Zim liked blood. Loved it, even. He loved the way it looked, the way it tasted and felt. It dripped from his mouth, hitting the hard floor of his base with a wet smacking sound. He stood before his most recent capture, a young human male he had chained to the wall, looking to be in his mid-20's, though Zim cared very little for the age and basic information of this unfortunate soul. This one was nothing but food in the Irken's eyes.
It was dripping from his hands and claws, his gloves long since ruined by it. He loved how it smelled, a thick, metallic scent that he so lusted after, wanting to fill his mouth with the substance.
He loved its color, dark red and full of such amazing taste. He giggled and cut deeper into his prisoner, his newest source of food. Besides the blood, the Irken also loved the screams and pleas for mercy. Those sounds fell on deaf ears, their owner uncaring of this human's current predicament.
He only wanted to eat. He was hungry. If this unfortunate victim died to fulfill the alien's own desires and needs, then that would not be of any issue to Zim. He savored the fear and pain of his meals, their own agony fueling his body. They were doing him a favor, helping him survive, and for that, they should be grateful.
He moved up to the face and drew a claw across it, a diagonal line from jaw to ear, slow and deep, smiling when the screams increased in volume, only serving to make him happier. The blood rushed forth, running down and dripping onto the ground, and Zim caught some of it on his fingers.
He stared at it, transfixed by the sight and smell. He brought it to his lips, his breath heavy and yearning for it. His eyes lit up brightly as the fluids made contact with his tongue, tasting better than any other food or drink he had consumed before his Change.
He didn't care if they hurt, only that they were making himself feel good. Zim's rotting eyes swept over this prisoner, destined to be fuel for his dying body, nothing more than energy now. These humans had no other purpose than to suit his needs, whatever they may be.
He looked up at the human's face, an expression of defeat and pain etched into his features. Blood continued spilling down its face, thick and dark red. Rich with oxygen and all the things he needed to keep functioning for a while longer. As long as he had this, he wouldn't be dying anytime soon, no matter what Dib told him. He would keep living.
Zim lifted a shaking hand, his muscles now growing weaker from lack of nourishment, in need of a new source. He tilted his head slightly, studying the human before him, and setting a clawed finger to its throat, just above the carotid artery, one of many major arteries in the human body. He dug in deep and dragged his fingers across, smiling brightly as he heard the screams and pained whines and whimpers of his cattle.
It came out immediately now, thick and red, dark as the wine that he learned humans liked drinking so much. He put his mouth against the skin, and began sucking harshly as his teeth bit into it deep and hard. His worm-like tongue shot out and licked the wound, only digging it deeper in the process.
He growled as this human thrashed around violently, screaming with pure and complete agony. The chains rattled and shook loudly, and Zim could not take this noise. He removed his mouth from the skin and slashed the man across the face, quick and forcefully. He left behind deep gashes, slicing open flesh and silencing him immediately. Now satisfied with the results, Zim continued savoring this moment, he moved his gaze to the clothes it was wearing.
He tore the shirt to shreds with his claws in seconds, the fabric weak and flimsy. Not like Zim. He was strong and unbeatable, a force that every human on the planet should fear. The Change had made him better than he was before, made him stronger, increased his rage and strength. This transformation had been the best thing to ever happen to him.
Zim studied the new areas with interest, running a hand over the chest and bare arms of his captive. This one had more meat on him than the others he had caught. Yes, this one would sustain him for a few days at most, a rarity now. He had killed most of the strong ones first, the more food on them, the better for him. The weak ones never last him very long at all now, so he had very little use to keep them as prisoners anymore. Those he killed the moment he caught them. The smart ones, the ones who knew they were doomed, they did not fight thier End, for they knew it did them no good. They accepted it, embraced it even. For those, Zim had the slightest amount of respect for.
He took off his disguise and threw it onto the floor. He never wore it when he was home. His antennae twitched excitedly, his face bright with glee and sadistic pleasure. It was always fun to play with his food a little before eating, and when he was alone with just his living captives, he liked to taunt them and torture them before he started tearing into them for real.
He enjoyed seeing and feeling all of their emotions and energy, hearing their pleas and desperate begging only making him enjoy it that much more. He loved causing pain and hurting these miserable things that were called people, but the best thing about them was the way that they always died.
The light would leave their eyes as they choked on their blood, or bled out from the puncturing of an artery. He always found it quite fascinating as their bodies slowly ceased their struggling and became still and lifeless, blood draining from them, gushing from the point of rupture, Zim lapping it up so eagerly.
He also enjoyed it when he purposefully ripped into a major artery, and the blood shot out of them in violent spurts, their beating hearts always making it that much more enjoyable as it slowly stopped beating, as he sometimes would lay his head on their chest to listen to it.
He put his hands under their arms now, pushing his claws into the rib cage, peeling away the skin and muscle over the course of a few minutes. Bones now exposed, he pulled them apart with ease, giving his meal an Irken ingredient to keep them alive even through the worst of it, to make sure that they feel all of this happening as they faded from life and existence, see themselves being ripped open and devoured by something that they had thought only existed within nightmares and horror movies.
This was very real for those he caught, something that resembled a creature that had climbed straight out of Hell itself, but Zim was no demon. Just a dying alien, mind and body obsessed with and corrupted by the thought of only keeping the tank full so it wouldn't hit on Empty.
Their breaths were shallow now, only barely audible gasps and whimpers, their body jerking reflexively as Zim dug deeper into their insides. He wasn't playing with this one anymore, and the fun had grown tiresome. He heard the heart stop its sounds and movements, still and quiet now.
As long as Zim had blood and meat, he would never die. As long as he lived, the residents who inhabited this Earth had nothing to look forward to except to be his food source, tortured and slaughtered by his hands without an ounce of remorse or mercy. The cold, dark embrace of Death would be their only savior.
This fate was what awaited Dib the next time he was caught by the Irken, a slow, painful death, chained to the wall of a dark room deep below ground, where not a soul would hear his screams and pleas, defeated and worthless. He wondered what Dib's blood tasted like.
He couldn't wait to find out.