(First of all, happy later Merry Christmas, and early Happy New Year. So, I have run into a problem: I'm trying to think of a good romantic partner for my MC. Another problem is that I planned on having him travel to the Mass Effect or Cyberpunk 2077 universe later on. At first i was thinking Marvel, but with him having a clone army of ODST and Spartans, he could fight them due to numbers, strategies, and tech. Alone. The MC is not a saint, but he will protect his own. I'm thinking he'll end up with a non-human. After all, he spent most of his life fighting non-humans, it could be a way to get past his past.)
It has been six more years since he arrived in this universe.
The years have passed, and progress always. As they passed along work that never made legends, decisions that laid foundations so deep no one noticed them until the structure above was already standing. The galaxy did not pause, nor did Jack Fett. The jungle moon no longer looked wild from orbit.
Dxun was not fully tamed, and would never allow that, but it has grown from a small out-pots into a well-deafened city full of life.
Clearings spread outward from the ancient Mandalorian outpost like deliberate wounds. Stone fortifications rose where trees once stood, reinforced with beskar and durasteel in patterns that mirrored ancient designs and modern necessity. Day and night, Beskar was shaped beneath blue fire and heavy hammers. Armor designs evolved sleeker, reinforced, layered with systems no Mandalorian had ever worn before. Spartan shielding became standard across Clan Fett, calibrated to Dxun's environment and tuned to individual wearers. Recruits ran obstacle courses through live jungle, and predators were deliberately released into their path. Survival was not optional. Failure was not fatal, but it was remembered. Those who endured earned the right to stay who didn't were sent away, alive and wiser. Jango was no longer a boy trailing at Jack's heels, but a young warrior forged by blade, jetpack, and blood. His movements were sharp. His instincts deadly. He learned from Mandalorians and from Jack. Deep beneath the fortress, the Basilisk war droid project progressed slowly and deliberately. Ancient Mandalorian schematics were incomplete, fragmented across ruins and half-corrupted systems. Reconstruction required interpretation, extrapolation, and testing that often ended violently.
The first activation nearly collapsed the chamber, and then the second shattered three containment pylons. Cassandra classified it as BASILISK-PRIME / PROTOTYPE.
On Kamino's rain never stopped.
The auxiliary facility, officially designated an expansion of Kaminoan capacity, floated far beyond the primary cloning spires, isolated by storms and distance. Officially, it served future demand, but unofficially, it answered only to one client. Production remained measured. Controlled. Deliberate. Spartan templates were treated with near-reverence, genetic stability carefully maintained, and behavioral matrices customized rather than imposed. Each clone was trained, educated, and tested long before ever seeing armor. ODST-based clones were produced in greater numbers, but even they were not disposable. They were drilled hard, taught discipline, and introduced to Mandalorian combat philosophy early.
Cassandra, She no longer needed Kamino's oversight. Cloning science had become understood—not just copied, but internalized. Dxun's labs, hidden deep beneath the fortress, quietly mirrored Kaminoan capabilities at smaller scale.
Experimental vats operated under strict secrecy. Early failures were cataloged, corrected, and erased.
Success rates improved.
Cassandra did not call it independence yet.
But she was no longer learning.
She was refining.
Clan Fett changed.
Not in banners or symbols but in posture. They stood taller and fought harder. Rumors spread of Fett warriors whose armor shimmered under fire, whose endurance bordered on unnatural, whose tactics felt… different.
No one could prove anything.
That was the point.
Verd Fett aged, but his authority only deepened. He watched Jack with the eye of a war leader who knew he was witnessing something unprecedented.
"You're building more than warriors," Verd said once.
Jack didn't deny it.
The Republic noticed small things.
Unexplained power spikes in the Onderon system.Unusual financial flows vanishing into shell corporations.Mercenary groups refusing contracts involving Fett space.
Nothing concrete.
Nothing actionable.
Yet.
The Sith noticed nothing.
Which worried Cassandra far more.
Jack stood alone atop Dxun's highest tower, watching storms crawl across the horizon.
He looked older now, not in years, but in weight. His armor bore marks earned across six years of quiet war and quieter preparation.
Cassandra spoke softly.
"You have positioned yourself at multiple strategic crossroads."
"Yeah," Jack replied.
"You are becoming difficult to remove."
"That's the idea."
A pause.
"If events proceed as projected," Cassandra continued, "intervention will become inevitable."
Jack watched lightning split the sky.
"Good," he said. "I'd hate for all this to go to waste."
Below him, Dxun roared angrily, alive, enduring.
Above him, the galaxy turned, unaware that something old had learned how to grow again.