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Dib and Gaz	By : gothickun Category: +G through L > Invader Zim > Het- Male/Female Views: 15134 -:- 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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(EnPassant: It is time for a disclaimer. Disclaimer: All characters from Invader Zim are property of the renowned Jhonen Vasquez, greatest among artists. He owns Invader Zim along with Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and Squee, HE‘S A GOD, I TELL YOU, A GOD!)

Dib and Gaz (sixteenth chapter)

Click.

Blondie, other than pissing his pants profusely, was sobbing uncontrollably. He thought he had died and that his brain was still processing information. He kept on hearing empty clicks, though, and he opened his eyes to see Gaz furiously squeezing the trigger on an empty gun.

“Gaz, I forgot to reload it,” he heard the kid say. This didn’t ease the girl off him, though. She kept squeezing the trigger and he was getting annoyed.

“I‘ll make him pay, I‘ll fucking make him pay,” she muttered while still squeezing. He grabbed the razor as the kid walked behind her. I’ll fucking make you pay, he thought.

“Gaz, GAZ!” He yelled at her, pointed the barrel at his face and squeezed off a round. He saw nothing, then heard nothing. A second later, he felt nothing.

~*~*~

“GAZ! He‘s dead now,” Dib said, “Let the gun go, let him go.”

“I‘ll fucking make him pay,” he heard her say, “fucking make him eat this bullet and fucking make him pay.” He put his hand on her shoulder trying to get her off him, but she turned and punched him on the junk.

“Get off me!” she yelled, her eyes glowing red. Grabbing his hurting junk, he coughed, kneeled for a minute and finally said, “Fine, fine, damn! I‘ll just go on, fuuuuck! If you want to join me I‘ll be walking that way.” He pointed behind himself.

He started walking, limping, away from her. She looked back down at the person under her. He was looking straight up, his eyes blank, with a hole on his forehead. His blank stare got to her, not so much the copious amount of blood emitting from the back of Blondie’s head. She stared at him and she felt his dead eyes piercing her soul, boring deep onto her subconscious. She would see his face when she slept now, she was sure of it.

~*~*~

After eating the larva Amy went to town on the body. She picked up the globs of brain matter that were strewn across the floor. She ripped her victim’s clothes off and bit down on the neck. Blood started flowing. She was covered in gore, her clothes matted with grime; she was feeding.

The rest of the brood got up from their spot and huddled around her. They got down to her level, trying to get at the food. Amy growled and they stopped. A bold male, three feet taller than her, squatted next to her, helping himself to the meat. She punched him hard on the nose. He landed hard on the tile floor and she got on him. She started beating him, pummeling his face with fist after fist. He growled and punched her on the ribs, then the stomach, and then the face. She was knocked back by the sheer force of his punches. He returned the favor, first by ripping of her shirt, then her pants. She was in her underwear but she fought back. He punched her dead on the nose and it knocked her out for a second. He ripped her panties off and he stopped.

He noticed her cunt.

It was covered in a green slime tinged with the purple color of dried blood. She woke up and growled at him. She punched him off her and she got on top. She landed on his erect penis, she felt it through the pain between her legs. She punched him twice on the cheeks and noticed it move up and down between her ruined crotch. She started ripping his pants off to see what it was.

A seven inch cock was staring at her, covered in feces and blood, erect, and dripping with pre-cum.

~*~*~

He had walked seven yards before turning back.

Gaz hadn’t followed him, and after seven yards it was pretty clear: she wasn’t moving. He walked back to her, to see if she would cooperate. To his astonishment, she had dug the razor into his belly.

“Fucking make him pay, I‘m gonna fucking make him pay,” she kept uttering.

“God damn it,” he sighed and grabbed her hard by the shoulder.

“Fucking make him--”

“Gaz, snap out of it!” he yelled, “You made him pay, he‘s dead, now let‘s go!”

“Maggot hole in his belly is what he fucking deserves, fucking make him pay for fucking with me,” she kept babbling.

“Snap out of it,” he hissed, then slapped her. Her head turned with the force and she closed her eyes. She wasn’t in her happy place in her head, she was in hell. Her torturer was Blondie’s face. Her chains her malice and cruelty. She saw a splurt of blood emanate from his forehead, his eyes grow wide from lack of life, his mouth agape. His death mask was torturing her to no ends. Her hatred chained her there.

“Fuck him make him pay,” she said before sobbing uncontrollably, her face turned towards him, tears running rampant on her cheeks.

He held her tightly, more tightly than she would have liked, but it didn’t matter to her. Not now. Now she welcomed it. Now she desired it. Now, she loved him. She loved him but only because he saved her life. He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “We have to go.”

“OK,” she responded, “All right.”

“Stay by me and I‘ll protect you, OK?” he tried to reassure her. He picked up her weapons, a .32 revolver and a tire iron. She clutched the tire iron, but left the gun on his hand. He wiggled her gun in front of her, announcing that he wanted her to take it. She stared at it for a whole minute. In that minute, his actions replayed in her mind. The vicious attacks he had committed in the name of protection. The two murders. She remembered the splurt of blood that sprang from between Blondie’s eyes, on his forehead. She hadn’t killed him. Dib had.

She stared at the gun, then snatched it from him, pointed it at his chest and pulled the trigger before he could stop her.

~*~*~

Siegfried shut down his terminal, gathered his things and locked the door behind him. He sat around the living room of his apartment, basking in the darkness and the complete and total silence of the building. It was all quiet, almost as if it were a ghost town, except that people did reside within the rest of the tenements. He sat down on his couch and set up his cleaning station. First gun out of his case was a Jericho. He handled it with great care, stripping it and laying down the parts with kid gloves. He cleaned the parts and put the gun back together again, relishing as the parts interlocked together, that from many pieces one single piece of art was crafted.

His baby cannon was hungry, he felt.

He took out an empty magazine and a box of ammo. He loaded bullet after bullet into the magazine until it was full. He grabbed his Jericho and loaded the magazine. Sheathing the gun into its holster, the phone rang, rousing him from his daydream. He picked up a hunting knife, seven inches in length, and grabbed the phone. He answered it with a curt, “Hello?” and sheathed it.

“Fuck baby, you gotta come get me,” the voice on the other end of the line whimpered.

“Wait, hold on,” he responded, “Where are you? Do you know the time?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that. Well, surprise, I‘m out.” the voice continued, “I made a mistake and I‘m facing the consequences at the moment, but I don‘t want to anymore. Come get me please, please!”

Siegfried fingered the knife’s handle, deciding whether or not to go.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Oh baby, thank you!” said the voice, relief thick as honey, “Down at the club, you know, where we met.” He could hear the techno music in the background.

“What are you doing there?” Siegfried asked.

“Friends,” the voice replied, “they asked me to come. I didn‘t realize what time it was. Just come get me, please!”

“I‘ll be there,” he said. “Just hold on.”

He hung up. He grabbed his car keys from the table, put on his leather jacket on, and proceeded to walk out of the room. He eyed the cell phone sitting on the end table near the door. It was his only line of communication with Dib. It was given to him for that particular purpose. He grabbed it and pocketed it. Dib hadn’t called and he didn’t remember him saying he had a girlfriend, let alone a lover. He was worried.

He walked down the hall to the staircase that led to the parking lot. He unlocked the door and got in. Seconds later the engine roared with life. It was loud, the engine, and powerful. His car wasn’t that shinny, nor sleek. It had the body of a beat up Mustang, rusty and weather-worn. He backed out and headed for the exit.

~*~*~

“What‘s going on!” demanded Zim.

“Sir!” Professor Membrane said, clicking his boots, “It‘s--” he hesitated, “well, we need more worms.”

“Are they killing each other?” Zim asked.

“Yes, sir.” Membrane responded, “Indiscriminately. They haven‘t reached maturity, and most aren‘t because of her.”

He opened the door. Zim gazed beyond the threshold and had to squint to see through the darkness. He noticed five surviving worms surrounding two worms. He saw one on top of another. They were grunting.

“What are they doing?” Zim demanded.

“Sir?” Membrane looked into the room and saw Amy on top of someone, clothes ripped and mid-coitus. “Sex, sir.”

Amy, on top, had the seven incher inside her. Her cunt was ruined just like her asshole. Zim had seen to it. He had inserted his talon into her. He broke her. The seven incher wasn’t deriving much pleasure from this and neither was she, but they were still humping; out of a program directive more than the pleasure of the act itself. He had her by the back of her neck and she had her hand pushed against his shoulder. Her other hand grabbed the pipe she used earlier. She pushed off his shoulder and forced her torso upward. His hold loosened, though he held on to hair and skin, and before he could grab her again, the business end of the metal pipe went in clean through his nose bridge. The larva exited through the hole on the back of the host’s skull. Amy searched for the slimy thing and ate it.

“And well,” Professor Membrane concluded, “we need more worms.”

“Isolate them,” Zim ordered. “Do not harm her, if is at all possible.”

“Sir!” he replied and walked into the boiler room.

~*~*~

(EnPassant: Woo! Another update! Well, so, working twelve hour shifts suck, but hey, it‘s money. The Black Dahlia Murder is to be thanked here for Nocturnal. It is really helping me get these updates out of my head and posted here. For your reading pleasure. So, I guess this is it. Enjoy.)
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Dib and Gaz