I own nothing. Rights to star wars and Prototype belong to Disney and Activision respectively
Chapter 2
Reed bolted down the rusted, grime-covered streets of the Coruscant undercity, his powerful strides leaving cracks in the pavement with each step. His enhanced speed sending gusts of wind that whipped up debris in his wake. The dim, flickering lights of the lower levels barely illuminated the scene as he sprinted through the shadowy maze of crumbling infrastructure and narrow passageways.
His next encounter with the 'locals' came quickly. He rounded a corner and saw something shift in the darkness. It was massive, twice the size of a human, its form hunched over with gangly limbs and thick, leathery skin. Its glowing eyes caught his movement, and with a deep, guttural growl, it charged at him.
Reed reacted instantly. His arm transformed, morphing into a massive blade as he gracefully flipped over it. The creature's claws swiped at him, but he was already behind the creature and slashed upward, severing the arm clean off. The beast shrieked in pain, stumbling back as blood sprayed from the wound. Reed didn't hesitate—he spun around, his blade flashing as he struck again, this time decapitating the monster in one clean stroke.
Its body fell to the floor with a heavy thud, but there was no time to rest. The noise had attracted more of them even as his tendrils greedily sucked up the corpse. Reed's keen hearing picked up the sounds of movement from deeper in the tunnels. He could hear their growls, their claws scraping against metal as they closed in on him.
He morphed his blade back into a hand and sprinted forward, vaulting over debris and rubble. The creatures were coming from all directions again, their glowing eyes piercing through the darkness. Reed's muscles tensed as he prepared for the fight of his life.
As the first wave came crashing toward him, Reed leapt into the air, his body twisting as he morphed both arms into massive tendrils. With a powerful swing, he slammed them into the ground, sending shockwaves through the area. The closest creatures were caught in the blast, their bodies crushed by the sheer force. Reed landed in a crouch, retracting his tendrils as he readied himself for the next attack.
A trio of smaller, faster creatures skittered toward him, their razor-sharp claws slashing wildly. Reed's arms morphed into a pair of claws as he parried their strikes, slicing through their limbs in a flurry of rapid movements. One of them lunged at his throat, but Reed caught it mid-air, stabbing a claw into the neck of the creature, turning it into a bio-bomb. He tossed the body aside and spun just in time to slice the head off another creature sneaking up behind him. He smirked when he heard the familiar squelching explosion as the impromptu creature–turned–explosive tore up a large number of the creatures.
The ground trembled and the remaining creatures finally seemed to realize this was a losing battle and began to retreat. Leaving him alone in a pool of blood. He panted slightly, as his arm shifted back to normal. Huffing in annoyance, he shot off heading back in the direction of the vent, and for a few minutes of running, he sensed the change in air pressure as he neared the enormous ventilation shaft.
Ahead, the massive ventilation shaft loomed, a yawning chasm that descended further into the planet's depths, but it was the path up that caught Reed's eye. The edges of the shaft were lined with pipes, beams, and platforms—an intricate web of infrastructure connecting the city's layers. He slid to a stop, his boots digging furrows into the duracrete as he stopped his momentum and stared in slight awe at the sight before him. He stood almost at the bottom of the massive ventilation shaft, staring up into the endless abyss of steel and shadows. The walls stretched impossibly high, a towering cylinder wide enough to fit a fleet of small ships. A normal person would have been overwhelmed by the sheer scale, but Reed was no ordinary man.
Without hesitation, he launched himself forward, the leap nearly shattering the floor beneath him as he sailed through the air. His feet hit the wall with a heavy thud, and for a moment, gravity seemed to protest. Then his viral-enhanced muscles surged with power, and Reed began to run straight up the side of the shaft, defying the pull of the planet beneath him. His footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, each one precise, controlled.
His speed increased with every stride. Tendrils of black biomass rippled along his legs, reinforcing his muscles and anchoring his feet with each step. Where his boots should have slipped on the smooth metal surface, they instead gripped like claws, digging into the steel with a screech of tearing metal. Every stride was an explosion of force, sending him hurtling upward, faster and faster.
The wind in the shaft whipped at his face, rushing past him as if trying to push him back down, but Reed only pushed harder. His arms pumped at his sides, his movements fluid and unrelenting, as though his body had become a seamless machine designed for this impossible climb. The metallic walls around him blurred, streaking past in a haze of silver and black. He ran for hours with no thought other than to get out of this pit.
A huge updraft of heat roared up below him, the wind trying to tear him from the wall, but Reed barely noticed. He threw himself into a wall-run with such speed that he outran the wind itself. His feet found the narrowest of ledges, the smallest outcroppings of metal, and every inch propelled him higher. Black tendrils occasionally lashed out to stabilize him, wrapping around beams and vents, pulling him along like a slingshot.
At one point, he reached a section where the wall curved inward, an impossible angle for anyone without his abilities. But Reed simply shifted his momentum, twisting his body mid-stride, running horizontally for a few steps before launching himself back onto the vertical surface.
He was a blur of motion, moving too fast for any sensor or camera to track. His breath was steady, his heartbeat a controlled rhythm. There was no exhaustion, no faltering. He could keep going like this forever if he needed to.
Floor after floor passed beneath him as Reed tore his way upward, a living force of nature. This was his world now—the towering structures, the impossible distances, the overwhelming scale of Coruscant's underworld. And he owned it, every inch of it.
Yet when the first ship came into view above him, he faltered. Reed's eyes widened, "What the hell?" his foot slipped. "Shit!" he cursed. He stumbled, barely catching himself with his hand before skidding a few meters down the wall tearing the metal with his fingers. His breath came in ragged gasps as he steadied himself, gripping the wall tightly, staring at the metallic dance of the ships above. His mind raced, piecing it together, but the idea was absurd—impossible.
"No way... it can't be." The thought flickered to the forefront of his mind. "This looks just like... no, not possible. Right?"
But he knew. He was already putting it together, the architecture, the ships, the cityscape. "Star Wars," he whispered, the word hanging in the air as if it could disappear as easily as it had been spoken. Reed shook his head, "Ok… Ok. Keep it together, Reed." he muttered. "Could be worse." Relief flooded through him for a brief moment as he let out a shaky laugh.
"Well, at least it's not 40k. Thank God it's not 40k." He shuddered at the thought of waking up in that nightmare—monstrous war machines, space marines, Chaos Gods, and a universe where everything wanted to kill you. He might have had powers, but even with his abilities, he'd be nothing more than a speck in the meat grinder of that grimdark world.
As he got closer to where the ships were flying, he noticed a bright red, though faded line that all of the ships stopped just above with writing in a language he didn't even understand. He knew that right now, his best option was to get out of this shaft and figure out his next move.
Reed continued his climb but at a much more cautious pace, seeing as ships were now starting to pass by his positions as he climbed. Body pressed against the cold metal walls of the ventilation shaft, his breath came in controlled, measured intervals as he continued scaling the towering structure. Ships moved vertically through the enormous shaft, their engines whirring in the distance, their bright lights casting fleeting shadows that flickered across his face.
He pressed himself flat against the wall as another group of freighters descended, engines roaring as they vanished into the darkness below. It was a narrow escape—he couldn't afford to be seen, not yet. He knew he was somewhere in Coruscant's lower levels, and the deeper he was, the more issues he would have later.
He resumed his climb, moving quickly but cautiously. Dodging the ships had become second nature over the hours he'd spent inside the shaft. Every time a ship approached, he clung to the walls, vanishing into the shadows until it passed. His mind raced as he worked out his next move. Coruscant was a vast city-planet, but he knew enough to understand that it was split into layers—thousands of them. The higher levels were where the elites and the Republic operated; the lower levels, though, were where the underworld thrived.
At last, he spotted an exit. A grate. Reed shifted his weight, making a final leap from one side of the shaft to the other, the wind roaring in his ears as he sails across the void before landing on the other side with a loud thud. Gripping the grate and pintoulling himself through. He dropped silently an alley, landing on his feet and immediately scanning his surroundings.
The narrow street was filled with flashing lights—neon signs in Galactic Basic—but the symbols meant nothing to him. He couldn't read them, couldn't understand the snippets of conversation he heard from the people who passed by. This was new to him. Frustrating. He couldn't blend in properly without understanding what was going on around him.
He glanced at a nearby sign—bright characters that could have been coordinates or a slogan, but without his ability to read, they meant little. Reed wasn't sure where he was, but it was low enough in the city for him to sense the shift in danger. Crime and filth clung to the air, thick and suffocating. He hadn't memorized the layout of Coruscant, but he knew the lower levels were dangerous.
Reed felt the tension in the air. He needed to lie low.
Reed pulled his hood up, air filtration mask removed from his face, moving through the streets, weaving between aliens of all kinds. He couldn't understand their speech, but their body language told him enough—they were hostile, distrustful. Crime ran rampant here. He saw a gang of thugs harassing a vendor, heard the sound of blasters firing in the distance, and every step he took felt like a gamble.
He turned into a narrow alley to avoid a group of rough-looking enforcers and froze. Slumped against the wall was a man—thin, pale, and trembling. The figure clutched a thin, smoldering bright red death stick, his eyes glazed and distant. The addict was on his last legs, barely hanging onto life. Reed approached slowly, crouching beside him. He needed information, and this man might have something, even if it was buried under layers of addiction and delirium.
"Hey," Reed said softly. "What happened to you?"
The man's eyes fluttered open, but his gaze was unfocused. He mumbled something in Galactic Basic—words that Reed couldn't make sense of. The frustration gnawed at him again. He needed to understand, but he couldn't. Not like this.
The addict coughed weakly, his body convulsing as he gripped his death stick tighter. He was going to die—there was no saving him. Reed glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, and then made his decision. He couldn't afford to keep stumbling through this world blind. He needed to learn the language, the streets, and the lay of the land. And there was one way to do that.
With a grim expression, Reed placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered. And, in an instant, he began to consume him, the addict's body breaking apart and dissolving into biomass. The addict barely had time to react before his entire being was absorbed into Reed. A flood of memories, thoughts, and sensations surged into Reed's mind, hitting him like a tidal wave.
The addict's life flashed before him—a broken, desperate existence spent scrounging for death sticks, hiding from gangsters, and living in fear of the criminal Syndicates that ruled this level. Reed knew it now: he was on Level 1313, one of Coruscant's most dangerous layers. The addict's knowledge told him more than that. The Clone Wars were in full swing for over a year, but this level had little interest in galactic politics. The Syndicates here didn't care about the Republic or the Separatists. The Empire wasn't yet in control, but the people here knew something dark was on the horizon. Though how far off remained to be seen.
"Goddammit!" he cursed, slamming a fist into the wall near him, punching a hole clean through it. He definitely didn't want to get involved in that mess. More importantly, Reed now understood Galactic Basic. He could read the signs, understand the language, and navigate the streets. He also knew the addict's fears. He knew of the Syndicates that ruled this level with an iron fist. The addict also owed a lot of credits to one Ziro the Hutt. Though He guessed that point was moot seeing as the guy was now dead, and at least a few thousand levels lower than the Hutt crime lord's territory.
Reed stood, his mind now clear. He knew enough to keep himself out of sight. The Syndicates, the clone troopers, and the Republic's spies—they all had eyes on this place. Drawing attention here was a death sentence, and Reed had no intention of becoming a target. Even if it would be more of an inconvenience than a death sentence for him.
Blending into the shadows, Reed began moving deeper into the underbelly of Coruscant. Now armed with the addict's knowledge, he could navigate this dangerous world. He was in the thick of it, during the Clone Wars, in a city that was just as much a battlefield as any in the galaxy.
For now, he would lay low. Learn. Adapt. He would stay out of this mess the galaxy was in. and luckily the addict had a small but decent amount of credits– likely to get one last death stick if he survived this one. Now he could get a drink at a cantina and plan his next move.
Little did he know that he would one day soon no longer have a choice of staying out of events.
Reed moved quietly through the crowded, dimly lit streets of Coruscant's Level 1313, his gaze flicking from one shadowy alley to the next. Neon signs buzzed erratically, casting strange hues across the grime-covered buildings. The hum of speeders echoed above, while a mix of alien languages and the sound of blaster fire occasionally rang out in the distance.
"Great," Reed muttered under his breath. His enhanced senses could pick up every noise, smell, and movement around him, but it was mostly a cacophony of chaos. This level of Coruscant was home to the underworld, and it showed. He could blend in here—he was good at that—but he needed a drink first.
The crowd around him was thick, composed of all manner of beings—Rodians, Twi'leks, and a handful of humans—most of them wrapped in long cloaks or wearing gear designed to obscure their faces. It was clear that Level 1313 wasn't a place for those who wanted to be noticed. Reed's clothes were plain, functional, and didn't draw attention, though his eyes—dark and sharp—scanned the streets for any signs of trouble.
More importantly, he was looking for a cantina.
After wandering through narrow streets lined with stalls selling questionable goods, Reed spotted an older Twi'lek merchant. The orange-skinned shopkeeper seemed to be talking in hushed tones with another customer. Reed stepped closer, making sure not to interrupt, but catching enough of their conversation to realize the man knew his way around the level.
"Any decent cantinas around here?" Reed asked, slipping into the conversation.
The Twi'lek paused and looked him over. "Depends what you mean by 'decent,' but if you're lookin' for a place that ain't gonna get you shot the second you step in, try The Iron Rancore—up ahead, two blocks that way," he gestured with his free arm, pointing down a narrow side street as he cleaned what looked to be a blaster pistol.
Reed nodded. "Thanks," he muttered, already moving in the direction the Twi'lek had indicated.
The side street felt even darker than the main thoroughfare, the lights barely illuminating the cracked pavement. The walls were tagged with graffiti in a mix of Basic and Huttese, promising a good time or an early grave depending on how you interpreted the scrawls. Reed's boots echoed slightly as he walked, but the sound was drowned out by the low hum of the city itself.
At last, he saw the sign—the glowing neon letters of The Iron Rancore were a faded crimson, flickering slightly in the artificial haze. Above the door, a crude depiction of a Rancor head, snarling with iron tusks, loomed as a kind of mascot for the place. The cantina looked rough, but not enough to scare him off. Reed paused for a moment, taking in the sight before walking to the door which slid open and he walked inside.
Reed walked through the short hallway to the actual cantina, his eyes adjusting to the dim, neon-lit interior. The low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air, blending with the heavy scent of smoke and alcohol. The place wasn't exactly welcoming, but it wasn't the worst he'd seen since reaching higher up Coruscant's lower levels.
The Besalisk bartender, a towering figure with four thick arms, glanced up from behind the counter as Reed approached. The bartender had seen his fair share of rough patrons, judging by the scars crisscrossing his leathery skin and the wariness in his eyes. But he didn't seem particularly interested in trouble—just business.
Reed fished out the few remaining credits he'd lifted from the death stick addict and slapped them on the counter. "Whatever this gets me."
The Besalisk grunted, two of his hands pulling out a chipped glass and filling it with something murky and strong-smelling. He placed the drink in front of Reed and then slid over a small plate of what passed for food in a place like this. "Ain't much," the Besalisk rumbled, his deep voice as gruff as his appearance.
Reed took the drink and found a seat at the far corner of the cantina. He kept his back to the wall, eyes scanning the room. The place was filled with a mix of locals—Weequay pirates at one table, Aquallish bandits at another. Both groups had been eyeing each other for a while now, and Reed's instincts told him it was only a matter of time before things boiled over.
He sipped his drink, pretending not to notice as the tension escalated. The Weequay were getting louder, hurling insults in their rough, guttural language. The Aquallish didn't speak much, but their postures had shifted, their hands resting dangerously close to their blasters.
Reed had just picked up his fork when it happened. One of the Weequay slammed his fist into the table, standing up abruptly. "I'm sick of lookin' at you scum!" he shouted.
The Aquallish leader responded with a hiss, pulling a vibroblade from his belt, and the cantina erupted into chaos. Blaster shots rang out, chairs were overturned, and fists flew in every direction. Reed's plate was knocked out of his hands, his drink shattered across the floor.
His eyes narrowed as he stood, his patience now gone. The drink wasn't much, but it had been the only peaceful thing he'd had since arriving. Now, it was gone.
One of the Weequay, drunk and unaware of what he was dealing with, stumbled toward him, sneering. "Whatcha gonna do, huh?"
Without a word, Reed grabbed the pirate by the collar, yanking him clean off his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the Weequay hurtling into a nearby table, the crash silencing the brawl for a brief moment. All eyes turned toward Reed.
The moment of silence was short-lived. An Aquallish bandit lunged at him with a blade, but Reed sidestepped, grabbing the bandit's wrist and twisting it with a quick snap. The Aquallish screamed in pain, but before he could react further, Reed threw him across the room, sending him crashing into the wall.
Another Weequay charged, knife drawn. Reed dodged the swipe easily, disarming the pirate with a single move before tossing him into a group of brawlers. He moved with precision, using only his strength, speed, and combat skill. His movements were fluid, deadly, but he held back just enough to avoid attracting too much attention. These lowlifes didn't deserve the full extent of his power.
Within minutes, the floor was littered with bodies. Some were unconscious, others were groaning in pain, and a few lay still, never to rise again. Reed glanced around the cantina, making sure there were no more threats. The surviving Weequay and Aquallish staggered toward the door, dragging their wounded comrades with them.
Reed watched them go, then turned back to the bar. His meal was gone, his drink shattered, but at least the brawl was over. The Besalisk bartender stood behind the counter, two of his arms crossed over his chest while the other two cleaned glasses with practiced efficiency.
The bartender glanced at the bodies scattered across the floor and grunted, his tone somewhere between impressed and weary. "You clean up pretty well, stranger."
Reed shrugged, dusting himself off as he walked back to the bar. "They ruined my drink."
The Besalisk let out a deep chuckle, his large frame shaking slightly. "Ain't that the way it always goes? Last time something like this happened, my bouncer ended up face down in the gutter after some Syndicate scum shot him in the crossfire."
Reed raised an eyebrow. "Syndicate fight?"
"Yeah," the Besalisk growled, his tone turning darker. "Rival gangs don't know how to stay out of each other's way. Got themselves in a shootout after leavin' one of the brothels down the street. Bouncer didn't stand a chance."
The Besalisk looked Reed up and down, as if sizing him up for the first time. "Tell ya what, stranger—you look like you know your way around a fight. How about a job? I could use a new bouncer, and you clearly got the skills. Room upstairs comes with it."
Reed considered the offer. He needed a place to lay low, and credits were always useful. Being a bouncer wasn't glamorous, but it was steady work, and he could keep an ear to the ground in a place like this. Plus, it came with a room, which was one less thing for him to worry about.
"Deal," Reed said.
The Besalisk grinned, extending one of his massive hands. "Name's Brask," he said. "Welcome to The Iron Rancore."
Reed shook his hand, feeling the strength behind the Besalisk's grip. "Reed."
Brask nodded. "Your room's upstairs. Nothin' fancy, but it'll keep you off the streets. You start tomorrow. And don't worry—your first drink's on the house next time."
Reed nodded, taking the key Brask offered him. It wasn't much, but it was a start. For now, staying low, keeping his head down, and working at The Iron Rancore was just what he needed. And in a city as dangerous as Coruscant's lower levels, a little muscle would go a long way.
The towering bartender of The Iron Rancore motioned for Reed to follow him as they walked through the narrow, dimly lit corridor that led to the stairs above the cantina. The sounds of patrons murmuring and glasses clinking grew faint as they ascended.
"Not much, but it's quiet enough. Don't get many prying eyes up here," Brask grunted, leading the way. The metal stairs creaked beneath his heavy footsteps, and Reed's boots echoed behind him. "Perfect for someone looking to stay out of the way."
Reed glanced around, taking in the low ceilings and the mix of old machinery, rusted pipes, and repurposed tech embedded in the walls. The higher they climbed, the more the heavy air of Coruscant's lower levels seemed to thin. It wasn't a luxury apartment, but it would do.
They reached the landing, and Brask pulled a keycard from one of his many pockets, waving it in front of the door. "Here we are. All yours."
The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a compact, modest room. A single cot against the wall, a small table, and a tiny refresher unit in the corner. It was Spartan, but clean enough, a rare find in the lower levels. A small window overlooked the sprawling chaos below, the lights of speeder traffic flickering like fireflies in the distance.
Reed walked to the cot and gave a nod of approval. "Thanks. This'll work."
Brask folded two of his arms across his chest while the other two rested at his sides. "Glad to hear it. Get some rest—long day tomorrow." His deep-set eyes studied Reed for a moment before he turned to leave. "Start early. You'll be working the door. Most don't give me trouble, but you never know in this part of town. Keep your head on straight."
"I can handle it," Reed replied, his voice confident but casual. He wasn't new to danger, not by a long shot.
Brask grunted again, something between amusement and satisfaction. "We'll see." He left the room with a nod, the door sliding shut behind him.
Reed took a moment to survey his surroundings. His new home, for now. He crossed the small space and looked out the window, gazing down at the lower levels of Coruscant. The city was alive with activity, even at this height. But up here, in his small room above The Iron Rancore, things felt still.
He sat on the edge of the cot, head in his hands, trying to keep himself from breaking something—anything. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white, feeling his viral powers pulse beneath the surface, just waiting for him to lose control.
"Star Wars... I'm in freakin' Star Wars," he muttered to himself, voice tight with frustration. His mind was a whirlpool of disbelief and anger, unable to wrap around the insanity of the situation.
Not long ago, he was in the Prototype universe, fighting to survive, dealing with the Blacklight virus inside him that had twisted his life into a nightmare. And now? Now he was stuck in the middle of another universe entirely, one he barely understood beyond what he'd seen in movies and games.
He stood up abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. The space Brask, the Besalisk bartender, had given him was just a small modest size for a room, but it felt like a pressure cooker ready to blow.
"This is such bullshit!" He snarled slamming his fist into the wall. The metal panel dented under the force of his hit, but it didn't do anything to ease the fury burning inside him. He pulled his fist back, staring at the dent with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Why here? Why this galaxy?!"
He knew just enough about Star Wars to understand where he was. Casual knowledge, picked up from watching the movies, watching the tv shows, and hearing friends talk about the lore. He wasn't some super fan, but he knew the basics. The Jedi, the Sith, the Clone Wars. The fall of the Republic, the rise of the Empire. And, of course, Palpatine pulling the strings behind the scenes like some cackling puppet master.
"Of all the places the R.O.B. could've dumped me..." Reed's voice was thick with frustration. "Why here? Why now?"
It was bad enough when he'd been stuck in his own hell, dealing with the virus. Now, he had to deal with a whole galaxy tearing itself apart in a war he wanted no part of. Palpatine's game was already in motion, and Reed knew how it would all play out—Jedi wiped out, the Empire's iron grip tightening, and countless innocent lives crushed in the process.
And Reed? He was caught in the middle of it all.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing faster now. The Clone Wars, of all things... He knew how this ended. He knew what was coming. That knowledge was what made everything worse. Reed knew about Order 66. Knew that the Jedi were fighting a battle they didn't even realize they'd already lost. Knew that Palpatine would betray everyone and rise to power.
The problem was, it wasn't just a story anymore. He was living it.
He slammed his hand against the window frame, looking out at the sprawling undercity of Coruscant. Neon lights flickered in the distance, speeders zipped by, and the bustling city below stretched on forever. It should've been awe-inspiring. Instead, it felt like a prison. A galaxy-sized prison with no way out.
"I'm not some damn hero!" Reed growled, his voice echoing in the small room. "I'm not getting involved in this mess! I'm not some Jedi or Sith—I just want out!"
But that was the worst part. There was no way out. The R.O.B. who'd yanked him out of one hell and dumped him into another—had left him here to fend for himself. No explanation, no warning, just one twisted cosmic joke. Reed's blood boiled at the thought.
"Screw you, R.O.B.," Reed muttered under his breath, his voice venomous. "Screw you and your goddamn games,"
But this wasn't a game. This was real. And unlike the people who'd grown up loving Star Wars, Reed didn't want to be here. He wasn't some kid fantasizing about swinging a lightsaber or joining the Rebellion. This was a war, and he wanted no part of it. His life had been ruined once already by powers beyond his control. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up in another battle between good and evil.
"Palpatine, Jedi, Sith... I don't care," he muttered, voice low and dangerous. "I'm staying out of this."
But deep down, Reed knew it wouldn't be that easy. The galaxy had a way of dragging people into the conflict, whether they wanted to or not. And Reed? He was already neck-deep in it, even if he refused to admit it.
He sat back down on the cot, running a hand through his hair again. He couldn't let his frustration control him, but it was hard not to feel like he was being toyed with. The R.O.B. had thrown him into this universe without warning, and now he was stuck playing the part of a spectator in a galaxy where everything was about to go to hell.
"I didn't ask for this," Reed said quietly, his voice filled with simmering rage. "I never asked for any of this."
He stared at the dent he'd left in the wall, his viral powers itching to be unleashed. He could feel them, bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when his frustration would boil over. But he couldn't afford to lose control. Not here. Not now.
Reed leaned back, trying to calm himself down. He wasn't going to be some pawn in Palpatine's game, and he wasn't going to let this galaxy ruin him like the last one tried to. If the R.O.B. thought they'd broken him by sending him here, they had another thing coming.
He would survive. He always survived. But he'd never forgive the cosmic bastard who put him in this mess.
"You'll pay for this, you bastard," he whispered, laying down in the cot, staring at the ceiling, a dark promise hanging in the air, his eyes flashed a bloody crimson. "One day, you'll pay."
The next morning, Reed was up early, standing outside the cantina's entrance as Brask had instructed. The Iron Rancore was quieter in the early hours, its neon sign buzzing faintly above him. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, surveying the dimly lit streets of the undercity.
Brask stepped out from the cantina, one of his arms holding a cup of something steaming. "Well, don't just stand there looking pretty. First customers will be coming in soon, and some of 'em ain't the friendliest." He handed Reed a comm device. "You see trouble, you call me. Or… handle it yourself. Just don't cause too much of a mess."
Reed nodded, pocketing the comm. His senses were on high alert as he scanned the foot traffic around the cantina. Merchants, smugglers, and various drifters moved through the area, but so far, nothing out of the ordinary. He sized up a few rough-looking individuals walking by, ready in case they made a move.
Hours passed, and Reed began to get a feel for the flow of people in and out. Most gave him a wide berth, eyeing his stance and expression before deciding it wasn't worth causing a scene. But it wasn't long before his first real test arrived.
A group of Rodians, clearly drunk and already shouting, stumbled toward the cantina. One of them, the leader judging by his posture, pushed past a few bystanders and made his way toward the door. Reed stepped forward, blocking their path.
"Hold up," Reed said calmly but firmly. "You're not getting in like that. Come back when you're sober."
The Rodian leader sneered, showing his sharp teeth. "Who says we gotta listen to you, outsider?" He slurred, swaying slightly. His buddies started to circle Reed, each one eyeing him with a drunken sense of bravado.
Reed stood his ground, cracking his neck to the side. "I'm not asking." His voice was low, steady, but with an edge that suggested the Rodian would regret pushing further.
For a moment, there was tension. Then the Rodian snarled something in his native tongue, but it seemed like he knew when he was outmatched. With a dismissive wave, he turned and stumbled away, his group following.
Brask, watching from inside the cantina, stepped out with a grunt of approval. "Not bad, kid. You didn't have to break anything. Not yet, anyway."
Reed smirked slightly. "No reason to, for now."
Brask patted him on the shoulder with one of his massive arms. "Keep that up, and you might just last longer than most of the bouncers I've had."
As the day wore on, Reed continued watching the cantina's entrance, his presence alone enough to keep most trouble at bay. But luck never seemed to stay with him for long.
The evening at The Iron Rancore grew busier as the sunless sky outside the lower levels of Coruscant darkened further. The cantina was bustling with patrons now, filled with all manner of beings: smugglers, gamblers, and a few bounty hunters. Reed stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching the room carefully. His eyes scanned every movement, every exchange, ready to act if things got out of hand.
Brask had told him earlier that the local gangs rarely caused problems unless they had a score to settle. Reed hoped tonight wouldn't be one of those nights. Unfortunately, it seemed his luck was about to run out.
Near the far corner of the cantina, a group of nikto gang members had begun gathering. Reed had noticed them when they first came in—a few too many drinks, voices raised a little too loud, and the occasional flash of hidden weapons under their coats. One of them, the apparent leader with a large scar running across his face, was starting to slam his glass down repeatedly on the table, demanding more drinks.
"Keep 'em coming! We ain't done yet!" the leader roared, his gravelly voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. The server droid nearby hesitated, then turned to fulfill the order, but it was clear the gang was already well beyond their limit.
Reed stepped away from the door and made his way over, weaving through the crowd. The tension in the air thickened as he approached the table. The Nikto leader turned his head, noticing Reed for the first time. His eyes narrowed, sizing up the bouncer.
"You got a problem?" the nikto spat, his hand gripping his glass tightly. His gang members all shifted in their seats, ready to follow their leader's lead.
Reed kept his tone calm but firm. "You're disturbing the other patrons. Time to settle down or leave."
The leader laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Settle down? You think you can make us? We drink as long as we want, outsider."
The rest of the gang muttered in agreement, emboldened by their leader's defiance. One of them, a wiry nikto with a missing eye, stood up, puffing out his chest.
"Maybe you should go back to your corner, human. Unless you want to find out what happens when you mess with The Grimjaw Legion," he hissed.
Reed's eyes flicked between them, calculating. He didn't want to escalate things too quickly, but if it came to that, he was more than ready. He clenched his fists subtly, feeling the familiar surge of power from his abilities simmer beneath the surface. He'd been trying to stay low-key on Coruscant, but sometimes subtlety wasn't an option.
"I'm giving you one last chance," Reed said, his voice low and dangerous. "Leave. Now."
The nikto leader's face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Wrong answer, kid."
Without warning, the leader shoved the table aside, sending drinks and empty glasses flying. In the same motion, he drew a blaster from his belt, aiming it directly at Reed's chest. The rest of the gang followed suit, pulling out knives and blasters of their own, the cantina's chatter immediately dying down as patrons scrambled away from the confrontation.
But Reed didn't flinch as he formed a knife in his hand and held it to the nikto's throat—and neither did Brask.
From behind the bar, Brask had been watching the situation closely, his eyes narrowing as the tension rose. When the first blaster appeared, the Besalisk smoothly reached beneath the bar, pulling out a large, well-worn blaster rifle. He leveled it at the nikto leader from across the room, his four arms steady and his voice cutting through the now silent cantina. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Reed said calmly. "You really wouldn't like what would happen next."
"You pull that trigger, and I'll be cleaning your guts off my walls. Last warning." Brask's voice was low and lethal, each word packed with authority.
The nikto leader froze, his blaster still aimed at Reed, but his eyes flicked to the bar where Brask stood, the rifle trained on him. A bead of sweat formed on the nikto's brow. Realizing he had a blade to his neck and a blaster to his face. His fingers twitched on the trigger, but he hesitated, clearly calculating whether this fight was worth it.
"Drop it," Brask repeated, his voice like gravel.
The nikto leader snarled, but slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his blaster. He tossed it to the floor with a bitter sneer, and his gang members hesitated, glancing at each other before following suit. Blasters and knives clattered to the ground, the sound echoing through the suddenly quiet cantina.
Reed, without lowering the knife, moved quickly, kicking the leader's blaster away and standing over him with a cold, steady gaze. "You're done here," Reed said. "Get out. Don't come back."
The leader glared up at him, but the weight of Brask's rifle still aimed squarely at his back and Reed's blade kept him from making any bold moves. He spat on the floor in frustration and gave a jerky nod to his gang as he slowly backed away towards the door.
"Let's go," he growled, his pride wounded more than anything else.
The gang quickly gathered themselves, dragging their leader toward the exit as Reed and Brask watched them like hawks. The tension in the air hung for a moment longer, until the last of the nikto gang finally disappeared into the Coruscant night.
Reed 'pocketed' the knife as it turned back into biomass, merging back into him. Brask lowered his rifle with a grunt, slinging it back under the bar with ease. The cantina slowly returned to its normal hum of activity, patrons murmuring in relief and the server droid returning to its duties. The droids already fixing the tables and cleaning up the spilled drinks.
"Could've gone worse," Brask said, his voice gruff but amused. "You handled yourself well."
Reed shrugged, though his eyes remained on the door for a few more seconds. "Didn't want to mess up the place too bad."
Brask barked a laugh. "Good man. Last thing I need is more repairs." He walked over to Reed, one of his massive hands clapping Reed on the shoulder. "Drinks are on me tonight. You earned it."
Reed nodded, finally relaxing a bit, though he kept a watchful eye on the rest of the cantina. He didn't let his guard down easily, but for now, things had calmed. The night wasn't over, but with Brask at his back, Reed felt more ready than ever to face whatever might come next.