A/N: If you'd like to see a picture of Zemori, visit my home page, which leads to my devART profile.

Disclaimer: Invader Zim (c) Viacom and of course, its creator, Jhonen Vasquez. However, characters like Zemori are mine because I made them up.

Warning: There are a few instances containing minor language throughout the story, but not so much.

My name is Zemori. When Operation Impending Doom II was confirmed to start in two weeks, I really wasn't all that worried. Just another war- another attempt at galactic conquest. I had no reason to worry; Irk was the safest planet in the universe. Many of my fellow Irkens were excited about the whole ordeal. I, however, didn't care one way or the other in the least. I was happy working at Reezle's, Irk's smallest yet fanciest café. I was content with where I was. It was where I belonged.

My carefree views on Impending Doom II drastically changed when Mr. Reezle summoned me.

"Here's your refill, ma'am."

"Zemori."

"Yessir?"

"My office. Now."

Some of my coworkers stared wide-eyed at me and then at Mr. Reezle as he motioned for me to follow him. I tried as hard as I could not to look shocked. Everyone who worked here knew that when Mr. Reezle called for you- specifically, by name- it meant one of two things: something extremely good was about to happen for you, or something extremely terrible would.

"Have a seat."

I sat at the only chair in front of his desk. Mr. Reezle closed the door as I tried to keep my hands from shaking. Should I be shivering with excitement or fear? I couldn't think of any reason that I should be rewarded or punished.

Mr. Reezle settled himself in his large comfortable chair and studied me briefly.

I sat up straight, eyes determined. Good or bad, I was going to accept my fate.

"How long have you worked for me, Zemori?"

"A long time, sir."

"A long time. Of course." He smiled, and his tone got more casual. "Did I ever tell you I was in Operation Impending Doom One?"

"E-Excuse me, sir?" I asked incredulously.

"Oh, not as an Invader, if that's what you're thinking. I was appointed as Head Chef for a while… Until the operation was cut short by What's-His-Face…"

"That's… I… But…"

"You're wondering why I'm telling you this, right? What does this have to do with you? Well, I was called on to provide my services once again for Impending Doom II. But business is picking up around here. I need to be here to run things. So instead, they've allowed me to send in a replacement."

"And… I'm the one you chose?"

"Exactly."

"But- and I mean no disrespect, sir- why did you pick me?"

Mr. Reezle chuckled, but I didn't see what was so funny.

"Zemori, out of all the workers here, don't you know who works the most diligently? Can you really not see your own potential?"

I never really looked at myself that way before. Day after day I just did what I was supposed to. Didn't everyone?

"You seem unsure. Don't worry; you won't be acting as Head Chef. Someone else was already picked for that position, and they will be your boss."

"I understand, sir. I would be honored to accept this responsibility."

"Then it's official!" he declared. He stood up and leaned across his desk to give my hand a strong shake with both of his own.

When I left the office, several coworkers immediately started questioning me. I informed them that I would be serving as a cook on the Massive during the invasion.

"You're going to be in Impending Doom II?"

"You're so lucky! Congratulations!"

"Maybe you'll get to see the Tallest! In person!"

They were so excited for me. Happy for me. Jealous of me.

To be honest, I was doubtful. What if my new boss was mean? What if I didn't get along with my new colleagues? What if I made a huge mistake and ruined the food? I knew that the Massive was a powerful spaceship, but what if something went wrong and we were attacked?

But I had no choice. When your boss makes you an offer, you take it.

-xoxo-

Over the next few days, Mr. Reezle and I made preparations for my reassignment. It bothered me not knowing how long I'd be away. It could last years or even decades.

During closing time on possibly my last day at the café, I was hanging up my apron when three Irkens approached me. They were my closest associates, and to my surprise, they'd gotten me a going-away present.

"You didn't have to…"

"But we insist. Take it."

No sooner had I pocketed the perfume bottle than all three of them hugged me. Never in my life had I been hugged before.

It was… a nice experience.