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thatonegeekygirl · 2 years ago

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Makin' My Way Downtown (A Spacejunk AU Invader Zim Fanfic)

as promised an unfortunate amount of time ago, here is a more-long-then-originally-intended and somewhat convoluted fanfiction for @l-ii-zz's spacejunk au! i strongly suggest checking her page out before reading this so you can get a sense of where the chracters are at--and also meet her iz oc, Urania! basic storyline, zim, dib and gir head out for a nice afternoon at a mooga mart on Quanax. banter is exchanged, absurd amounts of snacks are bought, zims past comes back to bite him, general shenanigens occur. zadf, adult dib, and lots of made-up space language.

here’s the link the the space junk au masterpost:

now, on to the fic!!

The Poltergeist cruised through space, its hull glinting in the light from a nearby star. Operating systems hummed their content song. Little bits of rock bumped against the solar windshield, not even leaving a scratch. Scanners sweeped back and forth, a vigilant eye for enemy vessels or heavenly bodies, alert and attuned. Meticulous. Serene. Controlled.

Unlike the beings found inside it.

“GIR!” Zim shrieked for the umpteenth time that day. “Cease that infernal noise and get over here!”

The little robot ignored him.

Zim sighed deeply. “...Urania.”

“GIR, come along,” the ship's AI ordered.

“Comin’ ship lady!” GIR called cheerfully, dropping the two metal rods he’d been banging together and skipping over to the console. He jumped into Zim’s lap and Zim growled once before tucking GIR in beside him in the pilot seat.

“Dib, make sure we don’t run into an asteroid, if you would.” Zim transferred command of the ship to Dib’s control pad. “GIR, give me your leg.”

“No promises,” Dib clipped. “Where’re we going again?”

“No, GIR, the other leg!” Zim groaned, as GIR threw his normal appendage in the air. “Urgh, Dib, weren’t you listening?”

“Nope,” Dib said frankly.

“Insufferable,” Zim muttered. He grasped GIR’s replacement leg and drew a multi-use tool from his PAK. He began tightening the connection between the leg and GIR’s metal shell. “We are going to planet Quanax in the Froogl system, as I told you before.”

“What are we going there for?” Dib asked, eyeing a particularly big piece of space junk as it floated past them.

“If you must know, it is the site for the largest Mooga Mart in the galaxy! Which you would know, if you paid any attention, Dib,” Zim scorned. He dropped GIR’s leg, and GIR happily settled into the seat, kicking his legs with glee.

“Mooga Mart?” Dib snickered. “What the hell is a Mooga Mart?”

“It’s a Mooga Mart.” Zim blinked at him. Upon realizing the human required more explanation, he groaned and continued. “Mega Mart is fine. Mega Mega Mart is better. Mega Mega Mega Mart is better than that. Extra Mega Mart is better than that. Extremely Fantastic Mart is eh. And Mooga Mart is the best! For Irk’s sake, how long have you been in space!?”

“Apparently not long enough to learn about the different levels of Mart,” Dib commented, grinning to himself as Zim rather seriously puzzled over Dib’s lack of knowledge of Mooga Marts. “What’s a Mooga Mart got anyway?” “Irken products!” Zim declared, tossing a finger into the air. “All the Irken products!”

“Gee.” Dib raised his eyebrows. “How come we haven’t gone to one before? Considering they’ve got all the Irken products.”

“Well. We’ve never traveled close to one before.” Zim shrugged. “Oh!” He pointed to the screen, which now displayed a flashing icon that looked distinctly like a mini-Woolmart. “We’ve arrived!”

“Urania, set auto-approach,” Dib said, flicking the main engines off.

“Oh, certainly, Captain.” Urania’s invisible touch guided the ship towards the planet.

“...I honestly can’t tell if that was sarcastic or not,” Dib muttered.

“Ha!” Zim grinned impishly. “Why, Dib, she is so obviously serious! You are the Captain, the King, the Big Kahuna, Our All-Powerful Leader, the Bulk Bag of Cheddar Cheese–”

“Christ, I get the point!” Dib swiped a hand at Zim’s face.

The Poltergeist swerved around ringed planets of various colors, ducked beneath a massive freighter ship, and joined the line of spacecraft easing their way into Quanax’s atmosphere.

“GIR, see that fast food mascot?” Zim gestured to an obnoxious sign featuring a bulbous alien creature with an absurdly large head, holding a seeping burger-like object and declaring, ‘EAT THIS FOOD!!’ in bubble letters. He wrapped an arm around GIR’s shoulders and threw a hand into the air. “His head is nearly as big as Dib’s!”

GIR ooo’d loudly as a cackling Zim scrambled away from Dib’s second strike.

“Remind me again why I hang out with you?” Dib asked in exasperation, glaring at Zim as the alien shifted smugly back into his chair.

“Aw, you love me.” Zim smirked.

“My mistake.”

Urania, ignoring them, guided the ship into a docking port, and dropped it somewhat abruptly on its landing stilts.

“Yeagh!” Zim spluttered as the vessel shuddered, grasping the sides of his chair.

“Bit of a rough landing there, Urania?” Dib said weakly from the floor.

“Again!” GIR cheered.

“Schlorfin’ AI, bet she did that on purpose,” Zim grumbled. He smoothed his skewed antenna and righted his rumpled suit.

“Not at all,” Urania replied smoothly, “just space turbulence.”

“No space turbulence if we’re not in space,” Zim muttered under his breath. But he picked up GIR and set him firmly on the floor, and made no further argument. “Chop chop, Dib, Mooga Mart awaits!”

“Just…gimme a minute for my lungs to face the right direction…” Dib managed,

“To quote good ol’ Commander Poki…” Zim held a hand out to Dib, and when the man took it, yanked him in one aggressive motion to his feet. “Walk it off!” He slapped Dib’s back. Dib groaned brokenly, then blinked.

“Wait, that actually…helped? Somehow?” He said slowly.

“I’ve found hitting often does,” Zim replied nonchalantly. “Though I admit it is usually directed at the enemy. GIR, if I see you fiddling with that leg one more time I’m going to blow it off myself!”

GIR looked up from pulling at his replacement leg with a caught-red-handed look.

“Yes, I noticed.” Zim narrowed his eyes on the robot. “You’re not so sneaky. Urania, we’ll be back in a couple hours, do try to not leave the planet without us onboard.” He marched down the corridor, waving the other two after him.

“I shall hold on to the one scrap of sympathy I have for GIR and endeavor not to,” Urania replied blithely. As Zim disappeared out the hanger doors she materialized beside Dib. He suppressed a shriek.

“Get me a repetitive laser, model G7R-69,” she said. “Don’t forget.”

“...why?” Dib questioned.

“A specific and important reason that I will not share with you at this time.”

Dib stared at her for a moment. “...Well, that's cryptic. C’mon, GIR.” He picked up the SIR unit and placed him in his hood, much to GIR’s delight. “I doubt Zim will appreciate it if we get left behind minutes after arriving.”

Dib tromped out of the ship, with squealing robot in tow, to find Zim gazing out at the sprawling megatropolis before them.

“Isn’t it glorious?” The aforementioned Irken grinned widely.

If one enjoyed box stores the size of New York city with an even more dismally gray color scheme, surrounded by swarming air traffic and the sound of machinery, it certainly was.

“How do you find anything in that?” Dib questioned, staring with skepticism at the many alien departments reaching as far as the eye could see, both side to side and upwards–and presumably downwards.

One of Zim’s PAK arms pulled something out of the device with flourish. “Map!”

“Right. Lead the way, space-man,” Dib said.

Zim began striding forwards, toward the huge doors marked ‘Entrance’ in bold pink letters, which seemed a bit overtly obvious. Dib followed, taking in the surprisingly small number of customers roaming around the area outside the building. “How come no one’s here?”

“Mooga Mart is nearly always filled with Irken consumers,” Zim explained, exuding smugness out the ying yang. “EXCEPT! On Irken holidays. One of which,” he gloated, “is so conveniently today!”

“Tallest Day!” Dib snapped his fingers. “Of course!”

“Only the Irken Elite are permitted to skimp on Tallest Day celebrations, so the Mart will be virtually empty. All those licking sticks, just sitting there for the taking!” Zim clapped his hands together gleefully. “...though I am suspicious of the origins of Tallest Day. Something in my squeedily spooch tells me the Tallest may have invented it as an excuse for parade floats of their faces and extra snacks.”

“Could be,” Dib said solemnly.

“Now, there is a scanner we have to pass through in order to be granted access to the Mart,” Zim explained. “Only Irkens are allowed through, unless you have explicit permission from an Irken and the Irken is present, in which case other species can enter as well. Just follow my lead!”

The three of them approached a kiosk-looking thing manned by what could have been an Earthen teenage movie theater employee if not for his third eye and tentacles. Beside it was a white and pink chamber with clear windows in the front and back.

“Wait, if you have to be scanned won’t it realize you’re not an Irken Elite?” Dib hissed under his breath, eyes flicking between his friend and the scanner. “And also, y’know, that you’re the traitorous criminal Invader Zim?”

“Quit worrying. It only scans for Irken DNA, not specific individuals,” Zim reassured him. “And even if it did, no one's going to risk leaving Irk on Tallest Day just to arrest us.”

“Step onto the pad to confirm your genetic code,” the alien warbled as they stopped at the counter.

Zim marched onto it, and the glass opened and closed behind him. He tucked his hands behind his back and tapped his foot impatiently. “Hurry it up, security drone, I have things to do!”

“Please keep all limbs and other appendages inside the Scan-O-Tron™️ until the Scanning™️ is complete,” the alien said, monotone.

He pressed a button, and neon pink rings began rising out of the floor, up around Zim, and into the ceiling. The machine buzzed as it worked. After a moment or two, a ding sounded from the employee's control panel.

“Scanning™️ complete. You may enter the premises.”

Zim strode out the other side. Dib moved to follow him, but the glass slid shut with a slam before him and GIR could enter.

“Irkens only, unless you have permission from a present Irken,” the alien said flatly.

“They’re with me,” Zim said. “Let them through or I will have a very serious conversation with your superior!”

“Do you take full responsibility for…” the alien squinted at Dib. “...the squishy pink thing and the SIR unit?”

“Yes yes yes, whatever, just open the ding dang door!” Zim rolled his eyes.

The alien employee shrugged and pushed another button. The glass parted before Dib.

He walked through the threshold, only slightly miffed at the comment on his apparent squishy pinkness.

“Let’s go get a cart,” he said, glancing around the massive area and trying not to become disoriented by the sheer magnitude of stuff.

“First things first,” Zim said briskly. “Gimme GIR.”

Dib raised an eyebrow, but reached behind himself and grabbed the robot from his hood. GIR waved his hands excitedly and tried to bounce but succeeded only in shaking Dib’s arms.

“Are we there yet!?” the SIR unit shrieked.

“Indeed we are,” Zim replied calmly, taking him from Dib. With habitual grace, Zim tossed him over his head and waited while metal cords snaked out of his PAK and around the robot, securing him to his back in a contraption amusingly reminiscent of a baby carrier.

Dib gave Zim a look.

“He wanders,” the alien explained shortly.

“Don’t I know it.”

Zim trotted to a enormous collection of floating, rectangular white carts and motioned for Dib to grab one. He did, and the three of them, led by Zim and his map, entered the maze of aisles and shelves. They were fairly well organized, with the merchandise stacked neatly and their prices displayed in holographic pink. Signs hung suspended in the air telling patrons what things were where, with the occasional one advertising some Irken product or another. There were small circular objects hovering just above the ground at consistently spaced intervals. These confused Dib until he saw a thin little Irken climb on one and ride it up to the higher shelving units.

“This way.” Zim pointed to the right, briefly looking up from the map. “Snacks are top priority, obviously. After that, the discount section. You’d be shocked at the things people will just throw in there! And if we have time after that, we’ll check out some of the new Invader tech the Scientists have come out with.” “You do know you’re not an Invader anymore, right?” Dib commented, half serious.

“Sure,” Zim replied, “but I still have standards.”

The snack section, to the surprise of no one, was at the forefront of the store, and only took them a minute or two to find. Zim stared giddily at the rows upon rows of alien candy and junk food, practically vibrating. As he began stuffing everything in sight into the cart, Dib examined some of the stranger food choices around him. Picking up a bag of Gummy Wyverns in one hand and a cylinder of Sour Star Dust in the other, he came to the conclusion that Zim’s infinite supply of energy probably came from the absurd amount of sugar he consumed. Perhaps if he, too, consumed absurd amounts of sugar…

He tossed the two snacks into the cart.

No harm in trying.

As he pushed the cart down the aisle, he read all the labels and attempted to figure out what exactly each of the foods might actually contain–Irken food products did not come with such foolish things as Nutrition Facts. Moments later Zim, finally content with the number of calories piled inside the cart, nodded thoughtfully.

“We’ve still got enough room to grab some discounted supplies!” He declared. “This way Dib!” He led them out of the aisle they were in and left, into an area filled with massive cans of screws.

“Can we lookit the fishy things!?” GIR screeched from Zim’s back.

Zim grimaced. “...fine, we can look at the fishy things. After we get everything else.”

“I, too, wish to look at ‘the fishy things’,” Dib said.

“We’ll look at the fishy things!” Zim growled. “You people really need to get your priorities straight.” “Says the Irken who just stuffed our cart overflowing with junk food,” Dib retorted under his breath.

“I heard that!” Zim threw a hand up in the air. He quickened his stride until eventually Dib was forced to run full tilt after him, cart swerving perilously and growing heavier by the second. Eons later Zim came to an abrupt stop, causing Dib to shriek and dig his heels into the linoleum floor to avoid crashing into him. The cart came to a stop inches behind the aliens head.

“What…was that…for…?” Dib panted, leaning on the cart’s handle.

“Now we’ll have time to look at the fishy things,” Zim explained calmly, not even slightly out of breath. Dib was sure his voice sounded genial to any onlookers but Dib could damn well hear the smug lilt hidden within its innocent facade.

“Alright, alright, the genius Irken wins.” Dib rolled his eyes. “Can we just look at the discounts now?”

Zim gestured to the sign above them reading ‘Discounted Items’. “Since I have so thoughtfully brought us to them in short order, yes we may.”

“Okay, now you’re not fooling anybody!” A chuckle snuck its way out of Dib’s chest.

“Fooling?” Zim eyes grew comically wide. “Fooling? What are you implying, dear boy? There is no fooling commencing in this fine establishment! I have only the utmost respect for my fellow cabin mates. I’m offended you would imply such crass behavior!”

“When did you become a Victorian gentleman?” Dib raised an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about, Dib? Really. You’re losing it. And if you keep stalling we’ll run out of time to see the fishy things!” Zim tutted.

Dib pushed the cart into the first Discounted Items aisle with one hand and grabbed the back of Zim’s suit with the other.

“Yee!” Zim shrieked involuntarily, to which Dib chortled.

The alien grinned darkly, all teeth. “That's how you want to play, huh?” “What does that mean–YAGH!” Zim ripped himself out of Dib’s grasp and climbed up his back, claws digging into the fabric and scratching at his skin. “Zim! That tickles!”

Mercifully, as Zim reached his shoulders he ceased his scrabbling, swinging his legs across Dib’s chest. “March, soldier!” The alien cried.

“As long as you don’t pull at my hair,” Dib warned, and continued walking.

“Victory for Zim!” Zim crowed triumphantly. “Ooo, look, industrial heated blanket.”

“Dude, I know you love your heated things, but aren’t name-brand heated blankets super pricey? Do we have the funds for something that expensive?” Dib pried, wincing as he visualized the numbers on his monies rectangle dropping into the red zone.

Zim gestured widely to the price tag, which read: “98% OFF!!!! LAST ONE IN STOCK!!!!!!! SAVE 76’000 MONIES!!!!!!!!!!!! (seriously for the love of Irk buy this thing we can’t take down the sign out front advertising heated blankets until they’re all sold out and we can’t put a new ad out till it's gone and the other product investors are getting angry enough to shoot something) ((probably me)) ((I am begging you take this gashlinking thing))).

Dib shrugged the shoulder Zim wasn’t sitting on and tossed the boxed item into their cart. “Fair enough.”

“Come, Dib, all we have to do is walk straight through the Discounted Items aisle and we’ll be at the fishy things! And then the tech section is right above them on the third floor! Sometimes my marvelous planning skills impress even myself.” Zim grinned.

“‘Aisle’, singular? There’s only one?” Dib asked.

“Indeed!”

“Oh, well, this shouldn’t take too long then.”

~2 hours and 23 minutes later…~

“Is…is that the end…?” Dib breathed, drooping eyelids fluttering as his pupils registered a break in the straight shelving to both his sides.

“Alas, we have reached the end of the discounts,” Zim said mournfully. “But not without acquiring two packs of Irken Purple-Pop soda, a heated blanket, a 50 foot length of bungee rope, new speakers for The Poltergeist’s lounge, a box of miscellaneous screws and nails, a couple of heating coils for my latest project, that weird wrist-computer you seemed so excited about, three pairs of welding goggles, antenna-pods for my Music-y Box Thing, and a Tobbleberry lolly for GIR!”

Ignoring the majority of Zim’s sentence, Dib yelled, “Finally!” And rushed the last couple meters to the end of the aisle. “Sweet fresh air! Miles and miles of AISLE really does something to a person! God, I missed space for my elbows!” He flung his hands wide out.

“Er, Dib-friend?” Zim tapped the top of Dib’s head.

“Hm?” Dib opened an eye to look at him.

Zim tipped his head to the side a couple times, giving him a look. Dib followed his gaze.

A pair of Irkens in one aisle and a singular one in another were staring at Dib detestfully.

Dib smiled awkwardly and gave them a hesitant half-wave before lowering both his arms. “Zin,” he whispered, trying to keep his lips from moving. “‘Ich ‘ay are ‘e goin’?”

Zim dutifully pointed right. Dib looked resolutely at the cart, to keep it from hitting things and not at all to avoid locking eyes with the unimpressed Irkens, and pushed it towards the fishy things.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Dib muttered.

“I wasn’t laughing,” Zim said.

“You were going to.” “Well, you’ll never know now.” Zim patted Dib’s black hair. “Maybe I was going to comfort you with a kind hug and tell you that the hugely amusing event that just took place was not your fault somehow.”

“Y’know, I’d be more inclined to believe you if you hadn’t just called it ‘hugely amusing’,” Dib retorted.

Luckily for Dib–or possibly the both of them–before Zim could continue the conversation, GIR waved a pointer finger in a vaguely forward direction and yelled, “The fishy things!”

“Yes GIR, those are the fishy things.” Zim nodded. Then froze. “Wait, how did you get out!?”

GIR, now leaning on Zim’s head with his little metal feet on his shoulders, shrugged and stuck out his tongue. Zim sighed. “Come here, you insolent SIR.” A robotic arm shot out of his PAK and tucked GIR snugly back into his carrier. After a moment of thought, a couple more cords wrapped around GIR’s arms and chest, securing him tighter.

“You know, you could’ve just left him at the ship,” Dib pointed out.

Zim shot him an affronted look.

“Kidding, kidding,” Dib chuckled. “Let’s go see these fishy things of GIR’s.”

“They’re really not that interesting,” Zim complained, hopping off of Dib’s shoulder. “They’re all over Irk, some people enjoy eating them–I think they taste like Earth chalk. Really, they’re more pests than anything else.”

As he listened to Zim’s long-winded and unnecessary description of the fishy things–which were apparently called wakwoks–his eyes caught on a label in one of the aisles. Repetitive Lasers. If he slipped away before Zim finished his rant, the Irken probably wouldn’t even notice he’d left... He tilted the cart away and tiptoed off into the aisle. The selection of repetitive lasers was near the end, and there were a lot of them. Who knew Irkens loved repetitive lasers so much. I mean, he knew they loved regular lasers, so he supposed it wasn’t too much of a stretch to assume they’d like repetitive ones. He scanned the shelf.

Model G7R-96, Model G8-90, Model H0-45… Model G7R-69! Unfortunately, it was near the very top. As he pondered this problem thoughtfully the hovering pad thing beside him caught his eye.

Hm.

Dib hopped onto the device. It shook slightly but didn’t move.

“Uh,” Dib murmured. “Up, please?”

The pad stayed still.

“...Model G7R-69 repetitive laser, please…?”

The pad rushed him up, up, up till he was staring the desired lasers in the face. He reached a hand out to grab one just as his communicator buzzed. He groaned. Apparently Zim did notice. He pulled it out of his pocket.

angry green gremlin: DIB WHERE ARE YOU???

Dib rolled his eyes at the blatant misuse of capitalization and exclamation points.

agent mothman: i just went to pick up something for urania

agent mothman: ill be back in a sec

agent mothman: chill

angry green gremlin: GET BAKC HERER NOW!!!!

agent mothman: jeez im coming

Dib tucked the device back in his jacket, grabbed a laser, and said, “The floor?”

His ride sent him hurtling at a terrifying speed back to the cart. Grasping at his tumbling stomach, he stuck the foot-long repetitive laser into a somewhat open space in the cart. He then began walking–slowly–to his previous destination and an apparently panicking alien. Dib wasn’t sure if he was more irritated or touched by how much Zim was freaking out about his disappearance.

He rounded a corner, and took in the tanks of faintly pink liquid full of…well, fishy things. That truly was the only way to describe them in any honest way. They looked vaguely like lionfish, with some ‘lion’ removed from them and a heaping pile of ‘thing’ thrown in. There were also a few that appeared to be covered in goo, but considering they were underwater it was hard to tell. He strode forward, wondering vaguely where Zim and GIR had gone, and then a sharp hand grabbed his sleeve and yanked him and the cart into an adjoining aisle.

“Shh!” His attacker raised a finger to his lips.

“Zim, what are you doing?” Dib asked tiredly. “If this is about someone trying to steal your snacks again, I’m telling you no one's gonna take candy from you when they just take it from the store–”

“It's not that,” Zim interjected hurriedly. “Stand in front of me!”

Dib eyed his frantic friend. He stepped to the side so he blocked the view of Zim from the rest of the store. “Fine, now tell me what’s up.”

“I’ll explain later!” Zim waved him off, peeking warily out from his cover behind Dib’s legs to look out at the open area beyond. The alien stared for a long moment before eventually letting out a relieved sigh. “Okay, I don’t think he saw me...”

“‘He’? Who’s–” “ZIM!”

Zim winced deeply as his name rang through the rows of goods. “Time to go.” He grabbed Dib’s shirt and led him at a speed walk out of the aisle and down the main pathway. Dib shoved the cart to get it moving and followed, matching his companions pace. “Seriously, what’s going–” he began, only to be interrupted again.

“Is that you?” The voice bellowed. “Why, don’t leave, Zim! We haven’t had time to catch up in oh so long!”

Zim stopped wearily and put a hand out to stop Dib. The human complied, waiting until Zim grimaced and turned before he did so too.

“Heyyyy, Borax…” Zim said, smiling a strained smile.

“Hello, Zim,” greeted a leafy green Irken with neon pink eyes–presumably Borax. He was surrounded by four other Irkens, two with purple eyes, one with pink eyes and irregularly light green skin, and one with a single pink eye, its other one lidded and covered by an ugly, ragged scar. They all wore standard Invader uniforms, except for Borax, who also had metal gloves and boots.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Zim tried.

“Indeed. You’re still as short as ever,” Borax said.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Zim said shortly.

“How have you been?” Borax asked, words kind but gaze calculating.

“Oh, you know…” Zim trailed off. Dib was slightly impressed–despite his better judgment–to meet someone who could leave Zim at a loss for words.

“I see you’re hanging out with inferior life forms now,” Borax sneered, gesturing lazily at Dib.

“Dib is not–!” Zim growled, cutting himself off. “...Dib may not be Irken but he is just as superior as you or I.”

“They told us you’d gone rogue, Zim.” Borax tilted his head. “I mean, you already were out of control, what with all the regicide and mission failures. But I never believed you’d be this…Defective.” “Jokes on you, buckaroo.” Zim grinned, gaining back lost ground. “I don’t care that I’m Defective anymore! Check it out, I’ll even say it: I’m just a big ol’ Defective Irken. Zim the Defective. Defective, that’s what I am!”

Borax continued, unfazed. “Do you recall what I told you I’d do to you if I ever saw you again?”

“...give me a set of Purple Slooshie coupons and send me on my way…?” Zim supplied.

Borax glared darkly. “Boys…” He turned to the Irkens beside him and lifted a finger to point at Zim. “GET THEM!”

Zim shrieked and swatted urgently at Dib’s hand. “Run Dib!”

Dib didn’t need to be told twice. The cart gave a frustrated squeal as he threw himself into it and took off at a headlong run. Zim sped along beside him, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as the sound of charging Irkens grew closer.

“Here!” Zim tossed GIR into the cart, the robot giggling as he tumbled into the mountain of snacks. “Make sure he doesn’t climb out!” “Why can’t you just keep him in–” The question answered itself as Zim’s PAK legs struck out at the stuff surrounding them, leaving a messy barrier of random electronic components and bulk bags between them and Borax and his gang.

“This way!” Zim waved Dib down an aisle to their left, and Dib had to push one foot off a shelf to avoid knocking the front-heavy cart into it.

“Do you actually know where you’re going!?” Dib questioned above the clamor of Irken swearing and scraping PAK legs behind them.

“Your faith astounds me, Dib!” Zim hissed in reply. “Of course I know where we’re going!”

“Did you really think to load the map into your PAK!?” Dib demanded doubtfully.

Zim threw a hand in the direction of a massive, glowing EXIT sign.

“Oh,” Dib huffed. “My bad.” A bulk bag of roasted egad nuts crashed into the rack of cleaning wipes beside them, narrowly missing Dib’s head. He yelped.

“What did you do to this guy!?” He asked Zim, wide eyed.

Zim muttered something.

“I can’t hear you over all the shit being thrown at us!” Dib dodged a hammer.

“Nothing!” Zim snapped, striking a military mattress into the floor with a PAK leg.

“Dude,” Dib glanced up at a smoking hole in a box of replacement spinning razor blades. “It was obviously not nothing!”

“Alright, fine, I’ll tell you the abridged version!” Zim growled.

~Lotsa years earlier, before Zim went to Earth. Actually, before Zim was even an Invader. During Zim’s Invader training…~

“Now, recruits!” Commander Poki instructed, pacing. “For the love of Irk, express caution when practicing with your holo blades. I realize it has ‘holo’ in the name, but believe me when I say that it will not cause ‘holo’ damage. We cannot afford to lose any Invaders, even Invaders-in-training, during this time of crisis. At least, not many. So at least some of you need to stay alive. Those Flogschlokians won’t kill themselves!”

Zim stood on the flat top training area, holding a bright pink holo blade with undisguised glee. He wore a standard purple Invader-in-training uniform with the Irken insignia in black across his front. The weapon buzzed with energy as he swung its end back and forth in the air. Borax stood beside him, also wielding a holo blade. The size difference between them was striking. Zim seemed miniscule in comparison to Borax’s thick frame and general tallness. Also unlike Zim, he seemed uninterested, eager to get on to other things–things, one could assume, like raiding the free snack cabinet in the training lounge.

“Don’t get that thing so close to my face!” Borax complained, glaring at Zim.

“Chill out!” Zim said with a smirk, waving his weapon in the air and bouncing excitedly at the streaks of pink left in its trail. “I’m not gonna hit you.”

“Irk, I can’t believe they chose you of all people to be my partner.” Borax groaned loudly.

“I can’t believe they chose you of all people to be my partner,” Zim retorted arrogantly. “Truly you are not worthy of witnessing my magnificent magnificence, Borax.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Borax held his holo blade up in front of him in a standard ready stance.

Zim followed suit, though he shifted into an exaggerated position rather unlike Borax’s controlled one. Borax rolled his eyes, but moved his weapon to strike at Zim as they were told to do. Zim blocked him with gusto, their blades meeting in a shower of pink sparks and angry vibration.

“Zim!” Borax hissed. “Be careful!”

“Aw, c’mon, it's no fun if we have to do it slow!” Zim protested.

“It’s not supposed to be ‘fun’!” Borax narrowed his eyes. “We’re training, not playing some foolish smeet game! Now focus!”

“You need to relax,” Zim said blithely. He withdrew his blade from Borax’s and pitched it between his hands.

“Zim, I'm serious! Cut it out!” Borax growled.

Zim began twirling his weapon in the air with increasing speed, and it hummed and brightened.

“The commanders are probably overexaggerating how dangerous these things actually are,” he said. “I mean really, what's the worst that could happen?”

The intensifying noise coming off the weapon stopped abruptly as it cut clean through Borax’s right arm. Zim stared at the results of his unintentional amputation. Pink blood dripped to the ground from the limbless hole in Borax’s shoulder. Silence filled the grounds as the other trainees noticed the incident unfolding before them, and it reigned for a long, long moment as Borax registered what had just occurred. Zim hoped for a second that perhaps, the other Irken just wouldn’t notice he’d been suddenly parted with one of his four limbs.

“ZIIIIIIIIM!!!!”

Damn.

~Lotsa years later. Unfortunately, Borax is still alive, and he is angry.~

“You cut off his arm!?” Dib yelled, voice cracking.

“Only one arm!” Zim defended, as they skidded down one of the tighter aisles. “And they gave him a new one!”

“Even if doctors could grow me a…new arm with creepy cloning science,” Dib replied, panting. “I would still…be mad if… someone cut mine off!”

“Perhaps we can have this argument at a later, less in-mortal-danger time!?” Zim suggested. Laser fire rained down on them, and the Irken threw up a holo shield of his own design in defense. “This thing won’t last long! We need to get out of the store and into the open!”

“Is that not the opposite of huff what we want!?” Dib steered the cart around a fallen oil tank.

“If I have more space I can use my PAK legs!” Zim explained.

“Right. Huff. Okay.”

The exit sign was now looming on the near horizon, and Dib could see the entrance they’d come in through. Luckily for his burning legs and raspy lungs, he wouldn’t have to run for much longer. GIR peered out over the side of the cart. Dib raised a hand to smack him back into the safety of its sides, but before he had to, GIR noticed the horde of angry Irkens spewing lasers and hate and quickly slipped back into the heaps of stuff, only wide eyes showing.

Smart robot.

They tumbled forward in a rush of limbs and adrenaline. Passing by the expansive check-out counters, Dib turned his attention temporarily to the cart full of things they hadn’t yet purchased.

“Don’t we have to huff pay for this stuff!?” Dib pressed, as they tore past the counters and in a direct path for the exit.

“Urgh, fine!” Zim groaned. A PAK arm pulled a wad of monies from a compartment in the device and chucked it at one of the tellers. It hit the furry alien in the face with a smack.

“Is that even huff the right amount!?” Dib inquired, incredulous.

“Are you kidding me, that's more than those idiots would usually see on a Saturday!” Zim snarked.

“Is it genuine?”

“...that's not important right now!” Zim leapt forward to stand in front of the clear glass doors. The employee they’d spoken with earlier stared at them tiredly. “There’s no time for a scan! Stand back!” Zim warned. Dib, hoping whatever Zim was about to do wouldn’t cause too much damage, yanked the cart backwards and ducked behind it. The sound of machinery whirring and charging up segued into a shuddering blast that sent bits of metal and miscellaneous building material into the air.

“Let’s go!” Zim called.

“Was that really necessary?” Dib complained as the three of them plus the cart stampeded their way through the rubble and out into the open.

“Maybe, maybe not. But I got to try out my new laser cannon!” Zim grinned up at him. “Push the red button on the side of the cart handle!”

Dib decided he was too winded to question the Irken anymore and simply pressed it without argument. The cart flashed purple once, and then the handle and anti-grav motors tucked themselves into the main body, the whole thing clicking and folding into place until it became a sealed, compact, rectangular, white transport container.

“It’s done!” Dib shouted, the cart-turned-box falling to the ground without its operating components in place. Metal tendrils whipped around the box, securing it in a net, and Dib found himself being grabbed in a similar manner, his feet yanked off the ground.

“Hi Mary!” GIR chirped, tucked snugly in his hood once more.

“How did you–ya know what, nevermind, we’re good Zim!” Dib called, cupping a hand to his mouth. A PAK hand shot him a thumbs up as Zim’s PAK legs sprouted around the alien and began pulling them all forward at breakneck speed. Wind charged at Dib’s face and drew tears from his stinging eyes. He shifted to look behind them as the shouts of Borax and his goons grew louder and more rathful. The look on Borax’s raging face showed he was all too aware that his target was escaping.

“GO!” He roared, his own PAK legs speeding up their violent lunging.

Laser fire bombarded them, but luckily for the trio, angry Irkens had aim about as good as a rookie Stormtrooper. The group was, however, catching up to them at an alarming rate. Dib met the eyes of one of the purple-eyed Irkens and it scowled resentfully.

“Uh, Zim!?” Dib shouted, turning back around. “You might want to hurry!”

Zim didn’t reply, and Dib worried momentarily that he hadn’t heard him, but then their velocity doubled sharply as a pair of gray and pink rocket boosters sprung from Zim’s PAK and activated. Dib hoped his friend was able to keep their intense firepower in check long enough to reach The Poltergeist.

They careened past a pair of shoppers, the Irken Invaders screeching and jumping out of the way, waving fisted hands at them indignantly. Dib opened his mouth to apologize, remembered the atrocities committed by Invaders, and promptly shut it again.

He spotted their docking port, and a thought struck him–that, and a chucked Irken popsicle that one of their pursuers decided wasn’t worth enough to keep if throwing it meant assaulting Dib’s head. He shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out his communicator, taking care not to drop it to the speeding ground and certain destruction, and slipped his goggles over his eyes to block the wind. He swiped through his contacts until he landed on Urania’s. His fingers shook as he typed and he struggled to hold onto the device. He hoped autocorrect would cut him a break and actually work for once.

agent mothman: start the ship!!

Urania: May I ask why? agent mothman: just check ur scanners!!!

Urania: …

Urania: Ah. Very well.

The door to their port opened up and The Poltergeist rumbled to life, blue light flashing from its propulsion engines, and spreading up to accent its indents. Seeing how close they were getting to it, Dib hastily shoved his communicator back in his pocket and prepared himself for a rough stop. Just in time, it turned out, because seconds later Zim dug his PAK legs into the ground and brought them to an abrupt and screeching halt. Suddenly, a well-aimed–or more likely just lucky–laser struck his retracting boosters and they sparked and whirred angrily, sending smoke guttering into the air. Zim yelped and batted at the dislocking mechanism until they fell heavily to his feet. Unfortunately, this distracted him enough to forget about holding Dib, and the human found himself unceremoniously dropped in a pile on the ground. He scrambled to his feet and pulled GIR out of his hoodie, cradling the robot in his arms. A persistent throbbing tore through his thigh. That was going to hurt later.

“Zim! Let’s go!” Dib yelled, stumbling up to his friend.

Zim was crouched at his spasming rocket boosters, trying to collect the pieces in his arms, swearing in a confusing mix of English and Irken under his breath. “Give me a minute!” “You can make new boosters!” Dib pleaded, bouncing on his heels and glancing restlessly between his friend and the approaching storm of Irkens and Irken weaponry. “If you stay here Borax is gonna obliterate you and you can’t use boosters much less make boosters if you’re fuckin’ dead!”

Zim kneeled before his broken creation for a moment longer and then sprung to his feet.

“You’re paying for new materials!” He declared sharply.

“It’s on me!” Dib yanked him forward. “Time to blow this popsicle stand!”

They half-ran half-lurched the last few meters, bent forward to avoid blasts and rubble. Dib clutched GIR to his chest, and the little robot made uh-e-uh-e-uh-e-uh sounds to match Dib’s shuddering footfalls. He tried his darndest not to giggle. Not the time.

The trio scuttled up The Poltergeist’s ramp and into the ship. Zim wrenched the box-cart the rest of the way inside, sending it skittering across the metal flooring, and smacked a screen, activating the ship-wide communications system. “Urania!” He hollered into it. “We’re on!”

“Closing hangar doors.” Urania’s voice announced.

Dib and Zim turned to watch as the folding metal smoothly covered view of Borax and the other Irkens. The horde fired a last few shots at them, sending a series of dings echoing through the docking port, and the scar-faced one smacked head first into the edge of a wall in a last-ditch attempt to throw himself into their ship. Borax bared his teeth at them, fiery wrath burning in his eyes, and as The Poltergeist sealed its doors the last thing Dib saw was his open mouth and the droplets of spittle flying from it as he bellowed, “ZIIIIIIIIIM!”

The Poltergeist rose off the landing pad and lifted up and out of the port, leaving the five furious Irkens below to their fit of wrath. The Mooga Mart shrunk gradually in the porthole windows. A beat or two passed, and they slid smoothly into the exiting line of spacecraft. The near-silence of the hangar was a stark contrast to the chaos they’d just escaped, and there was an awkward, motionless pause while the three of them stood there shakily. Then Zim abruptly flopped to a sitting position, exhaling loudly. His various PAK appendages withdrew into his PAK. Dib’s heaving chest calmed as he caught his breath, and he gazed into the void for a moment as his brain buffered.

“When can I see the fishy things again!?” GIR asked brightly, shaking the two of them from their respective trances.

“Was that,” Dib said, “by any chance, the reason we’ve never gone to a Mooga Mart before?”

“...yes. If there’s anything Irkens love more than the Tallest, it's cheap snacks, and that includes the many, eh, enemies I have made over the years,” Zim admitted. “...apparently that logic holds true to Borax as well.”

At that, the laughter Dib had been containing escaped in the form of bouncing chuckles. “What–what kinda name is Borax, anyway!?”

Zim snickered, then leaned back on his hands and released a cackling laugh, shoulders shaking. “It is a humorous title, isn’t it? Ha! Just a Human cleaning agent!”

Dib held out a hand and Zim grasped it. Dib hauled the Irken to his feet, the two of them sharing sniggers.

“Y’know, Dib,” Zim said, shaking his head in amusement. “If I’d never met you, I never would’ve known how stupid a name Borax is.”

“Guess I was good for something after all, huh?” Dib smiled broadly.

“Indeed, Dib-friend!” Zim said. “If I ever see him again he’s going to learn all about his name’s alternate origins…” He rubbed his hands together with relish.

“Are you done with the hysterics yet?” Urania asked dryly, causing the two of them to jump in surprise. “Your box of stuff is clogging up my hangar bay.”

“Urania, I thought I requested you refrain from startling us with your creepy all-over-the-ship-ness?” Zim inquired resentfully. “And couldn’t you at least wait for us to settle on a destination?”

“Get up here then,” Urania ordered.

“Very well,” Zim grumbled. “C’mon, GIR, it's your turn to pick our next stop! Tallest save us.”

GIR scrambled off Dib and took hold of Zim’s hand, bobbing excitedly. “I’ll be there in a sec,” Dib said. “I just gotta grab something from the cart.” Zim nodded and led GIR out of the room.

“I hope you enjoyed the fishy things,” the Irken's receding voice griped, “if we hadn't gone to see them we wouldn’t have run into Borax in the first place!”

After a moment of thought, Dib pressed the button on the cart for the second time that day. The top of it whirred open to reveal the treasure trove of items within. He rummaged around in it until his hand came to rest on the smooth, circular metal of the repetitive laser.

“Urania?” He called.

“Yes?” The AI replied.

Dib held the item up. “Got your laser.”

“Thank you, Dib,” she said. A metal arm snaked out of the ceiling and grasped the proffered laser.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Dib said carefully. “What do you want it for?...You’re not going to blow something up, are you…?” “Oh, no, Model G7R-69 repetitive lasers are completely harmless,” Urania answered. “They simply make excellent disco lights.”

Dib blinked. “Disco…lights…?”

“Indeed. It does get rather dull around here when you three are off making trouble.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t make a sound, but Dib was certain Urania was laughing at him.

“Dib!” Zim shouted. “Hurry up!”

“Coming!” Dib shouted back. He trotted through the ship’s hallway until he emerged at the cockpit. “Where are we off to now?” “That goddamn space cotton candy stand again,” Zim seethed. “I knew including GIR in our destination-picking was a mistake!”

“Aw, cheer up, space-boy.” Dib grinned. “At least he didn’t choose the amusement planet like last time. ‘Sides, I could go for some cotton candy. Set a course, please, Urania!”

“Only if you swear not to bring any of that sticky mess onboard again,” Urania cautioned.

“GIR, listen to the irritating AI,” Zim advised.

“Not to worry, we won’t,” Dib promised.

“We’ve learned our lesson.”

“Pinky promise, right, Zim?”

“...fuck off.”

The Poltergeist’s engines glowed brightly and it shot off into the distance, leaving only wisps of swirling blue jump dust and echoes of spirited laughter in its wake.