Chapter 20:

Shadows

[Gaz]

"Miss lady, can I go to sleep now?"

"Not yet, GIR." I rest my chin between my arms, keeping my eyes locked on the cell door ahead. "Stay quiet."

"Ahww," he whispers. "Okay."

He shuffles around in the backpack, curling up like a lumpy, metal cat.

"His battery will run out eventually. You should let him power down in the meantime."

I glance at the small vent on my left. The shadow of my cellmate shifts as they settle on the cold floor, obscured by the wall between us. I don't know their real name - I haven't asked. I just call them 'Blue,' because that's the only thing I've seen beyond their shadow - the glow of one blue eye. So far, they haven't tried to correct me.

"I'm waiting for something," I mutter. They scoff under their breath, switching back to whatever their native language is, but they don't bother trying to argue, and for that, I'm thankful. We've had the same discussion countless times now, and Blue's kind of depressing.

I listen to GIR quietly sing gibberish tunes as I watch the door. I don't know how long I've been here or what day it is. Time seems to have stopped existing altogether. My only reality now is this stupid, blank cell. It's small and dark and cold, with curved, seamless walls and a few vents that won't open. Long strips of dim lights run along the edge of the smooth floor, bright enough to make sleeping difficult, but not enough to make me feel like I'm actually awake, either. There are no windows and only one door, which I spend the majority of my time staring at.

I'm zoning out when a quiet tap tap tap tap rattles the vent - our fun little code for 'hey, the assholes are coming.' I bump my knuckles against the metal to acknowledge Blue's effort to warn me as I sit up. Seconds later, the locks deactivate, and the heavy metal frame slides back into the side of the wall with a hiss of vapor.

She stands in the doorway, lanky and angular, dressed in the same black-scaled bodysuit that covers most of her green skin. Her glowing purple eyes meet mine with a muted sort of contempt. Her long black talons click the circular implant along her neck, and her voice switches to English with a slight robotic distortion.

"Get up."

I glare at her and slowly stand on aching legs. The blood struggles to move back down to my calves and feet.

She tilts her head, eyes flashing. "Leave the parcel."

My fingers tighten around the straps of the backpack. They've never asked me to leave GIR before. I pull in a sharp breath. "No."

Her lip draws up over gleaming teeth. "Leave it, or I will break him."

I hesitate. The shadow on the other side of the vent moves slightly - a blue eye shining through the small grate.

"I will keep him company," they whisper.

Everything in me screams - but the luxury of choice isn't something I've had lately.

"Fine." I slip the bag over my shoulder and gently set it against the wall. "Be good, GIR."

He stays zipped in the plastic case, blinking at me from behind the scratched-up dome. I don't blame him for not protesting - the other aliens really freak him out.

My feet grow heavier with every step as I cross the small cell. She moves to the side and lets me pass before closing the door behind us.

"This way."

"I know where it is," I mutter, shoving my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. I follow behind her and take care to avoid her stupid fucking robot tail. My black eye still hasn't healed from when she whipped that thing across my face.

We walk through the stark, white hallway. The walls and ceiling curve together with little strips of blue light embedded every couple of feet, bathing the corridor in an eerie, cold wash.

She says nothing else as we go. My eyes trace the intricate machinery along her back. She's Irken, like Zim, but her body is decked out in layers of cybernetics. The freaky computer attached to her spine is hidden by a sleek, pointed shell that covers the back of her shoulders and glows with a steady pulse of yellow light.

"Why couldn't I bring him?" I ask as we round the final corner to the lab.

She glances over her shoulder, her expression permanently set to 'resting bitch face.'

"His presence irritates me."

I'd punch her if I didn't think I'd lose my hand.

The doors slide open and I wince at the change in lighting. The lab is a maze of tables, panels, computers, and tinted glass pods plugged into the walls and ceiling. If I stare at just the right angle, I can see fleshy masses floating in the goop. Thousands of vials and jars line the shelves, all filled with different colors of thick fluid or swirling gas. At least one machine is beeping at all times.

This is the third time she's brought me here. I don't understand what for, but it's always the same. She draws my blood and takes weird measurements and injects something in my stomach that I've decided is food, because I don't eat anything, and I haven't been hungry.

She doesn't bother instructing me, and I don't bother waiting to be told what to do. I lie down on the examination pod closest to the door and stretch my arms out on either side. Needles, tubes, ports - I hardly notice the injections now. Honestly, the monotony of this place is probably the worst part.

"Whatever you're looking for is not gonna change." I thump my head against the metal table, staring at the light above until my eyes burn. "I already told you dumb fucks, I'm just a normal, boring human."

Her talons pinch my wrist as she slides the first needle into the bruised skin. "Your genetics show signs of manipulation," she mutters. "Marks typically left from the cloning process."

I roll my eyes. So what if my dad found it easier to make me in a petri dish than to subject himself to human relationships? I can fault him for a lot of things, but not that.

"Okay, so I'm just a normal, boring human clone," I grumble. "My dad's not a people-person."

She stops responding, busying herself with whatever kind of tests she's been running. I wince at the prickle of cool liquid spilling into my forearm. It only takes a few minutes for things to get fuzzy, and then I feel the familiar, deep pressure from the port on my stomach.

Having absolutely zero interest in seeing the myriad of tubes and needles turn my body into a science experiment, I stare up at the bright lights and endure the random tapping and prodding. It gets annoying after a while. I miss GIR's little songs.

"So when you get it through your thick lizard skulls that I'm just an average human, what happens next?" I ask. "Do you drop me back off on Earth or eat me or something?"

"You stay here until he arrives," she answers, flat.

My skin bristles at the mention of Zim. "And if he doesn't?"

The other one - the big one - laughs from the far side of the laboratory. My heart skips at the sound of his voice - a dark, grated tone interlaced with the faint sound of machinery.

"You were in his base, with his SIR unit. Your importance could not be more clear." The heavy clack of his steps grows closer, weaving his large frame through the labyrinth. "You've been persistent with your messages as well."

The blood cools in my veins.

"The same frequency, the same word." He moves like a shark circling the table, yellow eyes trained on me like hot coals. "Your code is quite primitive."

I keep my mouth shut and look away. He pauses and laughs, and the sound of it squeezes my bones.

"Did you think we couldn't see them?"

My pulse spasms high in my throat, but I say nothing, throwing all my effort into avoiding his face.

"It's no matter," he hums, finally stepping away. "Zim already has our coordinates; any action on your end will only expedite his arrival."

I stare at the opposite wall and wait, stiff and silent. They eventually start talking in another language, and it gets a little easier to breathe when I hear him exit the room. I close my eyes and pretend I'm back at home, curled up in my bed, listening to Dib as he rambles to himself about aliens or burns his toast for the millionth time.

But then the medications fade, and the memories slip from my hands. The tubes and wires are stripped from my sore arms and stomach, and I'm escorted back down the hall in silence.

GIR hugs my leg when I return to the cell. I scoot him away from the door, away from her, but she says nothing as she seals us in the room.

"GIR, you should stay in the spaceship," I chide, shuffling him toward the back of the cell.

"I don't wanna."

I pick up the backpack and glare at him, but it's impossible to hold the expression when I see his face. He looks so…sad. Blue mentioned a while ago that the structure of this place is likely to drain him, and while his lack of energy has prevented him from doing something stupid and getting disassembled, I've found it more and more depressing by the day. I never thought I'd actually miss the piercing sound of his manic squeal.

He blinks up at me, one eye cracked and dimmer than the other, his metal coating scraped along his side where they had thrown him to the floor.

"Just - please, GIR," I press, sliding against the wall, gripping the bag with pale knuckles. "It's important."

It's not, really, but I need to keep him as close to me as possible.

Without a word, he shuffles toward me and crawls into the bag. I hold it on my lap and wrap both arms around the clunky plastic, resting my chin on the cool metal of his head.

"Thanks, little dude," I mutter. He hums faintly in response and watches the door. To my left, Blue shifts by the vent - the glow of their eye disrupting the shadows.

"What did they do to you?"

"Same as last time," I answer. "Dumb questions and needles."

Blue is quiet for a few minutes. They always are after I answer these questions, so for once, I take the bait.

"Why?" I ask, hugging GIR a little tighter. "What do they do to you?"

Blue's lack of response grates on my nerves. Maybe it wasn't bait, then. My brow pinches and I distract myself by running my chewed fingernails along the zipper of the backpack while GIR sleepily attempts to mimic the gesture. He fails miserably, the light dimming in both eyes. A shaky breath moves through my lungs and I slide my hand inside the bag, wrapping my fingers around his.

"Hey buddy," I say quietly. "Send it again, okay? Then you can go to sleep."

He blinks past heavy lids and nods. The little antenna on his head lights up for a brief second as the signal picks up the code and carries it beyond the walls. I close my eyes and picture the word slipping through space, surrounded by stars. The ritual is familiar, useless, borderline delusional - but it's all I have now.

"Thanks, GIR." I pat his head and he hums an off-tune slogan for a car commercial. I don't know if he falls asleep or if his battery is truly draining him away, but he's quiet, and the weight of him in my arms brings a sort of comfort that aches.

I slump forward, pressing my cheek against the lid of his head, thinking about the stars; wondering what they look like where Dib and Zim are right now. Wondering if they're close.

Please be close.

"No one is going to return your messages," Blue whispers. Anger flickers in my chest, but it's weak. Tired.

"You don't know that," I mutter.

"I do," they press, their voice cloaked in a pained agitation. "Nobody comes here willingly. Your contacts would have to be insane."

A barrage of memories fills my head, hardening my resolve.

"Yeah," I whisper, grinning to myself. "They're fucking crazy."

.

.

.

[Dib]

Crouched behind the last line of stony trees, I stare down the winding path that leads from the dark tangle of crystalized woods to the stark, angular jut of the city. The view is simultaneously futuristic and ancient. There are no smooth, shiny domes or flying ships; no jetpacks or space suits. The dark colors and wispy fog make it appear as if the city crawled out from the ground below, spiteful and sharp.

Buildings of alternating washes of charcoal and taupe weave in and out from one another in a jungle of towers and spires, connected in a maze of zig-zagging bridges and ramps that reach high above my line of sight. Tarps of various sizes are secured to the visible ports and balconies, painted with intricate symbols, decorating the architecture in muted earth tones that billow in the steady breeze. Every single building holds a different design, and yet, from here, they blend seamlessly into a fortress. A cool gray fog looms overhead, blurring the plethora of lights that flicker from the windows and posts in a hazy smear that reflects the nebulas in the sky above.

Oddly enough, there are no walls or surrounding gates - only beaten paths of stone. I watch the bend in the road where Zim vanished, tucked away in the beginnings of the urban labyrinth.

Focusing on the smell of his blood, I slip from the cover of the forest, drawing the collar of my coat up high to conceal as much of my face as possible.

A space cloak really would have been nice.

My boots click along the uneven path as I try to find the right pace - not too fast, not too slow; confident, but not threatening. With the dark woods behind me, the feeling of exposure creeps up my scalp, but I lock my thoughts down on the electric scent and press forward.

All I have to do is find Zim. Being this far from the Voot and smack in the middle of alien civilization will practically force him to let me tag along on his stupid errands. What's he gonna do, cause a scene? Here? Not a chance. Whatever lecture I'm sure to receive will pale in comparison to experiencing life on another planet. Besides, I'm a lot more…sturdy now. Even if he got mad enough to kill me, he couldn't.

Probably.

The path curves into one of the many city entrances. I scan the widening street and pointed buildings. The breeze picks up, rolling the fog through sharp rooftops and balconies, carrying the distant sound of music and voices. I shift close to the nearest wall and pause, senses heightened. Zim's scent begins to weaken, blurred by the smell of metal, sparks, a strange mixture of bitter plants and something that resembles the thick fumes of oil and paint. Unable to risk losing his trail, I swallow the rising panic and slink around the building where the road narrows.

My heart leaps into my throat. The street is compressed by looming, tilted houses and shops. Each structure is completely different. Rusted metal and stone blend seamlessly over welded joints and rickety braces. Long snakes of amber crystals and purple vines twist and curl around the posts, creeping over tinted windows and cracked shingles. And there are crowds of aliens.

I press my back against the wall and hold my breath. Bustling up and down the road are creatures of all shapes and sizes, each cloaked in layers of colored fabric and assortments of armored plates. My brain scrambles to absorb the myriad of life in front of me; horns and snouts and tentacles and jagged talons. The group across the street to my left snort and laugh in deep, grated tones, sharing plates of what I can only describe as charred organs and drinking foamy blue fluid from glasses bigger than my head. Their reptilian features are largely shadowed by the hoods of their cloaks, but I can make out the yellow flash of teeth and sets of three eyes beaming from the dark. I quickly look away as one of them stabs a claw into the chunks of meat on the table.

Okay, focus.

Right - find Zim. Don't stare, don't run into anyone - just keep moving. I take a deep breath and parse Zim's scent from the plume of foreign city aromas. Some creature that barely reaches my knees scurries past on five legs, its two hooked tails whipping behind it. When it notices the hulking reptiles on the other side, it changes course and zips up the road.

Keeping my eyes to the ground, I walk along the length of the uneven porch connecting the row of…whatever these places are and refrain from shoving my hands into my pockets. Most everyone here is taller than me, with broad shoulders and humped, spikey backs. The more creatures I see, the more I realize none of them are paying any attention to my presence. I'm not only smaller, but I'm distinctly lacking any form of weaponry - biological or otherwise. No claws, no horns, no thorny tails or fucking raptor feet what the fuck is that–

"Focus," I chide under my breath, skirting around the lanky, towering beast. It growls and snorts at another alien - arguing, probably. I pick up the pace and squeeze between more crowds. Smoke curls on either side of the road, thickening with the smell of strange foods. Voices fill the air. My ears ring with the cacophony of clinking dishes, bursts of green flames from behind the restaurant counters, metal and wood grinding as people gather around scattered tables, chewing, hissing, laughing, talking over one another in languages I can't understand - clicking, snorting, growling, chirping.

My pulse hammers as Zim's scent sharpens. I duck beneath an absolute beast of an alien who looks like the hellspawn of a great white shark and a bison. Skirting around the next corner, I spot what I can only assume is the market Zim mentioned. The road widens into a massive oval of the city's center. It's packed to the brim with stalls and tents; rusted, slanted rooftops, worn tarps swelling in the breeze, piles of crates, sacks, and barrels littering the narrow walkways. Music plays in the distance - a hypnotic, droning beat laced with sharp, chittering frequencies that set my teeth on edge.

Almost everyone is wearing their hoods, skulking along the market as they haggle and barter. Many of the items look like raw materials of some kind - chunks of gleaming ores, polished gemstones, along with bundles of cables, wires, panels and rods. Some of the other items resemble weapons and tools - and the rest, I honestly have no fucking clue.

Zim is easier to spot than I expected. Considerably shorter than the other inhabitants, his bright green skin stands out from the dark, earthy tones of the crowd, his ruby eyes glinting in the warbled, amber glow of the lampposts. I move behind a stack of scuffed-up crates and watch as he argues with one of the shopkeepers. I have no idea what they're saying, but it doesn't seem to be going in the direction Zim wants, because the giant, spikey fist of the shopkeeper slams on the metal counter and Zim backs away with a sneer. The shopkeeper grunts in response, swiping a bundle of dark cords from the surface and tucking them back on the shelf behind him.

Zim draws up his hood and skulks back into the crowd. I glance around to ensure no one gives a single shit about my presence, and then I carefully weave my way toward the shopkeeper's stall. Another two customers approach and distract the hulking, gray amphibian with a captivating and apparently hilarious story. They bark at one another in a deep, rough language, laughing and spitting, the flesh pouches of their throats bulging with air between each sentence. I watch them for a moment before side-eyeing the bundle of cords Zim was attempting to purchase.

No one's looking. My heart skips in my chest. I crouch to my knees and roll beneath the tarp that covers the side of the stall, counting my breaths and focusing on the shopkeeper's lumpy back. His armored plates are engraved with intricate, water-like swirls and sharp symbols, pinching the charcoal cloak to his oddly shaped frame. They seem thoroughly absorbed in whatever conversation they're having. I glance at the bundle again, and before I can chicken out, I quickly grab it from the array of goods.

I hug it close to my chest and wait beneath the tarp. My pulse thunders in my ears, skin growing clammy and slick - but nothing happens.

Pursing my lips, I stare at the cords in my lap and grin as a heated surge of adrenaline fills my veins.

Try lecturing me now, jackass.

Emboldened beyond measure, I shove the bundle inside my coat and slink out from under the table as a group of three tall alien-deer hybrids pass by in long, red cloaks. I use them to cover my escape, eyeing the shopkeeper one last time to ensure my thievery has not been detected, but he's still deep in conversation with the other spitting, frog-faced fucks.

I find Zim a few rows down, skirting between different clusters of aliens as I go. The shop is pressed along the edge of the oval, extending into the dark, four-tiered building behind the external setup. I wait behind barrels that smell like rotting fish guts, and again, the same thing happens. They argue back and forth over some weird coil of metallic mesh. The shopkeeper - a bony, wiry beetle-like salamander - dismisses Zim with a wave of his webbed claws. Zim leans in, speaking harsher, and the salamander bares four rows of fleshy pink teeth in response.

I wait for Zim to give up. The static around him lifts and swells in palpable vexation. He's definitely not in the best mood for me to show up and flaunt my disobedience…but the more items I steal for him, the higher my chances of forgiveness become.

He vanishes in the crowd. I slip over to the side of the shop, searching for a distraction. The salamander grumbles to himself, sorting through drawers of clinking metal on the other end. When it's clear no other customers are going to provide cover, I scan the teetering stacks of glowing cubes on the far side of the stall. Thick wires connect each cube to a pulsating sack that hangs from one of the posts, pumping an iridescent blue liquid into each port.

I shove my hand in my pocket and feel around for the rubber ball. When I'm sure no one is looking, I hold my breath and chuck it as hard as I can at the sack.

'As hard as I can' is apparently very hard, because the sack immediately explodes. I flinch and duck under the table. The salamander snarls in shock and rage, rushing to the other side of the shop as robotic whines emit from a hidden computer system. The blue liquid spills and dissolves everything it touches; a strong, acidic stench fills the air. I cover my nose with one hand and quickly scramble for the mesh in the closest drawer, swiping it from the clutter and stuffing it in my coat. I crawl back under the table and roll toward the fish-gut barrels. A few of the nearby aliens pause to stare at the flustered salamander, but no eyes fall on me.

This is too fucking easy.

I'm borderline delirious with the adrenaline high. I watch the stupid lizard fret over the blue goop currently corroding half his stock and run my fingers over the thin roll of mesh in my pocket.

This should be enough. I'll track Zim down, show off my incredible looting skills, and bask in my newfound superiority, however short-lived it may be.

I move from the barrels and join the crowd again, focusing on separating Zim's scent from the god-awful sting of acid wafting through the fog. By the time I spot him, he's on the other side of the city center. And wouldn't you know it - he's being denied again.

"You've gotta work on your people skills, Zim," I mutter to myself with a smirk. The bundles of stolen goods thump against my hips as I close in on the scene. It's a simple rinse-and-repeat: he argues, fails miserably, tries arguing some more, and is presumably threatened with death. I don't bother waiting for another distraction - his frustrated chirping is more than enough to keep the two-headed shopkeeper's attention off of me as I swipe the rectangular box from the edge of the table. I have no idea what's in it, but it's heavy enough to doubt the structural integrity of my coat pockets. I'm in the middle of deciding the best way to conceal it when I feel the sudden prick of static graze my ears.

My heart stops. I look up from my hiding spot to see Zim staring at me, his eyes locked on mine in venomous, unadulterated rage.

Oh I am so very dead.

He quickly glances at each side of the street. Box in hand, I slip from under the table and take a small step back, searching for the best escape route. I don't have the chance to disappear in the crowd - Zim lifts his hand, points to me, and shouts.

Everyone turns to look. My heart drops and shatters at my feet as hundreds of strange eyes fall on me.

When I turn back to Zim, he's already barreling toward me. I have no time to brace myself before our bodies collide. He yells something in the same harsh tongue he used earlier and buries his claws in my stomach.

The world shrinks to the size of a pin. Agony bursts between my intestines; a hot, sickening swell of pain smearing my vision. All I can do is gasp in shock as my body slumps against his.

"W-what–"

"Be quiet," he hisses. He rips his hand from my abdomen, flicking bright splatters of blood across the grimy street. I drop the stolen box, groaning in pain, my hands fumbling to press against the seeping wound.

He snatches the object from the ground with a ferocious hiss, and the heel of his boot smashes into my sternum and sends me sprawling on my ass.

My vision sways, doubling, tripling. Blood soaks through my shirt in a wide bloom of crimson; I taste the copper on my tongue. Zim swiftly turns away and marches back to the shopkeeper's stall, slamming the box on the table and snapping something in another language.

The shopkeeper glances from the bloody object to my quivering form. All seven eyes are dull and cold, dissembling me with frightening ease. I hold my breath, waiting for his massive frame to duck beneath the canopy and smash my face into pulp.

He blinks, looks back at Zim, and nods, sliding the box off the table without a word.

The tension remains strung high overhead. None of the other aliens budge from their place - every single gaze is locked on Zim. Waiting.

Zim mutters something else to the shopkeeper and pushes away from the stall. My heart leaps as he turns back to me and closes the space between us with long, determined strides. It takes every ounce of self-control not to swing at him as he yanks me by the collar of my coat and drags me down the street.

I sputter through the torrent ripping down my stomach. Blood continues to pour in grotesque smears as he tugs me beyond the city center. I stare at the trail of red, at the eyes that follow silently, dozens of faces watching in the shadows; sharks in the water.

When we're clear of the market, he pulls me down a narrow street and makes a sharp turn, throwing me into a deserted alley. I hit the grimy stone on my elbows and knees. The impact sings through my bones, and I curse under my breath, scrambling to pull myself up as waves of pain radiate from the hole in my stomach.

"You stabbed me," I gasp. "You fucking stabbed me–"

The back of his hand cracks across my face. My head snaps to the side, bottom lip bursting under the force with a spray of hot red. A lightning bolt rips from my neck to my skull. I stumble backward and hit the wall; flames of unfiltered agony flare across my stomach.

"You're lucky all I had to do was stab you!" he snarls. "Those things back there would've skinned you alive and forced you to eat your own flesh!"

My fingers swipe my mouth and pull away bloody, but the rage quickly dies in my throat as he advances and wraps both fists around the collar of my coat. The heat in his eyes is boiling, static flaring on all sides, sharp and burning. Every nerve in my body screams DANGERDANGERDANGER.

"You were supposed to listen to me - I told you to listen to me ." I shrink against the wall, struggling to push him away as he yanks me up inches from his face. "One reason," he spits, slamming me into the wall. The blow echoes down my spine. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't leave you here, you insolent, mindless beast !"

The heels of my boots scrape uselessly at the gritty stone, searching for leverage that doesn't exist. My hands flail for the inside pocket of my coat, and I pull out the first bundle of cords I swiped from the city center.

The wicked rage in his eyes falters, flitting from the tightly wound cables to my panicked, bloody face.

"I-I got the other one, too," I stammer. He loosens his grip enough for me to dig the second object from my coat - the roll of mesh.

His expression glitches, indiscernible and wild. My heart slaps against my ribs, lip buzzing with heat as the throbbing ache moves down my jaw.

He releases me. I slide to the ground, rolling the materials to the side and covering the bloody wound with both hands.

"Fuck," I groan. "That really hurts."

The static changes shape. He grabs the edge of his cloak and tears a long strip from the fabric, kneeling in front of me and pushing my hands away.

"Zim, don't–"

"Move," he growls. His shoulders tremble, eyes dark and wet. The static pops like sparks from a compromised socket, and I realize the turbulent emotion isn't anger - it's fear.

Shame rolls through me. I wince, clenching my jaw and looking away. I'm in too much pain to fight as he rolls my shirt up and examines the deep gash. Sweat plasters my hair to my forehead. In the absence of adrenaline, my chest heaves, and every breath hurts more than the one before it. He wipes the growing pool of blood from my skin and presses the folded wad of fabric over the wound. The firm pressure brings merciless nausea. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, hissing as he pushes down.

The static spills from him in serrated layers. I say nothing and hold my breath, enduring the torment from us both as the black plumes rise over my head and cut me into a billion pieces. It's full of sharp, aching edges - burning hot and cold. I almost jump out of my skin when he suddenly leans forward and presses his forehead between my shoulder and the wall with a stifled, pained noise. His chest swells in tune with the static, violent and frenzied, and I'm frozen in its blistering grip.

"Why can't you listen?" His voice cracks. "I need you to listen."

I don't know what to say or do, so I just lie there and let the swarm consume me, like buzzards blanketing a corpse in the sand. He draws in shallow breaths and mutters to himself. I can't make the words out, but it sounds close to what happened in the lab when he froze on the floor for an hour, flinching and hissing indiscernible strings of Irken while the air raged around him.

I press a tentative hand against his knee and the static flickers. A moment later, it begins to settle and slow, and he releases a sigh as if he's found a way to the surface after nearly drowning in the deep, icy waters.

"Your stupidity never fails to amaze Zim," he mutters. The heaviness in his voice has waned enough for me to risk our usual banter.

"I was perfectly fine until you attacked me," I snark. His eyes narrow, but the anger is paper thin, so I push my luck a bit further. "Besides, it's kind of your fault for expecting me to stay put - ah!"

The pressure increases on my abdomen, sending a hot burst of pain across my body.

"Ow, ow, ow, Zim–"

"If anyone else saw you before I did," he hisses, "your entrails would be hung from the rooftops."

The image is a bit too visceral for my comfort, and I grimace at the recollection of those giant lizard monsters stabbing their claws into wet chunks of meat.

"I mean it, Dib." He lets up on the pressure, glaring hard. "I need you to listen to me. It's not safe here."

Easing out a careful sigh, I acknowledge his concern with a tiny nod.

"Okay...sorry," I murmur. "I was trying to help."

"No, you weren't," he scoffs. "You're just insufferably nosy."

"That too." I shift uncomfortably beneath his weight. "Why wouldn't they sell to you? You have money, right?"

"Of course," he mutters, "but Irkens are not... Most places don't like us."

"Oh." I glance down at my stomach - yep, still bleeding. Zim adjusts his stance and pushes a little harder. "I assume that's because of the whole space-Nazi thing?"

"A poor comparison," he grumbles.

"Right," I snort, "because conquering hundreds of planets and committing mass genocide is completely different."

"The Empire conquers planets, yes - but any subsequent genocides are typically an accident."

I laugh, and it hurts. "That doesn't really help your case, Zim."

"Whatever."

The static is much more quiet now, pooling around us in gentle pulses. Pinned between him, the ground, and the wall, I lie still and stare up at the zig-zagging bridges high overhead, obscured by layers of fog and the blur of nebulas above.

"...Thanks for stabbing me before someone else could, I guess."

He scoffs and mutters something in Irken before he slumps forward and rests his head in the crook of my neck. Bright flares of heat burn down my spine. I search the remaining static for answers, but the only feeling I can pin down is a single, fuzzy word: Close.

"Uh..." I pause and bite my lip, shifting awkwardly under his weight. "Are you trying to hug me?"

"No." He doesn't move. "I am providing pressure. To stop the bleeding."

"Right." I shift my arms. "Can I… Do you want me to hug you back?"

"I can't control what you do, Dib," he grumbles. "Clearly."

"...You're not gonna stab me again, are you?"

He shrugs, and I frown. With apprehension that could rival a professional bomb diffuser, I slide my arms over his shoulders, and I feel the word again.

Close.

When he makes no attempt to murder me, I let both hands rest below the dip of his PAK. It's not so much of a hug as it is us lying in an awkward tangle, but I'll take it.

The static slowly settles into a low, pleasant hum. Closecloseclose. The pain in my gut becomes a distant throb. He keeps his hands pressed on the wound, his face tucked between my shoulder and neck - and for a moment, it's…nice.

"Sorry for puncturing your stupid liver," he murmurs, his cool breath prickling my collarbone. "Even though the Dib deserved it for being a terrible listener."

I huff out a laugh, mindful of the ache in my gut. "It's fine - it's not like it's a vital organ or anything."

"You've had worse."

I wince as he sits up a bit to check the bleeding. I don't know what to do with my arms, so I leave them hung loosely around his back, and if he notices, he doesn't address it. He peels the bloody cloth from my stomach, and his antennae twitch at the sight of fresh crimson.

"...You aren't regenerating." His mouth tugs into a frown and he glares at me. "Why aren't you regenerating?"

"How the fuck should I know?" I scoff, unwrapping my arms from his frame. "I'm not usually conscious when that shit happens."

His frown deepens and sends a cold sting of dread down the back of my neck.

"Is the human blood not working?" he asks.

"I mean, I'm not dead, so it has to be doing something." I'm trying really hard not to look at the red oozing down my side. "But I told you, I haven't felt great lately–"

"For the love of Irk–" He rips off his glove with his teeth and slices through the partially healed cut from earlier, drawing bright pink beads to the surface of his palm. Panic spikes, shrill and cold.

"Zim," I hiss, "don't–"

"Shut up, Dib."

He grabs my hand and squeezes until the blood has pooled between my fingers. The smell runs me through - a tidal wave on jagged rocks. My pupils dilate as I watch the thin trail snake down his clenched fist and spatter into my hand.

"There," he mutters, withdrawing. "You can drink it without biting me, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't," I retort, but the facade of discomfort is quickly drowned by the overwhelming scent. It's so, so sweet. My body betrays me in its desperation. I lift the cupped palm to my lips and let the shimmering pink spill over my tongue.

My neurons explode; a crack of lightning - gunfire in the clouds. The taste of euphoria consumes me like exposed wires bursting in every nerve. My body flushes with heat - a warm buzz that floods down to my gut and smothers the wound like a cool, soothing balm. Before I know it, it's gone, and I've licked my hands clean like a feral, starved dog in the street.

Zim hasn't moved. His gaze is frozen on my face, unreadable, blank. The embarrassment is just strong enough to scratch the surface of the storm in my veins, but not enough to push him away. Thunder roars somewhere in my head. I feel myself slipping.

"Zim," I grit, "you should move."

He stays perched over me without a lick of fear. The static is brighter now, but just as quiet, hovering around us in anticipation; a breath trapped in burning lungs.

Close.

"Do you need more?" he asks.

"No, Zim." I draw my knee up between our bodies, shaking. "You need to go–"

He grabs it and forces my leg back down, settling his weight over my thighs. The juxtaposition makes my head spin - how can I feel both subdued by his presence and yet on the verge of complete control?

"I'm not scared of you, Dib." The strange look in his eyes holds steady. "If you need more, take it. Or bleed to death in this grubby alley - I don't care."

He offers me his injured hand. My body screams at the sight of the cut; the smear of pink, the thin parting of flesh. But I don't want his hand. I want his neck.

The urge rips through me like a wildfire. I clench my eyes shut, grinding my teeth together in a frantic attempt to keep the desire from taking root, but then he leans in a fraction of an inch.

The movement is almost imperceptible, and yet, it's all the thing inside of me needs, and the dam suddenly breaks.

My fingers latch onto the thick fabric of his cloak. I yank him towards me, closing what little gap is left and sinking my teeth into the firm skin of his neck.

He flinches at first, but he doesn't pull away. The red wave crashes through my skull. I feel his hands digging into my sides as his blood spills over my tongue and down my throat in sharp, fizzling bursts.

Closecloseclose.

His legs cinch around my waist and he lets his body sink into mine, fitting like a glove. The shrieking hiss in my bones leaps at the contact, pulling him closer, taking more. If he struggles, I don't feel it - if he says something, I don't hear it. There's only the taste, the sweet sparks; the duality of the flushed heat of my skin against his cool frame.

I'm still lost in the swelling tide when a piercing sting explodes from my right thigh, jolting me from the foam. The red fills my lungs, my bones, my soul - but another flare of pain disrupts the waters, and the third one hits the meat of my shoulder with a white-hot force; a venomous barb that hooks deep into tissue and muscle.

My vision is hazy with color and the taste of his blood. I blink in a drunken stupor, groaning as my teeth slip from his flesh. His head drops limp against me - a dull thud on my sternum. I try to say his name, but my tongue is too thick. Something begins to burn in my veins, scattering my senses far beyond the red. Through the smear of my eyes, I see a dark needle protruding from the curve of Zim's back - the same shape as the ones buried in my shoulder and leg. I fight to swallow, to breathe, to move, but the acid washes away all sense of control, and I'm left helpless as the world dims and flickers. Darkness rushes in, and the last thing I see is the shadow of a cloaked figure approaching from the road.