Two weeks earlier...

Zims POV

How long have I been in this chair, staring up at this blank monitor? It seems like eons, but truthfully it's only been hours. I'm here, every day, staring at this monitor. Just hoping they would call back, and tell me they were just kidding. Tell me, that it was all a joke.

I've been on this planet for eight years... Eight long, and drawn out years...

But four years ago they called me, and that's when I found out I had nowhere to go back to. It was still there, but they didn't want me. They NEVER wanted me. I'm a defect, and I didn't even know it. They knew, they always knew. Both of them hate me, because I feel...

Just because I feel...

I sigh, and swivel my chair to the only monitor that was actually turned on. The one in the Dib-humans house. The one in HER room. Her purple hair cascades over her pillow, and the blankets cover her thin, perfect form. I tilt my head in wonder. What time is it?

The clock in the corner says 3:30 A.M. I've been in here for ten hours...

The full force of how exhausted I really am hits me with a big, loud yawn. I stand, and walk over to the controls a few feet away. I press three buttons, and the wall slides open to reveal a small rectangle barley big enough for me to fit in.

I spin around, and step back into the sleep chamber. Metal arms detach my PAK, and reattach it to the wall for recharge. Two thin wires snake from the wall behind me, and insert themselves into the holes where my PAK latches onto my spine.

My eyes grow heavy as my body relaxes, and after a few moments I fall into a deep sleep.

...

And I dream...

The memories that were supposed to be wiped from my mind, but subconsciously stored in my PAK. They began to unlock themselves, and I remembered everything they did to me... They tried to show me what disciplinary actions they could in force... They tortured me, scarred me, and then made me forget it ever happened.

The whole point of torturing me and making me forget, is that in my PAK's subconcious I would always remember what they can do to me. To keep me in line. But now the memories are coming back, in the form of terrible nightmares...

I see fire, and a long metal rod. At the end of the rod is an emblem. The emblem of a defect. I see them press it against my chest, and I scream in agony as it burns into my flesh. Distorting the smooth, velvet like skin into a horrible, twisted scar. I am marked...

Then I see them standing over me. His red eyes next to the others purple. They tower over me, smirking, long knives in their hands. Then...

Then they cut...

I see my purple blood pool out onto my skin, and I stifle my whimpers of pain. They laugh, and cut deeper. Only on my arms and legs, making sure not to harm the mark still smoking on my chest. My mouth betrays me, and flies open in a cry of submission, and my begging them to stop.

But they won't stop... They find it to funny, to see me writhing and bleeding like an injured animal. Because that's all I am to them. Just a lowly creature they can abuse and cast aside. Like a doll that has been played with one to many times.

But the worst parts... Are the psychological torture. They infiltrate my mind, and bring up only my darkest fears. They use it all against me, making me see what I dread the most. Make me hallucinate so real, it might as well have been there...

They kept me in a cell... With nothing. Not even clothes. They were worried I would use them to end my life, and re-leave myself of their unbearable torture. At that point, suicide was a solution that would have been gladly accepted.

But they wouldn't allow it... They wouldn't stop...

Every hour, of every day, for three weeks, they came back to torture me. They would let my wounds heal only slightly, then they would cut them back open. They never let me bleed out, they always supplied me with just enough blood to keep me alive, but not enough to were as I could fight back.

It was always cut...

Cut...

Cut...

Cut.

CUT.

CUT!

I awake screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. The clock inside the sleep chamber reads 7:49 A.M. Almost time for another day of this human "HiSkool". I don't even need to keep up appearances now that my mission has no meaning. But I do anyways, as this pathetic dirt ball will be my new home for a VERY long time...