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One late night dumpster diving in lower levels of Coruscant, Fox finds a lightsaber in a bin in an infamous corner for spice dealing. Not only is that a karking Jedi weapon, but also a symbol of peace or whatnot, if he’s not mistaken.
“How the kriff did it get here?” Fox murmurs in numb wonder as he palms the lightsaber in his hand. The hilt is shorter by a few inches than the one he had seen on Vos when he for the first time visited Guard as a proper General and not a smuggler or thief or whatever other undercover nonsense he got going.
Curiosity gets the better of him and Fox lights it up. He tilts his head in askance at the colour. The blade shines bright yellow. Never had he seen such a blade. The Temple Guards are the closest to it but they carry double-bladed ‘sabers.
His first thought is to return it to the Jedi Temple. Someone must have lost it and what he heard from his bitching batchmates, he’s well aware that Jedi are prone to dropping them wherever. Or at least Kenobi is. A dumpster wouldn’t be that different if slightly unconventional compared to a battlefield. Kriff he knows. Perhaps a Jedi fought against a scavenging Womp rat and lost it.
His second thought, much more pressing, is that he absolutely needs to keep the weapon. He can’t give it back. He can’t–
Shrugging, Fox puts the lightsaber into a bag full of other found treasure - hmm, trash - and continues dump diving as if nothing otherworldly happened.
The lightsaber lies forgotten in the bag till the next morning when Fox goes over the useful, newfound stuff.
“What am I even supposed to do with you,” he grumbles and bristles slightly when chill-like needles run through his spine.
Well, that’s not ominous at all.
“Say that again?” Lili, the Guard’s quartermaster, asks as he finally unsticks his narrowed eyes from an all-present datapad that the whole Guard has a bet going on that he is married to. Some joke that they want a partner who can look at them with the same intensity as Lili does at his datapad.
“Do we have a lightsaber clip?” Even as Fox asks that again, the lightsaber hidden in his utility belt – where it fits perfectly thanks to its small size - hums disapprovingly.
What in the Chaos of Fett’s smelly socks? An inanimate object is expressing its disappointment in him. This is almost as bad as when Alpha-17 found out his batch was nightly hiding Rex’ika from his original passive-aggressive batch. Thought, Alpha’s disappointment was because he found out, not because they had basically kidnapped a kid.
His CMO Purify warned him against caffeine overdose. Of all the symptoms of a worsening condition, is he already at the stage of troublesome hallucinations?
“We don’t have clips like that, sir. Why would you need one?” Lili asks slowly as if questioning Fox’s intelligence, sanity or both. Not that he’s wrong to do so, but it’s still offensive and Fox is one petty bastard.
“You don’t need to know,” he answers offhandedly and makes to look at his nails like a sissy. He read on the Holonet that it shows disinterest and superiority. As Marshal Commander, Fox claims all the superiority there is in the Guard as his.
“It would soothe my distressed mind,” Lili despairs as he steps from one foot to another and tightens his fingers on the datapad in a nervous gesture.
Fox shrugs. “Sucks to be you then.”
Before the quartermaster can speak, Fox’s vambrace beeps with an incoming call. He ignores Lili’s glare which is at most a flat stare - pathetic - and picks the call.
“Commander Fox. I require your immediate presence,” an oily voice sounds out from the comm and Fox’s mood - day - life is ruined.
“Yes, your Excellency,” he crisply replies and waits for the comm line to close to swallow a sigh of despair. There goes his nice, boring day. “Thanks for making time for me, Lili. If you find anything that could substitute for a clip, ping me.”
“Always and sure, will do. Good luck, vod.” Lili tries for a smile that is more of a grimace and pats him lightly on his shoulder pads. Both of them turn at the same time and go different ways. Lili to do his dull duties and Fox towards his doom.
One day, Fox will get the honour to celebrate the Chancellor’s death by dancing over his corpse while getting shit drunk. Sounds like a well-deserved reward for dealing with that wrinkly bastard who has no idea how to do paperwork on a daily basis. For unholy sake, who decides to allocate most of the Guard’s bacta to the Senate building of all places? His CMO had a hysterical fit over that one.
Killing the manipulative bastard sounds so karking enticing…
The lightsaber purrs like a mother tooka exciting its kittens for a first hunt. Bloodthirsty little thing. Fox finds himself starting to like it.
While moving through the halls, Fox smells something burning even with his helmet on. It leads him to an office on the far end of the left corridor which is in the opposite direction of the path to Chancellor’s station, but… the bastard can wait. That’s what he gets for comming Fox so suddenly.
The burning appears to be coming from a small campfire. Around it sits three troopers who casually make s’mores from the look of it. Fox casually looks around. Yep, still in the office of the Guard Headquarters.
Fox kicks the doorframe and three heads abruptly turn in his direction in a perfect synchronicity, wide eyes blinking shamelessly in an act of innocence. Fox is neither amused nor convinced. No wonder some Senators think the clones share a hive mind.
“Wanna one, Commander? We are having a mallow-velous time right now.” The closest trooper to the door, Bittergiggle if Fox remembers right, offers him a metal stick with a half-burn marshmallow that’s slowly dripping from one side on the floor.
Fox stares at the troopers off duty and makes an invigorating decision.
He steps out into the hall, still watching the men who soullessly stare right back at him, and blindly pushes buttons to close the door.
Nope, not today. He saw nothing at all. Wolffe always made fun that if a denial was a state, Fox would be the first proud Governor. For all the right reasons, Fox never disagreed with him. He would make an excellent leader for people with denial. Heck, he leads the Guard which is one big hole full of troopers in many stages of denial.
Not even a next corridor, like a playful tooka, one of his youngest but not shiniest troopers slides into a step next to him. An amusement is quite clear to read from the tilt of his head and sparkling eyes. How many times had Fox told him to wear his helmet before he gets into unavoidable trouble?
“Fox boss, do you know what would make this day better?” The devil on his shoulders singsongs deceptively composed.
Fox only just doesn’t roll his eyes. “What?”
“You should kriff up Palpatine’s face.” Roddy, his cursed adopted child, whispers theatrically as he tiptoes closer to Fox so that he can lean towards his helmeted face like an unsuccessfully ominous messenger. “Also, hear the verdict of the vode: you should call him a cunt.”
From months of practice, Fox doesn’t sigh but when the lightsaber gives off the feelings of giggling, it almost makes him stumble. Oh no, the lightsaber likes Roddy. Is the end of the world coming? “No, Roddy. And I refuse to call him that to his face.”
“Your loss.” Roddy grins unbothered. This is their daily game of illegal encouragement and Fox had long lost any hope of stopping it. Not that he can’t appreciate the fantasy of doing what is said.
Roddy salutes cheekily as their paths divert. Stone should find a new way to keep the kid occupied so that he doesn’t annoy Fox to murder. Whether it’d be Roddy’s or the Chancellor’s is debatable.
When Fox finally enters the office, his eyes are immediately drawn towards a newly installed crystal chandelier. The Chancellor made requests for it two weeks ago and Fox still thinks it’s a completely useless luxury. The previous lights worked just fine.
The greatest man of raisins is sitting comfortably in his chair in a thoughtful position while he taps one of his fingers on his desk in a precise beat. Once he focuses on entering Fox, he smiles genially but his eyes only show dispassion. “Your helmet off, Commander. I have some serious matters to discuss with you.”
Following the order, Fox slips the helmet off and clips it to his hip. As always, it’s suddenly ten times harder to breathe but Fox is professional. He measures and releases each breath with tentative movements.
Kriffing anxiety. With the old raisin, no one ever knows what’s going to happen next.
The Chancellor continues to smile at Fox gently as he stands from his desk to step closer towards him. His hands are hidden in his robust robes, but Fox's eyes follow them unconsciously. Bad experiences tend to leave marks.
“Commander Fox, would you dance Macarena for me?” Sheev Palpatine - the revered Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, the honourable former Naboo Senator, the oh so wise leader - requests.
Fox swallows a disbelieving gasp. “No, sir.”
There was only one person who ever saw him dance Macarena. Likewise, Fox was the only witness who saw them dance Gangnam Style. Marshal Commander Cody of the 7th Sky Corps of the 3rd System Army knows kark well to keep his mouth shut if Fox is supposed to keep quiet too. They promised to take these memories to their graves.
So why is Palpatine bringing this up?
“You see, Commander, the Macarena dance has a particular power, and yet you are refusing to use it. You probably ask yourself what the power is?” Of course Fox does. “Well, for one, it scared the Jedi.”
What kind of spice is the greatest raisin on? Can Fox get comm on his dealer? Asking for a friend.
The Chancellor continues to speak senselessly as Fox tries his best to hide his bewilderment. “I want to see just how powerful your moves are, so that I can plan accordingly for my future goals.”
Excuse me?
“You’re not excused.” Chaos, had Fox spoken aloud? “Truly, Commander, I have such high hopes and expectations from you.”
The Chancellor’s eyes shine cheddar yellow.
Like Atlantis siren’s hypnotic call, the lightsaber sings in his mind, luring him to act in self-defence.
Fox’s hand moves slowly toward it until his neurone re-fire and Fox hastily tries to grab his blaster under the utility belt, but the bastard sees the movement and takes it rightfully as a threat.
In the next instant, Fox is aware of lying on the ground, twitching from lightning burns. Kriff, that hurts. The air smells like a burning flesh and Fox swallows a bile.
“Stand up, CC-1010. I have a new order for you,” a nasty voice commands.
CC-1010 makes to move up but suddenly a sound of loosening bolts catches their attention, and the newly installed chandelier is falling on CC-1010. The full weight of the crystal light hits Fox’s head before he’s even halfway up.
This is not how Fox imagined he’d die. But it’s fitting as hell.
Fox closes his eyes.
…
Only to open them in a void empty and full of matter. Black and white. Moving and still. And wow, his head hurts. Whose hovercraft is going to get confiscated and fined?
Fox tenderly touches a painfully throbbing spot on his head. Hopefully, he doesn’t have a concussion. He’d rather fight a drunken Senator than deal with Purify’s infuriating comments about his deteriorating health.
Amusement washes over him like a ghost stomping over his non-existent grave.
“What?” Startled, Fox surveys his surroundings but there’s nothing noticeable.
A brush of light, of brilliant softness touches his soul, and Fox is - aware .
‘ You shall finish what needs to be done ,’ the kriffing Force says - because what else could it be? - and Fox feels like crying. Or sighing. Or dying. Whatever!
“Aren’t I supposed to march on? Shouldn’t that be the only thing I need to do when I’m dead?” The drama queen in him shows his despair. While he doesn’t want to leave his vode, he’s tired.
The Force giggles at his very much serious theatrics. ‘You are not dead, only unconscious. And you shall kill the dark being going by mortal name Sheev Palpatine.’
When Fox's brain registers what was said, he chuckles gleefully. “You should have started with that! Do you know how much I dream of killing that sleazy guy? How do I get back?”
The void of fullness yet emptiness twists. The black and white mix into a grey and the motion and stillness quicken to slow. Then Fox opens his eyes and stares at the Chancellor’s grey carpet with a breath stuck in his throat.
Well… that happened.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” the Chancellor says to someone, who Fox can’t identify from his position, with the tone of an innocent, sweet angel. That’s probably what compels Fox to his next actions.
“Sike, cunt!” Fox yells as he lunges from the ground at the old potato-shaped human everyone calls Supreme Chancellor. This time he skips the blaster and instead grabs the giddy lightsaber from his utility belt and within one swoop, he serves the bastard’s head from the rest of his body.
The wrinkly head rolls a few feet away from Fox, releasing a black cloud of smoke. Is that normal thing to happen for Humans from Naboo? Whatever. A quick death. Not something that the bastard deserved but at least the deed is done.
“Ehm.” Someone clears their throat from behind him. Swiftly turning, Fox looks at the assembled Jedi squad and internally cringes. Two Jedi High Generals that Fox recognises, Mace Windu and Agen Kolar, stand with their hands resting on their lightsabers. There’s also a Bothan female and a Falleen male with their lightsabers already drawn. Whether they're Masters or Knights, Fox doesn’t know.
Oh, Fett’s stinky feet. Did he really just kill the Supreme Chancellor in front of his other bosses, using their stolen, probably sacred, weapon?!
He’s going to get decommissioned quicker than Alpha can say ‘Stop biting, Wolffe!’.
“Sirs, are the Jedi scared of the Macarena dance?” Fox blurs the question to break the tension in the air.
There’s a long, painful silence.
“No. We are– no. Just where did that come from?” General Windu says, confusion and exasperation bleeding from his body in a way he wouldn’t normally show. This just serves to show the madness of this situation.
“I see, sir.”
Kark. This is embarrassing.
The Bothan clears her throat and says lightly, “The Force was quite clear and insistent that the Sith Lord will die here in this office and I can now happily attest to that. Commander Fox, right? Good job.”
A fog settles into Fox’s mind. The Force called Palpatine a dark being.
A Sith.
The Chancellor was the Sith in the Republic that Vos had once mentioned when Fox caught him snooping in the Senate building. The kriff is his life?
“You’re welcome,” Fox says blandly and takes the compliment. He just killed a Sith, the biggest enemy of the Jedi. Sure, why not?
“That Kyber is giving me a galaxy-sized headache. It’s been quite some time since I heard such an opinionated crystal,” General Windu says towards the other Jedi as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The others seem to understand what he’s talking about and give him a look of sympathy, but Fox is left utterly confused.
What kyber? What opinionated crystal? Do they mean the lightsaber? That little shit is sure loud about its wants and intentions. Right now, it’s purring like a satisfied tooka that got its cream.
“Where did you get that lightsaber from?” General Kolar asks Fox, and while his Zabrak features are a paragon of stoic strictness, only pure curiosity shines through his voice as he eyes the still powered-up blade. The yellow colour shades Fox’s armour and surroundings with warm intensity.
Huh, maybe Fox isn’t going to be immediately accused of thieving and get decommissioned. They are acting extremely unbothered by everything.
“I found it in a dumpster,” Fox says with a tone so dead that it could support a colony of fungi that lives under his office desk. Most of the present beings don’t seem to believe him by the way their faces contour but whatever. Where else would Fox find a Jedi weapon? In a drawer? Shower?
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, sirs. Before I commit any more of the war crimes, I have paperwork to fill and sign.” Fox throws a sloppy salute. “My job here is well done,” he tags on and walks off. Surprisingly, they let him.
“Well, he did everything, alright. And oh Maker, the Force is singing him praises. Just why is today such a crazy day?” Fox hears General Windu mutter disbelievingly and that makes him smirk in satisfaction. Hopefully, Stone and Roddy had prepared a cup of caff for him. He deserves it for getting rid of the Guard’s biggest headache.
Oh. And potentially ending a Galactic-wide war.
…
Kark… he forgot to dance above that bastard’s corpse.