I'll try to hold myself back from criticizing on how horrible I write… but I keep writing anyway. Rated T only because of a bad word later on that my sister didn't like… but should really have no effect on you. Oh, and some implication of… naughtiness? I don't know where she got that from. I'll devour you all and your souls later with my friendly exorcist ways. Anyway, my first fic here… could use criticism from people besides myself, although, I never take it very well… and flames I guess too, but I only really like to insult the person back as best I can. This is boring at first, yessss… but I guess it gets better later.
Disclaimer: If you really don't know I don't own this, I pity you. I am a mere white, slightly anti-social freak who likes to write of things that aren't even of his own imagination. And that's the most creative disclaimer I have for you. There. Die.
VICTORY! Victory for ZIM!
Finally, after these many years of blending with this horrible subspecies, bending at their will, just to appear what they termed normalcy in their disorderly world, they would finally bow to their knees to the almightiness that was Zim. He was no Invader. He was a CONQUEROR. Conqueror Zim. Now that was a fitting title for the praise he so rightly deserved. But it would not stop there. Oh no, so many new words would be added to the human and Irken dictionaries to just minimally describe the divinity that was he! No words to be created could fully express his greatness!
After all this time being ridiculed, laughed at, hurt in the squeedilyspooch, and enduring the torture of the indigenous life possibly realizing his true mission, these beings were under his control and at his merciless mercy.
And now, the insufferable filth – Dib and tolerating his constant stalking and endeavors to prove his differing anatomy by dissecting him and revealing his insides to all mankind… a thing of the past.
This pitiful race knew who he was now.
Their downfall.
Their leader.
The idiotic paranormal investigator would no longer irritate him. His little information on him was futile; there would be no resistance he could muster to overwhelm his dominance. The living of the humans, if not decided to be eradicated, would be enslaved and forced to build colossal stone statues of his incredible physique to express his immense awesomeness. And Gir would get his taste of the glory too; maybe even piggies could be carved into blocks of stone and maybe a few extras for his expanding empire on the moon. Oh, and not to forget Dib, he would get his share too. Zim could just imagine the stone copies of Dib with an utterly horrified carved expression and some form of pointy object cutting through his gargantuan head in sculpture.
But more important things were to be done. First to watch the major cities of this sad revolving rock of dirt burn to the ground as well as hear the diminishing screams of those unlucky inhabitants who hadn't be found by his Irken enforcements. As what the conqueror was doing now.
Somewhere in a barren grassy plain, on the edge of a cliff, Zim stood, looking… important. The grass was dying to have such potent importance stand upon it and the sky darkened ominously to its new master.
The Invader watched with wide red implants of wicked pleasure to see the horrid city burn with horrible fires generated by really… pretty… lasers. The green boy grinned. That sliver of enemy territory had now fallen. What a beautiful sight to see it die. And with a good view too. With his new height. These fading monsters of height, comparable to his Tallests, no longer towered over him. After 7 years, he had grown to the full height of a human adult almost -to about 6 foot 3. Was he not just absolutely beyond perfection?
He was King now. He would rule these peasant entities of doom with his iron fist to be feared and obeyed. He would make them suffer for how much they magnified the terror of his simple mission and for extending it to this long.
And with his queen. The love of his life? The lovely QUEEN- ??
Zim awoke with a start from his inoperative body's distress, leaping to his feet, breathing hard, despite the fact he didn't have lungs like a human. It happened again. This was bad. Very bad. Why was this happening to him? The Irken calmed himself. Had he been asleep? No, he couldn't have. Irkens had no need to sleep, sure, maybe fall inoperative temporarily so that his squeedilyspooch can revive and such, but never yield entirely to something comparable to a human subconscious's takeover. But these visions… where were they coming from? If coming from his mind, they had to be coming from his PAK; his PAK must be getting too faulty. Yeesss, that had to be it.
"COMPUTER!" Zim demanded the house's presence.
"Yes, Master?" his computer gave the reply, sounding unusually attentive today, like he had also had some time to rest.
"I need you to perform a performance scan on my PAK. I suspect it's not at full-production and stooping to levels where it conducts there HIDEIOUS visions from the data it collects from this FILTHY planet. Also, scan my brilliant brain-meats for foreign imprinting of any kind," Zim commanded. After deciphering Zim's thesaurus-y words that he continued to use strangely like a bad author obviously trying too hard to capture his character, the computer was silent until a low hum sounded and from somewhere in the base, a netted blue light shown on Zim's back, crawling up and down the PAK. The light retired and came back, receded in size, to check the upper area of Zim's impatient head before completely withdrawing.
"Scan complete," the computer told him automatically. "No signs of foreign imprinting found."
"What about my PAK? Is its performance… not… gooder… as before?" Zim asked, "drastically enough to shut down every now and then to supply these visions?"
"Weeell," his computer droned, knowing it was on a touchy subject. "Nothing out of the ordinary as far as a defective PAK would go…"
Zim cringed to hear the word 'defective'.
"But as far as standard programs go, its progress is fine. The personality region is questionable, as always…"
It waited a second, wondering if Zim would lash out at him. He fortunately didn't.
"… Cause of momentary shut downs and "visioning" is unknown."
"Eh, I AM ZIM. The PAK must have a glitch, what other explanation is there?!" Zim yelled, raising his voice for the reason he normally would – for no apparent reason.
"Well, what explanation is there for Gir?" the computer asked.
"GIR? What is wrong with my robot slave?!" The green boy sounded insulted.
"He shuts down and has these visions all the time… unfortunately, many of them while still awake."
"Gir has my problem?"
"Possibly, he does seem to have a deluded sense of reality."
"MY GIR?! MY accomplice? MY slave? You speak nonsense, computer! SHEER NONSENSE!"
"I'M GONNA 'SPOLDE WHEN PIGS 'SPLODY!" Gir's laughter bounced into the room, bounding off the sides of the metal walls, creating multitudes of the phrase that slowly diminished to leave Zim in his awkward silence and to just imagine if his computer was smirking.
"Okaaay I admit, he does have some behavioral glitches," Zim mused thoughtfully, "but to have a problem as advanced as mine? Can he?"
"It's possible."
Zim hesitated.
"Leave me, computer, do whatever minorities you do around here."
"You mean like RUN your entire base?"
"Yeah yeah, minor stuff like that or whatever."
His computer sighed, undervalued as usual, and left to keep the base under control. Zim stayed busy in thought. This wasn't normal, not at all, especially since keeping from being aloud was not a characteristic of his. Usually, he yelled or screamed to the world all that his mighty mind interpreted and imagined, but now, he felt more comforted when keeping his thoughts in the protected vicinity of his head. Why? Same reason he was tiring so easily and why he was seeing these crazy mental pictures. He had no clue why they were occurring. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't a complete shortcoming, far from it actually. No longer was he short, as some people would put it, and in more ways than one, Zim knew all were substandard compared to him anyway, but he had now the sophisticated stature of the humans as well. The dream wasn't an unreachable dream, as it seemed to Zim these days, but his height was realistic there. He was about 6 foot 3" according to the worm babies' measurement system. Whatever the virus attacking him, it was increasing his length. Everything looked even smaller, even meager, and even more inferior to Zim. But what good was the height if the energy to hold it kept failing him? Maybe the computer had been right. Gir had similar symptoms, except for growth, but that was understandable. He was a robot, and since both their brains worked the same way- by computer, Gir might just be the answer.
"GIR!" Zim screeched.
"YES MY MASTER?" Gir appeared before him, eyes red with slowing obedience. They negligent blue returned to the lit goggles and Gir's head began to wander, seeing all the many things there were to do instead of listening to his Irken master.
"Gir, focus… well, since we're on the topic, why CAN'T you focus?" Zim asked.
Gir looked at him blankly.
"I dunno."
"Oookey, well then… why does your programming not fully execute your submission unto ME?!"
"Look, I havta make biscuits, sooo… LET'S MAKE 'EM!" Gir squealed.
"NO GIR! ERRRGH, why do you not listen to me?!"
"…I dunno."
Zim exhaled slowly, calming his Irken nerves. Or WERE they Irken? He didn't feel himself. He didn't feel like an Irken, a superior body of SUPERIORNESS like the Irken Empire rightfully termed as a fact to there almost complete Operation Impending Doom II. Maybe it was because he wasn't. He was a defective. A miserable defective. Just as his robot. Though Gir was definitely not miserable. Zim had to face the facts. His PAK was flawed. He was flawed. He was just never wired to live a full life. He was dying.
He suddenly felt the usual lightweight of the PAK on his back simmer, as in the normal energy it fed through his veins was lessening, and the PAK itself gaining weight as fast as… an American (fast!) on his weakening body. He needed to do something before he shut down again.
"Gir… um, want to make biscuits?"
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYY!!"
Zim felt his antennas droop to his shoulders as those too slumped. Depressing. This might be one of his only memories of achievement in his life. Pouring ready-made biscuit batter with his robot. But if he was dying, he might as well spend some quality time with his metallic slave before his PAK decided to finally give away.
