Disclaimer – I don't own Invader Zim, or any trademarked items within.
Author's Note – A flight of fancy that entered my mind while watching a select few episodes of Invader Zim; one of the few cartoons of the 21st century that's worth a damn.
Italics are thoughts.
~Italics~ are the thoughts of 'the doubt.'
Reviews of any kind are welcome but actual constructive criticism is most welcome.
The former Irken Invader watched the various layers of sediment pass by his vision as the transport tube lowered him into the deepest sections of his base. The lack of lighting and cramped nature of the tube was claustrophobic, but Zim didn't pay it any heed with a stony expression fixed on his face and his maroon eyes dull in disinterest. A small silver canister sat next to the green alien; devoid of any identifying marks save for a valve at the top and three handles affixed to the sides.
The pad slowed as it neared the bottom of the base, several miles beyond even the deepest of human excavations. Zim picked up the canister by one of the handles, checking the value with a cursory glance as a precaution.
Still sealed. Good.
He stepped off the tube's pad and made his way into the maze-like corridors of Sector 27, following a path he had long since memorized. Blank, purple walls surrounded him on all sides while bundles of red wire served as the ceiling. The floor plan seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason, but it had been done on purpose. Every single nook and corner had been personally designed by Zim to confuse and otherwise tire an intruder. At first the defenses were minor – empty rooms, confusing hallways, numerous dead ends, mislabeled directions and other visual tricks to discourage any explorer. After passing these measures, the defenses became increasingly lethal. Empty rooms gave way to heat sensing laser cannons, hallways to booby trapped entrances, dead ends to trap doors leading directly into blast furnaces and other deadly surprises. Zim's eyes began to burn brighter as he neared the purpose of the heavy security. Even with complete knowledge of the layout, it still took him nearly twenty minutes to walk the whole way to his destination; the distance involved another layer of security.
Before him stood a seamless wall with 'Bunker 27' stenciled on it in black Irken letters. The section of wall was actually the face of an interlocking set of metal blocks, woven together so perfectly that even with magnification, it would be nearly impossible to spot the seam between the blocks. Zim mentally commanded his PAK to send the code for entry, an ancient irken poem nearly thirteen pages long with each word changed to a corresponding one from a list of 1,765 different languages. If a single word differed from the one programmed into its memory, the system would activate hidden particle guns, which would then reduce anyone near the bunker entrance to sub-atomic bits. A single tonal note of acceptance rung through the hallway as the door verified the code and the blocks slid out of place to allow safe passage. Zim, eyes now glowing like burning coals, didn't immediately enter but slowly counted off thirty seconds before continuing forward, cylinder in hand. If he had entered a second earlier the blocks would have returned to their positions in a single millisecond, crushing him until he was thinner than a piece of paper. With the blocks themselves running along the entire entryway, which measured around 300 feet long, into the bunker, it wouldn't have matter how fast anyone went, they would have been pulverized. The walls of the bunker itself were almost 400 feet thick, further augmented by a colony of self-replicating nanites able to repair any harm that may befall the walls. Made up with a variety of different hardened metals and diffusing materials, Zim was of the opinion that they made up the single toughest barrier on this side of the galaxy.
But of course they are, I am Zim! His formerly blank visage turned upward into a slight smile as he recalled his former usage of third person. What an arrogant fool I was.
His booted footsteps made loud echoing clanks in the void of the tunnel-like entryway, the only illumination being a faint green light pulsing from within the bunker. The darkness and the proverbial light at the end of tunnel reminded him of how Bunker 27 came to be; enlightenment only coming after a lifetime of ignorance.
Two years ago, Zim had been working on his latest bid to conquer Earth, when he had received a call from his leaders. For three years, Tallest Purple and Tallest Red had been continually putting up with his reports in the hopes that it would keep Zim docile and far away from the Empire if he continued to believe he was on an actual mission. However, three years of constant megalomania, insipid plans and the havoc that Zim had wreaked on the Empire even when so far away had eaten away on that resolve.
Their words were venomous and full of contempt when they finally revealed the truth of his mission. Defect. That label was the most prominent of them all to Zim. The rest of his denouncement at the Tallests' hands went by in a blur as he had tried to comprehend what was happening. He hadn't even really realized when his leaders had signed off and the communication screen only listed a long series of lines in Irken script – an official notice of defectiveness endorsed by the Control Brains. His mind wouldn't accept it at first.
Banished. Defect. Exile. Failure.
Those were not words he thought could ever be applied to him, much less from the very mouths of his beloved Tallest. After shaking off the initial shock, Zim searched through his PAK to study his memories; desperate to find a reason for his judgment. Years of repressed memories and events that had been overshadowed by his egotism suddenly began to filter through his mind, each one a testament to a new reality: The Tallest were right.
After the last of his memories finally concluded before his eyes, Zim felt nothing but an ache that resonated deep within himself. For the proud Irken Invader that had first set foot on Earth five years ago, his pronouncement to be a defect and an exile hurt like nothing else had. Everything he had done in a life time that exceeded a century and a half suddenly counted for nothing. His dream of conquering untold planets for his empire and to become the greatest invader in its history were shattered, leaving him with only the broken fragments to clutch. Zim had buckled under the new feeling. It would only be later and after extensive research that he would find the closest human equivalent for the feeling: anguish.
The reactivation had been long and merciless as Zim's PAK shut down his body and brought it back in standby mode; his PAK taking control. The pain had been too much for Zim and he decided to retreat to the safety of his PAK, where he would shielded from the unfamiliar emotions that plagued his fleshy mind. After ordering a complete lockdown of the base, Zim directed his listless body to his favorite pass time – making weapons. It was his coping mechanism, for while Zim never admitted it, he was an inventor at heart and he was in his element when making killing machines. The familiarity he had with cold mechanical devices originated from his smeethood, when the first thing he saw was a robotic arm introducing him to the world. It was the martial nature of his irken nature that lead him to be most enjoyed by creating machines that dealt death and destruction. It was a familiar comfort and an escape from reality as his PAK downloaded personality pulled the strings of its mindless host body.
Zim neglected everything as he unceasingly worked, while his mind was left in a state of unconsciousness. The computer, well aware of what had transpired with the Tallest, took his orders without comment or question as he supplied his master with the raw materials he needed. Gir silently watched from a corner as his attempts to talk to Zim were ignored. Laser rifles, Ion cannons, plasma launchers and other insidious weapons piled up as Zim focused on the small burst of enjoyment he felt upon each weapon's completion. Nothing else mattered at the time but to continue ignoring his exile, to ignore the hurt.
Zim's mental tribulation came to an end on the eighth day after the Tallest's call with him finally deciding to return to his mind, having grown restless from the limited input that he received from the dull senses of his PAK. That had been another first for Zim as he pulled his consciousness back into his fleshy mind, very much feeling like he had pulled his entire existence through the eye of a needle during the transition. He still felt the pain and the feeling of hopelessness, but he was able to hold it off with a grimace. Everything after that had been gradual steps to returning to normal. Eating Gir's waffles to placate the little robot. Ordering the computer to lift the lockdown on the house. Going back to Skool. He even began to plot against the Earth to throw Dib off the real reason behind his absence, but he didn't want to conquer Earth anymore.
In fact, he didn't know what to do. Having his life's purpose pulled out from under him had left him listless and unsure of what to do. Normally, an irken would self-destruct or go insane without actually having a function, but Zim was different. Somewhere in the errors programmed into his PAK, he had acquired the ability to operate beyond the normal boundaries of an irken. Irkens, even the Tallest, were all part of a gigantic machine with each one of them having a function to serve. Operating outside of that machine meant certain death for a correctly operating irken as they simply couldn't. But Zim had coped, thanks to his faulty programming that afflicted him since his 'birth.' His PAK had never fully turned him into just another slave like the others, hopeless but to obey. The tiny sliver of independence he had from smeethood was what had saved him as it gave him a vital foundation to rebuild upon. From the ashes, a new Zim was born.
From then on, Zim had grown both in size and maturity. Zim had previously been so wrapped up in his ego and short-sightedness that he had never really developed beyond the mindset of a child and his height reflected that. However, his breakdown had whittled away at that and in the two years afterwards he had grown explosively. Zim was at a loss to explain his physical growth to himself. Most irkens assumed that height correlated to the individual's natural ability, but Zim had seen very little to prove this with Skoodge coming to mind. In any event, while he was still shorter than the Tallest, five foot five inches was very tall for his race and had even coincided quite nicely with the human developmental stage known as 'puberty.'
Though he hid it well from Dib and the others, he had also advanced intellectually. Dib suddenly became nothing more than an irritation who was easily fooled into thinking that he still had a chance against his rival. It became almost funny to Zim how easily he could crush Earth once he was unimpeded by his ego-based stupidity. All it would take would be a quick trip to his space station, activating the onboard lasers, deactivate the teleporter in his base, a quick blast to destroy Tak's ship at Dib's house and he was invulnerable to anything the Earth could mount. No complex plans, no specified revenge against Dib and no warning; it would be smeet's play. Even Gaz would be helpless if Zim decided to bath the entire world in a continuous laser barrage. Earth would be left in ruins and anyone that survived would be easy pickings for the Ex-Invader. The only thing that stopped him was the fact he still wasn't sure what he wanted to do. The destruction of an entire world merely for enjoyment was not exactly a prudent move when you had no long term goal. Besides, it was the closest thing he had to home left, even if the liquid covering the majority of its surface was acidic to him.
However, Zim, no matter what he went through, was still Zim. He still felt the ingrained Irken need for destruction and soon realized the need for a type of release should he want to keep himself under control. So he made weapons. But instead of the hand held death-dealers he had previously worked on, he expanded his horizon. Planet cracking bombs, nanites that would replicate through striping entire worlds of material, biological weapons that would liquidate the infected's organs, a black hole generator and other fantastical creations. A multitude of ideas flowed from Zim's mind as he threw himself at his true craft. Soon, the base was filled with a multitude of apocalyptic weapons, many of which merely required a single button to be pushed for activation. It was only after Gir decided to play 'press all the shiny buttons in the base' that Zim realized that even within his own base, the weapons were not safe. While Gir was bad enough, the last thing he needed was for Dib to have one of his rare competent moments and break in to discover his creations. So, Zim built Bunker 27. With its thick walls, repair nanites, independent plasma generator, self-contained nature and very own labyrinth to protect it; it was the most secure location on Earth.
Zim shook off his memories as he finally came to the end of the bunker's entryway. Green light enveloped him as he entered the bunker proper, which was basically nothing more than an enormous warehouse. The source of the light was the numerous shields present within the unlit bunker, each one containing a different weapon of destruction within a self contained sphere of protective, green energy. Each shield was proportional to the object within and all had a holographic line of red Irken script that rotated around the equator to detail what was within. Logging in with the primitive AI system that controlled the bunker, since it was totally independent from the Computer's control, Zim glanced at his creations as he made his way to his ultimate destination. 'MX-4,' a mech suit fitted with enough weaponry and armor to make the Megadoomer look like a plastic toy armed with firecrackers. 'Object-12,' a tank-sized machine that drilled its way into a planet and created world-spanning seismic vibrations to devastate anything situated on the ground. 'DB-2 Bomb,' a sphere three meters in diameter that could be fired into a sun to stop the chemical reactions within and cause it to collapse in on itself. Zim's destructive side longed to unleash the weapons he had created and show everyone just what he was capable of, but Zim forced down on the longing as he reached his destination, the cataloging pad.
Zim stepped up to the raised pad, located directly in the middle of the bunker, and set the silver canister he had been carrying all along in the center.
"Bunker, Command: New Entry." Zim intoned loudly after stepping off the pad.
"Command Confirmed." The Bunker AI thundered as the pad began to power up. "Entry Classification?"
"Classification: Nanites. Object Name: WC series, number 9. Hazardous Status: Level 4." Zim heard the plasma generator in the pad begin to hum in preparation.
"Classification Confirmed. Begin Shielding?"
Zim focused all his attention on the canister, its contents now classified as WC-9. Only three hundred nanites resided within the canister, but they had been programmed to seek out all organic life, break the victims down to raw atoms, and then construct more of themselves from the resulting material. Total time till an earth sized planet's biosphere would be destroyed clocked around anywhere from one day to a week depending on the delivery method.
With a single turn of a valve, I could doom ever single life form on this miserable ball of dirt.
Zim growled lowly as he fought off his ingrained need for destruction and gave the order. "Begin."
The humming suddenly intensified as the pad activated its shield generator, enclosing the WC-9 canister in a floating green sphere as it had all the other contents of the bunker. Once the shield had been set in place, the pad powered down and the sphere was moved into the nanite section of the bunker by a robotic arm on the ceiling.
Zim's eyes began to dim as he saw his latest creation being moved away. He did a slow rotation and examined the long rows of bombs, mech suits, lasers, and other weaponry he had accumulated.
~Why? Why do you create them and then simply shelf them away? Surely you could buy your way back into the Tallests' graces with just a fraction that is in here.~
The doubting thoughts came unheeded as always.
"Is that what I want?" Zim questioned himself out loud. A problem by being on an alien planet with only an insane robot and a snarky computer was that you were your own confidant, no matter how insane it was to seemingly debate with yourself.
~I don't know.~
"Exactly." He turned to the exit and started walking.
~Then what? What are you doing by being a one irken arms factory?~
"Nothing. I wait for a purpose to manifest itself," Zim growled in answer.
~That's your plan? Wait for something to magically fall from the heavens? That's pathetic.~
Zim reached the entrance and once again sent the poem-code to leave.
"Maybe, but have you thought of something to commit to in the past two years?" Only silence met Zim as he watched the blocks recede once more.
"Then I have only one rational option, wait for something. Even if it's been two years, something will happen eventually and I will go from there," Zim said in assurance. The doubt maintained its silence as Zim started back into the tunnel entrance of the bunker.
~I suppose you're right. Plenty of people out there want to kill you and eventually at least one of them will show up.~
Darkness enveloped Zim as he walked away from the green light of the bunker's interior, a slight chill suddenly making its way through his body. He couldn't find fault in the doubt's logic.