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Petting Doom	By : FairySlayer Category: +G through L > Invader Zim Views: 6127 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Neither of us own the "Invader Zim" franchise or have any association with it whatsoever; we do not make any money for writing this story. Invader Zim (c) Jhonen Vasquez or Nickelodeon or whatever.

Chapter List
- 1-Petting Doom
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FADE IN: The Massive, flagship of the Irken Armada. The Almighty Tallest, Red and Purple, are seen standing in front of the big screen. Purple is eating a donut while Red watches him disapprovingly.
RED: I wonder how you can eat that crap from the planet Bake-Off.
PURPLE: It's not bad.
RED: It's the worst junk food in the universe. You realize that donut is probably older than you?
Purple shrugs and continues eating, much to Red's disgust.
COMPUTER VOICE: Incoming transmission from the planet Earth.
PURPLE (choking in his donut): Ugh.
Zim's face appears on screen.
RED: What is it now, Zim? Keep it short; we're very busy.
A long pause follows, in which the three aliens just stare at each other.
ZIM: But you don't seem to be doing anything.
RED: We're thinking, Zim. Thinking. It's a pleasant and useful pastime. You should try it for a change.
ZIM: Ah! No time for that! I have a world to conquer!
PURPLE: Good for you, Zim. So, why don't you go back doing that and leave us alone?
ZIM: Impossible! Without my faithful minion, my evil plans to spread doom are… doomed! My tallest, I request the deliverance of a new GIR unit!
RED: You mean a SIR unit.
ZIM: No, a GIR. You know, the advanced model.
RED: Ah… yes, I remember. Advanced. What happened to your old one?
ZIM: Oh, it was horrible. I almost succeeded in bringing doom to the filthy humans, but I suddenly encountered strong resistance, and in a long, heroic battle I lost my valiant companion. Allow me to give you a detailed rapport of the fateful events.
PURPLE: You do that, Zim.
While Zim starts his narrative, gesticulating wildly and shouting fearfully for dramatic effect, Purple turns to Red.
PURPLE (whispering): Do we have enough spare parts for a new one?
RED (whispering): Afraid not. I put out the trash this morning.
PURPLE (whispering): Can't we send him that robot janitor that went stuck on "turbo clean" last week?
RED (whispering): I've sent that one to the planet Dirtball already. Invader Coughy needed something to get rid of his dust allergy. But I've got an idea.
They wait calmly till Zim is finished making exploding noises and swaying his arms around.
RED: Blood-curling, Zim. Now, about your request... You have to realize that there's no possible way we could create another such-advanced unit for you, and any normal replacement would be too
big of a disappointment, considering your heightened expectations.
ZIM: No! My Tallest! You can't fail me now!
RED (continuing): So I suggest you build your new GIR unit yourself. With your sophisticated engineering skills, this should be an easy task. All you need is the parts, and you can get those at the planet Ekia.
ZIM: Ekia? Isn't that the Planet of Affordable Furniture?
PURPLE: Oh yes. Leave it to the Space Swedes to give your interior a cheap, stylish and comfortable make-over.
He points to the various cardboardish looking chairs, tables and drawers that embellish the bridge.
ZIM (puzzled): Very nice. But what does that have to do with…
RED (thumbing through a Ekia catalog): Here's what you need. Model MØRØN. It's advanced, deadly and easy to assemble.
ZIM: I'm not sure… Can I have a look?
RED (sternly): No. Just order the damn thing.
ZIM: But… furniture?
PURPLE: Now, will you leave us? We have a lot of thinking to do.
ZIM: Yes, my Tallest. But…
The connection is broken. Zim keeps staring at the blank screen for a moment, utterly befuddled, before regaining his confidence.
ZIM (decidedly): Computer! Connect me to the planet Ekia!
The somewhat blurred image of an alien wearing a Viking helmet appears on screen.
ZIM: You there. Do you belong to the planet they call Ekia?
ALIEN (heavy Swedish accent): Do I look like a Frenchman? What do you want?
ZIM: One model MØRØN, one. And make it snappy.
The alien groans and barks something in Swedish in a nearby microphone.
ALIEN: Coming right up. Have your holographic receiver on standby.
Slowly, a medium-sized cardboard box materializes in the nearby holographic tube.
ALIEN: Four zillion space krones have been deduced from our account. Enjoy your new coffee table.
ZIM: Coffee table? What the…? Oh wait, I get it. Code language. Sure… I'll enjoy my coffee table… of doom!
The Alien gives him a short annoyed look before breaking the connection. Zim opens the box. A multitude of wooden and metal parts fall out and drop on the floor.
ZIM: Hm… peculiar choice of materials. The technology behind it must be of a greatly advanced nature. Computer, aid me in the assemblage of this new and wonderful instrument of doom!
COMPUTER VOICE (reading from the manual): First check the content of the box and make sure your main tool is included.
ZIM: This? (he picks up a little hexagonal bent metal rod from the floor and holds it up, triumphantly) Yes! Earth, tremble before my mighty tool of doom!
Caption: Two hours later. Zim is still holding the metal thingy and looks upon the finished product, which very much resembles a coffee table.
ZIM: I... don't get it.
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Petting Doom