Chapter 13:

Foxhole

[Dib]

We're swallowed by the dark. Spurts of freezing water and sediment rain down on all sides. I flail aimlessly for about three seconds before the rope between us pulls taut and a sharp sting plunges through my spine as I'm yanked backwards. The force of it flattens my breath to the walls of my chest and sticks the spit in my throat.

I suck at the air, struggling to reinflate my lungs, clawing blindly for the tether. My headlamp swings in tune with my body and I can barely make out the edges of Zim's boots above me. Another stream of water pours from the hole, and Zim scrambles for purchase, scraping uselessly at the wet stone. I hear him gasp as he slips, and we fall for a second time. The strange weightless sensation floats through my gut - but it doesn't last.

I hit the wall and hear the crack of my headlamp shattering. The light goes out. All sense of direction becomes meaningless. There's nothing for me to grab, no way to slow my descent - the steep angle reduces me to nothing but a sack of meat and bones tumbling downward.

Shitshitshit–

And then, the impact. My body smacks the ground, my skull ricocheting off stone, and the world dissolves into static.

…

"... off …"

…

"- up, you sm–"

…

" Wake UP!"

Consciousness returns like a lightning bolt. I wake up on my back, my neck strained, my arms splayed out behind me, and my legs tangled in the rope. Zim is perched over my chest at an awkward angle. My vision sways in the darkness, shifting his bright eyes into overlapping frames. I groan, bathed in sweat, and close my eyes again as the nausea rolls through my gut. I focus on the laborious push and pull of each breath until the static draws back to the corners of my skull.

"Do your ear holes work, Dib ? Or do they look stupid for nothing?"

I grimace and blink away the stupor until he only has a single pair of eyes.

"...Wh…What?" My voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere else. Splotches of color smear across the shadows and tinge them pink.

" UGH." He hits my chest with a dull thump . "I said release Zim!"

He starts shifting his body against mine, and a strange weight tugs my lower back.

"I…I don't…"

Fuck , it's hard to breathe.

"It's a very simple command, you idiot monkey," he hisses. His voice has layers; I watch them float over our heads and warp into tiny shadows. "You've trapped my arm under your filthy body - get off ."

"I…" I blink again and the shadows crumble and fall like soot. "I…can't move…"

He squints accusingly. "Yes you can. Don't lie."

"I - mmph." It's difficult to swallow; my mouth is full of cotton. "I think I hit…m-my head."

He pauses and searches my face as if he's expecting me to break out in jazz hands or some shit, but when I continue to lie there (because that's all I can do ), he clicks his tongue, lifts his free hand, and carefully reaches behind my neck. The contact doesn't register; there is only a dull buzz.

His eyes narrow. He pulls his fingers away and glares at them; in the glow of his eyes, I see the wet shine.

There's a moment of tension; the air is spun so tight, the smallest sound could snap it free and reduce the world to shards of glass. He studies my face in silence as I watch the red trail down his glove with a removed sense of dread. Then he sighs, and the moment is gone.

"Blech." He wipes his fingers on my sleeve. The smell of blood stings my nostrils; bright and warm. "Disgusting."

His lack of concern doesn't make me feel much better.

"I-is it bad?"

He arches a brow; his signature ' Are you stupid?' expression. "It's no more squishy and gross than the rest of your body."

I must be making a concerned face, because he frowns and rolls his eyes. "You'll regenerate your mushy skull, Dib worm. Don't have the sweats about it."

He tries one more time to wrench his arm out from under me, but the rough motion sends a dull, sickening wave of nausea through my gut and I recoil.

"Zim," I grit my teeth, "do that again, and I'll puke on your face."

He stops and stares at me - through me - and I watch a thousand responses flit across his gaze. He settles on a stifled groan and slumps down on my chest. The proximity would be alarming if I had any energy left to feel things beyond the wet pulp at the base of my skull.

A low rumble curls up his throat. "I hate you."

My nerves are so beyond shot at this point that all I can do is twist the pressure valve with a shaky laugh.

"Y-yeah? I wasn't aware."

He seems to take offense. "My contempt for you could not be more plain, Dib . Surely, you've noticed."

"Obviously," I snort, and it hurts deep in my lungs. "That's why we're here."

He shifts his head and looks at me like he's waiting for me to say something else, but I don't - so he doesn't, either. We lay there in a tangle of limbs, rope, sweat, grime, and a growing pool of my blood. My breathing slows to a steady pace. I stare up at the darkness and turn the shadowed hues into little dragonflies buzzing alongside the creeping edges of static.

A light, feathery thing taps my neck and I stiffen.

"...Is that your antenna?" I ask quietly. It flicks in response and my brow furrows. "...Why?"

He doesn't bother to lift his head and simply mutters into my shirt. "Monitoring your pulse."

"Oh." I pause and take a shallow breath. "And…how's that going?"

He hums in response and sends the vibration through my ribcage. "Slow."

"Neat." My stomach finds a new way to twist. "...You'd tell me if I was dying, right?"

He shrugs. "Eh."

He doesn't say anything else and I try to find some sort of comfort in the tiny movement, like a thin paintbrush against the skin. I close my eyes and listen to the water trickling from somewhere above.

"Well," I swallow against the buzz and the lumps of cotton, "assuming I don't die…which way do we go?"

He sighs. "Down."

"...And if that doesn't work?"

He hits my shoulder and I grunt. "Then we go up ."

"Oh, right," I murmur. " Up . Where all the fucking dead people are."

"They're not dead," he grumbles, then squints. "...They're not all dead."

"Mm." My eyes flutter open to see his cheek smushed against my sternum. He looks tired. I close my eyes again before he notices me staring.

"...Thanks, by the way."

His body tenses and the tapping stops. " For ?"

I snort. "For saving me, you dumb fuck."

"Ugh." He twists in discomfort as he tries to reposition his legs from under mine. "That wretched woman got her filthy brain slime everywhere."

"Yeah." My intestines squirm at the memory of her bones splitting open. "That's what happens when you impale someone's face, Zim."

"Well it was horrible."

"I'm sure she thought so, too."

He grumbles under his breath and trails off. The water drips and the shadows flicker back and forth, and the base of my skull slowly begins to sting. I clench my jaw and wait for it to pass, focusing on the soft swish as his antenna starts to tap again. A heaviness drapes over my bones.

"You're gonna put me to sleep," I mutter.

Or I'm dying .

The antenna shifts from my neck and promptly stabs me under the eye.

"Ow - Zim!" My body jerks at the pain, and with a sharp pull, Zim wriggles his arm out from under me.

"Ha ha! Success!" He pushes off my chest and staggers to his feet. The sudden shift brings a crushing torrent of agony. The static rushes in and my stomach folds.

"You asshole ," I groan. "I'm gonna be sick–"

"Be sick, then!" he hisses, untangling his leg from the rope. "Hurry up and get it over with!"

I barely manage to lean to the side before I heave out a thick wad of bile. Fistfuls of mucus and spit follow close behind, spurred by wet, hacking coughs. I writhe in pain until my central nervous system is scraped raw with exhaustion, and my movements are reduced to weak, erratic tremors on the cold stone. A throbbing ache pounds every inch of my skull. When I come to, Zim is leaning over me, his claws poking around the nape of my neck.

"You are always finding new ways to be gross, Dib," he says. "But at least your head looks less like a meatball now."

"Ugh. That was…that was the worst." I wince as he grabs my shoulders and pulls me up to a sitting position. "What're you doing?"

"Moving you," he mutters. "This place is horrible and Zim would like to go home. Can you stand?"

My head lolls to the side and I clench my teeth. "I - mmph - maybe?" He releases an exasperated groan.

" Irk , you are useless." He pushes my body away from the rocks and starts fidgeting with the straps of my bag. "Where are the blood sacks located?"

"The…the big pocket," I grimace. "Center."

I close my eyes and fight the swells of nausea as he tugs the zipper open and searches.

"...Which pocket?"

I frown. "The big one."

"In the middle?"

"Yes Zim, I just told you that."

He shuffles through the contents again and a pit starts to form in my gut.

"What?" I ask. "What is it?"

He says something in Irken that I've decided is a curse and begins to rip open the other zippers.

"Zim, I put them all in the same pock–"

"There's nothing there!"

The pit sprouts tendrils in my veins. "...What?"

He slips the straps from my arms and starts to vigorously shake the bag until every item has been discarded. Batteries tumble over the rocks and the matches spill from their pouch. My camera is busted to shit and comes out in jagged pieces. The only thing that looks like it survived is the small, collapsible lantern.

And that's it. There's nothing else.

"You're absolutely sure you packed them?" he presses. "You didn't do something stupid, like forget? Because that seems like something you'd do. Something stupid !"

"No, are you crazy? I wouldn't forget!"

Zim watches me struggle to recall what occurred. His antenna jut up, angry and sharp. The memory rushes in like a blazing meteor–

I told him I was throwing them away .

Gaz's voice spins circles in my brain–

Because the blood made you sad .

I slump against the stone. "Oh no," I whisper. "GIR."

Zim's eyes narrow. "What?"

"GIR," I say again, fear staining my voice. "H-He was on the ship, remember? Before Gaz took him back inside?"

He frowns, but it's clear he knows what I'm talking about. "Why would GIR remove the blood from your bag?"

My fingers snake through my hair. "He was…he was behind my seat…"

What was it he had said?

Hi Mary! I'm helping!

Oh my god. Oh my god .

The urge to vomit again hits me like a tsunami, but there's nothing left in my stomach. My breath hitches and becomes erratic.

Zim checks the pockets over and over while I try not to completely lose my shit. When it's obvious what has occurred, he throws the bag to the side and climbs over me. His claws bunch the collar of my coat as he tugs me towards him.

"It's fine - you're fine!" he snarls. His shoulders rise sharply and fall with an angry sigh. He shoves me to the ground and starts to remove his gloves, then his boots. His PAK legs pop free and extend from his back.

I struggle to reorient my vision. "Wait - what're you doing?"

"Just stay !"

He disappears over the ledge and leaves me in the darkness.

[Zim]

Dib calls after me. I ignore him. The stone is wet beneath my palms and though the mineral content is high enough to delay the reaction, the water still burns; a reminder of the stinging molt that's sure to follow in the coming days.

It's fine.

My claws scrape across the slope. It's difficult to maneuver each PAK leg through the confined space, and even more difficult to secure a foothold.

It's fine.

The darkness is more than the simple absence of a light source. It's a beast all on its own. An unnatural, oppressive veil that tests my sharpest senses.

It's fine.

I growl and leap to the adjacent wall as the mine shaft begins to widen. There's so little leverage, I'm forced to prop myself up against the rock with all four PAK legs. Even then, gravity threatens my progress. I clench my jaw and tighten every muscle in my body, pressing my claws into the stone will all the force I can muster - and still, they hardly make a dent.

Dib's voice echoes. I close my eyes. I wish he'd stop. There's too much noise already. Too many sounds ringing through my skull, too much feedback; bounding arcs of electricity between thoughts and nerves and flesh and bone. Every piece of me is filled with noise . I want to–

I want to–

Move .

I keep climbing. Ignoring the sound of his voice, ignoring the tremble in my legs, ignoring the sickening, thumping buzz that swarms my system, overloads my circuits, splinters my core. I keep climbing.

It's fine.

Move.

It burns.

Move.

It's fine.

Don't stop.

Don't think.

Don't breathe.

It's fine.

But with every inch I gain, the sinking feeling grows worse, and the swarm gets louder and louder. I bite it back.

It's fine.

Break it to pieces in my head–

Move .

Another step, another foothold, up, up, up–

Don't stop.

I pull myself over a small ledge in the wall; a meager offering. My body trembles.

It's fine.

Don't stop.

I take a sharp breath. One, two, jump –

But the wall above is smooth as glass. I slip, clawing at nothing as I slide back to the ledge. I curse and attempt another jump.

I slip again.

It's fine.

And again.

Don't stop.

And again.

A jagged edge cuts through my hand on the way down. I hiss and clutch the wound close to my chest as thick beads of blood begin to spill. Another gush of water streams down the walls, splattering my skin, stinging and foul. I snarl and jut my chin up toward the source.

Somewhere above me, the mine shaft towers and narrows to the hole we fell through - a speck in the distance. I squint at the darkness and see the pinprick of a face staring at me.

"Stupid meat bag," I hiss. My chest heaves. "Be useful and throw yourself down here!"

Glassy, brain-dead eyes stare at me with indifference. I grab a rock and throw it as hard as I can, but it's too far, and it clatters uselessly against the wall before tumbling down into the black.

My bones are tectonic plates. My blood is a river of heat. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

"Fuck you!" The words are magma bursting through the crust. "You mindless, wretched corpse!"

It doesn't answer, of course. It only stares in silence.

My legs give out and I let them. Slumped against the rock, drawing sharp pulses of air, a tsunami of things breaks from my walls and begins to beat across the shores without mercy. My claws dig at the back of my head, pulling my antennae - something, anything to drown out the noise .

The waves spill into my chest and take me down. My particles expand and implode and fill the darkness with all the words I've been fighting to keep from existence. It doesn't stop. It doesn't stop .

Ì̴̳͕͓͍̭̋̈́͋͜͝͝ṯ̵̼̥̹̝͆̐ḥ̶̮̑ų̸̡̥̮͇͑̆́́͝ͅŕ̵̟̘͗͝ț̶̰̽s̸̺̋̀̍̋̃i̸͚͙̗̳̾̑͠͠t̵̲̞̲͝ḃ̸͎̈̍u̵͉͚̺̞̯̍̓͌ŕ̸̢̙͓͋͛̕͝n̸̨̛̩̼͗̌͋̈́s̵͍͓͚̃̈́̂́͋̑ẉ̴̛͙͕ǫ̶̿́̿̄͜n̶̼͙̥̹͓͌̂̾͜͠'̴͉̫͍̻̙̘͛̈́̐t̶̗͖̀͂̑̐ͅs̴̜̖̃͂t̴̯̠̗̪̏̍͝ọ̶͛̽̒p̴̡̼̠̲̠̻̌w̶̢̻̜̙̌̕ö̷̬͎̗͖̂̿n̴͚͓̣̥͖̆͝'̶͎͛͋̈̚̕͝t̶̡̟̔͌̑s̸̬͐̋̆̓̔t̸̘̑͌͛̽̒ô̴͕p̵̡͎̮͎̱̫͋͛̋͐̕b̷̤̒̕̚͝ṵ̸̰̲̈͝r̶̫̄͌̈́́̃͝n̷̯̺͊́̌̊̚͝s̵̛͚͍̬̭͑̍͊͐̕I̸̜͘c̷̺̠̩͐ą̸̜̭̍͊͐̓n̴͙̝̭͕̠̖̿͂̍̑͑'̶̠͖̦̞̳͙͆t̶͓͋̾̂M̴̨͍̥̲̅͌Ǫ̷͖̗͌̓͝͠Ṿ̵̧̨̥͈̲́͝È̵̥̪̥̭͇͛̆i̵̝̪̝̖̦̐̈́͘͝t̷̙́̌'̸̪̺͔͖́̆̌͒̅̚ş̸͈͕͔̈̃́̈́f̴̩̝̃͒̃i̴̢̨̥̺̩͐̆̄͊̇͘n̸͔̉͋é̸̡̲̬̀͊͌͘d̸̻̖͍̺͚͛̃̆͂͘ǒ̶͖̝̩͎̘̐͊͘ǹ̸̡̨͕̭̹̳'̵͓̣̗͉͖̅̈́̕t̶͚̳͑̽̓̓ṭ̴͇̍̌̂h̶͔̫̔̈̈́i̵̖͇̟̭̊ň̵̨͍̗̘̙̹͋͂̓k̷̠̗͍̃̀̾̕̕ͅd̵̟͕͈͌̂̈́͋̓o̸̟̳̳̽n̵̢͖̼̥͗͒́̾'̴̰̣̗̩̔͋͒́̓t̶̢͈̩̖̐̊ͅs̸̬̻͙̜̞͊̇̅͊͂t̶̛̻͊̽̈́̾ǫ̵̰̩̑̔̅̇̎̉͜p̴̧̲̬̻͇̓̐̓͛́Ȉ̵͇̤͗Ć̵̪͉͉̜̞̯͌̒̄͘A̸͕̭̔́͘Ņ̴̯̉̽͑̓͗̚'̷͓̺̪͎͈͗̄̾T̴͕̬̫̫̘̾m̴̖̼̮͈̭͋̈́̏̊̚̚õ̵̅̓͆ͅv̸̭̣͍̿͂͗ȩ̸̛̬͍̀͜͝m̴̨͇͖̥̫̤͋̔̏o̸̮̾̌͋v̷̧̦̞̆ė̵͇̞̹͓͕m̵̞͕͍͆̃̌̃̕͝o̵͇̟̱͗v̵̖̯̻̰̖̂̊̐́͐͠ͅȩ̸̝͈̖̈͐̌̈́̑̃s̷̳̥̋t̵̟̼̦̤͙̊ͅö̸͕̠̼̰́̓̾ͅp̸̠̦͇̗̜̮̈́̂̽̓͠ḯ̸͖̱̩̞̺͙̔̒̀͆͝t̶͙̪̃͋͛̆̋̐ͅb̵͖̐͐ǔ̷̯̜̕ͅr̴̺̎̔͝ǹ̶̤͠s̵̡̠̬͍̳͔͂̐͑͐c̵͕̎́͂͊̎͝ͅa̴̢̨̠̬͕͌̓́̾̈́͜n̴̬̗͍̰̩̻̒'̸̲͉͉̼̉̿͗͂t̸̛̫͔̪̄̍t̷̳̳͈͓̗̙̂͋̆͋̈́́ḩ̸̍͘i̵̢͈͕̎̂̏͝͠͝n̷̨̢̝͓͙͝k̵͉͉͒h̴̞͈͖́̽̂ů̸̹̪̮̖̙r̵̛͎͕̫̈́̋̆͌̍t̸̙̹̗͆s̷͌̂͗̀͜i̶͙̰̫̽̉̏t̶̺͔͒͛͋̚ͅh̵̢̫͍̱̊̿̅͠ṵ̴̡̓́͒r̴̮̲͉̦̆̋͒̚͝t̴̘̯̍̌̓̐̃s̸̼̫͕̤̫͛̔̀ͅD̶͇̑̇̓̍̌ï̸͚̖̯̤̲ḇ̶̝̀ḩ̴͇̥̱̣͒̍ṵ̷̙̫͇̾̎͜ȓ̵̨̧t̸̢̧̏s̸̱̼̻͓̘̽̀̈́̔͘͜͠t̶̟̻͐̎͘̚̚͝o̶̱͇͛͘ơ̴̲̾̃l̷̀̊͊̃̚ͅô̴̭̘͍̭͒̿̒u̵̙͌̉d̷͕̖̿̏́͝ẇ̵̮̻̅͋̏ͅó̴̰͒͆̇̆̉n̷̥̮͓̯̳̹̒̃'̶̗̿̐̅t̶͎͈͒̈́́̓s̶̜̼̝͎̠̍̐͊̀̐̕t̶̢̟̘̘̱̲̄o̵̧̜̼̩͋̃p̶̙͐̋̂͂c̶̺̜̘͑̾ͅa̵̠̜̳͓̾̿̂͆̂n̷̮͙͉̗̔̾̍̋'̷̖̯̜͇͉̇̽͘t̸̖̟̓̃̂̒̂ḃ̵͚̟̞͚̰̬̇r̴̋͐̎ͅẻ̵̢͈͔͔̬͖a̶̝̎̚ͅt̸̟́̓̽̈́̾͌h̶̟͓͖́̈́ç̷̨͖͓͂̎̄ȃ̵̱̙̱͉̩́̎n̷̨̨̨̙͕̻͋̌̈́'̸̼̩͍͓͎̀͗͊̈́͘͝ẗ̶̹̣͍̭͙̃̽̀̂̚t̷̙̝͒h̵̛͔̤́͜i̷̠͂̂̒͊n̸̘͋͐͗̀̚ḱ̵̲̣͇͙̽͐̂͌̀w̷̘̔̏̎͛͝ǒ̶̦̫͛ń̴̩͚̙͔̖'̴̛͚̬̫̓̈́́̈́͐t̸͔̼̃͘s̵̜̗̰͍̓̈̐̒͠t̶̰͈̫͔͂͑̐͠ơ̶͍̬̿p̴̗̩͈͔̰̟̈́̅̈́̀̚i̴̢̩̱̬̠̙͛̅͑͝͝ṯ̶͉̖͇̜̂̈́̏b̷̩͈̓ù̴͓̭̣͖̣̘͠͠r̴̢̫͕̦̜̙̈́̄̂̕ņ̴̻̗̿̓ŝ̶̩̜̟̜̹̒̓͒̇͂–̴̮̩̮̲̇̉̌̋́

"Shut up." My voice is too small. I want to pull out my eyes. " Stop– "

I̶̻̤̹̪̼̺̫̔͐͌̌͝t̴̘̗͂̏͊̐͂̄͌̏'̵̡̧̩͇̲̩̯͍͛͒̐͋͒͝s̵̬͍͔͔͓̈́͂́ͅç̵͖̝̻̋̍̆͂̓̄͝o̶̦͗l̴̺̰͙͈͌̊̃̉d̶͙̄́̂̇͗̕a̵̠̬̰̭̳̮͈̔͂̈́͒̊̈̇͑̕ͅņ̸̤̭͓̤̺̱͔̰̲̃̾̓͑͗̏̈̍͆̊̚d̵̳̭͉̙̀̂d̷͕̬̹̤͚̆̂̍͊ą̷̝̱͙̯̝͎̘̭̻͇̍r̴̗̎̆̿̽̈́͒̎̎͆ḵ̵͔̥͇͉̙̝̞̠̆́̇͋̌í̵̡̭̩̱̲̻͙͓̓̾͝ẗ̸͉̪̟͖̩̠̆͛̊͛͜h̷̞͈͎̞͓̟̼͍̖͚̎̆̏̃́̋͝͝ù̶̩͓̇͂͛̌̀͒̈͘̕͝ŗ̷͕̣͕̰̼̱̤̥͓͛̒̀͠͝t̸͍̄̑̆̌̂̿̈́s̸͚͔̟̽̐͊̀̿̑̇̕͠a̶̡̟̻̟̘͍͌͂̆̍̉̓͘ṇ̴͚͇̮̣͎̫̱͔̂͑̂́͗̽̂̓͠d̶̼͈̠̯̜̠̬͎̯̾̓̚ḃ̴̨̻̱̙͇̤̟̾͂̈́̆̽̌̓͜͝ŭ̴̡͍̯̲͓̣̘͉̋̄͛̽̆̀́͒͐̓r̴̼̦͔̜͊͆̉̉̇̀͆n̸̢̛̤͕̲̆͛̆̑͝s̸͕̪̮̖̏̎w̷͔͈̺͙͕̰̞͂̈́̂͆̏̔̉́̚̕ǫ̷̯̯̣̘͖̽̀̌͋̍͜ň̸̢̜͚̞͔̆̄̄̋̒'̸̞̗͉̼̟̲͓̣̆̂͋̇̒̎̕t̶͇̰̠͕̖̺͋̌̀̉̉̊̿̍̾͘͠s̸̖̣̒͑̈́͋̑̐͋̌͘͘͝ṯ̶̡̻̯̌̈́̃̅o̶̢͔͔͎̘̱̭͌̊̏̃p̸̲͙̼͔̠͙̃̿ͅẉ̴͖̗̝͚̲̞̟̓̑͗̅ợ̴̳͈̥̞̬͈̻͌͂́̌͘͠n̸̠̱̥͉̦͙̼͛̅̾͜͝'̷̛̥̣̝̆̃̿̐͌̈̿̓ͅţ̶̖̲̟͍̝̥͉͚̙̘̌̈́̀͌̍͂͐̕s̸̹̳̻̻̰̰̭̠̓̏t̵̨̡͇̗̤̜̣̱̮͗͜ọ̴̪̰̑̿̏̍̐̇͐̔̑̏p̴̗͕̣̬͎̗͓͖̭̆̃̽ẅ̶̛̖̯̙͈̬̬̾͂̎̓̃̏̓o̵͖͗̊͝n̶͕̟̣͓̩̣̜͓̫͚̏̉͒̐̽̄̓̇̚'̸͉͔̌̊ͅẗ̸̯̰́̂̈́̌e̴͉̺̗̲̖͙̟̓̂̽̾͂̒̄̚̕v̶̡̘̣̘͇̞̬̰̗̮̔̓̆ͅe̶̡̫̳̦̱͓͓͓͚̘͋̎͊̆̒̑̒́̔̿͘ŗ̵̬̘̬͈͇̩̯͉̀̇͑̽̋̿͒̋̄͘͜s̵̢̝̠̩̙̫̟͖̞̾͜t̵̨̼̙̘̜̦̿̊̃͛̓͑̚ơ̸̝̈́̓͌̄̋̄̕͠p̶̨̛͕͖̠̓̌̑́͝i̶͕̩̜̙̭̠̹͍̹͌͑̓t̷̻͑͠ḃ̸̭̮̱̌̆̇́̓̾͆͂͝u̵̟͚͓͚͍͒̾̔͑̐̄r̸̛̤̩̮̝̂̽̂̀͗̄͘͝͠n̴̡̈̑̈́̄̂s̷̥̘̭̱̜̀̅͊̇̉̇̇͠į̸̬̻̮̠͛͗̈́͜͝͠t̴̛̯͖͇͖͙̅́̍̆̄̅̕b̵̹̂̈́͘u̷̮͍̘̚̚͜r̷̛͓̀̌̓͛͐̿̏͒͝n̶̢̯͓̣̲̖̬̳̄̉͜s̴̺̭̦̝͖͈͍͉̺̀̒̃̔͘͜͝ͅt̴̨̬̹̤̘̋̀o̶̢̢̤͚̬̰̫͓̻̯̼̽̉͊̔ǒ̴̖̞͌̌̃̓͝d̶̛̻́̈̚a̶̯̝͔̳̜̫̱̿̾̚͠r̷͈̀͂ḱ̴̦͙͍͈̮̹̺͒̓t̶̼̖̣̖̼̟̣̫͖̘̰͑͌o̷̟̲̯̒́̾̊͛̃͘͠o̵̡̜͚͇̐̿͛́͂̒̉͆͝͠͝ľ̵̨̛̐͒ò̷͇͚͔̖͋̀͜ų̴̰͖͔͉͍̰̟̮̂͋͆̉̆͜͠ḑ̶̡̢͖̠͙̲͎͈̳͇̉͐̀̓a̷̡̻͔͚̖͍͚̫͓͖̓̒͆͛̓̽͠ͅl̸̤̩̳̥̪̅͊͑̀͐̀̏͂͘̚͝ǫ̵̼̤͙̩̍̓͑̂̂n̸̜͙̜͔͕͂̏̓̊͒͆̿̈̉͠ͅͅȅ̴͚̰̋̋̔̏͆̽̅̓̎̾a̷͇̞͖̩͇̍̏̎ĺ̵̡͎͇̟́ŏ̷̡̡̺̘̝̩͙͙̄̾̏̐̃̚ṅ̷̝̳̺̼̺͍̀͝e̷̥̘̤̜̖͇͔͈͎͐̄̏̂̉̌͋̈́́̚̕M̴̢̘͈̮̭̿̒̍̃̀̔O̷̡̮̹̯͍̊̓́V̸̢̧̧͎̥͚̯̟͓̌̆̒̃̂̓̅̈́ͅĚ̸͇̼͝a̸͇̬̞̓͊͑̈̇͑̕͠l̶͙̏́̒͛̏͊̌̉̚o̶̝͐͛͗̾̅̽̊̉͊̾̚ņ̷̢͇̳̳̲͔̗̒͊̉͘͜͜e̶͓̗̼͕̦̳͔͠a̷̛̗̜̜̯̱͒̈́͋̓́͆̃͘ṉ̵̯̰͖̺̞̮͑̏̒̐̏ͅd̷̦͊̒̃̾͂͛̀͊͋̕͝ͅḇ̵̡͖̯̙̣̤͕̻̙͋̈̈́̃̓̆ͅư̷͔͖̪̻̥̼͚̲͋͋͌͂̇̂̀̀͘ͅr̶̹̱̗̙͇̠̟̾̆̆̍̀̏͝n̵̢̡͕̼̏i̷̛̛͕̺̼̪̞͖̪̯̤͒̿̐ń̴̟̝͖͔͖͉̭̰͐̈̿͒̈́g̷̖̞͔̺̻̹̼͗̑b̷̡̛̮̱͎̽̑̌͂̕͜͜͝u̵̧̥͇̗͕͇͉͎̱͙̤̿̇̄̿̓̃̄̂͐̕͝r̵̨̞̣͔͇͙͂̾̔̊̂͒̋̇͗̋͜͝ͅn̶̨̢̮̣̼̞̖̯͇̗̉̿̋̃͌î̷̢̡͔̯̹̗̹͕̻̅̄͘n̴̢͕̲͍̗͔̣̎͘g̸̱̯͈͎̮͆̇̀b̴̢̡̗̦̭̤̙͂͗̊̋͑͗̂́͆̕͠u̵̡͚̭̪̣͉̲̘̮̽̐̔̈́̈́̓̅̃̎͝͝r̶̹̝̺̺͕̓͌ǹ̴̮̿̂̈́̄͒͗́͘͘͠i̶̡̠̞̥͖͙̺̺͙͑͗̂͆͂̔̇̋̓͗̍͜n̸̫̤̲̅̏̅̇̕͜ģ̶̠̤͈̙̬͈͈͓̎̄̈́͑́͋͝͝͝S̸̨̟̞̻̣̹̫̱̟̬̮̔̌̄̌͝T̴̢̞̟̹̰͉͎̉̆́̈́͑O̵̧̝̝͕̺͙̭͒͜P̶̨͓̭̖̤͚͔̪͎̳͑̌̈́̃̐̐͠ǐ̴͖̰̝̲̺̈́̈͜͠t̴̨̛̛̫̠̮͍̰̀̅́͗͗̈w̷̹̪͙̮̼̟͗͆̏̾̒o̵̟̹̘͊̄̇͑̿͒̍́̌͝͝ͅn̸̼̹̭͒̈́͘͜'̶̘̥͇̈͋̾͒t̷̛̥͎͉̘̹̑̋̄̔͊̊̎̓͘–̶̛͉͖̤̥̫̭̪̹́͐̅̉́̎͜͝ͅ

"...Zim?"

–̵̮̲̓́i̴̡͓̯̼̫͈̹̪̓̽͊ͅţ̸̢̬͙̯̩̩̯̰̥̩͇̭̻̹̼̅͊̓̌́͐̅̀͆̈̓͜h̸̜̖͕̤̤̜̳̲̿͌̔͌̌͋̕͝u̷̟͈̠̘̪̱̜̱͚̬͊́͂̈́͂̈̇̂͗͑͂̋͝r̵̨͓̼͍͙̃̒́̓̂̐̈́̎͂̅͂̃͘͝t̴̞̉͑̿͊̿̈̋̽ṡ̵̨̻͈̞͔̼͖̞͎͈̓̑̆͗̔̿͋̔͗́̒̚Ḋ̸͈̖̭̯̤̳̝͑̊̇ḯ̸̛̟̓̽̂̒̊͛̅̋̏̾̏̈́̕b̶̢̩̭̙̞͓̭̙̥̽̆͒̆̿̆̉͘t̴͇͇̰͎͇̱̞͊o̶̡̰̠̝͉̱̤͑ǫ̷̧̛̮̤̤͍̟̬̲̙̭̼͔͖͑͗̀͑̐̀̋͊̄̍̂̕͝ć̵̢̱̬̟͚̭̩̫͉̗̞͎̯̾̀̓͊̓̓͛̋͊͠͠o̵̹͔̪̯͔̘̪̫̻͎̫̓͐̿͋͊́͂̔̃͗͗̈́̂͂́̃̓͜l̷̫̖̫̰͈̣̀͑̂̇̈́̅͊̈́̈͐̉̿́́̑̚͘ḑ̵̺̹͎̜̱͖̰͚̭͔͙̀͋̓͊͑͘̕͜͠ͅͅs̷̮̜̜̃̍́̀̓̽͊̆̈́͝t̴̩̺̝̀̅́̀̀̈́̕ā̷̛̦̞̹̺͉̽̈́̇͆̓͗͌̑̈́͊͘͝y̴̛͈̙̼͎̏̿̇̆̐͛̀f̴͕̝̟̬̘͎͚̥̖̪̰͇́͐̎̓͒̓̓̌́̒̇͆͠a̶̫̩̐͋́́̇ͅì̵̟̩̯̥̳͕͝͝ḷ̷̛̛̠̞̳̞̮̥̹͓̹̝͒͛̓͗̀̂͂̽̽͘͠ų̷̨͓̭͇̠̃̊̎̊̈͂̈́́̀͊̽̓̐̏̑̌͝r̷͖̘̻̲̩̺̭͓͕̲̗͍͊̏̍̓͛̒̋̽̐̈̈̃e̵̛͔̫̞̥͓͖̩̙͙̮̰̫͎͔̝̖̓̒̒̿͌̅͊̓͌̎͂ͅb̴͓̥̓̓͋͋̒͐̂̌͊̓̇́̾̒͜ͅǔ̵̳͍̼͉̘͂͒̅̇̂͘͝r̷̡͔͍͎̟͓̹̲͓͇̹̤̦̘͈͎͛̅͋̓̇̀͐ͅñ̴̲̩̱̾̈͂̿̉̎̚̕í̴̡̈̽̎̍̆̋̀̈́͊͂̿̚͜͜͠n̷̛̛̞̥̠̙̠̎̾̋͑̑͒̓́͂̍ͅg̷̡̈͛̚w̸̢̛̼̲̙̫͇̳̟͕̬̄̐̅̋̑̅͊͊́̚͝͝ẽ̸̝͂̍̏t̴̨̡̫̱̦̯͓̬̫͓̄̐̐̓̋̈́̓̆̂͘͜͠͝c̵̢̨̠̮̟̍̿̋̌̈̈̋͠͠o̵̧̬̩͓̳̖̯͎̯̺̼͖͛͒̄̏̓̓͝͝ļ̶̢̛̥͉̰̩͎̮͚̳̰̥̭̈́̂̈͐̅͂̈̍̈́̚͘̕d̶̼͎͎̩͈̆̋̒͑͗t̴̨͉̬͖͉͕͕̗͕́̈́̐̀̂̈̓̀̈́ͅr̶̡̧̛̝͙̗̱̦̭͒͂͊̓̄̏̿̚͝͠y̵̢̛̛̺̝̘͓͚̼͈̋̇̅̊̅̆͆̒̽̌͐͆̚ͅt̴̡̼͖̩̲͖̙̤̳͉̯̟̘̞̖͆̋̂̈́̈̏ͅŕ̸̢̯̰̰̙̻̲̺̩̪͉̞̖̳͂͐̎̆̈́̈ͅy̸̨̛̦̲̗͉͚̝̩̹̟̟̰̋́́̎́̎̌͐̄͘͘̕͝͝͝ṭ̵̢̥̟̠͖͉̹̠͔̙̦̣̱́̋̍̐͘͜r̷̞̩͐̌̇͆y̶̗̼̗͍̻̭̘̠̓̓̌̈́́̒̈̎̍̄̈̽̚͠ă̷̘̖̣̖̗̯̩͍͖̙̻͚̝̂ļ̷̛̙͕̠̫͉͍͔̬̜̠̿̈́̐̀͌͛̾̀ǫ̷̠̖̗̙͓̗͈͖̦͈͊̽͂n̵̡̹̞̟͖̝̬̞͆̈̿̿ĕ̷̛̝͔͇͓̘̮̇̇͗̀̈́̈́͗͐̅̀̏̀̉̆̃N̶̡̨̮̹̱̣̣͍̠̝͌́́͘͜Ǫ̶̡̧̺̟̜̫̬̲͙̱̟̦̳̰̆̍̂̿͝s̸̠̫̣̭̥̙̬̦̜̙̮̀̀͌͒̈̀̽͘͠͠ͅt̷̝̙̖̉̅́̀̄̀͂̔̐͗̀̎̍̒̉̄̚o̷̢̢͚̣̬̻̮̳̳͉̘̼̖͚͠p̸̯͙̞̟͇̯̘̫͎̫͚̲̃̑̎̋͌͋̓̿̃̿͑̊͘͜͝͝͝͝ȁ̴̗̖̼̗̲̗̪͕͚͔̰͋̈́́̔͆͑͗̀̾͆̈́̂̒̀͠l̵̫̘̖͈̣̩̦̝̯̠̰̦̎̄̀̈͘͜ǫ̷̢̛̤͕͈̤͍̜̩̠̱̥̝̠̼̓͒͗̀́̒̐̇̅̍͘͝ͅn̷̡͕̲̝̯̩̰̯̱̤̺̈́͗́̄̾̋͌̾̈̚̚ẻ̶̛̟̥̯̫̓̌̌̀͆̚̕̕͠͠ȃ̵͙̼͓̯̎͐̃̐̋̚͝͝ͅļ̶̫̭̻̗̤͓̉̑͒͘̚ơ̵̙͔̲͙̘͉̦͉̱̌̆̈̅̀͊̀̐͌n̶̛͉̗̠̒̀͊͒̆̍̄̑͑̕̚͝ȩ̴͖̰̘̯͇̹̠̠̤̀͆̆̎̋̾a̷̡̛̻̜̖̪͓̭͈̳̹͚̲͌͐̈́ͅl̴̡̡̛̼̙͉͊̆̂̀͊̋͑̾͛͝ŏ̶̧̻̹̜̪̞̭̠͇͈͕͓̺̄̾̈͌͌̈́̽͋͘̚̕n̵̬̹̖͈̻̺̟̥̙͔̹͔̱̳̖̻͑̐̄̅̌͛̎͌̀̄̓̕͘͠e̸̳͇̠̮͇̱̗̐́̀̽̃͗̂̍͝u̶͈̲̠̽́͒̀̒̅͊̈͒͋ͅș̵̞̬̥̀͌̌̊̿́͐́̏̈́͝e̶̥̫̞͈̱͇̋̐͛͌̀͗̿̇̈́̽̍̏̈́l̴͎͖̮͖̯̣͓̲̇̄̏̎̒͌̀̀̈̄̋͜͠ë̵̢̛͉͎̼͉̬̰̖̦͚́̓͗̒̎̎̀̉͐̈́̉̀̕͝s̸̻̲̫̘͆̐̉̏̓͐̈́̀̉̈́̈̈́̕̕s̵̢̙͋́͌̊͒̌̊̽͐͑̓͛̀͐͜͝͝a̷̠̦̞̭͈̖̓͂̂̄̐̓͆̑̋̃̔̒̄̽̈͌͜͝ļ̵̣̩̻̪̹̄̍̀͗͋̕ô̴̯͇̞̠͚͓̝̥̪͍̳̖̻̰̘̿̄̚ͅǹ̴̢̡̪̦̪̬̱̣̫͇̔͗̇̍́̐̌͛͊̚ͅe̴̯͛̓̂̑̈́͑̉͐̈͑̓̓̐̿͜͠͝ḅ̶̮̮̝͚̙̪̬̙̩̲̣̟̖̣̂̏̐͗̈́ṷ̵̳̭̜̹͛̌̾͛̎̈́͆̓͊̊̓̆͝ř̴̨͔̟̗̥̩̩̼͇̤͙͚̈́͑̊̚̚͠n̶̩̖͚̯̟͖͚̠̐̈́͒̌̂̿̿̔̂͐͘̕͝ͅs̷̨̢̖̜̯̰͖͉͂̕ĭ̴̢̛̟̼͍͚͓̮̖̠̠̐̽̓͑̊̌̾̉͌̕t̸̨̢͚̹̜͔̗͍̻͌͋͊̑̿̂́b̴̢̘͙͛̽́͜û̵̡̡̡̨̧͉̥͓̗͚̭͓̝͎̲̮́̊́͗̆́͐̀̚͠͝r̵̲͉͆̉̈́̓̚n̶͔͙̲̟̲̣̊̎̓s̷̢̨̛͉̞͓̯̦̣̲̫͙̘͒̀́͛͛͆̌̅̅̐̍͐̾͠͝D̵̛̤͍̠͈͎̝̐̽̀͠ḯ̵̡̡̧̜͇̙̹̞͙̝̣̼̺̥̾͆̿̆b̷̨̹̳̲̜̘̮̉͋͋̋̒̆́̀̈́́̌̾͐̋̑͠ͅw̸̡̠͈̝͓̦̫͍̙͖͖͙͒̈̈́͂̾͂̏̆̒ͅa̷̬̮̻̪̫̹̮͋̿̆̇͆̊̓͊͂̏͗i̸̞͑̈́͐̅͑ț̶̯̘̆́̈̓ĭ̸̡̱̩̳̍́̐n̵͎̜̈́͘g̸̛̭͊́͊̄̔̉̌͊̓̽̀̈̓̒͘͜w̴̡̹̠̘͐̑̀͂͐̂̉̆̆̽a̷̧̡̼̘͙̥̰̘͇̜͒i̴͇̮̩̝̟̊͋̿͒ẗ̴̬̼͓͍͓́̅̀́͑̕̕ḭ̶̟̯͎͇͚͓͐̓n̶̡̖̞̝̞̦̫̤̞͚̲̲͓͚͚͋̐̄̇͒̀̌̿̿͌̽͂̍̓̄͘͘ǵ̴͖̼̞͎͎̜̩͕͇̮̜̤̼͔͒͗̈́͊͌̀͐̋͊̈́̄̈́͠h̷̛̺͎̗̤͎͋̏̆͋̄̊̊̈́̀͝ḙ̸̢̧̥̫̣͎̤͓̠̣͈͚͆̔̀̓̚'̸̠͎̯̣̠̖͙̏̈̂s̵̢̢̥̭̞̳̦̰͖̤̫̫̹̭͉͍̆͗͗̆̕͜w̶̨̡̛̱̭̠̤̙̳̙̣̙͔̭̺͑̿͐̃̓̊̓̐͋a̸̧̢̲̝̰̰̰͚͍̝͒̄́̒̉̄͗̆͌̚͝ͅi̸̡̧̢͚̟̩̦͙̜̖̗̟͋̄̎̾͆̉̚ţ̵̢̧̛̪͖͕̱̗̱͕̜̩̼̙̥̹̍͐̎̕͘̕͘i̷̧͓͓̜̯̜͙̾̂̌̍͛̐͑̈̏̎͛̈̇̌͝n̶͙͛̔̓̄̈́̒̒̄̔͋͠͠͠g̵̛̹͊̈́̐͊̈́̿͐̎p̴̹͉̭̟͈̯̰͋̍̅͒̚͠l̸̡̙͆̾̽̊̂͋̂͋́͊̏̓e̷̢̢͓͙̩͕̗̣̣̻̲̟̬͈̻̼͌̒̅̒̅͑̾̊ͅă̶͚̦͈̖͙̞͎̳̂͜ͅͅs̴̨̻͚̞͍̭͇̓́̈́͆̓̕ę̴̛̛̠͓̒͊̄̉̀̈́̆̔̅̈̋̊̈́̚M̸̢̡̮͙̳̬͎̹̲͌̉́͐̋̐̇̆̋̇̏̅̕͘͠͝ͅÔ̶̞̗͎̩̙͓͎͍͓̹̤͖͌͗͘V̸̡̩͈̼͖͙̤͉̱̭͂̇̀̆̾̏̊͛͐̈́͆E̵̖̼̔͑̅̄̃͊̎̏̐͠ţ̷̭̗̤͙̦̦̺͉̐͛̋̂̎̅̒̓̌̓͗͝r̷͔̖͖̦̫̙̩̅̀ỵ̷̫͎̦͒ḩ̴͚͓̞̺̘͕̟͎̙̈̎͌̿̐͗å̵̺̠̻̮̘̜̱̭̪̪͍͑͗̈́̃͝͝r̴̨̛̳̟͙̗̰̲̭͎͈̭̲̼̣̽̃͐͂̐͊͜ͅͅd̷̢̜̺͙͚̳͈̙̹̲̤͔̏̎͐͜ḙ̸̡̛͖̮̲͔̪̖͍̗̻̬̤̬͋̂͗͌̓̆̎̆͂͑̕͜ͅȓ̸̡̨͚̱̗͇͈͈̖̱͔̼͉͚͕̒͋̈́͗͑̀̀̐̊̄̚̕͝ţ̴̛̘͙͋͋̈́̓͑̌̓͠r̴̛͕͇̔̓̿̋̊͝y̶͍͙̪̪͋̽͑̊̐͜h̶̡̤̝̏́͊̍̎̌̑͠a̷̧͕̮͚̟̪̒̿̃̈́̂͌͐͝r̶̢̛̜̺͙̖̞̝͌͋̐̓̐̓̏̕͝͠d̸͖͕͚͉̳̠̞̺̤͇͕̔̈̉̑́̾̏̑̏͝e̸̢̻̜̥͖̘̻͓̠̿̾̑̒̏̇̆̕͜͠͠͠ͅr̴̛̗̗̘̊̿̔̅̾̿͂̒̽̕͘ṵ̸̢̠͖̱̯̱̹͖͇̝̆̈́͊͆̃̒̀̅̊͗̆͋̚͝ͅs̴̨̧̡̲͓̗̼̫̗͙͚͉̪̜̗͓̽̀͆̀̏͌͘͜͝e̴̜̻͚̺͙̥͉͚̠̩̗̹̬͙̦̐͐̉̔͗͊̄̀̋̾͊́͆̄̿͝ḻ̴͈͖͎̺̀̊̌̈́̂̂̂̃̐̈̽̒̈́́͛ē̸̢̻̙̳̮̭̯̗͈͔̹̹̗̜̰̓̾͛͜s̴̢̗͒̋̕s̵͓̥̳͉̮͗̐̓̓̏̄̅̃̍̀̏͠ť̴̡̙͓͌̓̿́ŗ̵̡̢̛̯̖̩̰͈͉̬͕̩̟̤͚͊͋̋̍̈́̄̕y̸̨̪̙͑́̎̽̀͛̎̓͛̎̌̚̕̕H̷̢̡̼̼̝̲̫͎̬͈̱̩͋̏̔̌̽́̀̃̄̓͘̕͠A̷̭͓͉̗̥͉̻͚͔̳̤̭̯̳͊̋̃̓̽̿̀̉͠R̴̨͖̮̪̥̈́̀͆͋̔̃̉̈́̀́̆̔̐͜D̵̪̫̖͕̣̤̮́͐̀̉͌Ę̴̡̞͎̱͇̲̟͍͔͙͍̌͋͆̓̍̓͒͗Ŕ̷͕̿͊̚–̷̧͉̣̫͇͔͓͚̫̻̯̩̝͎̗̊̊͂̈́͋͒̾̕͝

"Zim…"

–̴̨̛̛̟͇̞͔̬͎̟̣̮̺̜̣̬̭̜̖͙̇̐̊̏͑͊̿̈́̾͆̌̈́̈͘̚͜͠c̸̠̮͆̀̀̈́͆̃̅̇͝a̴̞̟̖̦͈͔͚͎͍̽͐́̎͆͂̐̍̈́̈́͒̾͒̃͒̽̀͛͒̕̚͝͠͝n̶̢̢͍͖͈̹̝͕͖̬̞͓̻̣̓̉̈́̈́̓̀͆͒̌̔̇̾̈́̆̿̆̄̏̕͝͝͝͝͝͝'̷̢̨̧̭̦͙̬͚̮̮̯̳̤͙͓͍̮̉̋̍̿̒̍́̽̋̿̿̑͋̀̌̽̔̈́͘̕͘͝͠t̴̛̫͓̟̩͚̠͎̄̎̄̓̏͆͆̉̓̆͆͋̒́͒̀͆̏̚͝͝͝͝b̸̨͉͈̩̙̖͔͎̱̲̹̹͚̪̖̮̗̝̥͉̩̳̖͊̔̃̀̈́̉̈́́͋̒̑̉̏̃̈̊͘̕͘̚͜͜͝r̶̩̈́͊̂̓͌̑̾͋̂̋̔̑̃́́ë̶̢̛̛̯̳͈̥̗̗́̈̇͆̽̇͋͜͜͝ͅą̴̱̠̩͈̱͎̞̞̦̹͕͔͈̅̄̍̏͗̆̒͂͊̌̄̽t̴̨̡̮̬̼̖͍̻̗̻͖̖̰̹̹̪̳̺̻̽͗̋̿̎̇͛̐́̍̕͝ͅẖ̴̨̡͕̘͈͚͙̳̱̲͙͎͕̅͒̈́̍̀̈́̽̊͐̿̋͜ͅe̸̪͙̲̹͎͖̦̠̫͔̞̦̼̰͋̌͋͐́̒͊̂͑̍̿͆̄̉̚͘͝͝c̸̡̨̦̼̮̗̻̠͔̞͍͖͉̳̗͍̘͇̪̲͕̱͖̀̓̎̽̆̈́̆̈́̓̓͐̿͛̕̚a̷̡̡̡̲̱͔͔͇̥͎̻̞̳̮͉̫̝̫̝͔͈̣̤̎̍̓̿̒̇̔̒́͆̆̂̅̄̿̈́͂͆̅͋͗́̋́̈̔̚͘͘͜n̶̢̨̛̳̲̙͓͇͚̱̟͔͉̞̻̲̝̣͈͕̩͖͎̦͖̬͉̭̮̊͂͗̀̋̐͑͛͂̈̊̍̈͐̊́̂͗̈̓̎͘͘͝͝'̷̛̪̇̾͒̾̾̍͒́̑͒̃̇̑̾̅̀̔̿̈̕̚͝͠͠t̸̡̛̰̙̪̲̺̥̼͇̻̻͇̞̭͉͚͇̻͓͈̔̑̿̏͒͆̽̀̌̊̈̓͗̐͊̊͠t̸̢̢̢̧̛͕͉̠͉͓̲̠̜̩̬͍͍̘͇͙̫̒̑͂̂̂̽ͅͅḥ̷̢̲̟̠̤͎̞͈̥͙̯̩̙̯̟̠̦̀̀̾̑̓͂̉̋͆̍̏̊̏̌̾̌̃́̅͘̚̕̕͜͝͝i̷̳̮̩̟̎̎͑̂̾͊̔̍̈́́̎͒̓͛̓̈́͋́̔̈́̊̎̚͝͠͝ṅ̷̨̢̡̤̖̫̲͎̣̭̯͙̘̬̩̬̪͉̟͍̙͎̥͖̤̎̈́̏̊̅̆̓̑̈̐̓̑̓̌̐̇̄̈̀̀͊̏̕̚͠ķ̵̛̫͉͍̦̫̖̫͇̭̬̜͔̮͉̲̤̻̠̬̖̻̞̙̭̳̉̆͂̌̽̾̅̏͜ͅẗ̵̨̨̙̰͔̺̖̜͈͚̞͇̟̳͓̫̞͈̭̠̹͚̰͔̪̑̏́̐͊̆̐̅ơ̶̡̧̛̟̩̦̖̻̙̥̩̻͉̖̓͒͌̈́́͂͌̓̂́̋̑̐́̑͑̏̔͐̈́̀̾̔͒̚ͅö̸̢̻̯̻̼͉̗̼̟͚̖̖̘́̇̈́̈́̇̄̿̒̔̽̈́̇̐̕͝͠͠ͅm̷̨̢̛̪̗̹̙̰̫̣̯̙͔̪̀̊̈̃̆̑̾̂́̃̐̈́̚͝͝ǘ̴̢̗̤̞̞̣̼̖͓̞͉͌͋̔̀̍͜ͅc̶̡̖̱̘̘̠̯̫͍̦͚̙͛̚ͅh̶̢̳̯͖͓̥̦̹̙̟͕̭̭̺͖͇́̌͌̇̈́̚͠ẗ̴̡̡͓̟̭̫̟̖͓̮̗͎̗͍̞̤̱̝͕̟̦͕̘͓̝̲̬́̈́̏̇͑̒̔̔͌͆̚͜͜ǫ̵̞̩̳͓͓̝̫̪͙͙̗̥̼͖͊͊̃̽͐͐͛͗̎̍̎̀̊̍̈͊͗͐̈̉̓̈̓̕͜͝͝͝o̴̙̳̲̩̊͒̀̅͒̇́̈́̎̔͊͆̔̈́͗̔͑̽̾̾̕̚͝l̸̨̧̗̝̟̭̮̼̙̥͓̜͕̱̮̲̜̹͙͓͓͂̐̓̉̌̕̚̚͘̚͝͠o̶̭͇̪͍̻̘̮̫̜̘̞̮̩͔̝͈͊̀̈́͂̂̓̆͌͊̔̄̾̋͂͐̒̍̃̌̓͛̄̎͗̈́̚͝͠͝ṳ̶̢̢̢͕̮̹̞͈͔̬̬̦̭̩̠̼͉̌̄̈͒̈́͊͒̿͒̌̂̉̇͊͐̂̀̆̚̕͜͠͠d̶͎͙̜̠̰̳̼̮͈̼̺̯̗̱̪̪̉́͛̏̓̈́̌̅̈́̏͜j̶̨̢̧̭̪̬̥͍̠̟̖̮̥̘̹̣͓̜̩̗͇͖̩̗͎͍̽͛̎ṵ̴̭̠͚͇̦̜̟̟̝͕̬̣͍͉͓͔͇̪̫̊͝ş̷̛͖͓̖͈͍̝̘͕͙̯͍̤̙̘̈́͂̓̇͛͑̍̀̔͐̆͝ͅt̷̡̨̛̝̪͓͇̰̦̻͔̲̝̖͖̙̓̅̾͌͘͜͝͠M̸̧̢͖̯̘͕̻͉̩̼̪̺͖̤̫̪͔͍̜̬̫̟͚̖̟̻͗̀̀̎̇̒͆̓̊̅̓̋̂͒͗̌͗̒̇̚̚͜͜͝͝O̸̥̟̤̩͎͖̹̭̓̾̒̇̓͌̀͌̑͂̌͛͝͝V̵̧̧̞̦̦̳̦̼͇̰̯̂ͅĘ̴̡̛̣̘̬̘͈̬̘̜̜̤͚̈́͑̈͗̋́͊͗̅̃͒̊̄̔͗̚͜ŝ̸̢̢̺̪̻͇̤̫̗̰͍͙̘̜̺͉̻̬̫͉̫̦̼̦͇̹̅͋̐̄̈́̓̋̈́́͗̅́͝ţ̷̛̩̟͇̝̠̗͇̟̬̺̣̳̳̳̯̹̣͚̤̰́̅͐͌̒̆̂̒̾͗̑̀̉̓̋̄̕͝o̷̡̢̨̭̦̬̪͇̜͉͔͇̮̲͚̬̮̝̺͓͈̩͔̒ͅp̶̡̡̢̛͍̥̯̫͍̻̩̞̤͎̳̯̦̩͔͍̳͚̱͓͓̻͇̜̀̂̿̒̓͌̅̆͜͜s̶̨̨͔̦͉͖͈̜̦͈̖̖̤͔͍̜͍͍̖̽͗͐͊̇̌̓̏̌̄̀̍̀̚͜͝͠t̷̡̨̛͈̥̙̗̦͎̯̦̫͕͎̟̤̝̞̜̭̂̾̎̔̀͑̈̂̐̾́̀̈́͌̋̎̋̈́̕͜͝͝ô̶̢̧͉̘̞̖̼̮̗͕̪̩̣͕̤̞̟̗̥̍͌̏̓̍̎͊̌̇̆̓̆̂̈́̄̚͝ͅͅp̶̢͈͕͔͚͉͎͍̳͔̎̎̓̏̑͛͂̈́͋̏̒̏̐s̷̨̧̡̛̟̮̥̥̮͓̭̱̳͕͔̤͎͙͈͚̝͕̝̣͍̞̙̑̀̊̌͊̿̎͒̃̅̋̍̍̕͝͝͠͠͝t̷͎̥͓̦͇̩̟̱̼̍̎̀̋̃̀̅̏ŏ̵̢̱͎̟̦̲̳̞̤̰̦̀̔̓̊̑͊̀̽̐̿͒͊̎͊̆̅̂̋̚͠͠p̴̨̡̹͔̺̻̝̭̜̪͚͕̼̤͚̹̾̆͜D̶̻͔̩̥͍̙̘͉͎̳̖̞̞͇͎̖͙̙̙̰̪͈͇́͑̀͊̄̋̒̅̎͑͑̂͗́̽̀͊̌̚i̶̧̨͚̲̪̜̞̟̟̩̳̠̬̱̦̳̗͓̗̩̳̠̫̘̘̐̂̐̎̄̋͗̒̽̌́̇͐̿͛̄͛͌̊͘͝͝b̴̢̡̨̧̦̬̝̙̲̫̪̙͎͔̬̭̜̖̩̞̩͙̬̣̜͖̞̓̍̿͋̉̈́̂̀̈̒̾̓̀̓̎̈́̿́̂͆̈́̑̕͜͠a̸̢̢͕͕̝̥̠̣̭̰̭͇͕̣̟̜̬͍͕̬̩̞̦̜̗̤̦̅̎̓͌̓͑̆͝ͅl̵̨̡̛̫̗͙͔̱̲̙̠̻̝͍̖͍̳͉̖͖̬͉͈͈̹͕͓̤̱͑̑̏͆͆͆̽̾͋͋̄̀͆̊̈́̑̾̈́̚͘͘͜͠͠ǫ̴̣̬̩̩̠̞͔̼͕̬̙̬͖̺͚̜͓̳̭͕̩͚̥̦̬̾͒͊͂̎͆́̓̽̿̏͛̓̚͜ņ̸̧̧̛̖͎͖͓̺̩͚̘̻͙̙̱̯̬̣̍͆̑̉͆̈́̀̆̓̏͐̔̀̇ȩ̴̧̛͓͙̖̙̺̹̻̤̬͕͙͚̺̼̪̻̋̈́̒̒̌̾́̀̑̀́̈́̿̓̈̌͌͘̕͜͝͝ͅą̸̛̗͔̻̗̦̘̪̠̙̥̯̹̝̱͕́͗̋͆̅̉͗͌͠n̸̨̨̛͖̲̬̫̲̗͕̣̭̺̠̳̱̰͈̺̙̤̺͈̞̯̩̟̽̂̆̔͑̔̃͐̊̀̚͜ͅd̷̤̝̙̪͌̆̅͆̎̒̀̅͘͜ü̵̳̉͂͐̒̀͋͊̈́̆͆̄̅͂̋̌̌͘̕̕͝s̸̹͍̙̹̠̤̩̮̟͓̺͎̜͛͑̓͆̇̒̋͐̇̐̐̄̊͒̕͘͘e̸̛͕͙͎̞̪͙̭̞͒͐͌̀͑̎͜l̸̘̼̻̖̙̱̗̻̮̫̣̣̤̭̃̇͂̿̽͆̆̊͐̃̑̓͒́͂̈̂̋̍̊̋̌̌̐e̸̢̧̪̘̲̠͖͖͕̺̤̙͓͕̓͒͂͊̃̀̌̇̔́̋̍̌̃̐̕s̷̢̧̨̳̣̘̦̯̟̜͓̩̪̲͍̯͉̲̗͇̬͖̻͙͔͒͗͌̂͌̿̎̓͜͠ͅs̷̨̡̢̤̱̰̭̳̹̻̼̲̄̏̇̊̐̿̾̌͘w̸̢̢̨̢̹̜͈͓͎͕͚̟̰̖̮̩͚̖̙̰̞͇͋͑̋̏̓͋̈́̆̓̍͝ͅà̵̢̨̢̛̮͖̥̥̲̞̰̺͈̗̠̼̰̙͔͇̥͈̜̝͎̯̻̏̍̋̈́̐̑̃̿̅̍̓̾̔̓̀į̸̡̙̩͉̣̣̹̮̰͍͍͍̣̻̥̋͛͆͛̉̿̅̉̃̈́͐͂̋́̽͐̏̎̿̎͘̚t̸̢̧͚̝̦͓͍͈̜̝̞͈̣̀͋̆͊̿͝w̴̧̡̧̛̛̪͇̗̜̳͍̞̠͍̻͓̞͍̟̰͙͖̤̥̯͋̈̊̈́͌̔̅̐̿̌̈́̀̐̈́̓͂̽̈̀͘͘͘͜͜͝͝ͅa̷̳͉̬̺̘̋̄̊̀̾͛̊̈́̈́͆̇̌̚͘͘ǐ̷̛̻͇̟̻̟͎͕̗͓͛̋́̇̏͋͊̎̀̊͋́̈́̃̊̓͐̚̚͝t̷̨̡̨̗͉͖̺̤̩̯̘̺̼̣͓̺̥͉̾̄̈̒̾̀̿̉͒̀̎̑͛̓̎̿̓̒͛̕͘͜͝w̸̛̥̒͒̎̐͑̈́͆̽̈́̓̀͛̅̈̒̈͒́̕͘͠͝ą̶̧̧̟͇̣͔̦̠̣͉̠̩̤͈͉̠̼͖͍̓͠͝į̵̢̡̧̟̜̞̼̘̝͉̼͕͇̗̲̖̙̭̬̩̩̙͓̙͎̔͌̃͗̀̒͑͝ͅţ̷̡̨̢͈̗̘̼̣̣͔͎̗̬̮̯̬͚̠͕̖͚̺̗̀̅̆̆̍͛̇͋̂̑̇́͛̏̈́͆̀̚͘͝ͅb̷̧͎̥̬͇̟̲̭̳̲͋̉͜ͅu̶̢̡̨͇̼̺͉̮̜̞̼̪͕̯̘̻̱̞̙͉̠̩̇͛̽́͜t̵̢̟̠̪̠̪̰̰̖͚͗̆̑̆̌̉̈́̿̄͒̾̏̔͋͒͒̒̒͌̿̕̚̕̚͜͝ͅĩ̶̩̙͕̤̘̇ͅt̶̩̮͎̰̞̘̰̱̗̫͕̝͈̥̺̂̓̆͒̇̌̓̏̉̅͒̿̋̅ḃ̶̨̢̢̢̡̦̦̟̫͉̼̗̖͔̮͇̣̯͖̦͉̦̰̦͜ͅͅű̵̧͙̮͕̻͎̯̹̯̦͍̱̰̹͙̫̟̟̯͗̇̎̄͗͌̆̀̋̌͛̈́͗̕͜͜͠r̷̨̢̡̨̢̬̫̰͇̬͍̮̄̈́ͅn̴͔̩̺̜͍͚̥̼̻̪̲̦̳̰̦̰̋͐̂̌́̐̄̏͊̂̓̈̉̆̀̀͝͠s̵̡̡̛̥̻̻̩̥̣̣̞̖͉̗̼̦̻̰̯͔̰̗̦̄͒́͗̄̈́̌͂͐͗́̔̈͛̇̏̽̓͊͐͐́͘̚̚͜İ̷̡̛͔̻͖͖̥̟̱̳͈͕̦̜͕̻͉̲̗̯̖̤̥̩͓̂̓͆̌̐̇͌̉̅̓̒̐̓̅̂̽̅͊̉͠c̸̢̙͔̞̪͖̞̱̺̬͉̝͎̱͙̠̠͑͒̑̍͗͛̍̈́̉̈̅͐͋̈́̾̀̕͜a̶̢̛̛͍͍̣͓̬͈̪̯̥̻̠̞̻͕̻͙̟̘̘͈̔͌͌͋̓̚͘͝n̵̛̛͎͋̐͐̈͆̑͐̓̀͆̂̆̑̈́̇͗͐͊̅̀̕̚͝'̵̤͊́̋̎̀̂̑͐̄͋͊͒̃̊̂̽͘̚̚ͅt̶̡̨̨̧̢̛̝͓̺̦̠͉̗͉̥̱̲̝̗̹̲͎̺̰̲͊͋̾́͜I̴̡̯̤͚͙͍͇̩͐̀c̴̨̦̲̹͖͉̙̬̬̞̤̱̭̘̈̐ā̷̤̫̥̒̃̏̊͑̒̔̓͂̈́͌̽̍̆̂̕͘͝n̴̨̢̛͍͔̜̱͇̬̙͕͔͊̐̏͆͊̈́͗͂̆̃͌͝͝͠'̴̼̣͆̔͒̓̇̒̾͆̑̊͊́̇̇̚t̴̡̧͓̞͇̜̣͈̣͇͙̗̜͕͇̤̏̃͑̔́̐̈́̐̈́̏̂͊̔̓͋͜͝͠I̶̡̫̥̹̱̙̗̩̫̪̣̰̞̳̩̙͙͖̓̾̃̅̔̔̈̓̀̿̈́͋̾̉̈̐̀̍̋͊̈́͐̀̽͜͝c̴̢͕̝͓͖̻̩͇̠̞͓̣̤̲̼̖̱̠̱̣̠̘̙̝̼̙̳̊̑̽̆́͑̚̚͜͝ͅa̶̢̢̛͉̤͎͙̳̘̤̘͇͓͕̜͙̣̰̖̖̫̩̓͛̃̄͛̂́̽͆̾̊̏̍̔̓̍̅͂̕̕͘͠͠͝͝͠ň̵̳̌'̶̡̡̛̮͙͖̳͋̈́̊̈́͒̾̇̄̑͊̍̽̈́͆̄̋̕͝͠t̴̨̡̨̧̩̮̣̗̗̞̙̰͇̤̰̲̲̲̪͍̭̹̺̜̄̀̓͊̎́̃̒͐̓͊̍̽̃̉͋̐͗̕͜͜͝͝ͅ–̷̢̨͕̜̻͖͚̻̫͎̞̟̯̳̰̺̠͓̹͈͉̼̺͙̓̃̋̀͜

"Zim!"

A shuddering gasp wracks through my body. I choke on the air, on the wetness smearing my insides, on the heat and blistering numbness that spreads its roots through my atoms. Dib's voice drifts up above the waves - a ghost looming over foggy seas.

"Zim!" he calls. Worried. He sounds worried. "Are you okay?"

Fear drips from each word and splatters the swarm.

H̵̖̟͉͌̓͝͝e̶̤̜̍́͗́͛'̴̨̙̥̥̂͊̚ṣ̸̗̎ͅw̷̡̧̧̹̽͊̽̉̑o̷͖̽̔͊̒̕r̷̖̩̂̓̐̑̆r̵̠͓̻̍̅͂́͝i̷̧͔͎̱͇͌̽̉͗e̸̝̐̍d̶̻̎̑h̵͚͊͑̏e̶̫͓͙͗͂̃̇͝'̵̾ͅs̸̡͕̏͌̿ẃ̶̮̠̉͑͑̎o̴̢̟̔̀͝͠r̶̛̰̤͐͜ṛ̸͉̓͛͂̓͜i̷͔̩͋̎̔̓͜ȅ̵̤͖͋͊͐̔ḑ̸̯̻̹̲̅͊U̷͚̬̾̈̎S̸̞̦̼̥̥̒̇̊͝E̷̹̹̊͗͌L̵͔͂̓Ȇ̷͕̥̬͚̞̈̾̈́̂S̸̙̖̺͈̘̓̽̓͋S̴̖̭̞͕̻̆̄̉͑à̴̧̪̗̳̬̇̽n̴̘̲̭̦̺͌̇̈́s̵͚͒w̴̧͍̬͉͚͠ȩ̴̡̬̦̖̔́̄̎͠ŗ̸̪̑̎h̴͔̳̬͈͝e̶͕̬̳̻̙̾͋͂̎'̵̧͒̊͝s̵̫͙̘̠̾́́̄ạ̵̲̞̲͖͌͛̈ỳ̵̟͚̫͓̃i̶̢̝̱̰͂̆͑̚͝n̴̛̺̼͙̟̍̄̌͆g̵͔͉͈̿y̵͙͎͎̆͑̉͠͝ó̵͕̊̂͐͠u̸̬̐͑̊r̶͚͑͘n̴̝̬̮̈́̌̃à̵̠͓͐m̵̢̞͕̖̺̃͛̄̚è̴͓̥̖a̸̢̿̾͆͠͠ń̶͕̱̊͜s̶͍̉͊̈w̵̺͇̲̩͐̅̈́͒̒ê̸̝̎r̴̟̬̝͍̕͝h̴̹̠̼͛̾̾į̷̱̆̏̏̀̕͜m̴͚̠͊͛͋̎a̵̮̠͓̠̒̈́͑n̵̖͈̯͆ŝ̷̜̙ͅw̵͍̏͂̕͠e̴̤̮͎̺̅r̴̤̱͙̺͂̉͗͝͝h̶͇̘͙̯̓̓̀̆̋i̸̧̩͚̩͊͜m̸̭͙̩̓͋S̴͕̟͌͐T̷̜̜̮͇̅̌̀̎̿Ŏ̷̼̣̀̆P̵̝̅͛͘̚ȟ̷̖̩͙̟̫̿̒ẹ̸͔̝̓̌̂'̸̳̼͈̾s̶̪̯̳̔̌̈͝w̵̪̠͌͌ō̸̼̫̭̝̰͝r̵̛̹̝̭̻̯͗̀r̶̨͚̺̐̆i̷̦͓͍͔̿ę̷̗͈̥́̿́d̵͓̻̙͐̔̽ͅ–̵̞͚͛͗̎̆

"Talk to me, Zim!"

The anchor lifts from the trench and I pull my knees to my chest with shaking breaths.

"Fine." Too thin, too small, too weak. I clear my throat and wipe the blurriness from my vision. "I'm fine."

He hesitates. Water drips.

"You…you should come back down." He's bad at concealing the fear in his words. "We'll figure something out, okay? Just…be careful."

I blink at the darkness and swallow grains of sand. My body aches. My brain is mush. I glance up once more, but I know it's pointless. We're too far down and the walls are near impossible to scale. I'm wasting time. I'm…

My hand throbs. I untuck it from my chest and stare at the blood smeared across the gash. My antenna twitches. Percentages run through my head, calculating, comparing. It's close.

Is it?

My eyes narrow. It's close enough .

I clench my fist and watch fresh blood creep past the open skin.

"You can stop your sniveling, Dib, " I call down, feeling the familiar blade carve the things from my voice. I slide my body over the ledge and begin my descent. "And make sure your gooey meatball head isn't in my way."

[Dib]

I scoot away from the edge of the crevice as Zim slides down from the adjacent wall, knocking over the lantern I've set up in the process.

"Are you okay?" I ask immediately. He straightens his shoulders with an aloof expression and ignores my concern.

"What's that?" he asks, squinting at the dim light.

"Camping lantern." I quickly put it right side up and he purses his lips.

"It's not very good."

"Yeah, it's not meant to get wet a million times and then smashed against rocks. But it's better than nothing."

"If you say so."

I don't know how to ask about the mental breakdown I think he just had, so I settle on repeating my first question. "You're sure you're fine?"

"Yes." His eyes narrow. "Stop asking."

"Well, you just look…"

He flashes a murderous expression – say something, I dare you – and I swallow the rest of my sentence.

"...Nevermind." My eyes fall on the bright trails of pink blood dripping from his palm. "Oh shit - you're bleeding."

"Fortunately for you," he mutters.

"...What?" I tilt my head as he crosses the space between us and sits beside me. My eyes widen when he holds out his wounded hand.

"No," I snap as the notion sinks in. "No way. That's crazy." I try to push his hand away, but he shoves it against my chest and snarls.

"Dib–"

"You're not human! Your blood could liquify my organs for all we know!"

"Oh no," he mocks. "Not your organs! Because they're doing such a good job keeping you alive already!"

I try to crawl away, but I'm too dizzy, too slow - he snags my coat and pins me against the wall in one fluid motion.

Panic spikes. My vision ripples. "T-this isn't funny, Zim!"

"You're right, Dib!" He leans in, baring razor teeth, seething with disdain. "Nothing about this whole ordeal has been the slightest bit funny! It's been awful! So stop making it worse and just take mine!"

The thought washes the color from my face. My chest feels heavy. "I...I can't– I-I don't want to hurt you–"

"Hah! You think you can hurt me ? ZIM? Please." His sneer melts into a dark scowl. "I'll only offer it this once since I share a small percentage of the blame for assuming you were competent enough to double-check your supplies."

It doesn't matter how hard I try to twist from his grasp. I'm too weak to fight him. He presses the bloody wound to my lips and my neck burns from the effort to avoid it.

"If I die," I growl, "I'm gonna kill you."

He yanks my hair, forcing my head back. "If this doesn't work, you're as good as dead anyway."

He rams the palm of his hand into my teeth. Cool liquid spurts from the deepening wound and spills over my tongue. I grimace and try to pull away, but he merely leans his weight against his forearm, cutting himself on my fangs. As the first rivulet trails down my throat, the initial shock is quickly consumed by something else. Something primal.

It tastes…

Reallygoodsogoodsoveryreallygood-

… Sweet.

He lets up on the pressure after a few seconds, stopping the flow. Disappointment unfurls under my skin like a storm.

Giveitbackgivememoregiveitbacknownownow–

"So?" His voice is slathered in sarcasm. "Are your organs made of soup yet, Dib ?"

I glare up at his smug face - and then I bite down hard . The satisfaction of seeing his eyes snap wide open in a mixture of surprise and pain is a feeling I never want to forget. I want to laugh, but the primal thing in my brain flips a switch and I lose connection to the rest of me. He yells something that I can't discern; my focus is swallowed by the chilled blood filling my mouth. The pink liquid fizzes on my tongue, prickling at my senses with a wild, swirling bloom of color as sparks pop and burst somewhere in my brain.

I lose myself in the high. My bones are made of clouds and the stars are in my veins and everything around me vanishes with the heat. It's euphoria. A rapture that peels the husk from my body and leaves nothing but electric ecstasy in its wake. It's lightning and thunder; a blizzard of gunpowder, a downpour of fireworks; a kaleidoscope of explosions in the night sky–

It's–

It's–

My eyes open. The color vanishes, and it's dark. I struggle to coax the soul back into my skin, and as I come down, I realize where I am. What I'm doing.

Zim is trapped beneath me in a tangle of limbs, and it's not his hand that's pressed against my mouth - it's his neck.

I unhinge my jaw, fangs pulling from his flesh with a sharp pop as I jerk my head back in shock. His expression is stoic; a wash of deep purple paints the space between his glowing eyes.

"...Are you done?" His voice is flat and distant.

"Fuck." I scramble off of him, eyes wide. A trail of cool liquid snakes from my lips to my chin and I frantically wipe it away, smearing the bright pink across the back of my hand. "Fuck, Zim, I'm so sorry – I didn't mean–"

I run my fingers through my hair and they come away bloody. Fueled by renewed panic, I feel along my scalp and find that my skull has closed completely - but in the initial wound's absence, there are three small cuts instead. My fears are confirmed when I look back at Zim and see the tinge of red on his claws.

He notices me staring, and he slowly sits up, wincing. "You wouldn't stop."

"Zim, I…" But I don't have any words. My jaw hangs open, useless as the guilt floods my system.

He studies my face for a moment. The strange purple hue slowly recedes, and he rubs the puncture wounds on his neck.

"I don't know what happened," I finally mutter. "Zim, I'm really sorry–"

"Ugh, shut up already," he gripes. "It was my idea, after all." He stands and brushes the grime off his tunic - a pointless endeavor, considering where we are. "And your giant head has resumed its normal functions – so you're welcome , meat bag."

"Yeah." I swallow and run my fingers over the nape of my neck. The skin is smooth, the bone intact - if it weren't for the dried blood, it would seem as if it never happened at all. The little dents from his claws are already disappearing. "Are you sure you're okay–"

He groans and flails his arms overhead. "For the love of Irk , you dumb, smelly human - Zim is FINE. Now put your sad lantern away." He pushes past me to grab his gloves and boots. "We're climbing down."

…

After an hour of bickering and playing a deadly game of tug-of-war with the rope tied between us, we manage to find a decent rhythm and make our way down the mine shaft. By some ungodly miracle, Zim's blood has not done any noticeable damage to my body beyond a slight stomach ache and a weird buzz in my fingertips. I don't tell him about either symptom - I don't want to talk about it with him at all, in fact, but as we approach the bottom of the hole, I can't seem to rid my brain of one particular question.

He shuffles his body out of the way for a second so I can squeeze past to the next foothold. The rope slides uncomfortably over my hip. I wince and give him the thumbs-up to let him know I'm stable, and he wriggles down further.

"Hey, uh, how'd you know I'd be able to drink your blood?" I ask.

He pauses and looks at me with The Face. "What kind of question is that? The mighty ZIM is a genius!"

I glare at him. "...You didn't actually know, did you?"

"Pfft." He waves me off and lets me slide to the adjacent wall, planting the toe of my boot firmly on a small dip in the rock. "Does it matter? You're alive and your attitude is back to cheese grating my nerves."

"So that could've gone badly," I reiterate. "My organs could be soup right now."

"Ever the pessimist, stink-boy."

"One of us needs to be realistic," I grumble.

"Besides, you're lucky Zim shared my lifeforce with the likes of you , human. I'm sure the experience was leagues beyond your prior meals."

I shrug, painting my face with a bored, unimpressed expression. "Eh, it was okay."

His body jerks and he almost loses his grip.

" OKAY?" he sputters. "Do not confuse your head, Dib ! I am SUPERIOR to humans in every way, and that includes my delicious blood juice!"

Oh god, the effort it takes to keep from grinning. "If you say so, Zim."

His eyes bulge, irate; incredulous rage pulsates from his body. "You mean to tell me that it was no better than the fat man you consumed? That literal tub of lard? I-is that what you're saying right now?"

I shimmy down to the next foothold and channel the urge to laugh by forcing a puff of air from my nostrils. "You know…maybe, like, two percent better?"

The rope tightens suddenly as he yanks me back up.

" Two. Percent ?" If looks could kill, my body would be cremated by now.

I let the laughter roll through my chest and his mouth snaps to a thin line. "Y-you got me, Zim. I'm just messing with you." I meet his gaze and my lips twist up into a smirk. "It was more like three percent."

His eye twitches and my fit of laughter is snipped short when he zips his claws across the rope and cuts me loose.

" Fu–"

–I fall for less than two seconds before my ass hits the ground hard –

" –uck."

The force rattles up my spine, bouncing through my teeth and shaking my brain. I'm still trying to gather my bearings when he scales the rest of the way down and lands beside me with a vicious sneer.

"Oh look, we made it."

"C-can you stop trying to kill me?" I groan, rubbing my temples to ensure my skull hasn't fractured – again.

"Maybe if you'd learn how to be funny, I wouldn't have to." He unties the rope from his waist and tosses the tangled coil at my feet. "You can put that away now. It seems we're close."

I blink away the remainder of the dots in my vision and begrudgingly stuff the paracord in my bag. Shouldering the straps, I push to my feet and stretch my back until my vertebrae click and pop. A swell of relief washes over me as the pressure dissipates.

Thank god for regenerative powers, or else I would've just earned myself a lifetime subscription to every chiropractor on Earth.

I search the tunnel around us and notice two different openings in the rock. Something in my gut flickers with familiarity and I point to the one on the left.

"It's that way." I frown at the confidence in my voice. "I think."

He shoots me an inquisitive look. "...You can see?"

"Yeah?" My expression crinkles. "What do you mean–" My brow dips at the realization and I blink again, turning on my heels to observe the towering mine shaft we just climbed down and the tunnels on either side. My vision is coated in an oddly pink hue, illuminating the creases in the stone and the thin streams of runoff coursing down the walls.

"Oh. Uh… I guess I can."

He stares at me, befuddled. "How do you know it's that way?"

All I can do is shrug. He squints at my lack of answers.

"...Is it not that way?" I ask. He rolls his eyes.

"No, it is."

I raise my hands incredulously. "Then why are you–"

" Because ," he scowls. "You've been blindly stumbling around like an oaf this entire time, and now you suddenly know things?"

He groans when I shrug again.

" Ugh , whatever. Come on." He heads to the left and I quickly catch up. My eyes feel…weird. I can see, but it's different. Layered and filmy and distorted, as if the colors aren't loading correctly. An image resolution that my hardware can't support, but it's trying anyway, losing quality in the process.

This tunnel is much larger than the ones above. The gathering streams of water are tucked neatly to each side, leaving us a raised path to follow with no wet corpses in sight. It still smells, though; a thick, earthy scent, like moss and dark mulch. Little stacks of mushrooms lace the walls and ceiling with muted color and dangling filaments. It's almost ethereal.

We walk side-by-side and I pretend not to notice Zim periodically glancing at me with an expression I can't read. I let the curiosity roll off my back and shift the straps on my shoulders idly.

"So…what did this thing look like again?"

He averts his gaze to the path ahead and sticks out his tongue at the recollection. "A saggy old woman. She was very unpleasant to both see and smell."

"Hm." It's hard to imagine we've come all this way to face an aging, cave-dwelling lady. "Well, assuming that was the vampire, this shouldn't be too crazy. I mean, there's two of us - you've got your robot leg things and I have…whatever I have."

He glances at me and smirks. "A giant head and noodle arms?"

"Yeah, exactly." I roll my eyes.

The path curves gently to the right, and about fifty yards ahead, it opens wide. I pause for a second and stare at the looming expanse. The mushrooms are a thick blanket along the wet stone, and some of them are glowing with a soft blue light.

"That's…" I trail off and scrunch my nose. "How far down are we?"

Zim is also frowning. "Far, I'm sure."

That's obvious code for don't ask, I don't want to think about it , and I can't really argue with the notion. I start walking again, and this time, Zim is the one trailing after me. I can feel his eyes on the back of my head; a shadow filled with questions neither one of us will bring to life.

The entrance draws closer. Something shifts in my gut that I can't place. The scene isn't unsettling - in comparison to what we endured above the mine shaft, this is absolutely stunning. Otherworldly. The soothing glow seems to gleam under my attention like some part of my soul is tethered to whatever lies up ahead, and it's pulling me in. I resist the urge to brush my fingers along the preening mushrooms. They look so soft. I want to–

"Dib."

I stop in my tracks and turn to see Zim is waiting almost fifteen feet behind me.

"What's wrong?"

He studies my face for an uncomfortable moment. "I don't think you should go in there."

I arch a brow. "Why?"

He shifts his weight from one foot to another and looks away. "Because."

"Because…?"

His shoulders raise angrily. "I just - it feels wrong."

Part of me wants to close the odd distance between us, but my feet stay firmly rooted in the damp soil. "It's called anxiety , Zim - and news flash, I've been dealing with it this whole time. It's normal."

His eyes flicker. "You don't seem anxious now."

There's an undertone of accusation in his voice. I don't know what to do with the implication, so I simply swat it away and turn back towards the looming cavern.

"You want to get this over with and go home, right?" I ask. The sound of his boots picks up behind me as he starts to follow again. "So come on."

He matches my pace once more, knocking our shoulders together and leering out of his peripherals. I ignore him. The path comes to an end, and we stand in the cracked mouth of the cavern. It yawns open to a comparatively massive space with towering columns of limestone and toothy stalactites jutting down from the ceiling. Thick growths of fungi cover huge swathes of the floor and walls. They glow in blues and greens, their reflections twinkling off the surface of the quiet stream that curls around the space.

"It's incredible, isn't it?"

I'm so enamored by the indescribable scene that I don't notice Zim's hand until his claws poke through my sleeve. I blink out of my trance and stare at the fingers he's curled around my forearm.

He doesn't look at me. "I hate it."

I scan the tension coiled in every fiber of his being and the fear begins to radiate from his skin. He's deeply unsettled.

"Okay," I breathe, fighting to keep my eyes from snapping back to the pulsating light of the cavern. "What's the plan so you can get back home?"

He whips his head to face me as if I've just electrocuted him, and the erratic movement makes me flinch.

"What?" I ask, irritated. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment - he just…stares. Before I can load another response, he exhales and turns back to the cavern.

"We find her, we kill her, we take the body, and we leave." I tilt my head at his phrasing, and I don't bother pointing out the fact that neither of us knows how to get back up to the main tunnel. He seems mad enough as it is.

"Great," I mutter. "Let's go."

The ground is squishy. Zim recoils with every step, visibly gagging as we slowly move along the closest wall. He makes a big show of refusing to touch the mushrooms and I roll my eyes.

What a baby.

I'm not exactly sure what we're looking for. I was hoping it'd be like a video game - you waltz into the weird cave and voila , the boss is standing smack in the center waiting to spout off on a monologue about their evil plan. You chop off their head, and you're done. You win.

Here, though… Here, there are too many pillars, too many shadows, too many natural structures for something to hide behind. The wash of green and blue makes everything look the same. A dizzying camouflage. I resist the urge to start a meaningless argument with Zim to pass the time, and the idea falls away completely as we approach a fold in the wall that gives way to a ripple of stalagmites and sleek limestone.

I hesitate when the tether in my gut starts to hum. We round the corner, and I see her; curled up on the floor, naked and bony and pale. Her head shifts at our presence and thin strings of wet, dark hair fall across her shoulders as she sits up to face us.

My stomach drops. I step back, bumping into Zim. He doesn't say anything. His grip tightens on my forearm.

The thing makes no sound as she moves. Her flesh is sucked tight against every bone, tendon, and joint. She has no eyes - only gaping black holes in her skull, dark as a void. In the dim light, I can see tiny white filaments wriggling from the sockets like fine hairs.

I'm frozen in place. She has no lips to cover the blackened gums and yellow, razor-like teeth jutting from her mouth like rows of toothpicks, but somehow, her grin widens, cracking the bones in her neck. The fear that comes over me is beyond comprehension, and it only rises as the creature pushes off the floor and stands to its full height. My senses scatter and I'm left with nothing but a hollowing dread and the only two words appropriate for the situation.

"Oh, fuck. "