A/N: There! Filled my "at-least-one-new-story-per-year" quota. I haven't had much time writing, I've moved out and started working. Unlike the past, I no longer have tons of time writing whatever I want for shits and giggles, so I use my time sparingly now to use it... to write for shits and giggles. Guess it's no different, then. Hope ya understand and enjoy this small appetizer without a main course or dessert.
Note that this story has a couple of small shout outs to the comics.
Unusually chipper, he chose to laugh maniacally upon discovering GIR had trashed the entire house with pork and taco mix.
For now, it didn't matter, greasy stains hard to wash away non-withstanding.
To totally pat himself on the back (he would later jot that down as a new idea for an invention) he'd come up with the most ingenius plan ever concieved by Irkenkind! Not that his plans in his previous attempts had been any less brilliant, but they'd suffered the disadvantage of being spoiled by that stupid Dib-head. This one, however, would affect him directly.
He wasn't one for indulging in Earth past-times by will but as he'd been tasked to enslave all of humankind there were things to be sacrificed in order for that to happen, including his own time, essence and brain cells.
With the help of his loyal robotic assistant, he'd set up his own social media account. Aside from the fact he was trying to blend in better with the human smeets (and also post awesome selfies about how amazing, normal and Earthy he was), there was another tactic to it. See, humans could be so pathetic as to get themselves involved in things called "internet drama". Of what he'd researched, it entailed a famous person doing something significant of a relative nature, usually bad, either in the past or present, with all of their followers overreacting to it, massively hating on them to the point they get so called "cancelled".
Despite many explanations, Zim didn't completely understand what it encompassed, or why humans are so in love with blowing things out of proportion, but he didn't need to understand more of these follies. As long as he followed the initial steps, humankind would gobble it all up and his arch-nemesis would be out for the count.
He was 100% all set and ready. This coul-, nay, will work.
"Master, do you want to dance on these butchered pig and taco remnants with me?!" GIR exclaimed, snapping Zim out of his guffawing tirade of thought.
"No, I don't! No one wants that!"
"I do!"
"... SILENCE! Zim wins this argument!"
"Just like the argument you had with an avocado last week." Computer retorted.
"That jerk was just sitting there, being green and stuff. Someone had to show him what for. So, I put his existence to a slow and grisly end, my great evil permeating through it's slimy, gooey texture!" Zim yelled up into the walls of the lab, the echos bouncing back as further confirmations of his claim.
"... you stepped on it." Computer said flatly in disagreement with Zim's definition of "winning".
"That avocado was my friend!" GIR's tears spurted out of his huge, cyan eyes in recollection of the terror.
"I don't care! Besides, he couldn't have been that good of a friend if you chose to eat him afterwards. Anyway, as I was thinking…"
Whilst in his scheming nook, it had come to him in an urfglobx. Dib, to his own pleasure, was already disliked by his peers, so how he'd get them to dislike him even more was the tricky part. None of his paranormal nonsense phased them by now so it had to be something extraordinarily offensive for them to feel disgusted. Thus, the question was where he could find the most controversial dirt on him, the kind of dirt that struck a chiming chord in humans, something they truly cared enough about to feel upset over.
Ugh, he was not looking forward to that step of his plan.
Conveniently, as thoughts ran through, he'd been distracted enough to not notice that GIR and the Computer were having a chitchat, or… maybe it was more like one-sided arguing.
"Why do you hate avocadoes, blasphemer?!" The robot shrieked at the monitor with stern fists in the air.
"I never said I hated avocadoes, just that there are fruits with superior nutritional values." The answer was very straight-forward and logical. Unfortunately, he wasn't dealing with a logical robot.
"Yes, you hate avocadoes! If you don't like them you hate them! Avocado-hater! I no like you no more! I HATE YOOUUUUU…!"
At that, the unfinished concoction of his diabolical scheming came to a close with just the right words clicking for him.
"GIR!" Zim walked up to his robot slave and shook him eagerly. "You're a genius!"
"I KNOW!" The SIR unit laughed as he suddenly forgot his temporary gripes with his fellow AI.
"And since you're of a lower rank, that makes ME a super genius by proxy. Zim truly IS amazing!"
He touched the tips of his claws together, smile devious and evil in its zip-like complexion.
This truly was a grand plan; now he just had to make preparations…
NEXT DAY
Dib woke up in his bed feeling rather optimistic. He didn't know why, but it just felt like today was going to be a good day.
All of his radar juice must have gone out the day before.
He walked into the kitchen for breakfast and took note of his sister barely starting on her cereal as she was already clicking away on her handheld console.
"Good morning, Gaz", Dib greeted cordially.
"What do you mean by that?" Gaz turned towards Dib in an undefinable emotion, a sudden disinterest in her gaming session.
Dib was completely thrown off. He had expected her to completely ignore him, as she usually did. Either that, or tell him to shut his mouth before she did it for me. Thus, he didn't know what to answer and just stumbled over several beats.
"Uhh… I just… I asked if you had a good morning? Like, a common, polite opening phrase to the start of a new day?" Dib asked, albeit in rampant confusion.
"Do you really care, though?"
What was wrong with her? Why the sudden interest in linguistic philosophy?
"I... I don't understand."
"Of course you don't." She resumed her gameplay as though their interaction had never happened. It might just be his imagination, but he could have sworn her tone was unusually void of venom… like she wasn't angry at him, but more disappointed.
This disoriented him even further, as he'd not been up to any shenanigans that would upset her other than his paranormal hunting, which should be commonplace to her by now.
'Whatever, maybe she's just having a rough morning' he silenced himself; his doubts deep down being in her character notwithstanding.
After breakfast, they made their way to skool. All seemed normal (aside from Gaz's unusual dismissive nat-... actually, it's not that unusual. Dib just knew her so well he could deduce her different levels), even as he stepped inside the school hallways.
That is, before he saw Zita staring him down with an undefinable look, whispering to Gretchen who gasped at what she'd just been told.
Dib was very confused at this point. He was used to people alienating him due to his obsession with the paranormal, but that was usually manifested in them completely ignoring his latest outbursts about ableist underground clown robots.
It was not commonplace for him to get scrutinized, and so he squirmed awkwardly at the daggers shot at him.
Class had commenced; Ms. Bitters' usual T-Rex stance intimidating everyone into submission. Dib looked over at Zim's seat. The alien hadn't so much as paid him any mind; just sitting with joined claws… like an actual normal human being. Though Dib doubted strongly he was actually trying to imitate human behavior this time. Why? Because aside from these observations, Zim was looking mildly… smug? Like he was so proud of himself over something.
Dib got worried. What on Earth was going on?
"Dib, are you listening?" The teacher's grating voice snapped the paranormal investigator back to reality.
"Huh?"
"I don't blame you since everything I'm teaching you is useless in the grand scheme of things, but I at least require some respect." The teacher scolded him coldly.
Dib blushed. "I-I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"We're going to study Edgar Allan Poe's genius today. Can you say what his third to last book was before he killed himself?"
"Ugghh…"
"Wait a sec, that might be too hard for your puny brain. Can you instead tell me how old his underage cousin was when he married her?"
Dib slowly blinked. What was going on with everyone today?
"I'm- I'm not too familiar with his work or personal life, so I can't answer either question, I'm afraid." The boy admitted apologetically whilst he was given a contemptuous scorn at his transparent subterfuge.
"No surprises there." Dib heard Torque murmur from behind him.
Dib turned around to face him, quizzically. "What?"
"Just saying I'm not surprised you'd dismiss a person like Poe first-hand without even getting to know him first."
Dib instinctively looked to Zim as though almost a plea for an explanation, but the alien just sat there, leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the desk, eyes lidded. He had never before looked so proud of himself, and considering Zim, that's quite saying something.
He did something. He must have. But what?
"#DownWithDib" He then heard a girl in class comment; he didn't check, but he was sure she was typing what she was saying out loud.
It then dawned on him when thinking about her words more closely.
Oh yeah! He hadn't checked his feed at all this morning! He must have forgotten to turn on his wireless after his alien sleuthing yesterday; he always turned off his wi-fi during those sessions so it wouldn't interfere with any extraterrestrial signals his parabola would pick up. It was annoying, but hey, it was either that or enslavement under the reign of invading aliens. Pick your poison.
He picked up his phone to check his notifications, and…
…What the?
On Zim's profile, he'd posted a selfie doing the Korean greeting with his claws as GIR was dabbing with jellies in the background. In his newest post, he'd tagged Dib.
"How do you do, fellow human fam?! It's ya boy Zim here coming with the latest! YOLOSWAG, amirite? Anyway, while digging through the Dibhead's diary, I found this piece of shocking text embedded within its confinements of which I took a photo of:
'Goths aren't people'
What's my proof this is legit, you ask? You didn't?... Well, I'll tell you anyway. It's his handwriting! Case closed!
This is literally no cap! I'm all based, as much as Dib-pig is not!
Til next time, peeps! Invader Z- I mean, earth boy Zim signing off. Stay lit and don't even trip!"
All blood drained from Dib's face as he scrolled down to the comments. To his horror, the post had millions of likes and shares all over social media. None of the comments denied Zim's claims; in fact, eating everything up without a second thought or reconsideration. Then again, they already hated him, and biases needed to be validated at some point in their lives for them to mean anything.
Even if they had absolutely no idea why he wrote it.
"But… but…!" Dib was exasperated in trying to find the proper words to defend his case. "You're taking what I wrote out of context!"
"So you don't deny writing it?" Zita asked, incredulous.
"No, but-"
"So that means you hate goths."
"I never said I hated goths!"
"No?"
"No!"
"So you don't deny it?"
"...huh?"
"You're a bigot. Get bent." Torque insulted from the desk behind him.
Dib got a headache, clenching his big head at the overworked blood flow.
"Why are you doing this to me? I can stand silent hatred of my interests, but why do you go around judging me? Like I said, you don't even know the context!"
"Because it's comfortable to divert attention away from our own faults while we stare at others'. It makes us feel righteous and better about ourselves." Answered Gretchen.
"Yeah, drama is juicy! As long as we're not directly involved!" Even Keef joined in on the torment as his feet were resting on his desk, a popcorn bag in hand.
"And obviously we all know absolutely everything about you from just one sentence you wrote when you were 5 years old and that you're deserving of eternal, repeating execution at the hands of our scythe. Because unlike you, we ain't got no skeletons in our closets or anything."
"How'd you know?" Dib questioned, recalling last saturday's attempt at resurrecting a victim of the Salem witch trials. How poetic, given he was the victim of one now.
"We know because you wrote that you hate goths!" Gretchen added on.
Dib kneaded his temple with his hand in exhaustion.
"That's not all!" Zim finally broke out into a cackle after his long, silent amusement of this situation blowing up in his enemy's face. The alien picked up his phone and began texting another quick post.
Everyone in the room picked up their phones, including Ms. Bitters. Now, upon seeing Zim's newest post, Dib's face turned red instead of pale as before.
It was private footage of when Dib and Gaz were toddlers, playing on the ground with building blocks. As young kids do, they began fighting over it, but as Dib was slightly older and stronger than his younger sister, he managed to wring it out of her grasp and push her onto the ground. Gaz started crying, and Professor Membrane immediately got to scolding his son. The boy, unaffected by his dad's anger, simply pointed to the younger girl and coldly stated:
"Doodoohead!"
Thus, the video concluded. The paranormal investigator looked up to meet hateful, contemptuous eyes staring him down.
It made him swallow in fear.
– A WEEK LATER –
The ice axe pierced deep into the snowy terrain of the Himalayan landscape as he was nearing the top of the hill.
If his coordinates had been accurate, he was within close proximity of the blue cave with a lantern placed before its entrance for him to find.
The mist of the heavy snowfalls was kind of a blockage to his vision, and yet, he managed to see it clear as a day.
With an exhausted, but triumphant, smile, he immediately set forth as he hoped for a much needed break before the campfire drinking well-earned soldier soup.
He picked up the lantern, and gently knocked its bottom against the stony wall. It was in truth a façade, as it was actually made of a thinner material, but made to be camouflaged into its surroundings to maintain its secrecy.
A demanding voice came through to him.
"Password?"
"Prisoner compost." Dib replied.
And so, the stone door opened. He was let in.
While not met with warmth just yet, there was a campfire inside with other escapees circling it for comfort, heads turned to greet their new companion. Soup was boiling on a makeshift stove and Dib could feel the ghost of a rumble in his belly.
"Agent Mothman, I presume?" Said the tall, leaderlike man wearing ski goggles, the one who'd opened the door to him.
"Affirmative. You're… THAT society?" Dib asked in return.
"Yes…" He lifted his goggles, which revealed a scar across his left eye and the other gleaming of yellow. "We're THAT Society."
"No offense, but that name is… kinda lame." Dib gave his honest opinion.
"It's not meant to be cool. It's meant to be SUBTLE."
"I mean, it's not-"
"Come to think of it, I'd like my tenth helping of soup…"
"It's an awesome name! I was just jesting you."
"You'd better." The man growled, but eventually got cordial and forgiving in his tone. "Name's Sergeant Woodpick. This here gang are fellows you'd find to have plenty common with."
The man beckoned him to the mass, leading Dib to sit by his new peers and look around at their tired, forlorn expressions.
"So…what you in for?" One of them asked him.
"Well… I… was cancelled."
"No kidding. What for?"
"I just said once when I was 5 years old that goths aren't people. Taken out of context, of course."
Everyone hummed in sympathy.
"Agnes here." A redheaded girl raised her hand, "I said I didn't like Star Wars. As I lived with my family, people began threatening them by proxy. To save them from their wrath, I decided to start anew here."
"I'm Amadi." An African-looking teenager spoke up, "I said I'm from Niger. Morons whose heads are only filled to the brim with American politics and not geography accused me of racism weeks on end; it got so bad I had to flee up here."
"José." A pattern picked up in another guy introducing himself, "Had to leave my wife and kids behind so they wouldn't get killed by all the vegans targeting my hide. I plan on returning once their anger simmers down, which will be after the 363rd blue moon from this Wednesday."
"Wow… that really sucks, you guys." Dib gave his condolences. He hadn't picked up on it yet, but José was studying him intensely. Lucky for him.
"Well, we have each other now." Agnes tried to sound positive, but her lower octave indicated her true feelings about the ordeal. "Sergeant Woodpick here does volunteer work escorting and protecting cancelled immigrants, and he's actively trying to pass through a law to protect people like us to say what we want- CRITICIZING REY'S BLANDNESS IS NOT CHAUVINISTIC HATE SPEECH, JANET!" She suddenly burst out, startling everybody present. Upon a fast get together of her senses, she apologetically grinned at the surprised onlookers. "Heh, sorry about that. I've got stuff to work through with my therapist."
"Bottom line, we owe him a lot." Amadi finished for her.
"Good to know he's someone I can trust. I'm also in here for a video my arch-enemy uploaded on social media."
"You're… the doodoohead kid, aren't ya?" José squinted skeptically at him.
The paranormal investigator, who had already helped himself to some soup, had a mouthful of it and he… swallowed. After a moment of savoring the taste, he yelled. "Wh-what? How did you know about that?"
"Just because we're high up on snowy mountains doesn't mean we don't have wi-fi." Woodpick chimed in with a phone in hand. "It would go faster if you guys didn't hog my hotspot."
"Wait… the doodoohead kid? You mean… that doodoohead kid?" Agnes began to realize Dib's identity, ignoring the Sergeant.
"... Yeah, so what?" Dib was flabbergasted by their reactions, not understanding the big deal of something that happened so long ago. Then, to his terror, they all began frowning at him in disgust, one begone of all reason, probably enforced by the lack of drama in their current lives.
"You absolute degenerate." Amadi's voice was more stone cold than the ice taps high up in the cave.
Dib's response, contrary to the one at skool, was an exhausted glare back, knowing what was coming when he saw José grab some ropes, Agnes looking up his home address in order to dox him and Amadi carrying a firework rocket to send him to the moon with.
Dib sighed heavily, reluctantly accepting his fate.
"Oh, for fu-"
THE END