Starfall

Summary:

Zim is different after the tragedy, suffering a depression that Dib can't seem to break. When he disappears one day out of the blue, Dib is left searching for answers.

Disclaimer:

I do not own the IZ characters, this story however is mine.

Warnings:

Zim angst: Depression. Anorexia. PTSD.

Dib07: I want to give a little shout out to Reptile-Ruler over on tumblr for tagging 'Saving Zim' and 'Starfall' for fanfic writer appreciation week among other wonderful stories by fellow writers and artists! (the fact that I make any list is just amazing!) ^^

And side note, oh my GAWD so many awesome reviews and comments! This story is purely self-indulgent, and mostly experimental due to trying to stay busy from the mess of life and trying to forget said life, so thank you for taking this ride with me.

Anonymous

Thank you so much! I am really glad I was able to communicate the terrifying/cute nature of Irkens, and I enjoy playing around with their comparative size difference and culture, heh!

guest

I will admit there is a lot of arrogance to take advantage of when it comes to Irkens! And Dib holding a snack wrapper as an ID... I know right! XD I had a lot of fun with the atmosphere, and with the less than savory layers that make Irken society, and you could say that Zarvius is different, that the planet is more messy than most, but... well...

Zimothy

Thank you so much Zimothy! ^^ (this means so much!)

Guest

Phew, thank you! I had to give you this chapter too, (pure as I wrote it, no cutting out of anything) even though it was long again (urm...) but I feel better after your reassurance... I can get a bit OCD with chapters at times, changing silly little things and adding more than I should, but I am overjoyed you loved chapter 4! Your feedback stunned me! And thank you THANK YOU soooo much you have no idea how happy you make me!

Blip

Heheh, I dunno 'bout that, man, but I try! (thank you, that really touched me) ''also.. Dib what did you expect from warmongering aliens who treat even their own like crap, if this is post movie.'' pffht tell me about it, Dib, Dib wake up you fool! ''IS THAT A ZIM I SEE?'' Hahah, I loved this! It's so cute! Wonder what Zim thinks when he sees a Dib...! XD

Falling

- this little section follows Dib's POV after Zim crash lands a few months prior to present events:) -

"Hey Kasper." He sauntered through the open door, mindful of the vodka he bought along disguised as water in a Volvic water bottle. Getting through NASA security had them eye up his house keys, the chipped coins in his wallet and the clasps in his boots, but the alcohol had sailed through when it looked as innocent as the label claimed it to be.

"Where you been these last few days?" Kasper turned in his chair, the smile warm and welcoming. Before him was a bank of monitoring screens surveying Earth from their dozens of satellites. A two dozen voyagers were watching the planets Neptune and Venus, but since there was no Mars anymore, (the moons had seemingly scattered off someplace without the planet's gravity to lock them) there was only an emptiness they continued to observe as if the planet was 'hiding.'

"I got sidetracked." He dropped the files on the desk for Kasper to delight himself with. Dib was pretty sure he never left his desk. Kasper's idea of fun was watching the sun's changing ozone, or faraway neutron stars blitz apart solar systems. "This is all I could get." He paused to run a hand through unwashed hair, his gaze doubling when he spent a moment to daze into the ether.

Kasper stooped over the file, lifting up the first page before his eyes bulged. "How did you get this?"

"I have my sources..." He chugged down some of the 'water' before turning a lazy eye to the monitoring screens. "Any news on that UFO?"

They were calling the Voot Runner 'Falling Star.' The name was not so ironic.

"No." Kasper was turning pages. "It just disappeared. The Russians are adamant it has nothing to do with them, and China is declaring the same thing. I don't get it. Something landed! Something ripped open half a forest! The fires burned for hours!"

"A meteor, then."

"Meteors don't emit signals!"

"Yeah, yeah." He took another swig. "So, anymore of these signals? Anything incoming?"

"Not a blip. The sky is dark." Which was code for: not a single rustle out there.

Dib sighed, briefly looking at the documents Kasper was devouring. He could have used Zim's computer to cough up the same answer: there was no pursuit, nothing at all but stars and dust. He figured Zim had run from something, but he was still left with the unknown.

The bribe he had given Kasper to weed out signs of pursuit (Irken or otherwise) wasn't totally redundant. There was something Zim's satellite had picked up during the days that followed, but without actively getting closer to said signal, there was no way of finding out anything more about it.

"This signal..." Kasper slipped on a pair of tiny glasses as he peered at the readings, "it's from proxima centauri... beyond it, I think."

"Can you tell me what it is?"

"The energy reading is pretty big. It's either a plasma pulse of some kind, or a sun about to go super nova."

"You don't think it's alien?"

Kasper scratched the side of his head with the back of a pencil that had been chewed down to its lead core. "Sorry, kid. Such a surge of energy like that, it's more likely to be gamma radiation, or changing magnetic fields caused by planets or stars." He leaned back, catching Dib's frayed expression just in time. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said unconvincingly.

"You know, I'm always here for you, and Gaz."

He turned away. He had never known what to do, and how to react when he was pitied. "I better go..."

-x-

He took a step back, magenta eyes perfect mirrors reflecting the strewn slum around them with the human's dark figure fixed in the centre.

The silence thickened like ice about to break.

Festering pain, carried by anger, betrayal and despair began to lift, releasing Dib from its chokehold. There were so many things he wanted to say, wanted to scream, but nothing came out, nothing would squeeze past the ruin that grief and loss had forged so perfectly. You're alive!

But Zim's horror could not have been more complete. His shiny opals for eyes were comically widening, chest heaving erratically beneath butterfly-thin rags of grey. That perfect look of surprise made the pain return in full.

Instead of going towards him, Zim jaggedly backed away, trusting only in his antennae even when his balance was clearly in question.

Dib wasn't used to seeing him gloveless and bootless, and was even more dumbfounded to find him in rags. Without the prestige his uniform had interminably carried there was only something empty in place of the solider: something torn up and cast away.

He pressed the advance in slow, steady steps while the Irken continued to back away, his emotions skipping to resentment, desperation, confusion. He was only temporarily drawn to the girdle the nymph wore. Gleaming from a small thimble-sized vial was a cold but beautiful blue potion that sparkled like glitter.

Zim blundered into a heap of trash, causing metal bottles and machine parts to loudly roll across the metal pavement. "You... y-you shouldn't be here!" His voice, nasally, childlike, hit something way down in Dib's heart, and he struggled to remain together, to not shatter.

Instead of conveying the spiralling grief that had tirelessly slung him to and fro, he choked: "Is that all you can say to me?"

Zim drew around the heap pile, dragging heels catching on detritus and scrap metal.

The collar looked too broad and heavy on so scrawny a neck, and as he drew closer, he could see the grisly rub marks that had turned his skin raw, but the shock and relief at seeing him was quickly crashed out by the twisting heartache and thunder roaring through his burnt-out core. "Do you know how far I've travelled to find you? What I risked?" He took another step. "Do you know what it was like for me, thinking you'd come back in a day, a week?"

"There's... there's nothing here for you Dib stink...!"

He hoarsely barked more than spoke. "Why do you keep walking away from me, Zim? Too afraid to face me?" His broader steps outpaced his, the distance suddenly no distance at all, and his hands were clutching at grubby rags for clothes, the metal edge of collar uncomfortably pressing into his knuckles as he rammed him against rubble. He wasn't even aware he had lifted the stupid roach off the ground. "I came all this way! What is with you? Tell me why you left Gir when he needed you most! Tell me why you left without a word! Why you left Gaz? Why you left me!"

The Elite's crystalline eyes stared into his rage-torn amber; splatters of fuchsia holding fractured remnants of a former shine. The metal claws that Dib had fashioned and moulded turned into manacles, clamping down on his wrist and twisting it round just shy of snapping.

As he screamed out, the pain splintering up and through his arm, Zim let go, and they both fell into the rubbish.

Holding his arm to his chest, finding his feet from under him as flies flurried and buzzed about them, Dib tried to rise above the pain, but he could not shield himself so easily from the betrayal. "You coward!" When he struck, backhanding him, the force snapped Zim's head to the side.

A drop of green, no thicker than a pencil line, fell from the ridge of cheekbone.

His ragged antennae, having risen like posts, flittered back down to dangle uselessly from his head. Emotions were hardly little more than a crease down the centre of his smooth and pale forehead, or a darkening flicker foiling the light in his eyes. Rare subtleties gave way to otherwise reticent feelings leaking from the ostentation of self-control as his walls quickly tried to bury any other function that was more in tune with the living. And despite doing his damndest to stay in control, claws dug into the dirt beneath him, and the wrinkles beneath his eyes fissured out into cracks.

Sorrow poured in, like nitrogen engulfing flame to hollow out what was left, and Dib reached up to touch the mark he had made. His lips tugged into a weak and rueful wince. "Gir's waiting for you, I left him at the ship, we came to... to take you home...!"

The Irken's hand, of cold mechanisms and gears, smacked his touch away, head slowly turning to regard him with mastered indifference. "Y-you don't know what you've done..."

"I think I do." The resentment climbed, the hurt a smothering weight. "But that's not what's going on here! Is it?"

Because the imp wouldn't acknowledge or so much as look at him, something snapped and he flung a hand out, grabbing metal. "G-Get off of me!" His carefully controlled exterior broke. Lips snapped open to reveal discoloured teeth.

"Do you have any idea what you've put us through?! Don't you care for anyone other than yourself?"

Zim's eyes were glittery furnaces wrapped in stars. "What's the use explaining when you're out of your damned mind?"

"I'm out of my mind?"

Zim spun, twisting his wrist free, and snapped round to slash wildly before he had even found his feet. Whenever Dib could not be deterred, Zim resorted to violence as a means to assert himself, which was evidence of his frustrations, and Dib suspected it was due to losing all stability, control, and in order to win back some merit, Zim had to lean on his violence as a shield and a sword.

When the nymph swung a fist, Dib pulled back, expecting a montage of PAK legs to follow. Zim ducked low and dove forwards, Dib again whipping back to avoid the cut and slash.

"You're getting slow, space jerk. You gotta do better than that!"

The Irken cut forwards again, metal fist flying, the resultant pain flashing through his shoulder. His rage met a wall, imitation fist slamming through metal to leave a perfect imprint.

"You wanna try again?" Dib cocked his head at him, lips thin unsmiling lines, eyes hard and cold.

Zim stopped to rub a whining, steel wrist. "You don't know what you've got yourself into!"

"I think I can handle myself, though you're getting a little rusty."

Zim spun, bottom heel sliding out from under him, but his claws found their mark. The bastard didn't always miss, and he hit hard, despite his frailty and tiny size. Getting behind him was pretty impossible when he could spin round with a moment's notice, reactions and reflexes honed from brutal training and battle. You couldn't always knock him back when he could catch your foot in the process, and spin you to the floor.

His head and chest was so far up that they were relatively safe so long as Zim didn't jump, or decide to use his PAK, and a quick defensive arm to block his rock-hard punches were usually enough to keep him from that 'crotch area,' if he was quick enough. As for Zim's 'weaker' parts, they weren't as obvious or as easy except for maybe the eyes and throat. A good kick on the PAK's mantle towards his spine might knock it off, and a heel to the chest would cause about as much pain as an electric current.

"What about Gaz?" He choked, the sweat running down his hairline. He was thinking of maybe picking up a bent rod of metal and hitting him with it.

"What about her?"

His fist met its mark, and Zim was sent into the trash again, cans and snack pots rolling across metal paving. Dib didn't even feel the bolts of pain flashing through his hand, or the slashes across his arm. "Come on! Get up! I'm not done!"

A dark green welt was already appearing on Zim's cheekbone and eye as desolation eased the wince from his face. His pride seemed to have toppled with the fall, or whatever else he was trying to maintain.

The untendered rage that had worked into Dib's bones began to fray and a lump formed in his throat.

The old Elite closed his eyes before opening them, but his gaze remained vague and directionless. When he spoke, the exasperation in his weathered voice just sounded tired. "I should have known you'd use that old ship to find me... It was a mistake..."

There were a million things he wanted to say, a million things he had been holding onto. But there was only one thing he had to say. "You... you didn't say goodbye!"

Zim broke into a croaky chuckle. His eyes were so bright that it was hard to tell if there were tears marring the fuchsia. "You know I don't do goodbyes, you silly creature."

"You could have just told me... where you... why you..."

"You're just a child, Dib stink." He said it as if that was enough of an answer, and always would be.

The rage blew hard and cold enough to snap him apart. "Is that all I am to you? After everything?"

Zim dropped his shoulders, his rigid centre beginning to finally soften. With some difficulty he made to get up, though it took two attempts for those stick legs of his to claim some balance. Dib stood still, breath tightening, waiting for him to say something bordering an apology, or at least allude as to why he was here, why the collar, why everything, but all he said was: "Go home."

"Vandraren isn't far, Z. Whatever's going on, you can tell me..." He reached out, watching those dark enigmatic eyes, and curled slender warm fingers around cold claws.

"Don't! Fool!" He broke away. "Do you have any idea what this place is?"

"You wanna 'clue me in,' or are you going to conveniently neglect to tell me anything like you always do?" His shouts echoed across the greasy street, attracting attention.

A soldier with vivid purple eyes tiptoed closer from the fumes and shadows, flies buzzing around her long, curling antennae. When an investigating robot drone came up behind her she flagged it away with a gesture.

"That collar... Why do wear it?" And he jabbed a hand forwards, two fingers hooking around the slim and narrow curve of the glowing collar. It was warm against his skin. It was obvious that it was not part of his apparel, and looked instead like a bomb set to blow. "What did you do?"

The metal of his hand severed the touch, the pain a wild, consuming fire that coloured Zim's eyes instantly. Beneath was darker reproach, fear, resentment, hate.

Dib backed away, watching the fluctuations of fury and horror work its way through the Irken like it had on those cold nights. His heart remained forever locked behind doors of pain that had never opened.

He was unreachable now as he was then.

Zim turned towards him, eyes cold nebulas, and lifted something in his left hand. It was too late when he saw it.

Red sliced through his eyes and head, the light seemingly exiting out the back of his head. Swatting at his eyes, dazed, he fell and hit something hard. Blinking did nothing.

When he managed to open his eyes, the world pulsed to the tempo of his heart, with garish whites chasing every crimson streak and shadow. He's... he's blinded me! That wretched creature!

He felt for his knife, and was relieved to feel its familiar shape still in its sheathe.

Blinking, fingers rubbing his eyes beneath the rim of his glasses, the grimy rubbish and slanted buildings returned.

He turned in a floundering, swaying way, boots walking through a junkyard of copper wires, harvested nodules and metal carapaces. But Zim was not there.

"You're not getting away from me that easily, you, you jerk!"

Down the rotten, steamy street came the echoing ricochet of debris being knocked aside. He looked up just in time to see a creature of dubious balance disappear round the corner. The collar marked him, its sickly red glow painting the walls as he fled.

"Run away, you coward! It's what you do best!"

Groaning from the light show pulsing in his eyes, he staggered down the hissing side street where overlapping tubes hugged the walls like pulsing centipedes. In the foggy distance, great towers rose up, their twin spires shaped into what could only be described as earwig tails pointing skyward.

Panting, Dib broke through to the other side, disorientated by flashing signs and hulking alcoves that tunnelled into a rising speedway.

How could I have been so blind? I should have known he'd be this... thankless and... and stupid!

Even with the splendour and marvel of alien architecture all around him, they looked more like paper props that were separate and illusory.

I came all this way... risked everything. I shouldn't have left, I shouldn't have left Gaz...

He paused at the tunnel's entrance, rubbing one eye that stubbornly saw red. A robot sentry glided past, and he shuffled back just in time before it saw him.

Okay, think, think you idiot! Why would he run?

Because he's resentful, stupid, hateful!

He kept rubbing at his eyes until the red began to turn pale. The empty avenue ahead revealed nothing but overturned rubbish and glittering puddles of plasma. One tea spoon of that stuff looked toxic enough to kill anything.

What happened to his uniform? Why was he 'dusting' the floor with a broken fucking broom?

He wants me to leave... as if I ever listen...

Dib could not tell which direction the pint-sized bastard had taken. Each corner, curve and passage was equally empty. He could hear distant screaming before it was eerily cut short, and the sound was enough to keep him glued to the shadows until the gradual silence convinced him that whatever had happened was over.

I always wondered what an alien civilisation would look like... now that I'm here, I can't wait to get away from it.

He started heading across the 'road' on legs that may as well have been heavy blocks of wood. He could not feel the motion of placing one foot in front of the other when each step increased the dread and unravelling disenchantment. He was spent and shaky. Little irises or lenses of something would peep out at him through the fumes rising from the pathways and vents, and a thin shadow would dart away behind him just before he could see it.

Am I in danger?

As he hesitantly walked through an unfamiliar dystopia that looked like it had been designed by H. R Giger, he began to realize how little he had seen, and that his resentment and despair had inevitably blurred what had been so obvious.

He's ashamed...

He's been banished once... for destroying whatever the hell 'impending doom 1' is. It's not stopped him, has it? But what if things have changed?

Through all those years of fighting, he had never known the reason of what Zim had been trying so hard to earn back. What he had lost.

He remembered the way the glass looked as they fell, how the shards slowly turned, catching the light. Both of them were turning through the blue, the sun in his eyes, with the ground below...

He stopped mid-step, the great glossy shop signs and pictograms flooding the routes that separated into other avenues like branching arteries. A flash of something red passed through a tinkling shop doorway, catching his periphery. He rushed forwards, exploding through the pink glass doors into something of a diner.

Irkens of different stock and rank mingled around silver and purple plated tables drinking from tall, narrow chalices and eating from what looked like flowery glass plates and cups.

Everything had the Empire crest stamped on it, from the styluses they used for their datapads to their cups and straws.

As soon as he came 'storming' through, they stopped and turned, their leers and snarls about as reflexive as blinking.

He smiled stupidly, his legs shaking on cue. He ruffled out the leaf of cookie ingredients and showed it to them. "Hunter on duty! You better hope you're not on my list!"

Maybe it was the wild, mad look in his eyes, the way his scythe of hair flopped sideways, or the general 'human stink' they were not used to, because they neither strayed closer nor challenged him.

Some of them looked so sickly it was a wonder they were still standing, and seemed to be affected by a kind of palsy. Their claws trembled constantly, and more than a few had trouble using the sporks to eat with.

He skirted towards a lonely table in the far corner, inwardly cursing that he had been mistaken and that Zim wasn't here at all.

The decor was that same heavy, oppressive purple, with giant tubes and vents dominating the walls and ceiling space. Hieroglyphic messages of a robotic and autonomous nature filled the screens hovering over everything and everyone, with some monitors even following Irkens around.

A withered looking vortian served the bar, doling out strangely colored effluvium drinks to the passage of soldiers while 'slaves' worked the shop floor with levitating plates and cups streaming out pillars of pink smoke. These 'alien' servants looked like they had come from various planets, as if mixing them up would incite subservience and minimize defiance. One of them was completely white, looking like some cat and hyena combination with beautifully long tapered ears and a tail. Another 'servant' was reptilian with bluish grey scales and bright yellow eyes. Vivid purple quills bristled out from the reptile's head and neck like a crystallized mane.

It seemed strange and unnecessary for an advanced race of Irkens to rely on 'servants' when robotically enhanced systems could do the job perfectly well, but, he supposed, having machines taking care of the basics may not be as satisfying or feed their egotism quite as much as slaves could. But even so, he couldn't be too sure.

He was so absorbed in the appearance of the place and the overall strangeness that it took him a moment to locate him. Diminutive and skeletal among his own kind, he was harder to keep track of as he sidled along a row of tables. He didn't look too sure of himself, or even know where he was going. He bumped into a taller Irken who whipped round to confront him.

"Um dig eta!" The taller Irken snarled into Zim's bruised face. "Defuga!"

"Hua sol!" His voice was fluttery, almost musical by comparison. One metal hand reached into his 'robe of rags' pocket to brandish a deck of shiny magnetic cards.

With a grunt, the taller shoved him into a table, PAK first.

Dib rose, about to disregard the dangers and hurry over when he saw Zim go down (thinking of how effectively his knife could hold them off), only for the former Elite to stiffly stand back up again a short second later, magenta eyes no longer quite as pale as before. The flaunting of power was obvious; the taller lifted a hand, claws splayed, and though Zim petulantly glared back, eyes full of loathing and hate-filled promises, he backed into the chair, and quietly slipped into it.

Dib wasn't sure how lawful it was to hit or harass others of their kind considering how violent and aggressive they were in the first place. He was also beginning to notice that no one else was wearing a collar.

Other soldiers began to surround him, dressed in dark red uniforms tapered with armour, capes and gauntlets as if they belonged to a higher echelon of knighthood.

Wearing dirty garb when everyone else wore either armour or robes of sequinned velvet, the Elite looked terribly out of place. They wore gloves and boots as if the items established honour, whereas without them, however simple the adornments, this seemed to further degrade an already degraded Irken as hens pecked off the feathers of other hens.

As much as he wanted them both removed from the situation, he forced himself to stay put, to observe, so that he could better understand what was going on.

Zim shakily placed the 'deck of cards' on the table, and this seemed to hold their interest.

Dib raised a pencil-thin eyebrow.

Competition, it seemed, was to an Irken as nectar was to a bee.

He looked for a vacant seat closer to his target, hoping Zim wouldn't notice when he felt more like a lumbering, ungainly goose amongst weasels. They reluctantly allowed him to pass with dancing side-steps and swift pirouettes that boasted insane fluidity in every movement, leaving him to feel slow and clumsy. His boots were comparative clubs to their tiny, triangular shaped feet.

"Slai lak!" The voice behind Dib was so aggressive and disturbing that it shot cold lead down his legs. A thin arm swept out and caught him in the kidney.

Jeez that hurt! He hurriedly side stepped, watching a soldier blither past but not without giving him the stink-eye.

Despite other creatures from various worlds walking around the tables enduring the same ostracism, he felt increasingly trapped, an alien amongst aliens. Gaudy and glittery eyes watched him impassively from half curious and hateful glances, and though they were discussing whatever matters they were involved in, they could not help but notice him, and keep noticing him.

He hoped the Irkens would leave him alone, and find him too stupid and worthless to find him of any interest. He thought of that ugly and painful collar around Zim's neck, and did not fancy wearing one himself.

"Nima xohlaysiz?" A deer-like servant with the Irken insignia stamped on his left hunch stood holding a shiny purple datapad. The hind feet ended in black hooves, and there appeared to be two stumps on his head where once there may have been horns or antlers. Either they had broken off, or they had been purposely sawn off.

"Excuse me? What?" His clear and perfunctory English seemed to attract more unwanted attention.

The creature, looking like someone had bred a deer with a giraffe, adjusted a tiny device cupped around its peaked and tufty ear. "You hear me now?"

"Urm... yes?"

"You like oil?"

"Oil?"

"Yah. You have monies? We need monies."

"Actually, I don't want anything."

"You have no monies?"

"Can I open a tab?" He stupidly asked.

"Open tab? How you open tab without monies?"

"Let me... urm... let me think about it. I haven't decided yet."

The deer-giraffe-thing looked perturbed. "You think now?"

"No, no not yet."

"...Now?"

"No I said!"

The Irkens looked over, spinning sharp looks his way, teeth flashing at the sound of his strange voice.

He searched through his pockets to try and act as though he had money, and brought out a bunch of tissues, loose coins, a packet of mints and his house keys. He planted the loose change on a nearby table, hoping anything that vaguely looked like silver or metal might be viable as credit.

The servant looked over the bleak offerings, shuffling the coins around with the toe of a hoof-like claw. Perhaps the creature saw the value in off-world currency or felt sorry for him, because he scooped up what there was and said curtly; "I be back." And left without confirming what it was he was coming back for.

He sat down again, not much closer to his target. As the isolation grew, feeling their red or purple or green eyes bore into him, he tried to act calm while his heart wildly pounded.

What if they all suddenly attack me? Will Zim notice? Will he do anything to help?

Most Irkens wore garish regalia as if they were about to attend some kind of fancy dress ceremony, but their shrewd faces and sharper eyes looked battle hardened, with purplish marks and rashes running down the skin that he could see, and Dib began to wonder how much of it all stemmed from Elysium or if this was normal for them.

Trying to keep it together, he focused on the little nymph between passing Irkens and servants. Just as one of the taller Irkens leaned in to confer something to the gaunt Elite, his view was blocked by a bunch of servants sauntering through.

He was beginning to establish the definition of 'rank' by way of what the Irkens wore and how they acted. Those of higher standing wore bright colours, with frivolous and oftentimes ridiculous additions to their outfit. Longer capes generally belonged to those taller, with gauntlets and shoulder pads that stuck up like spikes. Their boots went up to their knees, their gloves ending at the elbow. This flamboyancy spoke for itself, the armour secondary. As such they held themselves in high regard with their antennae raised to their tips.

Unconsciously reflecting the hierarchy perhaps, Zim's posture wasn't as elevated. His ragged antennae remained soft and low, the peaks hardly rising, and his shoulders were slouched and bent. Every so often, as if it had become a habit, Zim would work a claw behind the metal collar as if it was annoying him.

The four officers around the table spoke in garbling clicks and chirps that were hard on the ears.

Despite their size and obvious status, Zim seemed no more overwhelmed than if he had been sitting at an empty table. He spoke back, his shrill, lighter voice easier to pick out through the overwhelming bark of his fellow diners, his vocals sounding like clinking glass and twittering birdsong. His accent also seemed lilted and a little different to the others as if being on Earth for so long had changed the fluidity of his native tongue. His uniqueness was noticeable, even among his kind, with his expressions being more variable than the faces of his peers which remained flat and mostly uniform, their moods usually or exclusively conveyed through their antennae, eyes and teeth.

Dib couldn't help but feel more alienated hearing Zim speak in his native tongue. Maybe he was homesick, and it really didn't mean anything, but it left him feeling lonely, and forgotten.

One of the officers cut the desk before handing out the cards. The cards flashed, as if they contained some strange electromagnetic luminescence.

The alien equivalent of a poker game, perhaps?

The giraffe deer creature returned with a metal platter of some towering dessert-shaped glass jettisoning that cold pink smoke. Topping it was a striped white and pink straw poking from what appeared to be slatherings of cream. The creature put it down gently as if the thing might blow if he was even a little too rough with it.

"Urm, thanks," Dib said, eyeing it suspiciously.

"You like?" The servant asked.

Dib went to pick it up some spoon-shaped spork, nervously breathing in the smoke it was producing. It smelt of cotton candy. "What is this?"

"Sukakan!" Said the servant impatiently.

"Ohhh, right," he said, prodding the 'ice cream' concoction with the spork to see if it would move. Something that looked like glitter fizzed in the bubbling, glowing nucleus of the cocktail as though it had been pulled straight from Unicorn Land.

The servant nodded and moved away to serve someone else when there was an angry jeer from Zim's table. The tiny Irken lifted muted fuchsia at his opponents before spreading his cards and letting them see what he had.

An officer slammed his fists down, cards scattering to the floor.

Dib stiffened where he sat, not liking the way the others were glaring at the smaller.

"Juak! Haklar ug sha!" The tallest officer rose to wrench the metal arm up as if to show them, saying the words 'defuga' with contempt.

"Al huklar ug defuga!" They all wailed, throwing up their spindly arms in disgust or triumph. Zim looked at as many as he could, eyes burning like pokers smothered in flame.

The officer holding his metal arm pulled, as if he was trying to experimentally 'pull it off.' Dib had made sure this could not be done, and the officer seemed unimpressed by this result. So he pulled again, the force inevitably throwing the now squealing Irken to the floor. Zim's outrage was met by an uproar of laughter as they ungraciously threw what appeared to be tokens at his chest and face as he raucously spat and cursed. Still laughing, they turned around to leave, the head officer throwing aside any Irken who got in the way of him and the exit.

Touching the side of his head where a coin had sharply connected, Zim began to shakily retrieve the tokens, but it didn't take long for his 'winnings' to attract unwanted attention. Before he had collected many of the tokens, Irkens barged over him to grab whatever they could.

Zim's mask broke clean in half, "Hey!" He shouted in English, "Get off! They're mine!"

"So uah so!" An Irken with exceptionally dark green skin waved a token teasingly in his face. When Zim reached for it, the Irken merely lifted it higher.

Dib fingered the knife at his belt, forcing himself to stay put, to not let his emotions fling him into the centre of creatures he did not fully understand.

Why is he not using his PAK legs? Maybe the crack in his PAK has sealed them inside... or maybe it's because they'll do worse to him if he retaliates...

Zim pocketed what he could and hastily retreated. Having not expected him to leave so quickly, Dib almost tripped over his own legs to keep up with him.

It was a mistake trying to rush (and push) your way through a throng of wasp-angry Irkens. Punching a hornet's nest would have earned a friendlier reaction.

"Gok um sha!" One screamed when he accidently blundered into it. They were so small that it kinda easy not to see them when they were mostly child-sized.

Reciprocal claws ran across his leg for good measure. "Aaagh!" He wheeled around, holding his shin, the Irken something like a crouching dog ready to lunge again. "Sorry!" He held up Zim's wrinkled photo. "I'm a hunter! After... Zim!"

It bought him time, and before the Irken could much less answer, he hurtled through the glass doors and into the stinking street of psychedelic lights and nonstop advertisement. He caught sight of him just before he limped round a corner. The dishevelled state of his rags and metal collar easily distinguished him.

What is going on?

This is the same tiny, stupid, loud-mouthed idiot, right?

The district was empty, the pale sister moon dipping behind the girth of one of the orbital rings. Rubbish skittered across magnetic speed lanes. A kind of cold fever started to grow in place of daylight, a daylight that had never penetrated very far. Vibrant, sordid emporiums lit up with garish neon until almost every corner and avenue was radiating a hedonistic glow that was something of a psychedelic nightmare.

Zim's ghostly pallor would change from pastel teal, to gentle purple or blue as he walked through these interchanging shafts of light.

Dib kept to a fair distance, but staying in shadow was proving harder as twilight closed in, natural colours washing away to a punkish effervescence that confused the eyes.

Less Irkens pervaded the curbs and designated pathways, with the low boom of music suffusing the oil-tinged air.

Pursuing the invader without making too much noise wouldn't have been so difficult if he didn't have to keep avoiding the trash. He would later discover that there were places where Irkens of higher standing roamed, with the avenues being nothing short of spotless, whereas here, the lower districts seemed to be the city's dumping ground. Heaps of metal had been piled on piles. Strange critters with six legs would rummage through the scrap, twitching their little black beaks.

The street shone as if it was covered in sweat. As Zim walked, shoulders and antennae drooping, he would lazily swat at a fly that wouldn't leave him be.

Dib accidently sent a rod of rusty metal spinning with the toe of his boot, the sound ricocheting like gunshot, and he ducked behind a street sign.

Seconds passed, and he peeked round to see Zim's gaunt figure growing smaller in the distance as if he had never stopped to notice.

As the sky turned into a drug-hazed mauve, the Irken approached something of a vendor where the shop stuck out of a steel-plated wall. There wasn't much to see, just a horse-shoe shaped counter that curved outwards with overly bright posters and holographic symbols. From the iconic Irken 'eye' insignia of the inverted triangle, a heart shape replaced it.

Another Irken stood behind the counter wearing something of a head piece that sat on his skull like a tightly fitted helmet. When he saw the Elite he seemed more considerate as if Zim held no more affluence than a vagrant that should be pitied.

Stepping into a pool of shade, Dib watched Zim stretch up to give the seller the tokens. The seller took his time inspecting them as if he doubted their worth before he finally passed him a little purple bag.

Then Zim was off again, impatiently rummaging through the bag with his dirty metal hand while he staggered through the purple haze, little black flies buzzing around his drooping antennae.

Dib was about done. He was tired of following, and tired of wondering what the hell this all meant.

Something of a motel came into view. The structure was a long, rectangular pinkish block with curved circular slots for doors that were stained and dented. Strange prickly plants tried to grow through the detritus and metal pavings, with wonky sign posts flickering from a loose circuit or bulb. It looked like a place set in the middle of a post-apocalyptic world where decay and disease flourished.

Zim pulled something out of the little bag. Light glinted off a cylinder shaped device as he drew it into the base of his bruised neck below the collar. There was an audible click as it was dispensed and the Irken jerked it out.

What the fuck...?

As he stepped out, caution forgotten, Zim hit a button on the oval door, it slid open and he slipped inside. Just as Dib got there the door snapped shut in his face.

"Zim? Hey!" He rapped his fist on surprisingly hard metal. "Open up! You wanna shout at me? Well here I am you good for nothing thankless jerk!"

He stepped back, breathing hot fire into his lungs, fists clenching at his sides for the imminent confrontation.

The door wasn't explosively opening in the first five seconds.

There was something of a code stencilled on the top left: Unit 27782. Hitting the same button at crotch-height did not grant him entry like it had for Zim, and he was beginning to suspect the button had some kind of face or claw recognition.

He hammered harder on the metal until it reverberated. "Why are you hiding, you coward? I'm not leaving until you talk to me!"

The door clicked, opened and a rather squat and rotund little Irken looked up at him from inside. His human appearance obviously startled the creature because he stared at him with that aghast big bug-eyed look. "Urm... hello?" He attempted in English. Hearing the human rant through the door must have given the Irken some idea of what language to communicate in. "Do I know you?" His voice was surprisingly soft, but Dib still expected the aggression to come rising out of the squat little thing when he least expected it.

"No." He tried to see past him. All he got was a shot of the entrance. Much like a foyer of sorts the chamber opened into different atriums to other areas. There wasn't much else to see except stained mauve metal walls and sparse furnishings that looked about as comfortable as ice sculptures. "I need to get by! I'm here for Zim!"

"Oh, you know him?"

"Yeah... I'm Dib, from Earth?"

"Oooh wow!" He made this incredible smile and then promptly bowed. Dib flinched back a step, not trusting the behaviour. "The Dib? The human Dib?"

He frowned, puzzled. "Urm... yeah?"

"I've always wanted to meet Zim's greatest devotee! He's always talks about you, you know! And you're so tall...!"

Wait, did he just say I'm Zim's devotee? "And who are you?"

"Oh silly me for not introducing myself! I'm Skoodge! Nice to meet ya!" And he held out a gloved hand. As the flies buzzed in his ears, a few of them scuttling through his hair, he hesitated, not sure 'shaking hands' was the proper response.

"Skoodge?" He wasn't sure Zim had ever mentioned a 'Skoodge' before.

"Uh huh. That's me!" And he needlessly pointed at himself, one hand still open for him to 'shake.'

Dib reached out, taking his surprisingly strong hand in his and shook. When they parted, 'Skoodge' continued to stand there, perversely smiling. Dib waited, running a nervous hand down his arm, hoping to be invited inside.

They stood awkwardly for a few more moments, with Skoodge still smiling.

He couldn't take it any longer. "Can I come in? I've come a really long way and..."

At that, the rotund Irken shook his head slowly. "Zim's not available right now."

"What do you mean? I've just seen him walk in!"

"That's not what I meant. He's taken a shot of zoltiah. There's no use talking to him when he's passed out."

"What the heck does that mean?" His anger made the Irken flinch, but he was past caring.

"His next shift begins in three hours. He has to sleep until then."

"But...!"

Skoodge gently shut the door and stepped outside, the gesture finalizing his decision. "I'm really sorry, urm, Dib was it? You look pretty worn out yourself. Did you really come all the way here, from Earth? Does that mean you have your own ship?"

The Irken's enthusiasm worried him. "I... I just sorta arrived out of a worm hole, and the ship's an Irken class vessel... urm... I kinda burrowed it... the pilot wasn't exactly using it anymore... it needs repairs, but I have no way of paying for anything and I left Gir back at the hangar. He's urm... Zim's S.I.R unit."

"Ooh Gir!" And he clapped his hands together as if he knew the robot.

Who is this guy? "I thought Zim might be, you know, pleased to see us..." His energy kind of fizzled out, the exhaustion draining him away like water down a plughole.

"Heey, no worries! There's a place across the Waylay that might have room if you want to stay awhile, or maybe I can haggle Volter into making a little extra room for ya! Wanna get a bite to eat? You'll love the snacks they have here! Wait until you try..."

This 'Skoodge' seemed to have the breath to go on and on. "Who's Volter?"

"He's our assistant vortian! Usually they're assigned to other... less... savoury... duties, but, hey, it's been great having him around!"

"You have a vortian?"

"Yup! So, why did you come all this way for Zim? I mean, many aliens don't really 'visit' Zarvius..."

Can I trust this guy? He thought, and since when did Irkens actually smile without being evil about it?

He didn't exactly have much of a choice as far as trust was concerned, but he could just play his cards close to his chest, and he refused to give up anything until he started getting some answers. "You're aware that Zim was sent to Earth, right? Mission to enslave the planet and all that? He was then later sent to this place called Elysium."

The Irken's happy smile suddenly broke apart.

Yeah. You know, don't you?

"He came back, well, most of him. Now he's here. I mean, what's it to me, right? I'm just a 'human.'" When he looked at him, those great big red eyes softened like a melting sunset. "Skoodge... what's going on?"

"You must be tired." He said softly, eyes wet as if they were holding tears. "Let's go somewhere safer, and I'll tell you what I can."

Dib07: Thanks for reading! Hope you are enjoying this weird story!