Chapter 26: " Rest for the Wicked "

Red kept his mind upon delicate concentration and forced himself to never dwell on a subject any longer than necessary, as he felt that whenever he did so, he would cause his brain to contract when his mind involuntarily sank into a pensive state and result in impairing pains. To keep himself from visually absorbing too much detail, he kept his vision steadily maintained upon one point with little activity and sat and positioned himself to where he didn't have to look at light. Closing his eyes would only bring contraction to his eyelids and cause them to burn with relentless vigor. With all of those prospects considered, he tried his best not to beleaguer his already throbbing headache anymore that was within his power.

To that consideration, all else was at the power of the other occupants of the room, namely a few Soldiers that were stationed at the door for good measure and Purple. The only loud occupant who's presence was entirely questionable in Red's resolve. For the most part, he was able to ignore his excited blathering, but that usually meant he'd have to mute out the sounds by using his thoughts to cloud his attention and that hurt more than Red wanted to believe was possible.

Purple kept himself busy pacing around the room, short of patience with a very inconvenient habit for talking to himself in stressful conditions. Much to his dismay, Red sat there expected to give insight about the unfortunate events that occurred not so long ago.

" Red." Purple addressed. " Are you even listening to me?" He asked, miffed.

Red smiled icily, despite the fact he wasn't facing him.

" You're too kind." He sneered. " Proposing this as if I had the ability not to. I love your consideration, Purple. No...really, I do."

Purple glared at the Irken who had his back turned to him. He shook his head and an impatient sigh left through his nostrils. He let a wild thought cross his mind, which ran along the lines of him curiously wondering what would happen if he smacked him across the head. Not too violently, but only enough force to rile him.

But it was a stupid thought. Purple blinked and allowed the childish reveries leak out of his mind. His eyes located a guard and he turned his head to face him. The Soldier caught his vision and immediately straightened his back, as a way of preparation for a command.

" You. Get an ice pack for your Tallest." Purple directed lowly. The Major saluted brusquely, giving the honor of acknowledgment when needed and with the same haste, left to follow on with the order. The Irken turned back and continued on pacing in a slow, contemplative manner. He didn't allow Red's exasperation to embitter him as much it was intended to, knowing that Red was wanting some sort of counter attack. Though as in his current conditions, Red's emotional composure was being constantly provoked with the displeasure of his pain. It resulted in his inadvertent bursts of insults. Purple blinked and an annoyed sigh passed through once more.

" This makes no sense." He began, frustrated. He was expecting Red to moan at the event with his usual guttural complaint, but interestingly he turned his head. His eyelids took rest halfway upon Red's eyes, reasonably because of his headache, but he furrowed his brow.

"...What do you mean?" He uttered. Purple didn't hear him.

" We can't allow this to happen again...I never thought we would need to pressure security against the city." He mused.

Red turned around completely, despite the protests his brain fought against him.

" What are you talking about?" Red questioned, cautiously.

" We have to place a Soldier to your side at all times when you leave the palace." He explained. Red was trying to decipher the meaning of his explication, even if it made his head throb. He knew he wouldn't be told it at any given time, judging by the evasive conversation he was having. " Which goes to show that nobody else can be trusted."

" Purple." Red asserted, and the person he addressed turned around as anticipated. "...This can't be about what happened to me." He said, shaking his head with disbelief. In the moment, Red was able to read the same expression off of his comrade's face; disbelief and maybe even some slight confusion. As if he didn't understand how Red didn't already know what he was talking about and his reaction to his incredulity was with disappointment that he failed to recognize the situation.

" What else would this be about, Red?" He asked, exasperated. " Especially after what that man did to you!"

Red only shook his head.

" You can't be serious." He muttered dumbfounded, standing up. Purple's eyes narrowed at him. Red wasn't sure if what he said was offensive or provocative. Either way they both brought up a negative reaction from his comrade and Purple let out an irritated puff.

" Do you remember anything from what happened? Are there any details you can recall?" Purple asked, diverging away from the last subject. But Red, though his aching brain, was still trying to get a grasp of the concurrent theme that underlined Purple's motives, despite his relapsing concentration. His mind played over the information he heard and tried to find the correlation between that and the missing value of logic. When his mind concluded that his actions didn't make sense, it repeated the process. It wasn't until another few moments later that Red realized he had been asked a question.

" I remember everything." He confirmed, causing Purple's expression to drop in sequence. There was a very brief pause before his eyes flashed.

" Then why didn't you answer me beforehand!?" He yelled. " Dammit, Red! I'm trying to help you! I'm not going to sit here and do nothing while your attacker is out there!"

Red partially squinted his eyes. He thought about what he said and it reiterated throughout his mind for conclusions. There was no attacker, he thought to himself. By instinct he shook his head, partly from disagreement.

" What attacker?" Red asked through his confusion. His comrade's expression dropped even more, with widened eyes. His lips even began to shiver and Red could tell he was endeavoring his hardest not to let his anger out and misdirect it.

" Red." He began, his voice wavering. " I get it your head hurts. And I bet that's the cause of your ignorance...But by the gods, just—humor me!" He snapped. " If you remember it then tell me what happened!"

Purple's breathing was slightly heavy as his shoulders marginally raised and lowered from his intakes of air. He awaited a response from Red, which was currently still trying to process with his aching head, and watched his expression for any sense of recognition. But Red remained lost and Purple became more exasperated as he was able to read this from his face.

" Dammit...dammit Red!" He cursed. By the fashion of which he expressed the words, Red thought that he might be holding a small amount of guilt for being angry at his comrade's shortcomings.

"...Are you talking about Mord?" He asked.

" Who the hell is Mord." Purple said, annoyed. At first he didn't recognize the importance of the sentence. He kept his head down with his hand upon his brow for a while longer before his eyes lit up. He glanced up at Red's face for confirmation, with now slightly widened eyes. They fleeted to his right and his head turned to the direction. Red followed his line of sight and noticed he acknowledged to the other Soldier that was in the room, as it was promptly followed by his straightening stature.

" Lieutenant. Head over to the Massive and speak to a Navigator. Have him identify an Irken named Mord and pinpoint his location. When he finds him, Seize him. Do whatever it takes to get him into custody." He commanded and the Soldier immediately saluted. Red hardly had time to gasp with disbelief before the Solider was nearly out of the room.

" Wait—what? No. No." He affirmed, directed at the man about to leave, which stopped and looked at the two. Purple's head whipped at Red.

" What?"

" Don't leave this room." He said, pointing at the lieutenant.

Purple was taken aback.

" Yes." He countered. He looked at the one in question. " Go to the Massive."

The Soldier was about to salute until Red cut in.

" No—Do not leave this room." He reinstated. " He's not leaving this room."

" I told him to leave! He's leaving this room." Purple commanded, with narrowed eyes. He looked back at the Soldier. " Lieutenant, I gave you an order."

His salute was slower and more hesitant as his eyes switched from Tallest to Tallest. Red shot a glare at Purple.

" Overruled. Lieutenant, don't take a step out." He ordered.

Purple stammered from frustration, before an impatient puff exited his nostrils.

" He doesn't know what he wants! He's suffered from a minor traumatic brain injury and it's clouding his judgment! The person responsible is still out there as we speak! And the longer you stay here the more incoherent and insensible he becomes—where the hell is that ice pack!?" Purple yelled.

Coincidentally, the major who'd left the room earlier arrived at the tip of the moment. His face was slightly flushed at the accusation and his eyes widened. He nervously entered the room with a ginger weight and stride. He walked towards Red and held out his hand with the pack in hand. With the same timidity, he escaped to the side of the door and remained their in the awkward situation. Red applied the pack to the top of his head and the immediate change of temperature shocked his nerves, but it unbelievably soothed the pain his receptors were enduring. The iciness resisted the heat that gathered in his head, but Red realized by his impetuous behavior he caused his brain to ache more. In response, he closed his eyes and momentarily wished he kept himself from being so stupid.

Purple looked back at the lieutenant and gestured towards Red.

" Do you see? He's in pain. Help him by securing the man responsible. I command you to go to the Massive." Purple said.

" By the gods— lieutenant, you leave this room and you will be executed." He said, solemnly. The entire room held it's breath by how grave the situation became.

Even Purple had to look at him with concern. Red finally took a seat and a sigh left his mouth. " Purple, would you just listen to yourself? You're commanding a lieutenant to find a man because I fainted. Because I fell unconscious." Red said, tiredly. " Just...realize how ridiculous this is."

Purple shook his head slowly with the same disbelief that Red witnessed beforehand.

" Red, that man attacked you. He attacked his leader...He attacked my brother..." Purple reinforced. " Me wanting to see him hang is not ridiculous. It's justice. This will never happen again and to ensure that, we punish him."

" Mord never attacked me! He never hurt me!" Red issued.

" There was a witness, Red. The Control Brain that secures that station says differently. I wouldn't appoint a target unless I have evidence that suggests validity." Purple said. " He said that man knocked you unconscious."

" He was trying to be my defense! Wesley didn't see what happened, he was shut down while it occurred. He heard it, powered on and then assumed based on what he saw after it took place." Red explained. He was using his best judgment based upon the conditions of what he remembered. Wesley had powered off way before the client entered the station. It was only logical to guess that he was trying to ascertain with the little details he had.

Purple's eyes furrowed once more with an accusing pierce to them, but it wasn't directed to Red.

" What? You mean to tell me that the Control Brain shut down while you were on shift? Useless piece of shit." He cursed, as he began pacing slowly. " As if the Almighty Tallest occupying his station was nothing but another client. He should have been there monitoring at all times!" Purple accused. " I knew we should've removed him from the station..."

"...What?" Red sounded. " It's not that big of an issue."

" Yeah, that's exactly how that Control brain felt when he powered down." He fumed. Red shook his head, confused.

" Purple, I don't care that Wesley shut down. How was he supposed to—"

" And why do you keep calling him Wesley?" Purple interrupted, annoyed. Red stared at him through the momentary pause that occurred unexpectedly. " Or the other one—Mork. Why do you name them?"

" It's Mord."

" Their names don't matter. Especially if they're Rank E commonplace."

Red took a second to realize what it was he said. The meaning had an impact upon him, and a vehement one too. Red shook his head with partial disgust and the words played over in his mind and echoed. At first he didn't want to believe that what he heard left Purple's mouth. He didn't want to realize that the person he considered his friend to be so derogative. But when he recognized his feelings and noticed how much he opposed of his comrade's stance, he soon came to notice that it wasn't too long ago that he acted just as discriminatory. Where a month before, he would've considered Wesley and Mord to be just things with no existential importance or value to them. Futile beings with the same expense as an item; with the same ability of being just as dispensable. It puzzled his mind and he felt almost as if a part of his brain wrought a conjugation that blocked his sense of cognition. He thought for a while about how it was he changed. How it was he came to be averse to the things he required to be as Tallest. Unfeeling...Callous and pitiless. He thought maybe it had to do with him being in that occupation.

What was it again? Oh right. To " Refine them with arduous protocols issuitable." From yours truly. So much more caring than that Purple-ish counterpart of ours, aren't we?

Red closed his eyes and a very prominent, painful throb pulsated through his brain, but it was gone the moment later. He didn't keep his eyes closed for too long, to avoid appearing strange.

"...Because I asked them, Purple. Because I wanted to know. Why do I address you as Purple, and not My Tallest?" He asked, genuinely.

Purple scoffed over the issue. Again, with disbelief. It seemed that everything that was spewing out of Red's mouth was starting to discombobulate his comrade with an efficiency that even Red questioned.

" You tell me, Red. No, really. I want to hear it from you. I want to confirm that your boundless stupidity doesn't actually stretch to the extent I think it does." He insulted, his eyes furrowed and angry. At this point, he was offended. He was offended of how the inquiry regarding to his name was unduly questioning his overall worth of the entitlement, and dwindling his prestigious class in order for an indirect reference for the Rank E commonplace to be considered. Purple was vexed that Red lingered on the subject that the same principle of the others he named applied to him as well. And he condemned it even more so that Red had the nerve to express the concept among the presence of their ranking officers. To disclose this and humiliate his comrade with an audience.

Purple's eyes searched down and up, observing the one he spoke to with an abasing aura. His eyes contained a piercing to them that condemned the figure of Red's dignity, and mercilessly so. His eyelids partially lowered and an exhale escaped through his nostrils, a scoff to be more precise and he recalculated Red; sized his shape and mentally disfigured his intellectual worth. Disparaging with nothing but judging eyes. He could almost hear it again, the words ringing out of his mind.

Then again I speak to one who has the unholy habit of disregarding equanimity, of that of a defective.

Red looked away and pressed the ice pack harder against his head. Becoming aggravated wouldn't help with his situation anymore than being upset would. However he could feel both sets of agitation beginning to release upon the structure of his composure. And in turn, his brain throbbed ferociously.

There was an expanse of silence and it stretched across the room. The two soldiers stood there with nervousness, but they were taught not to convey such emotions. Despite it, Red was still able to determine their feelings by their disposition. They may be trained, but they were still just Irkens. Purple looked away and took a deep breath. His eyes wandered away listlessly and he watched everything with decreased influx of emotions. Wiped clean of any sense of care. Apathetic. So endemic to him, it was ironic how much people thought him to be the considerate one out of the duo.

"..So you're telling me that man did nothing to you...?" He asked with a shallow tone, scratching at his head. Red opened his eyes and read the contents of his face. He could practically bask in his stupid thoughts and attitude; Disinterest and carefree notions. Probably even considering the idea he could go and have a snack. Sometimes Red couldn't stand his comrade. The idea of his existence was just so much of a bother already and to acknowledge he wasn't just an ideology was a burden.

" Yes." He answered simply. Purple kept his eyes away a while longer, staring at nothing while he enveloped himself in his thoughts until he blinked and switched his view over to Red. Carrying the same stupid expression of his characteristic detachment.

"...I'm worried now about how the condition came to be that you fainted, then. Because that's the only reasonable alternative to how such a thing could occur." Purple explained. " and I feel the need to stress that I don't think even you have certainty of how it came to be."

Red felt a pulse swim through his body. What he'd said disagreed entirely with what he was presuming about his thoughts. However he remained shallow from the conversation.

" Your worry is unnecessary." Red remarked icily. " How I fainted is, frankly, business you shouldn't be concerned about."

Red repositioned the pack at the other plane of his head, and rested it against the heated end. The area that garnered the soothing felt exposed, and the constant of the coldness stopped giving influx to his nerves. The averse effect occurred on the other side, maintained by the grip of his hand. Another sigh left Purple and he slowly made his way to a counter and leaned his weight against it with his palms against the surface. With another stretch of inactivity, it became quiet another time. But only for a little while.

"...Then I suppose we're done here." He remarked quietly. Purple lifted himself off the counter and straightened his posture. He glanced at Red and paused for the time being. Then he was gone; swiftly and quietly. Walked past the Soldier still at the entrance of the Massive with ease.

With his presence gone, it lifted asomatous issues in the air and lightened the mood of the room. However within the emptiness of activity, came the inevitable constant and it's undeniable alacrity; Uncomfortableness. Within it's company, the Soldiers and their leader found themselves wondering to themselves how to avoid attention as means to maintain public sameness. To act orderly, without attracting unwanted scrutiny or to stand out. Idle situations like these were unbelievably effective in altering mindsets however were also considerably trivial in sequence.

Red remembered the blackmail he'd spurted a while ago and inwardly sighed. How inconvenient that in the situation he wanted to detract himself from he had to produce a statement which would undoubtedly bring attention. For a reason unknown to him, he hated the idea of being noticed right now. Despite the fact he wasn't a bashful person. Red lifted the pack from his head, and blinked a few times to relieve his eyes. Afterwards, he slowly glanced at the Soldier still stationed near the entrance of the Massive. He was on the verge of the door panels, appearing although he was going to leave, but he'd been warned not to for a very forbidding reason. There was a layer of sweat covering his brow, portraying his intense amount of anxiety. A thought occurred to him that maybe he was still standing there because he was still fearing for his life. It caused Red's conscience to rend itself.

" My apologies, lieutenant. My ludicrous command was acted upon very petty emotions. The threat I presented was nothing but words." He said. Red remembered that as the Tallest, it was unthinkable that they would need to apologize for any considerable action because their position granted them such unearned privilege. Their actions were deemed dismissible and honest, any reasons that may be associated with them gave them the ability to get away with murder. The entire idea behind it was astounding and Red was slowly starting to hate how his apologies would so eagerly be ignored.

He was able to read the looks on their faces, when he'd apologized to a lowly ranking officer. He was able to read their surprise and their confusion. As if the act of him apologizing to the lesser was something so bizarre and unprecedented. And it was sad because it was true in that circumstance. Then again, considering that, they may have been confused all the while when he repeatedly continued to name the Rank E commonplace and his other actions today. However he wasn't sure, for he hadn't been looking at their expression during the time it occurred.

Red sighed. Maybe they weren't thinking that. Maybe they were actually confused that he was apologizing and actually appreciated it. Maybe.

" You both are free to go...You're dismissed." Red waved. And with their simultaneous salute, they exited the room. Or so the Tallest thought so.

" My apologies Sir." One spoke out, causing him to jump. A few chills passed down his body, but they died down quickly. It was the major. Red momentarily wished he knew his name. He lingered on the subject a little longer and remembered he could very well just ask him. " Permission to speak freely." He requested.

" It will be denied unless you tell me your name." Red remarked. The major remained quiet for a long while, and he could see the surprise in his widened eyes. Red thought about the deliverance of the message and inwardly hoped that it didn't sound as coarse at he thought it did.

"...Major...Major Yue." He hesitated. Red nodded.

" Permission granted, Major Yue."

He straightened his posture.

"...Almighty Tallest Purple prior acknowledged you would need a guard stationed at your side at all times when you left the palace...Is this notion still in effect? I'll be more than happy to serve at your side." He remarked. Red shook his head slowly, trying not to cause his brain to jostle in his head. He wanted to smile at his request, but he didn't want to make him more uncomfortable than he already was.

" No. It's not in effect. But I thank you for your offer." Red replied. And with that, a salute was given, and Yue promptly left the room. Leaving his Tallest to ponder about the state of his mental composure.

• • •

Zim found himself opening his eyes. The feeling of lethargy and nausea hit his awareness before his sense of acumen did. Within the small expanse of time, he gained realization over his surroundings and lifted himself off the face of his lab counter. Again, like he was reminded of last time, he felt soreness stretch painfully down his neck and further down his back as he removed himself from his sleeping posture. Having no idea of what the time was, he blinked and waves of sickness reverberated around in his body, shaking at his already frail stature.

He had been sleeping again...It was obvious now; His body became accustomed to it. His body made the activity necessary because of his past actions. Zim had done this so often his body felt that it was now a mandatory aspect for his health. To be honest with himself, he didn't know his body would change so accordingly. He didn't think that it could adjust itself, as if it were another living being and adapt based upon the changes in your health activity. Maybe it was a way of survival, to adapt when situations became dire or different than what was normal. It wasn't too hard to believe but Zim didn't want the change. He didn't want his body to acquaint itself with these alterations. He didn't welcome the fact his body mutated from what he was normal to, and now he had to suffer the consequences of his actions in due of his severe emotions.

Zim looked down at himself. A thought crossed his mind when he saw his frailty.

Did my body become accustomed to my discontinuation of eating as well? At first it scared him to think so. But he forced himself to remember that eating was what gave his body nutrition and it was what gave him the sustenance to live in the first place. There was no way his metabolism would alter itself so it could systematically commit suicide in the process by rejecting food. He shook his head, ridding himself of these thoughts and climbed down from his stool. Momentarily, the memories of his dreams ran across his mind. Fragments and bleak visions came through to the bounded area that was of his conscious and he was reminded of his initial feelings to them when he'd dreamt them. But he didn't want to dwell on them any longer. There was a reason he forgot them last time.

Zim stretched out his muscles then began walking. He observed his laboratory and tidied stray materials and utensils. He wandered aimlessly and forged out thoughts from his mind to keep himself blank of feeling. Out of his maunders that ordered no obtained direction, he arrived beside the main entrance doors to his growth chambers. That was where he kept his plant life and cared for them to their specifications and needs. He established one when he realized they were at the mercy of his rather merciless robot, Gir. Zim paused at the doors and mused in his mind about his next decisions, wondering to himself whether if he should tend to his vegetal subjects or complete something different. The more he lingered on the topic, the more he realized his interaction with them had been very limited due to his constant forgetting. Zim blinked and silently agreed to himself it was about time he checked on their conditions. Concluding to work with them, he dressed up in appropriate apparel, wearing a thin lab coat with latex gloves; he removed his black rubber ones as they were too dense of a material. Afterwards, he entered the chambers and made all thoughts flee his mind once more.

He'd installed a few sectors to automatically water the plants within a 7 hour interval for 2 minutes. The time periods altered between each species of plants and upon the condition of their health and water levels. If readings suggested complications, Zim created systems to react accordingly and water them less or more. However there were some he'd forgotten to check; Ones that needed personal tending to.

He grabbed a few necessary utensils and began his work. He mentally noted their states and cared to them as necessary. Occasionally, he whiffed at their pleasing scents. Sometimes even spread his arm out to stroke their leaves and extensions. With a few of them actually responding and touching him as well. There were only a few plants that had such an ability and even fewer that were indigenous to his planet, Irk. Zim remembered that once upon a time, he liked the idea of becoming an agriculturalist. However he was small then and he also remembered that just about everything appealed to him. Curiously, he pondered what his life would be like if he were to have been a farmer, and not an Invader. Certainly not as acute and intelligent, that much was for certain, as he was able to do both relatable things.

Zim continued on. He tended to the subjects and fed certain ones that needed solid food forms. They didn't absorb nutrients from the soil with their roots, or photosynthesize, like most common ones did but had an increased amount of intake for food because of their digestion. When he finished, he continued to give his attention to those that required it. A few small mutterings to them each and gentle strokes against their stems and leaves usually sufficed.

Some plants were genetically mutated, which was part of his side research when he landed here on Earth. Creating DNA cells that acted as mutagens, without harming the host or acting as a threat to avoid the plants rejecting the foreign genes inside their systems. Once he was able to stabilize the chemical agents and obliterate the harmful affects of acting as carcinogens, Zim handled the plants with the new DNA and effectively added features to them, borrowing hereditary codes and traits from other plants for specifications upon the mutation traits. With it, he was able to create entirely new species, both innocent and harmful, reactive and inactive.

" There, there..." He whispered, as he extended his index. One of the vines from the plant retreated and curled away from the proximity of his touch. After a few more coaxes, it gave him it's trust and curled around his finger, showing they meant no harm to each other. Zim gave that one more water as a treat. Unfortunately, in lieu of his absence, half of it's entire body had dried out, and was scarcely living until he'd restored it partially back to health, having to remove it's dead segments and regain it's trust. He liked to think it sentient, but there was no evidence to prove it's consciousness. By his unorthodox methods, using heavily supervised genetic sequences, he'd constructed a pliable but resolute reactive system in which the plants were able to detect and perceive based upon their surroundings. He even granted them mobility, as they could shift and work each stem and leaf individually like appendages. But these weren't enough to grant cognitive functions; A conscious couldn't just be manufactured.

Zim stood up and left his plant subjects alone. Some of them he had to dispose; they'd died completely from his carelessness. It lingered on his mind for a while, but he tried not to let it affect him. Aside their scientific names, he'd also given them names for easier remembrance. Thinks like Lom, Reslo, or Pook. Names that were more familiar with home...

Or so what used to be.

Zim exited the growth chambers and removed his added apparel. Before he set his gloves back on, the term conscious arrived back to his mind. He wondered about the word's characteristics, like it's definition and application, meaninglessly probing his background knowledge about the word. But he stopped what he was doing when he had remembered something. A fact that stunned him and caused a rupture in his composure.

Conscious was the thing that had been taken away from people, when Zim was involved. It was the abstract part of the essential living being that he seemed to take a fancy for. Liked the way it shimmered and so he claimed it from countless people, like a jewel with a vile allure for the thief in magenta. People of all kinds. Irkens, humans, adults, children...

Children.

The Neural Experiments were still without food. Their stocks were drying out and Zim had an uneasy, anxious pick at his nerves that their water tank was empty by now. Even when he'd discovered this predicament nearly a week ago, he never took action upon it. He would silently remind himself about the condition and what it was he needed from the store. However it was always after he remembered, he'd dismiss the thought with an ever abounding insouciance to the matter, placing it in a tertiary stage of his lists of concerns, along with some of the popular thoughts that cycled through his head.

Not now I'll do that later. And, They can survive another few minutes. Or, I'm too busy. They don't concern with my prevalent matters.

Most famously: They're just humans. What does their life matter to me?

Zim stopped what he was doing and his heart clenched. Tightly. He wanted to move, but his muscles remained stiff. He forced himself to look over to his Neural Experiments and take in their details. They were still clothed with the soiled, old garments he said he would remove. They were still sitting there on the stools with a stone like capture to them. And worst of all; he could see they were thinner. He'd remembered they used to be considerably fat, with plump skin and awkward spindly features that contrasted each other. But now their appearance was prominently emaciated. Their arms thin with their weakened muscles gave off more elaboration than normal. Their legs where in the same condition. Chills crawled down his spine and he realized something.

All this time that Zim remained down here in his laboratory, he was neglecting. All this time he centered his attention around his subjects and small unimportant factors, he was neglecting. He'd come down here to occupy his conscious with matters that lost their significance long ago. Things like continuing to experiment on the Neural subjects, even though he was only repeating things he'd done in the past. He was making new mutations for his plants, when he'd already done so a long, long time ago. He would organize his laboratories, when there was nothing to organize. He'd go room to room, each day, cleaning, sanitizing, working with his subjects and tending to them. If he wasn't doing that, he was cleaning elsewhere. His observatory, his monitor room...his utility closets. Even Zim had to admit that it was ridiculous how many times he reorganized them daily. But that wasn't his concern as of right now, it was his underlying motive behind it all. To preoccupy himself, so he would forget...again.

He was banished. Sent here to die. He'd been holing his emotions within himself for so long he forgot to take care of his body. The Tallest mocked him. They hated him with every fiber within their being and they showed no shame in showing it every opportunity they got. He remembered Almighty Tallest Red's words and his throat knotted. And now Computer was dead. His mind had been shut down and his existence terminated. He remembered the horrible shudder the foundation received when his execution occurred.

Just another being who died because of me. The thought reached Zim's mind and he closed his eyes. And what made it all so much more worse, was that damned music. The piece Computer played for him when he'd asked about it one morning. All the time, it was ringing in his head. It'd been stored within his memories and it reeled over in his mind with such a never ending repetition to the point it hurt. Constantly, it was in his eardrums. Playing over and over. Zim muted it from his thoughts and he ignored it to the best of his ability. However he wasn't able to escape from it. It lingered inside him; Sounds playing within the hollowness of his conscience. The instruments sounding to his mind and traversing through him with rampant emotion. And all it did was remind more of his culpability. The austere quality of it gave him memories of his past and actions; made him contemplative. And by sheer circumstance, he assimilated the music with Computer. He thought about how it matched his personality with a similarity unabridged. As it did so, he was also always reminded mercilessly that he'd died. And there was nothing he did about it.

But Zim already knew this. He'd already knew all of this and there were times where he kept having to remember that he did so. His mind recollected the pieces and formed them for his misery, but soon they would fade with the corners of his mind and becoming unknown. They would fall apart again and hide within the darkness of his obscurity until he would recall once more. It was a process maintained by the working factors of his infamous brain. One that chose which things to remember and which things to toss.

But why? Why did this keep happening? It was so involuntary that Zim never had a clue it occurred until it was when he was making a process out of it. Constantly, it felt like his emotions were being halted and parts of his mind shut down to maintain a prospect of stability...

His PAK device.

The one and only system that acted like a second brain to his natural Irken body. The only device that had a mind of it's own and acted accordingly to maintain balance in both user and itself. The one thing that was able to store memories and knowledge that was worthy to keep in remembrance, and place them inside it's digital database. But with that ability, came the ability to omit and erase these memories from it's database and the user's mind. Unfortunately, they also secured the amount of mental stress one would receive and killed any and all emotions right in their tracks and replace it with forged, sudden bouts of confusion and loss of train of thoughts. A side effect that also included minor nausea and headaches. Like the ones Zim had been receiving for the past month.

His gut wrenched. Terribly. It twisted to the point he lost balance in his knees and caught on to a nearby counter for support. He felt sick. Zim was sure it wasn't from the PAK, as the side effects never went to the extent as real sickness did. And by now he would've forgotten something, or would've stopped feeling for a moment until the process of wiping his mind was done. He closed his eyes and his heart withered. His face struck and formed in his misery.

" No...no—not now." Zim pleaded to himself. Pleaded to his PAK. If this continued any longer, it would activate to eliminate these feelings. He needed to keep his mind together by loose thoughts and ill imaginings. Needed to convince himself he wasn't in emotional trouble. He couldn't forget again. To continue living like this under the constant state of re-occurring denial, that wasn't even under his own ability to maintain. A torpid, rugged fear rose in his heart, discharging out all and any optimism of this situation ending in good favors and replacing it with a venomous panic. Zim feared that the PAK could sense his emotions and read his thoughts, and could achieve it without his knowledge. Worried that it would recognize the state of his composure and rectify it with deletion like it had been so many times in the past, restarting the cycle that he was starting to worry was becoming more inevitable to avoid the more he continued to forget. The more Zim continued in self-inflicted denial.

He held his breath and it only tightened the way his heart twisted in his chest. To know that all this time, he was forgetting because of his PAK device. The one thing he was considered a defective for. The one thing that brought down his entire image, was now bringing down his entire mind, causing him to forget he was banished...To forget he killed so many people. It was so ironic to know this. So painfully ironic. Zim clenched his hands into fists and tried to compose his emotions. Tried to keep them under control, but they erupted with vigor. He fell to his knees and writhed, begging that he keep his mind. To forget again, for his PAK to clean out his thoughts, would be another inch closer of losing control of his mind.

Time passed and he remained against the counter, living past each second which ominously stretched to feel like minutes and daunt him with ambiguity; Whether or not the future would hold his misfortune. His muscles felt tight and it wasn't until nothing happened for a long while he felt he could breath normally again. Sweat layered his brow and he didn't know how long he'd waited for the event to occur. Waited for himself to be erased. Zim blinked his eyes and a terrible sigh exited his lungs, filling him with a sickly feeling of relief. He collapsed against his weak legs and sat down upon the cold black tile floors. He weighed against the cabinet doors and shivered in the coldness. It was never something to notice until now that his PAK device always obstructed everything, whenever he had to use his back. Lying down, leaning against the wall...It was something he got used to, but he would never deem it comfortable. Zim sat there for a while in attempts to calm his fast paced heart and the queasiness still occupying his squeedly spooch.

This couldn't happen again. He couldn't allow his PAK device to take control of him every single time he became too emotional. There was no beneficial factors that came from it every time his PAK took leverage of it's own user and established a sense of domination whenever it felt was necessary. It could no longer be in that position to make such choices. It was too risky...The more it cleaned away his emotions as means to maintain balance, the more power Zim allowed it to have. If it continued to erase the facts of his decommission and his past crimes, the more unstable he would be. The PAK was to be serviceable only when necessary. For any other Irken, if such a situation occurred to them without them being defective, their PAK would automatically deactivate parts that were necessary for their mission, and remain only as a brain. But that was the thing about being defective; there were many things wrong about the individual. And there weren't many solutions for them. Upon those facts, Zim closed his eyes and made himself realize the truth...Made himself aware of everything.

There was no mission for him to accomplish. There was no planet to enslave. There wasn't anyone that was needed to be killed. There wasn't anything that could possibly occur that would defy his conscience...

He closed his eyes when the knot arrived in his throat.

Zim wasn't an Invader. That was made clear a long time ago...But still his PAK cleared his emotions and memories and so he continued to pursue being one. It didn't matter that he trained for it. It didn't matter that he applied for it even; It didn't even matter that he even became one however many years it was. He was never considered one...and so he could never be one. That was something he couldn't escape; The reality of which his society based him upon his shortcomings and his height for whether or not he was valuable, or had potential. He was too short to be considered important. He was too defective to be even considered a sentient being. Worst of all, he was just laughingstock amongst the people. Just a joke and a poor excuse for being alive. And so he didn't need the things an Invader did. Things like the self-control application in his PAK because he had no use for them.

Zim opened his eyes and a revelation of the circumstance came to him. If he wanted to be rid of this feature, he would need to destroy it. Circumvent the PAK device from appropriating the situation and while still in it's temporary period of disorientation, deactivate the application and undue the circuiting of which allows any electric prospecting in the area. It wouldn't be plausible to try and remove the sector physically, as it could cause an uncertain amount of damage to other aspects of the PAK as well. Despite his newfound feelings against it, he still required it to survive. Without it would lead to his death...While some would praise such an event, Zim liked the idea of living.

He sat up from the ground and stood upon his feet, loosing another sigh from his lungs. Nervousness crowded his insides, now that he was planning to do this. But he couldn't actively engage within the thoughts. He wasn't sure how in depth his PAK device was linked to his own mind, whether or not if it could actually read his thinking or only detect his feelings by his nerve receptors. But either way, he couldn't allow to bring turmoil upon himself and have done all of this for naught. So he kept himself in delicate concentration and repressed thoughts down to a certain level of complexity.

He walked to the other side of the room and approached a few of his cabinets. Upon opening, he searched and fished through the items for blue print paper. After he perused through the second cabinet, he found some and pulled a few sheets out. He closed them behind him and continued on to the other side of the room, where he placed down his sheets on a table. Afterwards, he continued in another direction and retrieved a few measuring tools and white pencils. Zim returned to the table and let another nervous exhale leave his system.

He was sure he could do this in a brief amount of time. He was able to construct a colossal slingshot within a weekend's duration of two days with optimal performance. Including the design process up to the manufacturing and welding stages. At most, this device might take him a few hours or more. Zim took a deep breath, cleared his mind and began drawing out ideas. He deliberately assured himself this was for his mission. He didn't do it to convince himself, but to create thoughts for feed just in case if his PAK could indeed look through his mind. In all honesty, Zim didn't think this was going to work. He didn't believe that he would actually be able to finish this. He was giving too much benefit of the doubt to his own favor and neglected to acknowledge the facts because he knew it would discourage him. The feelings from before reared up again, and his heart received a twinge. But he ignored it and forced the feelings under the concerns at hand.

And he did it by listening to the music that never seemed to leave for too long...never seemed to be too far away either. Zim allowed it to echo into his mind and control his feelings and suppress them under composure. For once, he allowed himself to forget it reminded him of Computer.