3 days.
It only took 3 days to make me feel like breaking down into tears
Boot camp stapled to high school.Social circles sprouting immediately: tallers with tallers, smallers with smallers, brainiacs with brainiacs, jocks with jocks.
Where does a cheat-code necromancer with the force sit on the totem pole?
Apparently… the bottom.
The first three days were nothing but scientific theory and advanced mathematics.
In almost every sort of test every one of my fellow irken brethren would outperform me!
I almost spit blood when I had a calculus test lade before my eyes the first time.
The others had these PAK-perfect recall loops—like the PAK was their brain. Mine felt like… checking a phone. I had to look up my own head.
I was immediately outcasted me from their social circles when they realized I was a little slow on the uptake. It wasn't even my fault!!! The system appeared to have crippled me!
The others eventually stuck a nickname onto me. 'Dumbo' they called me which got mixed with my PAK assigned name of 'Dabo', only realizing this was my name when the instructor performed a roll call and no other irken responded immediately. My small pause before responding already set a bad precedent. Not to mention when i'd randomly close my eyes and try to use the force, the others thought i was being lazzzyyyy!
Even Tab, my smeet brother I followed here, called me names.
You ungrateful traitor—I rocked you when you were a jelly bean!
For most smeets, it was like their PAK shipped with Level 4–5 in "calculation" and "recollection."
WHAT THE GODDAMN HELL WAS THIS!? WHO'S THE ONE WITH A CHEAT HERE!?
I wanted to rip my own antennae off from the stress. I was certain the instructors were 1 bad day away from labeling me defective.
The only saving grace?
One guy did worse.
His name was Scat. Unfortunate name for an even more unfortunate soul. Average height. Maybe below average brain. Last to finish tests—right there with me. So we… gravitated.
We sat together in the cafeteria: cheese nachos and mini donuts. Not the worst diet for a species with a turbocharged metabolism.
"...We're finally going outside today," he said.
"Huh?"
"Dabo? What're you staring at?"
I blinked up. "Oh. What did you say?"
"They're taking us outside. Physical testing."
Siiiiiigh.
He gave me a curious brow raise, perhaps considering the possibility that i was indeed defective
No sleep in three days. Apparently only Irken officers get to sleep. Everyone else is a wakeful productivity drone. I stuffed three donuts into my mouth and tried not to cry frosting.
Noticing my lack of enthusiasm Scat gave me another confused look
He was about to say something else when–
WOOOOM.
An announcing alarm had played overhead signifying our snack time was over.
We ditched trays and fell in with our platoon of sixty. Our instructor counted heads with the dead-eyed precision of a guillotine and marched us out.
Along the way we would pass other platoons from different generations. Having instructors of their own and members who seemed to have proven themselves in their platoon by having some type of leadership position.
It took near an hour of marching before we came across a large blast door.
Depressurization hiss. The doors yawned open to reveal—
A field of purple grass under a pink sky, with red-and-pink-leaved trees. Obstacle courses, tracks, fake buildings spread like toys.
Simulated. Has to be. Irk is industrial to the core. No way they kept a garden.
"Alright, worms—find a partner."
We broke ranks. Scat grabbed my shoulder immediately. Good. No point playing social roulette.
The instructor led us to a track labeled 1 by a hovering holo. He looked us over like a meat inspector choosing which cuts to keep.
"In this exercise, you'll run relay laps. Tag your partner. Higher placement, more points. The Control Brains review scores to decide your future duty. Try not to suck."
Reactions rippled: smug tallers, sweaty smallers, a few geniuses already calculating optimal stride length versus arc velocity.
Scat squeezed my shoulder. "I'll go first!"
He beamed. I tried to beam back. Necromancers are not known for quads, I thought, eyeballing my noodle-limbs with dread.
Most smeets stood flat-footed at the line. One Irken got into a proper sprint start, one knee bent, hands down.
The instructor seemed to have noticed this and after a brief acknowledgement of the action looked at the other groups.
"Scat—copy that guy," I murmured.
He glanced, nodded, set himself. The air hummed. A holo countdown appeared.
3… 2… 1.
WOOOM!
They exploded forward. Scat actually led for the first stretch—until two tallers started eating the distance with those smug long legs.
CURSE YOUR TALL LEGS!
My hands shook. Teeth clenched. The Force rippled through me, a golden wash of calm over boiling adrenaline.
Perhaps in response to my anticipation the strange wave of comfort was greatly appreciated in that moment
I turned and set my stance.
First runner finished. Tag. The next line jolted—some stumbling because they'd been staring instead of prepping. Copycats adjusted.
Scat tagged my shoulder—fifth place. I blasted forward with everything my small body had.
PPFFF—PPFFF—PFFFFFF.
Oh god why is sprinting immediately awful.
Four smeets ahead. All taller.
I was panting like a dog while running, I didn't imagine this short sprint to be as immediately exhausting as it was.
Fucking tallers…Why'd they have to team up with eachother this wasn't fair...
My muscles burned. Organs whined. I popped my stats mid-run:
Class:Necromancer (Lv 1 / 100)HP:25 / 25MP:50 / 50SP:24 → 23 → 22 / 25
Stats: STR 5 • END 5 • DEX 5 • INT 10(+50) • WIS 10 • CHA 10 • LCK 10Skills:
Raise Undead (Lv1/10) • Force Sight (Lv3/10) • Telekinesis (Lv2/10) • Meditation (Lv1/10) • Force Sensitive (Lv2/10)Traits:
Mana Gifted • One with THE FORCE • 2nd Mind • Robotic Stamina
Every three seconds of sprinting shaved 1 SP, then snapped back from Robotic Stamina. Theoretically… infinite sprint?
I didn't want to run forever. I wanted to win.
I willed myself faster—anger, shame, stubbornness, all the delicious failure chemicals. The Force stirred like a storm tasting iron.
DING.
Skill gained: Force Imbue (Lv 1 / 10).Imbue the Force into a chosen object, enhancing its properties.
A cool surge slid into my legs. Breathing eased. Stride sharpened.
I passed fourth. He gawked.
I almost started laughing at that
It wasn't long before I caught up to the guy in 3rd and barely passed him when we finally completed our lap.
I crossed the line, gasping and glowing with spiteful joy, and hugged Scat
We hadn't won but I grabbed Scat in a joyous bear hug. Beating 2 tallers at running was a huge victory in my mind!
The confused Scat was perplexed but wrapped his arms around me back in a warm embrace of joy. The actual winners looked at us like a pair of complete dumbasses, same with the instructor…
We eventually awkwardly broke the hug, the losers giving us ugly looks, being physically defeated by shorters was a clear insult to their pride.
"TO THE NEXT COURSE WORMS!!!"
The instructor's voice promised murder. He jabbed a finger at track 2.
I grinned…If i could collect more abilities perhaps this would be worth while
-3 MONTHS LATER-
After the first month they had divided us into teams. My team leader, a guy called Lab, was a pretty decent guy overall trying to use my actual name most times but a slip of his tongue and he would insult me to my face by accident. I could feel the pain in his eyes when I was forced onto his team, a computer randomly assigning us together as some kind of adaptability test. We'd already spent a month together so far
Scat unfortunately had been placed on another team altogether, my poor brother in stupidity being bullied for his below average intelligence and average height.
They had us run obstacle courses, hikes, climbing, sprints, driving, flight simulators, even a bit of fighting and much more. All of this was accomplished in some kind of simulation room the size of a giant stadium. The room itself is able to simulate a variety of different environments and atmospheres. I still haven't even seen the sun yet, the entirety of my life spent among steel and simulated grass.
The past 3 months had allowed me to develop several skills and outperform others, allowing me to grow a reputation as a strong soldier. Key word being 'strong' because despite my immense clear physical advantage I had my ass handed to me in actual 1v1 combat.
The others were genuinely amazed with my resiliency, especially the taller ones who had some kind of superiority complex, trying to best anyone shorter than themselves at everything. I guessed that maybe the charisma stat had something to do with height. My 10 CHA being the average like my height, because from what I can tell there really wasn't much difference between the looks of a shorter or taller irken, but all of them kissed the dirt the taller ones walked on. Whatever though, it didn't bother me
The constant testing meant my body was constantly falling apart
my muscles tearing from the strain of combat, climbing, running, not eating
during this i heard my PAK start whirring loudly, trying to balance my bodies equilibrium and repair the damage.
one other relief being small breaks where I would use Force Imbue on the sore parts of my body, accidentally gaining Force Heal!
DING.
Skill gained: Force Heal (Lv 1 / 10).Use the Force to heal or replace damaged cells.
Tasks got harder. We were assigned battle buddies. Mine? The Tak. Yes, that Tak.
Lab considered her an all rounder. Strong, fast, above average height, great stamina, great shot but more importantly SMART. Smart enough to at least take care of me….
She was also… annoyed by me. The Force picked up pride, hunger, contempt. Classic Irken aura.
The look of contempt she gives, exactly how it appears in the show, except real instead of a cartoon…hearing her British accent was also a slight shock but I assumed it was some PAK given characteristic.
"OPEN YOUR GODDAMN EYES ALREADY!" she barked, snapping the tip of my antenna between her fingers.
My eyes popped open. Owwww. "It's been five minutes! We just topped out the cliff."
I push away from her "It's only been 5 minutes!" We had just finished scaling a cliff, a minigun strapped to my back as always and we decided to rest at the top.
"Five minutes too many," she snapped, slinging her gear. "Move."
I yanked my kit on. The minigun strapped to my back weighed five Taks.
We'd spent the last 3 months together as barely little more than acquaintances, she really only talked to me when we were forced together as a pair.
Now we were on our final exercise before graduation—scores that decide first posting.
I sighed and fell in behind her, matching pace. Every time I closed my eyes to breathe the Force, she bristled. Irkens don't sleep. Don't… do the other thing either. The PAK handles everything.
Maybe she just saw my eyes closed as me being lazy. I wouldn't guess much else. We continued our quiet trek through a simulated mountainous environment, alien flora and fauna surrounding us, a simple search of my PAK and it could tell me the details about the stuff but that was a slight waste of time.
The two of us had actually been placed on the most difficult mission in the team, the establishment of short range communications. I say placed but really she volunteered the two of us for it, quite confident and determined. This would of course reflect on our scores as well.
Her job: activate the equipment and ensure its functionality
My job: carry the world.
"So…" I whistled. Her antennae twitched—listening. "What job do you want?"
She glanced back like I'd asked dumbest question she's ever heard.
"Infantry."
I grinned. "How far up that pole?"
being a grunt was the beginning of a glorious career for some of the more famous irkens
"Invader," she said, dead serious.
"Ooo, Invader?" I rolled my eyes—wait, can I roll my eyes?
"Yeah, I'd love to see that."
"Hmph. I'm sure you would."
The Force hummed—a small dose of micro emotions transmitted to me
she was happy under the scowl. Pride + greed + a bite of ambition. Perfect Irken smoothie.
We scaled another ledge. She granted me an extra five-minute "rest" she definitely needed more than I did. Then reached the objective: a bluff overlooking half the map.
She worked faster. Of course she did. She finished her half, then shoved me aside and finished mine too.
"Teamwork," I muttered. She pretended not to hear.
Comms online. Lab's updates pinged through. Final objective: exfil at a distant LZ.
On the way out, Tak slowed to walk beside me instead of ahead. I looked at her. Smiled a little. The Force sent me a splash of irritated heat.
Still happier than usual, though.
"Wanna make a bet?" I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. "...What's the bet?"
"I imagine a world‑conquering Irken like yourself will need servants. Of considerable strength, of course." I flexed a bicep that didn't really exist.
"If you conquer a planet, I'll become your servant. But if I—"
"Deal," she said, cutting me off.
"You didn't hear my—"
"You want me to be your servant if you conquer first," she said flatly. "Unlikely. Maybe impossible."
She wasn't wrong. I scowled anyway. "We have a deal, then."
"Become strong for your future master," she purred.
"I regret this already."
The path narrowed. Wind hissed across the ridge. My PAK fed me fifteen micro‑routes for optimal foot placement; I ignored all but three.
One day, I thought, I'll conquer a planet of bones and shadows. Then we'll see who serves who.
The Force stirred—like it approved.