A/N:Sorry guys, all this time waiting and really nothing more than a build up chapter. I don't always understand what my muse is doing to me sometimes, but where it leads, I follow. I can only hope you enjoy this bit of schlock that I have scrapped up from the bowels of my imagination.
Hopefully a few questions are answered, however, and a maybe a few questions generated. Enjoy, I hope.
"I scream it from the mountain tops, pride comes before a fall! Freedom Fighter, no remorse, ragin' on in holy war, soon there'll come a day, when you're face to face with me. Face to face with me." -Creed, Freedom Fighter
So you're probably wondering why I am currently sitting atop a smoldering wreck covered in filth and clutching a makeshift detonator.
Lord knows I am, so I can hardly expect you, dear reader, to be any different.
I appear to have rejoined this narrative somewhere in the middle of it, but I am very busy at the moment, so I'm afraid you're going to have to bear with me. I figure since I'm the one millions of miles from a home that no longer exists, probably as cracked as the Mad Hatter's tea set as evidenced by the fact that I regularly get insulted by the me-fashioned sister I left to be lasered... lased... whatevered to death on my dying world, and am currently writing in a language that I'm the only one left who can read, I can do whatever I want with my tale, so meh.
Not to get off subject, but that does bring up a valid point... if I created my sister to insult me as a method of keeping sane, does that mean that my brain thrives on humilation and antagonisim? Since the rest of the human race isn't around to ridicule me I had to create an artificial person to do it for me?
I think I'm going to stop contemplating that line of reasoning before I discover how utterly pathetic I am.
Oops, too late.
Anyway, back to why I'm doing the whole Arnie in the Predator thing.
It's kinda funny actually. Not so much funny "Ha Ha", but funny, "Holy Shit I Somehow Managed To Drive A Quarter Of the Irken Race Insane". More on that later... if I explain it now, I'll have officially gotten ahead of my narrative to the point where I will have lapped myself, and I might actually want to read this and understand it again someday.
Flashback. I'm sitting amidst the sad scene that could be entitled "lonely earth boy sitting amidst the smoldering wreckage of his dreams for escape in the form of lord knows how valuable bits of Irken technology rapidly turning into lord knows how much less valuable bits of charcoal."
Understandably, I'm having a bad day. I had just wasted over a year and a half of day in, day out, backbreaking work and theoretical planning.
I think I... lost it at that point. I don't remember much of the next few hours or so, but I do know I went on a rampage. Fucking tearing apart every damn Irken piece of technology I could find with my bare hands... it was like 5 years of repressed rage coming to the fore. Somewhere in the middle of this, it starts raining again, and that's what snaps me out of it.
I have to set out my water traps you see.
I come to and my fingernails are ragged and bleeding, my hands cut up... pretty bad. The rain doesn't help this, getting into the cuts and making them sting something awful. Nothing but wreckage all around me, and thank whatever damn higher power out there that gets a kick out of watching my suffer that I haven't managed to breach one of the power supplies from the packs. As an experiment one time, I stood on top of a large pile of trash and threw one of the power supplies as far and as hard as I could. The resulting explosion knocked me on my ass and reduced a fifty meter circle of rusty metal into a blackened slag pile.
Gaz had popped up while I was doing all this work. She looked smug. I ignored her at first.
It's hard to do that for long.
"So what?!" I snapped, my back to the supporting rubble of an underhang, all my water traps having been set up. I'm wrapping my semi-clean pieces of cloth over my wounded hands. It hurts like a motherfucker, and the pain helps me to focus on something other than misery.
Well, other than the REAL source of misery anyway.
"I told you it was a stupid idea." She stated blandly. She didn't even have the motivation to sound satisfied about her victory.
"Yeah? Well at least it was SOMETHING. At least I'm TRYING to get us off of this fucking rock. At least I haven't given up hope of actually SEEING something else that's alive!" I shouted at her. Did I just say us? Man... I'm losing it by bits and pieces.
A sidenote. Something that used to bother me about planet Dirt. All the years I've been here, I've seen no indigenous life. Well, anything more complex than the Greenstuff anyway. Oh, I didn't mention the 'Stuff? Hmm... that's odd... well I guess it's just so prevalent that I forgot about it... actually I'm kinda sick of it, to be honest, but it IS important, so here it goes. What is the Greenstuff? Well, as far as I can tell, it's the only indigenous life this planet has... a kind of primordial goo that collects and forms on the more organic bits of trash. It grows pretty quick, a patch of it will sprout up in a couple of days after a rain, a big, soupy mess like that stuff they used to dump on kid's heads on that kid's show... you know, the one where if you said the wrong words like "water" or "I don't know", you got stuff dumped on you? Never really made a whole lot of sense to me, I mean, you figure that show had a script, so it's not like the kids could avoid saying the things that would get them coated in nasty stuff... hell, maybe that's a metaphor for life.
Heh.
Life is like You Can't Do That On Television, because 9 times out of 10 you SEE bad stuff coming, but you can't break out of the rutt long enough to avoid it, the only thing you can do is plod ever forward, and weather the storm.
Eh... anyway, I think the stuff both breaks down ground lying and airborne organic trash and chemicals, and does SOMETHING with chlorophyll, because the areas where this stuff is found tend to be relatively clear of stench and it seems easier to breathe around it. Maybe its psychosomatic, I don't know.
Oh, and it tastes like a really salty mushroom.
What? You think I can live off of stale Irken snacks forever? I KNEW I wasn't getting everything I needed from those things... I knew it was gonna be a problem eventually. So I looked for alternate forms of nourishment, and this is really all there is.
Pretend it's just slightly old guacamole and dip Irken snacks in it, you can almost ignore its otherworldly origins. You have to get over this hoighty toighty attitude quick. I do what I need to do to survive, and other things have to wait by the wayside? Why do you think I want to get off this fucking rock?
Anyway, that's all there is for the creature catalogue on Dirt. To be honest, I don't think even the Greenstuff is indigenous. I was curious once, so I dug down as far as I could in a "valley" area and you know what I found?
A thick layer of crude broken black glass.
What does this mean, you ask?
It means that at some point in its history, Dirt was scoured clean just like Earth was. Then the Irkens just turned it into a trash dump, and forgot about it.
Yeah. Pisses me off too. Next subject.
The next day is... better. Alot better. I spend most of the day breaking down the collected water into something I can drink. Oh, another fun fact. Greenstuff purifies water too.... at least, to the point where I feel confident in only boiling it, and not filtering it. I think it feeds off the red stuff in the rain, or something like that. In any case, water farming is still a time consuming task, and it HAS to be done, because you never know how much time is going to lapse between rainstorms.
Somewhere in all the physical labor, I regained a bit of hope. Of course there was no immediate response. How the hell would there be? It's not like it was a radio, just a bit of noise. No intelligent life, probably just an equipment malefunction. It might be interesting enough to grab immediate attention, considering the planet it's coming from, it might not. All I could do was sit around and wait.
Ok, a plan. Best case scenario, the Irkens send down a team to investigate the noise. I say best case because worst case is they bombard this area from orbit to prevent something like that from ever happening again. Since this is not conductive to a happy Dib, we plan for the best. Mainly because it's the only chance I have. Now, even in the best case scenario, we have a team of Irkens wandering around the wreckage looking for what made that noise. They find me, they're probably not going to be congratulating me. If I just let them poke around 'til they get bored and leave, then I've really accomplished nothing.
This is where my planning comes into play.
It takes me about two weeks, but I transform the area into an innocent looking deathtrap. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Worst thing that could happen if they land is for them to send a team, which means a larger ship than what Zim used. Ships need landing areas, and the enemy is going to choose a flat area close to the site of the disturbance. This is only good sense.
That means I get to choose the battleground. Over the next two weeks I change the landscape around the wreckage zone until there ARE no stable flat areas for three miles. Then I clear an area out, leaving only a couple loose, easily removed bit of trash over two areas.
Why two?
Because in order to defeat your enemy, you must be able to think like him.
Two areas makes it harder for me to figure out which direction they are coming from, but it lulls them into my trap more easily. It makes it seem less suspicious, and makes the Irkens more confident, because they get to pick the landing zone. Irkens are paranoid, leave them with no choices, IE only one landing zone, they get nervous. If Zim is any indication, nervous Irkens vaporize first and think later. They'll choose to cut the gordian knot, IE, BLAST a landing zone. Which means I've got very little chance of dealing with them. However, Irkens are also lazy... they'd much rather land and deal with the nuisance than spend precious time clearing away debris. If they have a choice, even if it's only between two different sites, they become more confident, the sense that this is a trap is lulled into complacency. I mean, what enemy (who MUST be inferior to the Irken Elite) would leave two landing zones near their prize?
The Irkens will see an inferior enemy, or no enemy at all, which amounts to pretty much the same thing, and confidently choose whichever zone suits them.
They will NOT see a highly dedicated enemy who has spent months planning this.
They will NOT see any enemy.
Especially not one who HATES their guts.
Well, all the parts of them really, but I hate their guts too, so I guess that statement is true.
Then comes the worst part.
I wait.
I can't begin to tell you how maddening this wait is. I mean, think about it. Here I am, possibly hours away from finally leaving this rock. I get one shot at this, if I don't stop the team when they first land, I'm not going to, I just DON'T have the firepower to beat them if they know what to expect. Surprise is my only ally, I can't even count on Gaz to help me.
All she'll do is ridicule me if I fail, and I don't particularly feel like dealing with her crap after all the work I've put into getting us off this...
Um...
Ok, that sounded nuts, I know. Lets move beyond that shall we?
That aside, I have no idea how long it's going to take them, nor even if they are actually coming. Every minute spent waiting increases my frustration and decreases my readiness. I sleep poorly, or not at all, every single squeak or metal-settling groan brings me into full panicked wakefulness.
All of this preparation, and I FUCKING MISS them showing up.
It's only luck that saves me, really.
So I'm sleeping, and they next thing I know, SOMETHING snaps me awake. Can't place it at first, then it hits me like a slap of cold water over a drowning man.
I can see my hands.
At night.
There is NO MOON orbiting Dirt.
I freeze and look around.
A large ship has its spot light on my area.
I sit there for about an eternity and half, barely breathing, waiting for it to open fire. Like most Irken ships, its design is alien, a strange mixture of sleek lethality and strange bulbous protrusions, both mechanical and organic and very very spooky looking. It hovers in place for a moment, then seems to side step in the air and move on.
I slip underneath my trash gilley, grab my spears and..
Hmm? What's a trash gilley?
Ok, quick lession in warfare. Snipers are more effective when you don't know where they are. Marine recon snipers are some of the best in the world, or they were, I should say. One of the things that made them so great was camoflague. They wore this suit called a gilley suit. It's kinda like a cloak made of woodland colors and covered in branches and leaves and stuff. It breaks up the outline of the human body so it's indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape. Since the surrounding landscape for me is trash, a gilley that looks like leaves isn't going to do me a whole hell of alot of good.
Hence the trash gilley.
I grab my bag (yup, my trenchcoat is still a bag. Since I wasn' wearing it and I took good care of it, it's lasted me all this time) which is now full of goodies and go to the top of Mount Rancid (the highest point near the crash site, so named because it's coated in a vile substance that might be some kind of mechanical lubricant, though I have my doubts since it's smell bears a remarkable resemblance to chicken grease) and watch.
The ship pans that light around the wreck, obviously looking for a landing site and failing. It moves slowly, like it has all the time in the world.
The bastards.
Finally it hovers over the eastern site and starts to slowly lower itself like a big fat complacent horsefly.
Gotcha.
I leap and polevault my way towards the landing site, following the carefully concealed cleared away path cut into the fields of nearly impassable landscape. I've timed myself, I can be across this killing field in less than ten minutes, where as I would stake my life on it taking at least an hour to get half as far if you don't know where my trenches are. There are that many obstacles and cleverly concealed traps.
I'd better be right too, because this is no game, and I AM staking my life on it.
The first few cool drops of rain begin to fall. I look up, gauging the weather. It is cold, and a light pink drizzle is beginning to start.
Perfect.
I stop at the lookout point I've created, slip on my goggles, lie flat on my belly with the trash gilley in place, and wait.
Oh, another note, this is a neat one too. Remember how I told you that Irken eyes harden when they dry out? Well I figured out soemthing equally interesting. They apparently act as extremely sensitive photoreceptors. I figured this out one night while I was trapped out in the dark. I'm sitting there freezing my ass off and wishing I'd been a bit more vigilant about the time, when I noticed that the eyegems glow in the dark, really faint, but noticable. After stumbling around for a few hours but making it back home, I got an idea, and began to experiment. You take an eyegem, (What I call them) soak it in water for about five minutes, it becomes as maleable as putty, with just a bit more stretch and snap back to it. Now you stretch it to the shape of a lens using your own glasses as a guide, and let it dry. It hardens back into gem form, but in the shape of a lens. Now you make a boxy sort of headgear, and wear it at night one time as an experiment.
You can now see in the dark.
Hehehehe.
So I watch. The ship is quiet, it seems content to wait all night.
I am content to wait too.
I've been waiting...
Five. Years.
I'm coming Zim. I'll find you.
Even if I have to go through every god damn one of these fuckers to do it.
...
..
.
Shut up, Gaz.
***
Hopefully a few questions are answered, however, and a maybe a few questions generated. Enjoy, I hope.
"I scream it from the mountain tops, pride comes before a fall! Freedom Fighter, no remorse, ragin' on in holy war, soon there'll come a day, when you're face to face with me. Face to face with me." -Creed, Freedom Fighter
So you're probably wondering why I am currently sitting atop a smoldering wreck covered in filth and clutching a makeshift detonator.
Lord knows I am, so I can hardly expect you, dear reader, to be any different.
I appear to have rejoined this narrative somewhere in the middle of it, but I am very busy at the moment, so I'm afraid you're going to have to bear with me. I figure since I'm the one millions of miles from a home that no longer exists, probably as cracked as the Mad Hatter's tea set as evidenced by the fact that I regularly get insulted by the me-fashioned sister I left to be lasered... lased... whatevered to death on my dying world, and am currently writing in a language that I'm the only one left who can read, I can do whatever I want with my tale, so meh.
Not to get off subject, but that does bring up a valid point... if I created my sister to insult me as a method of keeping sane, does that mean that my brain thrives on humilation and antagonisim? Since the rest of the human race isn't around to ridicule me I had to create an artificial person to do it for me?
I think I'm going to stop contemplating that line of reasoning before I discover how utterly pathetic I am.
Oops, too late.
Anyway, back to why I'm doing the whole Arnie in the Predator thing.
It's kinda funny actually. Not so much funny "Ha Ha", but funny, "Holy Shit I Somehow Managed To Drive A Quarter Of the Irken Race Insane". More on that later... if I explain it now, I'll have officially gotten ahead of my narrative to the point where I will have lapped myself, and I might actually want to read this and understand it again someday.
Flashback. I'm sitting amidst the sad scene that could be entitled "lonely earth boy sitting amidst the smoldering wreckage of his dreams for escape in the form of lord knows how valuable bits of Irken technology rapidly turning into lord knows how much less valuable bits of charcoal."
Understandably, I'm having a bad day. I had just wasted over a year and a half of day in, day out, backbreaking work and theoretical planning.
I think I... lost it at that point. I don't remember much of the next few hours or so, but I do know I went on a rampage. Fucking tearing apart every damn Irken piece of technology I could find with my bare hands... it was like 5 years of repressed rage coming to the fore. Somewhere in the middle of this, it starts raining again, and that's what snaps me out of it.
I have to set out my water traps you see.
I come to and my fingernails are ragged and bleeding, my hands cut up... pretty bad. The rain doesn't help this, getting into the cuts and making them sting something awful. Nothing but wreckage all around me, and thank whatever damn higher power out there that gets a kick out of watching my suffer that I haven't managed to breach one of the power supplies from the packs. As an experiment one time, I stood on top of a large pile of trash and threw one of the power supplies as far and as hard as I could. The resulting explosion knocked me on my ass and reduced a fifty meter circle of rusty metal into a blackened slag pile.
Gaz had popped up while I was doing all this work. She looked smug. I ignored her at first.
It's hard to do that for long.
"So what?!" I snapped, my back to the supporting rubble of an underhang, all my water traps having been set up. I'm wrapping my semi-clean pieces of cloth over my wounded hands. It hurts like a motherfucker, and the pain helps me to focus on something other than misery.
Well, other than the REAL source of misery anyway.
"I told you it was a stupid idea." She stated blandly. She didn't even have the motivation to sound satisfied about her victory.
"Yeah? Well at least it was SOMETHING. At least I'm TRYING to get us off of this fucking rock. At least I haven't given up hope of actually SEEING something else that's alive!" I shouted at her. Did I just say us? Man... I'm losing it by bits and pieces.
A sidenote. Something that used to bother me about planet Dirt. All the years I've been here, I've seen no indigenous life. Well, anything more complex than the Greenstuff anyway. Oh, I didn't mention the 'Stuff? Hmm... that's odd... well I guess it's just so prevalent that I forgot about it... actually I'm kinda sick of it, to be honest, but it IS important, so here it goes. What is the Greenstuff? Well, as far as I can tell, it's the only indigenous life this planet has... a kind of primordial goo that collects and forms on the more organic bits of trash. It grows pretty quick, a patch of it will sprout up in a couple of days after a rain, a big, soupy mess like that stuff they used to dump on kid's heads on that kid's show... you know, the one where if you said the wrong words like "water" or "I don't know", you got stuff dumped on you? Never really made a whole lot of sense to me, I mean, you figure that show had a script, so it's not like the kids could avoid saying the things that would get them coated in nasty stuff... hell, maybe that's a metaphor for life.
Heh.
Life is like You Can't Do That On Television, because 9 times out of 10 you SEE bad stuff coming, but you can't break out of the rutt long enough to avoid it, the only thing you can do is plod ever forward, and weather the storm.
Eh... anyway, I think the stuff both breaks down ground lying and airborne organic trash and chemicals, and does SOMETHING with chlorophyll, because the areas where this stuff is found tend to be relatively clear of stench and it seems easier to breathe around it. Maybe its psychosomatic, I don't know.
Oh, and it tastes like a really salty mushroom.
What? You think I can live off of stale Irken snacks forever? I KNEW I wasn't getting everything I needed from those things... I knew it was gonna be a problem eventually. So I looked for alternate forms of nourishment, and this is really all there is.
Pretend it's just slightly old guacamole and dip Irken snacks in it, you can almost ignore its otherworldly origins. You have to get over this hoighty toighty attitude quick. I do what I need to do to survive, and other things have to wait by the wayside? Why do you think I want to get off this fucking rock?
Anyway, that's all there is for the creature catalogue on Dirt. To be honest, I don't think even the Greenstuff is indigenous. I was curious once, so I dug down as far as I could in a "valley" area and you know what I found?
A thick layer of crude broken black glass.
What does this mean, you ask?
It means that at some point in its history, Dirt was scoured clean just like Earth was. Then the Irkens just turned it into a trash dump, and forgot about it.
Yeah. Pisses me off too. Next subject.
The next day is... better. Alot better. I spend most of the day breaking down the collected water into something I can drink. Oh, another fun fact. Greenstuff purifies water too.... at least, to the point where I feel confident in only boiling it, and not filtering it. I think it feeds off the red stuff in the rain, or something like that. In any case, water farming is still a time consuming task, and it HAS to be done, because you never know how much time is going to lapse between rainstorms.
Somewhere in all the physical labor, I regained a bit of hope. Of course there was no immediate response. How the hell would there be? It's not like it was a radio, just a bit of noise. No intelligent life, probably just an equipment malefunction. It might be interesting enough to grab immediate attention, considering the planet it's coming from, it might not. All I could do was sit around and wait.
Ok, a plan. Best case scenario, the Irkens send down a team to investigate the noise. I say best case because worst case is they bombard this area from orbit to prevent something like that from ever happening again. Since this is not conductive to a happy Dib, we plan for the best. Mainly because it's the only chance I have. Now, even in the best case scenario, we have a team of Irkens wandering around the wreckage looking for what made that noise. They find me, they're probably not going to be congratulating me. If I just let them poke around 'til they get bored and leave, then I've really accomplished nothing.
This is where my planning comes into play.
It takes me about two weeks, but I transform the area into an innocent looking deathtrap. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Worst thing that could happen if they land is for them to send a team, which means a larger ship than what Zim used. Ships need landing areas, and the enemy is going to choose a flat area close to the site of the disturbance. This is only good sense.
That means I get to choose the battleground. Over the next two weeks I change the landscape around the wreckage zone until there ARE no stable flat areas for three miles. Then I clear an area out, leaving only a couple loose, easily removed bit of trash over two areas.
Why two?
Because in order to defeat your enemy, you must be able to think like him.
Two areas makes it harder for me to figure out which direction they are coming from, but it lulls them into my trap more easily. It makes it seem less suspicious, and makes the Irkens more confident, because they get to pick the landing zone. Irkens are paranoid, leave them with no choices, IE only one landing zone, they get nervous. If Zim is any indication, nervous Irkens vaporize first and think later. They'll choose to cut the gordian knot, IE, BLAST a landing zone. Which means I've got very little chance of dealing with them. However, Irkens are also lazy... they'd much rather land and deal with the nuisance than spend precious time clearing away debris. If they have a choice, even if it's only between two different sites, they become more confident, the sense that this is a trap is lulled into complacency. I mean, what enemy (who MUST be inferior to the Irken Elite) would leave two landing zones near their prize?
The Irkens will see an inferior enemy, or no enemy at all, which amounts to pretty much the same thing, and confidently choose whichever zone suits them.
They will NOT see a highly dedicated enemy who has spent months planning this.
They will NOT see any enemy.
Especially not one who HATES their guts.
Well, all the parts of them really, but I hate their guts too, so I guess that statement is true.
Then comes the worst part.
I wait.
I can't begin to tell you how maddening this wait is. I mean, think about it. Here I am, possibly hours away from finally leaving this rock. I get one shot at this, if I don't stop the team when they first land, I'm not going to, I just DON'T have the firepower to beat them if they know what to expect. Surprise is my only ally, I can't even count on Gaz to help me.
All she'll do is ridicule me if I fail, and I don't particularly feel like dealing with her crap after all the work I've put into getting us off this...
Um...
Ok, that sounded nuts, I know. Lets move beyond that shall we?
That aside, I have no idea how long it's going to take them, nor even if they are actually coming. Every minute spent waiting increases my frustration and decreases my readiness. I sleep poorly, or not at all, every single squeak or metal-settling groan brings me into full panicked wakefulness.
All of this preparation, and I FUCKING MISS them showing up.
It's only luck that saves me, really.
So I'm sleeping, and they next thing I know, SOMETHING snaps me awake. Can't place it at first, then it hits me like a slap of cold water over a drowning man.
I can see my hands.
At night.
There is NO MOON orbiting Dirt.
I freeze and look around.
A large ship has its spot light on my area.
I sit there for about an eternity and half, barely breathing, waiting for it to open fire. Like most Irken ships, its design is alien, a strange mixture of sleek lethality and strange bulbous protrusions, both mechanical and organic and very very spooky looking. It hovers in place for a moment, then seems to side step in the air and move on.
I slip underneath my trash gilley, grab my spears and..
Hmm? What's a trash gilley?
Ok, quick lession in warfare. Snipers are more effective when you don't know where they are. Marine recon snipers are some of the best in the world, or they were, I should say. One of the things that made them so great was camoflague. They wore this suit called a gilley suit. It's kinda like a cloak made of woodland colors and covered in branches and leaves and stuff. It breaks up the outline of the human body so it's indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape. Since the surrounding landscape for me is trash, a gilley that looks like leaves isn't going to do me a whole hell of alot of good.
Hence the trash gilley.
I grab my bag (yup, my trenchcoat is still a bag. Since I wasn' wearing it and I took good care of it, it's lasted me all this time) which is now full of goodies and go to the top of Mount Rancid (the highest point near the crash site, so named because it's coated in a vile substance that might be some kind of mechanical lubricant, though I have my doubts since it's smell bears a remarkable resemblance to chicken grease) and watch.
The ship pans that light around the wreck, obviously looking for a landing site and failing. It moves slowly, like it has all the time in the world.
The bastards.
Finally it hovers over the eastern site and starts to slowly lower itself like a big fat complacent horsefly.
Gotcha.
I leap and polevault my way towards the landing site, following the carefully concealed cleared away path cut into the fields of nearly impassable landscape. I've timed myself, I can be across this killing field in less than ten minutes, where as I would stake my life on it taking at least an hour to get half as far if you don't know where my trenches are. There are that many obstacles and cleverly concealed traps.
I'd better be right too, because this is no game, and I AM staking my life on it.
The first few cool drops of rain begin to fall. I look up, gauging the weather. It is cold, and a light pink drizzle is beginning to start.
Perfect.
I stop at the lookout point I've created, slip on my goggles, lie flat on my belly with the trash gilley in place, and wait.
Oh, another note, this is a neat one too. Remember how I told you that Irken eyes harden when they dry out? Well I figured out soemthing equally interesting. They apparently act as extremely sensitive photoreceptors. I figured this out one night while I was trapped out in the dark. I'm sitting there freezing my ass off and wishing I'd been a bit more vigilant about the time, when I noticed that the eyegems glow in the dark, really faint, but noticable. After stumbling around for a few hours but making it back home, I got an idea, and began to experiment. You take an eyegem, (What I call them) soak it in water for about five minutes, it becomes as maleable as putty, with just a bit more stretch and snap back to it. Now you stretch it to the shape of a lens using your own glasses as a guide, and let it dry. It hardens back into gem form, but in the shape of a lens. Now you make a boxy sort of headgear, and wear it at night one time as an experiment.
You can now see in the dark.
Hehehehe.
So I watch. The ship is quiet, it seems content to wait all night.
I am content to wait too.
I've been waiting...
Five. Years.
I'm coming Zim. I'll find you.
Even if I have to go through every god damn one of these fuckers to do it.
...
..
.
Shut up, Gaz.
***