A/N: YO, YO I GOT A JOKE FOR THE LAST CHAPTER, JUST HIT ME
WHAT'S BLACK, WHITE, AND RED ALL OVER?
: DIB
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA THAT JUST CAME TO ME WHILE I WAS TYPING I'M A GENIUS HAHA I'M GOING TO HELL FUCK MY LIFE
…
Well in other news the, uh, last chapter got… Excellent reception.
Two short-and-sweet-ish reviews, and like, twenty others who just clicked on this, who's to say they read it… But, I guess with this installment, we'll see how many of you are genuinely interested in this rabbit hole. I also got a favourite and two follows, too, and that's always awesome! :3
I HAD written so much over the week, but it really didn't feel dynamic enough. Like, the tone I was trying for kept faltering, or the descriptions kept getting too out of hand(I mean, at one point I had a sci-fi action chase scene. Yeah, theorize how well THAT fit… Might make that into another fic when I'm done, though, since it was mad bitchin'.) Either way, here's the update! A bit short, but still cool, right? I'm gonna try to aim for a two-week updating bracket with this (I will be flexible with myself, however, if I have too much school or if I feel like what's here is inadequate. I mean, you want my goods, or do you want my shit?)
Uggghhh…. I STILL FEEL SO RUSTY AND GROSS AND I HATE IT 8-8
I love whining.
…Enjoy! ^^
Hate. An emotion that salivated at the thought of mayhem and destruction. It didn't take a genius to understand why Zim reveled in it so.
Formed unwittingly and discovered unwittingly, it'd been gently blanketed inside the naïve core of his smeet-self. They never learned how it'd gotten there – whether it'd grown inside his mind like a tumour, if it'd just washed in one day, or if it'd been truly him all along remained a mystery even now. In the end, it didn't terribly matter to its host. Peeling the layers apart to let it grow and burn had provided Zim's life with a loss of weakness, and in exchange his dearest friend. As a concept with many, many arms, hate liked hugging, so in response, many experiences and people fell into the hate's embrace – bound and strangled by Zim's contempt to be nothing more than things to spit on. It curled through his fingers and exploded from his teeth whenever it could be spurred to life. As a rule, the Invader was always ready for its fire to forge new schemes.
If there was ever a concept – a very existence – that suffocated in Zim's hate, it was most certainly the Dib. Zim frequently thought of him, be it drowned, strangled, flayed, imploded, choking on his own guts, experimented on, fed to a Hogulus, or just staring onwards in pure despair once his whole precious planet turned to ash in his palms. His fantasied torture was nothing short of a classic pastime, really. And while earning Zim's distaste wasn't too hard, it was another altogether to be so swaddled by it. Furthermore, to be such a bother, that Zim wouldn't stop scheming until a method so perfect and so grand that it destroyed each and every level of the individual it centered around had been cooked... This sort of obsession just wasn't something that happened to a normal somebody. This was something you had to fight for.
The pestilence of Dib deserved a truly fitting end.
And boy. This was not a fitting end.
Truly, it was off-putting to see the human so devoid of vitality. No noises, no energetic expressions, no accusations. Currently, he was just… Sprawled against the operation table, dormant of respiration or inane reveries. His hair was messy as ever, it was still his face, but shortly before, he'd rested with contorted bones and a half-lidded gaze for something far away. Red had oozed out from manufactured tears in his skin, no better than a ripped shoe or an upturned sidewalk.
By Zim's standards, that was not the relic of a glorious conquest.
That was garbage.
Utter, used, and useless.
Someone else's garbage.
The Irken growled at the memory. Awful goat… Thing… Whatever it was. Taking the victory right out of Zim's hands, who'd it think he was?
The boy wasn't salvaged quite yet. But with Zim's fingers skittering through the workings, that'd change in time. While the Irken was militant, Dib was still deeply cocooned by death. A stopped clock, with allayed cogs and missing gears. Oblivious to the blaring light overhead or the flurry of engineering undergoing beneath his collarbone, his once fiery eyes remained gently shut and his expression calm, lips slightly parted as if in sleep. Whatever colour that'd once been apparent in his youthful features had long slunk from his skin, leaving a milky hue to cloak his bony frame instead. Stripped naked, the paleness of him was interrupted by not only a spaced wound bursting with red from his chest to his abdomen, but several dark, stitched scars pooled around his spindly limbs. As it stood, his tranquility was something unnerving that needed a fix.
"This isn't charity, Dib-carcase," Zim hissed, a bloodied glove reaching into a metal crate beside the operation table, "Once this is over, you'll be wishing the maggots had used your meat-suit as a breeding chamber."
He continued in the low tone. "Oh, you'll suffer before we're done, Dib…" he quietly hissed, "Your screams will pay for this annoyance."
Resting in the folds of Zim's palm was an object roughly the size of Dib's hand. A sectioned organ, with severed tubes flowering from the top, with an almost rumpled surface. Light-weight, deep in slumber, cool, and without blood to race in, colourless.
It was and wasn't the human's heart – the act of cloning organs was something pretty mundane to perform in the illustrious lab of Zim. Just slice bits of the specimens, throw 'em in a specific vat, and two minutes later, voila. Replicated and ready for use. The majority of the boy's parts had been given the treatment; a lung, most of his abdominal area, spleen, both kidneys, liver, numerous bones, some sections of deeper skin tissue, an eye... Mammalian organisms were pretty complex puzzles, each piece curved in a specific way to make a working creation. As it stood, the long scars trailing down from where his bones had been replaced, Dib was nearly finished. Kinda.
Sliding it within its predestined nook, snug and safe, the heart sat comfortably with its squishy kin. After ten seconds of tinkering, Zim gave it a childish pat and drew his hand out the fissure in Dib's chest.
Everything was in order. Gingerly, the Irken's slim fingers plucked up the last tools. A silver needle, thread, tiny scissors… And a sandwich. Taking a big bite for luck(Yum…), Zim began pulling the unfolded skin over the ribs once more, sealing them together with twine. Sorta like a stuffed toy.
Now, basic stitching was a method that would've seemed beneath a creature as sophisticated as an Irken mastermind. Surely, somewhere, scattered within all Zim's high-tech goodies, there must've been some sort of healing gel, or medicinal power tool, or hell, just something more constructive than embroidery to ensure a more advanced healing process, right?
Well, there probably was.
But that was just it. Dib didn't deserve any of them.
More accurately, most of those required the reaction of living tissue to be useful at all, but with some tweaking using them in this case was theoretically possible. Their differing biology would've been tricky to formulate around, too, but even working around this was still far from impossible.
But these all would've ensured less scarring.
Zim wanted Dib to understand this inconvenience he allowed to befall.
He wanted Dib to carry a reminder, deeply seared in his flesh, of his failure.
Mostly, he wanted Dib to wake up, and for the rest of his life to realize that the only reason he'd ever be able to draw breath again would be because Zim had allowed him such a basic privilege.
Dib was his to ruin.
Zim swallowed the Grakken-sliced meal. Of course, simply putting a dead organism back together wasn't enough to bring it back screaming and kicking. He wasn't that naïve…
The boom of the Computer's vocal circuits swatted Zim from a decent amount of his concentration.
"MASTER. RESEARCH HAS BEEN DOWNLOADED AND ANALYSED."
"EXCELLENT, Computer!" Zim eagerly hissed, looking with anticipation to the wide monitor resting against the lab's curved wall, "What have you found?"
"HUMAN NECROMANCY IN RECENT TIMES HAS ONLY BEEN ATTEMPTED IN… 'SECRET'… BY EXCOMMUNICATED GENERAL RUSSEL SLAB RANKLE – HEAD OF SECURITY AND SELF-PROCLAIMED GUARDIAN OF CITY CENTRAL MALL-"
"IT'S IN THE MALL?... RAISING FROM THE DEAD SUBSTANCES ARE IN THE MALL?!" Zim cried in confusion and some extent of honest glee, "How convenient! Scarily convenient, actually, wonder why humans even bother with funerals and hospitals if they can just buy the stuff to defy mortality- OH WHO CARES!" grinning like an idiot, he ignored the body and hopped on top of the table, utterly delighted by this information, "This whole MESS can be destroyed and remoulded into glorious, accepted routine easily now! Dib's torment can resume! All the momentous ZIM! – must do is-!"
"WAIT, WAIT, MASTER. IT'S NOT SO SIMPLE. YOU RECALL SLAB RANKLE, RIGHT?"
I c-Wait, Slobber-Ankle?" he paused his joy, antenna now slipping upwards in confusion, "The heck is that?"
"ERR… THE… GUY?" the monitor filled with a scribbly-drawn image of a squarish older human, with silver hair and expressed veins pulsing out his forehead and neck – a pencil-crayon doodle Zim had included before the Tallest stopped asking for weekly reports, "HE TRIED TO STOP YOU FROM RETURNING AN OVERDUE FILM BECAUSE OF A MISUNDERSTANDING? HE'S INSANE? YOU INCLUDED HIM IN A REPORT A COUPLE MONTHS AGO… HE OFFERED TO CO-JOIN RULERSHIP OF THE MALL AFTER YOU BESTED HIM, MASTER. IT'S THAT GUY."
Oh, right. Now, while the Irken may have identified small victories as that – victories – to tell the truth, he rather disliked the memory of that eccentric human and how it oozed out from the deepest depths of his annoyance… In Slab Rankle's defense, he was a man of great height who owned impressive shoulders and defensive measures. Aside that, though, Zim almost felt sorry for him. A raving psychopath, stuck in a dead-end job, believing he was doing his best for his superiors when he was nothing more than a stashed-away pawn. Who could live with themselves if that was their lot in life? Zim took another bite of his Foodcourtia-ordered meal and sneered at the thought.
"Ah yes. Well, eh, that was a nice challenge an-" he paused once his memories finished panning out, images flashing through and retailing strange, strange truths, "Wait a minute. That guy had Zombies."
The Irken paused, thinking carefully.
"…Eh. The whole 'zombie-soldiers' thing… This is what you refer to when you say… Necromancy, yes?"
"…UH, YEAH."
The laughter began awkwardly and never really picked up from there.
"Heh. Heh-eh. EEHEHEHEH. Eh-HEHEHEHEHEH… …Oh, Computer, my loyal interface I can't even is this a joke to you?!" the indignation was enough for Zim to slam his little boot on the operation table, just missing Dib's head. "That idiot has the stuff?! It is HE who sits on the cure?! You must have better results than that, Computer! Come on! Zombification is no alternative for Dib's Dibbiness of awful! Look at him! He's gross enough as it is! We can't wreck him anymore than THIS!"
"I'M AFRAID IT'S ALL I COULD FIND," the thing gave a simulated sigh, "MASTER, PLEASE. NOT EVEN THE IRKEN EMPIRE HAS SUCCESSFULLY CURED DEATH. LIKE, THERE WERE NOTICES OF A CASE ABOUT SEVEN YEARS AGO IN THIS AREA, BUT IT WAS A SERIOUS DEAD-END AND THERE WAS NEXT TO NOTHING ON IT… IF IT'S ANY CONSOLATION, THERE'S A SMOOTHIE STAND RIGHT THEORETICALLY NEARBY THE ZOMBIE CONVERSION LAB? THE HUMANS RUNNING IT ARE TOO CHEAP FOR WATER, SO THEY USE LEFTOVER SOAP? SO IT WON'T BURN YOU-"
"But Dib can't be himself as a drooling zombie! He's still technically a corpse then! THIS SUCKS!" Zim collapsed dramatically to his knees to resume the needlework. The future, and all Zim's dreams of its conquest, had been brewing in his skull so lovingly. Now this just threw vomit into the pot. How could it be remedied...? He yanked the thread extra-hard to show his dismay, ignoring the jerking of the corpse under, "You have let Zim down, Computer...!"
"YOU COULD ALWAYS MODIFY IT?" the machine tried to offer. Unfortunately, this only summoned another awkward/deranged chuckling, albeit less serving as a lid for Zim's rage, and more along the lines of something not even trying to hide its bitter flavour.
"Feh. Just like how Zim could make a formula from scratch! The problem is time…! So much of it, crawling through my GLORIOUS HANDS-"
Dib's skin tore around the latest stitch.
"GYAAHHHHHHRRRRR DIB I HATE YOUR FLESH'S FLIMSY PORE-COAT-"
The Computer paused for the green menace to focus on his swearing and furious stitching for about a minute. To be honest, while the human had become famous for his dark circles at Skool, the ones on Zim currently put them to shame. He hadn't rested for some time…
At one point, the alien leaned close to Dib's bare face. An accusing finger jabbed his forehead, digging in the still skin as he spoke in a low, lethal tone. "You're loving this, aren't you."
Gradually, the kitchen-whipped machine worked up the nerve to respond.
"UH. …WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY… 'TIME' BEING A PROBLEM, MASTER?"
Zim stared wearily at his surroundings. It felt like his innards were just deep-frying in his hate, irritation, and exhaustion. The entirety of his perception become a frightfully unpleasant cocktail over the last several hours.
Stupid Dib.
Stupid Goat.
He sighed, raking a hand over both his pair of sagging eyes and antenna in a sloppy motion. "Skool… Authorities, Dib's parental figure… JUST TO BEGIN," he tiredly spat, "People notice when members of the race go missing, Computer. If this... Wreck, is gone too long, it could lead back to the base... And then the MISSION! Even IF they don't herd in for the stink-beast, there's just the question of what to do with this vermin now. Zim can't waste months trying to cure something as annoying as HUMAN EXPIRY – I need Dib to not be a carcass for the next ingenious plan to dominate the Earth, so he can die THEN!"
The Computer paused at this information. "SO… YOU'RE… TRYING TO RESTORE THE HUMAN'S LIFE… …JUST SO YOU CAN END IT LATER?"
"Yes."
"…DO YOU WANT TO INVESTIGATE THE MALL RIGHT AWAY, MASTER? MAYBE YOU SHOULD TAKE A LITTLE BREAK. YOU WERE UP A SOLID DAY BEFORE THE HUMAN CAME AROUND, WORKING ON SUPER WEAPONS. …THAT EXPLODED. IN YOUR FACE. HEY, DID YOU EVEN GET MEDICAL ATTENTION FOR THAT-"
"Yes I did, and I'm going to this dumb 'MWALL' soon," a half-hearted wave was given to the speaker, "Even IF it'll be a waste of Zim's precious time and someone could've done better."
The computer sighed again. He knew trying to get his Master to rest was a pointless task. Still, probably for the best, considering...
Hold on.
…Actually, scratch that, he needed to be there, now that the city-scan results had just come through his circuits.
"…ACTUALLY… EVEN IF THE ZOMBIE-CONVERSION LABS POSSESS NOTHING OF VALUE, YOU MIGHT REALLY WANT TO GO TO THE MALL… LIKE, IMMEDIATELY."
Zim's antenna gave a wilted twitch in annoyance, too busy looping the string through the body. The flare of red was starting to contour up into a nice 'Y'-shaped scar. "And why is that?"
"THE CREATURE WHO STARTED THIS GAVE OFF A UNIQUE HEAT SIGNATURE. A CITY-SCAN SHOWS SIMILAR READINGS…" the deep voice paused, "FOUND BENEATH THE FACILITY."
The information swam over Zim and dripped deep into his mind.
What?
He turned and creased his face in confusion. He remembered vaporizing the stupid behemoth. Revenge, however shallow it'd been in retrospect, had been his. How could the thought of it still drawing breath elsewhere even be conceivable?
"Computer," Zim quietly spoke, "I think you require replacement. That is impossible."
"IT'S TRUE, MASTER. ACCORDING TO THE SCAN, IT'S ONLY GOTTEN STRONGER OVER THE PAST HOUR. SERIOUSLY, YOU SHOULD CHECK IT OUT."
Well, this was an eyebrow-scruncher for the ages.
Zim felt himself stop for a moment in deep thought. What did it even mean? Was there a whole nest of the demonic beasts? What if they were scheming against the warrior? Did the monster just… Regenerate, and come back into being there somehow? Was it just cloned in the mall at the behest of some mastermind, out to usurp Zim and all his wonderful doom away from this noble mission?!
Zim felt himself glower, giving his nemesis one last look-over.
The ownership of the kill reflected all across the build.
A curse panged through his mind.
This could not stand.
Snarling, he removed himself from the side of his nemesis, sure-fired direction lapping at his emotions until all that remained was his eager hate and drive. Stripping the crimsoned gloves from his slender arms, Zim theatrically stepped towards his elevator to his armory.
"Very well. Computer, finish yarning the human's tainted membrane and place him into a stasis tube," he said, fitting his small body on the tube platform, "I don't want him to rot while I'm gone. And when you're done with that, present Zim any horrible information that'd be remotely useful about the horrible target location."
"AFFIRMATIVE."
Inputting a code, Zim felt himself being whisked away to where all his dear weapons of mass destruction rested within one of his favourite rooms in the whole base. Though the target sadly would not be his dear human, at least something festive would come out of this repulsive holiday.
A zipper-toothed grin spread over his features, and for once since Dib's demise did the alien feel something resembling a very familiar glee.
A/N: Not quite the meat-and-potatoes chapter I was praying for… Not bad, I guess. Feels underwhelming, but I did my best...?
Though, I should note that while this one is shorter than the last and not as action-y, I have some good news; approximately 1219 words for chapter 3 have been written, and it's much more story-heavy! So that should update faster. :) I hope.
Maybe.
…
please oh my god
Figured it'd be nice to write about how this is affecting Zim and shit. Frankenstein shenanigans are going on between him and Dibbers… And, uh, yeah.
Eh.
It's been a little spruced from last time. But still alright, I think. :)
So hey, uh… Hate to pry, but please, please, PLEASE tell me if Zim is in-character or not because I'm like screaming inside I WANT TO KNOW HOW TO ACCURATELY AND NICELY PORTRAY MY FAVOURITE SPACE BUG IN A WAY THAT SPURS THE PLOT ALONG WHILE GETTING THE CORE DEPRESSING VALUES OF HIS EXISTENCE ACROSS WITHOUT BEING TOO ON-THE-NOSE WHILE KEEPING HIM CHILDISH AND THREATENING AND NOT TOTALLY DESTROYING THE TONE LIKE YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND BALANCING HIM IS HAAAAARD AND I DON'T WANNA OVERDO/UNDERVALUE HIS QUIRKS MAN LIKE TELL ME 8-8
…So yeah, that was chapter 2! Please review if you liked it or not, because I'm a quivering anxious mess right now!
…You wouldn't leave me as a quivering anxious mess, would you…? ;w;
...
...would you...?