The Republic has fallen.
In the final days of the Clone Wars, Chancellor Palpatine died under mysterious circumstances. With the Senate struggling to retain a sense of unity, it was the perfect time for the Separatists to strike. And strike they did...
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As Darth Vader's personal shuttle came in for a landing atop the Kyzeron Royal Auction House, the glowing green digits on the chronometer above the exit ramp shifted from 1600 hours to 0100 hours. Vader noted the quiet beep that followed, marking the change from Coruscant Standard to Onderon time, with a displeased frown. They were slightly behind schedule – something he would not have allowed to happen had he been the one in the pilot's seat.
It was still an alien thing to him, to be in a ship smaller than a corvette and not flying it himself, but his Master had many times lectured him on the importance of a curated self-image. The right hand of Emperor Serenno was above all sentients but one – outside the command structure and often the law. He would not fly a ship unless he was flying it into battle.
And Vader wished he were flying into battle now. The dark side churned hotly in his veins, demanding to be slaked. But Vader's Master expected him to leave Zakhan Noreino and his underlings alive and unspoiled, no matter how much trouble they gave him. Ever since he could remember Vader had lived to serve – even before he'd joined the Sith and become fully himself.
Leaving the pilot to finish powering down the ship, Vader motioned to one of his Elite honor guard. The man activated the ramp, and, with Vader in the lead, the group strode from the ship to meet their small, hastily assembled welcoming party. Night had long since fallen over the city and the jungles surrounding it – courtesy of the long journey and time difference – and the night shift of the investigative team was barely a skeleton crew.
"Lord Vader, we did not anticipate your arrival till tomorrow," a Human officer with dark skin at the front of the procession spluttered. His already lacking self-assuredness flaked away like old paint when Vader drew near, and he tried to make up for it with compliments. "This is an unexpected pleasure. I am honored by your presence."
Vader eyed the vibrant rank insignia above the man's left breast. Imperial uniforms were a boring, lifeless grey, but the contrast quickly drew the eye to the collection of squares and made determining an officer's place in the command structure that much simpler. This man was a lieutenant from the Imperial garrison in Kyzeron, and, based on a specific series of blue squares along the bottom of the insignia, also a member of the recently instituted ISB.
"I have neither the time nor the need for your pleasantries, Lieutenant," Vader said finally. He was taken aback by the deeper, harsher voice echoing his own before he remembered the voice modulator on his suit – yet another thing about this life he was still getting used to. "Send word to the one in command of the Imperial garrison here – Major General Akani Acesto. She is to report to me at once."
"She is... taking some much needed rest, my lord. We have limited personnel available, and these, including the major general, have been pulling triple shifts."
Nerves were loosening the lieutenant's tongue more than was permissible around a superior. Vader knew his modulator would project even the slightest rumble in his vocal chords, so he bit back a rising growl halfway. Under normal circumstances, this kind of insolent backtalk would've gotten the man killed.
