Nute Gunray stomped into the council chamber, aligning his headdress properly.

"What is this about?" He snapped, at his fellow directors, "I have duties to attend to."

The neimoidian at the head of the table raised an eyebrow at the man, and silently turned the holo screen to face him.

He pressed the play button as the audio played.

"...I am the neimoidian merchant whose wife calls dutifully whenever I conclude a trade, asking how it went, when in fact she wants to know if I'm alive or not!....."

"Have you seen this video yet?" The man asked, leaning back into his chair, his fingers touching tip to tip.

"Now I have. What of it?" Gunray asked.

"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" He asked.

Gunray looked confused for a moment before it clicked for him.

"...no!" He hissed.

"Yes. This is a prime opportunity. We are thinking of reopening trade with the republic. This man..."

"Cannot be trusted! You haven't met him, Katel! He is a wily man! He's playing you, all of you!" Gunray exploded.

"He just went against the republic, all alone, risking everything. Someone who was as you put it, playing us, would never risk that. They'd be too smart to. Besides, we need to encourage what little goodwill we get. It's not everyday someone appears who sees us as people, rather than....." His voice trailed off, as he remembered the Christophsian riots that killed his son.

"Are you insane?!" Gunray asked, "You haven't seen him! Not the way I have. He is a cunning, insidious man!"

"We are cunning insidious men, Nute. We deal with cunning, insidious men on the daily. This is different. Trust me. This is going to change everything. It's our one chance!"

"What about the Chiss ascendancy? We have deals with them!" Gunray offered.

"Honestly, I don't trust those slimy red eyed freaks. They keep too close for our comfort." Another director interjected, as some more nodded in agreement.

"You cannot be considering this!" Gunray pushed, slamming his hands on the table.

"We aren't. We have already voted. It's 7 to 2 in our favor. This meeting is a mere formality. You will begin forming up trade proposals for the republic. And you will behave in our dealings with this man. I have a feeling he won't be ending this here. Not with everything he stands to gain....."

Gunray's face soured but he nodded nonetheless.

He had no choice.

He swallowed his pride. He had learnt to do that when he had first begun climbing the ranks of the trade federation.

He would bide his time. And he would rain retribution on those that spurred him. Eventually.

Nute Gunray was an ardent believer of the merchant corps golden rule.

And he always paid his debts.

Elsewhere, on Mandalore, a diet member burst into the legislature, drawing the eyes of the cabinet.

"Have you-"

"Yes. Take your seat." Duchess Satine ordered, rubbing her temples.

"This is bad." A clan head said, "He has sparked a wildfire that will burn us alive! This man has doomed us all!"

"Death Watch won't let this opportunity slip. We cannot afford another peasant uprising!" The prime minister added.

"I know. Turbulent times are coming. We must consolidate our power. Send ambassadors to the republic and rim worlds. Send another batch to the Hutts. We will need allies if we are to survive this mess."

"With all due respect duchess, I think the republic will soon find themselves unable to hold back the tides either. We should just focus on wiping out the Death Watch and isolate our borders from the strife!"

Just then a peal of mocking laughter was heard from the back of the hall.

"Lord Skirata, what is the meaning of this?" Satine questioned, her voice dropping in temperature.

"Send ambassadors? Beg the republic for help? Suck the Hutts' Manda-damned toes?" He taunted.

"The Hutts don't have toe-"  A geeky looking cabinet member corrected.

"I damn well know the Hutts don't have toes, Aluwa!

This! This is exactly what pushes more people into the open arms of the death watch!

Pussies! Moist, wet pussies. That's what you all are. You have grown so soft and fat off the backs of others that you have forgotten what it means to be Mandalorian!

Why are we going around begging for alms and scraps?

Calling assemblies of chieftains like some sort of primitive Khaleesh confederacy?"

"You cannot be suggesting what I think you are suggesting!" Satine groaned, "We have talked about this."

"And every single time I have disagreed." Skirata boomed, "We need a self defence force. A proper military!"

"We have a treaty with the republic!" Satine said.

"Treaties are meant to be broken!" Skirata rebutted.

"Look outside the window Lord Skirata. Look upon the desolate, barren plains caging our city. That was what happened the last time we broke a treaty with the republic. The jedi bombed Mandalore from orbit. Turned it into a barren wasteland! We cannot afford another war with the republic!"

"That is all the more reason to do so! Do you not feel the indignity as you say those words? They beat us into submission. Like pets! Like slaves!

And if I know one thing it is that we Mandalorians are not born to be slaves! We are born to be warriors!

Besides, the republic is broke in two, and if that video is anything to go by, the jedi are in shambles.

This is our opportunity! If not now, then when?

Trust me Satine, I have trained the republic's clone army. I know a thing or two about war.

If we don't seize this opportunity, we might never get another.

And with the war keeping the citizens minds aways from internal affairs, we might just unite the Mandalorians once more!"

"Enough!" Satine shouted, "I will not hear any more talk of war! This issue is tabled until further notice!"

"Tch!" Skirata clicked his tongue, "It's a damn shame too. I would have rather avoided the civil unrest."

"Wha-" Satine uttered when the doors of the diet blew up, as Death Watch militants swarmed the building.

Once the dust settled, an ominous tip tapping of boots rang out, as a man in all black, holding a darksaber walked in.

"Pre Visla! What is the meaning of this?" Satine growled, standing back up.

"Oh it's quite simple, Duchess." Pre Visla smiled.

"This is a coup." Skirata finished, "We are taking over Mandalore. It is time our ancestral legacy was restored."

Pre Visla raised the darksaber pointing at Satine and ordered.

"Take her to the dungeons."

The militants jetted down and grabbed the Duchess.

"I heard that your jedi paramour, Obi Wan died in the scandal." Pre Visla whispered into her ears, as Satine was dragged away, "No one is coming to rescue you now, Satine. This is our victory."

A deputy picked off the crown from Satine's head and handed it to Pre Visla.

He toyed with the crown for a moment, mulling something over, before he turned to Skirata.

"Kneel!" He said, with a glint in his eye.

Skirata catching the meaning, knelt before Visla.

Visla tapped the darksaber on his shoulders, and placed the crown upon Skirata's head.

"Rise Kal Skirata. I now name you Duke of Mandalore!"

Skirata nodded, and stood back up, walking up to the podium, and picked up his mic.

"With my first act as the Duke of Mandalore, I, Kal Skirata hereby declare war on the Galactic Republic. We will begin assembling our forces under the command of General Visla. I give him all the rights and responsibilities that come with such a role. Let the conscription begin!"

As she watched commander Walker...no, he was just Walker now, she corrected herself.

A habit of accuracy and sincerity she had honed over the years.

As she watched Walker leave, Barriss Offee was feeling something she hadn't felt for a long time. A conflicting feeling that drowned her very sense of self.

Barriss Offee was lost.

All alone.

And if there was ever anything Offee had hated, it was loneliness. Not solitude. She was quite used to that, from all the times she had skipped lightsaber training and holed up in the library researching old jedi texts and tecahings.

But this feeling of being lost in the big wide world, all alone, with no path in sight.

The revelations he had made had shook her to the core, as much as or perhaps even more so than any other jedi in the hall.

All her 18 years of life, Offee had believed in the inherent nobility of the jedi order.

The jedi were better than the rest, seekers of knowledge, of a higher purpose. But the order she now saw before her was not one such. They were as lost, if not more so than her.

And their answer to that was not reflection as was the jedi tradition, but rather bickering.

They pointed fingers, laid blame and lost their minds in the petty pursuit of their own arrogance and superiority. She could see that now. And she hated it. She hated it, knowing this, having the veil lifted from her eyes, even more than she hated the way they were behaving.

And she felt all alone in the big wide world, as the jedi collapsed in on themselves, robbing her of the only home she had ever known.

Perhaps, Walker was right to despise the jedi, for robbing her of her childhood.

She had seen the look in his eyes, the compassion and sincerity as he spoke of her loss in his speech. It was more compassion than any jedi had ever shown her, bar Ahsoka and her master.

Perhaps she should be mad too, angry at the jedi order for taking her life away from her.

But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to do that.

Not out of some love for the order. If she had had any, it had died today.

No, it was just that hollow feeling she felt inside her.

Disappointment.

A yearning for something so lost she had even forgotten what it meant to her.

Yet as she touched the arm he had gifted her, she felt ever so slightly, less alone.

Yes. It was his fault. It was all his fault that she felt this way.

And he had to take responsibility for it.

She would make him take responsibility for it!

With determined steps she followed his footsteps out of the hall.

She would do anything to make it go away.

She didn't want to feel all alone anymore.

Meanwhile on a colony ship in orbit on Muun, confederate and republic industry leaders were seated in a large room courtesy of the Intergalactic Banking Clan, looking over the verdant planet, locked in heated debate.

".....50 Venator class ships, 4000 frigates and fighters, and an uncountable number of spare parts! We cannot afford to lose those government contracts. This man...this commander Walker is going to destroy our business!" The Kuati executive cried.

"Indeed. The senate is already debating on lowering the munitions budget, as if our profit margins weren't thin enough already!" The Blastech chairman echoed the Kuati sentiment.

"The Techno Union has already invested in three new mech worlds. Our Geonosian associates are already hollowing out the hives as on Selucami as we speak. If the confederate contracts fall through.....I fear it may push is back in the red." Another man added.

"We cannot allow a peace treaty. Not this soon in the war." The Muun deputy agreed.

"Then you are on board with the assassination?" The Kuati executive asked.

"The assassin has already been dispatched. There is no need to worry. The war is not about to end because of one puny commander."

"True. But consider this...what if you fail?"

Suddenly a voice rang out from the shadows of the room, as a Mon Calamari emerged from behind a pillar, hands behind his back.

"General Hunt." The Muun deputy introduced, "I don't think you were invited to the summit. What brings you here?"

"I thought the leader of the confederacy had a defacto seat on these summits?" I asked, sly.

"I think Count Dooku might have some objections to that." The techno union representative sneered.

The Mon Calamari just looked at them and smiled, as he removed his hands from his back, throwing an object onto the table.

It landed on the table with a thud, causing the members to gasp audibly.

It was the head of Count Dooku.

"I think not." Was all General Hunt said, as he took his seat, wiping the blood off his hands, slowly and carefully, with a pure white handkerchief, leaving bright and visible stains on it.

The powerplay was enough to cow the rest of the shadowy players, as he began again.

"I have another idea. One where your contracts can be salvaged and the war can be brought back onto our terms.

Listen to this...."

As I finished explaining my plan to the industrialists, by door blew open, and in stormed Offee, her face sporting an expression I didn't quite recognize.

I took off the virtual headset I was using to control the simulacra of Hunt, and barely managed to pull off the gloves when she jumped me.

She grabbed my head, and pulled it close, locking eyes with me, hers lined with tears.

"It'sh all your faut...." She said, diving into a kiss, "It's all your fault I feel this way!"

She kissed me again, and again.

"And...ahn....you....uhm.... have to .....ahn.....uhn..take responsibility!"

I pushed her away, as she struggled in my arms.

"What's happening to you, Offee?" I asked concerned.

This was ...all too new to me. I don't know what to do.

I don't know what to do!

Up until now I had never looked at a girl much less kiss one. Not to mention the desperation in Offee's eyes just screamed 'yandere!' and I know better than to stick my dick in crazy!

"I....." She whispered softly, caressing my face, "I feel so alone. So lost. I feel broken, Walker ... and..... I hate it!

But when I am with with you, I feel whole again, just a little bit. Just a little bit less alone."

She looked up into my eyes, pleadingly, her big blue orbs, like clear pools of water, captivated me.

"Please don't push me away. I ...I will break, Walker. Please...." She said, and leaning in for another kiss.

This time I reciprocated, and she felt it too, as she used the force to push me onto the bed, straddling on top of me, like a hobby horse.

"I ... love you, Walker..." She said, "And I don't care what your answer is!

I will make you take responsibility!"

The look in her eyes was of such intensity that my will wavered, and for a moment, I made a lapse in judgement, as all men are wont to do.

For the first time in my life, I thought with my little brain, and....I enjoyed it!