So get that look off your face / gimme back my space
It's better that I run for home, I'm happier when I'm alone
I'm in pain again
It's not your spoken word I crave / your advice would send me to the grave
Sorry that I think aloud / I'm trying to rise above the crowd
That's in my brain
Still looking for that ray of sunshine / put a smile upon my face
Instead off all this tension I can taste
--Excerpt from "What Do You Want From Me," by the Young Dubliners
------
Heh, how many times had I walked down this street since the first time he'd come to Earth? Fifty times? Over a hundred? It must be some absurdly high number, because I don't even need to watch where I'm going anymore. I can keep my head downcast, able to watch the cracked pavement on the sidewalk pass under me, my feet knowing exactly where to go. It's a little embarrassing, I guess, but that's fine . . . it'll give me a little time to think about the recent turn of events.
So, after two and a half years of being gone, he's finally come back and is most definitely up to something . . . something to do with aflatoxin, I assume, but what? Naturally, it must be something dangerous that I can't let him get away with, once more going unnoticed to the eye of the unsuspecting people I've defended. Another thing I'd really like to know is why he seems so different. The Zim I remember didn't seem so . . . venomous. Mean, yes, but not venomous. And the way he spoke to me, the way he just glared . . . unnerving, to say the least. I didn't like it. Not at all. What happened to all the pride, all the energy he used to put into simply making a jibe at humanity? Or at me, for that matter . . .?
All of this hostility . . . maybe it's an act to keep me wondering. You'd think that after being away for so long, he'd have something to say, wouldn't you? Some taunt to let me know that he's back and there's nothing I can do to stop him? . . . not that I wouldn't be able to, of course. It's purely aggravating not knowing what's going on, though. And his eyes . . . I wonder if eyes are truly the window to one's soul. Heh, do aliens even have souls? Well if so, what I saw—though I'm not sure what it was; intense malevolence . . . possibly hurt?—startled me.
And what am I supposed to do when I get to his base, if it's even there?
Am I crazy for just going off with no plan and not even a simple water gun in my pocket?
How will I get in . . .?
What will I say . . .
All these things I should've thought about.
Shut up, Dib. You think too much. You're here, anyway.
Eyes still downcast to the dampened pavement below, Dib cut his thoughts short when he came to the familiar location where a little green house once stood. He found himself unable to bring his gaze up, afraid of what might not be there, though he knew the fear was childish. He chided himself for it, after. Even if the base wasn't there, it had to be somewhere not too far away, right? Zim attended the same school as he, for goodness sake, so the alien must be based somewhere close by.
He nervously bit the inside of his cheek. "If it's not there when I look up . . . I swear, I'll find it. You can't hide from me, Zim."
Slowly, Dib brought his eyes up, skimming over a little yellow fence and a flag that stood behind it, reading: I 'heart' Earth. Beyond that, many lawn ornaments adorned the yard, from a flamingo and an odd puffer fish to field of eerie gnomes that appeared to be guarding a path . . . a slightly jagged path leading to a familiar green house.
"It's here!" he shouted, the pure surprise and excitement he felt making themselves evident in those two little words. He let out an unwelcome giggle and quickly clamped his hands over his mouth, instead settling for a delighted grin. Finding himself in an elated haze, he mindlessly walked in the yard by way of the gate and passed through the gnome field, absently noting that they did nothing in response to his presence. Such a thing briefly snapped him back into reality and he turned on his heel for further investigation.
The gnomes sat motionless, still rooted in the same position they'd been when he first entered. Just to make sure, though, Dib conducted a test that consisted of jumping and flailing his arms wildly in front of the gnomes, baffled when they merely sustained their blank stares and immobile stances.
He scratched his head, astonished. It was impossible for the defense systems not to see him; he'd grown a considerable two inches, after all. "Weird . . ." With a shrug, he resumed his previous march up the two small steps and stopped at the door, blankly staring at the men's restroom sign, pondering his next move. "Heh, what am I going to do? Knock on the door? Ohh, lovely plan, Dib . . ." Chiding his stupidity, he looked to his left. "The window! Always a good source for base infiltration." After making his way to said window, he cautiously peered through, noticing that the TV was turned on, but nobody seemed to be present in the living room.
"Still looks the same . . ." A strange sense of nostalgia overcame him, but he quickly shook the feeling away. What a stupid time to reminisce. He began lifting the window, finger tips all a-tingle, but halted midway when he felt a jolt and heard a creaking sound coming from beneath his feet. He looked down, blinking repeatedly, coming to the slow realization that the grass he stood upon was actually covering a trapdoor that happened to be opening . . .
"Hey . . . that's new," he managed before the hatch opened entirely. As he fell, he managed to hook his fingernails into the dirt, struggling to hold on, yet fate seemed to conspire against him. The roots in the grass gave way and he went plummeting below.
He slid through some enormous tubing, twisting, turning, and winding his way below ground level at a relatively fast pace, his boots scratching against the metal in a pitiful attempt to slow his speed. Just when he was beginning to wonder exactly how far down he was going, his body brutally slammed against a cold metal surface. He hadn't even had the chance to wonder where he was before he found himself constricted by robotic limbs that coiled themselves around his arms, legs, and torso. The grip was loose, but it was enough to keep him constrained.
He realized that he'd hit the ground pretty hard when he found it nearly unbearable to lift his head from the floor, but it mattered little as the robotic arms hoisted him into a standing position, causing him extreme dizziness. After clearing his head, he tried to keep his blurred attention on anything at all as his vision danced into focus, revealing machinery, laboratory equipment, and computer monitors everywhere. One particular screen stood out; a large one up ahead, emitting bright light in such a dark room. He had to look away, but not before discerning a particular figure standing in front of the monitor.
"I seriously hoped you'd just take my advice and stay away . . ." That maliciously high-pitched voice could only belong to one being, of course.
Dib snorted and turned his squinted gaze to the muddled silhouette outlined by the computer's glare, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. "Sure, Zim . . . and let you go ahead and do whatever it is you're doing? Tch, yeah . . . I know you're up to something."
"The ever-so-observant Dib-human . . ." As the blurry figure drew closer, the shape became more definite, more defined, solidifying into the form of a small Irken Invader, red eyes creased into a vicious scowl. "Aren't I always up to something?" The tone dripped with sarcasm.
". . .are you making fun of me?" Dib half-expected Zim to say yes and grin evilly as that was something he may have done before, but the reminder that the alien was no longer so immature was quick in coming when his scowl darkened tenfold.
Dib couldn't help but flinch, his stomach clenching at the look Zim gave. It was so unsettling . . . When the alien gave no response—merely standing there, glowering, hands held behind his back—Dib cleared his throat. He had to say something to break this deafening silence. "So . . . what's your plan this time?"
"You have no business in knowing."
"If you think I'm gonna let you get away with this—"
"You won't get the chance to stop me."
The interruption caught the human off-guard. "—I . . . what . . .?"
With a sigh, Zim further neared his captive, casting the boy predatory glares as he brought his hands from behind his back, revealing a small vial filled with a clouded blue substance. "I have no time for this 'cat and mouse' game you like to play. While you may have made things interesting in the past, you're presently a burden that I don't have the patience to deal with."
". . .what are you going to do?"
The alien waved the vial in Dib's face. "Make you useful."
Dib stared curiously at the blue liquid swirling around in the vial before turning his gaze to Zim, the invader now grinning. It wasn't the same old proud, dismissive grin, either; it was much darker, much more wicked. Dib didn't like where this was going, not one bit. Then something occurred to him . . .
"Is the Earth really this important to you . . .?"
Zim's grin faltered, his red eyes narrowing, staring directly in the human's. "Eh . . .? Don't try to change the subject with your inferior stinkbeast inquiries . . ."
Dib had to fight to keep a smile from emerging. He never thought he'd be happy to hear the term 'stinkbeast'; at least that was familiar Zim behavior. "I mean . . . why did you even come back? Is taking over such an 'inferior' planet that meaningful?"
This seemed to anger the Irken. "It's not about you or your stupid little ball of filth anymore!"
"Then what is it about?" When Dib received no immediate response, he went on, "Are you out to prove something to someone? Is that it?"
". . . you think you know so much about me, but you don't, so just shut up."
Dib smirked. "Did I hit a nerve, Zim? You forget who you're talking to. I watched you for so long, took so many notes, I might just know more about you than YOU do!"
"I told you to shut up . . ."
"Did you come back so you could prove to everyone how great you are?"
Zim growled. "Shut UP!"
"Did your alien army get tired of waiting on you?" Dib had no idea how close to the truth he actually was, which only fueled Zim's already ignited anger. He had to get the human to shut up; one way or another, he just had to make him stop. Acting on impulse, he struck Dib with a direct blow to the jaw, causing the unprepared human's head to reel back, blood beginning to show itself at the corner of his mouth. Much to Zim's disappointment, though, Dib was still conscious.
But at least he shut up.
Astounded at this unexpected outburst, Dib could only blink as he watched the alien tremble with suppressed emotion.
Zim, scarlet eyes ablaze with fury, pointed a gloved finger at the young paranormalist as if he was about to say something, but briskly shook his head and walked away, jaw tightened, shoulders tensed. He stomped to the nearest wall, leaned against it, and sank to the ground, head downcast, glaring at the floor.
Dib was entirely taken aback by the whole scene. Obviously something had happened to the invader to make him react such a way . . . But it was none of Dib's concern, right? With nothing more to do, the human began wiggling out of the loose grip the robotic arms had on him, wincing when the mechanical limbs fell to the floor with a loud clatter. After wiping away the blood that trickled down the side of his mouth, he looked at the alien, expecting him to become outraged, but Zim either didn't notice—which was unlikely—or didn't care.
Now would be a good time to get out, Dib mused, yet he saw no visible exit. With a sigh of exasperation, he let his gaze fall on Zim, just sitting there against the wall, looking so utterly pathetic that Dib almost felt sorry for him . . . keyword being 'almost,' of course.
His mind raced a mile a minute, weighing his options, trying to figure out what his next move should be. On one hand, common sense told him to get the hell out of there and do it fast, but that was clearly impossible given recent observations. On the other hand, his cursed humanity told him he should at least say something to Zim. In the end, he hung his head in defeat and trod his way to the alien who had yet to move, save for the simple rise and fall of his chest. His humanity won out, of course. After all, that's what he was fighting for, wasn't it? And with no exit in sight, what else could he do? He stopped in front of the invader, waiting for some type of response.
Zim didn't give any.
"So . . ." Dib began. "Is that what happened, then?"
". . . I'll let you live longer if you leave now . . ."
Ever-persistent, Dib knelt and tried to look Zim in the face, but the alien's head remained down. "Is that what happened?"
Finally, Zim raised his head, eyes narrowed, but not out of anger. More likely agitation than anything. "Why are you so interested in knowing?"
"Curiosity?"
"What is that phrase you Earth worms like to say . . . curiosity killed the cat?"
"Well . . . I'm not a cat, Zim."
The alien rolled his eyes and Dib couldn't help but smile just a little. However, he now found himself at a loss for words, having never considered comforting another being one of his strong points, and rightfully so. Scratching his head, he tried to think of a time somebody consoled him.
Tch, coming up dry, he thought to himself, bitterly.
As the silence built up, so did the tension, and he soon found himself battling an onslaught of conflicting emotions that shot through his brain, each one shouting an ensemble of thoughts. One told him to take advantage of the fact that the enemy was down and put an end to the threat, while a different one wished for the old Zim to emerge from beneath this malicious creature. Another insisted that he find out the alien's plan before proceeding any further, and yet an additional thought willed him to continue this hesitant comforting attempt. Maybe those last two could be combined, he pondered. Try to find out his plans while remaining reassuring and possibly gain his trust. Yeah, that's perfect.
Bringing his attention back to reality, Dib opened his mouth to address the Irken, but found Zim's head cast down, eyes trained to the metal floor once again. In order to retain his soothing approach, he tentatively reached out a hand and gently raised the alien's chin to make eye contact, hoping to gain his full regard. When the large, ruby eyes met his amber ones, though, he abandoned all previous thought and instead studied the alien's face.
For the second time that night, he wondered if eyes were the windows to one's soul. He intently stared into the red orbs before him, searching for anything that could clue him in on the enemy's disposition, and just when he thought he might have seen a hint of sorrow, it was gone in the blink of an eye. In its place, confusion.
Dib shook his head and pulled away the hand that lingered beneath his rival's chin. He felt his cheeks grow warm and matched Zim's perplexity with an uncertain gaze of his own. He cleared his throat to break the silence; this tension was too uncomfortable.
He looked to the floor. "Sorry . . ."
Instantly, the alien's eyes narrowed. "I don't need your pity, you filthy scum!"
Dib blinked, surprised by the sudden outburst. "Zim, I didn't mean—"
"Get. Out."
"But—"
"NOW."
"Just, give me a minute to—"
He was cut short by a laser gun shoved in his face, charged and ready to go. By nature, he wanted to know how Zim had acquired a laser so quickly, but this time, he gave into common sense. There was no time to wonder such things when his life was on the line, so he raised his hands in a defensive manner and slowly stood up. "Okay . . . okay, I'll leave . . . I'm going, see?" He backed away and rapidly glanced around . . . Where the hell was the exit, anyway?!
"Computer!" Still aiming the laser in the human's direction, the alien's finger danced on the trigger, fighting not to pull it. He continued, his voice echoing his infuriated demeanor, "Take the human to ground level immediately!"
Before Dib knew it, robotic arms descended from the ceiling and wrapped themselves around him once again, then instantly pulled him upward, passed all the wiring and tubes.
After watching the human ascend and disappear above, Zim snarled, throwing the laser to the ground. The useless piece of machinery hadn't been charged, anyway . . . Sinking to the hard floor, he let out a ragged sigh, his mind reeling over different notions. He thought about his plans, he thought about his revenge, but mostly, he dwelled on the past and thought about the devastating sadness that was slowly overtaking him.
Such weakness.
When Dib staggered through the front door, Gaz was sitting on the couch, dominating her Game Slave 2.
"Your girlfriend called," she said. "Three times. Sounded pretty pissed, too. Wants you to call her back"
At the moment, Dib could barely remember he had a girlfriend, let alone her phone number. He responded with an idle 'huh' and crawled up the stairs, believing he heard Gaz mutter something about him looking like hell. Once in his room, he locked the door and collapsed on his bed, mulling over all the events that had taken place within the last day . . . but mostly what had taken place within the last hour. His mind was once again filled with the intense chorus of emotions.
"What would be the next logical step?" He wondered aloud. His thoughts offered no clear answer as they raised the volume a notch, now a loud clamor quickly pounding his brain into a forceful headache. With an irritated grunt, he pulled the blankets over his head and willed himself to go to sleep.
Tomorrow would be a day to start anew.
- end chapter 4 -
