Personally visit Coruscant to observe the republic's surrender to Gions attack havin already conquered the rest of the galaxy except Hutt space
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Your personal shuttle descends through Coruscant's atmosphere three hours into the economic collapse. Below, panic spreads through the Banking District as accounts evaporate. Gion's fleet materializes from civilian camouflage simultaneously across every major system—three hundred seventeen warships revealing themselves in perfect synchronization.
The Senate chamber fills with terrified representatives as you stride through the central doors. Your seven-and-a-half-foot frame dominates the circular space. Chancellor Valorum stands at the podium, face ashen.
"The Republic surrenders," he announces, voice breaking. "We have no defense against this force."
Grace steps forward beside you, leather corset creaking. "Here's how this works. I'm rebuilding your Senate from scratch. Every corrupt senator gets replaced. Every corporate lobbyist gets banned. The new government serves citizens—not profit margins."
"But the corporations—" a Neimoidian senator begins.
"Are fucking bankrupt," Grace interrupts. "Victoria crushed them three hours ago. No more corporate representation. Ever."
You gesture to Lufas. "Handle Palpatine."
The silver-haired goddess's gold eyes gleam. A figure materializes in the center of the chamber—an elderly human male in dark robes, struggling against invisible restraints. Senator Palpatine's genial mask cracks as the Force itself betrays him.
"Imprisonment," you state simply. "Lufas, secure him where he can't escape."
Palpatine vanishes into a dimensional prison. The Senate watches in horrified silence.
"Senator Amidala of Naboo and Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore," you call out. "Private chambers. Now."
The two women exchange glances—Padmé in her elaborate senatorial gown, Satine in Mandalorian formal attire. They follow you into an adjacent conference room. The door seals behind them.
"Your methods are tyrannical," Padmé says immediately, brown eyes flashing. "Military conquest, economic warfare—this isn't liberation."
Satine nods firmly. "Mandalore will not submit to authoritarian rule. Our pacifist traditions—"
You pull out the Servant Gun, cycling to a new configuration. "Your objections are noted."
Both women's eyes widen as you aim. The twin beams strike them simultaneously before either can move.
Padmé gasps as her modest senatorial figure begins swelling. Her breasts balloon outward, tearing through her elaborate gown's bodice. Her hips crack audibly, pelvis widening as her ass swells to match her grotesque chest. Her waist cinches impossibly narrow.
Satine experiences the same transformation—her Mandalorian attire shredding as curves explode outward. But something else changes too. Her face hardens, posture straightening into military precision. Knowledge floods both their restructuring minds—combat techniques, tactical analysis, weapons expertise, strategic planning.
Their pacifist ideologies dissolve like smoke. Where philosophical opposition to violence existed, absolute loyalty to you takes root. Military discipline restructures every thought pattern.
The transformation completes. Both women stand in revealing tactical bodysuits that materialized during the change—skin-tight black material showcasing their enhanced proportions while providing combat functionality.
"Yes, Empress," they say in perfect unison, voices now carrying military crispness.
"You're lovers now," you inform them. "Naboo and Mandalore will become breeding facilities for my military personnel once the galaxy-wide transformation occurs."
Padmé's gold-ringed eyes lock onto Satine with immediate hunger. "Understood. When does the galaxy-wide transformation commence?"
"After the Jedi are subdued and the Hutts exterminated," you reply. "I need to hold a full strategic meeting to finalize specifics."