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Just like me
He's settling a score
With a world that wants a reason
Every time you turn around
Just like me
He's looking for a door
Standing open, saying welcome
Come and lay your troubles down
Just like me
--Excerpt from "Just Like Me," by Joni Mitchell
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55% . . .
Staring at the large monitor before him, Zim watched intently as the numbers on the screen crept their way up.
67% . . .
He nervously wrung his hands. However, that was the only outward indication of his anxiety, for his eyes were emotionless and unblinking, like two precious stones embedded in his skin.
80% . . .
On the inside, though, he was trembling.
92% . . .
"What's taking so long?!" he barked, his voice piercing the silence, echoing off the metal walls of his lab. In reality, he knew it was taking no longer than it normally did to establish a connection to Irk, but having not done it for so long made the wait seem eternal. The fact that apprehension was currently twisting his organs in knots didn't help, either. He glared defiantly at the numbers, brutally slamming his fists on the console in front of him.
Finally, the count reached 100%.
The alien stiffened slightly, momentarily wishing it wasn't too late to cancel the transmission . . .
After flickering black for a moment, the image on the screen faded to the control room of the Massive, with two tall Irkens sitting in the foreground, staring ahead in shock.
Zim bit the inside of his cheek as his antennae twitched anxiously, suddenly feeling as if someone had struck him in the throat. It had been so long since last he'd spoken to the Tallest, and to face them now, after all that had been revealed . . . It has to be done, though, he reminded himself, forcing his body to stand as straight as possible. He released a shaky breath and managed to let out a strangled, "Good evening, my Tallest."
Tallest Red blinked, a nacho inches away from his opened mouth, now dripping cheese onto his robes. "Zim?" he uttered, blinking again. "What . . . How did you . . . Where are you?!"
Zim's antennae continued to quiver, yet the rest of his body remained still. "On Earth, my Tallest." His voice now came out a bit more confident and steady as he internally repeated to himself just how important it was to make his leaders listen.
On the other end, Purple lowered his head while massaging his temples. "Zim . . ."
Going against the control his mind attempted to shove on him, the ex-Invader leaned forward on the console and shouted, with more than a bit of urgency in his voice, "Before you chastise me, at least hear what I have to say! I—"
A snarl from the crimson-eyed Tallest cut him off. "Zim! You—"
Gloved fists smashed into the control panel once again. "LISTEN!" The small Irken immediately winced at the intensity of his own voice and the immense hostility with which his leaders were now glaring at him.
"Are you looking for a pummeling, Zim? I think he's looking for a pummeling," Purple remarked, nudging his partner, who nodded in response.
Zim took a step back, wishing he could shrink into nothing at that moment. In a show of submission, he laid his antennae flat against his head and looked at his leaders pleadingly—such a show of weakness, his mind admonished. "My Tallest, hear me out . . ."
The Tallest merely glowered at him in response.
"I have a plan that is guaranteed to conquer this dirtball of a planet," he continued, tilting his head in hope that his statement may have piqued their interest, but seeing their unchanging expressions caused him to swallow what little confidence he had left. "It'll take a while to complete, but there's no way it could fail. Once the plan is set into motion, it cannot be stopped."
No response.
Unnerved by the heavy gaze of his leaders, Zim downcast his eyes, twiddling his fingers as he spoke his next words. "If you . . . if you sent the Armada now, the planet would be weak enough to defeat in a matter of days by the time the ships got here."
"Okay."
Zim's head shot up in surprise. Purple was smiling at him cunningly while Red bared his teeth in a frightening grin.
"Yes, we'll forget all about you being responsible for the deaths of both Tallest Miyuki and Tallest Spork," Purple said. "Oh, and we'll also forgive you for destroying half of Irk, blacking out half of Devastis, and destroying the Megadoomer that was—might I add—accidentally sent to you, and reinstate you as an Invader!"
"On top of that, we'll let you command your own fleet," Red added, smirking.
For a moment, Zim felt something old and familiar wash over him, something that made his eyes light up and his finger tips tingle as his antennae rose with his hopes. "Really . . .?"
"No."
Cruel laughter followed, and the moment was gone. Refusing to look his Tallest in the eyes, he instead fixed his vision on the fists that were now clenching and unclenching on the computer terminal in front of him—his fists. Examining his hands diverted his mind from the overwhelming contempt he was suddenly feeling, and kept him from acting out in such a way that would only make him appear more foolish.
"Honestly, Zim," Red began, wiping a tear from his eye as he composed himself. "What's it going to take for you to realize that, well, we don't like you?"
Zim's jaw tightened, his gaze still locked on his fists.
The purple-eyed Tallest idly twiddled his fingers, quickly becoming indifferent to the current situation. "I mean, we never really planned on you conquering Earth, anyway, so stop wasting your time."
"More importantly, stop wasting OURS."
Without looking up, the short Irken gave a slight nod of his head and used all the strength he could muster to choke out a "yes, my Tallest." Even then, his voice sounded so tiny.
"Oh, and Zim?"
His antennae perked up slightly.
"This time, stay on Earth."
"And stop calling us," Purple added. "We're pretty busy rulers of the universe, you know."
As resentment built inside of him, Zim's balled up fists dropped to his sides, aching from claws digging into the palms of his hands. There was an unusual sensation of disdain for his leaders making itself known as he realized the Tallest would not hear his plan nor give him a second chance, and he had to employ all his might not to spit at the screen. Though, inside, he was throbbing with scorn, he managed to retain a somewhat composed exterior, but couldn't help furrowing his brow in the Tallest's direction. "I understand," he muttered, an unconscious edge in his voice.
His leaders grinned, callously, while Zim practically trembled with antipathy.
"Good," Red said, reclining in his chair. "Now that that's all squared away, who's up for some curly fries?"
The co-Tallest raised his hand. "Ooo, me! ME!"
The transmission ended . . .
. . . And Zim had had it. With a vicious growl, he punched a dent into the terminal and whirled around, scanning the lab for the closest, movable object. His gaze rested on a hover-chair near another computer console and, without hesitation, he darted over and grabbed it, shouting whatever words came to mind. "How could they?!" He hoisted the chair behind his head—"They just don't understand!"—shook violently in anger—"They don't see what I'm capable of!"—and hurled the chair into the screen, hardly flinching at all when the contact sent glass shards and sparks flying everywhere, including into his skin and clothes. He proceeded to overturn tables full of test tubes and beakers, oblivious to the crashes they made as they hit the floor; the only sound he heard was his Irken equivalent to a heartbeat throbbing in his head.
Soon, the entire room was in shambles. Anything not vital to his plan was destroyed, lying in ruins on the cold, metal ground of the lab. He stood over the mess, shuddering in the aftermath of his fury-driven adrenaline rush, staring into the glass at his feet. Hundreds of tiny Zims—scratched and bruised—stared right back.
"I can conquer this planet with no one's help," he whispered. "Earth can easily be taken over in a few months once the plan is set in motion. It's fool-proof . . ."
His reflections appeared to mock him. "But is it Zim-proof?" they seemed to say. "Remember, you're nothing. A failure. Someone as short as you could never be destined for anything better than a footrest for the Almighty Tallest." The hallucinated voices sounded eerily like that of his leaders, and even took on the tones of other Invaders he'd known while attending the academy. "You're flawed," they continued. "You're weak."
"Zim is not weak!!" he hollered, but warm tears were already beginning to well up in his eyes, only fueling his rage. Growling, he kicked the glass shards away, focusing all his hurt on obliterating that which was not useful to him. In his mind, showing—no, feeling any emotion that did not pertain to the task at hand was weak. Pain was weak, and so it would be converted to anger. Anger was the polar opposite. Anger meant power and power meant determination and determination is what he needed to go through with his plans, to prove the Tallest wrong and show them that he was destined to be an Invader.
"Zim is not weak," he repeated, pausing for a moment to stabilize his quaking body and steady his staggering breaths. Once composed, he stumbled into the elevator, supporting himself on the translucent wall. "Take me to ground level, Computer."
As the lift whirred to life and began its ascent, Zim put pressure against his eyelids to relieve the oncoming headache. Deep, purple blood was beginning to dribble from the cuts that lined the side of his face and he idly brushed it away, trying to ignore the sting that came with touching a fresh wound. "I can do this on my own," he reassured himself. "No doubt it'll take longer, but the pitiful humans will be too busy suffering to put up any resistance. Once the Tallest see that I've conquered an entire planet on my own, they'll realize my worth." Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Irken had doubts that his leaders would give him any recognition even if he vanquishd an entire galaxy of planets, but the perpetual megalomanic part of him—humbled as it was—refused to acknowledge these suspicions. There was also a small part of him that wouldn't allow himself to lose faith in the Tallest, the part containing the loyalty that had been drilled into him from day one.
On ground level, the trashcan in the kitchen popped open as the elevator came to a stop. Zim jumped down just in time to hear the doorbell ring.
"I'LL GET IT!" GIR, already disguised, announced from his position in front of the TV. He hopped up with a squeak and scampered to the door, all set to open it before he heard a snarl from his master.
"GIR, do NOT open that door!"
Cyan eyes turned red as the little SIR saluted. "Yes, my master!" His natural color restored as he ran to the closet where the paternal decoy was kept. "How 'bout this door?!" he asked, not waiting for an answer as he opened the closet and flung himself inside with a squeal, slamming the door behind him. "Hello, cheese sammich! You grew a beard!"
For a moment, Zim stared at the closet blankly, his eye twitching in response to the madness. He shook his head as the doorbell rang once again, bringing his attention back to reality. Making his way across the room, he stopped at the door, nearly glaring a hole through it as he placed his hand at its center, intent on seeing who the unwelcome visitor was before opening the door. Though, he already had an idea of who it was . . .
The door rippled around his hand and seemed to fade away, allowing him to see the scowling face of his enemy.
Zim's eyes narrowed, his own expression darkening. "I knew it . . ."
Though the alien could see him, Dib could see no further than the door itself. Without a moment's hesitation, he raised a tightened fist and began pounding ferociously at the obstruction, his face flushed with anger. "I know you're in there, ZIM," he bellowed. "I heard you yelling at your robot, so you might as well just open the damned door!"
Sighing, Zim pulled his hand away and the door rematerialized. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about . . ." Suddenly, his morose countenance turned to one of wicked glee as an arm darted out of his ID Pak and handed him a syringe full of the same blue liquid found in his lab. "No matter," he murmured. He held the needle at eye level, a lopsided grin twisting his features. "The sooner we end this little game, the better." The arm retracted and Zim firmly gripped the syringe, slipping into an aggressive stance. Resting his free hand on the doorknob, he gingerly turned it until hearing the satisfying click, now intent on swinging the door open and stabbing his enemy with the needle.
What he hadn't counted on, however, was Dib throwing himself into the door before the Irken had a chance to react. He found himself flung backwards, making a loud thud and a few muffled curses as his back collided with the floor. During the fall, the syringe had flown out of his hand and was now rolling away, circling to a stop about four feet from him. Before he could make a reach for it, though, Dib had descended on him like a lion to its prey, securely pinning the alien's arms to the floor.
"Listen, Zim," the human growled, his face just inches away from Zim's own. "I know what you're planning and don't think for a minute that I'll let you get away—"
"Impertinent stinkbeast, release me!"
"Let me finish!" Feeling Zim's attempts to break free, Dib applied more pressure, affectively diminishing the Irken's thrashing to a pathetic struggle. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? I mean, you hid it pretty well for a while, but plans to drop nuclear bombs on people wouldn't be able to stay under wraps for long!"
Zim ceased his escape effort entirely. "Eh?"
Dib blinked at the clueless expression on the alien's face, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. "What do you mean, 'eh?' Isn't that your plan?"
Tilting his head to the side, Zim furrowed his brows in a thoughtful manner. "No, but it's not a bad idea . . ."
Dib inwardly cursed himself, his face glowing with fury at the possibility of giving his adversary ideas. "Then . . . what's the aflatoxin for?"
A thoughtful demeanor faded to that of a malicious, tooth-baring grin. "Wouldn't you like to know."
The human flinched at the sight, gulping involuntarily. The fear he'd been feeling earlier was now returning with a vengeance, sending a repressed chill down his spine and causing him to become speechless for the moment. What could be said, anyway? And what could be done? He'd went there in blind rage with no weapons or plan of attack—an incredibly stupid mistake on his part. Showing his fear would do no good, though and besides, he was still in a position of dominance.
That thought caused him to smirk as he dug his fingernails into the Irken's arms, delighted at the wince Zim made. "Whatever you're planning, you know I'll find out about it sooner or later. You never were very good at hiding your schemes, even the good ones—rare as those were."
As much as the words stung, Zim let the boy ramble; he'd learned long ago that Dib's mouth was one of the human's own weaknesses, distracting his mind as he listened to his own, noble speeches. Taking advantage of the situation, the Irken slowly snaked a pointed spider leg out of his ID Pak and poised it above his head, preparing it to strike.
"—and even though a couple years have gone by, don't think I'm not as sharp as I was before—" Dib continued to talk as Zim reared his spider leg back—"No matter what you're going to do, I'll never let you—" and brought it down on the boy's shoulder—"AUGH!"—piercing through leather, fabric, flesh, and tissue before retracting, all done in one, swift motion.
Cringing, Dib withdrew one of his hands to grab the injured shoulder, surprised to find it already drenched in blood.
With the boy's attention diverted, Zim wasted no time in putting his newly freed arm to use. He drew back a fist and struck forward with all his might, belting Dib in the jaw so hard, it sent the human hurtling into the door, slamming it shut.
"Ugh . . ." Still clutching his wound, Dib slid down the door until he was nearly lying on his back, dazedly gazing at the ceiling as a trail of blood slithered down the side of his mouth from Zim's blow. His mind buzzed with a whirl of thoughts, from 'Run!' and 'Strike back!' to 'Just close your eyes,' but his body refused to cooperate with any of them. He merely lied there, groaning as the pain in his shoulder throbbed harder with each heartbeat, vaguely hearing a shuffling sound over the hum in his ears.
That shuffling was Zim quickly scrambling to his feet and grabbing the syringe from the floor. "You want to know what I'm planning, DIB?" he snarled, spitting out his enemy's name as if it was a rancid food. With an almost cat-like grace, he lunged forward in a blur of speed, immediately coiling his fingers around the human's neck and hoisting him up and against the door. "Why don't I just show you?" While one hand busied itself with holding Dib at bay, the other held the needle dangerously close to his throat.
Zim grinned maliciously, delighting in the strangled whimpers that escaped Dib's mouth. "Poor little Dib, so useless in the eyes of your own people," A short pause as he brought his face inches away from that of his adversary's. "But I can make you useful."
It took most of his strength, but Dib managed to bring his hand up and wrap it around the Irken's wrist, his grasp firm enough to keep the syringe from coming any closer. "What . . . what are you talking about?"
"You can be my guinea pig," was the alien's threatening reply. "While I'm certain my plan will work, there's no point in taking any chances, is there? Besides . . ." The grin darkened. "I wouldn't mind watching you suffer."
Dib's hold on Zim began weakening, the pain in his shoulder becoming almost unbearable; he could now feel the blood soaking through his shirt and slowly running down the side of his stomach. In addition, his vision was becoming fuzzy, but he forced himself to look Zim in the eyes, searching for familiarity.
But there was none. This was not the Zim he knew two and a half years ago.
In his weakened state, the only thing he could do was wonder, "What happened to you?"
The question threw Zim off for a moment, but he assumed the boy was referring to the cuts on his face. He frowned disdainfully, applying a bit more pressure to his captive's neck. "I assure you, you have more to worry about than my flesh wounds, DIB-beast."
Dib shook his head in response. "No, that's not what I mean . . ." At this point, his grip on Zim's wrist was barely a loose grasp, but the alien had made no further attempt to insert the needle; at least, not at the moment. "You're not the same as . . . as you used to be . . . what happened to you?"
Instantly, Zim's expression grew dim, narrowing his ruby eyes to mere slits. "Oh, you mean the sorry Invader who was sent to a planet no one was even sure existed? The Irken who was given a piece of GARBAGE for a robot assistant? The one who was laughed at behind his back, ridiculed, walked upon, and joked about by his leaders? The one who was NOTHING? Is THAT who you're talking about?" His voice grew louder with each recalled event, but the pain that inevitably accompanied the remembrance of such incidents presented itself as well, forcing him to lower his head for a moment as he composed himself.
Dib's eyes softened knowingly. "Is that what they did to you?"
No response.
The human shook his head to clear the black spots that were beginning to dot his vision. On the bright side, the aching in his shoulder appeared to be dissipating and, in fact, his entire arm was beginning to feel numb. The latter is not a good sign, he reminded himself, yet the only way he could possibly receive any care for his wound was if he could somehow get away from Zim. Maybe sympathizing would help. "Look, if it means anything, I think I understand what you might be—"
Zim's head immediately shot up, his hand putting more weight on Dib's neck until he was all but strangling the boy. "No, you don't! Do not compare your inferior stinkbeast problems to my own! There is no way a substandard little worm like you could possibly understand what it's like to be me!" He watched as Dib's struggle increased, eyes closed, choked gasps escaping a mouth that was still flowing with fresh layers of blood. He observed, though vacantly, as his mind was busy elsewhere, recalling points in time when the human had been openly mocked and beaten up by his peers—by the very people he was trying to protect. Something suddenly clicked.
The human has been through similar experiences, he thought, mulling over this sudden realization, although it only helped stimulate the resentment towards his adversary. Dib was a human, a pitiful, unintelligent, lowly stinkbeast; such a second-rate creature could never understand the greater troubles of an Irken.
How dare he even think of trying to identify with me! The alien tightened his grip more, triggering a gag from Dib as the color began draining from the human's face. Zim was once again trying to stab the syringe into the paling flesh, but stopped at the last minute, dropping his arm to the side as he studied Dib's flailing form. Further memories filled his mind, recollections of children pointing and laughing at Dib, calling him crazy, taunting him, embarrassing him every chance they got; and yet—despite all of it—the human, this pathetic little maggot, continued devoting his time to defending these ingrates. As much as Zim hated to stoop to Dib's level, he had to admit that their situations were quite comparable. "Maybe you do know . . ."
He released his grip on the enemy's neck and took a step back.
Falling to his knees, Dib clutched his throat, panting. His vision became darker with each intake of breath and he had to focus all his will on remaining conscious. Luckily, it seemed to be working somewhat at least, being that he could see a bit more clearly. Gently, he pulled one side of his trench coat down and tried to examine the injury that lay beneath it, yet could make out no more than a significant amount of wet blood blotting his shirt.
"So why do you do it?"
Dib looked up to see Zim staring at him curiously, arms folded. "Why do I do what?"
"Why do you continue protecting a race that rejects you?"
Eyesight began fading, once more. The interior of the base became a shadow that framed the alien's figure, but Dib was determined not to break eye contact. "Why do you continue invading for a race that rejects you?"
Zim blinked and turned away, tilting his head thoughtfully. The human had a point, though he wouldn't acknowledge it aloud. It did raise some questions, however. Zim knew why he continued with Earth's invasion—to prove the Tallest wrong . . . but once he did that, then what? Was he so sure that anything would change at all? "Of course it will," he mumbled, yet that buried feeling of doubt managed to worm its head to the surface and gnaw persistently at Zim's brainstem, causing him to second-guess himself for the first time since revisiting Earth.
Perhaps this was something he should think about. "I'll save your torture for another night, Dib-thing," he muttered. "You're free to go, for now."
He expected some kind of response from the human, but received none.
"Dib-worm?"
As he turned back to face the boy, he was greeted with sight of Dib sprawled out on his floor, face down, and unconscious, his breaths coming out more than a bit shallow.
Blood was beginning to stain the carpet.
- end chapter 6 -
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Ugh.. I'm sorry. I know this chapter, at times, moves too slow, and at other points, moves too fast. I had two betas, but neither could pinpoint what was wrong with this. I was hoping to hear from Tif before I posted it, but I'll be moving this weekend, the computer will be gone, the cable modem will be disconnected, and I have no idea when I'll be online next. I wanted to post this before TOO much time passed.. Anyway, like I said, I'm sorry for this chapter's suckiness and I SWEAR I will make it up next chapter.
Thanks to Bryan and KelseyChan, as well as Tif for beta reading the first half. I wish I could have waited for you to get to the rest!
SO! What IS that blue liquid that keeps popping up everywhere? What will happen to poor, blood-deprived Dib? And will GIR ever come out of the closet?! Find out in the (hopefully) more exciting chapter 7 of Something More! YAY!