A/Note: I know I should be working on Ultimate Weapon, but I've run into a
large brick wall that someone has thoughtfully labeled 'Writer's Block'. I
have a large bruise to prove it, too! So I'd like to pass the meantime by
presenting the Zim story I began almost fully a YEAR ago. And finished
about… two months ago. That is sad, isn't it? Lol, I'd like to point out
that when I began this story, the whole "older and taller" thing hadn't
quite become such an established genre. So in the interest of keeping it
something resembling interesting, I'm reworking it slightly to poke a
little bit of fun at the original idea. Expect no continuity between this
story and Ultimate Weapon, though. Ah, and as for the disclaimer…
I don't own Zim! But you knew that. Ideas and such expressed herein are generally based off of the projections and predictions of my best friend, who got me hooked on this show within the space of one episode. And whether she knew it or not at the time she beta-read the original story, this one's for her. (How'd you think I got away with "stealing" her ideas?) Any other concepts are probably my own, and nothing has intentionally been borrowed (or, to the best of my knowledge, unintentionally so) or stolen outright from anyone else's story. Tada, there you have it, and I now present for your general discomfort the Special Definitive Edition of…
"Pudding"
Chapter One: Zim
Zim sighed. It had been ten long years. Ten years of tedium and disappointment laced with the occasional panic and fear of discovery. That had mostly come courtesy of Dib and his usual fanatical devotion to revealing the truth about the Irken Invader who was *still* in his class, *still* intent upon taking over the world, and who was *still* not seen as anything but a slightly geekier than usual guy with an odd skin condition. Zim could still recall when Dib had chased him home from the first day of High School, screaming like a character from one of those stupid Earth movies that GIR loved so much, declaring "Just wait and see, Zim! I'll get you! And your little dog, too!" If he hadn't been about to die of exhaustion, he'd have started laughing. As it was, just recalling the expression on Dib's face when GIR had then floated up to the human on his booster rockets, cheerfully saying "Hellooooooooo!" gave Zim fits of snickers.
The High School had greatly puzzled the Irken. After he'd checked and re- checked its elevation, he could determine no great difference between its elevation and that of the "lower grade skool" that he'd previously attended. Later he formed a new hypothesis about the name, based upon observations of some of the students' behavioral patterns. Someone was "high" at that place at any given moment, regardless of the height of the buildings foundation.
He'd also learned to appreciate some of the larger, hulking athletic students, who managed to stuff Dib into his own locker nearly every day. They'd made as if to bother him at first too, until he'd thought fast and told them that his condition could be contagious. But for the most part, making Dib's life a living hell seemed to satisfy their need for violence.
Zim's classes tended to rotate around such incredibly useful subjects (to an alien bent on learning all that was learn able about the planet) Geography, Government, and History. It rather disgusted him on one level that he knew more about the History of this "United States" than most of its citizens apparently did. Some of it, however, appealed to him greatly. World wars, colonization... it was so almost Irken that for the first time even since he'd been banished from Irk after his... exemplary enthusiasm for Operation Impending Doom 1, he'd felt earnestly homesick.
Another class that he'd found incredibly useful was the course in Chemistry. Ironically, none other than his self-appointed persecutor's father, Professor Membrane, taught the course. After his television show had fallen through, he'd taken up teaching in person. He was an odd sort. Even odder than his neurotic son, and that was definitely saying something. He was a strangely entertaining teacher, so much so that Zim often forgot to be as close on his guard around Dib as he should have been. They'd been assigned as lab partners once, and the human had taken every opportunity to try and expose him. Fortunately, the professor usually managed to keep the boy in check, once even publicly chewing him out for throwing a beaker of water on Zim. Most of the class had assumed it had been some sort of mild acid given the way their classmate had collapsed, shrieking in agony to the floor.
Dib had gotten a long lecture on chemically-enhanced practical jokes and two weeks of detention. Zim had gotten second-degree burns and a week off from school to recover.
With a thoughtful grunt, the Irken leaned back in his chair, recalling that day. It should have been readily apparent to the professor that it had been harmless (for humans) water that had provoked Zim's outburst of screaming and painful writhing. Yet the older man had apparently not noticed. He'd only grabbed a nearby cloth and quickly begun trying to simultaneously dry Zim off and calm down his frightened students. After chauffeuring the alien into his small office, the distracted Professor Membrane had returned to the classroom and given a long and loud lecture on endangering other students. Zim could remember feebly laughing at the irony. Dib could very well be some sort of savior defending his planet against the terrible might of the Irken forces, and he was being punished for "reckless and vicious" behavior.
Zim brushed his nervously twitchy antennae with a shaking hand, encouraging his mind to leave off with this pointless wondering about the past. How had he become so sidetracked? Ah yes, chemistry. That was what he had been thinking about. He reached out for the disgustingly unwieldy paper textbook and pulled it across the small desk to get a better view of the "Periodic Table", as the humans apparently called it. It was a struggle not to snicker at the pathetically small number of elements that the humans apparently recognized. What a laugh. And of course the names were all different from the familiar Irken ones that he remembered. His jagged, scrawling handwriting decorated most of the page. Notations about Irken names for elements, chemicals found here on Earth that he wasn't familiar with, and interactions that he'd thought important enough to scribble down a line or two about filled the small element boxes to overflowing with information.
A ring of small black stars encircled the box labeled 'Sodium', decorating the earthly name of the element that was the basic building block of all Irken life as fully as a human might have thought appropriate to bestow on the box called 'Carbon' that the alien had scribbled over repeatedly until it the text was almost completely obscured.
After staring at a few choice boxes in bewilderment, Zim stood up and began pacing. He'd first noticed the change after the first year he'd been on Earth. It was shocking that he hadn't realized it before, actually. He'd always been rather sensitive about his height, so why hadn't *he* been the first to notice that he'd been growing? Why indeed? And why so suddenly? After remaining at the same height for nearly a century, he'd grown. In fact, it seemed almost cliché in a way… his being on Earth causing him to mutate beyond what his genetic structure had been perceived as being capable of.
One evening in a caffeine-induced fit of desperate inspired insanity, he'd tried to plot out the probability of the occurrence that he found himself imagining thousands of alternate versions of himself undergoing in grape Fun Dip. He recalled waking hazily to a room full of liquid gelatin and a fleeting impression of dancing potted petunias the next morning. But GIR had licked up all the flavored purple powder and so the knowledge had been lost. Probably forever.
Zim cast his red-eyed glare back over his shoulder at the accusatory textbook. Certain elements... they seemed to be affecting him strangely. They must be more abundant here than on Irk, he'd first reasoned. But... according to his correlations of Earth elements to the Irken ones he remembered, that didn't make sense. Asimovvul wasn't especially rare on Irk. Neither was Douglassium. A memory suddenly nagged at Zim's train of thought. Ingredients... those were both found in… something. Zim closed his eyes and concentrated on the thought, willing it to resolve itself. He remembered a large and glorious restricted dining hall... spices... exotic chemicals and special preparations... Zim's eyes suddenly flew open and he visibly startled as the rest of the memory cleared. The Tallest. That was what he had been trying to remember. The Tallest! Their food was always specially prepared and chemically enhanced… and... If the reactions he'd observed meant what he was beginning to suspect…
Zim snarled suddenly, and brought his fist crashing down on the desk. It was all a scam. Supposedly, whoever the tallest Irken happened to be of the generation that came of age when the old Tallest died was to become the new leader. Allegedly it was up to genetic superiority and the whims of chance to determine the height of each Irken. But if he was right... then that meant that there was a definite reason why Irk had *two* Tallest, of *precisely* the same height. They were very intentionally given chemicals to increase their height artificially!
All of his life he'd been teased and ridiculed for his short stature, and much ado was made over how his "cousins", his "littermates" were among the tallest and most highly regarded Irkens on the planet. Not that the relation meant much. They shared a bit of common DNA and that was it. There was no such thing as family on Irk. There was the Empire, and that was supposed to be enough for any individual's needs. Even one who was connected by a lone pair of chromosomes to one of the Allmighty Tallest. The one time that Zim had been able to use his distant relationship to the Tallest was during the Great Assigning for Operation Impending Doom 1.
He'd begged and pleaded for a chance to rain some doom, and finally they'd relented, giving him command over a large Destroyer automaton. In his glee at seeing the damage the thing could cause, he'd thoroughly destroyed a full half of the entire planet in a massive sweep of lasers, energy bursts, and fire. Then of course, he'd been banished. He remembered staring at his feet as Red had intoned "I think that we made a mistake here, Zim." And then Purple adding "I suppose that this is why the *short* of Irk are relegated to Invader status. What in Irk's name were you thinking!?" Red had glared at the damage reports that were still being brought in and grumbled, "Whatever's left of Irk, that is. From now on, we hold these things off planet."
Slowly Zim paced the floor of his small room, fuming over the humiliation he'd endured, first in being shot off to Foodcourtia and then when he'd returned, desperate to prove himself and make amends… the horror of this planet. He'd gained a lot during his exile to Planet Earth. He'd gained invaluable experience in infiltration, escaping attempted assaults, and thinking on the run. He'd become quite resourceful, he realized. Recalling what had started all this train of thought, he glanced at the kitchen entryway, where ever since that fateful day in the grade skool when he'd recognized the change, he'd recorded the increase in his stature every year. He was only about average height for his pretended Earth age, but by Irken standards, he was a giant. Possibly even as tall as the Tallest themselves. That was an interesting thought. Very interesting.
There was one more thing that Zim had gained on Earth, and he'd only just recently learned to truly appreciate it. He was much more perceptive now than he had been as a young Invader. He could barely admit it to himself at first, but he'd realized long ago that his mission was a sham. He'd been given "busy work" to keep him occupied away from Irk and the Tallest, presumably so that he wouldn't be a danger to Operation Impending Doom 2. He'd wondered long and often about a lot of little things from the first day of the mission, but when he'd put them together and seen the whole picture, he'd been heartbroken. He reported to the Tallest less and less, finally stopping altogether.
He very much doubted that they minded in the least.
Zim's hands contorted into fists. They would pay. They would pay dearly. Not just for this pack of lies that they'd gotten him to thank them so profusely for at first, and not just for his humiliation, but also for their precious status. He would see to it. And the time was now, he decided. Now, while the anger pulsed violently through his veins and the hatred gave him strength. Now! While-
GIR suddenly burst into the room, squealing happily and offering his master a plate of hot blueberry muffins. Zim temporarily lost his impassioned train of thought as he stared in bemusement at the robot. Due to an unfortunate car-chasing incident a few years previously, it had been necessary for him to partially rebuild the small robot. Acting like a human dog had taken its toll on his faithful companion. GIR was now a few inches taller, owing to the new legs that Zim had constructed for him. He seemed a little unsteady on them at times, but that was to be expected with grafted –on additions. And fortunately for Zim's wavering sanity, he'd managed to make GIR just the slightest bit more comprehensible. Another piece of gum in the robot's brain center had done wonders for making his memory stick together.
Zim smacked himself in the forehead as GIR began to roll around enthusiastically in the plate of muffins that he'd dropped on the floor. He really needed to do something about GIR's basic personality. Some things were beyond the powers of even gum to cure.
Ignoring the warm gooey mess and the robot in the floor, Zim turned his gaze out his window to the starry sky beyond. He would begin his preparations now for his return to Irk. Now, while the floor was still sticky and the smell of blueberries filled the air, "Wait, that doesn't seem right..?" he muttered to himself. "I'm a blueberry!" GIR squealed happily.
So how cliché was that? Next chapter; Dib schemes and finds himself in a tight spot, and Gaz's GameSlave is abducted! Plus GIR is a kitty.
I don't own Zim! But you knew that. Ideas and such expressed herein are generally based off of the projections and predictions of my best friend, who got me hooked on this show within the space of one episode. And whether she knew it or not at the time she beta-read the original story, this one's for her. (How'd you think I got away with "stealing" her ideas?) Any other concepts are probably my own, and nothing has intentionally been borrowed (or, to the best of my knowledge, unintentionally so) or stolen outright from anyone else's story. Tada, there you have it, and I now present for your general discomfort the Special Definitive Edition of…
"Pudding"
Chapter One: Zim
Zim sighed. It had been ten long years. Ten years of tedium and disappointment laced with the occasional panic and fear of discovery. That had mostly come courtesy of Dib and his usual fanatical devotion to revealing the truth about the Irken Invader who was *still* in his class, *still* intent upon taking over the world, and who was *still* not seen as anything but a slightly geekier than usual guy with an odd skin condition. Zim could still recall when Dib had chased him home from the first day of High School, screaming like a character from one of those stupid Earth movies that GIR loved so much, declaring "Just wait and see, Zim! I'll get you! And your little dog, too!" If he hadn't been about to die of exhaustion, he'd have started laughing. As it was, just recalling the expression on Dib's face when GIR had then floated up to the human on his booster rockets, cheerfully saying "Hellooooooooo!" gave Zim fits of snickers.
The High School had greatly puzzled the Irken. After he'd checked and re- checked its elevation, he could determine no great difference between its elevation and that of the "lower grade skool" that he'd previously attended. Later he formed a new hypothesis about the name, based upon observations of some of the students' behavioral patterns. Someone was "high" at that place at any given moment, regardless of the height of the buildings foundation.
He'd also learned to appreciate some of the larger, hulking athletic students, who managed to stuff Dib into his own locker nearly every day. They'd made as if to bother him at first too, until he'd thought fast and told them that his condition could be contagious. But for the most part, making Dib's life a living hell seemed to satisfy their need for violence.
Zim's classes tended to rotate around such incredibly useful subjects (to an alien bent on learning all that was learn able about the planet) Geography, Government, and History. It rather disgusted him on one level that he knew more about the History of this "United States" than most of its citizens apparently did. Some of it, however, appealed to him greatly. World wars, colonization... it was so almost Irken that for the first time even since he'd been banished from Irk after his... exemplary enthusiasm for Operation Impending Doom 1, he'd felt earnestly homesick.
Another class that he'd found incredibly useful was the course in Chemistry. Ironically, none other than his self-appointed persecutor's father, Professor Membrane, taught the course. After his television show had fallen through, he'd taken up teaching in person. He was an odd sort. Even odder than his neurotic son, and that was definitely saying something. He was a strangely entertaining teacher, so much so that Zim often forgot to be as close on his guard around Dib as he should have been. They'd been assigned as lab partners once, and the human had taken every opportunity to try and expose him. Fortunately, the professor usually managed to keep the boy in check, once even publicly chewing him out for throwing a beaker of water on Zim. Most of the class had assumed it had been some sort of mild acid given the way their classmate had collapsed, shrieking in agony to the floor.
Dib had gotten a long lecture on chemically-enhanced practical jokes and two weeks of detention. Zim had gotten second-degree burns and a week off from school to recover.
With a thoughtful grunt, the Irken leaned back in his chair, recalling that day. It should have been readily apparent to the professor that it had been harmless (for humans) water that had provoked Zim's outburst of screaming and painful writhing. Yet the older man had apparently not noticed. He'd only grabbed a nearby cloth and quickly begun trying to simultaneously dry Zim off and calm down his frightened students. After chauffeuring the alien into his small office, the distracted Professor Membrane had returned to the classroom and given a long and loud lecture on endangering other students. Zim could remember feebly laughing at the irony. Dib could very well be some sort of savior defending his planet against the terrible might of the Irken forces, and he was being punished for "reckless and vicious" behavior.
Zim brushed his nervously twitchy antennae with a shaking hand, encouraging his mind to leave off with this pointless wondering about the past. How had he become so sidetracked? Ah yes, chemistry. That was what he had been thinking about. He reached out for the disgustingly unwieldy paper textbook and pulled it across the small desk to get a better view of the "Periodic Table", as the humans apparently called it. It was a struggle not to snicker at the pathetically small number of elements that the humans apparently recognized. What a laugh. And of course the names were all different from the familiar Irken ones that he remembered. His jagged, scrawling handwriting decorated most of the page. Notations about Irken names for elements, chemicals found here on Earth that he wasn't familiar with, and interactions that he'd thought important enough to scribble down a line or two about filled the small element boxes to overflowing with information.
A ring of small black stars encircled the box labeled 'Sodium', decorating the earthly name of the element that was the basic building block of all Irken life as fully as a human might have thought appropriate to bestow on the box called 'Carbon' that the alien had scribbled over repeatedly until it the text was almost completely obscured.
After staring at a few choice boxes in bewilderment, Zim stood up and began pacing. He'd first noticed the change after the first year he'd been on Earth. It was shocking that he hadn't realized it before, actually. He'd always been rather sensitive about his height, so why hadn't *he* been the first to notice that he'd been growing? Why indeed? And why so suddenly? After remaining at the same height for nearly a century, he'd grown. In fact, it seemed almost cliché in a way… his being on Earth causing him to mutate beyond what his genetic structure had been perceived as being capable of.
One evening in a caffeine-induced fit of desperate inspired insanity, he'd tried to plot out the probability of the occurrence that he found himself imagining thousands of alternate versions of himself undergoing in grape Fun Dip. He recalled waking hazily to a room full of liquid gelatin and a fleeting impression of dancing potted petunias the next morning. But GIR had licked up all the flavored purple powder and so the knowledge had been lost. Probably forever.
Zim cast his red-eyed glare back over his shoulder at the accusatory textbook. Certain elements... they seemed to be affecting him strangely. They must be more abundant here than on Irk, he'd first reasoned. But... according to his correlations of Earth elements to the Irken ones he remembered, that didn't make sense. Asimovvul wasn't especially rare on Irk. Neither was Douglassium. A memory suddenly nagged at Zim's train of thought. Ingredients... those were both found in… something. Zim closed his eyes and concentrated on the thought, willing it to resolve itself. He remembered a large and glorious restricted dining hall... spices... exotic chemicals and special preparations... Zim's eyes suddenly flew open and he visibly startled as the rest of the memory cleared. The Tallest. That was what he had been trying to remember. The Tallest! Their food was always specially prepared and chemically enhanced… and... If the reactions he'd observed meant what he was beginning to suspect…
Zim snarled suddenly, and brought his fist crashing down on the desk. It was all a scam. Supposedly, whoever the tallest Irken happened to be of the generation that came of age when the old Tallest died was to become the new leader. Allegedly it was up to genetic superiority and the whims of chance to determine the height of each Irken. But if he was right... then that meant that there was a definite reason why Irk had *two* Tallest, of *precisely* the same height. They were very intentionally given chemicals to increase their height artificially!
All of his life he'd been teased and ridiculed for his short stature, and much ado was made over how his "cousins", his "littermates" were among the tallest and most highly regarded Irkens on the planet. Not that the relation meant much. They shared a bit of common DNA and that was it. There was no such thing as family on Irk. There was the Empire, and that was supposed to be enough for any individual's needs. Even one who was connected by a lone pair of chromosomes to one of the Allmighty Tallest. The one time that Zim had been able to use his distant relationship to the Tallest was during the Great Assigning for Operation Impending Doom 1.
He'd begged and pleaded for a chance to rain some doom, and finally they'd relented, giving him command over a large Destroyer automaton. In his glee at seeing the damage the thing could cause, he'd thoroughly destroyed a full half of the entire planet in a massive sweep of lasers, energy bursts, and fire. Then of course, he'd been banished. He remembered staring at his feet as Red had intoned "I think that we made a mistake here, Zim." And then Purple adding "I suppose that this is why the *short* of Irk are relegated to Invader status. What in Irk's name were you thinking!?" Red had glared at the damage reports that were still being brought in and grumbled, "Whatever's left of Irk, that is. From now on, we hold these things off planet."
Slowly Zim paced the floor of his small room, fuming over the humiliation he'd endured, first in being shot off to Foodcourtia and then when he'd returned, desperate to prove himself and make amends… the horror of this planet. He'd gained a lot during his exile to Planet Earth. He'd gained invaluable experience in infiltration, escaping attempted assaults, and thinking on the run. He'd become quite resourceful, he realized. Recalling what had started all this train of thought, he glanced at the kitchen entryway, where ever since that fateful day in the grade skool when he'd recognized the change, he'd recorded the increase in his stature every year. He was only about average height for his pretended Earth age, but by Irken standards, he was a giant. Possibly even as tall as the Tallest themselves. That was an interesting thought. Very interesting.
There was one more thing that Zim had gained on Earth, and he'd only just recently learned to truly appreciate it. He was much more perceptive now than he had been as a young Invader. He could barely admit it to himself at first, but he'd realized long ago that his mission was a sham. He'd been given "busy work" to keep him occupied away from Irk and the Tallest, presumably so that he wouldn't be a danger to Operation Impending Doom 2. He'd wondered long and often about a lot of little things from the first day of the mission, but when he'd put them together and seen the whole picture, he'd been heartbroken. He reported to the Tallest less and less, finally stopping altogether.
He very much doubted that they minded in the least.
Zim's hands contorted into fists. They would pay. They would pay dearly. Not just for this pack of lies that they'd gotten him to thank them so profusely for at first, and not just for his humiliation, but also for their precious status. He would see to it. And the time was now, he decided. Now, while the anger pulsed violently through his veins and the hatred gave him strength. Now! While-
GIR suddenly burst into the room, squealing happily and offering his master a plate of hot blueberry muffins. Zim temporarily lost his impassioned train of thought as he stared in bemusement at the robot. Due to an unfortunate car-chasing incident a few years previously, it had been necessary for him to partially rebuild the small robot. Acting like a human dog had taken its toll on his faithful companion. GIR was now a few inches taller, owing to the new legs that Zim had constructed for him. He seemed a little unsteady on them at times, but that was to be expected with grafted –on additions. And fortunately for Zim's wavering sanity, he'd managed to make GIR just the slightest bit more comprehensible. Another piece of gum in the robot's brain center had done wonders for making his memory stick together.
Zim smacked himself in the forehead as GIR began to roll around enthusiastically in the plate of muffins that he'd dropped on the floor. He really needed to do something about GIR's basic personality. Some things were beyond the powers of even gum to cure.
Ignoring the warm gooey mess and the robot in the floor, Zim turned his gaze out his window to the starry sky beyond. He would begin his preparations now for his return to Irk. Now, while the floor was still sticky and the smell of blueberries filled the air, "Wait, that doesn't seem right..?" he muttered to himself. "I'm a blueberry!" GIR squealed happily.
So how cliché was that? Next chapter; Dib schemes and finds himself in a tight spot, and Gaz's GameSlave is abducted! Plus GIR is a kitty.