Italics are thoughts.

~Italics~ are the speech of 'the doubt.'

Reviews of any kind are welcome but actual constructive criticism is most welcome.

Zim regained consciousness with three facts becoming immediately apparent to him. The first being that his senses were all turned off save a rather muted version of sensation. The second, he felt like he had spent a few minutes in an atom smasher and the third was the distinct feeling that something was wrong. An innate sense that something was… off. He pushed the feeling back as he focused on the matter at hand – getting back online. While he was technically an organic creature, irkens in general shared many characteristics with the computers and machines they operated. For instance, after a total shutdown of everything but the most basic of life processes, the irken body needs to 'boot' up each part of its 'hardware.' While it may seem like a weakness from being the bizarre hybrid that was an irken, it was much better than the traditional 'unconscious' state that most other organics experienced.

With a few deft signals to his PAK, his body began to reanimate in a rather slow and deliberate matter, taking care to not ruin anything with an improper amount of electrical stimulation. 'Feel' came roaring back to life, leaving him to silently suffer from soreness even as his other senses came back one by one. Everything was blurry and distinctly grey-scale upon opening his eyes, but both color and clarity was restored after a minor diagnostic verified that he still had eyes and being able to see properly would be quite helpful. His first few muddled thoughts came to an abrupt halt once he realized exactly what he was looking at. Space. Or rather, space and the rather little text bar situated in the bottom right of his vision that read along with numerous other helpful info: 'SPACE_SUIT_STATUS_NOT_DETECTED.' Zim could only feel a vague sense of bitter complacence about that. His luck had never been that great.

However, considering he was breathing rather well and no alarms were showing up on his display, he figured he was not in danger of dying just yet. He couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing at the moment as his body continued to throb and ache painfully. Now able to move the rest of his muscles as his body came fully came online, Zim moved his head around to see that he was back in Tak's ship, seated on the pilot's chair rather haphazardly and that it was moving at a steady clip to...somewhere.

~How do you feel?~

Somehow, Zim was actually a bit glad to hear Oz's voice.

"Terrible, but functional."

He closed his eyes to give them a break from the rather brilliant light given off the ship's console and rested his body back on the seat. The ex-invader felt very drained and lighted headed. Just how long had he been out?

~You've been out for about twenty Earth hours. You received major damage from the hunter killer you fought. Needed a lot of time for your PAK to reactivate you.~

Zim let OZ's words filter through his mind at a snail pace. He just felt so tired and drained that it was hard to think. Still, the mention of the robot he had faced and his injuries sparked a question.

"How did you get me back onto Tak's ship?"

~Thankfully, one of the PAK's legs survived the blast. With you shut down, I gained control of it and dragged you out to the hanger. The lock down had ended after the hunter-killer was killed by you and after a bit of low-powered laser shots from the sole PAK leg, you were sealed enough to move. Or rather you were as good as I could get you. I was a bit worried with all the holes in your suit that you would suffocate before I could get you all the way to the hanger, but it turned out alright. Tak's ship was helpful after I was able to interface with it. It may be brain dead after what Dib did to it, but it still has some rather helpful repair protocols still in is operating system. I got all the PAK's legs restored and gave you enough of a boost to allow your PAK to do the rest of your healing over time. Had to make a trip back to the storage room, then moved everything back onto the ship and set off. Didn't like the idea of waiting for any more surprises in that place.~

All in all, Zim felt a grain of appreciation for Oz now. The little virus had actually saved his life most likely. Still, what he had said was a bit worrying. He had been able to control the PAK after he lost consciousness? No matter how grateful Zim may have been, he rather didn't like the idea of anyone being able to control any part of him, but there was little he could do about that at the moment. For now, he choose to ignore the problem and just relax into his chair. Reactivation was hell on an irken, no matter how slow and delicate. They were still made of flesh and bones, and those components didn't take kindly to being run like hardware in a computer. But Zim just needed some rest and he would be back on his feet in no time.

A moment of stillness passed as Zim stayed silent and simply lay back into the pilot's seat, not particularly enthusiastic about moving ever again. However, as his mind cleared, something OZ had said had stood out.

"Why did you go back to the storeroom?"

~... I needed to scavenge some parts from the robot.~

Zim let a beat pass before his face scrunched up in confusion.

"Parts for what?"

~You were damaged Zim... and there wasn't much choice. So I had to get creative.~

Zim felt a leaden weight settle in his zebrek.

"Parts. For. What?"

~How does your right arm feel?

His right arm chose this time to throb in a dull but powerful burst of pain, making Zim hiss and close his eyes as he clutched his right arm with his left. However, instead of the the soft material of Tak's space suit and the yielding flesh underneath, he felt nothing but a cool hardness through the glove on his left hand. Already knowing that what he was gonna see would not be pleasant, Zim cracked open his eyes and turned them to regard his right side. The sleeve and the outermost shoulder part of the space suit and his uniform was gone, the edges straight and clean from a surgical tool of some type. Where once his normal arm was connected to his torso, a misshapen and rather crude metal parody of it resided. Grey metal plates encased the various sections of his shoulder blade; a support base for a hefty ball shaped joint that Zim recognized as one of the hunter-killer's 'hips.' The bicep section was one of the smaller segments of the the robot's legs and the forearm the same segment from the other leg, just cut down in size and apparently hammered so that is tapered into the 'wrist.' The hand was the only custom bit on the arm, a collection of servos and other robust hydraulics seemingly scavenged from whatever remained from the robot's neck components. The fingers where the same blade fingers that the machine had wielded, just down-sized into a vaguely appropriate size and dulled with the edge of a cutting laser. It was one of the most unsightly replacement limbs Zim had ever seen and it was currently sending him constant waves of pain.

~I'm sorry about the pain you're feeling, but there wasn't enough 'touch' sensors in the arm for all your nerves to clip onto and the last thing I wanted to do was muck around with your nervous system, even while you were shut down. Be that as it may, the pain should lessen with time or whenever we get the proper time to perform some additional modifications.~

Zim continued to stare at his new limb, both dazed and dubious. He wasn't quite sure which one was more prevalent. Mechanical replacements for lost limbs was not a too uncommon sight for an Irken; but they usually were sleek and almost unnoticeable or at least exquisitely constructed. An Irken missing a limb was like a gear missing a few of its teeth, so the Armada made a great to do about getting their warriors the best when it came to such extreme damage. Zim's new arm, in comparison, was ugly and mismatched. Oz had clearly done all he could with the tools he had and the precise control of his PAK legs, but considering the hunter-killer looked like it had been constructed out of a junk pile, there was only so much they could be done. Still...

Zim clenched his new hand into a fist, the rather high pitched sound of metal scraping against metal was loud in the small cockpit. While it may have been crude, the power of the robot assassin had been obvious and it showed as Zim felt the immense strength of the arm's servos. The speed and agility of the hunter-killer gave witness to the fact that while it wasn't made to be shown off, it was effective. And well laminated considering it's hull had absorbed his laser shots like they was nothing. It also gave a him a rather grim trophy, a new arm make directly from the parts of the machine that had indirectly taken it from him. A rather disturbing thought if not for the fact he was technically already a cyborg the minute his PAK had been attached to him. Zim slowly uncurled his fist and regarded it for a few silent moments.

Well... better than no arm at least.

Turning his attention away from his throbbing cybernetic limb, Zim took a minute to study the spittle runner's control panel and couldn't help but be a bit perplexed at the destination Oz had apparently set while he was out.

"Zeb's Landing?"

~Well unless you can fully fix this ship with cleansing chalk and a pair of boots, we don't have much choice. We got to get this runner fixed before we do anything, and this is about the only place we can hope to find smuggled Irken parts. Everywhere else is either too small or guaranteed vaporization. There at least, we can get what we need and perhaps some information about who attacked us and left behind that robot assassin.~

Zim narrowed his eyes in thought, weighing the pros and cons. Going to Zeb's Landing, a semi-neutral space station that operated on the fringes of 'civilized' space, was risky... but he didn't have much choice. It was either that, or... nothing really. There was no other option that didn't end up with him dead or not finding what he needed. Besides, Zeb's Landing served as a huge trading post and resupply for all types of people. Chances of one of them knowing something useful about his attackers? Rather promising considering the size of the ship and material requirements needed for it to keep running. A ship of that size would almost be forced to visit or at least trade with Zeb's Landing at one time or another since it was the largest port that was not directly under the control of any one race and was dedicated to doing business with every race. Even Irkens could go there.

"Very well."

Indeed, Irkens could go there. That didn't mean they would be welcome or couldn't count on being blasted the minute they left the port though. Trying to ultimately conquer all of known space had a rather nasty consequence of upsetting everyone else in known space.

After Zim located one of the nearest map buoys that revealed the current coordinates of Zeb's Landing (due to its planned migration from sector to sector to never settle into one market for too long), he pulled his ill-fitting space suit off and tore off the ruined remains of his uniform. After a good stick of cleansing chalk, some salty chips and a new uniform; he started to feel pretty good again. While he was rather nonplussed over the fact his attackers had seemingly left him a starter kit for get-revenge-and-blow-shit-up rampage, he wasn't gonna complain. If they were willing to leave him alive and drop supplies in their wake, he'd play their game. At least until he could get his mismatched set of claws on them and give them the standard punishment dolled out by irkens. Death, with just a hint of sadistic and mechanically-assisted torture.

It only took a few days to get to Zeb's Landing, the repairs that Oz had been able to do on the space station allowing them to go much faster without the risk of suddenly exploding. Zim took that time to work out what kinks and familiarity issues he could with his new arm. Moving the arm as much as possible to get his brain used to its different motions and raise his hand-optical implant coordination as much as possible. He was still quite a bit off from perfect cohesion, but he could use it in a fight if he needed. For now though, his left hand was doing the majority of his typing and piloting.

Their entry into the declared neutral space that radiated out from the space port was noted by a single repeated message in mathematical code, the only type of universal language most of the universe could agree on, and then translated into irken by the ship. It was long-winded on purpose; but the main highlights were 'everyone is welcome,' 'any location within a million kilometers of Zeb's Landing is neutral territory' and 'fuck with us or our rules and you die.' And a soon as it came within sight, it was easy to see why the space port had little to be afraid of. It was truly massive in scale; an almost cylinder like structure that was around 20,000 kilometers tall and 6,000 kilometers in diameter. Bristling in laser cannons and shield arrays, even the Massive would have trouble cracking open Zeb's Landing. And that was before the thousands of mercs and traders ganged up on it or Zeb's landing would just teleport away to the next sector. It's a fortress, trading post and galactic pit stop all in one. If you needed something and you weren't affiliated with any of the more powerful races in the universe, your best bet was Zeb's.

It didn't take long to get closer to the space port and receive an automated direction to the least crowded docking port. Said docking port was little more than a huge rectangular opening in the hull with several levels of landing pads and a viscous shield to let ships in and out, but keep the atmosphere in. Just from a glance, he could see several dozen different species represented in the ships located around the port.

However, one particular ship caught his eye, an Vortian Zirack-Class troop carrier. Nothing too usual about that, because after the Disaster of Sector Y-32, the Vortian fleet had been effectively destroyed as a fighting force and the surviving ships had scattered all over the galaxy even as the Irken Armada made for their home world. Many of said ships had since then become rather popular to own due to their highly advanced capabilities compared to the grand majority of races' space vessels. So it wasn't too strange to see one here, but it was strange to see it still sporting the Imperial Vortian Crest proudly on its side and still in relatively good working order, despite the notoriously complicated Vortian mechanisms. It didn't take a genius to figure out that meant that was at least one bitter, vengeance-thirsty Vortian in Zeb's Landing, and considering the craft was meant to carry at least two dozen troops along with four crew – there was likely to be many more than one Vortian who would love to make his head their trophy. Typical. He'd have to be careful.

Gliding into his allotted docking pad, Zim set his ship down as gently as he could and let loose a small breathe. He'd made it without blowing up, so... positives. Now he'd just have to find a unlikely merchant of Irken parts, avoid any species which the Irkens had pissed off at one time or another, survive long enough to repair his ship, scrounge up any info he could on the owners of the gigantic stealth ship that had attacked him... and he had no money. Simple enough. After securing all his supplies in the back of the ship, depositing a sole laser pistol into his pack, and making sure all the still functioning security functions were activated; Zim disengaged the bubble shield over the cockpit and climbed out onto the docking pad. Making a quick scan of the area to see if he'd be gunned down as soon as he set down, he reactivated the bubble and stalked off to the entrance, doing his best to avoid the other visitors that walked and mingled around him.

As expected, the entrance was heavily guarded by space station's policing force, the so-called Zeb's Landing Justicars. A highly sophisticated name, but not unwarranted. The Justicars were recruited from the common rabble that regularly passed through the station as it roamed the galaxy, taking the myriad aliens that space had to offer and then beating them into shape. A couple months of brutal training, armed with heavy laser rifles, shock sticks at their sides, decked out in the blue and gray full-bodied armor of the Justicars, gold badges emblazoned with 'ZLJ' on their chest plates and faces hidden by blacked-out visors – they were an imposing sight. It also didn't hurt they were an army unto themselves with tens of thousands stationed throughout the station. They kept the rabble under control, made sure business went smoothly and further advanced the view that attacking the thriving space port was nigh lunacy for anyone.

Zim could almost feel their eyes on him the moment he filed into the mass of aliens passing through the entrance, so it wasn't very surprising that when he got to the loose line of justicars, the one nearest to him stepped in his way and stopped him.

~Just keep it cool Zim.~ OZ whispered before disappearing back into Zim's PAK, busy with whatever faulty code could be busy with.

Dispelling what little irritation he felt, Zim looked up into the black visor of the justicar and saw by his shape that he was of the planetjacker species, big and muscle-bound. The justicar remained silent for a while, studying Zim intently, before his helmet's purposefully static-laced speaker spoke.

"What's your purpose here, Irken?" the justicar demanded even as Zim saw two additional justicars heading their way through the crowd.

Zim's eyes slid back to look at the towering guard before clicking his tongue in irritation, another annoyingly human tick he had picked up with being among them for so long.

"Looking for some parts for my ship." Zim said smoothly even as the justicar's companions flanked him on either side.

A heavy pause passed as Zim felt their eyes examine him, gauging both him and his words.

"And why does an Irken need to be at Zeb's Landing to find said parts? Last I heard you guys conquered and created another blasted storage world not too far from here." The justicar at his right, some sort of birdlike alien he not familiar with, questioned.

Zim could hear a small measure of disgust in that one's voice, but he ignored it as he pressed on.

"I'm no longer part of the Irken Empire or its Armada," Zim stated even as they left a slightly bitter state in his mouth, "so this is the best place to look for any loose parts for my vessel."

Another pregnant pause occurred, the idea that the justicars were conversing on their personal radios with their command center a very real possibility in Zim's mind. Most liking trying to get a ruling on whether to let him pass or not. Thankfully, Irkens were notoriously xenophobic and proud to the point of almost lunacy. The fact that Zim had disavowed his ties to his empire and willingly let himself consort with aliens, it would go a long way to proving that he was indeed a rouge irken and was there for business. That and the fact no properly supplied member of the Irken Empire would allow the bulky monstrosity that was his right arm be his replacement limb. And... the rather ramshackle looking ship he had arrived in. He must of looked for all the universe to be a penniless refugee, which was really want he counted on to be admitted in. The Justicars were committed in keeping the business flowing and if Zim was indeed here for the business he so urgently needed, they would let him in.

The justicar that had stopped him suddenly moved aside and addressed him. "Go on in, but we'll have our eyes on you irken. Stay out of trouble or else."

Zim strode past them without a word and entered Zeb's Landing proper, the eyes that he felt burning into his back never wavering.

The immense size of Zeb's Landing truly surprised Zim, with its seemingly endless honeycomb of shops, food courts, bars, stores, warehouses, guard towers, elevators, etc. All of it seemingly hastily thrown together but still organized in the different tiers and levels of the space port's interior. It was crowded, noisy and almost everyone seemed to take notice of the rather tall irken as he made his way through the different levels and streets. However, thanks to a rather helpful digital map on a wall he soon found his way to the largest spaceship parts dealer in the port. 'Janko's' read the sign on the door, and while it seemed fairly standard; the building itself took up a whole section of the level it was on. Nearly a billion square meters in size and apparently only the 'showroom' for Janko's operation, the short business summary on the map mentioning several other warehouses in both Zeb's Landing and on other worlds. If anyone was gonna have irken parts, it was gonna be him.

It was honestly a surprise when Zim stepped into the building to find himself in a small, dimly lit, sparsely furnished waiting room with a long service counter. It was completely empty save a single insect-looking alien behind the counter, but he was partially hid in shadow.

"Ah, finally. You made it. Come closer irken, so we might deal."

Though he knew he was expected and whoever had addressed him felt comfortable enough to make it clear he had been watched, Zim didn't have much choice in the matter and strode up to the counter. A quick glance behind him confirmed an almost silent grinding sound he had hear, the door was gone. There would be no interruptions apparently.

Walking up the alien with an ease he did not feel, Zim could finally see it was an insect of some type. Nearly seven feet tall, exo-skeleton mostly a dull black, and seemed to be a cross between a ant and a cockroach. Oh... and glowing red eyes. Because that's what Zim needed; a large, menacing looking insect who was interested in making 'deals' with him. Zim cycled up the servos that controlled his mechanical arm just in case. As he stopped right in front of the counter, the alien in question leaned forward into the light and smiled. Its teeth were rotten, but sharp and serrated. Zim saw a resemblance to the 'smiles' of the Earth's sharks.

"Hello Zim, my name is Janko, the owner of this...quaint establishment," the now named Janko said in its species' buzzy vocals.

Zim felt his pulse quick a bit before settling when he heard his name. Janko seemed to notice and smiled a bit wider.

"Yes I know who you are. We don't get Irkens... almost at all here at the Landing, so when you arrived you caused a bit of a stir. Didn't take long to match you to a Irken named 'Zim.' Only one invader had been sent to this backwater sector and he was the one that had nearly destroyed his own world. You don't blow up half the planet of one of the most powerful Empires in the universe without your name being spread around. Some short little fool named Zim."

Janko stopped to look Zim up and down even though Zim knew it was only for dramatic effect. The vile insect had probably inspected every inch of him through unseen cameras the minute he set foot on the space port. The ex-invader felt the overwhelming need to stick his metallic claws into Janko's eye sockets, but held back with steely control.

"You aren't short anymore, and from the look of that arm and that look in your eyes... I'm guessing you're not much of a fool anymore... hopefully. I'll cut straight to the point Irken, as it seems you're getting ready to try and tear my head off. A need a capable someone to do a few jobs for me."

Janko's eyes burned into Zim's as his smile held.

"A capable someone who could, in exchange for these few jobs, be given some misplaced Irken ship parts, supplies and whatever else he wants in payment."

The smile disappeared.

"A capable someone who just so happens to be part of the most hated empire in the universe and has a lot of enemies on Zeb's Landing. A capable someone who would benefit from the protection the job and its handlers entails."

Zim felt his insides go cold as the threat rang clear and true. Janko had trapped him with no way out. It was done and over before Zim even had a choice. If he refused, he would die. If he ran, he would die. If he killed Janko, he would die... and Gir's killers would remain alive. That thought solidified his answer. He had to find those responsible and rend them into tiny little pieces. If it meant working with an apparent criminal, who even now threatened his life, so be it. He needed to stay alive and supplied. Janko, in a twisted way, was offering both up as long as Zim played by his tune for a time.

Zim reached up with his metallic arm and shook Janko's proffered hand. Zim tightened his hand just enough for it to be mildly painful and stared at the parts' broker with a fake smile. Janko's death at a later date would not sadden the ex-invader. He had always wanted to test how much their exoskeletons could hold to a hydraulic press.