Chapter 12: " Figures...pt2 "

Just a question for those willing to answer: Are these chapters too long? If so, Are they boring and uneventful to read? I'm willing to make them much shorter, as I'm beginning to see the longevity and breadth of each of them...Let me know, and I'll try to force myself not to get carried away.

Zim managed to go through the rain unscathed again; another victorious feat to add. He strode up his walkway and approached his door. He opened it and entered the house. This time, before he got inside, he tilted the head of the umbrella to slide the water off the tip and let it drain upon the porch. Then he was going to close it. He wrapped the little strap around the collapsed canopy with a smile. Sometimes...he just couldn't get a hold of how sharp he was.

Zim entered the household and closed the door behind him. There was a program playing from what he heard, and it stopped abruptly. He turned around and saw that Gir was watching TV, to his surprise, however he had paused upon the entrance of his superior. One whose eyes were widened quite a bit.

Zim tried not to express the sort of feeling he felt from seeing Gir. Surprised was the least of it. A bit of energy ran through his veins; happiness, probably. Nothing he would admit to, but it relieved him knowing he wouldn't have to spend more hours looking for him.

He remained in a stature like posture, and he made sure not to stare for too long, not wanting to give off the impression that Gir was of impact. Gir watched back with a bit of intensity as well, on his part being caution. Last encounters lead to something undesirable for the both of them, so it was understandable for him to be fearful with his small mind.

Zim approached the door to his closet and opened it. At first sight; seeing his lifeless robotic parents leaning upon the wall. These brought back figmented memories of them being alive. Moving. Beings that were sentient, and emotional, like a living creature. Seeing them so inanimate, dollish and dead; It scared him. It wasn't natural, for them to appear so happy but not express it; remaining in forced smiles and yet stay so still. Then again, they weren't organic themselves, being made of intricate and advanced soldered electrical kits for their minds, and metal works of their contours. They weren't supposed to look natural. Maybe it was the uncanny valley working it's wonders, either way, Zim was slightly disturbed.

He hurriedly placed his umbrella and closed the closet door. He watched it for a while longer, with an unrealistic fear and thought that they would open it in any second. Zim evaded the closet and approached the couch, where he was still being heavily watched by his subordinate. He was wearing his green dog suit; the horrible disguise that he liked very much. Zim wasn't sure why he had it on, considering there weren't any visitors ( If there were to be any in such cases, Zim would be notified from his security systems that there would be an unrecognized individual in the near vicinity of his houses. Even during school. )

Maybe it gave him comfort, though Zim wasn't too sure. He sat down beside him at the opposite end. He didn't yet forget what it was he was going to do. One thing that was still unfinished. Zim focused his mind upon the earlier events, involuntarily re-garnered his contempt, and took a deep breath.

" Computer." Zim called.

" Yes? Sir?"

" Did you answer any recent calls lately? Ones that I haven't been notified about?" Zim asked. He wondered temporarily when his sore throat would disappear, but he didn't linger on it any longer.

" I answered a few today that were of prerecorded messages from businesses trying to get subscriptions from your parents...and yesterday I answered one from your school, notifying me about your behavior."

That was all Zim needed to hear. It was enough for it to sever a nerve, and spill out a bit of his hatred. However, there was an immature wanting. An allure for exacting satisfying judgment. One that he seemed to always fall into.

" Did they propose any ideas to which they would solve my...ill-mannered behaviors?" Zim asked, beginning to tap his fingers against the armrest.

"...Yes...they did."

" And you agreed to them." He sighed. Remembering the situation and the things that took place today brought back the sense of animosity he had from before; Blood pressure rising, impatience increasing. Zim fingered the leather of the couch between his thumb and index; perhaps too impetuously, as he began squeezing it between the sharp tips of his fingers.

"...How ironic..." Zim said, flatly. "...Fraternizing with the enemy isn't a serious offense." He repeated the line, being recently used from earlier in the morning. Zim pierced the leather with his thumb, similarly to the effect of the line which he'd just spoken. "...You have a cold sense of humor." He said.

" I don't believe I know what you're talking—"

" I believe that you do know, Computer." Zim confined, his eyes reaching to the television screen. However he sneered when he saw the horribly drawn cartoon and animated characters. Albeit it was paused, however it didn't make the situation any better.

" Turn off the TV, Gir." Zim commanded.

" But..."

" Now."

There was a bit of a silence and great hesitance at first; a notable silenced reaction from Gir, most likely his childish emotions. However, he obeyed and turned off the television, stretching his arm out and pressing the power button on the remote. It didn't stop him from running away back downstairs, trying to also silent a tantrum. Now that there was no longer an interruption, Zim glanced back at the now black TV screen, and formed an amused smile. A cold one, at that. The room was colored a pastel blue, with the dim lights that was illuminated and smeared by the rain in the sky through the windows. It gave an ambiance to Zim's anger. A darkened characteristic to his features.

" It was one thing that you neglected to do as I say..." Zim began, standing to his feet. He waited for a few moments before he continued, relieving his lungs with a deep breath. "...But it's another thing to...mock me..." He said, looking away from the black screen that had been burned with the inverted, vague colors of after image. Zim began pacing slowly, a habit, no, an action that he did to occupy himself in situations like this. It helped him concentrate, keeping his mind limited by allowing part of it to be applied to perfunctory locomotion. It also helped him concentrate less on his fervent emotions, rather than letting them exude.

" Sir, you misunderstand. I never had the intent to mistreat you by deciding that you would talk with Dib. I merely believed that if there was going to be anyway for him to leave you alone, would be by that option."

The Computer was right about one thing; Zim didn't understand. He didn't understand how his reasoning he'd just pronounced was plausible. If anything, that exact idea was counter intuitive to what he intended to do. Something that seemed to be endemic to Computer's attempts.

" Leave me alone?" Zim repeated. He stood there for a few moments, disgruntled. He turned his body to the screen. He allowed his puzzlement to be shown. Fuzed with his annoyance.

" By making us converse, you thought that the best way for him to leave me alone."

"...It may not make much sense to you—"

" Let me add and say that it doesn't make any sense at all." Zim said, resentful. He allowed the affect of his words to settle in, like bacteria slowly contaminating and crippling a vulnerable body. Engines whirred slowly. He shook his head.

"...Why? Why are you always doing this?" Zim then scoffed. " I've asked that question so many times, I'm not even sure I want your reasoning anymore."

" I understand that you're angry, Sir. You feel betrayed that I allowed such a thing to happen. But hear me when I say this; It was for the best."

" You always say that. You always say it as if you had no other damn choice." Zim muttered. His mind then wrapped around the other words his computer just said. "...For the best? How the hell is this for the best? And I'd go a little further than betrayed, Computer!" Zim snapped. His pacing began to pick up speed. Walking back in forth and mentally counting up to 5, then turning around the opposite direction. His anger was now being released, steaming off in his involuntary needs of moving, and soon his exclaims. " Of all the things. Of all the...Why! It doesn't make any damn sense!"

" It only seems that way because you're angry! Understand that I had to evaluate the situation, it will work out!"

" It will work out. It will work out alright! Dib's ultimate chance for him to interrogate me!"

" I know a lot of...unnecessary anger will come out of this, but if you allow him to do so, then this isn't going to work."

" It isn't going to work anyways." he spat. " I'm not going. I don't give two shits about that—"

" Sir, if you don't go, then you allow him to win. You will show him that you forfeit to him, and show him your vulnerability."

Zim continued pacing, and growled. His hands constricted in a fist, and this time his finger tips stabbed at his palms with growing intensity.

" So, what? you're testing me—this is a test? To see if I can handle my problems?" He asked, offended.

" N-No." Computer confined, as if that question was ridiculous; one that wasn't to be considered in the first place.

Zim stared.

" Then why the hell else would you do this to me!" He snapped. " I frankly cannot think of another reason of why you would be so stupid!" Zim faltered at the end of his sentence, and hunched over. His shoulder was beginning to ache more and more as the days went by. Sometimes it was bearable enough to be ignored, however today it was acting like a spoiled kid wanting attention. As he had done so today; Zim forgot about his past injuries. His anger always muted them out and whenever he exerted himself, they became known again. Soon, it was his body that began hurting.

" Please calm down, sir..." Computer said. After wards, Zim recognized a few sounds of mechanical whirring, which occurred whenever the Computer analyzed something. Momentary thoughts came to mind that he was analyzing the pain he had, however Zim shook the idea. He gritted his teeth

"...Sir, have you ever treated your shoulder wound?" Computer asked.

" Don't try and change the subject on me." Zim hissed.

" This is more important; Have you treated your shoulder wound at all? Remember, it wasn't just a dislocated shoulder. If I recall correctly, you ruptured some skin and you bled."

" What does that have to do with anything?" Zim said, slightly snapping. He straightened out his posture, trying to ignore the pain that stretched over his back, however he only failed in his attempts. He sat down at the couch and carefully placed his hand against his left shoulder. Zim realized then that there was no justificatory reason why he did so; placing a hand at his wound only made it hurt, and he only did so because he thought it would be comforting, Which in all truths, it wasn't.

" Sir, it's infected. You never treated them after wards? I believe that also the injury at the back of your head is also infected." His computer informed, slightly surprised. It never occurred to him to sanitize them. Him forgetting to do so bewildered him slightly; Zim was always quick to healing himself, especially in enemy territory. It didn't make any sense to why he didn't think about it until he had to be reminded. Why was he, all of a sudden, losing his aptitude, and dexterity? Being victim to these putrid emotions, forgetting many tactics and techniques he learned and taught himself. For the past week, he'd been wrapping his mind mainly towards his anger, and apparent vindication...For what reason would Zim put trivial emotions first to his...assignment.

It made sense now.

" Sir..." His computer called. He resurfaced from his mind, and realized the metallic arms that had exited the walls. A few held a few bottles of disinfectant liquids and others first aid kits and materials. Zim's eyes narrowed at the disinfectant.

" That's for humans." He remarked.

" We've run dry of our own supplies, sir. Over the first few months of our landing here, you used them all with your first encounters and episodes with Dib." Computer stated. " We don't really have any other alternative."

He swallowed heavily, his eyes watching the brown bottle that was held rather close to him.

" Human disinfectant...That's hydrogen peroxide." Zim said. "...I can't use that."

" I understand, Sir, but—"

" No, Computer. I can't use that. Water's chemical formula is H2O. I breathe in oxygen all the time that I'm here, it doesn't have any harmful affects. Hydrogen? That's like poison to me. It's why I'm so allergic to water, because of hydrogen."

" I know that. "

Zim shook his head, partly from bewilderment. He'd just claimed he knew what it was Hydrogen did to him, but yet considered continuing on with his plan to use it. He didn't want to try and display his fear, however that wasn't on the top of his mind. His eyes went back to the brown bottle, and his Computer began twisting off the cap.

" Computer." Zim said, urgently.

" Trust me, Sir, I know what I'm doing. I'm going to clean it with this..." He said, lifting a white bottle. " Rubbing alcohol. If you'd cleaned your bruises and scrapes earlier, than I wouldn't need to use hydrogen peroxide. That's why you feel so sick" He informed. It explained a lot of the situation, however Zim wasn't able to concentrate and appreciate the reasoning of it, as he was still very wary over the chemicals that were hovering closely to him.

" What are you going to use the hydrogen peroxide for?" Zim asked, clearing his throat.

" Well. I have to open your scrapes and cuts don't I? They've seemed to scab."

Zim's eyes widened.

" Sir, it's not something I would've preferred doing, but you...brought this upon yourself." He said, carefully, opening both bottles, and placing the caps neatly against the surface of the couch cushion beside Zim. After wards, the appendages almost froze in place. There was a pause from the both of them. Zim knew what his Computer was waiting for, however he knew if he began it would set off another process that he wouldn't want to start. Zim remained in his seat, and he watched the bottles with hesitance. A few chills passed by and it made his sickness more apparent.

" Sir."

"...What."

" You need to remove you shirt."

I know that. Zim said to himself. He waited for a minute around, before he willed his hands to start removing the black gloves that encased them. All the while, his muscles tried him in protest.

" I don't see how you managed to remove your damaged apparel from before, and not disinfect yourself." His Computer remarked. Zim mumbled in response a few inaudible, shaky complaints, but he removed his black striped shirt and exposed his damaged shoulder.

" You're left handed, right sir? It would explain why I received so many calls about you not doing work, seeing how you can't even move your shoulder."

" Yes...humans can't listen to reason." Zim replied. With all honesty, he'd forgotten about his shoulder. On those days, it didn't bother him that much. He didn't do any work because he didn't want to. But he was going to agree with him anyways.

" Then how did you start that food fight?" He asked, as Zim began hearing him pour the liquids. He wasn't able to see what, but he heard the sloshing sound of it encounter into something. Zim knew that his computer was trying to occupy Zim by small-talk and friendlier conversation; it surprised how quickly his computer's demeanor changed. Zim had just insulted the hell out of him, and yet he came quickly to his aid when he found out that his superior was hurt. He didn't know how to feel towards that.

" I-uh...used my PAK arm. When nobody was looking." Zim said, feeling sweat gather at his hairline. Hairline? Zim groaned as he remembered he still had on his horrid disguise. No wonder my eyes were so—

At that moment, his shoulder flared in pain and burned intensely, and he flinched against it's cold, burning touch. Computer had just placed a soaked pad of cold hydrogen peroxide against his shoulder.

" Dammit!" He yelled and gritted his teeth. The pain stretched across his back, and even down his arm, his nerves sending excited signals to his brain about the sudden attack of harmful chemicals. " Computer, tell me when you're going to do that!" Zim snapped.

" If I do, then it'll hurt more." He said casually. " It's a mental thing."

However, it wasn't quite the reaction Zim expected. His skin didn't sizzle like it did whenever water touched it; He definitely would've thought his skin would be burned if Hydrogen was at it a purer state. After a few moments, Zim realized that it wasn't even his standard allergic reaction; just the disinfection of his wound making it's mark.

" Hmm." His computer hummed curiously.

"What?" He asked. The pressure of the wet pad against his shoulder disappeared.

" Interesting."

" What?" He snapped.

" Sir, you drank juice before, right? In fact you do have a few containers of them in your refrigerator." He began diverging from the subject. Whatever subject there was to this.

" What are you talking about? What does juice have to do with this?"

" I guess that's a yes. Huh. I should've realized sooner!" His computer said, more with excitement rather than self directed assertiveness.

" Computer!"

" Sorry— I had forgot completely that you're biological make up is different from humans. Well...I didn't forget completely, but there were a few things I muddled through." He began. " You're body reacts to certain chemicals, obviously, in many different ways. However...if those chemicals are diluted in any fashion, then the affect is no longer viable. Which explains why water hurts you so much; the oxygen in the water actually magnifies the affect of your allergic reaction to hydrogen."

Zim considered the information of what he was saying. He pondered and tried to make any connections to past situations to see If that applied any truths. Over the course of the time being here, Zim realized a few times how he was surprised that water didn't affect him too much. It wasn't something that came consciously to him; just instantaneous wonders of bewilderment of why that reaction didn't do what it was supposed to.

Zim then confirmed to himself it was true. However he did question one thing. He shifted on his seat, and faced the TV screen.

"...Well juice is juice. I don't see how that has to do with anything."

"...Juice has water in it."

"...What?"

" Juice has water in it."

"...It does?"

" Yes."

"...I thought it was entirely one chemical."

" No, it's a combination of water, sugars, artificial flavoring and probably fruit additives...It's interesting actually; at first I thought it was with elements that changed the affect of certain chemicals to you, however now I see that is can be very small compounds too, concerning your ability to drink—."

" Computer." Zim called. He would ramble to himself, perhaps trying to explain, about things he had determined. It was his way of excited expel, ranting on small discoveries and details that he'd found intriguing. It was rather annoying to hear him on his talks; most of the time his talking didn't make any sense. At least to him.

" Sorry...heh. I guess you do learn something new everyday." He remarked, chuckling. Zim knew he was making a reference to Schoool. And how Zim didn't learn anything at all.

" Shut up." He said, shaking his head. " Let's just get this over with."

• • •

After the scene of painful decontaminating and first aid for Zim's infected wounds, the Computer persuaded—bringing up the subject yet again—Zim to check upon his experiments. He wasn't in the mood to start up another argument from trivial protests. He was in one beforehand, when he wanted to insult his Computer more for choosing such an option concerning the relationship between him and Dib, but that was interrupted with the concern over his infections and sickness. And so Zim decided to finally take on his Computer's advice.

As he descended down the small glassy tube, he similarly sank within his mind. He stretched his gloves back on sub-consciously, daydreaming as he lowered into another floor. He was remembering. Remembering why he'd been so...untactful. Why he'd been so boorish and quick to anger—even more so. He was trying to forget. Zim didn't realize it but he was trying to forget about the event of the Tallest banishing him. He didn't want it to affect him; it was why he still believed he had a mission...Maybe it was because he needed to believe. He wasn't so sure why he thought he felt this way, however in a way it made sense to him. Slightly. Probably? It was too confusing. His chest began to twinge, remembering too much of that event. Labeling it as so only entitled more evidence to why he felt that way. Why he felt...betrayed. Sad. The words that was expressed. The hatred. Zim closed his eyes and willed himself to revoke these emotions.

He walked down the hallways and tried not to quiver in the coldness of the atmosphere. It was dark; the hallway fluorescent lights were tinted purple and other colors, depicting the area of his base he would be in. Any color other than white did a poor job for brightness. But that was intended. Zim shivered and even a cloud of his breath was visible when he exhaled a shaky breath. There wasn't a thermometer anywhere, and neither was it an option to raise the temperature. All of the rooms had their designated heat, and regulated their environments to suit the contents or organisms ( If any ) inside them. The hallways were kept cold because they didn't need any temperature monitors. It was result to the depths of which his underground base was located; because of the scarce source of heat underneath the soil of the sun, unexposed to any light.

Zim entered into the Experiments room and closed the iron enforced door behind him, leaving an echoing, intimidating thud as it hit against the door frame. The only source of lights came from the monitors of his desktop screens, and even then those only illuminated the platforms that held them. Zim groped the wall for the switch, and flipped one accidentally as he motioned upwards.

The bright lights turned on, and further extended the appearance of his room. It also seemed to elaborate a sense of odor that hit Zim's nostrils. It was strong, and it assaulted his nose with a velocity that made his head flinch.

Zim knew it was because of his negligence of visiting his test subjects like he was supposed to. Though he carried on, and walked towards the platforms The first ones he'd always attend to first, which he remembered by standard procedure, was his Neural Experiments. They were the ones more meticulous in needs. Humans were annoying like that. He walked up the slanted ramp onto the platform that was only a foot higher than the regular level. There he had a dual monitored computer system, an engine separate from Computer himself. There another few monitors located elsewhere, for the other test subjects, which those systems were designated to.

Zim looked upon his neural experiments. Eyes dull, mindlessly staring, heads punctured with enlarged electrical probes. Veins were more visible around the probe, where they had been disturbed and severed and linked within the small, artificial tendrils that emerged from the devices lodged into their craniums. They appeared like infected, mud permeated worms that connected with blue, most likely inactive organic ones. That was the least of the detail of their appearance.

There was a lot of hair on the ground. Hair that was lost during the electrical transmitter's passage of shocking their neural networking. Because of the gash that had to be made to insert the probes in the first place. It severed the lineworks of their brain that sustained the color, and health of the hair. And the strands and clumps eventually fell out like if they were shedding. Shedding old, dry fur. The Computer didn't clean it up; he probably wasn't programmed to cleaning. He could fix himself, but Zim wasn't too sure if he actually had system components for self sanitation; considering this entire household was the basic structure of his body.

A considerable amount of bruising was also present, their skin pasty and slightly translucent. Around the probes, the skin was a livelier purple and red, fleshy exterior. And in some of them, they pulsed. Their irises had lost their significant colors and all retained into a gray, dull shell of their former self. Pupils dilated and lifeless.

Drooling was apparent in some of them. Their salivary glands produced it and their minds weren't in that much control to keep it from over filling. The smell was now obvious. After taking it as a whole, Zim's heart skipped a beat, as he thought for a moment that they might be dead. His nostrils burned incessantly.

Deactivate the Automated System Regulator. They're not dead.

Zim informed himself. It was strange how the thought came to him as a conscious reminder and not a dormant, absent realization; an actual, self generated cognitive idea that reminded him about this process that he forgot. He blinked, and began typing at the keyboard, feeling his nerves tingle around his arms. He was worried. For what? What was there to be worried about?

Zim did as he told himself, and typed in the order of which he sent to the probes. There was an electric charge that sounded, and declined. They all jolted, and their eyes fixated. They regained control over their cognitive thoughts and mental processing. Partly. Their mouths closed, some of them realizing that they were drooling. However they weren't embarrassed; they were accustomed to this. It was an occurrence so frequent that they could still claim and maintain a hold of dignity while doing so; or absent disregard to the emotional output of others.

Zim looked at each of them, their eyes blinking now and searching around the vicinity with groundless curiosity and prying. Their once motionless body regaining vitality. They all eventually made their gazes to Zim. Under their pale, blank scrutiny, he felt like that he was expected to do something. Mainly something pertaining to the prospects of authoritative command. He was expected to instruct them. To justify, without care towards their subjectivity, what it was he was going to do. For their forced compliance.

Zim was expected to experiment on them. They were just waiting for his first move. First motion. The commencement.

Zim felt chills crawl over his body, and involuntarily his body begin to react to their outward appearance. Swollen bodies that had been fed with unwholesome foods, without exercise, without care. Small limbs that hung from their torsos like twigs, weakened, smaller muscles and bones that were no longer functional. He couldn't tell if they were emaciated or fattened; their skin taut, plump but pale from the malnutrition, and from the lack of proper exercise. However around their stomachs, and waists were thin, and starved. Bones and their structural detail unhealthily being exposed. Clothes that once fit, and vivid in color, dark, covered in their sweat. Color that had been bled out from the year they wore the same shirts, same pants, same socks and shoes. Growth that was stunted and possibly reversed.

Waste that covered the lower boundaries of their stools. From past accidents; occurring from their constant state of sickness and complete unhealthiness.

Zim heaved. He walked a few steps away before he retched and choked. He hadn't eaten anything today; nothing came out at first. But his throat constricted, his stomach tightened and then released, and he vomited bile. It burned his throat as it exited his mouth. His body quivered after wards. A cold sweat appeared instantaneously, and sickening chills that were deep passed through his systems, like ripples in water. That was how he felt in that moment; weak and aqueous like a liquid.

Zim closed his eyes and tried to gain control over his shaky breathing. He straightened a little bit, wiped his mouth and tried to compose the trembling in his hands. He thought about how insulting that would be to them. Mortifying, and discouraging. To take disgust in their appearance, when it was his fault they were like that.

He approached back to the setup of his computer system. Behind it was a rail. He grabbed on to for stability. They watched him. Unmoved. Expression unreadable. Some of them. If it was determinable what it was they felt, it was the reinforced emotion that the probe limited to them. One of them teared up. He remembered her. Sadness was her emotion. Another angry. She was of anger too. The other ones, so happen to be males, were unreadable. Zim turned away, he didn't want to take in their details again. He didn't want to retch in their presence, to embarrass them. To insult them again.

He felt his insides shudder, quivering sickeningly inside his body and passed a wave of unsettling nausea. He hurried back to the keyboard of the computer set up and reactivated the Automated System Regulator, the animate bodies now freezing back up into hunched states. Zim hurried out of the room. He needed to leave. He turned off the lights, and the door closed slowly behind him.