Black hole on.
Black hole off.
Black hole on.
Black hole off.
The little black sphere intermittently appeared and disappeared as Zim's finger pressed down on the button, then released it, pressed down, then released it, pressed down again...
Zim huffed as he kept the button down; the miniature black hole hovered behind the protective glass wall of the round platform in the middle of the lab on Nortyne 111.
He boringly looked at the little pitch black sphere. Why was he experimenting with black holes again? Technically, he knew the answer: he wanted to study the fabric of reality more closely before building the machine, to increase his chances of controlling the final experiment; back when he was inspired, at the start of his work, he'd gotten a dozen of cool, clever ideas on how to do so. But now that all that enthusiastic inspiration was gone, he couldn't evince much more about reality-warping than he already knew. And it was all so dull.
Beep. Beep. An alarm started beeping on the now red-flashing monitor in front of him: he gravity of the black hole was overworking the glass wall.
He looked down at his finger, which still kept the activation button down: a little more of prolonged pressure, and his fingertip would have caused the black hole to grow past the platform's containment capacity, erasing Nortyne, the part of space around it, and himself in the process.
The glass wall started vibrating, and Zim readily released his finger: the black hole disappeared into thin air; the glass wall kept on shaking for a few seconds. Then, it became still again.
Zim huffed once more. Whatever. At this point, he should just stop trying to come up with all this extra stuff, replicate the original machine in miniature, shoot it in the place where the Earth had disappeared, and hope for the best, as his original plan was.
An easy enough task, yet right now even that felt like a titanic effort: he just felt so... demotivated. And tired. And schmoopy. Truly, he didn't remember ever wanting to lie down in a corner, preferably tucked in a cheesy, greasy cocoon of space nachos and chips this bad.
Then again, working was not his worst option: if he wasn't working right now, at this hour in the afternoon, he would have probably been seated on the couch on Driver's planet, watching a movie with her, whose human protagonists lived out their perfect, romantic adventures, getting along just fine with their wives and girlfriends and partners, kissing and hugging and rolling naked in their beds, to the tune of some sappy love song in the background, without a care in the world, nor the threat of a panic attack constantly creeping in the back of their heads- and THEN, had he done all that, he might have been reminded of the huge lelephant in the room, as the humans said, and then-
Aaaand he'd thought about it.
"Uuurgh! Nooo..." Zim groaned, letting his torso fall down and shoving his face in his folded arms on the keyboard.
No matter how much he tried not to think about it, that botched attempt at sex kept coming back to the forefront of his mind; and with good reason: it had been the single most embarrassing thing he had ever done in his entire life.
Initially, as soon as he had escaped that... sex thing they were doing, taking cover in his new lab, he had felt a huge wave of relief.
But then, once he'd calmed down, the reality of what he'd just done had fallen down on him: after insisting on doing the very thing Driver was hesitant about, and after lying and pretending he was enjoying it, he'd just taken off, seemingly, from her point of view, out of nowhere, leaving her half naked and alone in the living room, speaking coldly and impassively to her as she clearly looked distressed and worried for him.
He'd immediately suppressed that feeling, diving deep into his work, with the reasoning that he would come out of it with a clear idea on how to solve the whole thing; however, when his eyes had casually looked at the clock on one of the monitors, he'd been hit with an even guiltier feeling: he'd concentrated so much on his experiments, that he had accidentally skipped lunch with Driver, for the first time since they knew each other.
After the way he'd left her, how would she interpret that action? Would she think he'd done it on purpose? That he held the happening from that morning on her? Because he genuinely, sincerely didn't: that had been exclusively his fault. Then again, exactly because of that, he didn't really want to confront her about it either.
The fact that she hadn't even tried to come to the lab and call him for what was by now a well-ingrained daily ritual for them seemed to corroborate that hypothesis; and perhaps it might ALSO mean, that she'd in turn gotten offended at his sudden, senseless rejection.
In the end though, he'd decided that just waiting for dinner time and then play off whatever reaction she would give him would be the best option: he couldn't after all halt his mission like that, could he?
Dinner time had come soon enough anyway, and he had teleported to her house as he usually did (save for that terrible sense of absolute dread that hung on him), and... at first, everything had seemed surprisingly normal.
Driver had welcomed him with a smile, the table ready and the food almost cooked to completion, like nothing had happened. She'd asked him how work had gone, and what new experiments he'd done. When he'd asked the same things to her in regards to her farm, she'd replied accordingly. Everything seemed absolutely normal, if not for the fact that Driver seemed a bit less smiley and a bit more quiet. And she hadn't kissed him when she'd first seen him.
Still, Zim had figured she must have had the same idea as him: to go on as normal and pretend nothing had ever happened. A little out of character for her, but great! Truly, he'd felt so happy and relieved that they could go on with their cozy routine as normal, and just forget about that horrible horrible accident, that smiling and laughing and bragging about his daily achievements had not been hard at all! He didn't even need to pretend to do so!
But then, midway through the meal, as they were sitting and talking at the table, Driver had suddenly become quiet, and serious: she'd let out a deep sigh, and Zim's heart had thudded in terror, his eyes barred on her, in fearful anticipation of what she would say.
"Zim? I would like to say something about what happened earlier" her sweet voice had pierced his chest like she'd just spat a venom dart into it.
He'd guiltily looked down at his plate, and had mumbled a quiet:
"Sure. Go ahead"
"Alright" Driver had sighed. Then, slowly, she had gone on with her speech: "… I'm... sorry about what happened. It was all my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you into something you didn't want".
Zim had started playing with his food with his fork. He still remembered it very well, from how intently he'd stared at it: stir-fried rice mixed with eggs and minced vegetables.
"It's okay" he'd murmured, "You didn't push me"
"It's not okay, and I did push you" she'd argued back in a somewhat authoritative voice.
"I insisted to do it…" he'd scooped up a forkful of rice and swallowed it with great difficulty: his throat was too dry even for Driver's delicious food.
"I knew you weren't ready, and I still went with it" she retorted. "I knew something wasn't right, and I said nothing. I should have known better, but I said nothing".
Zim rounded up another bit of food, eyes firmly pointed down. His heart pounded loud in his chest; his belly hurt: he was so utterly humiliated he could have died.
Still, he cleared his throat, loudly, so that she would stop with her venomous words and let him speak instead.
"It wasn't so bad..." he tried raising his voice, but it came out much more strained than he intended. "Everything was fine. I just... got... panicked over nothing for a moment, okay? It's not a big deal-"
"It is though. I can tell" she'd interrupted him, and he'd felt a surge of... embarrassed anger, directed at her, rising in his heart. As if he wasn't feeling enough negative emotions at the moment.
That line had made him feel so vulnerable. So exposed.
Like he was naked.
"So... uhm" Driver had continued, now a tinge of awkwardness tainting her confident manner of speaking. How she'd kept it down that well during the rest of that conversation was a mystery to him. "... I guess what I mean is, I understand why you're upset, and I'm going to give you as much space as you need until you forgive me".
Zim had said nothing at first.
He'd raised a shaky hand, grabbed his glass full of fruit juice. Had drunk a sip of it, to wet his dry throat.
His final words on the matter had been:
"I'm not upset at you. I have nothing to forgive", and while it was true (at least the second part), and while he'd put all the confidence he could muster into it, never had his voice sounded less convincing than while pronouncing that phrase.
The rest of the dinner had been consumed quietly, except for the clinks of the tableware. He wasn't sure what her reaction to that last line of his had been: he could not bear looking at her in the eye.
He'd forced himself to eat every single remaining grain of rice, even though his stomach churned in painful, uncomfortable protest at each bite. Once they'd both finished, her hands had entered his field of vision and grabbed his plate, in order to carry it to the sink and wash it.
As she put the kitchen back in order, Zim had jumped off his seat and excused himself, wishing her a good night in the most mechanical, coldest way yet; he had gone back to his lab, and had resumed working.
Zim clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, letting out a muffled growl into his arms.
He couldn't help but still feel some sort of resentment towards her: why did she have to go ahead and bring that up? If she'd just kept quiet and gone on as usual, like he was evidently doing already, now everything would be back to normal. That 'no lies, only truth' moral policy that humans liked to preach was pure suicidal folly: it easily exposed your most embarrassing, undesirable traits to the people you least wanted to notice, leaving you open for all kinds of attacks and pain. Just look at them: all this mess had only happened because he hadn't lied well enough!
If only he had suppressed his panic... if only he had managed to pretend to like it... or, if that really was inevitable, if only he'd managed to convince her that the thing hadn't upset him...
He lifted his eyes up, looking into the void space in front of him, half of his face still buried in his folded arms.
He knew his anger with Driver was petty: that whole thing had happened because of him. They both knew that. It would have almost been better if she'd acknowledged that instead of trying to take up the blame.
Zim huffed again. Everything around him either seemed boring or bleak or both. He regretted getting up from that couch so, so much: had he known what awaited him, he would have gladly stood through the pain and panic until it was over. It would have been WAY better than this reality where Driver didn't touch or kiss him or pay much attention to him at all.
That's right, that domestic human-style life together had been straight up turned upside down: Driver still smiled and talked and joked with him, but she avoided almost all physical contact with him. No hand holding, no hugs, no kisses. Something was clearly wrong, and they both knew it: he could clearly feel the awkward, guilty air that persisted between them. He himself could only stand that oppressive atmosphere only for each meal's duration, which he still attended in the hope that things would finally come back to normal.
He guessed that was her way of 'giving him space'... even though he had already assured her that he had no qualms with her (not for what she thought, at least) and that he was over the whole thing. And that made him suspect that maybe there was another reason behind her aloofness. Maybe, now that it had turned out that he was more clueless about relationships than both of them thought... maybe now she was having... second thoughts.
After all, he did nothing but causing her problems and worries and disappointments. No wonder she felt like she always had to take control and baby him: what else could she do, when he constantly acted like a whiny, wormy crybaby, whenever things between them got hard?
It wasn't a stretch, to think that she was finally growing tired of him: anyone else would have undoubtedly already dumped him.
Zim shut his eyes tight, and hit the keyboard with a frustrated, angry punch.
"Stupid... sex!" he hissed to himself, "Stupid... touch!"
He lifted himself up, standing up straight again.
He looked around, to check if anyone else was there. He lifted up his tunic. Then, he furtively sneaked a hand in his pants, to touch the same place where Driver had rubbed him.
And there was...nothing there. Nothing. Completely smooth, just as he remembered.
He tried rubbing with his fingers: nothing in particular again. He pried a bit deeper, and felt the slightest sense of pain, the same one Driver had given him, but fainter.
He withdrew his hand and wiped it on his hip, frustrated, but not surprised.
That warmth he occasionally felt probably meant nothing. It was either an ancestral physical response that had survived his race's evolution (posed that Driver's theory that Irkens used to reproduce manually was founded), or he had deluded himself into feeling it in the first place.
He didn't know which of the two explanations was worse: the first one being right would mean that his Empire had implanted a bunch of lies into his PAK. But if the second one were true... then it would logically follow that the other pleasant sensations he felt with Driver may also be delusional.
Both theories were too plausible for comfort; the second one was especially unsettling: it was the same conclusion he had initially drawn when he'd first started being attracted to Driver. And now the evidence was piling up...
After all, Driver didn't need to learn how to express attraction and affection, much less did she need to be taught what exactly they were: she just knew that. And she didn't need to pretend to like rubbing crotches, or anything at all for that matter: he could tell by looking into her eyes, that all that she did and felt for him was genuine. And all of it held true because she was an Earthling.
How about him instead? An Irken? He could ignore and pretend and reinterpret a lot of things in a way that made what he did with Driver sound less preposterously inappropriate than it was, but at the end of it, he himself couldn't deny that if anybody had ever asked him if Irkens, in general, as a species, usually formed, or were even made to form relationships, his answer would have been a resounding... no. No, they weren't. Not at all.
Not ever, not now, nor would they ever be in the future.
What he had done so far was acting like an Earthling. Maybe rubbing crotches and mating was where the line that he as an Irken couldn't cross was drawn: then, his sudden panic and sense of shame during the act would have made a lot of sense.
Even with the hugging, and kissing, and all the other things that he'd done so far, it'd taken him a long time to get comfortable with. And that made him wonder... was there even a solid distinction between actively trying to enjoy something, and deluding oneself into believing to be enjoying something?
Zim started to nervously fiddle with his hands. He didn't like doubting his feelings for Driver. He didn't want to believe all the tenderness and admiration and longing he felt for her was fake. But how could he be sure? Like, sure sure?
Already, the feelings they had for one another weren't equal: Driver had confessed to be in love with him multiple times, the highest type of affection existent on Earth. What about him? They didn't have anything remotely similar to love on Irk. He'd even had to make up a word, 'squintz', to rationalize what he felt for her!
Driver seemed to be fine with that, but he was sure that if she knew that he had doubts on that feeling too, she would have been absolutely heartbroken. He at least would have certainly been if Driver had ever gone back on her words...
"Urghhh! Enough! I don't wanna think about this anymore!" he whined in frustration, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind.
He went on, voicing his complaints louder and louder in the empty, dark laboratory around him:
"Can't things just go well, for once?! Why must there always be a problem?!" he threw his arms up, then grabbed his antennae and pulled them down. "RRRrrrgh! Why do I keep overthinking this stuff?! I used to be able to get over things so easily! So why is it so hard now, that I'm doing better than I ever have?! Can't I just be HAPPY, for once?! Can't I-"
BOOM.
The sudden rumble of an explosion interrupted him, leaving him startled and confused: it had gone off in the distance... above him.
He looked up, through the glass ceiling: the sky was dark, covered with grey clouds. He remembered the morning sky being clear and bright with the sun's rays: the weather must have slowly worsened during the day, and with his eyes gradually adapting to the changing light, he hadn't noticed until now. But that ALSO meant that-
Something hit the glass. More precisely, a series of things hit the glass in rapid sequence, one after the other. Like bullets fired by a machine gun.
Zim flinched down, his eyes big and pointed straight at the ceiling.
"Nooo... no, it can't be-"
BOOOM. A louder thunder exploded, and this time the sky was lighted up by the flash of a lightning.
The hitting sound resumed, this time stronger, longer, and he could finally see its source: droplets of water were falling from the sky and onto the glass.
It was raining.
"Argh, no! It can't be! Why here?! Why now?!" he cursed at the treacherous, raining sky.
The sky seemingly took offense to that, because it poured an even more copious wave on the ground.
Zim flinched again: he wished he hadn't polished that glass so well. It was practically invisible: his enhanced eyes could perfectly see the water hitting and flowing on it, like it was gonna fall past it and onto him any moment now, and burn him. Oh Irk, please don't let it leak...
He looked back down, at the room around him: it really was much darker than usual. How could he be so distracted as not to notice it? He should have never taken up the habit of turning the lights off during the day!
He took one step away from the desk, with the intention of reaching the light switches, but abruptly stopped: looking at the room had made him have a realization.
The laboratory was already pretty spacious, but with so little light to illuminate it, it almost looked empty, save for the dark silhouettes of the machines and the computers.
And it... reminded him of something...
"Urgh! Not this again!" Zim complained, slapping a hand on his forehead, "Why do I keep remembering that?"
He tried taking one more step, but the sky exploded with its loudest thunder and flashiest lightning so far.
BOOOM, rumbled the sky, so loud he felt its vibration shaking in his antennae and in his chest, as if to say: You stay right there.
"Eee!" he yelped, and as he jumped backwards he hit the desk with his thigh: in the split second when the room was lit by the lightning, he could have sworn he had seen one of the machines move.
And the memory of the Security Robot looming over little smeet him had immediately flashed into his mind.
"Nooo..." he wailed, pressing both his palms on his closed eyes, "Why are you showing me this?!" he asked, vaguely addressing his brain, or his PAK, or whatever was projecting those images in front of his eyes.
Uuuuuuuh. Outside, the wind howled ominously.
The impacts of the water drops against the glass ceiling hammered on his ears as the rain's intensity increased: a storm was brewing on the ground above him.
Those chaotic, loud, scary sounds resembled perfectly, in a metaphorical sense, the emotions and thoughts he'd had that day, when the Security Robot had taken him from the Purpose Evaluation Exam and dragged him to the Isolation Cell-
"It doesn't matter!" he shook his head, "It was just a mistake! They did give me a purpose in the end! They didn't mean to send me there! I-it wasn't so bad anyway!"
Another loud BOOOM! made his heart jump in his throat, and he cowered back behind the desk, with a choked gasp.
He peeked at the room, his eyes just a little above the level of the desk: the flowing water was projecting creepy, smoky shadows all over the room. He wanted to stand up right and reach the damn light switch, but his body refused to move: he felt completely paralyzed. His arms hands knees were shaking. His breath was heavy and irregular. He was shaking back then too, he remembered, only he was flailing and tossing his limbs all over the place; not that that could help him in any way against the Security Robot's grasp...
"A-ah, t-this is- this is so stupid! I-It's alright, I'm fine-" he tried reassuring himself, but hearing his voice coming out so shaky and weak only managed to increase his unease: and despite knowing how irrational that was, his mind was still deadly sure that if he took one more step away from that desk, a cold, merciless metal hand would have come out of the darkness and grasped him.
Those huge, creepy shadows dancing on the lab's machines surely contributed to that: they made them look alive, plotting against him.
Trembling, Zim moved the only way his muscles allowed him to: down. He crouched, scooping with his bottom under the desk, and he leaned against one of its metal boards.
He hugged his legs to his body, squinted his eyes shut, and allowed himself to remember that memory: maybe then that irrational fear and panic would finally leave him, once he remembered how not-that-bad-after-all that experience had actually been.
Oh, but it still wasn't the least bit pleasant. He could almost sense the robots metal hands grasping his little, soft waist, mercilessly lifting him up above its unfeeling head, and then-
The Security Robot floated towards the Examination Room's exit, carrying ZiM with it, holding him up above its head.
ZiM's eyes darted between every single other smeet in the room, passed out or otherwise, hoping that someone, anyone would come help him. But none of his smeetmates came to his rescue, no matter how loudly and how desperately he begged them: all he could see on their faces was indifference at best or anger and scorn at worst.
Not even Red and Purple lifted a finger- though to be fair, Red was occupied tending to a screeching Purple who had gotten a blow dart straight into his eye.
Skoodge was the only one not to show him apathy or outright hostility, but he did look... strangely disappointed in him. Even Skoodge, who had always showed nothing but admiration in him...
When the robot successfully carried him out of the room and into the outer corridor, ZiM became even more panicked, and tried to fight off his aggressor:
"Let me go, metal head! Let GO!" he helplessly hit the claws closed around his waist, trying to stretch his little legs and kick the robot's head, "Listen to your Irken master! He has an EXAM to take!"
The robot kept on floating, heedless of his orders: ZiM helplessly watched the Evaluation Room's door get smaller and smaller in the distance, until the robot turned a corner in the long corridor. As he would later recall, that was the last time he ever saw it.
"NO!" he yelled, contorting his torso in every way possible to in some way slip out of the robot's grasp. "Stop it! I mean it! I-if I don't take the test, you're gonna get in a lot if trouble! They will dismantle you for this!"
ZiM kept on screaming and squirming, alternating between pleas and threats, as the rooms and corridors and corners inexorably passed him by, until the robot's floating march abruptly halted.
He turned around, as much as the robot's hold on him allowed him to: there was a door there, behind him, the only one at the end of that narrow corridor, and there was a big sign in glowing letters above it, which read: Isolation Cell.
The robot's red eyes flashed, and the sliding door opened. It promptly lowered the little smeet, and unceremoniously rolled him on the room's floor.
ZiM immediately jumped up, but only managed to get a glimpse of the door's shutters sliding back in place: they locked him in the room before he could even take one step.
Still, he ran and started punching it, yelling with as loud as he could:
"No! Let me out! You CAN'T lock me in here!"
No response whatsoever came from the outside. ZiM took a quick look at the room around him: it was small, square, and absolutely empty, if not for one dim ceiling lamp, with a dark floor and pristine white walls.
"Please, let me out!" he yelled, realizing that maybe a more polite tone would have done the trick. "I'll miss the Evaluation! They still have to give me a purpose! Hey?! Heeeey?! Anyone?!"
Silence again. Just the sound of his veins and heart hammering in his chest and temples.
He stopped with the punching, his hands tired and sore from all his hitting on the robot's and door's metal.
He felt a sort of... wave of sickness, traversing his whole body: he realized now, there was a very very VERY real possibility that no one would let him out in time. The exam was probably continuing in the other room, without him...
"U-uh... no..." his face reflexively contorted. He could feel a knot in his throat, and tears prickling at his eyes.
"Please… I did everything they asked" he said, calmer and quieter, keeping his mouth one inch from the door. "I destroyed more than anyone! I beat all my smeetmates! So why...?"
Complete silence again.
He pressed his clenched fists against the door, and helplessly looked at the fissure between the two shutters, hoping that they would somehow open.
"… what did I do wrong…? Please, whatever it was, I promise I won't do it again! Please, give me another chance!" he tried one last time
No response.
He also realized now, that there was probably no one on the other side of the door to listen to him in the first place: just him and an empty room, away from the exam and the other Irkens, and even the robots.
And none of them had any intention of letting him out of there.
"Uuuhh..." he whimpered as tears started streaming down his cheeks.
He took a few steps backwards, and dejectedly sat on the floor, against the wall opposite to the door. He hugged his legs to his chest, and helplessly sobbed and whimpered, the image of his smeetmates' angry eyes glaring at him flashing in front of his eyes.
He looked at the door, the only thing worth looking at in the empty room, and waited, shaking and crying, knowing that it probably wouldn't open for a long time.
"Mmmh…!" Zim frustratingly pressed his face tight against his knees, to the point it became difficult for him to breathe.
That memory was so embarrassing to think about: he was just a sniveling, silly little smeet; as it had soon turned out, his reaction had been completely exaggerated: one Evaluator had later gotten him out of the Isolation Cell he'd been mistakenly been locked in, and assigned him a purpose, just like he wanted. So why was that old, happy-ended story affecting him so much?! He was usually so good at pushing down unwanted thoughts and emotions: it was one of his greatest talents, actually! A soldier's greatest skill was to properly discipline his own mind, and he of course, as Irk's best soldier, was extremely gifted in that ability. Why, just WHY was he suddenly so inept at it?!
Zim slowly looked up: he'd almost forgotten he'd crammed himself under the desk. The laboratory was still dark, and the storm was still raging above the surface, he could hear.
It must have been a truly pathetic sight: Invader Zim, cowering under a desk like a scared whipped dog.
It's just like that time, isn't it?
A voice inside him spoke, and he shivered.
Not much has really changed since then, has it?
"Oh, shut up!" he hissed to himself, "You're not real! I have NO reason to doubt myself, I just- I just-"
The voice continued, somehow speaking over his actual voice:
You can't do something a billion stupid humans do every day, even when you're guided every step of the way.
"… uuhhh..." a pained whimper escaped his throat, the memory of that other horrible episode playing before his eyes. He covered his ears, in a futile attempt to block out the soundless voice.
"Go away..." he weakly mumbled.
You can't do something a billion other Irkens do every day, even though you're programmed to do so.
BOOOM. A loud thunder went off outside, a flash of lightning lighting up the room for a split second, and Zim almost jumped in place, startled.
"Aaah! Ah, n-no-" he let out a scared, chocked gasp; he planted his heels into the floor and pressed his back even further against the board behind him, eyes wide in fear: it had almost seemed to him like the voice and thunder had teamed up to berate and scare him. Or as if they somehow came from the same place…
That's right, that's the kind of place where you belong, the cruel voice continued, Cramped up in a dark corner where you can't bother other people with your incompetence.
A particularly acute and creepy wind howl screeched. Zim hugged his arms, shaking all over. This was absolutely crazy: it was like the whole world, his mind and the forces of nature itself had suddenly turned against him.
And don't bother trying to get out. Every time you feel so bold as to do so, there's always gonna be a Security Bot ready to drag you back to your cell anyway. Might as well make yourself comfortable and get used to it already.
BOOM BOOM BOOOOM. A grand series of three thunders roared, so loud they echoed inside the laboratory's big empty space, each accompanied by a spectacularly long and bright flash of lightning.
A wave of shock and fear washed over Zim's whole body from head to toe, his already shaky breath turning to outright panting.
But that exceptionally intense scare was apparently exactly what he needed to snap out of his panic: what followed it was nothing short of an unadulterated, self-assured rage.
"ENOUGH WITH THIS! E – NOUGH!" Zim yelled, flailing his arms in an X shape. "I am TIRED OF THIS!"
He finally scooped himself out from under the desk, and jumped on the chair nearby: he took a deep breath, turned his face and fists up at the dark, raining sky, and shouted his rage-filled protests:
"I AM ZIM!" he pridefully declared, "AND I WON'T LET MYSELF BE SILENCED AND STORED AWAY EVER AGAIN! YOU HEAR ME, UNIVERSE?!"
BOOOM. The thunder harshly rumbled again above him, with the rain hitting the glass ceiling in copious, loud waves. Still, Zim didn't desist, pointing instead an accusatory finger up:
"I DON'T CARE HOW MANY TIMES YOU TRY TO SHOVE ME IN A TIME OUT CORNER! OR RUIN MY MISSIONS! OR TAKE MY HAPPINESS AWAY FROM ME! ZIM WILL ALWAYS RISE AGAIN, AND TRIUMPH OVER ALL THE FILTHY ENEMIES YOU SEND MY WAY! YOU GET IT?!"
Zim panted, his throat aching from all that sudden shouting, and waited for the sky's answer: there was another thunder, but this time much farther away and quieter than the previous ones.
Even the wind seemed to suddenly blow a little more calmly than before.
Good. The Universe must have understood who was boss here.
"That's right… I've been going about this the wrong way!" Zim considered, pensively raising a hand under his chin, "This… this un-wellness that has poisoned my mind, is just an enemy like any other! And enemies aren't beaten by ignoring them!"
He jumped off the chair, and confidently walked into the creepy dark room in the light switches' direction.
"No matter! I don't care if it's my memories, or my emotions, or even my own self! I'll make them regret ever THINKING they could make a fool out of Zim! Shaming me! Shoving me under a desk! Keeping me away from Driver! I will face you all and put YOU back in your places! YES, even you, ME!" he screamed as he painfully jabbed a threatening finger into his own chest.
He brashly grabbed the main light switch lever, and turned it down: all the main lamps in the room instantly lighted up, illuminating the room with their bright yellow light.
Much, much better: all lighted up like that, he couldn't believe he was ever afraid of being in that harmless laboratory.
"Mmmmh… yes, but how to go about it?" he further reflected, "I don't have anything to analyze my brain or PAK with here. It might take days to build them for scratch, and I don't have that kinda time! I need to solve this right now!"
"I have to admit… this is unexplored territory for me" Zim started pacing back and forth around the lab to help himself think, head low and lost in thought. "How does one cure a mind without cutting the head open? Then again… If the problem is my own self, I might not be the best choice for this job. My very perception of myself has been so all over the place lately: it might spoil the results" he bitterly admitted.
"I know several alien species have mental doctors that do their self-reflection for them. And the 'talking-it-out' technique has worked in similar circumstances before, with Driver, who IS an alien, and seems to be well-versed in the art of mental self-management, but- ugh!" he stubbornly shook his head, "I can't 'talk-it-out' with her! I can't burden her with my mind problems again! And I don't wanna show myself to her until I've figured this whole mess out!"
"Still… I might be onto something there. If this alien cure really works, then the answer would be to interrogate one on the matter. Yes! Someone who has a good knowledge of the afflictions of the mind, and, ideally, who is also familiar with relationships and their problems! Someone I know I can trust with my own mind! Someone like- like-"
… oh.
"Oh, no!" he wailed, passing both hands over his face. Did he really have no other options? Maybe he could teleport himself on some alien planet, find one of these mind doctors, and demand their help! On the other hand… finding one without the help of his trusty SIR unit would potentially take a VERY long time. And the one person he'd thought of was already proven to be very trustworthy.
"Aaahhh… alright" Zim sighed. "I guess I'll just have to be vague about the most embarrassing details. I'm out of options anyway, and my time is running out. Ohhh, this is gonna be horrible..."
Worried, but still determined to find a solution to his problem, he went to the only computer in the room that had a call feature; he took a deep breath in, then typed in the number, operating as quickly as possible before his embarrassment could get in the way and block him again.
The beep beep of the connecting line seemed to go on infinitely. Then, somebody finally picked up: Prisoner 777's face appeared on the monitor.
"Hello, Zim" his friendly, but bored voice greeted him, "What do you want?"
Zim jumped, as if surprised that he actually responded to his call.
"Er… hi" he timidly waved his hand up. It was the second time now that he called him without knowing exactly how to start the conversation. Still, with a lack of a better idea, he went on to ask: "How are you?"
Prisoner 777 hesitated for a moment, his eyes widening (as wide as a Vortian's tiny eyes could get), seemingly surprised that he would ask something like that.
"I'm… okay, Zim" he slowly replied. "You know, eh… being in prison… slaving away for my Irken overlords..."
"That's good" Zim nodded.
"Uhhh… how are... you...?" Prisoner 777 asked, uncertain.
"I'm good" Zim smiled, though his voice came out sounding a little too tired and unconvincing, "Sooo very good I feel!"
"Oh… okay" Prisoner 777 nodded. "I'm glad to hear that"
"Thanks!"
"… alright, sooo… I guess I'll see you another time then?" Prisoner 777 lowered his finger to the edge of the screen, to close the call.
"No no no! Wait!" Zim frantically waved his hands to stop him.
"LOOK, I- I- urghhh!" he frustratingly punched the keyboard. Then he hissed, in a lower voice: "Look, I wouldn't be asking for your help in such a matter if I wasn't out of options!"
"Okay…?" Prisoner 777 guiltily and confusedly looked left and right, "Sorry for being your only option…? What do you want from me, anyway?"
"Okay!… Ahhh, okay" Zim sighed, trying to keep his racing breath and heartbeat under control. "You see… errr… the fact of the matter is... I have a problem"
"You have a problem" Prisoner 777 repeated.
"And the problem is... well... uhhh… I'm… going… insane" he managed to admit with great difficulty.
"You're going insane" he repeated again.
"… Yes"
"... uhmm... care to be more specific?"
Alright. Let's do this!… vaguely!
Zim joined his hands, and started explaining, trying to appear scientifically curious and not emotionally invested at all:
"… so... ok, let's say that, completely hypothetically, you were an Irken, alright? And your wife was still a Vortian, but in love with you this time-"
"Thanks, Zim"
"-and you were together in a pseudo-ally-relationship, right? Well, heh, obviously, as staunchly as you'd try to resist her affections, that would be bound to cause some conflicts in you, right? Sooo... how would you handle the situation?"
Prisoner 777 stared at him for a moment. Then, his face contorted into a displeased frown:
"... are you having problems with your girlfriend again, Zim? You should probably talk about this with her, then. Didn't I tell you already? 'Communication is key' and all that? I-"
"NO! NO no, hahaha, she- uhm, she- she is NOT my girlfriend! I already TOLD you, right?! She is a partner-ally that I teamed up with to help me bring the humans down!" Zim hastily corrected him, "But anyway, the point is-"
"Well then, I guess it's not that urgent, is it?" Prisoner 777 boringly pointed out. "Just bribe another human. Or maybe blackmail them with their kids. Speaking of which, you've not been on Earth for a while, have you? I can tell from the lab you're standing in" he threw a couple glances behind Zim's shoulders. "So you can't threaten me with my kids this time"
"Uh-" Zim's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat from the sudden fear, "B-but-"
"Goodbye. Call me when you have an innocent race to slaughter or something" his finger hovered again over the out-of-sight button.
"NO NO NO! Please, don't do that!" Zim practically jumped at the screen "I- I- ehhh-!"
He swallowed. He was probably gonna have to reveal a little more than he wanted to. Not that the other Irkens would believe a Vortian's word over his own…
"Look, it's not an hypothesis I'm talking about! The truth is… I promised this girl a- a certain type of relationship! …. a little more than a partner-allyship" he admitted, "A-And I thought I could keep it up, within reasonable limits, b-but... I keep messing up. I keep messing up, and it's becoming more and more obvious that I'm just not cut for this, and it's ended up taking a toll on my mind! And- and-"
Each word spoken stirred up his emotions, bit by bit, until his heart almost burst and the back of his face felt like it was swelling with tears. He really had hit rock bottom, hadn't he? Almost crying in front of a Vortian...
"… There's… there's something wrong with me. It's like I'm not in control of myself anymore, and I don't know why that is!" he said, voice shaking, "I can't just talk to her. I've already disappointed her so many times- things are so awkward between us now, I-I feel like she might be about to leave me! You're… you're my only option. I just... I-I need someone trustworthy, who won't tell on me and who won't judge me... please?"
Prisoner 777 hesitated to press the button, his face showing surprise and… something else. Compassion, maybe?
"Uh- A-and I'm, I'm sorry about your children! I promise if you help me just this once, I'll free them and send them to you as soon as I get back to Earth! Deal?" he joined his hands again, this time in a begging gesture.
"... wow, Zim" Prisoner 777 panted, astounded to the point of being out of breath. "You really care about this girl, don't you?"
Zim timidly nodded in confirmation.
"That's… so unlike you! I didn't even think it was possible for you to care about another person!" he exclaimed.
"I know..." he mumbled, looking away from him in embarrassment.
"… and I know you've been seeing a thera-pist, right?" he recalled. "And you've known me for a long time. So I thought, maybe you can help me figure out what's wrong with me!"
"Well… yeah, but I don't know if I'm qualified! Going to therapy is not the same thing as practicing it! I'm an engineer, remember? " Prisoner 777 argued. "Besides, my therapist is a very cheap one, for prisons. If I followed his example I would have to prescribe you hempzin leaves, and I'm pretty sure Irkens don't smoke-"
"Then treat my mind like one of your machines! Engineer it! Eeehhh" Zim flailed his hands around, afraid that he'd finally say no. "… look, I don't know what else to do! I'm really desperate! Can't you at least try? Pleeeease?" he stared at him with huge, sad eyes.
Prisoner 777 sighed, seemingly moved by his pleas.
"… ohhh, alright. Tell me about it" he conceded. "What's been bothering you?"
Zim sighed out a breath of relief. Now came the actual hard part:
"Well, you see, ehhh… the human is… great. I've been really hitting it off with her" he explained. "I mean, the connection between our minds! We are just so in tune with each other, she's the best partner that I could ever ask for! But... she's different from me. I always knew she was, obviously. Because she's an alien- a human. I thought we could find a compromise for that, but... I'm starting to think I just can't possibly do certain things, as an Irken. Every time we try to go over a certain point, I always end up panicking! Ehhh... you see, she..." he swallowed down.
Boy, how he wished he could be anywhere else doing anything else.
"... she... asked me to do something... pretty... intimate. And I said yes! But then, midway in, I... freaked out" he cringed a little more with every word he uttered. "And so... I-I'm pretty sure she hates me now, and-"
"Awww, Zim!" Prisoner 777 cooed, disgustingly full of understanding and compassion, "Is that what this is all about? Don't get so hung up on it! It happens to more of us than you think! You could take pills, you know, there's nothing to be embarrassed about-"
"This is not a pill problem! ZIM TAKES NO PILLS!" Zim yelled, "Look, the problem here is, I think all this constant and unnatural exposure to affection is causing my mind to crack! I used to be so good at controlling my thoughts and emotions, and now they're all over the place! I just want to go back to being my usual, sane Zim-self!"
"So… you like her. But you were also thinking of breaking up with her, because her presence is detrimental to you? Is that what you're conflicted about?" Prisoner 777 guessed.
Zim's heart thudded. Hearing that option being voiced by someone else made it feel much more real and tangible, and it felt… torturous and horrifying just to think about.
"N... NO! No, I could never leave her!" Zim protested. "I-I just… want to be able to control my mind again, while I'm with her. It must be possible, right? I-I mean... if it isn't, I-"
Prisoner 777 stared at him, seemingly confused by his rambling. Zim lowered his head again, and admitted, in a quiet, timid voice:
"… I know you're confused. I am confused at myself too! Every time I think too hard about it, it's life I feel… a bagillion conflicting feelings about this all! That's what I mean when I say I don't recognize myself anymore: I used to be SO sure about what I wanted, or needed! But all that has changed since I met her!"
"I know this relationship stuff probably isn't… healthy, for me" he admitted, and he had to squint really hard in order to push back another possible wave of tears. "But, she makes me feel so… happy, sometimes. She's just so cool, and... she has fallen in love with me. She's said so, a couple times. I can't fall in love back with her, obviously, but she has sworn her eternal loyalty to me, so I can't help but think that I owe her! I can't just leave her like that!"
"I think you might be exaggerating the implications of her confession, heh" Prisoner 777 smiled. "Well, Zim, if you don't love her back as you say, how do you feel about her exactly?"
"Well, I squintz her, obviously!"
"Squ... intz?" Prisoner 777 spelled, "Is that an Irken thing?"
"Yeah! It means 'enjoying a person's company, all the while caring about their well-being and happiness'!" he explained.
"Zim, that's... that's exactly what 'love' means" Prisoner 777 pointed out.
Zim blinked a couple times.
"….…... no it doesn't"
"Yes it does!"
"Well, but it CAN'T be! I'm an Irken!" he impatiently denied, "We DON'T fall in love, we just can't! It's physically impossible! Shouldn't you know it by now?"
"Zim, I feel you are too fixated on words themselves" Prisoner 777 shook his head, "Maybe you should just allow yourself to feel what you feel, without labeling it. You know, 'listen to your guts', as they say"
"But how can I not try to describe my feelings, when they cause me such discomfort? If I don't define them, how can I sort them out?" he retorted, "Also, 'follow my guts'? My guts are a mess! I can barely control my brains these days!"
"Oh, yeah... you did mention that" Prisoner 777 remembered. "You keep having intrusive thoughts. What are they about?
"It's... a memory, mostly" Zim nodded. "It pops out at random times even when it's not the least bit pertinent!"
"Are you sure? Maybe your mind is trying to tell you something. What kind of memory is it?"
"Ohhh, just my smeethood graduation!" he dismissively waved his hand. "It's when they assigned me to that reasearch lab on Vort, remember?"
"Oh, I do remember!" Prisoner 777 exclaimed with a nostalgic smile, "You were such a cute, brilliant child. A bit destructive, though"
"Hey, thanks!" Zim smiled back, "But see, there's nothing upsetting about it! It was a very happy event for me!... as disgusting as Vort turned out to be"
"Mmm... why don't you tell me about it?" he proposed, thoughtful.
"... eh? Why would I? An Evaluator came and gave me my purpose, I went to Vort, I conquered it-"
"You didn't conquer Vort"
"-there, story over! I told you, it's nothing special!"
"Maybe telling it out loud will help you look at it in a different perspective?" he suggested. "Who knows. You might find out something you had never noticed before"
"I can't imagine what, though..."
"You'll never know if you don't try!"
"..." Zim put his hands behind his back, and awkwardly swung his foot back and forth. "... I don't really want to..."
Prisoner 777 tilted his head.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Well- Well, because it's no use! I got evaluated, and I was happy, boom! I got exactly what I wanted! Perfect!"
"… is there something you don't want to admit to yourself, Zim?"
That phrase must have stuck some kind of nerve inside his chest, because it stung: his messed up guts wanted to answer 'yes'.
"Come on, Zim" Prisoner 777 encouraged him. "How am I supposed to help you, if you don't tell me what's wrong?"
Was... something wrong with his past? He'd never considered that before. But, if the 'follow your guts' mantra held any water… maybe he should give it a shot. What did he have to lose anyway?
Zim took in a deep breath. He let it out, and started telling, from the moment his mind had last shown him: he was still in the Isolation Cell, and he was...
ZiM was still in the Isolation Cell, still waiting for someone to let him out of that room, seated on the floor, back leaning on the wall. And with each second that passed, he lost a little bit of hope that that would actually happen.
Not that he was counting the exact amount of passing time: he'd turned off the internal clock of his PAK when it'd reached the twenty-seventh hour: it had just gotten too depressing to think about at that point.
He wasn't even staring at the door anymore, though his eyeballs were technically pointed at it. He was just too tired to think or do anything, even if it didn't require any effort on his part: he'd literally cried and screamed to the point of exhaustion, and his eyes were now heavy and dry, his throat was aching, his brain was unfocused and dizzy.
He'd kept himself from sleeping, as he didn't want to possibly be caught asleep when they eventually freed him... though that too was starting to feel pointless.
He really wished he had at least a weapon in his PAK, with which to gun down the door, or the walls. Then maybe he wouldn't feel so helpless, whether he managed to get out or not. But of course, only purposeful Irkens could carry weapons in their PAKs. It all came down to the exam, didn't it? His failed exam. At this hour his smeetmates had probably had their first instruments installed in...
ZiM closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep. Maybe if he was lucky he would wake up finding out it had all been a bad dream.
Or maybe he wouldn't wake up at all. He would have been fine either way, really.
Then, all of a sudden, he heard the door's mechanism clicked.
His eyes shot wide open: the door's shutters slid open, and a fourth (unscathed) Evaluator appeared at its threshold.
ZiM stupidly blinked at him. Just half a second earlier he'd been dead sure he wouldn't see anything except that room again, and now the door was open and another person stood before him. Was he hallucinating, perhaps?
"You're Smeet Zim, from Unit #y85u58. Right?" the Evaluator spoke.
"Uh-" ZiM hesitated for a moment. That voice had sounded pretty real. Whether that figure was an apparition or not, he better answer properly, just to be sure: he jumped up, straightened his back, and saluted him.
"Sir! Smeet ZiM reporting for duty, sir!" his voice sounded pitifully quiet and cracked, lacking his usual confidence and energy. Better not speak more than necessary.
"Mmmm... you've got quite a violent, dangerous record on you" the Evaluator thoughtfully slid his finger on his tablet. It was probably displaying his records. "Everything you touch ends up broken. Or on fire".
ZiM imperceptibly nodded. The Evaluator's voice was sweet and soothing, but also had a negative tone to it. Wasn't that a good thing? Wasn't the whole purpose of an Irken to destroy as much as he could?! He didn't even know anymore...
"You're also pretty short for your age. Though your genetic height prediction is quite promising" he continued, his eyes firmly pointed down at the tablet. Like everything ZiM was was on that tablet, instead of in front of him.
The Evaluator raised his eyes at him for the first time, and unexpectedly... he gave him a complicit, reassuring, and understanding wink.
"A late bloomer, uh?" his cheeks rose: he was probably smiling under his high collar. "Don't worry about it. I was one too. I had my 1 foot height sprout all in one night"
"Heh..." ZiM let out a quiet chuckle at him, his heart swelling with relief and comfort: the first kind word since more than twenty-seven hours. And thank Irk, he didn't seem to be in trouble anymore.
"You know, that machine you brought at the Purpose Evaluation was impressive" the Evaluator went on to compliment him, "Did you build it on your own?"
ZiM nodded.
"Y-yes, sir..." he forced his dry mouth to spell.
"All the other machines we've confiscated from you were pretty remarkable too. Especially considering the limited material we provide smeets with" he read a few more lines from his tablet.
Then, he seemingly turned it off, and folded it under his pit.
"I believe with a little more control and discipline, your destructive skills will prove very valuable, with a brain like yours" he probably smiled again. "That's why I've assigned you to a scientific research facility on Vort. Your skills will be put to good use, AND you'll be allowed to destroy and breaks stuff much more freely, since it'll be foreign equipment -just don't say I told you, hah! What do you say?"
ZiM's heart stopped for a moment from the sheer, bursting happiness that he felt.
That was the first genuine compliment he had ever received in his entire life. So… his efforts had been recognized?! He had passed the exam after all?! He wouldn't have to be left in that room, forgotten?!
If he hadn't literally run out of tears earlier, he would have cried.
"Oh, thank you!" ZiM excitedly bolted from his spot, his energy replenished back to the brim, running towards the Evaluator, and without really any conscious planning behind it, he jumped and hugged him, his arms tightly closed around his chest. "Thank you, sir! I won't disappoint you, I prom-"
The Evaluator hastily put a hand on his forehead, and pushed him away: ZiM fell back, and his PAK and head painfully thudded against the floor.
He looked up, confused. Half of the Evaluator's face was hidden, but he could see he wasn't smiling anymore: rather, he seemed to be embarrassed, and disapproving. All his supportive kindness suddenly vanished into thin air.
"Ahem" he cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders. "As I was saying. Control and discipline, soldier. You better start working on them. Such lowly impulses are inappropriate for a true Irken. You understand?" he asked, his voice much more formal than before.
"U-uhm..." ZiM stammered, still disoriented and taken aback from that jarring reaction. He slowly got up, cheeks darkened from the embarrassment. He swallowed, wetting his throat as much as possible, and made another salute.
"Y-yes! Forgive my embarrassing display, sir!" he apologized.
The Evaluator clicked his tongue. ZiM would never quite understand, looking back on it, whether it was an approving gesture or a scornful one.
"Follow me, cadet" he coldly ordered him, as he turned back and walked out of the Isolation Cell.
ZiM took a deep breath. He was still a little stunted, and his head still hurt from when it'd hit the floor, but he tried his best to ignore both sensations: he was finally getting out of that room, and he was doing it with a Purpose for himself. He wasn't gonna let a little slip up ruin it for him.
He shook his head, and put on a more secure face: alright. This was his chance to prove himself. He marched behind the Evaluator, trying his hardest to match his pace with his little legs, leaving the Isolation Cell behind them.
"... aaand, that is all. See? Perfectly pleasant memory right there!" Zim concluded his story on a joyful note.
Prisoner 777 blinked a few times.
"Ehhh… I mean… I guess it's- Hey, wait, why were you in an isolation cell in the first place?"
"Oh, that was just a mistake!" Zim chuckled. "It wasn't as bad as I'd thought anyway. Not too different from the Time out Corner actually-"
"Time Out Corner?"
"Yeah, heh, my destructive energy was too much for my wimpy smeetmates. So it occasionally had to be contained. In the Time Out Corner! For their own good! Poor pathetic little things!" Zim went on to tell, "And of course, my bombastic prowess exploded during the final exam. Or better yet: it made them explode! Hah! If I'd stayed in the room any longer, they would have had to discard them all as garbage drones! That's why I was temporarily moved to an Isolation Cell, so that they could have their own chance to impress the Evaluators, lest my burning light outshone their pitifully incompetent one!"
More confused staring from Prisoner 777. After a while, he cleared his throat, and spoke, in an inappropriately negative tone:
"Alright, uh… I'm pretty sure half of what you just said was just conjecture on your part. But besides that, you... talk as if you liked being put in time out"
"Well, yeah! Obviously! Such a fun time it was!" he rolled his eyes, smiling condescendingly at him.
"Zim, time- time out is a punishment!" Prisoner 777 exclaimed, seemingly outraged by his words. "You were being punished!"
"Pfff, no I wasn't!" Zim chuckled. "It's called discipline! It's a way to teach soldiers to control their energy! You probably wouldn't understand, because you're a wimpy little brainhead, but-"
"Did you like it though?" Prisoner 777 interrupted him. How so very… uncharacteristic of him. "Did you really have fun being locked alone in a room for hours? Really?"
Zim blinked a couple times. Now that he described the time out corner with those terms, it looked much less appealing. And when he tried to think back of the sensations he felt at the time… he couldn't really recall much except for… boredom.
"Well- I- well, maybe 'fun' isn't the right term, but-" he stammered.
"Did you like it or not? Just answer that" he interrupted him again. That sudden, rude boldness irritated Zim, who went on to angrily retaliate:
"Look, it doesn't matter if I liked it or not, it-"
"Yes it does! That's the whole point of the conversation, figuring out what's up with your emotions!" Prisoner 777 relentlessly retorted.
"NO IT- Look, discipline isn't always pleasant!" Zim raised his voice. "I might have gotten a little bored, but it made me stronger! Discipline makes you strong, and you can't become a good soldier without it!"
"Zim, that's not discipline. That's child abuse. No child should be punished like that!" Prisoner 777 argued back. "Especially such an active young mind as your own! They weren't giving you the proper outlets and attention it required, so of course you would lash out!"
"Ab- abuse-!" Zim involuntarily spat. That was so weird: Prisoner 777 was arguing and working to prove him wrong, but seemingly to help him. Like Driver occasionally did...
"Pfff, yeah!" he forced himself to scoff with an arrogant voice. "That's not even a word! It sounds like a piece of alien propaganda Driver would say! This is just how it works on Irk! You and Driver just don't understand, because you're aliens! And-"
"'Alien' this, 'alien' that!" Prisoner 777 taunted him, looking annoyed and frustrated out of his mind, "Aliens just don't know better, do they? How bold, coming from the member of a race that steals all the good ideas from other planets!"
"YOU-!" Zim exclaimed, indignant. What was wrong with him today?! When had he gotten so bold?! "You watch your mouth, you- you-"
"Zim, you sound like a broken record! No wonder you haven't been able to find a solution!" Prisoner 777 harshly pointed out. "If you don't get over your preconceptions and biases, how do you expect to find the solution to ANY problem? Shouldn't you know that, as a scientist?!"
"I- uhm, ehh, I- You! Ehhh…!" Zim stuttered, struggling to find a good counterargument: he'd really thought he'd come to this discussion with an open mind, but… everything he was hearing made him so uncomfortable, he regretted having tried in the first place.
"Aaargh, look! Just get to the point already! What do you want from me?!" he angry growled: then, after this one last exchange, he could close that cursed call for good.
"I want you to admit how you actually feel about this memory!"
"F- fine! Fine! NOT – GOOD! I don't feel good at all! Happy now?!" Zim angrily punched the keyboard below him.
"It wasn't FUN being in the Time Out Corner!" he spat, his anger mounting, "I was BORED out of my mind! Obviously, I would have much rather stayed with the others, and played, like any other normal smeet! But I'm NOT normal! I'm DIFFERENT, there's no one else LIKE ME, I'm the most incredible Irken EVER! So- so I needed to be- ehhh- t-to be-" Zim stammered near the end of his speech. How… weird: he often repeated those words to himself. To prep himself up. To make himself feel special. But now that he spoke them out loud, in that context, they… didn't sound encouraging, nor remotely positive. At all.
So when he went to close it, the words that came out of his mouth were staggeringly different from the conclusions he usually drew from such considerations:
"… to be locked… in an empty room… so no one would have to deal with me..." his lips, tongue, and vocal cords seemed to work separately from his conscious brain.
That phrase, that memory that he'd always known, that'd always been self-evident inside him mind, suddenly translated to a completely new, terrifying truth: not only had he been hurt. Not only had he been discarded, however briefly. It was the Empire that had hurt and discarded him. Maybe not knowingly. Maybe not without reason. Maybe only temporarily. But it had hurt him and it had discarded him.
Zim confusedly looked down. At his body, his hands. They looked so weird: like they belonged to someone else.
When Prisoner 777 spoke again, his voice too seemed to come from a different dimension:
"See, Zim, that's my point. You've been blaming your discomfort with intimacy on your girlfriend, and on your biology. But I don't think there's anything wrong with them" he told him, his voice now back to being slow, calm, and soothing. "Maybe… just throwing it out there… maybe it was the Empire, who worked to repress a certain part of you?"
"… repress… me?" Zim mumbled, looking back up at the screen. He felt like his brain was floating in jell. "… how?" he asked, although… he realized now, that 'containment' was just a nicer word for 'repression'.
All this time… the Empire had been 'repressing' him?
"Well, like when you tried to hug that Evaluator. You genuinely wanted his affection, right?"
… he... did? … that... thing had ALSO always been right in front of his eyes, and he had never even considered it.
"… I… did...?" he slowly repeated. "But… that means-"
Ding.
Zim's mind suddenly snapped out of its suspended state: following that last logical reasoning had seemingly lit up the voice of reason inside his head again.
Now he knew what he had to do.
Zim looked up at Prisoner 777. And this time he wore a confident look on his face.
"I think I get it now. What's been wrong with me the whole time" he told him.
Prisoner 777 smiled at him in a way that almost seemed… proud. Had Zim had any knowledge about familial dynamics, he would have probably described it as paternal.
"I'm glad to hear that. You've really grown since I last saw you, you know?"
Zim smiled back at him, and nodded.
"Thank you"
"Don't mention it, Zim" Prisoner 777 said back. "Sooo, anyway, about my freeing my kids-"
Zim cut the transmission off.
"No time for thaaaat!" Zim dramatically announced to the empty laboratory, an index finger pointed up at the sky. "I have to go save my partner-allyship!"
He quickly ran up to the teleporter on the other side of the room, typed in the code for Driver's home, and teleported there.
As soon as he appeared in her kitchen, something struck him as bizarre: the room was immersed in the same kind of dim light as the lab on Nortyne was, with the same kind of monotonous noise playing in the background. It was more like he had entered another room rather than gone to another planet. Had he lost track of time and traveled there in the evening? Or...
He looked at the closest window: grey sky. Water splashing in drops against the glass. Oh boy...
"Urghhhh!" he frustratingly groaned. "It's RAINING on this planet too?!"
He balanced himself on his PAK legs, and looked at the outside: a coat of dark clouds covered the usually blue, bright sky of Driver's planet, raining waves of water drops upon it.
At this point it was clear: the universe WAS conspiring against him, annoying him in any way possible.
Well, she certainly wasn't out there- wait, actually, that wasn't to be excluded: Driver didn't seem like the type who could be kept from going outside by rain. Oh, man, he hoped that wasn't the case- but if she was inside the house, how had she not heard him teleport?
"Driver?" Zim called. No answer.
He got down, folding his PAK legs back in place, and took a few cautious steps into the nearby living room: no one there. Only Cat, cozily snoring on the sofa, all curled up on itself.
Zim looked around the room for a few seconds. It certainly had a different feel to it than usual: the tv opposite to the sofa, the bookcases to the other side of the room, the ticking pendulum clock, the cupboards, the dark, square, empty hole of the fireplace. They were all pretty mundane, if not primitive human-made objects, yet they looked so… unreal, immersed in the dim light like that, with the sound of the falling rain coming from the outside.
He turned back, at the stairs between living room and kitchen: maybe she was upstairs.
As he started climbing them, it occurred to him that he hadn't really been upstairs except for that first night when he'd met her; so when he got to the second floor, it almost felt to him like he'd walked into a different house (well, one eerily decorated in the exact same way).
"Driver?" he called again, but already he sensed that he wouldn't find her there either. He still tried and looked into the other rooms, the bathroom, the study, and finally, her bedroom, the only upstairs room he'd been in before.
A long time had passed since he'd been there, and he'd only done so once, but the room was still as he remembered -only with a different change of blankets on the bed. But, no Driver there either.
There were only three more options left: the garden. The underground garage. Or maybe she'd gotten off her planet, for whatever reason.
True, he could have called her on her communicator, but… nah, he didn't want to seem clingy. Especially now. At this point, he should probably just wait for her to come back: at the very least, she should be back about an hour before dinner time.
"Bummer..." he sighed: he'd been so determined and excited to talk to her and finally get this whole mess fixed up, and now he had to wait. He really hoped that wouldn't suck out all of his enthusiasm, and the confidence he had built with such difficulty.
He walked up to the foot of her bed, jumped, and sat on it: it was soft and comfortable, just as he remembered. On the opposite wall was a window, red and pink flowers forming a second frame on the outside -they had to be the plants that she let grow all over the house's outer walls. And further on, the rain, and the grey sky.
You know what? The rain there wasn'tthatbad: it wasn't as dark as it was in the lab on Nortyne. And at least the annoying summer heat was momentarily gone.
He looked around, at the interior of the room; it was the same as the rest of the house: wooden furniture, floral patterns carved and sewn and painted everywhere, soft warm colors, black marble floor. Yet, it was also different. After all, humans' bedrooms were their personal rooms: that was Driver's personal room. It added an extra bit of charm and comfortableness to it that the other rooms really didn't have.
Zim took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the room with it. He really hoped things would go well between him and Driver: now he was sure, he definitely wasn't ready to leave herand what they had between them behind.
So he sat there, occasionally looking between the window and the rest of the room, and waited for her to come back home.