Debacle (R) - Subject Zim

Summary:

All his life Dib has wanted to capture Zim and gain the victory and fame he always wanted. When his wish comes true however, not everything falls so comfortably into place.

Disclaimer:

I do not own the IZ characters. However this story and this idea is mine.

This is from the old story Debacle which I rewrote awhile ago. You can read it as it is, and needs nothing else to accompany it. ^-^

Warnings:

Dark themes throughout. Some chapters carry a hefty R warning.


Dib07: Thank you so much for the reviews! You have no idea how much this motivates me! After the last chapter I wasn't sure how much interest this story would have, especially due to its dark and raw nature that will be coming up, and I have to say I am more than exhilarated by the amazing response! I would also like to shower Flipingoutfan aka HaleyRiler for the fanart on tumblr! It is simply incredible, I love Zim's expression, you captured him perfectly and it is a true gift! You worked hard, and I can't get over it! So, urm here we go!

Guest

I hope you enjoy! Your feedback means the world to me!

Guest

Thank you so much! I am bouncing!


Price to Play

Behind him came the eternal clicking and clacking of a clock tacked to the topmost part of the featureless wall. It was the only furnishing in the spaces of white and grey, save for the metal contraption he was strapped to, the dark windows looking into his world, and the wearisome, primeval machine blipping and bleeping at his side.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Blip bleep.

He opened his eyes wearily, bony limbs sporadically shivering or rattling from the airy coolness that kept brushing over his skin. Reaffirming the blank walls and the blank blemishes of the observation screens put new cracks and dents in his otherwise fragile hopes. They had all gone home, unless the screen was purposely darkened so that he could not see who remained, watching.

The surveillance camera was the only other deviation in the room's plain and intimidating vacuity. It stared back with its little green light, its black lens filled with his anxious stare.

There was a plate of venting high up on each wall, and before him was the door that had frequently spilled out men in hazmat suits with their cryptic tools. His eyes compulsively settled on the shiny steel door as he speculated on what might be on the other side of it, and how far freedom might be. It might be just on the other side, or down a corridor with nothing else in his way.

He really needed to pee.

The invader looked dubiously to the ceiling looming down from above, as if half expecting the Armada to come blasting through it and pull him out.

Lean, pale green toes and claws flexed in the cool, ventilated air, the lack of fabric pressing around the digits an unwelcome and unfamiliar sensation.

Trying to squeeze his wrists out of the restraints offered the same consequences as before: his hands simultaneously burning and tingling from his previous efforts, the rub marks having darkened with bloody stains, the flesh breaking and peeling as the skin came away. His claws prickled from the lack of circulation and his feet were alternatively numb, cold or fiery with tingles and sparks.

He glanced down to re-acknowledge the white plastic tag secured around his ankle, encoded with a registration number and the lab name 'A01,' and for twenty minutes he rattled and twisted and beat himself against the bonds, causing the metal of the chair-platform to shake and creak. The PAK clunked and whirred with equal protesting.

Breathing hard, sweat forming and then dripping down his pointed chin and pinched forehead, he remained in that lastingly uncomfortable position with legs slightly spread apart. Trying to bend forwards against the nylon strap to escape the cramp of sitting in one place for so long did nothing to relieve the agony. The only thing that broke the monotonous pain was the occasional spurt of shivering.

Tick tock clacked the clock.

Blip bleep went the monitoring machine.

His antennae could only listen to the reaching silence beyond these irritating rhythms, save for the wish-washing hum of his PAK and the steady, cold breath of the ventilation. The room stank of his sweat, air purification, and the synthetic coldness of all things manmade.

Hard, shiny eyes of fuchsia settled on the camera and its blinking green light.

From the darkest prescient, he could feel them watching behind the dark glass, like one could feel a bad dream on the rise.

Events prior to his capture flashed to the forefront of his mind when there was very little else to dwell on, and he strained against the cuffs with renewed desperation as pain shot up and down his arms. Rivulets of dark bottle green dripped down the steel pointed armrest to its holding strut, and then to the metal seat beneath. Dabs of green were simultaneously flecked or dotted on his skinny thighs, the pale silvery floor and the screen of the monitoring unit.

Since the chair/table/thing was bolted to the floor, no amount of struggling or thrashing could unearth it from its central point, but this never stopped him from trying.

"Get me out of here! I command you! Any of you! You'll rue the day! I'll... I'll get you all for this! Even if it means coming to every little house or privy or whatever it is you call homes..."

Zim rattled to a stop, chest toiling with hard, thirsty breaths, oily sweat coating his skull and the skin of his collarbone.

His mind would sooner suppurate from tedium at this rate. Sitting here for hours was enough of a torture for an intelligent being that thrived on mental stimulation and activity.

His bladder was going to burst, but letting go, and fouling the seat he was cuffed to was more appalling, even if it might relieve him of immediate discomfort.

Dethroning him of his uniform was perhaps his greatest loss after capture. It removed him of all dignity and distinction, dissolving his honour with the immediate removal of his belongings - belongings that signified strength as much as integrity. Without them he felt significantly smaller and significantly vulnerable. He had always been a vain and private creature who went to great lengths to make sure he looked his best, and that his uniform was without creases or wrinkles. It was part of him, exemplified him...

He grunted, trying to shift over to get comfortable, and couldn't. He felt the warmth budding between his legs.

Please, no! No!

He could not bring his knee any closer to hold it in no more than he could hide the atrocity of the act. Dark yellow swelled between his loins before it ran off the seat and down the metal legs to the floor. He squeaked, staring at the amber liquid as it continued to swell and pool and run, suffusing the air with the strong stink of ammonia.

The escaping liquid was hot against the icy coolness of his thighs, and this embarrassment made warm flushes rise beneath his glassy eyes. Drip by drip, amber liquid trickled off the sharp edge, intermingling with the tick tocking of the wall clock and the blip blipping of the little computer monitor. Trickles of it went down his left knee, pooling in the webs of his toes before dripping off them too.

-x-

He woke with a start; eyes flying open when he felt something heavy and solid land on his chest. His mind scrabbled to the fore, believing that Zim had broken out and had finally come for him.

Shiny, inquisitive cyan circles looked back from the dark, and the little robot put a hand to its mouth to try and suppress the giggles.

Dib propped himself up on his elbows, scythe of hair coming to dangle before his eyes as he took a breath to try and ease the ensuring floods of panic. "Am I still dreaming?" He ran a hand over his eyes and face, feeling the sweat there.

"I guess so." Came the gentle sing-song voice of the robot.

He reached for his glasses on the bedside drawer and slipped them on.

Gir lifted a hand in a wave. "Morning!" He chirped.

Dib begrudgingly looked to the bedside clock to confirm the accuracy of the robot's announcement. It was morning, by insomniac standards. It was three o'clock.

"You're not supposed to be here." He stared, blinking, wide eyed at the apparition.

Gir just continued smiling as if there was nothing abnormal or significant about his visit. Dib barrelled him aside by tossing back the covers and leapt to the window, parting the curtains with a jerk. The roads were deceptively quiet and empty, vacant of sirens and cop cars, though he half believed they were still on their way, and would surround the house given enough time.

He turned to see the robot watching him from the bedcovers that had fallen over his head. "You gotta go back! No one can see you, understand! I don't want you here!"

"Why?"

"Just go away! Go back to wherever you came from!"

"Can I stay with you?"

"What? No! You can't!" He reluctantly turned from the window, ears tuned to the sirens he was certain he'd hear. He flung his arms wide, hoping to intimidate and herd out the stubborn robot from his domicile. Gir only laughed that tinny, joyful laugh, and clapped his hands as if he was watching a theatrical spectacle put on especially for him. "You think this is funny, do you?" He took the robot's slim and surprisingly warm hand in his and helped to encourage him down from the bed. Gir hit the floor with a bit of a thud but then happily followed the human as Dib led him across the dark landing and down the stairs.

He slid back the bolts, unlocked the door and opened it to a cold and starless night. Without any fanfare he pushed Gir out onto the porch and slammed the door shut, sliding back the bolts and locks before trudging up the stairs with a hand anchoring him to the banister rail. He worked his way to the top, feet shuffling forwards, and when he entered his bedroom, Gir was waiting on the bed with that same sunny smile.

"What? But how did...?" His eyes flashed to the open window.

"Your bed is bouncy!" And he started to jump up and down it, his metal weight causing the springs and wood of the bed to violently creak and squeak.

"No! Stop that! You'll break it!"

Gir stopped, coming to land with a final plonk.

"I don't want you here, understand? Do you want to get captured and torn apart?"

The roboparents were currently being cut up, and broken down into categorical lumps and parts. Though they had started to break down anyway over the years, with Zim depending on them less and less, they had still erupted from their side-rooms like sentries and attacked the investigation team. Russ ended up with a fractured arm, and Gus had been upended to lie, dazed and concussed, but Carlson had pushed forwards and filled both the robots with lead. Robo-mom still gave that ghastly smile even with her head split open to emit sparks and wires, her voice box giving the same sermon on a loop: "By Golly, what a mess! Better fix you upppp!" Until Carlson shot the cord in the serving drone's neck, severing the head from the body to finally shut it up.

"Like on TV?"

"No, not like..." He stopped, pawing around his glasses to massage his overtired eyes. Then he gave the robot's succinct statement a second thought. What had he seen being broadcasted on the numerous computer screens down below in a lair still humming with alien activity? Dib drew his hand away. Maybe Gir had been sitting watching the usual humdrum of cartoons, and was none the wiser. It was a mistake to expect anything from him.

Gir pulled out a weapon from somewhere behind him like magic. "What's this?"

Dib watched, the colour draining from his cheeks as he watched the little robot wave it up and down in one hand. It was a beautiful weapon of black and white, the alloys and carbon a deep, pulsing blue that wavered and rippled like the shadowy waves of the ocean. Its muzzle was blackened by the fusion it had blown out.

"Gir! Drop it!"

Gir obeyed instantly, and dropped the weapon to the bed sheets. Perhaps his obedience was no fluke, and that Zim had invented some sort of fail-safe command should the robot pick up something harmful or hazardous.

He came over and swiped it before the robot had second thoughts, but it was a weight he wasn't ready for. The fusion weapon was salvation, something to safely hide behind; a tool to condemn the threat and end his misery and break the chain. It had also become an icon of capabilities, endings and dark roads he hadn't fully seen to comprehend.

The weapon was too heavy to be held one handed. He remembered fighting against steel webs to snatch it, and the sudden, delirious feeling when he had clawed it in sweaty hands, and he remembered the taste of power when he swung it round to face his enemy.

He deposited it away in a drawer, throwing out clothes to make it fit, and then throwing clothes on top of it to hide it. The sudden strain of rushing to acquire the gun from a deranged childlike robot had caused the pain to resurface, and he clutched his side. Hiding it to an almost automatic degree had been nothing short of unbearable. There was nothing mendacious in revealing it, and he could have gone to his father, or even to Dr. Williams to have them treat it, but he was also aware of Carlson's all-seeing eye, and what he might think of the PAK-incurred injury, and what he might do: perhaps cast him into a room too, and examine him for ways that might benefit and strengthen the military.

Survivalist's paranoia overrode his pragmatism sometimes, but after long tireless years trying to outlive and outlast a battle-hungry alien monster, there was little he could do to slacken his wary suspicions.

"You're leaking." Exclaimed the robot.

Dib looked down to where the robot was pointing. Crimson had appeared as dots on the carpet at his feet, and as he watched, more droplets appeared. Cursing, he threw off his flannel pj top to see the bright scarlet that was slowly saturating the layers of gauze.

Turning his back on Gir and leaving his blood-spotted top on the carpet, he hurried to the bathroom and ripped a towel off the rack to wrap around his midsection. His bare foot connected with a porcelain soap dish that had fallen during the fight and it bounced across the tiled flooring.

He knelt on the floor, holding the towel to the injury, staring without seeing anything. He heard the tinny chimes of metal feet and slowly turned to see Gir standing in the doorway, looking in on him with something that could have been worry. His appearance was still something of a surprise – an alien construct peering around his very ordinary home.

"You know you can't stay here, Gir. I can't hide you."

The robot opened his chassis and presented the saggy and wrinkly green doggie outfit. As if defying Dib's assertions, he stepped into it, zipping up the suit. The dog's mix-matched eyes stared back.

-x-

"The bone structure is surprisingly normal." Dr. Williams stood before his small group of colleagues before a screen, the projector throwing the alien's torso x-ray on the whiteboard. They were the privileged first to be looking inside the creature besides Dib who had used field tools at the time, but they did not act terribly privileged or even that fascinated.

They interrupted him at every opportunity, with some of them theorizing idiotic fantasies of their own. Williams would point with his accompanying ruler and re-direct their attention to a specific feature or noteworthy attribute to the creature's unusual structure time and time again before another banal question would interrupt him.

"The subject appears to have a strong singular tibia without the supporting fibula, as if evolution or selective development has refined its skeletal composition. It has fewer ribs, as if we are looking at a minimalist's approach to bone structure. We have a pelvis, we have the humerus and radius but again without the ulna. The vertebrae and skull are similar to ours, but the bone density remains an anomaly until we do a biopsy."

Some of the scientists leaned forward a little in their seats; others hung back, still making up their minds.

"See here, and here?" Williams slapped the point of his ruler at specific places. "Obvious signs of injury and repair. The bone hasn't fused so smoothly or perfectly, allowing bumps to form. This creature may heal successfully upon injury, perhaps faster than we can, as Dib claims, but the scarring remains of past traumas." He hit the button for the projector and another image flashed forward. "The sternum has been broken in two different places. The site of injury has fused, but the line where the cracks appear remains." He hit the button again. "Take a look at the spine. Here we can see two large vertical holes in the thoracic and lumbar column. There are slight deviations in the bone formation as protrusions around the site. This could be an abnormality, an evolutionary trait, or the body's accumulative response to the machine welded there."

As per usual, Torrent interrupted as if he could not wait a millisecond for his turn to speak. "What about its little clothes? Was there anything useful in its personal affects?"

"Well, there was an item in its glove." Williams turned to look at him, lifting his lip in an annoyed smile.

"Fucking gloves! It wears fucking gloves and booties! I can't believe...!" Torrent stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Williams watching him coolly.

"We have put the articles of clothing in a containment room for further study." He said for the benefit of the others who had yet to learn this. "As for the item found, it was a pink marble."

"Have you scanned it for weaponry?" Carlson had refrained from sitting down during the session, and had his hands working into the backrest of the chair before him. His hands looked like old, calloused talons of a vulture.

"It's a plain, common marble, most likely from an ordinary toy store." Williams said in the chance this would end the discussion about the marble in its entirety.

"And the clothing itself? Anything unusual?" Carlson's eyes sunk into his like daggers. Wherever Williams went, he could not escape his insatiable and hungry scrutiny.

"It was stretchy. And warm, like thermals." He answered, "And hardy, quite tough to damage. Torrent here tried to poke a needle through the material. The needle couldn't penetrate it." He presented them with a short video of the scientists Ben and Rick holding up the pink attire and examining it as if it was some strange and cryptic archaeological artefact. Giving them a few more moments to take in the video, Williams clicked it off.

"And this... marble? What did A01 intend to do with it?" Clapped the abrasive voice of the sergeant.

"Why don't you ask it?" Williams said, retaining that patient smile, ruler poised, ready to continue.

Then Ben started. "I can't believe it! We have a real alien! I never would have thought..."

"Oh, it's quite certain we have something authentic, yes," Williams replied mildly, "although the term 'alien' is up for debate. What is an alien, Torrent?" He winced a second later, wishing he hadn't asked him of all people to elaborate.

"Something that flies around in flying saucers." Came his first-rate answer.

There was a hoot of laughter from the others. Williams ignored them and continued in his mild and patient voice, "An 'alien' is a creature that is foreign to our world. Its basic compounds may be different, such as its biological nature and behaviour. It's all to do with genetics, Torrent: something that has had to live under a different sun, on a different planet, with a different atmosphere and a different food chain. That is an alien by definition and not by ambiguity."

"Whatever." Torrent said, arms folded.

Carlson was meanwhile looking at the images of the subject's interior with a studious and disgruntled air, his lower lip poking out. Lately he had been given to sucking on cocktail sticks, much to the annoyance of the others.

The insides of the 'alien' looked much more ordinary than they had been expecting, and the sergeant had hoped to see something a little less ordinary than blood, bones and organs.

Torrent said to no one in particular. "Professor Membrane's son has been dealing with this 'thing' all these years! Who knows if it stayed in any one location, and didn't spawn somewhere else?"

"Just remove that PAK device from the creature!" Cut in Carlson.

"Yes, but how is it attached? And why? Is it an enhancement? An integral cybergenetic implant?" Conferred Williams.

The door burst wide, and the scientists jumped from their seats. "Forgive me! I am late!" Called the professor, swinging the door at his heels so that it explosively slammed shut behind him. "I hope I did not disturb you all! Continue, Doctor Williams!" He chose a chair near the back row and made a fuss getting into it.

"Yes, thank you professor for joining us. We're just going over the x-rays we've taken earlier today. We managed to scan its soft tissue too."

"It squealed." Torrent nudged Ben beside him. "As if the MRI was going to attack it."

"Torrent, please." Williams sighed, looking less composed and more frazzled every time his inferior had to interrupt or throw out an incompetent comment or two. "We're all excited and nervous respectively. This is a historic event that people will talk about for years to come, but it is not the arrival or the 'knowing' of the alien that should captivate us. It's what we can learn from it. Now." He clicked a button, and the projector threw up a new image of the alien's internal organs. "What we see is a slight aberration of biological formation. The subject has a heart, two lungs, and what appears to be a stomach and intestines. But there seems to be no liver, no spleen, no pancreas or kidneys."

"Where's the penis?"

Williams let out another angry sigh. "Torrent."

"I'm serious!" His remark earned a few additional giggles from his peers. "How do we know if the thing's even 'male?' You've all seen the slit between its legs, right?"

"What if it's laid eggs all over the city?" Ben looked pale.

"Please! You're all being very childish!" Williams lowered the ruler, looking from one unruly scientist to the next while Carlson stood amongst them, sucking on his cocktail stick. "You should all be apologizing to the professor and the sergeant for your behaviour, especially you Torrent! We are under a lot of pressure to exact results," before Carlson decides to bulldoze the place, "and you are not helping!"

"Sorry." Torrent said, pretending to look sheepish.

"It's quite alright." The professor wasn't even paying attention, and ignored the screen of A01's internals that would otherwise have made a xenologist's jaw drop. He was busy adjusting and flattening out the remotest of wrinkles on his labcoat sleeve before assessing his digital watch for the twentieth time.

"As for the blood sample," Dr. Williams continued, trying to regain their attention by holding up a very tiny vial of sloshing green, "We'll need to extract as many of these samples as we can, preferably before the next few trials. So far as we know, this creature isn't carrying any diseases known to us, but the computer is still crunching on data, and I suspect more will be revealed to us in time."

"What about this piece of hardware?" Carlson spat out his soggy and chewed cocktail stick and replaced it for a new one. "It's a ticking time bomb for all we know!"

"That still remains our greatest unknown variable. Professor?"

The man looked up suddenly as if he wasn't part of the discussion. "Oh yes! Of course!" He stood up to address the assemblage of men in fellow white coats. He hit a near-seamless button within the material of his collar and a three dimensional image popped up before them. It was the blurry image of the PAK the giant MRI had taken. All you could see was a metal oval dome, but the edges were fuzzy, including the main structure. Nothing was revealed inside, as opposed to the labyrinths of data visually exposed from any other machine or device that was scanned in the same way. "See here? The strange metal casing seems to protect it from the imaging devices, as though it is shielding the interior from external tampering! I am not surprised. This is something truly sophisticated!"

During the session, Carlson's expression had hardly changed, but now he looked up, one eye widening slightly, his bushy greyish eyebrows curving into a wedged formation.

The professor hit his invisible button and the blurry image of the PAK disappeared. "We are the pioneers of delving into the constitution of something truly alien for the first time in history! And it might just be our one and only opportunity! I suggest we focus more on simply studying it, and learn what it has to teach us! Cracking it open may spell doom for us all! Or nothing may even happen!"

There was no round of applause. They merely looked at the esteemed professor with something bordering on apathy. "You do realize there's an Armada coming, don't you?" Carlson spat out his cocktail stick. His eyes flickered to Williams even though he was addressing the professor. "Who knows how long we have until more of these... things... arrive. The military must be ready to defend humanity!"

"But this is a living creature."

"Just whose side are you on?" Carlson spun round to the professor, causing the other colleagues to flinch.

"The side of science!" The professor spoke with that same easy and casual tone. He didn't step down, or even flinch. "You may have jurisdiction over our funding and resources; and you may even use brute force if it comes to it! But what you don't have is us! You can take Zim away, but if you do, you'll have no one qualified to study him! We hold more cards than you realize!" No one spoke in the growing silence. Carlson was suddenly beetroot red in the neck and cheeks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish that had ended up on dry land. His fists were clenching, the knuckles whiter than ice.

"Gentlemen." Dr. Williams stepped forwards, his soft voice doing little to break the ice that had so suddenly formed, but his voice at least seemed to torpedo and henceforth shatter Carlson's rising aggression, and what he might have done in that moment. "Read over Dib Membrane's files again. You never know. We might find something that'll help us, come the morning."

At once the men started grabbing their things and quickly leaving through the door. Carlson pushed some of them out of the way as he stormed out, slamming Torrent against the wall of the corridor as he went.

-x-

He watched the man bend down into the steel chair to sit before a tiny steel table, but the look on his face suggested that he had drawn the short straw. The glass of the observatory was lit up, and a huddle of men were there again, their faces a united mask of indifference. They would close round each other, separate, and then huddle again, usually in motion until the sessions began.

The human before him, with a tiny button for a nose, a weak chin and wonky wire-framed glasses, coughed into his hand. He was four feet away from the bound captive strapped to the chair-platform.

Tick tock. Blip bleep.

The man looked at the files he had brought with him. "For the record of the archives, this is a video and audio recording of the subject A01. This is session number two."

Zim briefly observed the slim stack of paper files before flicking his eyes back up at the human. A cold smile spread over his countenance like a darkened shadow, making the lines under his eyes appear deeper.

The man couldn't even look at him as he addressed the first question. "Can you understand me?"

Zim's smile only sharpened. "Not if I don't want to."

"I am going to ask a series of questions. You may answer to the best of your ability." His tone was hesitant, his eyes glued to the paper in his trembling hands. "A book is to reading as a fork is to, a) drawing, or b) writing, c) stirring, d) eating, or is it..."

"Burning, obviously." He pulled vainly against the wrist-cuffs. "Next question!"

The man coughed again, and looked, not to the camera, but behind him at his fellow colleagues huddled behind the observation screen. The professor made a gesture for him to continue.

The scientist coughed again to clear his throat. "Which number should come next in the pattern? 37, 34, 31, 28?"

"25! What's wrong with you?"

The man started to stutter. "Which of the f-following can be arranged into a 5 letter English w-word? a) HRGST, b) RILSA, c) TOOMT, d) WQRGS?"

"B and C."

The man rummaged in a bag for a moment and brought out many coloured 3D shapes, such as the triangle, cylinder, hexagon and cone. "Now, if you could just name all the shapes, and what colours they represent."

"What do I get if I cooperate?"

The door burst open and a man in military fatigues came marching over carrying a clear and translucent bottle. Zim understood the look in the man's set and iron face and braced against the back of his metal chair, eyes flashing to the bottle he held in one vein-throbbing hand. The scientist in the chair turned slowly to say something, and Carlson cast him from the seat by grabbing his arm and throwing him out of it. Disregarding the question sheets, chair and desk, Carlson kicked aside whatever was in the way while the scientist scrabbled for the exit. In the observation room the men in white coats were also scrabbling around. An alarm was activated, but Carlson seemed deaf to it.

"Carlson! This is not what we agreed! We need more time!" Came the commanding voice of the professor booming through the intercom. "Step away from Zim immediately!"

Carlson did not turn round to lay eyes on the team behind him, or even to stop to listen. His eyes, small and narrowed, lingered on glittery crimson that seemed to drink in his reflection and the whites of the room enclosing them. He kept his distance, hands clenching the neck of the bottle.

The door was opening, letting the scientist scurry out, and squeezing through a mob of white coats trying to get in, but the door slammed shut before they could squeeze through, and Carlson finally turned round so that the professor could see the remote device in his hand from the observatory window.

Satisfied that he was alone with the creature, he set the remote down on the steel table, enjoying the compulsive glances A01 was giving it, and the heightened pulses speeding along the ECG's monitoring screen. "You are smart enough to withhold information, information we need. You are a threat, and I must deal with it."

"Ahuh." Zim dropped his head back slightly against the metal of his chair. His thin smile was whimsical. "Now buzz off and join the back of the queue, would you? I have shapes to name."

The sergeant started to heavily pace, making sure to walk a full circle around the metal platform. When he was behind the creature, and temporarily out of its periphery, the alien seemed to grow agitated, and lose some of that carefully crafted composure. "Why are you here?"

He stopped in front of him again. Zim cocked his head, the left side of his lips twisting into a wince. "You pigs threw me into a crate and then strapped me down to this chair! How else do you think I got here?"

The alarm continued to reverberate throughout the chamber, accompanied by the dins of the men pounding on other side of the door. The lights, once an overly bright and superficial white, turned to an ominous and daunting red that ghostly pulsed over them, creating shadows on Carlson's face and caves under his eyes.

"Carlson!" Boomed the intercom, "Open the door this instant!"

Zim looked up to see Dib standing close to the observation window looking down at him, a hand pressed to the glass. The infuriating apathy on that boy's face was slowly changing, his eyebrows lifting in that curious way as if he was hinging on a smile.

Carlson's grunt grated on his antennae. "You play those scientists for fools. Every time those buffoons ask you something, you change your story. You can fuck with them all day, but you don't fuck with me." He drew closer, holding up the bottle. "Why are you here?"

Zim's pinkish shiny orbs darted to the bottle in his hand, then back to Carlson. His eyes seemed to darken and simultaneously flicker, as if they were burning inside. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here to save the Armada a job or two!"

"You came by ship." He paced again, this time staying directly behind Zim who struggled to look round to keep him in his periphery. He made sure to slosh around the contents of the bottle, and every time there was no much as a swish the pings and pongs from the monitoring machine escalated tenfold. "We have it. What you call a 'Voot Runner,' according to this Dib Membrane."

"Oooh t-that?" Uncertainty seemed to dent the alien's voice, "That's urm... a model. I bought it! Off of... some pig man." His words lurched to a halt as a hand grabbed his antennae, pulling them taut through calloused fingers. His scream seemed to ping off the walls. The beats and pulses barely held singular notes.

"You can run circles around these idiots all day, and they'll happily oblige. Let's just say they are hundreds or millions of you out there, just waiting to pounce on us! You have technology greater than our own, and I shall pluck it out of you!"

"L-Let go! Let GO!"

Carlson tightened his fingers around the malleable protuberances, feeling them tighten in turn and try to flex like cords of muscle. The creature was vocal with screams that filled the chamber and temporarily drowned the alarms.

He let go, and A01 gratefully sunk down into the metal platform, chest heaving, eyes wide with pain. Then he heard the steady squeak of Carlson unwinding the bottle cap before casting it aside.

Almost leisurely, Carlson came round to his right side, tilted the plastic neck of the bottle and let the drip-drip of water settle on Zim's bare thigh.

The creature's reaction was instant. Antennae slightly crooked, they managed to lift in surprise as he tried to shove himself away, only to rattle and creak against his fetters. "I have come across many who were defiant. They swore they would keep their secrets. That they wouldn't break. That they could rise above whatever pain I could inflict. But words are just words. Pain is inescapable; pain is constant until I let it be otherwise. You'll bend beneath it soon enough, just like any man or beast. I recognise that look in your eyes. You know what it means to inflict pain on others. And how it'll end."

He kept the bottle in the same angle as water cascaded steadily over Zim's leg, with excess splashes running down a scrawny knee cap then to his clawed and tiny foot. "No! No stop it!"

"Who would have thought how effective water is for torture, even for those who don't react to it like you do. Waterboarding is just one example, another is what you're experiencing now, what they call 'Chinese water torture' in which cold water is slowly dripped onto the scalp, or face for days or even weeks at a time."

With his ankles bound he could only jerk his leg left or right, and Carlson didn't even adjust the water's trajectory. If it didn't land on the exact place it started another serration that incurred steam and pain as flesh oozed, bubbled and suppurated. Wherever he yanked himself he was met by the same imprisonment, fastened in place without escape. The resulting screams thundered through the chamber as much as through the sergeant's head.

Arms were suddenly upon Carlson.

"Unhand me! You have no right!" He elbowed one of them, and Torrent broke off, holding his nose. Williams was trying to say something to him, but all he could hear were the auditory screams of the creature as his ears rang like church bells. They were dragging him back to the door, away from the sudden noxious smells of boiling flesh. He tried throwing them off his back, but once he fought one or two off him, three more grappled him back down.

They managed to drag him through the door when he burst free of them. The scientists staggered away, all of them coughing and panting as if they had jointly carried a boulder. He turned to Williams and he and the others scattered away like fretful birds under a cat's shadow.

"I will shut this place down!" He hollered, "And apprehend the lot of you for obstructing justice!"

When he turned, he came upon the obstruction of the professor who stood before the door to the chamber. He stood quietly, arms at his sides, as immovable as a mountain. "Are you quite finished, sergeant?" He asked. There was a telltale tremor in his voice.

"How dare you speak to me like that! You can't treat me like..."

"Now, now. Let me finish." He dipped his head down a moment as if to compose himself. When he looked back up, his voice was cheery and amiable again. "We are both after the same thing! Progress! But to get there we must work together, and to not jump the gun, so to speak."

"I do not need to collaborate with you or the children you have working here!"

The professor gestured to another door leading to the main atrium. "Let's discuss this in private. I have something to offer you that may be worth your time." Then he turned to Williams. "See to Zim. I will be back shortly."

-x-

The professor poured Carlson a drink before pouring one for himself. The rich amber liquid sloshed into each crystal schooner. Though Carlson had been offered to sit down on one of the mahogany and red velvet chairs, he remained pacing as he looked without admiring the gelded frames encapsulating the achievements in the professor's life.

"I perfectly understand what's at stake." The professor settled his untouched schooner on the shiny surface of the cherry wood table. "But he isn't going anywhere anytime soon. The world can breathe a sigh of relief, and so can we."

The sergeant finished his whiskey in one rough gulp. "My father once told me that 'war is every man's torment.' It took me a long time to realize what he meant. Everyone can fight, but not everyone can win." He stopped to settle the crystal schooner on the table so that he could grab the whiskey bottle and pour himself another tall measure. "My father served in the Afghanistan war of 2889, fighting the enemy in a war-torn and hostile land. He did what he was trained to do, but it wasn't enough. Nothing can really prepare you out there when faced with the unknown. You must anticipate, and strike first. War is unforgiving, war is uncompromising. Our very survival as a species is at stake, and we must react accordingly to this alien threat in order to protect humanity! Think of what it could mean if we have alien tech at our disposal. We may never need to fear our enemies again!"

"But at what cost?" The professor continued to stare at his glass of whiskey as if it was a curious and deadly poison.

"There is no cost! Only to take what is rightfully ours. We are a powerful nation, Mr. Membrane, and we must stay ahead of our enemies, whether they are from the stars or not."

"Don't you wish to know where he came from? How another intelligent being thinks, and solves problems? I had hopes for a Lucas Tower trial to see if..."

"No." He slammed a hand on the table, causing the crystal schooners to chink and ring. "We do not know how capable this threat is! Each day grants this creature more time and more opportunities to overpower us! Now get to the point! What is it you can possibly offer me?"

"Goodwill between us. You are after the alien's tech and miraculous healing abilities, both of which I believe are connected. Time is all that I ask for in return! We will begin the examination trials of these 'regenerative' capabilities tomorrow. How does that sound?"

"Do not even think of fooling me, professor." His voice was cold. "You may think I have glossed over those ZIM files your boy wrote, but I remember every word. That thing on its back - PAK – or however Dib spells it, can be removed. Your son stated that he apparently grabbed the device when it had fallen off the creature's back. He further states that after a period of time the creature begins to deteriorate."

"My son can be a little headstrong with his choice of words, and he sometimes gets carried away..."

"Begin the trials first thing tomorrow!"

"Not until Zim has had something to eat. Hydration is also necessary for every living..." The sergeant knocked the crystal schooner flying, spraying the wall with expensive alcohol, and was suddenly in his face, those dark silvery eyes filling his vision. There was a knock on the door, and the sergeant hurriedly stepped away just as the door opened.

Williams stuck his head in. "Is everything alright? I heard a crash."

"Everything's fine. The sergeant was just seeing himself out." The professor swept his goggles to the dripping whiskey, but Carlson was already storming through the door, Williams just managing to avoid being shoved or thrown aside in time.

He came to Membrane's side while the professor stood frozen to the spot. "How did it go?"

"As much as I imagined it would. And Zim?"

"Keep yourself distant from it, professor. I realize A01's intelligence and uniqueness intrigues you, but you and I both know that science cannot dally. Humanity is depending on us. We are the first line of defence for pretty much everything. Medicine. Disease control. Agricultural development."

The professor murmured assent as if this was his first time discovering what they did. "When it comes to science, there is discovery and sacrifice, to build a better world. I have always believed that. Never doubt me, Williams, or the work at hand. But delaying Carlson's agenda will not be easy. He only wants Zim's tech for war, to destroy the world we are trying to protect."

-x-

He solemnly gazed at the offerings before him, all neatly arranged on a low trolley that literally could not fit anymore on it. There were plates full of dripping raw meats, greasy cooked meats, a perfect melon, another dish of grapes, or olives, bread and salamis and just about every chocolate snack you could imagine. There were fruits from just about every region, alongside different vegetables and sea food. Wedged between the heaving offerings were cartons of milk, lactose-intolerant milk or juice, or spring water.

The only utensil they had given him was a plastic spoon.

He was allowed the freedom to move around in this airy, cold and vacant room after they first removed the monitoring machine. When they had scurried away again, leaving him to survey the glut of food before him, the restraints holding him to the platform snapped free, and he was able to lift his arms and stiffly rotate stiff wrists. His hands were numbed, cold blocks, and when circulation started to kick in, his claws may as well have been dipped in fire. He went to lift himself from the metal throne, but his legs were pillars of ice, and he slid off the seat and landed face-first on the cold floor. He could not move for the cramps, his muscles trembling and seizing as he tried to stretch legs that wouldn't bend or flex.

While he sat, nursing his left leg and then his right by massaging the rigid muscles with rigid claws, he cast hateful eyes at the camera before reacquainting himself with the foodstuffs beyond him. It was the loud colour of the food that hurt his eyes – so used was he to surveying a bleached, insipid room. He was attracted to the coppery redness of the apples, and the deep, rich sorrels of the chocolate. Beside the purple and pearly blue melting ice-cream and cake was a sumptuous mix of cookies and golden pancakes. The smell of these edibles made saliva rush to his mouth.

He attempted to stand. The muck from his pee irritated his skin and he couldn't help but scratch at those places, and his right thigh was padded with soft gauze. Williams had settled a pad over the cavity in his thigh beforehand even when flesh simply stuck to it, and he wrapped gauze over the padding before securing it with medical tape. He had screamed at the white haired man because he had anticipated more pain, and had not expected 'help' in any form, and when it was given, he stared, wide-eyed, shivering when he could no longer predict them as thoroughly as before.

Once he was crookedly standing, he closed his legs together, hands rubbing his arms to try and encourage some warmth into them. "Something to wear would be appreciated!" He snapped at the overhead windows.

A package popped out from one of the walls. By the time he had spun round to look, the slot had seamlessly closed up again. Ignoring the package, he limped over to the wall and tried to feel for the opening with his claws. Something blasted into him – cold air into his antenna from the wall. He shrieked and fell back, just catching the tiny piping as it slid back into the overall whiteness of the wall.

"We don't like you doing that, A01." Said a voice from the intercom. "Stay away from the walls at all times."

"You can't threaten me!" His voice fell flat against the walls, his squeal of rage sounding more hysterical and desperate. He peered down at the package, his arms wrapped about bony and trembling shoulders. Gradually bending his knees, he tore the package open to pluck out a pale hospital-type gown with a parting at the back. He snorted at it, allowing the flimsy cream material to dangle from shivering claws. It was a grotesque offering, and was two sizes too big. "This is horrible! I'm not wearing this!"

Normally the observation screens were translucent, and he could see how many gangly figures were pressed against the glass as they watched from above, but ever since they'd removed the monitoring machine and released him to 'have lunch' the glass remained dark.

There were no forthcoming answers, and he shivered again from the room's airy coolness that kept breathing down on him.

He shoved one spindly arm down a sleeve, feeling its light and cheap texture chaff against the smoothness of his skin. He paused in mid-transition, realizing what this meant. Bright wine-coloured orbs looked fleetingly to the figures he tried to imagine behind the glass before settling on the sterile white of the gown. With growing reluctance, Zim put both arms through the sleeves before attempting to tie the laces up over his PAK. The rest of the gown pooled around his legs like an expanding bedsheet.

It did little to warm him, his skin tingling against the rough material that wasn't as silky smooth as his uniform. The sleeve cuffs sagged around his claw tips, the skirting rolling over his toes. But it was what it symbolized that made his heart tremble.

Curves appeared under his eyes when he looked up at them, lips curling into a leering snarl, his gaze lastly resting on the smaller glass window above.

He approached the food trolley and the idle white spoon sitting atop a sterile white napkin.

That spoon was closer to freedom than he. That spoon could leave this room, and though it would in all probability be thrown into the trash, it would at least be able to leave this place one way or another.

Zim could smell the tormenting fragrances coming from the offerings, and his spooch clenched uncomfortably. Some of the items that were on offer were his favourites, but they could easily have slipped poison in the food to make him more compliant. And if he were to eat from their hands, he was submitting another part of himself to them.

I can't... lose to these... PIGS! I mustn't fall for their dirty tricks! Mustn't let them win. Mustn't give in...!

One angry swipe had many of the foodstuffs and plates bouncing across the floor. Grease and ice cream made colourful splatters, with syrup and golden custard running off the trolley's sides.

His antennae picked up their gasping exhalations from the intercom before someone shut it off in time.

The scientists looked at one another as the Irken rampantly continued, knocking every item, plate, bowl or cup off the trolley.

"It still needs fluids, right?" Rick asked them.

"Maybe it just needs sustenance from the sun? Or the air?" Ben stood, rubbing his head, looking honestly perplexed. "What a waste of good food. I struggled to get those fresh apricots."

"Perhaps the food... offends it? Does it need blood perhaps?" Torrent started flipping through the ZIM files, which he had already done so some thirty times without seeming to find what he originally wanted.

"Not this 'human flesh' stuff again, please!" Williams took the files off him. "Look here! On page 99! It says that the subject has certain allergies! But it can eat waffles. Were there waffles on that trolley?"

It took all of Zim's willpower not to start tucking into the fallen banquet before him and it hurt to hold back. The suffocating smells of the food conflicted with the high walls that checked his restraint. His spooch clenched ever tighter, and the food smells made him nauseous after having abstained from eating for so long.

The trodden chocolate cake, laced with butter cream icing, was still gently steaming with heat. His feet were smeared with multiple colours of ice cream, and he could not escape the enticing smells of coffee and honey.

Using both claws he pushed paper plates into sticky puddles and squashed foodstuffs under his feet. He grabbed the melon and threw it at the observation screen. It undershot, missing by two inches and promptly exploded. Zim limped for the next hardiest item: a paper bowl of hazel nuts, and started flinging them at the glass, only to bounce and ricochet off the windows.

Zim dropped the now-empty hazel nut bowl and stared, wide-eyed at the vacant trolley. Sticky residues of sauce were smeared over the chrome surface. He lifted a claw and went to reach for it, only to clench up and retreat.

A voice crackled through the intercom above. "Surely you must eat. What is there we can offer?"

"Your testicles!" Zim hollered, his voice cracking.

Back in the observatory, Williams delivered a long, worn sigh. He switched off the intercom and turned to the awaiting colleagues. The professor stood by the terminal, head low, and wasn't even watching the scene unfold below. "We may have to give A01 fluids intravenously."

"We can't if its allergic to basic water." Torrent was leaning against the wall, watching the creature kick and stomp on the food. A thick, white plaster had been slapped on the bridge of his nose, and a wad of bloodied cotton was shoved up one nostril.

"If this creature needs sustenance, and refuses to take nutrients of any sort, we will have to intervene."

"Let the damn thing starve! It's immortal after all." Torrent received only silence. "Isn't it?"

Williams looked down at the floor for what felt like a very long time. Then he exhaled again, shaking his head.

The professor straightened, fists resting at his sides. Then he was gone, hurrying through an automated door. Torrent looked at the others for answers, and only got blank faces in return.

It wasn't long before the professor reappeared below after going through a red-alert door to confront the free-roaming creature. The door clapped shut behind him. Zim froze, claws dripping with gravy and butter, eyes an intense and vivid red as he slowly turned towards the intruder.

The professor clasped his hands at his back and said in a calm voice: "Spero autem non sapiunt mihi loqui ad vos in sermone isto?"

Williams turned to the others. "What is he saying? What language is that?"

Torrent straightened from the wall, his eyes fixed on the pair below.

Zim's scratchy and childlike voice matched the professor's fluent accentuations perfectly with barely a beat in-between as if transitioning from one language to another required no effort. "Recede a me!"

Williams turned to the LIVE feed showing on the computer screen from the camera to make sure the footage was being recorded. "Professor?" He hit the intercom button, "Why are you not speaking in English?"

The professor momentarily looked to the camera surveying them before continuing to solely converse with A01. "Carlson et erit hic primum. Vos postulo ut vado tergum cathedra priusquam..."

"Numquam! Sunt vobis insanis?" Zim's upper lips lifted, and he took a step back, trudging through the slush of grapes, wafer cones and banana.

"Sicut posuit in spectaculum! Quod non diu!"

The creature was distressfully flourishing his claws. "Dimitte me! Et hic in insanimus! Quam haec est... te ut interficias me...!"

The professor touched a button on the lapel of his coat and a wall of glass appeared between them, lifting from the floor and touching the ceiling in seconds. The professor then touched another nigh-invisible button sown into a seam and tiny vents appeared along the walls on Zim's side. The alien continued to step backwards, eyes on the walls and ceiling as if the room itself had become a seamless, moving and constant threat.

Williams stood up from his chair. The door burst open into their observatory and Dib appeared, sweat condensing his brow, his scythe of hair wilting between his eyes. "What's going on? What's my dad doing? Zim will kill him!"

As he walked backwards, Zim's PAK hit the metal platform. He spun round as if it was a living enemy to confront. Sharp cerise eyes looked again to the professor who remained in the same position across the room. Something flashed through the invader's eyes, the teeth re-appeared, and he charged the short distance he had just retreated and smacked, headlong into the glass barrier.

The tiny vents started releasing billows of smoke which began to flood Zim's side. The Irken looked to the streams of whitish smoke pouring in, trying to turn and confront and glance at every vent and gush of smoke. He turned to the professor and wilted before the glass, glass that began to drop back into the floor.

Dib grabbed the mic. "Dad! What are you doing?"

His voice certainly had an effect on both of them. Zim lifted his head up, attention now on the observation screen, though it was unclear if he could see through it or not.

The professor, his attention also diverted for a split second, began to walk forward and held up a hand. It was hard to tell whether he possessed a device or not, for Zim stumbled to his feet only to fall backwards, slipping on a puddle of coagulated cream.

"Why is he not attacking my dad?" He turned to the patiently watching audience of scientists, holding his side.

"He must have that ultrasonic repellent." Williams said. "It emits short wavelengths of high frequency sound waves that are too high-pitched for us to hear."

The door Dib had used moments before burst wide, and Carlson dropped on them like an avalanche. "What's going on here? The professor said we'd begin the trial at exactly 06:00! What's with the mess! Why is that thing loose, dammit?"

"We were hoping to feed it before the first trial." Williams inferred. "To be at its best, we need to give it some care or it'll merely perish."

"What a load of garbage! It's not a delicate little flower! It's as tough as nails! What's the professor hoping to do? Kill himself so that the thing can eat him?"

They watched the professor continually advance without hesitation or reluctance. Zim continued to fall back in fits and starts until his retreat was met by the metal of the chair. The professor spoke, his voice so low the audio sensors couldn't pick it up. The alien grabbed the armrest, legs shaking, and shook his head violently several times.

Carlson couldn't believe it. "This is ridiculous! I leave you charlatans alone for two minutes and this is what I find?"

The words had barely left his lips when the subject slowly sat himself back down in the chair. Williams hastily complied, slapping a hand on the terminal's activation button, and the cuffs flashed over Zim's wrists and ankles again.

The sergeant blinked, pulling back from the glass. "Now I'll be darned. That there is a trained little mouse. You may not all be charlatans and baboons after all."

Williams, and many of his colleagues breathed a collective sigh of relief. Dib clung to the terminal as if he hadn't the strength to hold himself up. The professor didn't linger in the chamber and was already issuing 'clean up' orders through the observatory's intercom 'for the regenerative examination trial' to begin.


Dib07: Thanks for reading! It gets pretty crazy from here on out, and I will give plenty of warning, don't worry! I hope Zim enjoyed his vacation because it's over!

I cannot thank you and your support enough, it keeps me rolling! Anyways, hope you have an awesome day!