A/N: Here's the next chapter! But I'm sure you could have figured that out! This one kind of drags a bit. But it's necessary for the advancement of the plot. I promise, this is going to get a WHOLE lot better. Please, tell me what you think and leave a review. I love to here from you all! Thanks.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 3
BYRON'S BIG PLAN
Byron walked home in the late evening sun. The tall skyscrapers in the distance cast there shadows down upon the neighborhood as the sun hid behind them like a scared, little bitch. His mind was a raging torrent of thought and plan. He was continually mumbling to himself about percentages, ratios, and chances. Ever so often an audible word, like vengeance or absolute power, would escape his lips and scare anyone within earshot. He had his hands behind his back and fidgeted his fingers together. Suddenly, he halted his bizarre expedition and yelled loudly, "That's it! That's the key!" He laughed rather loudly and bolted at break-neck speed toward his house.
Just as he arrived outside the front door, he paused and carefully opened the door. No doubt his mother was passed out on the couch and Lord him if he were to wake her. He'd received many a beating while his father wasn't there to see. And many a night would Byron lay awake and cry as he fantasized about "offing his dear ole' mum in 'er sleep".
He shook this thought from his head and quietly proceeded up the stairs to his room.
He smiled and looked at the large Irish flag that was tacked up on the outside of his door and walked into his green wallpapered room. Obviously, being from overbearingly military stock, Byron's room was as immaculate as Zim's base. There was a small bed with a green wool blanket tucked over it and a black footlocker at the foot, a small shelving unit of books, and armchair, a TV, and a desk with a computer. His closet doors were wide open and they revealed the flawlessly ironed and hung clothes inside. All in all, it was a nice room, but rather cramped.
He ducked under his bed and pulled out a small boom box and a shoebox. He plugged in his small stereo and opened the box. Inside were about twenty CD's. He thumbed through them for a few minutes before he diced on his favorite one, 'The Dropkick Murphys'. The speakers clicked into life and the wine of bagpipes slowly drifted out of them.
"Face down in the gutter won't admit defeat though his clothes are soiled and black," Byron sang along as he turned on his computer, " He's a big, strong man with a child's mind, don't you take his booze away!"
The computer whirred and grinded for a few moments until it had rebooted. Byron logged in and a large The Swollen Eyeballs' emblem appeared on the screen. This made him smile bemusedly. Then, a small dark figure appeared on his computer screen and answered, "Greetings, Agent Far Liath."
"Greetings, Agent Darkbootie. How goes 'business' wif da' supernatural?" Byron asked cheerfully. Now that he was relaxed and not worried with the outside world, he could let his true accent show. The music continued to lightly pound in the background.
"They what?" He asked.
'Damn this accent!' Byron thought and repeated slowly, "Business with the super natural?"
"Oh! As well as can be expected. Other than,"
"Agent Mothman?" he asked with a chuckle.
"Yes," answered Agent Darkbootie. "How'd you know."
"Call it luck of da' Irish!" He grinned. "Anyway, I decided to go and investigate dis 'Zim' guy he is constantly ranting about and you know what I did find?"
"What? What did you find?"
"I found that he's a normal teenage boy wif a horrible and debilitating skin condition. I feel bad for the fella', I do," Byron lied trying not to let that same grin from earlier retake his face. Sometimes it scared him how well he was able to lie. "Other then the skin, he's as normal a bugger as you an' meself."
"That's what I figured. We won't have to worry about him anymore. We've decided to quit humoring him and…"
From a few houses down, Dib could be heard screaming, "WHAT? NOOOOO! It's cancelled!"
Darkbootie paused and asked, "Who was that screaming?"
Byron chuckled and replied happily, "Jus' da' TV. Isn't'a problem."
"Oh. Well, like I was saying, his membership has been cancelled. We don't need immature skeptics clogging up our administration."
"I couldn't agree more with you Agent Darkbootie."
"Very good, Agent Far Liath. Agent Darkbootie signing off." His face disappeared from the screen.
"Feckless eedget! You bought it like a whore on payday!" he laughed. Byron turned off his computer and opened a drawer in his desk. From out of it he pulled a stack of notebooks each labeled, "Master Plan" and began frantically scribbling down the "key" he had discovered earlier during his walk. Byron returned to his half-minded mubling. Out of the gibberish, like usual, an occasional word would appear. "Scanner" … "Genetics" … "Gaz" and then he finished and wrote down, and underlined, the final part of his idea. DESTROY DIB!
Footsteps could be heard approaching outside Byron's door. He stuffed the notebooks back in his desk, turned off his stereo and stuffed it and the shoebox buck under the bed. He then dove into his chair and turned on the TV. All of this he did in less than four seconds.
Suddenly, the door flew open and there stood the mascot for fabric starch, Lieutenant Briggs O'Connor, Byron's father. He didn't look happy.
"Hey, dad," Byron said happily. This was met with a glare and he quickly corrected with, "Hello, sir."
"Son, what's this about you skipping skool today? I got a call from your teacher saying you left during lunch with a boy named Zim. Is this true?" The entire time he spoke, he stood stiff as a board in the doorway. The only things straighter than him were the creases that ran up the legs of his pants.
"Yes, sir," he said. Byron knew better then to try and lie to his father. Last time he tried that, he was locked in his room for the entire weekend without food or lavatory privileges.
"That's what I thought! I want your ass down stairs in ten minutes. No son of mine is going to skip skool. Your old pal 'the leather strap' will be waiting for you."
"Yes, sir." Byron said sadly. He was about to tell his father that he loved him, but when he looked up at the doorway, his father was gone.
A burning hate filled Byron's chest. He'd put up with this for too long. He sprang into action. He'd skip skool if he wanted and he'd be damned if he didn't skip home as well! He quickly threw open his foot locker and dumped it out and began frantically stuffing some clothes, his notebooks, and his boom box and CD's into his duffel bag. He made sure he had everything. He put on his jacket and just before he left, he grabbed his pillow and a blanket, in case he'd have to sleep in the park or something. Then, just before he climbed out the window, he forgot one of his most important possessions. He opened the air vent in the floor and pulled out his little cigar box. He opened and made sure its contents were still safe. Just for good measure, Byron quickly removed the flag from his door and out the window he went. The entire time he did this, he could here his drunk mother screaming about how his father should beat Byron far more often and when he was done could he run down to the corner store for a six pack.
Fortunately for Byron, There was roofing under his window, which allowed him to safely get to the ground without being caught or breaking an ankle. Once he was at street level, he ran as fast as he could run with the forty-pound duffle bag and assorted belongings in his arms. He knew once he was out of range of his house, he'd have to travel by the back yards so the cops wouldn't find him. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to skool after this. He'd have to be careful; this could make, or break, his master plan. Speaking of which, he paused for a minute and pulled a small notepad out of his back pocket and flipped through page after page of names. Finally, he came to a spot with a few blank spaces. He wrote down, 'Mom and Dad' in the spot and then closed the pad full of names. The cover read, 'Slow and Painful List'. He stuffed it back in his pocket and picked his stuff back up.
Zim walked into the living room and looked at the little robot. "Gir, what are you doing?"
"I'm watching the monkey!" Ye yelled and pointed at the TV.
"Eeeh, THAT monkey!" He said angrily at the TV. "We're going to watch something else Gir," He said and sat down on the couch. "Want a lik-a-maid stick?" He asked and offered Gir an Irken food stick.
"OKAY!" Gir snatched it from Zim's claw and began to hysterically lick it.
"COMPUTER!" Zim yelled.
"What do you want now, Zim?"
"Show me a list of all the movies we've Tivoed!"
"Fine!" Suddenly a long list of films appeared on the TV screen.
Gir looked up from his food and yelled, "Ooh, let's watch the Phibes movie. Let's watch! Let's watch! Let's watch! Let's waaaaaaaaa!"
"FINE, GIR!" Zim yelled and slapped himself across the face. "Computer, play The Abominable Doctor Phibes! Play it IMMEDIATELY!" No sooner had Zim said this that a man in red appeared on the TV and started pounding on a pipe organ.
"YAY! It's Vincent Price!" Gir screamed happily.
"Yes, Gir. I like the creepy human just as much as you, but I …"
Suddenly, there was a knock at the front men's room door. "Eh! Who could it be NOW!" Zim yelled angrily and sprang up from the couch. "Dib-human, if that is you at my door, I'm gonna' lay eggs in your pathetic dirt stomach!" Zim charged the door and threw it open, not to find a cowering Dib, but a laughing Byron.
"YOU'RE gonna' lay eggs in me stomach, are ya'?" Byron said picking his belongings up off the doorstep.
"Eh, Byron! What are you doing here? I said to come back tomorrow! Do you have the brain worms?" Zim said angrily.
"There's been a complication and I don't have anywhere else to go. Come on, I took the oath, remember? I though we're comrades now."
"I know not what a 'comrade' is, but you did take the oath. Come inside my ally," Zim said and stepped out of Byron's way.
He walked inside and threw his stuff in a corner. "Hey, Gir!" He said.
Gir looked away from his movie and yelled, "Hi there!"
Byron smiled and sat down on the couch. "Ooh, you got Dr. Phibes? Cool."
"Cool? It's not cold in here! Zim's base is always at a comfortable temperature!" Zim said.
"No, it's Earth-slang for nice or good. How do you live here for six years and not know what 'cool' means?"
"I'm here for conquest, not for grammar lessons!" Zim paused for a second and then yelled, "COMPUTER! Prepare Byron a living quarters!"
"OKAY, BUT ONLY BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME TO DO IT!" There was a loud grinding sound emanating deep within the house and then the computer said, "ALL DONE!"
Byron looked around and hesitantly said, "Thank you, um, computer."
"WOW, HE ACTUALLY THANKED ME! ZIM, YOU NEVER THANK ME! I NEVER GET …"
"SILENCE!" Zim howled. "Come, I'll show you to your room."
It only took a few minutes for the two to take the refrigerator elevator down to the habitation level. There was a short hallway with three doors.
"Your room is on the right. Gir's is at the end of the hall. And mine is right across from yours. Rest well, human," Zim said.
"Good night, Zim."
"Eh?" Zim was, yet again, confused by the human's dialect.
"It's what we say instead of 'rest well'. We say 'good night'."
"Okay. Well then, good night, Byron." Before anything else could be said, Zim marched into his living quarters and slammed the door behind him.
Byron looked at the door to his room. It was, like himself compared to Zim, taller than the door across from it. He walked inside to discover a room that was at least three times the size of his room back home. It had a huge bed, and a everything else he could ever need. The room was littered with furniture, electronics, snack machines, and through another door, was one of the largest bathroom he'd ever seen.
"Cool!" He said and began to unpack his things. "In the morning, I'll begin phase one of my MASTER plan!" He began to laugh. He laughed so long and hard that when he was finished, he dropped down on his bed and instantly fell asleep to dream sweet dreams of DOOM!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N:
© -Dropkick Murphys' "Barroom Hero"
© - The Abominable Doctor Phibes & Vincent Price
I hope you guys like this. Like I said, I'm going to try to keep this going as quickly as possible.