Chapter 23: Of Wartime Paranoia and the Repercussions of Being in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time
It was as if Zim's brain had completely stalled out. He sat perfectly still in his seat, unable to make sense of what he'd just heard. When at last the inner mechanisms began to turn again, he was bombarded with the intensity of the question that overruled all else: War? What war?
Suddenly, the restaurant felt like a different dimension. He glanced around frantically, taking in everything as if it were a dream. Every Irken there knew something he didn't. They were living in a world he wasn't. His eyes finally settled on a television monitor mounted on the wall above the bar, muted on a news channel.
Zim was on his feet in an instant, lurching towards it. About halfway there, however, he stumbled forward and felt the ground rush up to meet him in a spectacular faceplant.
Conversations came to abrupt halts as several customers turned in their seats and stared down at him.
He groaned and forced himself back up, using the edge of the counter for leverage. A nasty glare was shot at the food service drone behind the counter, who was also gaping at him in bemusement.
"Where is the remote?!" Zim spat.
"Customers aren't authorized to—"
"GIVE ZIM THE REMOTE!"
He eyed it behind the counter and lunged for it, his legs kicking out as he wriggled over the bartop separating them. His claws grasped it and aimed it towards the TV, volume button mashed down until the broadcaster's voice drowned out nearly every other conversation in the restaurant.
"—here at the Royal Palace on Irk. Press have gathered and are awaiting the Almighty Tallest's words on the latest Irken attack in the city of Radna, on planet Meekrob."
The anchor, clad in the standard monocular visor, returned to the screen following a clip of an empty podium set up in front of the Tallest's Palace.
"The Irken military has been building its forces following a galaxywide draft. Members of the Elite—"
Zim's antennae dipped downward. He was still lying across the counter on his belly, slack-jawed and completely unaware of the attention he'd garnered from the others in the restaurant.
After a few moments, he slid off of it and nearly fell backwards as his shaky legs gave way. A single PAK limb slid out of its port and steadied him.
"Do you know what this means?" he breathed. He turned to a customer sitting nearby. "DO YOU?"
The customer jumped with a start, then shrugged his shoulders.
Zim stared back ahead, not really looking at anything. His mind was reeling. Eventually, his trance was broken by a loud smacking sound from right beside him. When he looked down, he could see GIR standing there, licking the remnants of his sundae from his fingers.
"Come on, GIR. We need to leave."
Abandoning the rest of his sandwich—along with the appalling mess of melted ice cream GIR had managed to splatter in the booth—Zim made his way to the exit.
A surge of blinding agitation coursed through him, and despite his legs still being far too weak for the determined strides he was taking, he managed to march a considerable distance before he was finally forced to stop. GIR quietly stood next to him as he crumbled to his knees in the dirt and tried to catch his breath.
"War?" he wheezed. "How could this be? My… my mission! What about my mission? The Tallest… haven't … heard from me… in…" Zim paused, his chest swelling outwards. "I don't even know how long!"
Quaveringly, he stood back up and continued down the row of parked ships. GIR obliviously traipsed along beside him.
By the time his legs nearly gave out again, he growled under his breath and activated the mechanical limbs from his PAK. Scooping GIR up off the ground, he made his way to the Spittle.
Zim dropped back into his chair and wiped at the beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead.
"Okay," he said under his breath. "Not to worry. I just have to contact the Tallest, and they'll tell me what to do. It's been so long; they must be worried sick."
He took a few moments to lean back, taking deep breaths and working to regain his composure. With his eyes closed, he spoke. "Ship. Connect me to the Almighty Tallest."
"Not authorized."
"What?" Zim's eyes popped open again.
"The Almighty Tallest have disabled all incoming calls."
He wilted where he sat, steadily fading back into that state of dazed incredulity. The dark bags beneath his eyes had never looked more prominent.
GIR fidgeted beside him. "Well? Are we gonna go? I miss ma' pig. And the big TV. And the pizza guy."
Zim didn't respond for several seconds. "No," he said finally. "We have to turn around." The words were numb on his tongue.
"Aww, but what about Earth?"
Again, he didn't have an answer at the ready. Surely, the only option was to go straight to Irk. Right? But GIR's words still knocked around in his mind, burrowing their way in like a stubborn splinter.
What about Earth? What about the base?
He had no memory of leaving it. He didn't even know whether the security system had been activated. For all he knew, it was standing completely defenseless, immeasurable Irken intelligence laid out like an extravagant buffet. It was all there, just waiting for the Earth authorities to find and exploit it. Perhaps Dib already had…
Zim suddenly felt torn between two stresses of equal caliber. His blood pressure soared.
"Okay, calm down," he muttered to himself shakily. He remembered the many security cameras he had set up throughout the base. Leaning forward in his seat, he summoned his communicator from his PAK and immediately tried to connect to his computer back on Earth.
He waited for what felt like eons. Only static buzzed across the screen. Then:
CONNECTION FAILED.
His heart sank. It could only mean one thing—his security system was down. His base was exposed to whoever cared to venture inside.
The monitor disappeared back into his PAK. Zim raised his knees to his chest and curled into himself. He tried to think.
"I'll return to Earth. Drop GIR off and secure the base." The words were muttered almost inaudibly. He glanced down at Skoodge's stained, oversized uniform. "And change into something more… respectable. Yes. And then I'll be on my way. It won't take any longer than an hour. It will be fine. Everything will be fine."
As soon as he'd semi convinced himself of this, he took a deep breath and straightened up.
Within moments, the ship was off again.
Had it been hours? Days? He supposed it didn't matter; Dib could feel reality slip away from him all the same.
He was still aboard the ship, forced to bide his time in his tiny chamber. The deafening noise of the ship's turbines filled his ears, and he couldn't see more than five feet in front of him.
In the inky blackness, he was left with nothing but the torture brought on by his own imagination. His mood wavered on a dime, spiking into panic before plunging back into crippling despondency at any given moment. He found himself plagued by the latter more and more as time dragged on. It was a tired, crippling sort of resignation, as if he wanted to care but was simply too weary to dredge up the energy. He knew why, too.
The ramifications of his own body's neglect had managed to numb it down.
Not once had he been given any food or drink. The headache that had initially surfaced back on Elixus had grown until it overpowered every one of his other senses. His mouth felt like cotton. Each and every muscle felt weak. His stomach continually churned away at nothingness, leaving him overcome with nausea.
It all led to a couple instances in which he had awoken in a disoriented stupor, unable to recall any moment when he'd decided to lie down and shut his eyes in the first place.
At long last, the ship touched down and the enormous hatch lifted up, spilling light over Dib's pale face. He could only muster the energy to peek out through tiny slits of eyes at the Irken guards who entered. His vision smeared them into doubles, and he immediately shied away from the brightness.
Booming voices ordered him to get up, but he was just vaguely aware of them. Something rough poked and prodded at his back.
Disjointed thoughts flittered through his brain, falling just short of making sense of the situation until, at last, his eyes closed, and he felt the voices slip away into obscurity.
-x-
When Dib awoke next, a similar illumination assaulted his eyes. This time, however, it was coming from a white artificial light shining directly over him.
He groaned, lifting his head just high enough to see that he was sprawled over a sterile table. A tube trailed down the side of it, and when he lifted his arm, he dimly noted that it ended at his wrist where an IV had been inserted. His eyes shut again.
-x-
He felt slightly more alert by the time he roused again. He had a distinct feeling that something had woken him up, but he couldn't determine what exactly. Letting out a groan, he sat up and looked around.
The first thing he realized was that he wasn't wearing his glasses.
He didn't have a terribly strong prescription, but his eyesight was bad enough for him to be inconvenienced without their aid. He'd relied on his glasses to read and see distances since he was a small child. Everything around him was moderately blurred and wobbly.
Despite this, however, he was able to determine that he'd essentially been upgraded to a bigger and fustier version of his old cell. He was on a mattress not terribly unlike his other one on Elixus.
When his eyes drifted to the entrance of his cell, he realized what had awoken him. The fuzzy shape of a guard was standing directly outside, holding a long staff in one hand and what looked like a food tray in the other.
"What's going on?" Dib asked, his voice gruff from underuse. "W-what did you do to me?"
The guard leaned on his staff slightly. "The Royal Irken Court has demanded you be kept alive for further interrogation. Upon arrival, you were taken to the hospital for examination, and it was determined that your species is unable to go extended periods of time without proper hydration and nourishment."
"I could have told you that," he muttered irately.
His tune quickly changed, however, when he looked down. His old clothing had been replaced by an orange jumper.
The guard began to speak while Dib stared wide-eyed down at himself. "Blood tests were taken, and your body chemistry was examined to determine what nutrition wouldn't cause adverse effects." As if this explain it all, he deposited the tray on the ground and pushed it through a slot between them.
Dib's thoroughly disturbed expression only deepened when he took in the pallid mound of what he presumed was supposed to be food. A cup of some unknown liquid sat beside it.
"… Y-you… experimented on me?" he squeaked.
"Don't flatter yourself," the guard said. "The hospital drones merely hooked you to an IV and compared your biology to similar species who have passed through."
When he wrenched the sleeve up, he could see what looked to be a sterile dressing. Instantly, he flexed his arms, then his legs. Nothing else felt out of place.
He could feel his heartrate return to normal when he realized the guard was telling the truth. They had, for the most part, left him alone. They hadn't even tampered with the walking boot Skoodge had fitted him with. His glasses, however, had apparently been deemed unnecessary.
When he looked back up, he saw the guard had departed, leaving only the tray of food as evidence he'd been there in the first place.
Dib leaned back against his bed, staring outside his cell. No longer was a fully functioning police station buzzing outside, but a dark hallway with a couple stoic guards stationed.
His eyes dropped to the floor, lingering for a moment too long on the tray. Research be damned, he didn't trust it. He knew firsthand what Irken food did to humans.
One can of Tak's old rations had made him horrendously sick. He still remembered Gaz banging on the bathroom door as he hunkered down inside, curled up against the cold porcelain of the toilet. Trying to ride out the feeling of molten lava in his guts while simultaneously being overtaken with violent fits of retching was not an experience he cared to repeat.
Over the next hour, though, his eyes involuntarily wandered towards it, resolve diminishing with every glance.
His stomach whined hungrily, prompting him to bring a hand to his midsection. He could feel his ribs through his shirt—a tangible reminder of the weight he'd lost since embarking for Elixus. It didn't help that he'd already been on the leaner side to begin with.
With noticeable trepidation, he inched towards the bowl and lifted the utensils sitting next to it. Whatever the food was, it looked vaguely like porridge and had the same consistency. He spooned the tiniest sample imaginable from the edge and raised it to his lips. He touched it with his tongue. Nothing. It wasn't causing his skin to burn off or anything. Even so, he tensed up noticeably as he popped the whole spoon into his mouth.
The mush was overtly bland, with just the tiniest hint of saccharine in its aftertaste. Regardless, Dib felt instinct take over. He scooped an enormous spoonful and swallowed without tasting it. Then another.
He eyed the cup and peered inside at its contents. It looked like milk, but with a slightly purple tinge. He gulped it down without experimenting first, feeling a flood of relief as his dry throat was dampened at last. This, too, was relatively flavorless aside from a barely detectable sweetness.
There was some scuffling outside his cell, and he looked up from his meal just in time to see a spindly, goat-like creature and an Irken guard pass by. The cell directly beside Dib's opened, and he heard the prisoner grunt as he was shoved inside.
"Get in there, Vortian." The name was spat as if it were a derogatory term. "And next time you think about giving out incriminating information, remember the consequences."
He didn't hear a reply, but the prison guard ambled away, leaving the way he'd come.
Once Dib had cleared the tray and drained the cup of its contents, he crept back to the bed pushed against the furthermost wall of his cell. The springs creaked slightly as he sat down on it.
As the moments passed by, he could feel his lightheadedness fade and judgement creep back in its place. It filled him with an increasingly strong sense of regret as the weight of what he'd done sank in. He waited around for what he knew would be inevitable sickness. Waited some more. Nothing happened.
Finally, his muscles loosened slightly, and he laid down with his back pressed against the wall.
For a while, all was silent, Then, he heard the Vortian release a heavy sigh. After a bit of shuffling, he could discern that the prisoner had plopped down on a bed directly on the other side of the wall. Only the thick concrete separated them from being back to back.
Dib rearranged himself so that he was now lying across the mattress and stared up at the ceiling.
He was unsure of what he should even be thinking about.
An obvious candidate would be for his mind to wander back to fear of the unknown. God knew he'd exhausted plenty of emotional energy doing that already. But he didn't want to continue wasting his energy on something he couldn't control.
He wanted to be furious. Beyond pissed. In a situation completely void of autonomy, at least he could have some power over his own emotions. It gave him the vaguest semblance of control.
Naturally, Zim was the first person his thoughts drifted to.
After everything Dib had done, having put himself in jeopardy multiple times, it had been apparently been worth no merit in Zim's eyes. The one time he needed him, the damned Irken hadn't budged an inch. He had betrayed him without batting an eye.
And yet… how could Dib have expected anything less? He'd set himself up for failure. Risking his life to travel to a planet that would gladly shoot him on the spot for the mildest of missteps? Roping Skoodge into his personal crusade? All so he could clutch at his old life and retain the sense of purpose Zim's pathetic existence had offered him…
The first mistake he'd made was thinking the world owed him what he deserved. Years of experience had seen that philosophy backfire, and he still hadn't learned his lesson.
He had spent his time believing his own mercy would be enough to remedy the situation, in every way—that he could rebuild Zim and simply return to the comfortable life of familiarity and distraction he'd led before. Nothing would have to change.
He had wanted to believe he had it all figured out. That he could sit above his mother's long-buried coffin, gleam wistfully into daybreak, and suddenly understand his motives with utmost certainty.
The real world kept people second-guessing themselves. Always unsure and always drifting from optimism to earth-shattering cynicism.
At some point, while Zim's mind had halted to the state of a vegetable, his had soared with unrealistic ideations until it had driven itself into the ground à la death spiral.
He was insane.
Insane to trust Zim with anything. He wanted to be angry at the Irken. But the truth was, his feelings would only ever loop back around to himself.
He had only himself to blame for being so fucking stupid.
"Ahem."
Dib was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat near the entrance of his cell, and when he turned his head, he could make out the indistinct shape of a guard standing on the other side.
"Get up," the Irken ordered sternly.
He complied at once, face blank. As soon as he approached the entrance of his cell, he was slapped in handcuffs and led through a series of long, narrow hallways.
At one point, he nearly walked into another officer going the opposite way and was given a sharp jab in the back by the guard's staff.
"This would be a lot easier if I still had my glasses," Dib muttered.
The guard didn't respond.
Just as before, he was brought to a room. Like everything else here, though, it was darker and draftier. The corners looked as if they could easily harbor ghouls and monsters befitting a horror movie. In the center of the room was a rickety chair and desk.
Dib sat down. Moments later, a rather tall, skinny officer was led in.
"After you, Officer Vak," a guard said softly, gesturing forward with one hand as he passed through the door.
The officer had a long, bony face and unusually tiny eyes that were narrowed in slits.
A few moments of silence passed as he approached the table opposite from the boy and gathered his files in front of him.
"Confirm these details," Vak began starkly. "Your home planet is Earth. Your species is human. And you answer to the name 'Dib.'"
Slightly taken aback by the strange, mocking inflection on his name, he nodded. "Yes. That's correct."
The officer lowered his chin and wrote something down on a tablet.
"Why am I here?" Dib asked flatly after several seconds.
Vak lifted his head back up. "You have been brought here by order of the Royal Irken Court as a suspect in war crimes against the Empire."
"What… what did I do?" He twisted his face in confusion.
The Irken peered maliciously down at him through his beady eyes. "We have proof that a case involving Toxin J-636 originated on your planet." He paused, still eyeing Dib. "We demand to know how your race gained access to the toxin."
The boy's perplexed expression had only deepened, though. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Earth doesn't have access to the toxin. Why would it?"
"Don't play dumb, alien. Everything will be much easier if you cooperate."
"I'm not playing dumb! How the hell would Earth get ahold of something like that? Most of Earth's people are too stupid to know aliens exist!"
"Then how are you here?" Vak pressed. "And how did we obtain a medical document from Earth citing it?"
"Because of Zim!" Dib burst out. "Zim is an Irken who was banished to Earth several years ago by your people! He brought the toxin there with him!"
"Nice try. No Irken is recorded as having been exiled to a planet called 'Earth.' It would have had to have been approved by the Control Brains."
Dib paused for a moment, turning this information over. "And… it wasn't?"
He scoffed. "You heard what I said."
"Well, that doesn't matter. Zim was still there. He'd been there for years. And he was exposed to the toxin because of a conspiracy organized by your leaders! The Tallest!"
His words were met with a look of disbelief, tinged with a hint of repulsion. Vak didn't say anything. Then, finally, in a voice dripping with malice, "That is a very strong accusation." He paused for a moment longer. "Do you have proof of this?"
No. No he did not. Not anymore, at least. And the story was far-fetched enough even with proof. Dib's silence told the officer all he needed to know.
"Of course, you don't," Vak finished for him. His lips raised in an ugly sneer.
The interrogation went on in the same manner for what felt like an eternity before, finally, a guard reentered the room and stated that the questioning had gone on for too long.
Begrudgingly, Dib was escorted back down the hallways by the guard with the scornful, squinty-eyed officer trailing along behind him.
"Don't think this is over, Earth creature," he growled into his ear.
From the cell they were passing, the Vortian that shared a wall with Dib snapped his head up and stared at him as he passed by.
For the briefest moment, the two made eye contact before Dib was led past him and pushed into his cell.
A proximity warning broke the silence, alerting Zim and GIR that Earth was upon them. With no other noise than a slight stir as they straightened in their seats, the two prepared to land.
There was something haunting about extended space travel. Like the feeling of gaining one's sea legs on a boat, there came a point when the stars and planets seemed to tuck themselves away in the recesses of Zim's mind, and he became desensitized to it all. After days on end, there was little to no sense of wonderment at the stars outside. Oftentimes, he even looked past them, not seeing anything but the blackness that overruled all else, with only the promise of a destination on his radar screen to assure him he wasn't wandering aimlessly.
Several times on this trip, though, he had felt that blackness overtake him with an unexpectedness he had never felt before. It was the pure nothingness of space, he supposed. It got to him, enveloping him with an intensity that was anxiety inducing, and there was no escaping its hold. He tried to ignore it and let the burning feeling of dread in his chest smolder away as he stared blankly out the window.
As soon as the ship neared Earth, though, the feeling slowly retreated back to wherever it had emerged from. The force of the Spittle being pulled towards the planet pushed the two occupants back in their seats and offered them a full view. Zim could just faintly see flames licking the outside of the ship, complemented by a thunderous roar of the engine as they closed in.
And then… quiet.
The abrupt shift in the ambiance was somewhat alarming, despite Zim having experienced it hundreds of times before. The Spittle had been cloaked and was soaring lightly over the city through the cool, crisp air. Faint wisps of clouds streaked past them as they went.
He hardly stirred, even as GIR bumpily steered them downwards. The earth below broadened, revealing a stark lack of primitive automobiles and humans on the streets below.
As soon as the city skyscrapers were out of view, the spacious view of American suburbia opened itself towards them. Hurt Park had grown greener and more vibrant in the late days of spring, practically glowing as the first rays of sun touched down on it. The cemetery loomed up ahead, dotted with its usual tombstones and grave markers. The Spittle drifted over it, and Zim looked down idly at a stone near the top of the hill with wilted flowers pressed against it.
They'd arrived right at the break of dawn. When he glanced up, he could see the sun peek over the hills. The sky was alive with a spectacular sunrise that stretched over everything the eye could see. It was a watercolor myriad of brilliant pinks, oranges, and pale blues. Zim found himself staring at it in spite of himself, lost in the sudden calm. Sunshine stretched over the houses and across the entire town, bathing both of them in fresh morning light.
It was… nice. Familiar. Zim had to admit that.
He finally caught sight of the satellite dish poking out from above the trees, quickly followed by the rest of his base as it steadily came into view. They had approached it from behind. Seeing as the Voot was parked in the hangar, they soared over the roof and touched down in the front lawn.
Zim quickly scanned the cul-de-sac and the rest of the street before deeming the coast clear and lifting up the windshield. His eyes still pinned on the neighboring houses, he slid out of the ship and stepped onto the sidewalk. As soon as he looked up at his own house, however, he jumped.
The entrance had been utterly decimated. Black stains stretched from the edges of the doorway and spanned across the exterior of the house. Just within, the door itself lay crookedly across the floor.
Ignoring his master's look of shock, GIR skittered around him and flopped onto the couch. Dazedly, Zim stepped through the empty gap and stood in the middle of the living room.
"Computer?" he asked in a voice that was little more than a croak.
Just as he'd expected, there was no response. To his surprise, however, GIR, was able to turn on the TV with the remote he'd fished out from between the couch cushions. The electricity still worked.
"GIR?"
He didn't respond, except to turn the volume up a few notches.
"GIR!"
Still nothing.
Zim crossed the room stiffly, stopping between him and the television. Snatching the remote, he turned the TV off.
"Someone has been here, GIR," he hissed between his clenched teeth. The severity of the situation was still catching up with him. He shot one finger towards the open doorway. "Guard the base until I can repair the doorway and bring the security system back online. I have to assess the damage in the lower levels of the base. Got it?"
He didn't wait to hear the robot's answer, instead stalking into the kitchen and shrewdly eyeing it. It, like the living room, was a mess. Nothing looked to have been pilfered, though.
He didn't know how much of his racing heart could be attributed to fear and how much could be attributed to unadulterated rage. This was Dib's fault! This had been his plan, no doubt! And now Zim was left with no idea as to whether he'd be met with an untouched lower level or if he'd discover vital technology had been taken. The mere thought of the latter caused his heart to lurch, then continue beating even faster than before.
He needed to know now.
Without wasting another second, he stomped on the pedal of the trashcan with his foot, and with a bit of effort, climbed into it.
He decided to start at the very last floor of his base. As soon as the elevator opened, he stepped out and examined the area. This was where his sleeping chambers were, along with most of his personal belongings. From what he could see, nothing was out of the ordinary. It was all perfectly pristine, as if he'd never left.
Good. He tried to take comfort in that.
Instead of returning to the elevator, though, he wandered to his private chambers. He couldn't stand being in Skoodge's nasty old uniform any longer. He pulled out a drawer and examined the folded uniforms inside. Before long, he had wriggled the enormous tunic over his head and was pulling on his own.
As he tugged the last glove up to his elbow, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror standing nearby. Dull, tired eyes stared back at him.
He hadn't realized just how badly he was slumping forward, as if he'd been carrying the weight of the world on his back. He corrected his posture at once, standing as tall as he could with his chest puffed out. It didn't do very much to detract from his evident exhaustion. He dropped his shoulders with a huff and frowned at his reflection.
At least he would have more time to regain his strength on the trip back to Irk. It was shameful to be seen when he was still so… pathetically feeble.
His thoughts wandered to Irk again, and he reopened the drawer. It would only be proper for him to wear his Elite uniform once he arrived.
He tucked it away in his PAK and made his way to the elevator, onwards to the next floor. His eyes bulged when the doors peeled back and revealed what was within.
The laboratory had been devastated. Boxes had been toppled over, monitors destroyed, glass vials smashed on the ground. Pieces of lab equipment were everywhere, strewn about as if they'd been thrown around in a violent rage.
Zim seethed as he took it in through the dim light, and his stride picked up angrily. The computer caught his eye, and he immediately made a beeline towards it.
He just knew Dib had been behind it. The human's whole ploy was still a mystery, and he had to get to the bottom of it. Even if it meant seeing the full extent of the atrocities the human had committed in his base while he'd been inches from death.
Zim fell into his chair with a grunt and flashed his eyes upwards at the gargantuan screen. He pressed a few buttons, and the monitor awoke, casting blue light over him.
Of course, the vocal interface had been deactivated along with the scanners that picked up on the biosignatures of trespassers. Oddly enough, however, the cameras set up throughout the base hadn't been tampered with. They were still recording away, despite being useless without the rest of the security system activated.
This only solidified Zim's suspicions. Only Dib would be capable of disabling his security setup in the laziest and most ignorant way possible.
Without a second thought, he entered the program and searched up every prior recording over the last month. His fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking through each frame and impatiently scanning empty rooms before exiting out and moving on to the next video down the line.
After about ten minutes, a stirring in the corner of one of the screens caught his attention. Zim's eyes widened, and he expanded the window so that it took up the entire screen.
"AHA!" he exclaimed. The sound echoed faintly in the gaping laboratory.
The Dib monkey was stooped in the corner of the room, reading something on one of the monitors.
The Irken's glower increased at the sight. He examined the room the human was in, quickly recognizing it as his med bay.
Dib walked off screen, and Zim quickly clicked to an adjoining camera in the same room. The computer screen briefly faded to black, then flicked to the other shot.
He was immediately struck by an image of… himself. Curled up in a ball underneath a mountain of blankets, with only his face visible. He was disturbingly sickly and white, which was made all the more apparent by the strange lighting being picked up by the camera. It was nearly impossible to tell his skin had once been green.
Zim watched himself on the recording, feeling his spooch turn.
Dib was standing nearby with his back turned to the bed. The Zim onscreen opened his eyes, but they were glassy and expressionless. He began to cough throatily, catching the attention of the human after a few seconds.
"Hey, it's okay," Dib could be heard murmuring softly. He stood over him, waiting for the fit to end. Zim's entire body shuddered with each hack. As soon as he quieted down again, Dib pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket and dabbed at the sweat on Zim's forehead.
Then, Dib did something even stranger. He began to sniffle, just faintly at first. The audio hardly picked it up. But when he took his glasses off and wiped at his eyes with the other end of the Kleenex, it was made clear what he was doing.
Zim stood before the monitor in stunned silence, the scene reflecting in his wide eyes as he watched the human weep.
It was as if time had stopped.
At once, an explosion rang out, and Zim's legs flew out from beneath him. He went briefly airborne, crying out in alarm as he did so. He hit the ground and somersaulted a few times before skidding to a stop and laying perfectly still. With a low groan, he shifted his legs.
"You…"
A spike of terror ran through him at the voice, seemingly disembodied as it echoed throughout the lab. Zim lifted his heavy head to try to find its origin. He was immediately hit with a wave of dizziness, and the lab spun nauseously around him.
"This is your fault!"
It came again, and his eyes zeroed in on a dim shape hidden in the shadows. It moved forward, sharpening until two incredibly straggly antennae became visible. It stepped into the light of the computer screen, and Zim flinched.
It was another Irken. His clothes were torn and filthy, ragged tatters hanging off of him in some areas. A pair of wild eyes glowered out from the center of gaunt sockets, and in one shaking ungloved hand was a plasma blaster, smoking slightly from the barrel.
Despite his horrid appearance, he looked oddly familiar.
Zim blinked. "Wait a minute… I know you…" He eyed the Irken up and down. "Larb?"
A response came in the form of pointing the gun straight towards Zim's chest.
Zim yelped and rolled to the side just as another eruption of blue plasma penetrated the area he had been just a split second before.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. He pulled one leg forward, trying to raise himself up on his knees. He staggered upright on trembling legs.
"You ruined my life! Everything I worked for. Destroyed! Because of you!" Larb sounded as if his throat had been scrubbed raw with steel wool.
"What are you talking about?"
"All you had to do was die! You filthy, worthless defective!"
Zim's eyes flashed from the gun in Larb's hand to his face. At once, new memories flooded through his brain like a burst dam. The very same gun being pointed at him through his ship on Conventia in the dead of night… and then again on the desert planet just days afterwards.
"… It was you," Zim said in disbelief. Then, more accusatory, "You're the one who almost killed me!"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Larb lunged towards him.
Zim gasped. His PAK legs sprang out, hoisting him up in the air and out of the line of attack.
Larb released a guttural noise and engaged his own PAK legs. The two Irkens stood poised before one another, several feet in the air, like spiders locked in a battle for territory.
Zim lifted one mechanical limb and held it bent in front of himself as a buffer, keeping the razor-sharp end of it pointed towards Larb.
The latter, in turn, kept all four of his own PAK legs firmly grounded. Finger hooked on the trigger, he lifted his gun before him.
Quick as a flash, Zim's PAK leg flicked out.
Larb scuttled to one side before it could impale him, and when he did so, another of Zim's PAK legs rose up from the ground and hastily swept to the side, knocking the plasma blaster from his clutches. It clattered to the ground, nearly ten feet below them.
Zim's relief at having disarmed him lasted for only an instant before he looked up and saw Larb charging towards him once again. He crashed into his chest and the two went tumbling to the floor.
Zim landed directly on his back, thoroughly knocking the wind out of himself. His body was too stunned to move, even as he felt Larb's fist connect with his jaw, followed by another hitting him in the eye. He remained paralyzed, gasping for air. Searing pain shot across his cheek from the slash of an ungloved claw.
As soon as he could force his muscles to move, Zim kicked his arms and legs out, desperately trying to get him off.
Larb continued to lash out blindly. One fist gripped around his antenna and yanked it down until stars exploded across Zim's vision.
Finally, a sharp kick hit Larb directly in his spooch, causing him to double in on himself with a grunt.
Zim rolled to his front and moved quickly out of sight on his PAK legs. The pain was quickly catching up with him. He wiped at his face. It felt sticky, and he could taste blood on his lips. His right antenna throbbed at the base.
Larb was quickly after him, having retrieved his gun from the floor and pointing it upwards. Zim narrowly dodged a blast as it sailed past his temple. Even through surging adrenaline, he could feel enervation setting into his muscles.
He ducked out of the way as another nearly clipped one of his antennae. Instead, it made contact with the breaker panel behind him. Sparks flew. Zim dove towards the other end of the lab.
As soon as the explosion of electricity disappeared into the newfound darkness, Zim turned around and stared blindly in front of himself. The power had completely gone out.
Zim summoned an energy shield from his PAK, which surrounded him in a semitransparent blue bubble.
Despite adding an extra cushion of defense to him, it gave away his location instantly, and his eyes bulged as a ball of plasma barreled straight towards him through the shadows. It made contact with the shield. It flickered briefly, but ultimately remained engaged.
Zim withdrew into himself, panting with exhaustion. He needed to get away. He was relying entirely on his PAK for defense, unable to find the strength in his own organic shell.
He couldn't hear Larb at all in the darkness, burdened by his injured antennae. All he could do was stare in the direction the plasma shot had come from.
Disengaging his shield, Zim dashed to the other end of the room, trying to lose him in the darkness. He hid behind a pile of boxes filled with conical flasks and tried to plan out his next move while simultaneously evening out his breathing.
Surely, the elevator would be down, along with the rest of the electricity in the base. Zim's eyes locked on the door of his emergency staircase. If he could only make his way—
Another blast pealed through the air, and the boxes went flying. The sound of the shot was followed by that of shattering glass.
Zim took off towards the stairwell with Larb in close pursuit. He flung the door open, then threw it closed behind him with all the power he could manage. Despite his full body weight resting firmly against it, Larb crashed through the doorway almost instantly.
Zim screamed and scrambled up the stairs, mechanical legs creeping out of his PAK and giving him an extra boost in speed.
He burst out onto the main level, right where GIR was still sitting.
"GIR! Defensive mo—"
An explosion of pain erupted through his left shoulder. Any response GIR might have given had been drowned out by Zim's anguished cry as he pitched forward and fell onto the linoleum. A razor-sharp PAK leg had plunged its way straight through his skin and out the other side, pinning him to the floor.
Zim forced his watery eyes open, only to see a warbly, bleared version of his living room. His entire body trembled. The intense pain was only rivaled by the feeling of his heart thrashing in his chest.
The barrel of the plasma blaster was pressed against the small of his back, followed closely by Larb's hot breath on his neck. "This war wouldn't exist if it weren't for you!" he hissed into his functional antenna, and Zim cringed away from him. "Forget the Tallest's orders! When you die, it's going to be because of what you did to me! What you did to the entire Irken race!"
"GIR… help me." It was little more than a whimper.
He braced himself for whatever came next. Instead of what he expected, though, the thing that wrenched him back to reality was the white hot pain of the PAK leg being pulled out of his shoulder.
It took several seconds before he could collect himself enough to look up at what was going on.
He could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually witnessed GIR utilizing the artillery that had been standard issue. His ammo went largely unused, as he'd very rarely done as Zim had commanded. Now, however, GIR's blue ports had changed into a fierce red, and he was standing in front of his master, shielding him from Larb.
The deranged Invader wasn't even looking at Zim, too preoccupied with skirting around the continuous stream of lasers that were being fired from GIR's eyes.
Zim pulled himself up into a sitting position, his breath catching in his throat at the blinding pain that started at his shoulder and emanated outwards to his arm and left side. He looked down to see a green stain that was quickly soaking through his uniform, spreading with alarming speed.
He needed to get to the Voot right now. GIR's diversion could only last so long.
Only… Larb and GIR were directly in the path to his Voot hangar. Zim's eyes darted around, looking for an opening. Then, he remembered the Spittle. He whipped his head around, seeing the ship directly outside the window, sitting on the lawn.
Without another thought, Zim scrambled to his feet, stumbling and falling several times as he tried to make his way to the door.
He heard Larb's furious bellow but didn't dare turn his head to look back. He finally got it open and staggered outside towards the ship. He dove in, then slammed the button down to close the windshield.
The moment it shut over him, Larb's form appeared, screaming insanely at the closed ship as he hurled his body against it. His face was covered with blood, most of it likely being Zim's. Sticky, emerald green smeared across the windshield as he banged on the outside of it.
Zim shrank away and immediately dropped his eyes to the control panel.
Oh Irk…
He stared down at the buttons in horror.
Larb continued to slam on the window with his fists. The thin layer of plastic was the only thing separating them.
Without thinking, Zim began pressing everything within reach, desperately trying to get the ship to do something. Anything.
Something he'd done must have been right, because the ship finally rumbled to life.
Larb paused for the slightest moment. Then, the crazed Irken leaned forward, redistributing his weight as two PAK legs raised above his head and gleamed bright blue with the welding tools at the end of them. They jabbed forward, stabbing into the Spittle. Plastic melted around them, metal twisted.
Zim was beginning to feel his already blurred vision fuzz even more around the edges, even as he witnessed it. He continued to press buttons, yell out commands, and swipe touch screens. Anything he could, all with slowly waning strength as his blood loss caught up with him.
Abruptly, the turbines thundered, and the ship flew straight up. Zim was nearly knocked out of his seat. When he looked over the dash, he could see he was parallel with the roof of his base.
A single glance revealed Larb on the ground below, murderous rage in his eyes still visible even from the long distance downward.
Zim frantically tried to recall what he'd done to get the ship to move. He grabbed at one of three wheels and jerked it to the side. The ship jerked with it, knocking Zim to the floor. He landed on his injured shoulder, shrieking out as pain clouded his head.
Wearily returning to his seat, he repeated the movement more gently.
When he looked back down, he couldn't see Larb at all.
Zim tried to calm down enough to focus on piloting the ship. Even this was a double-edged sword. The more he regained his rational mind and came down from the burst of adrenaline he'd experienced, the more pain he felt wrack his body.
He pinched his eyes closed and dropped his chin, grinding his teeth together. When he opened them, he saw the full extent of his injuries.
The blood from his shoulder wound had spread from the collar of his tunic down to his waist. He gingerly touched the gash on his cheek with his fingers, and when he pulled it away, bright green coated his glove.
The overwhelming smell of blood combined with his copious loss of it was making him feel sick. He was aware that he was out in the open, and yet it was the last thing on his mind.
At last, he could feel his PAK begin to kick in, administering pain relief and working to repair the damage. Zim stirred, knowing he'd only have minutes to get the ship out of the open before he succumbed to drug-induced inebriation.
After a certain amount of trial and error, he was able to accelerate it and steer it in the direction he wanted it to go. It soared through the air at an upward angle, rapidly gaining speed. It went faster and faster, until he could feel himself being pressed into the back of his seat. Within moments, he was back in space.
The pain had dissipated into a numb feeling that started at his shoulder and spread. It was as if he were wracked with pins and needles throughout his entire body. The sensation was far from pleasant, but it was a better alternative to the agony of a gaping hole in his shoulder. Already, the bleeding had mostly stopped, and his PAK was whirring quietly at it worked to heal the wound.
The Spittle flew through space, and Zim could feel his eyes grow heavier. The feeling of flying felt far more dramatic with a brew of incredibly strong painkillers working their way through his body. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep.
He'd almost reached that point when, suddenly, the back of his ship was rammed into, bringing him back to consciousness.
He turned around, just in time to see another ship. A Zhook Cruiser from the looks of it, and—as soon as his bleary eyes managed to focus in on it—Larb's face behind the wheel.
The Zhook's guns aimed themselves towards the Spittle, and tiny pings reached his working antenna as his ship was assaulted with bullets.
Zim pinched his eyes closed, trying to shake himself of the growing dissociation that came with the PAK's methods of healing. He grasped the wheel, steering the ship around erratically in his attempts to shake Larb.
The Zhook took off after it with ease, its pilot being far more coordinated in the moment. The ammo soon ran dry, and more guns replaced them, shooting lasers at the back of the Spittle.
Zim gasped and pinched his face into a grimace as a laser beam shot past the windshield.
There was nowhere to hide out in the middle of space. Zim's mind was struggling to keep up.
He desperately looked down at the radar screen, searching for ideas. A shapeless mass appeared on the little monitor, and Zim knew straight away what it was. They were coming up on the asteroid belt.
He could lose him through it!
He shot a glance behind him at Larb and sped even faster forward. Almost instantly, the proximity warning flashed across his screen, followed by an alarm. Zim ignored it and continued on.
With only the slightest hint of hesitation, Larb pursued him, quickly gaining on him until the Spittle's turbines filled his line of sight.
Something felt very wrong. Zim's drugged, catawampus mind drifted, and a memory began to tug at the edges. It was a vision of himself and Dib in a remarkably similar situation years earlier … the two of them in chase, yelling insults at one another… him attempting to shake the human by flying straight into the very same asteroid belt…
Zim gasped and yanked the wheel downwards with as much strength as he could muster. The Spittle careened upwards, knocking his head back against the seat. He felt himself go even dizzier with the power behind the maneuver.
The Zhook, however, continued straight on, speeding directly into the asteroids zipping by.
The Spittle regained its original upward position, and Zim felt his overtaxed heart hammer away in his chest. After a few moments, he looked down at the asteroid belt beneath him. Larb's ship had been lost in the midst of it, occasionally resurfacing more and more dented than before.
When he could finally gain the strength, he flew the Spittle forward and didn't dare slow down until the Zhook and the asteroid belt were far out of sight. When, at last, he felt comfortable enough to put the ship on autopilot, he released an incredibly heavy sign and leaned far back into his chair. He was still intensely woozy. Now that he had the backdrop of space, he could see his own reflection in the dented windshield.
One eye was beginning to swell up, and he indeed had a deep gash across his cheek. His left antenna was working doubly to pick up on frequencies around it, as the right one hung limply at his shoulder like a broken wire, kinked nearly in half.
His eyes slowly flutter closed.
When his senses were all but gone, aside from the vague scent of blood that permeated his nose, the ship's computer came on overhead.
"Coordinates set for Planet Irk. Proceed?"
Zim opened his eyes groggily. He paused for several long seconds, opening his mouth and then closing it.
"No," he said finally, his voice quiet. "Not yet."
