and he turned around to see Grobelnel approaching him. He felt like he could kill that man with his bare hands if he had the opportunity, but did not act upon his thoughts.

"What do you need nerd?"

Nerd, a basic and useless insult, but it allowed him to ease a little bit the damage to his morale that was seeing that man.

"Ouch, that hurts my feelings" Said Max, walking around Draneir like he had being shot in a bad opera, doing dramatic movements emulating suffering of being shot, he had been shot once, he knew it was not that dramatic, you were shot and you would lose conscious, if you were lucky you would wake up again, if you were not then you would sleep forever. There was no time for dramatic movements, your body would fall to the floor like it had lost the soul that kept it up.

"If you are done with the clownery I have to do a small walk to ease up the stress, so many things happening and the incoming battle. I need something to get my mood up."

Max stopped his exaggerated movements and stood still, appearing to be disciplined for the first time, a patrol of two death troopers passed near them, they did not broke discipline even if they saw such a embarrassing behaviour by Grobelnel, Draneir felt that it was a good thing that they were so disciplined, had they recorded this interaction and sell it to the news he would have so much more problems.

"Yes I do, I have something very important to say, people are asking questions of where is Degurechaff and there is no good answer to give, if she is hiding she is a coward, if we say we don't know where is her location everyone will think she is dead and we are playing dumb about it. We need something to say to the everyone"

Draneir raised his shoulders, "Tell them the truth, that she is carrying out a special operation to blow a decisive victory against the traitors of the First Galactic Empire, imply that she is in Sullust ready to win."

"I have once heard that the best way to fool the world is to tell the truth, I guess telling half the truth would work too." He said, smiling and giving a shy laugh to Draneir that did not even attempt to answer back to his good mood.

"Well, you are a mood breaker, that is sure" Commented Grobelnel as he looked down, taking a small datapad and reading something on it, before pressing something in it.

"Do you want to give the press conference?"

"I will give you the pleasure, you are more… dramatic, you will get in their level pretty easily and that will facilitate things."

Max believed that to be a compliment and nodded, leaving Draneir behind, with a sigh he continued to walk his way out. He hated Grobelnel, he hated the periodist, he hated the news and he hated the politicians. Scum that served no purpose would feed on other people's success to make themselves richer and more powerful. A periodist would lie to get money, a politician would steal from the government to become rich and Max… he just hated him, no longer it was about his chosen sexuality but about his attitude, his way of acting, his actions.

He sighed.

A day had passed since that meeting and he still felt a little bit in a bad mood, it was very early in the morning and he had been told that, like usual, Draneir was not in his office. He would choke him alive if he could.

He sighed before reading the first report of the morning, it was marked as an emergency report and secret, but he opened it the same way like he opened any other report, reading through it he began realizing why it was an emergency.

"Death Troopers of the Imperial Intelligence had infiltrated on the planet Luia and had inflicted several damage to local institutions, it seemed an attempt to "steal" military equipment, but the Inquisition officer fearing something bigger had forced his way up the chain of command until his warning had reached him.

"Death Troopers infiltrated in our territory, the last thing I needed." He sighed, writing orders for Rano Resuci to take care of the matter with the utmost trust that he would deliver results sooner or later, he still did not trusted him but after Tagge treason he felt that his respect of Resuci had grown a lot, maybe he did not deserved all the hate he had gained to him.

Draneir shrugged after finishing the order and sending it to Rano Resuci, continuing with his paperwork as usual, until another emergency report arrived on his computer. He looked at it and it was a reply from Rano Resuci.

"Isn't the entire building guarded by Death Troopers?" He asked, it was not a report, it was a message, and as paranoia grew on Draneir he began to shake. As the Imperial Intelligence dissolved Tanya had given mercy to all Death Troopers that would be willing to promise loyalty to her, almost everyone of them did it, being elemental in the cleanup of the Imperial Intelligence in the sector.

Draneir rapidly sent an "order" that was in reality a message to Rano Resuci.

"What are the chances of our Death Troopers being sleeping agents?"

Draneir wanted an affirmation of these men's loyalty, instead, Resuci gave him the only realistic answer.

"I don't know."

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Matea, an officer of the Empire in Coruscant looked at the radar, signals of incoming spaceships appeared from all directions, he sighed as he realized that probably someone has messed up with the protection system of Coruscant, a rich idiot that believed himself too intelligent to follow standard electronic procedures or a naive newbie. He began calling all his designated sectors on the planet as the standard procedure called, it would be just another boring day at work.

"Here C.R.C.C (Central Radar Control of Coruscant) to sector 0-1, the radar gives me lectures of sixty unregistered M.S.Ss (Military Size Spaceships), I need visual confirmation of the skies in the sector"

"Here Sector 0-1, there is nothing in our skies, there has been a solar storm recently, maybe the electronics have been messed up?"

In a side screen appeared the cameras of the sector, there was nothing, with a sigh the officer continued with his monotone job.

"Here C.R.C.C to sector 0-2, I believe there is being a malfunction in the radar, I need visual confirmation of what is happening in the skies, possible unregistered M.S.Ss incoming"

"Here sector 0-2, Roger Roger, skies are clean, maybe the radar is confusing C.S.Ss (Civilian Size Spaceships) with M.S.Ss?"

"Here…" He continued to ask for confirmation to his nine designated sectors, there were another nine men and women working with him in that post and everyone was asking their designated sectors for visual confirmation, as far as they knew this was a malfunction of the systems.

The radar system of Coruscant was an answer to Grievous attack at the capital in the last days of the Clone Wars, it was meant to help with land-orbit and land-air defenses in case of an invasion, it added a layer of protection to the city in case anyone could surpass the ring of space-stations that protected Coruscant.

"Here C.R.C.C to sector 0-7, we have identified problems in the radar system, but just in case I need visual confirmation of what is happening on the skies. Possible unregistered M.S.Ss incoming"

"Here sector 0-7, it is an Imperial Fleet, they have sent the codes as they are entering in orbit" Answered the operator on the other line, his voice calmed.

Matea looked at the video-transmission, it clearly was an imperial fleet entering orbit but he did not understand why they were unregistered. But if they have passed the Space Station orbit they should be allies.

"Understood sector 0-7, attempting communication with the fleet"

Matea rapidly changed the channel of communications and sent an attempt of calling one of the Imperial Destroyers in search of answers, for Imperial Spaceships to be unregistered was a crime but usually the Imperial Intelligence used that for their own operations, who knew what new mess this could be.

"It is strange" Said the companion next to Matea, I don't recognize those spaceships" He said as he asked for Matea to share the video-transmission, Matea accepted it without a second thought, putting all his attention on the holoprojector expecting a captain or admiral to pop up at any point.

Why are they not answering? He asked himself, for a moment, a betrayal idea, an intrusive thought crossed his mind, what if these were traitors invading Coruscant? But it was impossible, they were expecting a New Republic invasion, wait, why was the government preparing for a siege if an allied fleet was incoming?

Was the New Republic invasion fleet so powerful that this fleet would not allow for space supremacy?

He began to feel nervous and looked to his companion, "So, what are these spaceships? Imperial Intelligence bullshit?"

"The computer is having a hard time identifying it, and is trying to access classified, uncensored documents of the Empire to see what they are."

Some seconds of tension passed where Matea said to himself that it was impossible, unthinkable that the Space Station rings would have fallen and that this was an invasion fleet, the chances were lower than 0.0001%.

"They are Degurechaff's personal spaceships for nuclear missiles!" Screamed the man as soon as the computer gave him the answer. The heart of Matea began beating at an unthinkable speed. But he moved fast, he had been training for this for years. He took his keys out and opened the plasteel protection of the button, and pressed it. Loud invasion alarms began to sound through all the planet. The superior officer in charge that was looking at this from behind rapidly began screaming orders.

"Identify the incoming threat! Send all the data to the defeses!"

Everyone began working like they had been trained, they did not need to think, they were part of a machine that worked at synchrony.

Matea soon identified with horror what was about to happen. The screen on his left showed how from the unknown spaceships nuclear missiles were launched. He allowed the radar to make the count and as he shared all this information with all the defenses, he screamed without knowing that these would be his last words.

"Five hundred and six incoming nuclear missiles!"

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Emperor stared at the sky.

From above, the descending ships carved glowing blue trails through the atmosphere, friction igniting their shields until the entire fleet became a cascade of fire—like the wings of some terrible angel, falling from the heavens. Behind the brilliant descent, white contrails bloomed across the sky—nuclear missiles streaking toward their targets.

Behind him, Hissa barked orders in desperation, voice cracking with urgency as he scrambled to organize an unprepared defense.

"The space stations aren't responding!" one of the staff assistants shouted, panic thick in his voice.

The blue inferno kept falling.

There was nothing the Emperor could do. Nothing any of them could do—except watch.

He turned away from the window, gaze settling on Hissa, now buried in a sea of aides and officers. Dozens of displays flickered with incoming telemetry— the missile's targets marked with ruthless precision: the C.C.R.C. headquarters, military airports, hardened bases, orbital gun arrays...

Every critical nerve of the planet's defense was under attack.

The system had been designed by Vader and Palpatine themselves—an impenetrable wall of durasteel, fire, and will. The pride of the old Empire. And now, that same system has failed. Utterly. Collapsing not under some alien threat, but beneath the wrath of Vader's own daughter.

A laugh slipped from the Emperor's lips. Quiet. Bitter.

"Ironic," he murmured.

The son of Palpatine. The daughter of Vader.

Now tearing each other apart over Coruscant, while the mighty defenses of their fathers burned and crumbled around them.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tanya watched as blue fire poured over the hangar like a tidal wave from the heavens. The only thing separating her from total incineration was a shield—flickering, strained, and never guaranteed to hold. But this was part of the plan. A direct plunge into enemy territory. And a victory by force of will.

Seconds passed like hours. On the distant horizon, the military airports vanished in pillars of light—nuclear fire swallowing concrete and durasteel. A towering mushroom cloud, nearly a kilometer high, bloomed from the ground like a deadly flower. And to her, it was beautiful.

Her black stormtrooper armor shielded her from the radiation, from the blinding light, from the chaos she had unleashed. Even the Star Destroyer's maddened descent into orbit couldn't move the cape fastened to her shoulders—only the wind of open war could do that.

Behind her, dozens upon dozens of Stormtrooper transports waited like hounds in chains.

The Star Destroyer throttled down, its engines struggling to kill speed. The blue flames that had wrapped the hull flickered, then died. A green light illuminated the hangar bay. That was the signal.

One by one, the transports burst from the ship and vanished into the chaos, velocity snapping them away from view in seconds. Every ship had its orders. Every soldier had their purpose.

And now—it was her turn.

Tanya leapt forward into the void, the power of flight returning like a forgotten instinct. The old feeling surged back: freedom. Strength. Velocity. The wind slammed into her as she crossed the threshold of the Star Destroyer's shield, but she held her course, unshaken.

Adrenaline lit her up like fire through dry grass. Her heart pounded. Her eyes scanned the sky.

She allowed herself a moment.

The alarms of a dying world wailed below. The orbital defenses were ash. Air superiority belonged to her. And all around—thousands upon thousands of transports cut through the sky like a swarm.

It was glorious.

She laughed. Loud and raw, the sound carried through her comms like a war drum. The kind of laugh that wasn't about humor—but release. Joy. Completion.

"Good morning, Coruscant!" she screamed, the words riding the wind like a battle cry.

This—this was the feeling she had been chasing for years. The singular moment when planning, chaos, power, and purpose aligned.

A moment of absolute and undeniable happiness.