Author's Note
Hello everyone. I'd like to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. A lot has been going on, and it's definitely been derailing. I hope all of you are hanging in there and staying safe.
I would like to thank a few people this time around.
First, to whoever anonymously left a very generous donation on my Ko-fi page, I cannot thank you enough. It was entirely unexpected, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it.
Next, Xryn-art on Tumblr made a beautiful fanart comic based on a scene from Chapter 19. Check it out, and if you haven't already, give their blog a follow. They're a super sweet person, and they post some awesome IZ content. They created the IZ Linguistic AU, and I frankly can't get enough of it.
And last but not least, Lillylunala, another amazing artist on Tumblr, made two gorgeous pieces of art for me. The first was of Larb and Zim based on the last chapter. The second was a commission of Skluf and Mil finding Zim's PAK in Chapter 22. If you're looking to commission a fantastic artist right now, Lilly just recently opened up commissions. She did a fantastic job, kept in close communication throughout the whole process, and put a ton of effort into her lovely work.
Since FFN doesn't do well with links, I can't link these art pieces. However, I checked my blog, and they should pop up when you search either "parade fanart" or "a parade of indignities" in my search bar.
Also, I thought I might mention some cleaning I'm going to do since I'm stuck inside. Over the next few weeks, I'm going to be taking down old thank you messages and A/Ns. Once I finish this story, I'll have an acknowledgements section at the end that personally thanks the reviewers, fanartists, my betareader, etc. I feel like that will keep things a little more organized and not so cluttered.
Disclaimer: I do not own Invader Zim. All rights reserved to the respective owners.
Chapter 24: Of Collateral Damage and Electric Shock
The week drifted on, and Dib's days very quickly molded themselves into a routine—and a rigid, impossibly tedious routine at that. He'd only been on Vort for a total of six days, and he was already wondering how some of the other prisoners had managed to tolerate the monotony for years on end without completely losing their minds.
The day always started the same way, with inmate rollcalls. As soon as the creaking of the monstrous chamber door roused him from his sleep, Dib knew the nighttime prison guards were finished with their shifts and the morning rotation of guards had arrived. It was his cue to get up out of bed and stand near the front of his cell to make his presence known.
Once the rollcall finished, though, Dib almost always retreated back into the shadows to catch five more minutes of sleep before he was brought his first meal of the day.
Then, about an hour later, he and a vast majority of the other prisoners would be escorted to various parts of the prison grounds to start their workday.
On the very first day of this new arrangement, Dib had been summoned from his cell and escorted to a large manufacturing facility that looked not unlike a sweatshop. Rows of other inmates were stationed along the production line, faces stony as they busied themselves with whatever station they'd ended up with that particular shift.
The whole factory was an enigma to him. Large metal plates soared down the conveyor, being pressed into different shapes before disappearing at the end of the line. Not one single piece elucidated what exactly was being constructed.
From what he understood, it typically took months for most prisoners to get to the point where they could leave their cells and participate in inmate labor. The guards made it feel as if it were some sort of special privilege that Dib should feel honored to have obtained.
Sure. Sitting in an overheated building and wearing his arm sore from pulling a lever was a special privilege indeed.
The other prisoners didn't seem to think of the labor as anything to be proud of, either. For the most part, they kept to themselves, doing whatever work was put in front of them with their heads ducked down.
All of this was done under the close supervision of Irken guards. It was the only time the inmates communed, and yet they scarcely acknowledged one another for fear of being abused by one of the guards standing over them.
Then, several hours later, at the end of his shift, Dib would be led back to his cell, where he could expect another tray of flavorless mush and weird purple milk to be waiting for him for supper.
Afterwards was another round of rollcall.
Then, he could bide whatever time he had left by either staring at the walls or attempting to sleep on his lumpy mattress until he heard the telltale creaking of the door that announced another day.
Rinse and repeat.
As of now, Dib was at the factory, standing in his usual spot and pulling the lever that branded each newly minted metal plate. The finished product was a crisp emblazonment of several Irken characters and the familiar one-eyed insignia. Dib guessed it was some sort of warning label, but he genuinely wasn't sure. He wasn't about to ask one of the Irken guards pacing the rows, either. He simply cranked the lever over and over and watched as it printed the strange lettering onto the metal.
Most stations involved some variation of lowering levers, sorting metal screws, or scanning random parts for perceived flaws. Seeing as Dib didn't even know what the factory was building, however, he wasn't particularly adept at the latter station. It also didn't help that his poor eyesight didn't allow for picking out little details. As a result, he typically ended up rushing to whichever station was the hardest to screw up.
Standing directly across from him, with only the conveyer belt as a buffer, was a Vortian prisoner. Not just any Vortian prisoner, though. It was the prisoner who resided on the other side of Dib's cell. Dib could tell just by his coloring.
Unsurprisingly, Vortians were incredibly prolific on the prison grounds. For every one prisoner of a separate alien species, there were about a hundred of the strange, goat-like creatures milling about and being escorted to and from buildings. They varied in appearance, some different shades of grey or blue, and others a muted pink. The Vortian beside Dib's cell, however, was bright purple, with tiny, pebble-like pink eyes that were centralized in the middle of his face. He was uniquely colored, and impossible to mistake.
Several times during their work shift, Dib got the distinct sensation that those tiny pink eyes were looking his way.
He genuinely couldn't tell if the Vortian was looking his way or simply looking down at the jumble of parts on the table in front of him. Because his lack of glasses made everything just bleary enough to be annoying, he found himself second-guessing almost everything. He definitely wouldn't be able to see the slight shift of solid-colored Vortian eyes that were the size of peas.
Even so, he still couldn't shake the feeling.
As Dib looked up and absentmindedly found himself staring in the Vortian's direction, a loud buzzer blared from overhead, signaling the end of their workday.
He dropped his eyes back down, removed his goggles and apron, and slowly fell in line with the rest of the prisoners as they walked back across the complex.
-x-
There was only one other reason for Dib to leave his cell: further interrogation.
It almost always happened in the dead of the night, when the entire rest of the building was quiet. Since he'd arrived, Dib had several of these unpleasant wakeup calls, in which two guards would retrieve him from his cell and lead him, groggy and irritable, down the familiar halls and to the familiar little room. There, Officer Vak would be waiting.
He had grown to truly loathe Vak and his angry, beady-eyed glare. Dib refused to tell him anything other than the story he'd stuck to from the very beginning, and yet the Irken was staunchly unwilling to accept it.
Every question spewed forth was an attempt to get Dib to confess to Vak's own presumed narrative. The Irken steadfastly pushed his claims that one, Earth had access to the toxin, and two, Dib was a spy working against the Irken military.
How he had come to these conclusions, Dib didn't know. Vak's take on the whole affair seemed incredibly far-fetched and riddled with holes. Unfortunately, the implausibility still came second to the testimony Dib was pushing: an account with zero evidence to back it, which also happened to speak something akin to sacrilege by slandering the Irkens' beloved Tallest.
Vak had one thing on his side to support his story: the medical document that had come straight from Earth—the very document Dib had hastily allowed Zim's computer to send along to the Irken authorities upon fleeing the planet.
Of all the regrets he'd imagined revisiting in the dead of night, being forced to dig up this singular, seemingly insignificant event from his memory bank was completely unexpected. The visual of Dib running out of the base with Zim in tow, all while yelling over his shoulder at the computer, stuck in his mind and replayed over and over.
Ultimately, Dib was in the dark on almost everything around him. Some events that had taken place over the last month were so stupefying, he couldn't even begin to try to understand them. However, he knew without a shadow of doubt that if he dared slip up and say the wrong thing, he would be putting Earth in mortal danger.
This led to Dib fending off the endless slew of questions by either denying their validity or keeping silent.
All the while, Vak poked and prodded at his psyche, trying to get him to slip up and admit to something. Either that, or he would just blast his questions into the boy's face point-blank.
"Tell me now. What is Earth's connection to Meekrob?"
"What do you know about the toxin? What is Earth hiding?"
"Oh, so you didn't try to steal a blank PAK for research?"
After these methods failed, new tactics came into play. Vak tried threatening him until he obeyed. He tried bribing Dib with Irken currency and empty promises of freedom if he cooperated. Each time, something new was pulled from his bag of tricks, and the methods got more and more severe as time went on.
One night, as Dib was eating his evening serving of porridgelike mush, he paused midchew, and then tentatively swished the food around in his mouth. He swallowed, then smacked his lips slightly. Something felt off about it. It was almost too subtle to put his finger on… like there was something mildly bitter in the typically sweet aftertaste. It could have just been his imagination, though.
He took another bite, hyperaware of the taste as he chewed and swallowed it. He eventually chalked it up to his taste buds getting tired of eating the same thing for every meal. Before long, he finished it and went to bed.
An undetermined amount of time later, Dib awoke in a cold sweat following a flurry of bizarre, psychedelic nightmares that seemed to clash into one another over and over again. His head spun as he lurched upwards into a sitting position and felt dizziness overcome him.
For several minutes, he gazed wide-eyed into the darkness as dissociation swallowed him up and spat him back out into a vague surface-level understanding of reality.
Sometime in the midst of it, the prison guards must have arrived for another interrogation, because the next thing he knew, Dib was stumbling through the halls, on his way to the interrogation room.
The entire time, he felt giddy and paranoid, staring off at nothing and hearing Vak's ugly, hoarse voice as if it were calling to him from miles away. He must not have given any of the answers Vak had desired, because the only thing he really remembered about the so-called interrogation was Vak's bitter expression as he ordered the guards to send Dib back to his cell.
Afterwards, Dib's only instinct was to collapse back onto his mattress and sleep.
When he woke up again, his head ached horrendously, and he felt sick to his stomach. At least the paranoia and crippling disassociation had gone away. Jerking himself upright, he clutched his head in his hands. A groan escaped him, and he spent a few moments perfectly still, trying to ride out the feeling of sharp panging in his head.
"Hey."
For a minute, Dib thought he'd imagined the voice. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.
"Hey." It came again, in a hushed whisper. "Human. Are you okay?"
It took his lagged brain yet another moment before he realized who had spoken: the Vortian, directly on the other side of the wall. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine."
An awkward silence passed between them.
He was about to turn back over and try to sleep off the terrible malaise, but then the Vortian piped up again. "Be careful with whatever you tell them. Irkens are vindictive by nature and will use anything you say against you."
Dib furrowed his brow. "Yeah… okay." He didn't know how else to respond. He opened his mouth and pursed his lips. Then, "Why are you telling me this?"
He heard shifting on the other side of the wall, then the Vortian spoke. "I've been here for years, and I've never seen Vak so determined to get information out of a prisoner before. Especially a prisoner as young as you. Whatever he wants from you, it can't be anything good."
Through the fatigue, he found himself only able to latch onto one part of what the Vortian had told him. "You've been here for years?"
"Ever since Irk went against the Irken-Vortian treaty and conquered my planet almost a decade ago."
Dib made a noise of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, turning the information over. "That's right. Irk and Vort were allies…"
"Uh huh."
"So… you knew Irkens before this?" Dib's voice was hardly more than a whisper, impossible for the guards to detect unless they were standing right outside the two cells.
There was an affirmative hum on the other side of the wall. "Back before the invasion, I worked as a mechanical engineer for the Irken Empire. I helped design ships and battle mechs."
Dib was genuinely interested in what the Vortian had to say, but despite trying to hang on to his every word, he could feel his breathing slow and his eyelids lower against his will. He was still feeling sick from whatever he'd been drugged with, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep as much as he could before the morning guards roused them awake and sent them off to work.
"My name is Dib," he muttered, closing his eyes.
He heard the faint echo of a reply, but whatever the Vortian had said back, Dib didn't quite catch. He'd already slipped off to sleep.
Elsewhere, in the far reaches of space, Larb's scuffed and pockmarked Zhook drifted along amid the stars. Inside the cabin, an equally scuffed Larb glared out the windshield.
He was slumped forward in the pilot's seat with his arms dangling down by his sides, his tattered uniform sticking to him in a combination of dried blood and sweat.
His entire body felt numb. Despite most of the blood on his tunic belonging to the defective, he knew he had some cuts and bruises of his own. Being picked up just barely by his antennae was the slightest hum of his PAK as it continually worked to heal him.
It was taking a bit longer than it should for his injuries to fade away. His PAK wasn't working as efficiently as it would normally. The PAK and the body went hand in hand, and any slow healing could almost always be attributed to a lack of sleep or other such neglect. Be that as it was, though, Larb was blind to it. To him, the bruises weren't testaments of his body's needs not being met—they were testaments of his failure.
He couldn't care less if his PAK wasn't working at full proficiency. If his PAK and his organic brain had truly been on the same page, it would have ceased its needless toiling over him.
He was a failure. Why would his PAK even think of healing a being as shameful as him? What else was there for him to live for?
Somewhere in his mind, almost lost among the shattered ruins of his ego, was the last fragment of Larb's conviction in his own abilities. He had promised himself he would succeed at killing the defective, and this time, it wouldn't be for the Irken Empire, nor for the Tallest. He would succeed at this god-forsaken "mission" for the sake of his own dignity.
And even so, he had failed …
His glazed, dark-rimmed eyes refocused just slightly as every misfortune over the last couple months flashed through his mind yet again. A bullet grazing his arm on the desert planet and knocking his handgun away from him. Being bested by some low-intelligence alien child on Earth. And the freshest wound of all: watching the defective—weak, sick, and having just been stuck with a PAK leg—staggering away to his ship while leaving only a trail of blood in his wake.
Larb's claws curled into fists as he gazed wildly out at the glittering stars before him. He didn't so much as blink, and the edges of his vision began to quaver slightly. After a few moments, his mouth slowly fell ajar and he swore he could see the stars begin to drift, forming an image of the defective as he made his getaway in the old Spittle Runner. As it flew away, the stars suddenly dissipated and reformed to show the defective's SIR Unit. Then again as the figure of the Earth creature, smiling contemptuously.
Larb's eye twitched.
Finally, the stars broke away again.
Larb blinked slowly, letting his head loll so he was looking down at his lap. Then, he raised it again. The visions continued, and he felt his breathing catch in his throat as they took the shape of the Tallest.
The two Irkens towered over the Zhook, enormous smiles plastered over their faces. They pointed their long fingers down and laughed at him hysterically. Louder and louder, until their voices faded off into ringing in his antennae.
Larb shut his eyes and shook his head violently. Then, he turned away from the windshield and angrily propped his chin in his hands. The vision of the Tallest remained, though, permanently burned into his mind.
He thought about them, lounging in their palace on Irk and stuffing their faces with donuts. For all he knew, they had forgotten all about him. It made no difference to them. They were far too busy to remember Larb. They would go to press conferences, banquets, events, and ceremonies. They would live on in the collective of all Irken history as the brave leaders who stood tall for their Empire in the face of war and uncertainty. They would brush their mistakes under the rug, and their privilege would allow them to conveniently forget about it all.
But it was their fault. They'd brought this upon him. They'd given him the dirty work and forced him to go outside of his coding. They had put his life on the line simply so they could continue to go about their lives in the lap of luxury.
And Larb was left to reap the consequences.
Returning to his home planet would only alert the Tallest that he'd never made do on his "mission". His reputation would be decimated. Utterly destroyed. They would see to it that he would become nobody at all.
That is, if they didn't follow through with their initial promise. Very likely, he would mysteriously "disappear" as soon as his presence on Irk became known by them.
Larb gritted his teeth, eyes flashing upwards.
No.
He wouldn't allow it. Not as long as he was still alive.
With a shaky flick of his claw, he started the engine up again.
From that point forward, there was no longer silence between Dib and the Vortian.
Their schedules aligned well enough that they were almost always in the same room together. Dib had endless questions about the Irken and Vortian races, and the Vortian prisoner seemed surprisingly willing to answer them. In fact, Dib noticed that he often went into great detail, especially when talking about the Irkens. Not that he was complaining… he was utterly fascinated by it all. He had to admit, he quite liked having someone to talk to.
During their shift in the factory a few days later, Dib waited for the guard to pass them by before muttering under his breath. "I don't even know what we're building. It just looks like a bunch of metal parts."
Without looking up from his station, the Vortian replied. "Plasma-armed battle tanks. Vort helped design them during our alliance. They'll probably be flown to Irk's capital to be used in battle." The answer came matter-of-factly, with an almost bored tone behind it.
The Vortian had an odd manner of speaking. His voice was deep, with just the vaguest trace of what had once been a dignified inflection belonging only to someone who had been a prominent figure in their industry. And yet, now he spoke in subdued, hushed tones. It was as if the weight of being a cog in the Irken machine had all but squelched the once-proud engineer he'd been before his imprisonment.
"That's the only real reason you were put to work so early on," the Vortian added after a moment, as something of an afterthought. "Production has increased since Irk declared war on Meekrob. New mechs, tanks, ships, and superweapons are being made every day, and as long as the prisons have warm bodies, they're going to put 'em to work."
Dib lowered the lever over another metal piece, nodding in interest. A guard passed the two of them, and they both went quiet for the next several minutes. Dib glanced up, squinting at the patch on the top right of the Vortian's jumpsuit: 777.
Dib's own prisoner number was 515. They were often called out by their numbers rather than their names during rollcall, mainly because a bulk of the alien prisoners had names that were too difficult for the Irkens to bother trying to pronounce. It was easier to address them by a number than by their actual names.
"Irk's capital city? What, is just a giant military base?" Dib couldn't imagine so many tanks all being flown to one place.
"Irk is more or less one giant military base," 777 said dryly, "but yes, I suppose that would be accurate. Most of the Elites train in the capital. It's also home to the Tallest's palace and the Head Control Brain."
"Control Brain… I keep hearing that." Dib looked up, ensuring the guard was still at the other end of the conveyer belt. "What is a Control Brain, anyway?"
"They're the real leaders of Irk. Essentially giant supercomputers that are constantly being fed Irken knowledge into a collective. All laws and regulations must be passed by them."
"Huh." Dib thought about that for a moment, clenching the lever in one hand and pulling it down just as another metal part made its way beneath it. "Wait. If the Control Brains are the real leaders, then what are the Tallest?"
"Figureheads, mainly."
-x-
Later that night, Dib was awoken for yet another interrogation.
Flanked by two guards, he walked the familiar halls. He could have walked through them blindfolded at this point. Straight down a corridor, then left, then right, where they would end up in the little room.
Dib, half asleep and on autopilot, swung his booted foot out and started to turn left. However, a rough arm tightened on his bicep, and he found himself continuing on straight. His eyes opened a bit wider at this change. They weren't on their way to the usual interrogation room.
The place he was brought to instead was far more ominous. It was large and spacious, with a single chair in the center.
Before Dib could protest, he was pushed into it, strapped down, and held in place. A helmet wrapped around his head and kept him so that he could only stare directly ahead.
As soon as it was in place, Officer Vak stepped nimbly in front of him. A tiny remote was clenched in one hand. "There. I'm through having my time wasted, human. You will answer me, and you will do it now."
"I've only ever told you the truth."
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Dib could feel his hair stand on end before he comprehended the shock rippling its way through him. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. He looked up at the officer wide-eyed.
Vak simply sneered back at him. "'The truth,'" he said mockingly. "Your 'truth' is the most idiotic drivel I've ever heard, and I've heard a lot."
The officer pushed his face directly into Dib's. "Earth has gained access to the toxin, and there's only one way it could have done that. Clearly, Earth has formed an alliance with Meekrob and has plotted against the Irken Empire."
Dib shrank away. "You're insane. Earth doesn't have access to the toxin, and I know nothing about the Meekrob!"
Vak's thumb pushed down on a remote button, and Dib was hit with another shock.
"Lies! You're a spy for the Meekrobian forces!"
"I am NOT!" The same thing was repeated. This time, though, the electric current was stronger. More disorienting. "Uhhgg…"
"Admit it!"
"No."
Yet another one coursed through him, and he felt his breathing catch in his throat as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He gasped for air.
"The next level up will kill you," Vak said casually.
Dib inhaled several times, his scythe lock hanging limply over his face. He glared up at him with dark-rimmed eyes. "Bullshit. You don't have the guts. You need to keep me alive for your precious Empire."
It was the boldest thing he'd said to the officer thus far.
Vak merely smiled down at him, eyes glinting sadistically. "Of course I'm not going to kill you, you little worm. Why would I give you that escape?"
Dib's defiant look melted a bit at the edges. He didn't say anything.
Vak stood back, still staring at him. "Admit to being a spy for the Meekrob, and I won't keep this on until you lose consciousness."
Dib looked at the remote, then at Vak. He hesitated a bit. "N-no."
He shrank into himself as he saw Vak's clawed thumb lazily reach for the button.
Immediately, the current ran through him. His muscles contracted instantly, and his instincts forced him to throw himself against the restraints and away from the source of the pain. He pulled away from the chair as much as he physically could, panicking at the realization that he couldn't move more than an inch away.
Suddenly, he found he could not move at all, locked into paralysis. Spots clouded his vision, and he felt seconds away from fainting.
"Stop," he mouthed.
Nothing changed, and the darkness continued to overtake him. "You know how to make it stop…" came Vak's voice from afar.
Dib's jaw clenched up, to the point where uttering a single word was nearly impossible. One made its way out, though. "… Y-yes."
Miraculously, the shocking ceased, and he slumped forward in his chair, his restraints being the only things keeping him from sinking to the ground in a heap. His head spun as he stared blankly down. A trail of drool dripped from his mouth to the floor.
Fear melted into relief instantly, and he gasped for breath.
His chin was gripped tightly and yanked upwards, forcing him to look into Vak's tiny pink eyes.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
As if his mind and his body were two separate entities, Dib found himself nodding weakly. "Yes…"
"'Yes' what?" Vak growled.
"Yes… Meekrob… spying," he whispered almost inaudibly. His mind wasn't catching up with him. Every part of him acted on one instinct—to do whatever was necessary to avoid another round of shocks.
It seemed to be enough. Vak rose to his full height, valiant with his reward: Dib's feeble, three-word answer.
The restraints disappeared, and Dib flopped forward onto the floor. He made no move to stand, still only half-aware of what was going on around him.
"Get up, human," Vak ordered. The sense of satisfaction in his voice was palpable.
Dib made no move to do so.
Vak finally bent down and gripped the collar of his orange prison uniform in one fist, lifting him to his feet.
Dib's feet found contact with the ground. He stumbled and swayed, but ultimately remained upright. He shot a glare in Vak's direction, but his unfocused eyes prevented it from having the desired effect.
He was led out into the hall, the dark spots in his vision still ebbing away slowly. His legs felt weak, as if he'd just run a marathon.
As soon as the guards left, he peered out into the hallway. His entire row was asleep. A single prison guard caught his eye, leering sternly at him until he retreated to the back of his cell.
Dib crept back to his bed and sat down on it cross-legged, staring blankly ahead. His mind still felt lightyears behind the rest of himself.
He hardly heard the sound of 777's whisper as it permeated the wall separating them. "Hey, human. What's wrong?"
"I…I…" Dib felt his chest tighten up. He was in a daze, unable to even comprehend what he had done. "Earth… I'm not a spy. I…" He broke down, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. "Why? Why would they do this?" he whispered softly after a moment. He could feel his cheeks growing hot, and a lump rise in his throat.
There was a pause on the other side of the cell. "It's not your fault."
"Yes, it is," came Dib's immediate retort. He sounded stubborn, like an adamant four-year-old. He couldn't help it.
"No, it's not. I've been around Irkens almost all my life, human. I've been able to see firsthand how they operate. They have a one-track mind, and they'll go to any length to get what they want. You think the Armada needs a reason to blow up a planet? Of course they don't. They couldn't care less. They'll go ahead and do it and make up some excuse for the Control Brains later. 'It was an emergency. We had to do it! The planet was a threat.' It's not hard to do."
Dib sniffled and wiped at his eyes as he listened.
"Vak thought you had information that could help the Irken race, but you didn't. So he went with the next best thing. Afterall, how great would he look if he exposed a 'deadly, unknown enemy'? It's all self-seeking, human. If you know that about Irkens, you know everything."
Another round of quiet sobs passed over him. It couldn't be all true… what about Skoodge? He tried to think of any other Irkens he'd come in contact with, purposely omitting Zim. Suddenly, the Tallest stood out in his mind.
"That's exactly what the Tallest are doing." He blinked, thinking about something he hadn't even considered before. "How—" his voice cracked, and he tearfully coughed to clear his throat. "How did this war start?"
"The Irkens had reason to believe that the Meekrob broke their treaty by unleashing the J-636 toxin on their territory. I'm pretty sure some traces of it were found on an Irken-run planet. What tipped them off was a medical document citing a case."
Dib inhaled heavily. "It all began with the toxin," he murmured in disbelief. "I knew that was part of it, but…."
777 stayed silent on the other side of the wall.
"…this whole thing is the Tallest's fault. Not just what I've been accused of, the entire war is their fault." Dib's voice rose from a soft whisper, to a normal speaking voice. "They're the ones who got ahold of the toxin. They're the ones who used it. This whole war is pointless."
777 began to shush him from the other side of his cell, but it fell on deaf ears. Dib was shouting at this point. "Meekrob has nothing to do with it! Earth definitely has nothing to do with it! The Tallest are going to drive their own people into the goddamn ground and take Earth down while they're at it! Just to avoid getting caught in their scheme! I can't—"
"HEY!"
Dib snapped his head up and saw the blurry outlines of two prison guards standing sternly outside his cell. His face went pale. One held their staff out, the end gleaming bright blue. It was warning enough, and Dib cowered in the back of his cell until they left.
"The Tallest… this is their fault," he said again. It was almost inaudible. He lied on his side, facing the wall.
He waited for a moment, prepared for 777 to doubt him like everyone else had. Instead, he heard an unsurprised hum.
"Sounds like typical Irkens to me. Do you remember what I said about the Tallest being figureheads? Well, that doesn't mean they don't get away with a lot under the table." 777's voice, too, was hardly a whisper. "Every Tallest in existence that I'm aware of has been involved in something that wasn't legislated by the Control Brains. I have no doubt in my mind that those two goons are doing the same thing."
Dib sniffled in reply. He could feel himself closing up like a clamshell, hugging his knees to his chest. This epiphany didn't make him feel any better. It wasn't some sort of aha moment or relieved realization. It only made him feel worse. He suddenly felt helplessly trapped, as if he was being drowned or buried alive. He knew what was going on, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Nobody who mattered would ever believe him. And now his planet was at stake.
On many levels, he was in complete shock. The severity of what had just occurred during the interrogation was not setting in.
All things considered, there had been many times in his life in which he had to prevent Zim from completely destroying the Earth. Trying to plow Mars into the Earth, sabotaging his dad's generator, opening the florpus hole. Each and every time, Earth had been in very real danger, but the only barrier Dib had to cross was Zim. Never before had he been up against the entire Irken Armada, with Zim completely removed from the picture.
There was nothing he could do now. So he curled up in bed and let the shallow thoughts of shock and denial wash over him until he heard the morning guards arrive for rollcall.
-x-
Dib walked to the factory in a haze, robotically went to his station, and worked. The whole time, 777 stood across from him, letting him be alone with his thoughts.
The next morning, however, when the prisoners were let out of their cells and being escorted, Dib took note of 777 not being among them. He continued to work just like the day before, in a stupor, and thought nothing of it.
However, by the time the buzzer rang and the inmates mechanically stepped away from their stations, Dib heard two other prisoners, both Vortians, whispering amongst themselves from nearby. "Did you hear about 777? Heard he got shipped back to Moo-Ping 10."
The other prisoner nodded. "Wouldn't be surprised. They've always been keeping tabs on him. The wardens thought he was getting too chummy with the other inmates."
At that, Dib vaguely noted both Vortians glancing his way.
The prisoners in front of him began to walk forward, and Dib mechanically followed suit, his head hung low.
He had refused to touch his food that morning, and by the time he listlessly returned from the factory that night, the stale remnants were still there. He walked past the tray on the floor and curled up on the mattress. Half an hour later, he heard the sound of another tray sliding into his cell. He didn't stir.
Somehow, knowing 777 was gone because of him only added insult to injury. He curled up on his mattress as tightly as possible and hoped maybe, if he curled himself tight enough, he might just disappear entirely.
Time went by, as it always does, and at some point, Dib fell asleep. It wasn't until later on, when he was awoken by a tapping near the entrance of his cell. His first thought was that he was being summoned for even more interrogation.
What more do you want with me? he wanted to say. I already gave you everything.
He sat up in bed and glared venomously towards the entrance of the cell.
Standing on the other side was a guard, face and head covered with a modular helmet.
Dib raised an eyebrow.
Even with his glasses missing, something looked off. The dead giveaway was the height of the guard, or lack thereof. He was stooped forward slightly, with his clothing bunching up around him and gathering on the floor.
Wordlessly, the figure outside Dib's cell reached out his hand, and with a few taps on the touchpad nearby, the cell's forcefield flickered away. Only then did he lift the face covering on his helmet.
Dib felt his breath hitch in his throat.
"Don't ever expect me to show you mercy again, Dib-stink."
Rissy: I guess this is a good time to remind people that just because I, the author of this angst fic, included some disturbing material in this chapter, it does not mean that I condone it. Do not drug, physically abuse, or electrocute people. Especially not children. Thank.
To my Lovely Reviewers (Chapter 23):
v1b1ng:
Thank you so much! This was such a sweet comment.
CawAreYouDoin:
Hey, don't even worry about it. I appreciate the reviews so much, but there's no pressure! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.
IrkenInvader01:
"I was kinda surprised by Gir's actions since he never really attacks, but glad he did." Yeah, GIR's not really one to actually follow orders. I like to think that he has some sort of selective hearing issue, and his comprehension is kind of a crapshoot. It's a good thing he listened this time, when it counted. Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Sarisa9:
"I think that Zim finally understands what happened." Oh yeah. He definitely did. And the truth is not sitting well with him. Thank you for reading and commenting! I'm glad you're enjoying it.
Rocky Rooster:
Hey! Thanks for reviewing. I loved reading your thoughts. "I wondered when Larb would show up again, I'm sure we'll be seeing him again soon too!" Yup, we got our return of Larb. Poor guy. And you're absolutely right; he'll be back.
Jyushimatsu Girl:
"Oh my god zim better go back and get dib!" True. Zim's, like, the only hope Dib has for rescue at this point. Total reliance on Zim is never a good situation to be in…
smoltrashbag:
Thanks for reviewing! "zim is safe (for now) and dib is screwed. AND I SWEAR IF GIR IS DEAD-" Yup. the natural order of things is that either Zim or Dib have to be in peril at all times lol. And oof, so many people have been asking that last question…
VelociraptorLove:
Once again, I loved hearing your thoughts as you read through this. "Oh no! Zim's been impaled!" Is it bad that I read this in Olaf's voice from Frozen? Like, when did I see that movie last? 2016? "*Whispers* oh yeah, Zim can't remember how to fly the ship" Yeah… this is a really inconvenient time for him to lose his memory. "Not yet? Where are you going to go Zim?" Oooh, Zim has some unfinished business…
HaleyRiler:
"I doubt Gir remembers but maybe somewhere in his mind he remembered what happened with Larb the last time. Plus, Larb likely interrupted the scary monkey show and he wasn't able to watch it when they were with Skoodge. XD" Okay, I was loving that first idea, but the second is just too hilarious to ignore. You can take it a step further and just say GIR didn't care at all about Zim; he was just pissed that Larb interrupted his Scary Monkey Show marathon. Lol!
RandomDragon2.0:
"I feel like that Vortian might be important later on... Dib maybe you should try making some friends while your stuck in space prison" Damn, it's like you were looking over my shoulder when I was writing this latest chapter. You hit the nail on the head.
ginankoeller:
"reverse claustrophobia exists, it's the fear of open spaces: agoraphobia." Ooof, you're right. I ended up just removing that part. Thanks for calling attention to it!
Karkalicious:
Thank you very much. For reading, for leaving a review, and for extending your condolences. (I also like your style of writing. It's really funny and creative.)
Invader Johnny:
"All I can say is that now Zim knows Dib wasn't trying to hurt him and actually saved him. So that's gotta say a lot when he realized this, plus the fact that Larb, a member of his own race was trying to kill him and very nearly succeeded? That's got to mess up with what he thought he knew because then, who can really be a for and an ally?" That's been my strategy with Zim. He's so damn stubborn, it's hard to get him to budge. You really have to back him into a corner. Thanks again for reading and reviewing, Johnny!
