Coruscant.
The Senate Rotunda stood intact, but no one inside pretended it was the same.
The great circular chamber buzzed with controlled unrest. Hover pods filled the air in layered tiers, their occupants whispering, arguing, watching.
At the center, two figures shared the Chancellor's platform.
Chancellor Sheev Palpatine.
And beside him, Chancellor Ranulph Tarkin.
For the first time in centuries, the Republic did not trust itself.
Among the gathered delegates, one pod drew immediate hostility.
The Trade Federation. Their emblem displayed openly.
Their representative present.
Senator Lott Dod stood inside the pod, expression neutral, hands folded within his sleeves as if the last catastrophe had never happened.
As if Naboo had not broken free. As if Jin-Woo had not nearly reduced the Senate itself to dust.
A pod surged forward.
Bail Antilles rose, his voice sharp. "What are they doing here?" he demanded, gesturing openly toward Lott Dod. "The Trade Federation was responsible for the blockade.. For the chain of events that nearly killed everyone in this chamber."
Murmurs spread. Agreement. Fear. Anger.
Palpatine remained still. Then he raised a hand.
The chamber quieted.
"The Trade Federation," Palpatine said calmly, "remains vital to the Republic's economic stability."
His voice carried easily across the chamber.
"With the Commerce Guild weakened, supply chains have fractured. Entire sectors face shortages. Recovery requires infrastructure."
He let the words settle.
"We cannot afford to dismantle every pillar simply because it was misused."
A pause.
"And now," Palpatine continued, "we face a greater threat."
His eyes moved across the Senate.
"The ancient Sith—Naga Sadow—has returned."
The name alone shifted the room's gravity.
Fear was no longer hypothetical.
"It is precisely because of this," Palpatine said, "that the Trade Federation must be temporarily restored to operational capacity."
Ranulph Tarkin stood beside him, silent but present.
Bail Antilles' jaw tightened. "You're asking us to trust them again,"
Palpatine met Bail Antilles' gaze without hesitation. "I am asking for your toleration," he said calmly. "So that we may cooperate in this moment of necessity."
He allowed the tension to hold for just a moment. "And now, to the matter at hand," Palpatine continued. "I ask that you all listen to San Hill. He brings a solution to the problem currently before us."
A pod descended slowly toward the center.
San Hill rose within it, tall and thin, his Muun features sharp beneath the Senate lights. His hands folded neatly before him, posture composed despite the hostility already building in the chamber.
"Gentlebeings of the Senate," San Hill began smoothly, "I will speak plainly."
He paused just long enough to ensure every ear was on him. "The Trade Federation currently operates without a Viceroy. Nute Gunray remains detained on Naboo, under the custody of Jin-Woo and his… dark army."
The name alone shifted the atmosphere.Fear mixed with resentment.
San Hill continued. "In the absence of stable leadership, and in order to preserve economic continuity, the Trade Federation has been acquired by the InterGalactic Muun Bank."
The chamber exploded into noise.
Pods shifted violently. Voices rose. Accusations, disbelief, outrage.
Lott Dod surged forward in his pod, fury overt.
"Don't speak nonsense, you Muun filth!" he snapped. "The Trade Federation belongs to the Neimoidians! No such agreement has been authorized!"
San Hill did not react emotionally.
"Please calm yourself, Senator Dod," he said smoothly. "This transition was conducted under emergency economic provisions."
His thin fingers gestured slightly behind him.
"And to ensure transparency, allow me to introduce the architect of this recovery."
The chamber quieted incrementally.
A second figure stepped forward from behind San Hill. Robed in the quiet authority of wealth rather than politics.
"Magister Hego Damask," San Hill said.
The man inclined his head slightly.
Magister Hego Damask's voice, when he spoke, was calm. Controlled. Measured.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Hego Damask, of Damask Holdings."
His eyes moved across the Senate—not searching, but assessing.
"I stand before you as a stabilizing force," he continued. "The Neimoidians have demonstrated their unreliability."
A ripple passed through the Neimoidian delegation.
"We have all seen what happened to Naboo," Damask said. "And how close the Republic itself came to shattering."
His tone never rose. That restraint carried more weight than anger ever could.
"Commerce cannot function on instability," he said. "The Republic cannot survive on fractured trust."
He folded his hands calmly.
"The InterGalactic Banking Clan offers restoration. Order. Continuity."
Above him, Chancellor Palpatine watched in silence, his expression neutral.
To the Senate, Magister Hego Damask was nothing more than a powerful financier stepping forward in a moment of crisis.
But behind that composed exterior—
Behind the voice, the posture, the carefully measured authority—
Darth Plagueis observed the Senate through the mask of Hego Damask, studying every reaction, every fear, every fracture.
Behind the voice, the posture, the carefully measured authority—Darth Plagueis observed the Senate through the mask of Hego Damask, studying every reaction, every fear, every fracture, like an architect preparing to claim what was already falling apart.
But Lott Dod did not retreat. Pride held him upright where fear could not.
"The Trade Federation," Lott Dod said sharply, "is a sovereign corporate entity. Even in acquisition, there must be agreement. We Neimoidians still hold majority ownership of its assets."
Hego Damask did not look offended.
He looked patient. "Let me remind you, Senator," Damask said calmly, "there is very little in this galaxy that credits cannot buy."
A faint pause.
"Yes, the statement sounds unethical," he continued evenly. "But is it not the very foundation upon which your organization was built?"
Lott Dod's eyes narrowed.
Damask's gaze never left him. "And most of your Lucrehulk-class carriers," Damask added, "are no longer in your possession. Are they?"
The chamber shifted. Everyone knew. had already seen it. The massive Lucrehulks now hung above Naboo—trapped beneath the shadow of Jin-Woo's dark sky, the dome of living darkness that had swallowed the planet and sealed it from its enemies.
Damask raised one hand slightly.
A hologram activated in the center of the Senate floor.
Lok Durd appeared—his image grainy but unmistakable.
A high-ranking Neimoidian. A senior authority within the Trade Federation.
His signature followed.
Then another hologram appeared. A formal certification.
A transfer of ownership.
Damask spoke as the document hovered above the Senate.
"The Trade Federation has been formally acquired by Damask Holdings," he said. "Total transaction value: two quadrillion credits."
The chamber erupted into whispers.
"The organization will now operate under its new designation," Damask continued calmly. "The Damask Federation."
He allowed the words to settle. "The Neimoidian people will retain administrative roles," he added. "You will retain prosperity. influence."
His eyes rested briefly on Lott Dod. "You will retain relevance."
Lott Dod trembled—not with weakness, but fury. "That is slavery," Lott Dod spat. "Slavery to the Neimoidian people. Slavery to every world under Trade Federation authority."
He turned, addressing the entire Senate. "Gentlemen," he said, voice rising, "will you allow this treason?"
Lott Dod's eyes burned as he stood at the center of the Senate chamber, his voice sharp with anger and desperation.
"Will you allow this barbarism to take root on Republic soil?"
No answer came. The Senate did not rally. It did not protest. It did not defend him. It simply watched. The Neimoidians had spent too long profiting from blockade and coercion, too long hiding behind legality while entire systems suffered under their economic chokehold. Now that their fleets were gone, now that Naboo was beyond their reach and their leverage had collapsed, there was no appetite left to protect them.
Fear had been their shield. Without it, they were exposed.
Lott Dod stood alone beneath the towering dome.
Then a new voice cut through the silence.
"I request permission to speak." The words were calm, controlled, and entirely unexpected.
Attention shifted toward the Alderaan delegation. Not Bail Antilles—but the younger man behind him. Prestor Organa stepped forward into view, his posture straight, his expression composed despite the weight of thousands of watching eyes.
"Prestor Organa of Alderaan," he said. "I request recognition to address the Senate, should Chancellor Palpatine and Senator Antilles permit it."
A quiet murmur spread across the rotunda.
Palpatine turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on the young Alderaanian with polite interest.
"Alderaan is already represented," Palpatine said smoothly. "Does Senator Antilles formally recognize this request?"
His tone remained courteous, but measured.
"No offense is intended," Palpatine added. "But the political arena is rarely kind to those without experience."
Bail Antilles answered immediately. "I recognize him."
Antilles voice carried without hesitation. He turned his head slightly toward Prestor, his expression steady—not protective, but affirming.
"He speaks with my authority," Antilles said. "And with Alderaan's trust."
Antilles paused only briefly before continuing. "He is my successor. It is time he spoke with his own voice."
Prestor Organa inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, Senator Bail Antilles."
He stepped forward, standing fully within the Senate's central field, his eyes sweeping across the assembled representatives—not with arrogance, but with clarity.
"I will speak plainly," Organa said. "Not as a politician. Not as a successor. But as a citizen of this Republic."
His hands remained at his sides.
"I believe we have all become rotten to the core," he continued. "Not because we are evil. But because we refuse to admit our mistakes. We replace leaders, but we preserve their systems. We condemn outcomes, but we protect the structures that created them."
The chamber grew quieter.
"We tell ourselves that change has occurred," Organa said. "But the seed remains untouched. And so the same future grows again."
Hego Damask watched him without moving. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but there was weight behind it.
"And what do you propose, Senator Organa? You understand the reality we face," Damask continued. "Jin-Woo—the man with the immortal army—does not answer to this Senate. The ancient Sith rise again. The Jedi have failed to contain them. And yet you stand here speaking of structural purity."
A faint pause.
"What solution do you offer?"
Organa met his gaze directly. "The threat is not only the Sith," Organa said. "It is the Republic itself."
That stirred the chamber. "For reasons I cannot fully explain," he continued, "I see a trajectory. A pattern. If we do not act now—this galaxy will face a war beyond anything we have endured before."
He gestured toward the hovering certification hologram.
"My proposal is simple," Organa said. "The Trade Federation must be forcibly dissolved. Its assets redistributed under direct Senate control."
The reaction was immediate.
Aks Moe leaned forward, his voice laced with accusation. "You speak of dissolution. confiscation. That is piracy under legal disguise. Alderaan reveals its true colors."
Organa did not react emotionally. "If I stood here and told you those assets should be given to the poor, you would suspect me of manipulation."
He turned slightly, addressing the entire chamber.
"So I will not pretend. If you want credits, take them. Divide them. But understand this, If the Trade Federation continues to exist—even under new leadership—then the structure remains intact."
Organa's eyes hardened slightly. "And if the structure remains intact, then war is an inevitability."
The words settled heavily over the Senate.
Ranulph Tarkin moved.
He had remained silent until now, watching, calculating, waiting. Where Palpatine cultivated patience, Ranulph cultivated opportunity. This moment—the fracture, the uncertainty, the humiliation Palpatine had failed to prevent—was leverage.
Ranulph Tarkin stepped forward from his elevated platform, his posture straight, his expression composed but sharp.
"An astute observation, Senator Organa," Ranulph said, his voice carrying easily across the chamber.
His eyes shifted briefly toward Palpatine—not openly hostile, but unmistakably challenging.
"The Republic cannot afford instability within its own economic arteries," Ranulph continued. "If the Trade Federation must continue to exist, then it would be… more appropriate for it to exist under direct Republic authority."
A ripple of approval spread among several delegations.
Ranulph pressed forward.
"Rather than allowing private interests to dictate the survival of our logistical backbone," he said, "the Republic itself should assume ownership."
It was a clean strike.
Not just against Damask. Against Palpatine. Because whoever controlled the Trade Federation would control supply lines. Whoever controlled supply lines would control war.
And whoever controlled war—
Controlled the Republic. Hego Damask spoke before the momentum could fully form.
His tone remained calm. Civilized. But the interruption was absolute.
"Before we abandon civility entirely," Damask said, "and descend into open barbarism under the guise of governance, I propose an alternative."
He folded his hands behind his back. "An auction."
The word alone froze the chamber.
Damask continued without hesitation. "Damask Holdings has legally acquired the Trade Federation. That fact is not in dispute."
He turned slightly, ensuring every delegation could see him.
"However, in the spirit of cooperation," he said, "I am willing to entertain competitive acquisition."
A faint pause.
"I will raise the valuation."
He let the number arrive like a blade. "Twenty quadrillion credits."
The chamber erupted.
"Should the Republic wish to claim ownership," Damask said evenly, "it may purchase the Trade Federation from my hands."
Above the chamber, Palpatine remained composed. His face did not change. His posture did not shift. But beneath the stillness, a private holocommunication flickered to life—hidden beneath layers of encryption invisible to every senator present.
Master, Palpatine's voice spoke silently through the secured channel. This was not part of the plan.
His eyes remained forward, never betraying the exchange.
If the Republic or Tarkin acquires the Federation, our control fragments, he continued. This escalation risks placing our own pawns into someone else's hands.
A fractional pause.
Is this about Jin-Woo again, Master? He will not be baited so easily. He will not dig himself into a trap of our design.
On the Senate floor, Hego Damask did not move.
But he heard every word.
Darth Plagueis did not respond. Instead, he acted.
"I revise the valuation," Damask said aloud, his voice cutting cleanly through the chamber.
All attention snapped back to him.
"Thirty quadrillion credits."
The number struck harder than the first.
"And until ownership is resolved," Damask continued calmly, "Damask Holdings will suspend all Trade Federation logistical support to Republic-controlled supply routes."
The effect was immediate.
Shock. Anger. Fear.
Aks Moe surged forward, his voice sharp with outrage.
"What is the meaning of this, Damask?" he demanded. "You already possess the Trade Federation. Everyone here knows it. Why escalate this charade?"
Damask did not answer him.
He simply looked across the Senate. Behind the calm face of Hego Damask, Darth Plagueis searched the chamber—not for senators.
For something else.
I know you are here, Plagueis thought silently.
You have interfered with everything. Naboo. The Sith. The balance itself.
His eyes moved slowly, deliberately. hide behind events and consequences.
Damask's thoughts sharpened.
Come forward, Immortal Lord. Show me the secret you stole from death itself.
He waited, his physical form unmoving while his true attention extended beyond sight, beyond sound, beyond the Senate itself. Seconds passed. Nothing responded
Then another repulsor pod descended into the Senate chamber.
It had not been announced. It had not been cleared. It simply entered, lowering itself into the center with quiet mechanical precision. Confusion spread immediately across the Senate floor as delegates leaned forward, trying to identify the unexpected arrival.
The pod opened.
Viceroy Nute Gunray stepped out.
Bruised. Blood dried along the edge of his mouth. His ceremonial robes were torn, and his posture carried the stiffness of someone who had endured physical punishment. Rune Haako followed close behind him, equally damaged but alive.
The reaction was instant.
Gunray looked around the chamber, absorbing their shock. His eyes moved from delegation to delegation, no longer the fearful administrator they remembered, but something harder.
"Everyone speaks," Gunray said, his voice rough but steady, "as if I were already dead."
The chamber erupted into whispers.
"But things," he continued, "are not so easily resolved."
He raised one hand slightly.
"I have reacquired my assets."
The words froze the room.
"And as a final confirmation," Gunray said, "I have purchased the Trade Federation under the declared auction terms."
He paused just long enough to ensure they understood.
"For thirty-one quadrillion credits."
The Senate exploded into chaos.
Delegates rose from their seats. Accusations overlapped. Confusion spread faster than control could contain it. The central question echoed everywhere at once: how had Nute Gunray escaped Naboo?
"How is he alive—"
"He was imprisoned—"
"He was on Naboo—"
"How did he leave Jin-Woo's custody—"
But inside, Darth Plagueis recalculated instantly.
This was not part of his projection.
Damask stepped forward slightly, raising his hand in an attempt to restore order.
"This must be deception," Damask said calmly. "An imitation. Jin-Woo has already demonstrated the ability to replace individuals through methods that exceed conventional—"
He stopped himself too late. The Senate had already heard enough. The chamber fell silent again, but the silence had changed. It was no longer confusion driving it. It was fear. Attention shifted away from Nute Gunray and settled onto Hego Damask, not as a stabilizing buyer, but as a potential liability. He had spoken the name openly, and that alone altered the emotional gravity of the room.
Because he had spoken the name openly.
Jin-Woo. The being who had swallowed Naboo. The master of an immortal army. The force that could not be killed, bargained with, or controlled.
Several senators exchanged uneasy looks. The implication settled over them with uncomfortable clarity. If Jin-Woo was involved, then provoking him—even indirectly—could bring consequences none of them were prepared to survive.
Jin-Woo was not a political figure. He was the being who had swallowed Naboo in living darkness, the master of an immortal army, a force that could not be killed, bargained with, or controlled. Several senators exchanged uneasy looks as the implication settled over them with uncomfortable clarity. If he was involved, then even indirect provocation could invite consequences none of them were prepared to endure.
Aks Moe's voice lowered, stripped of its earlier outrage and replaced with careful restraint. "Magister Damask," he said, choosing every word, "are you suggesting that Jin-Woo is interfering with Senate affairs?"
The question hung in the chamber.
Before Damask could respond, a sharp impact broke the silence.
Ranulph Tarkin's hand struck the table in front of him, the sound echoing across the rotunda with deliberate authority. His expression was no longer neutral. It was decisive.
"Escort Chancellor Palpatine and Magister Damask to their private quarters," Ranulph said coldly. "Effective immediately."
Shock rippled across the Senate.
"The activities of Damask Holdings and the Muun Banking Clan will be placed under full reconsideration," Ranulph continued. "This Senate will determine whether your actions have endangered the Republic itself ."
Palpatine finally moved, his expression composed despite the tightening political noose.
"I have made no such claims," Palpatine said smoothly. "In fact, I believe we are treating speculation with excessive gravity."
His attempt to reframe the moment did not land.
Another voice rose.
Bail Antilles stood, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed directly on Palpatine and Damask.
"And if our lives are taken because of this moment," Antilles said evenly, "will that also be called an overreaction?"
His eyes did not waver.
"When one provokes the maw itself, one does not complain when the black hole answers."
The chamber fell silent again. Even those who doubted Jin-Woo's direct involvement understood the underlying truth. Whether Gunray was real or replaced did not matter. Jin-Woo's logic was not political. It was absolute. One was either an enemy, or not. There was no negotiation beyond that boundary.
Palpatine understood.
The momentum had shifted beyond recovery.
He inclined his head slightly toward Ranulph Tarkin, his expression calm, controlled, but internally calculating the damage.
"Very well," Palpatine said. "I will take my leave, my co-chancellor."
He turned and stepped onto his repulsor platform. Nearby, the representatives of the Muun Banking Clan followed in silent compliance, their confidence shaken but their discipline intact. As the platforms ascended and carried them away from the Senate floor, the chamber remained silent, every senator aware that something fundamental had just changed.
Ranulph Tarkin moved quickly to reclaim political ground before uncertainty hardened into paralysis. He turned toward the center platform where Nute Gunray still stood, bruised but present, and forced his voice back into measured authority.
"Viceroy Gunray," Ranulph began, "what message does Jin-Woo intend to convey through your—"
"Shhh!" Gunray snapped suddenly, his composure breaking. He raised both hands defensively, his eyes darting around the chamber as if afraid the name itself might summon something.
"Quiet down," Gunray hissed. "I am here. I am real. I am not a projection, not a clone, orshadow trick."
His breathing remained uneven.
"Clone technology exists , but that is not what this is," he continued. "I escaped. That is all."
The Senate leaned forward.
Gunray swallowed. "One thing I can tell you," he said, his voice lowering, "Jin-Woo was not there on Naboo."
A ripple passed through the chamber.
"And his dark army was not guarding every cell," Gunray continued quickly. "Security was handled by Naboo personnel. I bribed them. I paid enough, and they let me leave."
The statement detonated across the Senate floor.
Disbelief spread instantly. Jin-Woo was not careless . He was not known to overlook enemies once captured.
Mas Amedda leaned slightly toward Ranulph Tarkin, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It could be deliberate," Amedda murmured. "He may have allowed this escape."
Ranulph's eyes remained on Gunray, but the warning registered. Could be a trap. A test. Or a message.
Ranulph chose control.
"We will not speculate on that matter," Ranulph said firmly, cutting off the line of thought before it could infect the chamber further. "The circumstances of your escape are no longer the priority."
He straightened slightly.
"The Republic requires stability," Ranulph continued. "Can the Trade Federation reestablish its shipping routes and resume its logistical functions?"
His tone hardened slightly.
"This time, under direct Republic oversight."
Gunray's eyes narrowed immediately. "You speak, as if the Trade Federation were some criminal syndicate. We are a sovereign commercial entity. That distinction still matters."
Beside him, Rune Haako quietly stepped on his foot. Not hard enough to draw attention. Hard enough to deliver meaning.
Gunray flinched slightly, his composure cracking just enough to remember reality. The Trade Federation was no longer what it had been. Reacquiring its assets had nearly drained their reserves. Their fleets were diminished. Their leverage fragile. Pride alone would not rebuild supply lines.
Gunray adjusted his posture. "We are the Trade Federation," he said more carefully. "And we conduct business. As we always have."
Ranulph Tarkin watched him for a moment longer, then gave a single nod. The Senate did not trust him. But trust was no longer the currency that mattered. Utility was.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Far away from Coruscant, on Kamino, Jin-Woo and his inner circle watched the entire Senate session unfold across a projected holoscreen. The chamber of galactic authority now existed only as an image, a political organism reacting to pressure it could not see.
Cortana's holographic form flickered into existence from the emitter in Master Chief's palm. She watched the playback with open fascination, her arms folded behind her back as she tilted her head.
"Well," Cortana said lightly, "congratulations. You are about to rebrand yourself. Shadow Monarch was already intimidating. Galactic evil overlord has a certain dramatic weight to it."
Her eyes flickered toward Jin-Woo.
"You changed the behavior of an entire galactic governing body without even being present. That is statistically impressive."
Jin-Woo did not react to the remark. His eyes remained on the projection, watching Gunray, watching Tarkin, watching the subtle shifts in fear and calculation.
"The objective has already been achieved," Jin-Woo said calmly. "Both Sith Master and Sith Apprentice have been forced to retreat politically. Their influence has been downgraded."
Dr. Halsey leaned forward slightly in her seat, her fingers steepled as she studied Jin-Woo with open curiosity.
"One of these days," Halsey said, her tone thoughtful, "I may have to accept the possibility that my own strategic thinking is primitive by comparison."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You manipulated galactic-scale political structures using absence instead of presence."
Lama Su, who had remained silent until now, inclined his long neck slightly toward Jin-Woo. His voice remained calm, but the curiosity behind it was unmistakable. "There is something I must ask . My curiosity has reached its threshold. Why is the individual known publicly as Hego Damask, and privately as Darth Plagueis, so fixated on you? His actions suggest more than caution. They suggest obsession."
Morgan le Fay answered before Jin-Woo could.
"That would be my doing," Morgan said calmly.
The room's attention shifted toward her immediately. She did not hesitate, nor did she soften the truth.
"A long time ago, he attempted to destroy one of my swords through his Sith power," she continued. "He believed he could destroy my Proto-Excalibur when it was anchored on Naboo. He did not understand what he was touching."
Her hand moved lightly, resting over the stitched seam along her torso, not from pain, but from memory.
"When his power made contact with Proto-Excalibur —when it reached my fairy core— . I split the spell itself," Morgan said. "Specifically, the midichlorian manipulation he had spent decades perfecting. The technique that allowed him to control age, to preserve youth, and approach a form of biological immortality."
Her eyes remained calm.
"But understand this," she said. "It was never true immortality. It preserved the vessel. It did not grant absolute regeneration."
She paused briefly.
"I absorbed half of it."
The statement settled heavily in the room.
"He lost ownership of what he believed belonged solely to him," Morgan continued. "Half of his midichlorian authority no longer answers to him. That loss weakened him. Not immediately. But permanently. His body no longer exists under perfect control."
She looked toward the holoscreen, where Hego Damask still stood among the Senate.
"He never recovered from that fracture," Morgan said.
Jin-Woo spoke next. "He is still infected," Jin-Woo said calmly. " by his former master, Darth Tenebrous."
Jin-Woo continued. "The maxichlorian corruption Tenebrous left inside him was meant to remain dormant, But the damage Morgan inflicted disrupted that balance. Now it has begun to gnaw at him."
"That weakness will remain. And Sith do not tolerate weakness indefinitely," Jin-Woo said.
Jin-Woo rose from his seat without urgency. The motion alone shifted the atmosphere of the room. He looked at each of them—not as subordinates, not as tools, but as pieces entrusted with a future he would not fully occupy.
"I will see you again," Jin-Woo said. "Ten years from now. Once I have repaired the parts of myself that must exist elsewhere."
Morgan rose beside him without being called. Her loyalty required no command. Her eyes met his briefly, and she gave a small nod.
A dark portal opened behind them. Jin-Woo stepped into it. Morgan followed without hesitation. The darkness closed behind them, leaving nothing behind but empty air.
Cortana materialized immediately, her holographic form pacing lightly above Master Chief's gauntlet.
Cortana said dryly, "that was abrupt. I believe that qualifies as rude leadership protocol. Even Captain Del Rio had the courtesy to pretend he was in charge before abandoning us."
Master Chief remained still, his helmet facing the place where the portal had vanished.
"I'm more concerned about the operational implications," Chief said. "If he calls us as reinforcement, will deployment follow standard insertion procedures?"
He paused slightly. "Will we be falling from orbit again?"
Cortana turned toward him, her expression amused.
"Don't tell me the Spartan who fell from space without hesitation is suddenly reconsidering gravity," she said. "You've jumped into worse."
She folded her arms.
"Besides," she added lightly, "we've always had one advantage others don't. Luck."