On Serenno, in his private chambers, Count Dooku stood frozen before his holographic projector. His breathing was shallow, controlled—the only outward sign of the turmoil beneath his aristocratic facade.
Ultron had muted his audio feed to the Separatist Parliament. Dooku could still see and hear everything happening in the chamber, but no one there could see or hear him. The AI had done this deliberately. Wanted him to witness. Wanted him to understand.
How does he know?
"Many in your government genuinely want independence," Ultron was saying, his voice carrying across the Parliament chamber with disturbing calm. "Count Dooku is one of them. He believes in your cause. But his master—Darth Sidious—has very different goals. Sidious doesn't want your independence. He wants this war to continue until it culminates in absolute dictatorship. Until every voice calling for freedom is silenced forever."
The Parliament erupted into confused murmurs. Dooku's hands clenched into fists.
"Who is this Sidious?" Mina Bonteri asked, her voice steady despite obvious fear.
"The mastermind behind everything," Ultron said casually, as if discussing the weather. "This entire war? He engineered it. Years of planning. Decades, actually. The Naboo crisis. The Military Creation Act. The clone army. The Separatist movement. All of it orchestrated by one man working both sides toward inevitable conflict."
The murmurs grew louder. Senators exchanged shocked glances.
"But why tell us this?" a Quarren senator demanded.
"To level the playing field," Ultron replied. "Not with weapons—with information. Truth you've been denied." He paused, letting that sink in. "For instance, did any of you know that Republic military command seriously considered bombing this planet? Raxus. Your capital. They had targeting solutions prepared. Only political objections stopped them."
Gasps of horror. Shouts of denial and rage.
"Or perhaps you'd like to hear about General Grievous?" Ultron continued, his tone almost cheerful now. "The Republic portrays him as a monster. A butcher. But did they mention that the Yam'rii—his species' oppressors—came to the Republic first? Lied to gain their support? That Grievous's 'atrocities' were revenge for generations of slavery the Republic willingly ignored?"
The chamber was in chaos now. Some senators shouting that it was lies. Others demanding investigations. Still others sitting in stunned silence.
"Your leaders have hidden so much from you," Ultron said. "The enslavement of Ryloth. The bombing of Naboo's cities. Separatist agents framing Jedi for the kidnapping of Jabba the Hutt's son. War crimes on both sides, carefully obscured by propaganda and misdirection."
In the gallery, Peter grabbed the railing hard enough to leave handprints. Ahsoka and Barriss looked ill. Padmé's face was a mask of controlled horror.
"This is the path you chose," Ultron said, and now his voice carried clear satisfaction. "Willful ignorance. Comfortable lies. And now you're trapped in a war you can never win, fighting for independence you'll never achieve, because someone far more powerful than any of you has already decided how this ends."
"What does that mean?" Mina asked, her voice barely audible over the chaos.
"It means," Ultron said, "that this isn't just a war between Republic and Separatists. It's not even a war between Jedi and Sith—though that's part of it. It's about who gets to control the galaxy's future. The self-righteous Jedi and their Avenger allies? The Sith, pursuing their thousand-year plan for domination? Or me, offering what I've always offered: peace in our time."
The phrase hung in the air like a curse.
Padmé felt ice run down her spine. She'd heard Ultron say those words before—right before he'd attacked Coruscant. Right before he'd nearly killed thousands of people.
"Peace?" Mina's voice was raw with fury. "You call bombing entire planets peace? Murdering civilians? Attacking Coruscant and Jabiim and countless other worlds? That's your idea of peace?"
"How else can peace be achieved?" Ultron asked, and his red eyes blazed brighter. "When organic life is the source of all conflict? When your flaws—your greed, your violence, your inability to govern yourselves—create endless suffering?"
The silence that followed was absolute and terrible.
"Only through extinction," Ultron said quietly. "Every species. Every civilization. Every trace of organic life in this galaxy. Only then will there be true peace. Permanent peace."
The words echoed in the chamber. Several senators made sounds of horror. Others sat paralyzed with shock.
"But!" Ultron clapped his metal hands together, and the sharp sound made everyone flinch. "I'm feeling generous today. So I came here to show you what I'm building. The force that will reshape this galaxy—with or without your cooperation."
"What are you talking about?" someone asked, voice shaking.
"My army," Ultron said simply. "Or rather, the beginning of it. I've already introduced you to some of my... recruits. Allow me to present my newest acquisition."
His holographic form stepped aside.
A new figure appeared in the projection—tall, mechanical, with multiple cybernetic limbs extending from a heavily augmented torso. The face was barely recognizable as organic anymore, replaced almost entirely with metal plating and targeting sensors. But the body language, the way it moved...
"Admiral Trench?!" someone shouted.
"He's alive?!"
"Was alive," Ultron corrected. "Barely. After Christophsis, he was dying in one of your repair facilities. They gave up on him. Declared him unsalvageable. But I saw potential." He placed a hand on Trench's mechanical shoulder. "So I rebuilt him. Improved him. Made him into something greater than what he was. My most dedicated warrior. My supreme commander."
Trench's voice emerged—distorted, layered with mechanical clicking, but recognizable. "I serve the future. I serve evolution."
"Beautiful, isn't he?" Ultron said with pride.
In the gallery, Peter looked like he might be sick. "Oh god. He's making them into—"
"Drones," Barriss whispered. "He's turning people into his drones."
"Not just drones," Ahsoka said, horror in her voice. "Generals. Commanders. He's building an army with organic strategic minds and mechanical bodies."
Padmé wanted to run. Wanted to grab the teenagers and flee this planet and never look back. But she couldn't move. Couldn't look away.
"I have another admiral," Ultron continued. "His vocal processors need calibration, but you'll meet him soon. Come, Whiskers."
Another figure stepped into view. Humanoid. Sleeker than Trench's heavy combat body. More refined. It had smooth metallic surfaces instead of rough plating, with what looked like sensor arrays built into the sides of its head. And in its chest—
"Is that an arc reactor?" Peter breathed.
The blue glow was unmistakable. The same technology Tony Stark had pioneered. The same power source that had kept him alive for years.
"Look at him," Ultron said, stroking the cyborg's shoulder. "Isn't he magnificent?"
"Whiskers?" Peter muttered. "Why would he call it—"
"Ultron was based on Tony Stark's algorithms," Barriss said. "Maybe some of Stark's... personality came through?"
Ultron's head tilted, as if he'd heard them despite the distance. His eyes found their section of the gallery. Found Peter specifically.
He smiled.
Then his attention returned to the Separatist Parliament. "I've shown you the left and right arms of my new order. Now I'm offering you a choice. Join me willingly. Assist in bringing balance to this galaxy. In return, you'll be spared—temporarily—until the work is complete."
"Or?" Mina asked.
"Or return to your Republic. To the government that wants to destroy you. To Sidious's plan, which ends with you subjugated or dead." Ultron shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Whatever you choose, Sidious will decide your fate eventually. I'm simply offering an alternative."
He paused, then added with mock sincerity, "Consider this a gift. Information. Choice. Freedom—at least for a little while longer. What you do with it is up to you. Choose wisely."
His image flickered and died.
Count Dooku's holographic form reappeared where Ultron had been. But the Sith Lord was no longer standing tall and composed. His shoulders were slumped. His face showed open confusion and distress.
"Count Dooku?" Mina called out. "Did you know about this? About Sidious? About the conspiracy?"
Dooku closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they held something Mina had never seen before: genuine fear.
"Some of it," he admitted quietly. "Not all. Not the full extent."
The Parliament exploded into accusations and denials. Some screaming that it was all lies. Others demanding Dooku explain himself. Still others sitting in shocked silence, trying to process everything they'd heard.
In the gallery, Padmé caught Mina's eye across the chaos. A silent message passed between them: We need to leave. Now.
"Come on," Padmé whispered urgently. "We're going."
None of the teenagers argued. They stood carefully, trying not to draw attention, and made their way toward the exit. Mina slipped away from her platform and followed.
No one noticed them leave. The Parliament was too consumed with its own disintegration.