I almost screamed. My mouth hung open at the father's uniform: Royal Naboo Security Forces. From the Prequels.The Prequels.I was in them.
That's so awesome!! I feel my dark ambitions growing at this new revelation.
I dropped the photo, pulled a laser pistol from my PAK, and slid to a window. Outside: a serene Naboo neighborhood—gorgeous domes, soft stone reliefs—and a street clogged with wrecked B1s and bodies.
CORPSES!
I climbed out, tried to be stealthy (hard when you're neon green with glowing eyes and a pink issue uniform), and bee‑lined to the nearest body. A small pistol glinted—mine now; into the PAK.
I gripped the corpse's tunic to drag it when—
Place object within inventory?
I blinked. Inventory? Since when—Priorities. I thought yes; the body blinked out of existence.
New plan. I ran like a burglar with a head injury, tapping battle droids, blasters, bodies—inventory, inventory, inventory—until the street cleared. Then I ran back into the house.
I look around. why not?
Bed? Taken. Couches, chairs, books, plates, candles, blue milk? Taken.
Back in the now bare bedroom, I summoned seven corpses. All male, civilian clothes—Naboo's homegrown resistance. Queen Amidala still in pacifist mode; figures.
A contemptuous curl tried to pry open my mouth—foolish worms—and that surprised me.Is this how Irkens feel by default?
I faced my palm at the first corpse. "Rise," I whispered. Something surged from my hand; the corpse's eyes went from dull to bright blue. It rolled, stood.
Finally.TEN months without magic and I was starving. I closed my eyes, tried to feel the path of mana as I raised the rest. Nothing clicked—until the seventh. I nudged the flow incorrectly and the cast fizzled; I had to recast.
HAHA look at me! 7 eternal slaves.
A billion to go.
Testing time. They held blasters like toddlers with drumsticks and preferred clubbing to firing. Running? More wobble than sprint. Orders were obeyed literally, interpretation zero. Still—magic, baby. Upgrades later.
For the next few hours I went house to house, stealing everything. Finding small stashes of credits as well. Why the star wars universe didn't have some type of credit card i'll never know though it felt nice holding the silver and gold colored credits.
My undead hauled droids, blasters, and bodies. Night deepened—and then blaster fire ripped the silence.
I peeked: my undead were mowed down by an organized B1 platoon, red bolts stitching the dark.
"NOOO— MY UNDEAD SLAVES!"I returned fire from the window; hot pink bolts knocked down four droids. The B1s broke, took cover.
Right. Central control AI. Coordinated tactics. Also, I was outgunned, undersensored, and under‑PAK'd—no Invader spider‑legs, no ammo racks. Just a soldier's PAK and a sidearm.
Firing at the open B1s trying to run close to the house I manage to down a few of them. They had begun using buddy tactics, half of them firing behind cover while the other half rushed forward and finding cover.
I cut down rushers, but the rest used buddy bounds—half suppressing, half advancing.Where was this competence during the Clone Wars, you goddam clankers—Bolts chewed the window frame. One grazed my antenna—I yelped—and survival finally beat pride. I bolted to a closet, folded down, and dropped into meditation.
Oh please sweet Force take me home, I promise not to— (lie) —abuse your power, just send me back!
CRASH!
Door smashed; metal feet scissored in. The Force coalesced—colors dimmed—black.
I face‑planted onto the armory floor back home. Ow. Then—pure hysterical laughter.
HAHA! What a rush! I massage my antenna while exiting the room
Heading back to the armory i check the time.
Time dilation was obscene: I'd been gone hours there and about one minute here.
Class: Necromancer leveled. USER achieved Level 2
I dusted off and swaggered toward my bench, still giddy. Curious eyes tracked my grin. I pulled the droid blasters from inventory and broke them down. The tech was… fine. Comparable damage to Irken guns of similar size, but Irken tolerances made these toy‑grade. Their Tibanna gas cartridges, though—that was interesting.
Tibanna ran starship hyperdrives out there. No such thing here; the Empire brute‑forced space with raw speed. If I had a hyperdrive in this universe… I'd be a god on rails.
I pocketed the Tibanna cartridges and scrapped the rest. Then cracked three B1s and confirmed: absolute trash. An Irken recycling droid would outclass a six‑foot B1 on every axis and then choreograph its funeral.
Disappointing, but Mechanics would still tick up from repairs. Household loot? Beds. So many beds, couches tooI will nap out of spite.
I was already planning to go back. I'd fight. Seemed like the class leveled on actual combat more than just skill usage.
Movie timelines were muddy—days? Weeks? Faster‑than‑light travel made a liar out of clocks. I'd work with haste.
Now that i new i had infinite pockets i started planning.
I ran the armory "ESSENTIALS" checklist—mag clamps, Fab‑tape, spare power cells, shock‑knife, compact medpak, two collapsible sling‑packs—and fed the PAK a launch profile: "Naboo Return, high‑risk ingress, low‑profile egress." I dropped a note in Scat's queue: "Off shift; don't die; nachos later." He pinged back a thumbs‑up and a request for cookies. I muted him for my sanity.
The massage addicts materialized like vultures. I promised I wasn't gone for long; their shoulders shuddered just from me lifting a hand. Withdrawal's a hell of a thing. I closed shop with a sign: "Back Soon, Bring Monies." That soothed them more than I liked.
Back in my room, I sat cross‑legged. The Force spiraled; the world unspooled.
Nausea punched my gut. Blaster fire hit my ears—immediately.
Bedroom again, but the gunfire came from outside. I peeked: a platoon of B1s encircled the next building. Four damaged droids out front.
Wait.No time passed?
I retreated, chose not to tango with a platoon, and jogged the other way. My head spun with possibilities.
If I could disappear at will and lose no time there… my role in the galaxy just evolved.
Ambition relit like a furnace.
I spotted a sleek speeder in a garage. I hopped in; the controls weren't Irken, but my PAK wormed a cable, found a port, and jacked in. On Irk, security would escalate to Control Brains; here, it just assumed I was doing my job and hacking alien technology.
Seconds later, I had autopilot and a local map. I set course for an information center(library).
Roads were littered with B1 wreckage, resistance barricades, and scorched stone. Meaning i had to manually adjust; Telekinesis made steering tweaks so smooth the speeder felt telepathic. It was only a few moments before i arrived
The library was a palace of light. Boy did the Naboo really kill it with aesthetic design. The inside was more beautiful than the outside. soft blue glowing data cards that looked like books lined each other in tall towers.
Empty. I slid behind the main desk and into a terminal. The PAK pulled history, maps, cultural lexicons, local comms protocols—a buffet of context, most of it useless, some of it gold. I stored everything.
Analyzing A map I noticed 2 things. I was outside the city of Theeds and the area I was in was pretty much entirely a suburb with a few schools, markets, and parks nearby but mostly homes.
Running outside, i jumped back into my speeder.
Time to join the plot. I set navigation: Theed.
It was time…to become a youngling
It didn't take long—and then PEW in the distance became—
BOOOOM!
An AAT took a shot. Missed. Then—
PEW— BOOOM!Second shot would've bucked my kidneys out of my spine if i had any.
I yanked an "essential" from the inventory: rocket launcher. PAK handled targeting; I squeezed.
A pink corkscrew missile wrote poetry across the sky and kissed the AAT.
BOOOOOOOOM.
Pink blossomed to orange. I cackled like a villain.
HAHAHA!
"FILTHY INFERIOR TECHNOLOGY! BOW TO IRKEN SUPREMACY!"
The droids disagreed with high‑velocity rhetoric. A platoon formed around the wreck; blaster fire chewed my paint job.
Petty wrath engaged. I swapped to a plasma LMG, clamped it to the speeder's rail, and sprayed. Red and pink stitched the air; I kept the throttle pinned toward the Royal Palace.
Cover finally sheltered me in the city interior—until coordinated fire timed from three angles. One hover engine blew; the speeder skated and punched through a wall.
Adrenaline. Exit. Back alley. The PAK threw me a route; I sprinted through markets, vaulted rails, and cut corners—closer, closer—
Dead B1s lined a corridor. Too late? Or just on time?
I slipped in a side entrance. Blaster echoes led me through ornate halls. Naboo pilots rushed past; some double‑took at the tiny green soldier. Calls chased me; I sprinted faster.
The Main Hangar opened, and there he was—Obi‑Wan sprinting into a ship while Qui‑Gon killed his saber and spotted me barreling in.
I skidded to a panting halt. He opened his mouth—
"Master Jedi! Please hurry!"
A voice from the ship. His attention flickered.
"Please take me with you!" I blurted into Liam Neeson's immortal face.
"Master, we're running out of time!" came again. He gestured. Come.
YES! VICTORY!
I bolted aboard, past baffled handmaidens, as doors sealed and the ship lifted. Qui‑Gon guided the pilots. Realizing I'd followed, he caught my wrist, steered me aside.
"Wait here, young one."
Young?I'm an Irken soldier, I almost snapped—then actually looked at him. A tower. I was under four feet. I shut up.
It didn't take long for the ship to begin getting fired upon by the Lucrehulk blockade, I could almost hear the music from the movie playing in my mind as the voices in the other room lined up with my memories.
I let fate take the wheel on this one, or I should say I let the force take the wheel and events played out identically to the movie, Qui-Gon even deciding to head toward Tatooine. When that conversation ended the Jedi duo came up to me, Obi-wan looking extremely perplexed at my being here.
Eventually the Jedi returned; Obi‑Wan looked like he was one bad day away from turning to the dark side."Mind explaining what you're doing here, little one?"
Qui‑Gon gentle; Obi‑Wan annoyed. I considered my options.
Child act? Child act.
"I want to be a Jedi!" I piped.
Brows arched. "What makes you so sure?"
"Because I can do this."
I tugged Qui‑Gon's lightsaber with the Force; it smacked my palm. He played it cool; Obi‑Wan did not. They went aside to whisper about unknown species and questionable stowaways, then decided to take me to Coruscant for review. I smiled at them like butter wouldn't melt.
"I havn't seen your kind before young one. What are your people called?"
"I'm Irken." I beamed out with pride
"And your age?"
"…One year old."
His eyes widened. My antennae preened.
—LATER—
Tatooine happened while I stayed aboard, the jedi were unwilling to let a single handmaiden tour the planet, let alone a one year old child.
Peeking with Force Sight and dodging the Anakin chatter plague. Darth Maul cameoed; Anakin Skywalker joined. Seeing him so small hurt in a way I didn't expect. He tried to talk my antennae off; I faked sleep and watched him flirt with his future wife through walls. The wait to Coruscant was molasses; the plot, however, kept its appointments.
~
Outside the High Council chamber, I stood with a stoic female Master. Doors opened; Anakin emerged, anxiety radiating. He saw me, relaxed a notch.
"Good luck, Dabo."
"…Thanks, Ani."The word tasted wrong in my mouth. The Master's brow quirked.
"It's your turn," she said, guiding me in.
The Council was exactly as filmed. My brain went popcorn—Marvel crossovers, multiversal hijinks—when a cold wave splashed through my thoughts. Stop. The Force warned me to shut up in my head.
Windu's scowl deepened as my panic spiked. I tried not to think about secrets and successfully thought only about secrets. Then a second wave—clarity—rolled through me. The Force helped, sliding an idea into place.
DING.
Skill gained: Force Veil (Lv 1/10).Keep your presence dim; keep your thoughts to yourself.
Relief crashed over me. Confusion flickered across a few faces. I bowed.
"Hello."
Yoda's ears tilted. "Your name?"
"Dabo, Master."
"Come before us. Why have you?"
"I wish to learn the ways of the Force and become a great warrior for my people."
"Your people—where?"
"Far Far away. I don't know where."
Windu's voice cut in, authoritative. "Your species is undocumented. Master Jinn calls you Irken? is that correct?"
"It is…"
"And what are Irkens?"
"Just like everyone else," I said, hoping "militarized insect empire" wouldn't be the follow‑up. however he didn't seem to like my response
"How did you reach Naboo?"
"The Force took me there," I said—true, if incomplete. "I was on break from work when everything went black."
"Working? Your people have you work?"…Right. Child. Honesty hummed under my skin.
"From the moment we're born," I said. The room digested that without choking—apparently not unique in a big galaxy.
Perhaps there were other such species in the galaxy far far away. Maybe my insect features implied such a cultural thing…
"Mmm and what is that device on your back?"
Silence collapsed the air. I turned, really saw my PAK—my whirring metal life: memory vault, immune system, babysitter, arbiter of me.
It was so deafening you could hear a pin drop. I almost heard some nonexistent heartbeat within myself.
"Thats...…"
"That is…."
"That is the entirety of my life."
The room set in silence, the masters slightly glanced at one another. Considering my words perhaps.
"Can you explain?"
Explain…yes i suppose i had to explain more about the irken race in order to become a jedi…
"It's gonna take a while…"
"Plenty of time…we have"
Alright…
~~~LATER~~~
They dismissed me to deliberate. I joined Anakin to sweat in the hallway.
It had taken well over an hour, long back and forth of me explaining everything. The PAK, the pinnacle of Irken Technology, my entire being, keeping me alive, housing my memories since birth! They had of course asked to analyze it but I had warned that if it was separated from my body I would begin dying, not to mention it would possibly self-destruct from any attempted probing. They surprisingly let go at the chance of studying it when they learned it would kill me.
What came next was me explaining irken social structures, our instinctual respect for height, our social relationships with other aliens. THANK GOD IT WAS PEACE TIME
I had explained much of the education system that takes place shortly after birth, and they tried to pry for more before I explained I was only 10 months old and had only seen the smallest fraction of the empire.
After they were satisfied with their question they of course told me they had much to discuss and would inform me of their decisions. So I basically went back with Anakin and waited patiently for a verdict with him.
When verdict time came, Qui‑Gon told Anakin the Council said no—too old, too attached. Then came my turn. The female Master from earlier accompanied him.
I, however, was handed to her.
The more I stared at her, the more I realized I had absolutely no clue who she was, probably destined to be one of the many dead Jedi to fall at the battle of Geonosis. Her hands were beautifully tattooed in strange sky blue circular patterns with symbols around them. She appeared to be younger than 30 and had brown hair, but her face showed a hard stoicism reminding me of dooku. She appeared to be the all work and no play type of jedi…
Youngling quarters were a step up from broom closet to walk‑in. The room was aggressively gray."This will be your room. A droid will bring robes."
She ghosted away before questions could spawn.
It's going to be a long few years.
I shut the door and sagged onto the slab they called a bed. Pulled up my SYSTEM, expecting a clean overview—and got a tangled graveyard of passives stacked like junkyard scrap. Force, combat, cooking, mechanics, knives nested under melee—but not really nested—labels everywhere. I rubbed my eyes. "This is clunky. I can't keep flipping through ten screens." I willed the layout to behave.
SYSTEM Reformatting for USER…
Class:Necromancer (Level 3 / 100)
HP:50 / 50MP:50 / 50SP:50 / 50Unallocated Stat Points:20
Stats:• STR: 5• END: 5• DEX: 5• INT: 10 (+50)• WIS: 10• CHA: 10• LCK: 10
Active Skills:• Raise Undead (Lv 2/10)• Force Sight (Lv 4/10)• Force Telekinesis (Lv 3/10)• Force Imbue (Lv 3/10)• Force Heal (Lv 2/10)
Passive Skills (Categorized):Force‑Based• Force Sensitive (Lv 4/10)• Force Meditation (Lv 3/10)• Force Veil (Lv 1/10)
Magic / Necromantic• Anatomy (Lv 2/10)• Butcher (Lv 1/10)• Mana Manipulation (Lv 1/10)
Physical / Combat• 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)• Stun Resistance (Lv 1/10)
Weapons / Engineering• 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)• Driving (Lv 2/10)• Piloting (Lv 2/10)
Survival / Tactical• Chemistry (Lv 2/10)• Traps (Lv 2/10)
Utility / Social / Misc.• Cooking (Lv 5/10)• Merchant (Lv 2/10)• Masseuse (Lv 5/10)
Traits:• Mana Gifted• One with THE FORCE• 2nd Mind• Robotic Stamina• Dimensional Traveler
I exhaled. That was better. A tidy war‑room instead of a hoarder's den.
Outside, Coruscant's traffic roared like an ocean made of lights. Inside, I palmed the room's gray walls and pictured them purple. Someday I'd have quarters in a citadel of bone and chrome, where the lights hummed in my key and the Force whispered plans. For now… robes, rules, and patience.