Coruscant, Unknown Bar

A drink was set down onto the counter, hard. No longer was he interested in the alcohol on his cup. His attention, like everyone else's, was on the Nuna-Ball game that was happening. All heads in the bar were pointed upward, trying to get a good view of the holoscreen. All around you could hear cheers being made for certain teams, drinks being gulped down with just a few swallows, and credits falling onto the floor as bets were being made. It was a rare sight to get a broadcast of games like these, so everyone was making the most of it.

Even the bartender had set down the glasses he was cleaning. The old man made his way around the counter, pushing through the crowds of people. And to no one's suprise he began watching the game. The anticipation was starting to build. Now the game was in overtime, and if the Wampas could pull it off, he would become quite a few credits richer.

The whistle was blown as the Nuna was tossed onto the field. For a few brief seconds you could hear a pin drop in that bar. Everyone watched to see who would get the Nuna first, practically securing the victory. But it was the Rancors who got the Nuna first. Cheers echoed throughout the bar, along with grumbles and shouts. You would have thought the coaches of the game were right in this bar, standing next to him.

People began to cheer louder and louder as the Rancors hurried across the field towards the goal. Slamming his fist down onto the counter he nearly spilled his drink. Resting his head in his other hand he sighed. That bet was going to help get him a new Speederbike. With how crappy the Wampas were playing, there was no chance now.

That was when the holoscreen went static.

Confusion echoed throughout the crowded bar. People started murmuring amongst themselves before they eventually stated to shout. The bartender hurried over to the screen, trying to fix it. A glass shattered in the back of the room. More and more people were getting upset.

"Get that damn game back on old man!"

Before the bartender even had a chance to fix anything the screen went back to normal. But the game wasn't on anymore. Instead, people were greeted with a horrifying view. Videos began to play of warriors clothed in all black, red lightsabers being held in their hands. It showed them walking through crowds of people, all dead. The camera panned down to a small, Human child covered in blood and scars. Red reflected off of his face. Somehow still alive, the child tried backing away from the warriors. His face began getting brighter and brighter from the lightsaber before he let out a hell-like scream. The red lightsaber struck downward. Before you could see it hit the child the holoscreen faded to black.

No one in that bar dared say a word. The only noise being made was coming from the holoscreen.


Fading back into life the screen revealed a mask-wearing figure, dressed in white clothing. A hood covered the person's head, allowing the viewer to only see the mask. The person was standing in a wide open plain, the sun beating down overhead. In either hand were lightsabers. The first one, in the person's left hand, flicked on. It revealed a bright yellow blade with almost a gold covering to it.

"I have experienced this type of pain before. My guess is so have many of you, and I am sorry for your loses. But things like this are happening more and more frequently to innocent people. People that are helpless to any attack. People that just want to live peacefully, and cause no harm. People who look towards their leaders for protection."

"News flash for everyone: Trust no one. You see myself, a Jedi, and think we are the peacekeepers of the galaxy? Then why are some of my brothers and sisters joining in aid of these Sith, these monsters. When people like the Concord of the Silver Jedi, or the leaders of the Confederacy begin to work with these Sith, they are no longer trying to protect you. Then are only in it to protect themselves and their power."

Zooming out slightly the camera gave a better view of the second lightsaber. As it turned on it released a sickly red blade. Small gasps could be heard come from the bar patrons, but that was the only noise made.

"This red blade in my hand is from one of those Sith, ones like the many who killed that child. Today, I declare my stand against the Sith and any partnering government who supports them. If you put your trust in the Sith, then you will be back stabbed and betrayed. Don't let the governments tell you what is right and wrong. Make the correct choice for yourself."

The figure suddenly tossed the red lightsaber into the air. Before it could gain too much height the person took their other lightsaber and sliced the hilt in two. A red light shot in all directions out of the lightsaber. The blade disappeared as the two hilt pieces hit the ground, with small crystal fragments surround it. The camera zoomed back onto the person's face, the yellow lightsaber glowing off of the mask.

"And know this. Those who do side with the Sith? I am coming for you. We are all coming."

Static soon filled the screen for a quick second before returning back to the Nuna-Ball game. The reporters were now giving a post-game report on what happened. Slowly people in the bar started talking again.

"...and I could NOT believe that play by the Wampas Jeff! Never in my twenty plus years of commentating have I seen a play pulled off like that, especially in overtime!"

Some people began to boo at the game while others cheered. He, on the other hand, was still freaked out, who was the person? And home many people saw that broadcast? The bartender was back on the other side of the counter, starting to clean glasses again. Dropping some credits onto the counter he got up from his stool and walked toward the door. As he exited through the doorway a small piece of Durasteel cut his left arm. Must have been a loose piece.

Grabbing out a cloth from his back pocket he pressed it to his left arm. Man, it was gushing quite a bit of blood. Oh well, it will heal in time. For now though, he was off to the Casino to collect his winnings.