Disclaimer: This story heavily uses ideas and concepts from the James Luceno book 'Darth Plagueis'. I highly advise you read the book if you want to know, catch on, and understand this fanfic story. Wookiepedia can get you only so far.

This story is an experimental beta; do not expect a guaranteed update or any more content to come out of it in the future. More content, however, may depend on reviews, comments, reactions, and feedback. If you want to see more of this story, then I highly suggest you comment on this story or private message me to do so.

I do not own any of the Star Wars and DC characters and ideas represented in this work.

The Plagueis Way

"We Sith are an unseen opposition. A phantom menace. Where the Sith once wore armor, we now wear cloaks. But the Force works through us all the more powerfully in our invisibility. For the present, the more covert we remain, the more influence we can have. Our revenge will be achieved not through subjugation but by contagion." - Darth Tenebrous

The holidays in Gotham were both a blessing and a curse to its denizens. It is a time when neighbors, friends, and family come together to celebrate their friendships and love for one another in the time when work is closed or when the public schools are shut down for the time of year. It is a joyous time to spend moments with their loved ones and appreciate what they have.

Unfortunately, this is Gotham City. Despite the universal sense of belonging and the community coming together for those who need their lives uplifted during the seasons, there are certain criminal elements who couldn't care less whether it was Thanksgiving, Christmas, or any time of the year. To them, business is business; they continue to provide the downtrodden destructive drugs and vices while performing illegal activities in the name of profit—everything against what the holidays stood for.

The weather was another thing to consider. Gotham being located in New Jersey, which itself was in the Eastern Seaboard, can get dangerously cold this time of the year. Other than drug overdoses, the cold was the most contributing factor in homeless deaths, especially in this season.

In order to help the poor—those who can't afford to give their children or themselves gifts of the season or are able to provide the necessary food and shelter they need to survive the cold—in holiday spirit, a fundraising gala is hosted in Wayne Tower annually. Managed by the Wayne Foundation to provide auctions and other events to those wealthy enough to be invited, all of the donations will be sent through the Foundation's many nonprofit charity services or directly to the city's homeless services.

Those involved were many renowned private business owners on the east coast; selected community leaders; and a few politicians wanting to spread the word of their involvement in the charity. Commissioner Gordan was in attendance, talking to the current mayor of Gotham. Lucius Fox and his wife sat over at a table just next to the band that was paid to play for the gala.

Bruce was, of course, present. Since it was projected to be a slow night, he has decided to attend the gala as its host and not perform his nightly duties as Gotham's Dark Knight. In show, to keep up the playboy facade and keep the suspicion off of him for being such a caped crusader, he had two beautiful supermodels from Playboy magazine clung to his arms while keeping his personality to the minimum of seen smugness and lack of humility, laughing and joking with a small group of rich men.

Servants provided drinks and food while the guests greeted, talked, and chatted amongst one another. There were many guests that were invited and joined the gala; it was not a shock to see certain individuals while others came reluctantly due to the need to maintain their public personas.

However, there was one person that was in fact a shock to see when he appeared on the gala: one individual who didn't need to keep his persona maintained, for he was barely seen in the public eye; one man who had wealth that rivaled the riches of Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor; a man whose attendance in the gala surprised even Bruce and Alfred.

Hego Damask.

Just a couple years older than Bruce, Hego Damask was a man that could be considered just as handsome as playboy Bruce Wayne. Having high cheekbones; a well-crafted nose; maintained skin; and dark brown, shirt straight hair. He wore the finest suit that was cast in slivery gray with a muted green undershirt. Hego always had a look that he was never easily surprised or impressed.

[Note: So basically, he looks like Mads Mikkelson in his early 30's. You can imagine him in any shape or form but I just like the looks of Mads and thought it would be cool. And you know, he played Hannibal Lecter in that show so they're both have like a sense of a heightened ego and want to test people till they break]

When carrying himself in public, he was a man who listened more often than talked. When he did speak, it was in the form of being clear-cut and straight to the point yet honest and respectful. Those who heard his voice were heavily inclined to listen and understand his speech. Even in the crowd of the higher class, Hego stood out amongst them, having class and a well-carried aura that was well past forgotten in this time of era. He had the personality that reminded Alfred of a gentleman of the late 1800's.

A Roman emperor in the audience of lower Patricians.

Just like an emperor of antiquity, Hego Damask had vast amounts of wealth from heritance. Son of the wealthy Hungarian businessman, Caar Damask, Hego is the owner of his company, Damask Holdings. Since the organization's creation and Hego obtaining the wealth of his family, he has been financing, investing, creating, and developing many projects that have impacted the larger world. From owning smaller technology and science-based companies to corporate entities that had a hand in helping humanitarian groups and even giving some smaller and poorer countries loans, Damask Holdings was just as influential as Wayne Enterprises and Lexcorp were to the globe.

Few considered Hego Damask as the 'European Lex Luthor'. Hego was not known for his cutthroat style in business and brutal tactics as Lex, but Hego was known to be uncompromising, and his patience could easily break with a few bad words said to him.

Not only owning a large corporation, Hego was a member of the board of directors in the World Bank; part of the ruling committee of the World Economic Forum for some time now; having such influence in the economy that he was given a seat in the World Trade Organization; and being the major shareholder of many companies. Hego has brought his family's fortunes into something far beyond what anyone could have expected

Alfred also knew the man for a very long time now.

The Damasks were somewhat close to the Wayne family before Hego's and Bruce's birth. When Hego was but a little lad, Alfred saw the young boy roam around in the Wayne mansion as Caar Damask and Thomas discussed business and other pressing affairs.

In those days, Alfred observed the little Hego. He saw the boy was…different.

The Hego back then was even quieter than the one today. It was almost as if the young Hego detested the idea that he was born altogether. It seemed the boy hated the world, himself and his family. Alfred knew Caar and never suspected or even imagined he could be capable of abuse to birth these emotions from his son. To Alfred, there seemed no reason for Hego's self-hatred. Once asked where his resentment came from, the young Damask boy could only mumble something under his breath and go into Wayne's library to read books that were well far beyond what his age could handle.

A rather mysterious boy who could never be satisfied by anything.

But, over time, Hego seemed to get over his hatred for whatever he abhorred and started to act like the Hego today. Once Bruce was born and at playing age, when Hego would be at the side of his father when they visited Gotham, Hego would almost act like a bigger brother to Bruce. Though Hego seemed more extremely mature for his rather young age, Hego would dedicate some time reading books to the younger Bruce. It was a sight that Alfred dearly loved and cherished to see the two boys bond.

Unfortunately, that ungodly night came about, and the lives of Thomas and Martha Wayne were lost, along with Bruce's childhood.

The Damasks were distraught over the tragedy and supported Alfred and Bruce in whatever way they could. Hego, yes, saddened, was not griefed by the same pain put on his parents. Caar and Hego have visited time to time after the tragedy, but eventually, Caar would pass away along with his wife through natural means, and Hego would inherit the wealth in his late teens.

Both orphans, in the same regard, Bruce and Hego had a small bond between them, even if Hego hadn't visited to see Bruce for some years now.

At the moment, Hego was discoursing around a huddled group of finely dressed individuals. Though there were hired waiters for the event, Alfred was still doing his butler duties. Wanting to catch up with Hego, Alfred made his way through the gala in order to greet him. When he got closer, he noticed how Hego was discussing with a gentleman about an un-festive-like topic.

"I understand the situation in Iraq even before the invasion, Mister Stilwell." Hego Damask said, speaking in a collected and mannered voice. He had an accent that blend into his words, a sign of his Central European heritage. "What Saddam did to the Kurds in the north and Awaris in the south was despicable, and I can say even that could have warranted an invasion in it itself." Hego shook his head. "But you must concur that it has been one year since the country's liberation and these 'weapons of mass destruction' have not shown up."

The man he was talking to, clearly frustrated, responded to the remark, "Okay, so Powell and Bush were wrong about Iraq." The man conceded ground to Hego. He lifted a finger for continued objection. "But calling the war "American Imperialism on full display" is a little step too far, Mister Damask. The Iraqi people were under Saddam's oppression, and we gave them the tools of democracy."

Hego regarded the man, "Maybe... but perhaps Hitler would find the US's reasoning for a war under false pretenses satisfactory. Couldn't you agree, Mister Stilwell."

Before any word can be made up or a hand thrown by my Mister Stilwell, who was in the process of thinking such an act, Alfred went in between the two men with a tray of food and drink. "Refreshments, anyone?"

Hego greeted Alfred with a look and smiled fondly. "I must sadly decline." The other man did not say anything other than give Hego a scornful look.

"Mister Damask," Alfred asked, "could you kindly come with me? There is a matter we need to discuss."

"Of course, dear Alfred." Hego announced and walked with Alfred away from the small conversation.

While walking through the gala, Alfred could only sign and make an observant comment, "I see you're still getting people's trousers in a knot, Hego." He said it in a low voice.

Hego made a small smirk. "I see you are ever still the Englishman you are, Alfred."

Wanting to converse more with the man he saw grow up, Alfred silently handed the tray of appetizers to a nearby waitress and guided Hego out of the gala to a small balcony outside, grabbing a coat along the way. Empty and quiet, he let Hego go first and himself to the cold night.

"Need a jacket, Hego?" He asked.

Hego shook his head. "I would need to say no, Alfred; I am well accustomed to the cold."

Alfred made a smile of remembrance. "I remember you would say that when you were this yay high." He gestured with his hands to the upper end of his thigh.

Hego lightly laughed, which made Alfred do as well, "Oh right you are, Alfred." He steps closer and takes Alfred's hand in a firm shake. "It is good to see you."

"It is good to see you too, old friend."

Hego made a raised eyebrow and glanced back to the gala, where the large window surrendered a view of the many contents and guests inside the ballroom. "I see that Bruce is doing well in his manner of speaking."

Alfred looked in the direction of Hego's gaze to see Bruce still keeping his playboy facade, having models in his arms, and laughing heartily. "For the most part, yes." He turned to Hego again. "Did you not speak with him yet?"

"He appeared to be busy with something..." He shifted his eyes back to Bruce's location.

Alfred gave a dismissive wave, "Nonsense! Bruce will happily talk to you and make some time."

"I'm sure he will," Hego placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "But in the meantime, how are you doing, Alfred?"

The English butler took in a deliberate deep inhale and exhale, his breath becoming a mist in the night. "I am doing just fine."

Hego noticed Alfre's change of demeanor by studying him for a quiet moment. He smirked, "Alfred, there's no need to lie to him if there is something."

Alfred made a huff, "Oh I swear, there's no secret that can be kept from you, Hego. You've always had a good sense of knowing who's lying and not."

Hego shrugged while keeping a sly smile. "A good talent, I suppose... but clearly something is troubling you when I ask about your current position."

Alfred took some time to carefully consider his answer. "It's… Bruce, I'm afraid."

Hego grew serious. "I understand. What exactly is it?"

Alfred paced away from Hego and leaned toward the balcony's railing. He took in the view of Gotham. The city was sparkling with lights that were an ocean of beacons against the cold night. Houses, apartments, and tall buildings illuminated around the city as traffic continued to flow through the cities. Hego fell to lean as well, next to Alfred. "Alfred," he said slowly, "Has something happened since the last time I saw you both?"

Alfred kept looking down onto the streets of Gotham, the citizens of this city continuing onto their daily lives, even if it were the night time. He loved Bruce dearly for the longest time and supported him when he took on the mantle of this city's protector. Alfred never truly protested, yes, worried, but never did fight back at the conviction. This city does need a symbol, a protector that can help the city stray away from the dark. But at what cost?

Bruce is willing to sacrifice the rest of his life for the mission, and Alfred did not go against it; he would even help him. Alfred, though, has seen too many times of Bruce being brutally injured on certain nights and times when Bruce hasn't gotten enough sleep. One of these days, these nights, it will kill him. Alfred doesn't want to see that; he doesn't want to see the boy he helped raise die a brutal death in the same manner his parents did.

But Bruce was hardheaded; as much as he listened to Alfred for advice, for the mission or otherwise, he would shrug it off because it pertained to his health. Bruce needs help—a helping hand to look after him in the mission, a partner of sorts to support Bruce in his crusade. It couldn't be Alfred; of course, he wasn't young anymore. Until then, however, he must help Bruce in whatever way he can.

For not seeing Hego for some years, he has cared for the man as well; Bruce might be in the same position too. Inside him, he knew Hego could be trusted with secrets but knew that it would betray Bruce's trust. Besides, Hego in the past has made it public of his disliking of such blunt vigilantism.

If Alfred were to tell Hego of Bruce's alter ego: would the man change his view on caped crusaders, or would it just further his resolve?

No, not telling Hego will only protect him from the wrath of Batman's rogue gallery. Even if Bruce could be convinced to tell Hego about the mission, he would also explain the same reason. For the welfare of Hego and the stability of the mission, he cannot know about it. This makes the next few moments difficult, for he will have to come up with something that wouldn't be a lie.

These thoughts ran in Alfred's head for moments before he made his answer. "It's his…behavior lately, I'm afraid."

Whether Hego bought the half-truth was unclear. He has always been hard to judge and read through body language; no amount of MI6 training in Alfred's past could decipher his body language and posture.

Hego looked down in the same direction Alfred looked at and nodded. "This has been festering in you for some time, has it?"

"It has, yes."

"And tell me, Alfred, what has Bruce done to make you feel this way?"

Alfred looked in himself for an answer: "His…rituals in nightly activities."

"I'm assuming partying and engaging in not-so-esteemed clubs?"

"I can only theorize it; I don't go out with him."

"And this has been troubling you deeply?"

Alfred considered the question warily, "It has."

Hego stood in silence then said, "Are you afraid he'll make a poor decision or go to the wrong establishment?"

"Something in that nature..." Alfred replied in a half-truth sense.

Hego nodded and said, in an understanding way, "Your fears for Bruce are well placed, especially in this wretched city." He spewed scornfully.

And there it was—the unpleasant side of Hego Damask. Hego was well known for his positioning in disliking heroes and vigilantes across the world. He often criticized them for reckless behavior and going against law enforcement procedures and practices. Even after the Appellaxian invasion last year and the heroes united to defeat the elemental extraterritorials, which was the reasoning for the Justice League to form, Hego was still a defiant critic.

Of course, anyone is allowed to form any amount of opinion as Alfred thought of it, but to have these words that, on the surface, would be the same lines Luthor would say only to be made by Hego was very discouraging.

"This city has its problems for sure, Hego." Said Alfred, "Thomas saw some worth in it, however. Enough to help the people in it."

Hego registered Alfred's words for a moment. "I could never fully grasp why Thomas saw promise in this pit of a city. He put the burden of taking care of this city on himself and only showed compassion. And what does he get in return for all of the good will he's done? Robbed and shot along with Martha at some filthy alley, and Bruce orphaned."

Hego shook his head in disgust. "This city is nothing more than a hive of criminals and scum. Madmen in theatrical costumes reeking havoc while crazed vigilantes taking charge of the situation and ignoring every law and protocol law enforcement has instituted in centuries. If Sodom and Gomorrah bore a child, Gotham would be such an offspring." His grimacing eyes onto the city that lay downward shifted to Alfred, which then melted away, relaxing his tensed face. "But I suppose I shouldn't draw those conclusions into this matter." He admitted and calmed his tone, "Bruce should know the dangers of this city better than anyone. I am certain that whatever activities Bruce goes through during his free time, he does it with the knowledge of knowing the risks this city might inflict on him."

Alfred knew that, but it didn't ease him or settle the worry in him every time Bruce goes on a mission or patrol. "I am aware of Bruce's caution about this city, Hego." He said, "And I know that he isn't the little boy I saw grow up anymore; afraid of going out after that terrible night." Pain was shown in his eyes. "I am just worried about him."

Hego only moved his head up and down in utter sympathy. "If this had bothered you so much, Alfred," he placed a hand onto Alfred's shoulder, "Then perhaps I should talk to Bruce about this—"

"No," Alfred said firmly, "No…" he repeated, dryly chuckled, "As much as I confessed already, there's really no need for any sort of intervention, Hego."

Damask studied Alfred at first, seemingly acknowledging Alfred swerving the argument away from where it was leading. But then he chuckled and warmly smiled. "Very well, Alfred. I won't press on any further."

"Of course," Alfred paused, adding, "Thank you for listening to my old friend. It's rather difficult trying to find someone to listen to an old man such as myself."

Hego made a dismissive gesture. "Nonsense, if you need any help or someone to talk with, I can make accommodations in my schedule just for you."

Alfred smiled. "That is very appreciated. Oh and Hego, please keep this a secret, do you mind?"

"Not at all; consider it locked away until the need to talk about it comes up again."

Alfred nodded and smirked. "I'm sure you are very adept at keeping secrets from all sorts of businesses and characters you have to deal with."

Hego Damask returns the expression back with a sly smirk of his own. "More than you know."

Darth Plagueis hated Gotham much like how one would hate and be repulsed by a cockroach infestation onto one's trash heap. It was a city filled to the brim of bottom feeders, degenerates, worthless souls, mad men, and crazed individuals of all possible sorts. Corrupt officials and sluggish members of law enforcement. Murderers, thieves, molesters, con artists, fraudsters, and other people that are magnetically attracted to a particular place of crime. Not too different from how rats are attracted to muck and pigs wallowing in filth.

In that, Gotham City was the epitome of the United States of America. An extreme example of what America was and is currently—a reflection image that showed its true form and colors—and because of that, America has gladly ignored the chaos that happens in Gotham on a day-to-day basis. But the dark impulses and habits of the city are nothing but a part of the cancer that infected the wider sick patient.

America was a country that parodied the Galactic Republic Plagueis tried so long to overthrow and crush. Officials are no more innocent than the criminals they imprisoned for profit from the country's prison systems. Racial chauvinism still lingering like a bad aftertaste yet the country ignores it for the instances when it rears its ugly head. Rabble easily subjected to state-funded news and media as they gorge themselves in artificial foods like the barbarians they are.

Earth was too an example—a symbolic representation of humanity's existence—full of potential yet squandering it by feuding over religious, racial, territorial, and cultural matters that can be resolved through rational thought that befits a Muun.

He had few good things to say about humans a time ago, but that changed since his imprisonment in such a human body for nearly three decades. It wasn't much as warming up to humanity as it was more of accepting the situation, much like how a being could accept a physical disability by living with it for a time.

He never thought this could ever happen to him, but he supposed he never thought he could die once he finally achieved immortality, almost. He never thought Sidious would betray him and their partnership, yet Sidious would, and more importantly, teach Plagueis a valuable lesson; Plagueis had no equal and no being was above him.

Yes, the Sith Lord from Naboo was powerful, and perhaps he did deserve the mantle of master of the Sith Order for being able to kill Plagueis. But would he be able to fulfill the grand plan? Did he not share the same views of the uslessness of the Rule of the Two and agree that they will rule the galaxy together? Would he be able to implement the Sith imperative for revenge that's been prowling within the shadows for a millennia? Would the force allow such a thing to occur?

All of that doesn't matter now, for Plagueis would never know. Not because he was dead or in some sort of void that might've been the afterlife. Instead, he would not see it because he was reincarnated into a human body on a planet called Earth in a galaxy not of his own.

It was almost as if this was some sort of punishment—a purgatory—a sort of revenge from the force itself set onto Plagueis for all of the wrongdoings he committed against it in the name of taking hold of his very destiny. Backlash on being a user of the dark side; creating and testing on beings in the depths of his laboratories in Aborah and Sojurn; allowing the force shift to the dark side through Sidious and his meditation; and quite possibly creating that Skywalker boy, which might've been Plagueis' greatest sin in the eyes of the force.

Or was it? Was it punishment that the force sentenced Plagueis? Or was it his own will during the final moments of his previous life as a Muun that rebirthed his consciousness into this meek, Earth Human body? Was it the will of the dark side, carrying his mind to another body so he may continue his work and therefore its dark will? Or maybe, when he was attempting to heal his body through midichlorians from Sidious' lightning attack, he accidentally discovered essence transfer? Journeying his will and mind to another body? In another galaxy? Dimension? Universe?

He had these questions some time after his rebirth in this human body, again, in the same name of his previous life, Hego Damask. It was remarkable and terrifying how his mind and memories were able to be intact while in such a baby human. His body changed, but his very bold will and essence were the same.

At times, he was fearful and puzzled on whether or not he would be able to use the force during his early years as a human boy, for he originally thought he was reborn in his punishment for going against the will of the force. Ultimately, he concluded that either the dark side willed this or he accidentally performed a crude but spiritual ritual to transfer this mind onto another.

He was born by the name of Hego Damask again. Whether this was a mocking sign from the force or the true perpetual state of his destiny, he couldn't safely say. He, however, gave up on why this was such a case and accepted it. Still in a wealthy family from Europe—Hungary—one of the countries in the central area of the continent, he grew up wealthy and then accumulated riches thanks to his Muun intelligence kept from his old life and his family's riches that were inherited to him.

Earth was, at first, populated by humans for the longest time, but that thought changed recently. Atlanteans from legends; 'Immortal' Amazonian female warriors who were thought to be myths; isolationist Martians that were Earth's planetary neighbors; Guardians of the Universe; the Galaxy was as disorganized and lessly diverse compared to his old one as Earth's humans were disorganized and incapable of unifying.

Not only that, but everyday it would seem as if these beings with powers showed up every day onto Earth's door. Men and women whose powers go astonishingly outside the realms of the force, instead relying their powers from genetics, power rings, scientific accidents, or training means. Elaborately and dramatically costumed, they fashion themselves as 'heroes' galavanting around the world, saving folk while stopping super-powered criminals.

It was as if Plagueis was dropped in the middle of a play—a stage show where the so-called heroes and their league chase after villains in idiotic antics that only children and the mindless rabble inhabit this planet seem to enjoy. They were nothing short of street performers, only waving and shaking hands under the guise of 'peace' and 'justice'. Yet, they have an honor code of sorts that bans them from killing; not even the Jedi had such a thing. In doing so, they would simply imprison those who caused terror with their powers and put them in prison, only for the criminals to escape and repeat the cycle.

A status quo of stagnation and false principles that no civilization would be able to be founded on. They were abominations.

Shortly after Plagueis recreated Damask Holdings with his extreme wealth, he has secretly pledged himself to rid the Earth of these heroes. Hego Damask in the public eyes and the view of the Justice League, is another wealthy entrepreneur who donated his fortunes to charities, aid organizations, and other relief agencies on occasions criticized them for any faults they seemingly lack.

He still conducts business as usual, funding and owning many companies and corporate identities while vending loans to less-wealthy countries. He deepens his hold onto the global markets by using his influence to enter positions of power and authority in the world's trading organizations and committees.

Finally, his real work is made by supporting terrorist organizations, funding and encouraging bold behavior of super-powered criminals, and supplanting and guiding international upheavals. All of this through vast intermediaries, clandestine acts, and Plagueis' arts in dark side influence.

This effort was so that one day, this play of heroes and villains would abruptly stop so that conductors may change the flowing symphony it played. He would be such a one to be crowned, to be a new showman who will bring this scam of a play to something new and grand. Destroying the status of who these heroes lazily made through their foolish acts of compassion.

He will be a conductor to bring new notes and ideas. A maestro who will reveal the heroes as the frauds as they were to humanity, and man will realize his folly for ever trusting them in the first place. That will bring them to a metamorphosis in which they will ditch the age of heroes and their old beliefs to a greater system. A new way of life that they will reach their full potential and reach the stars. A Sith way. His way—the Plagueis Way.

Much like his previous life, Plagueis has dealt with crime lords and mob bosses around Earth through secretive deals and agreements in order to further his Sith agenda. After the charity gala hosted in Gotham by Bruce Wayne, Plagueis was in the backseat of a luxurious Rolls Royce sedan. His chauffeur, Mercy Graves, drove him through a well-clean road that connected to multiple grand estates owned by wealthy individuals, who distanced themselves from commoner Gothamites by a county over.

Just starting in her early twenties, Mercy Graves was a tall and fit woman with long brown hair, blue eyes, and a face that suggested she meant business wherever and whenever she went. Loyal and faithful to Hego, and by unofficial terms, Plagueis, she was just as a soldier any businessman would love to have as a personal bodyguard. If she weren't in that position in that security lifestyle, then she quite possibly might've been a fine soldier indeed.

He had found her service to him useful, as he used her as an intermediary in dealings and business discussions when it would be too suspicious to engage a well-known man such as himself. Unfortunately, one accident led to another, and she lost most of her body.

With Plagueis' prior knowledge of robotics and surgical expertise from his experiments on Aborah, he had her fixed and made Mercy better. However, she was more

machine now than a woman. Still, her loyalties never truly ever faulted, considering the pay and the mind influence he has over her.

It was close to midnight as the Rollys Royce stopped at an enclosed and gated estate. After being checked and cleared by men of Italian-American descent who wore business attire and covertly hidden firearms, the guards let them through, and Mercy parked the car in front of a mansion. Yes, Hego Damask was here in Gotham for that one charity event, for public image, of course, but that was not the only thing he was here for.

The lavish estate that he was currently on was owned by none other than Stevan Mandragora.

A man with large wealth and a large appetite in foods, Mandragora was a wide man with slick back white hair that went together with his albino skin color. Mandragora's successful criminal career of owning his own organization of drug peddling and weapons dealing to small-time criminals owed less to inheriting that fortune through his family, nor was he entirely a self-made man as other crime bosses would boast about.

His illegal enterprise deserved thanks to another criminal boss in the name of Franco Bertinelli. Franco was like any other Italian mobster in America: no qualms in dealing shady and not-so-moral deals, illegal business ventures, and doing cutthroat tactics despite his Catholic faith. He was a familyman, with a wife, Maria Bertinelli, and a daughter, Helena Bertinelli, who was oblivious to her dear father's business.

Mandragora was once Franco's top lieutenant and main enforcer. Much like how he had some secretive dealings with Mandragora today, Hego Damask conducted business with Franco some years ago along with meeting his wife and young Helena. Mandragora found his position under Franco's shadow contemplatiable and so brokered a deal with Franco's rivals, his own lieutenants, and Hego himself, for mister Bertinelli attempted to con Hego out of the deal they made after it's creation. Only for him to find out why no one crosses a Sith Lord.

When the day came, Mandragora busted into Franco's estate and murdered the mob boss and his wife by his bare, meaty hands, as Mandragora described it to Damask. The young Helena vanished. Mandragora claimed he bashed the girl into a pulp as he did to her parents, but Hego knew better. The girl wouldn't remember anything on Hego regardless, and so he didn't pursue it.

Exiting out of the sedan by Mercy opening the door, Damask was greeted by the sight of Mandragora on the front steps of his mansion in his baby-blue business suit. The mob boss welcomed Damask with open arms while being flanked by two guards and made a grin that revealed his slightly yellowed teeth. "Welcome Hego! It's been too long." He said it in a voice that was husky yet cold, as some might have put it.

Hego Damask walked onto the stone steps as Mercy was behind him. "Same with you, Mandragora." Said Hego.

"I take it that you've been enjoying the holidays here in America?" Mandragora asked.

Hego heaved his shoulders and responded blandly, "As much as I force myself to enjoy it."

Mandragora considered the response while studying Hego. "I see that you would like to get down into the thick of things; I won't stall us any longer." He gestured for Damask to enter, "Please come in."

Hego Damask did so as the diligent Mercy Graves shadowed him. The mob boss guided Hego through the interior of his lush mansion he obtained through his unlawful activities. Expensive tapestries and paintings that expressed Mandragora's taste in the higher arts hung onto the walls. They passed a hallway that was furnished with all sorts of taxidermy animal trophies the mob boss probably hunted.

The only trophy missing that would suitably fit onto the wall of animals Mandragora killed was Franco's head.

Mandragora led Hego and his bodyguard to a lonely study that was lined with books and writings. At the other end of the entrance was a large window that showed the cold night outside, and in front of it was a desk with three chairs; one seat was occupied.

The person sitting on the left seat was a woman somewhat in the age range of Mercy. She was of Chinese descent; bronze skin; a crimson velvet dress that had an open window of her upper chest; arm sleeves of the same color; and black silky hair tied in a high bun with two hair sticks in it. Damask noticed a green dragon tattoo on her left shoulder that went down further into her body and ended on her right thigh, which was revealed by a cut piece into her form-revealing dress.

From Damask's past business dealings in the Asian underworld, he recognized this woman as Roulette. Daughter of a Triad leader in Hong Kong, she has made a name for herself in cities like Hong Kong, Macau, Singapore, and other East Asian cities by developing strong, illegal gambling and brawling underground rings.

"Hego," Mandragora gestured towards Roulette, "I don't believe you too met; this is Roulette. Roulette I'm sure you're quite aware of Mister Hego Damask?"

She nodded and went up to her seat to regard Damask. "It's a pleasure to meet you, mister Damask."

"Charmed," he replied, "Miss Sinclair, if I correct, right?"

She lightly chuckled, fixed her sunglasses, and nonchalantly waved a hand. "Please, mister Damask, I prefer the alias of Roulette. It's a more fitting title than my actual name. I hope you understand."

Damask thinly smiled, "I believe I do understand; there are times when our names are not really the truth of us."

"I couldn't agree more." She said,

Mandragora went behind the desk and sat in the big chair that was appropriate for his size. Damask went to the empty seat with Mercy off to his side, and Roulette returned to her seat. The mob boss retrieved a wine bottle from the drawer along with three empty wine glasses. "Grappa, imported from Veneto." He explained while pouring the costly elixir into his and Roulette's wine glasses. "Care to join us, dear Hego?"

Damask politely declined with a shake of his head side to side and showed a palm of his hand: "I appreciate the offer, but maybe after this discussion is over. Besides, I have a tight schedule and will have to be sober to get them done."

Mandragora swirls the wine and takes a sip, "Always straight to business."

"I prefer it that way," Damask admitted squarely.

Roulette stayed quiet, and Mandragora put down the wine glass and clasped his hands onto the desk. "I'm certain that you have been hearing of these 'metahumans' popping up lately?"

Damask somewhat leaned back within his finely furnished chair. Metahumans were an anomaly to Earth and the human race, as well as to Plagueis. They were an offshoot of Humans that had powers that varied from person to person. Some were pathetic and minuscule at best, while others were very impressive. The only prerequisite that connects all of them is a rare and special gene called the 'meta-gene'. Scientific research years earlier yielded data that the gene would be dormant within the recipient unless faced with a traumatic event, a defensive mechanism of a strange sort.

While still largely human, science has categorized them into Homo Metas, somewhat separate from Homo Sapiens, as their genome bifurcates from the normal human gene stock. In recent times, it seemed more Metas were coming out of the woodwork since these heroes started their precarious careers, as if nature was forwarding the human race for a massive leap in evolution or preparing the race for an apocalyptic event where only Metas might have a chance to survive.

The emergence of metahumans had interested Plagueis for a time but was not impressed. While some of the abilities a few metahumans obtain were noteworthy, they all paled in comparison to the great powers and strengths the force provided for a selective few. If anything, in terms of natural selection, the force, and therefore, the universe, appointed force sensitives as the peak of evolution in all species and therefore deserved to rule the masses. Meta-humans were nothing more than abnormalities that could never fully comprehend and understand the burden of position forceful beings would have to rule.

Metas were evolutionary mistakes that needed correction, and how the force allowed such things to occur in the first place eluded him.

Ultimately, his Muun mentality saw Meta-humans, as well as the Justice League and heroes at large, as nothing short of competitors—rivals that he would have to subvert and overall destroy for the betterment of force-sensitives and his rule when the time comes. He was thankful that no one has knowledge of Midichlorians and, to a greater extent, the force. This meant he had an entire monopoly on the force, and the superpower individuals would not be able to control or touch it.

Plagueis has continued on his experiments in the force and midichlorians since his rise in wealth and popularity. That also meant procuring meta-humans to experiment and test in the same manners as his laboratory tests on Muunilinst. He experimented on a few metahumans, especially observing cell activity, and wherever on not he could command the midichlorians in a metahuman body to either destroy or control their beloved metagene.

This seemed like an opportunity.

"Of course I have," Damask said after careful analysis in his head.

Mandragora nods in satisfaction. "Clearly, there has been public interest in them for some time now. That Justice League is obviously under the main spotlight," he leaned towards Damask's direction and entered a conspiratorial voice, "But there are other metas that are popular in not-so-bright lights."

"I get your message, Mandragora," Damask said. "What is that you are proposing?"

Mandragora gestured over to Roulette, "Miss Roulette here has some experience with various underground fight clubs in Hong Kong and Singapore, along with establishing some rings over in Star City and parts of California."

Roulette continued on Mandragora's point: "Some of the normal brawlers bring in modest amounts of cash, but the real players are the metas, mister Damask. The house gets a lot of earnings each time metas fight one another."

Mandragora finally spoke of the proposal: "You see, Hego, me, and Roulette have plans of creating a meta-human fighting ring; Blüdhaven is a proposed area to build it." He pulls out a folder and hands it to Damask.

Hego studied the papers as they contained multiple schematics and blueprints of the supposed facility capable of hosting such particular activities. A wide auditorium for viewers to place bets and watch the bloody fight occur at the bottom; a cage in the center where these metas fight for the delightment of those above; the top of the facility would contain private VIP viewing boxes available for high rollers and people of fine tastes.

The facility would be quite expensive and would need to be kept from the eyes and ears of law enforcement when being constructed. Although Blüdhaven is technically a different city than Gotham, its distance made no difference as the city was just as equally corrupt as its sister city, leaving available room for bribes.

"That leaves the crucial part of this investment, Hego." Mandragora said after Damask was done viewing the plans. "All I ask of you is a considerable loan from you; in exchange, we'll pay off the debt, with interest, of course, and a certain percentage of the profits of each round. Well?"

Damask took a moment to view the plans again and then came to a decision after closing the folder and placing it onto the mob boss's desk. "I accept this partnership, mister Mandragora and miss Roulette," both individuals' had positive reactions from Damask's answer. "But…" he said in the amendment. "I require two points that will need to happen if I should give you whatever funds you need to continue this project."

Both Mandragora and Roulette traded pensive looks but nodded in silence out of agreement. "Ask away, dear Hego." The albino Italian-American said.

"Firstly, I am sure that you and Roulette are capable of covertly hiding such festivities from law enforcement, but I must be reassured that you are up to the task of keeping this project secret and safe from this city's vigilante."

Roulette took a fine sip of her wine then said, "I can promise you, mister Damask, that I am well versed in keeping this a 'hush-hush' while still getting gamblers to the betting booths. Mister Mandragora has already given me a list of policemen that can be shown our way, if you get my meaning."

"And the dark knight?"

"I had…" she pressed her red glossy lips in a quistive hum and then pressed on, "Experience with some 'super-goodies' in the past. Ever heard of Green Arrow and Black Canary out of Star City?"

"I have."

She shrugged while swirling the contents of her glass. "I will admit that one of my brawling rings was busted by them, but they were unable to track any leads towards me and most of the VIPs."

"I understand, but this isn't just some man with a bow who dresses up as Robinhood or a woman that is scandalously dressed for the part." Damask raised the concern, "I heard the dark knight is quite possibly the world's greatest detective and an ally of most of the law enforcement in this area. I am confident in you being able to avoid detection by law enforcement and other lesser vigilantes, but Batman is not a man to be easily underestimated. He could uproot the entire fighting network you're attempting to establish."

It was Mandragora's turn to sway Hego Damask into their favor. "Business under the freak has been somewhat problematic a time ago. The Falcone and Maroni families are a testament to Batman's ability to destroy their empires. But the other families and gangs have gotten smarter and changed tactics to stray away from his eyes. Even if he were to uncover the truth, it would take some time for him, and we'll already be gone."

Damask considered the solution though begrudgingly. "I would still need more assurance of your methods for keeping this secret," he paused. "But for the time being, I am pleased with the first point. My second point is: When the time comes, I would like your words that if I see any of your meta-powered contestants interesting to my own eyes, I would be able to take them for my own purposes."

Surprises were shown on their faces. "May I ask why, mister Damask?" Roulette asks.

Damask didn't say anything about his actual desire of experimenting on metas for his Sith agenda; instead, he deliberately glanced at Mercy, who stood proudly next to him. He looked at Roulette with his fabricated answer, "Bodyguards. I wish to screen any individuals who might have unique abilities to add them to my own security."

"Surely, mister Damask," Roulette said, "You could find such individuals anywhere else."

"I could," he admitted, "but if the brawlers in your arena are capable fighters, then I would like to acquire such individuals for my security detail. The world is getting more dangerous than the day before, and I would feel safe with at least one meta by my side."

"Are there any one you're looking for?"

Damask put up a hand for a gesture of no need of concern, "Just any fighter that takes my interest."

Roulette looked over to Mandragora, then back at Damask. "I'm not exactly saying 'no'," she said with a shaky laugh. "But what happens if you take one of our highest fighters? We could lose a lot of income potential."

"Not a problem," Damask said. "I could perhaps compensate you by paying the amount that fighter is worth. That way, you still gain money and more competition between fighters, and I get my bodyguard."

Roulette looked at Mandragora; the mob boss only nodded in silence. "That could be arranged, Mister Damask," Roulette conceded.

"Then we are in agreement then?" Damask questioned.

Mandragora answered, "If you're fine with the deal, then I see no reason to oppose it."

Roulette takes a sip of wine. "I won't say no either."

"Then it's final." Damask said, "Of course, there will need to be arranging the percentages I will receive from the profits and other details to be set in motion. But with the arrangement done, we could discuss the terms of me providing the essential funds you would need to start this venture. Intermediaries and front companies would suffice."

Mandragora smiled devilishly and went up from his seat to extend his large hand towards Damask. "It's good to do business with you again, Damask."

Hego smiled and went up as well to take in the gesture. "I agree, Mandragora."

If there were such a thing as a Hutt impersonification of a human being, Steven Mandragora would aptly fit that description—physically and mentally wise.

Hego Damask owns many buildings across the globe through his lucrative businesses. While most were publicly known, though very few were allowed entrance, others were clandestinely unavailable for the masses. These secret places and hideaways helped further Plagueis' schemes and plans of his own design. A selected few helped him do the art of subterfuge in Earth's economy, or darker ones where they assist the Sith Lord in acquiring secrets in the realms of the force and being laboratories of his experiments on Earth's strange anomalies.

Now, he was in his favorite private estate, a grand estate on the outskirts of Athens, Greece. The reasoning for this was for Greece's terrain and features being similar to the terrain of Muunilinst from his previous life as a Muun. Warm waters, periodic volcanic activity, mountainous terrain—the region where Earth's democracies owe a special place to Plagueis, though only because it resembled his home of a previous life.

Back from his trip in America with Mercy, Plagueis grew comfortable in the fact that he has done so much in his time in the states. In the short time he was in Gotham and on the eastern seaboard, he has been working with American businesses wanting to be his partner in their own operations. S.T.A.R. Labs wanted another backer for their research: Kord Industries in the same field.

In the few days he was in Metropolis for business, he had conversed with Lex Luthor about topics they shared. The man was indeed intelligent, possibly more intelligent than Plagueis. He knew that the American had plans and machinations of his own, some of which may be similar to Plagueis'. He thought of taking the time to deepen their relationship and maybe bringing Luthor onto the fold in his plans. But Luthor has a vendetta against the Krpytionian, and Plagueis knows that Luthor has an ego that would deny any partnership of that sort between them.

He realized that it would be easier to use that hatred on Superman to Plagueis' own agenda, in whatever way that might take shape.

While in Metropolis, Hego Damask met a younger entrepreneur by the name of Bruno "Ugly" Mannheim. Son of crime boss, Moxie Mannheim, Bruno was an audacious and crude person, clearly seeing himself as an intelligent man, though his exploits in schools said otherwise. Through Damask's contacts in the criminal underworld, the Sith knew that while Bruno denied any allegations of criminal activity in the public, he was actually the head boss of a small crime group in the name of Intergang.

Dabbling in all assortment of crimes, Intergang's success outside of Metropolis would have been mediocre at best. Yet, because of the Kryptonians power bullying any other crime syndicate from forming, Intergang manages to control Metropolis' underworld, though profits were little in order to keep bigger eyes from falling upon them.

Plagueis registered Intergang's surprising survival and believed that he could, within the shadows, nudge the group in the right direction to the point where they could be a major crime syndicate in the country.

So as Hego Damask, he had made an acquaintance with Bruno. He knew the ambitious younger man would be ripe for manipulation in helping Plagueis fester the US into chaos by criminal elements, and the heroes would be at the blame for it, as their refusal to kill criminals would only bite them back.

Night covered Athens. The Mediterranean air brushed against the mansion as Plagueis walked through the decorative corridors; ornate art and tapestries lined its walls with obscure artifacts of an esoteric past.

His destination was to a room where one of his latest works lay. An experiment that was like no other, that included ones in this life and the one before. A test where it could prove to be a great success and reap plentiful results, or a liability where he must be prepared to dispose of it if such a day comes into reality.

Opening the door was a room that was set lavishly like any other room in his mansion. This one, however, housed and protected his greatest and daring experiments. A repository where it contained one lifeform—this experiment of his. Within a crib of fancy but simple design was where this creature of a basic nature slept. Grabbing the bundle of life within his arms, he cupped the creature as he studied its features.

A freshly developed yet weak body; the animal had a wrinkled face; stumbled buds that showed its hair was growing; small arms and small legs that have yet to grow into its proper body proportions.

An infant human baby. But this was not any other human child. The baby he held that made his mind be perplexed that it even existed was his latest and possibly most ambitious project that dwelled into the realm of sciences and into the otherworldly nature of the force. A test subject that made him feel alive and indifferent to its existence; curious yet cautious.

A piece of his work that drew more emotions out of him than the day he left Mygeeto as a youngster to train under Darth Tenebrous, striking deeper feelings than the destruction of his castle and the death of his creations on Sojurn.

The baby was his own flesh and blood. A creation of his own. A child created out of natural means. An offspring that himself and Muun mathematical calculations predicted to be strong in the force and naturally attuned to the dark side.

His child. A baby girl in the name of Cassandra.

Her mother, Sandra Wu-San was not here nor needed. More than a year ago, while doing business in Detroit as Hego Damask, he met Sandra by accident when he felt that she had a strong connection to the force. A woman of Chinese descent and the daughter of immigrants from China, Sandra was ten years of Hego's junior when he discovered her in a martial prowess tournament. Notwithstanding her untrained aptitude for force, she was incredibly adept at martial arts, and he could sense she had an astonishing natural talent for force precognition.

He had sensed that she was strong in the force, and within the depths of herself, she had ambitions and desires that fueled her drive to be the best. A killer instinct—a predator's mentality—that can fuel the dark side in her. Plagueis considered training her in the Sith arts but declined that idea. He had learned the mistakes from training Sidious and knew that there would be no pleasing such an ambitious and prideful being like her if he would to train her; he denied himself an apprentice so that another Sidious would never backstab him.

But Plagueis knew that during his travels as Hego Damask, he met some latent force-sensitives from time to time, but their relationship with the force was neglectable. Sandra might've been the strongest force sensitive besides himself on the planet but knew that her hunger for strength would only lead to trouble if he were to take her in. It was wasted potential, for if he were to find her earlier, where her life was more morphable and vulnerable to influence, he may have considered it.

The need for an enforcer—an underling—was there to help him further and spin Earth into chaos so that the new world order may occur. Yet he would not let the past repeat itself and have another Sidious at his hands. Then it struck him like a thunderbolt. What he needed was an underling for sure, but not a true apprentice; not a true Sith in that regard. Much like Sidious' Dathomirian Zabrak apprentice—Maul—he required a weapon, a silent dagger of a sort where he could point and his enemies and obstacles would be finished by the shadows.

So he went and spoke to her; he could tell that in spite of her untrained force powers, she managed to sense him through his camouflage and see his power. Almost instantly, she was attracted to him, but this appeal was akin to how magnets are attracted to one another or animals hormonally breed because of their instincts commanded them so out of natural selection rather than deep love.

Blunt and direct, he had given her an opportunity to make her desires come true. In exchange for giving her contacts through his network in the criminal underworld, where she can prove herself and indulge her killer instincts, she would bear his child, and he would keep the offspring. Nine months later, Cassandra was born, the fruit of their loveless conception. A child where even at her birth, Plagueis felt a pulse from the dark side erupt, and he knew from there that she would be a worthy tool.

Since then, he had not seen Sandra, nor did he truly care. He has no desire or need for a codicil wife. As long as she kept her end of the agreement, her journey to whatever mercenary or assassin work she is in currently would be willingly unnoticed by him.

Still cradling his creation within his arms, he exited out of the child's room and entered the balcony that was next to him. Far away, the lights of Athens were barely seen, like stars within the void of space, and mountains sprung up from the landscape.

Even after several months of caring for his child, he was still amazed at the idea that such a being could exist by his own will. Yes, in Aborah, he had used the force to create beings from nothing in the past, but this latest creation was from the works of the flesh—from the material world—rather celestial and arcane practices.

Plagueis was never a father in his previous life, for his work in the mundane realm and within the force made that difficult. Even so, fatherhood was neither a concept nor a role he was interested in. Perhaps he did view his creations—the hapless beings and creatures he experimented on Aborah and Sojurn—as his children in a basic sense. Much like how a handler of an animal would develop feelings for the creature, he may have grown a sort of attachment towards Cassandra.

Love was not how he would describe it but also knew there was no other description best suited for it. Perhaps because she was his own flesh and blood, Plagueis was naturally drawn to his daughter in a way that could not be resisted or stopped.

Yes, he admitted to himself, he did love her. But he also withheld any compassion for Cassandra. It was love without compassion, for that last emotion has no part in Plagueis' life or the way of the Sith for that matter. In confession and painful hindsight, he did perhaps think of himself as, if nothing more, a parent to the young Palpatine when they met.

Perhaps it was their strong connection to the force or their status as pariahs within their own societies. Regardless of the cause, Plagueis let a small, poisonous shard of compassion within himself for Palpatine; because of that, that shard clouded his judgment. This caused Plagueis to think Sidious to be his equal, and they could rule their galaxy as immortal Sith together. That allowed Sidious to manipulate the Muun and eventually kill him.

But Plagueis promised himself that such a thing would never occur under his watch. Even if it all gives him great pain, if the time comes, he would have to destroy Cassandra if she ever dared to threaten him.

He has the power to create her and the ability to take that life from her.

Nonetheless, that was if she were to rebel or show any amount of resistance to his commands. Because she fountained out of his own flesh and obtained his potential for the force, perhaps even surpassing that, he would need to fashion a regimen to root out and destroy any sense of free will and independent thought.

Her autonomy would be squashed, and in its place, it would be his own will to be carried out by her. Her dreams and aspirations are his words. Her reward was his compliments and acknowledgment of her strength in the force. Her fears would be the possibilities of failing him, and her hatred would be onto those who wronged him and he detested.

Obedience will be her salvation and gift. Her loyalties will be to him and only him. His will is her will as much as his blood is her blood.

A risky investment for sure, Plagueis knows with careful training, she will be a powerful asset to him and to his schemes. A weapon of the Sith.

The One Who is All

Within the darkness of the night, Plagueis still held his daughter and looked up into the bleak, black night. The force within his planet and this galaxy has not been touched for almost eons, as he could feel its stillness. Now, however, his and his daughter's presence was darkening the force, warping it further into the abyss. He stared into the dark, and the dark stared back.

As if it were a second chance—a do-over—Plagueis could never truly know how this situation befell him. He thought his fate was sealed by the hands of Sidious, but at the stroke of luck—the direct manipulation of the mistress that was the dark side—he was given a second chance of ruling as an immortal Sith Lord.

His power was absolute and inevitable. He will be powerful beyond recognition with his daughter, Cassandra Damask, as a faithful child to do his every bidding.

He will be invincible.

Notes. So obviously, this is a beta story so dont expect an update. again it may depend on people's reactions. This story idea came from one of my polls i made from my Vader story. Some are picking Anakin or Plagueis and the setting is mostly Young Justice here's the poll at the bottom of the notes. Please review and express your ideas and thoughts on this story.

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