Chapter 26:

The Catch

[Zim]

"If you're going to act like this the entire time, I'd prefer to complete the maintenance by myself."

The irritation in her voice hardly registers; a dull buzz of insects between my thoughts. I curse under my breath as I grab the wrong tool again - the one I just put down because I knew it was wrong - and she smacks my hand.

"What?" I hiss, jerking my arm away.

"Are you malfunctioning?" she snaps. "You're being sloppy–"

"Zim is not sloppy," I snarl. "I'm simply eager to be done with you and this horrid planet - we've been here too long."

"It's been less than two days, Zim," she mutters. "And if it weren't for my help, you idiots would be stranded in space."

"Don't flatter yourself. I would have figured it out."

She watches me for a moment too long. My flesh bristles with hot, sticky rage as I meet her glare.

"What?" I growl.

"Nothing." A slow, thin smile curls her lip. "I've just never seen an Irken handle this so poorly."

The insinuation dumps fuel into the blaze.

"This is your fault," I hiss, throwing the wrench in the crate with a loud clang.

"How could this possibly be my fault?"

"You started it!" My claws dig through my gloves. "I didn't even know this infernal condition existed before you brought it up–"

"I explained an incredibly basic concept to you, Zim," she snaps. "You're the one who ruined it, like you do with quite literally everything you touch–"

"Just - ugh - just tell me how to undo it!"

"What do you mean, 'undo it?'" She scoffs, her eyes pinching in befuddlement. "It's not a binding contract, you dolt - you can end it whenever you please, and your ridiculous scent markings will fade over time. The only real purpose they serve is alerting other Irkens to your property."

"But–" My throat tightens, the snarl trapped in my teeth. I rub at the aching spot between my brow and grimace. This heat is eating me alive - how does she not understand?

"I shouldn't be surprised to see you struggle with something so juvenile, but you're acting irrational, Zim." Her lips tug into a distasteful frown. "More than usual, anyway."

I can't decide on the correct word to start my sentence, so I say nothing and simply grab the next tool - the right one, this time - and try to focus on disassembling the base.

"Counterclockwise," she mutters.

I clench my jaw and reorient the motion.

"...Maybe it's different for you," she says after a moment. "Given your Defective status."

My expression hardens. I dismantle the safety mechanism around the power core and carefully pry the mantle apart, holding it steady while she inserts the magnet in the center.

Defective - how many times have I had to hear that wretched word in the last two cycles? And what does it even mean? Which part of me is the defect? Am I cursed to struggle in every aspect of my life over something so abstract?

"There." The magnet hooks into place, and a rush of blue light shoots up the power core. She pulls away from the mantle and helps me seal it, reconnecting the barrier in tedious bursts of plasma. "Congratulations for not blowing us up."

She expects me to respond, but I don't. My insides are too sticky. Too full. I feel ill - but at the same time, I don't. It wavers back and forth, trapping me on a precarious edge between wanting it to stop and needing it to stay.

"Do you want me to look?" she asks. There's something odd in her voice.

I glance up at her and scowl. "What?"

"I assume you'd like for me to unlock your defense mechanisms before you go," she says, gesturing to my PAK. "You likely forgot because you're an idiot, but I never turned them back on."

"Obviously." Stupid - how did I forget that? "Of course I expect you to fix the problem you caused."

Her gaze sharpens, and she rolls her eyes, her tone returning to its usual callous acidity. "Did you want me to see if anything needed maintenance? Perhaps your defect is repairable."

"No," I snap. "Just unlock it. I have no interest in you rifling through my systems any longer than necessary."

"Well, I offered."

"Your offer was unsolicited," I growl. I shove the tools back into the crate and close the hatch to the Voot's engine. "I'm done with this conversation - now reroute the power and tell me if it's charging."

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[Dib]

I hide upstairs for as long as I think I can get away with, but after changing clothes, making the bed, and ensuring to remove every trace of my existence from the room, the boredom overrides my fear of confrontation.

I cautiously tread down the steps and towards the lab. It's oddly quiet - I fully expected to walk in on Zim bitching to Tak about everything under the sun, but all I can hear is a faint hissing noise.

"Are you guys done yet?" I ask, slinking further into the lab. The hissing noise stops for a second, and Zim's familiar snarl echoes from the med bay.

"Get out, Dib."

My interest is sufficiently piqued. Skirting around the piles of crates and machines, I glance over the ledge to see Zim halfway slumped on the table with his arms tucked under his chin. Tak's sitting behind him, laser-focused on the open compartments of his PAK–

"Go away, Dib." He taps his claws impatiently. "This doesn't concern you - ow - watch it!"

"Sensitive," Tak grumbles. There's a bright flash of light from one of the tools. "Stop moving so much - do you want my hand to slip?"

"What're you doing?" I ask, staring from the top of the steps.

Zim squirms in his seat, antennae angrily jutting back. "None of your–"

"Stop moving," Tak warns. He begrudgingly falls still, muttering under his breath. Tak rolls her eyes and glances up at me. "I'm unlocking his defense systems."

I purse my lips. "...Can I watch?"

"No," Zim growls, "you cannot watch–"

"Sure, I don't care."

Zim's expression falls. He sputters a string of protests I don't bother listening to, because I'm already down the steps and rushing to Tak's side.

"Grab a chair," she says, scooting over. "You can assist, assuming your hands don't shake like an idiot."

"Assist?!" Zim squeaks. He tries pushing away from the table, but Tak twists something, and he goes limp.

"Stop whining," she sneers. "Don't you think your companion should know how to help with basic maintenance?"

My ears burn at the label - but it's better than 'slave,' I guess. Or 'pet.'

"I don't want his filthy hands anywhere near my PAK!" he snarls.

"Too bad," I grin as I practically throw myself into my seat, wide eyes oogling at the cornucopia of machinery. "Did you just turn off his limbs?"

She shrugs. "More or less."

"Whoa." I lean over, scouring the circuitry. There are layers upon layers upon layers of wires and tubes, all coated in various colors of translucent gel, like wet noodles. Some are so thin, they're almost imperceptible. Pulses of light zip across each sector - pink, red, yellow, green, - but it looks more like bioluminescence than the glow of a machine. Something dredged from an oceanic trench, organic and alien, all at once. I knew his system would be complex, but this is…astounding.

"Can you show me?" I ask, resisting the urge to touch the weird goo with my bare hands.

"Why would you possibly need to know that?!" Zim yelps. He's trying to turn his head to glare at me, but his body won't cooperate beyond a few weak twitches.

"You know…for research purposes."

His incredulous response is all in Irken. Tak smirks to herself and gestures towards a small box between our chairs.

"You'll need gloves. They won't fit your hands properly - you'll have to pair your fingers up."

I grab a wrapped set of black gloves, and Tak is surprisingly patient enough to help me get them on. It's by no means comfortable having my fingers sectioned out between the three openings, but I don't complain. Once I'm situated, she sprays the material with a bubbly, pink foam that smells like berries and has me spread it over the gloves until a slick film has formed.

"What's that for?" I ask, examining the sheen under the low light of the lab.

"It's an additional disinfectant, and it prevents damage to the system's lining." She points to the circuitry.

"Oh, the gooey stuff."

"Don't call it 'goo,'" Zim grumbles. "And hurry up - the idiot boy doesn't need an entire anatomy session."

"Well, maybe 'the idiot boy' would appreciate one," I retort. "So which wire did the thing?"

"Dib–"

"This one," Tak mutters, ignoring Zim's sputter of indignation. I lean in and watch her deftly slip a blunt, tapered object under the large red coil on the left, nudging it aside to reveal a control panel below. "See this connection right here? You're going to pull up, then turn it counterclockwise until you feel two clicks."

My eyes widen, and as my intrigue grows, my confidence sharply declines. She hands me a thin set of pliers and holds the coil away from the bright sector of the panel while I gingerly maneuver the rounded tips on either side of the tiny knob. The instant I make contact, a thrum of energy rushes up through my arm, and I flinch.

"Hold still," Tak chides, glaring at me.

"Sorry," I stammer. "It's - uh, strong."

"Of course it's strong, you smelly beast," Zim spits. "It's a super computer attached to my spine, and if you damage anything, I'll strangle you within an inch of your–"

"For the love of Irk," Tak growls, "stop flirting and just do it already."

My heart squeezes between my ribs. I take a sharp breath and carefully pull up. Something beeps somewhere in the tangle of wires, but Tak motions for me to continue, so I gently turn the knob towards me. The first click sends a faint twitch through Zim's shoulders, and the second one emits an arc of energy that raises the hairs along my arm, prickling beneath my flesh as the panel flickers from yellow to green. He hisses, flexing his claws over the table as control is rerouted to his extremities.

"See? You didn't kill him," Tak drones. "Unfortunately for me."

"Shut up." Zim tries twisting around again, and he's promptly rewarded by Tak flicking the back of his head. "Ow!"

"What did I say about staying still?" she snaps. "Your filthy human's hands are three millimeters away from your sensors–"

"And whose fault is that?!"

"Are we done?" I ask, fingers awkwardly hovering amidst the tangle of wires. "Or is his defense system still down?"

"It's still down." Tak nudges my hand away from the panel, and I draw my arms back. "This sector is delicate, so don't touch anything. Just hold these two coils up for me."

I do as she says, cautiously sectioning off the tubes while she accesses a circuit board beneath the panel. Zim continues muttering under his breath, but thankfully stops squirming around.

"How many layers are there?"

"Five, including the machine's core," she explains. "But anything past the third layer should only be opened by a trained technician. Cybernetics become a lot more complex the closer they get to organic matter."

It's hard to see what she's even doing at this level. Everything is so small, so incredibly intricate, it looks as if the slightest twitch would break something.

"Move your head," she grumbles. "Pull those up a little higher– yes, like that."

I lift the coils out of her way and grimace as the gelatinous coating gleams in the light. They look a little too much like intestines for my comfort.

"What's the goo made of?"

"It's gel," Zim grumbles. "Not goo."

"Same difference."

"It's a category of hydrogel." Tak switches out one pair of tiny pliers for an even smaller tool, and I now have zero visibility to whatever the fuck she's working on. "Various types are used, depending on whether the sector requires insulation or increased conductivity between circuits. I'm not sure if there are terms for it in your language beyond that."

"I didn't expect it to be this…wet."

"It isn't," she mutters. "Not technically, anyway."

We don't have the time for me to needle her with questions, so I let that seemingly contradictory statement go and try to stay quiet. Something clicks in the panel, and a light, electronic chirp follows.

"Finally," Zim groans. "You idiots are taking forev–"

Another chirp rings out, louder than the first.

Zim pauses, antennae flitting anxiously overhead. "What was that?"

I stretch my neck to watch her dislodge a thin, dime-sized disc from the panel.

"A diagnostics chip," she responds. I don't know what she's referring to, but Zim isn't happy about it. His shoulders pinch up.

"I told you not to go snooping–"

"And I ignored your baseless protest," she sneers. She holds the disc up in the light and purses her lips. "Shockingly, your systems are functioning at the optimal standard. You're welcome."

Small wisps of static graze my arms. I glance up from the circuitry as Zim attempts to shift in his seat.

"So your snooping was pointless," he grumbles. "What does that even mean?"

"It means the defect isn't in your code or your wiring," she mutters. "It's just you, Zim."

The static freezes in the air. I can taste it, like ash on my tongue. A held breath, elastic pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

I clear my throat. "Good. So nothing's wrong, then."

"I wouldn't say that," she scoffs. "Something's obviously –"

I hit her leg with my knee and glare harder than I've ever glared at anyone in my entire life. She squints at my expression and thankfully closes her mouth, averting her gaze to the line of tools between us. Zim doesn't say anything. The static holds for another moment before vanishing altogether, but that feeling, that tension, remains.

"Do I put these back now?" I ask, eager to change the subject.

"Yes." Her gaze steels over. "Carefully."

"It's a good thing you said that, because I was just going to slap them back in."

She rolls her eyes at the sarcasm and turns to reach for another tool while I slowly work the coils into place.

"We're missing one of the calibrators," she mutters. "It's likely in the hangar - I'll be right back."

She pushes up from her seat. I tuck the last section over the panel and scoot away from the workspace to follow, ignoring the deepening scowl as she realizes I'm on her heels. Zim doesn't bother looking at either of us as we duck out of the lab. He keeps his eyes on the table, distantly strung in his thoughts. My chest tightens a little. I slip through the doorway and trail after Tak towards the crate of equipment left on the floor by the Voot.

"There's no reason for you to follow me." She kneels to rifle through the clutter. "I'm just retrieving the–"

"You shouldn't have said that," I say, voice low. She blinks up at me in momentary confusion before her eyes narrow.

"Please," she scoffs, "it's not like he wasn't aware of it already–"

"That's not the point," I snap. "I have to spend two whole weeks in a tiny ship with him, so I'd appreciate if you didn't give him a fucking complex right before we leave."

"I don't see how that's my problem–"

"I'm gonna make it your fucking problem!" I hiss. She shrinks back - the movement is almost imperceptible, just a fraction of an inch - but it's enough to remind me it's hardly been an hour since I had my hands around her throat. I straighten my shoulders and shift aside, putting some space between us.

"What do you expect me to do?" she growls. "Apologize for saying something he already knew? Is that supposed to fix it?"

"No, I don't want you to apologize, just–" I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Just…change the subject when we go back. Distract him. And don't fucking say something like that again."

"And how should I distract him, exactly?" She glares up at me, snatching the calibrator from the crate. "Do you want me to list my own shortcomings to pad his fragile ego?"

"That'd be great, actually–"

She slams the lid shut. "I have no obligation to the stability of either of your emotional states, but even if I did, Zim, of all people, would not enjoy being patronized in the manner you're suggesting."

"I don't want you to patronize him," I groan. "I just don't want him to think something's wrong with him–"

"He already knows that isn't true." She steps around me, brushing my shoulder as she passes. "And you're not doing him any favors by trying to convince him otherwise–"

I grab her - too hard, probably - and shove her against the Voot. Fire licks up my throat, scorching the words as they slip through my teeth.

"Nothing is wrong with him."

She stares at me. I can't read her expression, but her gaze is steady, unbothered by the heat ripping below my skin.

"He's not a child, Dib," she says, voice low. "Something is wrong with everyone - that's life, and if he can't adapt to that reality, that's his problem."

The frustration has nowhere to go. I'm not even sure what I'm trying to protect him from. Of course he already knows this - he's known for years. But we've never talked about it. He's never talked about it.

"I just…" A heavy sigh sinks my shoulders, loosening my grip on her arm. "I don't want him to feel alone."

She pushes away from me. The narrow crescent of her eyes catch the blue light from the charging port, gleaming and cold.

"All of us are alone in the end," she mutters. Her tone is a field of ice, and there's an ocean trapped beneath it. "You'll learn that soon enough."

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[Zim]

'It's just you.'

The words repeat long after they leave the med bay, and soon, it's all I can hear. It blends with the noise, sharpening every edge, splintering the frequency until my system is consumed by the nauseating buzz.

The cool surface of the table does nothing to stave off the rising heat. I dent the metal with my claws and focus on suppressing the chaos, smothering it inside my skull so it doesn't leak all over the room where he can see.

It's nothing new, but it's a blade all the same, sinking deep into my marrow. Perhaps it was easier to digest - or ignore - when I could believe that a simple error in my code was the root of my adversity. My failure. I could place my blame on the artificial - the circuitry, the design, the mechanical synapses wiring me together - but, no.

It's just you.

And I don't know what to do with that.

So, I bury it. Bandage the wound, knowing there's still shrapnel stuck inside, knowing it will continue to worm its way through my organs, necrotizing the surrounding tissue. Knowing that, one day, I will have to cut it out and face the truth.

One day. Just not now.

A chill curls through my spinal column, spurred by the prolonged exposure of my wetware. I clench my jaw against the uncomfortable sensation and flick my antennae at the air, listening to them argue on the other side of the wall. I'm in the middle of deciding if it's worth the risk to try closing myself back up when a dull thud snaps me from my thoughts, followed by the sharp sound of Dib's voice.

"Nothing is wrong with him."

I lift my head and stare at the empty doorway. The words come out with such certainty, such ferocity, that it brings the strange warmth back to my chest - far too close and squishy for my comfort.

I push it away, averting my gaze to the marks I've left in the table. The threatening sensation is quickly overcome by much more familiar emotions. Dib's incessant martyrdom is misplaced, as always. He has no conception of Irken society or the implications that come with a defective status. It's not something that can be resolved with denial or menial platitudes - I should know, after all. But humans are simple. Humans say things they don't mean, things they know are lies, to spare the fragile identity of others and avoid negative social interactions. It doesn't matter whether or not the intention is nefarious; the result is the same: deceit for comfort's sake.

I don't bother listening to the rest of their conversation. Tak emerges from the hangar with the same annoyed expression she always has, and Dib follows close behind. His gaze catches mine for a moment, silent questions wrapped in the bright red of his irises, but I look away and tap my claws against the table.

"It's not exactly comfortable sitting like this for extended periods of time," I mutter, letting part of the heat warp my tone with irritation.

"You'll live," Tak sneers.

It's difficult to contain the noise - or the static, as Dib puts it - but he's unusually quiet, and I can only assume that means he's watching for signs of distress. I close my eyes and focus on the subtle tug of my circuitry as Tak talks him through the process of sealing each compartment. He doesn't ask any questions, and considering I've yet to explode or lose connection to any vital areas, he doesn't make any mistakes, either. I can feel the unspoken urge hanging in the air; his need to push, to investigate, to break everything down to their barest parts until he knows them inside and out, but he holds back - making no attempt to do the despicably human thing and prod me to reveal emotions I don't understand in exchange for words that are meant to soothe, but only ever serve as a hollow contribution to the denial - and I'm grateful for his silence. I've spent my entire life engaging in a delusion.

I certainly don't need his help now.

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[Dib]

My head aches by the time we're done closing Zim up. I'm desperately trying to remember everything Tak has said, to burn the images and instructions in my mind; the sounds, the colors, the textures, the shapes. I don't have my notebook, and I'm sure any request for one, digital or otherwise, would be swiftly rejected. I'm surprised Tak even took the time to show me in the first place, so all I can do is repeat the memories and hope a percentage of it sticks.

Zim hasn't said much aside from a few one-off, snarky retorts. He leaves to check on the Voot's charge while Tak sorts through the tools. I peel off the gloves and toss them in the incinerator, and when I turn around, Tak is zipping up a dark leather pouch.

"You should take these," she says, handing the parcel to me. "It will be a long while before you're capable enough to complete PAK maintenance without a guide, but having the basics on hand won't hurt."

"Thanks." I accept the offering, smoothing my thumbs over the firm material. "I doubt Zim will let me do anything like that again, though."

She shrugs. "I'm sure he will, once he gets over himself. In any event, I certainly have no use for them."

My jaw tightens, and the jumbled images of the PAK's complexity rotate in my skull. "I know you said you don't want to talk about it," I start carefully, "but, after seeing all that...I really don't understand how you survived having an entire computer ripped out of you."

Her antennae flickers as she continues putting the rest of the tools away. I don't expect her to respond, but after a moment, she sighs, snapping the lid shut on the toolbox.

"It's rare," she says, guarded. "But it's possible."

"It shouldn't be." Zim's voice compounds the tension as he enters the room. The static disappeared before we finished the maintenance, but the air around him is still distorted, like the heat waves of a mirage. He leans against the doorway to the hangar, his frame stiff, eyes narrowed. "The countdown window is far too short for any meaningful kind of medical intervention."

My brow pinches. "Countdown?"

"Our physical bodies can only survive for a certain amount of time in the event of extraction," he explains. "If the PAK is not damaged, it's possible to prevent death by reattaching it within that window."

"How long?" I ask.

"Ten minutes. Sometimes less."

I frown at the revelation, unable to stop myself from glancing at Tak as the questions rapidly build in my throat. "So it's not strictly the removal that kills you, but the prolonged separation?"

Zim opens his mouth to answer, a 'yes' on the tip of his tongue, but Tak cuts him off.

"It's neither." She shoves the crate beneath the table and straightens her shoulders, eyeing us with a grim expression. "What kills us is the PAK itself."

My frown deepens. I look toward Zim to see his face pinch in confusion.

"Like...directly?" I ask slowly. "Or because you're dependent on it?"

Her gaze steels over. "Directly."

Static kicks up around Zim again. I try not to look at it - he hides it even faster when he knows I'm watching.

"What are you saying?" he asks sharply.

"Think of it as a tripwire." She crosses her arms, stiffening her body like she's bracing herself against the words. "When the machine is extracted from the ports in our spinal column, a sequence of code is triggered. The ten-minute window you mentioned is how long it takes for the command to activate…" Her stormy eyes sweep over us. "And burn our circuits to a crisp."

I blink. "...They wrote a self-destruct script in your code?"

Her jaw tightens. "Yes."

"But...why?" I ask. "If you're already dependent on the technology to live in the first place, why go through the trouble of adding a tripwire?"

"Because we're not dependent on it," she says, low. "They just tell us that we are."

The static around Zim twists like a cloud of writhing snakes. "But it regulates our entire system," he argues. "All of our enhancements, our regenerative abilities, our borderline immortality - everything we are comes from it."

"I never said they were useless," she responds coolly. "I simply said they are not required."

Her answer does nothing to quell the confused rage spilling from him. His antennae flit back and he scowls with the urge to argue, knowing full-well the evidence against his claim is standing right in front of him.

"If what you say is true," he growls, "then how did you stop it?"

"I didn't." The air shifts; a bubble about to pop. "Someone else did."

Zim's irritation reaches a fever pitch, but I shoot him a stern look, holding his stare until he surprisingly relents and crosses his arms in a quiet huff.

"It was your fault, you know." Tak's gaze has wandered to the empty table, her eyes distant, hazy. "Our stupid fight on Earth damaged my systems. I thought I had repaired everything before I was recruited for the next invasion…but that was not the case."

"Please," Zim scoffs, "how is it my fault that you overlooked your repairs?"

I want to punch him for interrupting, but Tak doesn't seem phased by his instigative behavior. In fact, she looks like she's expecting it.

"Because the error wasn't registering on my PAK," she mutters. "We were on the ground preparing to root out the remaining inhabitants when the Tallest graced us with their presence by handing out a slew of nonsensical orders. They wanted the front line weaponry to be painted a different color from the factory default. Thanks to you, my ocular implants were not properly calibrated, and I used the wrong pigment." Her gaze hardens. "I didn't even realize my mistake until one of them started throwing a fit. It took only minutes for my punishment to be decided."

I realize it's not a joke when my snort is met with tense silence from them both. My expression falls. "Wait - are you serious?"

She glares at me like it's the stupidest question she's ever heard, and the memory of her instructing me to grab a flask or press a button that was very clearly not the color she had described bubbles up and bursts at the front of my mind.

"They tried to execute you because you used the wrong paint?" I turn to Zim, but he just shrugs.

"The Tallest demand perfection. They've done worse things for far less."

It feels like the air has been punched from my lungs.

"What the fuck," I breathe. "But…why? What's the point?"

"There is no point," she growls. "They're simply children - big, loud, stupid children - with an army at their feet and galaxies under their heels. Every order is obeyed, no matter how absurd, how utterly asinine –" Her jaw tightens as she looks away. "No matter how cruel."

"That's what makes them effective leaders," Zim mutters. "Besides, it was funny."

"Yes," she sneers, cold. "Cruelty is amusing when you're the bystander."

I stare between them, incredulous. Absolutely none of this sounds amusing - it sounds like a goddamn horror show.

"So they can just…kill you," I stammer, "just because they feel like it? They don't need an actual reason?"

"That is the reason." Zim rolls his eyes. "They're the Tallest; their word is as good as law." He pushes off of the door frame and approaches the table, gripping the edge with his palms. "Your obvious error aside," he continues impatiently, "you still have not explained how you survived this supposed script. Who assisted you in the middle of a ground invasion, surrounded by Irken forces no less?"

"A member of the opposition," she says quietly. "They'd been watching, apparently. The whole ordeal was rather…chaotic. I was discarded in the rubble after my PAK was removed, and the other Invaders were too focused on avoiding my fate to pay attention to anything but their orders. That's what I was told when I awoke, at least."

"You don't remember?" I ask softly.

The well of anger in her eyes falters for just a moment. "No," she whispers. "I don't."

But I can tell she's lying. The haze of pain and fear is unmistakable - flashes of unpleasant memories; the bitter taste of death closing in. Something like that doesn't go away. The sharpness of it lingers; it changes you. She can probably still feel the wires being pulled from her vertebrae the same way I can still feel my jaw snap or the blood pour from my ears. It may grow quiet, but it never leaves.

"They were able to rewrite the command before it killed me," she continues. "My physical injuries were…significant. When I woke up, I was here, and my circuitry had been rerouted to form a closed system with my organic matter and what remained of the cybernetics. We made adjustments as needed."

I glance around the room, at the strange symbols and dual workspaces, and it slowly sinks in.

"So you lived here with them." I look back at her, brow knitting. "Where'd they go?"

She falls silent, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. The distant, pained fog looms heavy in her eyes. Zim shifts beside me, his tone a little less heated.

"That's who you lost to the hunter, then," he says, voice low. "Their involvement with the rebellion drew his attention."

Her frown deepens, and all she offers is a brief nod. I keep a lid on my follow up questions and let Zim take the lead.

"Did you join the opposition?" he asks. "After you recovered?"

"I did, for a time," she mutters. "I stopped after the attack. The group disbanded - I'm not sure where the rest of them went."

"I'm surprised he left survivors."

"I told you, it's a game to him." Her eyes narrow, still locked in a thousand-yard stare. "He uses people as bait to draw others in. We knew that, of course, so we went our separate ways and–"

"Wait," Zim presses, "you didn't go after him?"

"No." She finally looks up. "There was no point."

Zim's antennae tilt back, and a somber tone washes over his expression. "You didn't even try."

It's not a question - it's an accusation, and it's one Tak makes no attempt to deny. Her eyes darken, scowl etched deep in her face as she holds Zim's stare.

He scoffs. "Not a single one of you tried. How do you even know they're dead?"

"There was no point," she repeats sharply. "I told you, nobody survives the hunter. Chasing after him is exactly what he wanted us to do–"

"But they saved your life," I murmur. A strange numbness clouds my chest as the words smolder in my throat. "You were an enemy - you were in the middle of a fucking invasion and they saved you–"

"Yes, and it would have been for nothing if I had taken the bait." Her voice is soaked in acetone, her eyes gleaming with ache and ire. "You honestly believe I should have chased after them and gotten myself killed?"

Zim scoffs out an incredulous 'yes' at the same time I do. Tak's brow furls; she glares between us, her undamaged antennae flicking at the air.

"I'm not stupid like the two of you," she growls. "I understand the dead are of no use."

"Trying isn't stupid." Zim pushes off the table, straightening his shoulders with a look of disgust in his expression. "You're just a coward."

The insult doesn't phase her. She merely holds his stare, stoic in her response.

"I'm not blinded by delusions of grandeur like you, Zim. There's nothing admirable about throwing your life away for a lost cause simply because you're too proud to face reality."

The tension ripples between them, and I'm caught in the crossfire, weighed down by the thought of leaving someone behind and the stark reality of Tak's words.

"Admirable?" he sneers. "You live alone in the cluttered house of a ghost. What's admirable about that?" His eyes narrow as he leans in, lip curled over his teeth. "I'd rather die."

Her smile is cold. "The odds are in your favor, then." She steps back from the table and adjusts the headpiece above her left eye. "Now, if you're done grandstanding, I have other matters to attend to." She meets my gaze for the briefest moment before sneering at Zim. "Do yourselves a favor and run one last diagnostic on the Voot," she chimes, moving toward the exit. "Wouldn't want anything getting in the way of your martyrdom, now would we?"

Zim's fists clench at his sides, but he says nothing to her callous remarks. The door to the lab slides open and shut with a sibilant noise, leaving us in silence.

"Well, that was…something," I mutter. "Did you need any help with the V–"

"No." He glares at me, the air warped around his shoulders. "Go make sure you haven't left anything upstairs."

"I already did that–"

"Do it again." He turns on his heels and enters the hangar, taking the cloud of agitation with him. I stare at the empty doorway for a moment. The numbness has settled between my ribs, heavy and unpleasant, but I know it's not worth pestering him. We'll be leaving soon enough; it'd be stupid of me to piss him off further between now and then.

Exhaustion creeps in as I push out a weighted breath. I know I didn't leave anything upstairs, but I don't feel like standing around down here, either. With an uncomfortable sense of idleness that I've grown frustratingly accustomed to, I shove my hands in my pockets and leave the room.

The last touch of daylight seeps through the windows high above, flickering off the rising dust and floating particles. I pause in the middle of the hallway and stare up at the wash of light across the vaulted ceiling. It's been less than two days since we landed here, and yet, it feels strange to think I'll never see this place again–

"What are you staring at?"

I curse under my breath and nearly jump out of my skin when I see Tak leaning against the stairway at the end of the hall, brow arched in her familiar, muted contempt.

"What the - I thought you left?" I hiss, glancing over my shoulder to ensure the door to the lab is still closed.

"I did," she mutters. "And now I'm back."

"That fast?" I skirt down the hall, still reflexively checking the door.

"Did you think I'd have to go all the way back to the district?" she scoffs. "They dropped it off, obviously."

"I don't know why that should be obvious to me, but sure–"

"Whatever." She waves me off. "Come on, we'll discuss it upstairs."

I roll my eyes and follow her up the steps, scanning her frame for signs of the weapon before remembering she said it'd fit in my pocket. It's difficult to believe something so small is meant to take down a galactic threat, but if the past month has taught me anything, it's that I apparently know jack shit.

"I trust you haven't said anything to Zim?" she asks.

"No." The metal stairs lightly groan under our feet. "He's pretty pissed off about it, though."

"You said you can see his thoughts." She glances over her shoulder as we reach the landing. "Can't you use this to manipulate him?"

"Not really," I shrug. "He's figured out how to hide them - I hardly see the static anymore."

"So adaptation is possible." She taps her claws along the old railing. "If he's learned to resist, perhaps you can as well."

I frown. "Maybe, yeah. I guess I didn't think about it like that."

"You have more power over him than you realize. Stop fawning at his every whim; figure out how to use it."

Right - I'll just…figure out how to do that…somehow.

"This way." She opens the spare bedroom door and lets me in first, closing it behind us. Her gaze sweeps across the space, and that heaviness returns.

"I made sure not to leave anything in here." I shift on my feet, put off by the drop in her demeanor. "My stuff's out in the hallway–"

"It's fine," she says quietly. "I don't use this room anyway."

My eyes catch the dusty crate by the door; the mark left by my finger the first night I stayed here. Discomfort burrows through my gut.

Great, my first sexual experience happened in a dead guy's room. Awesome.

I shake off the thought and clear my throat. "So, you uh, got the thing–"

"Yes." She reaches into the inside pocket of her cloak, procuring a cylindrical object barely larger than the size of a pen. The metal is black, almost matte, with little rings of blue etched in equal distances across the surface.

My brows pinch. "That's…it?"

I reach for the device, but she draws her hand back.

"I need you to listen very carefully, Dib."

There's a finality to her tone that sends the ice straight to my marrow. I push a thin breath between my teeth.

"I knew it," I groan. "There's a catch, isn't there?"

"We obviously couldn't test this on the real thing," she says, "but by all metrics, it should work."

"Okay, and…?"

Her jaw tenses. "It's probably going to kill you."

"It's…" My pulse slows, and the room shifts under my feet. "What?"

"I said it's probably going to–"

"No, I heard you, I just–" I step back, a flush of dizzying heat rippling from my head to my toes. "W-why?"

She glances at the weapon curled in her hand. "I imagine the voltage will be high enough to stop your heart, but like I said, I've never used it–"

"That's not what I meant, Tak," I stammer. "I want to know why you didn't mention this before?"

She squints at me. "That's not what you asked, though–"

"Why'd you wait so long to tell me?" My voice pitches, warped by the undulating waves of fear. "That should've been the first thing you said–"

She shushes me, snarling. "Keep it down–"

"Is it actually going to kill me?" I hiss. "Are you one-hundred percent sure?"

"I'm as close to that percentage as possible without testing it prior," she growls. "Honestly, would it have made a difference if I told you then? That was hardly an hour ago, and you had just tried to snap my neck, so forgive me for being a little cautious with your temper–"

"And there's no other option?" I bite. "I can't just throw it really hard at him or something?"

"No." She straightens her shoulders and sighs. "You'll have to jam it into his main processor and manually detonate the charge. Any other method will essentially render the whole thing useless, and you'll die anyway."

My chest burns, skin slick with sweat; hot and cold, everywhere, all at once.

"You understand now why you can't tell Zim," she mutters. "The fool will think he's somehow above it all, as if fate would favor him."

I stare at the floor, slipping from one turbulent emotion to the next; left at the mercy of their waves.

"Dib."

I glance up as she holds out her palm. The small device glints in the light of the setting sun, streaming down from the window above.

"You're not backing out now, are you?"

Her tone is neutral; it holds no accusation, no judgment, but as I stare at the weapon balanced innocuously in her hand, I feel it all the same. A rush of anger, a deep, violent ache, the bitter irony of finally having an answer - a solution - only for it to be my end.

But despite the dread filling up my lungs, there is no question, because Gaz is out there, waiting for me, and there's no way in hell I'm leaving her behind.

"No." My resolve steels over as I take the weapon from her hand. "I'm not like you."

The words come out like a reflexive jerk, and even though I mean them, I didn't mean to say them.

Something hardens behind her eyes, and for a moment, I feel ashamed - but I clench my fingers around the pen and hold her stare.

"Did that make you feel better?" she sneers. "Because if you're attempting to guilt-trip me, you can save your breath. If I had been like you, if I had thrown myself senselessly into some impossible feat, I would've died, and you'd be floating aimlessly through space with no fuel, no plan, and no way out." She leans in, hostility spreading like tendrils of ice. "So tell me again what you think I should have done."

Salt and fire sting the rims of my eyes. The words build up like tar in my throat, but in the end, they're useless, because she's right. We both know it.

The tension slowly leaves her shoulders, and she steps back with a shallow huff.

"I realize it's quite…distressing to face your mortality," she mutters. "The concept is rather new to you, so I won't fault you for making such a stupid remark."

My gaze falls on the pen in my open palm, smeared by my blurry vision.

"It's not new to me," I whisper.

She doesn't respond, and the silence gives way to the memories; the darkness, the red wave - the profound helplessness swelling in my lungs the moment I realized I was dying. I wonder if it'll feel like that this time around. If I'll have time to feel anything.

"The parasite we found pulled me apart from the inside…and I felt all of it." My other hand idly drifts over my chest, fingers bumping against the implant. "I still do, sometimes."

Her antennae twitch, and her eyes narrow.

"Yes," she mutters. "It's an unfortunate side-effect of survival."

Silence slips between us again, hollow and full in equal turns as our own memories call after us; a ghost only we can hear.

"...Is that what you really think we're doing?" My throat tightens around the words, sticking like mud. "Throwing our lives away for a lost cause?"

She searches my face with a sincerity I don't expect, like hot coals dropped in my bare palms.

"No," she says, "because you have something I didn't."

She reaches for my hand, pressing my fingers over the pen.

"You have a chance."