NOBLE: The Bad Batch

𝟑𝟐: A Zillo's Friend

18 BBY | Month 3, Day 11 (mainly)
Coruscant | Imperial City
Central Detention Center | A few days ago

Edmon Rampart sat shackled to the interrogation chair, still in his green uniform from earlier, his wife already notified of the arrest. His face was a mask of forced composure, but his fingers twitched ever so slightly against the restraints.

Sera Madreth stood before him, arms crossed, her expression carved from stone. Her silver eyes bore into him. The room's dim lighting cast a shadow over her face, but nothing could hide the fury simmering beneath her skin.

"Tell me, Edmon," she began, her voice eerily calm. "Do you sleep at night? Do you close your eyes and rest, knowing the blood of many stains your hands?"

Edmon remained silent; his jaw clenched. He refused to meet her gaze, but Sera was not one to be ignored. Her tone sharpened. "You lied to the Senate. You committed crimes against Tipoca City. And for what? A promotion? Favor with the Emperor? You're a coward, a pathetic man-child, who thought he was important. But do you know what disgusts me the most?"

She stepped closer, leaning in, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You nearly got your own son killed. And he was involved in Tipoca City. Watching the city sink into that endless ocean."

Rampart flinched, barely perceptible, but Sera caught it. "Oh, it gets worse, doesn't it? Because in your blind ambition, you also got Alistair Ivel killed. Marien's uncle. Do you think Delara will ever forgive you for that? You think my daughter, Nica, would forgive you? Callista, your baby girl? Hm? What about the child Delara is going to have in a couple of months' time? Hm? Avoiding answers and getting her pregnant? That was your solution?"

Rampart exhaled slowly through his nose, his composure cracking at the edges. "I never intended for—"

"Save it," Sera snapped, slamming her hands onto the table. "You think intentions matter? Alistair is dead. My husband is dead, the man that stepped in after Maul... My children will never see their fathers again. And you? You sat around, ordering the destruction of an entire city, orchestrating the deaths of those who stood in your way, threatening your plans, and you still have the audacity to sit here and feel sorry for yourself...?"

Her fingers twitched against the table, as if itching to wrap around his throat. "I should execute you. Right here. Right now."

Rampart's breath hitched. For the first time, true fear flickered in his eyes.

"You were so desperate to silence an innocent woman, Noble? Was it? To wipe her out, because she can cover up your mess like everyone else, a pathetic excuse. And even after everything—the truth exposed, your lies unraveled—you still don't care about them, not the clones, not your family, not what friends you have left, if you have any at all. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

Rampart swallowed hard; his throat was beyond dry. Guilt festered inside him, twisting like a blade in his gut. He could justify Tipoca City. He could justify his orders, his actions. But Marien? Alistair? His wife? There was no excuse for that. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "I—"

Sera cut him off with a sharp glare. "Don't—you don't get to speak. You don't get to apologize. Nothing. You deserve death, Rampart. But killing you now would be a mercy. And you don't deserve mercy. That's saying a lot from a woman like me that should forgive you."

She stepped back, nodding to the guards at the door. "Take him back to his cell. We're far from done discussing his punishment."

Wayland, Mount Tantiss (some time ago)
Tantiss Base - Day time - Central Landing Bay