Chapter 1

"Do not be afraid. I am peace. I am salvation."

Level 50 of Coruscant's lower levels had always been home to Cran Pellian. Considered a middle-class human resident of Coruscant; he'd noticed little change since the dissolution of the Galactic Republic. This was where his father had grown, where his father's father had grown. Uniformed thugs still patrolled the walkways, lackadaisically carrying blaster weapons. Spoiling for something, anything, to brighten their monotonous day of patrolling the slums of Coruscant. Wages here were still just enough for Cran Pellian to afford to feed his burgeoning family. Cran, still in bed next to his beloved wife, Syala Pellian, chuckled mirthlessly to himself. If things didn't pick up for him in terms of pay then he'd, maybe, consider a life in organized crime. Maybe something small, like moving the endless amounts of contraband that never seemed to stop around one of the "legitimate" warehouses that fed the denizens of Coruscant.

"Yeah, wouldn't that be exciting. Maybe I could pick up a Spice addiction too!" He thought morosely.

This thought, as flippant as it had appeared, drove Cran from the comfort of his Queen-sized bed with the force of an exploding detonator and a blast of barely concealed giggles. First, swinging lanky legs from underneath Faux Aldeeranian synth weave covers and then planting unnervingly large and pale feet onto cold, worn, wroshyr tree wood. Yes, even with his meager salary, Cran had a taste for luxury. The feeling of those wooded floors barely registered to Cran as he pushed himself up from the bed that he and his wife shared. In-fact, he'd long since stopped considering some of the things he'd come to own since he'd won this home from the happenstance of being in the right place at the right time. Well, the last part was subjective to who you were in that situation.

Cran, bleary eyed and stressed, started towards the doorway of his moderately sized room using the subtle glow of a Holo TV on standby to navigate. He'd been careful to pick his feet up as he stalked carefully along the floors of the master bedroom; his carefulness more a side effect of kicking the family pet too many times while having an insomnia episode before. And since it was dark, well, he didn't really trust himself not to kick the four-legged animal again. He'd crossed the small distance from the bed to the single sliding door that connected the home to this room in a few, quiet, seconds and then, hating himself for the sound the door's servos made, tip-toed down the hallway.

Although the rest of the home was carpeted, there still were parts of the floor that creaked. Cran would be damned if he was responsible for waking his wife when she'd had a long 16-hour shift ahead of her at the local Hospital. He carefully made his way past his children's room, stopping for a few seconds to peek inside and make sure they were alright.

They were resting their little heads. Enjoying the perks of a long weekend thanks to the new "Empire Appreciation Day". Cran continued throughout the rest of his small one level home. Passing a restroom that held the homes only toilet and sonic shower. Passing the living room until he finally made it to the home's modestly sized kitchen. Complete with all the necessities that a family would need. He made his way over to the sink without bothering to turn on the modest sized room's overhead light. Cran grabbed a glass from hanging cabinets above the sink. He filled the glass with tap water and moved to sit down at the small glass table that adorned the dining area.

This was one of life's more peaceful times, Cran decided, a little past 3 in the morning. Seated in a comfortable chair with a room temperature glass of water. "Nothing beats early morning Insomnia." He thought to himself. Indeed, the earlier parts of the morning on Level 50 were the quietest. It was too bad that Cran Pelian would never have to worry about Insomnia waking him from slumber again. He would never again worry about his low paid position as a night laborer in the Mozan warehouse packing overpriced consumer goods for resale further up in Coruscant's caste society. As Cran brung the glass of machine filtered water to his lips to take a refreshing sip an unseen intruder made its move from the shadows of his dimly lit kitchen.

…

The Flood had arrived on Coruscant on the same day that Cran Pelian was to celebrate his 5th year anniversary at Mozan Warehouse Inc. His boss, a giddy twi'lek male, had routed the appropriate forms for a company party to his immediate supervisors and in turn that paperwork was forwarded to a droid within the warehouse managers office. A Rodian, who had held the position for since before Palpetine had transformed into the Emperor, would look at the appropriately filed paper work, a DoMW Form 4586, and either approve or deny the use of company funds to celebrate the anniversary of a loyal employee. On this day however, the warehouse manager, he was no where to be found. He'd left to negotiate a deal that kept profits flowing into the Companies coffers and kept them "Competitive" in a sprawling planet megacity filled with competition.

That deal was the acceptance of a no frills, no questions asked delivery sponsored by the local Black Suns gang in need of a place to store a "new thing". The demure Rodian manager did nothing to question them. Only taking charge of the delivery and promising results. It would've saved himself and the workers of his warehouse the fate of being utilized as biomass if he'd declined this particular shipment from the Black Sons. Nevertheless, profit was profit and in this cutthroat business profit was king, the warehouse manager thought. He had the small crew of loader droids that'd accompanied him from the warehouse load the container into the back of the Mozan delivery speeder and left for the warehouse. The Proto-Gravemind form that had been smuggled on planet decided to let the singular life form in the vehicle escape uninfected for now. Once it was safely deposited wherever his fellow Precursors had determined; he would be free to spread out and test this galaxy at his own will. As the speeder wove in and out sky car traffic the Proto-Flood mind took its time to probe the minds of the beings that'd made up it's new form. A smattering of humanoid forms and a slug like creature known as a "Hutt". They were the first creatures to be assimilated by initial flood forms on a dying world that was as unimportant to the living Precursor community as it was to the dead precursor form that currently used its denizens' bodies and minds for its intended purpose.

Suddenly, the infectious mind form registered the vehicle come to a smooth stop; noticeable by the subtle shift of its container. There was a quiet, few, moments in which one of the bodies that was congealed within the sickly, green, amalgamation twitched as if trying to break free and then came a feeling of being lifted. The proto form shuddered in excitement. The cargo container it occupied, it new from eavesdropping on the otherwise unwitting forms before the transfer, was lifted into the air and then carried for an unknown period. Then it was sat down. Where, the Mind form would never hazard to guess. Nor would it ever care to. Once it heard the mechanical footsteps of the beings that had brought its container to its destination begin to move away it began to shed biomass from it's form.

Globules of yellow, green, biomass began to descend from its form to aggregate into the opposite side of the smuggling container becoming what the flood form intended to be in an incubator for infection forms. The incubator, as close as it was to the host form, would grow new infector forms at an exponential rate. This caused the Flood proto form to shudder again. If happiness was still an emotion that the dead precursor could feel, it would feel baleful joy at the current predicament it was in. Already it could FEEL the abundance of life around it. Clear, unspoiled life, that could be used to spread UNITY and AGONY to this galaxy.

The Proto Grave mind, once it had shed the necessary biomass to form a singular Spore incubator, began to repurpose biomass from the bodies currently lodged inside of it. First stripping the body's of non-essential organs. The lower intestines of the humanoid figures were siphoned from their inert forms and then lengthened within one of the enlarged sacks of green biomass. From there, they were converted into additional biomass to form hard, calcified brown flesh under the proto grave mind form. This would take several hours to become as thick and flexible as the proto form would have liked and would involve the extraction of more matter from the hosts that currently resided within it. But for now, it would strive to use all the available mass in the lower intestine to begin to form proper appendages for movement.

With that process in motion. The Mind form began to sift through the memories it had ripped from the minds of its tormented hosts. Taking particular pleasure in the memories of the slug like Hutt that had had the privilege of running a crime syndicate before its assimilation and infection into the Flood. "Oooooh, YYYesssss." an impossibly deep voice almost purred. The amount of pain, death, torture and despair this one had caused brought on another shiver of joy from the Mind form. Now, it only had to wait for the Incubator to mature in order to bring the galaxy to test.

….

Two days had elapsed since the smuggling container that the Proto Gravemind inhabited was deposited into the Mozan warehouse on the 50th level of the sprawling city planet of Coruscant. Since then, the parasite had set into motion events that would allow it to spread, unabated and undetected amongst this level and a nearby tram elevator to Correllia Fields Star Port

After its initial deposit, the Proto form has shed a small amount of biomass to create an incubator for infection forms. A little over two dozen had fully formed within the span of 30 minutes and the diminutive creatures that had burst forth from the fleshy sack had spread undetected from a breach in the container to parts only the grave mind had known. A handful of Infection forms stayed behind to act as eyes and ears for the vulnerable mind form and to take advantage of the workers when they returned to work. The rest, as the Proto Grave Mind had intended, had spread to further areas of Level 50. One stalked Cran Pelian and his family. Having accurately surmised that if the the Proto Graveminds plan to infect every worker in the warehouse it would need to target all members of the employment cadre so as not to raise any alarms.

The Infection watching Cran Pelian wiggled in anticipation as it waited for the perfect moment to claim a new host. If it jumped too soon it risked being destroyed and possibly bringing unneeded attention to the nascent flood infection already present. If it moved too late, well, there never really was a too late for the flood. Patience and the right timing were always key. The infection form's barb tipped tentacles all twitched in something approaching obsession as it watched the being known as Cran Pelian bring a cup of liquid to his face and close his eyes when the clear liquid made contact with his lips. Then, as if propelled by the hands of a God, the infection form skittered at a lightning pace from the darkened corner of the kitchen nearest the homes only window to the outside world. Under a chair its tentacled legs carried it, knocking against the legs of the family table with a not-so-subtle thud that threatened to move the glass and metal contraption inches away from where it was initially placed.

Next the small form scurried up a chair behind Cran; excitement apparent in the rushed way its tentacles seemed to taste the air every time its legs made contact with a new piece of chair. Oh, how it looked forward to inhabiting a hosting body. It would finally have a conduit to sate the eternal hunger that even now plagued the instinct ridden apparatus that drove its very existence! Taking a scant few seconds to orient itself once it ascended to the seat of the chair, the infection form re-acquired its target and then, once it absolutely ensured that it could not miss. It would not miss. The diminutive form tensed, letting power abnormal of a thing of its size pool in the tentacles that allowed it to run across the ground; then it jumped. Its target had been the area of Cran's body between his shoulder blades and his spine. The Infection Form's intent was to land as gracefully as possible, before the food even got a chance to scream, the infection form instead landed firmly atop the food's head.

While not disadvantageous, it led to a moment of confusion for Cran, who was not sure exactly what had landed on him, and a moment of slight panic for the infection form. That was short lived for the both of them. In a stunning feat of strength and timing. The infection form that had stalked Cran used two of its red barbed appendages to drive into its target's head. One red tipped appendage tore through the layers of skin and skull of Cran's head and tapped into his Cerebellum. This restricted all hopes of Cran being able to utilize his fine motor skills to somehow throw off this sudden invader. The second red barbed tipped appendage snaked through his cranial cavity, releasing swarms of flood super cell that would disperse and mutate the body from the initial intrusion sight, and tapped his spine. This ended all notions of resistance, including speech.

Cran was effectively deaf, dumb, and mute to the world around him. The infection form had begun to meld into his skin. Ripping the protective layer of meat and human flesh until an opening big enough to fit all 130 centimeters of its form was created. Then it plunged into its victim and began to, for lack of better terms, rewrite Cran's DNA on a cellular level. Cran's fate had been decided in the seconds before the infection form had even struck. A series of signals from the Proto mind designated this one as a mobile incubator for more of the Infection forms kind. Despite its initial finding that this one would make a suitable combat form. It obeyed. First, shifting from it's entry point in Cran's back into his stomach. The Infection form began to "make room" for more of its kind and simultaneously spread more flood supercell than what was released from it's appendages still manipulating Cran's ability to essentially be human.

First, the small form began to select which of its new host's organs would be needed to enable basic movements like walking and which would be good hosts for conversion into more of his kind. It immediately settled on Cran's kidneys as the first of many to be converted into Infection forms. After all the body wouldn't need to expel waste in its service to the flood. No, that was all biomass now. The infection form sent a blinding deluge of Flood Super Cells, FSC, towards the two organs, completely dominating the meager amount of white blood cells that had not been converted or outright destroyed upon it's initial assault from the cranium and the two organs immediately began to morph and mutate. First, they turned a mottled, deathly, yellow, then they began to expand. Ballooning to approximately the size of a mature pod infector and causing the host's body to expand. Then they began to sprout appendages. Next, the matured Pod Infector turned its attention back to fully neutralizing Cran.

It checked on the conversion process of its host's body. Well his old body. Cran was being quickly modified into a flood form in line with a normal infection forms ability. His hair had fallen out completely, replaced by a green and yellowed scalp that pulsed in tune with no particular organ. His face followed shortly after. Distending in a gruesome fashion with mouth wide open. Next his arms, and the bones inside of them, were permanently shortened as the infector form pulled biomass from them to create more of it's kind within the soft confines of his chest cavity and stomach area. Satisfied with those modifications; the infection form pumped even more FSC into Cran's former body to cause more bloat and rot. Cran's chest and stomach became one at this point. Protruding out well beyond what was normal size for anything but a Hutt. It almost, to the untrained eye, looked as if the thing was constantly threatening to pop. Next the FSC present in his body targeted all organs that were now non-essential to the floods plan. Cran's heart, lungs, spleen, large intestine and lower intestine were targeted for conversion.

FSC moved swiftly to convert them to Flood Infection Forms. The mature infection form satisfied that work was progressing on the conversion at a perfect rate traveled up Cran's body towards the neck and head. While not normally where one would sit, there would be no more room once the incubated forms came to fruition in the next minute. It forced a home for itself in former Cran's mouth. Protruding halfway in and halfway out as if in some gruesome display of macabre. There would be no extreme, well more, mutation of Cran's body. After the FSC had created as many infection forms as possible from Cran's organs, it had set to work creating space for the little parasites. Using muscle and bone mass to expand the body to comical proportions. This gave cran the appearance of a large, sickly green and yellow tri- bubble with legs.

All in a matter of three seconds. No one would ever know the excruciating, physics defying, pain besetting process that had occurred here. Well, except the last vestiges of Cran. The same pieces that would watch his wife be turned and then watch his children be used as biomass for the creation of a Full on Gravemind. His organs of course. His brain, while chock full of information, was not deemed useful to the greater hive mind. Therefore, his conscious and personality were quickly discarded once the infection form had had time to gain full control of him.

The being that had once been Cran Pelian, what the galaxy would come to know later as a carrier form, stood up from its seated position at the dining table on unsteady legs and wattled to the hallway leading towards its ex-owner's children's room and the room he had previously shared with his wife. As if tasting the air, the puffed-up sack of flood super cells and green bio-hazardous material began to move towards Syala Pelian with the eagerness of a Womprat running from Luke Skywalker's T65. It moved so fast that the family had not even gotten a chance to bark a warning before its once owner burst through the sliding door. No one in the room even got a good look at the horror that had once been Cran Pelian before the carrier form, seemingly too top-heavy, fell face first onto the carpet with a sickeningly soft thud. Not loud enough to wake any of the human residents but enough to disturb the family Akk dog who was already curious about the muffled footsteps thundering towards the room.

The dog, affectionately called Sally, was able to bring itself out of an induced stupor to sniff in the general direction of the commotion before, like a balloon with too much helium too fast, the carrier form began to expand once more. In one second the flood form's plague colored skin seemed to thin around certain sections, and, to Sally's confusion, she recognized her owners face but not his scent. From what the Akk could see there was movement beneath the sickly, distorted surface of her owner's skin. Then her owner/not owner exploded. With a sound that was like an explosion and with the force to match. The expanding gas from the carrier forms demise threw poor Sally headfirst into a wall. Paralyzing the Akk Dogg permanently and leaving it unable to even retreat from what was next. The explosion also had the fortunate, or unfortunate, consequence of generating enough force to turn the bed that Syala was sleeping in over onto it's side. This dumped Syala onto the floor and unluckily stopped her from dying due to rapid deceleration against a wall.

But the explosion also had a third purpose. To deliver a payload of home grown Pelian Infection forms. Neither remaining resident of the master bedroom were even aware enough to muster much of a fight against the pod infector. Sally, the poor dog, was the first newly spawned combat form of the andromeda galaxy. She turned, in no part due to her size, quickly. Syala's conversion took a standard 3 seconds. Just like her beloved husbands. Except her body was mutated into the first human combat form of the Andromeda galaxy. A momentus occasion for the shuddering mass of Flood flesh that even now plotted the demise of the Pelian's two children and was simultaneously ordering the newly produced infectors into other areas of level 50. The proto-grave mind was well on its way to spreading terror to this galaxy…And time was always on its side.

…

The others, about twenty-five, found themselves waiting hungrily in the vents and ducts of popular restaurants and nightclubs. One Pod Infector found a vent that lead to a cold storage walk in for a restaurants raw meat. While the slaughtered carcasses themselves were of no value to the small infector form, this place offered a unique infection vector. The small form made a decision not to immediately infect any of raw biomass present and instead tucked itself into a dark corner of the cold storage unit. From there, it would broadcast an unheard signal back to the proto grave mind. Within minutes the storage unit, attached to the levels most prominent restaurant, would be a second focal point of infection. Tomorrow's business would bring forth a "killing" for business.

Another of the twenty-five, now twenty-four, found itself cornered by ducts rats. Not of the human variety but actual rats that had grown in the ducts of Coruscant's lower levels. These creatures didn't take kindly to an unknown intruder and had set to attack it for violating their marked territory. They never stood a chance. They'd won the fight. Meticulously picking the Pod Infector apart with bites and scratches until there was nothing left but blots of sickly yellow flesh and a red barbed tentacle. Historians, if their were any left, would incorrectly identify this as the beginning of the worst pandemic in galactic history But they had inadvertently digested their own doom.

The Proto grave mind found itself in charge of a pack of vermin. Something that added a new infection vector to its arsenal. Once ingested, Flood Super Cells took control of the rats entirely, the proto mind sent the vermin back to their own nest. They would not do well to create new infector forms but they could be used to spread infection from bites and to act as extra biomass. Once the nest was infected the mind form rerouted the excess rats to the smuggling container utilizing the very air ducts the pack had once hunted for sustenance. Half the pack merged with the Proto Grave mind and were instantly dissolved into extra biomass that went to further infesting the container and adding an additional infection form incubator. The rest were sent on a task to seek out and convert other nests of their rat kin. The ducts of Level 50, hardened in the early days of Society when biological weapons use amongst factions was less regulated; were home to a new, never accounted for, form of parasitical and biological warfare.

End