The projectiles came flying through the air with lightning speed. Painful things, so simple, yet so very deadly… Their bright red hue displayed the indescribable pain that was surely to come. That is, if you got hit. Which was exactly what Dib did not intend to do.
His reflexes had been fine-tuned as of late. He'd been spending an awful lot of time dodging laser blasts from ominous-looking garden gnomes, avoiding sharp, spider-like mechanical legs, and, of course, in the occasional food fight that broke out in the lunchroom. It all seemed to be training for this moment, where he was on the verge of destruction.
Around him was the essence of pure mutiny. Friend turned against friend. Enemies were on the same side. The weapons flew from every possible angle. Some hit their targets with the utmost skill and precision, others flew off in any direction. The pandemonium seemed to drive the sanity out of every one of them. They could no longer see that they were all of the same species. Everyone on the other side of the line was an enemy.
In the midst of all this chaos, Dib was nothing but a thin, agile target. Not a second could be wasted. To pause meant a humiliating and agonizing defeat. He was not one to be defeated. All his thoughts were focused on his movements. A duck here, a slide there, turn now. There was only one option here- to not be hit. Some of his escapes were small miracles. Others were easy, simple dodges. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. It was all he could do not to lose himself entirely to his animal instincts, to release all his energy and fury. If he did so and flung himself into the thick of things, his senses would only return with the pain of a hit.
"Focus. Focus. Stay in control," he whispered to himself during a slight pause in action. Without warning, another projectile flew toward his head. He leaped out of the way, scarcely escaping the scarlet weapon's path. However, he had overshot his jump. Dib fell to his feet and slid until he was lying just under the line separating the two sides.
Someone was looking down at him. A cruel, malicious countenance with a sickly color to it. Sharp violet-grey eyes. Teeth that were nearly pointed drawn back in a confident sneer. The very face he would have been elated to never see again.
"I've been waiting, Earth-stink," Zim snarled.
Dib turned over, rolling onto his knees, every muscle focused and ready to spring. "What for?"
The alien glanced with satisfaction at the horrid instrument he held in his hand. "For this opportunity. I've noticed how these pathetic things affect your kind. Quite primitive, but a sweet victory nonetheless."
"You wouldn't."
"Believe me, Dib-monkey, I would. And will." Zim ran a finger over the weapon. "But I think I'll savor the moment." He inhaled. "Ah, the sweet stink of victory."
"…Sweet stink? Is that what you just said?"
"Yes."
"That's an oxymoron. If something stinks, how could it smell sweet?"
An awkward pause ensued. Zim's eyes darted around him, searching for a comeback. "SILENCE! I wouldn't be mocking your superior if I were you. After all…" the eyes, masked with contact lenses, traveled once again to what lay in his arms. "I hold your fate in my hands."
Dib scanned the area, desperately trying to find an escape. His efforts were in vain. There was no plausible way he could escape. If he managed to distract Zim (which was, after all, not a difficult task) he'd be hit by some other foe within seconds. With that option eliminated he glared defiantly at his enemy. "You think it matters? What you do now means nothing! This won't be the end of me!"
"Oh, really?" Zim snickered. "If I strike you, you will be, as they say, out."
Dib gritted his teeth in an attempt to hide his terror. "You won't be laughing when I have you on an autopsy table!"
The Irken's features hardened.
With a sudden burst of energy, words began pouring out of Dib's mouth. "That's right, space-boy! You're never going to win! No matter what you say or do, you're never going to stop me! NEVER! No matter how many 'victories' you have, the final battle won't end with you winning!"
Zim's malicious gaze fell on Dib. He slowly raised the hand in which the weapon rested. A final malevolent smile crossed his lips. "I beg to differ."
Dib closed his eyes and winced as it hit him. The force of the projectile left a stinging pain against his skin. He lay there, unmoving, as Zim's horrific laugh of triumph filled his ears.
Defeat.
After a brief moment, he heard the loud, shrill blow of a whistle, followed by the oddly masculine voice of the gym teacher. "DIB! You're out! Get up already!"
The boy rose to his feet with a scowl. He slowly made his way to the bench, trying to ignore the Irken's shrill cackle of triumph. Plunking down on the bench, Dib stared fixedly at those who continued to play, a single thought running through his mind.
Man, I hate dodgeball.