"Keep movin'," the guard spits in IRKEN, shoving their clawed hand between Dib's shoulder blades and shoving him along.

A sharp pain shoots through his abdomen, and he winces. The tattered cloth of his clothes reveals a fresh gash just under his chest. His stomach churns at the sight, and he gags, pausing in pure shock. The adrenaline had faded, and the area throbs. His guide glares at him, raising their hand, and he limps faster to keep up with them.

Dib walks in silence, focusing on the rhythm of his own clicking footsteps. The judgemental stares of countless IRKENS burn into his body from all sides. Whispers occasionally reach his ears, and he has to stop himself from screaming out at the purely stupid accusations. He grits his teeth, hoping for this to be an elaborate joke orchestrated by his Tallest.

After all, there's no way that he could be Defective.

They lead Dib into a hallway with translucent blue walls lined with stars and planets. Dib's eyes widen at the sight, and he feels himself smiling. The metal floors reflect the content of the walls with a background glow peeking through the spaces between the metal slabs. He hums and stares up at the domed ceiling dotted with galaxy clusters and their star systems.

The chair shifts under his weight, and he glances at the display of a planet with several shades of magenta and purple. Several layers of metal rings surround the planet in different directions. It reminds Dib of an atomic display. He looks back down at the half-sketched diagram matching the planet in front of him and a series of Vortian pens and pencils scattered around his work area.

A hand adorning filed-down claws slips onto the desk, the clicking steps coming to a stop. "How's the diagram coming along?"

Dib doesn't look up from his drawing, twirling one of the pens around his finger. "It's going okay." He hums, scanning the diagram. "IRK is a lot more complicated than I expected. . . Hey, Lenn-Arc, do you think you can tell me some of the history?"

He looks up at his father with a spark of hope. Membrane runs his thumb along the Mothman diagram Dib had worked for hours on, his lips twitching downwards. The hope drains with the change of facial expression, and the color drains from Dib's own. He swallows the lump in his throat and reaches for the drawing.

"I, uh. . . I'm sorry, Dad. You can get back to your work." He tugs at the bottom of it, furrowing his brow at Membrane's grip on the drawing. "Dad? C-Can I have it back? . . . Please?"

"You did well, Son."

The words said differ from the tone. Subtle, but still there. Dib's breath hitches, and with a burst of blind panic, he rips the diagram out of Membrane's hand. The loud ripping seemed to echo throughout the room. Dib stares at the torn drawing in his hands and then to the fragments still clutched between Membrane's fingers.

He drops the piece and tears his eyes from it. The charred contents of his room lay scattered across the floor, reduced to nothing but ash and soot. His eyes well with tears. He blinks and wipes the moisture with shuddering hands.

"I would suggest not cluttering up my cockpit, Human."

"Shut it, TAK." Dib hunches over, clutching his aching wrist and staring at the papers scattered around the floor. "I don't need your shit right now."

"And I don't need you making yet another mess you won't clean." She takes a moment to reflect on her quip. "And yet here we are."

Dib resists the urge to roll his eyes, plopping down in the seat and closing his eyes. The rumbling of the thrusters and the humming of machinery join the monitor's static. ZIM's transmission speech plays over and over through Dib's head, and he furrows his brow. The declaration of war struck him as odd from the hasty, impatient tone ZIM used.

As they made their way up to highschool, ZIM's plans took longer to formulate. They steadily grew in length until he would leave in silence for months on end before exploding into the building having already put it in action. He learned to be more patient over the years, and apply his intelligence to what he was working on.

It became harder for Dib to find out what his plan was and stop it. Sometimes, they succeeded in causing some damage. He runs his hand through his hair, remembering the three-day investigation at the Skool after five students were killed. He remembers ZIM's confession to him. The sickening smile when he revealed the bioengineered parasites, and the Prom night as the ultimate test.

Zita's bone-chilling scream as the police drug her away still has Dib waking up in a cold sweat, even months later. He shivers and opens his eyes.

Darkness spreads across the room save for the yellow glow of the sparks erupting from ZIM's PAK. Dib shifts and winces at the spark of pain in his abdomen, shivering from the cold. The chains holding him to the wall rattle, and a figure curled into his side groans and shifts. He gently shakes him. "Hey. . . ZIM, do you know where the hell we are?"

"On the way to Judgementia. For a Life Evaluation," ZIM mumbles, snuggling further into Dib's side for warmth. "Judging by the circumstances, you and I are being tried."

The guards wouldn't tell Dib anything, and shut him up when he tried to ask. "How. . . How do you know that?"

". . . I have. . . I have heard stories from the few Irkens that were merely exiled." He shudders, whether from the cold or the subject matter, ZIM had no clue. "As in. . . the ones that survived. They described a similar scene."

Dib lays his head on ZIM's, closing his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it right afterwards. ZIM faintly purrs and nuzzles into the touch, listening to Dib's rough breathing. The pre-Trial anxiety wells up in his Squeedlyspooch, and he struggles to choke it down. Especially as the ships thrusters power down.

The thud of the landing makes his antennae perk up under Dib's chin. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Oh. . ." Dib swallows. "Are you. . . are you nervous?"

"Absolutely not! ZIM does not get 'nervous.' That's a filthy human feeling." Despite the confident tone, his voice trembles and breaks in some places. One of his ocular implants flicker, and he taps it to get it to steady again.

Dib chuckles. "It's okay to be nervous, you know."

"I am not nervous!"

"Sure." Dib flashes a lopsided smile. "We'll be okay, ZIM. I promise."

ZIM nods, squeezing his eyes shut as the door opens and light filters into the area around them.

"It is still alive."

"Why is it not dead?"

"We ordered it to be killed."

The pitchy voices send a soft echo through the heads of all to hear, externally booming and reverberating off of the metallic magenta walls. A collective shudder sweeps through the crowd of Irkens before the room returns to its previous state of silence. The humming of what seemed like miles of wiring and metal tubing climbing and intertwining on the far walls rises to dominance.

Large monitors looming on either side of the Control Brains showcase three Irken letters and the figure's hidden face. The same three syllabic clicks and warbling vibrations echo through the Spike of Judgement as the figure's blinders drift away from its face. ZIM's antennae flatten against the back of his head as he meets the exhausted raspberry eyes showcased on the monitors.

"Irken ZIM," the deeper-voiced Brain begins. The voice booms above the mantra of the balconies, leaving silence in its wake as the echo fades from audibility. "Your time has come. Prepare yourself for all you deserve."

ZIM pulls at his chains keeping him tied to the platform, the IRKEN equivalent of a heart beating rapidly in his chest. His vision flickers as the Control Brains attach themselves to the ports of his PAK, albeit a bit of difficulty due to the bent metal. They hoist him up as far as his restraints allow.

The first newer memory pops up on the monitors, and the stands erupt with protest. Dib sits cross-legged on a medical examination table with streaks of dried blood staining his face and shirt, watching with a small smile as ZIM wraps his wounds. ZIM shakes his head as he works, mumbling something under his breath before the screen freezes.

His antennae twitch as the Irkens in the stands whisper amongst themselves. He glances around the room once or twice before locking eyes with Dib, who sits cross-legged in a caged-in area on another spike. A small voice from his PAK tells him to quiet down, and the room fades back into silence.

The Control Brains stay silent until a feminine-voiced one speaks up. "Fraternizing with the enemy. Alone, punishable by death."

The one on the left speaks up. "Yes, but his mission was not a mission at all. This. . . This thing was exiled."

"However," the middle Control Brain quips, "may it be true that it was exiled, but it also truly believed that his exile was an important mission from the late Tallest. As a consequence, his actions are still an offense against the Irken Empire."

"I suppose you are correct."

"No! No, no, no, wait! It's. . . It's not what it looks like. . . ?" ZIM shakes his head, ocular implants flickering again. The environment around him morphs and melts into a room filled with Vortian technology. He walks over to one of the Vortians hard at work at what looks like a replica PAK.

"How much longer is it going to take?"

"Not too much longer, Dib." Lenn-Arc cranes his neck to glance at him before going back to tinkering with the metal. "Patience. It won't be an exact replica to his, but it'll have the memory of everything leading up to his Life Evaluation."

Dib runs a hand through his hair. "Can you help me install it? I don't think I can reach back that far." He chuckles dryly.

"Yes, yes. I can help you." Lenn-Arc sets his tool down and stares up at him. "You understand that it won't be like the hybrid you met in that void, yes? There's a large possibility that you could have much more severe complications."

"I don't care. I-I just. . ." Dib blinks, shifting uncomfortably. "I. . . I can't live without him. He's been a huge part of my life for so long. I can't go back to Earth empty-handed."

"Disgraceful, feeling that way about an Irken, of all beings." He offers a half-smile, then turns to fine-tuning some of the smaller details. With a small chuckle, he adds, "At least he didn't hurt my children. I would think something so apathetic would have already done away with something so small."

Dib hums to himself. He looks to the side, scanning the countless Irkens in the stands. They exchange excited whispers. For what, he doesn't know. The Control Brains release him, and he comes crashing to the ground. It takes a moment for his ocular implants to adjust to the quick movement, but when the Life Counter within his PAK starts, the string snaps.

He pulls at his chains, screeching in panic. "I am ZIM! You. . . I. . . I am IRK's finest Invader! I am an Elite! I. . . I can't live without my PAK! Give it to me! Give it to me!"

The darkened edges of his vision spread until the room fades into black. Dib's faint voice telling him that it's going to be okay. Faint whispers of, "I'm cold," and, "I don't wanna die." The sudden warmth of some type of fabric around him. He collapses into Dib, finally noticing the streaks of liquid running down his face and a faint dripping from above. His skin sizzles. Dib pulls him closer, laying his head on ZIM's chest.

"Irken host expired."