AN: I own only the plot here, Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon own all recognizable characters, places, etcetera. I am merely a lowly table-head service drone who's saved up enough monies to buy herself a small clunky computer on which to type.
Chapter One: Work Day Blues
He scowled at the seemingly endless lines of code that shone at him through the computer screen. So inferior... these humans were **STILL** doing a majority of their programing by **hand**. It was maddeningly boring.
He heaved a great sigh, and rubbed between his eyes. The holographic projection made it appear that he was rubbing the bridge of his nose. It had been inspired by Tak's system, but he'd made vast improvements on it, such as the addition of the chameleon cloak, which made it possible for him to hide anywhere he wished by it's ability to impersonate any background. Not as fancy as the invisibility cloak on the Megadoomer, but it made up for it in how energy effiecent it was.
"Hey, Zim!" The perky blonde floor secretary, Alana Yellow, chirped. She reminded him a lot of Keef on days like today... there were a lot of days like today. "Did you hear?"
"Nothing besides your incessant buzzing." He grumbled, and she looked at him blankly for a moment, before shaking her head.
"The new president's coming in today!"
At this he blinked. He had heard the rumors around the staff lounge. Talks of pink slips and getting 'laid off'. He'd heard of slips before --- and he pulled out one from a drawer in his desk.
"I suppose I should wear this then?"
He held out to her a frilly pink concoction that he'd found in the department store last night.
She took one look at the slip and burst into hysterical laughter.
"Oh, Zim, you're so funny!"
He blinked, and gave a false smile, before stashing the female undergarment in his drawer again.
"I've got to get back to work!" She chirped again and left.
Right, like she did any *REAL* work, he thought to himself. She just gossiped on the phone, and then lost important files. He turned back to his coding.
He reached over and pulled out his dictionary, and decided to look up this 'pink slip' since they obviously weren't going to make him wear female underwear like he'd feared.
pink slip /n/ slang: a slip given to employees informing them that they have been fired from their jobs. --pt: pink slipped
He blinked, as he snapped the dictionary shut and returned it to it's proper place on the shelves, and supposed he should have paid more attention to those memos they'd been giving him, instead of wadding them up and playing trash can basketball with them. Then he might actually know who this new 'president' was.
He shrugged. He was invaluable to Gameslave Corporation as one of their top programmers. There was no way he was getting pink slipped.
He began to clean up his cubicle, the reason, he told himself, was because it was getting too messy (the night janitor had long since given up on trying to clean the area), **NOT** because he wished to make a good impression on this pathetic new 'president'.
Satisfied that he would not be shamed by the disorderly appearance of his cubicle, he sat down, to stare at the screen blankly. Blackness swarmed in his mind so thickly that he could almost feel it. He felt light of head, dizzy --
He shook his head, and with aggravation slammed in new codes to the system. He hated this inane job. Why hadn't he thought of this when he'd been an Invader? These dirty humans were **slaves** to these games, if he'd merely engineered one that would brainwash them into being his, then he'd never be stuck on this worthless backwater planet typing in senseless numbers!
He gave a growl of irritation, before turning sharply away from the garish screen ---
And found himself staring at a familiar face.
"This, Madame President, is Zim Irken, one of our many designers." Said a stuffy looking 'yes-man' in a dark suit.
The woman before him was tall, with a sharply defined hourglass figure. She wore a suit and skirt of a purple-black that matched the hair currently up behind her head. She wore black wire-rimmed glasses (her constant squinting had taken it's toll), and a white skull shaped lapel pin.
He leaped to his feet, knowing he had to show her respect, she was his boss -- an equivalent to the Tallest --- his squiddely spooch twisted bitterly at the thought of his former leaders.
"Zim, this is Gaz Membrane, our new President."
"I believe we already know each other." She said coldly, not presenting her hand to be shaken.
"I'm sure it will be a pleasure working with you." He said as sincerely-sounding he could, even though he didn't feel like it at all.
"Absolutely." She drawled, not bothering to hide her insincerity.
"There's a staff meeting in five minutes, Zim," The yes-man said with a superior tone, before trailing after Gaz.
He undoubtedly predicted doom for him. He'd trivalized his place in the company, he was one of the **top** designers in this company. He was being blatantly, as the humans logically called it, 'back stabbed'.
He knew what they called him when he wasn't fetching a diet Vanilla Poop! from the refridgerator, and was safely out of earshot. He was the 'Freak', the 'Asshole', the 'Sadistic Computing Genius'. The idea that his fellow co-work-monkeys wanted to get him fired did not surprise him.
Sighing, he headed over to the staff lounge, preparing himself for his so called doom.
His fellow slaves were collected in their also, all looking nervously at each other over their cups of coffee. He walked over the refridgerator, got out his (it was marked with the emblem of the irken armada in permanent pen on the can) Poop! and sat down. Everyone seemed to flinch as he calmly popped the top of the soda. Popping a straw into the mouth of the can, he began to sip it with boredom evident in his eyes.
Gaz entered, her face as cold as he remebered it being as a child. The yes-man preened as he sat down next to Alana, who fawned over him.
"Half of you are fired, and you are: Bobby Yes-man," the yes man's features fell dramatically then, much to Zim's amusement that he only barely hid. "Alana Yellow, Micheal Eisner, Karen Linamen, Randy Scalf, Mark Farm, Mary Moore, and Jack Nickelman. You have all annoyed me, clear out your offices and be out of here by five o'clock tomorrow."
Her amber eyes suddenly focussed on him, he wondered, then, what she had in store for him...
"Zim, your team, I understand, is working on Poop!Dog Supa Dupa Gangsta Challenge Five?"
"Yes, m'am."
"Dump that project. I've got the specs of a game I want you all to start programming immediately. It's got to be out, according to Sales, this November," She checked her watch. "That's precisely five months from now."
Everyone looked at her at varying levels of shock and panic.
"Well?" She snarled, her teeth shining in the flourescent lights. "Get to work! I want that Poop!Dog shit out of the hard drives immediately! Leave no traces!"
People scrambled to get out of the room. Zim stayed behind, the glint in Gaz's eyes telling him that she had more words to share with him.
"I didn't think you'd end up working here." She frowned slightly at him, measuring him up it seemed. He sighed, his brain meats already throbbing at the enormous prospect ahead of him.
"Amazing how this filthy planet works." He said sourly.
"Yes. My brother was quite disappointed when you moved away."
"Why? Did the human supremicist miss me?"
"You could say that. You certainly made things more interesting."
"I'm sorry to deprive you of amusement."
"Here's the specs for Vampire Piggie Hunter Platinum. Hand them out to your team, and get to work immediately. I believe that's all." She shoved a large folder of paper at him, and he took his unsubtle to leave.
Why him? Poop!Dog Supa Dupa Challenge had been almost finished... it was sixth months of his life... and it was all disappearing with the click of the delete button.
He stopped at one of his underling's cubicles. "Stan." He snapped, glaring shiftily at the posters of a bleach blonde rapper that coated the walls.
"Yeah, Zim?" Stan tried to glare at him, but only at his chest. He'd not worked up enough courage to give him a glare to the eyes. He'd lost miserably the first time he'd tried.
"Here's the new spec that the President wants done. You hand them out, I'm leaving." He tossed the heavy folder at Stan, and left. He could hear Stan mutter 'Mudda Fooken Beeyatch' as he left, and could not decide if it was aimed at him or their new President.
He snatched his coat from the hook inside his cubicle, and headed into the elevator. It was a fairly nice day outside, although he did not enjoy or even notice.
With determination he made his way towards the new location of his home. His green house still had it's eerie backlighting, and pufferfish lawn ornaments. The lawn gnomes were still on active duty, although they rarely did anything.
In this part of town it was wise to put a lock on the door, he'd learned, as he fished out his keys. People had tried to steal things when he'd first arrived, but G.I.R. had trapped them, and they became, forcefully, his 'new friends'. In many aspects G.I.R. was worse that Keef in his devotion. After he'd rescued the humans from G.I.R. he'd installed a lock on the doorway to keep G.I.R. away from the foolish humans who'd try to rob it. G.I.R. was now forced to use what the earth-monkeys termed a 'doggy door', and he didn't seem to mind.
His nearly indestructable Irken body throbbed with fatigue. He stumbled his way to the couch, not caring that G.I.R. was sitting there engaged in watching PBO, and fell onto it.
"Hi!" G.I.R. screamed, and petted his antennae. He moaned an incoherent word of greeting, follwed by an order to turn down the volume, before his eyes slid shut.
******************
When he woke up again it was early in the morning hours, which made it still dark out. Rubbing his eyes, he still felt exhausted. He groaned and turned over onto his other side, throwing an arm carelessly over his eyes to block out the dim lights.
"Wakey, Wakey, Zim." Soemone said, and he was then, undoubtedly, awake.
He'd sat up with a sharp jerk, and his head hurt as the blood flowed away from it. Through his blurry sleep-hazed vision he could make out the face that he'd not seen in nearly ten years --- Dib Membrane's.
"Dib." He snarled out of old habit. "How did you find my base?" He hissed, eyes narrowing.
"Gaz let me have a peek at your employee files. I got your number, and from there it was just a call to directory to get your address." Dib leered at him.
"You know, this *is* considered stalking."
"Who are you going to call? The police will find out that you're an alien --" Dib grinned at him.
"What do you want, Dib?" He sighed, looking at the pattern of the couch with boredom. "I've got to get to work early tomorrow."
"To start your plans for world domination!?!" Dib said dramatically.
"No, to finish dumping files relating to 'Poop!Dog' and then work on the latest godforsaken project your sister has given us." He glared at Dib.
"So, you're not taking over the world?"
"NO, Dib," He said with exasperation. "I got out of that buisness a long time ago." He looked Dib up and down, "You're still a 'paranormal investigator'?" He said with derision. "You work part-time at Bloaty's too don't you?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"You reek of their disgusting cheese." Zim made a gagging noise. "Now get off of my base." He pointed to the door.
"Why not have your computer escort me out?" Dib looked at him oddly.
"Better yet, why don't I just throw you out by hand." Zim gritted, activating his spider legs, since Dib was much taller than he was now, and tossing the Earthling out the front door. It was quite satisfying, until the legs collapsed beneath him. A quick check notified him that the pack was starting to breakdown again. Sighing, he gathered up the legs in his hands, and headed towards the elevator.
He'd be fixing these things all night... damn.
*********************
Sparks flew as he tried to weld the metal legs back together after repairing the faulty wiring in them.
"Master!" G.I.R. called, and Zim quickly turned his torch off, incase G.I.R. decided to hug him. He didn't wish to ruin any of his work, or set the base on fire.
"I's gots a booboo. KISS IT!" G.I.R. screamed, presenting his head. One of his robotic eyes seemed to have gotten out of joint, and had gone dark. Normally G.I.R. would have been able to fix this himself, it was all apart of S.I.R. programming... however S.I.R.s weren't supposed to last this long... especially when they were made of junk.
The more logical side of him told him he should just deactivate G.I.R. and get it over with. He was nothing but a nuisance, had always been -- but he was a reminder, at least, that he'd been an Invader, or at least thought he had been.
"Hold still G.I.R." He said as he opened his lid, and clutched a flashlight in his teeth. Using nearly microscopic tools he found the broken gear, which he pulled out and bent back into shape.
He cleared out the junk that had collected in there, a Poop!Puff had started the failure it seemed.
"G.I.R., you've got to stop putting stuff in your head."
"Where am I gonna put it then?"
He looked about the room, and spotted the sack he'd used for all his books in college. After the last day of classes he'd set it in here and forgot about it.
He closed up G.I.R. before retriving the bag, beating out the dust and paper stubs, before handing it to G.I.R.
G.I.R immediately tried to put it in his skull.
"NO! What did I just tell you!" He snapped. "Put your things in there." He pointed to the rubber piggy and moose companion.
"Oooooooohhhh..." G.I.R. nodded and began to pack up his things.
Zim sighed and looked at the clock. It was six AM... if he left now, he could arrive at the office near seven, and actually be able to get some work done before the rest of the idiots came in.
"See you tonight G.I.R." He said as he entered the elevator.
"Bring Tacos!"
************************
Well, now we've had a peek at what our favorite Invader's been up to. Dib and Gaz have come into the picture too.
Chapter One: Work Day Blues
He scowled at the seemingly endless lines of code that shone at him through the computer screen. So inferior... these humans were **STILL** doing a majority of their programing by **hand**. It was maddeningly boring.
He heaved a great sigh, and rubbed between his eyes. The holographic projection made it appear that he was rubbing the bridge of his nose. It had been inspired by Tak's system, but he'd made vast improvements on it, such as the addition of the chameleon cloak, which made it possible for him to hide anywhere he wished by it's ability to impersonate any background. Not as fancy as the invisibility cloak on the Megadoomer, but it made up for it in how energy effiecent it was.
"Hey, Zim!" The perky blonde floor secretary, Alana Yellow, chirped. She reminded him a lot of Keef on days like today... there were a lot of days like today. "Did you hear?"
"Nothing besides your incessant buzzing." He grumbled, and she looked at him blankly for a moment, before shaking her head.
"The new president's coming in today!"
At this he blinked. He had heard the rumors around the staff lounge. Talks of pink slips and getting 'laid off'. He'd heard of slips before --- and he pulled out one from a drawer in his desk.
"I suppose I should wear this then?"
He held out to her a frilly pink concoction that he'd found in the department store last night.
She took one look at the slip and burst into hysterical laughter.
"Oh, Zim, you're so funny!"
He blinked, and gave a false smile, before stashing the female undergarment in his drawer again.
"I've got to get back to work!" She chirped again and left.
Right, like she did any *REAL* work, he thought to himself. She just gossiped on the phone, and then lost important files. He turned back to his coding.
He reached over and pulled out his dictionary, and decided to look up this 'pink slip' since they obviously weren't going to make him wear female underwear like he'd feared.
pink slip /n/ slang: a slip given to employees informing them that they have been fired from their jobs. --pt: pink slipped
He blinked, as he snapped the dictionary shut and returned it to it's proper place on the shelves, and supposed he should have paid more attention to those memos they'd been giving him, instead of wadding them up and playing trash can basketball with them. Then he might actually know who this new 'president' was.
He shrugged. He was invaluable to Gameslave Corporation as one of their top programmers. There was no way he was getting pink slipped.
He began to clean up his cubicle, the reason, he told himself, was because it was getting too messy (the night janitor had long since given up on trying to clean the area), **NOT** because he wished to make a good impression on this pathetic new 'president'.
Satisfied that he would not be shamed by the disorderly appearance of his cubicle, he sat down, to stare at the screen blankly. Blackness swarmed in his mind so thickly that he could almost feel it. He felt light of head, dizzy --
He shook his head, and with aggravation slammed in new codes to the system. He hated this inane job. Why hadn't he thought of this when he'd been an Invader? These dirty humans were **slaves** to these games, if he'd merely engineered one that would brainwash them into being his, then he'd never be stuck on this worthless backwater planet typing in senseless numbers!
He gave a growl of irritation, before turning sharply away from the garish screen ---
And found himself staring at a familiar face.
"This, Madame President, is Zim Irken, one of our many designers." Said a stuffy looking 'yes-man' in a dark suit.
The woman before him was tall, with a sharply defined hourglass figure. She wore a suit and skirt of a purple-black that matched the hair currently up behind her head. She wore black wire-rimmed glasses (her constant squinting had taken it's toll), and a white skull shaped lapel pin.
He leaped to his feet, knowing he had to show her respect, she was his boss -- an equivalent to the Tallest --- his squiddely spooch twisted bitterly at the thought of his former leaders.
"Zim, this is Gaz Membrane, our new President."
"I believe we already know each other." She said coldly, not presenting her hand to be shaken.
"I'm sure it will be a pleasure working with you." He said as sincerely-sounding he could, even though he didn't feel like it at all.
"Absolutely." She drawled, not bothering to hide her insincerity.
"There's a staff meeting in five minutes, Zim," The yes-man said with a superior tone, before trailing after Gaz.
He undoubtedly predicted doom for him. He'd trivalized his place in the company, he was one of the **top** designers in this company. He was being blatantly, as the humans logically called it, 'back stabbed'.
He knew what they called him when he wasn't fetching a diet Vanilla Poop! from the refridgerator, and was safely out of earshot. He was the 'Freak', the 'Asshole', the 'Sadistic Computing Genius'. The idea that his fellow co-work-monkeys wanted to get him fired did not surprise him.
Sighing, he headed over to the staff lounge, preparing himself for his so called doom.
His fellow slaves were collected in their also, all looking nervously at each other over their cups of coffee. He walked over the refridgerator, got out his (it was marked with the emblem of the irken armada in permanent pen on the can) Poop! and sat down. Everyone seemed to flinch as he calmly popped the top of the soda. Popping a straw into the mouth of the can, he began to sip it with boredom evident in his eyes.
Gaz entered, her face as cold as he remebered it being as a child. The yes-man preened as he sat down next to Alana, who fawned over him.
"Half of you are fired, and you are: Bobby Yes-man," the yes man's features fell dramatically then, much to Zim's amusement that he only barely hid. "Alana Yellow, Micheal Eisner, Karen Linamen, Randy Scalf, Mark Farm, Mary Moore, and Jack Nickelman. You have all annoyed me, clear out your offices and be out of here by five o'clock tomorrow."
Her amber eyes suddenly focussed on him, he wondered, then, what she had in store for him...
"Zim, your team, I understand, is working on Poop!Dog Supa Dupa Gangsta Challenge Five?"
"Yes, m'am."
"Dump that project. I've got the specs of a game I want you all to start programming immediately. It's got to be out, according to Sales, this November," She checked her watch. "That's precisely five months from now."
Everyone looked at her at varying levels of shock and panic.
"Well?" She snarled, her teeth shining in the flourescent lights. "Get to work! I want that Poop!Dog shit out of the hard drives immediately! Leave no traces!"
People scrambled to get out of the room. Zim stayed behind, the glint in Gaz's eyes telling him that she had more words to share with him.
"I didn't think you'd end up working here." She frowned slightly at him, measuring him up it seemed. He sighed, his brain meats already throbbing at the enormous prospect ahead of him.
"Amazing how this filthy planet works." He said sourly.
"Yes. My brother was quite disappointed when you moved away."
"Why? Did the human supremicist miss me?"
"You could say that. You certainly made things more interesting."
"I'm sorry to deprive you of amusement."
"Here's the specs for Vampire Piggie Hunter Platinum. Hand them out to your team, and get to work immediately. I believe that's all." She shoved a large folder of paper at him, and he took his unsubtle to leave.
Why him? Poop!Dog Supa Dupa Challenge had been almost finished... it was sixth months of his life... and it was all disappearing with the click of the delete button.
He stopped at one of his underling's cubicles. "Stan." He snapped, glaring shiftily at the posters of a bleach blonde rapper that coated the walls.
"Yeah, Zim?" Stan tried to glare at him, but only at his chest. He'd not worked up enough courage to give him a glare to the eyes. He'd lost miserably the first time he'd tried.
"Here's the new spec that the President wants done. You hand them out, I'm leaving." He tossed the heavy folder at Stan, and left. He could hear Stan mutter 'Mudda Fooken Beeyatch' as he left, and could not decide if it was aimed at him or their new President.
He snatched his coat from the hook inside his cubicle, and headed into the elevator. It was a fairly nice day outside, although he did not enjoy or even notice.
With determination he made his way towards the new location of his home. His green house still had it's eerie backlighting, and pufferfish lawn ornaments. The lawn gnomes were still on active duty, although they rarely did anything.
In this part of town it was wise to put a lock on the door, he'd learned, as he fished out his keys. People had tried to steal things when he'd first arrived, but G.I.R. had trapped them, and they became, forcefully, his 'new friends'. In many aspects G.I.R. was worse that Keef in his devotion. After he'd rescued the humans from G.I.R. he'd installed a lock on the doorway to keep G.I.R. away from the foolish humans who'd try to rob it. G.I.R. was now forced to use what the earth-monkeys termed a 'doggy door', and he didn't seem to mind.
His nearly indestructable Irken body throbbed with fatigue. He stumbled his way to the couch, not caring that G.I.R. was sitting there engaged in watching PBO, and fell onto it.
"Hi!" G.I.R. screamed, and petted his antennae. He moaned an incoherent word of greeting, follwed by an order to turn down the volume, before his eyes slid shut.
******************
When he woke up again it was early in the morning hours, which made it still dark out. Rubbing his eyes, he still felt exhausted. He groaned and turned over onto his other side, throwing an arm carelessly over his eyes to block out the dim lights.
"Wakey, Wakey, Zim." Soemone said, and he was then, undoubtedly, awake.
He'd sat up with a sharp jerk, and his head hurt as the blood flowed away from it. Through his blurry sleep-hazed vision he could make out the face that he'd not seen in nearly ten years --- Dib Membrane's.
"Dib." He snarled out of old habit. "How did you find my base?" He hissed, eyes narrowing.
"Gaz let me have a peek at your employee files. I got your number, and from there it was just a call to directory to get your address." Dib leered at him.
"You know, this *is* considered stalking."
"Who are you going to call? The police will find out that you're an alien --" Dib grinned at him.
"What do you want, Dib?" He sighed, looking at the pattern of the couch with boredom. "I've got to get to work early tomorrow."
"To start your plans for world domination!?!" Dib said dramatically.
"No, to finish dumping files relating to 'Poop!Dog' and then work on the latest godforsaken project your sister has given us." He glared at Dib.
"So, you're not taking over the world?"
"NO, Dib," He said with exasperation. "I got out of that buisness a long time ago." He looked Dib up and down, "You're still a 'paranormal investigator'?" He said with derision. "You work part-time at Bloaty's too don't you?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"You reek of their disgusting cheese." Zim made a gagging noise. "Now get off of my base." He pointed to the door.
"Why not have your computer escort me out?" Dib looked at him oddly.
"Better yet, why don't I just throw you out by hand." Zim gritted, activating his spider legs, since Dib was much taller than he was now, and tossing the Earthling out the front door. It was quite satisfying, until the legs collapsed beneath him. A quick check notified him that the pack was starting to breakdown again. Sighing, he gathered up the legs in his hands, and headed towards the elevator.
He'd be fixing these things all night... damn.
*********************
Sparks flew as he tried to weld the metal legs back together after repairing the faulty wiring in them.
"Master!" G.I.R. called, and Zim quickly turned his torch off, incase G.I.R. decided to hug him. He didn't wish to ruin any of his work, or set the base on fire.
"I's gots a booboo. KISS IT!" G.I.R. screamed, presenting his head. One of his robotic eyes seemed to have gotten out of joint, and had gone dark. Normally G.I.R. would have been able to fix this himself, it was all apart of S.I.R. programming... however S.I.R.s weren't supposed to last this long... especially when they were made of junk.
The more logical side of him told him he should just deactivate G.I.R. and get it over with. He was nothing but a nuisance, had always been -- but he was a reminder, at least, that he'd been an Invader, or at least thought he had been.
"Hold still G.I.R." He said as he opened his lid, and clutched a flashlight in his teeth. Using nearly microscopic tools he found the broken gear, which he pulled out and bent back into shape.
He cleared out the junk that had collected in there, a Poop!Puff had started the failure it seemed.
"G.I.R., you've got to stop putting stuff in your head."
"Where am I gonna put it then?"
He looked about the room, and spotted the sack he'd used for all his books in college. After the last day of classes he'd set it in here and forgot about it.
He closed up G.I.R. before retriving the bag, beating out the dust and paper stubs, before handing it to G.I.R.
G.I.R immediately tried to put it in his skull.
"NO! What did I just tell you!" He snapped. "Put your things in there." He pointed to the rubber piggy and moose companion.
"Oooooooohhhh..." G.I.R. nodded and began to pack up his things.
Zim sighed and looked at the clock. It was six AM... if he left now, he could arrive at the office near seven, and actually be able to get some work done before the rest of the idiots came in.
"See you tonight G.I.R." He said as he entered the elevator.
"Bring Tacos!"
************************
Well, now we've had a peek at what our favorite Invader's been up to. Dib and Gaz have come into the picture too.