A Parade of Indignities Chapter 11: Chaos Theory, an invader zim fanfic

Author's Note

Hello everyone! I apologize for the VERY late update; school is really kicking my ass this semester. I'll try to get back to a fortnightly update routine. I'm still incredibly enthusiastic about this story; it's just slow goings these days! Once again, I am absolutely ecstatic to see all the praise it has received! You are all so amazing and I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

First and foremost, I want to give yet another shout out to my very dear friend, dib07. She recently created some gorgeous fanart for 'Parade,' and I'm still reeling! She went all out, too, devoting time and energy to draw two pictures inspired by this fic. There is truly no better feeling than receiving fanart, and it makes it even more special coming from a cherished friend and fellow writer (who I look up to immensely, I might add!) I now have a small, albeit growing wall of art inspired by 'A Parade of Indignities,' from both her and some other freaking amazing readers and I swear, just looking at it makes me tear up like nothing else!

So thank you so much, girl! None of it would exist without you! Your support and friendship is absolutely irreplaceable and has inspired me to make this story the best it can be from the very beginning! I never thought I could make it this far as a writer, and you pushed me there!

Okay! Enjoy the chapter, everyone!

Much love,

RissyNicole

Chapter 11: Of Chaos Theory and Half-Baked Revelations

His mind had resigned itself to the onus Dib felt thrust upon him, regardless of reason.

He had memorized the quickest route to Zim's base long ago and his feet trudged forward almost of their own accord. He had walked this way hundreds of times, all for the same reason; to ensure that Zim wasn't in the midst of plotting anything that could be a legitimate danger to mankind. Now, though, it was the Irken himself who was in danger.

The sole thing keeping him connected to reality was the soft crunch of his boots through the snow and the fog of his breath in the dead of night. The weather here was never consistent. Especially not in March. It went by its own accord, warm one day and in single digits the next until the reassuring inevitability of summer skies could quell its unpredictability.

The wind nipped at his face and its intensity nearly blinded him as the snowflakes assaulted his vision. Dib kept a straight face, though, as he ambled on. It wasn't much of an effort.

Never before, though, had be felt so…absent. Absent of logic and a clear, concrete motive. Absent of that tie that brought him down to earth and provided him with the rationale to make informed decisions based on judgement instead of intuition alone.

Something almost otherworldly seemed to compel him to keep moving forward, to trudge down the snow-covered sidewalk and ignore the maelstrom of squalls and blistering cold around him.

Perhaps this was what insanity felt like. True insanity. It was the omission of reason in one's actions, replaced instead with blind persistence and recklessness. Even more than that, though, it was utter peace with the open acknowledgement of it.

Dib's soft hazel eyes were fixed stoically ahead in an expression void of any emotion.

If one were to even begin to understand his motive, or lack thereof, it could perhaps be understood through a building of disorder. It began with something small and unexplained and manifested itself until it was unable to be ignored. Chaos theory, he supposed. Deep in the back of his mind, the boy began to reflect on his actions through the past month.

It was the press of a button on a pilfered Irken space vessel; one that would send out a brief transmission from several galaxies away. One that would warn Zim about impending danger.

Inexplicably, he began to pick up his pace a little, long legs taking great strides down the sidewalk.

It was the absence of the little alien that followed; the physical embodiment of Dib's self-proclaimed purpose in life. And that butterfly effect only built up, swelling and growing in force without any realization at the time.

It was a stylus on the classroom floor and a breakdown in the men's bathroom.

It was the warm wash of relief that was quickly replaced by blinding confusion upon seeing Zim's return.

He made it to the intersection at Haverford and Maple before pressing forward, arms swinging stiffly by his side as he sped up little by little.

It was persistence on both ends; crippling denial and the confrontations that dared disrupt the balance that had been mastered years before.

It was a punch in face on the blacktop and the fat lip it left behind…

Just one more block. Dib's heartbeat picked up in his chest, his breath quickening. He frowned, then began to unconsciously break into a slight jog. The streetlights lined the way, gossamer illumination peeking through from behind the falling snow and thick fog.

It was breaking into his home and finding something out about Zim that not even the Irken himself knew…or at least something he would never admit to. It was seeing him for what he really was: a lonely individual who was shunned by everyone, even his own race, for his eccentricity.

It was the subtle understanding that he and Zim weren't so different after all…

Dib stopped for a split second, breath trailing out of his mouth in thick puffs of fog. Then, suddenly, he burst into a full sprint, dashing through the snow and running against the blustering wind. Goosebumps appeared on his arms beneath his heavy coat and bitter cold stung at his face. Flakes gathered on his glasses and he swiped them off his face, racing even faster down the street.

Somewhere along the way, whether it was from the very beginning or a slow burn in Dib's chest, he was coming to a stark realization. The alien meant something to him and it was far more than a ticket to fame or an exploitation of his crooked intentions. And for now, that's all he needed to know.

His eyes began to water, but he wasn't sure if it was from the overflow of emotions coursing through his body or the mixture of gusts and snow that assaulted his face as he dashed towards Zim's base.

He could almost see it in the distance, that glowing green beacon, nestled between two apartment complexes in the cul-de-sac at the end of Greenbush Way.

The boy skidded on the ice and toppled over, scraping the heels of his hands against the pavement as he tried to break his fall. Without even giving it pause for thought, he scrambled back to his feet and continued to bolt forward, quickly shortening the distance between him and whatever mysteries lay in wait.

His hands stung and he could hardly see straight, but he made it to the front door and immediately began banging on it. Receiving no response, he jerked his body sharply to the left and pressed his hands against Zim's window, iced over from the frost. He breathed on it a little and rubbed the glass with one frozen hand before peering inside.

Nothing. Not even GIR. The living room was still and dark, the television turned off. The closer Dib looked, he could see pile of blankets on the couch and the glass of water on the floor just where he had left it hours earlier.

Then, moving back to the door, Dib forcefully twisted the knob with one numb, scraped-up hand. Finding it to be unlocked, desperation melted abruptly into astonishment and he burst into the dark foyer, almost falling over himself as he did so.

"Zim!" he yelled into the void.

"Master?"

GIR poked at Zim's body, lying face down on the floor, then stared at him expectantly. He was in the deepest sector of the base, where he had found the Irken in the medical bay. Now, he sat patiently beside him and tried to figure out this new game.

"…Master?"

When the little alien didn't budge, he grabbed hold of one limp antenna and yanked it downwards like an old-timey doorbell. "Ding dong! Anybody home?"

Not so much as a flinch arose from the Elite, even at the rough tug of his most sensitive organ. He lay in a crumpled heap on the large metal platform of his medical scanner, dim lights from his various monitors bathing over him in a delicate, mauve-colored glow.

"Are you sleeping? Huh?"

GIR leaned down on his hands and knees, pressed right against Zim's face. He was about to start poking at him again when he heard a noise from upstairs. It was the sound of heavy footfalls and a male voice, calling out something. Leaving his spot from beside his master, GIR dashed back towards the elevator.

Dib was in a dreadful state, nose and ears red from the merciless cold, as he panted and searched the dark room. The second his wild eyes sought GIR arising from the toilet, he lunged towards him.

"Where is Zim?" he demanded.

"Mary! You came!" the little robot shouted joyously, seemingly deaf to the overwhelming urgency in Dib's voice. He sprang towards him and grabbed the tail ends of the boy's coat, expression absolutely unreadable; Dib couldn't tell if his energy stemmed from ecstasy or panic.

Dib peered into the kitchen, still searching for any sign of Zim. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, sensing something was terribly wrong. The Irken was nowhere in sight. Not even his security system seemed to be running; otherwise Dib would have been booted back outside in an instant.

Pulling GIR off his jacket, he rigidly bent down so that he was eye-level to the SIR unit. "Where is Zim?"

"Oh right. He's downstairs sleeping on the floor!"

Dib's heart sank. "Look, I need you to take me to him. Right now."

GIR hurriedly directed Dib over to a conduit entrance beneath a nightstand in the living room. Ducking down in the elevator, the boy stood next to him as it began moving.

Once in, the robot turned to Dib. "Master's still all badly. Are you gonna help me make him breakfast in bed for when he wakes up?"

Dib stared at him blankly, heart thrashing in his chest. He couldn't even bear to humor him. He just continued to shuffle his feet and rock anxiously from side to side as the lift laconically made its way down.

Finally, they stopped at one of the bottom floors and Dib peered out. It was the medical bay, familiar and just the same as when he had snuck down here the day before, complete with its ominous, unsettling aura and smells of disinfectant. The same computer monitor he had used to meddle in Zim's affairs just hours earlier was lowered and glowing slightly, with various words printed in Irken adorning the screen.

The one difference, however, was the very first thing that caught Dib's eye. Beneath the monitor lay a rather peculiar and nondescript object. Initially, it appeared to be a pile of tangled metal, strewn haphazardly across the floor. As he got closer, though, he noticed that the long rods, joints interlocking at strange angles, half-covered something small and pale green.

Adrenaline filled his veins instantly as Dib rushed towards it. Dropping to the ground, he quickly worked his way through the tangled mess, pushing the mechanical limbs aside, and immediately began shaking the alien's shoulder roughly.

"ZIM! Zim?" His voice was quivering slightly.

The Irken was sprawled out unnaturally and didn't so much as stir as Dib jostled him. The boy began to break into tremors as panic shot through his veins like ice water. Grabbing hold of the same shoulder, he rolled the Elite onto his side and took a closer look at him.

The crumpled little alien was laced in cold sweat, his eyes shut and face almost…peaceful in a desolate sort of way. Both antennae had lost their usual bounce, the once expressive stalks wilted like dead flowers on the floor. His skin was a pale, deathly hue. Was he even alive?

Dib lifted one limp arm and tried to feel a pulse. When he couldn't detect anything, he pressed two fingers into the sides of Zim's throat. His hands were shaking too much to get any sort of reading, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

The boy racked the back of his mind, trying to see past the growing fear bubbling inside him and clouding his judgement. CPR. CPR was what you did in this kind of scenario, right? He tried to recall the unit at skool when they went over it in health class.

At the end of the semester, the students took a test on what they had learned and those who passed would be certified by the American Red Cross. Dib had failed the final assessment, having spent all his free time watching Mysterious Mysteries and obsessing over whatever paranormal phenomena had demanded his scrutiny. Now, more than anything, he wished he had paid attention.

Glancing back at Zim, Dib centered his hands over the Irken's chest and interlocked his fingers in preparation to begin chest compressions. Was it fifteen compressions for every two breaths? Or thirty? Before he could even begin pumping up and down, though, he realized the PAK fused to Zim's back would make this process far too difficult. He needed a smooth surface. Dib lowered his arms and frowned. A bead of sweat trailed down his forehead and dripped from the tip of his nose. He was at a loss.

Suddenly, a booming male voice came on overhead. "Expiration imminent. Two minutes remaining on lifeclock."

The boy jumped back in alarm, shaken from his concentration. "Whuu?"

He glanced around for the source of the voice. It seemed to emanate throughout the entire room, as if the base itself were a sentient force.

"Irken Zim's PAK is no longer functioning. It must be connected to an outside source of life support," the computer directed in a deep monotone.

Dib's heartbeat picked up anew in his chest as he tried to process this. "I-I don't know what that means…" he squeaked.

"In order for a chance at survival, he must be connected to the manual charging cell located in the southeastern wing of the medical bay."

The boy's hands began shaking again and he knelt down next to the Irken, still limp and recumbent, as he fleetingly balked at the idea of picking him up. Then, with all his prior urgency, plus some well-placed clumsiness, he pulled Zim up by his arms. Wrapping one of his own arms around the Irken's skinny shoulders and the other beneath his knees, he tried to scoop him up bridal-style. Despite his diminutive size, however, Zim's body was alarmingly dead weight, and therefore heavier than Dib would have initially guessed.

It was in the midst of trying to get a proper grip on him that the computer's echoing voice came on overhead again.

"Biological shell has exactly one minute before imminent expiration."

Dib grunted as he shifted his weight and attempted to sling Zim's body over his shoulder instead. "And…w-what does t-that mean?" he demanded, taking a few shy steps towards the room the computer had directed him to.

"Zim has less than a minute of life left," the computer stated, undertones of impatience inexplicably seeping through its bland voice.

Dib nearly dropped the Irken as this set in, eyes growing as wide as saucers behind his thick glasses.

"What…?" the word came out as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Zim's body sagged to the right, causing him to stumble in his attempts to keep balance. Then, hitching him up higher on his shoulder, he booked it across the room and pushed his way into what he presumed to be the "charging cell".

Blocked off from the rest of the medical bay, it was a curiously constructed monochromatic cubicle. The inside consisted of nothing but a thinly-fabricated medical examination table and a couple of monitors. Nearby was a substantially thick cable, which trailed from somewhere up above, amid the tangle of cords and wires that made up Zim's ceiling.

The second Dib heaved the Irken's body onto the table, the cable attached itself to the top port of Zim's PAK, as if through some sort of magnetic force. The boy lurched backwards, startled, as it did so.

At once, the other two blank monitors lit up and a high-pitched beeping began to resound. Dib cupped his hands over his ears and clenched his teeth, searching for the source of it. The noise reverberated throughout the base, sounding remarkably like a heart monitor flatlining. Zim's eyes remained tightly closed, deaf to the world in his cataleptic state.

Then, it slowly ceased and the pink ports on Zim's PAK lit up and began to glow softly. In a steady rhythm, they flashed from dull to bright, illuminating off the hard metal walls of the contraption and the table Zim was lying on.

The charging cell was a last resort to preserve an Irken's vital functions until another form of medical expertise could be accessed. A cold hand of relief; a secondary jolt of life support. Dib watched the entire process, entranced, though he didn't fully understand what was going on.

He continued to scrutinize the Irken's face for any changes. Zim remained still and chalky white from his spot on the table. This lasted for only a couple moments before the lights on Zim's PAK dimmed and flickered out and the ear-splitting bleating returned.

"WHAT IS THAT?" Dib hollered over the noise. As he shouted, it quieted once more and the ports lit up in its place.

"Due to the toxin, the PAK is steadily declining in efficiency. As a result, the charging cell is experiencing initial difficulties indicating its presence," the computer said.

Dib could decipher just enough of its needless technological jargon to vaguely understand what it meant. Zim's life support was only working in bits and spurts—leaving him hanging on by a thread as this auxiliary force struggled to keep his vitals functioning through the barrier that his PAK posed.

In the meantime, the Elite hadn't moved an inch, nor had he shown any signs of life, save for a slightly deeper breath intake. Dib looked down at him, a flicker of hope dancing across his face. That was better, right? A minute had come and gone and Zim was still alive, if just barely. The technicalities of Irken mechanics were still something that eluded Dib, but he tried to take comfort in this little change.

"Well…where do I go from here?" he asked the computer, trying to calm his nerves. "What else does he need?"

"In addition to PAK deficiency and weakened immunity to illness, Zim is suffering from extreme dehydration, critically low glucose levels, hypertension, and concussion."

The boy winced as he remembered the loud smack of the Irken's head on the floor of his lab the day before as he tried to flee towards the elevator. That could explain the vomiting and disorientation he had experienced afterwards. And…everything else…

"So…what do I do for all that?" he asked meekly.

"Fluids must be administered to him intravenously and vitals should be monitored intensively for any sign of change. The necessary supplies can be found in the main wing of medical bay. Constant rest is required until a PAK expert can be contacted or medica—"

The boy slowly drowned out the rest of what the computer droned on about as the severity of the situation dawned on him. Zim was essentially in intensive care, at the hands of a fifteen-year-old boy who understood absolutely nothing concerning medical know-how. He had no experience inserting IVs or attaching monitoring pads, and the very idea make him queasy. Not to mention, any Irken equipment that was in the base would most likely vary drastically from its human counterparts. He shuffled his feet nervously, heart stuttering as he realized the alternative would be watching Zim die a slow, needless death without proper care.

Before Dib could reluctantly leave to retrieve the supplies, he glanced back down at the Invader and immediately pursed his lips, worried brows furrowing deeper at yet another predicament.

The alien was still drenched in sweat, causing his clothing to stick to him and leave smears on the stainless-steel edges of the table. He was resting awkwardly on his back, the cable from the charging cell jutting out on one side and the tangled array of PAK legs swept off to the other.

What Zim was lying on was not a bed, and it certainly didn't serve to provide any sort of real comfort. It was merely an examination table, head piece propped up slightly and the surface covered with a very thin layer of cushioned fabric. And Dib hadn't seen anything resembling a bed or a cot in the entire medical bay.

Stupid Irkens with their damn pride. It was as if they earnestly believed that honest-to-God debilitation was so far out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe that was just Zim.

Sighing, Dib reluctantly left the Elite and headed back towards the conduit in search of linens. Meanwhile, his heart was still hammering in his chest and he was beginning to sweat through his down coat. He was getting overwhelmed quickly with all that was going on and how much he had to do. The fresh air would do him good, he reasoned, as the elevator doors closed.

Shortly after ordering the computer to take him to the main floor, he thought of something else.

"Hey…why are you taking orders from me?" he asked the computer. "Not that I'm not thankful or anything, it's just…" he trailed off.

The computer took a moment before answering. When it did though, the voice was as dry as ever, echoing around the walls of the tiny space. "I don't have a choice. After you hacked into the base, Zim brought the vocal interface back online, but not the security system. And basic programming protocols dictate that I follow any orders that work to benefit the mission."

And keeping Zim alive was part of the mission. Wording it like that made Dib pause for thought, a growing pit in his stomach. He was helping the enemy. If the world fell to the clutches of the Irken Empire after all this, he would have only himself to blame. Him and his damn sentimentality. Regardless of what he knew about Zim at this point, this idea didn't sit well with him. He still felt like he was playing with fire. Dancing with the unknown.

The boy kept silent after the computer's reply, stepping off the elevator and stoically into the main room. GIR was in the kitchen, pulling something that smelled burnt and acrid from the oven.

"Is Master all better?" he asked. The robot proudly held out the tray he was holding. "Looky! I made him tater tots for when he wakes up!"

Dib barely glanced at the smoking, charred lumps that were presented before him as he made his way briskly into the living room. He scooped up the blankets and pulled pillows off the couch, mind elsewhere. Carrying the pile back towards the elevator, he groaned slightly at the sound of tiny mellitic footfalls behind him. He sighed and narrowed his eyes as GIR followed him back to the medical bay.

He found the equipment needed to set up an IV drip and a tangle of wires and pads near the biological scanner. Snatching these up, he carried the lot to the charging cell and glanced apprehensively at Zim from behind the mountain of linens and supplies.

The crumpled little alien was just as he had left him, and the dreadfully loud beeping of the charging cell had started up again. Dib dumped the blankets and pillows on the floor and walked over to him.

He felt sheepish and stupid as he tugged at the sleeve of Zim's damp shirt, like a child playing doctor. He had no idea what to do, really, and there was so much that needed to be done. As he let go of the shirt, the beeping stopped again, leaving jarring silence in its wake.

It took some time and a bit of cutting at the thin fabric with a pair of scissors that he found in a first aid kit in the main wing before Dib was finally able to remove the mauve garment from him. With the cable deep in one port of his PAK and the mechanical limbs awkwardly crammed around it, the feat of removing the alien's last shreds of military clothing was absurdly difficult. Not to mention, in the midst of it, Zim began to tremble slightly and pinch his eyes tighter shut, making it harder to complete the task at hand.

At last, though, he peeled the top off him, easing it over the alien's PAK and bending his elbows inward to free them from the fabric. The pants came next and Dib awkwardly tried to avert his eyes as he undressed the alien. "You owe me for this, space jerk," he mumbled as he freed the last pant leg from Zim's tiny ankle and tossed them aside with the shirt. That done, Dib drew a thick quilt from its spot on the floor and quickly covered up his shivering body before moving onto the next step.

Through the entire ordeal, the charging cell had continually dropped connection and regained it, emitting that awful beeping each time. Dib felt ringing in his ears from the noise, and he glanced anxiously at the medical supplies on the floor and various computer monitors currently on standby.

Would now be a bad time to Google what this stuff does?

Hesitantly, Dib lowered the blanket, exposing Zim's chest and skinny arms. He looked down at him for a moment in something most aptly described as scientific fascination. Like his father, Dib was enamored with the unknown and its implications. His focus, however, stemmed from the paranormal, going far beyond what Earth's science could feasibly explain. And the little green alien was just that.

Three tiny ribs protruded from either side of the delicate skin on Zim's chest, becoming more defined with each deep breath he inhaled. Other than that, the Irken was void of anything on his torso that would bear any semblance to a human's anatomy. He had no navel, nor nipples, and not even the slightest blemish was visible on the pale, jade-green skin.

Just like his hands, he had three toes on each foot. They poked out slightly from the edge of the blanket, the tips ended in tiny claw-like points. Dib shuddered at the sight of them and briefly wondering how the alien managed to put his socks and shoes on without tearing them to shreds in the process.

Finally, he looked back at his face, pinched tight in distress and laced with sweat.

For a moment, Dib felt guilt and remorse for Zim's state. The alien was so obsessed with staying covered up in the presence of others, he wouldn't even change into his gym clothes at skool. In fact, during the 9th grade, he had received a failing grade for his "refusal to participate" in PE.

He had always prided himself on his stiff composure and impeccable appearance, cold and aloof in the face of others in every way possible. Perpetually small and pissed-off, Zim was constantly poised for confrontation and bursting with distrustful vigor at every turn. Military training had made him that way. Had the tiny Irken been awake, Dib was positive he would be met with angry claws and a confounding slew of insults.

But now…in the most vulnerable and undignified state possible, he looked unrecognizable from the alien he knew so well. The Zim he knew was an arrogant and prideful creature, taking advantage of Dib's weaknesses in every way possible. It went far beyond their own battles for the Earth, too. He had always been there to laugh at Dib's defeats in every facet of his life.

Getting rejected by the girl he had been infatuated with all year long? Zim was there to add insult to injury, pointing and cackling from across the cafeteria while chastising him on his "pathetic human need for affection". Getting a 98% on his chemistry final? Of course, Zim had gotten that token 100%, making him "exactly 2% better".

But it had also pushed Dib to be better in the process. To prove his nemesis wrong. To prove everyone wrong. And he was gradually beginning to realize just how much he had depended on the alien to be that anchor, in an ironic symbiosis that had been left unspoken between the two.

With a melancholy air, he winced and picked up a tangle of telemetry leads before looking back up at the ceiling.

"Uhh…where do I put these?" he asked pathetically to the empty room.

"Each color goes to a different part of the chest," the computer resonated from up above. "Place the brown pad at the bottom of the sternum."

Dib did as he was told and waited patiently for further instructions.

"The white goes to the right side…" The computer sounded like it was directing a brainless child to do some rudimentary task.

The boy complied like such, making the process painstakingly tedious and slow. The next several minutes were spent with the computer blandly guiding him where to place the pads and how to set up the IV.

Yet another problem arose when Dib had to insert the needle into a nearly-invisible vein inside Zim's wrist. He had absolutely no idea how such a task was performed on a human, never mind an extraterrestrial. It took a painful number of jabs and pricks to Zim's delicate skin before Dib shakily set it down and begged the computer to help him. It took even longer to quell the consequential bleeding that had occurred as a result of all the failed attempts. Dib felt bile rise in the back of his throat, threatening to make an unwanted appearance.

By the end of the debacle, however, one of the screens was up and running, displaying a staggering variety of information on Zim's cardiac stats and the painstakingly-inserted IV had begun administering much-needed fluids into his system.

Finally, Dib tucked the woolly fabric of Zim's blanket around him to trap his body heat and reached for the pillows. Strategically slipping them beneath and around the alien's PAK and head, he tried to relieve as much pressure from the alien's back against the table as possible. At last, he stood back to examine the results of his meticulous handiwork.

Zim looked pathetic. His antennae were pinned awkwardly behind him, the little flexes on one bent outwards towards Dib and the other pressed between the table and his lolling head. His partly open mouth drew in weak, ragged breaths with unsteady timing and his long, segmented tongue stuck out from between his lips at an odd angle.

"Jeez, Zim. You're a mess," Dib muttered, sighing deeply.

The alien, of course, didn't respond. He had, however, quieted his tremors just slightly and his face was beginning to regain some color.

Finished with these tedious and emotionally draining tasks, Dib slumped to the floor beside him and pulled his knees to his chest. He tilted his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. All the worries that had churned around incessantly inside his mind were slowly being drowned with exhaustion. He couldn't for the life of him remember when he had slept last. The entirety of the last few days had been nothing but stress, anger, and frustration.

Gradually, his heavy eyelids began to draw to a close. Before he knew it, Dib had fallen into a sleep just as light and shallow as the breathing of the sickly alien beside him while the bleating of the monitor droned on and time carried them forth into a new chapter.

"Send an outgoing transmission to Invader Tenn."

Larb's low, nasally voice pierced the air from within his Zhook, where he had been trying to simultaneously track Zim and sidestep any inquiries from the Tallest. He sounded tired and infuriated, with just a hint of stifled fear in his tone.

More than anything, he was enraged with himself. He had grown weak over the years following his enslavement of the Vortians, and it was beginning to show in the most humiliating way possible. Pride and arrogance are a perfect recipe for such an event and both had nearly taken over him.

No longer did he bother to retain information about physical combat with such vigilance with time gone by. All of that was pushed to the back of his PAK's encoding to make room for fond memories of celebration with the planetary convergence team on the Massive, launching the cannon sweep, and pretending that the Tallest cared about his rising success.

Years of training had gone seemingly forgotten, to the point where he couldn't even take down an unsuspecting screw-up of a soldier in the beginning stages of an infection. It was clear even then that the virus was beginning to affect him. It showed in his stride and troubled breathing. And he had let the defective get away just like that, with his pathetic little robot no less. To say that it had wounded his almost impenetrable pride was an understatement. Larb was nothing if not persistent.

Following the incident, he had wrapped his flesh wound tightly with gauze from the med kit in his ship, cursing and grunting as his PAK whirred and worked to repair the bleeding tissue.

That had been almost a week ago. Now, the injury was nothing more than an unpleasant memory. The smooth, healed skin in its place only served as a reminder that Larb was running out of time, though.

The transmission screen on his dash beeped for a few moments and then lit up as the transmission was received. In an instant, a familiar stoic face emerged, accompanied by light pink eyes and flippantly curled antennae, presently pressed back in hostility.

"What do you want, Larb?" The words were spat in a monotonous, nasally voice without any greeting to predate them. Tenn glared at him from the screen, not bothering to conceal her blatant annoyance.

"I require your assistance with this matter," he said through gritted teeth, getting right to the point.

She cackled lightly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Assistance with what? Can't handle your 'special mission'? Maybe you shouldn't have been so overzealous. You always were."

Larb and Tenn had been a part of separate smeet hatches, trained in different squadrons, had specialized in different invading tactics, and yet they had always been rivals. Competitiveness and hostility were a constant with them and had only increased with time. When Impending Doom II had been announced, they had both been assigned the two most controversial planets in the mix marked for Irken conquest, serving only to intensify it further.

"I shouldn't even be wasting my time with someone who hasn't even conquered her first assignment after five years!" Larb spat back at her. "But you have information that could prove useful to me regarding this particular task."

"Invaders work alone," she replied icily, "Besides, I know better than to get involved with this mess." Everything about her reply and posture dripped with annoyance and disgust. She wished to return to her own work and her expression made it very clear that she couldn't be bothered. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a planet to conquer."

"Wait!" Larb demanded before she could end the transmission.

"What?" she asked flatly.

The Invader glanced around, scrounging for a way to coerce her. Finally, after a second, his eyes narrowed, and he regained focus. "If you knew what was good for you, you would provide your aid."

"Oh? And why is that?" She didn't bother to stifle the laughter that burst forth at his statement. Larb, however, didn't flinch.

"Because you are the one who brought the toxin back from Meekrob. And you are the one who agreed to use it against the defective."

"I was ordered to by the Tallest," she briskly corrected. "What's your point?" Tenn narrowed her pink eyes at his image on her screen.

He tried to formulate his next words to work in his favor. "You already are involved in this. If I fail in this mission, it compromises all of us. Especially you."

The Irken crossed her arms, continuing to glower at Larb. However, one brow raised inquisitively at this statement.

"Who do you think the Control Brains will suspect as the instigator?" he spat. "Their beloved leaders...or the only Irken sent to infiltrate Meekrob, masquerading as a chemical engineer? They will suspect you far before they suspect them. Help me or risk losing your credibility…your reputation…."

Tenn kept up her rigid glare, but her arms slowly dropped to her sides as she considered this.

"Your mission..."

She suddenly frowned and glanced up quickly. "What do you want, Larb?" she hissed coarsely.

"I need to know about the nature of this toxin. And if you happen to have coordinates to this 'Earth' planet," he stated unsmilingly.

She sighed deeply, countenance full of malice and contempt that only an Irken could pull off with flawless awe. Finally, she begrudgingly answered. "The defective was only exposed to a very small amount of it, which is likely just prolonging the infection. He shouldn't be contagious and if he's even still alive, his PAK has likely stopped many of its functions. He should be an easy target."

Larb listened intently, his own face composed of stone. "And this planet?"

Tenn pulled up a map of the known Irken galaxy on his computer. "It's located on the very edge of the Stultus quadrant. Good luck finding any exact coordinates, though. The Irken Intergalactic Research team hadn't even confirmed its existence before The Great Assigning, and after the defective was 'assigned' to it, they didn't bother."

The Invader nodded sharply as Tenn's image came back over the screen. "There. You have your information. Now, will you do me the honors of ending this wretched transmission?" she asked, tone void of any emotion.

"With pleasure," Larb muttered humorlessly. His antennae lay flat against his skull. Instantly, her chagrined face vanished from sight as he grandiosely pressed the button to end the call without any show of gratitude or even a parting statement.

The conqueror of Vort sat back in his chair and fully immersed himself in the jarring silence that followed. He reveled in the satisfaction of how easily he was able to bend her to his will, tugging his lips upwards in an ugly sneer and exposing the upper row of zippered teeth. It was nothing short of a personal triumph, and he relished it with all the pride his spiteful little body could muster.

After a mere moment, he shifted his pleased smirk to an expression of cold determination and proceeded to change his coordinates towards the direction of planet Earth.

Rissy: And there ya go! Now, I'll be totally honest. I balked at uploading this chapter. And part of the reason for that was because I was concerned about the similarities between it and another fic, Saving Zim. However, after some revisions to it (soley to limit the amount of likenesses) and plenty of reassurance from Dib07, herself, I finally just decided to post it. So I hope you enjoyed it! I will do my damnest to make sure the next chapter isn't so late! It's essentially the other half of this one, and it's pretty much polished and done. I'll likely upload it next Friday. Thank you very much for reading and for bearing with little old me!

To my Lovely Reviewers (Chapter 10):

DIbn:

Thank you so much! Gosh, I'm thrilled that you took the time to read the whole thing up to this point! I hope it was worth the time spent, and I certainly hope this last chapter did not disappoint! Dib has been a tricky fellow to characterize, but he's nothing compared to that pesky Irken! I'm so glad you like how I wrote him! Thank you dearly!

HaleyRiler:

Oh my gosh! My heart! Thank you so much for your kind words! In all my years, I never would have thought that my stories would be worth revisiting multiple times or that my writing could evoke such emotion! This really made my day!

P1pp1n's's Mushr00m:

"It's been so long since i followed a story on ff.n!" And this story sucked you back in? My gosh! I'm tickled pink! Thank you for making my day with this little comment!

Rocky Rooster:

"This story is getting more addicting every chapter, I look forward to seeing the notification in my inbox every week and it always brightens up my day!" My goodness, thank you so much for that! You have no idea how happy that makes me! I'm so glad I could brighten your day in my own little way!

ScriptNinja:

Thank you! I love hearing feedback like that and hearing your views on the characters' thought processes and the choices they make. As the writer, I'm just continually going "Yes! Yes! You get it!" like a total dweeb. XD

StarPaw0007:

Let me tell you, fanart is the best way to get a fic writer to worship the ground you walk on! And your art is absolutely beautiful! And thank you for another wonderful review! Larb just had to sit on the sidelines for a bit while Dib and Zim had their turn. I'm glad someone remembered him, lol. To be honest, he isn't an OC, but I've definitely had to establish more of a personality for him than any other character. It has made him fun to write because I can be pretty lenient with his character, but it's also a challenge too!

Guest:

*Happily accepts donut and offers you tacos and new chapter in return* Hahaha, I love that you noticed that little fourth-wall breakage. I tried to be subtle! Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Invader Johnny:

I like your interpretation! Dib and Zim both have some pretty unhealthy coping mechanisms in this story. I like to think that their respective stubbornness probably feeds these tendencies.

Piratemonkies64:

I hope you had a great holiday season as well! Gosh, is it already February? Where does the time go? Anyhow, I'm so glad you're getting sucked in anew with each update! I try to end things on a suspenseful note when I can! I Hope school is going well for you! (Jesus, I feel like I've been drop kicked and beaten to a bloody pulp and the spring semester has only just started!) Have a fabulous, Zimtastic day!