A/N: This just came to me the other day… not sure what I think of it. R and R please.
~Gilly
Irken death was an unglamorous affair. It wasn't particularly ugly or glorified, though battle heroes were honored, it was just simply…. passed by. Mourning was for the weak. Irken citizens didn't mourn, there was too much to do.
Irken death wasn't messy, either. Without a PAK to sustain it, the body wilted like a flower that hadn't been watered. The body eventually decomposed into a fine, powdery dark green substance that was discarded of without pretence. If the Irken in question was a highly honored official – or even the Tallest themselves – the remains would be set in an urn and cast into space with a minor ceremony to accompany it. There would be a few brief seconds of silence, then life would resume normally.
PAKs were a different matter entirely. The PAK of as dead Irken would be taken into to hatcheries by Irken scientists and/or other officials and a strand of DNA would be procured and mixed into a random generator and combined with another dead Irken's DNA to procure a brand new life form.
Irkens have an incredibly long life span, the oldest recorded Irken living to two thousand seven hundred and forty two years before dying.
Her name was Miz.
Miz was tall, almost as tall as the current Tallest (one of planet Irk's leaders during the Golden Age of Irk who was affectionately known as Yup-Yup) and therefore earned the high ranking position of Tallest advisor. Miz was the image of health, the 'Model Irken Citizen' so to speak. She paid her taxes, conquered some planets back in the day, and was runner up for the 'Most Awesome Irken of the Year' award twice in a row. Miz's death sparked minor feelings of grief in Irken society, but it didn't last long. Miz's remains were cast into space by Yup-Yup and her PAK was taken away by a new Vortian scientist named Lard Nar. A minute strand of Miz's DNA was inserted into a giant computer to be randomly matched with a strand of male DNA to produce a new Irken.
Miz's replacement.
At the same time of Miz's death, an unimportant table-headed service drone named Zip died suddenly from Flat Head Syndrome, which is a common disease to strike these much needed drones. Zip had been a curious Irken. Ridiculously short, Zip did not have the height to advance in his social status. However, unlike most drones, Zip believed that he could do much better in life than just serving sodas to accountants.
Zip wanted to be an Invader.
Not just any Invader, he wanted to be the best Invader. Zip refused to be any less, even changing his speech patterns to mimic all the other Invaders. Since he couldn't decide on one, Zip's speaking tones rose and fell like the tide; one moment he would be perfectly calm and the next he would be screeching like a banshee. Zip also changed his walk to some sort of pigeon-toed strut, which posed problems when he delivered drinks. Inevitably, Zip was labeled crazy, and whatever friends he had deserted him.
Zip died alone. There was no ceremony in his honor, no friends mourning his passing, nothing. The only sign that Zip had died was that the new recruit Lard Nar came to collect his PAK and dump his remains on a spaceship bound for Planet Dirt.
Following Irken procedure, Zip's DNA was inserted into the super computer and randomly matched with another strand.
Whether by chance or by fate, the strand chosen to match Zip's was Miz's.
The computer merged the two strands and an embryo formed. The Irken-to-be was transferred into a tube and sent to a larger room, filled with thousands, maybe millions of similar tubes, each containing an embryo.
Precisely five months later, a robotic arm stretched to the ceiling, grabbed the tube and cracked it. A newborn Irken smeet fell to the floor where another robotic arm wired its body with a PAK complete with Irken history and an inherited personality.
All that was left to be chosen was a name; a combination of its predecessors'. The Irken would be both Zip and Miz combined – undying loyalty to Irk and a thirst to prove himself.
"Welcome to life, Irken child. Report for duty!"
The smeet sprang into action, strangling the metal arm in a hug.
"I love you, cold, unfeeling robot arm!"
Zim.