The main assembly hall of the Republic Senate was a magnificent chamber designed to inspire confidence in democratic ideals and the peaceful resolution of conflict. Soaring columns supported a vaulted ceiling decorated with mosaics depicting the founding of the Republic, while carefully arranged seating areas provided space for hundreds of senators to debate the issues that shaped galactic civilization.
At the moment, however, the chamber had been transformed into something far more sinister—a carefully constructed trap where some of the galaxy's most powerful individuals found themselves at the mercy of its most dangerous predators.
Cad Bane strode through the ornate doorway with the casual confidence of a man who had turned the impossible into routine. Behind him, an IG-86 assassin droid moved with mechanical precision, its photoreceptors constantly scanning for threats while its weapon systems remained fully armed and ready.
The Duros bounty hunter's twin blasters cleared their holsters in a motion too fast for most organic eyes to follow, the distinctive whine of charging capacitors filling the suddenly silent chamber. Without warning or ceremony, he fired several shots into the ornate ceiling above the assembled senators, sending fragments of ancient stonework cascading onto the floor below.
The effect was immediate and devastating. Conversations died mid-sentence as every head turned toward the source of the gunfire, senatorial dignity giving way to primal fear as the assembled politicians realized they were no longer debating legislation—they were fighting for their lives.
"Good morning, honored senators," Bane said with mock courtesy, his pale eyes surveying the crowd with predatory satisfaction. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important. You see, you've all just become my hostages."
Panic spread through the chamber like wildfire as senators who had spent their careers crafting careful words and political alliances suddenly found themselves faced with the kind of violence they had only read about in intelligence reports. Several of the younger representatives moved toward the chamber's exits, their political instincts correctly identifying the need for immediate evacuation.
Their escape routes were blocked before they had taken three steps.
Doors around the chamber burst open simultaneously, revealing the rest of Bane's carefully positioned team. Aurra Sing emerged from the main entrance, her sniper rifle trained on the crowd with deadly precision. BX-series commando droids took flanking positions, their advanced targeting systems painting dozens of potential targets with invisible laser designators. Shahan Alama and the other organic members of the team completed the tactical encirclement, their weapons trained on anyone who looked like they might attempt resistance.
"Now, now," Bane continued conversationally, as if discussing the weather rather than orchestrating a mass kidnapping, "if everyone stays calm and follows instructions, this little inconvenience will be over quickly and you can all return to your important debates about taxation and trade routes."
Senator Fero, a portly human whose political career had been built on righteous indignation and moral posturing, stepped forward with the kind of misplaced courage that often preceded tragic mistakes.
"I don't know who you think you are," he declared in his most authoritative senatorial voice, "but you have obviously made a serious error in judgment. This is the Republic Senate, not some backwater cantina where such behavior might be tolerated."
He began walking toward Bane with the confident stride of a man who had never encountered violence more serious than a strongly worded legislative amendment.
"You will surrender your weapons immediately and submit to arrest by Senate security," Fero continued, apparently believing that his political authority would somehow prove bulletproof. "Your actions here constitute treason against the Republic, and I assure you that—"
Bane's blaster bolt caught the senator center mass, the superheated plasma burning through his formal robes and stopping his heart before he could complete his sentence. Fero's body hit the ornate floor with the heavy thud of dead weight, his final expression one of complete shock at the discovery that political immunity meant nothing to a professional killer.
The gasps and screams that followed served Bane's purposes perfectly. Nothing established control quite like demonstrating that resistance would be met with immediate and lethal force.
"Now then," Bane said calmly, holstering his still-smoking weapon, "I trust that unfortunate demonstration has clarified the nature of our relationship. You will all move to the center of the chamber and surrender any communication devices you may be carrying. Anyone who fails to comply will share Senator Fero's fate."
Among the crowd of terrified politicians, three individuals were attempting to assess the tactical situation with something approaching professional competence.
"I count six hostiles," Padmé whispered to Bail Organa, her voice barely audible above the sounds of panicked senators following Bane's instructions. "Standard bounty hunter tactics—overwhelming initial force followed by psychological domination."
"What are you planning to do?" Organa replied, his own voice reflecting concern for his colleague's safety. "Need I remind you that you're completely unarmed?"
Standing just behind them, Senator Riyo Chuchi was experiencing her own moment of crisis. Her enhanced senses, evolved over generations of survival on Pantora's harsh surface, had detected something that the others had missed—the distinctive metallic gleam of a weapon hidden within Padmé's sleeve.
"What is that?" Riyo murmured, more to herself than to her companions.
Her words proved to be a catastrophic mistake.
Shahan Alama materialized beside them with the silent efficiency of a predator who had spent years perfecting the art of moving unseen. Before any of the senators could react, his hand shot out and seized the object that had caught Riyo's attention, pulling it from its concealment with practiced ease.
Padmé's face went pale as her husband's lightsaber was revealed to the room, its elegant design immediately recognizable to anyone familiar with Jedi weapons.
"Well, well," Alama said with satisfaction, holding the weapon up for his companions to see. "Look what we have here."
Bane's pale eyes fixed on the lightsaber with the kind of professional interest that suggested he had encountered Jedi weapons before—and probably their wielders as well. "Aurra, what do you make of this interesting development?"
The pale-skinned assassin approached for a closer look, her predatory smile widening as she identified the weapon. "That's definitely a lightsaber, Cad. Looks like we have a Jedi hiding somewhere in this building."
"A Jedi," Bane repeated thoughtfully, his tactical mind immediately adjusting to the new information. "How... inconvenient."
He turned his attention to Padmé, studying her with the same clinical detachment he might apply to analyzing a particularly challenging target. "Senator, I'm curious. How exactly does a politician come to be carrying a Jedi weapon?"
Padmé remained silent, her political training warring with her personal fears. Any answer she gave could potentially expose Anakin's location, but refusing to respond might provoke the kind of violence that had already claimed one life.
Bane activated his wrist communicator, his voice carrying across the building's communication network to the rest of his dispersed team. "All units, be advised. We have confirmation of Jedi presence in the building. Maintain elevated alert status and report any contact immediately."
As he issued his warning, Bane's enhanced senses detected movement on the chamber's upper level. A quick glance revealed a figure attempting to move stealthily along the observation gallery, apparently trying to assess the situation from a concealed position.
The bounty hunter's blaster was in his hand and firing before his conscious mind had fully processed the threat. Plasma bolts streaked through the air, forcing the figure to abandon stealth in favor of rapid retreat.
"Looks like we don't need to search very hard," Bane observed with satisfaction. "Our Jedi friend just revealed himself."
On the upper level of the Senate building, Scott Lang found himself in the kind of situation that reminded him why he had tried to retire from the superhero business.
"Pietro!" he gasped into his comm unit while running full speed down a corridor that seemed to stretch forever. "I'm in serious trouble here!"
"What's happening?" came Quicksilver's voice, crackling with static due to the building's compromised communication systems.
"There's a cowboy wannabe with a really big hat and several heavily armed friends chasing me," Scott replied, ducking as another volley of blaster fire sizzled over his head. "I could really use some backup right about now!"
"Did you just say cowboy?" Pietro asked, his voice carrying a note of amusement that Scott found entirely inappropriate given the circumstances.
"He's wearing a ridiculous wide-brimmed hat and everything," Scott confirmed, pausing at a junction to check for alternate escape routes. "It's not technically a cowboy, but it's close enough for government work."
"That's actually kind of cool," Pietro replied. "I mean, who would have thought space cowboys were a real thing?"
"Pietro—"
"Sorry, sorry. What's your position? I'm on my way."
Before Scott could respond, his world exploded into chaos. The corridor junction where he had been hiding erupted in blaster fire as his pursuers caught up with him, forcing him to abandon his communication attempt in favor of immediate survival.
He dove around the nearest corner just as Anakin Skywalker emerged from a side passage, the young Jedi's enhanced reflexes allowing him to instantly assess the tactical situation.
"Scott!" Anakin called out with obvious relief. "Thank the Force you're alive!"
"They're right behind me!" Scott replied, grabbing Anakin's arm and pulling him toward the far end of the corridor. "We need to move, now!"
As they ran, Anakin's right hand automatically reached for his lightsaber belt, only to grasp empty air. The realization hit him like a physical blow as he remembered the weapon's current location.
"Oh, damn," he muttered under his breath. "Padmé has my lightsaber."
Behind them, Robonino's voice echoed off the corridor walls as the technical specialist coordinated the pursuit. "Target the Jedi! Intelligence indicates he's operating without his primary weapon!"
The two men reached another junction and dove around the corner just as their pursuers rounded the previous turn. Blaster bolts scorched the walls where they had been standing moments before, sending fragments of heated metal and vaporized stone cascading to the floor.
"In here!" Anakin hissed, pulling Scott into what appeared to be a maintenance room filled with servers and communication equipment.
They crouched behind a bank of computer terminals as heavy footsteps approached their hiding place. Through the partially open door, they could see two of Bane's team members moving methodically down the corridor, their weapons ready and their senses alert for any sign of their quarry.
"They went this way," one of the bounty hunters said, his voice carrying the flat tone of someone accustomed to hunting sentient beings for profit.
"Check every room," replied his companion. "The Duros wants them alive if possible, but dead is acceptable if they resist."
The two men began a systematic search of the side rooms, their professional approach suggesting they had conducted similar hunts many times before. Scott and Anakin pressed themselves against the floor behind the computer equipment, trying to minimize their profiles while remaining ready to move if discovered.
After several tense minutes, the searchers moved on to the next section of corridor, apparently convinced that their targets had escaped through a different route.
"Those are definitely bounty hunters," Anakin whispered once he was confident they were alone. "But what are they doing here? The Senate building is supposed to be one of the most secure locations on Coruscant."
"They've taken a group of senators hostage in the main assembly chamber," Scott replied quietly. "From what I saw before things went sideways, they're running a pretty sophisticated operation."
Anakin's expression darkened as the implications became clear. "The main assembly chamber... that's where Padmé is."
"Speaking of which," Scott said, glancing at the empty space where Anakin's lightsaber should have been, "I'm guessing that's your weapon they recovered from the hostages?"
Anakin's silence was answer enough.
"So let me see if I understand our current tactical situation," Scott continued with the kind of dark humor that helped him cope with impossible circumstances. "You don't have a lightsaber, I don't have my Ant-Man suit because Hope is running maintenance on it, and we're both being hunted by professional killers in a building that's been completely locked down."
"That's a depressingly accurate assessment," Anakin agreed.
"In that case," Scott said with a rueful smile, "I think we can officially classify ourselves as two walking, talking pieces of combat scrap."
Despite the gravity of their situation, Anakin couldn't help but laugh. "You know, that's probably the most honest tactical assessment I've heard from anyone in months."
"Oh, shut up," Scott replied, though his own expression carried a note of grim amusement. "At least we have one advantage they don't know about."
"What's that?"
"Pietro is somewhere in this building, and he still has his powers. If I can reestablish communication with him..."
Anakin's expression immediately shifted from resigned despair to focused hope. "You can contact Quicksilver?"
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