The Defective Tournament

Chapter 1

"Master, could you tell me that story again?"

There was a slightly aggravated and exhausted sigh in response. "Which one are you speaking of?"

"The one with the guy made of cheese," the little robot chirped, watching his Master through the dim light in their cell, his big cyan blue eyes glowing with curiosity.

Normally Zim would tell his little robot companion, Gir, to just go to sleep, for the hard labor that Defective Prisons forced each Irken to endure on a daily-basis made him sore and tired when he was lead back to his cell. But because they would face great uncertainty tomorrow, he complied. "Ah yes... That one." Zim sat up from his spot against the wall to face Gir, who noticeably lit up, knowing his favorite story would be told tonight.

"Do you still remember that one, Master?"

"How could I forget?" He cleared his dry, hoarse throat, and began, "Well... There once was a man-"

"Made of cheese!" Gir giggled.

"Correct." Zim nodded once. "Made of melted, stinky cheese..." As he went into the story, he couldn't help but being mentally relieved that Gir was being himself again. Usually around this time of year, even in the weeks upcoming to what would be tomorrow, the fear would creep up on the little robot who, though outrageous and dim-witted, knew what happened every year for the past five years on that one day. Even Gir could understand the dire state that everyone in their Prison was in. He had every reason to be afraid. One of them would be chosen tomorrow, taken away to the capitol of Irk... And no one really knew if that one Irken or SIR unit chosen would come back or not. It depended on how well they could fight, how well they could survive.

For the past five years it usually went this way for the two. In the weeks before, Zim would notice a drastic change in Gir's extreme personality. The little robot would go from giggling and singing randomly, to slowly slipping away, going silent, isolating himself. This only happened in the weeks before one Irken or SIR unit in each of Irk's sixteen Defective Prisons was chosen at random to compete in the annual Defective Tournament. Once Zim and Gir were safe, Gir would go back to his normal self in no time. But it was a relief for Zim to see his companion already going back to his normal, goofy self. Seeing Gir's eyes light up with happiness over a simple, random story during a time of uncertainty made Zim feel better. Because maybe, just maybe, it meant that they'd both be safe this year. Just like the years before. Nothing to worry about. After tomorrow, the Choosing Day, they would no longer have their name entered as a possible contender. You had to have lived in the Prisons for ten years in order to be safe from the Tournament. The ones who were usually entered as possible contenders were the smeets and Irkens and SIR units who were taken to the Prisons later in their lives. Like Zim and Gir. They had been there for nine years. Once they were safe at this year's Choosing Day, they would no longer have to worry about being chosen. This was their last year of having to worry.

Without even realizing it, Zim went on with the story, knowing almost every exact detail. After all, it was Gir's favorite story. Sometimes Zim would add an extra detail or change one, though Gir never noticed or seemed to care.

Zim smiled slightly. Though he wouldn't exactly admit it, seeing Gir happy made Zim happy. He had been taking care of the little robot for many, many years before they were sent to Prison 15 together. That was nine years ago. Only five years ago during their fourth year in Prison 15 did the Tallest start the Defective Tournament as a sick form of entertainment for Irk and it's 'normal' citizens. Out of everyone, Zim hated the Tournament most. And he was prepared every year if he were chosen, but he never realized that he would never be ready if Gir were ever chosen. He didn't know how he'd handle it. Taking care of Gir was the equivalent of taking care of a smeet; they needed attention and care, and though Zim didn't show it or admit it, he did care for Gir. He was like a little brother to him. And if Gir were chosen... It was like sending a smeet to it's death. Which has happened before, much to Zim's disgust.

Half-way through the story, Zim stopped when he noticed Gir lying curled up in a ball on the floor, sleeping soundly, with his thumb in his mouth. Zim suddenly remembered that Gir only slept that way once a year for the past five years, on the night before one unlucky soul would be chosen for the Defective Tournament. It meant that, subconsciously, Gir was worried and frightened. That maybe another nightmare would come to him in his dreams again, just like they did every year for the past five years.

Leaning back against the wall, his usual sleeping spot, Zim sighed as he watched Gir sleep. "We'll be okay..." he promised quietly, hoping Gir could hear him in his sleep. "This is our last year. We'll be safe." With that said, Zim closed his own eyes.

The exhaustion from the day's hard work quickly pulled Zim into the darkness of sleep, and unknowingly to him, as he drifted away, someone or something deep within his mind told him that tomorrow would change his life forever. It warned him that no one was really safe from being chosen. It all depended on how lucky you were.

He wouldn't remember the dire warning in morning.

The only upside of Choosing Day, was that instead of having to wake up extra early to go to work as usual, everyone in the Prisons had the day off... At least until the Choosing Day ceremony was over, when one unlucky soul was lead away. Then the rest of their lives would go back to normal, back to their regular job hours.

The sound of a tray clanking against the ground awoke Zim. He blinked his tired eyes, awaking to the blinding rays of light that slipped through the only window in the cell. He moved his eyes toward the cell door and noticed the usual morning breakfast: two pieces of bread and a bowl of cold stew. Not much, as usual. It was the daily meal they gave out for breakfast every morning. He heard the footsteps disappearing down the hall; the sounds of the guard who handed out the breakfast trays to each cell, leaving to hand out the rest to the other cells in the other halls.

Sighing, Zim rubbed his eyes and crawled over to the tray. He grabbed the bowl of cold stew and made his way over to Gir, who was still sleeping soundly. Zim was relieved the little robot didn't have any nightmares last night. Normally he always had nightmares in the weeks before Choosing Day. Especially the night before. This was a good sign, Zim was sure of it.

He made his way over to the sleeping metallic form. "Gir?" He nudged him. Gir stirred but didn't awake. Zim began shaking him gently. "Gir? Wake up. Breakfast is here."

That one word woke him up immediately. Yawning, Gir sat up, rubbing his cyan blue eyes. When he noticed Zim holding up the bowl of cold stew, Gir grinned widely. "Gimme!" He snatched it from him and began slurping the stew down, not even bothering to use the spoon.

Zim watched him, squeedly-spooch churning. He never liked the cold stew and especially never ate it. He usually gave it to Gir who could usually stomach just about anything. Zim usually ate the two pieces of bread as his breakfast, though it wasn't enough to keep his squeedly-spooch satisfied in the morning. But he managed.

"Eat slowly," he chided the robot lightly, as a parent would with a child.

"Okie dokie." The little robot nodded, slurping the stew down as slowly as he possibly could.

Zim watched him momentarily before turning back to the tray. He picked up the first piece of bread and began to eat, chewing carefully. If he ate to fast with a nearly empty squeedly-spooch, he'd grow sick. And that especially wouldn't help when, after the Choosing was over, he'd have to go back to work. Working with nausea was just as bad as working with an empty squeedly-spooch. Both were miserable and caused pains in his bones and squeedly-spooch.

"Hey, Zim!"

Half-way through taking small nibbles of bread, Zim glanced up at the cell door, past the metal bars and out across the hall toward the other cell, where Zim's only other friend in the Prison, Skoodge, called home.

And there Skoodge was, pressed up against his cell door, gripping one of the cold metal bars as he looked out toward Zim's cell. Though it was Choosing Day, Skoodge still had his usual happy-go-lucky smile plastered on his face.

Zim smiled back, though a bit weakly. "Hey, Skoodge... Are you ready for today?"

"Defiantly!" Skoodge exclaimed, somewhat happily. "One more year and I won't have to worry about being picked. I'm not even worried today. I feel pretty confident that I won't be chosen."

"Same here," Zim replied, nodding once. "Gir didn't have any nightmares last night, so I think that might be a sign."

"I'm pretty sure it is," his friend reassured him. "We'll all be in the clear, I'm sure. This is your last year and Gir's last year. That has to be a sign in itself."

"I sure hope so." Zim glanced up at the single window in his cell, seeing the light beaming through. "How long have we been asleep?"

"Not sure," Skoodge admitted. "I heard them getting everything ready outside. I think they might be nearly done."

Beside Zim, Gir slammed the now-empty bowl down. "Speaking of done: I'm done!" Gir crawled over to the cell door, waving at the rounded Irken. "Hi fat head!"

Skoodge's expression deflated. "Fat head?" He eyed Zim suspiciously. "Where did he hear that nickname?"

Zim only chuckled nervously. "Well..."

Just then, a beeping sound rang out throughout the hall, and the cell doors popped open. Zim and Skoodge jumped, startled by the sudden sound that echoed throughout the hallway, while Gir only stiffened at the sound.

It was time.

A few guards came into their hallway, leading the few Irkens and SIR units in the other cells surrounding Zim and Skoodge out of the somewhat safety of their cells, down the hall and out another door. Zim and Skoodge eyed each other, and the worry that they wouldn't admit or tried to cover up with optimism was present strongly in their eyes.

An Irken guard came to Skoodge's cell, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away from Zim and Gir, down the other end of the hall. "I'll see you later," he said quietly as he disappeared through down the hall. Zim watched him go, feeling dread form in his squeedly spooch, but pushed it down. Now was defiantly not the time to worry and think negative. He tried to keep his hopes up that he and Gir would be fine.

Another guard appeared in the doorway of Zim's cell. Zim stepped forward immediately, not wanting to be grabbed at. He started to head out, but noticed the guard still staring out into his cell.

He turned and noticed Gir standing behind him, completely still, not moving forward to follow his Master. His eyes were wide and filled with fear. Something didn't feel right to the little SIR unit. It felt different than the other years before. Something felt wrong, as though something might happen.

Zim quickly made his way over to the robot, not wanting him to be dragged out of his cell like some other Irkens had been in the past. The punishment for not following orders, even simply not following a guard when immediately ordered, resulted in a serve punishment that would be to much for Gir to handle. Zim didn't want Gir to be punished or afraid.

"Gir," he said quietly, "It's time."

Gir said nothing but nodded, taking small, hesitant steps out of the cell, with Zim carefully ushering him forward from behind. Gir stayed close to his Master as they were lead down the hall to a large open door that lead into another long hallway filled with other cells and other Irkens and SIRs, who each came out one by one, followed by a guard who lead them all down the same route.

He clung to Zim as he watched the Irkens with pale, frightened or empty expressions beside him, some with their SIR units who didn't seem as terrified as their Masters.

Those Irkens in the Prisons who had their own SIRs, like Zim, were once Invaders or once trained to be an Invader before the special Defect exam was issued by the Tallest to check for a glitch or defect in their Paks, one that might have been overlooked or not noticed when they were first born in the Hatcheries. Those Irkens, like Zim, were immediately taken from their homes, most with force and violence, and thrown into prison. Luckily they were at least able to keep their SIRs, though all of them had their weapons disabled for good. It kept their sanity in such cruelty to have a friend there, and that friend was usually their loyal SIRs who stayed with them until the end.

This was the case with Zim and Gir.

They knew each other for nearly fifteen years; their first five years as Master and SIR were spent in freedom, before they were whisked away after multiple glitches in Zim's Pak was found during the special Defect Exam. That was how they ended up in Prison 15; based on whatever level of how Defected you were, you'd be sent to whatever Prison seemed suitable out of the 16. Prisons 15 and 16 were the harshest and cruelest out of all 16 Prisons. That was why Zim and Gir were sent there; because Prisons 15 and 16 were for Irkens who had the most glitches in their Paks. They were treated the worst by the guards. It was cruel and unfair, and Zim knew this well, while Gir still didn't understand.

More and more Irkens and SIR units came out into the line as they were all lead closer and closer toward the outside. Some stayed close with their cellmates, visibly terrified, while others seemed sullen and silent, others expressionless. Seeing all these frightened, upset faces worried Gir more, further adding fuel to the fire that was his fear. All Gir really knew, was Choosing Day was a horrible day, that the need to worry was there. The dire state that everyone was in only told more to the story than Gir could understand. He only knew that it was bad if he or his Master were called out during the ceremony. But so far, they had been okay. Every year they weren't called. This year should be the same right?

But fate was a fickle thing, and so was luck.

They met the blinding light of Irk's sun as they were finally all lead out into the courtyard of Prison 15. There, as many Irkens and SIRs came pouring out from different ends of the Prison and into the courtyard, the stage was set, nestled in front of the Prison, like it was every year for the past four, now five years.

Guards were armed with weapons on the roofs of the Prison, or positioned around the ropes that marked where each Irken and SIR was supposed to stand and wait. And as usual, there were also cameramen. On the roofs beside the guards, on the side of the stage to tape the reaction of the crowd when someone was picked. Everything would be broadcasted live to all of Irk.

And there, just above the stage, was the large, infamous screen, where, when the name was picked randomly from a tiny hand-held computer, it would be projected on screen in front of everyone before being called out.

Zim lead Gir toward the large, lined up crowd, pushing past guards and other Irkens as he did so. Gir stayed close, clinging to Zim like a lifeline. And when his cyan blue eyes met the large, white screen above the stage, where in just a few minuets one unlucky person's name would flash across it, Gir froze, letting his hold on Zim slip slightly. He started to whimper, and Zim heard this sound far above the sound of heavy feet shuffling forward toward the center of the crowd, which was split in two, separated by the ropes.

Other Irkens and SIRs bumped into Gir as he stood there, staring out at the screen with wide, terrified eyes. Something defiantly did not feel right. Not today. It wasn't like before where he was reassured by Zim's promise that they'd both be alight. This was different.

Zim grabbed a hold of Gir and carefully lead him to the side, away from the lines that continued pouring into the courtyard. He kneeled before the trembling little robot. "Gir?" Zim tried to pull Gir's attention away from the screen. "Gir, look at me." Gir refused to rip his eyes away from the screen, but after a moment, he finally looked at his Master with eyes that were filled with fear. "Gir, it's okay." Zim tried to smile reassuringly at him, but he hated that he had to lie to him, as though everything would be okay. Really, he had no idea if everything would be okay. There was to much uncertainty to be exactly sure. "We've been through this before, and every year we end up okay. This our last year, just remember that. After today, we won't ever have to worry again." Zim glanced over his shoulder to make sure no guards were coming his way. When he noticed only Irkens and SIRs still walking out of the Prison and out toward the crowd forming in front of the stage, he turned his attention back to Gir, who seemed ready to burst into tears. "Just remember this is our last year. Can you do that for me?"

Sniffling, Gir nodded. He wanted to obey, to make his Master happy.

It made him feel a bit better when Zim smiled at him. "Good." He patted him lightly on the head.

"Hey!"

Zim turned just in time to see a guard heading his way. "Get back in line!" the guard barked, roughly grabbing Zim just as he stood up, leading him away from Gir. "I'll meet you afterwards, okay?" he called out as he was dragged away. "Be brave!"

Gir nodded once, before he quickly headed back in the separate line where the other SIR units were filing into, heading toward the front of the stage where the SIRs took their place.

After being dragged into the crowd, he was pushed into another Irken by the guard who brought him there. The guard left, not saying another word. Mumbling angrily, Zim dusted himself off. He hated being grabbed by the guards. He hated being treated like trash. He hated everything about the Prison. It was so unfair, all of this. Feeling his blood boil, Zim closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clenching his fists at his sides until the anger subsided. He knew if he became furious he might start protesting there, in front of everyone. That would probably result in an execution, and he knew Gir needed him. So he reminded himself this, and it calmed him down quickly.

"Zim!"

Skoodge. Zim glanced around the other large crowd of Irkens in which he was in the middle of, searching with his eyes for his other friend.

"Over here!"

After scanning the crowd for another moment, he spotted Skoodge waving at him from a few rows behind him. Not caring if the guards saw him, Zim pushed his way toward the back of the crowd to where Skoodge was eagerly waiting for him.

Upon seeing his friend up close, Skoodge noticed the look of rage in Zim's eyes as he took a spot beside him. "What happened to you? You seem mad."

"Some guard grabbed me," Zim said, staring at the stage from where he stood. There was a single chair in the corner, and Zim had a feeling of who would be sitting there. He truly hoped so. He suddenly grew anxious, waiting for the figure to step out and take a seat in the chair.

Skoodge said nothing, not wanting to bring up the incident to further enrage his friend. They stood in silence, just like the other Irkens around them. There was nothing to talk about in such a fearful environment. The only sound audible was the sound of the last remaining Irkens and SIRs being lead into the crowd.

After a few minuets of silence, a figure walked out onto the stage. It was Prison 15's warden, Vinam, a tall Irken with bright red eyes that appeared eerily similar to the eyes of Tallest Red. He wore the usual uniform that all 16 of Irk's Prison's Wardens wore, except his uniform color matched his eye color and had a badge over his heart that read '15'.

Vinam, standing tall and proud, made his way to the microphone that stood in the center of the stage. Just then, another figure appeared on stage, walking with small, slow steps, facing down at the floor as she did so.

Zim felt relieved the see the familiar female figure who wore a dark purple Irken uniform. One to match her eyes. Zim watched her, not paying attention to anyone else but her. This female was the winner of last year's Tournament. Tak. He hadn't seen her ever since her name was chosen the year before. And she won, outsmarting the other contenders. Using her skills in each battle, each round. She used to be his other cellmate, along with her SIR unit, Mimi. He hoped that the Tournament didn't change her. His heart seemed to beat a little bit faster at even just the sight of her. She took a seat in that chair he had noticed earlier. Once Vinam began to speak, Zim ripped his attention away from Tak and turned to face Vinam, anxiously waiting for it to be over.

"Defects of Prison 15, welcome to introduction of the fifth annual Defective Tournament," Vinam greeted, staring out into the sea of worried, anxious and blank faces. He smiled. "As you all know, today, one of you will be chosen to represent Prison 15 in this year's Tournament. This Tournament was created five years ago to remind you all of your place in society. And if we are lucky, hopefully one brave and courageous soul chosen today will win the Tournament for Prison 15, just like last years winner, Tak." He turned, giving a small smile toward the Irken female sitting in the chair behind him. She stared up at him, not returning what she knew was a fake smile.

Grinning, Vinam turned his attention back toward the crowd. "Right. Now, let's get on with it and see who will be fighting for Prison 15 this year." He turned his head toward the opposite aids of the stage, just as a guard appeared, walking toward Vinam with a small, hand-held computer device. The guard handed it to Vinam before standing back. Vinam turned back toward the crowd, device in hand. He glanced down at the device and, from what Zim could see, began typing in something.

Zim held his breath, praying that he wouldn't be chosen. This was his last year. After today he no longer had to worry about the Tournament ever again. He turned his eyes to the large white screen, waiting anxiously.

"And the prisoner who will represent Prison 15 is..." Vinam waited for a second, until the name appeared on the device in his hands.

The name immediately appeared on screen, projected out toward the crowd in bold black letters, just as Vinam announced the name aloud. Tak's eyes widened at the name. Skoodge let out a gasp, turning to face the frozen Irken beside him.

Zim only stared forward, eyes widened, fists clenched at his sides. He began shaking as the words on the screen seemed to scream at him. The name, that three-letter name Vinam called out repeated over and over again, as Irk itself seemed to stop turning. The reality began to sink in as Zim continued staring at the screen, horrified. That name on the screen made his blood run cold.

No... NO...

It was Gir's name.

A/N: THIS IS AU AND DOES NOT IN ANY WAY FIT INTO THE STORYLINE OF THE INVADER ZIM SHOW OR ANY OF MY INVADER ZIM STORIES!

IMPORTANT: If you have a character for the story, review and leave your character's name/bio/info in your review! Also add their fighting style/technique! Only 15 spots available!

Anyway, I hope you liked this! If you need a complete overview of the plot, here it is:

Zim and Gir are living in one of the Defective Prisons, Prison 15. Gir is essentially like a little brother to Zim, and is still the same, wacky, cute and lovable Gir we all know and love. So their relationship is brotherly. :')

This will probably be a ZATR story, but not a major one, and where Tak fits into all this, is that she lived in the same prison that Zim and Gir live in, and she won the Tournament the year before and becomes Zim's mentor. Again, this is AU, so Zim never ruined Tak's mission or ruined her chances of being am Invader: They're both defects in this story. I didn't want it to be the star-crossed lovers scenario like with Peeta and Katniss, so instead it's just Zim competing in the tournament, and Tak is his mentor.

The Defective Tournament is MUCH different than the Hunger Games. Instead of all the contenders being thrown all at once into an arena, there are four rounds. Each of the sixteen contenders are paired up with one other, and they each fight in separate arenas. Whoever wins each battle, fights another winner in the second round and so on and so fourth... Much more different than the Hunger Games. Oh, and, instead of the ages twelve-through-eighteen rule like in the Hunger Games, in this story, in order to no longer be entered into the Tournament, you had to be living in the prison for at least ten years or more.

Like I said before in my other story: I'm looking for fifteen OCs from anyone who has one and wants one to compete. Just be warned, you're character will die. But still, I'll post the rules separately and have anyone post info/bio about their OC. They have to be either an Irken or a SIR unit. You only get to choose one of your OCs, and there'll be only fifteen spots available. please don't be mad when your character dies. I warned you all ahead of time.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, and please, please review! I'd really appreciate it!