Sometime earlier in the day, one of Coruscant's weather net emitters failed. It might have been hit by artillery, or it could have been overloaded by accident. What matters is that the nearly acidic storm clouds that are tempered by the planet-wide weather net are now free to roam. Dark, sickly pale clouds with a hint of a dark brown hue crawl across the afternoon sky. Day is slowly turning into night, and the shrouded figure of Jedi Master Skywalker is dimly visible in the wreckage of the Senate Building. He's perched, almost like a forgotten shadow, on the top of a tall pillar, one of the few which haven't fallen. Hood drawn, his eyes are closed, and he rests in a deep trance, almost dead to the world around him.