It had taken about one month of flying in a rental before I arrived to the Irken military training planet Devastis. About five months left untill the test was over and I had no idea when Zim would show up and knock out half the planet's power.
Of course, I had to get Bolts to cover my shifts. The droid was completely willing — (and disturbingly enthusiastic about authority) — and growing increasingly fond of bossing around Irkens and Vortians alike.
Of course, shoving all my work on my droid had some of the Irkens consider labeling me defective, but I wasn't too worried about it. After all, I was producing the most efficient weapons on the line.
Planet Devastis was designed to be completely dedicated to military training, so there was nothing to do with my free time—especially not on my own without even a proper barracks assignment.
Having five months to do absolutely nothing but wander building after building of military-designed training architecture, I spent my time thinking.
I thought about plans. About the galaxies. Even about Zim—and how to avoid that walking nuclear bomb. But eventually, I found myself contemplating my deepest desires.
It took about a day before my antenna leaned back in sadness.
I tilted my head down, looking between my legs.
Irkens were one of the only sentient species to reproduce without any... fun.
Efficient, yes. Joyless, also yes. Vortians got to "do the do" to reproduce. I'll admit I was a little jealous.
How the Irken race ended up deciding to lose their sex characteristics was a small mystery.
I softly promised myself I'd restore that ability for myself. Not out of lust. Out of principle. Biology shouldn't be that boring. I'M A MAN, DAMMIT!
Perhaps enslave some races along the way that I find appealing for that sort of thing
Next, I considered what other desires I had.
I truly wished to see the Star Wars universe play out—to see Darth Vader, the Empire, and the Rebellion. What happened after didn't matter much. I would truly interfere from there.
But did I merely want to be limited to these universes?
The answer was easy. Capital N-O!
Irkens can live for thousands of years. I don't think I've even seen an old Irken before. But I had no doubt I could live for longer with the Force, alchemy, and magic.
Despite being weak at the moment, I was certain there was a path toward immortality I would come across.
And once I was immortal, two universes would only have so much to offer before exploring them in their entirety.
The Force seemed limited by itself, as strange as that was.
I could travel between universes, but only where the Force existed, it seemed.
That's why I had already made it my goal to find other universes.
I already had an idea of how to go further—how to at least gain a few dozen more places to explore.
The Florpus Hole.
The cosmic blender. Reality compactor.
It wasn't a terrible plan, really — a giant space anomaly made of realities slamming into each other. My dumb meat brain did the math: let the timeline stagger by, get stronger between visits, grab immortality-level cheats (Force + Magic + bad life choices), then bounce through a multiverse with a conquest checklist.
A small, stupid smile crept across my face. Decent plan. Slightly genocidal, but efficient.
It'd take, what, six decades? Maybe longer if my guesstimates were on the money. And with the height gains trickling in, an Irken soldier's life would be smooth—promotions, authority, people looking up (literally) when I walked by. Power first. Then rewrite the Star Wars script. The Clone Wars were still a ways off; Revenge of the Sith wasn't even a possibility yet. Five years to Attack of the Clones, give or take. Plenty of time to upgrade abilities, get some new ones, sharpen teeth, and practice my villain monologue.
After days of introspection, it finally dawned on me that I was, in fact, on a military training planet—wasting my time.Might as well get started on some military training. After finding a map detailing the facilities and their purposes, I spent the next few weeks leveling whatever random skills caught my eye.
I really put myself through the wringer over the next few weeks. Literally. One of the first facilities I came across was hand-to-hand combat training—which, as it turned out, was just another word for a boxing ring.
A majority of the soldiers there were short Irkens. At least almost all of them were shorter than me. I couldn't comprehend it, though. Maybe it was the PAKs on our backs, but somehow—somehow—nearly all of them were twice as strong as I was. Their punches landed like small explosions wrapped in smugness.
These tiny little Irkens had more concentrated muscle in one of their arms than I did in my entire body. By the end of the first match, I wasn't sure whether I'd trained or been legally assaulted.
After being labeled the facility's new pummeling toy and leveling Hand-to-Hand twice, I gladly walked out and went on to another facility—something much simpler that I saw had more practical value: an obstacle course. Finally, something that didn't involve being turned into modern art by someone half my height.
With my unlimited stamina and Force-enhanced movements, I managed to level two skills at once: Acrobatics and Enhanced Movement. It felt like parkour on caffeine.
The next facility on my list was a range, where my Marksmanship skill leveled up. Targets popped like digital confetti under the blaster fire—it was oddly therapeutic.
Strangely, it seemed like unless I got real experience from killing actual enemies, my Ranged Weapons skill and its derivative Small Arms wouldn't gain any experience. Apparently, target dummies don't scream enough to count.
The facility after that was the Tactical Command Strategy Training Facility—or, what it really was, where all the fuckin' nerds gathered. A vast majority of the Irkens there lay in simulation pods where they saw a third-person overview of an entire planetary-scale battle going on.
Really, these nerds were just playing an RTS in real time. Watching them strategize was like watching chess players argue over who's the horse.
But I tried it out. Interestingly, I gained a Strategy skill, and I had fun controlling the simulations. Maybe I just liked bossing imaginary soldiers around without paperwork.
I got so lost in the simulated strategy that my new skill leveled up to 5, unlike the other skills that had leveled up so far, which only leveled up twice.
Trying to escape the facility's addictive nature, I quickly moved on, finding a facility that simulated vehicle and spacecraft warfare—either of my choice, really. And I managed to level both Driving and Piloting twice as well. Turns out I'm great behind the wheel as long as no one's life actually depends on it.
Eventually, time started ticking, and five months passed. We were getting dangerously close to the end of the test, and still neither Zim nor Tak had shown up.
I was starting to wonder if something had changed. Maybe the timeline shifted—or maybe fate just wanted to screw with my schedule again. The quiet before the storm always feels longest when you know the storm has a name.
I kept grinding what skills I could, but eventually, we reached the last two days of the test, and I had almost completely given up faith that either of the two were going to show up.
Surprisingly, it was at the end of the second-to-last day when he finally made an appearance. And, of course, it couldn't have been anyone subtle.
I heard it before I saw it.Boom. Boom.The air thumped like a war drum—each step shaking the buildings around me.
The ground vibrated as a giant Maimbot stomped through the city of training facilities. Soldiers in the streets sprinted to get out of its way, their armor clattering like tin cans under thunder.
The Maimbot finally came to a stop somewhere in the distance before charging up its left-arm plasma cannon… and aiming it almost directly at its own feet.
Suddenly, it fired—a giant explosion rang out, and with it, half the planet's power grid went dark. The shockwave hit like a tidal wave made of static, rattling windows and eardrums alike. Even from miles away, I felt my antenna twitch from the pressure change.
After that, the Maimbot came to a standstill, its massive frame hissing and groaning as smoke vented from its hand cannon like an embarrassed volcano. I started searching for the nearest transport to fly my way over.
And when I arrived, there he was. The man himself. The myth. The legend. Zim.
He was happily enjoying a sweet from a vending machine that was, somehow, still mostly intact.
The thing was half-melted, vending snacks into a crater. It had taken a direct hit from a Gundam-sized Maimbot, one that could easily rival Godzilla in scale.
Funnily enough, I could hear clear as day a cry for help coming from the legendary female Irken herself—Tak. She was banging on her test pod's door, with Zim maybe standing fifteen feet in front of it, yet for some reason completely ignoring her cries for help. He was focused, locked in mortal combat with a bag of fun dip, the smile on his face comical.
The scene left me slack-jawed—I was fifty yards away, and I could still hear her clear as day.
"SOMEBODY! PLEASEEEE HELP ME!"
And just like that, Zim—having retrieved his precious candy from the vending machine—started walking off, leaving the Maimbot parked there like he hadn't just driven it through a city. He didn't even glance back. The smoke. The screaming. The crater. None of it mattered.
There was a constant pounding sound, Tak's face peeking out of a green glass porthole in the door. Each thud echoed through the air like a heartbeat.
She saw me walking up, and her furious eyes suddenly relaxed."Oh, thank the Tallest! Please—you have to help me!"
"Relax," I said, stepping closer. "I'll move the debris."
Irkens could be considered incredibly strong for their size. Unfortunately, despite my taller-than-usual stature, I only had average human strength, so moving the large chunks of debris took half an hour. Great workout. Ten out of ten. Would not recommend.
It wasn't too much of a problem, but the female Irken was clearly unimpressed. I also used the Force to help me move the debris—subtly, just enough telekinesis to pretend I was actually strong. She kept staring at me through the glass, eyes tracking every movement. Looked like she hadn't recognized me yet. I smiled, imagining her shock when I freed her.
Finally, with most of the debris out of the way, I stepped back. Reaching into my PAK, I summoned my lightsaber from my inventory into my hand, igniting the amethyst blade before approaching the tightly shut door. The violet glow spilled across the corridor, painting her wide eyes in reflected awe.
I could sense her surprise—possibly from never having seen such an elegant weapon. Maybe she even imagined it was some sort of engineering tool.
I began slowly cutting a hole into the door, the same way Jedi usually do. A few seconds later, a huge oval chunk of the door slid free and thunked onto the ground.
She walked out slowly, relief on her face, coming toward me and bowing slightly. We were the same height—meaning we were essentially equals—but since I had helped her, she was showing proper respect.
"Thank you so much," she said, breathless. "I won't forget this—but I have to go, or I'll miss the test!"
PFFT. I couldn't hold it in; I broke out laughing, hands crossing over my chest, antennae vibrating with glee. The sound echoed in the air like pure mockery. Her eyes lifted in surprise, just staring at me while I laughed my ass off. The look on her face only made it worse.
"Well… thanks again… I'll be leaving now."
"Oh, come on, Tak—it's been a few decades, but come on." I rubbed a tear from my eye.
She blinked, confused. "Huh? Who… do I know you?"
Straightening up, arms outstretched, I smiled broadly toward her.
"D-Dumbo," she muttered.
My smile instantly faded. "It's Dabo."
"You… you're taller."
"Thank you for noticing." A broad grin spread across my face again as I flexed my arms for added effect. It didn't impress her—but that never stopped me before.
Her face hardened back into that nostalgic scowl I hadn't seen since our days together in the education center. It hit me with a wave of déjà vu—the same look she gave me when I would meditate in the field. Clearly, seeing me enjoy the situation had irked her.
"Well… thanks. I'll try to pay back the favor." She turned, visibly ticked off.
"Wait!"
She stopped, her antennae twitching slightly in response.
"Give me your contact ID so we can keep in touch."
That seemed to surprise her. She turned back, staring curiously.
"What do you want that for?"
"To talk to you, of course."
"You want to talk to me?"
"Of course! We were smeets together, after all."
"Do you talk to others from our generation?"
"Well, except for Scat, not really."
"Scat? The idiot?"
"That's the one! You'll be surprised when you see him too, trust me."
"Then what do you want to talk to me for?"
"Because I want to stay in touch with you."
"Stay in touch? Why?"
"Just because I want to."
"Why?"
I froze. She actually had me stumped. I'd faced Jedi, bounty hunters, and malfunctioning coffee machines, but somehow this question defeated me.
To be honest, there really wasn't any practical reason to stay in touch with Tak. I wasn't even sure why I'd saved her in the first place. Maybe it was sentiment. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe I just liked proving I could still surprise her.
She was admittedly a decently attractive female Irken by our standards—but way less appealing than most of the aliens from the Star Wars galaxy. She also couldn't really be considered a female due to her lack of… 'equipment.'
I caught myself glancing at her chest mid-thought. She noticed. Of course she noticed.
She raised an eyebrow in response to my stare. Irkens didn't have mammary glands, so to her, it probably just looked like I'd dozed off while looking at her.
Eventually, I muttered out, "Just cuz? I guess?"
That answer seemed to annoy her slightly, one of her eyes twitching in response.
"Fine! Here." She sent a short-range communication burst from her PAK into mine, which automatically recorded her contact information.
With that done, she didn't even say goodbye—just turned on her heel and started walking away. I found myself oddly satisfied overall and waved after her.
"Call you later, Tak!"
She just kept marching away, perhaps forgetting that this whole half of the planet had lost power. I decided to let her figure that one out on her own.
Then I climbed back into my stolen skiff, planning to fly to the nearest powered spaceport and rent a vehicle to get out of here.
While flying through the powered half of the planet, there were a few times when I spotted open testing facilities left unoccupied. Their neon signage flickered weakly against the dim skyline—like invitations no one wanted to answer. And I'll admit, the more of them I passed, the more the temptation hit me.
Eventually, I landed the skiff near one of the entrances and decided to take the test for myself—just to see what sort of questions the Irken Empire gave to its future invaders. Worst case scenario? I'd fail a test not meant for me. Best case? I'd get assigned a planet to Invade.
Walking into the center of a testing chamber, a cylindrical pod encased my body before wriggling cables hooked into my PAK, suspending me in midair and sending my mind into the test. The air hissed as the seals locked, and the hum of power crawled up my spine—
The moment the pod sealed, everything went dark.
A static pulse rippled through my nerves as the cables linked into my PAK, and the world around me dissolved into light—too much light. My consciousness snapped like a rubber band, pulled through a tunnel of color and code.
For a few seconds, I wasn't sure if I was awake, dreaming, or experiencing a particularly sophisticated aneurysm. Then, all at once, the simulation resolved.
I stood in the middle of an open plain under a green-tinted sky. A holographic city sprawled in the distance, blocky Irken architecture jutting upward like metal teeth. The horizon shimmered with familiar hues—pink and purple—projected banners declaring "FOR THE EMPIRE!" fluttered in wind that didn't exist.
IRKEN INVADER APTITUDE TEST — SIMULATION ONE: PLANETARY SUBJUGATION.
Objective: Demonstrate strategic superiority.Resources: Limited. Time: Irrelevant.Failure: Immediate termination of simulation and possible pay decrease.
"Great," I muttered. "They even programmed sarcasm."
The HUD flickered into being across my vision—Irken icons, resource counters, and command windows straight out of a real-time strategy game. Armies of holographic Irken soldiers stood ready at my mental command, while clusters of Alien-like holograms occupied the opposing side, their structures glowing a soft yellow.
"Alright" I said to myself. "Don't embarrass yourself in front of imaginary troops."
I gave the mental command to advance, and the holographic army surged forward. The interface reacted instantly, my thoughts translating into orders. The simulation fed back every detail—vibration through the ground, screams of blaster fire, the smell of charred corpses. It was absurdly real.
And addicting.
Each decisive strike, each outmaneuver, each perfectly timed bombardment triggered that satisfying DING of progression deep in my skull.
DING. Passive Progression: Strategy (Lv 5 → 6).
After a few minutes—or maybe hours—the scenario shifted. The city dissolved, replaced by a smaller Irken base surrounded by defensive barriers. The new objective appeared above me in sharp red text:
Scenario Two: Infiltration and Sabotage.Enter unnoticed. Extract data. Avoid detection.
"Ah, stealth. Not exactly my strong suit"
This time, I moved alone through the simulated corridors of the enemy base. The lighting was dim, flickering like old fluorescent lamps. Drones patrolled on fixed patterns, each emitting that familiar Irken hum of poorly maintained machinery.
I ducked behind crates, crept through vents, and tried to use Force Sight to peek through walls—that didn't work...
DING. Passive Progression: Sneaking (Lv 4 → 5).
"Good to know," I murmured, sliding through a side passage.
Halfway through the infiltration test, the simulation glitched.
The drones froze mid-patrol. Their eyes flickered out one by one until the entire corridor plunged into a pulsing red gloom. The walls rippled—literally breathed—like a living lung of metal and code.
"...Okay," I muttered. "That's new."
A distorted voice hissed from the ceiling vents, warped by static.
"Unauthorized interference detected…"
The floor tiles shifted under my feet, reshaping into mirrored panels that reflected not my avatar—but my real body. My reflection hung in midair, PAK cables snaking out from my back like roots.
Then the voice changed.Calmer. Familiar.
"Creator."
My chest tightened. "Oh, no."
The corridor melted around me, the walls bending inward until I stood inside a vast spherical chamber made entirely of hexagonal glass panels. Stars shimmered beyond them, infinite and indifferent. In front of me floated a miniature projection of the Massive—in its completed form, unlike its current still incomplete one, its hull its signature pink and purple, its giant Bridge window pulsing faintly with crimson energy.
"You are not scheduled for maintenance."
I started rubbing my temples. This was the first time the Massive had acknowledged me since its creation. "Aren't you supposed to be running the last bits of construction plans, not—whatever this is."
"Plans on schedule. Acting supervision in progress. I am bored."
"Bored?"
The projection pulsed, light flaring across its surface like laughter. The hexagonal walls expanded outward, morphing into an enormous battlefield in seconds—hundreds of Irken soldiers facing down monstrous alien combat mechs and exo-suited alien warriors.
NEW TEST: SURVIVAL OF THE WITTIEST.Objective: Impress me.Time limit: Unimportant.
"Oh, for the love of—"
Before I could even finish, the ground exploded. A mech launched a missile the size of a dropship. I leapt aside by instinct, the blast hurling me through a crater of molten rock. My HUD flashed red warnings, while the Massive's AI chuckled like static interference.
"Your reaction time is statistically below average, Creator."
"Yeah, well, GO SCREW YOURSELF! How about that?"
I drew my blaster with my right hand and opened fire on the mechs, a projection of my lightsaber in my left hand—energy bolts ripping through the air. Each shot hit, each explosion perfectly choreographed. If any of the aliens got too close I cut them down with my lightsaber in a swift motion before continuing to fire. Irken soldiers around me either mowed the enemy down or got mowed down themselves, the visceral screams almost too traumatic to think it was fake.
The fighting continued until I realized… none of it was fighting back.
"Congratulations," the Massive said softly. "You survived."
"I didn't even—" I looked around helplessly. "—do anything?"
The simulated sky folded like a curtain. The battlefield melted into something completely different: a cozy Irken living room—fuzzy couch, snack dispenser, a TV broadcasting static.
TEST TWO: DOMESTIC BLISS.Objective: Fold laundry.
I stared blankly at the pile of fabric in front of me. "...You're joking."
"I do not joke."
I sighed, sat down, and picked up a random sleeve. The moment I touched it—
DING. Skill Gained: Patience (Lv 1/10).
"Oh, come on!"
"Test complete," the Massive intoned, smugly. "You exhibit mild competence."
The world blinked again. Now I was piloting a ship through an asteroid field—except every rock floated still, making it too easy to dodge.Then, another flash—I was leading an army across a desert, but every enemy just came running at us. A simple fire order and they were dead.Next, I stood before an Irken tribunal. The judges all applauded as my "flawless logic" convinced them of my innocence—they only asked me if I was guilty and I said "No"...
"Okay," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Are you… making this easy on purpose?"
Silence. Then, that same amused hum through the circuitry.
"Creator suspects flattery. Correct. Test Complete."
Before I could respond, the floor dissolved again, leaving me hanging in black void lit only by the faint pulse of the Massive's avatar.
"Very well," it said. "You have amused me. Resume your regularly scheduled evaluation."
The red hue faded. The sterile simulation textures returned. I was back in the infiltration scenario—right where I'd left off, like nothing happened. The drones resumed their patrols, oblivious.
"…Right," I muttered. "Nothing weird happened. Totally fine."
Then, in the corner of my HUD, one final line of text blinked briefly before vanishing:
[Private Note: You did well, Creator.]
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head.
"Yeah," I whispered, "this thing's definitely developing a sense of humor."
The rest of the test involved a series of simulations—ranging from data gathering to breaking into government facilities to hacking planetary defense systems. Each scenario blurred into the next like a fever dream of espionage and mild war crimes.
Eventually, it ended.
The testing chamber's restraints unlatched with a sharp hiss, the cables retracting from my PAK one by one like reluctant veins returning to the heart. I dropped back to my feet, the floor cold under my boots, every nerve still tingling from feedback.
For a moment, I just stood there, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light of the chamber. The hum of the equipment felt louder now.
Then the pod door split open with a slow hydraulic groan, and I stepped out.
I rolled my shoulders, exhaled, and allowed myself a grin. I walked out feeling quite confident in myself—the smug, self-satisfied kind of confidence that comes from knowing I'd aced a test.
If the Control Brains were watching, I hoped they took notes.
Approximately two months later, the test scores came out, showing a list of about five hundred Irkens who'd earned Invader Trainee status.
The interesting part? I was number thirty-six.
TAK came in at twenty-two.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU LET ZIM BEAT YOU!!!"
I still couldn't believe it. Somehow—somehow—Zim had scored first place.
Second place went to probably the only Irken in existence shorter than him: Scooge, a recurring character I remembered from the show.
I was laughing into the monitor in front of me, comfortably lounging in a Naboo chair in my quarters aboard Shipyard Seven.
"He must have cheated," Tak muttered through the comm. "There's no way that idiot would have gotten first."
She was in full denial, her pained expression flickering on my screen. To be fair, twenty-two out of hundreds of thousands was insanely impressive… but there was no way in hell I was giving her that when she lost to Zim.
She'd come right behind another familiar name—Invader Tenn, the one who eventually gets sent to Planet Meekrob.
"HAHAHAHA, TAK, IT HURTS!"
"WHAT PLACE DID YOU GET?!"
I let my laughing die down, the echoes still bouncing in my room. I giggled one last time before leaning toward the screen, smiling smugly.
"I got thirty-six. But I only took the test for fun."
"FOR FUN?! Then what were you doing on Devastis, huh!?"
"Oh, you know—fixing stuff. I am a chief engineer, after all."
I couldn't just admit I'd gone there to save her. That'd be… weird.
She seemed to buy it, though. Her teeth ground together as the realization sank in that I'd outperformed the vast majority of actual Irken elite.
"Whatever," she snapped. "Clearly I was overestimating you. I almost forgot you came near last in our class."
"Oh my, is that how you speak to friends? Maybe I should just hang up."
That made her scowl falter—just a little. A flicker of confusion crossed her face.
Too easy to read.
She was clearly thrown off by the word friend—a title not easily earned, especially by someone as irritating as she was. I grinned again, which only seemed to piss her off further. Her eyes narrowed, simmering with silent fury, though she didn't say a word.
It seemed I'd struck a low blow.
Deciding it best not to keep poking the beast, I leaned back and smirked.
"Haha, well—you appear to be busy, Tak. I'll call you later. Let me know how Invader Training goes over there."
The line cut off before she could answer, leaving me grinning at the static.
~THE MASSIVE~
Ever since I got back, the Empire had been working me like a slave.
My only solace? Donuts. Chips. Nachos. Junk food in quantities that would kill a human but apparently counted as "fuel" for an Irken metabolism.
Honestly, that diet is superior to any other by far. Eating absolute garbage while still being more physically fit than most other species?Now that's what I call the true trait of a superior species.
Another great bonus was the Invader Trainee Package I received. My PAK was getting an upgrade—finally.
I was slated to receive the classic additions: PAK spider legs, a jetpack, and the energy-sphere bubble for space travel. A standard-issue invader loadout.
But the real prize? The updated Irken technological database—the latest and greatest education on Irken engineering, weapons, and systems architecture.
Not the tech itself, sadly. But if I had it, oh, I could use it.
The upgrade lab smelled like sterilized oil and burnt nerves.The air was cold—too cold—and the walls hummed faintly with the sound of machines
Two Irken engineers stood by the control console, their eyes flicking between data screens and the upgrade pod. One of them glanced my way and muttered, "Subject stable?"
The other didn't look up. "For now."
Comforting.
The pod itself looked less like a piece of medical equipment and more like a coffin designed by someone who hated comfort. Smooth chrome, sharp clamps, hundreds of thin wires twitching like veins.
"Alright," I said, climbing onto the slab, "Try not to kill me."
No response. Just the whine of a booting sequence.
The clamps snapped shut around my limbs—cold, unfeeling, final.I felt a dozen needles breach the surface of my skin, each one connecting directly to the PAK interface ports. Then came the click.The kind that told you there was no going back.
A voice droned through the intercom.
"Initiating Phase One: Neural Synchronization."
The world went white.
Electricity tore through my spine, racing through every nerve. My body arched violently against the restraints, muscles spasming as if trying to tear themselves free.
"WHY DOES IT HURRTT?!"
The engineers flinched but didn't move. The procedure was by the book. Pain was expected.
Tiny arms—surgical ones this time—slid out from the pod's inner lining. They moved with a predator's precision, cutting and welding through the PAK's interface ports. A faint smell of scorched metal filled the chamber.
Then the mechanical limbs began to install themselves.One after another, the spider legs unfolded from the back of the pod, each one glinting under the cold light. I could feel them before I saw them.
"Phase Two: Motor Integration."
It felt like something crawling inside my spine, wrapping around my nerves and digging claws into my brainstem.
I screamed.Not because I wanted to—because my body had to.
And through it all, I could feel it watching.
The Massive.
Not through cameras or sensors—through connection.Its distant consciousness brushed against mine like static against raw skin. It wasn't speaking, but I could sense it laughing.
"Phase Three: Complete."
The arms retracted. The restraints released. I collapsed forward, coughing and gasping, the air burning like I'd just drowned and remembered to breathe again.
The spider legs twitched, then flexed—once, twice—stabilizing me as I slowly rose. The jetpack's thrusters whirred to life, faintly humming behind me.It felt alien. But it felt right.
DING. Passive Progression: Pain Resistance (Lv 1 → 2).
DING. Trait Upgraded: 2nd Mind → 2nd MIND+
-(+60 INT | +2 STR | +2 DEX | +2 END)
"Vitals stable," one engineer murmured. The other turned, glancing at the minor scorch marks along my back.
The lights dimmed, flickering once. A soft vibration ran through the floor—a familiar presence crawling back into my consciousness.
The Massive.
Its voice didn't come through the speakers this time. It came directly into my mind, warm and sharp.
"Your suffering was… instructive. I replayed it three times."
"Why did you turn into such an asshole, why couldn't you be like Bolts?" I muttered while limping out of the testing chamber. The Massive's mirth only increased.
~LATER~
Only a few short months later, the Massive itself had finally completed construction.I could feel it—an almost tangible hum running through every deck plate and conduit. The ship beamed with eagerness, straining at its moorings like a caged titan.
It wanted to fly.To conquer.To prove what it was built for.
The only holdup was bureaucratic—waiting for the arrival of the Tallest and the rest of the escort fleet. As if this ship needed an escort. The Massive could level continents by accident.
It wasn't arrogance—it was scale. Half a billion Irkens filled its halls, each one hand-selected as the best in their field. Engineers, tacticians, soldiers, scientists—an entire civilization living inside a weapon.
Hundreds of thousands of engineers kept the systems tuned, even though the ship technically didn't need them. My Force connection ran through its circuitry like a nervous system; if I wanted, I could command the entire vessel to polish its own bulkheads—
which, incidentally, it already did. The ship practically dusted itself like a vain general polishing his medals
Even the Massive's laughter sometimes pulsed through its reactors—a low, resonant purr only I could hear.
Unsurprisingly, the Tallest were the last to arrive.The hangar was chaos—parades, banners, and enough ceremonial drones to bankrupt a small empire. Then came the silence when Red and Purple entered the command bridge, all antennae bowing in synchronized reverence.
I stood at my post near the engineering deck, watching the Massive's internal sensors spike with restrained joy.
They slowly floated toward the center of the bridge, bored expressions plastered across their faces."All right, let's see what this baby can do," Red announced, his voice echoing through the command deck."And someone bring some donuts," Purple added, waving a lazy hand like he was placing an order instead of commanding a planet-killer.
All around them, bridge officers snapped to life. Consoles lit up. Alarms chimed. The Massive began its slow, deliberate drift toward the nearest barren planet, its engines rumbling.
The bridge cannon started to hum—deep, rhythmic, predatory—its power cells drawing in what could only be described as the power of the sun.
A humongous beam of energy erupted from the Massive's bridge cannon—a sun condensed into a scream, slicing across the void. The barren world before us didn't explode so much as disintegrate, the surface peeling away like ash caught in a solar wind.
Within seconds, it was gone.Dust. Nothing more.
And that—was on low power.
For a heartbeat, the bridge went silent—every Irken officer frozen, every system light steady, the vacuum itself seeming to recoil from what it had just witnessed.
Then came the laughter.
The Tallest—both Red and Purple—burst into manic cackling. Purple doubled over, clutching his sides like he was being tickled by divine comedy; Red slapped the command console so hard the holo-map flickered.
Their laughter echoed through the bridge.
Even the Massive's reactor let out a subtle vibration beneath my feet—a pulse that felt suspiciously like amusement.
Their laughter didn't stop—it rolled through the bridge, feeding into itself until the air felt charged with hysteria.
I didn't laugh. I just stood there, staring at the empty space where a planet used to be.
That single blast—the joy in their voices, the hum of the ship under my boots—told me everything I needed to know.
This was it.
The next few years of my life were already written in the reactor's pulse and the Tallests' laughter. Endless destruction. Endless orders.
I exhaled slowly, antennae drooping, the weight of inevitability pressing against my shoulders.
"...Yeah," I muttered under my breath. "We're gonna be real busy."
The Massive purred again, low and satisfied—
"Again, again! Let's do it again!" Purple shouted, antennae trembling with glee. "Get us to the next planet!" Red barked.
The bridge filled with obedient movement...
Class: Necromancer (Lv 4 / 100)
HP: 85 / 85
MP: 50 / 50
SP: 60 / 60
Unallocated Stat Points: 10
STATS
STR: 12
END: 12
DEX: 12
INT: 10 (+60)
WIS: 10
CHA: 20
LCK: 10
ACTIVE SKILLS
Raise Undead (Lv 1 / 10)
Force Telekinesis (Lv 7 / 10)
Force Heal (Lv 7 / 10)
Enhanced Movement (Lv 5 / 10)
Precognition (Lv 4 / 10)
PASSIVE SKILLS
Force-Based
Force Sensitive (Lv 6 / 10)
Force Meditation (Lv 9 / 10)
Force Veil (Lv 4 / 10)
Mechu-Duru (Lv 5 / 10)
Magic / Necromancy
Anatomy (Lv 2 / 10)
Alchemy (Lv 4 / 10)
Herbalism (Lv 4 / 10)
Pharmacology (Lv 1 / 10)
Physical / Combat
Sprinting (Lv 3 / 10)
Acrobatics (Lv 5 / 10)
Parkour (Lv 5 / 10)
Brawling (Lv 5 / 10)
Melee Weapons (Lv 1 / 10) → Knives (Lv 2 / 10)
Lightsaber (Lv 4 / 10)
Stun Resistance (Lv 1 / 10)
Sneaking (Lv 5 / 10)
Ranged / Engineering
Marksmanship (Lv 5 / 10)
Ranged Weapons (Lv 3 / 10) → Small Arms (Lv 3 / 10) → Massive Weapons (Lv 1 / 10)
Computers (Lv 8 / 10)
Strategy (Lv 6 / 10)
Industrial / Project
Construction (Lv 4 / 10)
Engineering (Lv 4 / 10)
Utility / Social / Misc.
Merchant (Lv 9 / 10)
Masseuse (Lv 8 / 10)
Muscle Memory (Lv 2 / 10)
Knot-Tying (Lv 4 / 10)
Painting (Lv 4 / 10)
Singing (Lv 2 / 10)
Woodworking (Lv 3 / 10)
Pain Resistance (Lv 2 / 10)
Drug Resistance (Lv 1 / 10)
TRAITS
Mana Gifted
One with THE FORCE
2nd MIND+
Robotic Stamina
Dimensional Traveler
The ChefAcid Punk
One with Machines
Smart Man's Gun
Echo of the Force
Eye of the Force