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People in a cafe watch a giant AT-AT walker outside a window and a news report about a devastated planet on a holoscreen.

People in a cafe watch a giant AT-AT walker outside a window and a news report about a devastated planet on a holoscreen.

It is early morning in a nondescript local caf shop—the kind of cozy, functional hole-in-the-wall where citizens from all walks of life gather to sip their first shot of stimulant for the day. In the corner, a large holoscreen hangs at low volume, casting a colorful glow over the patrons as it plays a trendy music video. Suddenly, the coffee cups on the tables begin to rattle. The rhythmic, heavy thud-thud-thud echoes through the floorboards as the giant feet of an AT-AT walker romp into view, passing right outside the shop's glass front and momentarily blocking out the morning sun. Just as the massive war machine passes by and the patrons turn back to their breakfast with a collective sigh, the music abruptly cuts out. The holoscreen flashes, overrides to maximum volume, and a grim-faced anchor announces a breaking news bulletin. Horrific images of a devastated planet flood the screen. Whole cities and entire civilizations have been utterly obliterated, leaving behind nothing but a cracked, bleeding crust of burning lava. But the true shockwave hits the café when the anchor names the planet: Cantonica. The galaxy’s lush, glittering playground for the ultra-rich has been reduced to absolute ash. Ver más