Happy 10th anniversary to My Hostage, Not Yours!

I just want to give an immense shout out to you, my readers, my fans, and now my friends, who have inspired and motivated this rewrite. Just as the original MHNY series would likely have remained incomplete without the love and affection you showed this story and its humble author, I could not have done this without you. Words remains insufficient in expressing how much I appreciate all of you (but I'll do my best in showing my gratitude through the neurotic planning and what's likely going to be 100k plus words of a rewrite, lmao).

Again, thank you all so much, and welcome back.

~ RF13

CH. 1

Brace for ImPAKt

There were a lot of things that went undiscussed in the Membrane household.

Like the fact their father was never home. In any other household, such an absent parent would've meant a CPS case and an express ticket in some sort of foster care system. Coupled with her brother's tendency to get locked up in various psychiatric facilities, Gaz could only imagine the expediency of that trial hearing.

They didn't talk about Dib's psychiatric issues either. Her father had never asked her if Dib was telling the truth, always having assumed the worst. They just . . . didn't talk about it. Gaz never called her brother crazy because he was wrong; she called him crazy for believing anyone would ever listen to him. Twice now had he been publicly humiliated on Mysterious Mysteries, in front of . . . however many people watched that show, and still, he kept calling them. And no one ever brought that up, either. Silence was the norm.

What Gaz didn't understand is why—after seventeen years of living in parallel to her—Dib didn't seem to get that message.

It was like putting two toads in a jar, shaking it as hard as you could, and seeing what came out. Did its epidermis harden, becoming calloused enough to withstand the repeated trauma? Or did its brain rewrite itself to forget it in the first place? Between the two of them, Gaz was fairly certain which mutated, damaged little hypothetical amphibian she'd turned out to be.

Gaz was having vague memories of a 7th grade dissection now, trying to picture her brother's glasses in place of milky frog eyes. The visual comparison wasn't so far off, she thought meanly.

She remembered a younger, more unhinged version of herself would've already shoved pencils in her brother's ear by now. But this Gaz was older. Matured.

And could arguably be tried as an adult for a homicide case.

"It's infuriating," her brother raved, stabbing viciously at a pile of mashed potatoes—or it might've been.

Neither she nor Dib even pretended to eat the waste the school had the audacity to call food anymore. Gaz was fairly sure whatever it was broke several hygiene laws, and probably was covered under "cruel and unusual punishment." Dib had, in a typical moment of fanatic oversharing, explained in far too much detail exactly what was used to make different elements of the school lunches. Zim had tried to bring the lunch to life to eat their classmates, and had a suspiciously easy time animating it. The resulting research had left them all ill. Dib had queasily suggested they simply start bringing lunches from home, however, he'd traded his with Torque today in exchange for hitting Zim with a dodgeball during lunch hour.

Gaz snorted. "You blew up the principal's car, Dib. What did you expect was going to happen?"

"I didn't blow up the car!" Her brother whined. "Zim blew up the car! Everyone saw Zim blow up the car with his—that—the er—" he gestured animatedly, face twisting in frustration. He sighed, aggravated. "Those things in his PAK! With the lasers!"

"Yeah," she agreed, glancing at him briefly before returning her attention to her Game Slave 4. "But you're the one who dared him to do it."

"I don't deserve detention," he grumbled. He was making shapes with the mashed potatoes now, piling it up in a suspiciously Zim-like shape. "Zim deserves detention! In a facility where I can look at his organs under a microscope."

Gaz glanced up in time to see the mashed potatoes be impaled. Her mouth twisted, "This is why they put you in the Crazy Bucket in middle school."

Fortunately for Dib, he was much too tall for the bucket now. Although, that hadn't stopped security from trying to find other restraining methods. Gaz had personally favored the Crazy Potato Sack, initially, until Dib started coming home after school smelling like dirt and starch. Eugh. Besides, Dib had begun carrying around sharp objects to cut his way out of the sack, and the school didn't have the funding to keep buying new ones. Nor did any of the staff appreciate the potential issues that would arise when he inevitably turned these sharp objects on his nemesis on school property.

"They're ungrateful," Dib insisted, looking miserably at her untouched chip bag. He perked visibly when she flicked it to his side of the table. "I've saved the world from Zim so many times, and I don't get so much as a 'thank you.' I should get a parade! With keys to the city and . . . other places in other cities! Keys to the world!"

"Now you sound like Zim," she pointed out.

Dib's answering glare was visibly offended.

On cue, the doors to the cafeteria burst open hard enough to rattle the silverware. As always, the lunch ladies spat vicious threats that went ignored.

"Oooh," Dib hummed, crouching until only the top of his head was visible over the table. Gaz didn't really understand the point; they sat at the same table every day, and he still had that crazy genetic cowlick of his. He giggled, "Watch Gaz!"

She ignored him.

"Hey Zim!" She heard Torque yell.

She rolled her eyes, trying her best to focus on her game. She was far too close to beating this level to care about whatever stupidity her brother had cooked up for the day. After several seconds of slaughtering flaming pigs, she paused.

The expected, hollow thunk of the ball had not followed.

Instead, an enormous popping noise nearly had her coming out of her skin.

"Jerk," she heard Torque mutter, a suspicious wobble in his voice.

Gaz glanced up.

Sure enough, Zim had popped the damn thing in his weird, sharp fingers. All eight of them held the shredded remains of a brick red rubber ball, snarling viciously at the large football star, who scowled at Dib in return.

Torque was . . . simple, to be polite. Dib and Zim seemed to think of him as some sort of pawn whose brawn was to be exploited against the other at every opportunity. Gaz sort of felt bad for the guy. He seemed to be under the impression that he was "cool" with both morons, and was an active participant in some sort of extensive prank battle. In an unusually brilliant campaign on the school's part (in an obvious effort to avoid messy things like "liability" and "financial responsibility for grievous bodily harm occurring on campus property"), the school had somehow managed to convince their student body that Zim and Dib were actually friends doing exactly that. Dib and Zim had protested viciously, refusing to adhere to the lie in any shape or form in front of the board of directors until the principal himself had threatened them with expulsion if they didn't go along with it for their review week. Gaz personally found the whole situation amusing. One week every year, Zim and Dib were forced to be in the same room together, grimace at one another, and shake hands in front of the Directors of Education for their district. In return, the school would turn a blind eye to any "pranks" that occurred the following week.

Although apparently, they drew the line at 'exploding cars.'

"You owe him a ball," Gaz pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah," Dib said dismissively, pouting. "I'll get—WAIT!"

Gaz jerked backwards, startled for the second time. She shot Dib a venomous glare, a threat on the tip of her tongue that was barreled over by her manic sibling.

"I have detention today," he said, wide eyed.

Gaz's brow rose, "Correct."

"I'm supposed to be at my counselor hearing today," he said, paling.

"Oh yeah," she said, nodding to herself.

That was right; part of Dib's we-can't-expel-a-Membrane-but-need-to-find-ways-to-punish-him agreement included bi-weekly psychological evaluations by a state administered psychiatrist. Dib had already sent two of them into early retirement—which was impressive given one of them had only started the job a year ago—and had been given a third, much more militant supervisor. Appointments were non-negotiable. No exceptions.

She felt her irritation grow as soon as she made eye contact with him. Her handheld creaked ominously in her grip.

His tone was pleading, "Gaz—."

She stood up, sweeping her remaining lunch into the trash. "No."

"It's just one time!"

"No."

"The slip just says 'Membrane!'" He cried, following after her as she tried to ignore him. "No one will even know the difference! You get detention all the time!"

This was true. Neither Membrane had stellar reputations in their district, to their great agony. An opportunity to exploit the children of a celebrity, foiled. What would the shareholders think? Gaz had been working on her anger issues much more successfully than her brother and his hysterical fits, but there was a reason the two of them managed to have a lunch table all to themselves in an overcrowded school.

"No, Dib," she snarled.

"C'mon!" He pleaded. "I'll give you Bloaty's for a week!"

"No."

"Two weeks!"

"No."

"A month!"

Before she could reply, he darted in front of her, hands clasped in prayer.

"Pleaaaase, Gaz?" He begged, falling to his knees. "I'll—I'll—" his eyes lit up, "I'll repair your Game Slave 1!"

Gaz paused, looking upon him with equal parts disdain and interest.

Several years ago, Gaz's original Game Slave had corrupted itself. According to Game-Pig Inc., as it was out of warranty, it wasn't their problem. Tough luck. Unfortunately for her, Gaz's expertise lay in playing the games, not repairing them.

Dib, on the other hand, had spent most of his childhood and the entirety of his adolescence designing and building technology capable of leveling a certain green moron's house, or at least infiltrating the security to spy on said moron. There was a pretty good chance he could figure out how to fix it.

She pursed her lips. On the one hand, Dib in detention would've meant that she had the house to herself for the evening. On the other hand, she'd probably have to attend a parole hearing if he missed his appointment with the state, and listen to him whine for weeks about it.

She scowled. "I want the game data intact. And Bloaty's."

"Done," he said quickly.

"With the cheesy bread!"

"Done!" He agreed, shooting to his feet. "You're a life-saver!"

"You better be a game saver," she warned.

Detention was torturously boring on the best of days.

Zim had far, far more important things to consider than a childish punishment. He was an Irken Elite! He would not be disciplined!

Unfortunately, Zim had discovered there was only so much even the mightiest of Irkens could do against the wretched human school system. While he could easily manipulate any information uploaded to their database, the detention system left far too much of a physical paper trail. His absences went noticed, and he could not afford to bring the unnecessary attention to himself. At the very least, he thought cheerfully as he heard footsteps approaching, the Dib-monkey would have to suffer as well.

Only, Dib did not appear.

Zim frowned at the sight of his monstrously unnatural sister entering the room instead. He grumbled unhappily, realizing he was about to have much less fun tormenting her horrible brother as he had anticipated. The Dib-sister had an extremely low tolerance for their epic rivalry. Unlike her brother, she seemed wholly unconcerned with Zim and his ingenious schemes. There he would be, ZIM, future ruler of the Earth, only seconds away from strangling the last bit of life—and Earth's final hope—out of her brother, and there the horrible scary child would be, playing one of her video games or reading a many-papered text. In some ways, she was worse than her brother. At least Dib was entertaining.

Zim watched through narrowed eyes as she handed over her slip, the detention monitor merely grunting in acknowledgement as she took it before waving her off to sit down. Gaz took a seat at the farthest corner of the room, book already in hand. Clearly she would be passing the time away with reading. Ugh.

Zim, only a couple of rows in front of her, drummed his fingers impatiently against the desk. And waited. And waited some more. Only two other lowly students had joined them, and both of them had chosen to take a nap.

After waiting even further than that—drawing nearly halfway through their detention—Zim began to grow suspicious. He cast one glance towards the inattentive education drone before twisting in his desk.

"Psst!" He hissed. When she ignored him, he scowled.

Gaz's eye twitched as a wad of paper thumped against the back of her book. She slowly lowered it, shooting the most venomous scowl she could muster towards the offender. Of course it was her brother's stupid friend, she thought.

"What?" She snapped.

"Where is your sibling?" He demanded.

Gaz snorted, raising her book once more. "He had to go to his counselor meeting."

Oh. Zim vaguely remembered being assigned something like that. Some strangely cheery meat sack in a suit had appeared on his doorstep asking to speak to his parents and check on his "home situation." Naturally, Zim had let them in, dropped them into a vacuumed tank, shot it into space, and had the computer fabricate a letter regarding an early retirement. Afterwards, he'd deleted any mention of ongoing counseling from his records and had his computer running a background program to flag and delete any new requests.

"Cursed boy," he hissed, talons digging holes in the frail wooden chair. "When will he be serving his new detention?"

"He's not," Gaz replied, shooting him another withering look. "I'm taking his detention for him so he doesn't go to the loony bin again for ditching his meetings."

Zim's eyes widened, "That is cheating!"

"Sssh!" The drone quickly snapped. Zim snarled at her, waiting until her attention had left him once more. He vacated his seat, planting himself directly in front of the human girl.

"You will tell me where he is, or I'll—!"

"I told you," Gaz interrupted. "He's at his counselor's meeting."

"LIES!"

"SSSHH!"

Zim slumped back into his seat. After another staring match, he turned back to the earth teen once more. "Your lies cannot fool me, little Gaz. Your filthy brother does not see his counselor till the 15th. Today is only the 3rd. I will ask again, where is he?" He pointed an accusing finger at her. "If you have dared to aid him in his quest to invade my base, I'll—!"

Gaz's book slammed into his finger. He choked on a pained cry, cradling said finger to his chest.

"First off," she began. "I don't even want to know how you know his schedule. But also, prove it."

Zim scoffed. With his good hand, he reached into his PAK, seeming to search around for a moment before something dinged. A moment later, he extracted a piece of paper which he slapped on Gaz's desk triumphantly.

"See?" He sneered. "It appears we have both been duped, little Gaz. How this betrayal must sting in your pitiful, slimy organs."

"You're so gross," she snapped, picking up the paper.

After a moment, the paper was crushed in her hand, wadded into a ball, and shoved in her pocket. The next moment, she hopped out of her desk, taking her backpack with her.

"Hey!" The education drone complained.

Gaz rounded on her, shooting her a vicious look that silenced whatever criticism she'd meant to impart. Zim's eyes darted between them a moment.

Finally, the staring match drew to a close as the drone slunk in her seat, gulping. Gaz huffed, turning on her heel and stomping out.

"I, uh," he said, shooting to his feet. "She's my, uh, my ride home! Excuse me!"

And he followed after.

He caught up to the earthling quick enough. While she and every other earth monkey had grown over the years, Zim, too, had flourished. He suspected the weaker gravity of Earth's orbit had something to do with it. Or perhaps it was his ingenious, burning growth serums that had made his bones ache for months on end. Such pain. He shuddered at the memory.

"I can't drive," Gaz pointed out, shooting him a disbelieving look out of the corner of her eye.

"Eh?" Oh right, his excuse. He dismissed it with a few flicks of his wrist.

"And I really don't know where Dib is," she added. "But when I do find him, I'm going to make him wish I was never born."

They exited the school. It was already dusk, a purple haze settling on the town. Gaz got about a block away before she realized Zim was still following her.

She scowled at him, "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"That's kinda sad."

He snarled at her. "I'm not here for pleasantries, wretched demon. I come with a proposition."

Her brow rose, "You've got to be kidding me."

"This has nothing to do with kittens!" He shrieked, darting in her path. "Be honored, dirt-creature! Zim offers you the opportunity to unite in vengeances against your horrid, lying, big-headed sibling!"

It was ingenious, of course. Turn the siblings against one another, and that awful Dib-creature wouldn't have anyone to come to his aid this time! Of course, the female would be disposed of in the end, but his plotted treachery would not be revealed until the most opportune of moments. She would suspect nothing! NOTHING!

Gaz's mouth pressed into a thin line. Zim waited, his glee beginning to dim with every passing second. As he stood there, arms raised in exaltation, he began to feel strangely uncomfortable. The Dib-sister's facial features remained unchanged. The seconds continued to tick by.

"Eh," he slowly lowered his arms. "You are honored, yes?"

"Not really, no," she replied. "I don't need anyone's help torturing my brother."

Whatever Zim had meant to reply, he never got the opportunity.

Very suddenly, his PAK began beeping wildly. Both creatures paused, Gaz eying his PAK with a mild level of interest.

"Are you dying?" She asked.

"No!" He snapped, gaze flicking towards the sky. "It's a proximity warning."

"That's stupid."

"Quiet!" He hissed.

Gaz snorted, "Yeah, you have fun . . . doing that. I'm going home."

Zim seemed to have forgotten about her, removing some sort of tablet from his PAK. Whatever. Gaz really wasn't her brother, and therefore was far from interested in getting involved in any sort of alien stupidity.

The shortest way home would be to cut through Hurt Park. The city had expanded its reach; where formerly it had once been a pathetically short city block, its reach now expanded from its place by her house to a block off the school's property.

Gaz thought it was an inconvenient obstacle to a once much more straightforward route home, but she did sort of like the bees. It also seemed the quickest route to get as far from Zim as possible. Dib was so dead for this. She'd probably find him at home, watching Mysterious Mysteries and halfway towards a food coma.

She'd be happy to help him get through to the other half of that coma.

She made it about halfway in before she heard it.

It sounded like . . . moaning?

Oh yuck, she thought, eyes sweeping through the forest. God, couldn't people get a room?

"All the motels booked up?" She called into the trees, her disgust evident.

Something caught her attention. No impassioned couple lay in the distance, but something else. It was . . . it was glowing. Just ahead of her, in the clearing.

"What the . . .?" She mumbled.

Broken trees surrounded a burning ruin, the glowing only just managing to puncture through thick smoke surrounding it. For a moment, she thought Zim had somehow circled around and beat her to the wreckage. Or maybe he'd caused the wreckage, launching and crashing from space in the few minutes he'd been out of her sight. It wasn't an impossibility; the green moron had done weirder things before.

But a longer look at it made her realize it was definitely not Zim. While their similarities were unmistakable, their dissimilarities were equally apparent.

Zim had grown taller over the years (one of many focal topics of her brother's manic research lectures), but his anatomy had stretched where it should've, his proportions similar enough to a human to just look like a lanky guy. Not like he was towering; the guy was probably only a hands-width above her in height.

This creature's height was mostly in his head. It was long, almost like a tube. Its eyes were more towards the bottom of its face, creating the overall effect of an enormous, squared forehead.

"Identify yourself, alien scum!" It demanded.

Gaz's mouth thinned, her fingers drumming against her shoulder bag's strap.

Mmm.

"Nope," she said aloud, turning away. "This is already getting too stupid for me. Seeya."

"S-Stop at once!" The creature called after her. "In the name of the Irken Armada, I order you stop!"

Gaz ignored him, already feeling the throb of a headache coming on. She was going to murder Dib when he got home, and then throw it in his face that his deception had lost him the opportunity to poke at a member of Zim's race that he wasn't attracted to (Gaz would sleep happy thinking of the way Dib's face spasmed at any and all mentions of Tak). Served him right. This was clearly a situation for Dib. She wasn't the one meant to be here.

A strange whining noise had her feet slowing.

A half-second later, she noticed the unusual, rapid growth of her shadow in front of her.

She dropped to the ground, feeling a flaring heat shoot over her head. She watched, stricken with surprise, as a beam of electric light shot across the space her head had just been, igniting a tree in a burst of flames.

She scrambled to take cover as a second whine filled the air, having just enough time to dive behind another heavy redwood as a second beam followed her.

"I was leaving, you jackass!" She shouted.

"I didn't tell you you could leave, inferior creature!" It shouted in kind.

Oh that was it.

Her hand reached into her backpack, hands closing around a familiar cylinder. She could hear the alien scuttling towards her, another electrical whine warning her of imminent attack. She'd have to time this perfectly.

It rounded the tree, laser pointed directly at her.

Gaz's finger lifted from the bottle, fizzy soda exploding in its face.

It screamed, the shot intender for her skull going wide as it reared backwards.

"My eyes!" It screamed. "My skin! It burns! It burns!"

Laser beams continued to pump wildly from its appendages, setting branches here and there ablaze. It fell onto its back, clawing at its face, screaming and thrashing on the floor. Blinded.

Good.

Gaz hurled her backpack in a large circle, the weight of her books adding to the momentum. Just as the creature sat up, skin steaming in the cool night air, she let it sail. Her bag slammed right into its forehead, sending it spinning away once more. It groaned, antenna bent at an unnatural angle. She didn't give it time to recover.

But apparently, it didn't need the time.

It caught her punch in his fist, nails digging into her knuckles. It lifted its leg, kicking viciously at her middle. It managed to get her right in the gut, hard enough to nearly make her sick.

It screamed, a warbling noise that may have been some sort of battle cry, launching itself on top of her.

She slammed a knee into its gut, hearing a satisfying oof, but it did not relent. It pinned her legs, burying his knees into her thighs. It was far shorter than her, but what it lacked in height it made up for with frenzied rage. It grappled with her hands, leaving ugly trails up and down her forearms that burned. Gaz felt her heart thunder once more at yet another whining noise, looking up into a light that was quickly growing blinding, four PAK legs now only inches from her face. The creature continued to scramble to grab at her hands. For a sickening moment, it managed to pin both of them.

Fortunately for Gaz, her skin was already slick with sweat. As the beam grew perilously large, she twisted her arms from its hand and surged forwards.

Latching onto the appendage, she yanked it, twisting it at the last second. Once more the Irken menace reared backwards, out of the way of its own laser. Unfortunately for the alien, while he remained unscathed, his appendages did not.

The laser blasted through the joint of his opposing appendage, the jagged, sharp piece spiraling into the air. Unbalanced, Gaz surged forward, tackling it into the dirt. Dazed and pained as she was, she only managed to keep her grip for a moment. They rolled, her back colliding painfully as the sky and ground whipped around at alarming speeds. Sensing her hold loosening, she used their momentum to propel it away from her. With a pained noise, it slammed into a tree, dropping to its hands and knees.

Panic was beginning to claw inside of Gaz. Zim was one thing, but this . . . thing was something else. At least Zim usually backed down when it was clear the other party really wasn't in the mood for a fight. Mortal battles against foes were weirdly consensual. But this? This was ridiculous. And exhausting. And actually dangerous.

Sweating and panting heavily, Gaz realized that this fight really wasn't worth her pride. A tactical retreat was in order. Or more accurately, she needed to get the hell out of there before this psychotic creature tore her limbs off.

She bolted, ignoring the many aches and pains that begged her to slow down.

She didn't make it far.

Something cold and unrelenting latched around her ankle, sending her crashing to the floor. She barely had time to catch herself on her hands, her wrists screaming with protest before she felt herself being pulled backwards.

She twisted onto her back, feeling gravel shredding at her skin. Unfortunately, that was the least of her worries.

The green little bastard was stomping towards her, limping and still steaming. It held itself at the middle with one arm, the other seeming to act as a guide for the tentacle around her leg. It clutched at the air, and with a sharp pull of its elbow, Gaz once again felt the skin of her back mangle itself against the unforgiving ground.

"Shit!" She shrieked, arching to relieve the worst of the sting. It didn't help. If anything, the lack of pressure made it worse.

"Filthy creature," the Irken snarled. Small mercy that it seemed just as exhausted as she was. "This could've been quick."

Whatever nasty remark Gaz had in her mind moments ago was lost as one PAK leg extended behind it. The wind left her. A ringing sounded in her ears as it rose, poised to skewer her.

"Now," it hissed, eyes narrowing. "I'm going to make it slow."

Gaz's hands scrambled frantically for something. Anything that would leverage her against the unrelenting force of the metal tentacle latched around her leg.

Her hands brushed against something cold.

She stiffened, her eyes widening.

"Glory to the Tallest!" Shrieked the alien, throwing its head back.

It lunged.

Gaz twisted herself sideways, the PAK leg embedding itself only centimeters from her waist.

Time slowed.

She saw the red eyes widen, the realization that it had missed its mark. As the seconds stretched into minutes, its eyes slid towards the object in her hand, its mouth parting in an 'O.' She could see the realization dawn, its legs pulling inwards, heels poised to land on the floor to try and stop its momentum.

It was too late.

Time came rushing back in an instant.

The broken PAK leg, formerly discarded, now sunk into the belly of the creature like meat on a spit.

The clearing grew quiet.

Gaz's breath shuddered in her chest.

It looked at her with wide eyes, soundless and shocked. Gaz felt equally gutted, her frame trembling.

Its hands gripped the appendage, staring at its middle. From its wound, blue blood began to gush, staining his clothes a deep indigo. It pulled at it weakly, struggling. Gaz scrambled out from underneath it, fearing any moment it would gain the presence of mind to gore her.

The retaliatory attack did not come. Instead, it stared at her, blood beginning to seep from its mouth as well.

"I—I—," it coughed, falling to its knees. "I—c-can't feel my squeedily . . . squeedily . . ."

Gaz felt strangely clammy. Her hands were trembling, her own wounds growing numb and ignored. The Irken fell to its side, limbs twitching weakly. It just stared at her, hand outstretched faintly. She watched every horrific jerk of its body, aware of the pool of blood gathering in greater quantities around it. It seemed so small now. So tiny. How could anything that small bleed that much?

With the faintest wheeze, it exhaled, its ruby eyes growing dim.

It did not inhale.

Behind it, its remaining extended PAK legs sagged, going limp. A dead spider curling in on itself in its last moments.

The clearing remained silent.

Gaz became faintly aware of her own aches and pains as the cool air reached her open wounds. She shuddered, burying her face in her elbow, afraid to put her lips against her sullied hands.

I'm okay, she chanted to herself. I'm okay. It's alright.

She took several deep, steadying breaths through her teeth as her head swam.

Gaz was more than familiar with the concept of dooming things. Suffering was her specialty. Her gifts lay in inflicting it.

Death. Killing.

That was something new.

She'd been going to leave it alone. She had been trying to leave. This didn't need to happen.

She shuddered again, squeezing her eyes shut. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. Who cared if the stupid thing was dead? It'd been trying to kill her first. What did she have to feel guilty for?

She held fast to that bitter, angry thought. She fought against the panic, fixating on the tiny blossoming rage. Gaz knew rage. Rage was familiar, a second skin to her. She didn't need to panic. She just needed to be mad.

And she had every right to be mad. She deserved to be mad for being tricked into the situation that had put her life in danger in the first place. She deserved to be mad for being threatened—nearly killed—for nothing but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was all someone else's fault. Gaz hadn't done anything wrong. She had a right to protect herself. She'd just been protecting herself.

The sound of fast approaching feet had her swinging around, backing away from the approaching intruder. Her eyes darted wildly around, searching for something she could use as a weapon, anything to—.

Just as she thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest, Zim burst through the trees.

"What the—?" He seemed perplexed, eyes quickly zeroing in on the corpse behind her.

For once, he seemed completely speechless. His mouth dropped open into a large "O," eyes flinging back and forth between her and the dead creature behind her.

She blamed the distraction of his presence for her own nonobservance. She barely registered the slightest mechanical clicking, the hammering of her own heart much too loud.

The sudden, searing pain along her spine however was difficult to miss.

Zim himself had been too stunned to notice, even from his vantage point. The Earth girl had gaped at him, expression feral and unnatural on her usually sour, apathetic face. She'd looked like a cornered animal expecting to meet its violent demise. Behind her, a dead Irken—was that former-Invader Larb?—lay punctured with a broken off piece of what appeared to be his own PAK leg. The series of events within the clearing painted the story clearly, but even then it seemed monumental. Impossible. Unfathomable. A human adolescent, besting an Irken Elite in singular combat. The girl was hardly unscathed, but the result was no less horrific. It shouldn't have been possible. Granted, Zim had never really liked Larb (that arrogant, overachieving little antenna kisser), but he was an Irken, for Tallest's sake. To see one of his own, limp and lifeless, bleeding like a filthy pig to slaughter . . . he was shaken.

Too shaken to notice that his PAK had not dimmed as it should've.

Too shaken to notice it quietly detach itself, unharmed save for a jagged chunk hollowed out at its lower end, where its own PAK leg had skewered itself.

Zim did not notice until it had sharply risen up, hovering menacingly above its carbon-based prey, blinking only once before slotting itself against the back of the little mortal creature.

She had reacted instantly. Zim did not often recall his own hatching and assignment day, where he, as a smeet, had been fitted with his PAK. He only remembered coming into sudden consciousness, his defining moment of existence over in a literal flash.

This seemed much more painful.

The human girl made no noise. She seemed incapable. The PAK made itself comfortable, adjusting its positioning with the use of its own legs. After a moment, it seemed satisfied, withdrawing into itself. Its glow dimmed, beeping a dull maroon thrice before going dark.

The next moment, the girl collapsed.

Tallest be merciful, what on Irk was going on?

His own PAK propelled him forward, falling to his knees behind her to get better access. His PAK supplied him with information as fast as he was capable of comprehending it, fingers dancing quickly along what once was Larb's PAK. He had 10 minutes to disengage it before it killed her.

Zim had zero interest in the life of the human girl, but he knew that if she died—if her personality became consumed by Larb's—the Dib-creature would ensure Zim's death followed. Zim had no interest in dying, nor did he have any interest in the catastrophe that would predate his death. The Tallest would demand an explanation as to how he allowed a filthy human access to their most vital, top secret technology. If Dib didn't kill him, his Tallest certainly would for letting a PAK fall into human hands forever.

He needed to get it off. It was already integrating itself with its host, her organic matter fusing with its synthetic material. The human was fortunate to have passed out. It was a small mercy. In the few minutes her filthy brother had inherited his magnificent PAK—one knocked loose with only slight trauma—the human had been in possession of a fully functional PAK acting at full capacity. The damage had not been nearly enough to lock it down.

His sister was not so lucky.

9 minutes.

The emergency override would need to be activated by the Irken themselves—(Tallest, that was Larb, wasn't it?)—for repairs.

But there wasn't an Irken. There was a human girl whose life was slipping away in her planet's disgusting sediment, drenched in Irken and human blood, whose death would spell Zim's own.

"Why must this always happen to Zim?" He lamented.

He frantically pulled, one foot bracing itself on the ground as he tried to tear at the PAK.

But it didn't give so much as an inch.

"No, no, no!" He snarled.

His own PAKtcle shot out at his command, latching onto the largest port of Larb's PAK.

It hummed, glowing pink for a few heartbeats before it just . . . went gray.

He waited, frowning.

It was . . . off?

But if it was off, it shouldn't still be trying to integrate itself with a host.

"Stupid malfunctioning . . ." He hissed. He held the human aloft by her connection to the PAK, her body sagging forward at the spine.

He listened, his PAK trying to force a connection.

But it wasn't responding. There was no countdown to warn of a dying host, nor a defense program running to try and block Zim's efforts out. There was just . . . nothing. Hollow background programs with only the barest hint of cybernetic life left in it.

"What did you do, stinking human?" He muttered to himself, one eye narrowing at her unconscious figure.

It was no use. According to his sensors, it was near critically damaged. Frankly, Zim was surprised that it was online at all. The girl should count herself fortunate, he thought. Perhaps he couldn't get the PAK off just yet, but at least she would live. The malfunctioning device was making no efforts to upload its ingrained host personality; the girl would not be deleted. Yet, anyways.

Zim grabbed her by the shoulders at the same moment he disengaged his PAK 's connection cable, throwing her over his shoulder.

"Gir!" He barked into his communicator.

After a beat of static, a pair of wide cerulean orbs appeared on the screen. "Hiya mom!"

"What did you just—?! Ugh, we don't have time for this. Instruct the house to send my Voot Runner to this location immediately!"

Gir's eyes flashed red briefly, "Yes, my master!"

Zim rolled his eyes, closing the signal.

He walked away from the wreckage, assessing the damage.

Larb was dead, obviously, and whatever had happened to him and his Voot would be a mystery he took to his grave. His ship was a charcoal ruin, the embers of the crash finally dying out in pathetic spits.

His face twisted into a grin.

Well.

That wouldn't do.

By the time Gir arrived with the Voot Runner, the forest in its entirety had been set ablaze, his master giggling madly to himself, an unconscious human curled on the floor at his feet.

"OOOooooh!" The SIR unit cooed, ogling the flames. "It looks crunchy!"

"Move over. Gir," Zim barked, dragging the human girl up over his shoulder. With a series of accompanying laborious noises, he managed to get both of them in the Voot. "Computer!"

"What?" Grumbled a voice over his communicator.

"Have the medical wing ready for my return!"

". . . We don't . . . have a medical wing."

Zim paused, "Oh right. Well, what do we have?"

"Uh . . . I could probably put some lab tables up. Bunch of tools on trays."

"Squeak!" Came a voice in the background.

"Oh. Minimoose says he has a hat."

Zim snarled, "No hats! Just," he released an aggravated shriek, finally booting up the Voot Runner. "Forget it! Just have the transport ready to take us down to Floor 3. I want anything remotely useful for PAK maintenance ready for my use!"

"Uh, sure. Okay . . . Er, why, exactly?"

"DO NOT QUESTION YOUR MASTER!" Zim barked, ending the call.

This was not how he intended this day to go at all. The stupid human girl just had to go and pick a fight with an Elite. Ridiculous, stupid, wretched little creature. Were she any other human, he'd have ripped the PAK and her spine from her miserable body by now.

Images of Dib flashed in his mind. He bared his teeth at the mental image, dispelling it with a shake of his head.

He'd save the wretched human girl's life, retrieve the PAK, and be done with it. Perhaps the PAK could prove useful for his . . . 'problem.' Yes, yes, that would be good. Damaged as it was, Zim was still excellent at dissection and reconstruction. He was no technician, but surely it couldn't be that difficult. He was Zim, after all. This would be a piece of cake.

Nothing to worry about.

It'd all be over soon.

. . . Right?

End

(Completed 03.06.21)