I hopped between universes like a glitchy holo—Irk to Coruscant and back again—until the calendar got bored of me. On the Irken side, days passed steadily; on the Jedi side, they marched in measured breaths.
My little black‑market service club thrived: ten monies for a massage or fresh sweets; a tidy upgrade to my poverty.
Tallers tried to pay with their chins held high—one touch and their whole posture melted.
Pleasure: the Irken Empire's final weakness. Who knew.
The side cash fueled a new experiment. I spent nights researching alien flora rumored to enhance energy, sleep, or healing. Packages arrived in meteorite capsules—Irken delivery is all drama, no refunds. After weeks of alchemy and failing spectacularly, I held a bottle of luminous red liquid up to the light and stared hard until my SYSTEM blinked.
Minor Health Potion — Restores 10% HP.
"How does crushed green leaf make red?" I muttered.
Was this magic? Or science with its nametag turned backward?
I tried to get a pop up for my armory coworker Led with the same gaze; he just blushed. No pop up. Disappointing. A cookie, however—
Cookie — Decreases Fatigue.
Useful for humans. Useless for Irkens—we don't sleep.
Note to self: the galaxy far, far away just became an open‑air market.
The Jedi Code arrived like a tattoo gun: There is no emotion, there is peace.
Cute. I was genetically engineered to be detached and could still tell you that philosophy was wrong.
The next months became school… and a monastery… and a gym… and indoctrination with a smile.
They placed me with younglings aged 4–8. After a month of me accidentally outpacing the syllabus—healing practice, advanced theory, and outperforming kids who still chewed crayons—I got bumped to the 8–12 cohort. That's where I found him.
Anakin.
He smiled when I took a seat beside him. It was a weird smile—too grateful. He'd been shunted to the margins: older than the rest, faster than the rest, more attached than the rest. A clan of siblings he hadn't earned the hard way.
His growth with the Force was explosive. Stuff that took people years took him weeks.
I would hop back to DIRT and grind in private for weeks just to keep the gap from becoming a canyon.
We were two cheaters from different scriptures: Anakin, the Chosen One, gravity's debtor; me, the sleepless Irken with a pocket universe and infinite evenings. The younglings didn't like either of us, so we got paired—sparring partners, lab partners, detention partners. Anakin loved winning and loved reminding me he was taller.
Hitting me right where it hurt the most—
"Maybe next time, shorty," he'd grin, palm held just high enough to be annoying.
"I'm one," I'd deadpan back. "Technically tall for my age."
With no sleep, night cycles belonged to me. Of course the masters had tried to convince me to go to sleep but when I explained it was physically unnecessary and I could in fact go my entire lifetime without it they had attempted to persuade me to do other activities in my room, such as meditation. But having a youngling meditate for 8 hours a day didn't sound right, and locking him in his room for several hours to do nothing sounded worse—
So they let me be
I traced the temple's rooflines with Force‑softened steps—breath, foot, breath, foot—until the city's traffic sang harmony.
DING. Skill Gained: Enhanced Movement (Lv 1/10).Breath cadence + footwork + TK reduce impact stress.
Neat.
A useful ability, but one nearly all masters knew.
I liked Coruscant, I imagined it was what IRK was like.
Inside the archives, the PAK drank data like it had found a new god: maps, histories, xenobiology, shipwright treatises, and thousands of Jedi biographies confessing tricks the Order didn't teach in class. Pyromancy. Dreamwalks. Teleport. Time blur. If god magic existed the force had it.
I failed at all the sexy powers. Time manipulation? Nothing. Gravity? It laughed. Fire? Fire ignored me. The Force treated my ambition like a cat treats a glass on a counter. But the fundamentals—Sight, TK, Imbue, Heal—kept slow steady progress.
Kenobi wasn't around for Anakin as much as he wanted; duty eats hours. Leaving Anakin to spend his free time constantly hounding me instead.
Thats how the Lower Levels sometimes got us instead. Anakin wanted to see the illegal pod races. For me it means finally getting a market on my sleep killing cookies. I considered selling potions but remembered this was a galaxy where bacta heals everything
Our clowning around would nearly get us into trouble. We ran from security one too many times by this point.
A human boy covered head to tow in robes, trying to disguise himself as some short alien and an actually short alien that nobody could identify the species of.
"Maybe next time, shorty," Anakin grinned as we cut across a maintenance catwalk, turbines howling underneath.
"Maybe next time you'll grow a second brain," I shot back, letting my enhanced movements keep my feet steady
We've had one too many close calls, but i wasn't going to stop sneaking out anytime soon. I literally never slept
How Anakin can lose anywhere from 3-5 hours of sleep and be perfectly fine was a mystery to me
Back topside, the Temple tried to make me normal. Good luck. Mornings were form drills with crechelings. Afternoons: were supposed to be archives, but when you have a computer for brain that's just a huge waste of time Evenings: sparring. Nights: mine—eight hours no one knew what to do with.
Masters advised "rest." My PAK said "work" I chose "more."
I adapted. Kind of. The robes itched, the mantras droned, and I kept having weird spikes of disgust around certain aliens I couldn't categorize—like my insides were allergic to their faces. It flared around a few Masters, too: a flash of disgust so clean it rang like glass. I kept it buried. Mostly.
DING. Passive Progression: Force Veil (Lv 1 → 2)
Clearly i needed to work on it.
~
Anakin and I built a rhythm: classes, sparring, then we disappeared "for errands." He was sunshine with a wrench; I was a storm with an interface cable.
We got caught exactly once. Carrying boxes of ship parts...
I told the Knight we were studying aerodynamics in a practical setting. He stared at me with the calmest disbelief.
"Maybe next time," Anakin whispered, placing a palm on my head as we were marched back. I elbowed him. He grinned wider. The menace.
Oh and our parts got confiscated.
~
I had become a level 3 on Naboo, gathering 20 stat points, 10 per level it seems...I had long ago decided to give my self a balanced stat page to see what it was like.
Class: Necromancer (Level 3 / 100)
HP: 75 / 75
MP: 50 / 50
SP: 50 / 50
Unallocated Stat Points: 5
Stats
• STR: 10
• END: 10
• DEX: 10
• INT: 10 (+50)
• WIS: 10
• CHA: 10
• LCK: 10
Active Skills
• Raise Undead (Lv 1/10)
• Force Sight (Lv 5/10)
• Force Telekinesis (Lv 4/10)
• Force Imbue (Lv 3/10)
• Force Heal (Lv 3/10)
• Enhanced Movement (Lv 2/10)
• Precognition (Lv 1/10)
Passive Skills (Categorized)
Force-Based
• Force Sensitive (Lv 3/10)
• Force Meditation (Lv 3/10)
• Force Veil (Lv 2/10)
Magic / Necromantic
• Anatomy (Lv 2/10)
• Alchemy (Lv 2/10)
• Herbalism (Lv 1/10)
Physical / Combat
• Sprinting (Lv 2/10)
• Acrobatics (Lv 2/10)
• Parkour (Lv 2/10)
• Brawling (Lv 2/10)
• Melee Weapons (Lv 1/10)
→ Knives (Lv 2/10) (Derivative)
• Lightsaber (Lv 1/10)
• Stun Resistance (Lv 1/10)
Weapons / Engineering
• Marksmanship (Lv 2/10)
• Ranged Weapons (Lv 2/10)
→ Small Arms (Lv 3/10) (Derivative)
• Mechanics (Lv 5/10)
• Computers (Lv 3/10)
• Advanced Weaponsmith (Lv 5/10)
• Driving (Lv 2/10)
• Piloting (Lv 3/10)
Survival / Tactical
• Chemistry (Lv 2/10)
• Traps (Lv 2/10)
Utility / Social / Misc.
• Cooking (Lv 6/10)
• Merchant (Lv 3/10)
• Masseuse (Lv 6/10)
Traits
• Mana Gifted• One with THE FORCE• 2nd Mind• Robotic Stamina• Dimensional Traveler
Looks like every endurance point adds 5 health, dexterity just made my limbs feel just a tad bit more flexible, and strength well i was literally twice as strong as before so the difference was apparent.
I never wasted my last 5 points, I wanted to think carefully about what to do with those...
~
our sticks met with satisfying clacks. He moved like a fearless swordsman; I moved like a plan. I tried cheating, using the force to feather‑nudge a parry angle, soften a landing, edge a bind my way. But he took it in strides doing the same to me.
DING. Skill Gained: Lightsaber (Lv 1 → 2).
That small distraction was all he needed
THWACCK!
Cool wood smacked my face and i found myself rolling on the floor slightly.
"Again?" Anakin panted, smiling like winning was oxygen.
"Again," I said, and nearly stole the match—antenna snagged his sleeve, threw me off by a hair. He took it on points. I took it personally.
Then a few aliens walked in...
Zeephy Rho a Twi'lek and Tala Vress a Torgruta
They hated our unofficial outings, hated our duel records, hated our knack for technology, hell they just downright hated us.
~BEFORE~
Anakin had just knocked one of them on their ass...
"That's not the Jedi way," Tala said after one spar. "Your… knack for shortcutting. It's unbecoming."
Anakin had wanted to push them to improve, clearly overwhelming the poor talentless smucks.
"It's efficient," I defended him. "Efficiency is compassion for the future."
"Sounds like something a droid would say," Zeephy muttered
"Thank you," I said sweetly.
"If you're so efficient, why are you still in the youngling clans?"
Anakin had cut in. "Why are you still losing to me?"
That had cemented how that relationship went.
~Current~
I had to admit, besides disliking them for their shitty personalities, i harbored a rather deeper dislike than that. A hate for the aliens
Maybe i was slowly reconciling with the fact i was once human, but humans didn't give as much instinctive dislike as other aliens did.
We only stared at each other
Anakin and I already putting the gear away to walk in as they scowled at us.
~
By month four, I discovered a horrifying truth: I kept unlocking the wrong skills.
DING. Skill Gained: Dancing (Lv 1/10).
DING. Skill Gained: Woodworking (Lv 1/10).
DING. Skill Gained: Sneaking (Lv 1/10 → 2/10).Can't hear me, can't see me .
I didn't even like dancing. However Anakin and I had to blend in with a crowd of street performers once when we had accidentally come across a jedi knight in the lower levels
Quinlan Vos
He had a large refreshment in one hand and a woman wrapped around the other. The man also clearly had one too many drinks, stumbling through the streets
But we didn't take the risk, and ended up dancing with a crowd of weird aliens...
as he walked away i couldn't help but stare at him
Jedi huh? what a pathetic joke—
He turned toward me
I felt my mind panic in that moment
for a split second i felt the clearest of clarity from that mans mind
I quickly avoided my gaze, feeling his lay on me.
If he noticed us, he didn't act on it. as soon as he was out of sight Anakin and I went about our business
~
The xenophobic spikes didn't vanish. Master Shaak Ti noticed things. Of course she did.
"You tense around some species," she said gently during meditation.
"I tense around most species," I said truthfully. Worms. All of you are worms.
"I'm working on it."
"Work on it with me," she said, as if patience could be welded to my spine. We breathed. She waited for me to crack. I refused. It became our thing.
The Irken side of my life bloomed like mold in a pantry. Massages and cooking soared; word traveled; soldiers lined up with monies and dignity they couldn't keep. One touch. Bodies jumped. Tongues bit down to dam the sound. The business grew teeth.
Potions went anonymous. I—not I—opened a handle on the black market: RedComet. Minor Health Potions moved in discrete drips. Buyers never saw me. The Irken delivery system kept throwing meteorites at my door like it was in love.
DING. Passive Progression: Merchant (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Skill Gained: Alchemy (Lv 1→2).
DING. Skill Gained: Herbalism (Lv 1→2).
"Keep it quiet," Scat had told me once, my consumer base may have been getting too big...
Evenings dueling, I let TK ease pressure off my knees, polish a guard, shave a fraction from a bind. The instructors pretended not to notice. Or maybe they liked the creativity. Or maybe they were building a case.
Other than that we used force abilities to navigate obstacles, like Cal Kestis in Jedi fallen order.
DING. Passive Progression: Lightsaber (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression: Brawling (Lv 1 → 2).
DING. Passive Progression: Sprinting (Lv 1 → 2).
DING. Passive Progression: Acrobatics (Lv 1 → 2).
DING. Passive Progression: Enhanced Movement (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression: Parkour (Lv 1 → 2).
In quiet moments, I hit the woodworking bench (why? no idea) and snuck around corners (compulsion) and practiced dancing (absolutely not telling anyone). Random skills stacked like mismatched furniture in a storage room. It became a bit. My bit.
Master Shaak Ti caught me once, mid‑spin, headphones clamped over my antennae like shame.
"That is unusual" she said, her mirth clear on her face as it was in the force.
"It's cardio," I said, flushed and dignified. "For the war."
"What war?"
"All of them."
By year's end, I was adapted—Temple cadence internalized, rivalry with Skywalker formalized, enemies cataloged, Veil less leaky, fundamentals sharper. The big Force tricks still ghosted me. That was fine. I had a decade to set the board.
One day, I'd rule planets. For now: illegal laps with a messiah and cookies for addicts. We all start somewhere.