Chapter Text

It was the era of Tallest Miyuki, a very golden age for the Irken Empire. She had successfully pushed technological advancements beyond what could have been imagined. After allying with the Vortians, she dedicated a large portion of her time to studying the species' contributions to mechanical engineering. She may not have conquered as many planets but she was still seen as an outstanding leader. You were lucky to be born during her reign, at least that's what you kept hearing. There wasn't a day since you hatched that such a thing went unsaid. But even as others celebrated the era around you, that sense of supposed luck pressed against your chest like something you could not escape. After all, everyone knew what happened to Irkens who failed to meet expectations: they were quietly reassigned to the lowest ranks, stripped of status, sometimes even quietly removed from the Empire altogether. The threat always lingered, unspoken but real. It felt less like a blessing and more like an expectation you could never quite measure up to.

It didn't help that you had a good height on you, already putting you above your other broodmates. You knew from the start that something was wrong with you, even though you were told again and again that height meant everything. The smeetery drone could tell too, you could see it in the way her antennae seemed to always lie flat on her head when interacting with you. Every time you saw that, it sent an uneasy ripple through your thoughts. You didn't like playing rough with the others, often finding yourself pressed to the edge of the group, standing awkwardly beside the drone and watching with a cold, nervous pit growing inside you. Most of the time, you actually got anxious for your broodmates who lost the fights, the sting of scraped skin making you flinch as if the blows landed on you, not them. 

There was always a gnawing guilt hovering behind your eyes, as if your own softness was somehow a betrayal no one would forgive. You wrestled with your fear each day, yet every instinct screamed against what they wanted you to become. Had you not been taller than most of the other smeets, the drone might have been far harsher on you, but since you were, she simply tried to urge you to be as aggressive as the others. It never worked. In fact, you often squealed and cried out when the smeets tried to engage with you, shame burning inside you, so intense you wished you could just disappear into the dark corners of the training room. The drone would try to encourage you to use your teeth or claws to fight back, but you only wailed and wiggled around, desperate not to hurt anyone even in play. Every time you failed, something inside you seemed to wither, and you wondered if anyone else could see how wrong you really were. This inefficient behavior would have probably gotten you deactivated had you not been in the upper percentile of taller smeets.

Despite the clear indication that you were not qualified to be a formidable Irken, you went through processing and were placed in the academy. The roots of your self-doubt went back further, but here, surrounded by your peers, each moment seemed to sharpen it. The first day at the academy, while others joked or bragged, you noticed the way the instructors' antennae twitched when your evaluation scores came in. It was not just the numbers on tests, but the way you failed to connect with the bravado everyone else seemed to embody without effort. This feeling only grew stronger as you became more aware of constant comparison—not because anyone said it outright, but because of how subtle glances or dismissive tones echoed your own fears back at you.

This is where you met Purple and Red. Purple was an amazing fighter; he had a crazy shot despite his seemingly lazy attitude. Red was a little more level-headed. He seemed agitated most of the time, but you assumed that might be more his resting face. Red was running a path to become an amazing pilot. You watched him with the other cadets during the simulations; he always got near-perfect scores. But you, you hardly made it out of faux trainings alive, despite the genuinely catastrophic scores you got in simulations and the failures on tests you never dropped in evaluations.

Your first real memory of the two comes during a training break, when you arrived late and found Purple and Red leaning against the wall, trading snacks and taunts. Purple eyed you up and down, smirking. 

"Hey, look who's finally here! Late to another briefing, Third Best?" He nudged Red with his elbow, wanting Red to acknowledge his joke about you being the third-tallest cadet. Red only gave a faint scoff, but his antennae twitched in mild amusement. 

"They probably got lost in the halls. They never were good with directions," Red muttered, but there was no heat in his voice. "Just don't get stomped by the commanders again."

If only he knew how little you really were good at, he probably wouldn't be so friendly.

You muttered an apology and tried to fade into the background as they moved on, but Purple only laughed, shaking his head and slapping his knee like it was the funniest thing ever. Still, when you actually tripped during a sparring exercise, it was Purple who helped you up—grinning as if it was all a joke, but his grip was firm and unjudging, dare you say kind. Occasionally, they'd toss a teasing word your way, but there was never outright cruelty. In group assignments, Purple would sometimes nudge your shoulder, urging you to keep up. Red would look over your shoulder, correcting your answers with a sigh while pretending not to care too much. They were your…co-cadets, that's what you were supposed to call them, but you knew the more appropriate term was friends. Not that you ever told them that, and they never said it back to you. That's how it worked, you were all unfeeling, cold killing machines, meant for conquest and glory, not silly little attachments with each other. 

Even then, you saw Irkens with much more talent than you got sacked, showing even an inkling of the same thing you, Purple, and Red shared because they were just too small, which made you sick. How could someone who could be so important for the Empire get kicked to become a servant drone simply because they were small, while you, a seemingly useless member of this society, could continue? It was in your years in the academy that you learned what was wrong with you, all these self-aware thoughts, these criticisms of your own system, you were defective, you could feel it like an itch you couldn't quite scratch.

At this point, you were just micrometers shorter than Purple and Red; the two often stayed the exact same height, which was strange. One day, Purple would have a growth spurt and flaunt the new hierarchy, then Red would have the same growth spurt, and you would grow just behind them. You never grew taller than them, but you hardly lagged far behind either. This height got you great favor; curved grades on tests that should have painted your inefficiency in bright, bold letters were reduced to simple little mishaps. You hated it, but stayed silent, mostly in fear that if you voiced your concerns, it would be your death sentence that would respond. But the guilt you shouldn't feel ate at you; you didnt deserve what you had. The Empire deserves Irkens like Purple or Red; hell, even Irkens like Skoodge, who was one of the shortest in your brood, right above Zim. You never really participated in the bullying Purple and Red put them through, mostly because 8 times out of 10, Zim did something to try and impress them, which ended in them getting hurt. These truths floated over your head like unwanted stars, so bright and ever-present even when not outwardly visible. 

It only got worse when you started getting noticed by Tallest Miyuki. She had been told there were some tall, promising cadets coming close to graduating from the academy. Purple and Red seemed thrilled to be noticed for their hard work and increasing height, but when you were called to meet her, all you could think about was how she would see just how much of a failure you were, how defective you had to be. Underneath all the anxiety and guilt, you found yourself quietly wishing, just once, to be accepted for who you really were, or to find a place in the Empire where you actually belonged, even if that meant not being the imposing soldier everyone else expected. Tallest Miyuki was smart; you knew that. It would be stupid to think she wouldn't notice your lack of similar achievements. But boy, was she beautiful, her eyes were such a lovely shade of blue, her antennae curled so softly and so long, her skin a rich shade of green that complemented her eyes perfectly.

When you looked up at her, you felt your cheeks turn a darker shade of green, before you paled as the Irken female squinted at you. Miyuki's gaze lingered for a moment longer than it had on the others, her expression unreadable. There was a faint tilt of her head, just enough to make you wonder if she recognized your uncertainty. She tapped her data pad lightly, eyes scanning your record before flicking back up toward you. A slight furrow appeared in her brow, and her antennae twitched in irritation, but she said nothing.

"You have height on your side," she remarked, her voice even with wisdom, though there was a curiosity in it that made you want to shrink and implode where you stood. "We expect much from those who stand above the rest." Then her focus shifted to Purple and Red, who straightened under the weight of her praise.

As the meeting went on, she praised Red and Purple to no end. When her eyes returned to you, just before moving on to the next file, she seemed to hesitate, tapping her thin finger thoughtfully against the screen. She would glance at you and simply congratulate you on being as tall as you were. You felt so embarrassed. You had nothing to show for yourself, nothing to offer, nothing but the length of your body and the uncomfortable certainty that Tallest Miyuki already knew you were not what the Empire expected.

When the meeting was over, Purple and Red went on and on about how awesome it was to meet the Tallest and be praised so much. It seemed they had been so high on the thrill that they didnt notice Miyuki had said nothing of the same caliber to you, and thankfully for the best. You don't think you could stomach reliving that moment if they asked you what she praised you for. Red and Purple celebrated by eating a bunch of snacks; you, of course, were forced to join, but could only slowly bite the same donut over and over. The duo gorged themselves on sweets, mostly oblivious to your lack of equivalent enthusiasm. The glare Miyuki gave during that meeting you changed everything. Up to that point, you had been aware that you lacked any real skills; it was a miracle how bad you were at being a soldier. But it never truly processed what exactly would happen to you when you had to take the big test at the end of the academy days. 

When the time came, you sat in your chair and watched the holographic screen flicker to life. The test was intense—multiple-choice, short-answer, and full simulations. Its purpose was to measure every skill, to funnel each Irken into the role that suited them best. All around you, your peers were being assigned titles: Invader, Captain, Scientist, Engineer, Medic. One by one, the members of your generation graduated, most of them with at least some degree of triumph. When your turn arrived, and you submitted your test, the numbers on the screen began to drop and drop, sinking into the red. You had barely managed to scrape through the basics; it was a disaster by any standard. The screen turned crimson, a harsh alert pulsing at the top, demanding that you attach your PAK for a final height verification.

Height was everything in these moments. Everyone knew that failing this final test, especially if you were under the required height, meant immediate deactivation. There were no second chances—Irkens who couldn't meet the standards simply ceased to be, recycled for the benefit of the Empire. The only Irkens who survived such catastrophic results were those tall enough to overcome their failures, because height, above all, symbolized superiority, strength, and the promise of potential. It was the only lifeline for so many, and the reason why fewer and fewer short Irkens made it past this gauntlet.

With your squeedlyspooch squirming with shame and dread, you hooked your PAK to the scanner. As soon as it confirmed your height, the score on the screen ticked up, almost mercifully, settling just high enough to deposit you in a role that barely clung to respectability. The relief was cold and hollow.

That was one of the lower-end jobs; it was just better than being a table or a server drone, but not by much. Smeetery Drones were assigned to watch over very young Irkens, guiding their basic training and tending to their needs until they were old enough to enter academy systems. The job meant long hours in the noisy nursery halls, resolving fights, cleaning up after messes, and enforcing routines no one truly respected or thanked you for. Most saw it as dull, tedious work, where your leadership didn't matter much, and your skills as a warrior were wasted. For someone raised to believe height was a sign of greatness, being put in charge of smeets felt like a public admittance that you had failed everywhere else.

You watched your name get assigned to the list of two other Irkens out of hundreds from your generation. Slipping out of the seat you where quickly found by Red and Purple; it wasn't hard to find you; you stuck out above the smaller cadets just as they did. They told you they got assigned Sniper and Fleet leader, respectively. They looked at you expecting you to say something just as cool. You sweat under their gaze, it burned into you. You gulped down, slowly opening your mouth before an announcer said to find your respective spots to start your apprenticeships. You took this as an excuse to get away, with a shrug and a rushed goodbye, you attempted to disappear. Purple stopped you. He seemed a little nervous as he swallowed his spit, wishing you luck before quickly letting go as Red told him to catch up. You smiled awkwardly, not sure why he had done that, before rushing into an inconspicuous direction. Waiting before it was mostly clear before sighing and walking to the barren space that was for smeetery drones. You felt your brain pulse as you saw the two other Irkens that were assigned to work in your same field. They were small, not too small but still on the shorter side. They watched in awe as you joined them in the circle, you looked away. Nobody said anything; they couldn't risk insulting someone taller than them, but the look in their yellow and teal eyes told you they were surprised someone so tall was placed in such a low field. In fact, when the older, experienced drones came to pick them up, their faces said the same thing; they had been taller than the other two freshly graduated cadets but didnt even hold a candle to your vertical stretch.

The truth of your new life assignment sank in. You knew being a Smeetery Drone was not much more than being buried among the forgotten, tending to noisy, needy smeets who would one day outrank you before even reaching your height. It was humiliating. Worse still, you felt a strange ache beneath your guilt; you should have been relieved not to become a soldier, but you couldn't pretend you didn't wish for something more. Now every day would be a reminder that height alone had carried you this far, and you would spend your days proving little to no one, quietly invisible despite how tall you stood. Still, as you watched the tiny smeets tumble and scramble beneath your gaze, marvelling at someone so tall, a new question began to flicker at the edges of your thoughts. Was this assignment really a dead end, or was there something unexpected waiting in these forgotten halls? For the first time, you wondered if your story might not be over yet—if, even here, something could change.