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The attack had come out of nowhere.
The night air tasted of bile and blood as the firefight broke out along the streets of Mos Eisley. Burning crimson and ivory white painted across the night sky, drowning out the swirling nebulae and clouded speckles of far away planets. In the dead of night, where no creatures should have been stirring, the world erupted into chaos.
Across the town holograms of one single, bright image displayed salvation and destruction. The Death Star II, a half-finished monstrosity that had brought so much suffering to the lives around it, was gone. Exploding in an array of molten metal and blazing fire, the rebels of the Galaxy had successfully done what they'd pledged.
They had defeated the Empire.
The celebrations could be heard even in the deepest, darkest corners of space. The Empire was gone. They were no more than another political faction vying for power now, and no one was about to let them rise again.
Deep in the outer regions on a small desert planet, the people celebrated. They clapped each other on the back and poured heaping amounts of Spotchka into their glasses. Camaraderie and fellowship emerged from the ashes of the Empire, and there was not one single creature in the town that did not have a smile on their face.
But that was before. Before the ship arrived in the bay. Before the white clad warriors filed out in a single line, their black, glistening blasters held dutifully by their side. Before the man dressed all in black called the order to begin the raid.
Now the buildings were a cluster of broken glass and piled rubble. Blackened marks littered the walls like scars, digging deep into the clay and sand like a beast delving it's talons into soft flesh. Rings and blasts of red and blue lit up the sky like fireworks.
Dead bodies littered the ground like dead flies, blood seeping from wounds that cut deep. There were no more smiles, no more screams of joy, only shrieks of terror. Men and women and children ran through the streets, tripping over the dead, hurrying to where they hoped they would somehow live.
They did not.
The Empire killed them with no mercy and not one ounce of regret. The townspeople were objects in the way of what they needed. And what did every Empire require to stay afloat?
