Atop the highest floor of the tallest skyscraper within Eriadu City, was the penthouse to the Tarkin dynasty. Inside were the carcasses of countless beasts all personally hunted by a member of the family. Ancient weapons, and manuscripts regarding hunting, and war lined the walls.
Sitting alone within a big swivel chair was Maxwell Tarkin, the patriarch, and father of Wilhuff Tarkin. With a head of white hair, and large bushy mustache, the thin figure was dressed smartly, and cut a sharp image. His tired, almost lazy looking eyes belied an intelligence no less keen than that of his sons.
However, the death of his heir had left the old man out of sorts, and his typically superior 'perfect' persona had cracked. A large, half empty bottle of some expensive vintage lay on his office desk, and a dozen monitors displaying current events were playing in the background.
Maxwell rapped his knuckles on the table, and took a swig of his drink. His eyes constantly veered towards the comm unit attached to his desk. Any moment now, he had been expecting it to start blinking, indicating that the mission had been complete. With His Majesty's favor, Maxwell had intended to end the Quintad once and for all…except his son's sudden, and unexpected demise had left the Tarkin family in a bind.
Aging, and on the decline, he did not have enough time to sire and mold a new heir. He had already lost two children to the Tarkin family trials, and he would not tempt a fourth. The only remaining child baring his blood was his younger brother's daughter. To ease her road into society, Maxwell had decided that with the change of government into an Empire, he would take care of the loose ends.
And yet, no message had come forth. The hit squad he had sent to the gala remained silent.
Lips forming into a thin line, he was about to call someone, when his comm unit lit up.
"What is it, I'm busy." Maxwell voiced his displeasure. Yet it was not the mercenary he had been expecting on the other line, but one of his business partners.
"Max, turn on the news, something big is happening!"
Maxwell was about to rebuke this associate for using such a casual form of address, yet as he glanced up at the monitors, he found that every station was broadcasting the same thing. Turning up the volume, he was stunned with what he heard.
"Breaking news, a Jedi Knight reportedly has cleaned the capital of pollution. People claim that their incurable diseases have been cleansed!"
"This just in, this crippled man can now walk thanks to a mysterious blue light that passed through the city."
"...tonight, at approximately-"
Maxwell rubbed his knee, and found it no longer ached like it once did. Frowning to himself, he examined a wobbly frame that captured the man at the epicenter of it all.
The image of a hooded, kneeling figure was revealed within a town square. Tens of thousands had come to surround him, clamoring for his attention.
"The stranger who was at the epicenter of the light is about to speak, let's listen in." One reporter said in a hushed whisper.
The man began to slowly levitate and hovered off the ground, before he pulled something from his pocket, it was a cannister of some sort. A bright blue beam left the device, and directly toppled a statue dedicated to the Tarkin family. People within the crowd made hushed whispers amongst one another as the statue fell. Nimbly hopping onto the space that the statue had occupied, the man lifted his head high.
'That mask!?' Maxwell recalled seeing a recording of this man a month ago! An insider at the government had informed him that this was the man responsible for murdering his son!
Vision going red, Maxwell ignored what the man was going to say, and pressed a button on his desk.
"Lord Tarkin, sir?" A man's voice replied.
"Deploy the weapon to the town square. Turn on the news. The masked man is his target. Furthermore, contact the Mandalorians, it's time they earned their keep." Maxwell said in a heavy tone.
"...the project has just finished. The clone brain wasn't taking well to the cybernetics, but a strange blue light helped with the procedure…are you sure you want to deploy him?" The voice on the other line questioned.
"Do not question me again, doctor." Maxwell coldly intoned.
"It shall be done, Lord Tarkin. Your son shall have his revenge." The doctor solemnly stated, then hung up.
Maxwell drank deeply from his bottle, emptying it in one go, and then glared hatefully at the masked man on the screen.
"Jedi." Maxwell said, and allowed the bitter taste of the word upon his lips.
For eons, people had tried to solve their wily lot, to overcome their supernatural abilities. Some used stims to keep up with their speed, others-like the Mandalorians-used energy resistant power armor to survive their lightsabers. Yet droids and cybernetics were an ever evolving option. Eriadu, as a major droid, and cybernetic manufacturer had access to these lethal components. In fact, as Outer Rim juggernauts, they had been approached by the CIS multiple times. Should Maxwell have wished it, they could have held a seat on the Separatist Ruling Council. And yet it was filled with xenos scum. Despite this, they had managed to manufacture a beast worthy of slaying Jedi: General Grievous.
Cybernetics were the future. These days, more and more were drawn to the allure of super strength, speed, and processing power. In fact, Maxwell was rather late to the party, and had heard concerning rumors of some new breakthroughs regarding cyborgs. For a time, Maxwell disdained everything that was not normal human flesh and blood. Yet when his son died, and the cloners from Coruscant's moon offered him a clone…he decided to make a monster of his own!
Pressing another button, Maxwell messaged another one of his subordinates.
"Someone get the media heads to start asking that fool questions. Grill him, make him look bad! I want the Jedi's name to be lower than mud. Stall him in place, he cannot leave."
Folding his hands in front of him, the old patriarch of the Tarkin family reached for another bottle of alcohol, and took another big sip.
His son would be avenged.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back at the town square, Corvus sighed. Healing so many people in such a blatant manner wasn't very Jedi Shadow of him, now was it?
Recognizing that he was the focus of countless people, he was quick to don his Revan mask from his inventory. It was inevitable that he would become known to the galaxy at large, now wasn't the worst time to reveal himself. After all, the events of Kamino took place nearly two weeks ago. Doubtlessly, the Emperor had received reports detailing the cloning facilities' destruction. It was only a matter of time until he either fucked up during an OP, or someone got a message out. On a planet with 22 billion people, it wasn't entirely surprising that he was found out.
Besides, it was his goal to win over the people of Eriadu, wasn't it? What better way was there to foster gratitude, than through healing? With his Padawans and CF-99 executing the leadership of this world, what did he have to fear? So he decided to own the moment.
The silence around him was thick. People were full of suspicion, awe, and disbelief as they stared at him.
Discreetly pushing Omega away from him with the Force-so that she appeared as nothing more than a bystander-he looked for a place where he could make a speech from.
Recognizing a statue of Wilhuff Tarkin, Corvus lopped it off with his lightsaber, and jumped up to take its place.
"Hello, people of Eriadu City. My name is Revan, a Jedi Knight. The Order is not dead, and we are not going away. We shall continue to help the people of the galaxy as best we can. Whether that be through an act of healing, negotiating lower prices for food & fuel, protecting your world from invasion, or a thousand other unseen tasks that we accomplish." Corvus said in a sincere tone, pushing his high Persuade score to the max. At the end, he made a flourish with his arm, and slightly bowed towards a camera.
He was about to speak further, and specifically mention his plan to eliminate the rampant dumping, and waste done to this world, however, a journalist drove a hover platform over to him, and began to conduct an ad hoc interview.
"Latesha Star, from ENS. Why are you only healing us now? For centuries, we of Eriadu have gone unnoticed by the Jedi. Now that you need us, you're showing off, isn't that right?" A sharply dressed woman with black hair, and an ample bosom questioned in that formal 'journalist' accent.
Corvus saw that she was a pretty woman, but he wouldn't be swayed by her smooth skin or perfect curves. As he paused to regard her, the silent crowd seemed to have their 'bubble' pop, and noise once more eeked into the town square. Many people muttered in agreement with Star, but most kept their mouths shut. A few even booed the reporter. Someone tossed something, but a shield sprang around her hover craft, preventing it from getting through.
Corvus raised an eyebrow, this lady, or more likely, the network she worked for must be rich. Shields on a vehicle no larger than an SUV? That was money.
Narrowing his eyes, Corvus realized this wasn't simple. He was being ambushed by one of the worst combatants in a war: a propagandist.
"The truth is, there are less than 5,000 Jedi amongst a universe of untold sentients. Silently, and slowly we heal broken worlds, often without thanks or recognition. Yet even so, none are as flashy or flamboyant as I am now." Corvus said, trailing off.
"That didn't answer the question, you might as well admit-!"
"You're right. I wanted you to see for yourselves. To feel with your own bodies. This act of mine is a reminder. To show you but one act that we Jedi do in service for you, the innocents of this galaxy. Remember this moment for the rest of your lives, people of Eriadu City. Today, you breathed clean air."
"And what about tomorrow, Master Jedi?" Star asked in a 'polite-yet cutting' manner that journalists were so skilled at delivering.
Corvus faux smiled behind his mask. He would be quite happy if he could give this nosy reporter a good smack, or [Mind Trick] her to go out with her camera man, but while the cameras were rolling, he might as well spin this into a PR victory. By her 'exposing' him, he could only help shed some light on Jedi activities. As far as Corvus was concerned, the general population of the galaxy knew about as much about the Jedi, as people on Earth knew about a representative from another state/province. Maybe they recognized Yoda, Mace, Anakin, and Obi-Wan, otherwise, every other Jedi might as well be anonymous.
"You ask about the future, but it is not we Jedi, who have poisoned this planet. You should well know, Miss Star who holds your reigns." Corvus replied with a mocking tone. He then shifted his head upward, and pointed.
Above the square, countless different companies baring the names of the Quintad were on display. Tarkin Electronics, Mudfurd Factories, Grerari Shipyards, etc. The corporate hellscape was inescapable. Life on Eriadu was like being owned by one big company. They paid for your benefits, wages, and owned your housing, energy, and access to food, entertainment, and happiness. A step above slavery, this was what corporatism without regulation looked like.
Corvus was slightly disgusted with this result. The Jedi had promised to themselves to fight this kind of behavior at every step. How low they had fallen.
Glancing at Star, he saw a glimpse of fear in her eyes, that her words might have somehow triggered her capricious overlords. The Force stank of her dread like a sweet perfume. Despite her intention to catch him with a gotcha moment, he couldn't help but pity her for a moment.
"Of course, we owe our freedom and lives to the Quintad! They rescued our ancestors from slavery, provided them with work, and shelter over our heads. If not for them, we would be working for the Hutta without pay! The future is bright, and our great planet is the gem of the Outer Rim! No other world is like it." Star quickly, and hotly retorted.
Corvus could feel some of those words resonate with the crowd, and he could only softly chuckle.
"Yes, you people of Eriadu should be proud! Your starships are strong, your drydocks one of a kind! Indeed, to build such a gem in this Rancour's armpit of a sector is truly impressive. Yet is your success thanks to the same five families, or the centuries of labor your own families had put into the system? Why is it that only pre-approved, Quintad blood related people can run for office? Why do they exclusively occupy company, military, and other leadership roles? Is it because they are smarter than you, or better at turning a profit? No! It is time for Eriadu to be clean again. To be away with pollution across all sectors!" Corvus grandly stated.
Influenced by his high Persuade, thousands of people cheered out, drowning the journalist's next question in a sea of noise. It was just as well, too, because she was about to ask why the Jedi should always hold leadership roles, reversing the question back onto him!
Corvus was going to whip the crowd into a frenzy, and hopefully start a movement, when he felt a premonition in the Force.
"Above you!" Omega's shrill warning cut through the noise, and Corvus looked up.
Descending from the pitch black, clear night sky were a dozen jetpack toting Mandalorians. Following in their wake, was a droid about the size of a SUV that had chain-guns for arms, boosters on its back, and twin mounted packs of mini missiles strapped to its shoulders.
'Ahh nuts.'
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AN: Before you freak out, I encourage you to look at the canon basilisk war droid. I won't be adding anything like gundams to this story, or building-sized mechs, but with how many insane droids were developed for this war (seriously they're insane, I mean Grievous himself can solo 90% of all Jedi!) it only makes sense that cyborgs get some love too. Hell, in Legends, Dr. Cylo was able to achieve pseudo immortality with science. It turns out, Star Wars has a lot more cyberpunk dystopia than one might think!
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