Apparently neither of us would be invading planets anytime soon because the Invader Test only happens once every 70 years—insignificant to an Irken lifespan, but a loooong wait. The next one was still decades away. It had already been four months since graduation.
It was almost hard to believe—about 10 months old and already assigned to duty for the Irken Empire. My low academic scores got me kicked out of cushy, prestigious tracks. But my physical scores kept me above total trash-tier soldiers like Scat. I got stuck as an Armorer—repairing and cleaning weapons all day, every day, in the armory. It got tedious fast… but Advanced Weaponsmith soared. Every gun I touched shot cleaner, straighter, meaner. Kinda broken.
Funnily enough, Scat and I got placed on the same duty station: a junkyard planet called DIRT constantly flooded with outdated tech and broken electronics. Most soldiers cut and recycled mountains of scrap with plasma torches and welders.
It was official: we were failures.
But… I was weirdly okay with it.
Scat would visit the armory and ask for me by name, grinning wide, going for hugs that drew side‑eye from other losers on this trash rock. A bad habit born from my over‑zealous victory hugs during training. Through the Force I felt his little pulses of joy—affection, even.This idiot became my best friend. That's… both sweet and tragic.
Class:Necromancer (Level 1 / 100)
HP:50 / 50MP:50 / 50SP:50 / 50
Stats:• STR: 5• END:5• DEX: 5• INT:10 (+50)• WIS:10• CHA:10• LCK:10
Active Skills:• Raise Undead(Lv 1/10)• Force Sight(Lv 4/10)• Force Telekinesis(Lv 3/10)• Force Imbue(Lv 3/10)• Force Heal(Lv 2/10)
Passive Skills:• Force Sensitive(Lv 4/10)• Force Meditation(Lv 3/10)• Sprinting(Lv 3/10)• Acrobatics(Lv 2/10)• Climbing(Lv 2/10)• Parkour(Lv 3/10)• Brawling(Lv 3/10)• Melee Weapons(Lv 1/10)→ Knives(Lv 2/10)(Derivative)• Anatomy(Lv 2/10)• Butcher(Lv 1/10)• Chemistry(Lv 2/10)• Traps(Lv 2/10)• Stun Resistance(Lv 1/10)• Driving(Lv 2/10)• Piloting(Lv 2/10)• Marksmanship(Lv 3/10)• Ranged Weapons(Lv 3/10)→ Small Arms(Lv 4/10)(Derivative)• Mechanics(Lv 3/10)• Computers(Lv 1/10)• Advanced Weaponsmith(Lv 4/10)• Masseuse(Lv 5/10)• Cooking(Lv 5/10)• Merchant(Lv 2/10)
Traits:• Mana Gifted• One with THE FORCE• 2nd Mind• Robotic Stamina
I had a pretty significant increase in random skills due to my time in the education center, my time on DIRT also helped.
as an armorer i was constantly disassembling and repairing weapons, actually training two skills at the same time!
My telekinesis would level as I made tiny Force adjustments to screws and springs during cleaning
Since day one of service I realized one thing: MY JOB DIDN'T PAY MUCHMONIESSSS.10 monies every two years!
I was POOR. Two years of labor for a plate of nachos. Meanwhile, Irknet (the Irken internet) teased me with luxury—private droids, custom ships, black‑market weapons, premium everything. All stupid expensive.
So I improvised.
I resurrected a lost Irken practice no one used anymore: MASSAGES. I tried one on Scat and ding—Masseuse awakened. I regretted it immediately because he got even touchier.
But business boomed. I convinced armory gremlins to try my work; I discounted first timers; then I charged. Word spread. A quiet, greasy black‑market economy sprouted: Irkens paying for bliss while shoving busted plasma cutters at me for "free" fixes because I was already there.
I'd seen some of the irkens stiffen their limbs in pleasure, trying to control themselves as my massages sent them to high heaven. I'm pretty sure I developed some addicts… they'd probably hold me at gunpoint if i stop now.
But I didn't stop there
When the massage business took off i got started on another side business, using the extra monies to buy ingredients
I started baking sweets—cookies and cupcakes—from a cheap oven. At first they were free add‑ons with massage sessions. Then mouths got addicted. Then wallets opened. One day I noticed a temporary +1 STR buff after a protein‑packed cookie; I promptly nerfed my recipes before the Control Brains flagged me for culinary doping.
Even had a weird incident
Two tallers argued over my last sugar cookie. I auctioned it. The winner cried. The loser asked for a massage. I charged both.
Despite my booming side hustles, my combat growth stalled. No real fights, no real corpses. Just one training dissection months ago. Mundanity gnawed my ambition to the bone. The Empire was in peacetime—still allied with Vort, probably hadn't even laid the keel for The Massive yet. War will come, I told myself. But not yet. The Tallest was still female, even.
How would I become the conqueror of worlds while I was still so weak? Not a single undead slave to my name either.
This was inevitably how most of my time on dirt played out
The Force must've heard me spiraling. For the first time in months, it scratched my mind.
I ran to my quarters—a space smaller than Harry Potter's cupboard. One PAK dock for maintenance "sleep." I locked the door, sat cross‑legged, and meditated.
The Force spiraled around me, condensing until the purple walls blurred to black. And then—I felt like I was going to throw up.
DING.
Trait gained: Dimensional Traveler.You've traveled through universes; your sense for space deepens. All space‑related abilities are more efficient.
The world spun. Bile rose. I sprawled on cold flooring, gulping air. After a minute, I staggered up.
I was in a living room—couch, table, chairs, a wall of books, family photos.
Humans. A family of four—son, daughter, mother, father. I felt a hot curl of disgust; the word "worms" almost slipped out.
I was human once… right? I picked up a frame for a closer look. Civilian clothes—except the father, wearing a uniform I recognized instantly.
NABOO?!