Thank you all so much for your feedback, kind comments, and messages from the last chapter! I read, loved, and squealed over each of them!

Onto the second!

(Updates will be posted every Saturday going forward.)

CH. 2

Forming a PAKT

Gaz awoke to a sensation of burning, itching, and deep aches all at once. She groaned, trying to catch her bearings. Her head was muggy, her mouth dry, and she felt desperately in need of shower. And probably medical attention. Had she passed out?

A sudden piercing squeal had her head pounding.

"GIR! STOP YOUR SHOUTING AT ONCE!"

She clasped her ears, desperately trying to get her head to stop swimming. When the world began to reorient itself slightly, she dared peek an eye open just in time to see a silver blur shoot across the room, crashing into the back of a tall pink chair.

The crescent seat spun at the impact, revealing Zim scrambling to remove his own robot from his head.

"GAH!" He shrieked, struggling to disentangle the two of them as Gir persistently held on. "Gir, you terrible little—! Release your master at once!"

Gir giggled, but did as he was told, falling into Zim's lap. Furious, Zim flung the bot from him, sending him flying back across the lab.

Sure enough, another glance about the room showed the vaguely familiar, high-ceilinged area of Zim's lower labs.

"How did I . . .?"

Her gaze drifted back towards the base-owner himself, who seemed surprised to see her awake. After noticing her attention had returned to him however, he scowled, straightening himself.

"Finally," he sneered. "Zim was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up, worm-baby."

"Right," she said slowly, refusing to rise to bait of her brother's stupid friend. "What's going on, Zim? What did you do?"

"What did I do?!" He shrieked. "I am not the one who went about executing Irken Elites!"

Gaz sneered, doing her best to repress the involuntary shudder that welled up inside of her. "Tch. Some Elite he was."

"Murder of an Elite is crime punishable by life of torturous enslavement, little Gaz," Zim replied, leaning forward in his chair.

Gaz shot him a menacing look, "Don't even think about it."

"As if you would be of any use to the Empire, let alone me," he retorted, spinning idly in his chair. "Not that you don't owe me your life, worthless as it may be. I will admit to being confused, little worm-baby," he said, stopping the spinning with a heel to the floor. One eye narrowed at her, his fingers laced together beneath his chin. "I'd have expected such reckless behavior from your brother, but not you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gaz snapped, rubbing at her aching neck.

Her fingers brushed against something cool and metallic.

She froze.

Memories of searing pain jolted through her body, her nerves recreating a phantom pain.

Suddenly her hands were grasping at her back, elbows angling strangely to get at as much of it as she could. She craned her neck to its limits, horror seizing her.

On her back a small, silver, familiar pod looked back at her.

"What. The fuck," she demanded. "Zim, you little freak, did you do this?!"

"Me?!" He shouted, outrage flashing across his features. "Zim did nothing but save you from deactivation, you pathetic, meaty organism! I instigated no battle between you and that Irken Elite!"

"Well get it off!" She demanded, trying to get some sort of leveraged grip on it. It was unhelpfully smooth. Her fingernails continued to skid painfully off the subtle grooves.

"I am trying, you ridiculous creature," he snapped. "As I have been since the moment Zim discovered you had stolen it!"

Gaz seethed, shooting him a look of complete disbelief, "STOLEN—?!"

"Yes, yes, your thievery is as reckless as it is impressive," he dismissed. "But as is the case with all Irken technology, a PAK is complex!" He pointed a disapproving finger at her. "You have engaged in a foolish battle, little dirt-monkey. Were it not for my intervention, you would've perished by now!"

"Didn't you do this to Dib?" She demanded, finally giving up on clawing at the PAK. "Can't you just . . . do whatever you did to him?"

"You are the one who knocked it off your brother with your horrifying violence," Zim reminded her. Several monitors hovered around his face, one which he now turned his attention to. "But now, this situation is different."

"Why not?!"

"Because my PAK is de—."

He froze.

She waited. After a moment, her head pressed forward at the neck, pointedly.

He shook himself quickly, ". . . destined for greatness! My PAK was knocked loose from its rightful place, but not much damaged from its dislodgement. That one, on the other hand, appears to have been nearly deactivated."

Gaz felt herself bristling, "He attacked me first!"

"Save your anger juices for your brother, little Gaz," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "The Invader you killed was no friend of mine."

Gaz hadn't actually considered that. Did Zim even have friends? He'd never mentioned any. Nationalistic propaganda aside, she'd never actually heard him scream anything about anyone aside from broad, sweeping dedications towards his leaders.

"Did you . . . know him?" She hedged.

His gaze flicked towards her back—towards the PAK—briefly, something bitter and vicious in his gaze. "Invader Larb. Conqueror of Vort. Horrid little show-off. He should've perished on Blortch. He is unworthy of the attention of Zim."

Through Zim's frustration, something mean and smug seemed to be twitching at the corners of his mouth as he gazed at the damaged PAK.

Wow.

She should've guessed. Zim didn't have friends, he had competition; were it otherwise, she had the feeling she'd have seen a lot more of him, running around with her stupid brother.

"You should count yourself FORTUNATE, human worm," he sneered, pausing to look up at his monitor, hands on his hips. Massive amounts of illegible data were thrown across it, smaller holographic displays appearing beneath. Some of them were moving in a pulse while others continued to show a running stream of information. The whole thing was making Gaz cross-eyed. "Were that PAK functioning at even half its capacity, you would have been dead ages ago."

Now that was a chilling thought. One decision to ditch detention 30 minutes early could've spelled out her death.

A further thought made her stomach hurt; the realization that Dib—lying jerk that he was—was almost in her position. Dib and Zim fought all the time, but Zim had never tried to skewer him . . . not seriously anyways. They tried to kill each other all the time, but there was an unspoken mutual agreement that their fights were more about victory and domination than actually murdering each other. Zim also wasn't the only paranormal danger her stupid brother hurled himself into fist fights with. More than once had he come home scraped, bruised, and proudly sporting a bleeding gash that had Gaz's insides growing cold at just how close he'd come to being in serious trouble. How would he have fared against . . . Lard, or whatever his name was? What if Dib had gotten lost in his own manic need to investigate, and had never noticed the laser aimed at his skull until it was too late?

She pressed her lips into a thin line, breathing heavily through her nostrils.

It didn't matter, she thought firmly. It hadn't happened. It was whatever.

"So what now?" She said, after a lengthy pause. "How do I get it off?"

"Computer!" Zim snapped, hands waving erratically. "Answer the human girl's question! I am busy!"

Gaz leaned backwards, bristling with the insulting dismissal.

A loud, synthesized sigh echoed from unknown origin. Gaz had vague memories of interacting with his house before. She sort of liked it. It always seemed as equally fed up with the situations Zim and Dib created as she was. Relatable exasperation.

"We don't know," the computer droned.

Gaz's eyes twitched. She waited for further expansion, some running theory.

Neither Zim or the Base's AI interjected.

Her jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?" She hissed.

"Nope," the base replied.

"You're serious," she said slowly. "It's stuck?!"

"Correct."

"No," she pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, that's not going to work. Take it off."

"What do you think Zim is trying to do, insolent she-beast?!" He snapped, never removing his eyes from his screens.

"Apparently, not enough!" She bit back.

He spun around, dragging a monitor to face her. Across the screen were . . . . schematics? It looked vaguely like a blueprint, but there were so many tiny pieces, it almost seemed to be an image of pure texture.

"This is the technology currently fused into your pathetic spine!" Zim snarled. "There are many ways to sever its connection, none of which you will survive, most of which would paralyze your puny body! Which one would you like to start with?!"

Gaz couldn't recall the last time she'd seen Zim so . . . 'nasty' would be an understatement. This was more than antagonism. Something in his face was coming unhinged, his eyes pinched into a furious line.

Gaz lifted a finger, pointing vaguely in the direction of the most squiggly looking thing on the monitor, "That one."

Zim's fury evaporated, one antennae perking. "Eh?"

He spun the monitor bag towards him, seeming about to inspect whatever she'd pointed at before pausing once more.

He shot her a flat look. "You are being sarcastic."

Her expression was equally apathetic. "Yup."

"You are a nuisance."

"Born and raised."

He made an aggravated noise, replacing the monitor back to its original position. "It's your spine on the line."

"So it is," she agreed, hopping off the lab table.

"Where do you think you're going, worm-baby? Zim's lab is not open for exploration!"

"I'm going to my dad," she scoffed. "He almost got it off Dib when it was stuck on him. Why can't he—?"

"Oh you hideous little—!"

Zim's PAK leg shot out, hovering in front of her face, preventing her escape.

For a horrific moment, her stomach twisted, her body tensing, preparing an attack. She saw a much more unusually proportioned green figure hovering, fuschia eyes screaming in pain and—.

She saw Zim dart in front of her and clutched at a weapon that wasn't there.

No, she thought firmly. Wrong Irken. Stop it.

There were few things Gaz had control of in her life. Even from afar, her father managed to hover and intervene in the most asinine, unimportant details of his children's lives (which only infuriated her all the more; if he could decide with neurotic fixation exactly what brand of beans they'd eat for dinner, what was so hard about remembering her birthday?). And while Dib was physically present and largely mentally distant, off in some land of conspiracy and paranormal, he still managed to snap back to reality at the most obnoxious moments. Gaz, where were you after school? Gaz, did you do your homework? Gaz, why are the neighbor kids picking your security bot's teeth out of their skin? Tch. She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand either of them sometimes.

The point being, Gaz may have had few opportunities to provide meaningful input in her own life, but she certainly had control over herself. She controlled her fears. She controlled her anger. She got to choose who she doomed and who would live to see another miserable day. Her emotions were the one thing she had absolute and complete reign over. She was the reigning monarch and dictator. She was judge, jury, and (clearly) executioner.

So the last thing she was going to allow was her emotions to get the better of her. This was too pathetic to abide. She'd killed that stupid alien. Gaz had won. She didn't need this useless, choking fear to bubble up every time something pointy and metallic was waved in her face. With vicious willpower, she shoved down the fear that threatened to mute her, stowing it in the deepest, untouched depths of her soul. It nestled comfortably beside every other thing in her life that she'd repressed and tossed aside.

Zim remained oblivious to her internal dilemma, pushing into her face with a staggering amount of recklessness, considering he was dealing with the much more violent member of the Membrane siblings. Her eye twitched, hand flexing in a warning that he remained pointedly oblivious to.

"If you think Zim will allow you to leave this lab with precious Irken technology, you are crazier than your brother," he snarled.

"You can't help me," Gaz pointed out, feeling her temple throb with the beginnings of a headache. "Last time this happened, Dad was almost able to get this off Dib before we showed up." And she was still bitter about that stupid bit of trickery. A day of her precious gaming wasted on hunting down her brother when the idiotic culprit had been beside her all along. She blamed Dib, mostly; if it wasn't for the fact he was known to steal random bits of her things for his ridiculous schemes, she never would've fallen for Zim's hairbrained lie in the first place.

It only made her all the more unwilling to trust him now. Aside from the obvious fact that Zim loathed all of humanity—and her brother even more—he had no reason to help her. If anything, he was probably stalling her until the stupid thing killed her, to make hiding the body all the easier.

Zim's hands arched, strangling the air in front of him briefly before pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.

"I have said this already," he seethed, through grit teeth. "This is different. Larb's PAK is as broken as your ears, you horrible creature. Disengaging it will not be so simple. It should be completely deactivated, and yet it is still somehow functional enough to have locked onto another host. Were it so simple as hitting it, I would have removed it by now!"

She crossed her arms, foot tapping impatiently against the ground. "Look, Zim, I get that you and Dib have this whole 'we scream at each other til we work together thing,' but I don't have enough acetaminophen on me for that. So you're going to get out of my way, I'm going to go find my Dad, and both of us get to escape with all our limbs attached, got it?"

He hissed, his antenna vibration curiously against his skull, fists knotting against his sides. "The last thing I need is your detestful brother showing up, screaming at Zim about your paralysis!" He shrieked. "Even your father has neither the technology, nor the experience to manipulate such a complicated mechanism as a malfunctioning PAK! There are specialists on Irk who would shy away from such a situation!"

Her brow rose, "And I'm guessing you're not one of those specialists?"

He spat something in a language she didn't recognize, once more pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes before exhaling sharply. "You should be lucky I didn't leave you to your fate, ungrateful smeetling! Without me, I don't give you another three Earth days before you expire!"

"Not that it's not touching how concerned you are for my well-being, but," she shrugged, expression flat and cold. ". . . Yeah, actually, I don't even have it in me to make a sarcastic comment about it, it's just ridiculously untrue to pretend you don't have an ulterior motive for trying to help me that'll probably get me killed. Not interested."

She made a move to pass him. Reactively, his hands shot out to forcibly stop her.

Seeing her move so quickly, even damaged as she was, it was suddenly not so difficult to comprehend how she'd gotten the better of Larb.

She twisted his wrists, bowing them unnaturally until he reflexively released his already limp grip on her arms. With his limbs still twisted at their painful angle, she lifted her foot, planted it firmly on his 'spooch, and kicked as hard as she could manage.

He was sent spiraling across his lab with a shriek, crashing into the nearest machine. His body complained with its blooming aches and pains, but he didn't have time to listen to them. His head raised sharply at the sound of her footsteps padding towards him, muscles tensing for another blow.

"Do not," she hissed, pausing just before him. "Touch me. Ever. Got it?"

She was coated in bruises, and Zim knew for a fact portions of her pitiful back looked like shredded cheese, but he still couldn't completely fight the reluctance to engage her again.

He pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring her bristling at their renewed proximity. It was the human's own fault. She should know better than to assume the almighty Zim would ever back down completely to anyone, let alone a human.

"It's your brother," he mumbled, feigning preoccupation with straightening out his uniform.

"What does Dib have to do with this?"

"Everything!" He spat, finally making eye contact. "The last thing I need is to explain to my Tallests how a PAK—damaged or otherwise—fell into the hands of my greatest adversary!"

Gaz's eyes widened fractionally for a moment, "Ooooh." She said, the syllable drawing out obnoxiously on her tongue. She smirked, expression smug. "So that's it."

"We will strike an accord," he insisted, pushing past the furious embarrassment twisting about inside his aching 'spooch. "I will work to remove the PAK so long as you remain silent about its presence."

"It's kind of hard to miss," she pointed out flatly.

He waved a hand dismissively. "When the PAK is removed, I take it, and you and I agree to pretend this never happened."

Gaz shifted her weight to one leg, thinking the proposition over. She had less than zero reasons to trust Zim. While he and Dib were sworn enemies, her and Zim were sort of . . . neutral antagonists. Gaz didn't harbor relationships of any sort with anyone, but Dib being her brother, their interactions were inevitable. Mostly, Zim knew Gaz wasn't to be bothered with her brother's schemes, and therefore a neutral party unless he was in mortal danger. Even then, she seemed to have an extremely loose interpretation of what qualified as such (although clearly she hadn't been wrong yet).

Still, it was no small secret Zim harbored resentment for her position as her brother's failsafe. Zim would've been rid of Dib's presence long ago if it wasn't for her interference, though he'd never made overt plans against her. But there was nothing in their previous interactions for this to make any sort of sense. She couldn't trust him. She shouldn't trust him. She should walk out of here, go get some sort of salve for her stinging back—.

The base suddenly hummed powerfully, the lights flickering on and off and blinding white and dark again, back on and off. Gaz froze, her eyes screwing up as she surveyed the room.

"Computer!" Zim barked, head whipping around wildly. "What is the meaning of this!?"

A garbled, synthetic babble was the reply. Zim stepped away, offering Gaz a brief, irritated look—as though somehow this was her fault—before storming over to his control panel. Gaz felt the distinctly unfamiliar sensation of awkwardness. Were they . . . done? On pause? Was she just supposed to leave now or . . .?

Whatever Zim did, it seemed to settle the controls. Although now the screens no longer showed schematics, each instead flashing a notification of "rebooting," along with accompanying loading screens.

He reached into his PAK, removing some sort of microphone communication-esque device, "GIR!"

For a moment, only static was his reply. Another beat passed, and Gaz glanced briefly towards the elevator.

"GIR!" He shouted again, "Reply at once! Obey your master!"

After another long pause, a sudden, piercing wail resounded. Gaz's hands flew up to her ears, and Zim's hands pulled on his own antenna.

"System Rebooting," the computer boomed over the pained cry.

God, Gaz thought, if this was Zim's base, no wonder the little weirdo was so insane.

Zim jerked, the transition cutting off. "Gir," he snarled into the microphone. "What did you do to the base?!"

"Master!" The much quieter transmission replied. "Oh Master, it was a-awful! Horrible! The house bit me! It bit me!"

"I did not!" The house computer shouted, clearly taking offense.

This was getting too ridiculous for Gaz. She really needed to get out of here, or at least finalize whatever agreement Zim was proposing. She supposed it made a twisted sort of sense; he had a lot more to benefit from keeping her alive and out of her family's care—in particular, her brother's greedy, alien-hunting hands—but did that warrant her cooperation? Given the scene of babbling and grating words in front of her, she wasn't sure his willingness to keep her alive was what she needed to worry about, but his competence.

Zim slammed his fist on the panel, jarring her from her thoughts. "You will not touch the base's energy core again, Gir, do you understand me?!"

"B-But! TACOS!" He shrieked. "I need them! I need them so bad!"

"ENOUGH!" Zim barked. "Computer, put Gir in his containment chamber and do not let him out until I say so! Understood?!"

"Uh-huh," the base grunted. ". . . Uh, sir . . . Do you want me to . . .?"

Zim sighed, his shoulders sagging forward, "Yes, fine, give him the tacos."

The base merely beeped affirmatively in reply.

The hollow silence left behind was jarring, only the gentle hum of the energy coursing through the house making any noise. Gaz shifted.

"You can leave," Zim said suddenly. He turned only slightly, his looming figure silhouetted harshly against the bright, enormous screen he stood before. It was an eerie sight, the harshly shadowed figure with one narrowed, bright red eye pinning her in place. "But if you do, Zim will not help you if you return. You either accept my help now, human, or not at all."

Gaz's lips thinned.

She would've been lying if she hadn't already considered that she could just go to Zim as a last case scenario, after having her dad look at it for a while.

Then again, the last time her dad tried to 'save her life,' she ended up in a cage and exploited for sponsorships.

In a pig mask.

On television.

He also wasn't even in the country, and she was pretty sure TSA would have some questions about the metal alien technology on her back.

Her lips twisted. Zim merely stood unmoving, awaiting her reply.

She huffed. "Fine," she spat. "We do this your way, Zim. For now."

He turned away, fiddling with something else on the control panel. After a brief moment, a metal arm descended from the ceiling, dangling a piece of fabric in front of her face.

She grabbed it, turning it over slowly. After a moment, she realized it was exactly what it looked like.

"You're kidding, right?" She said flatly, gazing at him from beneath her lids. "Is this a joke?"

"You are the one who expressed concern about how obvious it is," Zim retorted, descending from the control panel area.

It was . . . just a backpack casing, with an elastic hole at the back of it. Honestly, considering the alternatives she'd expected, it wasn't that bad of an idea. It wasn't actually so different from her own backpack, appearing to mimic black denim. The base—or maybe Zim—had even thrown on a few buttons. She snorted at one of them; a small hot pink button with "I LUV EARTH" written in white, jagged letters. The other cluster of buttons seemed fairly generic. Regardless, Gaz immediately began removing them; she'd just replace them with her own when she got home, if she bothered trying to further disguise it at all. Knowing Zim and his usual brand of stupidity, this 'disguise' would be the first of many replacements she'd end up needing. 'Zim' and 'explosive destruction' tended to go hand-in-hand.

Gaz twisted her arms, trying to get the damn thing on, when her back suddenly felt like it was on fire.

She hissed, shoulders hunching ever so slightly.

Right. That was a hell of a reminder that the PAK wasn't the only one of her concerns.

"I don't suppose you have human antiseptic lying around," she muttered.

"Of course not," Zim replied, one antennae raised. "Computer, help the little Earthanoid creature with my glorious disguise."

Not feeling quite up to the ache that was going to follow if she insisted on doing it herself, Gaz made herself hold still at the sight of the two enormous claws that suddenly hovered in front of her face.

She forced her arms to lock in place, crossed tightly below her chest as the base's appendages took the 'backpack' from her.

Something cold and unrelenting latched around her ankle, sending her 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 squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling sharply.

When she reopened them, the claws were gone, making themselves busy securing the cloth on the PAK.

She needed to stop being so ridiculous, she thought bitterly. As perilous as the situation had been, there was no reason to dwell on it. No, what she needed right now was to get home, disinfect her entire body, and—.

"Wait," she said, frowning. "How am I supposed to change if I can't take this thing off?"

"Eh?" Zim turned towards her again, propping his hip against the control panel. "Oh, right. You inferior human clothing doesn't have openings. Eh . . . Computer!"

"What?" It groaned.

"Hold on," Gaz cut in quickly. "I have a feeling you're about to tell it to give me your uniform. And I'm not wearing that, not only because that's absolutely ridiculous, but because Dib would immediately notice."

"I was not!" He snapped. He paused for a moment before huffing, crossing his arms tightly. ". . . But if I was, what would you suggest, human?"

She huffed, irritation and social discomfort making her tense. "I don't know, how do you normally change?"

"The pod does it," he replied plainly.

Gaz's eye widened a tad, "The pod does it."

"Mhm," he said, hopping off his control panel. He extended his arms to be level with his shoulders, widening his feet some. "Behold, little demon creature!"

Suddenly, an object descended from the roof that seemed to be akin to an enormous, two-pieced egg. It slammed around Zim with a jarring bang, shaking aggressively for several moments. It was like someone had made an egg-shaped, glowing washing machine. After a few obnoxious minutes of this, the egg 'cracked' with a hydraulic hiss. Steam escaped the pod, revealing Zim . . .

Gaz's brow twitched, anger flaring. "You look exactly the same!"

"Filthy worm-baby, of course I do! This is my uniform!"

"Whatever," she grumbled. "Can I use your . . . weird . . . egg-thing?"

"It is not one of your hideous chicken eggs!" Zim shrieked, gesturing wildly towards the ceiling, where the pod had disappeared. "It is advanced Irken technology beyond the likes of which your puny monkey brain can even comprehend!"

"Yeah, okay, whatever, but can I use it?"

"Of course you can, come here."

Gaz approached warily. At her hesitance, Zim sighed impatiently, foot tapping on the ground. She glared at him, although he seemed just as oblivious to her wrathful warning as ever.

Suddenly, he darted towards her, "For Tallest's sake, you are so slow!" He complained, gripping her arms.

Gaz quickly tore them away, although he immediately made a move to grab for them again. "What. Did I say. About touching me?"

"Be germaphobic later, filthy creature!" He snapped in kind, quickly grabbing at her arms again.

This time, pain flared, and she jerked away much more violently.

Zim paused, glancing down at his hands reflexively. Was his superior Irken grip really so strong as to cause so much pain in the weak, human meat sack? Huh. Well, he supposed it was only—.

Oh.

There was blood on his gloves. And scuffs of dirt smeared in with it. Just a little, but enough for his glorious eyes to note. He glanced back towards the human girl, finally taking serious note of her current injuries. She clasped her palm over her right bicep, teeth grit, clearly waiting out the pain he'd caused by gripping her wounds.

"Oh, er," he cleared his throat. "Right. The pod can deal with your . . . icky open wounds, as well. It has healing solutions that should be agreeable to your . . . meat-sinew form."

"You said you didn't have antiseptic," she hissed, shaking her arms out, trying to redirect the energy.

"Antiseptic it primitive and stupid," Zim announced haughtily. "Irken medicine is much more effective. Now hold your arms aloft, filthy human. Zim does not want your blood all over my base."

"Ew, gross." Complained the base.

Gaz shook herself once more, biting back her renewed flare of irritation at the stupid alien. God, she really was trusting him to not sever her spinal cord? The idiot who couldn't string more than two thoughts together at a time? The idiot with endless, literal death bots, but still couldn't figure out how to defeat her stupid older brother?

She resisted the urge to shut her eyes as the egg-pod shot down from the ceiling, steeling herself for whatever weirdness was about to occur.

The most jarring thing was the immediate sight of a large, grinning hologram of what might've been his people's symbol, only inches from her face. It twisted from side to side, a small loading bar beneath its head, with symbols she couldn't understand.

She nearly jumped as two vices clamped around her wrists, ankles, and joints, holding her firmly in place. It stung, especially since more than a few of the clamps dug into her aches and scrapes. She felt her face flush red as her shirt suddenly shot up over her head, though how that happened without tearing it, she didn't know. The rest of her clothes received the same treatment, and she did her best to stare deep into the creepy holographic eyes and pretend this wasn't happening. Suddenly, a frigid, unusually thick mint-colored mist shot from the walls of the egg. The loading bar on the screen changed, displaying different symbols that she couldn't recognize. Nearly immediately however, her aches and pains began to alleviate, and she sighed at the relief of it. Another few seconds later, the screen changed again, this time displaying a shaking exclamation point as the bar neared closer to completion. For a moment, Gaz feared that the machine was just as defective as its owner, and was going to forget to redress her. But sure enough, starchy, unfamiliar fabric was suddenly pulled over her head and onto her legs just before the little icon lit up with a manic, evil green, the symbols changing once more and flaring red.

More thoroughly creeped out than ever, Gaz felt a great sense of relief when the clamps disengaged. The pod cracked open, and much warmer air flooded into her lungs.

"Weird," she muttered, rubbing at her wrists.

There was a strange, clear glaze over her formerly-open wounds. Nothing was open anymore, and her aches had faded into only a generalized discomfort. Huh. No wonder Zim was always so unbothered by his injuries. She felt loads more refreshed than she had been only a few minutes ago.

She pulled on the fabric of her clothing, frowning. "Did it sew my shirt?"

"No," Zim scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "It replaced it with a replica, as it's been programmed to do."

That explained the weird texture. "Huh."

Zim's antennae flattened, clearly disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm. "You're welcome."

"You're welcome," she retorted, glancing over her back to ensure the backpack 'disguise' hadn't been misplaced. "So, what, do I just wait to hear from you, or?"

"Return to Zim's base promptly after school tomorrow," he insisted. His eyes suddenly widened, antennae perking. He held up a finger, tongue poking out as he dug around in his PAK.

He removed what appeared to be a small bracelet, thin and silver, barely a ¼ inch in diameter.

"For you, filthy human," he replied, holding it aloft. Reluctantly, Gaz offered him her wrist. As soon as he clasped it on, it glowed red, flaring several times before finally fading back to its original silver.

"Is that going to kill me, too?" She deadpanned.

Zim scoffed, "Stupid human, a mere bracelet cannot be a danger to you." He clicked a gloved talon against it, creating a dull tin noise. "This will monitor your condition, alerting Zim to any serious changes in your physiology. It's purely precautionary, but in the event my magnificent intervention is needed, I will know at once."

Gaz held her wrist aloft, shaking the bangle. Hmm. Well, it was just a bracelet, after all. What harm could it do?

"Whatever," she dismissed. "Can I go home now?"

"Please do," Zim sneered, eyes narrowing her way. "Your presence is intrusive to my thought process. And you got your icky human blood on me," he complained, waving his gloved hand to demonstrate.

"Good," Gaz replied, turning on her heel. "You can use it for tests, or something."

"Tests on how such a filthy, diseased race could possibly exist," he grumbled, quickly summoning a replacement glove.

Gaz paused at the elevator, glancing over her shoulder. At the sight of the manic little alien, something nervous and tense coiled inside of her stomach.

"See you tomorrow, then," she mumbled.

Zim turned, shooting her a narrowed, irritated glare over his shoulder. Gaz returned his scowl with avengeance until the doors of the elevator finally slid shut, cutting off their line of sight from one another.

"I swear, computer," Zim spat, stomping back over to the control panel. "The humans grow more irritating as they age."

The computer merely grunted with disinterest.

With one last aggravated noise at the general distaste he felt towards the situation, Zim flexed his fingers and set himself to his work.

End

(Completed 3.18.21)

(Posted 04.24.21)