Author's note: O.C belonging to me include 'ZIR' and 'Hatch' – however these are only introduced and featured in this particular story and are not intended to be reoccurring O.C. This is also my first Invader Zim Fanfic, but I've spent a lot of time editing and re-editing it, so be nice =)
And, I believe strongly in not adding Romance unless it is in cannon – so no romance in Invader Zim from me!
Disclaimer: I do not own Invader Zim.
Just beneath the surface
Snuggled up against the sofa, GIR slept, his tumb tucked in his mouth. He tossed and turned, dreaming quietly.
"W-w-waffles…" the robot murmured, snuffling, and turned over again.
He still remembered what Zim had said to him once. "SIR units don't need sleep, GIR. And they certainly don't 'dream'! How many times do I have to tell you that?"
But of course, you couldn't tell GIR anything.
However that night, as he tossed and turned, he wished he'd listened to Zim. Normally he just dreamt about waffles turning into weenies, squirrels teaching him to tap dance and piggies falling from the sky. But that night, he dreamt about a memory.
An old, terrifying memory.
GIR remembered being strapped down to a table, a pair of dark glowing eyes leering down at him. He remembered a knife so sharp it could cut through metal, being forced down on him…
- And he was screaming.
* * *
"Welcome to Planet Dirt" the sign displayed, as a ship zoomed past on its way towards the planet. The latest recruits for the Irken janitorial squad looked out over their new workplace, trying in vain to hide their dismay.
"It stinks and we're not even down there yet," muttered one small Irken.
"SILENCE" Bellowed their boss. The Irken who had spoken shrank back, as a menacing finger was pointed towards him. "YOU. State your name."
"Janitor Hatch, sir."
This sent a wave of sniggers from the other Irkens on the squad. Hatch glared at them. Just wait. One day he'd pass the military test, and then they wouldn't be laughing. He could see it now: Invader Hatch. That would show them. That would show them ALL…!
But his thought bubble was burst when the boss himself sneered at his name.
"Well, Hatch, you've just earned yourself three months worth of extra shifts, haven't you? And if you don't like it, you'll be fired without question." He addressed the rest of the squad. "And let that be a lesson to the lot of you. Now quit complaining and prepare to work for your Empire!"
* * *
Hatch had been working for hours now. This planet was worse than he'd ever thought. It was a giant junk yard of stench – everything the Irken Empire no longer had use for was kept here – from broken-down vehicles and ships and rusted scrap metal, to mountains of rubbish and raw sewage.
And there were, quite literally, mountains of it. Not even centuries of work could shift the ever growing pile of filth that accumulated there everyday – it was, of course, called 'Planet Dirt' for a reason.
Hatch stopped working for a moment, wiping the sweat off his brow. He watched as an exhausted Irken worker operated big heavy machinery, shifting piles of junk with the massive metal scoop attached to the end of it.
Suddenly another Irken worker came running up to the machine, banging on the side of it.
"Hey. Boss says we get a break. You hear that? A break, can you believe it?"
The worker operating the machine spun around, stunned.
"What?!" He exclaimed. His attention left the machine for a moment – and in that split second, Hatch witnessed everything all fall into chaos.
Not concentrating, the machine worker let the lever slip out of his hand, the stick jutting forward violently. The arm of the machine with the scoop attached swung dangerously, colliding with a nearby mountain of rubbish with a deafening crunch.
Both of the workers screamed, scrabbling to get away, as the whole colossal pile became an avalanche.
When the dirt and debris finally settled, Hatch could see that both workers had escaped, unharmed. But the machine worker was aghast with dismay.
"NOOOO. THE MACHINE – IT'S RUINED! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO EXPLAIN THIS?"
The machine worker marched up to the cascaded pile and kicked it in frustration. Wrong move. There was a scream, as a particularly heavy piece of junk wobbled, falling, falling…It landed on the Irken worker with a sickening crunch. Seconds later, his friend made a run for it, horrified.
Hatch, having observed the whole thing with only mild concern, now glanced about him. No one was around. Cautious and curious, the young Irken approached the mess left by the avalanche.
There was something there amongst the rubble. Something very familiar.
Hatch crept in closer. Face-down and half-submerged in the mass of junk, was a battered – but unmistakable – shape of a robot.
"A SIR unit," marvelled Hatch. He considered it for a moment, thoughtful. "I've always wanted one of those...too bad I failed the military test." He sighed.
Then he noticed a splintered piece of junk wedged into the side of its head. Without thinking, he pulled it out.
Immediately, the damaged unit sprung to life, as if suddenly activated. The SIR struggled its way out from underneath the rubble, fixing its sight on Janitor Hatch. Disturbingly, its eyes were still black and fairly lifeless, although they flickered to red every few seconds – like something running on low battery.
The young Irken stepped away, both awed and slightly nervous. The SIR robot seemed to tower above him, as it stood up on top of the rubble. Its antenna was crooked, deformed into a jagged 'Z' shape...and its stitched up mouth hung down on one side. Smears of dirt and rust covered its entire metal frame, due to several years of disuse. An ambiguous Irken symbol could only just be seen engraved on its head under the layers of grime that smothered it.
"Unit is not fully functional," the robot reported. It fizzled and cracked as it spoke. "Severe...d-damage...caused to system...."
The SIR unit seemed to struggle to get itself to function, its joints beginning to give way. Slowly it struggled to its feet again.
"Emergency power systems...operational. Will f-find means necessary to temporarily repair systems and...l-leave this incompetent planet!"
The SIR glared down at Irken Hatch, pointing at him.
"YOU will help me find the resources I need…"
Hatch looked up at the damaged robot. "What? Help you? Irken Janitor or not, I do not take orders from a SIR unit!"
Suddenly, the unit switched into full duty mode. Its eyes narrowed, managing to flicker onto red. An array of weapons sprung from its head, aimed directly at Hatch.
"You do now," the SIR unit told him, its mouth becoming a twisted grin, "you do now…"
* * *
