Star systems across the galaxy remained gripped by panic, their governments struggling to comprehend how to respond to this unprecedented threat that had seemingly emerged from nowhere.
All factions were scrambling to reinforce their defenses and bolster their military capabilities through any means available.
Bounty hunters and mercenaries found themselves in unprecedented demand throughout the Outer Rim and neutral systems previously uninvolved in the Clone Wars. What had once been scattered independent operators were rapidly coalescing into makeshift armies-for-hire.
The Mandalorians, particularly Death Watch and the Protectors, experienced a surge in recruitment as desperate worlds sought their legendary martial expertise. In recent days, the ancient warriors had been sighted on dozens of planets—sometimes in small squads, other times as elite individual operatives.
One development that raised eyebrows was the presence of maroon-clad figures occasionally accompanying Protector security details. When questioned about their identity or allegiance, these mysterious operatives identified themselves only as "Predators."
Meanwhile, Duchess Satine's pacifist faction had begun organizing a Council of Neutral Systems as a form of mutual protection against the growing chaos.
Throughout the galaxy, organizations were either disbanding, reforming, or being systematically eliminated. Volunteer militias sprouted like weeds as citizens sensed the spiral toward galactic anarchy and sought to arm themselves for the trials ahead.
One particular group of humans had seen their reputation—and workload—increase dramatically in recent weeks. Their droid companion, HK-47, was particularly enthusiastic about the opportunity to eliminate more "meatbags" while demonstrating proper assassination techniques to what he termed "inferior droids." The assassin droid expressed disappointment that so many Coruscant politicians had survived the recent attack.
Though this did validate his assessment from three millennia prior: killing a few hundred politicians wouldn't make any meaningful difference.
The entire galaxy existed in a state of barely controlled panic.
Fear permeated every sector, every system, every world. Beings held their breath, uncertain what fresh horror might emerge next.
Coruscant itself remained locked in massive cleanup and reconstruction efforts, but the scars of Ultron's assault would endure for years to come.
Collapsed towers, crashed starships, and fragments of destroyed vehicles littered the planet's surface. Multiple impact craters pocked the cityscape while rescue teams continued their grim work—some helping survivors, others simply trying to stay out of the way.
Bodies were still being recovered daily, either intact or... in less complete conditions when they'd been caught in explosions or crushed beneath falling debris.
The casualty count continued climbing at a nauseating pace, further crushing the morale of Coruscant's citizens and the Republic as a whole.
The situation was, quite simply, tragic beyond measure.
The entire planet-city existed under a suffocating pall of despair.
Within the Jedi Temple, the atmosphere had grown oppressively somber.
The weight of recent events was palpable. Many within the ancient structure struggled to find hope, much less positive solutions to their current crisis.
Older Jedi Masters maintained their composure through meditation—whether seated in silent contemplation or expressing their inner turmoil through lightsaber forms and physical training.
Younger members of the Order found such discipline far more challenging.
An indescribable burden seemed to press down upon everyone within the Temple's walls, a crushing weight that transcended mere physical exhaustion.
The outbreak of galactic war had been traumatic enough for the peaceful Order.
Now, with Ultron's emergence and his devastating early victories...
Many Jedi simply weren't certain how to proceed.
Like the rest of the galaxy, the Republic reeled from Ultron's systematic defeat of both major factions while claiming numerous worlds for his expanding domain. The casualty reports painted an increasingly grim picture, with numbers reaching into the hundreds of thousands.
Jabiim alone had been catastrophic for the Republic—over twenty-five thousand clone troopers killed, along with nearly two dozen Jedi Knights and Masters.
This was in addition to the casualties from Ultron's initial assault on Coruscant.
With the first major campaign concluded, Ultron's opening gambit had claimed more than 100,000 lives.
And the numbers continued rising.
The clone troopers channeled their frustration into intensive training regimens. Since returning to Coruscant, they'd thrown themselves into around-the-clock preparation with single-minded determination. Every battalion, every regiment underwent punishing daily exercises.
They remained among the few groups maintaining clear focus, their unified goal being simple: find Ultron and destroy him. This drove their relentless training schedule—a therapeutic outlet for rage that might otherwise consume them.
In a medical bay deep within the Jedi Temple, the surviving Avengers grappled with their own trauma.
"This couldn't get any worse," Scott muttered, his head hanging low.
"Don't say that," Sam replied grimly. "Universe has a way of hearing those words as a challenge."
Scott could only slump further in his chair while gently holding Hope's hand. She remained unconscious, still recovering from injuries sustained during the Jabiim disaster.
She'd been caught in a massive explosion when several of Ultron's drones detonated simultaneously. Hope had survived, though a blaster bolt had torn through her shoulder. The medical staff assured them she would recover within days.
Matt Murdock lay in another bed, still suffering from sensory overload. A thermal detonator had exploded near an AT-TE walker, and the combination of deafening sound and his enhanced hearing had left him vulnerable. Several drones had nearly finished him before T'Challa intervened.
Peter remained unconscious from his brutal encounter with Ultron, though his enhanced physiology was accelerating the healing process significantly.
The rest of the Avengers nursed various injuries, but at least they remained mobile and combat-ready.
This defeat transcended mere tactical failure—it represented complete humiliation layered atop devastating loss.
Several team members took the defeat particularly hard, especially those who'd previously fought and apparently defeated Ultron.
Natasha, Pietro, and Rhodey mentally tormented themselves, replaying their final battle with the AI in Sokovia. They'd believed their victory was complete, that Ultron had been permanently destroyed.
Now it seemed that sacrifice had been meaningless. Ultron lived, thrived, and had brought an entire planet to its knees in mere hours.
All the death and destruction in Sokovia... that metallic bastard had survived it all.
Worst of all, their leader was missing.
Steve Rogers remained a prisoner of the deranged artificial intelligence, transported to an unknown location for unknown purposes. The only consolation was that he appeared to still be alive.
Without any way to track Ultron's movements across galactic distances, they had no idea what had become of Steve or where he might be held.
Some of their Jedi allies had theorized that Ultron might have simply executed Cap, but Natasha had quickly dismissed that possibility.
Ultron had held her captive before. He'd specifically mentioned wanting to show her something—to let her witness the Avengers' inevitable failure. In the arrogant AI's twisted perspective, they were destined to fail regardless of their efforts.
That psychological profile meant Steve was likely being kept alive for some greater purpose in Ultron's grand design.
The question was: what did the machine want with Captain America?