The office was dark. Deliberately so.
Chancellor Palpatine stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his private chambers, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the Coruscant skyline. The city sprawled before him in every direction—a glittering tapestry of lights and traffic streams, the heart of the Republic, the seat of galactic power.
His power.
Or it should have been.
Behind the carefully maintained mask of the concerned politician, behind the grandfatherly smile and measured words, something darker stirred. In the reflection on the transparisteel, Sheev Palpatine's eyes flickered yellow for just a heartbeat before returning to their usual blue.
Darth Sidious was not pleased.
He was the culmination of a thousand years of planning. The final heir to Darth Bane's Grand Plan, the ultimate expression of the Rule of Two. For a millennium, Sith Masters had trained apprentices in secret, each generation growing stronger, more cunning, more patient. All building toward this moment. His moment.
The moment when the Sith would destroy the Jedi Order and rule the galaxy.
It had all begun so simply. A curious boy purchasing Sith artifacts with his family's considerable wealth. Long nights spent studying ancient texts, drinking in secrets that would have horrified his politician father. And then, the fateful meeting with —the Muun banker who was so much more than he appeared.
Darth Plagueis the Wise.
Under his master's tutelage, young Sheev Palpatine had shed his birth name like a chrysalis, emerging as something infinitely more dangerous. For decades, they had worked together, master and apprentice, perfecting the Grand Plan that would reshape the galaxy.
And he had learned everything.
Every secret his master possessed. Every technique. Every manipulation. Until finally, he had grown powerful enough to do what every Sith apprentice must eventually do.
Kill his master.
The memory brought a cold smile to Palpatine's lips. Plagueis had been so confident in his ability to manipulate midichlorians, to create life itself, to cheat death. In the end, death had come for him anyway—at the hands of his own apprentice, drunk on his perceived triumph, unaware that his "final test" would be his last breath.
The Rule of Two demanded it. The apprentice kills the master, takes their place, and the Sith grow stronger.
And Darth Sidious had grown stronger.
Years of careful planning had positioned him perfectly. He was Supreme Chancellor of the Republic—the most powerful politician in the galaxy. His apprentice, Count Dooku—Darth Tyranus—led the Separatist Alliance. Between them, they controlled both sides of the war, orchestrating a conflict designed to destroy the Jedi Order and consolidate Sith power.
The Clone Army was his masterpiece. Jedi Generals leading armies of programmed soldiers, never knowing that every clone had a secret directive hardwired into their genetic code. Order 66. When the time came, those loyal clone troopers would turn on their Jedi commanders without hesitation.
The Jedi themselves remained blind. Arrogant. Complacent. They sat in their Temple, meditating on the Force, never seeing the darkness that had taken root in the heart of the Republic itself. Their ancient enemy had returned, and they'd missed it entirely.
It was perfect.
Or it would have been.
Palpatine's hands tightened behind his back, knuckles going white. In the window's reflection, his eyes flickered yellow again, staying that way for several seconds.
The Chosen One had been a complication, initially. When he and Plagueis had performed the ritual—tipping the balance of the Force toward the dark side, bending it to their will—the Force had reacted. It had created a being destined to destroy the Sith: Anakin Skywalker.
Plagueis had been terrified. His master had seen the Chosen One as an existential threat, proof that they had overreached.
But Sidious? He'd seen opportunity.
If they could bend the Force itself to their will, who was to say the Chosen One couldn't be bent as well? Corrupted. Turned. Made into the greatest weapon the Sith had ever possessed.
And through seemingly divine providence, the boy had been delivered directly to Coruscant. A slave from Tatooine—that worthless sand-ball in Hutt Space—brought to the Republic's doorstep by Jedi Knights who had no idea what they'd found.
For over a decade, Palpatine had cultivated a relationship with young Anakin. Careful. Patient. Positioning himself as a father figure, the one adult who truly understood the boy's potential, who didn't try to hold him back with the Jedi's restrictive dogma.
Anakin trusted him. Completely.
Everything had been proceeding exactly according to plan.
Until they arrived.
The word hissed through Palpatine's mind like a curse: Avengers.
His carefully maintained composure cracked. Lightning danced between his fingers—brief, violent arcs of dark side energy that he quickly suppressed. The Chancellor's pleasant mask was gone now, replaced by the snarling visage of Darth Sidious.
The Avengers.
They had appeared without warning months ago six—impossible, unpredictable, unforeseen. The Force itself hadn't anticipated their arrival. One day the galaxy was proceeding along its destined path, and the next, these outsiders were disrupting everything.
At first, Sidious had been merely curious. Their abilities were remarkable—technology and powers unlike anything the galaxy had seen. That demonstration on Coruscant where the one called Ant-Man had grown to the size of a building had been particularly intriguing. Such capabilities could be useful to someone who knew how to exploit them.
He'd tried to meet with them multiple times. Tried to weave them into his web of manipulation as he'd done with so many others.
They'd politely declined every invitation.
And then they'd started interfering.
Fighting in battles they had no stake in. Saving Jedi who were meant to die. Rescuing civilians who should have become casualties—casualties that would have driven the Republic toward the authoritarian measures Sidious needed. Every act of heroism, every life saved, was another variable in an equation that was supposed to be controlled.
But that was merely irritating.
What enraged him was how they'd undermined his hold on Anakin Skywalker.
The Avengers had befriended the boy. Anakin spent more time with them now than he did in Palpatine's office. And when the Jedi Council sought advice—advice they should have been asking him for—they turned to the Avengers instead.
His influence was being eroded. The relationship he'd spent over a decade building was being compromised by these sanctimonious fools who thought themselves heroes.
Palpatine's breathing had quickened. He forced himself to calm, to center himself in the dark side. Anger was useful, but control was essential.
And then there was Ultron.
The deranged artificial intelligence had created an entirely new category of problem. Ultron knew. Not everything but enough. Enough to expose key elements of the Separatist conspiracy. Enough to reveal secrets that were meant to stay buried until the time was right.
Worse, Ultron's nihilistic goal of eradicating all organic life had actually united the galaxy against a common threat. The Republic and Separatists were engaging in localized ceasefires to fight this new enemy. The Mandalorians—warrior clans that should have remained fractured and weak—were unifying under Duchess Satine.
The recent Mandalorian summit had been particularly concerning. A warrior culture with a proven history of matching both Jedi and Sith in combat was now organizing itself. The Republic occupation of Mandalore was weakening as the Senate prepared to grant them autonomy in exchange for cooperation against Ultron.
Every day brought new complications. Every week saw his carefully orchestrated war destabilized further.
None of this should have happened.
Palpatine turned from the window, his eyes fully yellow now, burning with undiluted hatred as they fixed on the distant silhouette of the Jedi Temple. In the privacy of his chambers, he could drop the mask. Here, protected by layers of security and dark side obfuscation, he could be himself.
And himself was furious.
He reached out through the Force, his perception flowing across the kilometers separating his office from the Temple. Past the outer walls. Through the corridors. Into the meditation chambers where the Jedi sat in their ignorant tranquility.
There.
Vision.
The synthetic being sat in perfect stillness, his cape draped around him, the Mind Stone glowing softly in his forehead. Even from this distance, even through all his carefully maintained shields, Sidious could feel the power radiating from that gem.
It was unlike anything he'd ever encountered. Not the Force—something else. Something older, perhaps. More fundamental. The stone pulsed with energy that made even his considerable power feel insignificant by comparison.
Infinite. Brilliant. Overwhelming. Beautiful.
And it was sitting in the Jedi Temple, surrounded by those blind fools.
If Palpatine could acquire that stone, study it, harness its power...
He activated a small holoprojector on his desk, calling up everything his agents had gathered on Vision. The android was an enigma. Most of the Avengers had no connection to the Force whatsoever—they were simply skilled warriors and technologists. But Vision was different. That stone in his forehead acted as a beacon, impossible to ignore for anyone attuned to the Force.
The danger was mutual. Vision's extraordinary abilities might allow him to pierce the veil of the dark side that had concealed Sidious for so long. If the android studied him too closely, if that stone's power was turned toward seeing...
Palpatine severed his connection to the Temple abruptly, pulling his presence back into himself. He couldn't risk extended observation. Not with Vision so sensitive to the Force.
His gaze dropped to his desk, to another holoprojection—this one showing schematics of the Jedi Temple itself. Specifically, what lay beneath it.
Another secret. Another variable he'd been monitoring for years, waiting for the right moment to exploit.
The ancient Sith shrine buried under the Jedi's feet. They'd built their precious Temple atop it millennia ago, thinking they'd cleansed the dark side's taint. Instead, they'd merely sealed it away, blind to how it slowly corrupted their perception, weakening their ability to sense the dark side growing in their midst.
But now, with Vision's presence, with the Mind Stone's power radiating through the Temple's halls...
Sidious couldn't predict how those energies might interact. The unknown variables were multiplying, and he hated unknowns.
He deactivated the holoprojector and sank into his chair, steepling his fingers before his face. Behind him, the Coruscant skyline glittered mockingly.
The Grand Plan was not destroyed. Not yet. But it was compromised, destabilized, infected with chaotic elements he'd never anticipated.
He would adapt. He always adapted. A thousand years of Sith cunning flowed through his veins. He would find a way to turn these complications into advantages, to use the Avengers and Ultron and even Vision's mysterious stone to further his ultimate goal.
But the path forward was murky now. Uncertain.
And Darth Sidious despised uncertainty.
Meanwhile, several levels below the Senate District, in the data analysis wing of the Jedi Temple, Barel Ovair was having a very bad day.
"Inconclusive." The Jedi scholar muttered the word like a curse, his fingers flying across multiple holoprojectors simultaneously. Data streams flowed past his eyes—sensor readings, communication logs, astronomical charts. All of it adding up to exactly nothing useful.
He pulled up another set of readings, comparing signal patterns from three different outposts. Still nothing. The correlation he was looking for refused to materialize.
"Damn it!" His fist slammed down on the console, the sudden violence so unlike him that he immediately looked around to make sure no one had witnessed his outburst.
Someone had.
"My, my. I never thought I'd hear such language from a scholarly type." The amused drawl came from directly behind him.
Barel didn't need to turn around to identify the speaker. "Not now, Vos. I'm busy."
"We're all busy with the war these days." Quinlan Vos stepped into view, his long dreadlocks swaying as he leaned against the console. The yellow stripe running across his face—a traditional Kiffar marking—crinkled slightly as he smiled. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's a galaxy-spanning conflict happening."
"I'm aware of the war, Quinlan." Barel's tone was sharper than intended. He took a breath, moderating his voice. "Everyone is painfully aware by now."
Vos crossed his arms, his casual demeanor masking the keen observation in his eyes. The Jedi Master had a reputation as a maverick, but he didn't survive as long as he had by being careless. Something was clearly bothering his friend.
"All right, Barel. What's got you so wound up?" Vos's voice gentled. "It might help to focus on one problem at a time instead of juggling six different data streams simultaneously."
"Multitasking used to work for me." Barel didn't look away from his screens, though his fingers had stopped their frantic typing. "Now it's just... overwhelming."
"So don't multitask." Vos shrugged. "One thing at a time. Radical concept, I know."
"I didn't mean to snap at you." Barel finally turned to face his friend, and Vos was startled by the exhaustion etched into the scholar's features. "It's just... there's so much to process. Too many variables. Too many patterns that don't quite fit."
"This war's been hard on all of us." Vos straightened, his casual air fading. "Talk to me. What specifically has you slamming consoles and cursing like a Corellian freighter pilot?"
Barel took a steadying breath. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, more controlled. "I need you to do something for me." He pulled up a star chart, highlighting several systems along the Outer Rim. "I need your team to investigate these outposts."
Vos studied the chart, his brow furrowing. "We've checked some of these locations before. What's changed?"
"They've gone silent." The words dropped like stones. "All of them. No transmissions, no check-ins, no automated beacon signals. Nothing."
The implications hung heavy in the air between them.
"You're saying they've been hit." Vos's voice was flat, professional now. This was no longer a casual conversation between friends.
"I'm saying we have to assume the worst." Barel's expression was grim. "Multiple Republic outposts going dark in rapid succession? That's not random equipment failure."
"Separatists?"
"Maybe. Or Ultron. Or..." Barel gestured helplessly at the star chart. "There are too many hostile forces active right now. But the timeline is what worries me most."
"How so?"
"The blackouts occurred within a seventy-two-hour window across multiple sectors." Barel pulled up a timeline, showing each outpost's last transmission. "That suggests coordination. Planning. Something methodical."
Vos studied the data, his psychometric abilities allowing him to absorb patterns that others might miss. "You're right. This isn't opportunistic. Someone's systematically taking out our early warning network."
"Exactly." Relief flickered across Barel's face—relief that someone else saw what he was seeing. "I don't know if there's a larger pattern yet, a common variable that connects these specific outposts, but..."
"But we need to find out before more of them go dark." Vos finished. He pulled the star chart data into his personal comm unit. "I'll take my team out immediately. We'll hit the closest one first, see what we can learn."
"Thank you, Quinlan." The gratitude in Barel's voice was genuine. "I know you have your hands full with—"
"Hey." Vos gripped his friend's shoulder briefly. "This is important. We'll figure it out."
He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "I have to ask—besides this mess with the outposts, how are your other projects going? The personal ones?" There was careful emphasis on the last word. "I'd hate to see all your research destroyed if something happens."
Barel's expression flickered—surprise, concern, something else. "I... they're secure. For now. Why do you ask?"
Vos was quiet for a moment, his usual levity completely absent. "Because something feels wrong, Barel. More wrong than just silent outposts. Call it Jedi intuition or paranoia, but..." He shook his head. "Just make sure your important work is backed up somewhere safe."
"I will." Barel watched his friend disappear into the corridor, then turned back to his consoles.
The star chart still glowed before him, those dark spots where Republic outposts should be transmitting. And beyond them, in the shadows between star systems, something was moving. Something with purpose.
Barel Ovair pulled up another data stream—this one encrypted, hidden within standard Temple archives where only a handful of people would know to look.
His "personal projects," as Vos had so carefully called them.
Research that couldn't fall into the wrong hands. Knowledge that might be their only hope if the worst came to pass.
He worked in silence, fingers flying across keys, backing up data to secure locations. Above him, the Jedi Temple continued its daily rhythms—training, meditation, war councils. Everyone focused on external threats.
And soon—very soon—it would be time to make his final move.