All alone floating above a long dead world is a space station. On it work brilliant scientific minds. On it slave tortured insane minds. It was always a thin line to tread and in some cases the line vanished. These minds, sane or otherwise work non-stop to supply the Irken Empire with weaponry of the highest caliber. With the technology spawned here worlds had fallen. Life had been reinvented. If one of the inmates of this sterile secure scientific prison decided to change sides, it could mean the doom of many Irken military projects. The Irken military didn't look kindly on misplaced doom.
Quilux was franticly shoving his belongings into his shrinkable suitcase. Currently the size of a bed it would shrink to the size of his palm when told to do so. He should know he invented it himself. However his mind was not on this fact, but set on the path ahead of him. Soon he would be the most wanted Irken in the empire. The high crime of treason was not taking lightly. In his business you couldn't get out unless you were dead. That wasn't good for his schedule. However he knew that he couldn't fake his way through much longer. Somehow they would know. They always knew. The daily pak scans told them more then he wanted. So far he had tricked the scans with a few old backup copies of his mind, but they knew. That is why he was sweating from every pore, his skin a several shades lighter then normal, and his eyes threatening to tear. With a groan he ran into the bathroom located only a room away. His cell had two rooms, an unheard of luxury. He threw what remained of his launch into the sink, unable to make it to the toilet. Panting with fear he wiped his mouth and groaned again. Running back into his room, he punched in the code to shrink his suitcase. It promptly shrunk to a small compressed size, easily able to fit into a pocket. He scooped it up off the floor with a spare mechanical arm, and pulled it in to his pak.
Then he slowed suddenly. He bent over his cot and gingerly picked up what was too important to haphazardly throw in his pak. It was a black case about a foot across and tall. It was only a few inches wide and made of the tanned skin of an animal dyed black. That in its self was rare in a world of technological purity. Forgetting everything for a moment he sighed aloud and happily stroked the case. He hugged it to his chest and grinned. Suddenly snapping out of his reprieve, he jogged to his door and punched in the exit code. Slowly he poked his head out in to the hallway. Seeing it's all clear he allows himself another sigh, this one of relief. This area being one of the sane dormitories, the guards did not make as many rounds. Ignoring the bile rising in his throat he lunges into the hallway, clutching his prize to his frail chest. His red eyes wide with frantic blind fear he hurls himself down the hallway, barely remembering to use his mechanical legs. Making it all the way to the end, he skids to a stop at the elevator door. Nervously he frees one hand to punch in the code. His shaking claws betray him and the door beeps red at the wrongly entered password.
In the grating above him his fears take material form. Like lightening the assassin bursts downward through the ceiling and with a swift powerful kick to the back of his head, downs Quilux. The well-aimed kick knocks Quilux's beloved case from his arms. It hits the metal wall of the hallway, it's metal clasps breaking with a snap. Quilux has no chance to realize the danger to his prize, his own danger a more mortal peril. The assassin straitens from a crouching position behind him with no sound. Quilux, sprawled on his face tries to get up. Dazed he wipes the blood from his mouth. Without warning the assassin strikes again grabbing him from behind. His arms flail and claw the air as his antennae are pulled painfully back and up revealing his throat. He draws in breath to scream but never gets the chance. His throat is quickly and cleanly slashed wide open. The assassins death grip is released and he drops like a sack of spare parts, his blood splashing across the hallway. He makes a few gurgling noises and twitches on the floor spreading farther the pool of his own blood. His vision darkens and he never even sees who brought his ultimate end.
The assassin pauses head tilted to the side watching life quickly trickle away. Even for an Irken she seems more mechanical then living. Her height is average for an Irken not very tall or exceedingly short. Enough to gain her a good promotion or two if she was in a standard Irken profession. Her limbs are thin and wirie like most Irkens, but posses more mussel then shown at first glance. Like a doll she wares what looks to be a standard military issue uniform, such as invaders use. However, where an invader's shirt is red hers is deep blue. Not that anyone would ever comment on the difference. The rest of her outfit is also standard fare; boots gloves pants and undershirt all normal. The clothing does not hamper or improve her movement Even her pak is that of the ordinary Irken.
Two things other then her shirt reveal her to not be what she seems. On her right wrist there is a gauntlet that ends just below her elbow. As she steps calmly out of the slowing path of flowing blood. She shuts off the near silent humming energy dagger, and withdraws the metal part of the blade into the hilt. She then replaces the hilt back in to its slot on the gauntlet. The hilt is one of two stored in her gauntlet. The other thing that reveals her non-normalcy is her eye color. The pitch-black orbs seem not to reflect light, but draw it in like twin black holes. She blinks slowly, her face showing no emotion. She is not pleased or distressed by her actions she just is. Slowly she turns her head scanning the hall. Her dead eyes stop finally on an anomaly. She steps over to the once precious case. Calm and calculating she shows no thoughts of the murder she has just committed. Her mission done, she does not spare a thought for the target. In fact knowledge of the target is fading from her mind, where once it overwhelmed all.
The case like a gutted fish displays its innards. Rows and rows of information disks. A lifetime of priceless knowledge. She raises a boot to crush them, then pauses. Mission parameters reasserting over primal urges. Once again she tilts her head listening to inner demons. She puts a finger covered in blood to her mouth. Absentmindedly she licks the blood off, then bend over and shuts the case. She picks it up with her clean hand and stows it under her arm. With her free hand she hits a button on her gauntlet and vanishes. The progress of the station goes on aware and unhindered by the death of one of its occupants. The clean up druids with soon find him and remove any trace of his existence. The pak's shut down already distantly registered by the far off information regulation planet, in a day or so his room will be given to a new resident. Progress marches ever onward.
For a change of pace I am putting my note all the way down here, so those who seek info on this strange fiction have to read it and be completely confused first. I am so cruel. As everyone, their mother, and their moose knows, I don't own Zim. Call me miss repeats the obvious. I have said it many times but I don't even own the computer I typed this on. My spelling grammar ect, is truly, utterly horrendously horrible. Yes I know I have studied the problem for years, and pronounce myself defective. (Yes I do use spell check.) Seeing that I am already aware of my shortcomings don't pour too much salt on my wounds in your reviews. . As for what this has to do with Zim.. Well the main character in this fiction is my Irken role-play avatar. The more I used her the more interesting she became. Thus this will be her back-story. No it's not a si because she is not me, I merely pretend to be her every once and a while.. I would never be so violent. I am not going to use any one else's rp characters, so it's not like I am just rewriting an old rp. This is all completely and utterly original brain spewing from me. Unless someone out there knows something I don't. In which case feel free to hunt me down and thwack me with a watermelon. The rating will remain as is due to the bloody nature of this and future chapters. I don't like the thought of small children being damaged by me... but if you think it is too low/high inform me. Not that I will change it but I will consider your well thought out arguments.
Quilux was franticly shoving his belongings into his shrinkable suitcase. Currently the size of a bed it would shrink to the size of his palm when told to do so. He should know he invented it himself. However his mind was not on this fact, but set on the path ahead of him. Soon he would be the most wanted Irken in the empire. The high crime of treason was not taking lightly. In his business you couldn't get out unless you were dead. That wasn't good for his schedule. However he knew that he couldn't fake his way through much longer. Somehow they would know. They always knew. The daily pak scans told them more then he wanted. So far he had tricked the scans with a few old backup copies of his mind, but they knew. That is why he was sweating from every pore, his skin a several shades lighter then normal, and his eyes threatening to tear. With a groan he ran into the bathroom located only a room away. His cell had two rooms, an unheard of luxury. He threw what remained of his launch into the sink, unable to make it to the toilet. Panting with fear he wiped his mouth and groaned again. Running back into his room, he punched in the code to shrink his suitcase. It promptly shrunk to a small compressed size, easily able to fit into a pocket. He scooped it up off the floor with a spare mechanical arm, and pulled it in to his pak.
Then he slowed suddenly. He bent over his cot and gingerly picked up what was too important to haphazardly throw in his pak. It was a black case about a foot across and tall. It was only a few inches wide and made of the tanned skin of an animal dyed black. That in its self was rare in a world of technological purity. Forgetting everything for a moment he sighed aloud and happily stroked the case. He hugged it to his chest and grinned. Suddenly snapping out of his reprieve, he jogged to his door and punched in the exit code. Slowly he poked his head out in to the hallway. Seeing it's all clear he allows himself another sigh, this one of relief. This area being one of the sane dormitories, the guards did not make as many rounds. Ignoring the bile rising in his throat he lunges into the hallway, clutching his prize to his frail chest. His red eyes wide with frantic blind fear he hurls himself down the hallway, barely remembering to use his mechanical legs. Making it all the way to the end, he skids to a stop at the elevator door. Nervously he frees one hand to punch in the code. His shaking claws betray him and the door beeps red at the wrongly entered password.
In the grating above him his fears take material form. Like lightening the assassin bursts downward through the ceiling and with a swift powerful kick to the back of his head, downs Quilux. The well-aimed kick knocks Quilux's beloved case from his arms. It hits the metal wall of the hallway, it's metal clasps breaking with a snap. Quilux has no chance to realize the danger to his prize, his own danger a more mortal peril. The assassin straitens from a crouching position behind him with no sound. Quilux, sprawled on his face tries to get up. Dazed he wipes the blood from his mouth. Without warning the assassin strikes again grabbing him from behind. His arms flail and claw the air as his antennae are pulled painfully back and up revealing his throat. He draws in breath to scream but never gets the chance. His throat is quickly and cleanly slashed wide open. The assassins death grip is released and he drops like a sack of spare parts, his blood splashing across the hallway. He makes a few gurgling noises and twitches on the floor spreading farther the pool of his own blood. His vision darkens and he never even sees who brought his ultimate end.
The assassin pauses head tilted to the side watching life quickly trickle away. Even for an Irken she seems more mechanical then living. Her height is average for an Irken not very tall or exceedingly short. Enough to gain her a good promotion or two if she was in a standard Irken profession. Her limbs are thin and wirie like most Irkens, but posses more mussel then shown at first glance. Like a doll she wares what looks to be a standard military issue uniform, such as invaders use. However, where an invader's shirt is red hers is deep blue. Not that anyone would ever comment on the difference. The rest of her outfit is also standard fare; boots gloves pants and undershirt all normal. The clothing does not hamper or improve her movement Even her pak is that of the ordinary Irken.
Two things other then her shirt reveal her to not be what she seems. On her right wrist there is a gauntlet that ends just below her elbow. As she steps calmly out of the slowing path of flowing blood. She shuts off the near silent humming energy dagger, and withdraws the metal part of the blade into the hilt. She then replaces the hilt back in to its slot on the gauntlet. The hilt is one of two stored in her gauntlet. The other thing that reveals her non-normalcy is her eye color. The pitch-black orbs seem not to reflect light, but draw it in like twin black holes. She blinks slowly, her face showing no emotion. She is not pleased or distressed by her actions she just is. Slowly she turns her head scanning the hall. Her dead eyes stop finally on an anomaly. She steps over to the once precious case. Calm and calculating she shows no thoughts of the murder she has just committed. Her mission done, she does not spare a thought for the target. In fact knowledge of the target is fading from her mind, where once it overwhelmed all.
The case like a gutted fish displays its innards. Rows and rows of information disks. A lifetime of priceless knowledge. She raises a boot to crush them, then pauses. Mission parameters reasserting over primal urges. Once again she tilts her head listening to inner demons. She puts a finger covered in blood to her mouth. Absentmindedly she licks the blood off, then bend over and shuts the case. She picks it up with her clean hand and stows it under her arm. With her free hand she hits a button on her gauntlet and vanishes. The progress of the station goes on aware and unhindered by the death of one of its occupants. The clean up druids with soon find him and remove any trace of his existence. The pak's shut down already distantly registered by the far off information regulation planet, in a day or so his room will be given to a new resident. Progress marches ever onward.
For a change of pace I am putting my note all the way down here, so those who seek info on this strange fiction have to read it and be completely confused first. I am so cruel. As everyone, their mother, and their moose knows, I don't own Zim. Call me miss repeats the obvious. I have said it many times but I don't even own the computer I typed this on. My spelling grammar ect, is truly, utterly horrendously horrible. Yes I know I have studied the problem for years, and pronounce myself defective. (Yes I do use spell check.) Seeing that I am already aware of my shortcomings don't pour too much salt on my wounds in your reviews. . As for what this has to do with Zim.. Well the main character in this fiction is my Irken role-play avatar. The more I used her the more interesting she became. Thus this will be her back-story. No it's not a si because she is not me, I merely pretend to be her every once and a while.. I would never be so violent. I am not going to use any one else's rp characters, so it's not like I am just rewriting an old rp. This is all completely and utterly original brain spewing from me. Unless someone out there knows something I don't. In which case feel free to hunt me down and thwack me with a watermelon. The rating will remain as is due to the bloody nature of this and future chapters. I don't like the thought of small children being damaged by me... but if you think it is too low/high inform me. Not that I will change it but I will consider your well thought out arguments.