The orbital shipyards of Anaxes were a jagged crown of industry encircling a dying world. Known as the "Defender of the Core," the planet was a shattered masterpiece of red soil and bottomless canyons, currently swarming with the mechanical locusts of the Separatist Navy. As the first half of the first week of Month 11, 20 BBY commenced, the atmosphere was thick with the ionization of constant bombardment.
The 596th 'Maverick's Roughnecks' didn't just exit hyperspace; they executed a synchronized Jump-Snap that placed the Sovereign's Grace, the Uprising, and the Phoenix in a perfect triangular screen between the Separatist fleet and the vulnerable Republic shipyard hubs.
Revan Shan stood on the bridge of the Sovereign's Grace, his black Beskar-filament cloak draped heavily over his shoulders. His hood was pulled forward, masking the 23-year-old face that carried the sardonic weight of a century and a third. His fingers danced across the gauntlet interface, where Cortana was already processing the local tactical clutter.
"Admiral Kaine," Revan said, his voice carrying that familiar, rhythmic lilt—a blend of boyish wonder and the weariness of a man who had seen this specific movie before. "The Separatists seem to have misplaced their sense of hospitality. Those Munificent-class frigates are positioned with all the grace of a drunken Bantha. Shall we provide them with a lesson in structural integrity?"
"The Vice Admirals are already engaging, General," Kaine replied, his eyes fixed on the holographic displays. "Lara is coordinating the Z-95 and Y-Wing wings for high-altitude suppression. Spock is managing the 2x Dreadnought shielding cycles. They can pound on us for days; they won't even scratch the paint."
"Splendid," Revan quipped, popping a tart lemon candy into his mouth. "Try to be nice, Admiral, but if they twitch, feel free to be very, very kind with the turbolasers. I'm heading down to the surface. I hear Anakin is having a bit of a crisis with the local math."
The Surface Meeting: Red Dust and Stiff Collars
The Black Pearl descended through the Anaxes atmosphere, its Automatic Stygium Stealth Generator making it a ghost in the clouds. Revan landed the freighter at the primary Republic command base, a fortified structure built into the side of a massive canyon.
He stepped off the ramp, his matte-black armor drinking in the harsh light of the Anaxes sun. He was fully geared: the Westar 35s on his thighs, the silver-phrik Sonic Screwdriver on his belt, and his bandolier of specialized grenades. He didn't wear a mask; his hood was enough to signify his "Jedi Master" status while maintaining his maverick air.
Inside the command center, the air was thick with tension and the smell of stale caf. Mace Windu stood stoically by the central holomap, while Anakin Skywalker paced like a caged Nexu. Captain Rex and Clone Commander Cody were reviewing casualty reports.
"Master Shan," Windu said, his voice flat and formal. "Your arrival is... timely. The Separatists are predicting our every move. It's as if they have an algorithm for our very thoughts."
"Ah, Mace. Still as cheerful as a funeral on Ryloth, I see," Revan greeted, his voice echoing through the chamber. He looked at Anakin. "And look at you, Anakin. You look like you've been trying to headbutt a shield generator. Have you tried meditation? I hear it's all the rage this millennium."
"We're losing the shipyards, Revan," Anakin snapped, though a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Admiral Trench is back. He's using an advanced strategy that counters everything we throw at him."
"It's not just strategy, General," Rex interjected, stepping forward. "I believe they've stolen my tactical data. Every simulation I ran with the 501st... they're using it against us. But I have a plan. I think we need to go to the source—the Separatist Cyber Center. And I have just the team to do it."
Rex gestured to a corner of the room where four unique clones stood. They didn't look like standard troopers. They were taller, broader, and their armor was a patchwork of modifications.
"Master Shan," Rex said. "Meet Clone Force 99. We call them the 'Bad Batch'."
Revan tilted his head, his eyes sharpening. He remembered them from his previous life's records. "A group of 'desirable' mutations. Genetic outliers with a penchant for breaking things in interesting ways. I like them already. They remind me of myself, only with fewer degrees and better posture."
"General," Hunter, the leader of the squad, nodded. "Rex says you're the one who pays the bills and breaks the rules. We're ready to move."
"Follow Rex's lead," Revan said, his tone turning serious for a split second. "The 'algorithm' isn't a machine, boys. It's a ghost in the gears. Go find it."
The Big Short: Finalizing the Quadrillion-Credit Play
Once the meeting concluded and the strike team departed, Revan retreated to the Black Pearl. He needed a "break" from the war—specifically, he needed to finish the most aggressive financial maneuver in the history of the galaxy.
He sat in the Sovereign's Command Chair, the nap angle set to 15 degrees. He activated the Holographic Sith Training Droid, which shimmered into the dotty, eccentric visage of Dr. John Smith.
Cortana initiated a high-bandwidth, 1000-node encrypted link to the Maverick Research Institute on Chandrila. The faces of the financial trio—Kaelen, Vara, and Jax—appeared in the air.
"Gentlemen, Vara," the 'Doctor' chirped, leaning into the sensor range. "Are we ready to break the bank? Or rather, are we ready to be the bank when the current one catches fire?"
"John, the paperwork for the shell companies is complete," Vara reported, her voice hushed. "We have established 1,000 separate entities—mostly under the 'Stable Rhythmic Anchor' and 'Staple Enterprises' umbrellas. They are spread across five sectors, from Kuat to the Corporate Sector. No single regulator can see the whole picture."
"Excellent," Revan said, tapping a data-pad. "I've secured the low-interest loans against our primary assets. We are deploying 5 Trillion credits as the base capital."
Jax adjusted his spectacles. "And the leverage? You're still committed to 200x?"
"I'm a Maverick, Jax. We don't do half-measures," Revan smirked. "Execute the short positions on the Trade Federation, the Techno Union, and the InterGalactic Banking Clan. Specifically, I want us betting on the total liquidation of their asset-backed securities by the end of 19 BBY."
He began calculating the exposure using his Advanced Mathematics knowledge, the numbers appearing in a holographic sprawl:
"One quadrillion credits in market exposure," Kaelen whispered, looking at the math. "If the CIS stocks hit zero when the war ends..."
"Then we stand to realize a profit of approximately 950 Trillion credits," Revan finished. "The remaining 3.1 trillion in the Maverick Trust will serve as collateral to prevent any margin calls during market fluctuations. By the time Palpatine realizes he's nationalizing empty vaults, we'll be the ones holding the debt of the entire galaxy."
"And the anonymity?" Vara asked.
"Between the 1,000 shell companies and Cortana's recursive encryption, the trail is a circle," Revan assured them. "To the Banking Clan, it'll look like a thousand different investors all having the same lucky hunch. Dr. John Smith remains a ghost in the ledgers."
Transition: The Calm Before the Storm
By the time the first half of the week drew to a close, the 596th was firmly entrenched in the Anaxes defense. The space engagement was a stalemate of attrition, with Admiral Kaine's fleet proving an impassable wall for the Separatist reinforcements.
Revan returned to the command center, his hood up, hands tucked into his sleeves. He watched the holomap as Clone Force 99 and Rex's team reached the Cyber Center.
"The board is set, Cortana," Revan whispered. "Anakin is fighting a ghost, the Bad Batch is hunting a signal, and the Separatist economy is about to fall off a cliff. I'd say it's been a very productive Tuesday."
"Master," Cortana's voice filled his ear-comm. "I've detected a fluctuation in the Force near the Separatist command ship. It feels... familiar."
"Admiral Trench," Revan mused. "He's a survivor, that one. But he's never met a Maverick with a quadrillion credits on the line. Let's see if he can solve the calculus of a man who doesn't follow his own math."
He popped another lemon candy and leaned against the console. The adventure was about to get much, much louder.
| Current Statistics: Month 11, 20 BBY | Value |
|---|---|
| Maverick Trust Credits (Base) | 8.1 Trillion |
| CIS Short Position Exposure | 1 Quadrillion Credits (1,000 Shells) |
| Potential Short Profit | 950 Trillion Credits |
| Clone Retirement Trust | 245 Million |
| Anaxes Fleet Status | Defensive Wall / Shields at 98% |
| Revan's Mood | Calculatedly Sassy |