Spend time with your primary consorts while the countdown proceeds
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You create a hidden alcove within the Senate chamber itself—a dimensional pocket that allows perfect observation while remaining completely undetectable. Padmé and Satine accompany you, their newly enhanced figures barely contained in their tactical bodysuits, gold-ringed eyes watching with devoted attention.
Grace strides to the Senate floor forty minutes later, leather corset creaking as she addresses the assembled representatives. Her platinum blonde hair catches the chamber lights.
"Listen the fuck up," Grace announces without preamble. "Coruscant's getting gutted. Five thousand one hundred twenty-seven levels of ecological catastrophe are getting dismantled down to ground level."
A Neimoidian senator rises immediately. "The economic disruption alone—"
"Will be temporary," Grace interrupts. "Your fucking 'economy' is built on vertical slums where sunlight never reaches below level fifty. You've got populations living in perpetual darkness, breathing recycled air contaminated by the levels above them. The lower you go, the worse the crime, disease, and desperation."
"But the infrastructure investments—" another senator begins.
Grace laughs harshly. "Infrastructure? You mean the geological instability from supporting that much weight? The disrupted weather patterns from blocking natural atmospheric circulation? The buried ecosystems that were paved over millennia ago?"
A Bothan representative stands. "Surely gradual reform—"
"Gradual reform is how you got five thousand fucking levels in the first place," Grace snaps. "Every generation said 'we'll fix it later' and just built upward instead. You created a planet-wide class system based on altitude. The rich live in penthouses with actual sunlight. The poor suffocate in darkness thousands of levels down."
Padmé watches intently, her warrior programming analyzing Grace's tactical arguments. Satine's military bearing straightens as she recognizes the strategic dismantling of every objection.
Hours blur together. Senator after senator raises concerns—economic impact, population displacement, construction logistics, historical preservation. Grace systematically destroys each argument with brutal efficiency and creative profanity.
"The environmental damage is irreversible without divine intervention," Grace states during hour thirty-two. "And guess what? We've got divine intervention. The planet gets restored or you keep living on a diseased corpse of a world."
Finally, at exactly 2:55pm Friday, Grace's entire body goes rigid. Her gold-ringed eyes widen.
"Oh thank fucking Christ, it's finally goddamn happening!"
Across the chamber, senators begin transforming. Unlike the instantaneous changes elsewhere in the galaxy, these proceed slowly—breasts swelling gradually over minutes, hips widening, waists cinching. No pleasure accompanies the changes. Just slow, inexorable physical restructuring.
You watch a male Rodian senator's antennae retract as feminine features emerge. A female Quarren's facial tentacles reshape into Twi'lek lekku. Bodies shift from dozens of species into only two—Twi'lek or Togruta.
The transformations continue for hours. At the two-hour mark, mental changes finally hit. Gold rings suddenly appear around every eye simultaneously. Loyalty programming floods transformed minds in the final sixty seconds.