Ghosts of the Clone Wars
The Wayfinder tore free of the pirate-choked trade station, hull scorched and shields flickering - a battered victor limping into the void. For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then fate struck like a disruptor bolt. Brains was locking in the hyperspace jump when the console erupted in crimson light. “Contact!” he barked. The scans told a grim story: hull plating peeled like old armor, molten edges yawning into vacuum, blast scars etched deep. Yet - against all odds - sensors whispered of breathable pockets and a reactor barely clinging to life. Cap’in leaned in, eyes narrowing at the scan. “That’s… Separatist tech.” The words hung heavy. A relic from the Clone Wars. A droid carrier that should’ve been dust decades ago. A phantom adrift beyond forgotten battle lines. Brains let out a low whistle. “Those nav cores and tactical banks? Locked military-grade. Worth a fortune. Enough to buy a fleet.” Spike folded his arms. “And enough to paint a target ...