This is a story about events which happened a very long time ago.

Before Zim.

Before Impending Doom.

Before the Irken race.

Before the Empire.

Zim does not know this story, of course. But neither do his kin, nor the Tallest that rule over him, nor the Control Brains that rule their planet's surface. So for this, at least, Zim should be forgiven.

Halanus Irken of the planet Ghaal, heir to the Irken family dynasty-the last of his species, and the last Irken who ever lived-promised it would never happen again. He had seen the decimation that wickedness and greed could foment, and so with all the resources available to him, he sought to gather the greatest minds of the universe and solve such problems once and for all. The Irken Society was to do what no other society had done: unify the multitudes and deliver them from darkness. His vision failed―but, really, Halanus should be forgiven, too; not for ignorance, for he was a wise and brilliant utopian, but instead for his haste. For if he had favored a more safe, slow-paced plan for enlightening the masses, the fate of his Society may have taken a more gracious turn.

Von'nen was originally an auspicious addition to the Society. A Plecarian, a genius, an unfettered mind. The bioprogrammer and augmentarian had already designed artificial intelligences that rivalled living beings; he could transfer entire personalities onto hard drives in mere months. Von'nen gladly accepted the invitation to the prestigious secret order, brought along his wife and son to accompany him, and for the pleasure and learning of the other society members, presented his working prototype of an AI he said could solve any complex organizational problem they could dream of. Planning a utopian city? Done. Budgeting limited resources? Done. Sorting and designing an effective Archive? Of course. (He knew how much the Society had invested in constructing the Archive, even when it wasn't quite finished).

Halanus in time decided on a task to be entrusted to him; the Qway, a race of savages on a backwater planet no one had ever visited, caught the interest of the Society. The species-so it seemed―functioned under a neurological hive mind.

"Imagine the implications! The applications!" Halanus crowed. "If you could reverse engineer their brains, then perhaps… Perhaps knowledge itself could be instantly democratized! Rich, poor, ignorant, or clever, we could transfer information to everyone at once―"

(Yes, as a utopian, he had the tendency to dream far beyond the restraints of reality.)

Von'nen set off, then, to do just that. To settle with the locals on Sloo, study their biomechanics, map their neurology, and find out if they truly held the key to universal peace.

But the expedition proved fraught with difficulty. His AI, OmniOrg, successfully decoded to locals' language and chatted endlessly with the Qway Queen and her consorts, but increasingly, his program dodged his questions and evaded his inquiries. Strange. Strange, he thought, that OmniOrg seemed to be misleading him, taking up secret meetings with the Queen behind his back, translating Qway words unfaithfully, conducting unethical experiments without permission...

Then… Then, without warning…

"I have to say," Von'Ai marveled, "you pieced this together much more quickly than I anticipated."

Dib didn't answer, but grunted. He was putting the finishing touches on his diagram, etching out the last bit of notes on the stone floor, chalk worn down to a nub. He adjusted his left hand, carefully avoiding rubbing the adjacent writing.

"And… erm… With such enthusiasm."

"Huh?" At last, Dib lifted his eyes to spot Von'Ai's flickering image hovering in the faint light of the lantern. The cave floor, spread out before him, was now blanketed in writing, arrows, circles, notes. The diagramming stretched out for at least a yard, the head of it disappearing into the space just beyond the lantern's reach. Chalk dust coated Dib's black pants. He brushed his sweaty palms. "Oh, well! I've―been practicing my whole life for this sort of thing." He glanced over the expanse of notes with a critical eye, then scoffed defiantly under his breath. "And Dad thought my conspiracy theorizing would never pay off..."

Suddenly, a boot appeared, stomping atop his diagram. Zim squawked, clearly flustered and clutching some device Dib didn't recognize. "Are you QUITE DONE scribbling the floor like some unwashed lunatic? I've been ready to go for AGES!"

In spite of his history with the alien, Dib was still gobsmacked by Zim's lack of awareness. He nearly couldn't speak, he was so flabbergasted, but he overcame his surprise to gesture furiously. "Zim! Haven't you heard ANYTHING I've been saying for the last fifteen minutes?!"

"Yes, I've been enduring your annoying rambling, but see, I don't care, so―"

"URGH! LOOK!" Without pausing to read Zim's resistance, Dib snared Zim by the arm, narrowly dodged a swipe from his claws, and dragged the Irken before the written diagram. He pointed, sputtered, and forced Zim's eyes upon it. "See? See? The Irken Society is here. Goal: m-a-k-e, u-t-o-p-i-a. Leader: Halanus Irken." (He underlined 'Irken' several times). An arrow drew downward. "And HE hired Von'nen as a bio-programmer, who made an AI… Called OmniOrg… And THEN…" Another arrow sloped down, and into different directions. "The AI went crazy, infected the Qway, and made them into an army to kill everyone."

It seemed the more Dib tried to reason with him, the more furious the Irken became; Zim hopped in place and spat like a hissing cat. "Boring, boring, BORING! And STUPID! What does Zim care about any of this!? It matters not!"

"Don't you realize what all this means!?"

"Of course I don't," Zim said. Beads of sweat at his brow betrayed his fib, but he played it off. "It's nonsense."

"These!" Flinging himself into the tunnel, Dib thrust the illumination of his lantern into the open mouth of the exposed cave, where Zim had uncovered the ancient fossils. The standing, calcified Qway glowed brilliantly in shadowy shapes, almost dancing with the passing path of light. "THESE are your ANCESTORS! This is―this is your ACTUAL HOMEWORLD!"

Though he had no grounds and knew, consciously, that evidence was not on his side, Zim's pride cortex fired off and forced him to release a guffaw of defiance and disgust. "I HARDLY think we can come to that conclusion! There's no WAY the glorious Irken race began on a cesspool planet such as this!"

"There is no 'Irken' race! You were brainwashed, altered, and enslaved by a crazy computer! It literally stole the Irken name from the society it blew up!"

"Hehehehe. I can make a rabbit," GIR abruptly bragged, using the light to form a shadow puppet with its metal claws. It did not look especially rabbit-like, but it hopped alongside the eerie silhouette of the petrified Qway.

At the right angle, and where it flickered opposite Zim's shadow on the cave wall, the Qway's shadow looked almost…

"Enough of this!" Zim smacked the lantern aside and out of Dib's hand. "Even if it's…" (Zim's voice trembled with a sliver of hesitation). "Even if it's true, you expect me to dwell on the past? Things that happened thousands of years ago? Pah! Zim cares about TODAY ONLY! And TODAY, my PAK is still broken! This pathetic hologram has told us nothing useful."

"This is possibly the biggest cover-up in the universe, and you're whining about your dumb backpack! I can't believe you!"

"If… If I may interject…" Von'Ai looked to Zim, its simulated hands clasped together, its eyes sympathetic. "Zim, I realize this must all be a terrible shock, but…"

"You! YOU! YOU SHUT UP! YOU DID THIS! You must have made all this up to confuse me and this meat-brained child!"

Von'Ai's sympathy wore out. "Whatever would I do that for?!"

"I DON'T KNOW YET, BUT I'M ONTO YOU!"

For a moment, Von'Ai was so frustrated, so offended, that the hologram projecting its form glitched into an array of red, green, and blue. But apparently it found itself once again, because it appeared standing tall, shoulders back and heaving with exaggerated breath. Biting sarcasm laced its next words. "Then, if I'm such an untrustworthy fiend―I suppose you don't want me to tell you how to scan and fix that neural transmuter of yours."

"MY-huh?"

"That…" Its impulse to assist narrowly squeezed past its resentment. "That metal implant on your back. Von'nen invented it. His equipment should…"

Zim, untouched by principles, did not mind that only seconds ago he had sworn off trusting this intelligence. He scrambled forward, nearly toppling Dib over in the process. "ZIM DEMANDS THAT YOU SURRENDER THIS TECHNOLOGY!"

Dib nearly lost a fingernail doing it, but at last, he found the seam and pried open the metal wall panel.

As the equipment had been boarded up for millennia, the screws holding it in place dissolved upon being released, and a shower of soil and dust fell on their heads as an extendable arm thudded forward, clattering onto the mossy floor.

The equipment looked archaic―no, barbaric. It reminded Dib of World War I medical gear, left to fossilize behind glass in museums: it was large, inelegant and lumpy in design, with fat gears and reddened rust caking its joints. Plastic tubing threaded through it, still swimming with a foul-smelling green goo, and at the end of the arm, a disconcertingly long needle jutted out. It looked more like an instrument of torture than data analysis.

Dib's eyes were drawn to some worrying black stains along the aluminum floor. "Uh… Are you sure this is safe?"

But Zim was more annoyed than appreciative of his sudden concern. "Get it powered up, already!"

With Von'Ai's instructions, they were able to get the equipment running again, if only barely. It shuddered and jutted unevenly about, but at last, the metallic arm stood at the ready and Zim figured out the bracing frame which he could lean into as the work was done.

"Hopefully this machine knows what it's actually doing," Zim whined. "At this point, I cannot afford another screw-up."

"You're welcome," Dib muttered. He punched the button. "Okay, I think it's starting."

Abruptly, a latch of steel teeth shot out, vice-gripping the flesh surrounding Zim's PAK. The ooze in the plastic tubes shimmered and flushed forward, giving Zim almost no time to react.

"OH!" Zim's cry of surprise and pain melted into a moan. His eyes went glossy, and he shivered. "Oh… Ohhhh…Oooooaah..."

Startled and unable to discern the emotion in Zim's face, Dib panicked. "What? What's happening? Von?"

"It's anesthetic," Von'Ai said coolly, his voice not budging. "For the next step. Nothing to worry about."

"Ooooh… I'm all... Tingly…"

"Just relax, the both of you."

Like a hunting serpent, the needle loomed into view at Zim's back, shiny and several inches in length. The arm hummed and adjusted, aiming above Zim's PAK unit.

Zim did not look especially concerned about any of this, perhaps in part because of the anesthetic, perhaps in part because he was used to being poked and prodded. His PAK's port opened, and the needle honed in, hovering at the ready.

Von'Ai explained, "Now, Zim, I don't know how your equipment is these days, but just know, that inserter is going to hit your spine, so you may feel a bit of a pinch."

Dib, suddenly queasy, covered his eyes. "Aw, man, I can't look."

"Stupid child," Zim taunted, over the noise of the clacking and tightening needle. His voice slurred a little with the effect of the painkiller. "Any Invader worth his salt knows how to endure a simple spinal nerve punc―" A sickening crunch. "HOLY SWEET MOTHER OF―"

Code and data readings spilled over the console screen, almost to the point of overloading. Dib peeked from behind his fingers to look, and the beta computer's voice read out its findings in summary:

Processing.

…

Diagnosis completed.

Malicious software confirmed. Virus has compromised multiple memory files.

Malicious file name(s): , (1), (2)...

Von'Ai stirred in hologram form, flickering with pale light, gasping, eyes wide with shock. "Jask…? Did it just say…?"

Affected: REGULATORY FUNCTIONS, NETWORK STABILITY, BEHAVIORAL STABILITY, NEUROLOGICAL STABILITY, EMOTIONAL STABILITY.

"Uh." Zim waved a claw. "The software must be faulty. You will ignore all that―"

Yet the computer continued its determination, in cold, final terms: Corruption is irreversible. Recommended resolution: immediate termination.

Zim let out a horrible squeal of fear, clutched his claws at the steel vice holding his PAK in place, and gave it a stern yank. Failing to remove it, he wriggled and panicked, dripping with sweat. "Would you LOOK at that!" he cried, trying to drown out the voice. "I GUESS this was a waste of time after all! Aw, well!"

Warning: Any attempt to interact with virus files will result in catastrophic hardware damage. Do not connect to any other processor. Do not upload or transfer files into any other processor. Do not open cached memory files. Do not grant access to network keys. Do not―

"S-STUPID! LATCH! DETACH ALREADY!"

Von'Ai started to say something―it sounded like a warning, I wouldn't pull on that if I were you ―but it was too late. One careless twisting of the inserter arm sent a bolt of sparks flying, and with a hideous, grinding shudder, the contraption recoiled and ejected an electrocuted and unconscious Irken onto the tile.

Dib could only stand momentarily stunned and gaping at the bloodied opening in Zim's PAK.

"YEEEEAH!" GIR suddenly shrieked with joy and paraded forward, hands in the air. "ME NEXT! I WANNA TURN!"

Zim could see nothing, but through the digital snow of his fried hard drive rebooting, and the sizzling recovery of his neurons, he could hear the faint, but clear, sounds of two earnest voices debating over him.

"He's unconscious."

"He does that," Dib said, unphased. "A lot."

"Do you suppose he'll be alright?"

Dib side-stepped this question, eagerly jumping for a meatier topic. "That report―does that mean… Does that mean he can't be fixed? And―HEY! You said 'JASK' like you knew what that was! How? What's going on?"

The silence that followed held some secret meaning―some source of hesitation in Von'Ai's answer.

"Huh?"

The boy's insistence worried the intelligence; it muttered, "Oh… Yes… Listen, all will be answered, as soon as I… Computer? Display the virus source code. I'd like to read it over. To… check something for certain."

For a long while, a very long while indeed, there was no more to hear. Zim felt the muscles in his neck ache from its awkward position against the tile; he craned and twisted himself slowly toward where he had heard them initially, and peeled his eyes open to the burning dark. A singed metal taste filled his mouth, along with the flavor of ash and carbon exhaust. His eyes watered from the strain, but he could make out, just barely, the boy standing in front of a tiny console on the other side of the room, with a glowing screen displaying an endless stream of Irken characters. Trying to focus on it unleashed a piercing headache, which forced him to redirect his eyes to the floor. His tongue dragged on the linoleum.

"Dib."

He said it, or tried to say it. His vocal cords crumbled like burnt paper, and the words evaporated mid-air. At first, that he even meant to call out made him feel weak, pathetic, pitiful. Then, as quickly, he felt a rise of dread.

Something was wrong with him. Something was very wrong; he knew it.

And here he was, at the mercy of an enemy.

He saw (heard?) Dib utter something in confidence to the bracer, so that he couldn't overhear them.

Betrayal.

BETRAYAL.

Zim was strangely quiet when he finally came to, but Dib didn't think much of it. Indeed, he passed it off as a welcome reprieve from his usual, screeching hysteria.

After picking up the scrambler―the only item Zim had any interest in keeping―Zim announced his intention to return to his ship. Seeing as they had exhausted what resources they had, Dib followed, sort of.

"Uh, go ahead," Dib had said. His fingers nervously fidgeted with the buttons at his bracer. "I'll… Be right behind you."

And as they walked the long way back, the entire time, Dib lingered a number of yards behind him, distractedly playing with the bracer and exchanging secretive comments with the computer within.

They know something, Zim thought. Something about me. I'm certain of it.

...Betrayal.

….Secrets.

Zim's teeth set tightly against each other in his jaw, grinding. Over stones, through quarries and tunnels, up the dirt hill back to the surface, through the cottony grass―with every moment that passed, in spite of GIR's well-natured humming and giggling and sharing of candies, Zim's heart steadily blackened with an old, singular hatred.

But as all this carried on, Dib continued to play with the bracer, oblivious. Only when they approached the Voot at last, scooting through the path they had made through the grass before, did Dib perk up, look puzzled, and question the ominous silence. "Hey… Zim?"

The boy's voice sounded soft, capitulating. Zim, after opening the ship, paused with his back to him.

"Uh. So. Do you have any… thoughts? You haven't said anything… About the… Y'know." Dib rubbed the back of his neck and tried to work up the courage to put it into words. "Your… Situation?"

Was the boy going to pretend he wasn't inwardly gleeful? Gloating? Pleased? "I have nothing to say," he answered icily.

"Really? That's not… uh… Normal for you. You don't have any ideas? Like a plan?"

Zim tossed the scrambler onto the floor of his ship and stepped in. "Oh, I have a plan." He motioned for GIR to join him in the ship, and the robot toddled forward. "Leave this place and never speak of it again."

Upon hearing this abominable lack of curiosity, Dib screwed his eyes at him and scoffed mightily. "That's IT? Just put your hands over your ears and PRETEND?"

"I don't have ears, Urth-monkey!"

"But you have a BRAIN, don't you! You can't IGNORE this!"

The boy's nasal shrieking didn't move him, but it did make the alien hesitate a beat. A brain? Yes, he had a brain… Pink and fleshy and useless, a mere vestige, there as an organic lever for the PAK to manipulate. But the problem wasn't there, for if it was, he could simply swap it out. He remembered the cold diagnosis of the computer, and the Red Eye gaping down at him with the heat of a sun. "No… I cannot afford to ignore it… I must act..." Enduring a shiver of fear, Zim's desperation won out. He turned around, his claw resting on the doorframe as a revelation hit him. "Yes… Their equipment… Is superior… And so very great… Surely they…"

"Whu?"

"They will fix Zim's PAK. I know it. They need me to be in top form."

For a few seconds, Dib looked up at him from the ground and mouthed senseless words. At last he stammered, "What are you talking about? Who's they―"

Zim seized the ship's door and closed it.

As the engine booted up, he ignored the screaming and pounding of small, feeble human fists against the ship's chassis.

The planet of Sloo began to fall away under Zim's gaze, while GIR giggled and waved its robot arms out the window. "Look! He's wavin'!"

"Let him wave," Zim grumbled.

"But… How's he gonna get home, Master?"

"This is his new home, GIR! He can live here FOREVER with his NEW BEST FRIEND, for all I care!"

"Aww!" GIR continued to wave at the distressed Dib until the boy disappeared as a speck on the horizon, then asked with frightening precision, "Will his old best friend miss him?"

"Heh? Whe?" The question lashed him; he stammered stupidly. "Nn―no―because―I― NO! The―the human was too INCOMPETENT to have friends! Yeah! Unlike ZI-I-IM! Who has many… MANY who worship and adore him!"

Yet even saying it out loud now was unconvincing. Zim growled and focused his sights on the stratosphere.

Taking off like that, with the human left behind, allowed him a moment of more delusional thinking: now, he told himself, he could have some peace and quiet. Now, he could ignore the nightmare below him, now far, far below him―just a mass of grasslands, and swamps, and mountains, and seas rotating under his feet―and set his hopes on something tangible. Zim had foolishly been taken in by the boy's theories; now what did he have? Confusion upon confusion, a PAK corrupted beyond repair, death closing in.

...Mother…

His claws began to rattle, almost in sync with the rattling of the chassis breaking through the planetary atmosphere. Once in space, he eased his grip and settled in his chair, vision lingering on the rolling continents of the planet's surface. The yellow-green of its flora and soil made him queasy.

"Now that we're alone, GIR, I can enact a true plan of action." He wheeled around in his chair, groping for the scrambler, and hoisted it onto his lap. "As I am… incredibly smart, I have thought this through. There are no flaws with this plan!"

In a sing-song voice, GIR reminded him, "They gonna KILL ya!"

"They are not! I am their top invader, after all!"

Scramblers were an old, rudimentary technology, and so it took no time at all to hook it up: one cable inserted into his comms unit, and another into his engine's power source, the plated sphere lit up with a faint, blue light. He tossed it carelessly back onto the floor and began to make his call.

Yet, in spite of his efforts, his call patched through… to nothing. Nothing but a glitched-out screen with the Irken insignia permanently burned into place, static encircling it. Zim leaned in, trying to make out any sign of color or shape―any red or purple blobs that might represent his beloved leaders―but he could find nothing. More out of stubbornness than patience, Zim gave the call much time to connect. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Forty. An hour passed by, pixels swimming in his head like biting gnats. The anxiety built in his chest and twinged his drying eyes.

"H-how can this be?" Zim wiggled his claws nervously. "Surely they'd pick up by now… GIR, the last time I spoke with the Tallest, they didn't happen to mention a change of number or something, did they?"

"They was screamin' and burnin'!" GIR leaped to his feet. "Like dis! BLEEEYYEEEEE- AAAAARRGHHHHHHHH!"

"What? No they weren't!" Zim slid out of his chair to join him. "I remember it clearly! They were screaming like this! WARRRRRRRRRRRR- RRRRRRRRGHBRGRLLL! BLUH BLUH BLUH!"

The two of them flailed about the cabin, writhed their arms in pain, mimed choking, screamed, and danced their feet on imaginary hot coals, until Zim's voice grew hoarse. He cough-laughed and split his lips into a toothy, sadistic grin. "Ah," Zim sniffed, wiping a tear from his eye, "those jokers. Well, I suppose I should call someone else. But WHO? Who… Who can I talk to…? THINK, BRAIN!"

On Irk, on every side, Skoodge could hear the sounds of swelling action. Irkens were shouting at one another, laughing, jeering. Machinery wheeled through the hangar, sparks flew as repairs were made, engines sputtered and roared. Not since the opening of Impending Doom 2 had Skoodge witnessed such excitement, and though his Irken warrior innards quivered with thrill, his mind remained cool, even a bit troubled.

His sober thoughts followed him as he waddled squatly past several ships to reach his own; a sparkling new Ring Cutter, fitted with the newest, zappiest sweep lasers the model had to offer. A hangar worker quickly pushed a ladder forward to help him on board, but even with this novelty in sight, he felt the weight of his melancholy and let out a little sigh as he climbed aboard.

The pilot's seat was cotton-soft, the panels sharp, the interior delightfully cruel. Skoodge rubbed his palm on the small emerald badge affixed to his collar, puffed on it, and wondered, absently, where all this would lead.

"Huh?"

A loud beep interrupted his thinking; confused, he brought up his comms panel. A call attempted to patch through? Who on Irk…? He closed the cabin door and examined the unfamiliar ID-profile.

" Invader Buttface…? " Skoodge groaned. "These prank calls are getting really immature."

He sighed and plucked the hang-up command. However, within a few seconds, the panel buzzed again; he disconnected it more aggressively, and was rewarded with a third, persistent attempt.

At last, he sank deeper into his pilot seat and patched the message through, fully expecting to come face-to-face with some giggling griefers.

"Okay. Ha, ha, very funny. Whoever this is―"

"Skoodge! Thank the Brains you answered!"

"Zim?" The squat Irken pushed himself upright. "Ohmigosh, is that really you?"

"Yes, it is I, ZIM!"

"You're… you're…!"

"Greatly missed? Yes, yes, I know. Anyway, Skoodge, enough about how great I am. I'm looking for co-worker gossip."

"Um." Skoodge stealthily closed his shield. He would need more privacy if this conversation was to continue. "Zim, this isn't really a good time."

"Nonsense! Anytime is―wait…" Zim narrowed his eyes at him, noticing something amiss. "What's with the shoulder pads? And the new suit?"

"Oh!" Skoodge thudded his chest proudly. "That would be because I am now a Commander!"

"...You got promoted ?" Zim couldn't believe it. The Tallest had always loathed Skoodge, as long as Zim could remember. Had the decision gone over them?

"Yes, sir!" Skoodge saluted, then chuckled. "Er, ha-ha! I guess really you should be calling me 'sir' from now on!"

"...Not doing that..."

"Ye-eah, with the Empire under new management, I'm finally getting the recognition I―"

"That's-great-I-don't-actually-care―SAY, Skoodge old buddy, you haven't heard any hot smexy rumors about, oh, a central server getting accessed without authorization, or confidential files being compromised…?"

"That's a really suspicious question, Zim," Skoodge answered, voice lofty and unbothered, "but no, I haven't."

"Any declarations from Mother lately?"

"Mother?" Skoodge looked on in disbelief at Zim's audacity. "Of course not! She's in deep-dream for another sixty years. You know that."

Zim played at being dejected, but internally, he swooned with relief. No emergency broadcasts! No declarations! "Well then! It seems everything is quiet and as it should be."

"Quiet...! Sure! Other than… The thing."

A thread of uneasiness could be heard in Skoodge's voice. Zim's nerves sharpened like flint; he pounced. "Thing? What THING?"

The expression forming in Skoodge's face then, Zim could not interpret. It looked… pained. Worried. A touch… confused. Skoodge gripped the steering of his sparkling new commanderial ship. "Um, Zim? Why are you calling me? And HOW ?"

"I'm CALLING because I NEED to get in touch with the Tallest! Absolutely post haste! It is a matter of urgency!"

"The… Tallest?"

"YES! Every time I call them, it won't go through! What are we even WHIPPING our network techs for?"

Skoodge stared stunned into the screen for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "Uh… Sir? You DO know… That they're gone… Right?"

"Who, the techs?"

"NO! The… Tallest."

"Hah?"

At this, Skoodge leaned in and pressed, voice filled with insinuation, "You know… They were sucked in? By something called a Florpus Hole...?"

Dread began to drip down Zim's body, starting at the top of his head, then rolling down the back of his neck, sending chills. He had to swallow back a hyperventilating puff. "Uh… Ahh… A what-now? Ne… Never heard of it!"

Even an Irken as obtuse as Skoodge could see the guilt in his face, but rather than calling him out, the Irken paused, glanced down at the floor, hummed, and scratched his chin. He lifted his gaze but didn't look Zim in the eyes, and his voice came out unnaturally grim. "Look… Zim… I really shouldn't be telling you this… But gosh, you're my friend..." He sighed. "All invaders were just called back to Irk for an emergency meeting. It ended a little while ago. The Control Brains told us that you opened the Florpus Hole. They said it was an act of treason, proof that you've become an enemy of the Empire." He leaned in to hoarsely, terrifyingly whisper, "They've put you at number one on the Annihilation List."

Zim's throat rasped in wretched terror. "Annihilation!?" He knew what that meant: it did not mean chase down, capture, or deliver to the Brains. He had pinned his hopes on that outcome: at least he could plead his case if brought before their judgment. But annihilation―it meant every Irken in the field was given the order to kill the host and harvest the PAK. No trial. No pleading. No special escort. Just millions of Irkens scrambling over each other for the chance to blow his head off and claim his data drive. "But that's impossible!"

"It was a shock to us, too, Zim."

"And… Me!? Number one?! Over Sylus the Gut-Slasher? Pern the Spooch-Collector? Donald the Donut-Swindler?!"

"I don't know what to tell you. I've never seen the Brains so hopping mad! They incinerated a guy just for sneezing during the presentation!" Skoodge tilted his head. "So, er… Did you… You know… Do it?"

Suddenly, Zim's usually quick, slippery tongue swelled into a fat and clumsy slab. He couldn't speak but pitiable moans.

"...Zim?" Skoodge interpreted his silence. "...Oh boy…"

"I don't know…!" Zim squeaked hysterically. "I was just trying to… It all happened so fast!" Zim's knees buckled under him. He almost fainted on the spot, but he clutched the panel into his clawed fists, reeled, and began a pathetic, desperate plea. He pawed at the display screen. "Dear, lovely, beautiful Skoodge, you have to tell them , it was just a mistake! Just like last time! I, I would never betray the Empire! My love for the Irken race runs through my veins! Please―I, I'll meet with the Control Brains! I'll explain everything to them! They know me! They―they can probe my memory if they want! Then they'll see how loyal I am!"

"Oh, you're super, extra, mega, ultra, double-plus, uber, jumbo-sized banished. If you come even close , we're supposed to shoot you on sight. They blocked you on all comm channels, too. Or at least they did…" Skoodge spent a moment poking at his screen and furrowing his brow. "Yeesh, what happened to your profile? It's all kinds of goofy."

Rather than admit he'd allowed a foreign being to mess with his data, he blabbed, "It's, er, probably the scrambler I'm using."

"That's how you… oh, dear." Skoodge plucked some keys and shook his head solemnly. "Zim, listen. You have time. The invaders are leaving only now to come find you, and this 'Urth' is lightyears away. Even at hyperspace, they won't reach you for a few days. If you want my advice, get the heck outta dodge. If you're lucky, they'll find and coronate a new Tallest, start Operation Impending Doom 3, and forget all about you. It might take a few decades, but..."

From the hangar, a robotic announcement voice came over the intercom, announcing that the launching pad would be opening soon. Skoodge tilted his head, listened, and grit his teeth.

More quietly this time, he continued: "I have to go. If they find out I talked to you… Aw, geez, this is messed up." He thought a moment before saluting. "We probably shouldn't talk again. So, farewell, and, good luck out there, sir."

...What was different, just then, about Skoodge?

It wasn't the literal shape of him that changed: what Zim saw was the same, stunted, awkward creature he'd known his whole life, squat and loyal to a fault and eager to please. Zim had always regarded the Irken as a bootlicker and convenient footstool in times of trouble, and an even better hunk of Troll-beast bait. So why didn't Zim feel that now? That same sense of disgust, dismissal, condescension?

Now, instead, Zim felt a strange, wriggling sense of… What was it called? If he had the word for it, he'd call it gratitude. Skoodge looked, quite suddenly, unjustifiably kind. All the indignity Zim had allowed this other Irken to suffer on his behalf over the decades, and Skoodge returned it with mercy, slipping him warnings and good will while risking his new position and hide.

This misery, this overwhelming sensation of having done wrong and receiving unearned grace, wrenched the muscles in Zim's chest until he could hardly stay on his feet. He slumped and clung to the console.

It was that overflowing of gooey-ness that led him to weakly utter, "Y-yes… Thank you, Skoodge."

"Huh?"

Zim's senses returned. A pressure ballooned in his chest, and he started to feel frantic, exposed.

"Did you say something?"

"What? ME? NO! ZIM SAID NOTHING! YOUR PATHETIC GROVELING DOES NOT IMPRESS ME!"

Crash, smack, bang. Zim slapped his palms on the keyboard until it killed the signal with a snap of angry electricity, leaving him panting and whirling before an empty screen.

"What… is… wrong with me!?"

On the planet Sloo, first came anger: he left! WITHOUT ME!

Then came denial: maybe he's coming back.

Then, fear: I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die on this alien planet, and no one's ever going to find me.

Depression: ( uncontrollable sobbing ).

And finally, acceptance: at least I've got a nice view, and the weather's good .

Dib didn't move from the spot where Zim abandoned him; not at first. It took almost thirty minutes of going through stages of grief for Dib to at last acknowledge that this hadn't been a mistake, that the patch of burned grass was not going to summon the ship back and deliver him home. The planet's small, cherry-colored sun began to brush the horizon in deep shadow, the first hint of evening, so he knew he would need to find shelter, food, and water. He couldn't sit and wait anymore. He thinly brought himself up, brushed the aching from his legs, and began walking for the treeline at the western edge of the grasslands. Trees must mean water, right? At least shelter, and maybe fruit. His mind, unused to thinking about survival, felt fuzzy and uncertain.

Von'Ai hadn't been especially helpful in all this, but once Dib started walking, the computer piped in with survival advice; Von'nen had lived his last days alone on Reklo, it said, and so it knew a thing or two. But even then, Dib didn't listen very hard, instead pulling his feet forward, drudging zombie-like in one direction.

A long walk later, he found himself as the sandy edge of a wetland, encircled by strange and fan-leafed trees and thick white vines which dipped in and out of the waters. He kicked one such vine to ensure that it was not, in fact, a tentacle (or a man-eating vine, for that matter). It remained still, and so he rested on it. The quiet river floated with grasses and insects, and out of boredom first and mind-numbing anger next, he resorted to picking up rocks and finding things to hit. A tree trunk first― a hollow thunk. A green spot in the river―the stone splashed and the insects dissipated. A dangling purple cluster-seed from a branch―he missed several times, but the promise of food motivated him, and at last he struck it. But it spun and wobbled and did not come free. Hunger would persist.

He kicked a few rocks, and went still.

"Dib, you should start collecting branches. That will allow you to make at least a tent."

"What's the point?"

"Er… The point is, you'll have a roof over your head…"

"NO! What' s the point of ANY of this? I'm SO STUPID!" Dib howled and stormed his way across the sandy bank. "Why did I EVER OFFER TO HELP?"

"I… I realize you're angry, but…"

Dib guffawed harshly. "Angry! ANGRY! I'm―LIVID, okay? I know it doesn't help! I know... My Aunt Nessie told me that I shouldn't get mad at people; I should try to understand them." He picked up a rock and plowed it into the muddy waters with a sploosh . "But I can't understand him! I'll NEVER understand him! Nothing he does EVER makes sense! I mean, we find DEFINITIVE PROOF that his whole species' history is a lie, and he acts like it doesn't matter!"

"To be fair," Von'Ai said, "few would react rationally in the face of such a revelation."

But Dib couldn't assent to that; he sat down hard into the dust and ranted. "His leaders don't even like him! They know he's an idiot! They lied to him and gave him a fake job! Because he's a LOSER! And somehow he ends up on MY planet, causing problems in MY life!"

"Quite… Quite the twist of fate…"

"FATE!" Dib hollered miserably and collapsed his face into his hands. "That's something she'd say too―Like this was meant to happen, this meant to be. How! Why!? Why did that moron ever have to step foot in my class?"

For a long while, Von'Ai didn't know what to say, so they sat in absolute silence. Dib scowled and stared out across the slow-moving waters, tinged a candied pink-and-yellow by the setting sun. Close to his feet, a current moved through a bubbling brook, and two dead leaves rode the surface together, pausing to whirlpool, circling, neither one ever overtaking the other. Dib threw his arms around his knees in dismay and pouted. "Two… Stupid… Losers…" He moaned as his stomach abruptly growled. "If I die here… I'm going to kill him."