Memory download: Disturbing dream
I bring my ship into the Massive's docking bay and unpack the evidence I brought for the Tallest. A guard meets me as I get out . . . the Tallest are businesslike as they suck on their sodas. Red puts his down as I open the case.
A tech interrupts. Just informing the Tallest that there will be a slight delay in the Massive's progress as they change the main fuel core.
He looks at me.
I know what's about to happen: "Night?" he says.
But this time there's surprise in my voice again. "Rife?" And an unpleasant edge.
"It's been so long. I tried to --"
"Shut up," I snarl, at the same moment doing it for him. He chokes; I can feel the ridges of his windpipe digging into my palm. "You are a defective bastard and you ruined my life," I inform him, trying so hard to hide my emotion that I can barely breathe.
I feel warm blood between my fingers. My vision blurs with tears. I can't do this. I can't choose. Do I want Rife or my rank? I obviously can't have both . . . .
I'm about to wake up. I feel the blanket against my skin, the shape of the cushions as I start to regain consciousness, but then I'm swept back into the dream by a rush of emotion.
Rage. Self-hatred. Bloodlust. I glare at Rife, smile twistedly. "You defective scum." The words come from my mouth, but not in my voice. I've spoken with an edge of that voice in mine, sometimes, but this goes beyond any tone I've ever used in smoothness, acidity and venom.
"For all the pain you've caused me," I say in that unfamiliar tone.
Still choking him with one hand, I rip into his arm with the claws of the other. I throw him down, pin him there with the legs from my PAK. This time, I use both hands, and I feel my claws hit bone, bumping over his ribs like rough terrain as the flesh of his chest tears away. He's screaming, the Tallest are yelling, but I hear practically nothing. Faint shouts almost drowned by the roar of silence as I break and tear and gouge and slash.
Everything is the color of blood now.
Everything but his bones.
Rife is gone, but they can never take him away from me.
I wake up slowly, feeling dazed and numb. I eat something and then pass out on the floor.
File: Journal
Entry: It's time. My supplies came in the mail today, and I have them all packed and locked up in the ship. We'll need to move on as soon as I've kept my appointment; hopefully, the virus will work the way the documentation says it should and not faster. That would be a serious problem. As things stand, I don't think a little pain should be enough to keep me from getting us out of here and setting us up in Zim's old base.
Emo bug is really very useful sometimes. I'm quite glad now that I had to get rid of the stupid pseudo-Invader; it makes everything so much more convenient for this plan.
File:ReplacementJournal
Memory download: Surreal
I wake up on the floor of the cockpit, where I fell. The ship is closed; it must have shut automatically for some reason. I sit up. My right arm hurts, like I scraped it. I check, and there's a bandage that wasn't there last time I was awake. It's thin, and the blood soaked into the padding looks dry, so I carefully pull it off. Underneath is a line of Irken writing. A tattoo.
It spells one word: Shade.
I touch it, and the tenderness convinces me it's real. Not an illusion. How did this happen?
I get up, look around wildly . . . and realize the ship isn't parked in the furnace anymore. It's in a building. An Irken building. I open the cockpit and leap out, my senses going crazy with alertness. Then I realize I'm standing on my PAK legs -- I have my PAK again. This is insane. What's happening here?
"What is this?" I yell. "Who are you?"
My voice echoes through the room, down the halls. Nothing answers.
"Computer!"
"Yeah?" the mechanical voice asks dully. I remember that voice -- Zim's computer.
"Who else is here?" I demand.
"Nobody."
"No one in the whole base?"
"Nope, just you. Oh, here's that news story."
"What?"
Before I can think about what the computer just said, a human pops up on a video screen, talking about something. ". . . doctors have not yet identified the virus but believe it is connected to a tattoo shop in Washington Valley where both victims worked. Two other people who were at the tattoo shop yeserday have been hospitalized with similar symptoms. The shop has been shut down for inspection, and health officials are reccommending that anyone who has visited Black's Ink in Washington Valley within the past week treat any weakness, vomiting, and muscle aches as serious and get medical attention immediately. Investigators want to speak to Shade Garrett of Washington Valley in connection with this case." As he says this, the screen displays a photo of a young human female with short, purple-streaked black hair that hangs down over her left eye. The screen goes black; the report is over.
Shade. Her name is everywhere now. The humans believe she's one of them, but a convincing disguise isn't hard to create.
"Computer, find me all the information in the Irken network on Shade."
"There isn't anything," the computer replies.
"What?"
"No Irken named Shade has ever existed."
"What about other races, then?"
"There's no record of any living thing by that name."
Of course, they could have just deleted everything that could prove her existance. But . . . I need to look at this rationally. I never see her. She does things while I'm asleep -- and I never slept before she showed up. She hacked my computer system and stole my PAK. She killed Zim in a psychotically bloody way. She unleashed either WhiteX or a very similar virus in the town near the old power plant. And then there's this tattoo . . .
They said the virus killed people at a tattoo shop. Exposure to WhiteX-infected blood -- my blood -- can kill, even as small an amount as a tattoo would release. And tattooing is not an easy thing to learn, really. Does it mean I was there? But . . . no. it's not possible.
I need to go through this ship and find out everything. Try passwords, open all the storage compartments, all of it.
First, the central password. It'll open all the files, except the most secure ones.
It's Shade, idiot.
I shake my head. Odd. But I try it . . . and it works. A file opens automatically.
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File: Formal introduction
So you finally figured out my name. Congratulations. I suppose you now want to know who I am, exactly, and what I want. If you really think about it, you know the answer to the first one. From there, the second shouldn't be hard to deduce.
By the way, Rife is dead.
"I'm the culture shock, temporary block . . . The big surprise is me." - The Elms
"Do you understand? The dream is over." - The Juliana Theory
"This truth drives me into madness . . .
Don't close your eyes
God knows what lies behind them." - Evanescence
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She knows about Rife. And she knows . . . is there anything about me she doesn't know? That last quote seems related to the dream I had.
I rush over and access the news network. I can finally find out what really happened that day.