Planet Irk.
Homeworld of the race of sentient beings known throughout the galaxy and universe alike as the Irken. The Irken, a highly-advanced and intelligent race that has blazed a path of discovery through the rigors of science and military might alike, are something to be refuted and feared.
For millennia, the ideals of war and the psychological makeup of the Irken race hasn't changed. They feel an innate need to continually conquer and control as if it were a part of their very bodies.
In the darkest of times, long before spaceflight had become possible, long before energy-based or projectile weaponry; wars were fought for territory amongst rivaling tribes and clans. They were fought with sharpened blades of metal and matching armor for protection, armies hundreds of thousands strong clashing in a morbid show of brutality. The outcome of these seemingly trivial wars thousands of years prior have made the mighty Irken race what they are in the present.
Upon conquering their own world of Irk, they united, strong and weak, young and old, in a cause that has spurred them for thousands upon thousands of years, conquest of the universe. It first started with the exploration and establishment as a space-faring race. With their own system well within their grasp, the continued to spread, to the peace-loving races of the universe, like a plague.
Out of fear and desperation, some races, such as the Vortians of planet Vort, offered an alliance to stave off being conquered. In fact, it is they who can be thanked for providing the Irken Empire with a more efficiently and deadly means of conquering. The peace kindled between the Irken-Vortian Alliance was soon shattered as the growing hunger of conquest fueled the Irken to turn on their own allies as they branched out even farther in the ominous Operation Impending Doom II.
"Professor?" A hand shot up in the middle of the class room. The cascading tiers placed the middle row above the front, and vice versa for the rear-most, much like an amphitheater. The individual that raised his hand was an Irken, much like his fellow classmates, as well as the instructor. They were in the most prestigious of military training facilities on Irk, after all.
"Yes, Cadet?" The much older and clearly aged Irken spoke, pausing the holographic recording that filled the majority of the space in the classroom for all to see the 3D representation of their species' past for his curious interruption. Ah, the wonders of technology when used for something other than conducting warfare.
"Operation Impeding Doom II…Why haven't we heard of the first one?" He strangely spoke, but minded himself, sticking to the Irken Armada's code of conduct by the book.
He stood at attention when he spoke, his nicely pressed, dark-magenta uniform, and polished boots were all fitting to the standards. It was warming to see that was one thing, after all this time, that wasn't simply forgotten. Order and strict discipline is what kept soldiers in line…and alive.
"Impending Doom II, Cadet," the professor began, standing up from his desk at the front of the room with the aid of a hover-cane. A small sphere rested in his hand, the bottom of it repulsed force to allow him to rest on it. This civilian instructor amongst fresh-faced soldiers was quite weathered, but far from decrepit. He was nothing more than an elderly Irken to the untrained eye. "…was essentially the first Impending Doom carried out once more…minus one inept Invader ruining everything and nearly causing the total collapse of our former Empire."
"The one known as Zim?"
"Yes, that one," he nodded, that name almost synonymous with utter disaster. "Impending Doom II outlined a complete conquest of the entire universe, one system at a time, branching out and using previously conquered worlds and systems as bases of operation for the next campaign. We'll cover all of that in detail later on. All of you need to be knowledgeable of prior events first."
The instructor checked his watch upon his wrist, noticing the time. He looked over his class, numbering a mere 12 young Irken, all currently Cadets in the Armada Academy, located on Irk. From the "enthusiasm" in their faces, it was in everyone's best interest to simply call it a day and dismiss them. They didn't seem to share the same amount of interest in military history of the Irken people as he did.
"That will do it for class today, Cadets, dismissed. We will convene again tomorrow at the usual 0900."
In orderly fashion, the rose from their seats, and marched down the stairs in the center of the room towards the bottom-most level, and out the door, synchronized in step. They continued down the corridor, assured they were well out of sight and hearing.
"Could he be any more boring?" One of them spoke "It's like he's so incredibly boring, he's putting himself to sleep."
"Professor Corr isn't boring," a Cadet right behind him defended, the one who asked the question in the classroom, "you just need to quit making fun of him and pay attention for once."
"What's the matter, DZ? You want to marry him or something?"
DZ, short for "Double-Zero", the two digits at the end of his serial number, countered.
"This isn't supposed to be all fun and games like you think it is, Joker," DZ picked up with Siph's nickname for his rambunctious attitude and being the general clown in their unit. "Intelligence and knowledge is equally important as any military prowess. We are only doomed to repeat the past if unaware of it."
"You can keep all that philosophical…dookie to yourself," Joker huffed, gesturing with his three-fingered hands, "all I need is a plasma rifle and a clear line of fire…bang, they're dead."
"Good luck with that, Siph," another spoke, garnering both Joker and DZ's attention, "ever since the installment of the Irken Republic, war of any kind, peacekeeping missions or otherwise, have been on the lax. That's part of the whole spiel of "change for a brighter future". Why else do you think I pushed for special operations? At least they go off on "reconnaissance" every now and again. We were lucky enough to be selected as the next batch of Honor Guard for the Chancellor. Best of the best, finest examples that the Irken Republic's military training has to offer."
"What good is all that training if we're stuck babysitting some peace-loving old crow of a leader? I'm not speaking out against her rule or anything, but seriously," Joker spat in response. "Digits, you and DZ would make a better couple than him and the professor."
"You're going to find it really hard to talk when I cut your tongue out," Digits warned, more in a joking manner than anything. He earned his nickname for being somewhat of a wizard with technology, numbers and words alike floated around without restraint in his mind. He could plot coordinates, scramble transmissions, and even perform the complex mathematics necessary for interstellar travel…all in his mind. At the very, most rudimentary level, he was a walking calculator.
To say he wasn't as much as a soldier as he was a data-cruncher would be a gross understatement. Well versed in both a technician and a soldier made him very dangerous.
"He cut us early for some reason," DZ spoke up, checking his own standard-issue timepiece on his wrist. "but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to head to the mess hall a few minutes early than usual, right?"
"As long as Sear gent Gis doesn't see us," Digits answered, checking the hall as he said so. Gis had the tendency to show up when least expectant, and it never ended well for them. "besides, it's Vort dogs day."
"That's all I needed to hear," Joker chuckled, patting his squeedly spooch, "my favorite."
The mess hall was much like anything else on base…insanely huge. It had to be to accommodate a majority of the Irken Republic's remaining forces stationed planetside. After the Great Downsizing of all military forces, most of them reside in one of several facilities on Irk. This was one of the larger ones with garrisoned troops numbering well into the several thousands, hardware to match.
As expected, the mess hall was nearly vacant, but Irken soldiers of the Republic were known for being quite punctual. Within the next ten minutes, it would be packed to the brim with the first wave of soldiers ready for "chow time". It seemed like any other normal day, after their Military Science and History class was over with, lunch time, then the rest of the day was spent trying not to die at the hands of Gis' training. The trio of the class sat at their usual table, ready to dig in.
"So what do you think Corr did before he became all old and stuffy?" Joker questioned of his comrades with a mouthful of food. "Seems to me that's all he's ever been, and a turbo nerd at that. I bet he got beat up a bunch in training."
"No matter how old he gets," DZ, once again, came to the defense of their professor out of respect, "he'd probably still be able to take you down a few notches since you're already full of yourself as it is. Professor Corr retired almost a century ago, not long after remnants of the Empire finally became the Republic, he was a military Commander of the Armada after all, so he must have been pretty impressive."
"With all due respect, DZ," Digits spoke as he thumbed through his personal datapad as he ate, scrolling through information, "Professor Corr is well past his prime. As much as I hate to admit it, he looks like he's about to kick the bucket any minute. I won't be the least surprised if he pops his clogs right there in class. I guess it's a good thing that Stitches over there is in class, he's a medic after all."
"He's trained to stabilize battle-inflicted wounds, not change a senior citizen's bedpan." Joker commented with a laugh, getting nothing more than a sigh of semi-resentment from Digits as he shook his head.
"Would you just give him a break, Siph?" DZ asked, the nickname missing from conversation meant business. "I know you don't think he's interesting or anything, but he's doing his job, and we are to learn from his teachings."
"I'm just kidding, but if it's really bothering you that much," Joker dragged out, attempting to apologize. It was difficult from someone as self-centered as he was, so it would suffice.
DZ leaned over to see what his friend was so engrossed in. There was a point at which you can become too engrossed with a passion, and Digits passed that repeatedly, sometimes more than once in a day at that. There were times that it is healthy to simply put the datapad down for a little while.
Standard-issue and used for nearly everything imaginable in terms of information retrieval, access, and the occasional regulation-breaking hacks, it was quite an impressive piece of equipment for its size, very similar to what had been a mainstay in the Armada for many years, only improved over previous generations. Being the technological mastermind, nay, genius that Digits was, he was using it to its fullest extent.
"You need to put that thing down every once and a while," DZ said, watching Digits contently continue to use the device, "what are you looking at over there that's so engrossing?"
"Well, I was curious, so I did a little…snooping," He began, assured their drill instructor was nowhere to be seen. That's all he needed was his C.O. catching him hacking, illegally at that, into the Armada Archives. Being thrown in the brig would be the least of his worries.
"For what?"
"Well…you remember a few weeks back on the first day of class in Military Science and History how Professor Corr introduced himself, said he was retired from the Armada and whatnot?"
"Yeah, so? There's a bunch of civvies on base that used to be in the Armada, that's nothing surprising." DZ pointed out. He did have a point.
"That's just it, he said "Armada", not which one."
Curiosity was peaked as Digits turned his datapad, the holo-projection screen visible by his friends.
"Professor Corr was pretty vague on all that, but I found his service record. It's already throwing up a few suspicious flags for me because there was some pretty tough encryption and security measures on this, not the highest, mind you, but more than there should be for a simple service record."
"So…most special operations soldiers' records are kept secret. Even the Honor Guard, what we're training for, is kept from a majority of the Armada." DZ informed, but still not doubting his friend. "So Corr may have been a soldier, possible Spec. Ops. at one time?"
"Looks that way, but even then, it would be listed as that, no matter how secretive the missions were. The Archives are known for their accuracy, especially back in the PAK days when everything was computer-controlled."
"So what else does it say then?" Joker joined in, curious of what the nearly decrepit Irken of an instructor used to do long before void of youth.
"Well…for starters," Digits began as he keyed more information in, revealing more of the record. "There are noticeable gaps in activity and no mention of deployments or injuries to cause them. In fact, there's a 20 year gap from this recon on the Vortian moon of Praxxus 7 as a Lieutenant during Impending Doom I in the Irken Empire days, and he all of a sudden shows up again as a Commander and drill instructor in the formation of the Irken Republic…Strikes me a bit odd, that and the sudden jump in rank."
"That is a little weird, I have to agree," DZ nodded, thoughts about Corr swirling in his mind as he lulled over many hypothesis. "You dig up anything else?"
"…No way," Digits spoke ominously, drawing his two comrades closer with anticipation. Being the logical one of the bunch only heightened it that much more. When Digits spoke to cause alarm on any scale, it had to be something significant.
His brilliant magenta eyes, much like DZ and Joker's, shone against their emerald skin. DZ's antenna perked as he peered closer, finally coming to the realization that Digits had.
"What, what is it?" Joker nearly demanded, but minded his voice. The mess hall's cavernous, spacious acoustics carried his obnoxiously loud voice rather well, and the soldiers were beginning to file in. "I can't see, what are the two of you getting all worked up over?"
"…I think we should pay Professor Corr a visit after drill today if he's still at the Academy. We have much to discuss."
The three Armada Academy Cadets were outside the classroom door, still in their dirty, scuffed up field equipment from training exercises. Fatigue was clearly set in their faces, but now was as good a time to get the answers they needed on the shocking discovery of their timid instructor who was meek at best.
"DZ, can't this wait until tomorrow, Gis is already ticked off for us going to mess early and worked us like animals today. This will only make things worse if he finds out we aren't in our barracks preparing for lights out." Joker complained, having trouble just holding himself up as it seemed. \
The Irken removed his combat helmet, a dark, metallic gray that matched the color of his uniform, Irken Republic symbols present on the shoulders and helmet. The only difference between the three was DZ had a single gold stripe on his shoulders, signifying squad leader, so he did have some sway over the other two in the command structure.
"Stop whining, this won't take long," He assured, straightening his uniform out as best as he could, caked dirt and mud crumbling to the floor as he did so. "We're just here to ask a couple questions and we'll be on our way, that's all."
With a triplet of knocks on the heavy, metal door, they waited for a response.
"Enter" Corr's aged voice called, but still with enough gusto to be far from withering.
DZ, Digits, and Joker all entered the room after the door pneumatically whisked open, allowing access. The three Irken Cadets stood before Corr's desk at attention, helmets tucked under their right arms.
"I know you're eager to learn, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow for class," Corr politely informed with a chuckle, making it more of a joke than anything.
DZ cleared his throat, trying to find the words.
"…Actually, Sir…we ha-" he began, quickly remembering the code of conduct, "permission to speak freely, Sir?"
"Take a seat, you three," Professor Corr motioned nonchalantly, "I'm not a stickler for that nonsense. I do my job by teaching, you do yours by learning. It's as simple as that. Now, Cadet…" the aged Irken tried to remember his name.
"Ord, Sir, but everyone calls me DZ for Double-Zero, the last two digits of my serial number…Sir." DZ dragged on, almost embarrassed at the mentioning of the nickname he picked up from his fellow Cadets.
Corr simply laughed lightly with a smile, his sunken cheeks accenting it.
"Well…DZ, was it?" Ord nodded, "What's on your mind? I know you're really interested in learning of Irken Military History and Science, but I have a feeling this isn't about that, now is it?"
"No, Sir, it isn't." He respectfully answered. Civilian or not, Corr was a retired soldier, a former Commander at that, so it was still in their best interest to regard him as such, a high ranking officer. "We actually have a few…questions regarding your…service record…Sir."
Corr's expression changed slightly as he sat up straight a little more, something he wasn't used to in his age. Something felt…different about him at that moment. "I'm sure I can answer some questions, I didn't think you three would be interested in an old fossil like me. What do you want to know?"
DZ turned to Digits, holding his hand out for the datapad. Taking a moment, he brought up the service record belonging to one Commander Corr of the Irken Republic, formerly Lt. Corr of the Irken Empire. It didn't matter to tell Corr how and where they got the information, he was aware of Digits' technology prowess, rivaling that of a close friend of his. Had it been long enough to finally let the truth be known?
It had been a hundred years since the conception of the Republic, and the fall of the tyrannical Empire. A century ago was a universe of chaos and destruction, the Irken race united for a cause of conquest, the last great one, thwarted and the seeds of revolution planted by a select few.
Even for an Irken of nearly two and a half centuries of age, it had been long enough. Cover-ups and hiding the truth from the eyes of those who needed to see it, everyone for that matter. For it was necessary to see the true face, both the good and bad, of what brought about change, and the sacrifices made.
"I'm more than certain that I'm aware of what you're going to ask me of," Corr politely stated, turning his desk workstation off, even going as far as to unplug the power connector to it. Without hesitation, he locked the door to the classroom as well remotely from his desk. He was taking security precautions to avoid any eavesdropping whatsoever. It was then that they realized that Professor Corr was definitely more than he seemed to the eye, and quite a bit more than a simple instructor at the Armada Academy. "but ask away."
Silence enveloped the room as tension soared. Digits finally managed to be the first one to speak in what felt like an eternity as DZ and Joker remained stiff. He promptly cleared his throat, glancing over at the datapad that he had handed to DZ, making sure he was aware of what he was speaking of.
"Professor…what could you tell us about the Shadow Strikers?"
With a sigh, Corr rose to his feet, cane in his hand as it automatically sensed him standing, activating for a walking aid. He shuffled towards the front of the room behind his desk, looking at the holo-screen that they used periodically for class.
"What I say here…" he finally spoke, garnering their attention, almost startled, "…cannot leave this room, nor will you tell another living soul…not yet, anyway."
The three of them sensed the seriousness in his voice and dared not speak against it.
"The Shadow Strikers…it's a long story," Corr spoke, looking over his shoulder at them, still debating if it was the right thing to do. "but if you have the time to listen…then I have the time to speak."