Steve Warz: The Musical!

by The Compendium of Steve

You read that right: our favorite galaxy of irrelevance has gone full Broadway-style! In this unprecedented, unexpected special event, we see exactly how this beloved genre of theater is handled by our Jedi heroes and other beloved weirdos. What drama awaits? What kind of songs will be sung? You may very well be surprised by what's in store!

(A spotlight shines on the host of the realm, looking fly and at ease)

You no doubt know about Star Wars.

That "long, long time ago," stellar fantasy rigmarole.

Household name, top of the game, inflaming gents and dames

With heroes and villains, freedom under oppression, peace verse aggression…

All across them distant stars.

A space opera with the mass-appeal to make fanboys and girlies squeal; retaining that zeal despite the years, it's truly surreal.

...But we're not here for Star Wars. Not entirely.

None of your favorite characters and faces, but plenty of familiar places. Redone, reworked, repurposed for all kinds of thrilling chilling dilly-dallying like you never considered.

It's not Star Wars on offer here, darlings…

IT'S STEVE WARZ

Hit it, imps.

(Paper doll demons shuffle out to fill in the void)

Cid: In the great expanse of the human mind,

Kid: There's no dearth of fascinating things to find:

Iid: Ideas,

Tid: Thoughts,

Fid: Fears,

Did: And dreams!

Bid: In multitudes that wreck the seams.

Oid: And in one small corner, some little space,

Sid: There's something that's a real nutcase.

Yid: Toybox,

Vid: Canvas,

Aid: All that and more!

Wid: But what exactly is in store?

(Chorus)

Anything is viable, if you put your mind to it.

With an open imagination, there's really nothing to it.

So just drop your doubts; make that image come true.

Because in this wacky galaxy, it's the easiest thing to do.

(Instrumental break as the colors of the mind paint the picture)

Pid: Playground of the gods, on familiar turf.

Yid: You've all been here before;

Kid: Cuz it's already been unearthed!

Wid: Worlds of ice, worlds of fire,

Jid: Just about any biome to meet your heart's desire.

Rid: But the realm is just a stage—

Nid: One that needs a cast!

Fid: It's all in the roles to be filled.

Uid: You wanna brave the task?

(Chorus)

Anything is possible, when you put your heart into it.

Nothing's ever out of reach; just get on up and do it.

Go and tell your tale; make that story come true.

Because in this zany galaxy, it all comes down to you.

Zid: But all that's been taken care of oh so long ago.

Xid: A whole bunch of craziness ensued—

Oid: And we still got far more to go!

Hid: What will happen next?

Eid: Even we don't got a clue!

Aid: Will it be joyous or straight disaster?

(Every imp goes still under the spotlight, all facing the same direction: yours)

…Well, that's for you to discover.

(Chorus)

Now sit back, relax, don't think too hard about it.

This ride is still a ride, so kick back and enjoy it!

Ignore your doubts; let those emotions ring true.

For in this bonkers galaxy, that's the most that you can do!

…For in this silly galaxy, that's the least that you can do!

…For in this nutso galaxy, that's what you were meant to do.

In This Crazy, Wacko, Weirdo

Ga-Lax-YYYYYYYYYYYY!

STEVE WARZ

THE MUSICAL!

(End scene)

---

With that toe-tapping preamble out of the way, hello and welcome dear reader! I am known as the Dramatist, "Dee" to my co-workers. I will be your master of ceremonies for this latest literary excursion. Or narrator, rather. It's such a thrill and an honor to be here let me tell you! To be given such an esteemed, integral role; it has been a long time coming, but it hasn't diminished the excitement in the slightest!

Oh right, apologies. This isn't about me; this is about the story at hand. So let's get right into that.

As the title says, this is a musical. Isn't that grand? Such a wondrous genre to explore, at long last! Er-hum, distracted again. But what sort of musical, you may be asking. A valid question, given it's presented in a wholly silent medium. The words are there, but what kind of music goes with them? Well, to get some idea, it helps to know the author's preference beforehand. Barring that, let's look at the backdrop of this impending narrative for possible clues.

From a distant glance, you recognize it as the Galaxy Far Far Away. And for the most part that's what it is.

However, it's in truth a significant deviation from the original. Many of the inhabitants you remember aren't here; there are planets you have never heard of; alliances have been forged between the unlikeliest of races. And of course, it's played host to invading nerds, cosplayers, video game characters, dragons (plenty of which are from games), aspects of the human ego given the form of demigods (like yours truly), and an inscrutable amount of celebrity cameos and references. About as inscrutable as the plots featuring them, of which there have been many. In short, it's a realm which my Master utilizes to vent His creative fancies upon one of His favorite fictional settings. And that's all I will say on that, for brevity's sake.

Now, much like the source material, peace has befallen this alternate galaxy after decades of struggle and calamity (there are some minor incidents, but nothing existence-threatening). Uncertainty and fear have given way to stability and happiness, and no place exemplifies this better than Coruscant: the city-planet capital of the Galactic Republic. With its billions of inhabitants, it buzzes merrily like the hive world it clearly is (don't bother fooling yourselves). Yet one amongst them stands out with their particular zest for life.

One of the heroes responsible for this prosperous outcome, arguably THE hero responsible. The main character, the mascot, the very face and star of this offshoot. That positively, persistently, prevailingly premiere protagonist known forever and always as Squishy!

And it looks like the Jawa is out on a stroll, livening up the air of the upper walkways with what's on his mind.

Squishy: Six foot tall, she's my scaley sweetie.

Smooth like satin, oh yes indeedy!

As red as the apple in my eye~!

A fine dear lady of tail and heft,

With a voice to put pep to my step,

Everything about her makes me want to fly~!

(Hops onto and whirls around lamppost)

Just thinking about her really makes my daaaay!

One thought is enough to send my worr-ies awaaaay!

(Leaps off)

It's hard to feel down whenever she's around,

And there's so much more for me to saaaay!

A real fine partner, my scaley sweetie.

And a real swell mother, you can believe me!

So sweet and caring she doesn't need to try~!

There to lend a claw, when you need a hand. (Jumps to get cat out of tree)

Or say sweet nothings without command: (Uses Force to fix a surrey with a fringe on top)

Just those parts of her makes me want to cry~!

How lucky can I this one Jawa be,

To have someone so desirable as she?

The days look brighter, the air feels lighter,

Any time she's close to meeeee!

Out of everything, she alone has me spiraling!

All the joy and warmth she brings, it's no wonder that I sing!

She's the light in my life, like a sailor's guiding star.

Of all the suns in the galaxy, hers is the brightest by faaaaaar!

Ohhhhhhhhhhh-wohh-woh.

Six foot tall, that's my scaley sweetie.

The only person who can complete me.

My very who and what and why~.

For casting out those lonesome nights,

And having my back in every fight,

I will stay forever true by her side.

Oh yes I will stay by her, that's no lie.

And no matter what comes I will (Looks longingly from a lamppost, going somber)

Always love her and hold her and protect and assure her til the day I close my eyes,

For the very last time…

(Perks back up) But that's not going to happen any time soon, so!

Love love love love, love-idy love.

Hmhmhmhm love-love-love.

Ah yes: still hopelessly enamored, even after so many years of marriage. That kind of singular devotion is one of the sweeter bits of his character. In fact, every one of them has something I find adorable. It was such a delight meeting (most of) them in person. Hopefully I can see them and the rest again another time, under more amicable circumstances.

Speaking of whom, waiting by the entrance of the upscale apartment complex Squishy is hopping toward are Will and Sara: the human Jedi couple whose marriage can rival Squishy's in terms of happiness and cuteness. William has allowed a respectably rugged beard to grow on his square jaw, and his little wife is looking as radiant as ever. She's the first to spot their Jawa companion as he bounces along.

"That's him right there!" she alerts her husband.

"Heya Will and Sara! What timing!" Squishy says as he executes a flawless pirouette that brings him to a stop.

"What are you doing coming from the opposite way?" Will asks in that low burly tone of his.

"Turned out we were out of salsa so I volunteered to go get some," Squishy responds, pulling out a bottle from the confines of his robe.

"You could have just asked us to bring some."

"Yes, but then I wouldn't have an excuse to go out walking on such a beeeeautiful day!"

"You're in a really chipper mood, Squishy," Sara remarks.

"Well when it's Taco Tuesday with company, matched with excellent weather, how could I not be? But enough standing around; let's get inside!"

Squishy takes the couple into the lobby, hurrying them onto a lift so they can get to the fun times. I understand Taco Tuesdays are pretty popular and practiced by lots of families, though I find them too bothersome for my tastes. All that preparation and having to actually assemble your meal, too much effort. Although, being a guest to one may be nice.

The lift brings the three to one of the highest floors, and after a quick walk down the corridor Squishy brings his friends into his pricey but not overtly upscale penthouse apartment that has served as his Coruscant residence for several years. Stepping into the foyer/living room he announces, "Hey hun, I'm back! And look who I found downstairs."

"That was quick," comes a soft trill of a voice just before its owner enters the room. And there she is: the Yoko Shimomura's Dearly Beloved of Squishy's existence. His literal star-crossed lover, bearing the red scales, sharp claws, pointy teeth-loaded snout and thick elongated tail befitting long-extinct predators. Totally alien from Squishy in body, but in spirit their resonance is unbreakable (over a decade of attempts from Master attests to that). Only makes sense that such a lovely specimen should have an equally lovely name to match: Sylvia.

"Hey there, Sylv," Will says with a casual wave.

"Hello Will, Sara. Welcome," Sylvia replies. "Were you waiting down in the lobby?"

"No, just got here. We were gonna ring you up when Squishy came hopping by."

"Weird timing, like I said!" Squishy says.

"You're wearing your necklace today," Sara says, pointing at the wide crescent of gold wrapped around Sylvia's broad neck. A nice call-back there (for those who remember/actually read).

"Yes, just felt like having it on. Seemed like a fine day for it," Sylvia says as she fingers the gold mesh with a claw.

"It goes well with the sunshine we've been having," Sara compliments.

"I thought that as well," Squishy says.

"But let's get into the kitchen so we can have some tacos."

"Yeah tacos!"

Sylvia turns about and leads her husband and friends into the spacious kitchen and dining area, gloriously illuminated by the sun coming in through the wide glass wall. One of the kitchen islets is laden with the accoutrements one would expect to find at a taco party, and the air is heavy with the rich aroma of cooking meat and seasonings.

"Boy it smells good in here," Will says, his mouth starting to water.

"The meat looking any closer to done, Rick?" Sylvia asks the person helming the skillet on the oven.

"Just about, Mom. Switching the heat off now."

A curious case, this one: Richter, the former "black sheep" of the Jaa-Ruuk triplets. Born fully berobed out of the egg, he behaved as something of an outcast due to his looks, although apart from the robe his only noteworthy oddity is the luscious hair sprouting from his scaly head. His brooding persona withered steadily in recent years, though he remained distant and mostly to himself, at least until a certain harrowing occurrence (which you can read about when Master gets around to writing it) made him seriously reconsider his outlook. He's been living with his parents for over a month, wishing to reconnect with the ones who conceived, birthed, raised and loved him. Such a considerate son 3.

Today his hair is tied and draped over one shoulder atop a burlap scarf, a remnant and reminder of his past. But he smiles with genuine warmth as his five-fingered claws work the spatula and pan handle to keep the ground beef loose and evenly cooked.

"Yo Rick," Will greets.

"Yo yourself Will, and Sara also."

"I got us the salsa, son!" Squishy whips out and flings the bottle onto the islet, landing expertly by the sour cream and lettuce.

"And I have the meat all ready, right on time." Rick raises the pan and brings it over to the islet, putting it down on a heat absorber.

"Today has all been about great timing, and it's hardly past noon!" Squishy reminds us yet again as Sylvia brings over a small stack of plates.

"So we just start or…"

"Yes; dig in, by all means," Sylvia tells Sara as she holds up her own plate. "Drinks are in the fridge so you'll have to grab them yourself."

That's a secondary concern as everyone focuses on crowding around the islet to assemble their tacos at the same time (the crowding is another turn-off for me with Taco Tuesdays).

"We ought to eat outside, with the weather being so good," Sara suggests in the midst of her ministrations.

"I hadn't considered that," Sylvia admits. "But if everyone's alright with going out…"

"Suuuure; let's go and soak up that fresh air and sunshine!" Squishy marches over to the window with his plate of tacos and Force Opens the sliding door, stepping out onto the porch then the grass of the miniature lawn beyond. Eventually all five are seated at the table by the pool, enjoying their first round of crunchy delights.

"So savory and good with these spices," Squishy says as he pours a hefty glob of salsa onto his taco. "The salsa just enhances it more!"

"Pretty sure you're only getting salsa at that point, dude," Will comments.

"It really is tasty this time around, Sylvia. Really good," Sara compliments.

"Just dabbled with some different spices. Rick did a great job getting the meat and vegetables prepared."

"Eh, no big deal with chopping, Mom," Rick says modestly. "But I definitely got the frying down pat with this batch."

"That you did, my boy," his father says. "I'll be looking forward to your meat searing expertise for the lasagna tomorrow."

"Typical Squishy: talking about food even while stuffing his face."

Sara's remark gets some chuckles from the others, but a muffled ringing interferes with the cozy din.

"The phone?" Rick says.

"I'll get it," Squishy says as he pushes away from the table.

"No you can let the machine take it—"

"No no it's cool honey, it could be important, just keep eating," he tells his wife as he heads right inside. Some minutes later he reappears at the sliding door.

"There he is. Must've been some call," Will says upon spotting him.

"Who was it?" Sylvia asks.

"It was one of our associates from Mon Calamari who wanted to speak with us, so I invited him up, and here he is right now!"

Squishy steps aside to allow a squid-headed fellow in diplomatic robes to come into view.

"A Quarren? Haven't seen one of those in a while," Will remarks.

"Not just any Quarren: he's Exposito, from the Mon Calamari Nature Conservation & Tourism Board," Sylvia says.

"I am honored that you still remember me by name, Madam Sylvia," the Quarren says with a very heavy accent. "And greetings to you William and Sara. What favor to be in the direct presence of other Jedi as well. Although, I know not who that one is."

"That's our son Rick, Expo," Squishy tells him.

"Richter? My, that is a surprise. Not at all what I had expected him to look like."

"Yeah: a raptor with hair. Real freaky," Rick says flatly.

"Ah, no, I apologize; I did not mean to sound rude. I just have never seen you without your robe. You do look fashionable as is."

"Thanks, and don't worry about it. I'm not exactly trying to make a big deal out of my new look."

"Hey, there's no need to stand here. Come have a seat, get a taco, get comfy." Squishy Force Grabs a chair from within and tosses it across the lawn to the table with one sharp flick. Exposito walks over and sits, taking up a plate and helping himself to the portable tray's offerings.

"What brings you to Coruscant? It's been some time since we've seen each other," Sylvia converses.

"That it has, and I wish I had come under brighter conditions. But, alas, I bring unfortunate tidings." He takes a morose bite out of his taco.

"What's wrong?" Sara asks.

Exposito lets out a wispy sigh after swallowing his bite. "Tourism on Mon Calamari has been lacking for some time. We are getting nowhere near the same numbers of visitors as in past years, and the planetary economy has fallen into a slough. Those two factors have greatly reduced the spirits of the inhabitants, even that of my kind." (Quick clarification: Quarrens typically stick to the deep abyssal regions of the water planet, rarely spending time on the surface, so for an isolated group like that to be sharing in the blues is saying something)

"Yeah, it's rough when economies take a dip like that," Will emphasizes with a nod. "No fun for anyone… except maybe the super-wealthy."

"That's awful to hear," Squishy says. "But slumps like that come and go all the time. Me and Sylvia deal in hospitality and we've had our share of lean seasons. You just gotta keep things running and eventually it'll pick up. Mon Calamari is too gorgeous to stay ignored forever."

"Alas, optimism will not work in this instance." The Quarren takes another sorrowful bite and chews before continuing. "The creditors who funded the island preservation and formation program are demanding their loans to be paid in full this very week."

"What? How can that be? You have been keeping up payments, haven't you?" Sylvia asks, stunned by this information.

"We have. However, the agencies we have had dealings with have been bought and absorbed into a different, far larger one. And this one is demanding all outstanding loans to be paid."

"That doesn't sound right. Shouldn't any pre-existing agreements remain in place regardless of a transfer or acquisition?" Rick asks.

"I am not sure exactly how it was arranged, but the original payment schedules are now defunct. My office received this notice only a few days ago, along with the statement for the amount to be paid, which I have here."

Exposito takes a folded paper from his robe and hands it over to Squishy, whose eyes bulge out at what he sees. "Yowza! Are they for real?" Sylvia leans over to see for herself and lets out a gasp. "That's absurd! It can't possibly be this high if payments have been steady all these years."

"A newly-imposed interest charge was added on: a fee for failing to pay the loan sooner and 'wasting company resources'. That is their written justification."

The bill is passed around the table, the ludicrous number killing everyone's mood and appetite.

"That's some serious bull," Will eloquently puts it.

"How can anyone expect to pay this much on such short notice?" Sara asks, her tone laced with empathetic outrage.

"That is precisely how me and the other members of the board feel," the Quarren says. "It has us feeling helpless, especially with what is at stake."

"What's at stake?" Sylvia asks.

"If we are unable to meet this payment, then ownership of all property involved in the restoration program will be turned over to the collectors. Dozens of islands would cease being ours, including those that have been around for millennia."

"Okay: that is some serious bull," William amends.

"It truly is. Wait, that would also include…" Squishy looks to his wife as she reaches the same sad realization.

"The one we first met on," she finishes.

"Oh no…" says Sara.

"I had come here to Coruscant to plead for an extension for the payment deadline, to delay it by a year or a few months at least," Exposito continues. "I decided to inform you directly of the matter beforehand, Squishy, as you had played a valuable part in the program's success and felt you would like to know."

"This is downright terrible. All because of a shifting of hands; total legal garbage nonsense," Squishy complains.

"I fully agree, my friend, but there is little else to do."

Squishy rubs his chin in thought before murmuring, "...Except better your chances." Perking up, he says, "Do you think they would grant an extension if I asked for it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I could speak to this agency on your behalf, use my business savvy and galactic hero status to make them see reason."

"I had not considered such an approach," Exposito says, some hope rising in his voice. "It could greatly bolster our plea."

"Especially if I add my voice to it," Sylvia says. "This is every bit as important to me as to your people, so I'll go as well."

"Capital idea, dear: a two-pronged strike!" her husband cheers. "When are you supposed to be meeting with these agents, Exposito?"

"In an hour's time."

"Then there's not a moment to lose. We depart now!"

"What, you mean right this instant?" his son asks.

"Of course, Rick; we cannot afford any dallying. You should come along as well and help your folks in the cause."

"Uh, sure thing, Dad."

"Count us in as well," Sara chimes in, standing up along with her husband. "This kind of blatant bullying can't go unanswered."

"We'll lay on that Jedi pull extra thick," Will says with a grin.

"Awesome to hear, you two," Squishy says sincerely. "Go and rest easy, Exposito. We'll get that extension lickity-split, or my name isn't Squishy."

"Oh, thank you, all of you. Your selfless involvement touches this abyssal heart deeply," Exposito says with a quaver in his face tentacles.

"It's no thang when it comes to helping out Mon Calamari however we can, especially with all the memories it's given me and Sylv."

"Absolutely," his wife agrees.

"So we'll just put away the tacos for later and head out," Rick mentions.

"No time; we'll eat on the way."

"Like, make some tacos for the road or—?"

"Load up, men and ladies: there is justice to be wrought!"

And there we have it: the inciting incident, the call to action! The story is now underway with the quintet making their way into the financial quadrant without delay (ooooo that rhyming!). After a headlong dash and some hurried spot-cleaning and swallowing they make it into the posh reception area of the loathsome creditors, mostly crumb-free and ready to dazzle and ear-waggle (ahh more rhymes; I'm simply a natural!).

"This is definitely the place: I can already smell the money and aftershave," Will grumbles as they approach the receptionist and her desk.

"How may I help you?" the receptionist "greets" in a high-pitched monotone.

"Yes!" Squishy pulls himself above the desk edge. "We're the two o'clock here to talk shop regarding some finance. Finance shop, as it were."

"I'm sorry, but only one person is expected for two o'clock today. Would one of you happen to be Mr. Exposito?"

"Do we look like we have tentacles?" Will asks rudely.

"If you could kindly relay that we've come in his stead that would be really appreciated," Sylvia requests politely.

"I'm sorry, but only Mr. Exposito can be seen by our offices at this hour. Please schedule an appointment by holophone if you wish to be seen."

"We don't want an appointment, ma'am: we only want a quick word with your boss." Sadly, dear Richter, you're nowhere as persuasive without the robe. Though it wouldn't have made a difference in this case.

"I'm sorry, but only persons with an appointment can be seen."

"Is she a droid or what?" Will asks Sara.

"Definitely gives that impression."

"What is all this excess chatter I'm hearing?"

The mahogany double doors beside the desk open to reveal someone that's all business, in a sharp grey suit, dark ponytail slickly styled like a crisp affidavit, glasses suitable for the most scrutinizing of scrutinies, and a perpetually annoyed look on his narrow face. It softens somewhat at seeing the five figures before him.

"Jedi, hm? Quite the unexpected sort to find here today," he mildly yet stiffly observes. "I would offer you some refreshments, but I'm presently awaiting a client so I must ask you to come back in an hour."

"Oh, we're the ones you're waiting on," Squishy says casually.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We came to speak on Mr. Exposito's behalf concerning the loan that's due. We have his permission, if you wish to contact him and verify," Sylvia informs the suit, who eyes them like an unwanted but unavoidable stain.

"I see… Well, far be it from me to question the word of heroes. Welcome to Melachor & Associates. I am Nigil Esperanza, the representative collections attorney."

"Nice to meet you, Nigil," says Will.

"That's Mr. Esperanza. If you all will follow me we can conduct the meeting in private. Allow nobody else into the office until I instruct you otherwise, Miss Prisha."

"Yes Mr. Esperanza," the receptionist drones while our Jedi are led into the adjacent conference room. The double doors close behind them as the attorney walks around the lengthy table within.

"As you claim to be representatives for Mr. Exposito and by extension the Mon Calamari Nature Preservation & Tourism Board, I assume you are fully informed of everything entailing their loan's status?"

"Yeah, and we think it's total gar—" Sara elbows Will silent.

"We were informed of the loan as it was written up by the original creditors," Rick responds.

"Yes, who are no longer an existing entity. All part of the acquisition process," the lawyer says without an iota of empathy. "And as part of that process, my office was given free reign to write any addendums deemed necessary to properly handle the resolution of any outstanding loans."

"Although it doesn't seem fair not to inform the borrowers while it's happening instead of later," Rick points out.

"There was no condition written in the original arrangement that required us to. Our office cannot be blamed for any oversights made by the borrowers nor the previous lender."

"We're not here to argue about that, or tell you how to do your legal thing," Squishy says. "We only wanted to see about getting an extension to—"

"Denied."

"W-what?"

"There will be no extensions granted on the loan, so I am denying the request."

"But, you haven't even heard how much of an extension they want," Sara pleads.

"That is irrelevant." Slippery Esperanza draws out some manilla folders from under the table and sets them over the surface. "Melachor does extensive research on every loan we acquire, and we have determined that based on economic trends, inflation rates and the GDP of Mon Calamari over the past twenty years, the original loan could have readily been paid off almost a decade ago. The Preservation & Tourism Board's inability or unwillingness to do this has cost the previous loan holder substantially, and in acquiring this loan the firm has also taken that loss. We are merely seeking compensation, be it credits or property."

"Sounds more to me like a serious overreaction, if not flat-out plunder," Will grumbles.

"But how can you say with absolute certainty that Mon Calamari was capable of paying the loan back then?" Sylvia argues. "Have you taken into account all the galactic crises that have happened in that time? The halts in commerce, displacements and numerous reconstruction efforts?"

"Yeah. How can you expect anyone to stay on top of their finances when annihilation is frequently about to happen?" Squishy points out, though this only derides a smirk from the lawyer.

"Melachor prides itself on its financial acuity and ironclad analyses. All those factors you listed and more have been taken into account, so I can tell you with unwavering certainty that an early payoff was well within their means in spite of all the bedlam. The evidence is all here in these folders if you do not believe me. We put serious consideration into these kinds of decisions; we wouldn't be a reputable firm if they lacked a solid foundation."

"Even if the reasoning is solid or legitimate, it's not necessarily right," Sylvia says.

"Right or wrong is not our business, Mrs. Sylvia. We deal in agreements and accountability."

"Do you also deal in insurance? Cuz I can tell you this place looks pretty ripe for an accident," Will says without the slightest bit of subtlety.

"Racketeering, hm? That would certainly make for some excitement around here, but it would do no good on the matter. The conditions of the loan are legally binding to the fullest extent of the law, and no amount of injury you wish to enact on me or any of our employees or offices can alter or undo it."

"Well, you never know until you try."

"No, he's right, Will," Rick steps in. "I faced crime lords who were better protected behind a row of lawyers than with a personal repulsor shield. Nothing short of dismantling the entire Republic legal system will do any good."

"Yes; we are like the proverbial hydra in that regard," Esperanza says. "Melachor always collects what it is owed… Although, I am not so rigid as to not offer some small lenience, in deferment to your many great deeds and service." While collecting and putting away the folders he says, "At present the loan is expected to be paid in full by end-of-business Friday, but I should be able to push it back to end-of-business next Monday."

"Just three days? That hardly makes a difference!" Sara protests.

"It's all the time I can afford, given how it's essentially over a decade past due as is."

"You could also argue that adding another week or month wouldn't hurt in light of that."

"Duly noted, Mr. Richter. Now, unless there is anything else further you wish to discuss, I must make ready for my next appointment. Was there anything else?"

"Uh, no, that was pretty much it." Squishy says humbly as he turns around. "We'll just be leaving."

"Then I look forward to seeing you or Mr. Exposito here in our office Monday before end-of-business. Just be sure to phone ahead before coming, and have yourselves a good rest of the day."

"Yeah, you too, Nigil," Will says curtly as the group exits the conference room.

Well, that didn't go terribly well, but it wouldn't be much of a story if everything got resolved right there. These sorts of setbacks are necessary for an engaging narrative, and it's certainly not the first bit of disappointment our Jedi have experienced in the realm of civil negotiations. At the very least they no longer have to put up with those stuffy corporate environs and instead are back out on the open sunny walkways. Surely the fresh city air will improve their spirits.

"That was a bust," Rick says (eh, so much for that).

"Figured we'd be dealing with a scumbag," Will rants. "Money over everything else with these people. Though, to his credit, he stuck to his guns throughout. He didn't even flinch at Rick's look. Him or that secretary, but she doesn't really count."

"That's a little weird, come to think of it," Sara muses. "Not just that, but that he even knew it was you, Rick."

"It was likely process of elimination," Rick figures. "There are only three other reptilian Jedi besides Mom, and I definitely stand out from Stan and Sal even without my robe. As to him not reacting…" Shrug. "More or less what Will said: too business-focused."

"And it's a bad bit of business we've gotten into!" Squishy sighs. "Exposito is going to be so disappointed: We raised his hopes but hardly accomplished anything."

"Three days is better than nothing," attempts Sylvia at cheering up her partner. "I'm sure he will still appreciate us for making the attempt."

"Shame gestures of goodwill don't pay the bills. At least, not with this guy," Will has to remind us.

"Still close to a week's time to work with, Dad. A lot can be done if it's used efficiently."

"Yeah, especially if we all pitch in. There's definitely some way for this to work!" Squishy says, perking back up.

"Let's just tell Exposito first and go from there," Sylvia says.

"Right. He should have gone back to his hotel, which should be—"

Suddenly the building front ahead of them erupts in a loud shower of glass, bringing everything to an abrupt halt. From the dust cloud bursts an odd, brightly-orange skeleton automaton gripping two bulging sacks in its bony hands. The clattery oddity capers some yards before finding his way blocked by the group.

"Yo move, quit hogging the road you cho..!" The Hispanic-accented robo-cadaver tilts its skull as it looks the group over. "Ey ey ey, isn't this a coincidence."

"Oh god. It's, um…"

"Carrot," Squishy finishes for his wife.

"Who?" Will asks.

"Of the Sanbone Trio, from way back when me and Sylvia were dating."

"Way back is right, you rat-b****rd puta. And here with the scaley senora as well, no surprise."

"Wasn't he sent to prison or something?" Sara asks.

"I was, chica, but then I got out! No jail can hold Carrot forever. It was chill for a while, keeping on the down-low, but that kind of life ain't suited for me, cuz. So I'm making some noise along with some bank down here in the rich side of town, and I couldn't have asked for a more f***ing gorgeous day to do it."

"It's also a very lovely day to put you back in the clink," Rick says, catching the skeleton by surprise.

"Eh? Who's this hairy-a** lizard thing? Like something outta a nightmare shampoo commercial, man; hair shouldn't look that slick on you."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now if you could drop the bags—"

"No way, homes!" Carrot rattles. "Like h*** I'm surrendering after my first big raid. If anything, you're gonna let me through, or I'll knock you the f*** outta the way. How's that?"

"I'd like to see you try, bonehead," Will says, stepping forward to draw his weapon.

"Oh not just me, muchacho. Me and my whole crew! Vamanos!"

Pouring out from the building and parts of the walkway comes dozens of squat and tall yellow and blue skeleton robots, each wielding bones like clubs and rattling up a storm.

"Holy cow!" is Sara's exclamation.

"There's even more of them now!" Sylvia bemoans.

"That's right, chica: I'm pulling no punches for this round! You and your friends are boned every which-way!"

The bony horde raises their weapons as one, looking quite menacing… then immediately put their clubs to their ribs, ringing out an oddly harmonious maraca sound that really riles up the bandit leader.

Carrot: Aie-Yai-Yai-Yai-Yai-Yai-Yai-Yai-Yai-Yai-YEEEEEEE!

Yes we are back, and even more than ever,

We are the Sanbone Enjambre~!

You have no chance, of silencing our sound,

So aceptar la muerte~!

An energy bolt takes down one of the Pines, silencing the sound.

"Que mierda?"

"Yo paco! Didn't you get the memo?"

Everyone stops and turns to see a dashing rogue of a figure appear atop a distant billboard.

"Crime doesn't have a permit to serenade in this town." He pushes up the tip of his iconic mullet with a smoking blaster. "Especially while I'm around."

"It's Jo!" Sara shouts excitedly, right as that swanky fellow flings himself from his perch and tumbles majestically onto the walkway like a capeless crusader.

"The one and only," he says with a smirk. A cool rock beat accompanies his struts as he goes to work.

Jo: The single coolest cat in town,

The dashiest dashing rogue around;

Knows how to make an entrance like a pro.

So of course it has gotta be Jo.

(Starts punching and kicking the charging sambo robots)

Tipping the scales in every brawl,

All the suckers lining up just to fall.

Whether in fisticuffs or shootouts, I'm no schmo.

Why? Because I'm the genuine Jo.

(Gets to grappling and tossing around his opponents)

I got skills so keen, and moves so slick;

All jivin' to my inner groove. (Fires off blaster)

No one can touch, someone so fly,

Unless they're a lady I can soothe.

"Oh brother," Will eye-rolls.

Jo: So all the punks better hit the ground,

Or some a**es are gonna wind up Lost-and-Found. (Starts beating foes with their own bones)

Because if you still aren't in the know,

You're being served up that extra-strong Jo.

The wildest Jedi master in town, (Ignites lightsaber)

Always on the prowl to lay the smackdown! (Starts dismembering)

Why, who could it ever be? (Stabs a Pine)

It's only the amazing Jo, naturally.

As limbs and circuitry fly, Carrot quakes in his composite metal boots at the sight of his entire crew being mowed down effortlessly.

"M-man, s***'s gotten too loco too suddenly. I'm bailin'!"

He turns to flee, but manages three steps before a fearsome lightning bolt holds him up and drops him to the walkway, dazed. A notably tall, mildly annoyed-looking sir approaches and looks down on the bested mechanica.

"Of course one of that game's lot should pop up again."

"Alex and Anna as well!" Squishy announces, for indeed the aforementioned sir is that stalwart sentinel Alexander Copeland, joined by the stout madam of moxie that is Anna Orda, who barks out,

"Oi, Mr. Big Shot! You almost let the leader get away."

"Oh, him?" Jo replies conversationally as he decapitates the last of the Sodas. "I was gonna bag him after finishing these ads. You can't have killer musical robots clogging the walkways."

"When did all of you get back to Coruscant?" Sylvia asks as Jo approaches them.

"And what the freak were you doing posturing way up there?" Will adds in Jo's direction.

"The plain answer is that things have gotten stale on my end of things," Jo replies. "So I thought I'd try being a vigilante for a bit, put my bounty hunting to exacting justice outside the law. Seemed fun enough, given how long Rick had been doing it."

"There is some gratification in the practice," Richter admits.

"I had recently heard rumors of a newcomer gang looking to raise a ruckus here on our fine capital, and you happened to catch me at the end of my chase. But this wasn't an entirely solo job: I invited Alex and Anna to join in to help snare the net."

"I have no shame in saying we tagged along for nothing more than alleviating our own boredom," Alex says.

"Maybe for you; I'm also in it for some choice spoils. Speaking of…" Anna bends down and takes up the bags of stolen cash. "It's time to collect our finder's fee."

Like a bullet a small man in a business suit zips up to Anna and snatches the moneybags, spouting "Oh bless you for saving our funds and our firm thank you thank you thank you!" before scurrying back into the devastated building right as it's sealed with a thick durasteel shutter. The Jedi blink silently for a moment before Jo says,

"Well, serving the public trust is its own reward."

"For peasants," Anna spits out, then looking at the others she says, "Now what are you chumps and Sara doing in this part of town?"

"We were trying to handle some financial matters… and it didn't go too well," Squishy answers.

"What, trying to get a loan on a speedboat?"

"It involves a loan, though someone else's," Rick clarifies.

"We're trying to help a friend of ours from Mon Calamari's Nature Preservation & Tourism Board," Sylvia elaborates. "They've been told out of the blue to pay off loans from years ago in a few days or face having much of their islands confiscated."

"Oof, sounds major," Jo says. "Just how much are they needing to pay?"

"See it for yourself."

Squishy hands the bill to Jo, who lifts up the sunglasses I forgot to mention he was wearing in astonishment.

"Jeez Louise pull me up from my knees, that's a lot of scratch!" Anna and Alex lean over to gander, the former letting out a whistle and the latter saying,

"I'd expect this kind of spending from the Municipal Recreations Budget, but sheeeeeeesh!"

"It's primarily interest, which makes it more disgusting," Sara says.

"Ah, yeah, one of those loan agencies," Anna remarks.

"We would like to help pay for it ourselves, but that kind of amount would make us bankrupt," Sylvia says.

"More than that: it'd put you in a hole so deep there'd be no hope of escape. A straight up financial pit," says Jo.

"More an oubliette."

"Yeah, precisely, Rick. Wooo man." Jo hands back the paper like it's some thorny wafer, glad to be rid of it.

"The most we could do was get a three day extension, pushing it to next Monday," Squishy explains. "Now we need to figure out how to raise the money to pay this by then."

"Oh, that's easy."

Everyone looks at Anna. "How do you mean?" Squishy asks.

"It's super obvious, Squish: just have the Republic pay for it."

"...What?" is Richter's response.

"It's the very least they can do given the number of times we saved their keisters, and only paying us back in vacation days. And like Alex mentioned, the current leadership blows their funds on literally anything that's not public works. Make them spend it on something good for a change."

Everyone takes a moment to consider. And only a moment.

"That would be the quickest and simplest route," Rick acknowledges.

"They definitely owe you," Will says.

"Hmmm. Sure; let's ask the governor for funds!" Squishy accepts.

"I suppose it's worth a shot," Sylvia acquiesces.

"I'll lead the way. I still got this perp to bring in." Jo holds up the babbling, barely functioning Carrot.

"And we'll come along as extra muscle," Alex says, weirdly enough.

"Woo! Let's go mooch off the government!" Sara cheers, to which the others give a resounding "YEEEAAA!"

Ah, it's so nice when our heroes get a ready solution for a change. No great trial to overcome or threat to surmount: just a quick easy fix. And once in the office of the governor, I'm sure they will get it with a gracious and welcome—

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" Anna demands.

"I mean our treasury cannot give financial aid of any sort at this time, much less for an amount this outlandish."

The Republic's longest-running head of state is something of an enigma. Usually he's your typical bumbling and cowardly government stooge, but then there are instances where he's uncharacteristically adamant.

"Funding shortages never stopped your guys' spending sprees before," Will points out.

"Yes, but we don't even have that luxury this time around," the bald governor sighs. "Truth is, our fair Republic is experiencing a major recession in just about every corner of the galaxy. To help you with your money troubles while so many others are struggling would be selfish and irresponsible."

"Wow; the governor leaning on ethics? It must really be bad," Jo remarks.

"You cannot imagine, Joseph. It came right out of nowhere, and in a big, unsettling way. Now me and the bean counters downstairs are doing all we can to keep it from tipping over. We're monitoring fund allocations for the first time in a decade, it's that serious. And nothing spells political suicide as being the overseer of a full-on depression. Absolutely nobody loves those, let me tell you."

"Prices have been going up lately, I noticed," Squishy notes aloud.

"But those islands are crucial to Mon Calamari. Not only culturally, but also for their own economic well-being," Sylvia argues. "Can you really do nothing to help one of the Republic's oldest and dearest allies?"

A pout from the duffer-in-chief. "You're making me sound uncaring, Sylvia. I'd help in a heartbeat if I could, truly. Ackbar is a dear friend of mine as you know, and I love those getaway beaches. And their seafood imports are one of the few things that make me feel virile at my age. But the needs of the many outweigh those of the few, as those heathen Trekkies would put it. My hands are thoroughly and frustratingly tied on the matter."

"Gosh. You'd think after being in office for so long you would have more command of things, but I guess that's not the case," Sara remarks.

"*Sigh* It really isn't." A pitiful dirge of sorts begins as he speaks.

Gov: When I first entered office, all young and trim and full of spice,

I had hoped to help my fellow man

By putting many wrongs to right.

But when you're the head cheese, it all becomes painfully clear…

That you're some measly fly, caught in a web of poor materi-ear.

That's because,

Government is cheap, but hard. It's slack, yet unforgiving.

You have to break your back to keep things on track,

That is if you want to make life here worth living.

"Uhh, we didn't want a lecture—"

Gov: When I first found how it's all held together,

It left me at a loss. (Pulls something from desk)

Instead of steel or tape or twine

It's only plain dental floss.

Stretched to its limit, and expected to do more; (Pulling at floss)

Maintaining it is my monumental chore.

But it must be done, or it all goes broke,

Because they can't afford a replacement if I should ever croak.

For government is cheap without tact. Oh yes my friends, that's the sad fact.

With all its flaws, it holds up its laws,

While strangling the ones keeping it intact.

(Things speed up as Governor starts becoming frantic)

And! On top of that, if that weren't enough,

There's also legal matters, PR and all of that fun stuff.

I'm talking budget cuts, worker strikes, filibusters, inflation hikes,

Insurrections, litigations, allegations, compensations,

Flagging polls, airway tolls, lawyer payrolls,

Voter frauds, needy mobs, a bomb threat or two,

Info leaks, PETA freaks, but what can you do?

Keep them happy, keep them pleased, with your back against a wall,

I mean is it any wonder why I am so bald?

(Glares at the floss strung out in his grip)

It's a thankless job, you cannot deny.

And everyday it demands much much more on the fly.

So with all that in mind, with so many plates to spin,

There may be one question you might be thinking.

Between this spiteful string and an overworked chap,

Who in the end will ultimately SNAP?

(Snaps the floss and glares at the Jedi with wild focus)

Well not me, Becaaaaause!

(Leaps onto desk, revealing the glittery high heels and fishnet stockings covering his fat legs)

Though government is cheap, I am hard!

Like the core of the biggest star!

And with a captain like me, you all will see,

This sinking ship will keep chugging far!

Oh, Yes, That's, Right!

(Puts on a burlesque step routine before mesmerized looks of horror)

Government can be cheap, but I don't care!

Because I'm not going anywhere!

Thrift all you want; I'm still gonna flaunt

This hardworking hot-trottin' derriere.

So let the people know, exactly who they owe,

In keeping their simple lives liv-a-ble~.

Oh gracious, such a flexile old coot; I'm honestly flustered! I never could have imagined him being so limber, and with a sashay of the thighs he slips himself down behind the desk like an eel, resuming his humble civil servant image. The change doesn't seem to affect our Jedi, who are still agog at the surprise show (I don't blame them). With a courteous cough the governor says, "That's just the way things stand. I wish you good luck elsewhere, and thanks again for swinging by. It's always nice having you visit."

A short time and some cognitive-restarting later everyone is once again outside, still empty-handed and with a fresh dose of disappointment and moderate trauma on top of that.

"Once again our government lets us down," Alexander groans.

"It is a ridiculously massive sum," Sylvia reminds. "Who in their right, or mostly-right minds would want to touch that?"

"But they could have given something," Anna says. "All that talk about recession. You know the best way to fix it is by boosting one planetary economy at a time instead of trying to do it everywhere all piece-meal. Nothing gets done that way."

"Uhh, I'm not sure that's how that works, Anna," Rick says.

"What? You an economist all a sudden?"

"Bottom line: don't count on government support when it's really needed. Lesson as old as time," Jo sagely says. "Now what, Squish?"

"Well, we tell Exposito, and then go from there."

"Not really seeing where else to go but under, honestly."

"Will!" chides Sara.

"It sucks, but that's the way it's looking."

"For it to end like this, though…" Squishy murmurs, before getting startled by the beeping vibrations coming from his waist. "Bweeh!"

"Is that your communicator?" his darling asks.

"Y-yeah it is. Don't know why its volume is so high." With some fumbling the Jawa extracts his comm device and puts it to a covered ear. "Hello?"

"Squishy, hello? This is Exposito."

"Ohh, Exposito! This is a surprise, getting a comm call from you."

"Yes. It had just occurred to me some moments ago to check my contacts, and what luck to see your number still works. Anyway, I was wanting to know how the meeting went. If you were successful in extending the deadline."

"Oh yeah, uh, the meeting went well enough. As for the deadline, well… We could only get it pushed to Monday. Of next week."

"Only three days?"

"Yeah I'm sorry, I made it sound like a sure thing we could get it pushed back way further, but I guess I'm no good at negotiating loan stuff."

"It's alright. While I am disappointed with the outcome, I still appreciate you and Sylvia for going out of your way to help me. And that you were able to get an extension, albeit a small one, I am especially grateful."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you think so. Still wish we could have done more."

"You need not feel disgrace. It was not your matter to handle, despite your personal connection to it. You deserve my thank you for what you have done. Now I must prepare to leave Coruscant to seek other solutions. I will make the utmost of the extra time you have given me and the people of Mon Calamari."

"Yeah, no problem."

"A good evening to you, and give my regards to Sylvia and your companions. And Richter as well."

"Sure thing. Goodbye."

Squishy deactivates and puts away his comm, then leans back to let out a heavy, agitated sigh. "We've got to do more."

"What's that?" Jo asks.

"We can't just let it end like that. Just give up and say 'there's nothing more we can do'."

"It's a pretty unsurmountable, impregnable wall you've come up against, you realize," Alex points out. "Made more so with the governor's rejection."

"Plus, aren't you being a bit too invested?" Jo queries. "Don't get me wrong, it's real good what you're trying to do, but it's not exactly your problem. You didn't sign for those loans; you don't have property on Mon Calamari as far as I'm aware. It sucks they're in this bind, like Will said, but you did what you could, so now things take their course."

"But the whole thing is wrong, Jo. This isn't the result of bad business decisions: Mon Calamari is being shanghaied. And given what me and Sylvia had done to help them over the years, I won't feel right standing by as they suffer for failing to pay some bogus late fees."

"Me neither," Sylvia joins in. "This goes beyond saving one cherished island. The whole planet and its people are dear to us, so we have to keep trying to help."

"And it's only been a few hours of trying. Far too soon to just give up," Rick notes.

"Precisely!" his father agrees. "We've protected that planet and so many others from apocalyptic threats on multiple occasions. Why should we call quits over something like ruinous debt?"

"Yeah, would be a pretty lame thing to back out on when you put it like that," acknowledges William.

"Hey, I'm not against you still wanting to help. I just wanted to be sure you're really down for it," Jo says. "And since you are, I'll join ya. I'm between jobs now, so I can stick around another week or so."

"And anything that sticks it to big business or firms or anyone lording more money than me, we're always down for!" Anna says grinning.

"Since I'm along regardless, I'll help however you need me," Alex says. "So long as it's not degrading to my person."

"Wouldn't be much of a Jedi get-together if it wasn't, but I'm with ya, Squish," Will affirms with a nod.

"Same here!" chimes Sara.

"Thank you, guys. All of you," says the grateful desert ragamuffin.

"So… have something in mind, Dad?" Rick asks, which puts his father into thinking mode. After a few seconds of accompanying beats, he replies,

"Not yet. Which is why… we gotta brainstorm."

Immediately we cut over to Squishy's condo shortly later, the motley bunch all seated in a dim-lit room. Squishy rolls out a dry erase board before the assemblage, then begins the meeting with music in check.

Squishy: Okay gang we're up to speed

About the Mon Cal's desperate need.

We gotta cook up some ideas fast,

So what's the best way to raise some cash?

Anna: Just rob a bank; that's plain doable.

Rick: You're forgetting we're not criminals.

Anna: Need necessitates change, that's all I'm saying.

Unless you know a far better way of paying.

Sara: How about a bake sale? That's a legal thing to do.

Squishy: Yes! And everybody loves them too!

Bake some yeast to raise some dough!

Anna: Tons of ingredients will be needed, though.

Squishy: Yeah that's true. Darn it! (Erases idea)

Will: We can host a marathon: people run for charity.

Rick: But who in this city even runs for fun?

Cope: I must agree.

Sylvia: I would suggest an auction if we had anything worth to sell.

Sara: Maybe a tele-thon?

Jo: You serious?

Sara: *Sigh* Yeah, they're never received well.

Squishy: (Flustered) Come on, people! It can't be that tough!

Jo: Hey, we're not exactly pros at fundraiser stuff.

Cope: Especially not one of this titanic scale.

Squishy: So we just keep workshopping without fail!

We need something big and dazzling

But also not too hard of handling.

It's gotta be exciting, thrilling, catches the eye,

And can be set up on the fly.

Will: That's kinda vague what you're throwing there.

Anna: Yeah, Squish; a whole buncha hot air.

Squishy: Then pump more ideas on how to raise the funds!

Sara: But what more could get the job done?

Bender: Just give 'em hookers and Blackjack galore.

Sara: But the children!

Bender: Fine; go and be a bore. (Smokes cigar and walks out, grumbling "Like I care, ya meatbags.")

"Wait one minute."

Sylvia's words halts the harmonic to-and-fro, switching focus to her.

"Throwing, running, baking. Maybe…"

"Are you onto something, dear?" Squishy asks eagerly.

"Simple, appealing enough. It just might be the thing…"

"What is it, Mom?" Rick asks.

"Stop with the suspense and dish already!" Anna urges, prompting everyone to lean in her direction to chant,

Whatchu Say Whatchu Say

Whatchu Say?

"We could… put on a Talent Show."

Dramatic pause! Silence, devastating silence! But then, a new tempo begins to build.

Rick: Talent show?

Anna: Talent show…

Sara: Can it really be..?

Will: A talent show.

Jo: Talent show.

Talent Show Talent Show Talent Show Talent Show

TALENT SHOW TALENT SHOW—

Squishy: By Jove that's IT!

And just like that the music is back in full swing!

Squishy: You hit it on the money, dear; that's WHAT we need!

The very thing that will succeed!

A super plain but effective spectacle,

And one that anyone can join as well!

Jo: People do love to show off.

Cope: That you can't deny.

Rick: But what about arranging it?

Sara: Is it even vi—?

Squishy: Able? It most certainly is!

It's the easiest sort of thing in the biz! (Begins drawing out steps)

A stage, some flyers, maybe a guest or two;

Most of the billing comes straight to you.

First an audition to build anticipation,

Ending with a big show for final elimination.

Sylvia: Charging admittance to get in on the action.

Jo: Dear God that's brilliant!

Rick: Seemingly simple in execution…

Will: I see what you're saying, Squish, though one big question:

You're gonna need some incentive for participation.

Anna: That's right: Talent doesn't work for free.

Squishy: Oh that can be arranged easily.

The thing that first needs to be found

Is how to get this project off the ground.

Sara: The auditions could be held here on Coruscant.

Cope: Easy enough.

Sylvia: Then the final round on Mon Calamari—

Squishy: Now that's the stuff!

All that bonus tourist cash

Will have those debts paid off in a flash.

Anna: Back to that first thing, in case you forgot.

Rick: He mentioned flyers—

Sara: Ooh! What about a TV spot?

Squishy: Yes! That will get word to the masses!

Will: Though it won't mean jack if there's nowhere to seat them a**es.

Sara: Will, language!

Will: Hey I'm trying to keep up the rhyme here, babe.

Jo: For a venue, I got a place in mind.

Sylvia: Though one on Mon Calamari may be harder to find.

Rick: Not unless you build one, if just for a day.

Will: Then I know someone who can do it without pay.

Squishy: (Scribbling madly) It just keeps getting better;

Crazy how the whole thing's coming together.

And just like that, in almost no time,

We got ourselves a working outline!

Wa-POW!

Squishy slaps the board showing the aforementioned ideas/steps in a line, ending the singing.

"The very key to victory right here, people. You found us the winning ticket, honey-sweetie-sugar-poo."

"It was just a suggestion," Sylvia demurs quite modestly.

"You seem awfully sure that this will work," Alexander notes.

"Of course it will, Alex: a successful talent show is a guaranteed money vortex for everyone involved."

"I can't help but notice some big gaps in your grand layout there," Anna points out, only to get tsk-tsked by the Jawa.

"Ah, but that's where the rest of the night comes in."

"We're gonna be working on this all night?" Jo exclaims.

"Of course! Time is short and we need to utilize every precious second. A few measly hours should have all the finer details hammered out, no problem."

"You make it sound so simple," Alex begroans.

"But if we work together, it can be done," Sylvia encourages.

"It wouldn't be the first all-night planning session we've done," Richter notes.

"And it's for a good cause, guys," Sara reminds.

"That it is." Jo sighs. "Guess I'll forgo my beauty sleep tonight."

"Don't be so glum about it, Jo: a couple cups of coffee will do you just as well," Anna says chummily.

"Or a single can of Monster, if you're a degenerate," Will adds.

"That's the spirit, everyone!" Squishy exalts. "Get started on the refining and tweaking. I'm gonna make a quick call to Exposito."

"Aye aye, Dad," Rick sounds off.

"Jedi Teamwork Time is a-go!" Sara says in her most chipper tone, prompting the group to get down to business around the table as Squishy slips away to a quiet corner of the room to speak into his communicator. After a few rings on the receiving end…

"...Hello, Exposito? Yeah it's me. Listen, I got good news. Forget about going back to Mon Calamari tomorrow: we have just the thing to pay off those loans by Monday!"

Most wonderful! That's what I like to see in a story: the moment where desperation becomes inspiration! And that inspiration is put to good use, developing and finalizing that simple outline into an organized schedule of operations in only a few spirited, caffeine-fueled hours. Quite impressive for our amateur event planners, and this speedy initial prep-work also meant plenty of hours left for a decent snooze. Bonus! For ample sleep would be vital, as the coming day promises to be a busy, hectic one.

So let's see how it plays out!

At the respectable hour of 8-9ish AM, our rested and motivated Jedi gather outside the apartment building's front door for one parting pow-wow, Squishy officiating.

"Alrighty crew, we have our assignments: Jo and Sara will reserve the venue; Will has stage acquisition; Sylvia will make the announcement on the news; and Rick, Alex, Anna and I will handle flier distribution. Everyone clear?"

"Yes, for the dozenth time," says Alex.

"Right on! And you're certain you'll have the stage equipment and all on Jawa Home by day's end, Will?"

"More than certain; just have Steezy be ready to receive."

"He will. Just call him when you're ready; the number's still the same. And Sylvia, sweetie, did we lock up the apartment?"

"Yes we did, dear," Sylvia assures him for the fourth time.

"Superb!"

"So we good to go now, Squish?" Jo asks a little jokingly.

"Yes! Time to go make us another miracle, people! Hands in the middle."

Everyone gets in a circle to do so, Alex rolling his eyes but joining all the same.

"On three: One two three—"

"Leeeeet's Get The Money!"

"Have fun," says Will to his wife.

"See you later, babe," Sara replies.

"Be careful out there," Sylvia tells her son and husband.

"I will for the both of us," Rick responds.

"Catch you all for dinner!" Squishy says, ending the small talk as everyone splits and the preparation operation begins in earnest. But how to cover so many disparate elements over the course of the day? Individually, of course! And I believe we should start with perhaps one of the most crucial yet underrated aspects of this particular fundraising venture.

You see, to host a talent show, there must be talent to host. And one finds talent through auditions, which in themselves are held at a specific location. Thus for this most important, preliminary round of auditions, our good Joseph had decided on a most prestigious location: The Coruscant Opera House.

Oh yes, that very center for cultural convergence found in any respectable metropolis. Faithful readers will recall how this grand establishment served as the site for Trilogy Six's epilogue, as well as my very first (albeit uncredited) debut in this universe! Such innocent times. And it will hopefully become the site of yet another major, possibly historical event!

Through a combination of diplomacy and stealth, Jo and Sara meander their way to the inner offices, where they set upon the opera building's manager and head impresario to rent out an audition space. But alas, like most everything up to this point, difficulties arise.

"What do you mean 'out of the question'?" Jo asks the manager, a most dapper dresser in suit and vest, with hair curls much like my own, though of a much stuffier, stiffer disposition, as you shall witness.

"You barge into my office practically unannounced and demand use of my Opera like some stall at a flea market. You must be far beyond daft not to see the issue therein," the manager fussily says while going around his dim office, checking odds and ends in busy fashion.

"I know it's sudden, my guy, but—"

"Sudden, you say? You want immediate private use for both tomorrow and Friday: that's practically last minute. And especially rude given our current engagement."

"Uh, things don't look all that 'engaged' around here. And there's no major shows happening as far as I'm aware."

"We're in the midst of the rehearsal period, for your information. Though it's not apparent to the public at large, everyone here from the players to the staff are preparing for the upcoming season of performances, and given the quality of this Opera's productions, I assure you we are extremely busy."

"Is that so? Well, we're only asking for two measly evenings. Surely you guys can afford missing a few hours, given the circumstances for our modest request."

That comment brings the dandy to a halt. "Two measly evenings?" An indignant spin brings him to face Joseph. "We as artists have made a commitment to our patrons and the good citizens of this city world to deliver the finest displays of vocal and physical nuance imaginable. This creed demands commitment and time. Time, Grand Master Joseph. Every waking hour leading up to the first opening act of the year is crucial in ensuring its success. So no, we cannot afford two measly evenings. And that is final." That tirade out of his system, the fellow goes back to fussing about.

"But we're trying to help—"

"Yes, Master Sara, I understand the Mon Calamarians' plight perfectly and I hope for their allievement, but the stage space of this Opera is unavailable for any unaffiliated functions. Now if you will kindly see yourselves out, I must get to the morning's first round of rehearsals."

And back to fiddling about his papers and folders he goes, ignoring the rejected Jedi. Rather than leave, however, the two step to the side to converse in private.

"You'd think he'd jump at the chance to help a Jedi cause. Tcheh, just another reason I never get along with these theater types."

"Does it have to be this place?" Sara asks. "Maybe we should go with something simpler."

"Naw naw. A gig this important needs some prestige attached to it, plus we're gonna need all the room we can get for the turnout we're gonna have."

"So what do we do?"

"We're nowhere done here, Sara. I just need to switch tactics. Go into… harder negotiations."

The buzzer for curtain call blares as Jo straightens his collar and looks back to his quarry. When the noise cuts out, he takes two steps toward the manager.

"Yo, Mr. Manager." His tone catches the attention of the operatic operator, as a beat fills the room. "I've suddenly taken umbrage to something you just said."

"Oh? And what specifically would that be?"

Jo smiles, and lays it down.

Jo: You call yourselves artists,

Performers extraordinaire,

Yet your denial to bargain

Strikes me as far from fair.

We want to put on a talent show

So folks can sing and act,

But for you to say

"No" to that?

That's real awfully whack.

Is it that laymen

Are too coarse, too crude, too low-brow

For clientele of this locale?

Or maybe you feel at threat

That some commoners can get

A better draw, more applause,

Then one of your flashy spectacles,

So better to deny and save one's pride.

"At least, that's how I see it."

Rather than being flummoxed, the manager looks amused. "Oh, is that your grievance?" Dumping his stationery, the gent adjusts his collar. "A restatement, then:"

Manager: Far be it from mine discretion

To impart so harsh an impression

Of unjust exclusion where

Performance be concerned,

For we encourage participation

From every station, be they dull or learned,

As such rapport is the support

Which keeps our craft afloat.

Yet we respect respectability,

And that includes one's ability

To check availability

Far in advance

To spare the snare of

Awkward circumstance for every party.

"I hope that cleared any misunderstanding."

Jo merely rubs his nose.

Jo: Yeah, I'm gleaning what you're meaning.

No one likes some sudden imposition,

But mull on this proposition:

If you host a Jedi-sponsored gig

Then you're guaranteed a hit,

Scoring accolades and major praise

That will surely keep you around

For years to come,

So how does that angle sound?

Impresario: That's presuming we're in dire straits

To warrant concerns of retirement,

But rest assured our future's well-secured

For the Opera never dies,

No matter how much one may argue otherwise.

And even if we were in such need

I simply do not see

How your involvement would make things better.

Jo: And there you're gravely mistaken, brother.

Ain't no celebrity got status

On the same level as with us:

Saviors of the universe, heroes beyond the rest.

To drop that kind of clout is outta-bounds,

You must confess.

The Man: I confess it's pompous flair

To flaunt oneself with so little care.

And as I recall, it wasn't all

Of your group that recouped and held reality together.

Primarily, I perceive, twas good Squishy

Who restored our fair continuity.

Jo: Hearsay is all I gotta say.

That's pure stinky how you're thinking

It didn't take a team to keep this ship of ours from sinking.

But in light of such faux pas

You now owe us a

Much deserved show of gratitude, mon dude,

Lest you be the one who's mondo rude.

"Jo, I don't think that's the best—," but Sara gets interrupted!

The Impres: Your entitlement shan't get the betterment of this establishment,

You mullet-headed miscreant.

I know a shakedown to a fault

And yours is quite clownish by default.

Spare thy threats and feigned aggrievances;

Save it for those lacking spine to defy

Such schoolboy arrogance.

"No, sir, you have it all wrong—"

Jo: It's you who needs to go to school,

Straight-up acting the fool,

Being all posh and stiff without a whiff

Of hospitable integrity.

To turn the likes of us down?

Man just get out of town!

And don't you diss the hair

When you got yourself nothing up there.

Yeah I see you through your wig

You jive pretentious twig.

"This isn't getting us—"

Impranager: Thus the brute drops the mask;

Unrepentant bully to the last,

But I can outlast whatever lash you can muster

For it's only mere harmless bluster,

Oh swarthy oafen buster.

"Can you both just please—!"

Jo: Oh chum you ain't seen nothing yet

Cuz when you underestimate, you'll regret

Stepping on the toes of the ballin', maulin',

No-mercy-havin' J—"

Sara: THAT'S ENOUGH!

I've had it up to here with that garbage in my ears

Sheer ridiculous how you diss, it makes me sick

With your whines, bylines, asinines, so it's all upfront and no more sidelines!

First up Jo you dolt

This ain't some joke

Those insults won't get results

We need for this show to breathe much less succeed!

Diplomacy, homie, and boy you failed spectacularly

I mean really? Don't go kidding me!

And as for you! (Points at impresario)

You cry buster though you're no better

With the frettin', sweatin', stressin',

As others are about to lose their livin' space.

Yes we're rude and sudden to be droppin' in

But there's lives at stake,

History, hope,

And you turn deaf to their despair like some selfish dope.

Two days is all we need and we'll be more than pleased

To compensate, repay in any way, or

Hit the trail if that's what you desire.

Self-imposed lifetime ban, whatever's required!

Just don't let countless others suffer for some bluster and mustering of indignation;

It's just that crucial critical a situation!

This one thing, nothing more.

I deeply humbly beg you to implore, signore.

Everyone goes silent. The impresario eyes Sara, then looks at Jo, then switches back to Sara, tapping his fingers, mentally gnawing on the dish that had been served.

"You would willingly forgo the joys of Opera to see this through… I could never demand so dear a sacrifice." After a second's consideration, a huff. "Fine, you win: You may use this institution."

Sara and Jo exhale with elation.

"However!" Le Impresario appends with a raised finger. "You will divulge the precise timetable and stage or stages needed this instant. You want to rush an engagement, then I shall rush the arrangement. Tis only fair."

"R-right. Thank you, sir," Sara humbly accepts.

"D*** Sara, awesome job," Jo congratulates with a pat on her shoulder. "Didn't think you had that kind of fire in you."

"Well, when the situation calls for it."

"Now you two," the manager calls their attention. "Give me the details as we walk. There is a rehearsal to attend."

The Jedi nod and follow the director out of the office without a word, and just like that the staging ground for the talent show has been acquired! Huzzah! Sara and her bars certainly pulled that one from the jaws of ruin. I've never been much of a fan of rap, honestly, but I can appreciate the melodic flow and rhythm in some songs.

Elsewhere, matters are considerably less tense and desperate. The group of Alex, Anna, Richter and Squishy enter a fairly busy printing store, the air a-thrum with printers and scanners and the bustle of those needing something fresh from the presses. The four go up to the counter, and a young college-age man in the yellow-blues of a company shirt arises to tend them.

"Morning and welcome to, oh yo, Jedi!"

"Yes, that is indeed who we are," Alex says plainly, long inundated to getting such recognition.

"Yooo! That's like crazy having guys like you show up outta nowhere! Though, you look different." The worker shakes an uncertain hand at the Jaa-Ruu. "Aren't you, like, Stan? But with hair?"

"I'm Rick actually, minus the cloak," Rick corrects.

"Whoa! That's what you look like? Dude, that's one sick style you got there. Never would have guessed you had such a mane under that hood!"

"Uh um, thank you," Rick replies, wholly unused to that manner of recognition.

"So what brings you guys here today?"

"We're here to make copies." Getting down to business, Squishy hoists himself above the counter edge to slap down a sheet of paper. "Of this here flier."

"Far out. Real killer design there."

"A collaborative effort. Though Jo did the heading," Squishy elaborates.

"He's shockingly good with fonts," Rick adds.

"Rad to know. How many copies were you wanting?"

"Yes, we would like—"

"Eight million copies."

The Jedi stare at the grizzled, suddenly-there Walter White, whom Alex politely shoves aside.

"Umm, no. Only two thousand, my good young person," Squishy resumes.

"Gotcha." Picking up the flier, the good young person says, "Normally you'd just use one of our kiosks, but with it being such a big amount and, with who you are, I'll go slap this in one of the big printers in the back."

"That would be grand, thank you," says Anna.

"You just hang and I'll have it out when it's out." The clerk removes himself and the sheet to the back, leaving our Jedi on hold.

"Is two thousand really going to be enough?" Richter asks his father. "It's still an insanely wide area to cover."

"It's all in strategic placement, son. And we can always double back to make more copies if needed."

"Let's just worry about the one batch for now," Alex says.

"Which will take a good while to be ready, so settle in," Anna says, then spotting a passing lady employee of gothic inclination, she hails, "Hey babe, we're all dying for a drink and it'd really make our morning if a pretty thing like yourself were to provide refreshment in our time of need. It'd certainly make mine, at least."

"We don't offer drinks to customers, but for you, doll…" A flirtatious wink and smile. "I'll bring ya something." And away she goes.

"Thanks. You're a real treat." Anna turns back to her companions, two of whom look surprised and impressed.

"Never took you for a charmer, Anna," Rick says.

"Charisma is but another of a Sith Mistress' tools, Rick. Just gotta know when to use it."

"That came off so naturally and smoothly. Like you were actually into girls."

Anna rolls her eyes at Squishy's observation. "I'm not just into girls, Squish. You know being bi means I can like both, right?"

"Wait, you're bi?"

An even longer, incredulous look. "Seriously? After all the years we've been together? You never once picked up on that? Plus I'm sure I explicitly mentioned it to you at one point."

"I, I don't recall. And I thought you were just, uh, playing around? Teasing?"

"The frequency of it should have been fairly telling, Squishy," Alex says.

"And there were some very strong tells that even I picked up on," Rick adds, giving the Jawa pause.

"Wow. All this time… And you're okay with that, Alex?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Everyone's entitled to their own preferences."

"Sure. But, I just find it a weird image, Anna eying up or making flattering comments about other ladies."

"Squishy, Squishy…" Anna says patiently, facing him. "It's no different than whenever you'd gawk at or appraise some passing Trandoshan or other saucy lizard. There's nothing wrong with people watching, as long as it's kept discreet."

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm still just surprised; I didn't mean—"

"In fact!" Anna steps aside to stand out some more. "I say that by being bisexual, one can fully appreciate the very living tapestry that is the universe we live in. And I'll tell you why."

Anna sashays out onto the store floor as a bumping, scintillating back beat follows her steps.

Anna: Let us set the record straight:

Living is anything but.

With so many flavors and shades and walks

You got your pick on how to crack that nut.

But people insist on choosing only one,

Thinking that's the only way to go.

It's been the standard for far too long,

So it's time for all of ya to know:

It's fab to be bisex-ual!

And that's nothing but straight fact-ual!

When you got two eyes in your head, and are anything but dead,

Then being curious is purely nat-ural.

(Employees and customers line up to snap at Anna's passing as she struts herself with absolute confidence, teasing and wooing those she fancies)

Anna: Why stick to vanilla, when you can taste the entire store?

Just eating salad when there's a whole buffet

Makes anyone a hopeless bore.

Too many are too conservative, when our time is of liberation.

To gab about morals and order and purity,

Makes you miss out on all of the action.

When you could just be bisex-ual,

And accept living to be phenom-enol!

There's really no crime, what you do in private time,

So limiting your choice is plain unus-ual.

(Copiers spew forth blankets of hot paper as patrons and extras hook up and dance in a wide array of gender arrangements)

Anna: Why's it only got to be fish in the sea

When you can snag whale, seagull, or manatee?

Sticking to one lane only ruins your day,

When the world's one big fat frickin' highway!

Rick: That's sounding more like being pansexual.

Anna: And?

There's honestly no major diff,

When it comes to making one all hot and stiff.

Loosen yourself and open up that mind,

And soon you'll be having one h*** of a time!

"Even Alex can attest to that."

"That I can." The tall Jedi leaps onto the floor and strikes a commanding yet playful stance.

Cope: To say that all love is free

Is the very definition of liberty.

And as keepers of the peace, it's our sworn duty,

To ensure everyone has the right to go seek some boo-tay!

"...With reasonable restraint, of course."

Anna: Exactly.

So if I haven't made it abundantly clear,

Let me tell it to ya straight:

Don't be afraid to love and lust whoever you want,

So for frickin' goodness sake get out and participate! (Anna and Alex dance together)

Being bi is just plain won-derful!

Cope: A way of life nothing short of beau-tiful!

Anna: So ditch your reservation—

Cope: Abandon that hesitation—

Anna: Indulge in all the fleshy art—

Cope: Satisfy your hungry heart—

Anna & Cope: And give it up for being bisex-uAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!

A final blast of papers marks the end of the performance, signaling the participants to untangle themselves and the staff to start cleaning up.

"Wowie! That was really something, you two!" Squishy cheers, dazzled by the spectacle.

"Thank you, Squishy darling," Anna replies. "Hopefully now you'll remember what my orientation is all about."

"Oh absolutely! You went all out in getting me educated."

"A matter of such importance demands proper flair, and since we're stuck waiting, I figured it was finally time for my music number."

"Our music number."

"Yes, our music number, Alex dear." Anna pats Alex gently on the cheek. "See: ain't it great cutting it loose in public?"

"Only when it's with you."

"Speaking of waiting…" Squishy looks over and calls out to the clerk. "How far along are those copies, young sir?"

"Almost halfway, my dude," the clerk pops in to say before returning to the back, while Squishy sags slightly from the update.

"Hrmh. Guess we still have to wait."

"We'll manage." The goth lady staffer comes in with a tray of drinks, from which Anna picks up a soothingly chilled glass. "Just kick back and relax a spell, boys. There's still plenty of day left ahead of us "

Well said, Anna, well said. You most certainly deserve a rest, given the show you put on. Truly steamy and stunning; I'd have expected nothing less from a matron as experienced and talented as yourself. A shame you never did more on the theater scene before going evil, or even after turning good.

But enough flagrant praise. Let us turn back the clock to earlier to see what fair William had been up to. We return to the entryway of the apartment, right after the group cheer.

"Have fun," Will had said to Sara.

"See you later, babe," she said right back before leaving with Jo. So it was that Will went by his lonesome to carry out his elected task, but where did he go? A nearby arts center? Some local shop? Durasteel mill? Space lumber yard? Nope: it was a humble public phone booth, a short distance down the walkway.

Ducking into the booth, Will raised the receiver and dialed in the extremely confidential (and toll-free) secret government access line, and following some rings we split-screen and behold a familiar, jovial, if a bit manic face of ginger complexion answer the phone.

"Chief Warmonger General Chris speaking: how may I escalate your conflict?"

"Sorry Chris, it's only me."

"Ah, Will, my fellow aggressor-in-arms. Great to hear from you, comrade."

"Same here. Listen, we're putting on a charity event and need equipment. I'm talking full-scale stages, bleachers, the works, and I was hoping you and the boys could whip them up in a hurry."

"Well certainly, we can spend invaluable military resources, time and finance on some random superfluous civilian project. It will be my ding-dang pleasure!"

"Great to hear. Do you think you can get it done by the end of today as well?"

"Positively; I'll work everyone to the bone and internal wiring if I have to."

"Fantastic. I'm gonna head over to the shop right now to help with directing and maybe lend an extra pair of hands."

"We'd love to have ya, and I'll get things running by the time you get here."

"Swell. See you in a bit, Chris."

"Safe passage and Godspeed, Will."

The men hang up, our gaze focusing squarely on Chris as he turns from the phone and looks over the lay of the machine shop/maintenance bay below.

"Listen up ya apes and bolt munchers: the Jedi are putting on a show and we're gonna provide the stage and seats. So get yer a**es into gear, cuz it's time to work!"

A resounding cheer from an assemblage of organics and metallics alike acknowledges his order. People, Robot Masters and Mavericks begin production to the cadence of a boppin' rockabilly tune.

Soldier: Living each day like nine-to-five,

Makes it really hard to feel alive.

Crush Crawfish: So for any of us to survive,

Spring Man: We do whatever it takes to really jive!

Chris: All this peace is pretty alright,

Although it never feels fully right

To the antsy ones that were born to fight.

Mechanic: So to keep from losing our heads,

Grizzly Slash: Or have some civvies wind up dead,

Hard Man: We have to knuckle down and—

All: Get Greasy! Get Greasy! (Clap-clap-clap)

Get Dirty! So Easy!

Blizzard Man: The only way to feel at home—

Skull Man: Is to work it to the bone.

Dust Man: And getting filthy along the way! (Dives into trash)

Jennings: I might be a country boy but even I would know,

About such a thing as living way too slow.

Folks gotta keep up that good rhythm and flow—

Bomb Man: Otherwise they're liable to blow! (Detonates in front of Jennings)

Guts Man: Some get by on booze and cigarettes,

While us mooks manage by pounding out rivets.

Clown Man: Speak for yourself, chief; I'm more an acrobat!

Shield Sheldon: Whereas I like to roll the bones and take some bets!

He rolls some dice, causing a bunch of soldiers to crowd around for a game, only to be disbanded by the hulking second-in-command Duff McWhalan.

Duff: Break it up, break it up!

Maintaining morale is important, but so is discipline.

That's the least I expect from all of my men.

Launch Octopus: And that we know, sir, but cut us some slack

For this eeny little momentary lapse.

Chris: For this day, Duff, we ought to be more relaxed;

Focus on the work, but still have room for laughs.

Duff: Understood, general: let us forgive and forget.

Launch: Super! Cuz now we're gonna—

All: Get Greasy! Get Greasy! (Bum-bum-bum)

Keep Trucking! Stay Busy!

Split Mushroom: Ya gotta have some fun!

Shade Man: Or your sanity is done, blehh!

Napalm Man: And you don't wanna see me when I CRACK! (Leaps onto a conveyor belt)

When you're born to kill, it's hard to find

A non-incendiary state of mind. (Charlestons wildly, firing explosives)

Depth Man: So drown yourself in work to forget the dread.

Metal Shark Player: Now all of you shut up whilst I shred.

The shark android breaks into Chuck Berry-style with his guitar, rolling and rocking while his comrades fire up the machinery. Skull Man drops in with accompanying jazz piano, and even a smoky Jennings pops up with banjo, though in his groove he gets knocked over by a swinging girder.

"Collaborator on deck!"

Everybody in the shop stops their song and dance as William enters from above, getting a salute from Search Man.

"Will, sir! Good to see you again, sir!"

"At ease, Search," Will smiles back as Chris briskly walks up to him. "What's the status, Chris?"

"D*** swell timing, Will, because everything's accounted for: gears are grinding, conveyors are conveying, and bellows are bellowing."

"Yosu!" bellows Flame Mammoth by a blazing furnace below.

"We are primed for production," Chris concludes. "So what are ya wantin', exactly?"

"Well, let me tell ya:"

Will hops into a stride as he, too, gets lyrical.

Will: This will be no wee exhibition,

So I'mma need all y'all to listen:

I need a whole crap load of stands

That more than earns the label of "grand".

That means tons of firm yet cozy seats

That will get hundreds of folks off their feet.

But that won't mean any ol' thing

If there's no platform where one can sing,

Or dance or juggle and all of that.

So you boys know what I'm getting at:

The fitting stage for a fitting act

Is the ultimate centerpiece of your task.

It has to dazzle, wow and awe

Everyone from junior to little old me-maw.

So to reiterate, and I don't exaggerate:

This'll be a show like nothing before,

So no little detail can go ignored.

One last thing, it's gotta be waterproof.

Phew; that would've been a goof.

"Incredibly vague and barely helpful: just how I like it!" Turning to the assembly, Chris orders, "Alright, you got the specs: let it rip!"

A deafening "WOO!" rings out as the machine people produce in earnest, with Will swinging in to help out.

Workers: Such a flippin' groovy day;

There's something to keep the blues at bay.

We now have direction

On how to get erectin'

Something that will bring life and joy

Instead of the usual emptiness, oh Boy!

Chris: Cuz at the end of the day, that's the secret sauce—

Burst Man: To feeling fulfilled—

Launch: And being your own boss!

Will: (Swinging sledgehammer) It's working hard with all you got.

Junk Man: Before your mind and body go to pot. (Struts into hammerfall, breaking into pieces)

Gemini Man: So for a real good time—

Napalm Man: Without committing war crimes!

Will: Just roll up them sleeves and—

All: Get Greasy! Get Greasy! (Cling-cling-cling)

Don't Let Up! No Mercy!

Web Spider: Stay between the lines—

Plant Man: To feel so extra fine!

Wire Sponge: When you're feeling in a bind—

Overdrive Ostrich: Just work it overtime!

Crystal Man: Take it for every dime—

Tornado Tonion: And be sure to keep that rhyme~!

Bubble Crab: And before you know it—

Morph Moth: That's when you start to show it:

All: Just how rad being a mindless working machine can be, Whoo-PEE!

"The first batch is completed and loaded for shipment, sir!" Jet Stingray shouts from a secured stack of seats.

"Where will ya be needin' this, Will?" Chris asks, to which the Jedi leaps up and takes a commanding stance atop an air truck's cab.

"Head for the spaceport; I'll tell you the rest once we're there!"

A mighty "HUAHH!" from the Corpsmen as volunteers board the other vehicles before lifting off, Will riding the lead craft like a pirate captain at the helm. A line of transports laden with struts, supports and other bric-a-brac fly out of the workshop, the riders singing raucously into public airspace as they forge toward the nearest major spaceport. And it's here the timelines converge and we can return the narrative back to the present, so no more time-traveling! Hooray!

Flying over a shopping area of Coruscant, we turn from the convoy to Squishy and his son Richter, who happen to be strolling by down below. Only it's no ordinary walk: both are holding a sizable stack of fliers and are going about slapping them onto any available surface that will catch a passersby's eye. The Jaa-Ruu sticks to bare walls and lampposts, whereas the father Jawa plants his papers on awnings, power cables, trash cans and other weird places, all while humming a hit new tune.

"'It's fab to be bi-sexual; that is just straight fac-tual'." Squishy Force Tosses several fliers onto the sides and rails of a staircase in passing.

"Do you think it's a good idea to put them all over like that?" his son asks, modestly putting one flier onto a blank wall. "Seems pretty random to me."

"Ahh, but there's strategy to it, son: people see these fliers in such weird places, that'll grab attention. And attention makes interest!" Squishy does a high leap to slap three fliers onto an archway nine feet overhead before landing back into a casual walk. "'Got two eyes in your head, and are anything but dead, being curious is just pure nat-ural'. Man that was such a good song! And so catchy. Still a surprise how open Anna was about all that."

"Anna has always been a very open person, Dad. The whole song-and-dance was the only surprising part about it."

"Yeah, well, your old man has always been dense about these things. But don't ever feel like you need to sing it out for me, Rick: it'll be pretty obvious what way you sway when you introduce your special someone to me and your mom, whoever they may be, or are, hoo hoo."

Richter tenses slightly. "Umm, about that, Dad..."

"Hm? Have you found someone?"

"No. You remember what I told you about what happened to me on Dantooine, with the space vampire?"

"Messing with your memories, yeah I remember. I'm still glad you were able to get out of there. I'd have been freaking out if it were only me there in that situation."

"Yeah. Well, I discovered something about myself, after I got out of there."

"And what's that?"

Rick is silent for an uneasy moment before confessing, "I think I'm asexual."

"Well I would hope so, son. Anna made it perfectly clear that we're all sexual beings, and that it's okay… As long as it doesn't get to Deviant's level of depravity, brrr." A shiver at that unpleasant memory (I don't blame you, poor lamb).

"No Dad, I mean asexual. As in I don't care about sex, like at all."

Squishy has his own silence before looking up at his child. "Is that right?"

"I've never been attracted to anyone up to now, and, after thinking about it, I realized that I've never once considered getting into a relationship, or even trying out sex. And knowing that… weirdly, it didn't bother me."

"Now that is something, Rick. You've never taken a fancy to anyone, period?"

"None that I recall."

"Wow. And you've never masturbated, either?"

"Dad!"

"It's a legitimate question! Masturbation is natural and healthy for you. But you've never done it?"

"No, I have. Puberty makes it extremely difficult to ignore your body's urges."

"Oh I still know that feeling very well. Rough, miserable time that was. But at present you're not into sex and have no romantic interests. Alright, that's good to know."

"You're not bothered by this?"

"Why should I? Everyone has a choice on who and what they like, son, and not choosing is just as valid a choice."

"Hmph. Yeah, I suppose you would be fine with it," Rick says with some bitterness.

"Huh?"

"Stan has a kid on the way, and with how steady Sally is going with her boyfriend, they can more than make up for my slack."

"Now hold the phone, where is this coming from?" Squishy pirouettes and hovers before his son's face. "What do you mean by 'slack'?"

"Giving you grandkids? That's what you and Mom want, right?"

"Oh Rick, my precious son, Rick." Lowering himself back to the ground, Squishy continues, "Having grandkids is nice, sure, but me and your mother never told the three of you that we absolutely had to have grandchildren. We would have been fine if none of you wanted kids, so I'm definitely one-hundred percent A-okay with you not wanting any if that's what you want. You understand?"

"I do, Dad. I just… thought with how you both seemed excited about being grandparents, you would have been disappointed."

"Richter. Out of everything that has happened over the years, that's the last thing that could make me disappointed in you. And you know what? I should tell you how not disappointed I am in you, just to turn this mood around."

"Ehh, that won't be—"

But Squishy bounds up onto a nearby guardrail, balancing along as a peppy tune comes on.

Squishy: One of the best things to happen,

Was when I first met you three,

And learned just how fulfilling

Being a father could be.

And you, my son, are no exception to this wonder. (Tosses around some fliers while waltzing about)

You all are special in your own little ways;

The many things you do always brighten our days.

So don't count yourself out from your sister and brother.

Because you are my son:

My special number one.

And whatever you do,

You can hardly do wrong.

Your mother and father will love you

Regardless of what comes.

"I appreciate that, Dad. You don't—"

Squishy: You might make mistakes, but everyone does, too.

You still do your very best, and always stayed true

To helping society, and your family as well.

You've always been special, and not just for your looks.

You are swell in both mine and your mother's books.

So it's no exaggeration, in the way I can tell

That you are my son,

Without one shred of doubt.

Even with some flaws,

You should still feel proud about

Being part of our quirky family.

"Okay, I get it—"

Squishy: Stan can be rather timid, and Sal can be very bold,

And for the longest time you were incredibly cold.

But even so we love all of you the same.

"I said I—"

Squishy: So what if you want to be alone? That's your every right.

It's no place for me to judge something so slight.

Because to force you to feel different would be ultra—

Rick: Daddy dearest I hear you clear as day,

But won't you please hear what I—

"Whoa whoa whoa, Whoa!" Squishy calls out, one arm raised and the other pressing his chest.

"What, what?" Dear Richter, looking genuinely concerned.

"I forgot how amazing your singing voice is, Rick. Bout gave me a heart attack."

"Er, s-sorry."

"Don't be. Just surprised me, that's all. Made me think Freddie was back from the dead."

"Right. But I get that you're fine with me being asexual. And so would Mom, from what I understand."

"Exactly, son. Though, you should still tell her. Unless you want me to?"

"No, I'll do it. Maybe when we get back. And, uh, thank you. For taking it so well."

"Of course! If you don't feel the need for sex, that's no biggie. Although, from my limited understanding on the subject, there are asexual couples out there, so you could still find someone. Only you'll be digging their personality rather than their booty. And when it comes to kids, adoption's always an option. Again, we won't judge."

"Heh, okay. I don't know about all of that, but thanks for the vote of confidence. This has all been a big relief to me."

"Glad to help. And I know what could make things even better." Looking at his son, Squishy holds out a hand. "Whaddya say to a quick father-son duet to wrap things up?"

"Seriously?"

"Come on! It would put the perfect little bow on this bonding moment, and make putting up these remaining fliers a breeze. So how about it? For your old man's sake, at least?"

Rick looks blankly down at his father, only for his stoic stare to crack with a smile. "...Sure."

"That's my boy! Alright, from the top:"

Squishy: I could never love another son as much as I do—

Rick: And I could never ask for a papa better than you.

Squishy: Be who you are, don't you ever fret.

Rick: Which is not hard to do, because—

Squishy: You are my precious son.

Rick: You are my father number one.

Squishy: I'm right beside you whenever you're in trouble.

Rick: I'll help you stand, if ever you should stumble.

Squishy: So with nothing more to say—

Rick: Let us be on our way—

Both: And hurry on back home today!

Father and son laugh it up as they finish their task, having further strengthened a once tenuous bond. So delightful, seeing how far Ricky has come since he and his siblings' debut. Just shows what a positive difference having a persistent, loving support network can make. If only everyone could be as lucky, but alas, reality is rarely so generous.

Now, at present: the venue is on lock, the stage equipment is en route, and advertising is underway. Yet there is still one more person to check on before seeing the fruits of this mad-dash endeavor, and really it would be an injustice to exclude her. I mean, of course, that starling darling Sylvia.

At the moment, she is sequestered away in a sort of studio green room, with the minimal furnishings and amenities one might expect. Sitting in a rather undersized yet cozy chair, the scarlet Ssi-Ruu is talking into a holo-screen held in her claws. And look who it is looking back at her!

"You are absolutely sure it's alright for you to come?" she asks her one-and-only daughter, the stellar sensation songstress of stardom and Jedi-on-hold, the ever perky Sally.

"Yes, Mom, totally. We'll just disassemble everything, pack it up and zip on over, super quick and easy," responds Sally from a location clear across the galaxy, as she is wont to be most of the year.

"But I wouldn't want you to disappoint your fans over something so last minute."

"Mon Calamari is every bit as special to me as it is to you and Dad, so helping out is far more important. Besides, this isn't the first time I had to relocate a concert out of the blue: the fans will follow along, regardless."

"It's a considerable distance from Ryloth, though."

"Then it's my most dedicated fans who will follow. Plus it'll be a total win-win: they get a bonus talent show, and it'll make a good break between songs. A good fresh intermission is really hard to think up these days."

"Alright, dear; I only wanted to be certain. Me and your father greatly appreciate this."

"Don't mention it at all!"

"Hey princess, your sound check is ready!"

Suddenly a new face pops in on Sally's end: reptilian, much like Sylvia's, only with scales as black as onyx and marred by a scar over the left nostril. This threatening visage is completely ruined by a cocky grin when he notices the holo-screen.

"Oh, didn't mean to interrupt." Looking out at Sylvia, he waves and says, "Howdy there, Mrs. S."

"Hello, Ruger. Doing well?"

"As always. Hard not to when your daughter's got me running all over the place."

"Oh whatever." Sally gives the Ssi-Ruu a warm, affectionate shove.

[Side mention: this newcomer is from yet another unreleased tale. A novice assassin from the old Ssi-Ruuvi Imperium who had taken a liking to Sally and her music, and eventually became her personal bodyguard and paramour. The exact details as to how that worked out are covered in Sally's personal side story, which may hopefully be published within the decade. Now back to the musical!]

"Where's the mister?" Ruger asks Sylvia.

"He's out on an errand. He'd say hi too if he could."

"I bet he would. Anyway Sal, you got a sound check waiting."

"Which is not happening," Sally firmly states. "Tell Petey, Grant and the others to pack it up. We're moving the concert to Mon Calamari."

"Another one of these? Shh, you see what I mean?"

There's a knock, making Sylvia look up to see an intern standing in the doorway.

"We're ready for you, Sylvia," he says, leaning and waiting.

"I gotta run, sweetie. I'll see you Saturday, then?" Sylvia confirms.

"Ready and waiting! Take care and love you! Tell Dad hi and lots of love!"

"I will. Love you too, Sally."

"Guess I'll see you Saturday as well, ma'am," says the bodyguard.

"Yes indeed, Ruger."

"You're welcome to just call me Reg, you know."

"Okay bye Mom!" Sal and Ruger wave before ending the connection, leaving the mother to wave at a blank screen.

"Bye to you too." Taking a good inhale, Sylvia puts the tablet away in her fanny pack and stands, walking over to the staffer. "Sorry for the hold-up."

He shrugs and simply escorts her out. We soon find ourselves on a filming set, with a massive window showing off the vast cityscape beyond. Sylvia is once more seated, this time opposite a chummy, brown-haired, faintly familiar lady in the finest blue and teal blazer which epitomizes any honest-to-Master talk show host.

"I have to say, this is all super exciting to have you on the show, Sylvia! Like you seriously cannot believe," the brunette chatters while techs put up the finishing touches to the set.

"Yes, and I'm grateful you could fit me in today, Jordan." (Ahh, Jordan, right! From Trilogy 11! How far she's come since then, I must say. Goodness… Oh, the story!)

"Well who wouldn't in my position? Your celebrity status is perpetual, and this being your first appearance will send the ratings skyrocketing! Plus, out of the other Jedi, I think you're the most interesting, and second most holo-vid friendly next to Sara."

"Thank you for saying that (I think). If I'm being honest, you were the only person I could think of to help me in making this announcement. I'm ashamed to say I know practically little about the networks on this planet."

"The importance of having connections in the business, and how especially lucky you are to have one in me!"

"Truly lucky, and a lot of people will be helped because of this." A soundman plants a miniature mic on Sylvia's scaley chest.

"That's what I live for: helping and informing… as well as entertaining."

"And being an expert in Japanology didn't do quite as much for you, I take it?"

"Sadly no. I realized I had way too much personality for something so niche, and daytime holo-vision happened to fit the bill! Anyway, quick little disclosure: are you okay with mid-roll ads? We'll be playing a few of them during the show. Nothing terribly long."

"I suppose that's fine."

"Swell! The network heads have been on our backs about wringing as much ad revenue as possible, to compensate for budget cuts and blah and blab and blugh. The sort of junk you gotta deal with in this line of work, you know how it is."

"No, but I could imagine."

"Going live in five… tenths of a minute," announces a producer.

"Oop, guess we'll talk more after this. Time to make daytime magic!" Jordan encourages quite gleefully for a woman her age (what age is that I am not privy to say).

Elsewhere, holo-screens large and small around the planet are also preparing for the broadcast. A manufactured chime plays to alert citizens to tune in, the Jedi among them. Jo and Sara catch it on the emitters in one of the opera house's staff rooms, Will makes do with a handheld at the spaceport, and the four on flier duty have the blessing of seeing it on some of the public jumbo screens.

"Hey, this must be Mom coming on," Rick tells his father.

"You're right; let's give it a looksie," Squishy replies, looking up as the announcer announces.

"Live from the spectacular Holo-Channel 6 studio in beautiful UppCiNo Coruscant, this is 'Casual Coruscant' with your host: Jordan Drowned!"

Camera cuts to our bubbly host and her over-radiant smile.

"Good afternoon, Fellow Casuals, and welcome to a truly gorgeous Wednesday! The weather this week so far has been great, and what better way to enrich it further than with today's sponsor: Malar's Maritime Biscuits." Holds up a box of biscuits. "Whether you're having afternoon tea or a Bloody Mary to get you through the day, add an extra livening crunch with a cozy maritime biscuit: the heartiest of hardtacks!" Puts them away. "Snacks aside, we have ourselves another wonderful show today! We'll be checking out the app that's taking the single parent market by storm, get tips on handling quantum pasta from an acclaimed parallax cuisine chef, and continue our ongoing coverage on cultists abducting transphobic housekeepers and forcing them into weight-loss programs, which to me seems a bit much. Why put up with a routine when you can get the same results through Doctor Kevnar's Slimmergizing Tablets!" Holds up a bottle. "The same results of a month-long diet in only two easy daily doses. Half the price of a gym membership, with only twice the side effects! Get your slim-on today."

Putting away the pills, she continues, "But before we get into any of that, we actually have a very special surprise guest! One of this galaxy's great heroines, a role model to aspiring women everywhere, and totally one of my besties, we have Sylvia Ssi-Ruu on the set. Everybody give it up!"

Applause from the staff and studio audience, as well as from her watching family members. Sylvia accepts it gracefully, as Jordan leans over to speak to her. "It's wonderful having you here on the show, Sylvia."

"The feeling's the same, Jordan. Thank you for having me."

"I gotta say, I'm loving that necklace of yours. Flashy, elegant, yet modest."

"Yes: a gift from my wonderful husband. From Christmas, actually." Sylvia claws at the necklace fondly, reminiscing that special if chaotic time.

"That sounds super precious, truly. And such preciousness can be preserved easily with help from Gornstein's Jewelry Polish. Perfect for metals and stones of every quality!" Jordan flashes a tub of the product before resuming. "Now, as much as I would love to catch up and dish, I understand there's an announcement you would like to make."

"That's right: for something very exciting but also very important."

"Are you expecting?"

Sylvia pauses but quickly chuckles it off. "No no. Three children have been enough for me."

"Yes; of course I kid. And I respect your decision. But, for you viewers who are expecting, a real handy app to have is the highly-rated Gender Revealer by Chronkles. With state-of-the-art scanning and messaging features, you can learn more about your precious bundle of joy, and surprise your loved ones without the hassle of party planning! Those with photo-sensitivity should exercise caution when using such features; operating fees vary by region and gestation period."

"Is holo-vision nothing but ads these days?" Rick critiques.

"Is it any wonder I stopped watching it?" his father responds. Back to the studio…

"Now what is it about your announcement that's so exciting yet important, Sylvia?" Jordan asks.

"It deals with a crisis on Mon Calamari that will gravely impact countless people if it's left unaddressed."

"Oh my, that does sound serious. About as serious as aircar owners missing out on all the savings Psaiko Insurance can offer. Could you tell us more about this crisis, and what can be done to address it?"

"I most certainly can. And trust me when I say it will be worth listening to."

Sylvia turns and looks directly at the camera, addressing the population at large with her soft, imploring voice.

Sylvia: Many Mon Calamarians are in danger,

Of losing their very homes.

Whole families will have nowhere to live

If such a threat is left alone.

A heavy debt weighs on these innocents;

The price to pay is far too high.

Not even the government can afford it.

It just about made me cry…

Jordan: Which is why you need

Bonds! Bonds! Bonds!

Gotta buy your Government Bonds!

Call up Sachzman and Co

To get yourself squared away~!

"Please, continue."

Sylvia: …But there is a solution;

A way to make things fair.

A big fundraising event

To show much you care.

Jordan: Like the care you give dear Fido,

When you give him that special treat.

So break open a box of Wuffles

And—!

(Jordan gets Force Shoved into silence, leaving the stage to Sylvia)

This is no telethon;

No plain donation drive.

It is something anyone can join,

And that everyone can go see live.

And this thing, is a…

(She stands to deliver the title)

Talent Show~

(A succession of heavenly choruses repeat and reverberate that amazing, astounding, promise-rich name!)

Sylvia: That is right you heard me right

We'll be having a Talent Show!

A chance to prove what you got

And give stardom a go!

For the next two days, Thursday and Friday,

Open auditions will be held.

In the fabulous Coruscant Opera House

Is where the action can be felt!

Jordan: (Popping in, looking a little frazzled) Oh wow! Open Auditions!

Does that mean anyone can come?

Sylvia: That's right!

And the best part of all

Is that there's no entry fee!

Studio: WOW!

Sylvia: All are free to come and try,

To test their drive and skill.

To flaunt their stunning traits,

And prove that they can thrill!

Sixty-five will be chosen,

And taken to the final round.

To take place on Mon Calamari,

Where the real celebration's found!

A charity concert all can attend

For a modest ticket price.

One filled with food, fun and song.

Jordan: Oooh that sounds super nice!

Sylvia: It is!

And what's more,

There's one other bonus in store.

For those who come, will get a bonus concert

From my dear daughter, Sal Sensational!

Viewers: NO WAY!

Jordan: Good golly jillikers!

A seaside bonanza where you can buy your favorite brand snacks and goods?

That sounds amazing!

Sylvia: Yes! But here's the thing:

That's not all.

Jordan: It's not?

Sylvia: No, for there's the Grand Prize.

Studio: Grand Prize?

Sylvia: The top finalists will all win

Wonderful gifts, to be sure.

But that's nothing compared to what's given

To the one with that winner's allure.

For the first place winner, will get…

Your Own Personal Jedi Servants!

Whole Planet: HOLY F********K!

Sylvia: You heard me right, that there's your prize:

Your very own Jedi Entourage!

For five whole days our team of seven

Will answer your every whim and need! (Within reason)

"I deeply hope that doesn't wind up seriously biting us in the a**," Alex begrudges.

"It rarely doesn't, Alex," Anna says, sounding more amused than her partner, who lets out a sigh in acknowledgement.

Jordan: Oh sweet s*** on a shingle, can you all belingle?

Your own Jedi man-and-lizard servants!

More amazing than the auto-maids

Offered by the award-winning Rosy Steel Conglomerate!

Sylvia: You said it!

But don't let this wow you,

Distract you,

From what we're trying to do.

(She takes a serious stance)

Sylvia: Every credit of the proceeds

Will go towards the relief

Of every island that make

Mon Calamari a most marvelous place.

From the bottom of my heart,

I ask you all to take part.

Whether to donate, or participate,

Only you can see this through.

So for listening, I thank each and every one of you….

Jordan: So don't delay; get online!

Order your tickets while there's still time!

And if you act fast you will get

Our limited menthol candy cigarettes!

Sylvia: Yes do not wait; hurry on over!

Jordan: Along with a handbag from T.L. Grover!

Sylvia: Make your name and you can claim—

Jordan: Discount organ donor policies!

Sylvia: From all us Jedi, here's good luck!

Jordan: Call Kon-Jing for quality Peking duck!

Sylvia: You budding stars will now finally glow—

Jordan: Watch how my chia pet grows!

Sylvia: Over at our Ta-lent SHOOOOOOOOOOW!

Jordan: No rebates or barters; sales are all FINAAAAAAAAAAL!

Mercifully the feed shorts out from excess sound output. What shameless commercialized cacophony (apart from Sylvia's sweet voice), yet in spite of all that egregious audio confusion the core message was heard loud and clear: a charity talent show, to save the islands of Mon Calamari, with the core Jedi members as top prize. Truly outrageous, to offer oneself up like that! Sheer madness, desperation!

But it worked: all of Coruscant was abuzz with the idea of (temporary) ownership of the renowned Jedi, all for the price of self-exposure and possible humiliation. Elsewise, the Jedi reunite and retire for the remainder of the day, hoping that their efforts will draw in a sufficient pool of contestants. As it so happens, the results are well beyond simply sufficient!

Cutting over to the evening of the following day, we see outside the Coruscant Opera House the bountiful fruits of our heroes' labor. Entire walkways and meeting spaces jammed with squiggling persons of all races and denominations, queued and hankering for a shot at the big time. Members of the planetary defense force, particularly those from the Mega Man Boss Corps, are aiding local lawmen in curating and maintaining order as best as possible, though the clamor makes this a rather monolithic task.

Standing on a private terrace above the opera house entrance, the Jedi look down on the frenzy they have wrought, with varying degrees of emotion.

"Holy jeebus…" Will can only say.

"Real flattering we're still a hot commodity after so many years," Sara remarks, getting a chuff from Anna before she says, "That's one way of looking at it."

"Are you seeing this, Steezy?" Squishy asks while scanning the masses with a datapad. "Expo's gonna flip when I send him this footage."

"Yeah: it's frickin' nuts!" came the voice of Jawa Home's head overseer, second-in-command, and everyone's favorite laid-back lizard through the pad. "So many eager beavers. Shame you're only picking sixty-five."

"That's for the best. It'd be too chaotic otherwise," Sylvia tells her brother.

"You have suites available for that many, of any size and disposition?"

"Yeah, Squish: totally prepped. They'll even get an extra vacuum and freshening right before they arrive."

"What about all the stage equipment? Is all of that secured?" Will asks.

"Indeedy-o, Will-O. You saw how little storage that stuff takes up, plus those bosses had them extra bolted, so no foreseeable worries there."

"Great, that's good to hear," Squishy says. "We need to sign off now. Wish us luck."

"Shouldn't you mean wish them luck?"

"Yeah, sure, both."

"Heh, alright. You totally got this, bro."

"Thanks. Talk to you later."

"Later, Steezy," Sylvia adds.

"Same to you, sis. Have fun!"

The connection ends, and as Squishy pockets his tablet Jo asks, "Y'all ready to get judging?"

"Yes; let's get in there," Sylvia affirms.

"To our potential masters!"

"Don't sound too excited about it," Richter tells Anna as the group withdraws indoors. Soon they descend into the lobby, which is total pandemonium: the whole room is packed practically to the rafters with prospective talent, shoving and shouting and getting manhandled by security in the more riled cases. The Jedi slip through a staff corridor, where they bump into a rather ragged impresario.

"Absolute bedlam. This is more of a stressful mess than during peak performance season," he frets loudly.

"But that makes it good for business, yeah?" Will points out.

"Only if the guests have decent manners! Most of those people don't know what an indoor voice is, or even how to respect others' property! I swear it's only a matter of time before something catches fire, and you'll compensate me dearly!"

"You'll be compensated, don't you worry," Jo assures him. "Besides, when this is all over and you have your cut of the publicity, you'll look back some day and laugh."

"Oh, certainly. In some mental ward. Your auditioning hasn't even begun and I'm already vexxed to the limit!"

"Just hang tight; we're about to start," Rick tells him.

"Just toss 'em some snacks to calm them down in the meantime," Anna advises as she and crew resume motion.

"They emptied the concessions before I had time to check! Did you hear that? Jedi? Unbelievable!"

The beleaguered impresario huffs, throws up his hands and goes off to resume fighting the unwinnable battle for civility. In stark contrast, within the vast grand auditorium mere yards away, it's all serene stillness, calm, silence. Seated in the fifth closest row to the stage, Squishy couldn't help but point this out as he marveled the emptiness.

"It's so quiet in here; I can't hear the lobby at all."

"That's one of the reasons I wanted this place: sweet soundproofing," Jo says quite smugly a few seats over.

"So there was some strategy in your choosing," Alex says, garnering a smirky grin from his comrade.

"Without a doubt."

"Are we ready for this?" Will asks.

"Yessiree!" Squishy yips, him and the others holding up clipboards and pens.

"Then let's get this pre-pre-show started." Jo presses a comm on his shirt collar. "Send in the first guy, Spark."

So begins the highly-anticipated auditioning segment! Shown out by temp usher/bouncer Spark Mandrill, a myriad of hopefuls walk out on stage and do their thing, to be judged and selected by a panel of Jedi judges. To go over each and every contestant that came out this evening would be incredibly extraneous and, honestly, repetitive. Most "talent" in these shows are primarily focused on singing, dance or both, and I'd get sick of detailing every mildly differing act. So instead, for your benefit and mine, here are the stand-outs.

Following an uninspired wave of pop culture singers, there came a troupe of Ugnaught tumblers, a sword swallower from Kamino, an Aqualish beatboxer, a literal dog-and-pony show, and even a surprise trapeze act by Geek Squadron of all groups.

"You know us for our flying, but not for our balance. Until now," leader Ted announces, before the four commence a series of leaps and acrobatics that show their nimble side. This culminates in a four-man cross formation, where Hugo on the right end has a panic.

"Ahh! Let me down let me down, it's too high!"

"It's not even ten feet, and you fly for a living!" Bill tells him.

"I don't decide when my vertigo kicks in, WAAAHH!"

The squad grumbles and stumbles trying to keep upright, twirling about and even cartwheeling into inverted position, all without breaking formation, which earns them applause from the Jedi. Next, we're treated to a fairly large but eloquent Hutt in a tophat that spoke like a carnival barker.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Jedi council, I am here to astound you with a feat both peculiar yet amazing! You know of competitive eaters? Those gourmands of the unusual and oversized? Well that's cash and carry among my race as every Republic citizen knows, but what about the inanimate and inedible? Through a freak of biological programming, I have been granted the gift of Absolute Consumption! What do I mean by this?"

He pulls a metal cylinder from his undersized vest. "This is an air compressor from a top-end speeder." He tosses it and snaps it up like a frog. "But to me that's a mere snack. And it's not just handfuls I can handle, my friends!"

Pulling a hanging cord, a line of increasingly large industrial junk crashes onto the stage. "Any construct of any material or size is fit for my palette! Observe as I devour this dust buster (does so); consume this carburetor (swallows one); taste this tricycle (bites it whole); gulp this gas canister (drinks contents and container); inhale this infrared scanner (shoves it down his gullet); wolf down this fully-stocked wardrobe (takes in the furniture with a few swallows); and the piece de resistance: an entire hyperdrive engine!"

The Hutt flattens slightly before springing up to wrap his whole mouth around the engine, using gravity and the sickening sounds of his throat muscles to encase the entire thing with his body, leaving one bloated slug man who is still somehow (barely) able to speak.

"O corssh, it taeks a whyol to dijessh and go agen."

"Riiiight. Thank you for that… performance," Sara says, failing to completely hide her disgust. "You will hear the results later tonight."

A nod from Alex, and Ground Scaravich comes onto the stage to roll away the Hutt. Some time after, we get the comedy stylings of a Gamorrean and his smiling older model droid partner. Here is a partial transcript of their routine.

Gamorrean: Let me tell you something, Ron. The likes of Mon Calamarians and my own kind are pretty different in both looks and way of life. But you know something that we do have in common?

Smiling Ron: Why-no, I-do-not-know, Master. What-do-you-have-in-common?

Gamorrean: There ain't one Jew between us!

Smiling Ron: Oh-ha-ha-ha. That-is-so-very-true-and-valid-from-a-religious-standpoint.

Gamorrean: Here's a real gut-buster for ya: What do you get when you cross a fiber wire bungee cord and a Dathomir owl?

Smiling Ron: I-do-not-know. What-do-you-get, Master?

Gamorrean: My A**!

Smiling Ron: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. It-is-hilarious. (Chassis explodes, causing droid to literally fall to pieces)

Very questionable comedy aside, there is one group that performs an impressive re-enactment of the opening to Chainsaw Man, all choreographed to the song "Kick Back". Yet as they're finishing the act, Kon the Fox Devil suddenly bursts from the stage and devours them before returning to Hell. In the upper seats, musician Kenshi Yonezu looks down disdainfully, his hand making the summoning gesture.

"彼らは私の曲を使用する許可を持っていませんでした," is all he says before slipping away.

Odd and a little unfortunate. But that's only one of a slew of surprises seen by the Jedi that night. One of the earliest, more notable instances is when Launch Octopus of all mechanica takes the stage.

"Salutationary evening to ya, folks!" he announces with his usual manic mechanical energy.

"Launch?" Sylvia says in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Alex asks.

"Auditioning, of course!" A lid pops open on his round dome, spitting out a unicycle that he grabs and mounts. "Here to show you my stuff like all the rest."

"Shouldn't you be out watching the crowds?" Rick asks.

"Why? Just because I'm military?" Launch accuses as he's juggling some pins. "It's open auditions, like you said. Come one come all! And that includes my devilishly handsome self." He adds axes to his juggling.

"Are there gonna be more of you coming out?" Will inquires.

"Nope; it's only me. Us guys made a gentleman's agreement that I'd be the one to represent the Corps. That literal clown Clown Man ain't the only one who can pull off these sweet moves, you know." The mecha-mollusk stands atop the unicycle on one foot, mixing in flaming cleavers and chainsaws. "Plus I figure, if I win, then that guarantees me five whole days we can hang out, rather than the months or longer I have to go without seeing your faces."

"We've been busy, okay?" Jo says defensively.

"Suuure. Too busy to pop in at HQ to say 'hi' whenever you're on planet, if only for a few minutes. Only Will does that, but Will ain't enough!"

"Real hurtful to hear," Will says in mock hurt.

"Sorry, but I'm an octopus with needs!" Launch flips to balance on his head, adding his feet to the juggling and plate-spinning. "You know, we never had a proper rematch. Oh sure it's been decades, but it's hard to forget having your arms chopped and getting smacked away like garbage. I'm thinking one of those five days could be spent hashing it out. And why keep you to myself? A lotta the boys would get a real kick from passing you around the barracks."

"Might want to check that phrasing there," Rick alerts.

"Is that what this is all about?" Anna asks.

"Just an idea. A little friendly sparring on the side, as a possibility. Five days is a lot of time to fill, after all." With a dazzling flip the Maverick gets his feet back on the stage, getting all his equipment back into his head before taking a bow. "And that's that. You've been a wonderful audience!"

"Yes. Well done," Alex says stoically, not sure how to parse the mixed messaging.

"Catch you on the flip, which will hopefully be the finals~!" Launch cartwheels stage left.

Continuing the byline of weird, a later audition is one by a chap with glasses and lazily-stylized hair brimming with confidence that far exceeds his average looks.

"Hey there. The name's Ted, but tonight I'll be performing as Rico Suave. Real honor to be standing before you. You're real big heroes."

"Thank you for saying!" Squishy says with total sincerity.

"You're all in for a major treat, because tonight, The Rico will be going… The Full Monty."

Right then, "Vertigo" by U2 plays as "The Rico" goes into a saucy, clumsy spot of dancing. With exaggerated posing, flexing and bedroom-gazing, he unbuttons his shirt to the music, stopping at one point to bend over and show off his posterior. The discomfort levels are quite high by the time he has his dress shirt off, which he waves around before tossing it to a mortified Sara.

The judges' looks lost on him, the man gives a wink and readies to lift his undershirt, but then a woman with red hair storms onto the stage and takes the shameless gent by the ear, cutting the music.

"Ow hey hey! What gives, Nicole, owie ow!' he protests.

"You are not doing this, Ted," she says sternly while dragging her whining brother from the stage, taking none of his nonsense. Thank goodness for that.

And thankfully, it appears this next act is more restrained. Just a man walking out in a white suit and… Oh My Heavens!

"Is that… Are you serious?" Sara exclaims.

"Ohh H*** No!" (My feelings exactly, Will)

"Nope! We are not doing this!" Alex insists, to the agreement of everyone.

"Get him out of here, Spark! Get him out now!"

At Jo's command, Spark Mandrill in his adorable bowtie stomps over and takes the offensive man's arm. "Alright, you're outta here, punk!"

"W-what? Don't any of you appreciate The Jazz Singer?"

Pheeew. Nipped that well in the bud. Such an unnecessary shock…

Luckily, something significantly less distasteful eventually comes out.

"A tramp routine?" Jo ponders aloud, as an older man with a wild beard and dirty, shabby clothes walks humbly out onto the stage.

"No sir. I'm a tramp by trade. A bum, actually. Homeless would be the proper term," says the man in a casual, friendly manner. "You can call me Clarence. That being my name and such."

"Well it's nice of you to be here, Clarence," Sylvia says. "You're the first, um, homeless person to try auditioning tonight."

"Aye, and likely the only one, ma'am. Most of us, err, derelicts you call them, are rather shy about stepping out. Thinking no one wants to see them in the daylight, much less a talent show. But, I reckon, this was a proper open audition, so I thought I'd throw my raggedy ol' hat in the ring. You Jedi are always good on your word, so I had no worries about getting thrown out just for showing up."

"That's very nice of you to say."

"It really is," Rick agrees with his mother.

"Being so kind and heroic all the time, helping out folks like you do, I fancied that if I could be the big winner, me and my friends could show you around the underbelly of this great city world. The nicer parts, mind you. A kind of vacation, as thanks for all the good you've done. Maybe not the fanciest you've ever had, but the people in my slums are of the hospitable variety."

"That is so very sweet of you to offer," says Sara.

"What will you be doing to impress us, Clarence?" Jo asks in a friendly tone.

"Well, just a little bit o' singing from me and my good friends."

"Friends?"

Four others in varying degrees of decrepit dress come out and line up behind Clarence.

"We're rather good at croonin', so we formed a barbershop quartet of sorts. Quintet, rather. And this here is one of our favorite tunes."

One destitute pulls out a makeshift whistle, blows into it, then together the five start to… Well, isn't this delightful? They're performing an acapella rendition of Billy Joel's "Longest Time". Or was it acapella to begin with? Either way, that's the song they've chosen to "croon". I would put down the words, but you know them already. If not, then go listen to the original version. It's such a lovely song, and the way these five are singing it is practically pitch perfect.

The Jedi sit totally spellbound for the entire song, and once it concludes, they cannot help but applaud the quintet, who gives a most humble bow.

"That was amazing," praises Sylvia.

"Truly wonderful," adds Sara.

"I'm glad you enjoyed that," Clarence responds. "If we were to make it to them finals, we'll be sure to croon you something better."

"What you just did is excellent enough," Will tells him.

"That's awfully kind for you to say. Well, a good night to you all. Thank you for your time, and Heaven bless!"

The bums wave and depart, leaving everybody in a very good, refreshed mood (a good Billy Joel has that effect). Sadly, nothing of such similar caliber comes about, so reinvigoration soon gives way to the interminable drag of repetitive and/or downright boring acts.

"Uhhhhhhgg, my head's feeling really numb now," Will groans, leaning back in his seat. "It's getting hard to focus."

"They'd probably be way easier to remember if they did something more than just stand in place and sing," Jo critiques.

"I didn't think there'd be this much brain strain," Squishy bemoans while rubbing his eyes. "Sally makes it look so easy whenever she's a celebrity judge."

"And that's how you know she's a professional," Richter points out.

"We've been at this for hours without any breaks. Maybe we have enough for tonight?" Sylvia asks her teammates.

"We could go for a few more. We're probably due for a good one by now," Sara offers.

"I say we stop when my headache becomes a full-on migraine, which shouldn't be long," Anna says, rubbing her head.

"You can just wave it away, dear."

"I know, Alex. I was being facetious."

"I know *Smug*."

"Alright, I'm hearing a few more rounds. That sound fine with you, Squishy?"

"Yeah Jo, that's fine."

"Okay. Send in the next one."

A hunched figure, covered entirely in a shabby gray robe, stalks into the open, bearing an aura of utmost contempt.

"I could hear you grumbling. Your star search not going so swimmingly?"

And no wonder, for the face beneath the hood is one that the Jedi haven't seen in years, but deeply wished they could forget.

"Oh for the love of, Patrick?"

"What?"

Indeed, Alex and Sara, it's none other than the Republic's Most Unwanted A**hole himself: Patrick McMilone! (That is his actual title in the government registry) A look still as smug and punchable as it was back in the second trilogy, but now laced with some vindictiveness. Not the surprise anybody would have wanted.

"Yes, I am back. After so many years, I have come to right the wrongs you have done to me. Not as some nerd's lapdog, or a Sith puppet, but as myself!"

"Ahhh, why him?" Squishy groans.

"Miraculous to see you still able to walk after getting your balls busted to kingdom come, Patrick."

"Nice to see you too, Anna. And yes, that had been the latest humiliation in a whole long string of beatings and maimings. But why, I ask you? Because I'm unafraid to express my opinion? To speak my mind in a supposedly free society?"

"No, Patrick: it's because you're always a d*** about it," Will clarifies.

"You just need to grow thicker skin. Can't handle being told how things really are? Deal with it." Oooh, ever the pompous pest.

"We can deal with it by whooping your a**," states Jo.

"Totally!" Squishy agrees.

"Oh no no, you won't. That will be going against the rules you set up for your little show, because I'm a participant. Therefore, this is my time to shine."

"Oh Lord…" Alex says while squeezing the bridge of his nose helplessly.

"Yeah-heh, now you see? Making this open audition was your first woeful mistake. Your second and biggest blunder was having yourselves be the grand prize! Oooooh, the embarrassing, degrading things I'll have you do every minute while in my control. And I know you'll do them, because of your dumb Jedi honor. The suffering you shall endure will be likened to mine, only tenfold!"

"Fat chance!" Squishy decries. "We'll never let you control us!"

"Yeah! Go suck a lemon and fig yourself ya a**! Anna says, getting only a chuckle from the punk.

"You think you can avoid that outcome? Well, if you wish to deny my vengeance, then you must deny my talent first!"

With sudden lightning-swift motion the robe is removed and tossed away, revealing… a crisp, immaculate white shirt and tight black pants that, actually, makes Patrick look dashing. Before a word or thought can be formed by the Jedi, the miscreant breaks into a staccato of steps, filling the air with a flurry of footfalls as his upper torso remains upright and in total control. It's a step dance of such elegance and ferocity that has not been witnessed since the days of Lann Drasec, and the Jedi are unwillingly mesmerized by this.

Patrick moves about the stage, performing a veritable symphony with just his feet, accompanied by the dulcet phantasmal instruments of the Emerald Isles. Minutes seem to stretch for hours, but as abruptly as it started it comes to a stomping halt that blasts the auditorium with silence. The Jedi are agog; Patrick stands composed and sweat-free. Both sides maintain this bizarre standstill, until a clapping finally ends it.

The Jedi look over to Richter, whose claws are the culprit. He is soon joined by his mother, and after a pause of uncertainty, the others clap as well, genuinely if reluctantly. Holding the biggest, most aggravating look of self-satisfaction, Patrick takes a bow.

"I'll see you at the finals. Until then, later haters."

With a wink and a peace sign Patrick peaces out, walking offstage while the Jedi go back to being dumbfounded.

"What the frip just happened?" Jo asks quietly.

"I think we got served," Squishy murmurs.

"Don't say that," Alex admonishes, but Sara says, "No, I'm sure he's right. Unless we all had the same hallucination."

"I don't understand why you're all so strung out," Rick says, wholly unshaken. "That was an impressive dance."

"I don't understand either," Sylvia says. "What about him is so bad that it makes his being a good dancer so surprising?"

"Such innocence," Alex says with jealousy.

"You remember when Steezy was on trial way back?" Squishy asks. "He was the prosecutor, and you saw the kind of guy he can be."

"In short, Sylv, he's an a**hole: a MASSIVE one," Will summarizes.

"But…" Anna sighs heavily. "There's no denying: he knows how to light up the stage. We're gonna have to swallow our grievances for this one, no matter how well-founded they are. He's just too good to pass up."

"I heard that, Anna~!"

"F*** off, Patrick!" A chair flies over and smashes against the stage edge, scaring off the creep for good. Slumping back in her seat, Anna rubs her face to compose herself, then makes the novice mistake of asking the universe at large: "Can this night get any more annoying?"

"ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE!"

There's a commotion, followed by Spark Mandrill tumbling messily along the stage. He's able to raise himself and say, "We got trou—!" before a bulky mass of muscle and scales collides and launches him out of the room. The lights begin going haywire as thunder and sparks fill the rafters before a single bolt of lightning strikes the stage, leaving behind a squat, blocky, colorful, and oh so recognizable figure, further cemented by their laugh.

"Look who's back, B******!" the manic sprite screeches, just as the red-maned turtle beast behind him flexes and grins.

"And in gnarly style at that!" he bellows with a sinister chortle. Then in a shimmer of shadow, a third villainous sort apparates beside the other two.

"Some more so than others," he says in a calm, dominating, chilling tone that agitates the little one.

"As if! Not with an entrance that lame!"

"Noise isn't necessary to instill fear and dominance."

"You cannot be serious," Rick groans.

"These clowns?"

Clowns? Yes, Jo, in a sense. But trouble all the same, for these are another three the Jedi hadn't seen in years but still recall vividly, as would most any veteran gamer: the brutish tyrant Bowser; the insane pixelated sorcerer Kefka; and Albert Wesker, the power-hungry eugenicist, arraigned in his sleek black coat ensemble. Three of video gaming's most dastardly antagonists, under one roof once more. Oh dear; you really jinxed yourselves there, Anna.

"That's right, busters: the boys are BACK!" Bowser proclaims. "The Trio of Trouble, The Triad of Terror, here to mess you up like no one's business!"

"Dumb titles aside, we are indeed about to wreck and eviscerate yo shizzles, mon drizzles!" Kefka hops energetically. "You thought we had forgotten about us getting our payback, but that was just to lull you into a false sense of security. And now the trap's been sprungity-sproinged!"

"Vengeance is truly a dish best served cold, and in the years since we parted, ours has become downright frigid," Wesker says with cool, unapologetic menace.

"And it's going to be delivered on a platter of 'Us Totally Owning Your Stupid Talent Show', Gwaahahahaha!" the Koopa King chortles.

"Is this what tonight's become: a parade of our C-tier villains wanting revenge under the guise of auditioning?" Will asks.

"I seriously never imagined that kind of thing happening with this idea!" Squishy frets dramatically.

"Hey! We are not C-tier! If anything, we'll be straight SSS-tier after we melt your minds tonight!" the deranged magician insists.

"Though it would be simple enough to tear into you like wolves at the slaughter, we decided on a more tactile, less barbaric approach," Wesker elaborates. "Such delicious irony that you would be the ones to grant so perfect an opportunity."

"Not so smart, making your very servitude a top prize. Ya reeeeeeeeeeeally should've put more thought into that!" Kefka titters as best as his iconic sound file would allow.

"It was the best I could think of, I'm sorry!" Squishy pleads.

"We all agreed to it; don't go falling to pieces ya goober," Anna assures him, then to the stage crashers she shouts, "Reality check, boys: there's dozens of others you need to outdo to get to us. Plus, deliberate torture and maiming isn't part of the agreement, so your revenge won't be as sweet as you want it."

"And we won't perform any explicitly criminal activities, either," Sylvia firmly adds, to which Kefka lets out a massive theatrical gasp.

"Maim and torture? Perish the thought!"

"Yeah; we're not total psychopaths," Bowser says. "In fact, what we got in mind for ya is practically a cakewalk. Barely any work at all."

"Come again?" Jo spouts.

"We will only ask you to perform a few simple tasks, and then terminate your servitude early," Wesker explains with a smirk. "All perfectly legal and innocuous, Sylvia."

"Tooootally legit." Kefka tries chuckling softly to himself, resulting in just a quieter version of his laugh.

"I'm really not liking the sounds of this," Sara says.

"What tasks are they exactly?" Sylvia asks, but is readily rejected by Kefka.

"Neeehh! That's all we're saying now, toots! You'll only hear the rest if you let us wiiiiiiiin!"

"Sorry, there's no gimmes in this contest," Rick states. "And being a judge, I won't be able to carry you this time around."

"Oooooooooohh! The lizard can still spit fire; I'm all singed here!" Kefka obnoxiously mocks.

"Gwahaha, still think you're the big shot top dog around here, eh Ricky? Nice look, by the way," Bowser compliments.

"Not surprised by my appearance?"

"Why should I? If anything, I approve of you borrowing my style of letting everything hang out. More relaxing being in the buff, huh?"

"While I agree that your new 'style' is an improvement, it does remove the mystique you had. Not to mention exposing your filthy, abominable lineage for all to see," remarks the scientist with the bleached hairdo.

"I for one still think you're a smelly, arrogant punk!" Kefka insults. "And we don't need your pity or jokes with what we got cooked up!"

"That's right!" shouts Bowser with a raised fist. "BBK is gonna rock your entire wardrobe to smithereens!"

"Tonight begins our campaign of devastation!"

"Through complete, aural saturation."

"Introducing..!"

In a confluent burst of fire, lightning and darkness, the troublesome trio summon and take possession of a wicked set of instruments: Bowser on drums that match his color scheme, Kefka with a blood-red guitar, and Wesker holding a bass as black as tar. Though apart from the instruments, the most striking change is that Wesker has swapped his outfit with what he wore as a captain of STARS. Probably because it exudes a rocker look better, I suppose? Anyway, they deliver their band name as one:

"The Clashing Egos!"

"We turned our biggest weakness into our greatest strength!" Bowser boasts with a twirl of his sticks.

"Your sexy voice may be hot s***, Rick, but we're packing the goods to leave it in the dust!" Kefka plays a sick riff. "You all know how well I can shred, and with a name like 'Palazzo', you just know my voice is all kinds of operatic!" He laughs.

"I'm voiced by Jack Black, so of course I can easily bring the thunder, cheh-YAAAH!"

"As for me, it's as the youths say: I'm all about that bass." Wesker strums his bass.

"Nobody says that," Sara deadpans.

"Prepare yourselves, worms!" Kefka cries out. "Once we're done with this song, there won't even be a final round. The radiant awesome-tude of our music will have your brains reduced to mush!"

"Yeah! Let's get this shindig on!" Bowser bangs his sticks together. "One Two Three FOUR!"

Immediately the band of misfits tear into it, creating a rock sound so raw, so potent, so electrifying, that the entire hall trembles from its very energy. And the vocals that accompany this!

Band: Here we are, back at it again!

Here to take what's ours by right!

Just surrender; do not resist.

Because Total Victory is ours tonight!

Bowser: Back on the street, looking to fight,

Ready to give you the ride of your life~!

There ain't anyone cooler, so take a walk!

You stand no chance in matching our rock!

Wesker: We hold the superior genes,

The very right to rule.

To deny us, your masters,

Proves you're nothing more than fools.

Kefka: Worms who don't know their place get erased! Rubbed out like any lesser race!

Our song is fire, and you're the thatch!

Our very presence will snuff ya like a match!

So to be clear, your end is nigh.

This is where all your worthless hope shall die!

Band: There is no quarter, no sympathy.

Only control of your misery.

Bow your heads, to your kings.

The very lords of your deserved suffering!

Bowser: BBK is here to stay!

Kefka: That's just how it'll be!

Wesker: There's no escape.

Kefka: So accept your fate!

Band: That this is our True Victory!

Bowser breaks into a pulse-pounding drum solo that seques seamlessly into a face-melting solo from Kefka. This then passes over to Wesker and his somber yet all-commanding bass, the whole arrangement evoking excitement yet dread. The instrumentals pause briefly as-

Bowser: We're the fire at your feet!

Wesker: The darkness in your dreams.

Kefka: Godheads most supreme!

Bowser: Our might is just too hot!

Wesker: Feel your paltry aspirations rot.

Kefka: And your very soul burn Burn BURN!

With his signature laugh, the three go back to rocking their equipment along with their voices.

Wesker: We have been gone far too long

To not enjoy our prey.

Kefka: Give them gizzards to us!

Bowser: Now that we're working as a team—

Band: Nothing Can Get In Our WAY!

Your days of peace are at an end

For tyranny is what we shall rend.

So come embrace this apocalypse,

Delivered to your ears from our lips!

Bowser: You chumps have nowhere to hide!

Wesker: Destiny is in our grasp!

Kefka: Last chance to surrender or die!

Bowser: Tonight we're gonna make!

Kefka: Finally we're gonna take!

Wesker: Your very wills we're gonna break!

Bowser: As we accomplish—

Kefka: Achieve—

Wesker: Enable—

Kefka: Enact!

Bowser: Our Ultra—

Kefka: Final—

Wesker: Absolute—

Band: Vic-Tor-RYYYYYYYYY!

A devastating explosion ends the powerhouse performance with a literal bang. One strong enough to blast the ne'er-do-wells clear out of the room, leaving thick smoke and stark silence behind. Yet the stage isn't vacant, for within the smoky cloud stands… Wait. Hold on, this isn't right.

"'The fire at your feet'? 'The darkness in your dreams'? Pff, amateurs. Words every bit as empty as their very beings." The smoke steadily dissipates to reveal the figure within. "Only someone with actual substance can understand the true horrors of the soul." He turns to present himself. "And, more importantly, how to inflict them on others!"

"God-flippin'-D***it!" shouts Will, slamming his armrests.

"Of course YOU would show up!" Anna says as she rises alongside her fellows, but before they can fully erect themselves they're shoved back into their seats, held in place by overbearing presence.

"No no, none of that. I'm used to having a captive audience."

This shouldn't be possible. We secured you extra tight following the Christmas debacle. I would've known if you escaped… What's so funny?

"Oh Dee Dee Dee, how can you look at everything when you're locked in as a narrator? That's the sort of restrictions you signed yourself up for, dumba**!"

"Who's he talking to?" Sylvia asks.

"He's probably gone senile as well as insane," Alex suggests.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Rick agrees.

"Dee… Like, Dramatist?" Squishy deduces accurately, only—

"Hey! Aren't you forgetting your 'integral role' here? Go on and introduce me. You can gripe over your shortcomings later."

*Very Exasperated Sigh*

As hard as it is to believe, and as loath as I am to acknowledge this, the irksome cause of this latest disruption is none other than the Financer, in all his contemptible swagger and drab black coat. And that's all I'm going to say about you, because with how many times you appeared you're as recognizable as an odious weed.

"As it should be."

"Forgetting your crazy talk for a sec, you should really consider finding some new obsession," Anna tells the hopeless obsessive. "Like, do you seriously have nothing better to do?"

"What are you even gaining by bothering us at this point?" Sylvia asks most soundly.

"Pure spite and nothing else, lizard lips," is his gleeful response. "That's what I'm all about, and so long as you keep existing, that shall remain my pursuit."

"Then you must be a major masochist as well, given the number of times you fumbled on that goal." A straight bulls-eye from Will!

"Not this time, Willie-Boy! With everyone so wrapped up in this special event, I thought I would make it my special event as well by slipping in and carving the deepest, most festering scar possible. And what luck: I've bound most of the Jedi right off the bat! While I would've liked having Stanson here, I'll settle with having the bigger aberration out of the three. Feeling rather confident about your looks now, Ricky?"

"Yeah. You must be disappointed that I'm nowhere as grotesque as you thought."

"Don't flatter yourself. Even if you have silkier hair than mine or lack extra appendages, you'll always be a walking reminder of how your tiny wittle dad stuck his tiny wittle p***k into your mother's sopping cloaca and squirted a steamy load of Jawa jizz all up in her leathery f***box. You like that mental image? Then you have some idea of the perversion I deal with every waking second."

"Are you still on about that garbage, dude? Just get the flip over yourself, sheeesh!"

I agree with you on that, Joseph. Honestly, Frank, are you going to harp on Master being a pervert in perpetuity? No one cares about your childish grievances. Can you just accept things like the others and give it a rest?

"Oh, I will. And very shortly, at that. Unlike those sorry throwbacks, I'm not going to wait or play along with this piss-lazy premise: I'm cutting straight to the point! Though, it won't be nearly as sweet with just the eight of you. Let's fill these seats first."

With a snap of his fingers, the entire concert hall is filled with people and mechanica from outside, who let out a clamor of surprise and confusion at finding themselves indoors, stuck to their seats, and seeing that eyesore of an entity once again.

"There: now it's a slaughter! And keeping in spirit with the occasion, I will commit my latest atrocity… through song."

"NOOOOOOOO!"

I'm sorry, everyone, but that's how it is. And worst still, it's not even wholly original. He's just playing "Boss Battle B" from the Final Fantasy I Remaster and adding lyrics. Now that's lazy!

Fin: Yes! It is true; I am back again, you ruuuubes.

And tonight, is where I'm going to end this prolonged fantasy, at last!

There will be no pause, break or rest, (Draws in some Mega Man bosses)

While I kill, at my behest, (Juggles them)

And end your lives, so violently. (Detonates them)

Because, that is the only way, to handle vermin who have lived for too d*** f***ing long!

(A series of "hmms" and "hehs" for the bridge)

Here it is: the Carnival of Carnage,

Where you blood sacks, take center staaaaage!

Let's decorate, the scene with your viscera (Pulls in several people and crucifies them on the back wall)

To get this show, right under waaaay!

A roar of diesel rips through the air, stopping this abomination of a music number. Everyone looks about in search of the cause (and because they cannot do anything else), and even our forceful captivator is caught off-guard.

"What the heck was that?"

Three more roars answer Will's question, then suddenly a motorcycle appears and barrels for Financer at top speed from stage right.

"Motherfu—!" is all the malefactor can muster before conjuring his bog-standard scythe and lashing out. However the rider proves to be beyond exceptional as they swerve and tilt their mount into launching themselves in a jaw-dropping barrel roll over Financer. The hog lands and drifts to a stop at the other end of the stage, where a spotlight shines upon it and its mystery rider.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,

TRAGEDIAAAA!

(Revs motorcycle loudly)

A Black Wind Has Befallen This World~

The rider peels out and charges Financer once more, who again retaliates with a slash. Only now the bike slides under the attack, then circles around Old Franklin like a fuel-injected porpoise before retreating to the other side of the stage with the spotlight still following.

OOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,

DOLOREEEEE!

Financer comes running with scythe drawn, but the rider repels it with his own blade. He then taunts the blackguard with parries, swiftness, and operatics.

Will Peace Ever Return To This Land?

A plunge of the scythe causes a fountain of ichor to burst from the stage, launching the biker up into the air. Financer springs after him, but takes a wheel to the dome as the motorcycle bounces off his head and sends him back to the stage. The motorcycle lands near stage left, and after a moment the rider cuts the engine.

Dolce Maria…

Grant Me A Blessing.

(Solemnly rises from his Harley)

Guide Me My Blade,

As I Banish This Darkness,

(Draws massive axe-like sword and levels it at Financer)

And Restore Thine Glory

As It Once Were, Anon.

Apart from some murmurings, the audience is stricken silent by this wild challenger. Be he friend or foe? Well, that's quickly answered when he glances over at the Jedi and shoots a playful smile.

"Hey, friendos. Did ya like my entrance? Pretty sweet, right?"

"Ace!"

Yes! Our Ace-In-The-Hole, the spirit of endeavor himself, Entrepreneur has arrived! Oh what a sight for these frustrated eyes, even if the duster he's wearing is too wrinkled, not to mention that atrocious steeple hat.

"Don't get worked up over my field clothes, bro. Not when there's bigger fish to fry. Anyway, glad to know you're still wowed by my presence, Squishy. Hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too long."

"Too slow for my preference, but good enough," Anna says. Meanwhile, Finly is having a hissy fit.

"You irritating, meddlesome, Slow Ride s***stain! Why do you have to be here so early?"

"It's my job, man. Unlike some people, I take it very seriously."

"It hasn't been ten minutes! I've hardly done anything!"

"Not my fault you wasted time. Heh, it's suuuuper embarrassing. After all these years, all these opportunities and failures, you still haven't learned to shut up and do only what's necessary."

Precisely. Ash could teach him much about dispassionate efficiency.

"No! No one's teaching me anything! I'm going to carve out your face and shatter your arms, then go back to my playtime!" With a 'schling' Financer has a scythe in both hands. Oh my!

"Way off that chill pill, I see." Looking back to the Jedi, Entre says, "We'll catch up in a mo. Just gotta handle this headache first."

That raging psycho throws himself at the dashing rescuer as the Nobuo goodness returns.

Fin: Why, do you insist, on being a wart on my a**? (Slashes at Entre, who throws off his duster)

Entre: Because, you insist on being a total bummer. (Parries and ripostes)

Fin: Why, won't you, see that this, needs to end?

Entre: Oh I agree! So pack it in, and let's lea—

Fin: No! (Lets off a dark kinetic burst) You're not listening to me!

Entre: (Slides back a ways) It's hard to when you're being a major butt. (Leaps into action)

Fin: Then go F*** Yourself, why don't you!

"Oh, before I forget."

A flick of the fingers and Ace frees everyone from their invisible restraints.

"Let's get out of here!"

There's a frantic scramble for the exit as the battle/duet rages on.

Fin: D***it, just let me have my fun!

Entre: Not if it means hurting everyone!

Fin: They don't matter! They're just illusionary— (Walls start cracking)

Entre: I really can't take you seriously.

Fin: So sit on a pike and DIE! (Grows tendrils of malice and goes ballistic)

The last stragglers manage to get out right as the ceiling starts coming down and fires erupt and spread. It's a very destructive, bombastic affair whenever two god-like beings have it out like this. Fortunately it's not world-ending, as we see by jumping forward to a little under an hour in the future.

From outside, a column of smoke and flame can be seen smoldering atop the opera house. Fire and rescue crews are engaged in quelling the blaze, as well as the shaken civilians who have evacuated to the walkways outside the building. The Jedi, unscathed and far less shaken than expected, are on a promenade some distance from the masses, doing some catch-up with Entrepreneur.

"Overall, I say that went pretty well," he says with accomplishment, gazing at the burning roof. "Only one demolished concert hall and a little fire this time around."

"Along with those people who got crucified," Alex reminds, which Ace can only shrug at.

"Nobody's perfect." He focuses on the group and switches topics. "So how have you been? It's been a real long time since I've seen you guys." Pauses when he notices the striking reptilian gentleman. "And this is my first time seeing you, Rick! The name's Entrepreneur, Entre, Ace. Please call me Ace. Don't know how much your folks told you about me, but I'm betting it was good."

"They've mentioned you a few times."

"Wish I coulda met ya and the siblings last time I was here, but you three were literally nonexistent. Have to say, you got the Fabio look on lock. You know how to rock a bare chest, my guy."

"Lord, no one's ever said that…" Richter covers his face with a claw. (Adorable!)

"It could actually work for you, dear. Loosen your hair some, build up those pectorals-"

"Moooooom!"

"Are things going well at your headquarters, sanctum, whatever? How was Mr. Shinedown able to visit us this time?"

"That's a good one, Jo-ster! I need to remember that. But yeah, this was our bad. The whole crew was mega-stoked about you guys doing a musical, and with our head overseer doing other things, Fin managed to slip out. (Yes, I suppose I hold partial blame as well) But we noticed almost right away, so you didn't have to wait an episode for backup!"

"This seems to happen a lot in your organization," Sara points out unfairly.

"This is only the second escape he's pulled, darling. Last time was strictly Contractor's, erm, the chief's doing. And you showed him the error of his ways real good, heh heh."

"How is Contractor doing?" Will asks to make conversation.

"I imagine he's fine given how he can drop in for Father's Day unannounced."

"More or less true, Sylvina. Still wacky, but he keeps on keeping on. Something big happened out in the real world recently that's taken up most of his focus. In fact, all of us have been bogged down dealing with it." Looks to the side in reflection. "Can't have the fun we used to have, with the responsibilities and pitfalls of being a grown-a** adult. And we've gotten to a point where it's unclear where this ship should be going. Plenty of possibilities, for sure, but it's also stressful." Faces the Jedi again with a grin. "But revisiting one of our success stories helps in forgetting those worries for a little while. A nice mental reprieve-cation."

"'One of'?" Alex repeats.

"Yeah; yours isn't the only IP in the ol' head space, I'm afraid. But you are my personal favorite. I mean, where else can I perform an opera with a motorcycle? That's something I've always wanted to do." Glances at the opera house. "Maybe without as much collateral." Back at the Jedi. "Having said that, totes sorry for wrecking the place and spoiling your whole audition."

"It's fine. We managed to get a bunch of good acts listed," Squishy assures him.

"And we were close to wrapping up, anyway," Jo adds.

"Ah, then it's not so bad then." Entrepreneur pauses to consider the situation. "Ya know, I could put in a word with the boss to tidy things up, maybe even smooth over some other, unrelated issues. 'Ask and ye shall receive', that whole deal. The guy's gotten super generous, let me tell ya."

In the face of these woefully unsubtle hints, Squishy takes one brief moment to ponder before answering, "Nah, we're good."

"Are you sure, Squishy-B?"

"Yeah Dad," Rick jumps in. "I'm certain he still owes plenty besides tonight."

"The offer's appreciated, Ace, but we didn't get to where we are by having Contractor resolve everything for us. The opera house is still standing, and as for the other things…" The Jawa beams extra for this response. "We totally got it covered."

"Right on. That's the confidence I like to hear." Entre does a little stretch. "Welp, it's high time I bounced. Need to get Sparky back home."

From his pocket space he pulls out a glass bottle, containing a pixie-fied and extremely livid Financer.

"I'm not some dog you pisshead! And I demand a rematch; there's no way you could beat me!"

"Hey, I fought you fairly-squarely this time. The loss is totally on you, bro."

"Like h*** with all that slippery jumpy dodging bulls***! When I get out I'm going to shove that hat down your throat and throttle you with your own intestines!"

"Yeesh, aren't you cranky. Let's get ya back and put you down for a nap, Shinedown."

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME YOU LANKY S***-SHOVELING D*** DRIBBLE SON OF A—!"

Thankfully Entrepreneur puts his catch out of both sight and sound.

"Be straight with us: how likely is he gonna bust out again?" Anna asks the harsh though fair question.

"Barring another major event or holiday, no chance. We've cooked up an extra special punishment in case he kept being naughty, and this night was his third strike." In a smooth leap Ace hops onto the nearest guardrail. "Swing by the office if you need anything, or want to chat. That's what it's there for."

"We'll keep that in mind," Squishy tells him with a wave.

"Nice seeing you," bids Sylvia.

"Take care," adds Sara.

"Later dude," Will chimes.

With a parting salute, Entrepreneur looks up and springs into the night, disappearing like an angel of the Criss variety. And that ends that stint of divine meddling; now the narrative can get back on track!

"I say this as good an indication to call it a night, ladies and gentlemen," Jo states with a breath of relief.

"A shame it had to end so roughly," Sara laments, before looking to the smoky center of culture. "Do you think the opera house can still be used?"

"Absolutely," Jo assures her. "The fire is pretty much out, and there's a whole bevy of other rooms that can be used. Everything will be fixed up in time for the second round of auditions."

"And no contestants were killed, so we still have a promising roster," Squishy says.

"All recorded right here!" Sylvia says, holding up the folder she had used for the evening's selection.

"Then that makes today a booming success in my book! So let's get some shut-eye," Jo declares.

"Back at our place?"

"No way," Anna declines the Jawa. "Appreciate the invitation, but our place is much closer."

"And not as cramped," adds Alex.

"Ours is also nearby," Will says.

"Sorry Squish, but I could use some alone time to better unwind," Jo says.

"Oh… That's okay! A night to ourselves is good."

"We'll meet back here tomorrow evening, fresh and relaxed. Sound good?" Jo asks, and gets a unanimous yea. "Great. Night, y'all."

"See you later guys," bids Sara.

"Great work, everyone!" Sylvia says.

"Until tomorrow," Rick says with a wave, and there are other similar goodbyes before the group splits into the cool night: Anna and Alex, Will and Sara, Jo, and the Jaa-Ruuk clan. Will and Sara take to an empty walkway projecting off from the front of the opera house plaza, two figures strolling under an avenue of nighttime city luminescence.

"Boy, talk about a day," says Sara to her hubby.

"For real," he agrees. "I'm surprised how well this is turning out."

"We all worked really hard to make this work. I even had to rap!"

"Did you, now?"

"Yeah, it was raw. Now that scare with Financer and those other three has gotten me feeling extra tired." Letting out a dainty yawn, Sara leans her head against Will's shoulder. "Carry me, please."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Don't you think I'm just as tired? Overseeing a supply train can wear a guy out."

"But I'm your darling wife. Would you really let me suffer?"

"I won't carry you. But I can do something almost as good."

"Like..?"

Taking her hand, Will positions himself before his wife, facing her at arm's length. "I can sweep you off your feet."

"Oh ho? You think you have the energy for it?"

"Only about as much as you're willing to spare."

"Hmhm. Alright, I'll take you up on that."

The couple begins a soft, smooth, starlit style of dance, twirling and sweeping about under the streetlamps, occasionally breaking off to do their own solo movements. Little is played in the way of music, but it's enough to accentuate the intimacy of the moment.

Across the way on a different walkway, Anna and Alex stop upon catching sight of this display.

"Good to see they're still in high spirits," Alex remarks. "A bit of an off time to show it, though."

"Seems perfect to me," Anna replies. "With this part of town being so freakishly empty, what better way to use all this open space?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Alex steps aside and offers his hand. "May I have this dance."

"You may, squire."

They clasp hands and commence waltzing quite literally homeward, which the Jaa-Ruuk witness from below.

"Ooh! Ooh! We should do some dancing too!" Squishy says with fresh excitement.

"Then go for it. I won't stop you," Rick says.

"You should join in as well, son," Sylvia tells him.

"Yeah Yeah! A family dance session!" the father yips with more excitement.

"That's not what I..!" Richter pauses and sighs. "Yeah, sure. Not sure how it'll work, though."

"We'll work it out. Now let's swing!"

With Squishy's encouragement, the three go about doing some choreographed family bonding, frequently changing partners and having a fairly silly but enjoyable go of it. Jo watches these happy happenings from a distance, and giving a silent shrug he pops-and-locks back to his oh so private dwelling.

A very La La Land-esque wrap-up to a busy, eventful, but truly successful evening; most splendid! The talent show has garnered tremendous interest, and a majority of the talent for the big show has been discovered. The preservation of Mon Calamari's precious islands from the clutches of loan defaultment appears very assured! Just one night of auditioning remains, and I'm excited to see what other interesting faces and acts will appear! (No one else from the Compendium, I assure you)

Hence Friday comes, and most of it passes by without note well into the opening hours of eventide. It is as the sunlight begins to dwindle that the Jedi vacate their domiciles and hit the proverbial streets, regrouping on the long approach to the opera house. Sylvia has a datapad out, looking at some very eye-opening numbers.

"Unbelievable: the final line-up hasn't been announced, and advance ticket sales are through the roof! There's requests to order in hover platforms to handle the overflow."

"Overflow? It's barely been two days," Alex points out.

"Whodda thunk a talent show of all things was in sore need in this galaxy," Will remarks.

"If we're not careful, those very islands we're trying to save could end up being demolished," Jo warns.

"Yes; it could be like Woodstock '99 times a thousand," says the puppet Spottswoode, dangling near the back.

"My god. That would be… ninety-nine thousand," a dangling Gary realizes.

"Precisely," Spottswoode confirms before he and Gary get swatted away by Anna.

"But that means we'll make a metric ton of credits before the weekend's over!" Squishy says with glowing optimism. "Enough to pay the loan, and maybe some extra put toward charity or something."

"And then facing the consequences of being the grand prize afterwards," Rick adds.

"We'll handle that bridge of nails when we get there, Ricky," Anna tells him, patting his shoulder.

"But right now we need to cross this bridge, and get into the opera house for more… wait, what is that?"

Squishy runs off, making everyone else sprint in sudden pursuit. They find him standing stock still several yards ahead, and looking up they see what stopped him.

Straight ahead, a massive chain link fence has been erected around the opera house's entire perimeter, tall enough to blot most of the building. Many warning signs adorn the imposing facade, and there are several transport vehicles hovering about, a few of which are being loaded up by a column of workers marching up and down the opera house steps. A large crowd of onlookers have gathered within the plaza; be they contestants or regular pedestrians or both, judging by their chatter, they're as taken aback and confused as our Jedi.

"The frick is this?" Jo asks in annoyed disbelief.

"Did some other disaster happen?" Sara asks.

"It would have been on the news in that case," Sylvia points out.

"Meaning it just happened," reasons Rick. It's about then that they spot someone close by: the Impresario, holding a lit cigarette and furiously tapping a foot in sheer fuming consternation. Seeking answers, Jo strides over to him.

"Yo Managario, what's the big dealio?"

"It's exactly what you see: forced property seizure," the manager snips back in a forced level tone.

"Seizure?"

"Our myriad of lenders have demanded immediate payment for their loans, and as we lack the amount being demanded, all operation of this Opera house has been suspended indefinitely, and everything on the premises is being confiscated." He takes a drag from his cigarette. "These are horrible for my complexion, so you must know how incredibly vexed I am by this."

"But don't you own the building?" Will asks.

"Yes, along with some others. But there are maintenance fees, zoning fees, promotional campaigns, seasonal bonuses, banquets, support funds for abysmal ticket sales and galactic catastrophes. The building was put up as collateral, and barring a complete ban on all things theatrical, those grubby b****rds were perfectly fine with it. When I received a letter last week telling us to start making payments, I nearly choked on my poached egg with Gray Poupon in laughter; they simply had to be joking. But then for this to happen, without mentioning a deadline or sending advanced notice. The vexation keeps piling on!" A very deep, annoyed, sorrowful sigh, then looking at Jo he mentions, "At least you had the courtesy to insult me in person."

"What about the auditions? There's still a bunch more people we have to see!" Squishy says.

"No longer my concern; that's well and truly out of my hands. But I'm certain one of your patented miracles will spring out of this." After one last puff, the manager tosses down his cancer stick and stamps it out. "If you'll excuse me, I'm off to the nearest cabaret to down some Manhattans and start a fight. See how many glammed-up faces I can bust before they drag me out." With no further elaboration or even farewell he walks off.

"Well isn't that a Bisquick," Anna curses. "Of all the rotten timing, and on a Friday no less."

"That poor man, and after all the hassle we put him through," Sara says.

"Tough break for him, but this puts us in nearly as bad a spot."

As though to emphasize Rick's statement, the crowd of onlookers has come up to the Jedi.

"Hey Jedi, how do you expect us to warm up if we can't get in the building?" one man asks, and in response Jo steps forward to deliver the bad news.

"Hate to tell ya folks, but auditions are canceled. Someone went and stole the stage."

With a cry of outrage the members of Starship throw down their instruments and storm off. The rest of the crowd follow suit, choosing to grumble more politely about the matter.

"B-But we can't cancel auditions, Jo! Not with everybody already here!" Squishy protests.

"Not really anything we can do about it, Squishy," Alex regrettably says. "No venue, no auditions. And these people clearly don't appear open to auditioning outside."

"We still have those candidates from yesterday," Sara reminds. "We could hold the talent show with just them. That should be fine."

"It wouldn't feel right, though, not letting these others try out," laments Squishy, but then Sylvia proposes a stellar idea!

"Wait! We have Jawa Home!"

"Huh?"

"Couldn't we hold auditions on Jawa Home? There's more than enough space for these people to perform up there."

"Yeees, yeeeees, we can totally do that!" says Squishy, brightening up by the second. "There are no events planned this week, so most of the station is practically to ourselves! The perfect staging ground!"

"Won't it be a pain to get all these people up there on the spur of the moment?" Sara asks.

"No problem at all! I'll just call up Steezy and have him send down some shuttles. We'll make this work." Right then, a familiar beeping comes from Squishy, and he reaches in his robe to whip out his communicator. "Look at that: that's him right now!" Tapping "Receive", Squishy puts the handheld to his ear. "Great timing, Steezy. Listen, I need you to arrange—"

"Squishy! You gotta listen: a crap load of guys boarded the station. Me and the crew tried holding them off, but they just keep coming!"

"Jawa Home is under attack?" Squishy says in surprise.

"Say what?" Sara and Sylvia spout with as much surprise.

"Who's boarding the station, Steeze?" Squishy asks.

"Auditors, man! And a whole army of repo dudes! They've come to impound the whole ship, saying we're tardy on loan payments."

"What? That's total bull; we're up to date on all our dues."

"That's what I'm telling them, but they aren't listening. They're taking everything that isn't bolted down, including the guests' stuff! The hangars have been blockaded and… Ah dunk! Val says they're confiscating the comms. Shutting things down, meaning we won't—"

Wincing from the abrupt silence, Squishy gives his communicator a few shakes. "Steezy? Steezy? Are you there?" More silence. Pulling away the device, he stares at it with mounting dread.

"What was that about auditors?" Jo asks.

"Financial troubles?" Alex asks Sylvia.

"No. Like Squishy said, we're in good standing with our loans."

"Two surprise forced seizures back-to-back? This is sounding real fishy," notes Will.

"We need to get up there."

Everybody looks at Squishy as he continues, "We have to get up to Jawa Home right now."

"You mean 'right now' now?"

"Yes Jo, right now!" Squishy affirms. "We have to get up there and help Steezy this instant!"

"I agree; something about this feels very wrong," Sylvia voices.

"I'm with you on that, Mom," Rick vouches.

"Okay, auditions can wait. Let's bulldoze some freaking auditors!" Anna says with grim enthusiasm. Squishy rushes to the walkway's edge and frantically waves at the air traffic.

"Taxi! TAXI!"

His calls are ignored, but Alex steps in and Force Yanks an air taxi down to them. The whole group manages to pack themselves in and shut the door.

"To the space port, on the double!"

The car lifts off, sagging from the extra weight as it builds up speed. My, so much is happening! With everything going so smoothly up to now, all this misfortune is cropping up! And as the sun finally sets and the shadows of night deepen, it's about to get more complicated.

At their destination, the Jedi stand witness to fresh pandemonium. Heavy metal shutters have sealed off all entrances into the spaceport, with digital displays showing No Entry and messages about temporary closure. A mob of angry citizens have swarmed against the shutters in defiance of the signs, banging and yelling to be let in. At the same time, many others are running helter skelter in some blind panic, tripping over abandoned luggage amid a flurry of paper litter. Combined with the mild scent of something burning, it's all reminiscent of a very successful Black Friday Sale, but woefully out of season.

"What the h*** is going on here?" Rick says out of genuine shock.

"Did Black Friday come early or something?" (That's what I just said, Anna)

"It doesn't have the same feel," Alex asserts. "This is something else… More desperate."

"There's no cops or military, so it can't be a terrorist attack." Then Sara notices something and points to the side. "Hey! Aren't those the movers from the opera house?"

Looking over, the others indeed see a line of burly fellows carrying off random objects from a staff entrance and putting them onto awaiting hover trucks.

"Same-looking uniforms and trucks," Jo affirms. "They're sure getting plenty of business today."

"Wouldn't that imply..?" Sylvia shakes her head. "No, that cannot be."

"How the heck are we supposed to get up to Jawa Home now?" Squishy frets. William, however, focuses on a portly figure trying to scurry past and plucks them by the collar before they can escape. Despite the heavy brown trench coat and ugly hat, it's obvious who the gentleman is.

"Well well well, if it isn't our favorite head of state out on a stroll," Will announces. "Funny seeing you in this part of town at this hour."

"No! Let me go; I need to hide!" the governor begs, flailing his limbs and carpetbag helplessly against the Jedi's strong pincer grip.

"You have any idea what's happening here, governor? What's with the get-up?" Jo grills the wiggly incumbent. And like a switch being flipped, all energy leaves the man as he starts droning.

"The first seal of the apocalypse has broken. It's end times for all: my political career, every civilized world. Nothing shall be spared…"

"The freak are you babbling about?" Anna demands.

"The Depression! It has come! And it's catastrophically massive!"

The explosive response catches everyone by surprise, with Jo encapsulating the feeling with a singular, "What?"

"The markets crashed only half an hour ago, practically one after the other," the governor rambles on. "Anything and everything finance has flatlined, even the value of physical assets! It was so sudden and without warning; there was no indication it was going to happen so soon, much less today!"

"How is that possible?" Rick asks.

"I have no clue, and frankly I don't care to postulate. People have started making runs on the banks, and it won't be long before they start rolling out the guillotines, so I'm ghosting while I still have my head!"

"What about all that swagger of yours the other day? Didn't you say you weren't going anywhere?" Anna says.

"That was before I saw how hopelessly bad things could be. But rest assured, once the population has satisfied their bloodlust and returned to being ordinary citizens, I'll resume my post and steer things on a more positive course (hopefully)."

"You're blowing this way out of proportion," Jo asserts. "Civil order won't break down that badly, that readily."

The governor makes a condescending chuckle. "Oh summer child, it's far worse than you can imagine. Law enforcement is in disarray with their own financial meltdowns as we speak. I doubt there'll be a man, woman or animal standing when the riots start."

"Are you serious?" Sylvia's question gets a pitiful nod.

"Aye. And that's only the beginning! So, if you will kindly let me down, I was en route to going underground. With all the space ports closed, I need to hit the sub-stratums post-haste!"

"You're honestly going to run and hide during a crisis?" Sara asks accusingly.

"It's not just any crisis, Sara. And what exactly can I do? I don't have your powers, and any political smooth talk I attempt will surely get me killed. Would you want my demise weighing on your conscience?"

Rolling his eyes, Will releases the governor, who immediately scurries off with a parting, "Best of luck braving the storm, Jedi!"

"You're a real credit to your voters, you know that?" Will shouts at the fleeing politician's back.

"Could a depression have actually started?" Sylvia asks.

"It would explain the panic and shutdowns," Rick surmises.

"Did he say all space ports were closed?" Squishy says. "Meaning no one can get off-planet?"

"I'd say he's just blowing smoke out his a**, Squish, but…" Jo shakes his head. "That desperate feeling Alex felt, it matches up."

"No f***ing way."

Speaking of Alex, his expletive draws the group's attention, who find him looking at his datapad.

"I just looked at our account, honey, and you won't like it."

Alex hands the pad to Anna, whose eyes pop out at the screen.

"No F***ing Way!" she shouts. "Zero?! How can it be empty?"

The others pull out their own datapads to discover their own nasty surprises.

"There's no money left in ours either, Will!" Sara yells.

"He wasn't exaggerating…" Jo murmurs as he looks away from his own zero balance. "If every bank has gone under, this means serious, serious trouble."

"It can't possibly be that bad," Squishy quavers, trying to rally some positivity to the situation. "Just a… a temporary freeze or stopgap or something. Everybody's money can't be gone just like that."

"The government has literally run out on us. We're past fooling ourselves into believing this is some accounting gaffe!" Anna tells him.

"Even so—" Before more denials can be raised or dismantled, Squishy's communicator starts beeping. He immediately pulls it out and presses it to his ear. "Steezy! What's happening up there? Is everyone o—?"

"Hello, Squishy. It is Exposito."

"O-ohh. Hey, Expo."

"I apologize if I'm disrupting some important matter."

"Oh, not at all. I was, uh, actually meaning to call you. The talent show has hit a bit of a snag, but you can tell the board we're still good to go for tomor—"

"That will no longer be necessary."

"...What?"

"I called the board a short while ago to check on the progress of preparations there. They gave me some… unfortunate news."

Squishy holds silent a moment, hesitant to ask the inevitable. "What kind of unfortunate?"

"Representatives from Melachor arrived an hour ago. They claimed that we failed to meet the deadline of the loan, and have come to enact the penalty for default. All the islands associated with the restoration program… are no longer in our possession."

The bottom of Squishy's inner core drops out; he freezes, seemingly short-circuited. But just as quickly he reboots upon remembering a vital detail. "No, that's not right. There's still three days left! That's what that guy, Esperanza, told us."

"Squishy? What's going on?" Sylvia asks concernedly.

"The representatives cited the deadline as written on the contract. There was no mention of any extensions; no records, written or otherwise. A dispute cannot be made without evidence of the contrary."

"No, it can be disputed! Monday was what he said! To our faces, in his office!"

"What's the matter, Dad?" Rick asks.

"The loan company is trying to take the islands, saying we missed the deadline," Squishy tells everyone.

"The fug you say?" Jo exclaims. "With a financial meltdown happening? That's Hot Patootie!"

"What better time for slimeball swindler lawyer trash, I say," Anna spits out.

"Expo, tell the board to resist. Don't turn over anything. Tell those representatives that the Jedi were guaranteed a three day extension. We-we can fly on over there to tell them ourselves; don't let them—!"

"Your outrage and effort would be wasted, Squishy. The terms of the contract are absolute. Furthermore, change of ownership has already commenced. The islands have been cordoned off; nothing can be seen of them at sea level. And there is construction, forestry equipment being flown in, and…"

There is a raspy, mournful, shuddering sigh.

"...Exposito?"

"I inhaled air for the first time on one of those islands. Felt the warmth of the sun; marveled at its brilliance with my own eyes. The scenery of that moment is forever etched into my memory. For that to vanish… I can never return. Life on Mon Calamari would prove far too unbearable, having knowledge of what is lost. Such knowledge is unbearable even now."

"What are you saying?"

"You have done so much for us, only for it all to be for naught. I am so, so sorry for wasting your precious time, Squishy. For our failure… and for my cowardice."

The sound of a blaster bolt fills the speaker, then a low thump, then silence.

"E… Exposito?"

"We're sorry, but all service with this provider has been terminated due to bankruptcy. Please forward all concerns and complaints to your nearest tele-communications warden. Thank you."

A few beeps of the busy signal follow before the line goes completely dead. Slowly, Squishy lowers his communicator and stares at it, eyes narrowed and noticeably dimmed.

"Reputable firm my a**," Will lambasts. "Of course he'd two-face us: this is the sort of bulls*** loan sharks revel in!"

"They are a force that cannot be trifled with by ordinary, sensible means," Richter solemnly says.

"We should have gotten it down in writing," Squishy mutters in a shaky tone. "We only took his word. It would have only taken a minute. Why didn't I do that? Why hadn't I considered it?"

"Sensible or not, Nigil is due a special visit from Crowbar, Torch and Affiliates," Will continues.

"Which may happen real soon by the look of things," Anna tells him, and as if to punctuate that thought, a hefty boom and rumble goes off in the distance. Everyone but the Jawa look over, their faces losing all surviving levity.

"It's begun," Alex says grimly.

"What do y'all propose we do in such uncertain times?" Will asks.

"Do our duty and help out, of course," Jo answers firmly.

"Just what I was thinking."

"This is happening planet-wide. Where would we even start?" Sara asks.

"Pick a direction," Jo says. "Take 'em on as they come, and split when it becomes necessary."

All the while, Squishy stands catatonic, blankly looking at his comm.

"Hey Squish, you getting this?" Anna says to him, but he goes on mumbling.

"It never should have happened. This wasn't his fault…"

"Squishy, we are about to leave." Sylvia firmly shakes her husband. "Squishy? Squishy, listen to me!"

"Dad!"

"Huh-huh-whuh?"

Rick's shout finally breaks Squishy's trance, and he looks around at his teammates slightly bewildered.

"Get your head in the game, Squish! We're in crisis mode in case you forgot!" Jo yells at him.

"You can mourn your friend later; focus on those we can still save," Alex says.

"We cannot waste more time. We have to move!"

"No argument there, Rick. Let's get to work, people!"

At Jo's command the Jedi sprint off into the fray, except for Sylvia and the still shaken Jawa. The Ssi-Ruu kneels down to coax her husband.

"Sweetie, I'm rattled too, and we'll discuss it later. But right now, people need our help. Understand?"

Squishy nods laconically, saying, "Y-yeah, you're right. We have to help."

Sylvia gives him a few encouraging pats, then together they exit the space port and hurry onto the darkened walkways, soon to be lit by the fires of ruination.

…You know, it's quite astounding what chaos the shifting of a few numerals can cause. So many put their faith into financial security. The moment that goes out the window, so too does civility. As our beloved governor forewarned, fear, horror, anger, dread, and panic has sprung forth like some hideous geyser to drench the entire galactic capital and infect the populace.

With civil order crumbling by the minute, this ordinary Friday is to become one of Coruscant's most trying, incendiary nights. And for everyone caught in the middle of the mayhem, be they victim or instigator, one question alone is uttered to the heavens.

(In a darkened space, spotlights fall upon different citizens as they sing)

Housewife: It all started out so well…

Barista: The weekend looked so promising.

Office Worker: Another break from the usual grind.

Barista: A talent show, most exciting.

But now…

Office Worker: But now…

Housewife: But now…

It's all undone.

Banker: My whole life's savings down the drain.

Cabbie: Hope for the future? Up in smoke.

Professor: The universe flipped on its head.

Student: And worst of all: completely broke.

Barista: With us impoverished—

Professor: Fast track to malnourished—

Banker: Promises of yesterday gone—

Student: No hope for succor to be won~!

Housewife: All that can be said is…

What Can We Do?

Citizens: What Can (What Can)

Can We (Can We)

What Can We Do?

The solemnity gives way to a violent flyover of Coruscant covered in flame and smoke, scenes of destruction visible as the world collectively loses its mind. Racing through the chaos are the Jedi, one of the few handfuls remaining sane in this rock n' roll nightmare scenario.

Anna: Look at all these fires,

The place has gone amok!

Rick: And only we can put them out—

Cope: With every iota of luck.

Will: Let's be real there's no way to deal

With this steaming FUBAR of a mess!

Jo: Other than circumvent this predicament

By doing our frickin' darndest!

Anna: Who woulda thought tonight was gonna royally suck?

Sylvia: Maybe if we appeal to the people's reason—

Rioters: There Ain't No Chance In F***!

(A wall of malcontents halts our heroes)

Rioters: You failed us and failed us bad

By letting our lives get so terribad!

Rick: Made evident by your vocabulary.

Rioters: We've had enough of keeping quiet

So now at last the little man stands to riot!

Cope: Go back to your homes and resume basic decency—

Rioters: Like h*** we're gonna get back in line!

Shove that fascist bossery where the sun don't shine!

The mob march on the Jedi, but Will and Alex swiftly blow them down with nonlethal impunity.

"Would you say this is a good time to split?" Rick asks Jo.

"Yeah, I think so. Spread out and do what ya can."

"We'll stay here and cover this area," Will tells the others, gesturing to Alex.

"You watch yourself, Will," Sara says before turning away.

"You too, babe. And the rest of you."

"The Force be with you, gentlemen," Jo nods before springing off with the others.

"Been sometime since we've paired," Alex says to Will as he sidles up. To this the strong man gives a wry nod.

"Yeah, what can you do? And the night's just beginning."

"God help us."

The men light their weapons and face the danger, while the city continues its calamity song.

Historian: It's the end of an era—

Jogger: The end of the world!

Janitor: It's become one big toilet

And we're getting the swirl!

Ruffian: Snatch while you can!

Caretaker: Please save our children!

Hooligan: Death to the Monarchy!

Alan Moore: Say it with me:

Three Cheers For Sweet

ANARCHY!

Four ragged but brave fighters try to bring order despite lacking weapons.

Ted: The civilians need to evacuate—

John: A sentiment far too late.

Bill: Looters are on the rise—

Hugo: Yet one more reason for us to hide!

Ted: This is no time to break down and cry.

Hugo: But they repo'd our guns; we're gonna die!

Bill: And whose bright idea was it to close the jail?

John: You know what? Maybe we ought to bail.

Hugo: Yes! That's what I—!

An explosion frightens Hugo into Bill's arms, and they resume patrol. Over at the nearby prison, it does appear to be in shutdown as the very gates are being carted off, allowing the incarcerated to spill forth, including one gleeful robo-maniac.

Carrot: Back on the streets, b****, don't ya see?

Ain't no stinkin' pen can hold me!

Gonna celebrate by capping knees,

Robbing stiffs, or a plain old killing spree!

The world's my big chalupa, what's more to say?

With so much to do, I just wanna Olé Olé O-LE!

REEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEEE!

The murder-achi scampers off. Meanwhile, in some shady bar…

Impresario: Oh terror! Oh horror!

I'm down to my very last drop…

Thug: That's the least of your worries

Ya scraggly dandy fop! (Pulls a switchblade)

Impresario: (Grave) You're in no position to be so rude.

Thug: Cram it, sissy! I'm one real nasty dude!

A martini glass to the face, shin to the groin, and a judo throw sends the thug crashing through the window and into Carrot, both plummeting off the walkway and past an occupied sewage drain.

Gov: It just had to be this way

For all the world to burn today.

I honestly did all that I could,

But look what little good

That did. And really who'd have believed

How miserably bad it came to be?

Running for my life knee-deep in poo.

Oh what more is there for me to do?

Thenardiér: Now don't fret me portly scum;

This ain't the time for feeling glum.

Rats like us don't have it so bad,

Not when there's fine pickings to be had.

And what luck that I know just where to look,

If you would head over there, my fellow crook.

"I don't know about being a 'crook', but thank you! You cannot imagine what a relief it is to find a friend in this hoopla."

"Only being a good Samaritan as the Lord would want, monsieur."

The governor trudges past the "Samaritan", who stage whispers to you viewers.

Thenardiér: To any who care, let this be Lesson One:

The moment you hit the gutter…(pulls out blackjack)

Don't trust anyone.

With a gleeful cackle the scavenger follows after his unsuspecting mark. Meanwhile, one unsavory character is punching and kicking his way down the mean streets.

Patrick: I've no time for you broke-a** schmoes,

Or any of your bleeding-heart woes!

Lost your job? Cry me a river!

Get in my way and it's pain I'll deliver!

I'm so close to having my revenge come true.

So there's no way I'm gonna lose to you!

Several crooks with lead pipes gang up and pummel his legs, leaving him mangled on the sidewalk crying out "WHYYY?". And still the people sing; singing the song of frightened men. (Music so sweet, one can't help but be enslaved!)

Florist: Everyone's running for their life!

Teacher: While marauders go on sowing strife!

Grocer: Without any cash, there's nothing we can do!

Hiker: And you can't leave even if you wanted to!

Firefighter: There are no hydrants for us to tap!

Cop: No cars, cuffs, batons, our usual crap!

Tiny Tim: Surely the Jedi will help see us through!

Cratchit: Oh please, exactly what can they hope to do? (Takes a pull of booze)

A number of things, actually, and in near-medley fashion at that.

Jo: This night's one tough nut, ain't gonna lie.

But I'll give it that ol' Webbol try.

Ride this flaming powder keg, right up til it blows.

Why? (Shrugs) Because that's what's expected from this here Jo.

He dives into a group of arsonists and looters. Elsewhere, Sara is tending to a stricken, smittened youth.

Marius: There is no joy to be had…

Sara: Just hang in there!

Marius: When all hope has go-one~

Sara: It's only a scratch!

Marius: My hoe ditched my poor a**...

Sara: Could you ditch the melodrama?

Marius: There's no reason, to live, oAAACGHA!

Sara: (Choking the student) You're not dying on me you sorry simp! NOT ON MY WATCH!

As Sara strangles some sense into the heartbroken fool, we turn to a darkened church and its lone penitent.

Mormon: Heavenly Father, forgive all these sinners!

I'm sure they don't mean to be so mad.

Grant them your guidance to realize their errors

And understand things aren't really so bad.

The doors slam open before the boot of a surly rioter.

"That guy's shirt is too clean and pressed for a riot! Get Him!"

"Oh F*** My Tight Latter Day A**hole!"

The Mormon flees the church and is spared a fashion-focused lynching when Anna drops in to halt the mob.

Anna: You best ease back you an-imals

Or we're going to get phys-ical.

Punk1: You better leave right now!

Punk2: Shuffle off, ya bloated cow!

Anna: Then I guess you're cool with a closed casket fun-eral!

Anna tears into the mob like a banshee, in the same way some angry folks are tearing down public works in a distant square.

Wreckers: Government is cheap and a bunch of frauds. And when you need them they're never around.

So this it; no more of their s***!

We're finally tearing this sham establishment down!

With a heave they pull the ropes and send statues falling like dominos, one large pillar falling off the square onto some helpless bystanders. But Sylvia jumps in and wards off the column, saving the people a messy squashing.

Bystanders: Swift and true, that's our scaley sweetie;

Here to save us all from catastrophe!

Sylvia: I wish there was more that I can do!

Citizens: We know you'll do your best to save the daaaaay~!

Sylvia: I really hope so.

She leaps off to help others, though what about the military? Where are they in all of this mayhem? Being downsized in real-time. Quite literally!

Those pesky movers are emptying the headquarters as though society wasn't collapsing and they weren't among the termites in its foundation. Yet out front, the Corpsmen put on a song and dance, even while they're being dismantled.

Mega Man Boss Corps: It's Messy! Straight Crazy!

Though dismal, Stay Merry!

Guts Man: When you're caught up in a rut—

Launch: And have to take it up the butt—

Corpsmen: The best thing to do is sing Sing SING!

And it's not just them going loony from the strain! Every news outlet is being liquidated, forcing some personalities to get desperate in keeping the air waves alive.

Jordan: Get this, Casuals: A Surprise Fire Sale Sensation!

Our host network could really use your considerate donations!

On offer: This mic; this chair; the clothes on our back;

Everything from the lampshades to my blazer rack!

Whatever you can fork over, we're willing to sell.

And if that's still asking much, then you can all GO TO HELL!

Steve Harwell: Seems your world's on fire;

Yeah, I'm talking bout yours.

Better chill it down before you go overboard.

Jordan pulls out a flamethrower and torches the singer, who tumbles out an upper storey window like he's walking on the sun. Out on a distant spire, Richter looks over the inferno of a cityscape, his burlap mantle a little torn and his hair a total mess. From his perch, he reflects on the state of things.

Rick: Burning places; what are they fighting for?

Screaming faces… Too great a score.

The weak cry in pain as neighbors go insane.

When all the world wants to end itself

And those with hope grow ever few,

Is there a reason to battle on?

Or rather, what more is there to do?

Amid the horrors, the confusion, the terror and desperation, similar questions fill every able-minded soul.

Cope: When can we catch a break?

Will: Where do they keep coming from?

Anna: How do I get you morons to stop and think?

Impresario: Where can I find another drink?

Bill: Where's the frickin' backup?

Jo: Why's it always the hair?

Sara: What do you need to stay alive?

Patrick: Won't someone call an ambulance?

Sylvia: Why can't we all just settle down?

Gov: (Being beaten) What else can I give? Ow, Aie!

Chris: You got my legs, what more ya need?

Jordan: What do I need to do to get you to buy?

Cope: What can—

Sara: What can—

Sylvia: What can—

Rick: What can—

Jo: What can—

Will: We do—

Gov: We do—

Rick: We do—

Corpsmen: We do—

Anna: Do—

Patrick: Do—

Impresario: Do—

David Hasselhoff: DUUU!

What Can

We

Do?

Amid the outcry, one little man rallies himself against the vast tribulations that seek to smother him and his comrades!

Squishy: We gotta hold it together and help one another!

Though so much has gone wrong we have to stay strong!

We are the protectors, the heroes of all!

While we stand this world will never truly fall!

Suddenly, time slows and the world darkens slightly, as doubt rears its unwanted head.

Squishy: But, why is this happening?

So much has gone astray.

Closures, crashes… Exposito…

Did it have to turn out this way?

I only wanted to help.

Spend time with friends, have some fun.

It had all been straightforward at first.

Could something different have been done?

Our effort, good will, all of it's lost.

So much gone; so great the cost.

Is there any point now? To even try?

Why go on?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Before bleakness can fully set in, though… whispers.

Someone will save us.

Where do we go now?

Can you stay strong for me, baby?

Murmurs in the Force, ringing out louder and louder.

This can't go on forever!

Someone save my sister!

Where are you, Daddy?

Can only rely on yourself.

Too many to ignore.

Help us, please!

They will come, I know it.

Just a little longer.

The Jedi steels himself; this isn't the time or place to languish… Just yet.

In every direction, at all distances, others echo the same understanding.

Squishy:...I need to hold on…

(Cope: Hold out!)

Squishy: I have to hold on…

(Sara: Hold it together!)

Squishy: I must hold on.

(Sylvia: Hold on, everyone!)

Squishy: Time never stops…

(Hugo: I'm hanging on, AAHHH!)

Squishy: And so mustn't I.

Nothing can be done about what's happened.

That's over and done.

For the time-being, here's what I can do: (Flourishes his weapon)

Hold It Together, Survive, Until I See The Sun.

And off he goes, fueled by the most realistic objective for such a situation. The new driving force for all.

Will, Cope and Geek Squadron: We will fight fight fight all through the night!

Chris and Jordan: Dance Dance Dance the night away!

Sylvia and Anna: Keep at it til the break of day!

Jo: No time to slack!

Sara: Take our city back!

Impresario: As that old saying goes:

Break A Leg and—

All: On With The Show~!

Rick: SHOOOooooOOOooW!

Squishy: I only need to hold it together;

It's yet another storm for me to weather.

Tell myself that and just carry on.

Save all the rest for the coming Dawn!

All: So much has been taken!

There's so very little to lose!

What little hope we have left,

Is all that will pull us through!

For the hope that things will get better,

That our galaxy is far from done…

Hold Off On Surrendering;

Hold To What Still Remains;

Hold Until The Fires Die;

Hold It Out For This One Night;

Hold On Until

Tomorrow

COMES!

We pull away from Coruscant's cry of determination to behold the newly-lit stars that have appeared: other planets facing similar turmoil. How many will remain by night's end? How many lights will be snuffed out completely?

Not too many, one can hope.

---

In a starlit void, a lone figure amplifies the silence with somber keystrokes.

Now light begins to fade,

And warmth will soon give way,

To the deepest, most bitter of truths…

Then darkness.

END OF

ACT ONE