A/N: I don't own Invader Zim, again, don't sue me! If you sue me, horrific and terrible things of doom will certainly be ensured to befall your doomed selves! Mwuahahahaha! starts choking and coughing I'm better now. Anywaaaaaaaay, I hope you guys like this one. It'll be in third person. Please review. My begging doesn't seem to work, but I'll try it anyway! Also, this was ever so slightly inspired by a concept both discussed in the episode, Bolognius Maximus, and in the story 'Zim: the Dirt Child' by Enigma81. Credit where credit is due my friends.

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Chapter One

A Normal Day At Skool

'Not this again,' Byron thought. The teacher had left the room to beat the fifth student of the day and as usual, Zim and Dib were at each other's respective throats while the rest of the class completely ignored the fact that Zim was shuttering along the ceiling with his spider legs and firing laser blasts at Dib. Byron, although noticing the entire spectacle unfolding before him, wasn't very worried at all. Ever since Dib had tried to stake and decapitate Byron for being a Nosferatu, he had become less and far lesser concerned with Dib's well being. Deep down inside, he was cheering, "Go Zim! Vaporized that stupid bigheaded loser! Go! Go! Go!'

It had seemed like Byron had been forced to suffer these fools these fools for the past six years. He'd entered the local skool when his father transferred from Ireland to work at the secret military testing facility that resides on the outskirts of the city. Despite the strange glowing lights that can clearly be seen every night from dusk to dawn, the bas does NOT exist! He'd arrived about a month before Zim had. And for the next six years had beheld every single thing that Zim and Dib had been involved with from either the back of the class or in conveniently placed shadows. He was the only other person, besides Gaz and Dib, who knew Zim was an alien. He didn't understand how, while a giant hamster is ravaging the city, not a single person can make the mental connection. He figured there must be something in the water.

Byron was pretty tall for a tenth grader, standing a sound six foot two. He'd always sat back with his massive combat boots propped upon an available surface and played with the frayed edges of his brown jacket while watching the two duel for the fate of Earth. In Byron's opinion, Zim could have it! He'd probably make a lot cooler. As far as he was concerned, the world was bollocks.

'I wonder if they have rock bands on Zim's planet,' he thought.

Suddenly, Chunk, the fat, stupid child in the puffy, red jacket said, "Dib, quit acting so damn weird!" Several other students joined in agreement yelling things about being weird, stupid, and having a big head. Byron couldn't help but chuckle at this.

Dib looked up for a brief moment as if to comment on how normal-sized his head was, when he was struck in the shoulder by a laser and catapulted through an open window to the ground, three floors below.

Byron jumped up in his seat and yelled, "Yes!" Everyone in the class, including Zim, looked up at him quizzically. There was a short, but EXTREMELY, awkward silence before Byron responded, " I just realized that Lost is coming on ABC tonight." Since most of the people in the class DID watch Lost religiously, they bought this lame cover and continued damning Dib, which was quite a feat since he was sprawled out in the shrubberies outside.

It wasn't a nano-second after Zim had sat back down in his seat that the teacher, Mr. Clowes walked back into the classroom. He threw his paddle, which was now in two, splintered pieces, on his desk and flopped down in his chair. A few moments later, the student limped through the door and tenderly sat down in his desk.

"That'll teach you to draw in my class! When I say do your math homework, DO IT!" Mr. Clowes howled and slammed his fist down onto his desk. There was a loud snapping sound, and when he brought his hand back up, it was obviously broken.

"But sir, I don't have any homework to do. I just…"

"Do you need some more?" He asked and scooped up the broken paddle with his broken hand. "I can go all day." There was a long and silent pause and then Mr. Clowes said, "Answer me!"

"No, Sir." The kid said and hung his head down in anguish.

"That's it! What did I tell all of you about talking in my class? It's like I'm talking to myself! Come on you little shit!" He motioned at the already beaten student and the two proceeded into the hall.

Suddenly, he stuck his head back in the door and said, "You all better be working when I walk back in here! And I don't want to hear a peep!"

The whole time this was going on, Byron had been drawing on his blue jeans with a pen and as soon as the teacher was out of the room, he looked up from his work and yelled, "PEEP! YOU ARSEHOLE!" While the rest of the room stared at him, he pulled a comic out of his backpack and busied himself with expanding his mind through literature. 'That Johnny cracks me up,' he thought to himself.

A few tense minutes later, the piercing scream of the lunch bell's ringing filled the halls and there was a frantic wave of humanity, with exception to one member of the mob, hurtling toward the cafeteria.

In the lunchroom, Byron sat down at his usual table, the opposite end of Zim's table and looked to see what he'd packed himself for lunch. "Hmm let's see: potted meat sandwich, banana, pudding, and a can of Poop cola. Thanks mom." He said to himself bitterly. His mother was a terrible person. She'd always self-medicated herself with whatever was available, whether it be alcohol, tobacco, or pills, she'd take it. She didn't care for him in the least, not because he was a bad person, quite the contraire, it was because every dime that went to feeding and clothing him was one less dime she had for her needs.

Byron didn't care for his father either. Of course, his father loved him so much, but like most military people, he was rigid and had to have every aspect of his, and his family's, lives governed by rules and regulations. He would consult the handbook for the proper procedure for mounting his frigid wife. And a day didn't go by that Byron wasn't hounded by his father about military service. All this bullshit about success and building character and making yourself a better member of society, he didn't buy it for a moment. More like he'd get his legs blown off or poisoned by an experimental "vaccine"! That wasn't for him. Fuck that.

He looked up from his pathetic meal just in time to see Dib enter the lunchroom; he was covered in leaves and had a large band-aid on his shoulder. He picked up a handful of whatever was for lunch that day. "ZIM! You shall," he paused to cough up a somewhat average sized leaf, "feel the wrath of," he paused to look at today's menu, "Curry Surprise!" Dib raised his hand to the heavens and sent the clump sailing at Zim. I connected with a resounding "SPLAT!" and and Zim fell to the floor screaming in pain.

"I thought it was ketchup and rice day," Byron said.

Dib arched an eyebrow and looked at him. "Shut up vampire! I know your wicked ways of evil and one day, I will catch you! You'll never get my precious, precious blood!"

"Shut up Dib! Just because I have abnormally sharp canines and I'm unusually pale even though I go out in the sun a lot, doesn't make me a vampire! I have a shadow! I blink! I know you're carrying garlic, give it to me and I'll eat it! I am not a vampire." Byron raised his fist at Dib and glared at him menacingly. It would only be a matter of time before Dib tried to stake him again. Most of the kids in the lunchroom snickered, not only because Dib was being stupid, but also because most of them thought Byron's thick Irish accent was very humorous.

That's when Byron got an idea. He looked down at the other end of the table. Zim was just picking himself up from the floor. His face was blistered and his left eye was swollen completely shut. His entire head throbbed with what Byron imagined to be some form of heartbeat. Byron's idea was very simple. He'd use Zim to destroy Dib and anyone else who was on his ever-lengthening shite list.

Byron threw his lunch in the trash and walked over to where Zim was sitting. Zim didn't even notice the tall human approach or sit down in front of him. He had busied himself with a small, electronic writing pad, probably planning some good ole' fashioned doom.

He was rapidly scribbling something in Irken and occasionally scratching at the burnt flesh that adorned his head.

"Hey Zim, what's up?" Byron said, trying not to startle the little green man from beyond the stars. For all he knew, Zim might shoot him right there in the lunchroom. It's not like anyone would have noticed. "Is that your latest plot?"

"Huh?" he looked up from his plotting. "Ahh! What do you want, earth-stink?" He screamed and desperately tried to cover his little note pad.

'Earth-stink? Could he be anymore obvious?' Byron thought. He held up his hands in a non-threatening manner and said, "Dude, just chill. I come in peace." Byron had to laugh at the irony of this statement.

"Peace?" Zim said, stretching out the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "I DO NOT NEED peace from you, you pathetic dirt-child! I AM ZIM!" Zim stood up in his seat defiantly and held a tightly clenched fist under Byron's nose. "Now be gone! Be gone before I make you…erm, uh, be gone!"

"Zim, I'd like to be as blunt with you as possible about the nature of my desire to converse with you. I would like to speak with you about a subject that obviously concerns both of us in a rather dire manner," Byron said calmly. "It is pertinent that we ratify this nuisance of a situation before its burden becomes too much for either of us to bear."

"Huh?" Zim arched an eye ridge in a very confused look. "Was that English?"

Byron propped his boots up on the lunch table. "I'm from Ireland." How many times has he had to say that already?

"What planet is that?" Zim asked. How many times has he heard someone say that already? "I've never heard of I-er-lund," he said slowly trying to sound out the word.

"It doesn't matter," he said irritatedly. "Sorry, I tend to use big words. I'll explain," he said leaning across the table just in case someone was listening in. "It's obvious you're an alien, Zim. Like who says calls people 'pig-smellies' or 'worm babies'? And nobody's walked like that since nineteen forty-five! And don't get me started on your skin and eyes; skin condition and pink eye my Irish arse!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zim said. Suddenly, one of his contact lenses popped out and he frantically snatched it up and popped it back in.

"That's got GERMS on it now," Byron said just so he could watch Zim fidget about in his chair. That was always good for a laugh. "You are so a fucking alien! But, unlike Dib, I don't care. Do what you like with this planet. I don't want it." He then said slowly, "Just remember, I AM NOT A THREAT TO YOU!"

"Hey, I understood that!" Zim said triumphantly. 'I guess they do speak English on

'I-er-lund'!"

Byron slapped himself across the face. How could a being capable of intergalactic space travel be THIS stupid?

Meanwhile, Dib sat with his sister Gaz, the only person who would willingly sit by him, and watched the pair suspiciously.

"I just know that damn nosferatu and Zim are plotting something! I knew it!" He paused and looked at his sister. "Gaz, are you even listening?"

Without even looking up from her Game Slave 4, she said, "No. Now shut up! Make no mistake, Dib, if you choose to test my resolve in this matter, you'll be looking at an outcome that will have a finality that is beyond your comprehension, and you'll not be counting the days or the months or the years, but millenniums in a room with no doors."

"I'm sorry Gaz," Dib wined.

"I know. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!" She screamed and continued hammering at her game.

Zim was already looking extremely paranoid, but now, he was on the edge of utter and total panic. "Zim, you need to chill out again. You're not chilling out," Byron said calmly. "WE'RE not the enemies here." He pointed over at Dib, "Our mutual foe is…"

Byron didn't even get a chance to finish his sentence before Zim pulled out a strange flashing device and Byron slipped off into sleep. The little Irken reached over and slung Byron over his should. Suddenly, a little green dog with rockets for feet came blasting through the nearest window. Zim climbed on, with Byron still on his shoulder. Zim yelled, "Go, Gir! We shall depart from this place!" The three of them blasted back out the window and into the sky. In they're wake, they left a burnt, half-destroyed lunchroom with hundreds of blackened skool children lying in the floor.

One looked at the other and said, "Damn Dib's head is big!"

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Hope you liked. And for those of you who didn't notice, Gaz says my favorite line from Meet Joe Black. I DID NOT COME UP WITH THAT LINE! Please review!