Chapter 27: " Conscience, Anyone?"

When Zim finished his project, he wiped his brow of sweat and placed it to the side to rest. As his acute concentration ended, he felt a throb thrust through his brain, weirdly enough though, he felt calm...No, more appropriately, it would be patient. It was a feeling derived from his lingering within inactivity, nestled cutely in between restless waiting and hesitant expecting. In lieu, his nerves stood out against his skin, feeling almost prickly. His throat held a conjugation, and he felt slightly sick. He didn't feel anxious, though. No, this one was more subdued. Maybe it was just the flustered reaction of his nervous system, sending out a constant buzz of slight agitation, now that there was nothing to do but felt as if there was.

The small, compartment appearing regulator he'd just finished polishing held a daunting demeanor, as he knew about it's functions. Whenever his mind traced around the subject to this new device, it brought a weight an uncomfortable weight to his thoughts and he wanted to change his thinking to a different topic. He was reluctant. Rightfully so, but still. It was causing him to feel...afraid. Wary...

Yes. Zim was fearful of this little device. He was fearful of the thing he'd created because he knew it contained a precedence over his PAK device, which would ensure to limit it's functions. Limit him, almost, as it was still his second brain. It came back to the same ideology of why Zim created it in the first place; To subdue the control to which his PAK device had over him. But yet in the process, he created a device that had an even higher power, and therefore an equally higher capability of undisciplined and questionable authority. And inevitably came the undesired trait of it able to instill a sense of dominance, despite whether or not the actions was completely automated by scripted code.

Zim leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, and the bruise underneath his left one began to sting. The presence that created the stillness in his heart was a feeling he was starting to despise with a deep, fervent passion. It was the cause of his uncertainty and his constant wavering upon subjects when it regarded to the power levels of the things in consideration. He was tired of the fear that his position was being compromised by another insentient subject, and even more so to the fact that his position was low enough to allow it's vulnerability to begin with. Zim was sick of being weak, and being weakened.

He removed his protective apron and gloves. Unplugging the polisher from the wall inserted at a nearby outlet, he raveled the cord around the tool and placed it back within the drawers he got it from. It wasn't until he rubbed his left eye briefly and when it responded with pain he remembered the laceration he had. It stung from his carelessness, feeling slightly swollen. Zim thought about how negligent he'd been, if he forgot that he had a wound left untended. He then thought about all of the other things he never remembered to do, like actually eating and showering.

Zim made it an effort to ignore his odor. There were times, though, where he got unpleasant whiffs and his nasal cavities cringed. He reminded himself that he would shower as soon as he was done with more urgent necessities. He unbuttoned the gown that increased his body temperature by heights unbounded and slid the thick protective robe like garment off his body. He resorted to wearing only a tank-top and light thin gym shorts underneath, as the heat in the welding room was everlasting, even with the advanced ventilation and air conditioning. Despite the enormity of his underground base, he needed to make the welding room small, even if in itself it wasn't entirely logical for obvious reasons.

But, technicalities just wouldn't have it any other way. The temperatures the room could reach was heinous and without appropriate discretion, could even cause strokes if one remained under such conditions. Most of the heat was circumvented by the cooling systems, but it only went to show how dangerously hot it could get when it still reached high degrees; Metals created by the ore found on Irk were more thick and compressed than the ores on earth. Melting them required great patience and very high temperatures to work. Usually requiring a team to work, Invaders had to learn by themselves if they were going to succeed in their missions. Granted that most of the machines they had were already built, Invaders also needed to improvise and create if the time came. Like now.

It'd been nearly an hour since he retreated the room, but his body had side effects to drastic changes in temperatures. From the hallways to the welder, or vice versa, usually caused disorientation. However, because of his passion for legerity, he'd bounded across rooms and corridors without a single moment of rest and in doing so, caused his fever and his nervous system to malfunction and mess with his temperature-regulation. Right now he felt hot and cold across different planes of his body.

He picked up the device and headed towards the exit. He remembered his neural subjects and remembered their needs. The Irken put the thoughts away, as he knew he was already taking action upon the subject.

Zim left his laboratories, with the door automatically closing behind him. In the back of his mind, he thought about how much time he'd taken up and used just creating that door to be as motorized as it was, opening only by the recognition of his voice and DNA sample on his skin. When he truly allowed himself to dwell on the subject, he didn't even remember creating it. Everything he did down here passed by as a blur. Actions done by immediate impulse without a second to deliberate, or a second of individual musing. There were a lot of things that Zim had now that he didn't have before; Sure it was beneficial when he thought about it, but he knew that they were only manufactured from his absence of mind, and not by his wants. Then again, if everything were to be an outcome of his wants, nothing would be accomplished. Or so it had been recently, when Zim had been decommissioned.

He stopped himself in the middle of the hallway. He shivered inside the icy air that swiveled around him, exposing his warm breath when he exhaled. His head felt warm, and the pain throbbed once more through his brain. He remembered suddenly that this was where he was when Computer died. He wondered to himself why he cared...He didn't mean that as a way to berate his tenure of conscience, but literally; the Irken truly didn't understand.

Zim had realized that Computer's existence was merely nothing but an annoyance when he first started his mission. Everything he did resulted in his impatience and constant deriding. Every action he completed was always short of what was required, and because of it he could never regard Computer at a technical aspect. Because of his mindset, he never superseded the levels of expectation that Zim inwardly fixated once he'd observed his capabilities. And in lieu, he wasn't a necessity, and Zim wasn't shy in his efforts to remind him of that.

He'd remembered his insults. The verbal language and it's abusive attributes stuck to his mind like a persistent adhesive. The foul words and the curses he uttered, both directly and indirectly, carried a degradation in their nature that the Irken had particularly loved. Coming from his mind and into oral pronunciation occurred with ease, and rolled off his tongue like velvet with a satisfaction that endeavored. But it carried an undercoating of toxin that stabbed deep and ragged, deteriorating all live flesh abound to welt with infection. Zim remembered that he enjoyed slandering him; reducing his image. He felt it as a way of vindication whenever Computer failed to complete an assignment. Failed to take on orders, so he attacked that with malevolence.

He used to hate him...So why did he care now? It was implausible to think that it was just the sudden works of a conscience that never appeared beforehand, so it left him pondering. But even then, when he wandered in his mind about the logic of his emotions, he could still feel the string of guilt tugging at the stitches it made on his chest.

You killed him, you know. The Irken closed his eyes, and his hand tightened around the regulator in his hand. The figurative string pulled harder...but it made him think for a moment it was an actual occurrence.

Zim then remembered the task at hand. He opened his eyes and looked down at his naked limb containing the smallish device. The thought about his endemic black gloves and his striped uniform crossed his mind, and how without it he felt slightly exposed. But he continued walking down the hallway, intentionally forcing the prior emotions away. This time, he knew he was the one doing so.

• • •

The TV was broken. It remained within the black, solemn state that it was and it never turned on. Gir acknowledged this problem with indifference when it first occurred a while back, but now he was starting to be more concerned. He didn't know what the cause of it was, so he didn't know how to fix it. He looked around at the edges of the screen and when he found nothing to work on, he rubbed his hands together nervously.

Please, You'd just break it even more. He could hear his superior hiss, with the usual sardonic sting he had whenever he spoke to him. Gir shook his head and disagreed mentally, despite if he wasn't exactly emotionally stable right now. He was determined to find the problem; He needed to, if his superior wasn't. Gir looked at the DVR and approached the middle of the entertainment center. He knelt down and pressed a few buttons. When it was to no avail, he struck his head in the shelf the DVR was located in and tried to look for any cables or things that plugged to the TV. A while back ago, he remembered that the DVR stopped working as well when a letter came in through the mail. He was able to read something about a termination notice about an account, but he wasn't sure what that meant. Gir never asked his superior about it; He had been busy recently and he never left his underground base.

He groaned nervously and removed his head from underneath the shelf and took a few paces back, to look at the TV screen as a whole. He tapped his fingers together and his mind raced for hints to answers, but his mind couldn't connect to any. Nothing stood out that he could try and activate and everything that connected to the TV did absolutely nothing at all in his attempt to aid Computer. He walked towards the furniture and sat himself down on the couch, trying to clear his mind.

How was Computer going to see again if the thing he used for his eyes wouldn't work? Gir came to the realization that he also used that to speak. The small robot held his breath and widened his eyes as the urgency of the situation increased double fold. The TV screen was what Computer used for outward communication. If he got better and regained his consciousness, how was going to alert anybody about his health? What if he was already awake, trying to contact everybody else but couldn't? Gir imagined the state of peril. Being awake, but not being able to speak, see nor hear. Not being able to determine the conditions of whether he was awake or not, but simply just by feeling. The feeling of being trapped, alone and isolated; Weak, vulnerable and confused.

And the fear. The fear that could flourish inside his soul once his mind began reaching desperately for solutions but found only his foreboding anxieties. What if he could never leave? Never wake up from this condition? Gir sat down and his insides churned. He didn't know what to do and his mind was becoming cluttered, becoming harder and harder to ascertain any solutions from his growing emotions. He didn't want Computer to suffer like that. He didn't deserve it. He placed a hand on his head, trying to think. His other shoulder still suffered from the extreme indentation and didn't allow upward or any fluid movement. Gir was trying to conceive of ideas for aid. But he kept falling back on his thoughts of Computer being alone and scared in his condition. It tore at his heart but he didn't want to cry. Crying wouldn't help his situation and it would only blind his judgment.

" Computer." He whimpered. " I can't help you." The words slipped out and acted as a concept to realize, even for himself. What could Gir do? What could he possibly do to help Computer? As he had been told before, his entire framework was this household, including the underground base. His brain and mind was stored somewhere within those depths and most logically along with the problem and condition he was suffering from. Trying to solve it by using the TV screen, which served no pertinence to the matter at hand, was like trying to cure a heart disease with pills for the common cold. The problem was too grandiose to be solved by such a simple factor, not to mention it's irrelevance to the situation. The idea cast a burden on Gir. He couldn't even begin to imagine trying to locate his brain; searching through every room, nook and cranny for details and clues. How could he, then, possibly solve the problem if he didn't even know what the problem was?

But he had already realized this. He'd forgotten it in a span of seconds and had to remind himself of the information that hadn't disclosed any news it's second time around.

You're just pieces of scrap metal and a failing mind. The memory of Zim uttered in the inferior's ear. It's catastrophic derogation effected the robot's thoughts, poisoning the already small confidence he could barely hold. Gir began trembling. He covered his eyes and the terror from before wormed through his insides and corrupted his dignity. His breathing became hiccuped and his eyes watered profusely, shaking his frame. He wiped his eyes with his fists and endeavored not to start weeping again. Gir was beginning to hate himself for every time he weakened his composure and allowed himself to cry so shamefully. It only justified his weakness and proneness to giving up. And it made everyone around him hate him even more. It brought nothing but misfortune.

He tightened all of the muscles in his body and hugged himself. He closed his eyes shut and stopped his breathing. Gir wished that he didn't have feelings. That way he could be stronger...That way no one wouldn't hate him anymore.

"...Gir?"

The small robot flinched from the utterance of his name and gasped, or more so coming out as a choke. His head shot upwards for the owner of the voice and froze once he beheld his superior. He constrained his throat and held back his sobs to the point it burned. Zim was standing just before the hallway frame that sectioned the kitchen and living room apart from each other. His eyes watched the inferior being with an unmoving conviction. The cut beneath his eye was still present, however the bruise had nearly disappeared. Gir was aware there were stray tears on his metallic face and immediately the heat from his mortification increased even more. Accompanying his embarrassment was a toxic fear once he'd remembered the things his superior had done to him before. All the times he was hit for trying to get him to help Computer...all the times he was chastised for crying.

Gir froze in his position, rigid in his fear that riled inside. All he could do was stare back at the face which reflected no emotions. Zim's eyes blinked and he looked down to his hand, as if to recall what it was he was here for. It was a strange device. Gir didn't know what it was. Zim began walking and entered the living room, but Gir had stood up and retreated a few paces behind him in order to maintain distance. His superior noticed this with concern. He remained still for a few moments longer. His gaze ventured to his left and saw the TV screen. Immediately he turned his head away from the sight and closed his eyes, with a torn expression. He slowly opened them, now that he was looking at the floor.

"...I'm not going to hurt you, Gir." He stated, without looking at him. Zim shook his head. "...I need you to trust me right now...I need you to do something for me."

Gir pursed his lips together. He was feeling conflicted now and it didn't ameliorate his already unsettled emotions. He'd heard these words before, used in the same fashion. Carrying an alluring sense of honesty to them. But alongside those words was a condition. A condition that was expected to be made and accomplished, as was proposed at this moment. There was something Zim needed him for. Something that, if it were to be completed, would make those aforementioned words genuine in their portrayal of trust and generosity. But last time Gir didn't meet such conditions. He couldn't remember what it was, but it was something he'd inherently forgotten. And in lieu of that, those words were quickly exceeded and made obsolete. And therefore the pain brought upon him was just as quickly executed.

Gir hated how the existence of his feelings depended upon his performance of completing the things some else imposed upon him. He felt taken advantage of and utilized for trivial matters at the expense of his importance; He was a just a resort, promised things of appreciation so long as he remained a tool for others' expense. And in sequence, it antiquated the pertinence of his existence and he remained just a resource with tertiary value.

Resentment rose inside, but it choked under the small robot's guilt.

Gir's face contorted and he shook his head. He closed his eyes and brought his hand to his head, chastising himself. He hated these thoughts. He hated the emotions accompanying them and he didn't want to feel this way. Allowing these thoughts caused a rupture in his mindset, and it became the reason behind any action that might be considered a defiance in his superior's eyes. Because of it, he learned to keep his mouth from speaking his mind, to remain in his master's good graces; At least then he wouldn't be attacked and hurt.

With reluctance, Gir looked up to his master's face. To keep his mind off of his fear, The small robot came to realize the apparel his superior was wearing, in contrast to what he was used to seeing him in. He wore a thin white sleeveless shirt looking thing, with black shorts. Suddenly, he forgot what it was he used to wear so endemically. He removed it from his mind and allowed himself to nod to his master's earlier remark.

Zim remained confused for a bit, before he blinked and shifted on his feet. Gir received a kind thought that maybe Zim was trying to express something. Maybe about the condition of his inferior's feelings, and how wrong it was for him to have always hurt them. But the robot actually had to stop himself from smiling from amusement, partly because it was petty to think so selfishly.

" I...I need you to go to the store for me." His master said. Without quarrel, the robot nodded once more. Zim tightened his grip on the device and looked down. Soon his eyes glanced back up. " I need several things. Do you need a list?" He asked.

Again, with no language, Gir nodded meagerly. He felt that if he were to say anything, his tongue would betray his mindset. Or even worse, let loose the storm of emotions he was endeavoring to keep back. The Irken looked around for paper, however kept his gaze strictly away from the TV screen, which gave the small robot curiosities. He retreated back into the kitchen and rummaged through cabinets and drawers. Gir realized he didn't know what a list was.

He took a deep breath. After a while, he felt his heart at rest and he finally had his composure. He wiped his face of any stray tears with his available hand, and looked down at his left shoulder. It was still hampered of any fluid movements, and because of the duration he'd had it, it stopped him from lifting his arm upwards as well. Gir also recalled the indentation in his head as well; it was strange even to him how many times he forgot about it.

Zim entered back into the living room with a small notepad and pen in his hand, the device now a bulge in his pocket. He stopped at the same position he was once at and lifted his hand to the pad. His wrist shook quickly and the pen in his hand left a streak of ink from his scribbling, printing words with a punishing weight to the paper. Once he finished, he tore the paper off the rings the pad was stabilized from and looked at Gir. He noticed his gaze and froze under the scrutiny, in alarm.

"...There are some things I don't think you can find at the supermarket...but we might need to order them online." Zim stated, his thumb massaging the back part of the notepad. " Get whatever it is you can. But I need the grains today, Gir. Understood?" He asked.

The Irken took a few confident steps forward, and his actions were met with cowardice, as his inferior took even more steps backward.

Zim frowned.

"...You need to trust me, Gir." He said. " I said I wouldn't hurt you."

Not anymore. The thought came. It spilled a small bout of dejection throughout him, and caused his eyes to furrow slightly. He forced his mind away from the idea that he actually hit his inferior before in the past. Right now he didn't want to acknowledge it.

With those words of reassurance, he believed it was enough to instill trust within the small robot, and would allow his advancement without further hindrance. He took a few slow steps closer, and Gir fought the instincts to retreat back. Zim mentally noted his confidence and approached him more assuredly. However, it didn't stop Gir from keeping his eyes away from the sight of his superior, and even cowering slightly over the proximity of his presence.

He lowered his hand slowly, and Gir looked up briefly, only to grab the sheet from his hand.

" I'm sorry, master." He whimpered. Zim shook his head, despite whether or not the robot could actually see it.

" Don't be." He said, realizing it sounded more coarse than intended.

"...But your eye..." Gir said. "...I never said sorry when I hurt you."

Zim's mind lingered a few moments to finally recognize the event Gir was referring to. The time when Zim had grabbed Gir after he'd spotted him running away from his laboratory was also the time when he'd received a tear on the skin underneath his eye, with it bruising all around. The laceration itself was still present, and judging by his past sense of character—of being autonomically negligent—it was probably infected as well. Almost as if his awareness had somatic influence, the pain he felt from the gash increased. Zim blinked and the lower eyelid hindered movement, still swollen and thick. He wondered briefly if the bruise was still present, however he doubted it.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his head.

" Don't apologize for hitting me if I've never apologized for doing the same." He stated. He then remembered that Gir usually wore his green dog outfit whenever he left the house and went anywhere far from the environs around the base. He looked to his surroundings for the outfit, and didn't see one.

" Where's your disguise?" He asked. " The green one."

Zim felt the need to clarify as he had knowledge over the state of his inferior's intelligence level. He wasn't known to be very sensible and much less be considered to have a grasp of what logic was past the basic standards. However, a few seconds after his statement, he came to be aware to the fact that it made it appear as though Gir had more than one disguise. Even more so, his internal intentions might've been too obvious and could be taken offensively. Though he would never know, because Gir wasn't one to say aloud his thoughts when things were offensive.

Not to mention you've made quite the contribution to that effect. He closed his eyes and his antennae twitched. But only for a moment. The Irken looked down to the robot, his structure still being held in a slouched, subdued level; cowering.

Gir kept his eyes away from the looming figure. His heart held tenure to the small anxiety that began blooming in his body, spreading chills through his spine. It made him feel self-conscious to an extent it was humiliating just to be present, and Zim's proximity was the factor that compelled it's arrival. He timidly rubbed the note with his thumbs, by now if it were to be actual skin would be friction burned. However he did manage to leave it in a wrinkled state.

" I...I don't know." He said worriedly. Gir wasn't sure enough yet that his superior wouldn't unleash any bouts of anger. Give it enough time and he was sure that his usual attitude would rear up from one of the mistakes or tendencies Gir would've done unintentionally. He instinctively recalled one of the times he was hit, and remembered the pain even more. He didn't want that. He could even feel a ghostly moan pass through his nerves, as if they had not yet recovered from it.

Zim let out a sigh.

" You need it. Never leave this house without it. Where did you last put it?" He asked. The floorboards creaked and his shadow receded, and Gir finally felt his lungs fill with boundless air. With his moving, it released his entrapped freedom and he was able to feel marginally relaxed. Gir lifted his shoulders, and stood taller but remained that his eyes should remain at the floor, feeling that his next words would be attributing too much blame, and be offensive.

"...You had it last, master...You...You took it from me." He said weakly, and cleared his throat soon after. He'd only now realized his hands were shaking. Even though the sound of Zim moving had ended a long while before he even said the statement, it wasn't until now that it's silence clung onto the atmosphere and resounded across the entire room, almost like an announcement.

He silently wished that wasn't the calm before the storm.

"...Did I?" Was all was said. Gir panicked between trying to differentiate whether that was a question of sincere inquiry, or one that formed into insulted retaliation. The potential of it made the robot's insides curl.

"...It might just be in the closet, then." Zim remarked simply. The sound of his footsteps pressing against the carpet reared close. Gir stood still, but not our of his fear.

Out of honest confusion, his eyes followed his superior as he walked beside him to approach the closet

Zim opened the closet door, looked around for a split moment, then reached in and grabbed out the neon green suit from the floor of the closet. For a moment, he was able to see part of the robots that were of his figurative parents, or so the relapsed, metallic shells of what remained of them. Zim had stopped for a few moments, looking at their faces with an expression that was hard to decipher what it was he was thinking about. After a little bit, though, he closed the door and blinked away his musings. He turned to Gir. His eyes looked down to the disguise, and lowered his hand.

" Here Gir." The Irken said quietly. Gir willed himself to raise his arm to grab for the suit, but took moments later for it to actually occur. He gingerly reached the suit from his superior, afraid of the proximity their hands had gained. When he lowered his hand back down to his level, he enclosed the green, rugged suit in his arms, holding it like a protective mother would her child.

From there, was a pause from Zim. His eyes furrowed with melancholy, and he looked down in thought. He inhaled to breath life to words but curtailed the event shortly afterwards. Any thoughts remained in the gut of his tongue. He was silent and the air he took slowly filtered out through the drawn, quiet exhale from his deflating lungs.

Then his face returned to his neutral, hardened expression—void of any detectable feeling. To think of something else, Gir fumbled with his suit. He turned it around as he recognized what part he was viewing and found a pocket. There he unzipped the closure and folded the note inside. Despite it, his auditory organs flexed, and he became more aware of his hearing as he remained alert of his superior. Zim looked the other direction, and shook his head slowly.

" Don't forget to get clothes. Get a lot of them. It doesn't matter the size, just so long as there's enough for the...occupants down in the base." Zim remarked. There was a certain tone to his voice that sounded shallow, but not disinterested. Gir tried not to visually react to the words in reference to the children downstairs. " It'd behoove you to actually get bigger clothes. Look for the XL signs on the tags. Everything else is up to you."

Gir re-closed the zipper from the pocket and began opening up the suit, before he felt conflicted against the act. Dressing while in the presence of another felt vulgar. Embarrassment ran through his body, and he suddenly felt exposed. But he'd seen Zim, in the corner of his eye, look up and walk towards the windows. He took advantage of the situation and began putting on his outfit, sticking in his feet through the soles. Once his lower half was inside, he continued to envelope himself within the protective outer layer of his disguise, feeling almost as another skin with how accustomed he was to it's texture and his usage.

Once he was fully covered, he blinked a few times and adjusted his sight through the white polyester that layered over his own lenses. A quiver traveled down his body, one that for whatever reason, stabilized a sense of nervous security, now that he was underneath his suit. Almost as if it accorded munificent protection. However Gir didn't allow the feelings to amuse his mind for too long, realizing the nature of how seductive false refuge was to those unaware.

Zim's head turned and Gir's head instinctively shot up to his direction. The act was caught and his eyes settled on the small robot for an expanse of time, again, with an inscrutable demeanor that suggested nothing conclusive. His sidelong stare endured and Gir felt another seed of fear blooming in his chest. That was when Zim's eyelids lowered and his left eyebrow raised.

" What are you waiting for." He asked, characterized by the exclusion of the intonation in questions. Gir intuitively rose in mind to formulate an answer, however found the latter end of the process suddenly stalled. He blinked and panicked momentarily to respond, his nervousness betraying his appearance.

"I-I'm not waiting...I..." He explained. He focused on his face and noticed the drop in his expression, realizing the words he uttered wasn't something he wanted to hear. The robot quickly looked back down and his hand fingered his zipper.

" Then start moving..." He remarked listlessly. The added words only annulled the robot's small tenure of courage. He contemplated for a few moments to try and create a response—Some sort of explanation or reason that would justify his perceived error. It was then that he realized he was given no form of payment in order to oblige the laws of equal transaction. The being looked up at his superior with a grain of confidence.

" But...I need..." Gir paused, and blinked. It was also within that moment that he couldn't recall the name of what sufficed for payment. Everything of it's title escaped him, and the only thing he could remember was the visual details; picturing the thin green paper slips and the small round trinket-like things to try and jostle his memory.

" Need?..." Zim halted. His eyes met his inferior, much to the internal distress to the receiver, and widened his eyes slightly in realization. " Oh...money." He said simply. Zim's gaze swept the room, and his head turned around a few ways before he made his way back to the closet and opened up the door. The search was a lot more brief as he scanned the insides of the closet breadth. He closed the door and searched around the room a little more before he chewed his lower lip in thought. After a while, he closed his eyes and scratched his head.

" I haven't had my card for a while now. If anything, it's expired by now, considering I stole it from a student's parent from school. Go next door, not to the right of us but to our left, and ask for the old woman's debit card. She's senile, so since you look like a small dog she'll give it to you." He explained tiredly. " If there's any complication, just...I don't know, do what you think is appropriate." He dismissed. Though when he thought more about what was said, Gir wondered to himself how he knew about the shortcomings of the neighbor, and how he knew how to exploit them. Then he wondered about how the event must've unfolded for him to gain the knowledge in the first place.

Gir lingered as he took in the information and his own muses. There were many things he didn't understand. Like the awful amount of gracious leniency that was given. Or the words that were used at his expense and done so with vague intention. It made everything he had to do seem muddled and hard to comprehend. But the longer he waited, the more his superior visually became irritable. Gir made his way to the front of the entrance, maneuvering out of his superior's path as much was allowed that didn't seem suspicious, and halted at the purple painted door. He had stopped briefly for a few moments, and out of lukewarm curiosity, wanted to ask what appropriate meant. Though he kept himself from allowing his thoughts to be rendered vocal, for reasons concerning the watchful glance from his superior when he noticed his delay. He felt a string of cold pass through him again, and lest his superior became even more impatient, he opened the door and left.

Zim had watched the door close behind the small robot, and caught a quick view of the snow falling down. With that, he watched out he window and finally realized that it was winter and a sigh escaped from him. A feeling of irresolution about his actions slowly filled inside his mind and made him contemplative. He hated it, but these feelings were urging themselves through him once more. He let himself ponder about it innocently. Always, he was questioning if having them was a good thing or not. If having feelings was something normal or an unhealthy reaction. And...whether or not what he was doing with the device he made was for the better. But at this moment, he became vulnerable. His PAK took advantage of it, and before Zim had time to recognize anything else, his mind was swept away. His emotions were obliterated to naught and his mind was forced upon detention of any coherent understanding.

The device in his hand fell to the floor. The Irken's sentience was removed, and the PAK device invaded his brain. The generator then began to whir silently, and the Irken's eyes were forced shut. It was beginning the process of cleaning his mind; erasing his memories. Without access, he was a shell. He was to be filled again with new more appropriate, efficient material that could be utilized and depended upon. The PAK then accessed all information related to the device Zim had just recently created. He observed the chemical instances and the fashion of which they processed psychosomatic material between neurotransmitters. With small cell-like receptors, the PAK altered this information in the limbic system, and caused a minor imbalance in the chemicals, ensuing a change in Zim's mentality. All memories concerning it's construction had to be obliterated to suit the new state. Then, the PAK committed these changes and issued them inside his master's mind.

But what of the device? It was found outside. Zim observed the object and brought it in his house to analyze its contents. In the process of doing so, he'd nearly contaminated his computer with the highly volatile software inside the device. If it weren't for his precautionary measures, his computer would've been shut down.

. /-category= =memory/-m

"../

{I didn't create it, no, it was Dib. He fashioned it to look like Irken technology—the bastard. He used the blueprints from beforehand and used it's influence to make it. If I had gone any closer to it with his PAK device, it would've forwarded countless viruses and malware. Gods, I hate him. I'll destroy his little shit mechanism then deal with him later.}

/.."