Show and Tell of Doom
The room was a buzz, noise beyond human comprehension, and their teacher was sick of it. "Silence!" Ms. Bitters snapped, the room fell to a sort of frightened hush before the evil teacher continued her lecture. On the white board was a strange compilation of numbers and chemical symbols, and clearly not the subject matter of a fourth grade class. "As you can see by the following chemical reactions, due the highly reactive nature of the waste you call food, every one of you could have you stomach combust at any moment."
The class looked at the board horrified, except for Zim, who was presently enraptured by the unrelated work on his desk. "If I could lure Dib using," the green boy muttered, "no that won't work." In quiet frustration he balled up the piece of paper before pulling out a new sheet on which to plan. For a brief second Zim tapped his chin with the eraser, then with a maniacal smile he brought the pencil to the paper's surface, where the pencil's tip promptly snapped.
"Curse you infernal writing tool!" he shouted, "You dare defy Zim!" It was in the resulting awkward silence that the alien realized that in his frustration he'd jumped up in his chair, with one foot now on top of his desk as he cursed his pencil. "Heh… heh, I'll just go sharpen it," he covered up awkwardly, crossing towards the window where the sharpener hung against the wall.
"As I was saying," Ms. Bitter continued, "Tomorrow is show and tell, the very last you will ever participate in. You're all required to bring your useless crap to class so we can openly mock you." The bell rang as she finished, it was lunchtime, and the students moved out of class quickly, anxious for a break from Ms. Bitters' pervasive depression. Dib however moved slowly, casting a glance back at the grumbling Irken bent over the pencil sharpener before discretely slipping the crumpled up plans into his trench coat pocket.
Giddily Dib tore through the halls, nearly slipping on the linoleum as he scrambled towards his usual table where Gaz already sat with her lunch. "Gaz," he bumped into the table, getting her not very appreciative attention, "I've intercepted one of Zim's latest plans. I can probably use it to prove he's an alien." He uncrumpled the paper and came face to face with a horrible page of doodles, it was all stick figures of himself, including the scythe shaped hairstyles, glasses and on one doodle an obscenely large cranium, being killed in various ways, with the exception of a completely random banana doodle. In the middle of the page appeared to be Zim's actual planning, it was the word "penguins" with an arrow pointing to the word "doom".
"Penguins," Dib muttered dejectedly.
"Congratulations Dib, you have all the evidence you need to prove Zim's an idiot," Gaz muttered with obvious condescension in her voice before she returned her attention to her juice box.
Zim pulled his pencil from the sharpener for the umpteenth time, testing the tip with his gloved finger before moving away from the vile contraption. The room had long been abandoned, but Zim arrived in the cafeteria to find a line still present. He paid very little attention to the GIRl with pale blonde hair whose stomach exploded from a chemical reaction in the food at the table behind him, even when her neighbour, a boy whose only hair stood straight up like something out of little rascals, screamed very loud and shrill. Zim did little more than smile appreciatively at the far strewn innards as he took a seat. Lunch was much more disgusting. The painfully short alien was desperately trying to hold down his waffle breakfast at just the smell of the cafeteria food. Fortunately a paper ball to the head distracted him from the revulsion of the so called "food" before him.
Eyeing the paper ball in confusion it took Zim a moment to realize that the paper had once been his and that the source was a table across the room. The source was really rather obvious once Zim unfolded his masterpiece. His death to Dib doodles were covered in critiques, had they not simply been mangled to indicate them as Zim's demise. Zim looked through the notes, rage bubbling with every word. Then there was the threat, Dib had written underneath his brilliant penguin scheme. Penguins? That's the evil plan? Even I could come up with better stuff than that. How about this evil plan, I'm going to bring a show and tell that will expose you, but that's if you don't pick such a bad show and tell that you expose yourself, alien scum. Fiercely Zim turned the sheet over, furiously writing his witty comeback until his pencil snapped once again.
"Welcome home son," the robo-parents spouted the programmed greeting before rolling back to their individual closet spaces as their master stepped over the threshold of the poorly disguised base.
The Irken fought back a sigh from a particularly annoying day among the human filth. His pencil had failed to function throughout the day, further irritating him, he'd let himself slip earlier, cursing in his native language, although it might have been a good thing. The humans might have gotten suspicious about "Vlorg beasts" or "Mirkivi science packs", and he even might have been punished for his "sex driven hairless apes" comment. In any case it had been a hard day, and one fact in particular drilled into his synapses with the persistence of a Vlorg beast.
"GIR!" he called sharply. Strangely GIR fell from the ceiling, having been up there for no apparent reason, the extra stuffing in his disguise making his fall end with a distinct splat. The robot picked itself up, laughing uproariously and reshaping the stuffing so that his suit did not retain the shape of a little green dog that had a run in with a steam roller.
Zim paused to watch the event until his mind was able to refocus on the task at hand, or in hand, which was the case of the pencil. "GIR, sharpen my," he paused to closely inspect the product, "HB-2 to superior Irken standards."
Bright eyed the dog suited robot grabbed the pencil and bit it in half. He rolled the wooden chunk around in his mouth, seeming to savour it as Zim snapped, "GIR!" Then the little robot spat the pencil out at a high velocity, the saliva like substance used for chemical analysis sticking the chunk of wood to Zim's forehead.
"That's disgusting," Zim groaned, wiping the broken writing instrument and sticky liquid off.
"I'd do it again," GIR said pleasantly, throwing the dry half of the pencil at Zim as well. This piece was caught by the Irken's reflexes, but the little robot was scampering towards the kitchen laughing before Zim could unleash his retribution.
Zim growled in frustration, but chucked the broken pencil in a corner, the house had a built in laser to vaporize trash, which had always been there even if this as the first time it had been put to use, and he had more important things to worry about. Mainly he had the threat of exposure, the question of Dib's plans frequenting his thoughts as he removed his itchy contacts. Blinking as he pulled off his wig his mind drifted to what his own show and tell presentation. For a moment Zim looked at his wig, wigs were perfectly normal, but that would require him to reveal his antennae, exactly the type of slip Dib would be thinking of. He tossed the wig aside, then jumped slightly as the doorbell rang.
GIR flew past, Zim's eyes darted to his discarded disguise implements on opposite sides of the room, before he took a dive roll landing behind the arm of the couch.
"Well hello there," the man at the door said brightly, looking down at GIR after the little robot answered the door. "Aren't you a cute, perfectly normal little dog," the human said patting GIR's head. Zim's finger tapped against his chin. GIR was good enough to fool one human, he could certainly fool them all. Fumbling on the underside of the side table next to him Zim's finger found the switch, causing the table to rotate, keeping the top level while the bottom swung open a doorway to his underground labs.
The alien had slipped into the underground when GIR pulled out a giant sausage screaming, "Salami!" before proceeding to pummel the stranger at the door.
The next day Zim came with an extra bag, his normal "bag" was not a bag at all, walking past the few students who were hanging their bags in the hallway. His steps were militaristic, determined, and filled with a pride that only came with having a bigger ego than true to logic. "Filthy humans," he said loudly as he burst in the room, "I am ready for your show and tell."
Ms. Bitters' glasses seemed to gain extra sheen as she looked up from her book. "Fine then Zim, be the first to humiliate yourself in a desperate attempt to regain your days of kindergarten merriment." She lifted the book back up, revealing the title: How to Become a Serial Killer. Simply the fact that it was Ms. Bitters who was reading it made one question whether the book was a novel or actually an instruction manual.
Zim's arms shot up into the air in silent proclamation of victory, he looked over the slowly settling class. Then as they all quieted down he reached into his bag, "For you to stare at in amazement at my superior show and telling," he paused for dramatic effect, "My perfectly normal Earth dog, GIR." Proudly he whipped out the costumed robot, holding GIR by the head.
"Hi there!" GIR said happily, waving at the class.
"See! I told you Zim is an alien!" Dib said jumping up onto his desk and shaking an accusing finger at Zim.
"Dib," Ms. Bitters snapped, without looking up, "for interrupting, you will go next. Sit down!"
"But," Dib started.
"I want a taco," GIR interrupted loudly before wriggling free of Zim's grip and smashing through the nearest air vent .
"GIR! Nooooo!" Zim yelled as he too climbed into the ventilation. Once in the vent Zim was free to use his spider legs to pull him up to the top of the vent, his pak scraping against the metal shaft as he reached the top and retracted the attachments to allow for mobility. The little robot was nowhere in sight, but the vents were warm, the air compensators of his Pak opened up to moderate the changes in air composition, indicating that GIR had turned on his jets, which also meant that GIR would be moving through the vents very quickly. "GIR, where are you!"
Zim groaned as GIR's laughter bounced around the vents, simultaneously coming from every direction. "Curse you echo!" echo… echo…echo…. With a sigh, Zim pulled off one of his black gloves exposing his more sensitive skin beneath, he lay his hand on the vent wall, feeling for the heat differences before picking a direction, hopefully the direction of his doggy suited companion.
Dib had started chasing after Zim when something caught him by his trench coat. Ms. Bitters held his jacket, "And where do you think you're going?" she hissed.
"Uh," Dib paused, "I'm next right, I was just going to get my show and tell from the hall…"
He closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief, before fiddling with the hall pass that was chaffing his neck, but it was better than the auxiliary hall pass. That was just a rusty old radiator with the words "hall pass" spray painted on the side. Then with a smile he took off down the hall, nearly sliding past his bag as he reached his hook, his name on a tag above it.
"Now it's time for my show and tell," Dib said proudly, on the verge of narrating his own actions, "thanks to a skin sample the genetic tracker I borrowed from Dad's lab can follow Zim's movements."
"And that's why you should always be happy all the time," Mr. Elliot lectured his class with his usual over the top enthusiasm.
"I'd be happier if the truck hadn't missed you," Gaz whispered quietly, tapping away at her GS2 hidden underneath her desk.
Suddenly shrapnel from a vent flew across the room as GIR landed with flair right on Gaz's desk, extending an arm towards her with a glee filled, "Dance with me!"
"Not you again…" Gaz glared, as the robot began prancing across her desk.
Zim was breathing hard from exhaustion as he listened through the slats of a vent as Mr. Elliot said, "Gazzy, why is there a green dog dancing on your desk?" It had to be GIR, all Zim needed as a way down, but the alien hadn't expected it to be through the vent as a loose screw fell out.
"Saviour of the earth… coming through," Dib said, stopping for breath mid sentence as he stepped into the classroom and got a look at the Irken sprawled on the floor. Even Gaz looked over at the carnage while GIR danced blissfully unaware, with a mysteriously procured baton and top hat.
The tiles were hazy, the classroom was hazy, Zim stood up slowly, but it was getting clearer that his arm was bent in the wrong place. "Well would you look at that," he said in amusement before grabbing his own wrist. Self-treatment was standard military training, a dislocated elbow was nothing.
Dib's eye twitched at each crackle until Zim swung his arm around triuphantly, "Good as new!"
Mr. Elliot's eyes rolled into the back of his head before the man hit the floor, and Dib turned his attention back to the matter at hand, "The robot!" Zim and Dib took off across the room each grabbing one of GIR's arms at the same time.
"Let go Dib!"
"Not a chance alien."
"Miserable Chretien!"
"Don't you mean cretin?"
"I know what I mean, foolboy."
"But that doesn't make sense!"
"Well Chretien... nevermind."
"You don't know do you?"
"No! You're just too stupid to understand my brilliance."
"Yay! I got friends!" GIR yelled happily at the tug of war.
Gaz went back to playing her gameslave under her desk, until she saw Dib's abandoned backpack.
"Give. Me. The. Robot. Dog." Dib grunted from the strain until his fingers gave out.
Zim swung GIR into the air with a shout of "Victory for Zim!" before he dashed back towards the classroom. Dib didn't notice the slight twitch in Gaz's face, not a smile, but almost a smirk as he grabbed his bag and followed Zim back to the classroom.
"And now, to finish my normal Earthian presentation of a normal non-talking dog-pet-thing," Zim announced.
"I'm a ventriloquist!" GIR shouted. For a moment Zim considered snapping the robot in two, but the classroom erupted into cheering.
"Finally, you recognize the superiority that is me!" Zim shouted and put GIR away before the idiotic robot could make anything worse.
"That's fine Zim, sit down. Dib, it's your turn," Ms. Bitters snapped.
Dib walked up to the front and looked into his bag, there was nothing there but a moth eaten teddy bear. His eyes went wide, and he trembled slightly.
"Hurry it up Dib!"
He shakily held up the moth-eaten poorly repaired bear, "This is… Mr. Fuzlee…"
Gaz could hear the mocking laughter from her own class, her smirk growing. Humiliating Dib had the uncanny ability to brighten her day.
A/N: For a while I worked on a Zimfic I called 'It's Not Easy Being Green' essentially a group of one-shots that I thought could continue the Zim universe, well, after they'd been up for a while I took the four or so chapters down to re-write them, never got past the first chapter (this one). Although I still hold some of the later plots close to my heart I don't think I'll get around to them and my profile was sadly missing anything Zim. So this is going up as a stand-alone, and hopefully I'll get some inspiration to do more Zim-work.