I woke up in two universes like usual: sugar‑high armorer gremlin by day, Jedi problem by… also day.
Everything felt fine on the irken side of things, but the jedi side was slowly going sideways
Anakin and I were still paired for everything—forms, drills, detention, and the "who can not get caught" league. We were good. We were also combustible.
He kept getting faster. Better. Taller (rude). The envy came in needle pricks: tiny, bright, stupid.
I was fine with a bit of jealousy, he kept me sharp. Kept my hunger for power deeper
The actual problem was the disgust
The disgust came in waves: a clean, clinical disgust at faces my brain flagged as "other." It flared in the shadow of certain Masters, too—like my insides tried to spit.
I tried burying it under jokes. Mostly.
Like the Aqualish, they're mouths literally looked like a certain sexes private area, or maybe ass cheeks?
And the Bith, who had huge heads and weird mouth.
Some masters would give me curious glances when they saw me stare at them just a second too long.
Zeephy Rho and Tala Vress escalated. They rallied a flock of nameless padawan lackies: robes, whispers, smug. They'd "accidentally" misreport our whereabouts, nudge a training remote to shoot hotter, flip power levels on sparring droids when we entered. Cute.
Anakin needed the challenge to be fair, hell he thrived on it
I found it tolerable
I promised myself I'd see them dead on the planet Geonosis
One afternoon, post‑forms, they cornered us in the gear bay with a semicircle of beige robes and righteous eyebrows.
"Some of us care about the Code," Tala said, with a voice that had more irritation the more i heard it.
Zeephy folded her arms. "Some of us don't sneak to the Lower Levels for fun and contraband."
Anakin smiled with all his teeth. "Some of us win."
Anakin raised his fist, clearly excited for a challenge.
I had to rain on his parade
"Some of us have cameras" My PAK beeped a friendly little light. They flinched.
The lackies parted. Retreat disguised as dignity. Scoreboard: us, one? maybe two?
Ohhh it would've felt so good to hit them, make them bleed their dirty alien blood, but it felt like the council was one bad day away from sending me away...
While I tried my best to stay out of trouble in the temple, it didn't stop me from getting in trouble outside of it.
We slipped to the lower levels as usual. Anakin insisted on "ship parts." I insisted the market needed cookies(or my pocket needed credits). We both wanted to make this trip quick.
Neon fog, hot vents, the smell of metal and hot sugar carried in box with my hand. Nothing new really.
We hit a chop‑shop alley right as a local gang decided we looked like lunch.
Rust armor. Patchwork blasters. Alien faces in the half‑dark. My stomach turned—like my blood rejected them.
Not only were they low-life's but they weren't human either.
of course we felt their intent toward us. But I wanted to play it cool.
"Walk?" I whispered.
"Or run?" Anakin said, perhaps sensing their movements before me.
The first bolt came fast, a stun round
Anikan pushed me sideways while he jumped the other way. I answered with spin and a bolt of pink—one of my irken pistols flicking and hissing. I tossed Anakin a spare Naboo pistol i kept.
The attacker was clearly off guard, probably expecting to hit one of us and then the other in quick succession.
We fell into a strange dance: his gun shooting circles of blue stun rounds. My pink plasma stitching hard, mean lines across cover.
I wasn't a bad shot so of course i hit our attacker.
A corpse
one shot in the chest and it was instant death, no recovery from that. the plasma melted and cooked the aliens chest. Still singing bright red with the heat.
He wasn't the only one though, he might've just been the bottom tier labor boy to be honest.
They started coming—more boots, more faces. There were about 6 of them.
And then something in me just… snapped. The Force turned needle‑thin, frictionless. The alley shrank to targets. Surgical precision—flooded my hands.
A strange feeling guided me.
I started ending.
"Dabo!" Anakin shouted, stepping toward me."Hey—hey!"
But I was already moving, a quiet machine. Precognition popped like camera flashes. Enhanced Movement turned dodges into edits.
They fell. I shot center mass.
One lifted a rifle; I broke his wrist with a force‑flick and put him down before the weapon hit ground. A third begged while running; my antennae twitched before i shot him in the back.
The rest couldn't even put up a fight. Not against a trained Jedi Padawan
But it was worse then that, it was a Irken Soldier they fought.
Silence hit like pressure.
My hand shook. My insides didn't. That scared me more.
Anakin stared, breathing too fast. He hadn't killed anyone directly before; I just ended 6 aliens...
"We should go," I said, voice flat.
"Yeah," he whispered, eyes still on the bodies. "Yeah."
We ran before security could arrive, or worse—Quinlan Vos walking by.
On the way back all i could think about were my lost cookies. That scared me, too.
Three days later, Masters spoke about me.
It was something i saw through Force Sight.
Shaak Ti's gaze had an edge, compassionate and worried. Windu's gaze had a different edge: an edge that could cut.
"His affect is… unusual," someone said, not whispering well.
"Species norms?" someone tried.
"Bias patterns," Windu said. "Escalating."
"He's getting better at hiding it too"
"Not to mention he's keeping pace with our supposed chosen one"
"Training elsewhere, perhaps?" another voice, neutral as chairs.
"More like we should train him elsewhere"
"A far off temple on some remote planet would do him good."
I stopped watching after that. Worried my continued spying would get noticed.
Shaak Ti intercepted me after my meditation. "Walk," she said.
We did. The temple's light felt like it judged less when she was there.
"You're struggling," she said.
"I'm adapting," I said.
"Adapting into what?"
I looked at my hands. "Something efficient."
She sighed softly through the Force. "Stay close to Anakin. He sees your person, keeps your thoughts clear"
"I only think about how to beat him, all I see is his shadow," I said before I could stop myself.
Silence. Then: "We will work on it."
We did. It helped. A little.
Training always did seem to get me to forget how much I disliked aliens.
I needed a break from the galaxy far far away.
In Irken territory, the brand RedComet stopped being a whispered handle and became a godsend.
Aliens friendly to the empire swore the little red bottles didn't just patch scrapes—they stalled lethal nasties. Terminal fevers went cold for a week. The incurable curled up in the corner and counted to ten.
Definitely not a cure. A stay of execution. Which, to a dying man, is life.
I was perfectly fine with that, after all witch corporate capitalist wants to erase his consumer base?
Orders tripled. Buyers got meaner, richer, more desperate. I stayed anonymous making enough money to buy small disposable droids.
They'd deliver the goods before never returning
The Meteor‑Mail thunked capsules at my station every other day. I bought new greens by the crate.
DING. Passive Progression: Merchant (Lv 3 → 4).
DING. Skill Gained: Pharmacology (Lv 1/10).
DING. Skill Progression: Alchemy (Lv 2 → 4).
DING. Skill Progression: Herbalism (Lv 2 → 4).
I spent a few months like that, tending to my ever growing garden, brewing potions, and delivering on orders. The break had actually had me miss the Jedi, if only a little
but when i went back it was like i was never gone at all.
For some reason I always found me emotions shifting to the negative here.
Like the air had a negative staleness to it.
Temple weeknights were a slot machine.
DING. Skill Gained: Knot‑Tying (Lv 1 → 10).
SIGGHHH
the collection of random skills kept going, I was tying a lace on my Jedi boots when this skill notification took place.
Also:
DING. Passive Progression: Dancing (Lv 1 → 4).
DING. Passive Progression:Woodworking (Lv 1 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression:Sneaking (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression: Lightsaber (Lv 1 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression:Brawling (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression:Sprinting (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression:Acrobatics (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Passive Progression:Parkour (Lv 2 → 3).
DING. Skill Progression: Force Telekinesis (Lv 4 → 5).
DING. Passive Progression:Force Veil (Lv 2 → 3).
I couldn't conjure any fireballs, but I could Tie you a knot in 12 different ways right now.
~
It happened right after returning from the galaxy far far away.
The corridor light blinked. Doors hissed. A coil‑net snagged my legs so fast my PAK only got to say "huh."
I woke in a cabin that smelled like oil and cinnamon. Opposite me: a four and a half‑foot Irken with polished boots
Tall
Taller than every irken I've met at least
He was only 6 inches taller than me, but that was more significant than the difference between a human who was 5'8" and a human who was 6'2"
He had a grin like a badge, and uniform with status.
"Admiral Vrek," he purred out.
"Rumor is you've got the hands of god and feed snacks straight to the soul."
I stared. "Do you need something sir?" I couldn't afford to offend someone of such tall status right now.
looking around I noticed the room was the size of a luxury apartment.
Fitted with several cushioned beds, tables and chairs and what could only be described as a top of the line kitchen with several rows of stoves and ovens. its ceiling topped with glistening new cook wear. Despite that most of the room was still left empty.
A muscle in the admirals cheek ticked. "You will be instrumental to morale aboard my ship."
"Instrumental?" I repeated. "Like a radio? Or a mop?"
"Like an asset," He said, sweetly. "Sweets and massages. Quietly." He said with mirth.
OH THATS JUST GREAT
I Just got abducted and now I'm working as someone's personal chef
Perturbed with my silence the admiral suddenly perked up
"Let me rephrase," Vrek said. "You will. Or you will be very, very reassigned."
I smiled with all my teeth. "Understood, Admiral."
There were plenty of worst fates.
Getting assigned as a food service drone was barely a punishment compared to some things. Then again maybe seeing disgusting aliens everyday was the punishment there.
With little choice I decided to roll with this punch.
I worked. I memorized corridors. I mapped guards. I was also open for business. Anyone working aboard an Irken Frigate made enough monies for me to mark up the prices 300%.
Strangely enough most of the customers aboard only paid for my sweets.
My masseuse skills were going to waste
That was probably normal when I thought about it. Most Irkens wouldn't usually let someone feel them up all over.
DING. Passive Progression: Cooking (Lv 6 → 7).
DING. Passive Progression: Merchant (Lv 4 → 5).
Scat had ended up developing quite the surprising green thumb. He decided to do me a favor and take over my farms, of course with a few of my former customers.
He regularly sent drones with crates of my herbs.
Usually with notes. Like—
"you owe me cookies forever"
or maybe—
"Send me donuts"
It was probably another 10 days before the admiral personally paid me a visit.
He walked into my new quarters without even knocking. Startling me in the middle of making myself some nachos.
What if i had been naked or something!? This was still my room!
He took in my room's appearance, one of his eyes raising in slight surprise. Probably not expecting my room to look so comfy.
I had been carrying Naboo furniture for well over a year now, and now that I had the room to use it in I saw no reason to let it sit in my inventory
A King Sized bed sat in the far corner surrounded by nightstands and wardrobes flanked with some particularly comfy couches I collected. A Luxurious coffee table sat in the center of the small bedroom area with chairs to match. All the furnishings looking mostly hand carved with intricate detail
Admittedly the furniture didn't match irken ascetics but dammit did those Naboo know how to make comfortable furniture.
He had strode over to my bedroom area before standing in front of my coffee table. Pulling a chair out and taking a seat.
Not sure what to do, I walked up with a tray offering him cookies, muffins, and brownies. He tried all 3, his antennae shooting up after he tried the first one.
I nudged my head at the '30 monies each' sign sitting on the tray, but he ignored that.
"I heard your skills were going to waste, but i doubt anything would be better than this". he gestured to the brownie in his hand.
"I try my best"
That was a lie, I literally had to try to do my worst lately to keep people from coming so often.
"I can see, but I've heard quite a lot about your other skills and wanted to experience those as well" his head turned toward one the massage beds.
"That might not be"—
He cut me off by standing abruptly and walked toward the massage bed.
Suddenly PAK legs descended to the floor, his PAK detaching from his body and setting itself aside.
that had me jealous...
He continued with stripping his top uniform off.
What the hell?! had he no shame?! I usually did over the uniform massages.
Then again Irkens didn't really have anything to hide...
The admiral had set himself belly down on one of the beds.
There was always something strange about tall irkens. They'd act like they could do no wrong.
I suppose that's also why Red and Purple acted how they did in the show. Being tall...
In the empire being tall was simply being right. How could one be wrong when they were taller.
I approached the admiral, tightening my uniform gloves over my hands.
"Just relax" I murmured. A reflexive thing to say from the job.
He just breathed out, appearing to not have a care in the world.
With my own skills power usually being too effective, I had started holding back around level 3. I was a level 6 now, I would barely touch people to get the job done.
Looking down at the admirals back. Seeing that green Irken smoothness, l felt a bit irked.
silently seething while coating my palms in the sugar scented oil he'd provided me.
Maybe he was sharper than I gave him credit for.
His posture slightly stiffened and through the force I felt an ounce of suspicion. I could've been imaging things though.
I took a breath.
Then I went in.
~ ROUND ONE ~
I promptly dug a thumb into the base of his scapula.
He jerked forward like he'd been tased. Then… went silent.
With the weakest of presses tension along his upper traps dissolved like wet paper.
My fingers glided down his spine in a move I had definitely copied from some some movie. Except now I was weaponizing it.
The Admiral's head lolled slightly. His breathing slowed.
Okay then.
~ ROUND TWO~
"This is fine. This is enough," he barked suddenly, trying to rise. I saw a soft flush begin to show on his face
I yanked him back down by the shoulders and pinned him with my elbows
"No," I said calmly, "we're just getting to the upper lumbar."
I leaned in harder.
He tried again. "I ORDER you to—ahh—"
There it was.The noise.A high-pitched, back-of-the-throat gasp that sounded like a man just met god. Or how it sounded to me—
Weakness.
"You were saying?" I asked sweetly, driving both thumbs along his paraspinal columns
His entire torso twitched. His toes curled. He brought his hand up and bit his glove.
I wasn't even mad anymore.
~ ROUND THREE~
He tried to get up. Classic move. Too bad I'd already oiled his hands. His grip was slipping.
I responded by executing an aggressive knuckle-roll across his rhomboids
He let out a strangled moan. It echoed.
DING. Passive Progression: Masseuse (Lv 6 → 7).
PERFECT.
I suppressed a cackle. This was psychological warfare. I was hijacking his nervous system with my hands and he couldn't stop me.
I unleashed my Spine Shock Special™, a full-body ripple move that involved thumbs, forearms, and what I can only describe as the raw intent to humble a tyrant through tendon elongation.
Panting.
Sweating.
Twitching slightly like his soul had detached.
He whispered, "Stop…"
His body betrayed him.
He couldn't resist anymore.
Having enough fun, I stood up. Wiped my hands on a towel. Watched the Admiral slowly melt off the table
His PAK legs extended out, the PAK reattaching to his body, before carrying his limp body out of the room.
I walked over to my kitchen.
Whistling.