Awakened by a sudden recoil of awareness, the college boy did not wake in his soft, familiar bed but found himself sprawled across a crimson, silken cot of obvious luxury. Squinting his eyes against the weak lights of a grand room filled with art and relics, a troubling sensation twisted his stomach.

"Where am I?" he murmured, his voice resonating with a rich timbre he didn't recognize. A mirror on the wall showed an unfamiliar visage: sharp cheekbones, new silver hair slicked back elegantly, and piercing brown eyes full of wisdom and authority. No sooner did the recollections of Count Dooku start unrolling in his mind than the college student gasped, "Count Dooku? No way!"

Images of a life he had never lived flickered by like an ancient holo-projection: duels with lightsabers, deeply philosophical conversations with Jedi, and a slow but sure growing dissatisfaction with the Jedi Order. It wasn't just memory; he could feel the habits of Dooku settling in, like carefully marshaled attention to detail, a fastidious disdain for the bureaucracy, and even a desperate need to hear his decisions were the correct ones.

"Shh," he hissed under his breath, struggling to even inhale. "You're still you, sort of. Just… a little extra."

There was an echo now from all his musings, thought lining up like waves of experience that crashed into himself—the college student's life before was often malleable, reluctant, too weak to demand and too battered by choices and pressures to cope, where the situation so required. In contrast, Dooku presented as strong, resolute, unyielding in the face of impossible challenge. Merging, the student felt an odd confidence blossom, an instinct edged him forward— a desire to prove himself.

"What do I even do now?" He rose, his fresh body as though it knew Dooku's immense height and build. He took a few steps towards the window to gaze outside at the bright blue Serenno skies, with a feeling of fear laced with exhilaration passing over him. One became dizzy under the weight of power.

"Focus!" He chastised himself while wheeling away from the window. "I've got to get a grip before this persona drives me mad. What does Dooku want?"

His mind raced, a connection to Darth Sidious, plans to usurp the Jedi, pivotal roles within galactic politics; he knew where this path led. The college student who had set out to rewrite it forced determination into his voice. "I won't make the same mistakes," he vowed, resolute.

Amid the blur of recollections, something strange opened in his brain: a holographic screen, shimmering with possibility. "The Attraction System?" he said, confused.

"Welcome, Count Dooku," responded the interface in a silky, computerized tone. "You have just activated the Attraction System. Every thought made with desire, ambition—accumulates power."

The heart of the student quickened as he said, "So anything I like, I can make mine?" He stopped, thinking about what that meant. At that moment, just from his thought, he had imagined the most powerful lightsaber, Anakin's lightsaber—his. And behold, the shimmer of its blade sprang to life in his hand, its hum ringing deeply through him.

"Whoa, this is brilliant! I can get used to this," he said, marveling, practicing striking movements with the saber. "Count Dooku was right. Mastering one's skills is essential." Each maneuver felt instinctual—a mix of his own learning and the expertise from Dooku.

Hours blurred together now, Dooku's practices and those of the college student's mind together. He, himself, was rehearsing lines by walking around his chambers, he would find himself moments later, facing a few assembled aides, with a stance that was Dooku's in command.

"Gentlemen," came the beginning, steeling himself with the authority he never thought he could possess. "We must discuss our impending strategy. The Jedi will not take action without provocation, but we will not remain passive."

Aides exchanged glances in his direction, the young man so seemingly captivated and filled with wonder; he could feel their hesitance and fear, which lent confidence to his voice. "Yes, Count," one managed to respond, his voice filled with respect.

"Good," said Count Dooku as he continued. "Now for the real problems."

Later on, still garbed as Count Dooku, the aspirations of the college student began to stem toward an entirely new course. He knew, from this vantage of a new appointment, the gravity of what had just been placed on his shoulders: the aching he felt from the hunger for power replaced with longing to reform the galaxy.

He told himself, "I will not fall as he did—consumed with greed or malice," each word igniting from deep within him new ambitious embers. "I will be a shining star of change, by being one who educates instead of destroys."

As wisdom mingled with youthful idealism, he began to plot—based on a scheme that would remake a political stage, subtly tugging Sidious to his lead while laying the foundation strong enough to eventually break free of the Sith Lord. "Well, it's just the game," he mused, wryly smirking to himself. "I'm not only a pawn."

He watched the sunset over the horizon, cast in its warm hues, and dreamt of new alliances, potential, and the might that The Attraction System would bring as his minds collided with the course of an unplanned future. With Count Dooku's legacy in his back pocket and a heart that still beat with youthful ambition, the galaxy was no longer just a stage for war—it was a canvas waiting for his brush.

* * *

In the dimly lit chambers of his palatial estate on Serenno, Count Dooku, now a synthesis of noble lineage and youthful ambition, sensed a ripple through the Force that stirred more than just his acute awareness—it invoked a shudder of unease deep within his core.

"Why has he summoned me?" Dooku muttered beneath his breath, pacing the geometric patterns of the marbled floor with angular designs that echoed his own multi-faceted identity. There was an urgency to his master's voice as they had communed last, a whisper that fluttered like a moth's wing in his mind.

"Maybe he's seen my purpose," Dooku had ruminate as he draped about his shoulders a red cloak, foreign yet comfortable, almost as if Dooku had worn it a thousand times in another life that had slipped so long ago into the womb of time. At every motion, the silver-gray hair, flowing in the back, carried the grace of the king.

"It's all in the preparation," he reminded himself, taking a deep breath as he walked to the lavish study filled with ancient tomes and Sith artifacts. "To impress Sidious, I will have to be the very definition of a charismatic authority figure."

Before the impending meeting, Dooku realized he could feel the familiar tug as memories fought for supremacy, and anxiety hovered at the edges of consciousness like some college student first trying to make a call to their crush. The lingering memories of midterms and the ordinary stress and urgency of cramming for exams softened his resolve momentarily.

"Focus," he told himself, those nodes of The Attraction System flashed dynamically in his imagination. "Let's see this in practice." With clear intent, Dooku focused his thoughts on the elements of mastery and dominance.

A soft glow around his vision, and before him appeared an intricate screen, displaying virtues and characteristics to be tapped: Confidence, Assertiveness, Charisma. He clicked those, feeling a thrill as strong as if he were shaping his persona as a sculptor shapes clay.

The sensations shifted, filled with a newfound & permenant energy. "This is the act of The Attraction System," Dooku whispered, a grin breaking across his face—a little of the mixture of both pride and delight. He felt like a composer orchestrating a symphony, tweaking every note until harmony aligned with his true nature.

He adjusted his cloak once more and took a step back from the mirror. "And now for the pièce de résistance." The darkened light smack in the middle of the chamber refracted gently across his visage, bringing an illumination to him such that he was the dark star in a galaxy of mediocrity.

"You used to be a valued Jedi. You will rise up not as a Sith lord, but…" He trailed off, repeating the rhythm he wanted to set in for himself. He wanted to confirm it sounded right to pass Sidious's gaze. The Sith Lord had to know that he approached power, disguised as humility—the contradiction at the very core of Dooku's existence.

A last instant of self-reflection. "Today, I do not respond to what I was. I redefine what I will become." With that resolve nestled firmly in his chest, he rested his hand on the lightsaber at his hip; the unfamiliarity of the weapon hummed through him, a direct line back to a life that felt both his and yet distinctly alien.

Palmed fingertips traced laced patterns along the edges of his mantle as Dooku squinted in memory at grandeur lessons of days passed. "Presence creates perception. When you walk into a room, command respect." It was advice Sidious had given him in their earlier conversations and, suddenly, he saw it in its totality.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The timer flashed that it was time to leave and he stepped into the twilight of that dim light. Crushing every footfall powerfully into the ground, he continued towards the door of his personal chamber: the heavy wooden barrier etched with intricate designs that seemed to be of Sith personal creation, symbols of glory in the ruin.

"Master Sidious awaits," he declared, looking determined, and pushed through the threshold.

Dooku felt the chill of twilight wrap around him, yet within stirred the fervor of a college student eclipsed by the complexity of his present life. "Meld the wisdom of the past with the passion of opportunity," he declared to himself, stepping into the lavish corridors leading to the meeting chamber.

But as he approached Sidious's lair, he shrugged the cloak once more over his shoulders—the weight against his chest seemed to shift closer than before. " Today, I shall shimmer—not merely as Count Dooku, but as an architect of destiny. "

Every step seemed to compound the gravitas of his mission: to prove himself to Sidious, not as an apprentice but as an equal—a force with which to be reckoned in the gathering shadows over the galaxy. He would be more than just an extension of ambition; he would be every reason that Sidious sought him out of the many to be at his side. And then the massive doors opened into the flickering shadows beyond, the crackling energy of the moment seeming to surge through Dooku.

"Let the game begin," he said softly, stepping across the threshold into that same cloistered darkness, allegiances in this place a potent weaver of fate.

As Count Dooku stepped through into the half-lit chamber where Darth Sidious waited for him, he could almost feel the tension in the atmosphere. Flickering shadows danced across the ancient stone walls, not unlike the duplicitous nature of the Sith. Every stride brought him ever closer in a perilous dance to maintain the dangerous elegance he had developed: a perfect blend of knowledge from his past and the confidence and emotional acuity of the college-aged student he'd been.

"Master Sidious," Dooku said, allowing even reverence to line his voice. "I proceed to you, honored to work—"

He gave a slight bow, showing respect to the fact that the actual power was before him.

The cloaked figure, dark, emanating, had come from out of the shadows. "Ah, Count Dooku," his voice slithered through the air like a snake poised to strike. "You have made great strides since our last convergence. Your potential is coming more into sharp focus."

Dooku held the piercing gaze of Sidious and felt an electric thrill run through him when he realized the fullness of the Dark Lord's power. This was not simply the character he had once looked up to from afar, an idol to be worshipped, but the very realization of the galaxy's worst fears. There was a palpable aura about Sidious, a tangible assurance in the mastery of the dark side that caused the hair upon Dooku's skin to bristle. But for all the newfound bravado the Count had clutched toward, there was, in the back of his thoughts, the realization that Sidious had the potential for malevolence, one which even his most well-thought-out of machinations posed a risk of ill-favored results if miscalculated.

"Care for a demonstration of what we've been doing while you were off being idle?" Sidious proposed with a voice laced with wicked amusement. "A spar, to test your preparations for the parts we'll be playing in this masterstroke?"

"Of course, my lord," Dooku replied, the sudden passion sending his heart to flutter again, one hand instinctively reaching toward the weapon that was his lightsaber—a weapon that felt, now, both an extension of himself and a reminder of the gravity of his choices.

Then the room pulsed around him as the two of them squared off. Dooku was entirely precise in his wielding of a saber, and every strike he made against Sidious seemed to be striking solid rock. Each of Dooku's blows was countered with an almost careless grace by the Sith Lord darkly agile, as if he were some ancient specter weaving through the motions like a tragic dance—or perhaps a dark show.

"Excellent form, Count," hissed Sidious mockingly. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a wave of Force energy cascading at Dooku, who was forced off to the side at an acrobatics-speed run just in time.

But as the duel progressed, it became increasingly apparent that Dooku was the weaker combatant in the present stand-off. The dark side of the Force blazed readily from Sidious in ways he had never before felt, overbearing and drawing from the shadows of the galaxy's night.

"Concentrate, Dooku!" Sidious commanded, the tones of his voice uncannily natural. "You do not fight a mere enemy; you are battling with the very substance of your craving.

There was a blur of speed, and then the weapon was out of Dooku's hand, sent clattering to the floor. Unsteady on his feet, Dooku fell heavily to one knee, gasping in air, and looked up at his Dark Lord, who for an instant was nearly silhouetted by the chamber's pallid light.

"You may rise," Sidious told him, the leering grin widening. "That was but a demonstration. You are still full of potential."

Although the defeat stung, in his heart, Dooku's blood raced with elation over the battle, yet he felt the weight of another burden, albeit a different kind; the kind that came from Sidious' keen observation. More than the milieu surrounding them, it was the look within his Master's eyes that Dooku couldn't avoid. And in those intensely scrutinizing eyes, the Dark Lord could sense the subtle shift inside Dooku—an amalgamation of hope and youth that threatened to bloom.

"Do you not feel it?" Sidious pressed in, voice dangerous, eyes narrowed. "The protracted struggle of your own divided self? There's something different about you."

"'Different? To be sure, m'lord. Though rest assured, it is by no means a change of my motivation with regard to our common goals," he said calmly, soothing jittery nerves under rough fabric. "We're united in facing the storm ahead."

Dooku almost feared this would ring hollow; he almost feared Sidious probing further and finding the core of who he was now. For though he stumbled through uncertainty, Dooku called forth the reserves of strength he had pulled out with the Attraction System.

"I've… phased out all distractions," he went on, feeling the throb of confidence surge through him. "I'm ready, Darth Sidious, to exact our vision."

Sidious regarded him with a calculating glare, commiseration a void wrapped in focus befitting a predator. "Very well," he finally said, his voice still almost regretful. "We shall see if you can rise to the occasion."

Once the sparring was over, Dooku stood in the shadows, the room heavy with meaning. Sidious was not just a dark entity, a character coming to life between words on a page; he was flesh and bone, solid, a natural disaster bound to change fates with a word.

'Is that truly the man I once admired?' Dooku pondered, his mind a tempest within.

He was inspired, but greatly aware of the gulf between them: a man whose ambition could consume entire worlds opposed to an aging, disillusioned Jedi who believed he could carve a new galaxy from the ashes of the old.

A chill passed through him as he realized the weight of his ambitions and the intricacies of this war waged together.

'The stakes have never been higher,' he mused, harboring the awareness of this newfound peril within. Dooku tightened his thoughts around the caution—a secret that should not be found amidst the great chessboard of the galaxy.

"From today forward, I must tread carefully," he resolved within himself as he successfully masked his thoughts and intentions behind a veneer of loyalty and allegiance to Sidious. With each passing moment, he was aware of a road ahead that was fraught with danger, resounding with promise yet—a paradox that would define his future as Count Dooku, molded from the remnants of two desperate lives coming together.

* * *

The once-proud Jedi, now hidden behind the guise of Count Dooku, alias Tyranus on the brink of monumental treason, stirred an ambition with startling clarity. His Attraction System's ever-silent monitor, guiding thoughts without a break, got latched onto the colossal task at hand: creating an army that would reshape the galaxy.

Dooku leaned wearily against the cool stone walls of the Kaminoan facility—a grand structure echoed the sound of dripping water, reminiscent of the ebb and flow of time. The grand edifice held its silence—witness to his every move. What he was about to build would not only serve Sidious' machinations but ensure he left a legacy rivaling even the Jedi.

"So, the Kaminoans may still require some convincing…" he muttered to himself, letting remnants of his college ingenuity give birth to a plan. "Not just orders but an alliance of mutual gain." He sighed, drawing up his cloak around him, envisioning the tasks still ahead of him.

His contemplations finally led to action. If a powerful army were to be properly set in place, he would need the right figure—a warrior of a quality so high that he could be the blueprint for the Clone Army. "A bounty hunter. Yes, the unrivaled gun for hire".

The stars burned brilliantly in the inky dark of space as Dooku pushed his ship toward the remote moon of Bogden. The coordinates rang vivid in his mind as he set down on the gray, desolate landscape. The winds howled against the hull, portending the solitude of this clandestine meeting.

Stepping forth, he was met by the silhouette of a tall, rugged man, whose daunting presence was only emphasized by the dull reflection of the starlight around them in his sturdy armor. If there was ever a stereotype for a bounty hunter, he was it.

"Ah, Fett," Dooku greeted with the smooth voice of a man who was accustomed to command, extending a hand in familiar greeting. "I trust you know all about me?

Jango Fett narrowed his eyes, disbelief etched across his features. "Tyranus. Heard whispers about your deals, but talk is for the air. What do you want from me?"

Dooku's mind danced with legislative flair. "A capital investment, should you decide to be the template for a new breed of soldiers—the Clones."

In his eyes, Jango flashed with interest, although he fought to hide it. "Well, you have my attention."

"Good," Dooku replied, his hands crossed before him—a very authoritative posture. "Your services will be—for now, at least—more than amply repaid. And I shall also see that a clone, genetically identical to yourself, is created to secure your… legacy."

At the mention of an unaltered clone—an appeal exceedingly rare to any bounty hunter—Fett's posture shifted. Leaning in, he found his curiosity warring and trumping his skepticism. "That's quite a tempting offer. But tell me, what's in it for you, though?

"A means to achievement, the likes of which would echo throughout the galaxy," Dooku replied, voice low and conspiratorial. "Power is only as valuable as the resources backing it, Jango. These soldiers will not just leave a legacy of you, but will serve a grander vision—a galaxy kneeling before the might of the Sith."

Fett shrugged off the excitement now coursing through his veins. "I like a good fight as much as the next man, but I don't fight for anyone's vision. Your soldiers need to have grit, the instinct to survive."

"Ah, but they will possess all that and more," Dooku reassured him, and the way in which the assuredness oozed from his being, the confidence in his presence, "Each clone will inherit your skills, your cunning, and your tenacity."

"But will they follow orders?" pressed Fett, catching on to the tiny glimmer of an opportunity that could swing in his favor. "Or be turned into brainwashed drones?"

"Ah," Dooku cut across, and his lips curled with the tiniest smug smile, "they shall be enhanced with inhibitor chips—loyal ones. But fear not! With your guidance, they shall be trained not to just obey but also think for themselves when the need arises."

Fett's brow furrowed slightly. "You do realize the power you're making, right? A clone army could turn on its creator easily if they ever figure out they're trapped."

"True," Dooku conceded "yet therein lies the brilliance of this opportunity. You will have timelessness, and I will ensure these subjects remain loyal."

Jango considered, carefully, for several silent moments just what that really boiled down to, regarding Dooku's words. Finally, a dangerous grin spread over his rugged face. "You might just be the best offer I received in a long time, friend. You have yourself a deal… under one condition."

"Name it," Dooku replied, intrigued.

"You're right; your little clones better heed directions. If they're going to bear my name, they better reflect my standards. So, how much are we talking here?"

Dooku's smile widened. "Let's just say that the Galactic Senate is ripe for the picking. Funds are going to flow as easily as the tides once I command control over our creation."

And with those, they sealed their bargain with a firm clasp of hands, marking an alliance born of shadows and ambition.

Now Dooku left the moon, adrenaline rushing through him for the upcoming conquest. He could almost feel the mechanisms of destiny shifting back into place, driven with the flow of the entire Attraction System. Every decision molded his way forward, no longer just a relic of the Jedi. He was something greater, a harbinger of the new order that would bind the galaxy to the will of the Sith.

The poor sod didn't realize that he was doing more than just signing up to make an army; he had become an unwitting instrument in Dooku's greater plan. And as the stars twinkled above the desolate moon, the seeds of a conflict that would shatter the galaxy were taking root below.