C55 Knowhere’s Defenses!

C55 Knowhere’s Defenses!

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Peter stood at the heart of Knowhere's control center, his gaze fixed on the large monitor wall. The room was tense with the anticipation of war.

Alongside him were his allies: Carina, who operated the consoles with swift precision; Groot, his wooden form eerily calm; Cosmo, her eyes sharp and alert; and Howard the Duck, gripping a Tommy-gun with an excited look on his face.

The atmosphere was thick with tension and the low hum of the station's systems. Peter reached up and placed his mask securely on his face, his identity now hidden behind the reflective visor.

He tapped a button on the console, hailing the incoming fleet. "Let's greet our guests," he muttered under his breath.

Seconds ticked by like hours. Then, the monitor flickered and changed, revealing a gigantic slug-like form lounging on a lavish pedestal. Jabba the Hutt was flanked by slaves, including a green-skinned Twi'lek girl, whom Peter recognized from the Star Wars p*rn videos he once watched in his past life.

Peter was the first to break the silence. "Hello, I'm Star-Lord," he declared, prompting a mix of curious and skeptical looks from his companions, especially Howard.

"What the hell kind of name is that?" Howard asked, barely suppressing a chuckle.

"One moment, please..." Peter said, quickly muting the microphone. He turned to face his crew—or friends, or whatever they had become to him now. "Look, I can't use my real name, or the Jedi might catch on."

Howard raised an eyebrow, his beak curving into a smirk. "Whatever you say, Star-Boy..." His tone dripped with sarcasm as he leaned back, arms crossed.

Peter rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement flickering despite the tension. "Come on, it's a cool name. It's... mysterious."

Groot interjected with a low, rumbling chuckle. "I am Groot," he said, which only made Cosmo's tail wag as she stifled a snicker, seemingly understanding him.

Carina shook her head, smiling slightly. "Just focus, everyone. We have bigger problems than Peter's poor choice of aliases."

"Not you too, Carina..." he grumbled, glancing around at his team, hoping for a bit of support or at least a break in the teasing. “My dead mother gave me that name, you know...” he revealed, guilt tripping them.

At Peter's words, the air in the room shifted. The smiles faded from most faces, replaced by a collective pang of sympathy. Groot's expression seemed to soften, and even Cosmo's playful demeanor turned more subdued.

Carina's features softened immediately, her voice gentle. "I didn't know, Peter. I'm sorry."

Howard, completely indifferent to the somber mood, scoffed, "No wonder she croaked. I bet she offed herself to avoid the embarrassment of having named you 'Star-Prince.'"

Howard's flippant remark hit a nerve. Anger flared within Peter, and without a word, his hand shot up, fingers splayed. Howard's body lifted from the ground, hovering a few feet in the air as he frantically waved his arms, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"What the—let me down!" Howard squawked, his eyes wide with shock as he tried to aim his gun at Peter. But with a flick of his wrist, Peter telekinetically yanked the weapon from Howard's grip, sending it clattering across the room.

Howard floated helplessly as Peter drew him closer, his eyes burning with fury. "What did you just say? Repeat that, I dare you," Peter growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Just as Howard opened his beak to retort, Peter's grip tightened around his neck, albeit unseen, constricting his airflow. The room fell deathly silent, the others watching with wide eyes, stunned by the sudden display of force.

Choking and gasping for air, Howard's bravado vanished, replaced by fear. "I said... your mother must have been a very kind and... beautiful woman," he managed to croak out, his voice barely a whisper.

Satisfied, Peter released his telekinetic hold, and Howard plummeted to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. He lay there for a moment, coughing and rubbing his throat, struggling to catch his breath.

As Peter finished his explanation, a hush fell over the room. The team looked from the schematics back to Peter, their expressions a mixture of awe and disbelief. It seemed like they were worried for no reason at all.

Peter’s understanding and control over these complex systems were all thanks to his Mechu-Deru ability, which allowed him to take command of the station with remarkable ease. Without it, he might still be struggling to grasp the full extent of the controls, and many of the advanced security measures installed by his predecessor would likely have remained undiscovered.

“Enough talk,” Peter declared, his voice firm and resonant through the mask’s modulator. “How about we see what this stuff can really do? Jabba made his choice, and now, we make ours.”

Placing his shining hand on the control panel, Peter seamlessly melded his consciousness with the station’s intricate network of defenses, initiating the deployment sequence. From the station's periphery, hundreds of large, highly advanced plasma cannons unfolded with mechanical precision, their formidable barrels aiming into the cold void of space.

The residents of Knowhere, who moments ago were going about their daily routines, now stood frozen, gazing up in awe and fear. A collective gasp swept through the crowd as they noticed the incoming fleet in the distance.

Back in the control center, Peter turned to Cosmo, who was watching the fleet’s approach with intense focus. “Alright, Cosmo, since you’ve been such a good dog lately, I’ll let you pick. Which ship should we shoot first?” he asked, a sly grin spreading under his helmet as he gestured towards the looming figures on the screen.

Cosmo craned her head upward, her sharp eyes fixating on a large cruiser on the left. She nodded firmly, and Peter echoed the nod with approval. “Good choice,” he smirked.

Outside, the cannons aligned in unison, locking onto their target. The command was given, and a deafening boom resonated through Knowhere as the cannons discharged simultaneously. Brilliant streaks of plasma shot across space, tracing a fiery path toward the chosen ship.

Civilians watched, hearts in their throats, as the plasma connected with the cruiser. The impact was catastrophic—within seconds, the ship was engulfed in a bright explosion, fragments scattering across the dark canvas of space. The ship, along with all its occupants, was obliterated, leaving nothing but wreckage where it once stood.

Inside the control center, a hushed awe settled over the crew, stunned by the display of their own firepower.

“See?” Peter looked smug, his tone light but underlined with seriousness. “You guys have nothing to worry about.”

As the initial shock faded, murmurs of agreement filled the room. Howard, now standing by the window, gun in hand, muttered. “I was hoping to shoot some guys myself though...”

Carina, ignoring Howard’s bloodthirstiness, gave Peter a curious glance. “What’s the next step?” she asked, her voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Peter surveyed the monitors, his gaze sharp. “Next, we take out the remaining ten or so ships and wrap this up. We might even scavenge them for useful bits later, but that all depends on how much is left...”

...

Peter continued his assault on Jabba the Hutt's fleet from the heart of Knowhere's control center. With precision and a touch of enjoyment, he fired the station's plasma cannons, successfully destroying two more enemy ships that had begun to retaliate. The spectacle was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Outside, the citizens of Knowhere watched the sky light up with explosions. Artillery fire from the remaining ships streaked toward them, a deadly light show that threatened their very existence.

But just as panic began to grip the crowd, Knowhere's shields activated, glowing a vibrant blue as they absorbed and deflected the incoming attacks.

The artillery exploded harmlessly against the shield, eliciting cheers of relief and jubilation from the onlookers. They celebrated their survival with each burst of enemy fire that failed to penetrate their sanctuary.

Inside the control room, the mood was equally triumphant but focused. Peter and his crew were locked in a battle of attrition, picking off the enemy ships one by one.

With each ship's destruction, a sense of victory grew. Until finally, only the flagship remained, looming large on the main screen, its guns silent as if contemplating its next move.

And just as Peter prepared to deliver the final blow, the communication console beeped insistently. Jabba the Hutt was calling for a parley. With a confident smirk, Peter tapped the console to accept the transmission.

The image of Jabba that appeared was remarkably different from before. The smugness had drained from his face, replaced by a scowl of frustration and defeat. Even his throne room was in disarray, showing the chaos he was enduring.

“Hello, there.” Peter greeted, a ruthless smirk curled beneath his mask. “Ready to die, you fat ugly slug?”

A/N: 2556 words :) Long boy...