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The Happy Smiley Dib Show!	By : V021 Category: +G through L > Invader Zim > AU/AR-Alternate Universe-Alternate Reality Views: 2643 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Invader Zim, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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(Peeks out her head) Uh… hello? Welcome to the sequel of the sequel to Invader Scorned . Actually, I should mention that this the revision of the sequel to the sequel of Invader Scorned , made even more “adult” for publishing on aff.net! Yippee. Yes, I realize the ZADR element in Domo Arigato wasn’t as blatant or smutty as in most fics out there, but it was there…in a rather twisted, Silence of the Lambs kind of way. Just be patient, there’ll be plenty of smut later on. And those weird loose ends, like what happened to Gaz and why Zim’s got a psychotic attitude problem, plus what went down during the five months after the battle. So, hunker down and get set for yet another round of obscure pop references, massive plot holes, violence, and more movie rip-offs than ever dreamed possible in one fanfic! Think of it as my early holiday gift for you all.
Disclaimer : I don’t own Zim. If I did, there’d be more blood, more profanity, and more nudity. And go-go boys.

The Happy Smiley Dib Show
“What’s wrong, Gaz?” Zim mocked, watching the poison take it’s toll on her. “Not feeling well?”
“RA-ARGH!!” Desperately, she swung her bat at him but she’s so weakened that it slips from her hands. The force of the swing unbalanced her and Gaz fell forward onto the carpet.
“Hmmm… forty-seconds. Not bad…For a human.” Causally, Zim looked down at her. “Don’t feel too badly about how things turned out, Gaz. It’s nothing personal… Well, okay, so maybe it is. ” he sneered. Lazily, he picked up the bat, weighed it, and then tossed it aside. “You were quite a formidable opponent. It took me almost an entire day to come up with the perfect method to dispose of you. I’m amazed that this simple trick worked on you. I’ve always thought you were the more suspicious type… What do you think of that, Gaz?”
There was a pause, as if Zim expected an answer. She could barely focus on face blurring in green and red as he leaned over her.
“Did somebody take you tongue?” asked the alien, in sarcastic tone.
Without a sound, Gaz began the slide into a swirling dark cesspool of unconsciousness. Vaguely, she felt him kiss her cheek. The last thing she’s aware of is Zim cooing softly in her ear. “Good-night… Sleep tight…my love…”
---
A deserted road twisted through acres of gently rustling corn stalks. Down the road barrels a cream 1969 RX87 Luce Rotary Coupe, top down and headlights glaring, with a girl at the wheel. Santeria’s “Black Magic Women” blasts out from the speakers in an ominous counterpoint to howling wind. There’s a blood-caked bat in the passenger seat and a calm look of cold murder on her face.
“Looked dead, didn't I?” Gaz growls to nobody in particular. “But I wasn't. But it wasn't from lack of trying, I can tell you that. Actually, Zim’s little trick put me in a coma - A coma I was to lie in for four weeks. When I woke up, I went on what the movie advertisements refer to as a 'roaring rampage of revenge.' I roared. And I rampaged. And I got bloody satisfaction.”
Thunder rumbles in the thick black clouds.
“I've killed a hell of a lot of people to get to this point, but I have only one more.” She smiles madly. “The last one. The one I'm driving to right now. The only one left. And when I arrive at my destination, I am gonna kill Zim.”
A murder of crows goes wheeling up from the cornfields in a crazy tornado of caws and feathers into the darkness.
--- Chapter One: Tumbling Down…
By the time she had come to, it was already over. Gaz felt like she‘d been thrown into a industrial sized threshing machine. The room was lit by the glow of garishly colorful bunnies bounding on the TV. Sometime during that period, she’d been moved off the floor at Zim’s house and propped up on the edge of her own couch back home. She was pretty sure that it was the robot-dog-thing (what’s it name again? G.I.R.?) had done that and it must’ve stuck around for a good while since she found herself coated in crumbs and empty burrito wrappers. As she shook off the throbbing pain in the back of her skull, Gaz dug the remote out from beneath the junk-food garbage pile on the table and flicked through the channels. She really wasn’t looking for anything, just skimming the 3,000 cable stations to get her bearings a little. But when she hit the block of 24-hour news networks, Gaz felt the world as she knew it be ripped out from underneath her.
“…the following footage maybe too graphic for older viewers…”
“…officials are calling it the single most gruesome zombie attack this week…”
“…it’s just… horrible! Words cannot begin to describe this bloodbath…”
“…HOLY FU-(the sound of vomiting over quick, jerky shots of a gore-coated window)…”
“…-oh god! They’ve found a survivor …”
“…emergency workers are frantically trying to keep him alive…”
“…still no word as to his condition …”
“…head slashed opened! Like a melon! A big gushy pink melon…”
“…it is indeed a black day across the world as doctors keep working to stabilize…”
The remote slide to the carpet with a thump as Gaz gaped in mute horror at the images flashing across the screen. Clips of paramedics and a frantic Professor Membrane climbing into the ambulance with them were interspliced with still photos of Dib looking as normal and happy as any other sixteen year-old. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a joke… A sick, sick joke…
“MORNIN’ SCARY LADY!”
Instinctive, Gaz lashed out and rendered the platter full of waffles G.I.R. was offering to a splattering of syrupy goo.
The robot frowned , looking sadly at the pieces of plate it held. “Aww… but I put dish-soap and cement in them.”
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” It wasn’t a question so much as a prelude to violent death.
“My orders are to return the Gaz to her base and keep her from interfering, sir!” G.I.R. barked, then it snapped out of duty-mode and began giggling insanely. “I’m gonna make more waffles! And cupcakes!” At that, the robot bolted back into the kitchen.
Gaz glared for a second more then followed the drippings to the counter where G.I.R. was merrily stirring a bucket of pork brine into it’s latest batch of pancakes. After it dump in some more nasty looking products into the batter, she spoke up.
“What’s going on?”
“Duh! I’m cooking!” It turned and held out the bowl. “Wanna help?!”
As she watched, a fish head bubbled to the surface.
“No.”
The robot shrugged and went back to stirring.
“Listen,” Gaz growled. “All I want the know what Zim’s done to my loser brother. And I want to know NOW…”
G.I.R. rolled it‘s eyes, oblivious to the danger. “Duh… Master went and chopped up the girl to make Dib show up so he could kill him too! And then he was gonna blow everybody up cause he don’t like this planet! Explosions are pretty…”
“Where’s Zim now?” came the mildly frantic hiss.
The robot paused its stirring as its expression shifted to something like deep concentration. G.I.R. started to say something, then stopped, then began to open its mouth again but just gaped at her. Finally, it shrugged.
Gaz snarled in frustration and stomped out of the room, leaving G.I.R. to finish its waffles. Normally, when something made Gaz mad, Gaz would make it dead but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to mutilate the robot. Maybe it was the fact that G.I.R. was just too…too…well, too stupid to kill. Besides, the robot was the sole link she had right now to Zim even if it was a schizophrenic moron.
All of a sudden, it occurred to Gaz that maybe G.I.R. wasn’t her only source of information. She knew from years of being subjected to Dib’s insane ramblings that her brother kept an extensive, if not obsessive, amount of information on Zim. Even when he supposedly quit chasing the alien, Dib maintain 24-7 surveillance with a horde of bugs that were still recording every single move Zim made in his base to this day. And then there were all the times she’d walked in on her brother brooding over the stuff in that filing cabinet hidden in his closet. Dib had always been the anal-retentive type…
Shaking off an odd sense of sadness, Gaz looked up and noticed that she was now staring at the door to Dib’s bedroom. She let it open slowly and stood in the doorway for a moment. The room was tomb quiet and dark, but she found herself hesitating to turn the light on. It was as if shedding light on whatever was inside would be a gravely blasphemous act, but she quickly shrugged that thought off and flicked the switch anyway.
There was nothing special revealed when the bulb flashed on. The same stupid posters hung around the walls Dib always had them on. The same stacks of the same books and the same comics Dib always read were crammed in shelves. The same stupid models Dib always piddled with were set up the same way Dib always set them up. There was the same bunch of lab equipment Dib always had laid out on his desk, too. The same bed, still made, sat right under the same window looking out on the same street and the same sky Dib always looked out on. The same damn computer was sitting on the same desk with the same chair Dib always sat in pushed up against it. And without looking, she knew the same dumb clothes Dib always wore hung in the same closet with the same old filing cabinet where the same fucking Zim files were securely locked up. It was the same fucking room Dib always had, only it wasn’t the same any more because Dib was…
“Why you crying?”
“Eh?” Furiously, Gaz scrubbed away the wetness on her face. “I wasn’t… it’s just dusty in here, okay?!”
“Ho-kay!” Looking mindlessly happy, G.I.R. plopped itself down on the floor to devour the pile of waffles it brought along as Gaz slumped into Dib’s chair.
Tuning out the nasty chomping sounds, she took the computer out of sleep mode and started searching through the massive backlog of paranormal data Dib had for anything Zim related. After nearly six hours of skimming through garbage like the mating habits of la chupacabra and ways to tell the various Illuminati groups apart, Gaz was about ready to pound the computer to hell with her bat when a rather unobtrusive icon caught her eye. Giving it a half-hearted click, her curiosity increased when a pop-up box appeared that looked like something for an online chat-group.
The username “Agent Mothman” was already typed into it’s corresponding blank, leaving only an empty password box below. Below that was a little ticking bomb clock displaying 1:58 and below that was a block of text in bright red, bold-faced type:
“WARNING! You have 2 minutes to enter the correct and valid username/password combination. Entering an incorrect/invalid combination four times or not finishing before time runs out will result in your computer self-destructing with a 4-yard blast radius. If you’ve lost or forgotten your password, please login and access the “change password” panel in your user options. Thank you and have a nice day.”
Gaz snorted in contempt. She’d cracked harder codes then this on baby games. Feeling somewhat more in her element now, she smugly typed in “extraterrestrial” and clicked the sign-in button. To her surprise, she got an ERROR alert. Trying again, she tried “paranormalist” only to get another ERROR alert.
The timer was at 1:21 and still ticking away.
Only one chance left now, and if she blew it… Gaz growled angrily and racked her brains for an answer. Surely it had to be something stupid and weird, like “Big-foot” or “aliens” or crap like that! While she fumed and thought, the precious seconds kept ticking away…
Suddenly, G.I.R. leapt up and latched on to her legs squealing, “I LOVES YOU, MOMMY!”
“Mommy?!” In flash, Gaz had her answer and she hastily pounded in the word “mother” before the countdown reached 0:05.
“Password: ACCEPTED!” announced a very sultry female voice. “Welcome, Agent Mothman. You have 2,753 unread mails and 42 requests for private chat from Agent Darkbootie currently waiting. Do you accept the request?”
“Whatever.” Gaz muttered, clicking the ACCEPT button.
“At last!” gasped the red-eyed silhouette on a floating screen that appeared from nowhere. “Where have you been agent Mothman? We all have been trying to contact you to confirm the rumors. Do you have any idea how-- Hey! You’re not Mothman!”
“No shit, Sherlock. I’m his sister, G-”
“SHUSH! Don’t give me your name!” Darkbootie barked, looking rather panicked for a silhouette. “It’s bad enough you’ve compromised our secrecy without you also breaking over a decade’s worth of confidentiality protocols!”
“But you have been watching the news lately?”
“Well, yes…”
“And it’s obvious that you’re concerned with ‘Agent Mothman’, right?”
“Umm…yah.”
“Then it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out who the hell Mothman is!” snapped Gaz.
“You never know… He could’ve been one of the zombies…”
She barely restrained the urge to punched out the screen, instead slipping it to an apathetic tone. “Listen, I haven’t got the time, the patience, or the desire to know why your interested in Di- Agent Mothman. All I want is to know what you have on the alien Zim.”
Darkbootie blinked. “Zim? The green kid?”
“Yes. The green kid.”
“He’s not an alien. According to Dib, a noteworthy and trusted member of the paranormalist community- who is in no possible way connected to the Swollen Eyeballs or, specifically, Agent Mothman-, he’s just some schmuck with a skin disease and a mental disorder…”
Gaz snorted. “And you really believe that?”
“Not really. In fact, after reviewing the heaps of information Mothman has sent me over the years, I’m now almost positive that this ‘Zim’ is actually an alien. Maybe not a hundred percent sure, but pretty damn close. Like, say, 99.999999% sure.”
“Right. So do you have any solid information or not?”
“You mean there isn’t anything on Mothman’s computer?”
“Oh no! I’ve spent most of the night reading about a Sasquatch being pregnant with Elvis’ bastard lovechild for kicks. Of course I fucking checking the computer! The closet I got to aliens was a .doc file of ‘All Work And No Play Make Dibby A Dull Boy’ typed over and over again.”
Darkbootie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, have you tried looking for porn?”
A look of pure, horrified disgust flashed over her face. “Excuse me?!”
“I know it sounds bizarre, but I assure you that’s where the files are going to be. Trust me, it’s a guy thing.”
Gaz slowly got over her horror but she still wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure he…”
“Look,” grumbled Darkbootie. “We both know Agent Mothman was a bit…odd. Especially about Zim. Now, where else do you think he’d keep them?”
She snarled, but did a search for porn anyway. There was now a listing of over 4,000 folders with a range of titles that included ‘eldritchkarmasutra.jpeg’ and ‘embalming.wmv’. Gaz refrained from thinking too long about why her brother would have autopsy footage in his porn stash, instead looking for anything that looked Zim-related. In a short time, she found all the Zim she could stomach. Scrolling through file after file devoted to the alien lunatic, the seeds of a plan were fermenting in her thoughts. She was just getting to an interesting idea about using rabid Tasmanian devils and peanut butter when Darkbootie cut back in.
“Need any more help?” he asked, also not thinking about the ‘porn’…
“Not yet. I’ll call you if I do.” Her stomach began rumbling loudly, prompting her to exit the Zim folder. As she reached to log-out of the Swollen Eyeball network, Agent Darkbootie suddenly spoke up.
“Wait! Before you leave, what do you want to be your name?”
Gaz paused and thought for a moment. “Call me Piggy Hunter.”
“Very well. Good night, Agent Piggy Hunter…”
With that, Gaz cut off the computer and looked down at the robot curled up at her feet. “Get up, G.I.R. We’ve gotta go out for a bit.”
“Why?” yawned the robot.
“Cause I’m hungry and Bloaty’s doesn’t deliver after 2 am…”
Squealing in delight, G.I.R. leapt to his feet and followed Gaz out into the hall. She stopped for a second, finger poised on the light switch, and took one more look at Dib’s empty room.
“CLICK!” The world snaps to blackness.

a/n: Okay, so it’s not a great start and I’m still ripping off Kill Bill, but it will make sense later. Trust me, there will be sense later on… I hope…
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The Happy Smiley Dib Show!