Mustafar burned in silence.
Molten rivers of lava flowed like liquid arteries across the planet's surface, glowing crimson beneath the fractured sky. In orbit, the stealth corvette Specter-One uncloaked, its angular silhouette rippling like a mirage. Inside, a squad of Spartan-Class Shadows, bred from Jango Fett and Spartan DNA, stood prepped for deployment.
Cassian's voice echoed over comms.
"Your target is deep within the ruins of an ancient Sith stronghold. Priority: recover the HK-47 unit. Do not engage unless provoked. Extraction window: 45 minutes."
The Spartans nodded no fear, no hesitation. EVA handled insertion vectors while automated stealth pods fired them down in perfect formation. As the first Spartan touched down on scorched basalt, Cassian leaned back in his command chair and turned to another screen.
Naboo.
In the Senate chamber, Senator Palpatine stood before a holographic committee, his voice silken and sorrowful.
"My people are dying. The Trade Federation blockade is an act of war. The Queen requests immediate intervention."
Chancellor Valorum offered little. The bureaucracy stalled, senators murmured, and the Jedi Council remained silent.
Exactly as Palpatine wanted.
He left the chamber to a quiet corridor, where a cloaked figure awaited.
"Everything is proceeding, Master," Palpatine said. "Soon, Amidala will return to Naboo under Republic sanction. The people will cry out for stronger leadership."
Darth Plagueis remained quiet, his breath slow and mechanical through his ancient mask. Then:
"Do not overreach, Sidious. She must survive for now."
Palpatine bowed. "As you command."
On Naboo, Queen Amidala faced her ministers. The Jedi ambassadors Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had arrived only to be attacked and hunted. Their message was clear: The Republic had failed her.
She made her choice.
"We leave Naboo. We go to Coruscant. We will plead our case before the Senate."
Cassian, watching through passive monitoring systems embedded in her ship, silently updated the timeline. Everything was proceeding as planned. His diplomatic cruiser, the Radiant Heart, stayed docked in orbit—its systems locked down, a decoy shadowing Amidala's real escape aboard a Nubian royal starship.
"EVA, confirm the Republic ship's trajectory."
"Jumping to Tatooine. Hyperlane deviation forced by the blockade's ion web."
Cassian smiled. "Then it's time for the next play."
Mustafar.
The ruins were ancient walls scorched with blast marks, shattered remains of Sith statues, and the twisted bones of long-dead cultists.
Inside, the Spartans moved like ghosts.
"Target located," one Spartan radioed. "Storage vault Theta-3."
The droid was curled into a fetal-like crouch, arms limp, eyes dark. Its bronze-red plating was scarred but intact. As the Spartans approached, the droid's eyes blinked on.
"Query: Who dares disturb the slumber of death's most efficient servant?"
"Stand down, HK-47," the squad leader said. "You're being repurposed."
"Rejoice: master meatbag identified. Proceeding to submission mode."
The Spartans deployed a field generator around him. Cassian's algorithms began syncing remotely, flooding HK-47's core with override codes. Ancient Sith firewalls resisted, but EVA adapted swiftly. Within moments, HK was rendered inert and safe for extraction.
Cassian's voice filtered in.
"Good. Bring him home. I'll rebuild him myself."
Tatooine.
Queen Amidala's ship landed in the desert heat, its sleek hull coated in sand and disrepair. Cassian watched from above, through a cloaked Sentinel-class drone trailing her ship from orbit. He tapped the console.
"EVA, analyze anomaly on the surface boy, approximately nine years old."
"Athletic structure, unusually strong midichlorian reading. Tracking designation: Anakin Skywalker."
Cassian leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Put him on the list."
"Recruitment?"
"No. Observation. For now."
Meanwhile, Palpatine received the report of Amidala's escape. He paced his Coruscant office, staring at the skyline.
"They go to the Outer Rim. Unexpected, but not unwelcome."
He activated a comm channel.
"Lord Gunray. Deploy additional warships to Naboo. When she returns, she must find it in chains. Make her plea inevitable."
Back on Zereth Prime, Cassian's engineering bay was lit with sparks. HK-47's body was fully disassembled. EVA guided nano-servos to repair and modernize his core stripping ancient protocols, rewriting logic code, and grafting new hybrid processors derived from both Halo's smart AI and his own evolving code architecture.
Hours passed.
Then HK's eyes lit up brighter, clearer.
"Statement: I feel… glorious. Permission to assassinate small rodents?"
Cassian smirked. "Soon. First, you're going to be my eyes and ears in the Republic."
HK tilted his head. "Query: May I call you Master Voss the Bloodsoaked?"
"You may not."
"Regret: Very well, meatbag."
As the sun set on both Mustafar and Tatooine, and warships tightened their grip around Naboo, Cassian knew the game had begun.
He had Spartans hidden among mercenaries. Droid factories producing autonomous fleets beneath Corellian oceans. A rebuilt HK-47 who owed him loyalty. Jedi contracts in hand. Trade Federation credits flowing.
And Padmé Amidala, now a symbol of defiance willingly flying into a political trap orchestrated by a Sith Lord he already suspected.
He wasn't playing sides.
He was building his own.