A Parade of Indignities

Chapter 1: Of French Toast and Amateur Spies

The morning sky shone a brilliant red, adorned with streaks of white and casting its ominous glow over the neighborhood. The sun beat down, idly beginning to warm the earth, and a small breeze accompanied the tranquility of the balmy spring day.

As always, the planet's inhabitants remained in a state of blissful ignorance. They went about their days and failed to recognize the oddities that lay right beneath their noses. One such oddity took the form of a bizarre teal house with even more bizarre occupants.

On this day, the streets outside the peculiar glowing abode were immersed in the peace of a quaint Saturday morning during the peak of April. People went about their morning routines, scuttling down the sidewalk, obliviously jogging and walking by with dogs and strollers in tow.

After a few moments, the quiet was interrupted by the faint sound of a television radiating from within the walls of the living room. Then, in a stunning feat of vocal amplification, "GIR! TURN OFF THAT FILTH!"

The demand pierced through the air, arousing vague interest from the various passerby as they glanced up at the source of the noise before continuing with their respective lives.

Inside the house, GIR muted the television dejectedly and wandered into the kitchen where Zim had emerged from his base, via toilet.

The Irken was distracted, pacing the floor of his mock living area, seemingly lost in his own reverie as he began searching for something. He rifled through drawers, checked between couch cushions, and glanced agitatedly around the room.

GIR watched on, momentarily curious, before lighting up and running into the kitchen. Though well-meaning, his 'advanced' brain had yet to focus on a single objective for longer than a few seconds before he was on to the next thing. He dashed back into the living room a few moments later, stopping just short of plowing headfirst into Zim's rear.

Though deep in thought, Zim sensed his SIR unit's presence and turned to face him, scrutinizing him up and down. He scowled, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

"Why on Irk are you covered in syrup, GIR?" he growled with clear irritation.

"I made French toast! For the trip! Whoooo!" GIR pumped his tiny fists in the air, obviously proud of this messy accomplishment. Syrup dripped down his arms and onto the floor as he did so.

"I told you to stay out of my way. I'm very busy," replied Zim in exasperation, turning away again. His vague answer indicated that he was already back in his own little world, returning to whatever he had been in the midst of doing.

"Where is it? Where is it? I can't leave this stinking planet without my, my... ugh!" Zim muttered angrily, pacing the floors and searching through various nooks and crannies.

GIR wandered in with a plate of French toast. "What you lookin' for?"

"My wig!" Zim spat, growing ever more frantic as he searched.

"It's on your head!" GIR squawked, accidentally spilling some syrup from his plate as he leaned forward, pointing directly at Zim's stunned face.

Zim swiftly felt his head, tearing off the black wig and revealing his two antennae, which sprang upwards as if spring-loaded. They slowly flattened back against his skull again as he sighed in relief. He straightened, composing himself once more.

"GIR, it's very important that we arrive to the convention well prepared. That means giving our insubordinates a lesson in what it TRULY means to be an invader." He shook the wig in GIR's face as he spoke. "We must demonstrate just how we have managed to SEAMLESSLY blend in with the humans."

It had been some time since The Great Assigning on planet Conventia-three putrid Earth years to be exact-and Zim had been formally invited to the progress convention for all Irken invaders assigned to planets in Operation Impending Doom II. All would meet amongst each other, presenting the progress made in their respective missions. They would discuss their tactics for blending in with the indigenous life, present notes taken on their weaknesses, and debate the best strategies for world conquest. As if this weren't unnerving enough, the Tallest would also be in attendance, listening and undoubtedly judging each invader on their advancements.