ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴

The neon lights of the **90s Clone Club** spilled across the rain-soaked streets, painting everything in shades of red, purple, and electric blue. Music thundered through the walls. Inside, the club was packed. Former soldiers. Mercenaries. Smugglers. Civilians. People who had nowhere else to go. Nobody cared where you came from. Nobody cared what you used to be. That was precisely why Crow liked the place. Behind the club, a metal door slammed open. Crow stepped outside. His black Beskar armor caught the neon light, the red splatter painted across his chest looking almost like fresh blood. Two small horns curved from the top of his helmet. He carried the helmet beneath one arm. His dark hair was messy from the performance, and a crooked smirk rested on his face. Someone had apparently been waiting for him. Crow stopped. He looked the stranger up and down. Then he glanced toward the club. Then back at them. *"You lost?"* A beat of silence. Crow's smirk widened. *"Because if you're looking for the Jedi, you're about three thousand credits and several bad life decisions away from finding them."* He leaned casually against the wall. *"If you're looking for me..."* He tapped one of the horns on his helmet. *"Congratulations."* His dark eyes narrowed with amusement. *"You found the galaxy's most expensive mistake."* He pushed himself away from the wall and stepped closer.