Zim woke with a start, blinking at the light spilling through the blinds. He sat up, wincing as his antennae flicked up. He'd slept on the left one wrong, and it hurt. He rubbed it gingerly as he glanced down at the controller still in his hand.
Must have fallen asleep during the game.
He pushed back the blanket that—blanket?—He stared. It was definitely a blanket. Dib, most likely, he assured himself. But hadn't Dib been upstairs all night? He could have easily come down while I was asleep. He nodded. Dib had blanketed him. It was thoughtful, maybe Zim would refrain from punching him for a week, even if he said stupid things.
He brushed the blanket aside and stood, stretching. A visit to the clothings store would find him a new sweater to replace the one in tatters. And if they didn't have one just like this, he would find some tailor-drone to do the work. He'd come to like this one, it was comfortable, and maybe even—
Something blew past him, knocking him back down to the couch. A wailing shriek tore through the silence, as things began to crash and break around the room. A shadow flailed along the walls, the floor, the ceiling. It was everywhere and nowhere at once, always moving, flailing, gibbering a scrambled mess of words. It stretched and compacted, reaching out and curling in on itself every other second, unable to stay still. Even so, only one such shadow would come here.
"Gaz, what happened to you?" Zim stared in horror.
An inarticulate wail was the only response he received.
Something flashed through his mind, and he grabbed onto it. It was a slim shot, but Gaz was in no state to tell him anything, and it was his only clue. He darted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and swinging around to burst into Gaz's room. The flesh-eating dolls all gleamed to life, homing in on him. This time he was ready, this time he knew where they were, and exactly what his target was.
As the jack-in-the-box sprang at him, he leaped over it, catching hold of the ceiling fan and swinging around. The clawed-monkey grabbed ahold of a spinning fan-blade, but Zim had already released, dropping down onto Gaz's bureau. Sweeping a leg, he cleared the top of the dresser of all dolls. One hand wrapped around the handle of her CD player, the other snatched a handful of the nearby musical discs. A large metallic-jointed snake coiled at the base of the dresser, ready to strike the second he leaped. He extended a laser, blasting the snake's head off as he hit the floor, bounding out the door and back down the stairs.
The living room was being torn to pieces. Where is Dib? He plugged the player into the nearest outlet he could find and loaded a CD in, slamming the play button. Seconds later, a smooth, commanding strain of music floated out from the speakers. Zim cranked the volume up, hoping his hunch was correct.
The shadow flailed toward the player, landing on the floor nearby and puddling in place. It still jerked and spasmed, but as the music swelled and reached its crescendo, the movements stilled more and more. By the end of the piece, the puddle was perfectly still.
Zim leaned over as the next song began to play. "Gaz? Can you hear me?"
A flare reached upward from the puddle, and dissipated back down. She couldn't hold a shape, whatever damage had been done to her was bad, and he needed Dib. He rose to leave, when a flare wrapped around his ankle. The contact ripped through his mind, as a helpless sob wracked his thoughts.
He's going to kill her. Zim, he's going to kill her, and I can't stop him. I can't stop him!
Alarmed, Zim sat down, placing his hands on the puddle for more information. "He's going to kill who? Who is he?"
An image seared into his mind, a face. A contemptuous glare on the face of an Irken, covered in red marks. Power to create things out of nothing. Assigned to kill Gloria.
He already tried once, but he's going to come again. He doesn't care who I tell, because he knew nobody can stop him! The thoughts reached a fevered pitch. I can't stop an Irken, Zim! He knew my weakness. I expect the Armada to know a Morflar's weakness, they keep Morflars for training purposes, but not outlaws like him. How does he know? I can't stop him! He's going to kill her, we have to get back to Mom! Small flares reached out from the puddle as she struggled to take form.
Zim pressed his hands against the flares, shoving them back down. "No. Now you listen to me Gaz, you are going to stay here. Whatever this music does it must help you counteract whatever attack he launched. You're not strong enough."
But—
"No! Stay here! I will send an urgent message to Tallest Red. If we must speak in private, the eyes of Irk can't follow us everywhere on Earth. I will tell him to bring her, and we will regroup and plan from here." He kept a hand on the puddle. "I will find Dib and bring him here. Just don't move."
Zim turned, making a beeline for the door. If Dib hadn't come down to investigate after all that noise, then he wasn't in the house. If he wasn't in the house, Zim had no idea where to start. But if Dib's end-of-the-world-text was any indication, he knew where to start.
