Chapter 8: Interlude

The roar of ship engines filled the air as they soared overhead. Side by side, many Irkens-soldiers-marched towards the front line. Excitement welled up in Zim's spooch as his beloved Tallests hunched over him as they prepared to give him his next assignment.

"You see this circle?" Red asked, indicating towards a large ring etched in the dirt.

"Yes, my Tallest!"

The crimson clad leader winced at the shrill reply. "Stand in it," he commanded in a firm tone.

Without a second thought, Zim found himself hopping inside. His antennae perked up, eyes glimmering with excitement. "So what's next?"

Purple rubbed the back of his neck as Red glanced at him expectantly. He sighed and put on a half-smile. "We need you to stay here. Don't move, this is a very important assignment. Do you understand?"

"I do," he replied with a salute. "I won't fail you, my Tallests."

"Good. See to it that you don't." Red commented, waving as both leaders turned away.

Zim could overhear their laughter, obviously from joy at how great he is. He could do this easily, and they would be even more joyous once the job was complete.

But then again, when would that be? When would they come to relieve him of his post? How was he to know when his mission was complete?

A strange tingle ran down his spine, sizzling down into his toes.

His head snapped left to right, then forward, his focus realigned. He wouldn't worry about such trivial things. Zim had been given a direct order, and he would know when it had been complete...

But as time stretched on, the restless need to please rose up as he glanced around at his surroundings. Battle mechs were bustling about, large and menacing. Various cruisers continued to fly in organized maneuvers, criss-crossing through the sky. And yet, the circle where he stood remained.

He was following orders as instructed.

Surely, his Tallests were pleased with him.

However, he hadn't heard from them in awhile. Maybe they needed him? What if they sent a soldier to fetch him, only to be taken by the enemy?

That's right! The enemy…

The Tallests had needed him in the front lines!

Without further thought, he rushed towards the Battle Mech that had been clearly set aside for him. The scene blurred around him as a heavy fog settled over his mind.

But then the next thing he knew, Zim found himself fallen to his knees on an elevated platform. Thousands of his fellow Irkens surrounded him. Each of their faces morphed into waves of green masses. As he tilted his head back, he was greeted with the view of the control brains looming above him. Their many mechanical eyes illuminated a deep red as a large monitor lowered beside them. A hard lump formed in his throat.

"DEFECTIVE!" the center brain boomed.

The word rattled his insides. He tried to move, but found that his arms were chained down. Weights held his legs against the platform. Cables were connected to his PAK, sending pulsing electric currents through him. He gritted his teeth as he was forced to look back at the monitor, dread filling him down to the core. A status bar of his face being thrown in a trashcan meant only one thing...

Zim's very existence was being deleted right then and there, in front of the entire empire. Out of a final act of desperation, a pleading scream tore from his throat.

Then with a sharp gasp, his eyes shot wide open, and the brain's decree became fast fading.

He couldn't help but glare up at the metallic ceiling from inside his pod. After hacking into his PAK, many repressed memories that had been holed up in quarantine played back in the form of dreams. They served as a painful reminder of how foolish he'd been in the past. Every time Red and Purple gave him an order, it was to humiliate him and keep him under wraps…

The trial had happened, he could no longer deny… And they had obviously set him up…

He clicked his tongue and propped himself up. There was no point in moping over recollective data. After all, Zim knew he was "defective", but yet, still very much alive.

How unfortunate for The Almighty Tallests, he thought with a bitter snicker.

Letting out a large yawn, he wiped the sleep from his eyes and began his preparations for the day. He grimaced as the coarse material of his wig scraped against his antennas. Then the itchy, bothersome contacts had to go in.

At least his arm felt somewhat better, since the damage the Dib-human caused had been completely repaired. However, the rest of the joints in his body still ached, and he felt an unshakable fatigue due to his treatments.

But no matter, he was just grateful the rest of his week had been without incident.

Which was a miracle, considering GIR's love of antics...

After releasing a weary sigh, he headed up towards the ground floor. He still had some time before he had to leave, but he needed to make sure everything else was in check. Snacks were a good idea, and he really needed the letter in his hand before he walked out the door. Zim couldn't afford another single day of punishment.

For the sake of his sanity, at least.

Speaking of which, while he was in detention today, he could plan a schedule for the week. The last shipment should be in by the end of the night, so that project could be started during the weekend. Heck, he could even go to the moon base tonight and test out the personal training simulation room he set up recently.

Perhaps the day wouldn't be that bad…

Oh who was he trying to fool? Skool sucked. If it wasn't for the sake of needing to keep appearances, he would ditch.

"Stupid DCF," he hissed right before he stepped through the hatch to the house's living room.

But then again, the Earthen Authorities weren't the only things he was concerned about. If he were to skip, then the Dib would show up at his house again, and it was hard enough dealing with his stalking habits. He inhaled deeply and allowed for the brief rush of anger to subside.

Getting worked up over the simple, annoying actions of a human wasn't worth it. A waste of his energy, really.

So how many times was he going to have to remind himself of that?

"Nyah!"

Zim turned his attention to his purple minion who'd floated into the room. A white envelope glided right over to him, and he plucked it right out of the air. It was sealed, but he could feel the weight of the amount of papers that were stored within. It would suffice.

"Thanks, Minimoose." He tucked the assignment away into his PAK for storage. "Right on time too."

The little purple moose gave a happy squeak and floated over to the couch, then switched on the morning 'news'. A small chuckle passed Zim's lips as he headed towards the kitchen. Earthen news stations were a joke, pathetically funny, so it was no wonder his minion indulged in it once in a while.

Minimoose was the smart one out of all his minions. Gathering intel on the world around them while getting a laugh out of it was killing two birds with one stone. GIR could learn a thing or two from him.

Setting aside the thought for now, he turned his attention back to the cabinet where his snacks were stored away. He reached up to grab some chips out of his stash, but the moment he stretched himself up on his toes, he winced at the sharp pinch in his calves.

Eh perhaps, the training room would be a bad idea for tonight. I should just stick with upgrading stuff while I wait for the shipment…

A defeated sigh passed his lips as he stored the snack away alongside the letter. Oh well, he might as well get a move on and get the day started. He walked past the droning television and gave Minimoose a slight wave good-bye.

Dib sulked into detention for what he hoped would be the final time. He immediately looked up at Coach, who was at the front of the room waiting for him. Zim had already beat him to the classroom, which he'd figured after not seeing him outside, again.

He pulled the assignment out of his bag and handed it to the teacher without a word. Then he stole a glance over at Zim, briefly making eye contact before he turned away. He was about to open his mouth, but thought better of it with the teacher standing right over him. Coach grunted and snapped the envelope onto a clipboard, right over the one that had already been there.

"I will be back later to dismiss you. Just… behave. It's the last day."

Dib said nothing as the teacher exited the room, keeping the bitter resentment at bay.

What kind of statement was that? Behave? As if he did anything wrong in the first place!

Taking his usual seat, Dib slumped down over the desk and folded his arms. He scowled at the alien sitting beside him. Zim hadn't said a single word to him since their fight. Not a single one. Instead, he'd thrown up emotional barriers, facing only the window during the past week. He'd been completely self-absorbed in his own thoughts, and had refused to respond to any of Dib's grabs for attention.

In fact, Dib even tried to catch the alien before school the last few days. Maybe if he had caught him off guard, then he could've actually figured things out. Some of the layers of the mystery could have been peeled back.

But no such luck….

And honestly? He'd half expected for Zim to come after him, seeking revenge for snapping his arm like a twig… But there had been none of that. No bursting through his window at night. And there hadn't been any signs of evil robots after his blood.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

Still, he did feel a bit bitter about having to spew a bunch of crap on paper for the so-called 'assignment.' Although, he would be lying if he wasn't curious to know what was written on the copy Zim gave to Coach. What nonsense was the enemy able to come up with after almost murdering Dib the moment his back was turned?

He groaned as the clock began to tick on, waiting for the sweet release from the long ass detention sentence. If he could help it, he never ever wanted to come back here again. The whole ordeal had been almost as bad as the one afternoon in the underground classroom.

And that was saying a lot, from Dib's point of view.

Pulling out his notepad, he started scribbling down different sets of observations. Everything from how Mr. Kramps was dozing off behind his car magazine to the amount of dust scattered through the air. If anything, note taking was one the very few things that kept him sane. Sure, he completed his make-up assignments with ease, but they weren't enough to fill the void of absolute boredom.

Besides, the room and his thoughts weren't the only things he would write about.

He'd jotted down quite a few things about Zim too.

Looking back over towards him, Dib noticed that the wig looked a bit disheveled again. His skin was still that pale, dull hue. The back of Zim's head was facing him, so he had to lean to the side to see his features reflected in the dingy window. The alien's face was void of emotion, as if he'd mentally checked out.

So basically, same thing, just a different day, Dib commented to himself.

He took another glance and paused. Zim's eyes were closed, and his shoulders had begun to sag. Had he just fallen asleep? Again?

Dib flipped through the pages in his pad, checking over previous notes. This was the third consecutive day in a row that Zim had fallen asleep. If it weren't for witnessing it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed the alien had rested so much.

Sure, Zim had taken naps here or there in their normal classes, but Dib could always tell he was semi-alert, ready to hop to action. What he was currently witnessing was a much deeper slumber than something to pass the time. Was he still recovering from their battle?

He scoffed. There was no way he caused that much damage.

So then was Zim sick?

He worked through various theories on paper on what could be ailing the alien. Scratching out notes or making annotations where it was needed. Each page filled with a thought or a counter argument. Yet, he couldn't quite clearly connect the dots. The only thing that seemed to make sense was some kind of illness special to Zim's species, but even then that didn't explain a lot of other things on the side.

Then before Dib knew it, he heard the soft click of the classroom door. He glanced up at the clock and saw that it was about time to be dismissed.

Man, the day actually flew right on by.

There were at least an additional two dozen pages in his notepad that had been filled since the day had started. Sure he'd have to refine it later, but Dib was just happy to have plenty of data, whatever kind it may be, on hand.

"Zim, wake up," Coach snapped, his arms folded over his chest.

The alien jerked awake and immediately wiped the drool from his cheek. His false purple pupils were dilated, and his shoulders tensed up. While Dib put his notes away, he'd half paid attention as Zim meekly apologized and stared down at something in his hands. His brows were knitted together.

Dib tried to peer over to see what held Zim's attention, but Coach stepped right in front of him. The teacher held out a white envelope, offering for him to take it. But the moment the heavy letter was in his hand, Dib noticed the seal hadn't been broken. He flipped it over and saw what seemed to be Zim's neatly scrawled penmanship addressed to him.

"So if you weren't going to check them, what was even the point?" He asked as he slid out of his desk

"Oh, I checked off that you two did them," the burly teacher remarked. "I never said I was going to read them. Whatever's going on, that's for both of you to settle. This was just a starting point."

Yeah, that's rich, Dib thought to himself silently as he shoved the envelope in his pocket. Starting point? I've been trying to work out Zim's deal for months...

Zim shuffled up beside them, his eyes looking straight up at their teacher expectantly. "Can we please leave now, Coach-teacher, Sir?" he asked in that creepy, practiced polite tone.

"Yes, you boys are dismissed."

Dib watched as Zim sped out the door, leaving him behind without so much as a comment or sneer. The two of them had spent an entire month in detention, and yet, he was already starting to feel like it had all been some weird dream.

Was Zim going to go back to being his hated arch-nemesis on Monday? Bringing some experiment to class to try and take over the planet? Or had that version of him really been left behind for good?

He felt foolish for wondering such things, especially after their last encounter, but Dib couldn't help it. They had been enemies for years.

And they still were.

At least, as far as he could tell.

Zim had thought about stabbing him in the back. Literally. But it wasn't like he could take it too personally. How many times had Dib turned against Zim in the past? Sure, the alien had deserved it. He was invading their world.

However, despite all of that, Zim hadn't gone through with the action.

In fact, the Irken even had gone as far to say they were even…

The envelope tucked away in his pocket felt heavy as he navigated his way through the school halls, trying his hardest not to bump against fellow students. With each step, his feelings on the situation became more muddled as the desire to read the letter consumed him. Honestly, he needed to sit down and sort out his thoughts once he got home. Read the letter, then look through his notes.

Yeah, that was a solid plan.

For now, at least...

Leaves had turned colors, then finally, began to fall. The change had signaled the coming of winter, bringing a change of temperature and moods.

Deep in the bowels of his base, Zim was sprawled out beneath the body of his new cruiser, working on the engine. It took longer than he would have liked, but he had everything he needed to get the ship in order. Beside him, he had a projection of the blueprints displayed, and next to that, a half-eaten doughnut with some crumbs.

His fingers worked to hook wires to their connectors; a task that required much concentration. He spent many hours making sure that each section of the engine was done right. The spark plugs were important, but once he was done with that, he needed to check the valves and the bearings.

As he mentally ran through the checklist, he hooked the last wire and noticed the stiffness in his shoulders. He flopped his arms back down and stared up at his handiwork. It looked pretty good to him. Nothing looked loose or out of place.

However, the urge to move around started clawing at him, so he crawled out from the underbelly of the ship and grabbed the rest of his snack. He was starting to finally get used to his new routine of sleeping, and he made sure to be mindful to consume more nutrients.

It only took some odd weeks to adjust, all the while fighting against a century instilled lifestyle.

So while his stable routine was something, Zim still had difficulties with aches and soreness.

Despite that, he couldn't continue to act like a smeet and let his skills deteriorate. Allowing all that military training to go to waste would only set him back even further. With that in mind, he looked back at the ship and decided to call it a day.

"Computer, make sure you remind me to work on the valves and bearings first thing tomorrow when I get back from skool."

The lights in the room flickered. "But I don't want to," the AI said in its droned out tone.

Zim shot a heated glare over at the monitor. "Are you talking back to me again?"

"Nnnngh, okay fine. Don't get your panties in a twist, Sir."

"My what?" he grounded out.

"Nothing"

"Better be nothing." Zim sighed and shook his head. "Irk, you're moody today."

The computer grunted but said nothing more. Zim silently cursed the machine under his breath as he made his way to the teleport pads. He stepped right onto the pad that connected to the Moon Base and was zapped away in a flash, soon finding himself in a completely different chamber.

There was a faint smile as he looked out the large window across from him. Miles upon miles of stars were scattered, heading towards the deep void.

Soon, he would be able to fly freely.

He allowed himself one more moment to enjoy the view, then headed into the simulation room. The large spherical room was reoutfitted specifically for his needs. Everything from target dummies, to practice robots, to even scenario sequences. Most of them are based on the simulations he went through during his training years.

Once he made his way to the center, he began a series of stretches. He disregarded the tiresome protests of the fibers in his muscles. With each movement, the tension eased up, until he felt satisfied enough with the level of movement.

Then as a small smirk found its way on his face, Zim leaned forward and reached behind his back. The two lower ports in his PAK opened up and he gripped onto a pair of handles stored within a nook inside. With a fluid motion, he withdrew two plasma blasters out from their respective compartments. He snapped them forward, and he tested their weight in his hands, noticing that they felt somewhat sturdy within his grasp.

But then with a gleam in his eye, he began to examine the craftsmanship of each weapon. He had used scrapped spare parts to create them, using the best alloys he had on hand. Even with slight limitations, he managed to get them to look similar-almost as if they were brother and sister in make. They were a metallic lavender color with large rounded muzzles. The plasma chamber glowed a bright violet, a trait that Zim found special.

Hopefully he managed to fix the heatsink, and the temperature stabilizer, because the last thing he needed was for his precious new munitions to blow up. But eh, it should be fine.

Probably.

The only way he'd know was to test them, so he rolled his shoulders and stood straight. "Computer, start training sequence 1-90-12," he commanded in an eager tone.

A loud groan of annoyance echoed within the room as a red tint washed over the walls. Zim readied himself, his antennae perked upward to detect just the slightest bit of movement. There was a small hiss, and he quickly swiveled on his heel as one of his dummy bots came wheeling towards him from behind. He took aim and released a swift shot; the flash of purple streaked across the chamber.

The robot went down as the heated plasma struck its face, but just barely. Zim sucked his teeth with agitation as he dodged a shot aimed at him. It whizzed right over his head, and he retaliated firing another round of his own at the offender. The strike hardly singed the target, and instead, swerved.

"Looks like someone's rusty," Computer chimed as oversized metallic claws descended from their ceiling compartments.

"Nonsense!" Zim snapped back.

There was no way he was going to let such an easy training sequence get the best of him. Zim was not 'rusty'. He'd always performed well with these simulations!

However, yet another one of his shots had almost missed its intended target. He'd been hoping to hit the dummy square in the chest instead of the shoulder. So it had taken two blasts, instead of one, to bring it down.

Perhaps I have relied a little too much on luck before, he noted, rolling out of the way of a claw that nearly snatched him from above. He ignored the irritation in his shoulders and paid attention to the entrance that opened in the wall.

More robots filed into the room, one after the other. Then, Zim found himself standing before a line of them as they prepared for their attack. The corners of his lips curled upward as PAK legs unfurled around him.

This was about to get fun.

A mere second later, the line split in two and flanked him from each side. With the assistance of his PAK, he vaulted into the air and grasped onto the ceiling. The legs suspended him steadily as he fired off a barrage, raining down purple plasma on the targets below. The attack took out half, while the rest scattered out. But then the giant claw came for him again, so he had to move, and propelled himself back down to the ground.

As he fumbled into a hard landing, a sharp pang shot up his thigh. Zim gritted his teeth as he lunged sideways to avoid the swift strike of one of the robots. Even though he thinned their ranks, there were enough bots to surround him.

After regaining his footing, he lifted his blasters once more as they circled in closer. Each bot was equipped with a nasty taser that would surely put him out of commission at just the slightest bit of contact. The guns began to feel heavy in his hands as the muscles in his arms protested.

If there wasn't an opening, then he would just have to force one.

With a steady aim, he discharged a couple of rounds in succession and took out two bots in front of him. He did his best to ignore the twinge from the recoil and used his PAK to scurry out of the fray, putting distance between them.

Then once each bot was within his line of sight, he deployed additional blasters from his PAK and aimed the ones in his hands at the targets. He fired all of his weapons simultaneously, leaving no room for openings. The attacking bots all collapsed where they stood, electric sparks springing forth.

He heaved a breath of relief as the red lighting faded.

"Simulation complete," the Computer announced as the claws began to clear away the trashed robots.

"Transfer all recording data to my pad immediately so that I may study it."

"'Kay."

Zim frowned at the computer's tone once more, but shrugged it off. His attention shifted back to the blasters. The light danced along the edge of the frames as he lifted them. Honestly, he was rather pleased. They hadn't blown up in his face and packed quite a punch.

However, the weapons did need some adjustments. The rate of fire could be improved, and he needed to do something to soften the recoil. Both of them could use some balancing as well to make sure the weight felt even in his grip after prolonged use.

Nonetheless, he fancied these guns made by his own two hands. They were, in his superior opinion, far nicer than anything ever issued to him for close combat. These wouldn't end up as pieces of junk that would be tossed aside or trashed.

Not like him.

A PAK leg slid out from its port and took hold of one of the guns. Then an etching tool found its way into his newly freed hand. There was a grin on his face as he carved letters into the side of the slightly larger blaster, right below the chamber. He repeated the process on the smaller of the two.

Once he was satisfied, he deposited the tool back into his PAK. He then held the blasters firmly, eying their new engravings. They would serve him well, Spencer and Maria. With a beaming smile, he carefully stored them away in their specialized compartments.

He had enough excitement for one day. His body was already starting to feel drained, and he still needed to take his next shot. The thought of it made him groan, since his arms felt abused as it were. Not only that, but his legs ached… and his feet.

While he'd chosen to ignore it, he had started feeling aches and cramps from his toes as of late. They felt worse at night, especially if he'd been standing or walking a lot. But during the simulation, he was more concerned with his arms and shoulders. After all, what was the point in worrying about one more cumbersome ache?

However after maneuvering around with all the hopping, dodging, and rolling around, he was really starting to feel the discomfort within his boots.

So without further delay, he carried out his normal routine. Grabbed a snack and had some quick sips of a Classic Poop. Then he headed over to the medical ward and begrudgingly administered his daily dose. All of this had been done in under twenty-five minutes.

But still, he had to make it to his pod. He really didn't want to collapse in the lab. Every time that happened, he ended up with an awful kink in his neck.

Zim headed towards his private quarters, running through different tasks in his mind. Even in his exile, he was keeping busy, which rather pleased him. He ran through a mental checklist of the tasks for tomorrow.

Skool. Ship. Weapon calibrations. And everything in between.

Anything to keep his mind off the aches, but to no avail.

With each step, the boots only put pressure against the side of his feet. He was thankful his quarters were easily accessible from all directions of the base as he stumbled inside. Once he finally made it to his pod, he sat down onto it and ripped each of the footwear off.

His talons felt relief as the cool air hit them, and thankfully, they were blister free. As he stretched and wiggled them, he started to pay attention to the finer details. He hadn't noticed it before, Zim could swear they appeared to be longer.

Not only that, but the base of the foot itself was wider….

However, a wide grin appeared on his face as he noticed something else above his feet. His pant leg didn't fully cover his ankles, and instead, a small sliver of skin was exposed.

His treatments were working after all!

"VICTORY FOR ZIM!" He cheered, his arms raised skywards.

Then he flopped backwards, letting the soft cushion lining catch him. A small laugh escaped his lips as the smile remained.

I suppose I'll need to get a different pair of boots, he silently noted.

But that could wait until tomorrow… He was exhausted.

Dib couldn't help but stare intently at the back of Zim's head. His lips set in a hard frown, and he was absent-mindling pushing his lunch around on a styrofoam tray.

He would have figured after all these weeks since their scuffle, Zim would have gotten sick of not rubbing things in his face. The egomaniac hadn't talked his ear off or boasted about some grand plan at all.

In fact, if he didn't know better, Dib would say the alien was avoiding him.

But he did know better.

And frankly, this was completely different than the silent treatment he'd received months prior. Every time they made even the briefest of eye contact, Zim would turn his head away and focus his attention on something else.

Whatever the reasoning, it irritated Dib far more than being outright ignored. He still hadn't worked out the details of what was going on. It hurt his pride as a paranormal investigator. But maybe a different approach would work.

Right, working from a different angle.

Like talking.

"Okay, that's it," Dib huffed as he set his spork down.

"Hm?" Gaz looked up from her game with a curious look in her eye.

He picked up his tray and shrugged. "I'm finally going to take your advice."

"Oh. Well good luck, I guess," she murmured as he walked away.

Dib carried his food over to Zim's table and sat it down directly across him. The alien was hunched over his tablet while sucking on a candied stick, preoccupied with his work.

Or so it had seemed.

"What do you want now?" Zim asked in annoyance as he dipped the white stick into some purple powder.

Dib eyed the device. That stupid thing was another puzzle piece he hadn't managed to work out yet. He had taken note of the fact Zim was on it at every opportunity, despite almost losing usage privileges over a dozen times. His skin condition excuse could only get him so far with the patience of their teachers. So whatever it was, the Irken was really dedicating his time and attention.

But that wasn't why he came over here. He would have to find another day to unpack that, given as long as Zim remained 'harmless'.

Dib took a deep deep breath before propping his chin against his right palm. "So did you mean everything you wrote in that letter?"

"Hah?" Zim glanced up in confusion. He blinked after a mere moment, realization seemingly apparent, then he clicked his tongue and looked back at his tablet. "Oh, I had Minimoose write that for me."

"Hey, that's cheating!"

"So?" He shrugged while keeping his eyes down. " Writing it would have been a waste of my time."

Dib shouldn't have been surprised, after all, what else did he expect from someone like Zim? He rolled his eyes, even though the alien couldn't see it. "Well, did you at least read what I wrote?"

Zim sighed deeply before jotting something else. "No."

"Why not?" Dib folded his arms over the table and leaned in closer. " Weren't you at least somewhat curious?"

"I don't care to know about anyone's thoughts or opinions about me," he stated matter of factly.

"But-"

Zim held his free hand up, interrupting Dib. "Look, if you want praise or validation for some nice, flowy words, then look elsewhere. You won't be getting it from me."

"That's not-just, never mind," Dib muttered quietly, before shoveling into his mashed potatoes.

"So are you done here?" Zim grumbled as he began to draw over some sort of diagram displayed on the tablet.

"Actually, I was wondering…"

He paused, taking a moment to stare at the image. It was hard to tell what it was upside down, but it looked like a weapon. Okay, that was kind of sketchy-

No wait, he was getting distracted!

Zim huffed, clearly his patience was wearing thin. "Just spit it out."

"It's just…" Dib had begun to say, before swallowing down another deep breath, "Why didn't you kill me that day? You had so many openings to do so."

The scribbling came to a halt. Dib braced himself, anticipating an outlash of words. Instead, Zim hummed and resumed working, as if he hadn't missed a beat. "There was nothing to gain from it, so don't overthink it."

Nothing to gain? Really?

"Uh, huh. Sure," Dib remarked, stretching out the last syllable. He knew that was a load of bull.

"I'm serious. Actually, would you like me to kill you now?" Zim inquired, lifting his head up. The stylus was now pointed towards Dib's face.

"I'm good." He couldn't help but smirk at the fact he finally got Zim's full attention. Then to further ease the tension, Dib pointed at the purple package. "So, what kind of Fun Dip is that?"

The alien looked back at him as if he sprouted an additional head. "Fun-what?"

"Fun Dip. You know, a candy stick you shove into some flavored sugar?"

"This isn't merely just some candy. I'll have you know, this is an Irken delicacy."

Dib had to repress a laugh as he waved off Zim's sour expression. "Okay, okay. So it's an Irken candy?"

"Argh, no that's not-"

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Dib gave Zim a half-smirk before collecting his tray up. "Whelp, time to get back to class."

The alien narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm well aware."

Dib merely nodded in response as he headed over to the trash bin, still processing their interaction. I can't believe I just had an actual conversation with Zim without any screaming or name calling, he thought to himself as he tossed the half-eaten food away.

He was honestly surprised. Was Zim still a little rude? Yeah, but that was still a lot better that the awful screeching he does.

However when he glanced back at Zim, who happened to be hanging behind as they strolled back to class, the alien had been staring at his feet. His lower lip was tucked behind his teeth, biting back some sort of apparent discomfort. With each step, he teetered, as if he were trying to roll into them with the least amount of weight possible.

That was also new behavior.

Every day it's something new, isn't it? He turned back around and pinched between his eyes, trying to keep his curiosity underwraps. Don't prod him too much. Take it by increments...

Even if Dib had walked away from their last 'fight' rather unharmed, he knew it was because Zim had let him… but then again, it had gone both ways.

Still, if these past few months had taught him anything, it was to pick his battles wisely. All of his investigations were a bust because his ego got in the way or he got too short sighted.

If Zim wasn't taking over the Earth anymore, then the race turned into a marathon. One he considered to be an arduous challenge…

But hey, progress is still progress, Dib softly reminded himself.

Author's Notes:

Hi Everyone, thank you so much for reading this chapter of Against the Machine. I haven't abandoned the fic, but I do apologize for such a delay in updates. To be honest, I actually rewrote it a couple of different times, and worked on the overall outline.

However, this was a bit interesting to write, as this chapter is setting up some of the parts that will follow. Heck, I'm still shocked that we're 8 chapters in, but I'm not sure how many this will end up being. There's still a lot more to tell and explore, and I'm excited for the journey ahead.

Thank you guys so much for leaving feedback and words of encouragement. Honestly, it keeps me motivated to go back and read some of the comments that were left on here. I appreciate it so much. You guys are great :)