Star Wars Outlaws Prequel Arriving Next Month: Here’s Your First Look

While the news that a sequel to Ubisoft’s Star Wars Outlaws has been indefinitely shelved was a bitter pill for fans of the open-world epic, the narrative legacy of the game is far from finished. As is often the case in this storied galaxy, the end of one journey marks the beginning of another. On February 3, readers can return to the treacherous criminal fringes of the galaxy in the new novel Low Red Moon, penned by New York Times bestselling author Adam Christopher. Set during the volatile period between The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, the story plunges back into the shadow wars of the syndicates.

Rather than following the exploits of Kay Vess, Low Red Moon shifts its narrative lens to Jaylen Vrax, the enigmatic mastermind who first recruited her. Accompanied by the formidable BX-series commando droid ND-5, Vrax navigates a web of intrigue. In the following exclusive excerpt, the duo pursues a lead through a bustling spaceport, only to realize they’ve walked directly into a meticulously laid snare.

“Madel Nureth has moved beyond my primary scanning perimeter. We must increase our velocity,” I report, processing a surge of incoming sensor telemetry. We transition to a brisk, calculated stride—roughly 40 percent faster than our previous pace, yet subtle enough to blend with the surrounding foot traffic. “Maintaining active threat-detection protocols.”

“Any visual on our tail?” Jaylen asks. He scans the crowd with a lack of subtlety that borders on the reckless.

“Inconclusive.”

A frantic young Rodian darts past, his shoulder clipping my chassis. For a fleeting second, his arm becomes ensnared in the heavy fabric of my duster. I categorize the contact as a non-threat.

However, as I adjust my stride to compensate for the collision, my auditory processors isolate a persistent sound. A pair of footfalls has calibrated its tempo to match ours exactly. Through the cacophony of the spaceport, I identify a second, distinct pattern following the same synchronized rhythm.

I come to a sudden halt. “What’s the hold-up?” Jaylen demands, his frustration evident. “We’re losing her.”

I allow my internal chronometer to cycle through ten seconds before resuming a faster pace. Predictably, both sets of footsteps mirror the change. “We are being shadowed by two distinct entities,” I state.

“Two?” Jaylen’s eyes narrow. “I only spotted the one in the cloak.”

“Correct. That is the primary tracker. The acoustic signature of their boots matches the individual from the security gate disturbance. However, a second individual is maintaining an identical stalking pattern. Given the coordination, I must assume both are hostile.”

“Then we keep moving,” Jaylen says, lowering his voice and attempting a more discreet glance over his shoulder. “We reach Madel Nureth first and let the hunters become the hunted.”

“Acknowledged.” Jaylen’s tactical assessment is within acceptable parameters. With no superior alternative identified, I continue the march.

We push forward, attempting to intercept our target, yet Madel and her associate have vanished from my thermal imaging. We pass a succession of gates, the crowds thinning until the terminal feels hollow. At the final gate, the area is deserted. No sign of Madel. No sign of the Crimson Dawn contact. Behind us, the twin sets of footsteps cease.

We stand exposed in the center of the terminal. Jaylen’s jaw tightens as he surveys the emptiness. “You’ve got nothing? No signatures?” he asks. He doesn’t need my combat subroutines to know we are standing in a kill zone.

We are no longer the pursuers; we are the bait.

I remain silent, diverted by a catastrophic failure in my sensory array. Thermal imaging, long-range audio filtration, and motion tracking have all gone offline. I turn toward Jaylen, but my sensors register a void where his heat signature should be.

“Endee?”

Jaylen is alive, yet he is invisible to my scanners. This is a critical malfunction.

“My systems are being suppressed by a sophisticated jamming field.”

“It’s an ambush,” Jaylen mutters, his hand drifting toward his holster. “I let my obsession cloud my judgment. Endee, get a visual on that shuttle on the pad. Cross-reference it with the black-market registries.”

I execute the command. A partial scan returns a hit. “Amentor Midna-class shuttle. Analyzing production data now…”

Jaylen nods, then winces, his hand flying to the nape of his neck. “What in the…” He spins around, fingers probing his skin. “Abort. We need to move. Something just grazed me.”

“I detected no projectile or movement,” I reply, even as my visual sensors begin to flicker into darkness. My audio input degrades to a five-meter radius. “My primary—”

Before I can conclude the report, my power core registers a massive ionic discharge.

Jaylen watched in horror as the heavy frame of the BX commando droid buckled. ND-5 hit the deck with a resonant metallic thud that echoed through the vacant hall. Jaylen’s instinct was to shout for help, but he stifled the urge. In his line of work, the arrival of authorities rarely improved a situation.

Then the pain hit him.

It began as a sharp sting in his chest before radiating downward into a nauseating knot in his gut. His legs gave way, and he slumped to the floor, mimicking the droid’s paralyzed state. His vision blurred, and his eyes began to water as a wave of weakness washed over him. First the droid, now him. The entire takedown had lasted less than twenty seconds.

Through the haze of pain and cold sweat, a silhouette emerged from the gloom. As the figure sharpened, Jaylen recognized the woman who had haunted his professional life for years.

Madel Nureth.

She was dressed in unremarkable corporate attire—a tan coat and gray slacks—and appeared unarmed. Whatever had struck Jaylen’s neck had come from elsewhere.

A second figure joined her. Jaylen noted the supple leather boots, the dark leggings, and a coat shimmering with orange runes. Finally, he saw the distinctive green tendrils of a Nautolan.

The Crimson Dawn operative.

If ND-5 were functional, he likely would have identified her by name. Instead, the droid lay motionless, white static electricity dancing across his scarred armor. The Nautolan held a blaster equipped with an ion-pulse attachment.

“Clear,” Madel noted, surveying the empty gate. Her partner nodded, mentioning that the next scheduled flight wasn’t for hours. Madel knelt, examining the prone droid and tracing the deep scar on his chest with a fingernail.

“Ruthless,” she whispered.

Jaylen forced his eyes to meet hers.

“Your doing?” he croaked, the words feeling like shards of glass. The pain in his abdomen was shifting, a localized, agonizing contraction that felt as if something were burrowing beneath his skin.

“The droid is neutralized,” the Nautolan said, gesturing toward a side exit. “The ion charge did its work. We should move. Qi’ra doesn’t appreciate tardiness.”

Source: Polygon