NOVEL WEB C57 Late Night Visitor
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Not long after he was paraded through the streets of Knowhere and subsequently locked up in the palace, the news of Jabba the Hutt's capture spread like wildfire across the Outer Rim.
In dingy cantinas, bustling marketplaces, and secluded hideouts, whispers turned into heated debates about the audacious act of a man calling himself Star-Lord, who seized control of Knowhere and dared to capture a Hutt.
The reactions varied as wildly as the planets they originated from—some hailed Star-Lord as a hero, a liberator of sorts, while others condemned him as a foolhardy renegade whose actions could ignite a war with the powerful Hutt clans.
On Tatooine, the suns set in a blaze of orange and crimson, casting long shadows over the dusty, windswept plains of Mos Espa.
Amidst the small hovels and crowded streets, the news reached a young Anakin Skywalker and his mother, Shmi, still toiling under the harsh rule of their owner, Watto.
Anakin, a curious and bright, blue-eyed child, overheard snippets of conversation while he helped Watto in his junk shop.
[Insert picture of young Anakin Skywalker here]
His Toydarian master was animatedly discussing the event with a customer, his wings buzzing with excitement. "Jabba caught by some nobody? Ha! That’s not possible. Though if it’s true, it’s definitely bad for business. Who knows what the Hutts will do?"
[Insert picture of Watto here]
Shmi, on the other hand, heard the news from a group of fellow slaves as she made a delivery for Watto. The women shared cautious hope, their voices a mix of fear and optimism. "Perhaps things will change now," one murmured. "Jabba was cruel. His absence might spur the Republic to come and clean things up around here..."
"Sure, as if that would ever happen..." another slave muttered skeptically, well aware how unlikely that truly was.
…
Anakin, unable to keep his questions to himself any longer, tugged at Shmi’s sleeve later that evening as they sat down for their meager dinner. "Mama, who’s Star-Lord? And why did he capture Jabba? Is he a hero?"
Shmi, smoothing his hair back, pondered how to explain the complicated dynamics of the outer rim to her son. Ultimately, she chose to fabricate a comforting story to offer him some hope. After all, it’s not like they’ll ever meet Star-Lord, especially if the Hutts decide to retaliate.
"Star-Lord comes from a place way beyond the twinkly stars we see when we look up at the night sky. He did something very brave and very bold. He’s a hero who fights for freedom and justice. He went after Jabba because he knew how cruelly the Hutts treat people, keeping them as slaves and spreading fear. He wanted to stop him, to make sure that no one else would suffer under Jabba’s rule." Shmi spun a tail that any child, especially a slave child, would be captivated by.
"Will he come here and save us too?" Anakin’s eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and excitement.
Shmi sighed, her face lined with the weight of years of servitude. "I don’t know, my little star. But people like us, we can only watch and hope. We must be careful, though. Powerful beings fight above us, and too often, we are caught in the middle…”
…
As night deepened, Anakin lay in his bed, the stars twinkling through the small window beside him. The tales of heroes and villains whirled in his mind, intertwining with his dreams of freedom and adventure, far beyond the harsh deserts of Tatooine.
‘I hope Star-Lord comes to save us soon…’
————
Meanwhile, across the galaxy, in the shadowy corners of Nal Hutta, the news of Jabba’s capture reached his kin. The mood was somber and charged with a volatile energy. Clan leaders gathered, their heavy bodies shifting restlessly as they discussed the implications of Jabba's disgrace.
"We must respond," a massive Hutt growled in Huttese, his voice echoing in the dimly lit chamber. "This insult cannot go unanswered. The audacity of this Star-Lord—capturing one of our own! It's a declaration of war!"
Another older Hutt, his eyes narrowing, added, "Yes, but we must be cautious. This outsider seems even more daring than the Collector, and even he gave us problems… We need a plan, not just brute force."
The decision was heavy with consequences. Retaliation was inevitable, but the approach was yet to be determined. As the meeting disbanded, messengers were sent out into the night. Orders were given. The gears of war began to turn, slowly and steadily.
————
Amidst the chaos of Jabba the Hutt’s capture and the following uproar across the Outer Rim, Peter, now known far and wide as Star-Lord, faced the former slaves of Jabba, led by Oola, the Twi’lek dancer.
Oola stepped forward, her voice a soft murmur, the tension clear in her poised stance. "We greet our new master," she began, bowing respectfully, an action mirrored by the others. "We wish to express our gratitude for the kindness you have shown thus far. Few masters would provide their slaves with three meals a day, homes of their own, and even credits to spend. We’re lucky to have come into your possession…”
Peter’s expression softened, his response immediate and firm, dismissing her offer with a gentle shake of his head. “Listen, I know this may be hard to believe, but I’m not here to take Jabba’s place. You’re free now. Really free.”
Murmurs rippled through the group, a blend of skepticism and budding hope. Oola, her green skin even more striking against the dim lighting, spoke hesitantly, “Freedom?”
Peter’s nod was firm, his gaze sweeping over the faces turned toward him. “Absolutely. I have no use for slaves. You can go and live your lives however you please.”
It was then that one of the braver souls stepped forward, revealing the grim reality of their situation. “Even if you mean that, we can’t truly be free. These chips…” He trailed off, angling his neck to show a small, almost imperceptible bump under his skin. "They're rigged to explode if we attempt to escape."
Peter's brow furrowed as he listened, a flash of recognition crossing his features. He recalled a scene from one of the Star Wars movies he'd watched in his past life—Anakin Skywalker, a young slave on Tatooine, explaining the grim function of a similar device implanted in him and his mother. "If you try to run away," Anakin had said, "they'll blow you up... boom!"
Transmitter chips, as Peter now understood them to be, were cruel devices surgically embedded under the skin of slaves, designed to ensure absolute obedience.
Each chip could be activated remotely, triggering a lethal explosion if the slave attempted to flee or if deemed necessary by their master. This barbaric practice was one of the many ways slaveholders maintained control, instilling fear and submission through the ever-present threat of an explosive death.
Peter’s eyes darkened with disgust as he scanned the sea of similar marks on the others. “Show me,” he directed Oola, his voice carrying a gentle command.
With visible trepidation, Oola stepped forward. Her hands trembled slightly as she exposed the side of her neck, the lump of the transmitter chip starkly visible.
Peter extended his hand, his fingertips glowing faintly with the power of Mechu-Deru. A hush fell over the room as everyone watched, holding their collective breath.
The glow intensified, and a soft vibration crept up her neck. Oola winced, a sharp gasp escaping her as she instinctively recoiled. For a harrowing second, she expected the worst.
But then, the feeling disappeared. Oola’s eyes were wide, disbelieving, as she felt her neck. Instead of an explosion, there was a tiny trickle of blood where the chip had been. Peter stood holding the deactivated chip, now harmless, between his fingers.
“Now you’re truly free,” Peter said, his voice a mix of relief and satisfaction. “Who’s next?”
What followed was a flurry of activity, with former slaves lining up, each face etched with a mixture of fear and hope. Oola watched, still clutching her neck, as Peter deactivated one chip after another. The expressions of those freed were transforming—from terror and disbelief to joy and relief, tears flooding down their cheeks.
As the last person stepped away, chip-free and stunned, a palpable sense of liberation filled the room. Oola, now at the front of the group, turned to Peter. Her eyes, luminous and teary, spoke volumes of the gratitude she couldn't articulate.
Peter, feeling a rare solemnity amidst his usual light-hearted demeanor, met her gaze. “See?” he said simply. “I told you I’d set you all free.”
Turning to Carina, Peter instructed her to guide the newly freed individuals through their next steps. "Show them out please. And make sure they have everything they need," he told her, his tone firm yet kind.
Clutching the deactivated slave chip, a new plan sparked in Peter's mind. With determined steps, he left the room and made his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, heading towards a more secluded section.
Here, behind reinforced glass casings, were the creatures and beings he had chosen not to free: the infamous Dark Elves, the battle-hardened Chitauri, and various other beings known for their ruthlessness and violent histories. His gaze lingered on each, acknowledging the threat they posed even behind barriers.
And then there was Jabba the Hutt, the most recent addition. As Peter entered, Jabba's large, bulbous eyes fixed on him, and a stream of angry Huttese spilled out. The Hutt's voice was guttural, filled with threats and curses, but Peter merely glanced at him with an unimpressed air.
Walking over to a nearby control panel, Peter's fingers hovered above a series of buttons. He pressed one, and instantly, purple gas hissed into the enclosures. Chaos erupted within the cases as their occupants panicked, their fears palpable even through the glass. Jabba thrashed wildly, his massive body shaking the small enclosure, his eyes bulging with terror.
The gas quickly did its work, and as silence fell, Peter began the next phase of his plan. He opened each case methodically, stepping inside with a chip in hand. These chips were similar to those he had just removed from the slaves, but designed with a deadly edge.
One by one, he implanted them into his captives. The chips would hopefully remain undetected by them, programmed to end their lives if they ever attempted to leave Knowhere without his explicit permission.
Jabba's case required special attention. Peter implanted not one but five chips into the massive Hutt, ensuring multiple fail-safes.
Once done, Peter sealed the cases once more, stepping back to survey his work. This wasn't something he enjoyed, but it was necessary. "Can't risk you guys causing any trouble," he muttered to himself.
As he left the room, the silence was a stark contrast to the grateful cheers of the freed slaves that still echoed in his mind. This mix of freedom and captivity was a small burden for Peter, but one he was willing to bear, knowing the dangerous nature of those he held captive.
————
As the galaxy outside his floor-to-ceiling windows sparkled under the blanket of night, Peter lay awake, listening to music as his thoughts drifted through the recent events. ‘There’s so much I need to do, but I have to return to the Jedi soon…
Play Run Around Sue by Dion
Here's my story, it's sad but true
It's about a girl that I once knew
She took my love then ran around
With every single guy in town
Yeah, I should have known it from the very start
This girl would leave me with a broken heart
Now listen people what I'm telling you
A-keep away from-a Runaround Sue, yeah
I miss her lips and the smile on her face
The touch of her hand and this girl's warm embrace
So if you don't wanna cry like I do
A-keep away from-a Runaround Sue
…
..
.
As Peter’s mind was racing with thoughts of plans, possible Hutt attacks, and his coming Jedi Knighthood, suddenly, a faint rustle broke the silence of his quarters. His senses, honed by his Jedi training, immediately alerted him to another presence in the room.
Turning swiftly, he pulled off his headphones and caught sight of Oola, the Twi’lek dancer he had freed earlier, as she stealthily entered the room, her curvaceous body on full display.
"Why are you here, Oola? How did you even get into the palace?" Peter’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the quiet of the room.
Oola, caught off guard and visibly embarrassed, hesitated before answering. "Umm… Carina agreed to hire me to help around the palace, so I live here now," she explained, her eyes widening as she saw his face for the first time.
'I'll have to discuss this with Carina later,' Peter frowned in thought. While he appreciated Oola's presence and understood Carina likely needed assistance with maintaining the palace, she can’t just let anyone she pleased inside without at least telling him first.
Sensing there was more to her presence, Peter pressed further. "And why are you here in my room, at this hour?" he asked, his gaze wandering along her exposed skin. “And naked, not that I mind though…”
Oola’s eyes flitted away for a moment before she met his gaze again, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I... I wanted to thank you," she began awkwardly, "for freeing me. I thought maybe I could... show my gratitude." Her voice trailed off suggestively.
But a second later, she paused, conflicted by Peter's youth beneath his mask. "I didn't realize you were so... young though," she said, her voice tinged with surprise yet carrying a resigned willingness borne from her past experiences pleasing Jabba's guests.
Instantly, Peter felt a stir of temptation; Oola was undeniably beautiful, and she reminded him of the Star Wars p*rn he’d seen in the past. Yet, he knew her gratitude was driving her actions, not genuine desire. He couldn’t, in good conscience, accept what she offered, even if he really wanted to…
"Oola, I appreciate it, but it’s probably best we don’t," Peter said gently, his tone resolute yet kind. "You don’t owe me anything. You’re free now, truly free, and that means making choices for yourself, not because you feel indebted."
Oola nodded, a mix of relief and shocked respect in her eyes, understanding his refusal as yet another act of kindness she would have to find a way to repay. "Thank you," she said softly, a genuine smile replacing her earlier embarrassment as she turned to leave, her spirit a little lighter.
Oola paused at the threshold, turning to glance back at Peter. Her voice was hesitant but warm. "Umm… goodnight."
Peter smiled, a gentle acknowledgment flickering across his features. "Goodnight, Oola. Rest well," he replied.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Peter reclined again, his mind somewhat soothed by his decision, yet now he was faced with a rather pressing issue…
Glancing at his right hand, Peter mumbled, "Looks like it's just you and me again, old friend..."
A/N: 2556 words :)🚨Patréon Link🚨