Author's Notes: I sorta like this story idea…. I really want to complete this story in chapters, so they might be short, but bear with me. I have a short attention span. Or maybe I'll forget and this'll be as far as I get. Either way. Not that interesting anyway. I just wanted to explore the home planet Irk some, with a less technology-dependent Irken.

Don't own blah blah Jhonen Vasquez blah blah blahhh

Mechanic Fer sat lonely on one of the few desolate dusty hills that had not been built upon. Planet Irk was mostly covered in buildings now, but ever since the first successful conquering of a planet since mission Impending Doom 2 started, the older, unusable ones were bulldozed, the natural land left open again. Fer, like any other Irken, enjoyed the economic growth and expanding empire of his race, but on his home planet, he was always depressed to see those old, abandoned buildings littering the beautiful sands of Irk.

He worked in one of the functioning plants, building the Voot cruisers all invaders used. About a forth of the planet was dedicated specifically for the purpose of building and designing customized cruisers for invaders, but most of the other automotive craft used in the empire were now built on Constructia, planet 2. SIR units were still built here, too, along with the customization and creation of PAKs, the three one of the few things that conquered races were not forced to work on. Then, a small canyon away, lay the giant headquarters of the Irken empire. One section, about five dozen kilometers in perimeter, was the nerve center of the Irken race, where the birth tubes were fertilized, raised, and hatched by computers. Within the same building, though taking up a much larger portion of it, was the control panel for the leaders; it was where the control brain was housed, the landing dock for The Massive and the home control panel were located, and the Tallest's living rooms. But the PAK assembly plants were closer to the north pole, and H.Q. was clear on the other side of the planet (and took up most of that side, too). The rest of Irk was mostly a recreation and living camp, which could be better described as a tourist center.

Fer was but a lowly mechanic, however he and the other Irken workers stationed here, probably never to go anywhere else, were allowed one special privilege: Instead of the traditional dress of their rank, they could wear whatever they wanted, outside of work hours. They purchased clothing from other planets and civilizations, conquered and free, and it was the one amusement to many of the Irkens who came to despise their stations in plants. Their uniform was basically that of an Invader's, but the pants had large pockets on the outside of each leg, to hold tools, their gloves did not go to their elbows, and their shirt was actually a pocketed vest, with short sleeves. Outside of work, Fer did not care to busy himself with something so mundane as clothes, but he did have an extra outfit that was a long-sleeved purple shirt, mammal-skin gloves tanned dark in color, and white pants made of some blend of materials he had never been able to identify.

Fer felt the loneliness sweep over him, but returning to his sleeping quarters and mingling with brain-washed drones would not help very much. Instead, he looked over to the stone path at the bottom of the hill. On a planet very much coated with wire, steel and concrete, this was one of the few spots clear of such, and the automotive walk had broken away and became buried under layers of sand many years ago, now only reaching the base of Fer's hill, and most Irkens would not stray off the paths. He stood, looked around in all directions, ran a short-range organic material scan, and decided it was clear.

All the working Irkens had PAKs designed especially for their jobs, and Fer's was built to hold extra tools and spare parts, his spider-like mechanical legs had small fingers on the end for working in small and cramped areas of the ship and for using tools difficult to use with hands, and his PAK was powered with a special jet fuel so he could easily reach higher places, yet the flame did not light other objects on fire with such ease, and emitted less heat (Fer could never remember the name of the fuel, no matter that he was told when he needed to refill).

Sitting on the ground with a smile on his lips, Fer reached back and pushed the two latches on either side of his PAK, and pulled.

Their was a groan and a burst of electricity as the PAK tried to remain connected, but it was much less subtle than it had been the first time he had taken his PAK off, months ago. Back then, he only had it off for a little over a minute before pain shot sporadically through his arms and legs, he felt a heavy pressure on his body, breathing became much more difficult, and his squigglyspooch began functioning much more slowly, noticeably. Now, he felt a slight tingle, and it might have been pain, but he had grown used to it, and it sort of felt relaxing to him. He knew he still would be in danger if it was off for more than twenty-six minutes, so he couldn't chuck the PAK off in to the horizon like he wanted to, but set it down two meters away, within his sights.

Fer liked taking off the PAK. His eyes weren't as sharp but his head was clearer, and his limbs didn't feel quite as strong, but he had better control over them. Fer took in a deep breath, smiling and closing his eyes. Technology long ago invented ceased the problems such as air pollution, at least on Irk, but you could never tell with the PAKs on. Now, he let clear air wash into his cells, and he looked up to the clear night sky. Farther away, behind factories, the lights to the sleeping house he was stationed in were still on, but the factory lights were out and their black forms hid the lights from view.

Fer's smile grew once again; he looked to the stars, clear above him, smaller planets than his beloved Irk glimmering before him. He wiggled out of his clothes, rolled into the sands of his planet, feeling cleaner than the days when they went through the sterilization chamber. This was Irk, and he was Irken; It was at not at the big conventions when he felt most pride in it, but at these times, when he was alone and felt at peace with the ground he lived on.

Fer made a blanket with the dirt, grinning from ear to ear, inhaling the soil and kissing the ground. Without the PAK, he wasn't under control. His beloved Irk. Without the PAK, it was all his.