I dedicate this to 630kila, and to all the inspiration she has given me over the years. Cassie...this tale I dedicate to you. You gave me so much...much more than you ever realize, and I only hope one day I'll be able to repay you for all your kindness, all your friendship, all your creativity. You helped make me the artist I am, and I will always, now and forever, be eternally grateful for that. Thank you for giving me a chance to fly. I hope you, like the dear readers pouring over this, find this action-packed meta-fictional tale a fitting tribute to your work.

PROLOGUE

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The green-skinned being awoke with a start, the bed soaked in sweat as he floundered around atop a thick white blanket, panting and heaving as if he'd been climbing a mountain instead of enduring a strange and surreal dream. His skin was made up of ever-so-tiny scales, almost miniscule to the naked eye, and he had a set of spiky antennae that had stiffened from the shock of his dream.

"What...what was all of that?" The vaguely reptilian, vaguely Insectoid being said in the Irken tongue, his "home language", slowly rising off the bed, looking around the room. Was he still dreaming, he wondered? Was he still that odd being he'd been in the dream?

No...white rose in the flowerpot by his bed. That was the same. Poster of the high Consular urging others to "Live for the Empire" to his right. That was the same. Normal silvery walls and-

Wait. His body. In the dream he'd been...

"Okay...head. How's my head?" He began to feel his head with his gloved hands, still panting slightly. "...totally round...right, round. Round is good. And no hair. Antennas? Good, still spiky. Hands...three claws...not five digits, claws. GOOD, GOOD." He murmured, pacing around the room. "Wait. WAIT."

He stiffened suddenly. In the dream he had been...

A Vortian? Him and a Vortian woman? And with the sister of the one who headed the resistance? That was so ludicrous it was almost laughable. It wasn't physically possible! How ridiculous! How absurd!

"...just to make sure..." he murmured, undoing the belt and loosening his pants to look down and inside...

From outside the room, a giddy almost whooping cry of joy was heard. And so the Senior Communications Officer of the Massive, exited his room to head to his station. He had work to do. Tallest Red and Purple had sent for further workers on the ship...he was supposed to be their mentor, get them acquainted with what they were to do since theysure as hell weren't going to babysit people they didn't care about.

...

...

...

... "Okay...deep breaths." Jayd the medic thought to himself, spreading his arms down in a stretch as he closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths through his mouth. He was lost in his own thoughts, his own world, oblivious to the others in the hallway. Within tubes connected to his hands shifted strange tiny glittering things, moving from his hands to his PAK. "First day of work. You can do this. You're chosen. Special. You will do this. YOU WILL DO THIS. You're going to be the best medic here."

"Okay, you've heard that "Senior" is a little bit...weird. But he's 421 years old. He's your taller. He's been doing this since before you were a fetus growing in a smeetery tube. You can do this. YOU CAN DO THIS."A white-robed Irken with a vaguely fern-like set of antannae murmured as he nervously scratched his cheek with a claw. Feyr had never been on the Massive before, his "boss" had been the head Consular himself. This was all strange new territory.

"I hate my life." The service drone Maht muttered. It didn't matter if he was being forced to carry drinks on Irk or on the Massive. Demeaning work was demeaning work. How had he fallen so far? Whilst the others were still learning to SPELL THEIR NAME, he had been trained to conquer galaxies! That is, until the recoding...

Why, WHY had those dead janitorial drones ruined everything? He could have run. Why had he changed his mind? Why had he stayed with them until the last of their life ebbed and he was left to take the blame for their death?

"Yes, I hate your life too, inferior service drone." Dite the Elite said in a still, subdued monotone. He...she? It was so hard to tell. There was a faint flicker of amusement across the Elite's masked and armored face.

"Idiots. Locked in their own worlds. Are they even aware of what duties they face? Communications Officer Xeil inwardly groaned. Their first day of work and they were as frightened as smeets. They were Irkens! "Show some backbone, you skaatel!" She thought furiously, wishing SHE had psychic powers like the interrogator Feyr did.

The last one remained silent. Quiet. But an air of unmistakable amusement surrounded her as the guard smirked quietly, the first to turn as the doorway to the main control center of the Massive opened. The Tallest's glorious visage displayed upon the monitor as an Irken typed away at a computer console, standing up instead of sitting. He was a male Irken, who had very soft-looking green eyes and the outfit of a Communications Officer with his mask the same "Kelly Green" color of his chest and pants, though his arms and "shoulder" section were of a darker, more conservative shade of green. He wore a belt around his waist with several pouches, and upon seeing them, turned to the Tallest.

"These are the new recruits to our workstaff, my Tallest." He said, saluting.

"People we don't know or care about, meet person whom we barely care about who'll be showing you the ropes. We're off to go eat chips." Red said calmly, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

"And lots of cheese." Purple added as the feed was cut, the communications officer smiling gently as he spread his arms out.

"Well, it's good to see you all here! Call me "Senior", after my title. I'm Senior Communications Officer of the Massive."

He pulled down his face mask to show off his considerably bright and white smile. "And I want you to consider me...your safety net."

BREAKING DAWN, PART ONE

I started this little "blog" on the day after the War of Light began. And I just want to admit it freely: I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I couldn't do more. Sorry that I didn't try harder. So, so sorry that I was selfish, and put my own personal desires before doing what was right. I had a chance to stop this early, and I didn't take it because I didn't know any better.

I will carry that guilt with me forever. If I had only brought it to Earth sooner, then...

But it's too late for that. The coming of the Darkening Skies cannot be prevented, only confronted and beaten. And I'll do what I can.

I doubt any Irken would read this. They're too busy trying to fight for their lives. But if you're a human on Earth, you need to know how this happened, and why you have to find them, the ones who carry the rings.

I suppose I should begin the way all good stories do.

In the beginning...

The planet and capital of Irk. Tall, highly-developed, and above all, sickeningly pompous. The very planet could be summed up to it's core, it's spirit, by this city alone. It was not hard for the onlooker to see why: every single building that wasn't a skyscraper seemed to be packed full to the brim with Irkens, almost looking like metal sacks ready to explode from the inside, a smell of deep-fried food and heavy machinery tainting the air. The skyscrapers that impaled the dark orange-red sky above were the most noticeable thing: they radiated an arrogance, a desire to show off just how high and mighty they were, a challenge to the heavens...

Towers of Babylon. And with everyone speaking the same language.

"I! ME! MINE!"

"No, it's MINE!" A tall, armored insectoid-esque creature snapped, purple eyes glaring as he yanked the data pad from his near-identical "brother" of sorts, the only difference between the two being a color scheme in their armor that befitted their eyes: one was red, the other, as aforementioned, purple.

Guess what their names were. I'll give you a hint. They're named after colors.

"Fine, fine. YOU read the news." Red said in a condescending tone, tossing some nachos into his mouth and eagerly chewing with his mouth open and as loud as possible to drown Purple out as the Tallest of the Irken Empire, glorious co-leader along with Tallest Red, spoke to their Senior Communications Officer as their grand spaceship the Massive came to a halt over the Capital City of Irk.

"We're running out of gas and need to stock up for 24 hours. So this means shore leave." Purple said. "We don't really care what you do with the 24 hours. Just so long as it's off the ship, this is the one time of the year where we don't have to look at you or listen to any of you and get to do...stuff. Private stuff."

"Uh, yes, sir, absolutely, I'll alert the rest of the crew that it's that time again." Senior Communications Officer of the Massive insisted, snapping to a salute as the Assistant Communications Officer also saluted as well, nodding firmly.

"We'll not fail to have fun SIR!" Xeil shouted in her usual slightly grating tone.

"Oh, I LIKE you. Have I said that before? I'm saying it now." Purple told her, nodding as the feed cut out from their private rooms, leaving Senior and his assistant to turn to the others. Grinning broadly, Senior pulled down the mask cloth that covered his mouth beneath the space that would have been his "nose" had he been a human, and whistled with his gloved three-clawed hands, a button being brought over to him from a drawer by a coffee machine located by a radar graph.

A shiny RED button with little confetti painted on it. He immediately pressed it, and immediately wild and raucous music belted out from tiny speakers built into the device, Senior and the others racing through the ship, getting the word out.

And that word was...

"PAAAAAAAAAARTYYYYYY!" Feyr the Consular cheered as he gripped a horn-headed, grey-skinned alien prisoner by her arm and twirled her around, dancing with her across the cell she was stuck in and patting her on the head. "Shore leave at last! I'll be back in 24 hours to talk to you about those hidden weapons caches. If you feel like talking, good...I'll bring a souvenir, I think you'll really enjoy an embroidered pillow." He explained, pink eyes glittering like gems as his fern-like antennae stood up tall.

"Whatever." The Vortian prisoner mumbled as Feyr let go of her, waving cheerfully as he closed the cell again, heading down the small prison wing and past the Medical Bay, a black-eyed Irken in medical armor with a large red cross in front of his chest was rubbing his hands together, strange tubes stuck into them going back into the metallic vaguely backpack-like thing upon his, well, back! This was called a PAK, the life support system of an Irken, a "Swiss army knife" of goodies, and it was evidently feeding something vaguely glowing into the hands, which slightly pulsed with light.

"Heading down into town, Jayd?" Feyr asked in his high-pitched, almost feminine voice.

"Well, yes." Jayd said, grinning broadly. "I think some balloons and streamers and little chocolates will do wonders for the patients I'll be getting in the upcoming year. I know Tallest Purple really likes the use of them when I put some Adhesive Medical Strips on him after he gets into those scuffles with Tallest Red."

"Chocolates?"

"No. Balloons. He really likes sucking out the helium. Ya think maybe THAT'S why his voice?..." Jayd wondered, scratching his head as they made their way out of the medical wing, heading for the elevator.

"Always that odd...sound." An orange-eyed guard of the Massive murmured, arms folded as she put her jetpack backpack back on, the bulky thing making her grunt as she strained under it's square-like shape and weight. It looked almost like a Tetris block. Yes, she did, in fact, know what Tetris is, the same way some of the Irkens knew what a Swiss Army Knife was.

Irk had conquered, pillaged, ransacked and raped many a planet. But one planet they stayed away from because it was host to their greatest failure, their greatest threat, their greatest annoyance. This being named Zim had caused the death of two Tallests, plunged Irk into darkness, blown up an entire planet simply by scratching his behind, and did so many other things that if I were to put them into a list, it would stretch out of the room you're in and into a nearby hallway.

What was this planet? Earth. And out of morbid curiosity, there had been those who had found themselves secretly drawn to Earth...interacting with Earth...promoting Earth culture on a black-market that was growing in power through the Empire. Food recipes, clothing, entertainment, surprisingly, 32% of the Empire seemed to think Earth culture wasn't "totally inferior".

Speaking of one such member of the 32%...

"I'm walkin' on Sunshine...woaah-ohhh! I'm walkin' on Sunshine...woaah-ohhh! And tryin' to feel good!" Senior Communications Officer of the Massive said cheerily as he shook his booty through the air, bouncing it around, the rounded-square-shaped communications chips in the side of his head not relaying instructions from the Tallest or the mighty Control Brains, the power behind the throne, oh no. It was all Katrina and the Waves as he danced around the room, getting his belt on, ready to spend, spend, spend and get all the newest Earth music he could find.

It might have been a flaw in programming. Quite possibly, yes. The Irken PAK provided personalities to the Irken race from the moment of conception in the Smeet Factories, organic bodies filled with the whole of Irken Knowledge and traits that would, over time, cement where said smeet would be placed in an occupation.

It was possible that his PAK was defective, that he was in error in liking this music. A bit of code that might have jumped, or gotten jumbled...

Or perhaps it was simpler? After all, the personality chosen for him had been one of friendliness, concern, an eager-to-help and eager-to-please identity that was perfect for one in Communications...why wouldn't he like something that made him feel like patting people on the head?

A definite answer might not be easy to find, but the end result was simple: Senior loved Earth music, loved the way it made him feel, the way it seemed to flow through him, and it made the hard work on the Massive so much easier. He suspected his wards, to whom he was their safety net, had their own ways of coping with the jobs they had. Well, this was his,begun on his first shore leave after being exposed to it in a back alley in the capital.

Adjusting his silvery belt buckle, he plucked the white rose from the vase by his bed...his good luck charm, which always greased the wheels for him, somehow, in some way. When he had it on him, the Tallest never made him do "The Electric Chair", or unusual favors. Nobody ever yelled at him or acted insubordinate. He'd found it in an alley on Irk, that same alley he'd first heard Earth music and had followed it like the scent of bread lures those to a bakery.

Taking the white rose tenderly in his gloved hands, he tucked it safely in his "Kelly-Green" shirt and sauntered out of the room, continuing to sing. "Walkin' on sunshiiiine...walkin' on sunshiiiiine..."

He almost bumped into service drone Maht, who blinked purplish eyes back at his taller, a tray held in his gloved hand. "Maht, you don't have to bring that, everyone on the Massive will be concerned only with stocking up, not with asking you for a drink-"

"Every time I'm off planet, someone asks me to fetch them something. I'm just saving time." Maht said in his submissive, dejected one, eyes closing quietly as he pinched the space between his eyes with one gloved hand. His Taller's very soft green eyes gazed upon the many stains upon Maht's maroon uniform and rubbed his chin.

"Look, uh...what if you stay with me the whole time? I'll shop where you shop, and keep anyone from asking you to go peel them a grape or something." Senior offered.

"Oh, sir, I...I can't ask you to do that..." Maht murmured nervously, blushing deeply as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"NONSENSE, c'mon." Senior insisted, bringing him along, patting him on the back and yanking the tray out of Maht's hand, tossing it backwards onto the floor as Dite, Elite Guard of the Tallest rolled it's eyes, ignoring the two as it looked it's reflection over in the mirror of a nearby bathroom with an open door leading to the hallway. Yes, everything in order except the mask. A black-gloved hand reaching down to a red belt, past a secondary PAK upon his chest...a hand that was then held a mechanical-esque pentagonal mask over the Irken's lower face, the mask attaching itself via clamps. Dite was, at last, ready.

Indeed, all of them were. Making their way through the short-range teleporter system and the various little ships housed within the Massive's Docking Bay, Senior piloted a small shuttle down to the planet's surface, heading for the central shopping district. There were eighteen dozen stores selling useless junk and souvenirs alongside various convenience stores and, more importantly, surplus warehouses. It was to one of the back alleys located behind one such warehouse that Senior intended to reach today.

"23 hours left." Senior informed his little group. "Maht and I are taking a trip to Warehouse 13 and 14. I'd like all of us to meet back up at the food court in the East District. And remember..." Senior tapped the communications chip on the right side of his head, nodding at them all. "You can reach me through this via your communicators, you all know my frequency."

"Don't go talking to any skaatel you don't know." Xeil added cheerily with a bit of a giggle.

"The term is "off-worlder"." Feyr said with a cold growl. "Not "off-world filth", they are not all so inferior."

"Of course you'd say that, it is your job to get close to them, Consular Feyr." Dite mused with a faint laugh in his, or perhaps her, voice as he waved a claw in a circle by his head in a "you're crazy" gesture before they all headed off to get shopping, Senior walking by Maht, who's normally sunken features had actually begun to show some real hope.

"I almost never get any time to relax." Maht said. "Thank you for doing this for me, Senior sir." Maht said again, shaking Senior's hand vigorously as they walked through the crowded streets of the capital city, Senior pointing at a nearby bar.

"Shall we go get YOU a drink for once?" He asked the service drone as they headed inside, pushing open a door with a very large and intimidating Irken skull insignia painted onto it in paint that was deliberately made fresh every single day to add a touch of class to the appearance of the bar.

Regrettably, "Barbone's Pub" had music blaring so loudly it was impssible to hear one's own thoughts. Sitting down at the bar in some stools, Maht and Senior sipped some of the few things most Irkens liked about Vortians: firewhisky. Pictures of the Tallest through the ages, be they Gor, Arnor, Spork even Splorchhammer, were proudly displayed, circling the bar above various signs that said things like "We Don't Bother Calling The Medics" and "The Most Endangered Species: Anyone Who Pisses Us Off". A bit of a harsh contrast, seeing the Tallest displayed in brave and noble portraits placed above insultingly violent proclamations below.

One such sign caught Maht's attention as he read it over. "The year was 1865, our land burnt to the ground, everything was lost, I took my stand. I rode through fire and rode through fog, Irken flag within my hand, fighting for the Empire, fighting for my Land...FTW?" Maht blinked. "Who's FTW?" He asked a brutish-looking guard that gave him a look like he was gum underneath his shoe.

"Who's asking?"

"Nobody special." Maht said immediately.

"I am." Senior wanted to know, looking the thick-bodied, brown-eyed Irken over. The man was obviously used to violence. Why was he speaking to an Irken who looked like his first name should be "Nazi"? Simple: the jerk was looking down on one of his wards. Nobody did that. NOBODY. He didn't even let the Tallest get away with that. Granted, that got him in trouble and made him get punished, but still...

"It means "F—k The World"." The gorilla of an Irken explained calmly. "You're clearly from off-planet. How many times a year are you actually on Irk? Seeing all that happens? You...I swear..." He shook his head back and forth, the other residents of the bar looking on nervously, others in anticipation. "Idiots flyin' up there in your little ships, removed from how life REALLY is down here. Thank the Tallest there's still people standing up for the old ways, the rest are filthy melkremar, traitors all! Off-worlder culture, PAH!" He spat on the ground at the mere idea of it.

"Yeah! Earth culture, PFFT! Vrik na tshanti!" Another Irken agreed, waving a mug of beer in the air. "Those offworlder-loving traitors waste their time wearin' cowboy hats, watching cartoons and playin'...TETRIS."

"TETRIS!" The whole bar spat on the ground.

"Maybe we should make like a tree and LEAF." Senior whispered to Maht as the gorilla of an Irken sneered at Maht, who was quivering nervously.

"Y'know I s—t out a turd that was bigger n' you this morning." He told Maht. "Question is...do I beat the s—t outta you right here and now for sidin' with someone that's so obviously a melkremar, or do I let it slide?"

"You are drunk, sir. You're saying things you don't even realize you're saying." Maht muttered In the old days he would have kicked the drunkard squarely upside the head and taught him a lesson. But now...

The brute reached for Maht to rip his arm off. Senior immediately grabbed the man's hand, slammed it down onto the table and pulled out something from a holster in his belt...an Earth weapon. Something he bought for several reasons. One, it had been a two for one deal. Two, whilst most Irken armor was resistant to plasma, it was NOT resistant to melee-esque weaponry, or metallic bullets. And three, and of this he was sure...when he shot people with it...

BANG!

It hurt a whole lot more.

The Irken screamed and bellowed, waving his shot-through hand in the air, gasping in horror as Senior put the gun in the holster, waving a dismissive goodbye as he led Maht outside the bar. "I'd go call a Medic now if I were you. Break tradition." He called back cheerily, heading for Warehouse 13...

Unaware that the "rose" tucked away, hidden in his shirt was slightly glowing for a moment, a repeating rhythm beginning to fill Senior's lack of ears as they reached the warehouse, Maht looking over various surplus bags of gumballs, his favorite snack, his taller situated across from him, examining large blocks of cheese.

Life.

Senior blinked. First the rhythm, now he was hearing a word. What was that word? It sounded like-

Life.

"Did you hear something?" Senior inquired, looking at Maht, who blinked in surprise back at his commanding officer.

"No, why?" Maht wanted to know, confused. "Do you want me to hear something, sir?"

"No, no, it's fine." Senior insisted, waving his hand in the air as he put several blocks of cheese in a shopping basket, as gold as the walls around them in the stylishly-lit warehouse.

Life.

Okay, that time he knew what he'd heard. "Life"? Where was it coming from?

He then noticed it. A glow on his chest. Eyes wide in surprise, he ran for the nearest bathroom before anyone could notice, locking the door behind him, gazing down at the glowing region of his shirt, his heart. Realizing what it most likely was, he reached into his shirt, removing the white rose as it pulsed with strange light, bathing him in warmth...

Life.

"Did you just...speak?" He asked. "...look at me, I'm talking to a rose..."

I am more. I have watched you for some time. You're not as bad as the others, little bug. No, no. Within you...lies a concern for the lives of others. Thus, I am choosing you, now at the moment of the Great Dawn...choosing you to be my avatar. You'll simply have to do.

"Have to...do? BUG?" Senior asked, an offended look flickering across his face.

The other Entities have begun to make their appearance, and all will choose their avatar. I who stand for Life, am choosing you. You shall fight for me for the sake of your kind. And if you fail, your people will die.

Senior's eyes widened as the rose suddenly transfigured into a large, white lantern, brimming with power. He held it up, transfixed by its shimmering light, awe and wonder filling his eyes. The words were frightening, and yet there was no cruelty, no menace behind them. The being that spoke through this lantern was trying to be kind, a parent explaining an important but solemn duty to a child.

I want to prevent that. No matter how I DESPISE your kind's actions...I do not want you dead...any of you. Certainly not at the hands of the other Entities. So I ask you now...do you wish to save your world? Your people?

Light began to sift out of the White Lantern, light of so many shades, spilling out and swirling around the Irken communications officer as he found himself flooded with something...a power the likes of which he'd only tasted before, briefly, as he listened to the songs that filled him with joy. In a few moments it was as if his eyes, so long held quietly tight, were being pened. He, who had been dead so long, was finally alive...

"...what...are you doing? This...this feels wonderful..." Senior whispered. "I...I'm alive. I'm alive. Will...will I feel like this all the time if...if I help you?"

EVERYONE will feel like this.

"...yes..." Senior gasped happily, brimming with joy. "Oh, yes, YES!" He cheered. "I'll do it!"

And with that, the White Lantern shone like a brilliant star, transforming into a million points of light that seeped into Senior's body like a mist, the Irken feeling the presence of a being fare more magnificent and above any Irken as a star was above a grain of sand. Now he was host to the protector of Life.

Host to Sude, last of the Seraphi race...his new lord and God.

Destiny awaits...