Chapter 21: " Nice Job, Purple "

When Purple first heard the information, his immediate reaction should've been predictable. He broke out into a heavy fit of laughter, as he wheezed out the first few gasps of air, which then turned to his annoying bursts of facetiousness. He nearly fell out of his chair before he was able to regain his balance, but not his flying whimsical composure.

" What did you do now?!" He bellowed, and continued on with his annoying sounding fits as he choked for air. Red felt blood rush to his face, but not of embarrassment; merely the opposite, as he was offended at his comrade's taking to the situation. Not that Red expected different, however he despised just how little his partner perceived everything, as if it was all just an idea to be entertained by with it's burlesque attributes. Red stood there with a tall stature and waited for Purple to act mature.

" Oh my goodness!" He breathed, releasing a few hiccups of laughter out of his system. His partner watched with eyes unmoving, and a sigh left his nostrils.

" Are you done?" Red asked, unimpressed.

" Oh no, but we're just getting started!" Purple proclaimed. " You had one task, Red! Tell them that you accomplished the mission, and yet you aimlessly flung into deeper shit!"

Red rubbed his brow, shaking his head slightly.

" Somehow, you own a strange ability of creating a hyperbole of every definition of my sentences." He remarked, which he attempted to express disapproval.

" In my defense, I didn't receive that punishment because of what it is you might be thinking. They thought I'd stepped beyond my boundaries again in that moment...well more than one moment. " He said, while folding his arms behind his back; keeping a proper stature. Red did so to try and contrast his behavior to the hullabaloo of that of his partner. Maybe by demonstrating how informal his actions were, he might take the hint; that wasn't the case. His wide grin spread on his face and he leaned back in his chair, further ignoring it.

" More than one moment? Oh ho! This is precious!" He chuckled. Red kept his brow slightly furrowed, and another sigh was exhaled, this time more exasperated.

" Like I explained; I disabled Zim's technology and they thought that my insulting him was very unbecoming of me."

He watched his comrade muse to himself silently about his sayings, and after a while Purple's grin widened as they made eye contact. Despite how aloof his mind was, and how convincing it was that he tried his very best to be annoying in every way possible; most of his jokes and acts were harmless, and carried no gravity. Sure, it would be good if he'd actually taken his position a little more seriously, but what should it matter to Red if he didn't? It's not as if he did this in public—at least not all the time. Though a realization came over to Red, as he noticed their weirdly established situation.

Maybe the driving force behind it was knowing each other ever since their youths, or that they shared the same occupation; Whichever the case, it kindled soon a mutual bond. Interestingly enough—society, in the militant prospect of things—found these sort of relationships inimical to their modes of operation. Even when both Red and Purple trained and prepared to become Tallest, they still shared this camaraderie in result of their success, even when they had to dislodge themselves from common bonds and social interaction from others.

Purple stood up from his chair and, habitually, folded his arms behind him as well. They were both trained for the conduct, however certain times they disregarded it and resulted to informality, treating it like privileges.

" Let me guess...They deemed it unreasonable solely because you notified them after your actions." Purple remarked, his smile still remaining upon his face. Red watched him begin to pace around.

" You're correct."

Purple chuckled.

" Ah Red. You're like an obstinate Vortian." He joked, lightheartedly. " Unless whipped, you don't give a damn about rules."

Red would've laughed if the joke wasn't directed to him. However he still gave it a few scoffs of amusement, as he pondered the crude nature. Purple laughed again, boisterously.

" You have...a distorted sense of humor." Red shook his head. Purple smiled almost proudly as if he concurred to the statement. After a few moments of letting jokes slip aside, Purple momentarily stood in thought, staring at nothing for a while, with his smile decreasing. He finally blinked and he repositioned on his feet.

" Community Governor...huh." He said, biting the corner of his lip. " Seems like a...very degrading occupation." He remarked.

" That's why a Control Brain handles it." Red said, flippantly. He realized that he was, indeed, no longer angry at him. He felt that sometimes Purple owned as well the unfair ability to inflame anger in people, and just as efficiently extinguish it, both with the same actions of his jocose attitude. Purple stroked his chin.

" Yes. However it's going to take two Irkens." He said simply, with a sigh that resembled placid disappointment. Purple looked down to the ground in thought, and paused from the conversation. Red caught on to his statement a moment later, acknowledging that he'd just offered to bear through the punishment with him, despite it wasn't even his fault.

He knew it was him trying to extend a hand in a case of which they were both worthy of probable blame, and he was going to allow equal penalizing, however he felt conflicted; It was only officially entitled to Red, and in any other circumstance, he most definitely wouldn't mind, however it didn't feel right as of in this moment.

" I'll...Take a few days and you'll take a few days...A routine of a sort; System of duos." Purple explained, thinking out loud.

" Why?" Red asked.

His comrade, staring at nothing in his slight state of musing, looked up at him. He seemed genuinely confused at his question.

" Why?" He repeated, with emphasis.

" I was the one who...shut down Zim's technology—I don't understand why you feel the need to compensate for something you clearly—"

" Oh, stop it." Purple waved. " I know for a fact you would actually appreciate the extra aid. And if you weren't in such a charitable mood, You would've brought up the subject yourself."

Red wanted to say more, but stopped himself before letting any words out. Purple had another smile on his face, taking light humor out of his partner's silence. He crossed his arms, and began contemplating about an appropriate schedule they could follow by, thinking of the times and the days they would start.

" I suppose we'll each complete a week; taking turns." Purple stated, scratching his head. " What do you think?"

Red tried to think of an appropriate answer.

"...I don't know."

In that response, Purple sighed and remained pensive a few moments longer.

" It's a simple answer, Red. Not much thought process goes into this."

Red remained in thought for a while; he was thinking of a way to annoy Purple.

"...Maybe?"

It worked; Purple's antennae dropped, and he massaged his brow.

" You know—you're not very helpful." He scoffed. Red furrowed his eyes.

" In what ways do I hinder progress?"

" Every way conceivable."

" Oh please! Just because you lose patience?"

" Yeah, well, every time that we've been punished was on your behalf!"

" Well, not when you said you wanted to partake in this!"

" Oh, I'm sorry for being so considerate! Maybe next time I'll just let you work your horrid wonders!"

Red laughed.

• • •

When Red administered to their office, Purple reassured him that he would deal with the information regarding their punishment and it's release to the public. The I.C.B would hold another meeting for the military and the other officials, however it was up to the Tallest to determine how they would convey the information to the populace. Purple said it would be through a speech, and that after wards everything should run more smoothly. However, conditions were met that Red would have to start as soon as possible, regardless of whether the speech would be his initial starting point or not. Red took displeasure to this, but it wasn't anything to argue about.

Concerning the Control Brain which would be temporarily replaced of office for Red's admittance, Purple would send a message to them prior to the event to advise them of the upcoming situation. Purple also recommended Red start today, because better sooner than later!

Red would grumble to himself whenever he remembered the way Purple always dismissed him like that. He'd gone up to their office a few times to clear up confusing information, and Purple was too distracted by his personal affairs to help, so he would shoo him away like a pest, Despite that, even though Purple planned how everything would function, or so Red was to believe, he said so himself that if he needed more information, just arrive at the office. Typical...

So here he was; slowly cascading down the steps from the palace, trying to wrap his head around what it was he needed to do, because Purple wasn't a reliable source for things like that. He nibbled on the remains of an orcher fruit, as he made his individualized way down the steps, trying to occupy himself while ridding of his mind of annoyance and angered thoughts towards Purple. Though after a few moments of realization, Red remembered he was outside.

One thing that alighted a strange sensation within him was that he felt a bit of...rush inside him. Almost an excitement that felt like it was speeding through his blood. And beyond that, it created that strange, tingly feeling inside. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it was his reaction to being outside. Breathing in almost a lighter, cleaner air. It felt almost like a rebellion; His occupation required him to remain indoors, and whenever he wasn't, he was in the Massive, going over to some dastard planet to complete an Organic Sweep. And even then he got mere glimpses—much like in comparison to his gazes outside his bedroom window—of the outside world just beyond his reach.

So he could very well say this was his first experience, or like his first, being outside. Last time he could recall was around 80 to 90 years ago.

However he remembered that with joy, came with a cost. If he was going to travel to the station of the Control Brain, he was going to have to ingress through crowds. It brought his sense of excitement down to a spike of anxiety. He nearly shivered thinking about it. Very much expected, his occupation also limited his sociability to mere contact to his comrade, and any meetings necessary with the Invaders, or other military personnel. To call that a social life would be a lie; and so to make a scene or to garner unwanted attention was always something to avoid for Red.

Purple, needless to say, was the opposite, despite how shared the same occupation. Making an entrance and always containing the center with ornate entertainment or flashy attractions was his preference, as he was always the head in any such meetings, especially if it included the populace. He was garish that way, and in that same way it annoyed Red...then again, a lot of things about Purple annoyed Red, so it wasn't anything new.

When Red finally entered the streets, he swallowed a lump in his throat and continued walking. Inevitably, people began appearing.

The first thing he noticed was...well—just about everything. The civilians lacked height, however weren't probably any shorter than that of a regular Invader. Their PAK devices weren't as big as those that were manufactured for the military; Regularly they covered the entire back of an Irken, however theirs only covered a third, being fixed in the middle and being so insignificantly small.

As Red pushed through his barriers of anxiety and social ineptitude to continue walking down the streets, he found himself conflicted of how to feel of their overall reaction. A lot of them, at first, stared and remained silenced by his presence. But as they soon checked back to reality and finally acknowledged the fact that the Almighty Tallest himself was strolling down their streets—It was a marvel to behold and cherish! They thought him sacred as his title secured that sort of status. Some called to him, wanting to be noticed, and other groups followed him, and when they first did this, he stopped and nearly had a panic attack out of his ignorance on how to react to this situation. He wasn't used to their engrossment of appraisal or other emotions.

It scared Red slightly that they acted so freakishly pathological than what he was normal to. In fact, they brandished much more emotion than any other Irken he'd seen—he was even so tempted to compare their irregular emotional output to that of Zim. After a while, though, after enduring through their upheaval of emotions, the people seemingly decreased until he was finally alone for a few minutes of time. For a while, he even inwardly appreciated it, weirdly, despite his still abiding nervousness. Though, as he continued, waves of people came and went and it became a bit of a process, and it proved to be slightly unnerving as the crowds grew larger with each wave, along with their abnormal reactions. Red found himself scowling and shooting backlashes of disciplinary glaring towards anyone who were daring enough to approach and try to appraise him, as he himself was starting to get a fear from it.

What riled up his terror was when they began touching him. One woman, garnering her courage for the event, gingerly set her hand on his bicep, and his mind shut blank. He tore his arm away and nearly ran, or wanted to, but he had been surrounded by an enormous of people at the time. Then others tried to clasp his robe, and his gauntlets, as if her action was an initiative for them to start.

Red cried out, proclaiming his title and demanded order, and everything became silent. He yelled and chastised them, which they received with dread. They obeyed with a sort of self-resentment, with reasoning of how they could possibly be so stupid to distress the Tallest himself.

He didn't care to think about it at first; He hated how curious and short and outlandishly freakish they were. They were terrifying little midgets that didn't have any mental control, but he didn't consider once to hit them despite their tendencies, their unforgettable low status and worth and qualities which made them so...unbearable.

He continued on down the path to a stationed Control Brain office, and entered the small compartment hurriedly. He sighed with a heavy wave of relief, and he silenced the questioning, and rather confused Control Brain. He too, for a reason, had much more emotion than expected. Red needed to call Purple; He wasn't sure anymore of what he was doing, and any more of this was going to earn him an anxiety attack. Using the two way radio equipped in the gauntlet of his wrist, he sent notifications to Purple's way. After a few moments of waiting in the curious and cautious Control Brain's presence, he picked up.

" Well, I'll be damned! Almighty Red himself calls humble little me." Purple chimed, his voice transferring within the signals with radio feed and digital interference.

" Purple. Now's not that time for quip." Red uttered. He realized a second later his own unusual urgency and distraught.

" Ooh. Sounds serious. What's wrong?—oh and—How serious do you want me to react to this? Not really a grueling task to walk down the street, in my knowledge."

Red closed his eyes, and tried to remain passive-aggressive about this situation.

" Purple..."

" Alright, Alright...What's wrong?" He chuckled airily.

" You told me that you notified the Control Brain, remember?"

" I did; Correct."

" Alright..." Red said, gesturing his confusion by holding out his arms . "...So why is it that I'm here and he has no prior knowledge of his temporary removal?"

Uh—My Tallest? Temporary what? Was heard in the background. Red turned back and quieted him.

" How? I sent him the message..." Purple thought aloud. "...maybe there was a delay...oh crap." He paused.

Red inwardly constricted. He hated foreshadowing words, that carried so much unpromising possibility. They never ceased to struck a chord within him that sounded off his alarms, and in this case the effect doubled as he had already went through a process that disquieted him.

His hands were beginning to shake. He questioned his body's unnatural reaction to the string of events, and was confused of why he seemed to be handling this so unhealthily. For whatever reason he was agitated, it bothered him more than it should've.

" What?" He finally said.

Purple chuckled nervously.

" Hehe...I never told you the station you were to arrive at...oops...um—Where are you at now?" He asked, quickly. Red pursed his lips, and tried to suppress his silent impatience that was beginning to swell. He knew that it was partly his fault as he never inquired about the location in the first place, However it wasn't his fault that Purple repeatedly denied entrance to the office, and repeatedly demanded his departure when he needed help.

He turned again, and faced the Control Brain.

" What station is this?" He asked.

" Uh...Station 1...My Tallest." The Control Brain replied. Red kept his eyes on him as he took the moment to absorb his details. He mentally labeled him again as a Control Brain and began making observations.

In comparison to the I.C.B, similarly to the concept of the PAK devices, they were smaller than what Red was used to. His structural frame was different, as he was held by an appendage like brace attached to the ceiling, and his actual body was a circle. When comparing to an Irken head, this Control Brain's head, figuratively, was only a foot or so bigger in circumference. He also seemed to have a prominent visual output, much unlike the I.C.B where they owned no source of vision; There was a bright circle centered in his head. And like a head, or eye, it rotated in it's socket. The Control Brain looked down.

"...No disrespect sir, but...I work hard, and I apologize if my efforts didn't reach the requirements—"

" You're not being fired. " He stated before he returned to Purple. " Station 1."

Red waited for his voice, however received nothing but the radio feed. Purple's silent response unsettled him, and he knew something was wrong. It was a long while before his comrade's nervous chuckles reached through the communicator.

"Well then...uh...you destination is Station 243."

Red stood there. Unmoving, with a blank expression. All feeling muted down to absolute nothing, until it began reaching a peak of rage. His antennae twitched.

Purple assured him, all the time that when Red was there at the office, everything was planned and under his management, and so he continually dismissed his comrade's inquiries. Red should've known that term's definition in relation to his comrade always meant the opposite of what was imposed, as everything under his management seemed to double over itself and collapse under it's own instability. Inherent cognitive functions for natural logic and common sense wasn't something Red would say Purple was familiar with, as his selfish motives always lead to actions of self-benefit. And like he stated before; if something wasn't of any particular interest of the current mood of his comrade, it deserved no more attention then a sidelong glance and a snort.

Which was the exact behavior Red received when trying to figure out more information about this event. This time, the blame all lead to one point.

"...Okay look—I forgot, Red. It completely slipped my mind."

Red genuinely tried his hardest not to grimace.

" You forgot." He said simply. "...Last I remember, You rushed me out of the office before you could give me any prevalent information."

" W-What was I supposed say if you never brought it up? It's not my fault. "

Red flinched.

"...What?"

" Ah dammit—I didn't mean it like that..." He paused and sighed. "...If you want an apology, then I'll apologize...I'm sorry." Purple remarked.

The words didn't pass through his comrade's anger. It carried no meaning to him, and if anything, didn't help but only contribute more to his negative attitude. Purple sighed again.

" Look...I'll have a Navigator pinpoint your location, and send a drone down your way..."

Red could only shake his head.

" ...I'm unhelpful, huh..." He stated.

" Oh come on—I was joking!" Purple said, defensive.

" I'm not. Your existence is nothing but an inconvenience."

He canceled the transmissions.

• • •

Zim strapped a surgical mask around the lower part of his head, and covered his mouth and nostrils. It stung, and throbbed the sore lash underneath his eye, but there was no way to avoid the pain. He removed his black rubber gloves and applied latex ones in replacement. He stared at his green hands for while, observing them through the sub-transparency of the latex material with near unfamiliarity, being so used to his black gloves. He soon removed it from mind, and rolled up his sleeves and put on shoe covers. He was taking precautionary steps for further experimentation on his subjects. However, he wasn't too sure how covered he actually needed to be. But just for safety reasons, he put on a gown as well. Sure, he looked slightly ridiculous in the outfit. Not to mention the mismatch color system, both the bright cyan, pink and black offsetting each other, completely unpleasant as an arrangement, but Zim wasn't concerned about that.

He approached them with a slow, steady pace. In his mind, he tried to convince himself that he wasn't bracing for the event, and that he was merely going to walk up to them, and start cleaning their environment. He hated the thought that they were able to have any sort of affect on him, as if they owned an influence of which he could be perturbed by.

Despite his dislike towards the reality of the situation, he avoided linear progression, and circled around them as if he was preoccupied and that his experiments weren't at his primary priorities. He meandered, and strode next to the door and froze. To stall, he realized at that moment how unreliable the format of these doors were, as he glanced on their details. Doors that relied on handles and hinges to be pulled and pushed open. Which also meant that they were accessible through any side, at any time...for anybody. If Dib wanted to document more of his Experiments, this door would've granted complete access without any second thoughts.

Zim re-accessed them. He looked at them and absorbed just how threatening it was to have them. Noting about the details of how insecure and untrustworthy they were, he began thinking of new ways to replace them. Despite the fact they were reinforced iron doors, it was best if he re-structured them to slide open, and to activate only by voice recognition principles. He took a moment longer to observe them before he sighed and continued walking to the platform; He carried on with the reluctance that hadn't died down. He wasn't going to forget why he was here.

Zim first cleaned up the vomit that was still staining the floor. He used a broad shoulder, square pointed scraping tool to peel off the dry, and now hardened substance. Despite the amount of times he held his breath, he still managed to smell the odors that were produced from it and trigger his gag reflex.

After wards, he disposed of it and cleaned his tools off in the nearby lab sinks. He used a scrub and applied a hefty amount of soap, the best invention that the humans ever created. He feared for a moment that ever since that germ epidemic broke out, where he received a strong phobia against insanitary objects, he would have a perpetual knack for cleanliness.

Zim approached his human test subjects. They were still immobile, and practically lifeless. He stared at them for a while longer, before his stomach jolted in his insides, and threatened to make him sick. He closed his eyes and brought his hand to his mouth. He wasn't going to get anything done if he kept getting queasy. So he tried to make it an effort to keep his eyes from taking anymore details than necessary.

He approached his computer system and began typing. Before he began any further experimentation, he needed to see what had already been done before he would do anything else. Ordinarily, he would only need to look at his latest log entries, however it would be intriguing to see what had happened before hand, concerning he couldn't remember. Zim loaded the application and a plethora of entries, observations, analysis, and research documents opened in sequence. He felt his back pockets to ensure he had another one stored.

Pictures were provided with a few of the files, and quite a few displayed graphic content. He searched for his logs, and organized them in order, and chose the ones only about him experimenting. He began from the beginning. He provided the names of his subjects in the first line.

Ana Simmons; Deceased. Erin Rodriguez; Deceased. Wesley Barnes; Deceased. Quince Carlson; Deceased. Daniel Fredericks; Deceased. Jamie Martinez; Deceased. Sarah Kohl; Deceased.

Day one: Log #1. Human Test subject #1AS has been implanted with the experimental probe. Probe has been inserted through the interval between the frontal lobe and the parietal lobe, which had been identified as the central sulcus, which is also encased by the primary somatosensory cortex, and the primary motor cortex. The probe's apex has punctured through the temporal lobe in the process, where it shall make the changes as needed.

The excavation process has initiated. Bone structure has been removed from the cranium. Flesh and brain tissue is exposed. Patient remains stable, but heavily reactive. Probe is administered. Excessive amounts of blood has been discharged, and patient has entered in a hysterical frenzy. Attempt at flailing and screaming has only quickened it's death. Further prevention on blood loss is needed. Approximately 25 minutes after the insertion of the experimental probe, subject #1AS dies of multiple causes. Further analysis is in due. End of report.

Log #2. Studies show that the globus pallidus, a sub-cortical section of the brain, controls voluntary movement of a being. It is included of part of the basal-ganglia, which regulates movement of the subconscious level. Which brings a narrowed understanding to why subject #1AS had been extremely sporadic at the time of insertion. Further studies will be done upon removing conscious thought and awareness. End of report.

Day three: Log #7. Subject #2ER has been admitted to the head brace. Screws has punctured in designated cranial areas. Subject resists at first, but cognitive functions decays after the first few minutes. Subject 2ER remains stable. Experimental probe has been re-established in the same areas as before. Subject 2ER remains stable, but bleeding is apparent. After precautionary uses, Subject 2ER survives, but remains no longer of use. Subject 2ER is discarded. The confirmed and factual probe will be tested and used tomorrow. End of report.

Day four: Log #8. Subject #3WBhas been admitted to Probe #1. Required precautions has been taken. Subject #3WB remains alive, and head brace as been secured tightly. Probe #1 is not an official product, however will act as a set up for future upgrades. Further experimentation will be exploited. End of report.

Log #9. After applying an electrical charge, Subject #3WB attempts at flailing and responds accordingly. Symptoms similar to subject #1AS has been noted, but more constricted. Bleeding and severe burning is apparent. The eyes of subject 3WB has become red, and bleed profusely. Smoke arise from the opening. After another ten seconds to exposure, Subject #3WB dies. Future caution will be necessary. A ventilation system will be required to filter out any odor or smoke in the future. End of report.

Day five: Log #10. Subjects #4QC, #5DF, #6JM, and #7SK have died in the process of electrical experimentation. Alterations of the electric charge and it's magnitude have been made with each subject, but only subject #7SK was capable of lasting a longer time period during exposure, to the extent of a full 5 minutes. Emotions still have to be triggered for future testing, however analysis is in due to see if subjects can primarily sustain the electricity before altering the probes for targeting lineworks of neroutransmitters. Further analysis will be needed for this. End of report.

Zim blinked and scrolled down the pages, to look for his more recent posts of experiments. His eye was beginning to become irritated by the swelling, as it spread to the lower eyelid and partly interfered with his motility and vision.

He gently scratched the irritated surface of the wound. He didn't think so many people, or kids, had died in this operation. Then again, it was needed to finally have a functional outcome of the one emotion per probe policy. They were necessary occurrences. How else would he have accomplished such a feat? He ran at the end of the page, and began reading his last notes. After another few minutes of analyzing his logs, he received better insight at what had occurred down here. He was beginning to remember, and the more he did, the more awkward, and heavy it felt to occupy the lab. He walked over to the sinks, and began rubbing disinfectant into a damp wad of tissue. Gingerly placing it, he tried not to react against the piercing pain.

And then, he remembered why he'd stopped coming down here in the first place; there were no more tests to be done. All of the necessary experiments and time spent down here was already fulfilled. He'd finished his product, and successfully engaged it into five other test subjects, who managed to remain alive under the head brace, and electric probe. It was a justifiable reason to keep them under here as his achievements; trophies. So then why in the world did Computer keep bothering him to come down here so much? If there was no more work to be done? Zim was afraid he already knew the answer.

He groaned and removed his surgical mask, untying it from the back of his head and shoving it inside his pocket; it already had been covered in blood and puss. His nose, in turn, met a fistful of strong odors and he immediately flinched from the potency. Zim held in his breath and replaced the mask. He'd forgotten about the smell; His nostrils were smaller than those of humans, whose noses were visible and distractingly ugly. His were too small to be seen by any eye, and so it also meant he had a lacking sense compared to his other four. But it didn't mean he couldn't smell the horrid stench that were of his laboratories.

In result to this unsuccessful measure, he grumbled to himself and halfheartedly made the decision to begin cleaning. It wasn't something he wanted to do, as he felt that he prepared for something much bigger. But it met circumstances that he had no other choice. Zim sighed and placed a hand against his head.

Dammit, Computer. You really wanted me to socialize with these beings? He asked, mentally. In a way, he was also chastising. Saying it to Computer himself, though, would only spur another argument that he wasn't willing to have.

He removed his latex gloves, and the cold air brisked upon his exposed skin. He wasn't used to exposing his body other than his face. Nearly the rest of his body was shielded under the layers of his outfit. He untied the straps of the gown and removed the light material off his body. He disposed them, along side his shoe covers, inside his garbage disposal; It burned any substance that was placed inside. Zim was only supposed to use it if they were contaminated. However it didn't effect the machine either way if it was typical trash or polluted materials.

He placed on more suitable attire for the situation, putting on yellow rubber gloves and a cloth apron that was manufactured from the humans. Seemingly, their entire basis of materials was repellant against water's corrosive characteristics. Then again, water was one of this planet's fundamental resource, and it turned out that Irk was vulnerable to it's acidity; so all material from it, in turn, was susceptive to it as well.

Zim scrubbed their bodies, but didn't deactivate the Automated System Regulator. He didn't want them to know he was doing this, and there were too many reasons to try and decipher through to pick one for justification. He removed their dirty, torn, clothing and covered them with towels. It was awkward to do so, and he disputed it at first in his mind. However his qualms, surprisingly enough, wasn't enough to deter him from sanitizing the area of his lab. So, reluctantly, and very hesitantly, he tore away their soiled garments, all the while trying not gag from the stench. He would need to buy them new clothes, and shoes for that matter, as the conditions of their present ones were far from being usable again...

He would tell Gir to do so.

Zim soaped the sponge again, washing away the waste and excrement it absorbed and made it consecrated once more. He continued the process, as he cleaned the area around them, and their stools. Slowly, but surely, they were starting to appear more wholesome. Their skin wasn't layered with grime and sweat, although a reaction he did notice was that the electrical charging seemed to cause their sudoriferous glands to produce abnormally more than usual. He wasn't sure why, but he thought that the heat from the electricity passed through their body, and in turn caused them to sweat more. He would also have to supply them with more water, in order to eradicate dehydration.

On the subject, he decided to evaluate their supplies. He dropped the sponge into the bucket near him and approached the computer system on the platform. He entered the pass code to enter into the databases of his system. He navigated through his research and the information pertaining the Neural Experiments, and entered into another tab to their current status. His system calculated the percentage of supply in each capsule. It used the capsule's densities, and measured the weight of the storage held inside them in order to factor the results in. However, unlike other times, this received results extraordinarily quicker. And in process, it was alarming for differing reasons.

Their stocks were empty. The computer had calculated that they had none left in storage. It shocked him, and sent a few weak chills through his body and Zim widened his eyes. He was slightly dumbfounded at this discovery, and he wished that he'd found out sooner. He sighed and crossed his arms, remembering when Computer reminded him to revisit their food supplies. Even though the conversation centered entirely around the food sources that Computer considered unhealthy, he was also trying to imply that they were running low...Luckily, their water wasn't as bad, however there was only 4% left.

Zim mentally struck himself and immediately began typing codes and commands for an automated refill. However he received messages that there weren't any auxiliary resources left for the refill to occur.

" Dammit." Zim cursed to himself. He rubbed his head, flustered, and coerced his mind to coalesce. And he realized that it wasn't even in his ability to produce more, at least in a timely, realistically manner. He received the necessary ingredients and supplements by shipments that he ordered from the services provided by the Irken Military. Invaders were able to request necessary equipment, weaponry and other items that would assist their conquers or research through those. Zim took great advantage to this to have a steady income of supplies of gorgus grains and other materials that manufactured the feed he used for his experiments.

And now that he was considered an enemy of the planet, all services had been denied to him. Not to mention, his last shipment was nearly a year ago.

He widened his eyes in realization.

How long had they been without food? When did they run out of stock? Weeks? Months beforehand?

The thought carried a boundless gravity. It suppressed his ability to think clearly, dulling his intellectuality. He blinked, and glanced back at his Experiments, dumbfounded. After a while, he eased himself into his chair, placed his elbows against the desk, and shaded his eyes from light. The mask was now starting to feel saturated, and he removed it once more and threw it away in the incinerator. Waves of conflicting emotions entered him, with striking force, and twinged his insides.

There was a slow, gradual pressure, being applied against Zim's mental capacity. Surely, it was being pried, and twisted to test limits and extents of which he couldn't sustain, and hold uniformly with a concise stature. It's manifestations have also been becoming more bold, and audacious to appease the craving for the slow unwinding instability. He was being tested, and formed as a time-bomb. Each second was another limitation that he would be assessed at. Inspected and experimented through different fields of operation; all including the compromise of his composure and mind. And eventually, he would slowly reel in himself, as he tried to remain stable, and safe.

And like all of the other situations, His mind remained at a single position, trying to grasp the concept of progress as he lied upon his own troubling emotions. He furrowed his eyebrows, and a swirling sickness of discouragement entered his heart.

How am I supposed to do this? Zim asked, to a void of nothingness. He was hoping a voice would shed light upon answers he was blind to, and it would reveal solutions he desired. But his mind remained an isolated shell, and he was still perplexed and dismayed beyond his own recognition.

A deep, unsettling solemnity spread within, and it twisted at his chest, spilling in dejection. It curled about in his insides, flowing within his blood with a poisonous, traversing effect. However, he wouldn't allow it passage through his conscious, and he drowned it in his attempts to remain placid. Zim closed his eyes, and maintained a steady order of breathing, as he forced down feelings he was convincing himself that he wasn't aware of.

Zim opened his eyes.

He despised this with an insufferable spite. This, as in the reality and abstract ideology that forwarded fortune upon a designated people with swelling favor, and a terrible, indescribable fate upon others. He couldn't help but feel that there was an everlasting directed sense of affliction and misery, and he was the main recipient. Daily, he was having to endure. He was having to suffer through the encumbrances of others, and the consequences of every action he made, every movement he willed, and every repercussion of actions he didn't own.

It clogged his mind, and it forcibly placed obstacles in his way. It distorted his ability to ascertain his actualities between fiction, as his conscious continually backfired upon the feed of his emotions. Shadows were cast upon any sense of direction he received, ultimately bringing him lower down into the depths of his own indefinite complexity.

Zim closed his eyes again.

Inside, he was beginning to enlighten a fire. Musing over these thoughts and these conditions annoyed him, as he made conscious the misfortune of these circumstances. His breathing was beginning to shake, and as well as the muscles in his body. His trembling stature instilled a multi-directed hatred, and he released another curse word.

Unconsciously, he formed fists with his hands, and slowly, something swelled inside. Something formidable.

He forwarded it to Gir. He hated how incapable that little shit was, and his annoying, erratic behavior was only one more reason to dispose of him. He also directed it towards Dib, and his wretchedness, and Gaz, and the Neural Experiments, and the abominations unworthily entitled kids at school. He hated this abominable race, and it's obsolete characteristics. He hated their looks, their unstable minds, their insanity; He hated everything. He hated Computer, he hated Ms. Zoe, he hated Mrs. Everett.

Zim wished a violent, horrific death and torture onto everyone. He imagined their pain and their misery, and he grimaced in his rage. He allowed his mind into dark imaginings of suffering. An anguish so agonizing, and piercing. He imagined the accord of screams, and their cacophony; their terrific demise. He absorbed the sounds of their terror. The sounds of their flesh tearing, and blood spilling. For a moment, he held a blood-lust in his absolute rage. He imagined slaughter, and gore with pleasure. A trembled smile came upon, but disappeared.

A moment passed, and he realized with disturbance, that part of his wish was already true. It left him in a boundless stupor, and for a moment he didn't want to believe it was. That his imagery of pure suffering was a reality. One he accomplished...

Zim resurfaced from his mind, and his heart stopped. He gazed upon his small gathering before him, and stood. On the contrary to him, they remained. Their states were well decrepit, and any sign of spirit or liveliness absconded from them innumerable ages before. However, they were here. They were still, and staring. Grey, and toneless. Dull, and without animation. Slowly, they swelled and they were filled with filth. Thoughts, and emotions had flown away along with their existence, and soon only the organs remained inside, filling their systems for work until it's own disrepair came upon it's accord. Did they want this?

No..

They weren't allowed departure without his authorization. Weren't allowed freedom of choice without his authorization. Weren't allowed mental coherence. Weren't allowed individualism...They weren't allowed to live. They stayed as shells, and as cocoons that were burdened with their own determined fates, tied around their necks with barbed nooses that would tighten ever so slowly; hopes and dreams of an individual forced from existence under duress. They carried a fettered life, one they clung to with a groundless faith as it furthered asphyxiated them, a life that would sink and drown in it's own blood once it was cut free of bonds. They had no other choice; it was mere fate working it's wonders.

A cold, slow shudder wormed down his spine. He remembered the hurt he wanted and it spread a self-directed disgust. For a moment, he felt his heart twist again, painfully and sharply. He realized it was regret. Guilt. Remorse.

Computer...He...he was...

The recognition of these emotions were killed immediately in their state of processing, and were choked down behind his subconscious. He was mentally disabled and coerced with a surging force to neither comprehend nor acknowledge the presence of such insolence. His awareness, and his cognition slowed in lieu, and his body nearly trembled. Zim soon constricted his muscles, and his eyes shut tightly. His PAK device quietly whirred slightly, and he felt the presence of nausea, and he recognized he might be getting sick.

Once the feeling came, he reopened his eyes and lived in a momentary discomfort. He blinked, and pondered why. It was almost like he couldn't...recall. However, he removed it from his concerns. What he forgot wasn't something worth remembering, especially if it made him feel slightly sick. He turned his attention back to the task at hand; Refilling their food containers and water supply. And with no other setbacks or distractions, he set his mind to the objective, and remained clear from any preventing emotions, or thoughts. He mused around in his mind of the alternatives he might have, or the decisions he would have to make in order to keep his Neural Experiments alive. He sat in his chair, and allowed to be pensive for the duration of time that passed. Zim configured in his mind he would need to gather different, however more nutritional ingredients for their feed. The stores here on earth might be able to provide, and so it wasn't an entire loss. After an hour, or so it felt, he felt considerably satisfied. He would have to do research for the specifications, however for the most part; there was a plan. He wondered curiously what he was feeling before that made him sick, but again, he soon diverged from the topic, and looked in his lab for bandages.

And so he continued in his denial.