A Parade of Indignities Chapter 22: Criminal Justice, an invader zim fanfic

Author's Note

Hello everyone. I have a couple little announcements and shout outs to give before we jump in.

First, I changed my URL on Tumblr. I'm now just rissynicole.

Next, I want to give a huge thank you to my good friend, Met, for drawing a beautiful piece of fanart from Chapter 16. It is currently the story's cover image, so take a look at it. And make sure to check out Met on her various platforms. She's an incredibly talented artist and writer. I can't get over how much I love this drawing she's made for me. She's banishedfromirk on Tumblr, Elvis-Stitch on AO3, and Lullaby-of-the-Lost on DA.

I also want to thank another dear friend of mine, poppun-chan, for writing a beautiful oneshot story based on "Parade." It's called "Of Cake and Memories" and you can find it on this site as well as on AO3. It's absolutely adorable.

And lastly, I recently commissioned some awesome art from Bamsara on Tumblr. The pictures should come up on my blog under the tag #a parade of indignities. If you haven't already, give Bamsara a follow. She's amazingly talented, and I couldn't be happier with the work she did for me.

Chapter 22: Of Criminal Justice and Writing on the Wall

"What are we gonna do now, Mastah?"

GIR's little voice trilled through the air, shaking Zim back to reality. He was still standing, leaning heavily against the ship and clutching the sides to keep himself up. His legs felt numb, and he feared that if he dared move, they would simply give out beneath him.

At last, he stirred, turning his head to look over at GIR. The little robot was sitting on the floor, staring up at him curiously.

Zim realized he had been holding his breath and let it out slowly. "We go back to Earth."

Yes. That's what they would do. That's all there was to do.

Slowly, he wrenched himself away from the edge of the ship and tried to make his way back to the pilot's chair. Almost immediately, his knees buckled from beneath him, but he collapsed crookedly into the seat just in time. Wriggling into a more comfortable position, he dropped his chin and released a relieved sigh. At least, it was supposed to sound relieved. The noise that came out instead was a strange mixture between a wheezy exhale and a whimper.

GIR settled in next to him and pressed a button on the console. The windshield lowered over the two, sealing them inside the ship.

Zim poised his hands over the control panel, excitement rising in his chest. As soon as he glanced down, though, he felt his confidence dry up almost instantaneously.

The levers and buttons looked entirely foreign to him. It was as if he'd never flown a ship in his life. He knew that couldn't possibly be true, though. He had many memories of flying, some dating back to his early adolescence when he could just barely see over the dashboard.

He dropped his hands and stared blankly down at the countless icons before him.

After a few moments, GIR began to fidget. Finally, a little metal claw reached forward in Zim's periphery, and the Irken nearly exploded.

"DON'T TOUCH!" He slapped GIR's hand away as forcibly as he could. "I know how to do it!"

"Then why haven't ya done it yet?" the robot countered. It came out with a childish sense of innocence, though. He was genuinely curious.

Zim growled and continued to glare at the buttons as if he could will them to make sense. It was like taking an exam where the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but it just wouldn't come to him.

He must have continued staring down at the panel for some time, for GIR eventually leaned back and rested his stubby little legs onto the dash. "Now wouldja look at that sunset…" he hummed.

Zim's eyes flicked upwards just in time to see Elixus's two suns finish creeping languidly behind the sprawling city high-rises. Within moments, the sky darkened. The Irken furrowed his brows and glanced back down.

"AHA!" he exclaimed. He flicked a little lever on the far right and the headlights lit up in front of them.

He smirked for a moment, then went right back to looking down at the control panel. His expression faded slowly back to one of blankness.

The headlights only broadened in the increasing darkness of the night, though. Zim would hum and grumble quietly to himself, hesitantly reaching towards a button or lever before slowly withdrawing his claw.

GIR hummed quietly beside him. He pulled out a chocolate bar from the storage in his head and began to munch on it. His legs kicked the backrest absently.

Zim frowned, sneaking a glance down at GIR then back at the console.

The robot was staring out the window, adding some occasional beat-boxing noises to his tuneless humming.

"OKAY!" Zim cried out, exasperatedly, throwing his hands up dramatically. "You can fly the ship! If it'll get you to stop harping on about it, then fine!"

GIR titled his head for a moment, then shrugged. "Okie dokie."

Within a moment, the Spittle was shakily rising above the surrounding buildings, joining the other starships in the sky. It paused midair briefly before turning in the direction of their designation. Then, it flew at an upwards slope towards the heavens, gaining rapid speed as it headed towards Earth.

Dib shivered and pulled his coat tighter across him. He didn't look up, instead keeping his eyes cast to the dirty floor in front of him and watching the shadows appear and disappear as people walked by in the brightly lit hallway outside his dank little jail cell.

He had been transported here, to what was clearly some sort of Irken police station and taken to an empty cubicle. It was remarkably similar to a jail cell on Earth, save for the fiery red laser beams that had exploded from the frame of the cell the second he was inside. He didn't dare go near them.

For the last couple hours, he'd been left to sit in silence and stew over his predicament.

Ignoring the lumpy mattress in the corner of his cell, he instead sat on the floor against the furthermost wall. He had brought his knees up to his chest and was resting his crossed arms over them.

How could I have expected anything less from Zim?

The question kept going through his mind, over and over. The initial sense of shock hadn't dissipated; on the contrary, it only continued to build. More and more questions surfaced and resurfaced in his mind, each one of them laced with fear, betrayal, or any mixture of the two.

He buried his head in his arms and squeezed his eyes shut. Finally, letting out a deep sigh, he propped his chin up over his arms and continued staring at the ground, tinged red from the pulsating glow of the lasers holding him within.

After a few moments, he felt a presence outside his cell. The feeling lingered long enough for Dib to lift his heavy head and look up.

In front of his cell were a pair of guards peering in at him.

"You're needed for questioning," one of them said.

The other pulled off his glove and scanned his hand on a screen nearby. The lasers vanished, and the Irkens stood in front of the open gap.

Without a word, Dib rose to his feet and allowed the two to lead him down the hall of cells. As he walked by them, he saw various other aliens hunkered inside. Occasionally, he'd pass an Irken, but they were exceptionally rare.

Once they came to the end of the hall, the same guard scanned himself through another door and they continued to walk down a brand new corridor. This one was long and gray, with thick metal doors lining each side. Each door was emblazed with Irken characters, but he was none the wiser to what they could possibly have said.

Officers marched past them up and down the corridor. They all wore the same uniform, heavy purple armor with high collars and equally bulky combat boots that made audible thuds with each footfall. None spared so much as a glance in their direction.

Dib trudged along, careful to stay in line with the Irkens flanking either side of him. Finally, both of them simultaneously gripped his arms hard enough to draw blood with their sharp claws and came a halt. Dib winced and turned his eyes to a nondescript doorway. He was led through and ordered to sit down and wait.

As soon as he was left alone, he wilted where he sat. Adrenaline was running heavily through him. It was all still digesting, and it was physically impossible for him to so much as focus on one facet of what had just occurred before another detail sprang up in his mind and demanded whatever numb acknowledgement he was capable of giving it.

Finally, a rather tall Irken entered the room and slammed the door.

"State your name and species."

"Dib Membrane. Human," he replied back in a weak, hesitant voice.

The Irken raised one brow, as if Dib's answer had been less than honest. "Human? What planet are you from?"

"I'm from Earth, Sir." As soon as the last word had left his lips, he noticed the slight curl of the officer's antennae and winced. "Ma'am."

The officer stared him down in obvious distaste. Finally, she walked around the table and stood facing him. "What is your business here on Elixus?"

Dib swallowed. "I was trying to help my… my…" he racked his brain for a word that would aptly describe his relationship with Zim. Friend? No. Enemy? That word would only lead to more questions that he couldn't even answer himself. "… I was trying to help a sick Irken."

"You were trying to 'help' an Irken?" she repeated derisively. "That's a new one."

She shook her head and sat down at the table across from him. "I'll get right down to the point. We have witnesses who claim to have seen you breaking and entering in both an Irken residence and an Irken space vessel on multiple occasions. This has come only days after an official report was made of an unidentified alien matching your description having been forcibly removed from an Irken medical clinic."

Dib raised his head sharply. "What? I wasn't breaking and entering! And the ship is mine!"

"Lies aren't going to help you here, alien."

"I'm not lying," he said through gritted teeth. "Just ask Skoodge!"

"Skoodge?" Again, her words were laced with a dubious tone that caused an exceeding amount of infuriation to surge in Dib's chest.

He had to pause and bite back his growing frustration when he responded. "The owner the of the burrow. I was staying with him."

And where is this 'Skoodge?'"

He paused. "Umm… Well, he said he was going to Irk. For the war. He's on his way there right now."

"Is there a way to contact him?" the officer asked. Again, it seemed like nothing more than a thinly blanketed attempt to humor what she obviously considered to be a lie.

"Well, I-I," Dib stuttered. Did he have any of Skoodge's contact information? Anything? "I don't know."

She smirked. "Irken law enforcement is investigating both the medical clinic and the burrow as we speak. They have reason to believe that you may be tied in the theft of a blank Irken ID PAK."

Dib couldn't believe his ears. It took him a moment of wild ogling at the floor before he could even piece together what the officer had just told him.

"Blank ID PAK?"

The officer seemed to take his stunned silence for shock at having been exposed, however, for she continued to sneer down at him.

Suddenly, he burst outward. "I didn't steal anything! You've made a huge mistake! That's what I keep trying to tell you!" The words flooded from his mouth, amalgamating into one another in an almost-incoherent mess.

"Then explain yourself, alien."

Dib shut up right then and there. How could he explain himself without also exposing Skoodge? The truth was just as lethal. They had been breaking laws from the moment they'd crossed paths. Even if, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, Irken law enforcement believed him, they would still look for any reason to punish Dib to the fullest extent they could for the little slips that he couldn't account for. There was no way to remedy the situation without needlessly taking Skoodge down with him.

As this was roiling its way through Dib's mind, the officer standing in front of him shifted her weight and simpered. "That's what I thought. Get up."

He heard the words as if they were in a tunnel. He made no move to stand.

"Get him out of here."

In a daze, he could feel himself being roughly jerked to his feet by the guards and shoved back through the doors he'd come in through.

It wasn't uncommon for squatters to break into empty homes while their occupants were deployed. Irkens seldom stayed in the same place for long, which made responding to break-ins a relatively routine ordeal for Irken law enforcement.

This one appeared to be no different.

A sleek, low-hovering Irken vehicle pulled up to the curb, idling for a moment before deploying its landing gear and touching down. A pause, then two investigators slid out, both wearing grim expressions and the regalia signifying their places as detectives for the 396th Precinct of the Irken Police Department on Elixus. They made their way up the narrow path, hardly more than silhouettes in the darkness of night.

It was always the same—some nondescript alien race in search of shelter or equipment they could loot. They always seemed to be rather satisfied with themselves once they had made it past the bio-scanners and the array of notoriously ruthless defense systems. So satisfied, in fact, that they seemed utterly bewildered at the appearance of Irken law enforcement. As if they had accounted for everything up until that point and were blindsided by the arrival of reinforcements. The shock on their faces was almost funny.

Usually SWAT teams handled those, though. This was simply an investigation following an arrest. Nothing terribly unique. The perpetrator had already been detained the evening before near the docking bay a few blocks away.

The first officer paused at the door, taking a moment to glance over the specifics of the case. They had been assigned to investigate the burrow of Surgical Technician "Skoodge", PAK serial number SI983034. The investigator narrowed his purple eyes at the information given to him.

The homeowner had been drafted for war, and no one knew how long he'd been gone for. According to the medical clinic he worked at, he had taken several continuous days of personal time prior to giving them notice of his draft.

The trespasser who had been taken into custody was of an unknown alien race and had been spotted entering the residence by multiple witnesses. His appearance came around the same time as the sudden disappearance of a blank PAK from the very same medical clinic Surgical Technician Skoodge was employed at.

"Skluf!" his partner hissed in a whisper.

He looked up from the file at the sound of his name.

The other detective, a thin, nasally Irken by the name of Mil, was already poised for the search. She had her flashlight aimed in front of her, plasma blaster within easy reach on her belt. "Come on."

He tucked the information into his PAK and took out his own flashlight.

The two entered the dark breezeway, their shrewd eyes immediately scanning the room. When nothing appeared to be out of order, Mil pressed a button for the elevator.

"What do you think an alien would want with an Irken PAK?" Skluf murmured, still turning over the information in his mind.

She sniffed. "Probably hired by some enemy race to steal it for research. Wouldn't be the first time." She lifted her chin and primly stepped into the elevator.

He followed her, and the two made their way down the floor directly below.

Their shadows streaked along floors of each corridor as they made their way from room to room.

For the first few floors, they found nothing of note. The burrow looked perfectly ordinary, expressing only the subtlest and most innocent signs of use. An ajar door leading to the refectory. A television remote askew on the table.

It wasn't until they made it down into the medical bay when Skluf stopped dead in his tracks.

"What is it?" Mil whispered from behind him.

He didn't answer.

She scowled and peered over his shoulder. Her breath drew in sharply.

There, half-covered by messy white linen sheets, was a PAK.

"Is it… is it the stolen one?" Skluf asked speculatively after a moment.

She cocked her head to one side and, after peering around the room carefully, stepped closer. "It couldn't be," she said. "Look at it."

She traced over some of the larger scratches with her index finger.

He stood next to her and saw it for himself. He shined his flashlight on the PAK legs brimming over the edges of the unmade bed, pausing there for a moment before letting the light drift over the rest of the room. Several spindly cracks ran across the television screen and a couple pieces of machinery looked to be damaged.

The two exchanged looks.

They continued on to the last couple levels in the same manner, shining their lights in each direction. They were both looking for the same thing. Usually, wherever a PAK lay, a body lay nearby. But there was none.

Once they had finished the sweep, they turned to face each other again. Both wore a look of utter confusion.

"We should take it down to the station," Skluf said, mirroring his partner's thoughts. "Something doesn't add up here."

-x-

Within a matter of hours, Zim's birth PAK was resting atop a sterile metal table, exposed legs hanging over either side.

On another table nearby, other pieces of evidence were strewn and tagged. However, it was very possible that it would all prove to be useless. Many cases could be solved with ease with only a PAK for evidence.

In the center of the room, a large Control Brain took up residence, existing at the station for the very purpose of processing data, replaying past memories, and adding the deceased Irkens' data to the collective.

A long metal plug had been inserted in the uppermost port of the PAK, and the Brain was in the midst of loading information. A large monitor screen took up an entire wall, displaying a bar to indicate the Brain's progress.

Mil had her back turned to the PAK, in the midst of reading over a crime scene security log on her computer.

"It's almost done," Skluf droned absently from where he was standing, within view shot of the screen.

She closed out of the log and joined him in front of the monitor.

It would be easy enough. Irkens often died in combat, though some also expired from old age or the occasional illness if they didn't possess the prerequisites needed to obtain medical care. Even so, it wasn't unheard of for an Irken to be murdered in cold blood, often by jealous peers or aliens. In this case, accessing the last retained memories on a PAK could shed light on the host's final moments.

"Memory retrieval complete," the Control Brain said eventually, breaking the silence.

Skluf cleared his throat. "Good. Access the PAK's final memories."

Scarcely more than a few seconds passed before it lit up with a jagged array of hazy scenes. Flashes of light, mainly, and voices. A few glimpses of a long, gangly alien with beige skin.

The two Irkens perked up. Contrary to clearing up the cause of death, it only piqued their confusion.

"Huh," Skluf laughed humorlessly, "That didn't help."

"Wait… go back," Mil murmured. The same footage flashed back across the scene. Suddenly, she held up a finger. Upon the screen was a dim shot of the alien. "This is the suspect we have in custody, yes?"

Skluf cocked his head and squinted. "It is."

Mil walked back to her computer and typed something.

"It still doesn't explain the exact cause of death," Skluf said to her back.

"It points highly to the alien's involvement."

He huffed. "Sure, but we can't assume anything yet. Not until we've seen all the evidence."

Mil walked back to his side. "Pull up medical history," Skluf said after a moment.

She fidgeted a bit beside him. "That's a stretch. It sounds like a clear case of—"

"Computing," the Control Brain replied.

She sighed and crossed her arms. More silence followed.

It was a long shot often times, but if an Irken had access to any sort of healthcare, it could also clear up their cause of death.

Suddenly, alarms burst out of nowhere. The investigators both nearly jumped out of their skin, eyes widening and antennae snapping forward in an instant.

The screen went red, nearly blinding the them with its sudden austerity.

Skluf whipped around, holding his antennae in agony. He looked to Mil, only to find that that she looked to be completely frozen, mouth slightly ajar and eyes staring upwards. He trailed his gaze to where hers was glued, up upon the screen. As soon as he did so, he gasped.

Flashing cryptically were the words: "WARNING: TOXIN J-636 DETECTED".

A couple of days had passed inside the Spittle Runner, all without much of note. It shuttled along on autopilot, relatively silent save for the occasional beeping of the radar screen, alerting the occupants within of oncoming ships or planets so that they may change course to avoid impact.

Inside the little cockpit, Zim sat in the pilot's chair and stretched his legs out in front of himself. He bent them at the knee, then extended them back out. The cycle repeated a few times before he let them go slack.

Next, he lifted his arms out and held them there, watching in contempt when they began to tremble ever so slightly after only about a minute. He began to flex them in a similar fashion.

He didn't exactly know what he was doing in terms of physical therapy, but he figured that as long as he kept moving, he wouldn't be reduced back down to his atrophy ridden post-surgery self.

Aside from the occasional bout of pain in his back from the surgery itself—essentially a re-cauterization of the wounds that allowed the PAK to fuse to his spine—his recovery was continuing in as positive a manner as it could, given the circumstances.

Many times, he had practiced walking back and forth in the small cabin. He could now make it without holding onto the walls for guidance, and it brought just the smallest smidgen of accomplishment to him. Each time he was able to clear the distance in the small space, he felt more and more like his old self.

Zim dropped his arms down to his sides and leaned back in the pilot's chair with a heavy sigh. He stared straight ahead at the stars zipping by in front of him. Endless recollections of long-distance space travel had found its way into his memory bank, and each of them were the same. Dull, boring, and altogether uneventful. Going into hyperspeed made it so that even some of space's more interesting phenomena was nothing more than a blur as they passed it by.

It was a matter of seconds before his eyes unfocused and he became lost in his own thoughts.

As he did so, his gaze unconsciously wandered around the ship and took in the drawings that GIR has unleashed upon the inside of the ship. Not a single area of space had been spared. Every square foot contained one, or at least a half-finished attempt at one. Most of them were indistinguishable to what he remembered of GIR's other doodles back at the base; odd, blobby monsters and disproportionate humanoid creatures, some with little thought bubbles jammed with incoherent speech. From the moment he'd stepped foot in the ship, their existence had only vaguely registered in his mind.

His eyes lingered on one drawing, though, and before he knew it, something stirred in his brain and he was focusing in on it.

"GIR?"

The robot's head emerged from underneath a mound of clothes he'd taken from the Dib-human's duffel bag. "Mmmhhmmm?"

"What is this?" Zim's voice had taken on a low, terse tone—the very same inflection he often used with GIR when he suspected him of tampering with expensive equipment in his lab.

GIR's eyes drifted to where his master was pointing. "That's you!" he answered after a moment, pointing to a crudely drawn figure with what looked like two huge number 7's jutting from its head. Zim assumed those were supposed to be his antennae.

He squinted at it and raised a brow. "What am I doing?"

"You're throwing up!" the robot chirped sweetly.

He didn't give a response other than a deeply disturbed frown. It took him a moment before he spoke again. "And who is this with me?"

"The big head boy!" he said just as cheerily.

A chill ran through him, causing his feelers to quaver a bit. "Dib?"

"Yeah, that's right." GIR seemed overjoyed at his master's sudden enthusiasm in his artwork. "He's patting your back!"

Zim continued to scan the other doodles, his eyes widening as he noticed a similarity. Huge, dramatic scythe-locks and double number sevens adorned the heads of many of the poorly drawn figures within the interior of the ship.

GIR turned to one directly to his right. "He's crying in this one! See?" He wriggled out of the clothes pile and, after nearly being tripped up, walked over to where Zim was standing and pointed at another nearby. "And this is him yelling at me for sleepin' on your head."

Zim swallowed thickly as his faraway eyes drifted over each drawing. "GIR?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"…Nevermind." He swiveled the chair back around to the windshield and returned to staring outside it. He could hear GIR shifting behind him, going back to what he had been doing before.

For the next few hours, the shuffling of GIR going through Dib's luggage and the soft humming of the ship's engine were the only two noises that perturbed the silence. The Irken had pulled both his knees up to his chest. He stared outside the ship, eyes narrowed.

"Proximity warning." The control panel lit up, causing him to jump with a start.

He stared down at the radar screen on the ship. The ship seemed to be nearing the far reaches of Irken-populated space. Once they reached the end, there would mainly be uninhabited planets or planets that were unable to support life. Then, it was a long stretch of nothingness until they reached Earth.

Might as well stop and refuel, he thought. They wouldn't get another chance.

"Change trajectory towards the nearest rest stop."

He waited for it to reroute, staring idly down at the screen. As soon as it did so, he turned in his seat and faced GIR. "Take control of the ship," he said simply. Casually.

"Oooh, where're we goin?" GIR asked. He had a sock hanging off of his antenna.

Zim shrugged. "Whatever stinking planet the ship directs us to. We need to refuel."

"We do?"

"YES! Now do as I say!" Zim looked disgustedly around him. "And clean up those clothes once we land! They're making the whole ship smell like the Dib-stink's hideous body odor."

The Irken crossed his arms and dropped into the passenger seat, going back to staring out the window as they zeroed in on a planet.

-x-

Half an hour later, Zim's window had been replaced by another as the two settled into a booth at a rest stop for interplanetary travelers. He didn't know the name of the planet they were on, and he didn't care.

He hadn't meant to do anything more than stretch his legs and refuel the ship, but GIR has insisted on coming inside and eating. So, after a painfully long walk through the fueling station that involved lots of breaks and cursing under his breath, Zim had eventually made his way to the neighboring restaurant with the robot in tow.

They'd chosen a seat closest to the front, with a full view of the Spittle Runner only a few hundred feet away. The sky outside was a smoky emerald green, and an enormous pale moon hung lowly over the horizon. Like every other Irken-run planet, ships flew this way and that in a constant flurry. It didn't matter where it was; it was just as loud and bustling as any other Irken city.

GIR was already plowing his way through whatever sickly sweet dessert he had ordered, making repulsive smacking sounds with his mouth that would normally have Zim in hysterics had the Irken not been so preoccupied.

He sank his teeth sank into his sandwich and chewed it absently, seemingly entranced by the Irkens fussing over their ships outside.

He was torn. Part of him felt anxious to return back to Earth. Another part of him dreaded it. It wasn't that he wanted to put off his mission. On the contrary, his old fervor he to please his Tallest had begun as a spark of a memory and only managed to broaden until he began to feel deeply panicked at the idea of leaving them waiting.

On a level he couldn't quite comprehend, he felt as though he were drifting through an alternate universe. He had woken up, laying limply as his memories returned, afraid at what had potentially been lost in the shuffle. And now? He was being bustled back to his old life.

It felt strange and disorienting. But it was what it was. The PAK had its shortcomings. Irkens were sometimes put in situations where they had to deal with the ramifications. They were forced to conquer them. There was no other choice. It was just a matter of pressing on.

As Zim ate his lunch, the conversations of other customers melded together in a buzz around him. Occasionally, a particularly sharp laugh would break through.

Two Irkens walked past Zim, deep in conversation. They slid into the booth behind him, still talking. "Have you heard the latest about the war?" the first one asked.

Zim froze mid-chew.

"Haven't had a chance to," the other replied.

"There are rumors that the smeeteries will be collecting larger DNA samples and increasing production in the event of a dip in the population."

There was a hum of disagreement. "Fear mongering at its finest," came the other's voice, muffled around a bite of food. "Don't believe everything you hear from alien news sources."

"Well, then what about the official orders from the Tallest? They've drafted nearly every able-bodied Irken in the galaxy."

A hearty laugh came from the second Irken. "We'll come out of the war even stronger than when we started. Mark my words. Those Meekrob scum will be polishing the hood of my ship by this time next year."

The two eventually drifted on to other topics, and the bustle of the rest stop continued around them the very same. GIR kept eating noisily. Zim, however, was entirely motionless in his seat, eyes wide as saucers.

News spread at lightspeed through the police station. A ripple of anxiety drifted through the air. Antennae stood on end. Curiosity possessed officers to abandon their posts and sneak their way to the office where the infected PAK lay, swarmed by countless investigators.

The room was crowded, filled with anxious whispers.

"They don't know how this could have happened…"

"What does it mean?"

"I heard they got orders to disconnect the PAK from the Control Brain at once…"

"…So little is known about the toxin. They don't know if remnants of it could have affected the Brain…"

"That doesn't sound right. I don't think toxins work that way."

"Best to stay on the safe side…"

A deep voice cut through the buzz of conversation, causing an immediate hush to fall over the onlookers.

"What do we know about the situation so far?" Eyeballing the screen keenly was the chief detective. He was an aged Irken with a notable stoop and a grim face etched with deep wrinkles.

Accompanying him were the investigators tasked with the case, Skluf and Mil among them. They were rather white-faced as they surrounded the table and shifted their eyes restlessly from the idle Control Brain, to the screen, and back down to the PAK.

Skluf stepped forward. "According to data recorded from a recent medical examination on planet Earth, the PAK had been infected with Toxin J-636."

The Chief rubbed his chin for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Earth… I've never heard of it. Computer. Pull up all known information about the planet."

"Insufficient data." The answer came almost instantly, and the Chief flicked one crooked antenna upward in surprise. Many of the investigators and officers followed suit.

"Wait!" A shuffling commenced as someone pushed through the crowded room. A stout officer burst through the glut of them, holding a file. "The suspect who had been trespassing in the burrow identified himself as an inhabitant of 'Earth.'"

The Chief's eyes glinted as they looked over the written interrogation between the officer and the alien suspect.

His eyes narrowed at the stuttering denials from the suspect and bouts of cheekiness. What could the connection be? How could this unknown planet have gained access to the toxin? There was only one way to find out.

The Chief lowered the report and turned so he was facing both his Irken audience and the Control Brain.

"Take him to Vort for further interrogation."

He pressed the report into a scanner on the wall and addressed the Brain. "And keep this in the classified archives. This… 'human' could be more dangerous than any of us could have guessed."

A time came when Dib couldn't bear being curled up on the hard floor any longer, and at some point, he had migrated to the sorry excuse for a bed he was given. There, he laid with his back turned to the bars of his cell, glaring morosely at the graffiti on the wall in front of him.

He wished he could sleep. At least then, he would be able to block out some of what was happening. No nightmare could be as horrid as the one he was living right now. He was bound to whatever his future held. Utterly powerless to it.

Not for the first time in the last hour, his stomach panged sharply in hunger, prompting him to press his hands against his middle. Dib closed his eyes and curled into himself a little more.

He hadn't eaten since the night before. Funny, he had been too stressed to hold down so much as a bite of breakfast at Skoodge's burrow before they had parted ways. Now, he thought back to the many opportunities he'd had and desperately wished he'd had it in his mind to at least eat something.

More importantly than that, though, it had been far too long since he'd had access to any water. The effects of dehydration were beginning to settle in, starting with a persistent throbbing in the back of his head.

He opened his eyes again once the cramping passed and continued to look at the writing inches from his face. It was nothing more than a jumble of nonsense in various alien languages, some specimens written in what looked to be pen ink or even dried blood, others chiseled deeply into the wall. It was all completely indecipherable to him. And still, he stared at it, trying to distinguish one language from the next, grimly wondering how many individuals had been in this cell before him, and how many of them had been perfectly innocent.

Eventually, he must have managed to fall asleep, for when he opened his eyes again, he was disoriented and sleepy, still lying stiffly on the mattress with his trench coat spread over him. It took only a matter of seconds for the weight of his reality to catch up with him, and he wrenched himself up into a sitting position on his cot. His head spun with dizziness, and he held it in agony.

The corridor outside of his cell was slightly livelier than it had been before. Uniformed Irkens stalked past him from both directions, almost indistinguishable from one another. Instead of ignoring him, though, he swore he could see some of them pass sideways glimpses into his dark little cubicle. The atmosphere teemed with unease. For a moment, he wondered if he was awake at all, or if this was some sort of bizarre dream.

He drowsily lowered himself back down on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to block it all out. He was almost to the point of slipping off into another uneasy sleep when he was startled back to consciousness by the feeling of a sharp jab in his back.

"Get up," a baritone voice commanded.

He complied immediately, seeing that his cell's containment shield had been deactivated and an officer was standing directly in front of him. He lifted a hand to rub his eyes, but his wrist was instantly snatched out of the air and pulled behind his back. Before he could comprehend what was going on, he was back in handcuffs.

"What's going on?"

"You're being transported to a prison on Vort," the officer said.

Dib didn't bother to ask why at this point. Rather, he allowed himself to be led out of the little cell he'd called his home up until now. His injured foot dragged a bit as he made his way down the halls and blinked back sleep.

He felt wind on his cheeks, and when he looked up, he realized he was outside. The officer was quickly flanked by three others. They were leading him into a large, bulky ship. The very instant he was released, another containment shield emerged to cut him off from anything beyond the tiny five-foot space he had been allotted.

He only felt the vaguest spike to his despondency when the hatch lowered down and promptly shut him away into pitch black darkness.

Rissy: In case anyone is skeptical of GIR's abilities to actually fly a ship, he does canonically fly the Voot Cruiser in Planet Jackers. I mean, he doesn't fly it very well, but he still flies it. Go GIR.

To my Lovely Reviewers (Chapter 21):

ginankoeller:

"I wanted to yell at dib 'for fuck sake moron, you have a ton of those jackets at home!'" Haha, I wanted to yell that at him, too, and I'm the author! These characters are going to be the death of me. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. Thank you for reviewing!

CecilG:

Aww, this was such a sweet review. I always love to hear that my story was binge worthy. Thank you so much!

FoulerGlint60:

Thank you so much! I'm glad you're liking where the story is going!

GreenCAT the second:

"…and zim... For the same shit as always, really." Ugh, I know. Zim's back on his bullshit. As to be expected lol.

Sarisa2:

Oh my gosh, you're too sweet! Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you found the story and are enjoying it.

Rocky Rooster:

"Oooooooh! Bad Zim! BAD!" Lol, this comment made me laugh. Seriously, Zim. Bad Irken!

IrkenInvader01:

"I can't believe Zim would do that to Dib after everything, though I guess Zim doesn't know the whole story." Oh, I know. Zim's a nasty little bugger. I guess you can't fault him too much, though. He still has no idea what to make of his situation.

smoltrashbag:

"WHYYYYYYYY! THEY WERE JUST IN THE HOME STRECH! AHhagAH" Lol! Deep down, this is exactly what I was thinking, too. Curse me and my decisions as the author…

VelociraptorLove:

"As always, LOVE you're writing style and plot! I patiently await the next update *bows*" Aww, thank you so much for reviewing. You're so sweet! I love your comments and little predictions. "Hopefully he'll listen to Dib long enough for the recording to convince him that Dib is on his side now and has Zim's well being in mind" That's definitely the big goal at this point. Getting Zim to listen is easier said than done…

Invader Johnny:

Hahaha, that's what a lot of people have been saying. Like, yeah, Zim can be a major jerk and those actions are pretty much to be expected, but still… damn, Zim. You'll just have to wait and see if he'll end up regretting it!

FairyAlchemist400:

"My only emotions are panic I can't believe that just happened I am quaking." Oh my gosh, thank you so much. I'm so touched that this plot twist had an impact on you!

Larrimeme:

Thank you! I'm so glad you like Skoodge's presence in this story!

RandomDragon2.0:

Oooh, I'm glad it was an unexpected turn of events. Zim messed up, big time. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.