Zim groggily opened his eyes. Light streamed not the bar, and he sat up with a groan. His head hurt, and he felt slightly sick. What had happened last night?

He looked around and spotted a dead Irken a few feet away from him, a broken bottle shoved deep into their squeedilyspooch. He reached out and touched it. Did he do that? He couldn't remember much of what happened the night before. It was all so fuzzy in his head.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember. He had came in, ordered some shots, and then he had demanded something stronger. He had drank it, and then… nothing.

The air stank of vomit, and he coughed at the stench, his spooch rolling in protest. How could he not remember?

Zim gripped the edge of the counter with his damaged hand, the metal fingers gouging into the surface. He lifted himself back onto his feet, struggling to stand.

The light coming in through the windows hit him in the face, and he hissed and shut his eyes tight, shielding them from the intrusion.

He saw his knife sitting on the counter, out in the open for anyone to take. He cursed himself for his mistake. He was so lucky that someone hadn't came in wile he was passed out on the floor next to a dead body. That would have been trouble for him, and he would have had no way to defend himself had they decided to take things into their own hands.

He stumbled over to it and quickly collected the weapon, stuffing it in the waistband of his pants and pulling up his hood to help keep away the blinding light. It helped a little, but not much.

He examined the mess of vomit, and groaned. He would have to clean this up to avoid anyone obtaining his DNA and

He found a rag in the cupboard and began wiping down the counter, cleaning up the evidence. After he finished with that, he tossed the rag in the trash can by the door. Zim noticed that his clothes were now stained with blood, so he took care of those, too, shoving his stained sweatshirt into his PAK'S storage compartment until he could dispose of it somewhere safer. He felt bad that the clothes he had liked so much were now ruined, but he could always get more.

Just to be sure he wouldn't run out of credits, Zim opened the register and started to collect all of the money in there, putting it all in a bag that he found in one of the drawers.

Just as he finished, he heard the door open and another alien walked in. Zim gave an irritated sigh. He had so much to do, and he didn't need another problem.

Zim placed the bag behind the counter to hide it, and turned to confront the intruder. "Get. Out!" He said with as much confidence as he could muster, but it came out in a hoarse voice, weak and quiet. He cringed at how pathetic he sounded.

The stranger, a Vortian, looked at him quizzically. "Dude, are you okay? You look terrible."

Zim didn't blame him for being concerned. He FELT pretty terrible right now. "I am fine! I just… had too much to drink."

"Hungover, huh?" The stranger said with a grin. "That sucks. What's all over your clothes?"

"I spilled a drink earlier," Zim said. "Haven't had time to change yet."

The Vortian nodded. "Hey, the city is on lockdown, and a few of us are making our rounds to get everyone inside. Some psycho is running around picking us off."

Zim squinted at him, ignoring the pain the light caused his eyes, looking the other alien over. "A psycho, huh? That's interesting. Do you know what they look like?"

The other alien shook his head. "Not yet, unfortunately, They haven't released an official description yet. Its never happened here before, so no one really knows what to do about it. You should go home and lock your place up tight. They're keeping the killer contained in this city so he can't leave."

Zim's hand twitched and reached around to grip the handle of his weapon, suppressing the urge to kill. He took deep, steady breaths as he fought back his body's need to vomit again.

"How do you know the killer is a male?"

The stranger shrugged. "Just a guess. That's what everyone has been saying, anyway."

"What if they get you, too?" Zim asked.

His oblivious captive grinned again. "They won't!" He reached under his shirt and pulled out a small blaster. "Because I've got this! Found it in an alley around the corner."

Zim's eyes lit up, and he smiled, taking a few steps closer. "I see. Does it work?"

"Heck yeah, it does!" They said excitedly, turning it over in their hands. "It's got half a clip left, but I think its enough to stop the killer if they try anything. We're technically not supposed to have weapons of any kind, but I think that this is an exception for us."

The Irken was only a few feet away from him now, and he slowly began pulling his knife out. "Can I hold it? I've always been curious to know how it feels."

"Asking a lot of questions, aren't you?" The Vortian asked, still grinning. He looked down at the gun, his smile fading into a frown as he considered it. "I don't know if it would be a good idea to let you hold it. Can't trust anybody now, you know."

"It will only be for a second, and I'll give it right back," Zim said, knife fully out, but still hidden behind his back. "Promise."

The stranger thought it over for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt. Looks like the safety is on, anyway." He held it out. "But just for a second, okay? I need it for my own protection."

Zim nodded in acknowledgement and reached out towards it, feigning an expression of wonder and awe. He was now directly in front of them. He brushed the hand grip with his fingers, pretending to marvel at it, then suddenly wrapped his hand around the owner's wrist and yanked them closer, pressing the tip of his knife into their side. "So do I."

A surprised yelp was the response that he received in return.

"Give it to me," Zim said, "I want it."

"Sure, okay, just relax, man." It was quickly handed over without hesitation.

"Give me more." Zim demanded, stepping back and pointing the gun at them. "I want everything you have. Every last drop."

"Okay, okay," they said, reaching into their pockets and pulling out a few credits and a communication device.

Zim gestured with the gun. "Throw it all over to me. Now."

They did as asked, tossing the credits and communicatior over to him. Zim kept the blaster pointed at them as he leaned down and picked everything up, putting it all into his PAK,

He glanced down at his soiled shirt, then at the other's attire, which consisted of shorts and a t-shirt with a skull on the front. Zim decided to take that, too. "Give me your shirt."

That was also handed over immediately.

"You shouldn't have been so quick to trust me," Zim said, turning off the safety on the gun. "Especially in a time like this. Get on your knees."

"What?"

"NOW!" Zim yelled, making the other one flinch in fear.

Once they had obeyed the order, Zim lowered the gun. "How many guards are looking for me?"

"I don't know, man, I just work in one of the restaurants, I don't know any-"

"How many have you SEEN?" Zim questioned in simpler terms.

"Uh, I don't know, maybe a dozen or so?" The prisoner said desperately. "I don't know anything, man, I'm not a soldier!"

"You're useless to me, then," Zim hissed in frustration. He wouldn't get very much out of this one. "But thank you so much for the new clothes."

He shot the alien in the throat, and left them to choke on their blood.

Before he left, Zim went into the back room and took another bottle of alcohol for the road, twisting it open and taking a swig as he walked out the door and into the street. He looked around, surprised at how empty and desolate this section of the city was. It must be true, then. They must have gotten everyone safely indoors like that alien had said.

It didn't matter very much to Zim, though. Nothing would stop him from getting to whoever he chose next. He knew that this might kill him in the end, but he already had a plan in place for that, too. He had taken one of his experiments with him before he went to Irk to be fixed up, and he still had it with him now.

He reached into his PAK and retrieved it, checking to see if there was any damage. The experiment in question was a bright blue liquid, kept in a syringe. It was still in the testing phase, and it was not fully stable yet, but it was near completion. All it needed was one final ingredient for it to be finished, and that ingredient was plutonium.

Zim had ran out of this particular substance while working on another experiment a few weeks before he had been summoned back to his home planet, and he was now in need of a fresh supply.

If it was ever injected into his bloodstream, and if he were to be killed in some way, the substance would reanimate Zim's body, allowing him to live again. But it would also change him into something else. If it was successful, he would not be himself anymore.

He would have no heartbeat, no blood flow, and all of his organs would shut down. By all accounts, he would be dead. But yet, he would still be animate.

Zim put the syringe away, pondering his future fate. It would only be used as a last resort, when he no longer had any other options left. He did not fear death, he embraced it, as he had been taught to do during his training.

He drank from his bottle of alcohol, savoring the taste of it. He had chosen a much weaker kind now, since the one he had consumed the previous night had apparently been too strong for him to handle.

He was glad that he had something to protect himself better. Being required to be at close range of his targets was beginning to get tiresome.

Zim made his way down the walkway, sipping from his bottle of alcohol. It didn't taste the best, but it helped with the loneliness and mixed emotions he was currently feeling. He tried to force himself to remember what had happened during his time in the bar again. Everything was so hazy in his mind. He remembered bits and pieces if he thought hard enough.

Laughing, ordering more drinks, bits of conversation, then he started drinking that Vortian drink, and everything went blank after that.

He accidentally brushed up against someone passing him, and they turned and snarled at him.

"You got a problem, buddy?" They said challengingly, baring their teeth at him.

Zim grabbed the gun he had stolen earlier, tucked away in the waistband of his pants. He was about to pull it out and shoot this fucker, but then he paused as he remembered the conversation in the bar.

"It's not too late to change, even if things seem hopeless now."

"No, it was my fault," Zim said calmly after a moment of hesitation, taking a deep breath and lowering his hand back to his side. He forced the words out. "I apologize."

The other alien stared at him, expression softening slightly. "Well, just watch where you're going next time," They sauntered off in the opposite direction, muttering something about clueless Irkens.

Zim hoped that he wouldn't regret this later. He already had far too much to deal with already. He sighed and took another swallow of his drink, his mind beginning to numb a little. He didn't know how he felt at the moment, but one thing he did know was that he felt very confused.

He couldn't reverse what was already done, but maybe he could try to change the outcome of his story.

Then he stopped. What was he thinking? He couldn't change now. Not after all of this. Not after he'd killed the last human in the entire universe. He'd exterminated an entire race, and he felt nothing for it.

It didn't mean he'd changed just because he hadn't killed this time. It didn't mean anything.

Zim sat down on a bench he had just passed, setting his bottle down on the ground by his feet and cradling his head in his hands, taking deep breaths. The prosthetic fingers felt cool on his face, and grounded him back to reality.

He looked up and blinked away the haze in his vision, and sadness and fear crashed into him like a ton of bricks. His body began to shake, and would not stop no matter how much he tried to quell it.

A single tear slid down his face, and he swiped it away, staring at his wet glove. Then the dam inside of him ruptured, and all his pain flooded forth.

He allowed himself to feel it.