Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zim opened his eyes and looked up. Skoolchildren were gathered around him, their eyes focused on his face. Before he could say anything they all pointed, as a group, down the hall. Zim stood and followed their pointing fingers with his eyes. There. Dib. DIB! Standing there at the end of the hall, holding the PAK! Immediately Dib turned and bolted around the corner, out of view. Zim pushed past the group of onlookers and chased after him. He urged his feet to run faster, FASTER. He had to catch up! He had to retrieve his PAK! He had to-what?

He skidded to a halt in an open area packed with human kids. He turned around and around, his eyes darting about the room; but although Dib was crouching nearby in the shadow of a pillar, Zim could not see him.

Zim drew himself up to his full height. "GIVE ME BACK MY PAK, DIB!" he shouted. "I need it to LIVE! Without it I can only survive for ten minutes and the countdown has already started! I am NOT going to expire on this filthy planet because of you!" Zim paused. Everyone in the room was staring at him. With a cough, he backtracked. "Ehh... forget all that 'need my backpack to live' stuff. Yeah. Um, it's just that... uh... it was full of potatoes, and I love potatoes."

Dib, listening from his hiding spot, said to himself, "This thing's even more important than I thought!" He gingerly cradled the PAK and looked up at someone's approach. "Oh, hi, Screa-"

"CUT!"

The harsh syllable caused everyone, including the newly-arrived Screamy, to whip their heads toward the sound. A man with a megaphone was pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "Zim. You did it again. Okay. For. The. Last. Time. The line isn't 'full of potatoes,' it's 'full of sandwiches.'"

"Eh?" Zim picked up a packet of papers from the ground and flipped through them. "I don't see where it says-Oh. Heh. Right there." He threw the papers back on the ground. "Very well. I am ready with the correct line!"

"All right, let's try this again. Take it from the beginning of your rant." The man with the megaphone cleared his throat. "'10 Minutes to Doom,' scene two, take forty-three. And... ACTION!"

Screamy, who hadn't left the stage, suddenly yanked the PAK out of Dib's hands and held it up. "HEY! ZIM! I HAVE YOUR BACKPACK THING! LOOK! I HAVE IT!"

Dib stood up and reached for the PAK. "Screamy, give that back! You're ruining-NYAH!" He tripped over Screamy's foot and sprawled on the ground.

"D'oh, that's DEFINITELY not in the script!" Zim yelled, gesturing towards Dib and Screamy.

The man with the megaphone cringed. "CUT! AGAIN!"

Dib got to his feet and took the PAK from Screamy. "Sorry, Mr. Smithee," he gasped to the director. "Can we start again?"

"We shouldn't have stopped in the first place," Zim muttered. "There is NOTHING wrong with replacing 'sandwiches' with 'potatoes'!"

"NO," the director, Mr. Smithee, said to the alien. "NO, NO, NO, NO. We're reading the script VERBATIM. Verbatim: GOOD. Improv? BAD. Okay. We'll have a bit of a break and then try it again. Take five, everyone!"

Zim marched off the Skool Interior set and over to a table where he poured himself a cup of Irken bug juice. Dib sighed and dropped the plastic PAK prop, picking up his own script and walking over to the director. "Hey, Mr. Smithee, since we're on a break... can I talk to you about one of my lines?" He opened the script and looked through it until he found the right page. "See, right here, where I'm supposed to call Dad. Instead of saying this, maybe I could-"

Mr. Smithee's cell phone blared out an obnoxious ringtone and, ignoring Dib, the director answered it. "Hey! Yeah, it's me. Yeah. Mm-hm. Uh huh. Yes. Really? Really! Huh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I agree. Hah. Okay! Ciao." He hung up and walked over to a device that Dib hadn't noticed before, from which some paper was printing. It looked like a fax machine or something. But those had been outdated ages ago... Mr. Smithee picked up the stack of papers and stapled them together. He looked up and called, "Hey! Zim! Get over here!"

Zim came over from the refreshments table and Mr. Smithee handed him the stack of papers, at the same time picking up a mug of coffee and taking three large gulps. "The network just called to say they had made some changes to the script. Here's the new one." Zim, looking a bit irritated at being talked to like this, flipped through the script. Dib took it from him and looked through it for himself, wondering why Mr. Smithee hadn't given him one. He paused.

"Wait, this isn't right," he said. "This says I die right here!"

Mr. Smithee took another gulp of coffee. "Oh, yeah, that's one of the rewrites. You're FIRED."

"Wha-"

"The network wants you outta here so they changed the script to have the PAK attack and kill you! Zim survives, though, so it's cool."

Zim yanked the script back and read part of it. "HAH, Dib, look!" he laughed. "You don't even die onscreen!"

"They... they killed me off?" Dib cried. He grabbed the script back once more and stared at the words swimming before his eyes. "And I don't even get a tragic, onscreen death?"

Mr. Smithee shrugged. "It's nothing personal, kid. It's just that everyone HATES you. Ratings are suffering and we're pretty sure it's your fault. And we don't have enough of a budget to film your death scene."

Dib couldn't even begin to process what he was hearing. "But... but... this will ruin the show!" he said. "Who'll stop all of Zim's stupid world domination plans?"

"Oh, we've already got that taken care of," Mr. Smithee said indifferently. He pushed a button that opened the doors to the studio. "Here she is now!"

A red-headed teenage girl with a flamethrower burst into the studio with a scream of, "TWEEEEERP!" She waved the flamethrower around, letting out a stream of fire that luckily didn't get close enough to burn anything. She went over and leered at Zim. "I've got some CHORES for you to do!" she said. "And you don't have any fairies to do the work for you!"

Mr. Smithee beamed. "Zim, meet Vicky, your new nemesis!"

Dib gaped at the newcomer. "What? You're replacing me with her? But she's from a completely different show!"

"Yes, yes, and it might be a little strange at first, but come on-with great writers and an experienced director you can make anything work!" Mr. Smithee said.

"You're not experienced, you're the new director." Dib narrowed his eyes.

"Rude," Vicky snorted.

Dib clenched his forehead. "Why don't you go ahead and fire Zim? He gets paid more than I do, anyway!"

Mr. Smithee waved his hand uncaringly. "That's because he's Irken," he said, as if this should be explanation enough. He scowled at Dib. "What are you even still doing here, anyway? You've been fired! You're through, kid! You're done! Beat it!" He and Vicky both pointed towards the studio doors.

Dib felt as if he would melt under their gaze. Why was the world suddenly spinning? This couldn't be real. They couldn't really be kicking him off... There was no way... He clutched the script to his chest until it crumpled under his hands, then his shoulders drooped. He dropped the script. And, without another word, he started to plod toward the doors.

"BYE DIB!" Screamy shouted in the otherwise silent room, waving furiously. He hadn't left the set. "I LIKE YOUR NAME: DIB!"

Dib didn't turn around. He stepped out of the studio, and the doors slammed shut behind him.

Chapter Text

"So what is this show, anyway?" Vicky demanded once Dib had gone. "Is there any violence? I'm only here because someone told me there'd be violence."

Zim tore his eyes away from the studio doors and decided he might as well be the one to describe his own show. "I am--"

"The show is pretty much where Zim's an alien from Planet Irk and he's come to Earth to try to destroy it," Mr. Smithee said, drinking more of his coffee. Vicky's eyes brightened a little at the mention of destroying something.

Zim's eye twitched in annoyance. "YES, my mission is to destroy Earth with assistance from my mighty robot, GIR!"

Vicky frowned. "Oh, you're the one destroying it? Ugh. I still get to set things on fire, right?"

"Anything you want!" Mr. Smithee grinned. "You're much better than that Dib kid. Ratings will skyrocket! Here's your script. Since Dib's dead you'll come onto the scene, take his place, and finish off the episode."

"Sounds simple enough." Vicky took the script, threw it into the air, and blasted it with her flamethrower with the accompaniment of insane laughter. It fell to the ground as charred rubble. Zim stared.

"Perfect!" Mr. Smithee said with a clap, and ushered Zim and Vicky onto the stage. "We'll go ahead and start. Are you two ready? Okay! '10 Minutes to Doom,' scene three, take one... and, ACTION!"

--

This was taking a long time. Too long? Dib kicked his legs under his chair nervously. Next to him sat Gaz, who for once was reading a book instead of punching buttons on her Game Slave.

"Will you calm down," she said. "You're embarrassing me."

"Sorry." Dib stilled his legs and made himself busy straightening his trench coat. He glanced up at the TV mounted on the wall, which... which was showing reruns of Invader Zim. Of course. It seemed as if the show had soared in popularity since he had been forced to leave it a few weeks ago. He looked down at the ground and didn't notice the sting of his fingernails biting into his palms.

"It's stupid," Gaz said.

Dib looked at her. "What?"

"The show. It's gotten stupid. Stupider than it was before, anyway. That girl with the flame thrower keeps destroying everything."

Dib had forgotten for a moment that Gaz was still on the cast. He shrugged, unable to think of a better way to respond.

"Next!" someone called.

"That's you," Gaz said. Unnecessarily. Dib stood and headed into the room, where he saw a few people sitting on folding chairs and holding clipboards.

"Mr. ... Dib?" One of the people with clipboards asked. Dib nodded.

"Hey, I know you!" Dib looked at who had spoken. It was a boy who appeared to be about his age, with red hair and an orange-and-white striped shirt. "You're from that show about the robot, right? Cool!"

"Actually," a green-haired boy sitting next to him spoke up with a British accent, "Invader Zim is about a delusional alien bent on taking over the Earth with the help of his robot. It was almost cancelled due to low ratings."

"Oh, right," the red-haired boy said. "I should've known that."

"...Yeah," Dib said, cringing a little at the mention of the low ratings. He frowned and waited a moment for someone to crack a "big-head" joke about him, but thankfully no one did. "...Anyhow, I'm here to audition for the next episode of--" He looked around the room but couldn't see any signs or anything, like he'd been hoping for. "Sorry, what show is this?"

"Phineas and Ferb," one of the people with clipboards replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Right. Okay." Dib cleared his throat, embarrassed. He'd been jumping around to so many shows after he'd been fired that it was difficult to keep track of them all! "I didn't get a script so I figured I'd just audition with some lines from the show I used to work on."

He backed up a few steps and threw himself back into character, feeling a wave of familiarity like he had just come home. He clenched his fists, and said, "But nobody BELIEVED Galileo! They even put him in jail! Now if all these people who just called him crazy were brought back and shown just how wrong they really were, they'd be sorry! OH! They'd be sorry!" He turned slightly, then calmed down a bit and jumped into another quote. "We have crash-landed on this horrific planet, and you have some materials we could use for repairs, y'know? ...A trade! In return for your help, we'll give you some super weapons! We would be most grateful, you jerk. Oh-ho, they'll be super! They'll be so super, you'll rue the day you ever messed with planet Earth! MWAHAHA! MWAHAHAHA! All right, I have one more." He cleared his throat. "But one day, you'll be sitting in your house feeling all safe and secure, and then you'll look over and I'll be there! Doin' stuff!"

Eagerly, he looked back at the people with clipboards. "Okay, what do you think?"

--

A few minutes later Dib walked back to the waiting room with his head hanging. Gaz ignored him, still with her nose buried in her book. She wasn't doing much in the "encouragement" department even though that was what he had brought her along for.

"Hey!" someone called. Dib looked up and saw the two boys running up to him. They stopped, and the red-headed boy continued talking. "Hey, sorry you didn't make it in. I thought your audition was pretty good, the best we saw today. I'm Phineas, by the way, and this is my brother Ferb! Anyway, I was just wondering if we could get the contact information for some of the aliens in your old show. It would be great to have some of them as cameos!"

"I don't have contact information," Dib said. He couldn't help but feel a little irritated, though he tried not to show it. "Zim and Tak aren't allowed to say where they live."

"Oh. That's okay. See you around, then!" The two brothers turned and left. Dib went back to where Gaz was sitting and looked up at the television. It was still playing Invader Zim. In this episode, Vicky was firing her flame thrower and shrieking with laughter, knocking Zim away from some machine he had been working on. GIR joined in with Vicky's laughter. Gaz was in the frame too, watching the scene with a scowl.

"I'm going to RULE THE WORLD!" Vicky shouted on the camera. Then the episode ended, and Dib sighed.

--

Zim returned home in a foul mood after a particularly horrible day of recording his show with that filthy human Vicky. He was bruised. Battered. Swollen-eyed. And one of his antennae was on fire. It reminded him of something, but through his irritation and the mind-numbing PAIN he couldn't quite recall what it was.

He stepped into his house and stood for a moment to glower into the kitchen at nothing in particular. Across the room, two doors from the elevator shaft built into the wall slid open and a figure stepped out. She looked Zim up and down, then crossed her arms and narrowed her dark purple eyes. "You're on fire."

Ah, yes, that was it. His condition reminded him of what had happened in the episode where he had met Tak. Yes. Tak, who was standing in front of the elevator, glaring at him. Zim dully reached up and pinched out the flames. Then he went over and levered himself onto the couch where he sat, sulking. "Tak! Get me some snacks!"

Tak didn't move. "What's wrong with you?"

"Snacks, Tak."

"You look more beat-up every time I bother to come home. Does this have something to do with your show?!"

Zim frowned and looked away from her. "GIR! Get me some snacks."

"I knew it! I knew it, Zim. It's your fault, you know? It's your fault you've been fired, you defect!"

Zim scrambled off the couch in an instant and pointed at her furiously. "Invader Zim? DEFECTIVE? Nonsense! You're the defect, Tak!"

"Do NOT call me a defect!"

"Why not? It's what you are!"

"I'm not the one who's been fired from their own TV show!"

"I haven't been fired! It's THE DIB! HE--ehh, um. Dib's been fired. Not me." Zim calmed his breathing and collapsed back on the couch. Irk, spending so much time acting in that show was beginning to get to him. "That was weeks ago, Tak. Pay attention. He's been replaced by a HORRIBLE teenager from the fairy show who tries to kill me every time she sees me."

Tak regarded him coolly. "Sounds like she and I have something in common."

"Yeh, whatever," Zim said, lying on his back and waving his hand in the air. "I just want snacks."

"Me toooooo!" GIR fell from the ceiling--Tallest only knew what he was doing up there--and landed in front of the couch. He peered up at Zim. "Can I be on TV again?! The GIR Show is MAH FAVORITE!"

"Yes, yes, you will, but not for a few episodes." Zim waved him away.

"WHYYY???" GIR cried. "WHY NOT NOOOW?"

Tak looked at Zim angrily. "Why not now? I think the bigger question here is, why is he ever in any of the episodes? He's just a robot! I'm married to you, despite the fact that I regret it every moment of my life. And yet I've only been in one episode, Zim. ONE! The other two were just voice-overs and I wasn't even PAID!"

"You weren't? Eh, that's weird." Zim seemed entirely unconcerned.

"If you can't get me into more episodes but that malfunctioning SIR Unit appears in almost every single ONE..."

"I don't write the episodes or choose the cast!" Zim snapped, sitting back up.

"You must have SOME control! I may as well go back to try to find work on the Massive." Tak stomped across the room and left the house, slamming the door.

Zim frowned after her. "You still haven't gotten me any snacks!"

There was a sudden beeping sound to indicate that Zim was receiving a caller and the TV came on, blasting white noise through the speakers and showing black and white static. Zim grabbed the remote and hammered some buttons but nothing happened and he stared, completely confused, as the static cleared and someone's image appeared on the screen.

Zim had been expecting the Tallest. The person he hadn't been expecting to attempt to contact him like this was... "Smithee?"

"Is this thing on?" the director said, messing with the camera. "I've never tried this before. Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Hi Mr. Donut Guy!" GIR chirped at the TV.

Zim jumped off the couch. "This communication system is for Irken use only!" he shouted.

"Yeah yeah, I know," Mr. Smithee said quickly. "But--"

"Irkens ONLY!" Zim snarled.

"Look," Mr. Smithee said, "I've got a GREAT idea that will bring the show TONS of good ratings!"

Zim touched one of the bruises on his face that he had gained from the "great idea" that Mr. Smithee had last suggested. "Ehh..."

"Okay, get this." Mr. Smithee framed his face with his hands. "We're going to fire GIR!"

"Eh?" Zim looked down at the little robot, who was trying to put the end of his leg in his mouth. "Fire GIR... to help the ratings?"

"Psh, he just bogs everyone down," Mr. Smithee said. "I mean sure, he's marketable and everything, just look at Hot Topic, but he's got nothin' to add to the show."

"But GIR is my loyal--"

"And we're replacing him with an OKAPI!" Mr. Smithee interrupted excitedly.

Zim raised one antenna. "Heh?"

Mr. Smithee disappeared from view and then came back, leading some sort of hoofed mammal by a rope. "This is Frank the Okapi. He'll be replacing GIR to add educational value to the show!"

Frank the Okapi snorted.

"Aw, he's purty!" GIR said.

"What... is that?" Zim asked, perplexed.

Mr. Smithee frowned. "He's an okapi. It's some sort of cross between a giraffe and a zebra, I think. Anyway. Exotic animals are educational. So, GIR's caput, and your new minion is Frank! That'll make parents happy. Be at the studio tomorrow morning to practice the new script. All right, ciao!"

The screen blinked out, leaving the room utterly silent.

Chapter Text

The television studio seemed quieter than usual. Zim twitched his antennae as he locked his Voot Cruiser and marched lazily across the parking lot, clutching a steaming mug of Irken brand coffee. He rubbed at the bottom of his eye and glared up at the sun shining weakly above. It was far too early to have to go to work. Especially on a morning when he hadn't been able to charge his PAK much the night before.

He headed into the building, his warm, dark purple slippers clicking softly on the floor. He looked down at them. Irk... he'd forgotten to put on his boots. And he noticed that he was still wearing a robe of the same color as the slippers. He'd forgotten to change into his uniform, too... Strange.

"Good, Zim, you're here!" Mr. Smithee called and hurried over. "Just rolled out of bed, huh? Well, good thing today we're just doing a run-through of the script instead of actual filming."

"I did not 'just roll over of bed.' Irkens do not sleep," Zim snapped. He sloshed some coffee on the floor and it fizzled a bit. Something tugged at the sleeve of his robe and he jerked away with a yelp; the animal replacing GIR, the "okapi," had torn off a strip of Zim's sleeve and was now chewing it. "HEY!" Zim snatched the fabric back but dropped it immediately when it burned his hand. "This robe is the property of the Irken Empire!"

"Look, Zim, if this is going to work out, you need to get along with Frank!" Mr. Smithee said, gesturing to the animal.

"Who's Frank?" Zim demanded.

"The okapi." Mr. Smithee replied. He pointed again. "All right. We need to see how you'll do with these minor changes, Zim. The network sent new scripts again! Yours is waiting over on the fax. Get it and then come to the set to rehearse."

Zim retrieved his script and climbed onto the set. He read the script's title. "'Nubs of Doom'? Eh."

"Go on, read your lines!" Mr. Smithee said impatiently. He led the okapi along by some sort of harness and brought him onto the set.

"Wouldn't this be better with GIR?" Zim said. "GIR can actually..." he peered at the okapi thing, "...talk."

"No, GIR is gone. We're moving ahead. Now read the script!"

"I was about to!" Zim growled. He cleared his throat and peered at the script. "Look at them, ...Frank. THEY think we are clowns. But we are not clowns. The longer we stand here, the more they will trust us. Then in their docile clown-trusting state, I WILL DESTROY THEM!!"

"No. Don't scream it," Mr. Smithee corrected.

Zim frowned. "I will destroy them. And now I laugh quietly. Hah. Hahaha." He narrowed his eyes at the script and began hopping up and down, waving his arms and singing, "Clown, clown, clown, clown..."

Mr. Smithee nudged the okapi and it snorted.

"Clown, clown, clown..." Zim continued on in the script. "Why, yes! ...Frank! That is an amazing idea! And to everyone in the audience, did you know that okapis look like zebras, but are... more... related to... giraffes. This is STUPID!" He threw down the script in disgust. "I wouldn't say this! NO ONE would say this!"

Mr. Smithee shrugged. "We got one or two complaints about the show needing to be more educational. So this is the education."

"Filthy education," Zim muttered. "I believe I have sufficiently practiced my lines today. I am returning home." Without another word he marched back across the set, seething. 

He barely managed to dodge the torrent of fire that surged at him from out of nowhere.

--

Dib flipped through his notebook for the thousandth time. Every page was filled with TV show titles, and each one was crossed out. His attempts to get a part as an extra or a cameo on them hadn't worked so well. His audition for Avatar: The Last Airbender, had left him soaked, singed, and with yet another rejection. He had had similar experiences with Teen Titans and The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius. Nothing seemed to be going right.

He continued down the hallway with a sigh. Even Gaz had stopped coming to his auditions. She gave no reason for this, though Dib supposed that she saw it as a waste of time now. 

"And maybe it is," Dib said to himself. "Maybe this is all just a waste. I need to try again, though. Just once more." He just needed to find the right place.

He froze suddenly. A weird feeling... was he being watched? Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder. The hallway behind him was empty.

Dib exhaled and tried to shake off the sensation. This was a TV studio, not a dramatic episode of Invader Zim. So what if someone was watching him? Albeit creepy, it wouldn't exactly be harmful. He started walking again.

Then he stopped and turned around. "Uh, is someone there? Can you tell me which way I'm supposed to go to get to--"

"WHEEEEEE!" a piercing cry split the air. Something big shot from the ceiling and bowled Dib over, knocking the wind out of him. He hit the floor hard and gasped air back into his lungs. The thing that had crashed into him was sitting on his chest. Dib blinked in surprise.

"What are you doing he--"

"HI, Bighead!" GIR, smiling widely, waved down at him. Dib pushed him off, stood back up, and brushed off his trenchcoat.

"I haven't seen you in awhile," he said to the robot. "Where's Zim? Is he here, too?"

"Master's workin'," GIR replied. His teal eyes locked on a passing fly and he tracked it in its flight.

"Um... okay," Dib said, not sure what to make of this. "Just... don't knock me down again." He started walking once more. Soon he was aware of metal-sounding footsteps behind him and when he looked over his shoulder he saw GIR trotting in his wake. Dib stopped. "Okay. Why are you following me?"

"'m bored," GIR said.

Dib pointed down the hall in the direction they had come. "Why don't you go back to the I.Z. studio? Aren't they filming today? Go on! They're probably looking for you."

"I don't hafta work no more!" GIR cheered. "Master replaced me wif a moose that don't got antlers, and he's ALWAYS busy. So I came to stay wif you!"

Dib wasn't sure what the robot was talking about but that last part didn't sound good at all. "Wait, what?"

"WE GON' BE FRIENDS!" GIR said. "Look'at I can do!" He stood on one leg and spun his body like a top, though his head remained perfectly stationary.

"O...kay..." Dib backed up a few steps. Then he turned and ran. He full-out sprinted down the hallway, whipping around a few corners and skidding to a halt in front of a random door. He yanked it open and ducked inside--only too late realizing it was a utility closet. Opening the door again, he started to run but tripped over GIR, who was sitting outside and beaming up at him.

"NYAH!" Dib sprawled on the ground. A mop and a few brooms fell over on top of him.

"Found yooooouuuu!" GIR sang. Dib groaned.

--

Several minutes later Dib finally reached the room where he was supposed to audition, with a humming SIR Unit skipping along two steps behind. Dib looked at him. "All right, Zim's little robot thing." Inwardly he berated himself. This wasn't the show. This was real life. "...Sorry. GIR, is it? GIR. I know you're intent on following me but just, uh, just... sit... here."

GIR smiled up at him but didn't otherwise respond.

"Got that?" Dib asked.

"Whoooo," GIR replied. Dib hoped that was a yes. He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it quickly behind him. This room was dimmer than the hallway outside.

"You here for auditions?" someone asked. Dib looked around and saw a man reclining in a folding chair near the back of the room.

"Yeah," Dib replied. He headed over, peering at his notebook again. "This is for... The Fairly OddParents, right?" He frowned at the paper, not remembering writing this show down and unsure why he would have.

"Yup," the man said in answer to Dib's question. He scratched his ear and yawned, then held up a packet of paper. Another script. Dib was getting tired of seeing them. He took the script and went up to stand at the front of the room--there wasn't a stage this time. "One of our actresses, Vicky, left us for another show awhile ago so we've had to replace her with someone else and we're down a few actors," the man said, sounding bored. "You can be one of the extra schoolchildren in an upcoming episode."

Dib looked down at his script. "Um, you spelled 'Skool' wrong. But anyway..." He began reading, "Wow! I can't believe that Mr. Crocker survived being thrown out of that window into a volcano and being attacked by a genetically altered lion-bear! He must be--"

There was the sudden sound of an explosion and shattering wood. Something silver and blue burst through the door, flew around the room two or three times, and crash-landed next to Dib.

"That was fun!" GIR said. The rockets on the bottoms of his feet had set fire to the lone chair in the room, the one that the man was sitting on. The man shrugged off the coat he was wearing and calmly patted out the flames with it. Then he picked up a clipboard from the ground, wrote down a few notes, and said, "Never mind, Dib. You're fired."

Dib's shoulders drooped. "You... you hadn't even hired me yet," he said.

"Well, you're fired anyway. Take your little... whatever it is..." he nodded at GIR, "...and leave."

--

Zim ducked a split second before fire danced over his head, scorching the wall behind him. He rolled to the side but fell sloppily and his ankle twisted a bit. Ducking behind a crate, he peeked out and shook his fist at Mr. Smithee, who stood off to the side. "The DIB never had FLAME THROWERS!" he shouted.

"Thought you were leaving, eh?" Vicky chased after him, her prize flame-spewing weapon held aloft. "We haven't gotten to MY part yet!" She laughed wildly and blasted at Zim with her flame thrower again. Zim darted out once more and dashed around the set, panting, struggling to keep his slippers on his feet. "Once I get rid of you, the world will be MINE to take over!"

Zim skidded to a halt and pointed furiously at the camera. "We are not even filming right now!"

"And I don't care!" Vicky pointed the weapon at Zim and sent a stream of fire at him. Real, burny, flame-y fire. Zim hit the ground and crawled as fast as he could. He didn't know much about human law, but he was pretty sure that this sort of thing was illegal.

"Okay, that's enough! Cut!" Mr. Smithee said. "That's a wrap. I think I see what this show needs." He walked onto the set, where Vicky was standing at ease with the flame thrower propped up by her side. "Vicky, you're a star! Everyone loves you!" the director said. "Zim... not so much."

"Eh?" Zim crawled out of his hiding place and looked at Mr. Smithee in confusion. "Everyone loves ZIIIIIIIM."

Mr. Smithee sniffed in disdain. "Obviously you don't get out much. Anyway, I think I'm going to have to demote your character, Zim."

"Eh?"

"Demote you."

"Eh?"

"I mean, you'll no longer be an Invader!" Mr. Smithee replied. Zim's eyes widened at the words and his mouth gaped open. "You're not very good at that role. I'm thinking you can be a Table-headed Service Drone instead. Yes, that sounds much better. I'll tell the network about that right away!" He headed over to the computer.

"Demote me?" Zim spluttered. "Demote? Me? Zim? Demote me? No longer an Invader? Table-headed Service Drone?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Mr. Smithee was writing an email.

Zim drew himself up, stalked over, and looked him in the eye. "NO! I am an Invader, and I always will be, no matter what your puny network says! I will NOT be demoted!"

"Relax, Zim, it's just a show." Mr. Smithee rolled his eyes.

"THIS is no longer my show!" Zim shouted. "I dunno what it is anymore. But I am telling you right now, making all those changes was a mistake! I QUIT!" His words echoed dramatically around the studio.

The director simply shrugged. "All right, one less alien to pay."

"Tak quits too!" Zim yelled.

"Two less."

"And so do the Tallest!" Zim said. "The Irken Empire will no longer have anything to do with this FILTH!" Before Mr. Smithee could say anything else, Zim marched lock-kneed to the studio doors with a dark scowl.

"Well, that's a shame," Mr. Smithee said as he left, probably talking to Vicky. Zim's mouth twisted into a smug expression that vanished seconds later when the director continued, "I know! We can change the show's title to 'Invader Vicky'!"

Zim had already gone through the doors. He turned and tried to yank them back open, but they were locked.

--

Tak nearly broke down the front door of her own house.

"What do you mean, you quit?" she snarled, framed by the doorway. Zim stared at her and ended the video communication. How on Irk had she gotten here so fast? He had only started the call two minutes ago.

He faced her, putting his hands on his hips. "I mean I will no longer work for smelly hyoomans and their smelly television programming!" he said. "They changed EVERYTHING!"

"That show was the only way you made monies!" Tak shouted. She advanced into the room. "At least I'm still here. I can take your place on the show and try to salvage your pay."

"Actually, Tak, I told them that you quit too." Zim clasped his hands behind his back, smiling. "And the Tallest. You're welcome."

Tak grabbed the front of his uniform and slammed him into the wall. "You undermined the Tallest?"

"Yes, yes, it was easy enough!" Zim swatted her away. "We have no need of the show anyway. We just need to find new jobs. Something besides filthy hyooman television. Perhaps we can be sanitation workers. That sounds... clean."

Tak clenched her fists. "'Sanitation worker' is no better than 'Janitor Drone,'" she said softly. Zim did not detect the menace in her words.

"Nonsense, Tak. They clean up garbage." Zim screwed up his face in disgust.

"What do you think a sanitation worker does?" Tak demanded exasperatedly. 

"Well, eh... sanitation... things." Zim found himself being forcefully propelled toward the door by Tak. She shoved him outside.

"Go find your own job!" she said. "I am going to get back on my show!"

The door slammed in Zim's face.

"Hey!" he shouted. "You can't kick ME out of my own house! TAK!" There was no response. "TAK! You will pay for this!" He yanked at the door. It was locked. IRK. "Locked out of somewhere twice in one day? TAAAAK! I demand you let me in right now!"

The house remained silent. Zim turned away from the door with a growl and headed down the walk. Idiot Tak. She made everything difficult. He sat down on the concrete, pulling a small Internet-accessing device out of his PAK and scowling at the screen for a moment before turning it on. He'd show her. He would find another job.

A quick search brought up one result that immediately caught his interest--science teacher. Hmmmm.

Chapter Text

It was pointless.

Auditioning was pointless. Trying to cameo on other shows was pointless. It just wasn't working. No one wanted Dib as an extra, for one reason or another... Plus there was GIR, who had developed the unfortunate habit of following Dib wherever he went. Dib had tried everything to make the SIR Unit go away, from pleading to bribes, to threats, but...

"Can we go to the fair, Diiiiiiiib?" GIR asked, tugging at Dib's coat sleeve and looking at him beseechingly. "Zim never takes me to the fair! He don't like da crowds and da noises and da fun."

"Couldn't you just go by yourself?" Dib asked wearily. He was in yet another waiting room. But this time he wasn't waiting to audition-he was waiting to pitch. He'd be trying to sell his idea for a new paranormal show. With him as the host, of course. And he knew that it would go a lot more smoothly if GIR wasn't there. Not much he could do about that, though. Ever since the little robot had been fired from I.Z. and Zim became too busy to pay much him much attention, he hadn't left Dib's side.

GIR sat down on the floor and looked suddenly very serious. "I wooooouuuuuld, but I'm a pony."

"...Yeah." Dib frowned and opened the briefcase he was holding, rifling through it yet again. "All right... I've got my notes, pictures, diagrams of paranormal creatures..." He caught himself looking for pictures of Zim as he did in so many I.Z. episodes and shook his head. Being on that show was affecting his mind.

A woman emerged into the room, holding a clipboard. Why did they always carry clipboards?

She looked at Dib and smiled condescendingly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're here to pitch a show, little boy?" The strand of hair escaped her ear and swung back in front of her face.

"Yes, I am!" Dib hopped to the floor, silently willing GIR to stay put and not do anything stupid.

The woman stared. "Hey, wait! Aren't you that Dib character? Didn't you die?"

Well that put a damper on Dib's mood. He decided to try to ignore it. "I'm... I'm here to pitch a show about paranormal findings!"

The woman clicked her tongue and shook her head. "We already have many paranormal reality shows. They don't last very long-no one ever finds anything."

"But... this stuff is real!" Dib said. He held out his briefcase. "Here, look!"

The woman gently pushed his briefcase aside with her clipboard as if afraid to touch it. "No, no, that's fine, I think. Would you care for a pastry or something before you leave? Are your parents around?"

"You're not listening..." Dib said.

The woman laughed lightly. "Oh, you can't seriously expect me to listen to a television show pitched by a child, can you? ...I suppose you're too young to know any better. You can't be more than five."

"I'm eleven."

"Do you need me to call your mommy and daddy, little boy? Are you lost?" The woman smiled again, tucking her hair behind her ear once more. Dib narrowed his eyes at her. She didn't sound like she was mocking him. She sounded like she was taking herself very seriously. Somehow that was worse.

"N-no. I'm good, thanks." Dib turned and headed away, shaking. When his back was completely turned to the woman he quickly reached up and wiped a solitary tear from his eye.

That was it, then. There went his show. All those daydreams and fantasies about running his own paranormal show, down the toilet because he was too young to be taken seriously. What would he do now?

There was the clinking sound of metallic footsteps on the floor and the woman screamed. Dib whirled around to see that GIR had run over, jumped up and grabbed the woman's clipboard.

"HI LADY!" GIR said. The woman backed away, looking panic-stricken. "I HAS A FRISBEE!" GIR turned the clipboard flat and flung it through the air, straight toward Dib. Without thinking Dib dropped his briefcase and caught it.

"What is that?" the woman cried, staring at GIR. "It's... it's ALIVE!"

Dib shrugged. "No, it's just a robot." He glanced down at the clipboard he was holding and couldn't help flipping through a few of the papers.

"Heyheyheyhey STOP that's private!" The woman lunged forward to take the clipboard but leaped back again with a shriek when GIR took her sleeve and started chewing on it.

"Ohhhh... sorry." Dib took half a step forward, then stopped and glared. "...But I guess I'm just too young to know any better." He turned again without another word and went back through the doors, realizing as soon as he closed them that he had forgotten his briefcase inside. Well. Drat. But he wasn't going back in after it now.

He headed down the hallway. Then he stopped and put the clipboard down. The woman probably needed it.

GIR burst through the door with flames erupting from his feet. He flew over to the ground and dropped down next to Dib. "HI!"

Dib let out a breath through his nose. He wondered if GIR had "attacked" the woman on purpose, or if he was just being... GIR. Well, either way. He gave GIR a small smile.

"Thanks," he said.

--

"Greetings, human smeets. I am your new science teacher: Professor ZIIIIM!"

Zim stood at the front of the classroom, drawn up to his full height and attempting to look as commanding as he could. He wore a white lab coat over his usual uniform and a pair of safety goggles pushed up on his forehead, though he didn't have much intention to use them. Not with flimsy, harmless human chemicals.

One of the students sitting at the back of the room raised his hand. "Uh... what are you?"

Zim glared, his antennae twitching. "I am a member of the mighty Irken race! Surely you've heard of me!"

The class stared. A few of the students coughed.

"I was in a filthy Earth TV show," Zim said.

There were a few sounds of realization and the students seemed to look at him with more respect.

"Now then!" Zim marched over to the desk on the left side of the classroom. "There is no need for textbooks in my class. They are horrible and stupid and good for starting fires. Today we're going to be learning-"

"Professor Zim-" someone broke in.

"DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!" Zim shouted, whirling around.

The girl who had spoken leaned back in her chair, wide-eyed. "Please, Professor Zim, shouldn't you take roll?"

Zim waved his hand in dismissal. "Roll, shmoll! I am your instructor, and you must obey me. Today we are learning the Periodic table." He pointed up at a giant version of the Periodic table that was hanging on the wall. "There it is! Learn it!"

The class obediently looked up and stared at it as though attempting to commit it to memory.

"NOW!" Zim picked up a vial filled with liquid from the desk and held it up. "What is this?"

One of the students opened her mouth to reply but Zim went on before she could. "It's a bottle with STUFF in it! There's a bunch of them here!" He gestured toward the tabletop, on which about ten similar-looking vials were resting. "They're mocking me. With their... their SILENT JUDGMENT! But we will CONQUER them!"

"Why are you so hyper?" one of the snot-nosed kids asked.

"I am NOT hyper!" Zim snapped. His jittery-ness, of course, had nothing whatsoever to do with the two bags of candy he had scarfed down before coming here. (Perhaps he had been a bit... anxious.) "Now, let's mix these vials together and see if we can make them explode!"

He slammed down the vial he was holding, searched around for something to pour the chemicals into, and headed toward the flowers that were for some reason sitting on the window sill. He picked up the vase, dumped the flowers and water onto the ground, and went back to his desk with it. "Observe." Zim paused for a moment. "Hey, one of you be GIR. I need an assistant. YOU!" He pointed to some random kid near the back of the class. "Come here and hand me things!"

The kid slouched up to the desk. Zim poured two vials at the same time into the vase. He held out his hand, and the kid picked up another vial and handed it to him. Zim dumped that in as well.

Soon all the vials were empty. The liquid in the base had turned a cloudy pink color and fizzed a bit, but other than that nothing happened.

"It didn't work!" Zim glared at the vase, his antennae slicked back against his head.

His "assistant" snorted. "Just drop a match in," he said.

Zim brightened and his antennae flicked back up. "Wait, of course! I've got it-this is much better!" He detached his PAK and held it in front of him, searching through it. At last he pulled out a bottle with some bluish, viscous liquid in it and put his PAK back on. "THIS solution is common on Vort! That planet is horrible."

He held his gloved hand under the bottle and poured about a handful of the stuff into it. "Heheh. Feels like Jell-O." With his other hand he pulled a little box out of the desk drawer, got out a match, and struck it. To a collective gasp from the students he lowered the match and set fire to the solution in his hand. Then, grinning (evilly, of course), he tipped the fiery solution into the vase.

The resulting blue fireball took out the desk, the classroom, and would have wiped out the entire class if they hadn't ducked under their desks.

Zim stood at the front, blinking, scorched black and with his uniform reduced to smoldering rags. He looked at his hand, where a couple remaining flames burned, and beat them out. "...Weeelllllll... That's your chemistry lesson for today! Your homework is to clean this up!" And he ran.

--

"You were fired after one day?"

Zim held the phone away from his face and cringed. "YES, Tak. I believe that's what I just told you," he said.

"YOU-YOU-HOW..." There was silence on Tak's end of the line for a moment. "Why am I surprised? I really shouldn't be surprised. You'repathetic, Zim."

"The human smeets said I was the best teacher they'd ever seen!" Zim said. "As they should. But the horrible principal said I was too 'dangerous.' It was just an explosion! Things blow up all the time!" He paused. "Eh, where are you, anyway?" He was calling from a payphone because his PAK radio had been damaged in the explosion. No one had answered when he'd tried calling the base, so he'd ended up calling Tak's radio. The reception was terrible. It sounded like she was trying to talk to him from Irk.

"Never mind where I am, Zim. I don't want to be NEAR you." The line went dead. Tak must have hung up. Zim hung up as well and walked scowling down the street, his hands wedged in the pockets of the new labcoat he was wearing over his ruined uniform. Tak was keeping away from him, GIR had disappeared, the Dib had gone off who-knows-where, Zim was now unemployed... Did this mean he'd have to apply somewhere again? Irk. He hated applications. Why should he have to apply for things when it was completely obvious that he was perfect for whatever it was he was applying for? But he had to do something. No work meant no monies, and no monies meant no snacks. Not fair. He would have to go back to the house-if Tak hadn't left him locked out-and search on the computer for some job that was available.

--

...Which is how he ended up, a few days later, dressed in his old clown suit and struggling to make balloon animals at some little kid's birthday party.

"Thank you so much for doing this!" the mother of the child trilled. "I can't believe I managed to find someone at such short notice-little Eddy likes clowns so much!"

"No I don't," the birthday boy, Eddy, pouted with his arms crossed.

Zim blew into the balloon again, but it only inflated a fraction before deflating again. "This isn't easy without lungs, you know!" he said.

The woman clasped her hands together and squealed. "Aren't you just the most adorable thing EVER!" She reached out and tweaked one of Zim's antennae, causing him to yelp in protest and leap backwards. "And your eyes! So pretty!"

"Invader Zim is not CUTE!"

The mother smiled and patted her son on the head. "Run along, Eddy. Go play with your friends. I have to wait for the magician to arrive. He's late!" She headed to the entrance of the park, where the party was going on. Eddy glared up at Zim, who noticed with a smirk that the child was several inches smaller than him.

"You an alien?" Eddy asked.

"Yes! I am an IRKEN!" Zim was getting tired of telling people this. Why didn't they already know who he was? "I was on TV."

"We don't watch TV." Eddy continued frowning.

"Eh. Well, I am Zim, the most amazing Invader ever." Zim liked this title. He wished he could be introduced like that all the time.

"If you're so amazing, why can't you make a balloon dog?" Eddy demanded, pointing to Zim's failed attempt at making a balloon animal.

"I have no time for this trivial nonsense," Zim said. But he resumed attempting to blow up the balloon, determined to show it who was in charge.

--

"Well, here it is." Dib said, looking up at the tall gates. He was holding a suitcase and dressed all in black, with a long cape draped over his shoulders. A top hat sat on his head, pushed askew by his scythe-like hair. GIR stood next to him. He too wore a top hat, and was carrying one of those magician's wands that was black with white ends.

"We gon' to a party, Master!" GIR said.

"I'm not your master." Dib had said that a lot, recently. GIR didn't seem to get the message. Dib pushed open the gates and headed inside.

"Oh good, you're here!" Dib's hand was grabbed by a beaming woman who pulled him toward the middle of the park. "Hi, I'm Mrs. Taylor. You're late, but not too late. Did you find us easily? Thanks so much for coming! I had to hire all the the entertainers at the last minute. You know how it is. Say, aren't you a little young to be a magician?"

"I don't think so," Dib replied, wishing she would let go of his hand. GIR trotted along next to them, waving the wand around and shouting things like "Hocus kedavra!" and "Abracapocus!"

"You can just start the magic show now if you want," Mrs. Taylor said, and released him. "Go ahead! Quick, these kids need entertainment and the clown I hired can't even make balloon animals."

"Um, okay," Dib said. He'd been hoping to grab a snack or something and maybe duck out of view and practice some of his tricks. No chance of that now. He stepped forward a few paces and cleared his throat, looking at the little kids running around in the grass. "Uh, hey!"

A few of the kids turned to look at him but kept doing whatever it was they were doing.

"Oooookay. I am DIB, the paranormal magician!" Dib waved his arms around and twirled his cape in what he hoped was a dramatically theatrical entrance. "And this is... GIR... the robot that won't leave me alone."

"TA-DA!" GIR said with a flourish of his wand. The kids looked at him and cheered. Their interest piqued, they began to sit down in front of Dib.

Dib cleared his throat again. "For my first trick, I'll-"

"DIB!"

Dib looked up in shock at the sound of the voice. "...Zim?"

"HEY!" Zim emerged from the crowd of kids and pointed at Dib, looking livid. "What are you doing at my party?"

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

"I asked you first!" Zim marched over, shoving the birthday boy out of his way. "You cannot intrude on the party of ZIM! I'm doing clowny things!"

"HI MASTER!" GIR waved wildly at the alien.

"And what are you doing with my robot?" Zim reached over and grabbed GIR's wrist, tripping in his bulky clown costume and falling on his face. Dib couldn't help chuckling. GIR screamed with laughter.

"Wait, the two of you know each other?" Mrs. Taylor, who had rushed to her son's side when he was pushed, looked up at them.

"Well, yeah. We were in a show together," Dib replied.

"And then you QUIT and the show was RUINED!" Zim shouted, standing back up and wobbling a bit.

"I didn't quit! They fired me!" Dib snapped.

"Because you're STUPID, and then the whole show turned STUPID! It's your fault!"

"This is boring!" one of the kids called. "C'mon, pull a rabbit out of your hat!"

"You're supposed to be entertaining the children!" the woman said. "Quit fighting with the clown!"

Dib wasn't listening. "If anything, it's your fault!" he yelled at Zim. "I got fired because of you!"

"LIAR!" Zim shouted. "It's the other way around, you filthy human! Because you're disgusting and stupid and could never-" He didn't finish. At that moment, Dib rushed forward and pushed him over. Zim, unbalanced in his clown suit, toppled to the ground.

The kids gased in delight and starting chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"You dare shove Invader Zim?" Zim demanded. He rolled back and forth in an attempt to get up but couldn't do much more than wave his limbs in the air like an overturned beetle.

"You're not an Invader anymore if you've been fired!" Dib pointed out.

"I AM AN INVADER!" Zim pushed himself to his feet at last and ran at Dib. The boy ducked to the side, trailing his black cape and letting his hat fly off his head.

"WEEEE-OOOO! This is cool!" GIR sat in the audience, clapping wildly.

Zim's robotic spider legs ripped through the fabric of his clown suit and he reared up on them. He scuttled around Dib so whichever way the boy ran, Zim was in front of him. Dib made as if he was going to the right and, as soon as Zim turned to block him, dove. He slid along the ground beneath the spider legs and took off at a dash toward a table piled with food.

The audience applauded, even the mother. "I take it back, this is amazing!" she said. "You two must've rehearsed this and then gotten me to hire both of you!" She laughed. "It's great!"

"Ooh, what's he gonna do with that?" one of the kids asked.

Dib had picked up one of the sandwiches sitting on the table. It just happened to be bologna. Well! Cool! He pulled the meat off the bun and held it up. "Don't come any closer, Zim! I have BOLOGNA!"

Zim, who had chased after him, skidded to a halt and hesitated for the briefest second. Then he dropped to the ground and arced the PAK legs around him. Dib knew what was coming and grabbed the plate of sandwiches, then dropped into a roll to end up behind the table. Not a moment too soon. The laser blast from the PAK legs shook the table and incinerated most of the food as well as the tablecloth.

"MY FOOD!" Mrs. Taylor screamed. "All right, which one of you is paying for that?"

Dib pushed the table onto its side and used it to shield himself from another blast.

"Insolent wormy fool!" Zim shouted, seeming to have forgotten that they weren't being filmed in a television studio. He rose onto his PAK legs once more and halfway crawled onto the overturned table to glare at his archenemy. Dib backed away and held up the bologna threateningly.

Zim looked more comical than menacing as he clambered over the table in his torn clown suit, but Dib knew he could be dangerous when he wanted to be. Zim really did possess all the lasers and things that he had in the show. Special effects had never been used for any of that stuff.

"YOU RUINED MY SHOW!" Zim screamed. He lunged at Dib, who tore around the side of the table and pushed it over so that it fell on top of Zim. The alien's spider legs ripped through it so that it shattered in a burst of splinters.

"My TABLE!" Mrs. Taylor cried, running forward. "That's enough! Stop right now or I'm calling the cops!"

Dib ran over to the audience and made a beeline for GIR. "Hey, you're my friend now, right?" he said. GIR nodded with a wide smile and Dib jabbed his finger in Zim's direction. "Okay! Then do something about HIM!"

GIR saluted, which Dib found a bit weird, and blasted over everyone's heads with his rocket-feet. He crashed into Zim and sent them both to the ground. Zim's spider legs snapped back into his PAK and he struggled to his feet.

"GIR! What is the meaning of this?" he said.

"Why you burn all the food?" GIR cried, shaking Zim.

Zim pushed him away and got to his feet once more. "I will end you, DIB!" he said. He fired another laser. Dib leaped out of the way, the laser hit a piñata dangling from a tree, and it burst into flame. Zim ran after Dib and prepared to fire yet another laser. However, Dib pulled another piece of bologna from the sandwich platter he was holding and flung it into the alien's face.

Zim screamed and flopped to the ground in a jerky spasm. He peeled the meat from his face--where it left angry red blisters--and crushed it to a pulp in his fist.

"I have more, Zim!" Dib took a step backwards with the sandwich platter, minding the flaming piñata.

"No, STOP!" Mrs. Taylor said, stomping over to stand between Zim and Dib. Probably not the best of ideas, and Dib suddenly feared for her safety. "That is IT! You're both horrible! You're both fired!"

"WHAT?" Zim collapsed to the ground, his PAK legs retracting. "You-dare-fire-ZIM?"

"I want you out of this park and away from these children!" Mrs. Taylor said. "You're lucky I'm not having you arrested!"

Dib looked around at the damage they had caused. The destroyed table, the charred food, and the piñata that now lay smoldering on the ground. "Wow, gee, I'm... I'm sorry."

"OUT! You're being replaced! YOU'RE FIRED!" Mrs. Taylor said.

Dib frowned. He hadn't even gotten to do his magic show. And now, here he was, being replaced yet again. It was better than last time, he supposed. At least he wasn't being replaced by-

"Did someone say fire?" a familiar voice said. And who should step out from the trees but Vicky, toting her flamethrower like always.

"YOU!" Zim snarled.

"These two wrecked my party," Mrs. Taylor said to Vicky with her hands on her hips. "Maybe you can do a better job entertaining the children."

Vicky smirked. "You bet I can," she said. And, to Dib's horror, she leveled the flame thrower at both him and Zim. "Say goodbye, TWERPS!"

Zim and Dib screamed in unison and turned to run, pelting over the grass, but there was nothing they could do. Flames erupted and enveloped them... and they spiraled into darkness.

--

"NYAAH!" Dib sat bolt upright. His breath came in gasps, he was hot and sticky... where was he? He glanced around wildly and saw that he was in his room. Sitting in his bed. With the first light of dawn coming in through the windows.

"A... dream?" he said. "It was all a dream? The television studio, the auditions, Zim and Tak, GIR following me...?" He shuddered and clutched his stomach, wincing. "Man, what did I eat last night?"

A dream! He couldn't begin to put into words how relieved he was. He hadn't been fired! He hadn't suffered death by flamethrower! It was a good day! But what on Earth had the dream meant? He'd have to go tell Gaz. Maybe she would know something.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed in order to hop down but froze. There was something curled up on his floor. Something small, metallic, glittering in the dim light.

GIR sat up and yawned, opening his bright turquoise eyes. He beamed at Dib and waved. "HI, MASTER! What're we gonna do today?"

Dib didn't reply. He had collapsed back onto his bed in a faint.