I do not own Invader Zim, Jhonen Vasquez and the less awesome Nickelodeon do. I do, however, own most of the characters mentioned here. Sideos owns Sideos, Ravenpuff owns Tika, Half-Dude owns Ukengrazer, and LordSlappy owns STAIN. The latter two aren't here, they're on deviantART.

If you're wondering what this is, it's an entry into a contest called Blood-Sport over on deviantART. You just need a full-blooded Irken OC to enter. You can compete with either comics or stories, although it's slightly handicapped towards comics because they take longer. It'll be all kinds of fun violence and fighting. If you have a dA account and an Irken OC, I encourage your entry, but you need to enter by Saturday.

A Good Sport

Prologue

Domm brought up his battle saw, directly into the chin of the Vortian advancing on him. The many tiny teeth of the chainsaw spun and spun, and Domm met almost no resistance as his blade split open the face of the poor thing. He turned away from the thing immediately after, letting the blood spray onto his back and shoulder. Turning away brought a new threat into his line of sight – a tall, blue-eyed Irken bringing down a beam saber. He blocked with the chainsaw, but his opponent's blade could not be cut through or disrupted, and the beam was beginning to overheat his sawblade.

"Domm," a faint, far-off voice called out.

Frustrated, Domm kicked out with his leg and knocked one foot out from under the other Irken, knocking him off-balance. He shoved forward as hard as he could, and the swordsman fell flat on his back, the saber skidding away. Before he could recover, Domm plunged the blade down into his foe's chest. Unlike an Earth chainsaw, a Grimm Special battle saw gave off a soft hum instead of a motor's roar, although the sound of cutting through something hard was the same. The shriek of bone being sawed through and the hum of the saw itself were music to Domm's mismatched antennae as the tension (and the life) left the Irken's blue eyes.

"Domm!" Still far away, but more insistent this time.

"Abort," Domm said calmly, and the Irken, the chainsaw, the blood, and the warehouse they had been fighting in all faded away. Domm took off the simulator helmet, and looked around. His team's gym consisted of the virtual reality simulator, a treadmill and other cardio machines, several weight machines, a small shooting range, and a punching bag printed with the words "FIST GOES HERE". Standing at the door were the rest of his team: a pale, green-eyed female Irken wearing what was once an Invader's uniform, a tall, four-armed blue alien with an alarming smile and light armor, and a large, imposing Planet Jacker with dark green skin and a lot of navy-and-black armor. "What's going on? Are we going to fight some wanted idiots in a bar again?"

"Nah, we've got some kind of urgent probe message," Erris said, and Lio stepped aside to let a floating metal ball with a built-in screen bob into the room.

"Crap. Does this involve me?"

"I dunno. It's urgent, and it's from the Empire, so I figured you should be there to watch it."

Domm shrugged and pressed the only button on the thing, causing the screen to flicker on. It showed a live feed of an Irken with a visor and a winning smile, his antennae slicked back. "Ah, Dommination Industries. I'm glad to see you've responded. You have been cordially invited to Blood-Sport."

"And what exactly is Blood-Sport?" Domm was almost expressionless. Initial dealings with customers usually meant a very professional tone with Domm doing most of the talking, and Domm had decided to treat this invitation the same way. The others easily fell in line with this plan, silently standing at attention and staring at the screen as Domm negotiated (although Edh, who had trouble staying still for long, twitched his fingers like mad).

"It's a competition among the best of the best Irkens, young and old, rich and poor, loyal or independent. You are dropped on a conquered planet with no external weapons, and you fight other Irkens, with the last one standing being crowned the Empire's Champion."

"What happens if I lose?"

"The Irken Empire cannot give a one-hundred-percent guarantee of your safety, but we assure you-"

"Okay, I probably die. What happens if I win? What exactly does the Champion do?"

"There are no official duties of the Empire's Champion. The Blood-Sport is televised, so you will win glory throughout the Empire."

"Fame and glory, no work at my new job, cool. You said 'Independent' Irkens will be fighting… you mean the scum of the Empire, the rebels and troublemakers, don't you?"

"Well… er… ah… um…" the Irken spokesman shuffled his papers, looking for the proper scripted answer.

"Just yes or no, please."

"…yes."

"Can I collect the bounties on anybody I kill in the contest?"

"I don't see why not."

"Excellent. Last question…" Domm flashed a winning smile of his own. "What happens if I refuse?"

"Well…" the spokesman's grin took on a vicious look. "I have an outstanding execution order for two Defectives that's over one hundred years old right here…"

"We're in. All four of us will be wherever you need us to be by week's end."

"Appreciated, but the contest is for Irkens only, and no alliances are permitted. One of you two may go to represent your company…"

"I will-" Erris began to say, but Domm cut her off.

"I'll represent Dommination Industries."

"Excellent! The Empire looks forward to seeing you there. I'll transmit coordinates now…"

"Why'd it have to be YOU?!" Erris yelled at Domm as they neared the destination planet. "Why'd you cut me off?! You know I want to do this fight more than you!" Lio looked up from the issue of Sociopath Quarterly he was reading (this issue: 101 tips for avoiding conversation!), and Edh glanced back from his place at the pilot's seat. Domm, however, looked Erris evenly in the eye (not hard, considering they were the same height).

"Why am I going? Well… one, you'd get killed. Two, you specialize in marksmanship, and they don't allow us to begin with weapons other than what's built into our PAKs. Three, you have no spider-legs and no weapons in your PAK, and while a flight-enabled tackle is powerful, it's rarely lethal against an Irken. Four, you need to connect to a power outlet every few days for a viral purge, or you get sick… and die. Five, and most importantly, you'd get killed!"

"Then ignore them! We'll deal with anybody they send after us!"

"It'll be bad for business. Conversely, the publicity this will generate if I win will be good for business."

"Screw the rules then, and send Lio down in your place. He enjoys killing more than either of us, and he's practically impossible to hit. He'll kill everybody down there!"

"I really will," Lio said in agreement.

"If we sent in a non-Irken and he won on all Irken television, it would be a disaster. I have to enter, and I have to win," Domm said surely. "Erris, look, I know you'd rather die than live in fear of death, but you have to consider that the team needs your strategy."

"More than the team needs your leadership?" Erris asked sourly, one antenna raised.

"I actually have a fighting chance," Domm said. "Look, I'll keep in touch, okay? I'll keep my long-range communicator on, and you guys can feed me continuous advice. It'll be a good old-fashioned coalition victory."

"Fine," Erris spat. "Look, just be careful, all right? This is just the kind of fighting you don't prefer. You like orchestrated, every-move-planned-out-in-my-head-beforehand hunt-downs that make us look like battle gods, or barroom brawls where you have ten times the fighting ability of any of your opponents. This is a gritty, hand-to-hand, protracted melee with other prizefighters, psychopaths, mercs, and general elite soldiers. Some of the Empire's most infamous names will be there."

"What, will Sideos be there?" Domm asked jokingly.

"No, but Tika will. Ukengrazer's son and prodigy will. There's a rumor circulating that STAIN will be there."

"STAIN and Tika? No kidding?" Domm whistled. "Those two bounties alone would keep the roof over our head for a hundred years. And is Ukengrazer that one drill-sergeant type?"

"Yes."

"Ohhhh…" Domm said, and then, with a different inflection, "Oh. Well, I doubt the rest of them will be bringing in a support team. Who else?"

"The usual mass murderers, loose cannon invaders… some people who aren't fighters at all."

"Cool… alright, Erris, I'm going to rely on you for strategic info. Lio, I'll call you up if I need mechanical help. Edh… what will I call you for, Edh?"

"Flavor, big boy, flavor! I'm so damn sexy, your head will explode! The mere sound of my voice will K.O. your opponents in a rush of orgasmic ecstacy!" Edh cackled and pulled the craft into a barrel roll for no specific reason.

"That's right," Domm said in a I'm-too-weary-to-disagree tone of voice. "I'm going to get psyched," he said, reclining his seat until he was horizontal. "Alert me upon arrival."

End of Chapter

So that's it then. Every chapter from here on will be a fight scene until I'm eliminated from the tournament, or I've won. I hope it's the second one. If you like bloody fights between Irken OCs, I encourage you to keep reading or join yourself (or both!). If you want to read more about Domm, check out his introductory fic, Dommination Industries. Ciao!