(3rd Person POV)
Seated quietly in the packed cinema, Yoda watched the beginning of Star Wars unfold with a complicated gaze.
Though he had witnessed parts of the film's production, seeing it fully realized on the giant screen stirred something uneasy within him—an unsettling glimpse, as if he were seeing a warning about the future of his own world.
The lights dimmed completely, and across the screen appeared the words:
"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..."
The room fell silent as the audience read the opening crawl, which spoke of a rebellion, an evil Galactic Empire, and a monstrous new weapon—the Death Star, capable of annihilating entire planets.
Yoda's expression tightened.
'The Death Star…' he thought grimly.
In his original world, no such weapon had ever existed—at least, not yet. But now, seeing it visualized, he realized the terrifying possibility.
He clenched his fists lightly, feeling a deeper urgency to return... to prevent his own world from descending into something similar.
While Yoda wrestled with his unease, the audience watched the screen intently, their eyes wide.
The film wasted no time throwing them into an alien universe—colossal spaceships firing beams of crimson light, soldiers in white armor clashing with desperate rebels.
Onboard the ship were two peculiar figures: a tall, human-like golden mechanical puppet, and a small, barrel-shaped machine that beeped in strange tones—R2-D2.
A man whispered to his friend, pointing at the golden figure. "That puppet looks like one of the DARK advanced models… but way smarter."
His friend nodded quickly. "Shh… just watch."
The gunfights continued—blaster bolts lighting up the narrow hallways. Then came the imposing figure in black—helmeted, masked, his cape sweeping behind him.
Darth Vader.
The moment he spoke, his voice filtered through mechanical distortion, several viewers exchanged glances.
"That voice… it sounds like Arthur," someone whispered nearby.
"But they never announced the actor," another replied, skeptical. Speculation buzzed, but without confirmation, it remained only a rumor.
The story soon shifted focus back to the two odd machines.
At first, many viewers were indifferent to them. They were strange, clunky, and not immediately heroic.
But when R2-D2 was captured, thrown among piles of scrap, and ignored during a droid sale, some felt a small pang of sympathy.
A teenage demon in the back row leaned forward, muttering, "Won't that golden guy help his friend?"
Others around him murmured similar thoughts, drawn into the quiet tension without even realizing it.
Relief finally came when a different droid malfunctioned—and Luke, portrayed by a fresh, unknown young actor, chose R2-D2 instead.
The audience relaxed a little, smiles flickering.
They had come to see an unfamiliar world...
And somehow, without even noticing, they had already started to care.
The audience watched intently as the two peculiar figures interacted with the blonde young man. It was here the introductions truly began—not just between the characters, but to the viewers as well.
The boy, youthful and a little awkward, introduced himself as Luke Skywalker.
The golden mechanical puppet, speaking in a polite and slightly nervous tone, introduced himself as C-3PO—a human-cyborg relations droid.
Slowly but surely, the audience felt themselves being drawn deeper into this foreign, yet fascinating world. It was advanced beyond anything familiar—ships that could soar beyond the skies, civilizations thriving among the stars.
As the plot continued, Luke worked on repairing the battered R2-D2. And then—
A flicker. A projection.
Princess Leia appeared, her image hazy and blue, delivering a desperate message:
"Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."
Her voice was filled with urgency, tinged with sadness.
A few audience members leaned forward unconsciously, captivated.
Luke's curiosity was clear—and it mirrored the audience's.
'Who was Obi-Wan? What was happening in this faraway war?'
The film moved on, and soon, Luke's journey truly began.
The story wove through quiet village life and hints of a larger galaxy beyond, until finally—Luke met a mysterious figure.
When the cloaked man pulled back his hood, there was a brief collective stir in the theater.
It was Rocky Montclair—the legendary actor who had played Don Corleone in Demonfather. Now, he stood before them as Obi-Wan Kenobi, an aging warrior with wisdom in his eyes and a quiet strength in his voice.
The audience was pleasantly surprised.
"That's Rocky," someone whispered, smiling. "Didn't expect to see him here."
Rocky's portrayal gave Obi-Wan a natural gravitas—grounding the fantastical world with a familiar, almost nostalgic weight.
Meanwhile, the plot continued to unfold.
Obi-Wan told Luke about the Jedi, the Force, and a war fought long before he was born.
Then came the shift.
The peaceful life on Luke's desert planet collapsed. He returned home to find the farmhouse in flames—his aunt and uncle, gone. The camera didn't linger on their bodies, but the smoking silhouettes said enough.
A quiet sadness settled over the theater. Even those unfamiliar with Luke felt a heaviness in that scene.
"That was… harsher than I expected," murmured a man in the back.
Yet it moved quickly—Luke standing by a fire, his jaw tight, his eyes hollow. The choice was clear. He couldn't stay. He had to leave.
From that moment, the world of the film opened wider.
The screen shifted to the bustling, dangerous Mos Eisley Spaceport.
A dirty, rough town. Smugglers, bounty hunters, and aliens filled every corner. Strange music played from a corner band, made up of odd, insect-like creatures.
The Mos Eisley Cantina came alive on the screen—dim-lit, smoky, filled with alien patrons of every shape and size. The audience, unused to such imagery, reacted with fascinated awe.
"What... what are these things?" a woman chuckled softly, half in wonder.
The chaos quickly escalated.
A belligerent alien at the bar harassed Luke. Tension crackled.
In a flash, Obi-Wan Kenobi drew his lightsaber—not a blaster—and severed the alien's arm with a clean, humming cut. The limb fell to the floor, blood seeping into the dirt.
There was a startled murmur from the crowd. Some recoiled at the sudden violence; others leaned in, fascinated by how quickly the Jedi acted.
The camera moved, and through the haze and crowd, Han Solo appeared.
Clint Foster's entrance wasn't loud—but it was magnetic. A smirk, a casual lean against the booth, a quick confident glance around the cantina. No dramatic gunfight for him at first—just natural swagger, a sense that he was someone who lived on the edge.
"That's him," a Clint Foster fan whispered, smiling. "Still got it."
Han negotiated with Obi-Wan, bragging with lazy charm about his ship—the Millennium Falcon—the fastest in the galaxy. His bravado made a few audience members chuckle, but no one doubted he could back it up.
It wasn't long after that trouble found him.
Greedo, a bounty hunter, cornered Han at his table. Their conversation was short, tense—and ended with a blaster shot under the table. Han, calm and casual, slipped out before anyone could blink.
The audience reacted with mild surprise, murmurs rippling through the theater.
"Did he really just shoot first?" someone muttered in disbelief.
It wasn't flashy. It was cold, sharp, and effective—reinforcing that this world, for all its wonder, was dangerous.
From there, the trio—Luke, Han, and Obi-Wan—fled the city, stormtroopers hot on their trail.
Inside the battered yet iconic Millennium Falcon, engines roared, and the ship lifted into the sky under a hail of blaster fire.
Then came the moment that made some jaws drop—the ship entered hyperspace. Stars stretched into long white lines before bursting into a dazzling tunnel of light.
A boy near the aisle gasped aloud.
"I want to ride that," he whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the screen.
From the hum of the lightsaber to the smoky cantina, from burning farmhouses to alien saloons—the audience found themselves somewhere entirely new.
And yet, somehow, it already felt real.
---
As the film neared its end, the tension gripped the entire theater.
The Death Star loomed large. The final battle was underway. Fighters raced down narrow trenches, evading enemy fire, risking everything.
Luke closed his eyes. The Force surrounded him.
A single shot.
A massive explosion.
Cheers erupted both on-screen and, softly, among the viewers.
The heroes returned victorious—but the galaxy's larger war was far from over.
The screen faded to black, the credits rolling to the triumphant swell of the orchestral score.
For a few seconds after the lights dimmed, the audience remained seated, silent, processing what they had just witnessed.
They didn't leap to their feet. They didn't erupt into wild applause.
Instead, there was a lingering weight—a sense of something beginning.
A world much larger than they imagined… now opened before them.
And they wanted more.
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