Chapter Text
“Holy shit! Is that what I think it is?” (Y/n) says in awe. She stands at the center of a large metal frame surrounded by black monitors. Her first thought is that it’s a giant teleporter; ‘oh, with maybe a purple swirling portal appearing in the center!’ able to take her to her favorite alien bar or shopping mall in an instant. She doesn’t have to wait for her ship to be repaired to get some very much necessary self-care! What’s it called, retail therapy? Her monies are otherwise worthless on Earth and although she considered it many, many, many-many times, she decided against stealing from the alien that’s been so gracious to house her. She knew everything has its limits. Besides, the clothes from space malls are much cooler than Earth’s clothing.
After several minutes of trying and failing to figure out how to make the device work-- most of the time spent fantasizing-- she kicks at the box that stores the attached computer in frustration. It creaks and she stumbles away when a side panel breaks off.
“That was like that when I got here!” She shouts in defense, fearing a sudden appearance from Zim. Staring at the entrance she’s relieved no one comes in-- no witnesses.
“No, it wasn’t,” Computer says.
But she’s not worried. She’s well aware of Computer’s laziness and lack of dedication to his alien master. He’ll never snitch.
She rushes to the hangar repair room and teleports aboard the ship, although there was a ladder leading up to the open glass dome on the saucer. She spots Zim, who welds metal panels of the ceiling together. The ship looks mostly complete. All it’s missing is its furniture.
“Hey, bud--”
“AHHH!” He screams in fright and spins around to face her. “Human! Don’t sneak up on an invader like that!” He hisses while waving the blow torch to her. “Who knows what I might do!” He hollers over the buzz of the machinery.
“Sorry.” She shrugs but nonchalantly strolls up to his side, hands behind her back. “Soooo… I was in that creepy abandoned part of your lab.”
“And where is that?”
“In that room with the giant teleporter and the monitors everywhere!” She bounces on her toes, not wanting to beat around the bush.
“Zim has no teleporters!”
“He doesn’t-- you don’t?” She asks. “Then what was that stuff? The big metal frame-thing with the staircase and the control panel and the monitors?” She rambles, trying to describe the mostly barren room that shares too much semblance with the rest of the underground lab.
But, he understands. “That’s not a teleporter,” he tells her with a shake of his head and a condescending chuckle. “AND WHO SAID YOU COULD GO DOWN THERE!”
She flinches away from him. “I didn’t touch anything!”
He huffs but ultimately decides he doesn’t care. He pulls the welding mask back over his face and continues working.
“Well, what is it?” She shouts over the roar of the flame.
With a sigh, he throws his mask to the side, shutting his equipment off. She won’t leave him alone until he answers all her questions, so he figures it’d be best to get it over with. “It’s a Space-Time Object Replacement Device.”
“Like I’m supposed to know what that means.”
“You set the coordinates for the location, time, and date into the computer. Then, you can insert the object through the metal frame and it will replace the other object of your choosing… But, you have to be careful with what you choose to replace.” He shudders at the thought.
“So, it’s like a time machine?”
“No, it’s not like a time machine,” he mocks her in a high-pitched voice. “It’s exactly like what I just explained!”
“That sounds way too complicated though. What would you even use it for?”
He hums as he wracks his non-rubber-piggy brain for the memory of that machine. “I can’t remember. I’ve never used it, anyhow.”
“You’ve never used it?”
“Not in this timeline.”
“This timeline?”
“At some point, I planned on using the machine, but right as I was about to…” His antennae flatten against his scalp at the memory of future-him somehow replacing the brain of his past-self with a rubber piggy. It’d be humiliating to admit that to her, so he skips over that detail. “I received a message from my future-self through that machine warning me not to. I didn’t tell me why, though.”
“Really?! That’s so badass, Zim! That’s just like those Terminator movies… I wonder what apocalyptic world you were protecting yourself from. How cryptic...”
Although he’s beaming at her praise, his smile falls at the last part. He never once considered what it might be that he would try to warn himself against. He just trusted his own intuition. He gives her an unconvincing chuckle though. "...yeah, I wonder?"
"What did you plan to send through the machine?" She asks.
"Just a giant killer robot--"
"IT IS JUST LIKE TERMINATOR! You have to activate the machine, Zim! It’s the law of time manipulation."
"No! I already told myself not to, and when I say no, I mean it!"
"I won't tell on you."
"What? No-- you're missing the point!"
She pinches her fingers together in front of her eyes. "What about just a little-itty-bitty tiny one?"
"What good would a tiny one do?"
"If you send it back far enough in time, a tiny one is all you need! Haven't you heard of the Butterfly Effect?"
He guffaws at her. "A little butterfly isn't going to help me conquer your planet!" But he stops laughing when she laughs at him.
“No, dumbass!"
He gasps, loudly and dramatically, as if she had just shot him in the chest. "How dare you--?"
"The Butterfly Effect is a scientific theory. You change one little thing and, like, a line of dominos falling, one after the after, the rest of history is affected! Even killing just a simple butterfly during dino-times can really fuck up the present!”
“A butterfly,” he says flatly, crossing his arms with an incredulous look on his face.
“Well, that butterfly could've been what saved a toad from starvation but now that butterfly is dead and so’s the toad. And whatever would‘ve eaten the toad is also dead, and the thing that would’ve eaten that! Next thing you know, cows never existed and the human species is burger-less and extinct.”
Zim roars in laughter again. “I know humans are weak and pathetic but it would take more than a butterfly to wipe them clean from the Earth! ...Stupid-stupid girl. Invading and conquering a planet isn’t so simple. I assure you, sending a robot to kill a tiny, insignificant bug won’t be how I take over your planet.”
“It’s just an example!” She groans. “Think outside of that! Like, if you went to a really important time in history for humans and sent a killer virus there then picture how much that could change the present!”
“I’m growing tired of your silly stories.” He picks up the welding mask and slides it back over his face. “Tell them to someone who cares, like G.I.R. He likes stories.” His voice is muffled through the mask.
He turns his equipment back on, the whir of the machines drowning out her bitter response of, “eat a dick.”
Having spent hours working on the ship, a job that was full of mind-numbing tasks, Zim felt he deserved a break. Maybe he can watch some Earth T.V. That reality show (Y/n) has been binge-watching recently has become a guilty pleasure of his, as well. He’d listen in to the drama from the kitchen and before leaving for school, would linger by the door to watch along with her.
But rising from the toilet-elevator, he is disappointed to hear a distinct lack of screaming and censored swears from the television. He hops off the toilet and walks to the living room to see that both of his robot minions had joined the human on the oversized sofa. He leans on the armrest next to her to get a better look at the screen.
It was some black-and-white movie and already he is disinterested. He came across many older movies where, for some reason, the humans took the artistic liberty of not including sound or color in the films, sometimes both! Art was weird on this planet.
A man with white, fluffy hair and a heavy, frilled coat was standing on a beach, holding a sword out to a dark-skinned and mostly naked man. The darker-skinned man touches the blade of the sword and hisses in pain as he withdraws his hand.
Zim’s antennae perk forward in curiosity. “What are you watching--?”
“NYEH!”
“Sshhh!”
“Shut-the-fuck-up!”
He staggers away from the couch in shock at the backlash but his attention returns to the screen at the deep voice of a narrator.
“Columbus documented in his diary about the ignorance of the natives he met but he was the true ignorant one, unaware of how this meeting with what he and the colonists considered savage people would forever change the world he knew. It was his initial journey in 1492 that began the Columbian Exchange and without it, all of the world's most powerful nations would be left poorer and weaker. It is in this day and age that we--”
“THAT’S IT!” Zim points at the T.V.
G.I.R. groans and (Y/n) hollers at him in annoyance. Minimoose lets out a sad ‘nyeh’ that only Zim understands -- that’s not even what I wanted to watch, anyway-- and the robot floats out the front door in a huff.
“You ruined the last line, Zim!” (Y/n) crosses her arms and gestures to the now black screen where the credits are rolling through.
But the alien ignores her and continues to mutter on about his plan. “Yes, yes! It’s genius! Without this Columbian Ex-change humans will be left defenseless! I will send a tiny robot back in time to the year-- uhh...”
“Duh, there’s a rhyme,” she jeers. “In sixteen hundred twenty-two, Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue! He had three ships and left from Spain. He sailed through sunshine, wind, and rain--”
“Yes! I can reprogram the Space-Time Object Replacement Device to be compatible with sending a robot back to 1622 where it will unleash a deadly virus that’ll infect the human’s food supply. There will be no Columbian Exchange and humanity will be doomed! After all, it’s just like a time machine!”
She throws her arms up. “Are you kidding me?! That’s literally what I said!“
“You wanted me to kill some stupid butterfly.” He walks back to the kitchen, a finger raised in the air. “Now, I must return to my lab! There is much work to be done. G.I.R.! Come with me to the Space-Time Object Replacement Device room!”
“Coming!” G.I.R. jumps off the couch and chases after his master in a sing-song voice.
Once they’re both out of sight, (Y/n) quickly flips the channel back to her favorite reality show and she unpauses it. She can’t stand watching it with Zim, he always asks too many questions…
A woman with blonde-dyed hair and brown roots is on-screen in front of a purple back-drop. “And I said to this-- BEEP-- don’t touch my man again! If I didn’t love Earth so much, I’d curb-stomp your fake ass cheeks in and leave you there for garbage day-- but plastic is bad for the environment.”
‘See, I’d definitely have to pause just to explain how people get silicone injected into their ass and then he’d ask why they would do something so gross and weird-- oh, but then I would’ve told him, most people aren’t as blessed as you.’ She hums in delight. Then another thought crosses her mind. ‘But then I’d have to explain that to him, too.’
Adjusting the straps on her Foresakenz uniform-- the only comfy, traveling clothes she brought with her-- (Y/n) gives a mental farewell to the upper-level of the base. Mostly the high-definition T.V. There weren’t any good shows from space.
She clambers awkwardly into the elevator, requests Computer take her down, and--with an exaggerated and long groan of annoyance that lasts for the entire descent downward-- he complies. She wants to say goodbye to G.I.R.. And, knowing he won’t even care, she feels she should thank the alien for housing her and repairing her ship. And maybe ask for his number. However, when she comes down to the lab, he is nowhere to be seen. She can just leave right away, but she's curious to see what the alien is preoccupying himself with. Another plan to conquer Earth?
Finally, after traversing the confusing halls of his lab, she finds him in the same room she found the Space-Time Object Replacement Device several days ago.
“Boys!” She begins and steps off the platform and makes her way over to Zim. “I’ll be taking my leave! Thank you for fixing my ship, Zim.”
He doesn’t look up, however, and only waves a hand at her. He is too focused on setting the coordinates into the new machine. “Ah, yes. Farewell! Return to your sad life, pitiful Earth-monkey.”
She bristles at this. She’s only trying to be polite. “You have fun with your sad life, you nobody!” Not the most creative with her jabs when under pressure…
“I am an Irken Elite, an Invader. That’s not ‘nobody.’ And what are you, (Y/n)? Some criminal that hops from couch-to-couch freeloading off any alien you meet?!”
For a second, she’s overjoyed at him finally addressing her by her name instead of a weird insult like “earth-stink”, “scum”, or “pig-smelly”. But he said her name with such scorn, he probably meant it as an insult anyway. She holds a finger up as if she has a rebuttal, but that was really on the nose. ‘Man, does the truth hurt.’
He stops his work to turn to her. “Don’t feel too bad,” he coos at her as if talking down to a baby. “Not everyone can be as incredibly revered and respected as I!” He touches a hand to his puffed chest. “Besides, nothing was ever expected of you, was it?” With a chuckle, he turns back to his work. He ignores the harsh glare (Y/n) was giving him and orders G.I.R. to bring in the mini-bots. He sets the coordinates to November 8th, 1622.
G.I.R., for once, carefully follows through with his master’s orders as he lines up the mini-bots in a straight row. Each bot is built like an insect, with a set of mechanical wings and six legs. On their backs is a vial of yellow liquid full of the virus he created. The bots are programmed to board Columbus’ three ships and, like mosquitos, would syringe the goo into their food supply. Little does Zim know, he would miss La Niña, La Pinta, and La Santa Maria by about two hundred years.
“G.I.R.! Unleash the mini-bots!” Zim orders and just the thought of what’s to come is enough to fill the alien with glee and he bursts into maniacal laughter. But at the distinct lack of temporal doom, he stops and turns to his S.I.R. unit. “G.I.R.! Why haven’t you--”
But the mini-bots are no longer lined up. Instead, they are held in the arms of (Y/n) who charges towards the time machine with a battle cry. She hops up the steps and jumps through the portal. “Just like Terminatooooor!”
Zim stares blankly at the portal.
“Wow! The crazy lady gone!”
Zim folds his hands behind his back. “Yes, G.I.R. It seems the crazy lady finally is gone. To think I wasted all that time on rebuilding her ship…” He says to himself, rather woefully. “But, no matter! The deed has been done! The mini-bots have been sent and as we speak they are wreaking havoc and doom upon early humanity! It is only a matter of time before we see the onslaught of disease and death that will descend upon this planet. For now, we play the waiting game.”
G.I.R. trots to his master’s side. “Is this the part where I get the moon?”
Zim pats his head and laughs. “Patience, G.I.R. Patience. Now! Prepare my throne, G.I.R.! I want to look my best when the humans are groveling at my feet. And this time, no peanuts, please.”
“Yes, sir!” His robot salutes.
It was about midday when Zim felt the earthquake. He’d been terrified of any possible natural disaster to come because IRK didn’t have anything similar to tornados, or hurricanes, and especially, not earthquakes. Why would the Earth randomly shake?!
He scrambles off the couch from his relaxed lounge and rushes to the front door. He’s excited to see the downfall of humanity but the fact the planet is taking a physical toll worries him. He flings the door open and can’t believe his eyes.
There are humans. And plenty of them! They’re the picture of health and scientific advancements! Children chase each other on jetpacks, adults that chatter away on wrist-watch-holograms float by him in bubbles. And there are flying cars, everywhere!
“What is the meaning of this?!” He cries.
A giggling child flies overhead Zim and as the kid passes he yanks on the alien’s antennae.
“HEY!”
He runs forward to catch the flying child only to find himself teetering off the edge of his front lawn. He looks down and sees his entire cul-de-sac floating miles above Earth. Had that been the cause of the tremors? His base floating up into the sky along with the rest of the block? He ducks his head underneath the sidewalk to see the upside-mountain of dirt that is directly under his base, housing the lab. (As if his house didn’t stand out enough already…)
That’s when he notices just how thin the air is. He equips from his PAK an invisible, full-face oxygen mask. He watches in awe at the humans that went about their daily lives, not paying any mind to the wide-eyed alien before them.
“What did that horrible human do?!”
A hovering platform with a group of teenagers pulls in front of Zim’s feet. Now he’s face to face with these humans who don't spare him a second glance.
“Hurry up! You’re gonna make us all late!” One of the teens yells at him.
He hops on and squeezes past the taller adolescents to get to the front of the platform. In big holographic letters above the platform reads, “Destination: Scool”.
He narrows his eyes at the odd spelling. “She always did hate the letter ‘K’. But, how did she manage to get rid of it?”
The bizarre differences don’t end there. Zim found himself in a very advanced version of his physics class. Students in the back were busy with a scale model of a rollercoaster. The humans are much smarter than they were before. Dib is standing at the front of the classroom drawing diagrams on the holograph-board while his peers listen attentively. Trying to maintain some normalcy, Zim greets him in the typical way they did every morning.
“Greetings, Dib-stink!”
Dib furrows his brows at the alien in confusion. “Huh? Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, I’m talking to you, earth-monkey--!” Zim is cut short at the offended gasps of everyone in the classroom.
“Earth-monkey?” Dib repeats, his face paling.
“Who gave you the m-word pass, bug-boy?!” Someone cries from the back.
“Don’t worry, Torque. I got this-- we shouldn’t stoop to that level,” Dib chastises as he holds his hands up in defense. He puts his pen down and approaches Zim with his hand held out. “You must be new. My name is Dib Membrane. You may have heard of my dad, Professor Membrane--”
Zim slaps his hand away. “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Drop this stupid act, insolent fool-boy! We’ve known each other for years! You’ve been trying to expose me as an alien and now your class finally believes you and this is the way you act?!”
“Expose you… as an alien--?”
“YES!” Zim cries.
Dib scratches the back of his neck. “But, um… aren’t we technically all… aliens?”
It’s then that Zim really gets a good look at the classroom. While it is mostly humans, he notices a number of different alien species in the room. Some with gills, some with wings, some with ten eyes, and some with eight limbs.
“Take a seat, freak!” Someone throws a piece of scrap metal at Zim’s head and he crumples to the ground. Dib reaches out a hand to help him up but it is harshly rejected.
Zim reluctantly makes his way all the way to the back of the classroom at a lonesome lab table. He can’t help but feel he’s back at the training academy almost a century ago in his past and he hates it.
He catches the stare of a familiar blonde-haired girl who sits in front of him. “I’m telling you, it’s always the green ones who are weird!” Jessica whispers to her girlfriend next to her, loud enough for Zim to clearly hear.
The pink-skinned girl next to her punches her shoulder playfully with a giggle. “Jessie! Ssh, I think he can hear us!”
He sighs and leans his head down on the table, regretting his decision to come to scool.
“Minimoose, you’re in charge.”
“NYEH!”
Zim’s eyes nictate in surprise before he looks down at his own appearance. He sports a purple, armored uniform equipped with firearms and an electric net to capture the insane lady. “Why thank you, Minimoose! I was hoping to put this to use soon but it’s been a while since I’ve had to capture a human or run-away experiment!” He then faces forward, back stiff as a board. “Minimoose, pull me out in approximately ten minutes.” Zim marches forward with a determined look. “This shouldn’t take long.”
And then he walks through the portal.
The sensation of time-traveling is something Zim has never experienced. It’s freezing in the void he walks through, like a strong gust of wind on a chilly Irk night. In only a few moments, he’s crossed the pink, foggy barrier onto a beach shore. He stumbles somewhat in his brisk walk as his boots sink deep into the sands. He hates beaches.
Ahead is a thickly wooded area. He realizes he has no idea how to find this girl. ‘Where could she possibly wander off into uncharted American territory--?’
He is harshly pushed to the side and when he looks up at the perpetrator who mutters out an apology, he is suddenly aware that he managed to forget his disguise. But it doesn’t seem to matter as the man that has a large wooden barrel hoisted on his shoulder pays him no mind. Nor does the man carrying another heavy barrel behind him, or the man behind him--
There is a long line of men in those old-timey clothes Zim had only seen in Earth history books and each one carries a barrel or a wooden chest on their shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t so uncharted?
He trails behind them in the back of the long line as they lead him through the woods which are rich with flora and fauna, some Zim had never seen before. The alien sights are enough to occupy Zim so when they finally arrive at a large clearing, he’s caught off guard.
The men disperse in front of him through a primitive-looking camp and he dives behind a bush. He peeks through the leaves. There are cone-shaped tents made out of what Zim assumes are stretched animal skins. The tan men and women also wear beige clothes made out of the same fabric and he notices they’re mostly naked. He cringes. How creepy that humans used to wear the skins of other creatures as clothing.
‘Did early Irkens do that?’ he has to wonder.
But in the center of this camp is a dark wooden captain’s chair surrounded by knapsacks of corn, gold, beads, buttons, and some trinkets the alien doesn’t recognize. Leaning on the armrests and back of the throne are weapons-- some old-fashioned firearms and others are spears and arrows made out of sharp stone or iron.
When the crowd gathered around the throne separates into long rows, Zim can finally get a good look at their leader. And sat in this regal throne surrounded by valuable treasures and gifts was none other than (Y/n).
A tall, dark-skinned man stands in front of her as they converse. The men in the old-timey clothes suddenly kneel to her. The alien assumes the tan people are natives of this land, as the documentary had explained, and the men dressed in colorful garments are the colonists.
(Y/n) stands on the red, cushioned seat of her throne. “I bring to you from… Heaven? Yeah! Heaven-- these gifts in exchange for gold and beer-- Oh! Neat, you got the booze.” She acknowledges the colonists who had barrels on their shoulders. “Put it over there! Anyways, uh-like, accept this offering from your god!” She holds up in her palms a mini-bot. “And use it to advance your… less-good civilization to be… more-- uh-- more good!”
Seeing her take credit for his work and giving it away to her kind is enough to pull Zim out of hiding. He jumps out of the bush. “Hey! That’s mine!”
The colonists and natives turn to follow (Y/n)’s harsh glare at the alien. At the sight of Zim they back away from him.
“Its skin is green!”
“What-- are those antennae coming from its head?”
Zim ignores their mutters and the incomprehensible comments made by the natives as he marches towards the front of the lines.
“Zim! What’re you doing here?” She crosses her arms.
“To fix your mistakes, stupid… smelly… filth-stink!”
Everyone gasps.
The tall, tanned man from before gingerly approaches Zim. He wears a headdress made of colorful feathers. Zim assumes he is the leader or chief, as the early humans called it. “She is a being of divine power. She comes down to us from the skies, offering gifts and knowledge. Please, respect her.”
“Yeah, Zim! Show me some respect!” She chuckles at him. “How sad is this life for you, huh? Said I wouldn't amount to anything-- BUT! Here I am, a queen! A goddess! What’ve you accomplished today?”
The men let out a chorus of "oooh's" just like she taught them to do whenever she insulted someone who dares defy her.
"iDiosa ha hablado!" One colonist says while getting down to his knees again.
"Eh?" Zim curls his lip up at the men.
The colonist gives Zim a bewildered look. “iElla es nuestra diosa!” ‘She is our goddess!’
The alien recognizes his words from Mexico’s primary language. That time G.I.R. got them lost all the way South seemed to be good for something. “Vale… Pues, necesito hablar con tu… diosa.” ‘I need to have a word with your goddess.’
“What are you saying? Huh?!” (Y/n) yells down at the two. “iMas alto! No puedo escucharlos, ibichos!” ‘Louder! I can’t hear you, vermin!’
The colonist talking to Zim meekly crawls to the foot of (Y/n)’s throne with clasped hands. “¿Qué hacemos con esta mancha de mierda*?” ‘What do we do with this--’
Zim didn’t understand the last part of that.
“Huh?” (Y/n) curls her lip up.
The chief takes it upon himself to translate for her. “My lord, he asks “what shall we do with… the non-believer?”
And then her people turn their full attention to her, awaiting her next orders. This question followed by the pensive look in their eyes stir something within the girl, that much is obvious, since she can’t bite her tongue quick enough to stop her overzealous exclamation. “Execute him!”
But Zim can only tolerate her games for so long. Before any men can get their hands on him, he stands on his PAK legs and pulls a gun from its holster on his hip. They immediately back away from him again. He crawls on the mechanical, spindly legs over to (Y/n) and towers over her menacingly. She pales. Before she can holler out any orders to her ever-loyal men they all get to their knees, something the natives weren’t even willing to do for her.
“EL REY ARAÑA!”
“The Spider-King!”
“Just as the prophecy foretold!”
Zim gives her a quizzical look but she ignores him and stares down at the men in horror. “Stand up! Stand up and fight for me! You good-for-nothings! What the hell’re you doing?!”
The chief peeks his head up from his bowed position. “You told us of a great spider that will hail down from the sky! The prophecy foretells great pain and anguish will come our way for mistreating you, my lord! He will eat all the humans on earth and lay his eggs in our eyes for disobeying you… Remember?”
An English colonist speaks up. “And that he gets especially upset when we doubt you!”
“Did I really say all that? I must’ve been hammered.”
“Well, the prophecy was right about one thing, human,” Zim mocks her.
She stares up at him with wide, frightened eyes.
He stares down at her menacingly. “Great pain and anguish--!”
She swipes the robots up into her hands and rushes away, Zim hot on her heels. She runs throughout the camp, squealing with every clumsy dodge of the lasers he starts firing from her. “No fair! At least let me get my tellie out!”
It’s not long before he chases her into the woods, lasers blasting at her feet.
The colonists and natives stand to their feet to watch the chase scene through the thicket.
The chief clasps his hands to his chest. “The gods are reunited! Prosperity and a fruitful harvest shall come our way!”
(Y/n) is at a dire disadvantage. Zim’s strides are much longer than hers and she’s constantly having to duck and jump over fallen logs and tree stumps in hopes to trip him up. Unfortunately for her, when hurdling over a particularly large log she should’ve had the foresight to duck under, her foot gets caught and she goes sailing momentarily.
At this exact moment, Zim fires a gun and it releases a net that wraps around her.
But upon landing harshly on her side, she is confused to see herself on a shiny, pink-tiled floor rather than the dirty ground of the outdoors.
Zim, taken aback by the sudden change of scenery, hesitates when retracting his PAK legs. He gets terrified stares from fancily dressed guests, the men in dark tuxedos and the women in large, frilly dresses. He gets on his toes trying to peer over their shoulders but can’t see any signs of (Y/n) anywhere. Just his luck when he hears glass of a broken window shattering in the distance.
From outside the walls of the fancy ballroom he’s in he hears a chorus of shouts.
“VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION!”
The guests are suddenly screaming and running without direction in the ballroom in a frenzy. In this panic, he’s able to spy (Y/n) who is crouching down on the ground, struggling to untangle herself from the net. She notices him too and quickly escapes from the net, rushing away from him. Zim harshly shoves any man or woman that gets in his way, his eyes never once wavering from (Y/n)’s retreating form. And then she stops, seemingly for no reason, and Zim is able to catch up with her.
But when he comes to her, he understands why. She stopped a jittering waiter who shakily holds out a tray of champagne glasses to her, which she is grabbing and guzzling down rhythmically.
“(Y/N)!” He snaps at her and stomps his foot down.
She spares him a glance but goes back to chugging down the many glasses of champagne. Fed-up, a PAK leg fires a laser at the tray, sending it and the glasses flying. The waiter runs away with a high-pitched squeal. (Y/n) immediately squeezes her way into a dense crowd of people and Zim loses sight of her again.
He follows the group of panicked guests to the entrance of the palace where carriages are lined up. He stands atop the grand staircase and sees (Y/n) separate herself from the group to climb up on the driver’s seat of a four horse-drawn carriage.
She grabs the reins and meets Zim’s eyes from afar. “Eat my dust, Irken!” And then she snaps the reins down harshly and the horses whinny in response.
Then, there’s a flash of pink light and their surroundings change once again. Zim now stands on the porch to an old western saloon and (Y/n) sits on a wagon holding the reins to a malnourished donkey. She pouts and her shoulders sink.
“What was that you were saying, stupid human?!” At her deplorable state, Zim holds his stomach and bursts out in laughter. When he finally catches his breath and wipes a tear from his eye, (Y/n) has disappeared from sight once again.
‘Minimoose, you’re in charge!’ The words fill the robot with pride. He is glad to be so trusted as Zim’s robot minion, it means a lot to him that his master recognizes that he is far more reliable than the insane S.I.R. unit and the lazy Computer. To his delight, the task Zim entrusted him with is much easier than anticipated. Not only is he going to succeed and earn praise, but he’ll have to put in little-to-no-effort at all! He levitates the bowl of popcorn he made for himself and the S.I.R. Unit taking the elevator down to the lab. When the platform lowers, he floats over to the room that holds the ‘Space-Time Object Replacement Device’-turned-’Time Machine’.
The door opens and Minimoose is met with a sight that causes him to drop the bowl. The sound of glass shattering does nothing to pause the chaos before him.
G.I.R. is playing tug-of-war with a robot arm that protrudes from the ceiling of the lab. Rubber piggies-- and live ones too-- fill the room, the robot shooting the toys out of his head at the ceiling.
“G.I.R.! MASTER ZIM WILL BE--” Computer scolds.
"PIGGEH! Piggeh-piggeeeeh!" The robot cries with every blast from his head that bounces off the Computer. The A.I.'s demands for his obedience are drowned out by the S.I.R. Unit's constant screeching and the oinks of the pigs scrambling around, coating the lab floor in mud-- and possibly feces.
G.I.R. manages to yank the remote from the Computer’s arm. He stares down at the remote’s many buttons. “WE SHOULD SEND THEM TO THE 80’S! LIKE THE COPS SHOW!”
The Computer uses an arm to restrain G.I.R. and summons another arm to try to yank the remote out of G.I.R.’s iron grip.
The toddler-like robot wails. “SEND THEM TO THE 80’S!”
“CHUH! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” Men chant in encouragement to the young lady who’s head is ducked under the spout to a wooden beer keg. She takes one last full gulp before dizzily sitting up and raises her arms with a cheer. The men roar in applause and one particularly burly one gives her a strong slap on the back.
She hacks and sputters at having the wind knocked out of her but smiles up at the group nonetheless. She wipes the beer that dribbles past her lips with the back of her sleeve. “Naow, naow, tha’ was--” She pauses to hiccup. “Tha-- tha’ wassss on-ly roun’ one!”
They gasp at her.
She waves the bartender over and he rolls a brand new beer keg in front of her.
“If you finish this one, it’s on the house, purdy lady,” he tells her.
“I’ll never pass up on-- pass up on free shit.” She pulls her hair to the side and scoots her stool back some to duck her head under the spout.
Just when the men begin the countdown, the doors to the bar swing open and clatter noisily against the frame. There in the blinding orange haze of the sunset stands the short and slim silhouette of her chaser. Except, he sports a sheriff's uniform, complete with a black vest, gold badge, and a black cowboy hat. The men hold their breaths as he takes slow, purposeful steps towards the lady.
“We ain’t welcomin’ ta newcomers, ‘specially not any ay-corns such as yerself--” An old, wrinkly man in overalls speaks up.
When Zim passes by him, he gives him an animalistic snarl and the elder flinches away. At that, the rest of the men clear a path and break away from their protective stance surrounding (Y/n).
She sways on the barstool and stares at him, uncertainty in her eyes.
“I’ve finally found you,” Zim says lowly, his voice gruff in a way (Y/n) finds somewhat arousing.
“Ohhhh, have you, now? Some might--” She hiccups. “Sum my’ say that-- that it is I, who has-- have… found you, spaceman.”
He pauses in his threatening stride and his shoulders drop. “Who would say that?” He asks his tone one of genuine confusion.
She slowly blinks at him, her eyes mimicking the rhythm of a chameleon. “I uh-- Huh! I dunno?”
“Tell ya what, darlin’,” the bartender leans across the bar, suddenly butting into their exchange. “If you finish him off, all the other kegs you finished are also on the house.”
She gasps and suddenly hops off the stool. “Them’s fightin’ words. Man, I’d be dumb to not kill this addle-headed snake-on-stilts motherfucker.”
Zim narrows his eyes at her dangerously and tilts his cowboy hat downwards. “Then, it’s on,” he says, his voice gruff and low.
She threw her fists into the air in another cheer. “My house is gonna have so many-- so many beer kegs onnit… Where is this house, anywhere's?”
The men at the bar sneer at her.
“Man, are you stupid,” the burly one comments.
The alien and human stand back-to-back in the sandy, desert clearing, guns raised to their chests.
“Can’t believe I didn’t think to look for you at the bar first. All you’ve been doing today is drinking non-stop! Where’d you get the money for that, anyway?” Zim mutters.
“Found it.” She responds bluntly.
He scoffs at her.
After a moment of silence, she finally speaks up again. “Where’d you get your evil hands on that sheriff’s uniform, huh, pardner?”
He bristles at her question and tries to glance at her but doesn't dare turn his head. He stares at her shoulder in his peripheral. “...Found it.”
'Must’ve been a tiny sheriff.' Her brows raise. “Huh.”
“Hm.”
The men and bartender kept their distance from the two. When a group of men rolls the keg of beer to the clearing, they stand it up and call for (Y/n).
“Lookie, here! We’re raisin’ the stakes. A bullet in that crocodile’s head and you got yerself beer for a month!” The bartender slaps a hand on top of the barrel.
“Oh, for a month! Where’s the rest of it, then?” She hollers back.
Their faces fall and Zim only snickers in response. She nudges him harshly with her shoulder.
“Maybe they couldn’t carry it all,” she grumbles to him.
“Oh, yes, that’s it. We better hurry this up, hyooman-- in case you’re late for your A.A. meeting.”
“Bold of you to assume I'm capable of even admitting I have a problem.”
The men impatiently groan. These stand-offs are designed to befast and more shooty than this one had been so far.
“On my count!” The bartender yells at them. “After taking twenty paces, you fire! Rules are simple: first to die, loses!”
“What happens when you lose?” (Y/n) tilts her head.
“You… you die!”
She shifts uncomfortably at the harsh tone he took with her, feeling embarrassed. “Sorry, ‘kay. Jus’ thought-- jus’ thought there’d be more incentive than that--”
“Winner gets the beer keg, loser dies,” the bartender elaborates.
“No, no. I got it, it’s jus’, I’m not really worried about dying--”
“Okay, well, there’s not much more we can do to punish you when you’re-- when you’re dead--”
“Yeah--”
“Don’t know… don’t know what you want us to--”
“Yeah, it’s jus’ like… it’s jus’ like my shtick, y’know? I don’t care about dying.”
“Got it.”
“I do not fear death,” she says sternly while cocking the hammer on her gun back.
“Good for you. ...Right. Let’s just get this started. TWENTY PACES!”
And so they each took a step forward. Each one listens carefully to the other’s footfalls. The gentle sound of sand shifting under the heel, the pebble that would get scuffed to the side, the crunch of twigs or dried grass. There’s silence and they are twenty paces apart, their backs still facing each other.
“One!” The bartender holds a finger up.
Zim pulls the safety on his gun off.
“Two!”
(Y/n) rolls her shoulders out.
“Three--”
The final beat of the countdown is cut off with a shriek and Zim whirls around to see (Y/n) has her gun pointed above his head with a look of fear. He grips his gun tightly, with such a strong grip his knuckles turn white under his black gloves.
“You cheated!” He points an accusing finger at her. “You turned around before the countdown--”
A wet, sticky substance splatters onto his shoulder and a wave of hot air blows over him. He tenses and slowly turns to find himself face-to-face with the yellowing fangs of a twelve-foot dinosaur. Thoughtlessly, he drops his gun and runs away with a scream, (Y/n) right behind him.
Back in the lab, Minimoose is shouting at the two bickering robots as they continue to play tug-of-war.
“Nyeh! MEH!”
“No one knows what you’re saying!” The Computer says exasperatedly. The only one who learned how to decipher Minimoose’s obscure language was Zim, who was now running for his life from a bloodthirsty dinosaur.
“Minimoose said it’s my turn with the Time Machine!” G.I.R. lies.
Minimoose floats over and yells at them again. Suddenly, the Computer retracts his arms muttering about how he ‘gives up’ and G.I.R. falls to the floor, crushing the remote in the process. The small S.I.R. unit gets to his feet, spares a glance at the broken bits of the remote, and then runs off screaming, on his way to the ‘Piggy Room’.
“Uh-oh,” Computer says.
Minimoose floats up to the monitor that displays where Zim is at all times. He lets out a sad ‘nyeh’ at the sight of his frightened master. Feeling determined to not disappoint him, he turns to the Computer’s hidden camera and yells. “Nyeh! Nyeh!”
Although he doesn’t understand the robot-moose’s language, he has a faint idea. “On it.”
Metal arms pick up the remains of the remote and equip a multitude of tools to begin repairs. Minimoose floats back up to the screen that is much larger than him. He lets out another sad “nyeh” when Zim gets scooped up in the mouth of a dinosaur.
It doesn’t need to be said, but the two are not faring well in the Jurassic Age. However, (Y/n) did manage to teleport herself into a tree, temporarily saving her from the hungry jaws of a dinosaur that chases Zim in circles. He fires lasers at the dino that does little to stop the bloodthirsty rampage. Wanting to feel helpful, (Y/n) takes to shouting obscenities at the reptilian beast.
“At least my arms are proportional to the rest of my body! At least my species’ evolution actually led to something, pea-brain!”
“That’s rather generous of you to say!” Zim yells at her.
She climbs higher into the tree. “Humans are definitely smarter than dinos-- okay? Maybe not the sharpest knife in the crime scene, maybe not the brightest pflorgog in the boing-loings-- but smarter than these guys.”
“Oh, really? Yet you’re the one hiding in the tree.” Zim stops in his running with his hands propped on his hips.
She flips him off but her eyes widen in fear at the T-Rex that opens its jaws to bite into Zim again. Before the alien can meet his doom, however, the two are suddenly back in the lab. (Y/n) falls from the height of the tree she climbed up onto the hard metal floor. Minimoose floats over to her, letting out a concerned mewl. She slowly lifts herself and prepares for the lecture she’s surely about to get from Zim when she sees the crushed bits of the mini-bots fall from her pockets.
But before the alien could get a word in, they hear a loud honk*-- like a demonic-goose honk. Poor G.I.R. picks the wrong opportunity to try to run up to his master to hug him because the moment the T-Rex spots the tiny robot, it chases after it. G.I.R. squeals happily and runs down the hall into a different part of the underground base.
Minimoose, Zim, and (Y/n) follow the sound of the insane robot’s cries and the dinosaurs thundering footsteps into the halls. To their horror, it leads them right to the hangar where (Y/n)’s ship was repaired. When they come into the room, they find the dinosaur nibbling on the glass dome to her flying saucer and G.I.R. front and center of the destruction. The robot pouts when Zim rushes up to him seething.
"G.I.R.! HOW COULD YOU?!”
“Aw, the ship’s all broken again!” G.I.R. says.
Zim rubs his temples in frustration as the ship creaks in strain and the rear completely falls off.
A sharpened rod of metal clatters and rolls to (Y/n)’s feet and she swipes it up. With a battle cry, she charges at the dinosaur and it takes off running away from her down the many halls of the lab.
Zim crosses his arms and stares quizzically at the destruction of his hard work for the past week. “Maybe some parts can be spared--” Zim starts to say but then the ship explodes in a mess of flames. A dented and charred metal door skids across the floor and Zim kicks at it sending it flying with an even bigger dent. He is practically foaming at the mouth in anger.
He spins around when he hears a shrill cry coming from the hall (Y/n) had just run down and she runs back into the lab, arms waving wildly. Behind her, the T-Rex marches after her with long strides, her makeshift weapon clenched in its jaws and pointed right at her.
“It seems we are the only sane ones, Minimoose.”
“Nyeh…”