2/10/2002-I'm actually writing again! For those of you who've been reading my Betrayal series, I WILL be working on the rest of Spectre. Put those sporks away. I just couldn't work on it yet, not after the cancellation. When I was watching The Crow with my stepbrother, and came up with this weird little thing, I thought it might be good to take a break from Spectre and the whole plot of The Crow is rather appropriate to what we're all trying to do, get Zim back. Keep filling out those petitions and writing letters to Nick and Cartoon Network, people, it's not over until the cute little robot sings the Doom Song! And a fandom can go on LONG after a show has ended. Look at the GW fandom, that show's been over for years. Or Sifl & Olly, the fans of which fought cancellation until they got more seasons and even a DVD and soundtrack release! It can be done. It may not be likely, and it definitely won't be easy, but it can be done.
Okay, I'm done with the ranting. Enjoy this little thing. It's based more on the movie than the comic, because I'm more familiar with the movie, and I just preferred certain elements from it. Uh...I think that's about all I need to say. Bring the pain!
Disclaimer (Don'tcha love these?): Invader Zim belongs to the Almighty Thinnest Jhonen Vasquez, and his army of doom-sporks, and, unfortunately for the rest of the free world, the beings of pure evil which reside at Nickelodeon. I do this only out of the deepest respect for the characters and the great, great mind that created them. I mean it. Vasquez, if you're reading...damn you're a genius.
Oh, any characters NOT from Invader Zim, are mine. If Vasquez wanted to use them he could, but you guys aren't Vasquez, so ask first, please.
The Crow belongs to James O' Barr, and the movie version belongs to...Crowvision? If it belongs to someone else, I'm sorry. Please don't sue me as I really do admire your work, am only doing this for fun, and am already up to my purple hair in debt. Thank you.
Any reviews you give to me will pleeeee-ase Pustulio! Flames will be treated with the same loving care you would expect from Nny, and any survivors will be fed to my pet Velociraptor.
People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead.
But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it, and the soul can't rest.
Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.
-The Crow
The Crow: Retribution
(an 'Invader Zim/The Crow: The Movie' Fusion)
Prologue-Execution
He stood near the back wall, shaded by the overhang of the door frame, and stared at the stadium floor spread out below him. Hours ago the massive room had been filled to capacity. Triumphant shouts and angry screams had echoed off the smooth metal walls, reverberating until they formed an almost mind-shattering din.
Now silence blanketed the stadium again, weighing heavily on his straight shoulders.
He made his way slowly to the front of the convention hall, the click of his boots and slight rustle of his red uniform joining the lonely sound of his own uneven breathing. Past the rows of seats usually reserved for high ranking military officials, the lower ones for Irken citizens, and the open area at the bottom where the humans would stand, he finally came to the stage at the forefront of the hall.
Ignoring the stairs at either end, he placed gloved hands on the center of the raised floor and pulled himself up till he was on hands and knees on the stage. Memories of another hall and an identical movement washed over him, and he gave a half-hearted curse. He would never have imagined his last audience with his leaders would've led him here.
An overwhelming metallic scent hung in the heavy air. His gloves made a slight squishing sound as he pushed himself to his feet, and he could feel moisture starting to soak through them. Yanking one off, he rubbed it with his bare hand; the slender green fingers came away covered in glistening red. He looked down to find the smooth white tiles strewn with liquid crimson, the grisly residue of the executions that the stage played host to that afternoon.
Executions of a dozen of the most influential members of the human resistance.
The bodies were long since gone, taken to an impromptu graveyard on the outskirts of the city to be buried in shallow, unmarked graves. Their personal effects were seized the moment of their capture, and were probably scattered among the prison guards before the execution date was even set. All that remained of them was the scarlet pools staining the floor, and those would be gone when the clean-up crew got back from their break.
"Zim." He turned at the sound of his name, following the harsh voice back to its source, an Irken standing in front of the stage, a bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk crossing his face.
The Irken mounted the stairs to stand beside him, and Zim tried to ignore the unease that the other's towering presence always caused. "Sir."
"I thought we were on closer terms than that, boy! Just call me Sid." He clapped a hand on Zim's shoulder, supposedly in an attempt to be friendly, and Zim had to force down the shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine at the contact.
"Glorious show today, wasn't it?" Sid dropped the bag, not caring that it fell in a pool of blood, and walked across the stage to pick up a G'har-thet that had been left from the ceremony. The broad blade shone dully, the myriad prongs along the edge turned a dark scarlet by the blood caked on the metal. Zim watched without interest as Sid gripped the staff and executed a short series of slash and jab maneuvers.
"I'm sure you enjoyed it most of all." The G'har-thet flew at Zim, and came to a halt with the tip an inch away from his throat. Over the blade he could see Sid, grinning cruelly. "Your greatest enemy finally defeated - it must feel pretty damn good."
"Of course, Sir." Zim's voice was a monotone, his glare making it obvious he was anything but pleased.
Sid lowered the weapon, but maintained the smile as he regarded Zim. After a moment he picked up the bag again, and pulled a roll of dark fabric out of it. When he finally spoke his words were tinted with mocking. "I still don't understand why you refused your right to his death, but I thought you might like a little trophy at least. I got this from one of the boys."
He threw the bundle at Zim, who caught it easily and shook it out to reveal a familiar black leather trenchcoat. Without a word Zim turned on his heel, tossed the coat over his shoulder and walked out of the stadium, not noticing the bloody marks his boots stamped on the floor, or the laughter that echoed behind him.
_____
Sid waited until Zim was well out of the room before he turned to the deep shadows at the back of the stage, waiting as an even taller Irken stepped into the light, revealing dark green skin and a heavily armored body. Sid smirked, the hand holding the G'har-thet resting on his narrow hip. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low. "Well Dax, Sir, what'dya think?"
A grin spread across Dax's face, though his eyes reflected no joy. "I think that the Invader has outlived his usefulness." A cruel glint began to burn in his red eyes, as he reached into a pocket under his chestplate and pulled out an old radio, charred and dented but obviously of human construction.
"Sid." His second-in-command saluted, awaiting the orders the harsh snapping tone precluded. "New evidence has just come to light. It seems that Zim has been in contact with and is aiding the human resistance movement. It's a shame to see such a promising young soldier throw away his life like that." His tone was mocking as he tossed the radio to Sid, who caught it in his free hand. "Take care of him. I'll inform the Almighty ones of his impending execution." The cruel grin spread even farther. "I'm sure they'll be happy to hear such good news."
_____
Zim stomped into his small quarters and went straight for the bed, where he collapsed with an angry growl. He lay there for only a moment, staring at the purple-tinted ceiling, before he sat up. Draping his short legs off the side, he covered his face with his ungloved hand. The leather clad hand rested on the bed beside him, and he didn't notice or care that it smeared red over the fabric.
"Yay! Master's home!" A silver blur slammed into him from a side door, knocking him back onto the bed. GIR hugged him painfully tight, planted a big kiss on his head, then jumped off the bed and walked towards the exit, humming happily to himself.
Zim was wiping the remnants of some indiscernable foodstuffs off his forehead when he noticed that GIR was holding a small purple box. The thin metal thumbs were playing over its surface and the robot's eyes were glued to it. "GIR, what are you doing? What is that?"
GIR didn't even glance up as he responded, voice in a trance-like monotone. "The gaaaame." Zim jumped up from the bed and ran over to GIR, snatching the box out of his hands. Closer inspection confirmed his suspicions; it was a Game Slave 3, slightly scratched and dented on one side, but the screen still glowed brightly, and a requiem issued from it when the pixellated hero was devoured by mutant wombats.
An involuntary squeak escaped Zim's throat. "GIR, where did you get this?"
"The pretty lady gave it to me!" GIR snatched the console back, and more music chimed as he began another game.
"The pretty lady?"
The little bot smiled a huge grin. "Yep! The pretty purple lady!" GIR was too wrapped up in his game to notice that Zim immediately paled.
"GIR, we're leaving." The bot ignored him as he ran through several rooms, gathering items and stuffing them in a black bag slung over his shoulder. After a few minutes of running around, Zim paused again in the bedroom. A frown crossed his brow before he lifted the trenchcoat from where it had fallen on his bed. He looked at it with almost reverant awe, and more than a little fear, then sighed and stuffed it in the bag.
That done he went over a short mental checklist. Satisfied he had everything he'd need, or at least those things he could carry, he grabbed one of GIR's hands and dragged him to the front door.
"Are we goin' for a walk, Master? I wanna take Mr. Scolex Moose for a walk!"
"GIR, no, we have to go, now!" GIR ignored him, tossed the Game Slave into his head, and pulled out of Zim's grip to run back into the bedroom. He came back almost immediately, clutching a squeaky toy moose.
"Mr. Scolex Moose is ready!" Zim clenched his fists and growled in irritation, but stepped through the door leading out of his quarters. GIR hopped along behind him, singing the Scary Monkey song to himself.
"We need to get to the docking garage and take the Voot Cruiser before they realize we're gone. GIR, I want you to-" He broke off suddenly as the sound of many stomping feet echoed from down the magenta hall, in the direction of the garage. "So much for that plan," he mumbled under his breath.
With a push he sent GIR off in the opposite direction, and followed behind him at a run, trying to move quickly while remaining as quiet as possible. Surprisingly the little bot cooperated, keeping pace with his master and staying silent except for the occasional happy giggle. Zim tried several times to double back and make it to their ship, but each time they found the path ahead blocked by soldiers, guards who studied every Irken to walk by.
After almost an hour of trying to make it to the Voot Cruiser, Zim paused in an alcove and leaned against the wall, panting. "GIR, we're going to have to go out the north entrance."
The robot looked up from the moose he was playing with. If he still wore his doggie disguise, his ears would've perked up. "Are we gonna go visit the humans?"
"No, GIR...I don't know. I don't think they'd be pleased to see us. We have to try and avoid them, if we can. If they find us..." he trailed off, a shadow creeping behind his magenta eyes. Almost to himself, he mumbled, "after the deaths of two of their leaders, I don't think they'll be exceedingly friendly to any Irken they come across." And with that he headed north, GIR skipping along behind him, towards the only way out.
Graffiti decorations
Under a sky of dust
A constant wave of tension
On top of broken trust
The lessons that you taught me
I learned were never true
Now I find myself in question
[They point the finger at me again]
Guilty by association
[You point the finger at me again]
-"Runaway", Linkin Park
__________
Okay, I'm done with the ranting. Enjoy this little thing. It's based more on the movie than the comic, because I'm more familiar with the movie, and I just preferred certain elements from it. Uh...I think that's about all I need to say. Bring the pain!
Disclaimer (Don'tcha love these?): Invader Zim belongs to the Almighty Thinnest Jhonen Vasquez, and his army of doom-sporks, and, unfortunately for the rest of the free world, the beings of pure evil which reside at Nickelodeon. I do this only out of the deepest respect for the characters and the great, great mind that created them. I mean it. Vasquez, if you're reading...damn you're a genius.
Oh, any characters NOT from Invader Zim, are mine. If Vasquez wanted to use them he could, but you guys aren't Vasquez, so ask first, please.
The Crow belongs to James O' Barr, and the movie version belongs to...Crowvision? If it belongs to someone else, I'm sorry. Please don't sue me as I really do admire your work, am only doing this for fun, and am already up to my purple hair in debt. Thank you.
Any reviews you give to me will pleeeee-ase Pustulio! Flames will be treated with the same loving care you would expect from Nny, and any survivors will be fed to my pet Velociraptor.
People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead.
But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it, and the soul can't rest.
Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.
-The Crow
The Crow: Retribution
(an 'Invader Zim/The Crow: The Movie' Fusion)
Prologue-Execution
He stood near the back wall, shaded by the overhang of the door frame, and stared at the stadium floor spread out below him. Hours ago the massive room had been filled to capacity. Triumphant shouts and angry screams had echoed off the smooth metal walls, reverberating until they formed an almost mind-shattering din.
Now silence blanketed the stadium again, weighing heavily on his straight shoulders.
He made his way slowly to the front of the convention hall, the click of his boots and slight rustle of his red uniform joining the lonely sound of his own uneven breathing. Past the rows of seats usually reserved for high ranking military officials, the lower ones for Irken citizens, and the open area at the bottom where the humans would stand, he finally came to the stage at the forefront of the hall.
Ignoring the stairs at either end, he placed gloved hands on the center of the raised floor and pulled himself up till he was on hands and knees on the stage. Memories of another hall and an identical movement washed over him, and he gave a half-hearted curse. He would never have imagined his last audience with his leaders would've led him here.
An overwhelming metallic scent hung in the heavy air. His gloves made a slight squishing sound as he pushed himself to his feet, and he could feel moisture starting to soak through them. Yanking one off, he rubbed it with his bare hand; the slender green fingers came away covered in glistening red. He looked down to find the smooth white tiles strewn with liquid crimson, the grisly residue of the executions that the stage played host to that afternoon.
Executions of a dozen of the most influential members of the human resistance.
The bodies were long since gone, taken to an impromptu graveyard on the outskirts of the city to be buried in shallow, unmarked graves. Their personal effects were seized the moment of their capture, and were probably scattered among the prison guards before the execution date was even set. All that remained of them was the scarlet pools staining the floor, and those would be gone when the clean-up crew got back from their break.
"Zim." He turned at the sound of his name, following the harsh voice back to its source, an Irken standing in front of the stage, a bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk crossing his face.
The Irken mounted the stairs to stand beside him, and Zim tried to ignore the unease that the other's towering presence always caused. "Sir."
"I thought we were on closer terms than that, boy! Just call me Sid." He clapped a hand on Zim's shoulder, supposedly in an attempt to be friendly, and Zim had to force down the shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine at the contact.
"Glorious show today, wasn't it?" Sid dropped the bag, not caring that it fell in a pool of blood, and walked across the stage to pick up a G'har-thet that had been left from the ceremony. The broad blade shone dully, the myriad prongs along the edge turned a dark scarlet by the blood caked on the metal. Zim watched without interest as Sid gripped the staff and executed a short series of slash and jab maneuvers.
"I'm sure you enjoyed it most of all." The G'har-thet flew at Zim, and came to a halt with the tip an inch away from his throat. Over the blade he could see Sid, grinning cruelly. "Your greatest enemy finally defeated - it must feel pretty damn good."
"Of course, Sir." Zim's voice was a monotone, his glare making it obvious he was anything but pleased.
Sid lowered the weapon, but maintained the smile as he regarded Zim. After a moment he picked up the bag again, and pulled a roll of dark fabric out of it. When he finally spoke his words were tinted with mocking. "I still don't understand why you refused your right to his death, but I thought you might like a little trophy at least. I got this from one of the boys."
He threw the bundle at Zim, who caught it easily and shook it out to reveal a familiar black leather trenchcoat. Without a word Zim turned on his heel, tossed the coat over his shoulder and walked out of the stadium, not noticing the bloody marks his boots stamped on the floor, or the laughter that echoed behind him.
_____
Sid waited until Zim was well out of the room before he turned to the deep shadows at the back of the stage, waiting as an even taller Irken stepped into the light, revealing dark green skin and a heavily armored body. Sid smirked, the hand holding the G'har-thet resting on his narrow hip. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low. "Well Dax, Sir, what'dya think?"
A grin spread across Dax's face, though his eyes reflected no joy. "I think that the Invader has outlived his usefulness." A cruel glint began to burn in his red eyes, as he reached into a pocket under his chestplate and pulled out an old radio, charred and dented but obviously of human construction.
"Sid." His second-in-command saluted, awaiting the orders the harsh snapping tone precluded. "New evidence has just come to light. It seems that Zim has been in contact with and is aiding the human resistance movement. It's a shame to see such a promising young soldier throw away his life like that." His tone was mocking as he tossed the radio to Sid, who caught it in his free hand. "Take care of him. I'll inform the Almighty ones of his impending execution." The cruel grin spread even farther. "I'm sure they'll be happy to hear such good news."
_____
Zim stomped into his small quarters and went straight for the bed, where he collapsed with an angry growl. He lay there for only a moment, staring at the purple-tinted ceiling, before he sat up. Draping his short legs off the side, he covered his face with his ungloved hand. The leather clad hand rested on the bed beside him, and he didn't notice or care that it smeared red over the fabric.
"Yay! Master's home!" A silver blur slammed into him from a side door, knocking him back onto the bed. GIR hugged him painfully tight, planted a big kiss on his head, then jumped off the bed and walked towards the exit, humming happily to himself.
Zim was wiping the remnants of some indiscernable foodstuffs off his forehead when he noticed that GIR was holding a small purple box. The thin metal thumbs were playing over its surface and the robot's eyes were glued to it. "GIR, what are you doing? What is that?"
GIR didn't even glance up as he responded, voice in a trance-like monotone. "The gaaaame." Zim jumped up from the bed and ran over to GIR, snatching the box out of his hands. Closer inspection confirmed his suspicions; it was a Game Slave 3, slightly scratched and dented on one side, but the screen still glowed brightly, and a requiem issued from it when the pixellated hero was devoured by mutant wombats.
An involuntary squeak escaped Zim's throat. "GIR, where did you get this?"
"The pretty lady gave it to me!" GIR snatched the console back, and more music chimed as he began another game.
"The pretty lady?"
The little bot smiled a huge grin. "Yep! The pretty purple lady!" GIR was too wrapped up in his game to notice that Zim immediately paled.
"GIR, we're leaving." The bot ignored him as he ran through several rooms, gathering items and stuffing them in a black bag slung over his shoulder. After a few minutes of running around, Zim paused again in the bedroom. A frown crossed his brow before he lifted the trenchcoat from where it had fallen on his bed. He looked at it with almost reverant awe, and more than a little fear, then sighed and stuffed it in the bag.
That done he went over a short mental checklist. Satisfied he had everything he'd need, or at least those things he could carry, he grabbed one of GIR's hands and dragged him to the front door.
"Are we goin' for a walk, Master? I wanna take Mr. Scolex Moose for a walk!"
"GIR, no, we have to go, now!" GIR ignored him, tossed the Game Slave into his head, and pulled out of Zim's grip to run back into the bedroom. He came back almost immediately, clutching a squeaky toy moose.
"Mr. Scolex Moose is ready!" Zim clenched his fists and growled in irritation, but stepped through the door leading out of his quarters. GIR hopped along behind him, singing the Scary Monkey song to himself.
"We need to get to the docking garage and take the Voot Cruiser before they realize we're gone. GIR, I want you to-" He broke off suddenly as the sound of many stomping feet echoed from down the magenta hall, in the direction of the garage. "So much for that plan," he mumbled under his breath.
With a push he sent GIR off in the opposite direction, and followed behind him at a run, trying to move quickly while remaining as quiet as possible. Surprisingly the little bot cooperated, keeping pace with his master and staying silent except for the occasional happy giggle. Zim tried several times to double back and make it to their ship, but each time they found the path ahead blocked by soldiers, guards who studied every Irken to walk by.
After almost an hour of trying to make it to the Voot Cruiser, Zim paused in an alcove and leaned against the wall, panting. "GIR, we're going to have to go out the north entrance."
The robot looked up from the moose he was playing with. If he still wore his doggie disguise, his ears would've perked up. "Are we gonna go visit the humans?"
"No, GIR...I don't know. I don't think they'd be pleased to see us. We have to try and avoid them, if we can. If they find us..." he trailed off, a shadow creeping behind his magenta eyes. Almost to himself, he mumbled, "after the deaths of two of their leaders, I don't think they'll be exceedingly friendly to any Irken they come across." And with that he headed north, GIR skipping along behind him, towards the only way out.
Graffiti decorations
Under a sky of dust
A constant wave of tension
On top of broken trust
The lessons that you taught me
I learned were never true
Now I find myself in question
[They point the finger at me again]
Guilty by association
[You point the finger at me again]
-"Runaway", Linkin Park
__________