FILE: [INVADER ZIM]/The-Rats-Of-NIMH…

-LOG ENTRY 07-

BEGINNING/OF/THE/END:EXE.09-16-2017

Dib awoke to find that his cat, Sammy, was sleeping on his face. He shoved the feline aside, who yowled indignantly in drowsy protest, and sat up with a groan. He yawned, stretched, scratched himself. Then he lurched to his feet and headed for the shower. Sammy arched his spine, digging his little claws into the mattress a couple times before he curled up on Dib's pillow, in the indentation where his head had been. He was still there when Dib came back fifteen minutes later.

"Lazy cat," he muttered, with a shake of his head. He'd found the orange-and-white Sammy as a kitten on his doorstep a couple years back, fed him once, and he just never left. Now he was a fat, languid, contented house cat who loved Dib unconditionally when he got fed or when it was convenient.

Dib padded into the kitchen, stifling another yawn, and checked his refrigerator to see if any food had appeared there since yesterday. It hadn't. But he found an old, stale bagel in the cupboard, and some left-over cream cheese he was sure should have expired by now. But it smelled alright, so he decided he'd take the risk and spread it over his breakfast while he made space at the table.

He didn't have work today, and that prospect alone made him restless. He was a terrible workaholic and never knew what to do with himself during his free-time. His eyes wandered over the case files spread haphazardly around him, and for a moment his fingers twitched toward them, considering, before he shook his head. It was this sort of behavior, the inability to shut off that had lost him Mary Sue, and he'd promised himself he'd take a break. He shoved the chair back and pitched to his feet. He needed some air—maybe he'd go to the park, or catch a movie.

'I heard Sweeney Todd was pretty good,' Dib mused as he tugged his coat off it's hook, slung it around his shoulders, and was half-way out the door before he realized he was this close to smacking straight into his little sister.

"Jesus!" he screeched, and promptly slammed the door in her face.

Huge mistake.

"Oh, you did not just do that," Gaz snarled, and Dib could have sworn her fury was tangible, since it was spilling in through the key hole and twining menacingly up his arms. Eep-ing, he quickly jerked the door open and regarded her a moment, trying to regain his lost composure.

"I'm sorry, for second there I…I thought I saw the Devil," he explained breathlessly. Gaz just rolled her eyes and swept in past him, lowering the temperature by about ten degrees, as if even that too was cowering in her presence. She cast a cursory look about his apartment, before throwing him a dry glare over her shoulder.

"Looks like something exploded in here," she informed him haughtily, by way of greeting. "You seriously live in this hell hole?"

"Well, hello to you, too," Dib replied conversationally, smiling in polite interest to cover his smirk. "I'm doing quite well, thank you for asking. Yourself?"

"Oh, please stop with the sarcasm crap," she told him in a long-suffering way. "Afraid to burst your bubble there, but you're not funny. Not at all."

"Oh, yeah, that really hurt," Dib smirked. "My heart's bleeding here."

"Whatever. Going somewhere?" she asked, eyeing his coat.

"Why, yes, actually, I was just about to—"

"No, does it look like I care?" she asked, cutting him off. "You're coming with me today, and don't argue or I'll kill you."

"I'm sorry, when did I agree to this?" he demanded.

"See, now I have to kill you," Gaz said, with a shake of her head and a look of 'look what you did'. But then she considered him again and saw he was serious. "Ah, you do know what day it is, right?" she asked, grinding her teeth.

He frowned, feeling the beginnings of real annoyance.

"Well, sweetheart, I do believe it's the 16th of September," he replied. "To be more specific, it's a Wednesday, and oh! If you really want to get into all the gritty details, it's also the day Mexico gained its independence. Is there anything else—really, anything at all—you need to know, or do you just enjoy wasting my time?"

"Yeah, could you be a bigger ass?" Gaz asked.

"Could your ass get any bigger?" Dib shot back. "I mean, my God, woman! Cut down on the pizza, would you please? I doubt that with the way you stuff your face on all that grease and cheese you're ever going to fit back into those tight little jeans you keep hidden in your closet—"

"God, I swear you can be such a girl, the way you just go on and on and on," Gaz cried, exasperated. "You're like the thing that won't shut up. Oh, and you missed something, Nancy Drew."

"What?" Dib snapped irritably.

"It's Pizza Day."

'Damn.'

Pizza Day was Gaz's way of staying in touch. She never called or visited, save for once or twice a month when they got together at Bloaty's. He didn't think she could stand to be near him any longer than that.

"Oh…right," he said, feeling a small twinge of guilt. "I forgot about that…"

"Just come on, I'd like to get this over with," she said huffily, and he followed her sheepishly out the door.

[...accessing...]

Zim awoke to find that his robot, Gir, was sleeping on his face. Well, pretending to sleep at any rate. The second Gir noticed the Irken was awake, he opened his mouth and let out the most horrible alarm-noise in the world, like something between an ambulance siren and a bipolar rooster. Snarling, Zim hurled the robot across the room, and rolled over with a groan. Gir hit the wall with a metallic splat and slid to the floor, giggling cheerfully to himself.

"I love those breaking noises…" he said giddily. Zim pulled the pillow over his head.

"Gir, get out," he snapped. "I told you I don't want to ever deal with your idiocy until after ten. It is now ten till nine."

"YOU WANT SOME BACON?" Gir shrieked.

"No, Gir," Zim said, gritting his teeth very hard in an attempt to be patient. "I don't want any bacon. I want you to leave."

"But I put coffee in it, juuuuust the way you like!" the robot sang. He was still upside down from where he'd landed, and was kicking his feet in the air.

"NO. OUT."

"Ovaltine?"

"NO, GIR!" Zim shouted. He'd never been all that patient, really. "I WANT YOU GONE! NOW! NOWNOWNOW!"

"Okay," Gir chirped, flopped over and skipped from the room. Zim hissed a sigh through his teeth, and tried to go back to sleep, when his actual alarm went off. Oh, right. He had classes today. Growling, he considered whether he really wanted to go. He was majoring in mechanical engineering, but he could have tested out any time he wanted (honestly, the things these humans had the gall to call technology…), so it was really just an excuse to keep himself busy. Otherwise, he would have gone stir-crazy ages ago. That, and it was the perfect way to study this dirt-ball's weaponry and electronics—on the first day alone, at a cursory glance, he'd spotted tons of weaknesses and things he could exploit in order to finally end these pitiful monkeys.

Well, he was already up. So, with much grumbling to himself, he rolled out of bed and went about his usual morning routine. It rarely changed, or deviated in the slightest from the day before. First off and foremost, a dust bath to keep his skin from gathering any toxic earth-moisture, and a light coat of glue to keep him from burning up in the rain. Press out his uniform, pull it on. Ease the kink out of his left antenna because sometime in the night he'd rolled over and slept on it. Then breakfast, all sugar and sweet-things, and coffee after that. Not the drink, the beans. He couldn't get enough of them, really.

Since he'd stopped up the caffeine in his PAK, he'd found himself slowing down. Once before, a long time ago, he hadn't even needed sleep. It was so strange. He remembered a well of energy, all taut and crackling, threatening to shake him to pieces if he didn't do something with it, now, immediately, at once. He remembered late nights—or were they early mornings?—of sitting before his consoles, nestled deep down in his base, and planning. He remembered the twitch-snap force, shivering along muscles and feeding right into his heart, filling him to bursting.

It was still there, but…diminished. Sleeping, like a living thing. It only reared up when his blood boiled with adrenaline, when everything was on the line, when he was locked into Dib and the world was shattering all around. And when it lay back down, curling up deep in his gut, something in his head opened up and he could think. He could think before, of course, but it was clearer now than ten years ago. It wasn't fogged over, or fuzzed out, or beaten down by the sheer amount of pressure that screamed through his veins every second of every minute of every hour of the day and on into the night.

But without those shots of sugar, or the jump-start of raw coffee beans, any sort of energy quickly sputtered and died. He got tired too easily, and it was so hard to wake up in the mornings, but he knew it was worth it to be taller. He grabbed another handful of beans, crunching them to dust in his teeth, and thought about how to crush the world, and torment the Dib, about calling the Tallest, and could dolphins really be inter-galactic travelers from space? He would have to look in on that. They might prove useful.

Then it was time to go, and he was reaching for the door, and that's when the alarms went off.

"I didn't do it!" Gir screamed, and dived under the couch.

"Don't be stupid, Gir," Zim snapped distractedly. "Those are proximity alerts."

And then he realized what he'd said, and came to a screeching halt. Proximity alerts. A ship had just entered the solar system. With a strange, strangled noise he turned on his heel and bolted for the trash can, classes forgotten. The elevator couldn't have gone any slower, and when it finally opened he tumbled out and rushed for the computer.

"What is it? What is it?" he demanded, wary and tense and alert. He was trembling, and his skin crawled and his entire nervous system flared, his heart ballooning with wild hope, all anxious and fluttering like a little winged insect. His antennae pricked, standing nearly upright, and slightly twitching in convulsive starts to the quick tick-tock in his chest. Outlanders never came this way—this part of the galaxy was too quiet, too empty, and (this was unbeknownst to Zim) most in the Milky-Way knew to stay far from Earth and the violently psychotic monkey-people that lived there. Those that knew of humans knew to leave them well enough alone, and those that didn't either learned it fast, or just didn't stick around long enough to find out.

But could it be them? Could they have come, after all this time? The computer was taking forever—several mili-seconds, in fact—before it finally gave a little cough, indicating it had come up with an answer.

"There are three big ships coming this way," it said, in a bored manner that suggested it couldn't have cared less.

"Yes, yes, but what are they?" Zim all but howled, banging impatiently on the console.

"They're Irken—the Armada!" the computer cried hastily. "Would you please stop hitting me?"

It hadn't needed to ask. At the word "Irken" Zim froze. He hardly dared to breathe, or maybe he just couldn't. Everything came to a dead stop, and the room seemed to almost jump and shudder to his eyes—unfocused—and his antennae—rigid and quivering. He felt as if his guts had just dropped out onto the floor, or that his head had suddenly floated to the ceiling, and nothing in his brain was making sense.

The Armada. They were here. They were here, after all this time, and Zim could do little more than just stand there and stare, caught off guard and completely overthrown by the things his mind was reeling with.

But he knew that something had just come to an end.

[…Please Wait While The File Loads…]

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE

Disclaimer: Death to those who claim Invader Zim, if be they not the creators!

It's the calm before the storm, and all the shit's about to hit the fan. And wow, this was a bit longer, wasn't it? Hope you enjoyed it. I'm really itching to get to where I want this to go, and there's more Zim and Dib goodness coming up next. Hooray!

As you saw from this chappie, I decided Gaz is gonna tag along for the ride, too. I like her—she's a lot like me, but way more antisocial and morbid. I like her in this, she's got the same sort of biting sarcasm Dib does, but instead of crushing you slowly beneath an on-going rant, she just stabs you through the heart with a quick one-liner. Instant death.

Also, I made tasty brownies, so if you review you can have one!

Raha