The pang of metal-on-metal could barely be made audible past the large throng of aliens that crowded around each other, the loud sounds of smacking lips, and roaring ships overhead. A body, hastily moving through the crowds, went by almost as a flash, a shot of purple being the only thing regular eyes could peer through.

"Move it! Move! Get out of the way, hurry!" a voice five feet off the ground shouted up (and down) to the creatures that stood in its path of freedom. The Irken needed to hurry, lest his warden find him, and banish him back to his filthy grease trap of a prison. The other was not far behind, grunts of parted, agitated aliens scattering behind his poor, emaciated body.

Don't focus on him, focus on hiding, staying away and escaping back to Devastis. Your people need you, even if they were too stupid to keep you. His brain, his PAK, was set to rot with pathetic thoughts.

The young Irken's Frylord wasn't too far behind, his eyes locked on his target, his intentions of keeping him clear, even if he couldn't see above the crowd. Sizz-Lorr was called here for a reason, the sorry excuse for a fry cook (and former Elite) was to stay on Foodcourtia. He was no Invader, his PAK even agreed with the loathing. He could not be a Tallest, he could not be an Invader, he could not even be a successful Elite. He was a fry cook, and that was that. And that was how it would always be.

Sizz-Lorr jumped down a narrow platform, his ankles almost buckling from pressure, the need to snap from strain unbearable. Yet he pressed on, jumping on the other side of the hovering disk that was now Foodcourtia. He leaped up to grab a stable beam, clinging to it for dear life, and flipping, sitting atop the support to gaze at his safest bet. He jumped ahead of his out-stretched arms, intending to grab onto the beam to his front, but it moved along with the sign it held. "FOOD" was its main focus, not really saying what food, and where. Just food. After all, this was the home of food.

The young Irken's body smashed through a store window with as much force as he had built for his pounce, his body sliding across the floor from his stomach, and hitting an employee's leg with the top of his skull. The customers about the shop stared with amazement.

The boy got to his feet, his hands groping the floor to move forward, and under the counter.

"Sh!" He warned the man at the counter with a single gesture. Not another word was said of the situation.

Sizz-Lorr sat in silence, his legs pulled up to his chest so no trace of him could be seen. His eyes glanced every which way, his thoughts returning to why he was here: to escape. He let out a short lived sigh of relief before a large, metal claw burst through the counter, grabbing the boy by his sides, forcing a loud shriek from the Irken. He was soon dragged through the air, the aliens below him only getting another glimpse of the flash from before as it passed, returning to his owner.

The Frylord walked back to Shloogorgh's casually, the boy sulking, his arms crossed above him, the chord clipped to his PAK snugly. This was a fine opportunity for the lesser beings around him to point and laugh at his failed attempt of freedom. They knew he was pathetic. Everyone did, but the boy himself.

The smaller Irken tossed him over the counter lazily, as if this was just an everyday occurrence he was forced to put up with.

"No!" Sizz-Lorr pounded on the counter with his curled up claws. "Why can't you just let me leave?! Can't you see I hate it here?!"
"Because you were assigned to me, boy," the not-so ominous Frylord stared up at his captive dryly, his claws searching for a Lik-A-Stik in his pocket. "And you might as well get use to it. You're never going to leave."

"We'll see about that, worm," Sizz-Lorr's claws bit the counter as he leaned into the others bumpy, bland face, his own pulling at the grimace he forced up.

"Yeah, now stay at the counter, take orders. I'll be in the back." The shorter Irken triumphantly shoved the stick between his lips, sucking all the flavor out of it as he wandered.

Sizz-Lorr squatted back down to pick up his hat, and apron, putting them back on with melancholy in his motion. "I'll never get out of here..."

And that was all the Frylord forced himself to watch, his large, full grown hands grubbing the wire from his PAK. The image on the screen faded to black, the monitor receding from the host it lurched from suddenly.

Sizz-Lorr lay back on his bed (which was nothing more than a flat, metal table fit to accommodate his large body, and fitted with one large, stained pillow and sheet to make it feel cozier) with a sigh, his eyes shutting, giving him time to let his rotted mind wander.

He didn't deserve to be here. He knew that. He was meant to be a Tallest, and a great one at that. His PAK even told him that. It did in a much ruder way, but it hinted at greatness. Sizz-Lorr was even taller than the Tallest! It wasn't fair...

In Earth standards, he was incredibly wealthy, all the monies from every Foodening gathering down below the bowels of the restaurant. What was he to do with the monies? Buy more things for Shloogorgh's? For himself? What was the point? Material things meant absolutely nothing.

There were the employees to see to as well. The only name of them he could really recall was Gashloog, since he screamed it at every customer that could care less of his identity, or his existence. And there were those two fat Irken boys... Eh, he believed the small one of the two was named Huffa... The large one he forgot. It didn't matter, anyway. At least he had help this time around. The Foodening was over, and he was set to enjoy his grotesque job for another few months, before the event began again.

Sizz-Lorr stopped caring about Zim, even though the Tallest told him that if Zim were to escape again, he would "lose his job." The Tallest... both of them. He hated both of them immensely. The red one was too "in his business" about everything, too commanding, and rude. And the purple one... was just annoying. Always demanding more and more snacks every time. He was thoroughly disappointed that he hadn't exploded yet. Wasn't that the whole appeal of this horrid place? To "Eat until you explode!"?

What false advertisement...

The Frylord forced himself up off the table, slinging himself over the side, and standing on his feet.

He needed to think of something... He was his own boss now, and had even planned to leave this place once he had achieved this goal of his, but as the years grew, he found little pleasantries with being a Frylord. He got to keep all the profits, he seldom worked, and he could bedevil his loyal employees and customers as much as he wanted. (Wise, or not) But his dream was to be Tallest. Since he was a smeet, he knew that was his prime occupational choice, what he was meant for, why he breathed. And now, it was in the thin, bony claws of two moronic teenagers...

No. He wouldn't let this go on anymore. But what was he to do? Kill them? Do away with his own Tallest? He loathed them, yes, but that would just be foolish... He would think of something.

Sizz-Lorr tore away his oppressive uniform, and moved himself heavily from the large, grim room, the door sliding open for him, allowing him access to move as he pleased. Maybe it knew what he was up to.

"Gashloog," he called out to his lower employee, who turned to him with a sharp salute.

"Yes, my Frylord?"

Sizz-Lorr lifted a hand to dismiss the boy, who let his arm fall to his side with dismay. Gashloog, by far, had to be his most loyal employee. He was odd, yes, but he genuinely enjoyed his job, and, dare Sizz-Lorr admit, he was actually glad Gashloog had applied to work at Shloogorgh's. It was nice to have someone around who didn't remind you that your world was just a day after day disappointment about your progress as an Irken.

"Congratulations, Gashloog, I'm promoting you," a large wire shot from his PAK to the little Irken's own, lifting him in the air. The customers at the counter flinched, some even ducked.

"Really?!" The boy wriggled with naive joy. "Oh, but sir... why now?"

"Because I can do whatever I want," he snapped down at the new Frylord. "You can get all of the supplies in my old room, check with the main computer to get a name tag, and set the system to recognize you as the new Frylord-"
"B-but sir," Gashloog shook with the news. (Or from the high dose of energy coursing through his body) "I can't... What will happen to you?!"

"Just don't worry about it. I'm retiring."

Gashloog, along with the other two employees, and some loyal customers let out loud gasps to show how startled they were with the announcement.

"But-"
"No more of that," the wire let go of Gashloog's PAK, forcing him to the ground quite harshly. "Good luck." He moved through the portal of the working world to the outside, his skin almost crawling with pleasure as he heard the entrance ding with his body's loss. He needed to retrieve a ship, a new one, not the one that was strict property of his old restaurant. He couldn't seem suspicious as he boarded the Massive...

(Yeah, so, this is a chapter story I've been hankering to make for a while now. The main reason I made it is because Sizz-Lorr has got to be one of my favorite characters in the show, and there are absolutely no Fan Fictions with him! None! I know, I made the same face. And I wanted to share my belief of how his past, and whatnot was as well. If I get enough reviews, which I probably won't, because Sizzy isn't too popular, I will continue the story with much better chapters. Also, it will have very graphic, very gory horror scenes, and rough romance scenes, so keep that in mind, too. Oh, and there will always be a flashback sequence at the beginning of the story, but will not be arranged by start to finish, meaning it won't be from smeethood, to current day. It will differ depending on the main focus of the chapter.

Thank you for reading. ^^)