One-Shoty, Creepypasty, Crossovery i inne tego typu raki

Invader Zim AU Filler [Fanfiction] [Short] [English]

Magg choked on her juice drink and stared at the little Irken in front of her in dismay. He was tiny. Much smaller than he should be at his age. He was barely more than a smeet, barely older than four in Irk years. He's not going to be tall at all, she thought, as she watched him lick his cocaine lollipop with a smug expression on his light green face. He's not going to be tall, let alone the Tallest. The tiny soldier, calling himself Zim, has been babbling about his great destiny of becoming the nation's leader one day. Only now, after roughly an hour, something truly shocking has slipped into his words.

She looked around, hopeful anyone else heard what the soldier said. Her other friends, another Irken, a Vortian, and a Screwhead, stood just a few steps away, talking and laughing, enjoying their drinks and drugs. They seemed completely unaware of what had just happened. She wasn't surprised, given the chaos and chatter in the club around them, but she was still speechless. Her eyes went back to stare at Zim, who now also was looking at her, awaiting her reaction with his bright, berry-colored eyes, now gleaming with intoxication. He was so young. So... abnormally small and reckless. She spent a few evenings in his presence already and every night so far he managed to destroy something. The first day he only broke a glass of ethanol drink someone left on a counter, but to be fair, he was in a middle of a heated argument with the bartender and he would have clawed his face if she didn't pull him away in time. But just yesterday he blasted someone's private spaceship to smithereens with one of his soldier weapons, held in his PAK. How was a smeet like this allowed to be here with all those dangerous equipment? He was clearly heavily defective and dangerous.

Then she realized she already knew the answer. He was from the mainland. From below the surface of Irk. He was a soldier, like all of the others that were hatched there. No matter his age, behavior, or overall sanity, he was regarded as upper class. Nobody on this Irken holiday planet called Resortia could deny him service. He had his military pilot license, and by that, he was regarded as an adult Irken. As much as Magg cherished the fact that as an Irken civilian she had some amount of freedom, her role was much less important to the Control Brains. In comparison to the enormous military of Irk, Irken civilians were a rather small group, all stuffed onto one small planet. Somewhere far enough from the main residence of the Irken Empire to not fully obey its laws, but close enough to not even attempt to rebel against the totalitarian system. To the Control Brains, war and conquering was the priority. The culture was secondary. Compared to Zim's status, everyone on Resortia, including herself, were barely more than food Drones.

"You're engaged?" she blurted out finally, and as she did, Asin, her Irken friend nearby, turned their head at them. She could understand the cocaine and drinks, but who in their right mind would ever propose to a smeet? Soldiers weren't allowed to even cultivate the traditions of Irken dating and marriages, they were even chemically castrated since they were old enough to have eggs. And she was completely sure a civilian would never propose to a four-year-old, even if they had some sort of sick fetish. That would be public knowledge, coded forever in the blockchain, everyone would know. Dating smeets younger than seven was socially unacceptable.

"Of course," Zim replied arrogantly, lifting his chin up, almost as if he was trying to stare down at her. That would be cute if it wasn't for that horrible revelation. "Zim is engaged. And she will make me, Zim that is, the Tallest."

Oh no.

She felt her head spin and she had to lean on the nearest bar stool. She noticed Asin coming over to them and she felt a wave of gratitude towards her friend. She wasn't alone with that.

She turned her concerned blue gaze over to Zim. His eyes were pulsing from the cocaine dose he took, almost as if tiny hearts were embedded under their surface. Blood was pumping through them like crazy. But she still couldn't see him as anything more than an innocent smeet, with her motherly instincts wanting to protect him. A hatchling someone in a position of power was taking advantage of. But who? And what for? He was clearly too young to breed, his cloaca was probably still sealed shut.