Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the absolute forefront and center of the universe, there is a dying white dwarf star, a spotlight on a shining planet perfectly capable of producing its own solar energy from a synthetic sun, mind you. Orbiting these two suns is a ringed planet of oxygen-rich sprawling metropolises whose people are so advanced that they have discarded free will altogether.

The higher-ups thought this was all a wonderful idea until they realized how boring it was. So they spent their days snacking and mindlessly distracting themselves, letting computers run the whole show. This did little to separate them from their insectoid citizens, who did much of the same when not forced into grueling labor.

Some felt like they weren’t appreciated in the work- force. Some said the elimination of the family system was ‘difficult to adjust to.’ Some said the move from keeping their organs inside their bodies to keeping them inside a metallic sphere, making them functionally immortal, discarding all semblance of organic life they still possessed was a little rude.

These whiners all got shot and killed immediately. Way easier than filing a formal complaint.

Some subjects were fed up with this planet’s rule. With conquests spanning the entire galaxy, the subjugation of another race or two wasn’t noteworthy. The inhabitants rose up, formed a secret coalition, and vowed to destroy the very force that had brought them together. They too, of course, were whiners. Who, of course, were shot and killed immediately with big old lasers.

This is not their story. After effortlessly crushing the one hint of rebellion they saw in hundreds of years, the planet got really, really tired of pretending to care. Full-scale invasions were boring when they were so effortless, even if they needed the resources. This is the story of the disaster left in the wake of trying to control the uncontrollable.

It is also the story of a book, called the Invader’s Guide to the Universe. An Irken book, published on Irk, and heard of by every Irken. It flew off of shelves, since many spent their lives fighting for the title of Invader, dreaming of conquest and riches. They would rather not read titles like “So You’re Short and Covered in Grease From Menial Labor,” or “Second-Rate Snacks Around the Galaxy.” The novel replaced the Encyclopedia Irktannica because of the Guide’s wild inaccuracies and exaggerations, rather than despite them. Irk’s leaders didn’t mind; The book glamorized Invasion enough to count as home-spun propaganda.

This story of methodical calculation, and how it all falls apart to the unfeeling, impartial chaos of our Universe, begins rather simply.

It begins in a lab.

Blueprints, research papers, and manila folders litter the floor, with half-opened cans of cold brew strewn on top of windowsills with the blinds drawn and tarp-covered countertops. It was pushing noon. It resembled the residence of a hoarder lab-assistant refusing to throw away any precious data. It resembled a ‘home’ to Dib Membrane.

Dib wanted to grow up to be successful. Rather, he grew up to become an utter disappointment. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, his enthusiasm for the pursuit of truth died like the light in his eyes, behind inch-thick lenses he had to have custom made. He worked in TV, capitalizing on the current fascination with cryptids, and achieving his life-long dream of writing for Mysterious Mysteries.

Currently, he searched for the front door of his apartment, groping his way through the dark.

Dib gingerly stepped over a stack of paperwork with gangly overgrown arms and legs. A horrible, horrible, hard knock rapped at the door that pierced the fog of the man’s mind.

He opened his own front door. Nobody was there, despite the knock. Perhaps they had been there for a great long while, and Dib just had his headphones in and didn’t notice. Certainly, he hadn’t noticed the eviction notice slapped to the front of his door, and returned inside, going about his day. He tipped a bottle of mouthwash down into his mouth and let it roll out, a little tempted to just let it slide down his throat.

“Shit”, said Dib.

He sure meant it.

Dib figured he should probably get the mail. He threw a long peacoat over his pajamas and put on some boots.

Someone had taped a piece of paper to the door—Never a good sign. Dib groaned on the spot. He was a lovely neighbor when you ignored his hoarding tendencies, his sleep schedule, his manic ramblings, occasional sci-fi movies with the volume turned all the way up—He creeped everyone else out enough to concern them, not enough to frighten them.

Evicted. Evicted, the word rattled in his head without hitting solid ground. He could couchsurf on the set at work.

He could just go up into space and he figured nobody would notice.

Curiously, four trillion light years away, a young Vortian thought the same before he catapulted himself into the nearest star. Pretty stupid move, if you ask me.

He had work in four hours and still hadn’t budged an inch since he stared slack-jawed at the eviction notice. Dib trudged down six hallways that all looked the same. Picking up an armful of packages, he headed back to his own apartment. Through the window of the package room, though, he swore he saw something pale-green.

It was hazy, but familiar. Dib racked his brain. After a wrap, Dib and a few coworkers went out to local bars to celebrate that they didn’t get fired. He didn’t drink, and would only do it in that vague congratulatory mood where the cast celebrated not getting cancelled. And every time, in every bar, without fail, a tiny, tiny man in platform shoes with a pompadour would brag about galaxial conquest and down an inhuman amount of sugary, fruity drinks. In the dim light of the bar, he hardly remembered the man’s face. He sure would have noticed if this man was green. And every time, in every bar, the two would get into an argument, and the argument would turn to a shove, Then Dib would wake up with a black eye or a new scrape and the feeling of smug satisfaction. He didn’t remember this man’s name, or that they had ever met, but the two ended up punching each other’s lights out once every few months like they had an appointment.

This flash of green set off some dormant memory, blinking in Dib’s mind, and he decided to follow it wherever it was going to take him. (Besides, where else would his thirst for adventure take him, the grocery store?)

He trailed behind twenty feet, following the green figure to one of the faceless, nameless bars that he likely would have fought that little man in. Once he walked into the bar at noonish on a Tuesday, he figured the place would be bustling.

The little sat on a stool much too tall for him, swinging his dangling little legs in four, five inch platforms, beady-eyed and definitely green. He clocked in at five feet with the shoes. How the fuck hadn’t Dib noticed he was green?

“Hello,” Dib said, and the man pulled a gun on him.

Chapter Text

“Hello,” Dib said, and the man pulled a gun on him.

The bartender dropped a glass in shock and hurdled to the floor.

It was no gun like he had ever seen before. The gun had a wide barrel like a cannon, with interlocking parts and machinery Dib itched to take apart. Maybe it shot light?

It was easy to think about a gun when the barrel stared you in the face.

“You…You are Dib Membrane.”

When he spoke, he tended to put the emphasis on the wrong syllable. He spoke like he had a crowd watching and wanted to make sure they would hear. His English was perfect and stilted. You could hardly blame him, with all of the unspoken rules and homophones and unused sounds. His natural speaking volume was a shout.

“Yep.”

“Sit down or I pull the trigger. At once!”

Dib sat down.

“Where did that gun come from? Do you know me?”

“Mm, yes. Many. In times before this one, I considered you…My mortal enemy.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Dib had been getting into barfights with an alien? This thing must have had a better disguise setting. It trusted Dib enough not to use any disguise in this moment.

The green man set down the gun on the table, his legs dangling from the high bar stool. His bug-eyes widened when Dib stayed at the table of his own accord. This had to be--a real, live alien sitting in front of him! He-- At least, Dib assumed this creature was a 'he'-- had no nose, and ruby-red compound eyes. He could reach in his back pocket and capture this now, and Mysterious Mysteries would go viral with real, live, actual evidence. Dib, a whole adult, bounced in his seat with excitement like a child. With a ‘click’, the man locked handcuffs around Dib’s wrists.

“I expected you to be sniveling more than this.”

He had to formulate a plan to escape out of these things. 'No rush', Dib thought to himself, picking apart the alien's mannerisms.

“I don't snivel, and I barely remember you. If I met an alien before, I would remember. It's my life's work and everything?"

The green man pinched the bridge...of where his nose would be.

“You blew my cover in front of that ENTIRE human establishment! And then sat there as if you'd done nothing," he wailed. Jesus, could he get any louder?

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Well, you seemed to figure out I wasn’t of your Earth!”

Dib forgot about that whole incident too. Maybe these ‘incidents’ were of a far greater frequency than he thought. Memory erasure or supplantation, he concluded.

The green man cleared his throat. He didn't have ears, either. Dib fumbled in his back pocket for his phone despite his handcuffed hands. He had to get evidence of this before it was too late. Sure, it would go viral, and everyone would love and respect him, but Dib would go down in history as the discoverer of definitive proof of extraterrestrial life, with himself as the lead investigator into this alien's biology--

He would also go down in history as being quite full of himself.

The man clears his throat.

“Well, Dib, I do not regret to inform you that my terrifying and ever-powerful leaders have marked this planet for destruction. As the leading Invader in this effort-- the esteemed Invader Zim--I have decided to take a hostage, as proof of my greatness to them."

"...That hostage will be you,” he gestured to his gun, laid across his lap. Dib kept smiling at 'Zim'. His body buzzed still with residual excitement.

The creature stared at him back, antennae twitching. 'Weirdo,' he thought. 'Well, plenty of humans like the idea of dying.' He couldn't believe he wasn't intimidating to this human, but he was two feet shorter and sounded like a bad broadway actor.

“And if you do not cooperate, I will not hesitate to decimate you."

“I figured. With the gun?”

“Yeah, with the gun!"

The alien grinned, showing a mouth of sharp, jagged teeth.

He lifted a gloved hand to his chest in a show of mock sympathy.

"I have decided to be charitable and give you alcohol to numb the unimaginable pain accompanied by the loss of your friends, family, and other such associates.”

“Cool. So you're killing everyone?”

"Do I not frighten you?! The death of this planet is imminent!"

Zim got up close and personal, shouting in Dib's face.

"Besides, another invader would chop your arms off so you couldn’t wipe your tears to see you suffer. See? I’m nice. Barkeep!”

‘Zim’ barked, raising the gun at the poor man, whose trembling hands set out two shotglasses filled with dark liquor.

Zim hopped off the barstool and took the shot glasses. For a little alien overlord, he wasn't being particularly careful. Dib, on the other hand, was busy formulating a plan to kidnap the little alien and hold him hostage, turning him over to the FBI when he finished his own research. Would he have to claim him on the lease, he wondered.

Zim dumped the cold drink right into his lap.

“Oh, come on!” Dib could very well shove the little asshole, but he wanted to preserve the specimen.

“You didn’t look very sorrowful anyways. What, you don't have anything or anyone to live for?"

And as Dib’s mouth opened to speak, Zim tossed the drink into it, missing and soaking Dib twice over.

“You could just undo these!” He yelled, shaking his bound fists.

“NEVER!”

Zim shouted, marching out of the bar and dragging Dib with him by the center of his handcuffs. Dib didn't weigh much, but Zim's strength was quite surprising.

“So, are you going to take me to your base? You’ve got a ship or an escape pod for this, right?”

“Of course. I have an…Accomplice. He will arrive when the time comes.”

He had to be from a civilization. Who knew how many more there were? Dib made a silent promise to defend this planet.

Dib looked down as he walked, following behind the alien. He was still in pajamas and his peacoat, handcuffed, as an alien strutted in front of him in broad daylight. If people stared, Dib didn't notice.

“Are you sure you can’t let me go back to my apartment first? I mean, when are your people coming to destroy us, anyways?”

Zim started to answer. He brought up a screen projecting from the metal backpack and reviled in horror at the result.

“NO! NO, I couldn’t do THAT! They’re coming in THREE OF YOUR MINUTES!”

This realization prompted Zim to run, his confidence deflecting the stares of passersby.

They passed by a row of display TVs in a store window. The program blacked out. In his pocket, Dib felt his phone vibrate.

The image came back on, with two spindly half-organic half-robotic bug-eyed green aliens sitting side by side with the vast expanses of space shown through the window behind them. One held a little drink in his hand with a tiny novelty umbrella, clad in purple armor. The other was in red, and looked quite satisfied with himself. They both dwarfed Zim in height, with servant aliens scurrying in the back displaying the scale.

“People of Earth! We're blowing up your planet." said the one in red. The purple alien next to him nudged him, and Red justified it with 'I didn’t have anything better prepared.' Zim watched in awe, spellbound, horrified, falling to his knees and quaking in his oversized boots.

The one in purple spoke now, raising his drink with authority, as if it were a mighty weapon.

“Yeah. You know, we put out a notice earlier in the galactic groupchat, but if you little guys weren’t so stupid and had figured out interplanetary travel, you would have known by now. You could've attacked us. And stuff. But you wouldn’t have won!”

“That’s right,” Red quipped back, “But your planet is so worthless anyways that we’re not sending in an armada. We’re going to try a little something new.”

“Bye-bye!” Purple waved. The monitor turned off with a ‘zip!’, but the audio still broadcasted.

"That planet looks like a dump." The harsher voice remarked.

"That's why we're getting rid of it! There'll be less traffic."

Dib supposed a sensible person would slip from the cuffs and run, scrambling for their family, running in hopes of escape. Dib was old enough to know he had no sense in him. If society calls you crazy for long enough, maybe you’re crazy, he mused, as a little alien writhed and screamed nothing intelligible to him on the sidewalk.

“Uh, Zim? Don’t we need to get going?”

“No, human, we don’t.”

In that moment, Dib couldn’t feel his feet beneath him. He was kicking, grasping at the collar of his coat, trying to find solid ground and steady his breathing. Darkness collapsed in on him. No peripheral vision, only darkness. No gentle hum of electronics. No light, and no outside sound, only the ringing in his ears and the steady thump of pain in his chest from his heart.

"A panic attack...Here?" Dib wheezed, the air pushed from his lungs like someone kicked him in the ribs.

Dib looked down, and his feet weren't touching the ground. Stars surrounded him as he floated adrift in space alongside the mighty Invader Zim, squirming, screaming, and throwing a tantrum.