FILE: [INVADER ZIM]/The-Rats-Of-NIMH...

-LOG ENTRY 03-

ALL/GROWN/UP:EXE.06-24-2017

"ZIM! Get the hell back here!" Dib roared, running at full tilt across the playground. It was Saturday, so their old skool was deserted. Zim skittered under the jungle-gym, feet kicking up gravel as he made for the swings.

"Not likely, Dib-stink!" he called over his shoulder, using his mechanical arms to vault himself towards the see-saw. Dib pushed to run faster, harder, his feet pounding the pavement and his heart drumming a solo against his ribcage, pumping out battery acid.

Zim glanced over his shoulder, noticed the boy was gaining on him, and urged himself to run faster. They'd chased each other all across town and back again so many times that he was a very good runner by now. But so was Dib.

It was strange how much things had changed in the last decade, and then stayed exactly the same. For instance, he had yet to destroy the Earth, thanks to Dib, frag him. But he was relentless, and had managed to propagate rap in the entertainment industry by 35 percent, made reality TV shows more abundant, kept the cure for the common cold a secret, and exacerbate global warming so that in twenty or so years some places would become a little less pleasant to live in.

At least he'd gotten bigger, that was something. Naturally, being Zim, the only thing he did with the knowledge of the caffeine inhibiting his system was to give himself some height, having become completely single-minded in his utter refusal to be even an inch shorter than the Dib-beast. However, Zim was so focused on this one factor that he had not once thought to make himself any taller than the boy, either.

Over the years he'd been through several different wigs and looks and styles, mostly out of sheer boredom. He wore "earth" clothes when he was out or at school, namely to avoid getting his ass kicked for wearing pink (apparently, this had something to do with faggotry, though he was baffled as to why), but he still had a fondness for his Irken uniform as it was far more comfortable than the plant and/or animal-matter the humans had the audacity to call clothing. All in all, he had the comfortable, careless look of your average young adult. Personality-wise he was still the callous, irreverent, manipulative, pitiless, vindictive, obstinate little insect he'd always been.

Dib's outlook hadn't changed that much, either, considering he'd gained a dozen or so inches. Every other year or so he got a new coat, and added a few more buckles here and there. He'd not gotten a hair-cut lately, seeing as he was completely broke nowadays, so had it pulled back into what could be called a wolf's tail. But as time had gone by, he'd grown more and more embittered towards the world in general, contemptuous of humanity for its enduring stupidity, and disappointed in the people around him. It showed in the way he often looked down his nose at others, the disdain and bite of his voice, his impatience and ill-temper. Those who knew him avoided him, and those who didn't learned quickly to do so. It wasn't because he was considered crazy—not out loud, at least—but because he had the innate ability to make anyone he didn't like (which pretty much consisted of everybody) feel lower than dirt.

Everything considered, the both of them had grown up, though they were a far cry from the standard twenty-something year old.

A decade of being at one another's throats had honed and pounded them both to a razor's edge. Zim was lean and sharp and wiry, coiled tight and ready to spring at a moment's notice. He was terribly fast, with deadly accuracy, and ruthlessly unyielding. Dib, in comparison, was tough as nails, absolutely solid, and could take as much punishment as he could dish out, which, let it be said, was a considerable amount. He also threw a mean right hook, and had an innate understanding of a plethora of cool martial arts moves.

In fact, on more than one occasion Dib caught some girl eyeing him appreciatively and it was not an altogether unwelcome change. But he was so anti-social he had few friends, and even fewer intimate relationships.

Which was precisely the reason he now wanted to tear Zim's guts out.

"You've gone too far this time!" Dib shouted. "I swear, Zim, I'll get you for this!"

"Please! There are plenty of other she-worms crawling around this stink-hole! I'm sure you'll find another one willing exchange love-juices with!" Zim laughed.

"We never went that far!" Dib screeched shrilly, blushing despite himself. "And it's none of your business what I do with my girlfriend, anyway!"

"Ex-girlfriend!" the Irk corrected, jumping the fence.

"Thanks to you!" Dib shot back, hot on his heels. He was catching up. "I can't believe you actually—"

"Oh, come on, you and I both know why she dumped you," Zim snorted, his voice just dripping with sarcasm. "You're the one who didn't give her enough love and attention. If you hadn't been chasing after me all the time—"

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Dib shrieked, and leapt forward. He hit Zim's midriff head-on, and sent them both tumbling into the asphalt. "This is your fault!"

"…That and you're a loser," Zim said as an afterthought, deadpanning, and briefly rested his head almost thoughtfully in his hand. "Now get off Zim!" He lurched up, throwing Dib off his back, and glared hatefully at the boy. Dib glared right back, and then they'd shot to their feet in an instant and were sizing each other up, about to hurl into the fight that would end all fights, the ultimate battle, the one that would decide them all.

"This ends now, Zim," Dib hissed.

"Nice knowing you, Dib," Zim snarled.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

And then, as it tends to do, life got in the way and suddenly the mood deflated like a popped balloon.

"Ah, crud, hold on," Dib said, exasperated, as he turned to fish in his back pocket for his cell phone.

"Yeah, sure," Zim shrugged, leaning nonchalantly against a nearby tree, and buffed his nails across his chest.

"Hello?" Dib said, his voice taking on a business-like tone. "Oh, hey. What? Huh. What's the situation? Uh-huh. How many? And how long were they dead? Right. Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there in a minute." He hung up.

"Bad news?" Zim said, completely unconcerned.

"It's always bad news."

"Yeah? And what's the 'situation'?" the alien asked snidely, his fingers sketching quotations in the air.

"Car collision, just outside of town," Dib replied casually, speed-dialing for a cab.

Zim looked positively delighted. "Excellent!"

"You're despicable. And sick. You know that, right?" Dib said, giving the alien a scathing look. "And we're not done here. We'll finish this when I get back."

"Can't wait," Zim scoffed.

"God, I hate you."

"Zim hates you more!"

"Fair enough."

[…Please Wait While The File Loads…]

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE

Well, I had to do it. I had to. Describing Zim and Dib's grown-up hawtness is a necessity in any grown-up ZADR. And after all the whining I did about it…God, I'm such a hypocrite. BUT! That will be the only stereo-typical ZADR thing I will do. So yeah, this is another build-up chappie, to introduce you to grown-up Dib and Zim. Now excuse me while I go drool over them…'specially Ziiiimmm…

Anyway. Thank you, microwaved noodles and TaylorTheWierd for your reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying NIMH-always a little nervous how people will take a new story. So you all get where we are now? Ten years after chapter two, but before chapter one. Got it? Good. Just making sure. And FYI, Dib is now about twenty-three, if we're to believe he was twelve during the cartoon. Zim's age…well, he's just ancient.

As for the caffeine, it was just a stroke of genius. Maybe Zim'll chill out a bit, now. But not much—I love him just the way he is.

Peace out.

Raha