The Grand Moff walked through the halls, hands clasped behind his back, as a squad of Phase-3 Coruscant Guard troopers flanked him. The glow of the lighting cast bright white and grey of the vessel’s durasteel interior. Tarkin’s eyes flicked across the corridor, scrutinizing every detail.

As he reached the doorway, the troopers’ boots struck the floor in unison. Without a word, they stand guard, standing rigidly on either side as the pressurized doors hissed open, revealing the bridge’s meeting chamber.

Inside, high-ranking Imperial officers had already gathered, their postures stiff with tension. Among them, you waited. It was rare for Tarkin to address equals in a room like this.

A moment of silence settled over the room before he spoke.

"I trust you are all aware of the failures of Doctor Hemlock and Project Necromancer."

He stepped toward the central holotable, releasing one hand from its clasp to key in a sequence. The air above the console shimmered before coalescing into a massive holographic projection,—the skeletal framework of the incomplete Death Star.

"Its funding has been reallocated—redirected to Project Stardust. I suggest you all do the same. The time for indulgence in self-serving ventures is over."

Tarkin allowed the silence to stretch before cutting through it with clipped words.

"For too long, the Republic failed to maintain order. It placed faith in the Jedi—a sect of monks bound by archaic doctrine, convincing the galaxy they were peacekeepers while their inaction condemned billions to die."

His gaze swept across the room, cold and unyielding.

"The Jedi perished by their own blindness. Their ancient codes led them to extinction. The Empire will not suffer the same fate."

He turned back to the projection, the luminous sphere of the Death Star casting an eerie glow upon his face.

"Project Stardust will succeed where the Jedi failed. It will bring true and absolute order. It will ensure stability for thousands of years."

This was not an offer of collaboration.