Dib couldn't breathe. The blood poured out of him like a tidal wave. He vaguely felt someone's arms wrap around his middle, and he glanced up to see Zim climb up onto the roof and launch himself towards the next building.

Panic swelled within him. Oh god, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, was all that he could think as he slowly suffocated to death. His brain cried out for relief and oxygen, but relief did not come. He heard frantic shouting. "Get a doctor! He needs to get to medical immediately!"

Strong arms lifted him up from the ground, and something soft but constricting was wrapped around his throat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zim was running out of breath. Frantic and afraid, he fled until he could no longer hear the many voices of the crowd, and then he continued to flee, until he collapsed from exhaustion atop one of the many buildings lining the streets.

The sunset was approaching, and his body was bathed in a deep orange as the morning came. He fell against the chimney of the roof he was now standing on and retracted his PAK legs, giving himself a brief moment to rest and catch his breath. His lungs were burning for air, and he swelled it down greedily. He felt hot and dizzy. What was left of his gloves were coated with sweat.

It was then that he noticed that his hands were covered with red blood.

Dib's blood.

He began to panic again, overcome with nervousness. His body trembled with exhaustion, and a cold wind blew past him. Zim shivered and wrapped his arms tight around himself for warmth.

He shifted, and a sudden stab of pain shot into his squeedilyspooch.

Zim gasped in alarm, not expecting to feel anything. He felt around, and his hand found another wet spot on the growing pink stain of his hoodie.

"No," he whimpered, realizing that he had in fact been shot. "No, no, no!"

He quickly pulled off his hoodie and saw that the shirt underneath was drenched with his blood, and it hadn't stopped bleeding yet.

He reached into his PAK for more medical bandages, but came up empty. He must have used the last of it when he had faced off against the Tallest. So now he was lost, without medical care and bleeding out. AGAIN.

He tore off a piece of his shirt and recited the mantra of the Academy.

"We walk in darkness, we are free," he muttered under his breath while he held the cloth against his wound. "We bathe in blood, we are free," he whimpered in agony as he applied pressure. "We embrace all death, we are free."

After the bleeding had been reduced to almost nothing, Zim lit one of his PAK legs and brought it close to the wound to cauterize it, the tip so hot it burned bright blue. "We love nothing, we are free,"

He braced himself for the pain that would follow, and screamed as the robotic limb fused his flesh together, melting and sealing closed the injury, panting softly as the pain rapidly subsided while his PAK flooded his body with painkillers. "We are the end of the world."

Now newly healed, Zim stood up and gazed down at the ground, hearing a person approaching. He took a deep breath and pushed the remaining pain away.

"I am the end of the world." He got out his knife, and jumped down, landing in front of the unsuspecting victim and stabbing him in the throat.

Spotting a bar across the street as he cleaned his knife, Zim walked towards it and entered, approaching the bartender.

He sat down in one of the stools with a sigh.

"Rough day?" The bartender, a fellow Irken, asked casually as he cleaned out wine glasses.

"I guess, but it's nice to finally see another Irken around here," Zim said. He pulled out the bag of credits and put three on the counter. "How much will this buy?"

The other alien scooped them up. "That'll get you three shots of our cheapest alcohol." He began preparing Zim's order.

Zim stared at his gloves. He really needed new ones, because the ones he had now were old and nearly useless now.

The bartender placed three small shot glasses in front of him. "There you go, friend."

Zim tossed back one shot. "I'm not your friend," he retorted, downing the next one and hissing as he swallowed, the drink burning his throat on the way down. "This tastes like shit."

"Sorry," the bartender said as he turned away and continued cleaning the glasses.

Zim downed the last one. "Don't ever be sorry," he said, slamming it down onto the counter. "For anything." He pushed the glass toward the server. "Another."

"Maybe you should slow down," the bartender remarked. "Enjoy them a little."

Zim glared at him, not appreciating his tone. "What's your name?"

"Kreelek,"

"Well, Kreelek, how about you mind your own business and quit getting into mine!" Zim snapped. He nodded toward his empty glasses. "Now get me another."

Kreelek muttered something about rude customers and refilled the drinks.

"Repeat, please?" Zim asked, getting agitated.

Kreelek smiled nervously at him as he gave Zim the drinks. "I didn't say anything."

"I didn't think so," The Irken retorted, knocking back another glass. "You're just a useless drone, anyway."

"I'm sorry?" Kreelek asked, confused by this statement.

Zim gestured around him. "Look at this place. Its horrible. You could be more than this, serving drinks to races that are better off than you are. Waste of a life, don't you think?"

Kreelek shrugged. "I don't mind it too much, really. I think its… are you alright?"

"What?"

Kreelek gestured to this stomach, and Zim looked down to see the dark pink stain slowly growing again. "I think you're hurt."

The Irken sighed. "I'm fine. Its just a minor inconvenience is all."

"How'd you get it?"

"That's none of your concern."

"You get shot?"

Zim stared at him. "Maybe. What does that have to do with you?"

"I've dealt with kinds like you before," Kreelek said gruffly as he gazed at the wound. "All kinds of scum have come in here. Thieves, murderers, the like. Question is, which one are you?"

Zim sighed. "All of the above, so the news says."

"Do you think you can find redemption?"

Zim glared at him, an amused smirk on his face. "What is it you think I've done?"

"I can think of a few things." Kreelek replied nonchalantly, putting the now cleaned glasses into the cupboards above him. "But its never too late to change. To find redemption."

Zim shook his head. "No, not me. I've done far too much to ever have that. It is too late."

"I think anyone can change."

"Only if they want to," Zim countered. "And I don't." He tapped his glass. "More."

Kreelek refilled his shot glass. "Why don't you want to change? Who doesn't want to be a better person?"

Zim tapped his fingers against the countertop wile he drank, thinking over his response. When the drink was empty again, he slammed it down. "I have done too much evil to ever be considered good, and now I'm a wanted Irken. There would be no point in it now. The only thing I have to look forward to is death."

"Do you have a bounty?"

"I do, unfortunately. Are you going to turn me in?" Zim asked, hand wrapping around the handle of his knife.

Kreelek shrugged. "I really don't care what you've done, as long as you're respectful to me. Like I said, I've had all kinds of scum in here. Some even worse than you, I'm sure."

Zim narrowed his eyes, pulling out his knife and slamming it down onto the counter. "Just so we are clear, I could kill you at any time. The only reason you're not dead yet is because I am not in the mood to shed blood right now."

Kreelek stared at the knife, nodding. "Ah, I see. Yes, I've definitely met people like you before."

"I can assure you that you have not."

"If you say so." Kreelek said in a dismissing tone, "Looks like you're shedding more than enough blood for the both of us, anyway." He remarked with a chuckle.

"That's it, I've changed my mind," Zim declared. "Now I would really like to open you up and pull out your organs while you watch."

"I've also heard worse, Irken."

"Just shut up and get me something stronger." Zim hissed. "These shots are not helping the headache you're giving me!"

"Will do," the bartender said as he collected the glasses for the last time. "What kind do you prefer?"

"Anything." Zim said, turning around in his stool and staring out the window by the door. "As long as it doesn't taste like a cat pissed in my mouth."

"All the good stuff is in the back room, but it'll cost more."

"Get me some of that, then." Zim said as he watched the people stroll about outside the bar. "And be quick about it. I need to get going soon or they'll find me."

Kreelek vanished through the side door for a minute, coming back out with a bottle full of blue fluids, its contents half-empty.

"What is that?" Zim questioned, already deciding that it would taste as terrible as the shots he consumed earlier.

"Vortian alcohol," Kreelek set it down on the counter. "I promise that it tastes better than it looks, and it's a lot stronger." He retrieved another glass and poured some into it, sliding it over to Zim. "Try it. Tell me what you think."

Zim hesitantly took a sip, and nodded. It would do.

"How is it?"

He took another swallow. "It's fine. Much better than the shots, at least."

"That's good," Kreelek remarked. He gestured back to Zim's bloody shirt. "So, I'm still curious about that. Want to talk about it?"

"I already told you no," Zim said, taking another swallow and emptying his glass. He was starting to feel light-headed and strange. "Stop pushing."

"I won't tell," Kreelek swore, crossing a finger over where Zim assumed his heart was. "Bartender's Code."

"Alright, fine. If it'll shut you up for five seconds." Zim relented with a sigh, all the alcohol that he had drank thus far finally starting to kick in and making his mind fuzzy. He felt like he couldn't focus. "But I'll have to kill you after I'm finished."

Kreelek stared at him for a long moment, and then Zim started giggling, taking another swig from the glass. "I'll-I'll cut off your head!" He exclaimed through his laughter. "A-And rip out your heart!"

The bartender chuckled, refilling Zim's glass. "I've heard that one before. Its all fun and games until someone gets their eyes stabbed out, right?"

Zim nodded, still laughing. He took another swig of his drink, finally calming down enough to speak. "I k-killed my friend," he said, his voice slightly slurred. He felt happy and carefree, like he owned the galaxy. "I slit his throat." He laughed again. "There was so much blood! So much blood!"

"That doesn't sound very fun," the other Irken remarked casually.

"It wasn't!" Zim said, the alcohol making him loose-lipped, and he found it all to be humorous. "I felt s-so sad. And n-now I miss 'em. He saved my life, and I killed 'im! He w-was my only friend."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kreelek said sympathetically. "Sometimes its hard to make friends, especially if you're not accustomed to being around other people. Did you know him long?"

"Almost three years!" Zim quipped proudly, a smile on his face, his expression exhausted. "I knew e-everything about 'em, and he knew everything about me! He kept me alive. He kept me thriving! He was m-my…. my…" he faltered, forgetting what he was saying. "What are we talking about?"

"Your friend that you killed," the bartender reminded him gently. "He was your… What now?" He asked, getting invested in the story.

Zim stared blankly, then his face lit up as he remembered. "Oh yeah. He was my r-rock! And then one day he took my f-fingers!" He showed his prosthetics. "And I was so h-hurt when that happened. I wanted to k-kill 'im!"

"What stopped you?"

Zim hiccuped and held up his damaged hand. "This h-hurt too bad! I thought I was gonna die!" He started cackling again. "I wanted to die!"

Kreelek waited until the laughter had died down before he spoke again. "So what are you gonna do now?"

Zim got quiet, face a mess of confusion. "What?"

"Now that your friend is gone, how do you plan to cope with your loss?" Kreelek explained patiently.

Zim tossed back the rest of his alcohol and threw the glass on the floor, smashing it. Shards of glass flew everywhere. He grabbed hold of the neck of the bottle it had been poured from, its contents nearly empty. "I'm gonna kill e-everyone! And I won't s-stop until they kill me!"

He climbed up onto the counter and swung the bottle at the other alien, smashing it against his head. Kreelek fell back against the wall, groaning in pain, pink blood dripping from the cut on his head.

Zim was laughing again, standing atop the counter. "You're gonna die!" He laughed harder, doubling over and retching violently. Bile spilt from his mouth, splattering all over the bar area. He collapsed to his knees, body shaking.

"I told you…it was strong," Kreelek groaned, clutching his bleeding head. "Looks like you can't…handle very much, can you?" He chuckled.

"Bulls-shit!" Zim spat weakly. "Zim can handle a-anything!" He gagged. "I- I'm gonna ki-" he threw up a second time, though there was much less bile this time.

He wheezed weakly after he finished, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand. "F-fucking hell," he whimpered. He slowly climbed down onto the floor, slowly working his way toward the other alien.

"I know who you are, Zim," Kreelek said quietly. "What you've done. I saw the broadcasts. Everyone did."

Zim thrust the broken end of the bottle deep into the other Irken's stomach, and collapsed to the ground.

He curled up into a ball, shaking and whimpering. He did NOT feel good at all. He passed out just as Kreelek took his last breath, willingly surrendering to the numbing effects of sleep.

Zim's last coherent thought was hoping that he would be dead before the authorities found him.

Elsewhere, Dib opened his eyes, lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by medical staff.