Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"How many times do I have to tell ya, human? It'll take more than a couple of your shitty lasers to take this ship down." A burly, purple-skinned, man leans forward in his commander's chair.

His second-in-command-- a four-legged, four-armed, beanpole of a man-- sits onto the arm of the chair with a sneer. "Ya call those, lasers? I've seen torkle-pups play with brighter, more threatening torkle laser pointers! What you've got is-- like, nothing to this bad boy!" He stomps his foot down.

“HEY! THAT SHIP WAS DESIGNED BY MY HAND AND ENGINEERED BY OUR BEST! WATCH YOUR TONGUES, SPOOFLY!”

“Sorry, Commander Borgz.”

In the awkward silence that follows, Borgz and Spoofly look anywhere but at the screen and each other.

The human burps obnoxiously, catching their attention.

“YOU HUMANS ARE REVOLTING! COVER YOUR MOUTH!” The Commander hollers as Spoofly cowers behind his chair, muttering about the germs.

“Bitch, we ain’t even in the same ship-- WOAH!” The human turns the steer in a hard jerk to the right, her ship dodging the missile fired by the much larger spacecraft. Her panic settles and she gives a wry look to the purple-alien-commander who appears through her video hologram. "Ya added missile launchers to the back of your shitshow of a ship. Well, Shankshaw Redemption, motherfucker. 'The Sisters' been givin' ya trouble lately, Andy Dufresne? Had enough of it, huh?! Don't like it from the back entrance, huh?" She mocks and jams onto the video-game-like controls in front of her.

"No one gets your obscure references, Earthling!" Borgz shouts.

"Means you gotta be one paranoid son uva gun to add weapons to the back of your ship! Learn to play offense, alien!" She taunts. Avoiding another missile launched at her, her ship barrel-rolls to the side.

“Oh, you think you’re on the offense?” Borgz cackles and waves his hand to his crew and soon the ship erupts into laughter along with him. He sharply inhales and holds his hand up, pausing their laughter. “Okay, have fun with that.”

The video call shuts off and (Y/n) has full view of her front now as it dive-bombs down towards the planet they were orbiting. She doesn’t hesitate to follow behind him, swallowing to deal with the rapid increase in pressure. ‘Human problems,’ she reminds herself. The planet and its inhabitants grow in size as she gets closer and closer, still tailing the ship relentlessly. Purple trees and tall yellow houses come into view much faster than she anticipates.

Before she has a moment to second-guess, the commander’s ship does a 90° hairpin turn upwards and the nose of her ship is breaking through the cement road of an alien neighborhood. Her body lurches forward and she smacks her head on the control panel. If she wasn’t so extraordinarily short compared to Borgz-- his species was a tall one, on average reaching ten feet-- her legs would have been paralyzed underneath the crushed dashboard.

She wriggles her way out of the ship, broken glass cutting her limbs on the way out. Squinting her eyes past the planet’s bright star of a sun, she tries to spy Borgz’s ship. Passersby are running away letting out screams of bloody murder at the destruction of the crashing ship and the creepy-looking alien that pays them no mind, too focused on the task at hand.

At the corner of the street, she notices a high-tec telescope and rushes towards it, leaping over the battered body of the man she hit in the crash.

Her steps slow to a halt once she reads the bright yellow sign above the telescope. “Yo, anybody got a quarter?”

They only scream and continue to flee the scene.

She clicks her tongue and fishes around in her pockets-- finding only a button, some lint, and a tooth she kept as a souvenir from a place she no longer remembers. At the resounding click of someone pulling the hammer back on a gun, she looks down to see the man who had managed to drag his withering body over to her only to point a weapon in her face.

He's sobbing in pain and panting heavily as he tries to position his gun to aim for her head. She was more interested in his face, however, something about it is strikingly familiar to her but she just can’t put her finger on it. Through his gasping, snotty, breaths she can make out: “YOU’LL PAY… YOU--YOU’LL PAY. Oh Glob, it hurts-- YA HEAR ME, ALIEN?! YOU’LL--”

“You got a quarter?”

“DO I GOT A-- Actually, I might.” He winces as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out several red coins, that were actually the size of American dimes on Earth’s standards. Just as she remembers: the Groigols are a polite species.

“I just need the one, thanks.” Once the telescope is accessible, she leans down to the eyehole and searches the bright skies.

“HEY, WAIT!”

She doesn’t look away from the telescope but answers him nonetheless. “What?”

“I’M NOT DONE WITH YOU, YET! YOU, YOU-- WHAT EVEN THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

“Human.”

“Hyooman,” he mocks her. “Even your voice is dumb. Hey! Hey, look at me while I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes water when the telescope lingers on the sun for too long. “Busy.” She wipes away the tears.

“I’VE GOT A GUN!”

“So do drug dealers, so do police, so do 16-year-old white boys if they know where their daddies hide the key-- you’re not special.”
“I’ll shoot!”

Instead of fear when looking at the gun-wielding alien thirsty for revenge, she's met with confusion. “Hey, I swear I know you from somewhere--”

“YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR SHIP--!”

“OHHHH!” She leans on the telescope lazily. “Yeah, yeah. Now I remember you! You were all like, ‘Wahh!’” She sticks her tongue out and flails her arms around.

“You’ll pay! Ya hear me!”

She turns back to the telescope “Yeah, totally, dude. I got you on that quarter--”

“FOR MY LEGS!”

“Your legs?”

“JUST LOOK AT ‘EM!”

She continues to search the skies.

“LOOK AT ‘EM!”

He is ignored.

“GLOB DANG IT, LOOK AT MY LEGS!”

The telescope’s lens go black as her timer shuts. She rolls out her shoulders and stretches her back. “Damn, timer went out.”

“Oh, I gotchu.” The man holds up the handful of quarters again and as she reaches for the coins she finally looks at his broken appendages.

“What’s the problem? You seem fine to me.”

The four-legged man leans on his right side, exposing the two left legs that were bent at all sorts of angles. “Are you kidding me?”

“You really only need the two.” She continues her search and to her joy, she spots Borgz’s ship right away.

A deep growl reverberates from the man’s throat. Before he can berate his attacker, high-pitched sirens cut him off and four police cruisers pull up next to the street corner. The blue-skinned, four-legged cops climb out of their cars, guns ready.

“GET DOWN!”

“PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!”

“SIR, ARE YOU OKAY?”

“I’m good!” The Groigol man answers despite his bleeding limbs. “And--uh, how are you?”

“I’m great. Thank you for asking.”

“How’s this weather we’re havin’, eh?” The partially paralyzed Groigol asks.

“Hot! Man, so hot. Damn, imagine in the old days if we still had rubber tires, ooh boy, we’d be in for a treat! The rubber would melt right on the pavement!” The cop is joined in his laughter.

Seeing a window for her escape, (Y/n) dashes towards the cruisers and slides across the hood of one.

“OPEN FIRE!” A cop yells, just as (Y/n) jumps onto the hood of another but this time, teleporting to be in the vacant driver’s seat. She ducks for cover from the bullets, but luckily, the car has bullet-proof glass. Equipping her pen-shaped device, she gets to work on hacking into the vehicle just as Borgz had taught her. It’s just like hot-wiring except without all the… wires. At the beautiful hum of the engine, she slams onto the gas and peels out of the neighborhood. In her rearview mirror, she is happy to see that the cops are taking their time getting into their cars.

‘You should never leave a gathering without saying goodbye, of course!’

She easily spots Borgz’s ship hovering above her in the sky. Once she navigates her way through the neighborhood and the controls of the car, she is able to activate flight mode. Two wings sprout from the doors of the car and like a rocket it takes off into the skies. It seems Borgz has given up on watching and waiting for her as she was able to sneak up behind the ship.

As she flies the police cruiser near the much larger aircraft, she uses her teleporter to get herself inside, somersaulting straight into a wall. With a groan, she pulls herself up. A large explosion from underneath the ship-- that may or may not be related to the abandoned, high-speed, police-plane-- causes the ship to quake and she stumbles back down.

“‘Bout time you made an appearance, (Y/n).”

“Spoofly,” she greets with a nod, getting to her knees.

The tall, lanky alien blocks the door to the control room with all eight of his limbs. In two arms he holds submachine guns. “You may have used that little piece-of-shit teleporter-toy of yours to get you on the ship, but let’s see it get you out of THIS!” At the last word, he sends a barrage of bullets her way and he squints to aim at her blurry figure through the ricocheting shells. Lowering his weapons, he blows smoke out of one of the barrels in satisfaction. His eyes narrow as he looks for the girl--

“Behind you,” she gasps out, panting from the bullets she had to dodge.

He isn’t quick enough to block her punch. But, when she brings her fist forward again, he catches it in his one free hand, and the other free hand catches her second punch. She glowers up at the tall alien who has her trapped. Her scowl morphs into a small smile though when she beckons him closer. He leans down far enough for her to suddenly smack her forehead against his. He recoils when she slugs him in the gut and grabs his shoulders to drive her knee into his chest, knocking the wind right out of him.

“Let’s call that a truce, okay?” She asks as he heaves on the ground. (Y/n) grabs one of his guns. She punches in the code to enter the control room and waltzes through the door.

She cocks her gun and sways her hips to the side, trying to seem intimidating. “Aw, I hate to crash this party, but I’m guessing my invite got lost in the mail?” She pouts.

Borgz spins around in his chair, petting a fuzzy larva with ten eyes. “You weren’t invited!”

“You’re welcome to some cake,” a short, insect-looking alien in a lab coat and party hat offers.

“No, Oggy, that cake is yours to enjoy!” Borgz yells.

“Oh, yeah, happy 256th birthday, Oggy,” (Y/n) tells him.

“Thank you.” The bug-eyed alien smiles.

“Anyway,” (Y/n) turns her attention back to the Commander.

“Anyway.”

“I think you know why I’m here. I’ve come back to take what’s rightfully mine!” (Y/n) raises her gun to Borgz’s forehead. “I believe I’ve got the upper hand here.”

He narrows his eye at her and leans forward in his chair causing the tiny larva to scuttle off his lap. He growls at her lowly, his thick lekku standing on end, and he bares his razor-sharp teeth. He stands and slowly paces towards the shorter girl, each step making the metal under him creak. (Y/n) watches him in anticipation, she purses her lips and bristles as he reaches behind his belt to pull out--

“Mew!”

The device cries and in a second it's in (Y/n)’s hands who cradles it like a mother to her newborn Xaldruk-pup. “Who missed her mommy?” She coos at the game. “You want a cupcake? You get ten cupcakes, oh yes you do!”

“Damn, (Y/n)! You’re getting better and better at this! Our chases are coming to an end much too quickly,” Blorgz says with a hearty chuckle.

(Y/n) has to hold back her own evil laughter. ‘Little do you know, I’m about to give you the run of your life! But, for now…’ She tosses the gun to the side. “Yeah, much too fast. And much too easy this time. Where’s the challenge?! You’ve lost your touch,” (Y/n) taunts.

Spoofly lets out a moan from where he lies crumpled on the floor. “Guys, I think I can feel my gatzerspooch in my ribcage. Is that normal?”

Borgz sighs. “Medic?”

“On it,” a furry, yellow-skinned woman says as she gets up from her seat, scuffling away like a bug.

(Y/n) goes back to giving her virtual pet the virtual love it missed out on during their game of keep-away.

“I don’t understand you, Earthlings,” Borgz tells her.

“Bitch, this isn’t even an Earth thing. I got this from the Splorf-mart, don’t be speciesist.” She continues to tap away at her tiny handheld gaming device with an attached white stylus while getting comfy in her assigned seat next to Oggy.

“Can I get a turn?”

“Claws off, bug-boy.”

“It’s my birthday!”

She groans and hands it to him. “Hey! You’re gonna make her fat. Take her for a walk!”

“How do I do that?”

“Tap on the leash--”

Borgz drowns out the rest of their conversation once their bickering comes to a quick end. As long as his crew isn’t fighting, he’s happy. And although he likes their little game of tag, he's most satisfied when (Y/n) is in her assigned seat. That girl disappears far too often-- off doing her own thing, playing some new video game, fucking some random alien, or drinking booze she found on the side of the road-- or usually from a dead guy’s hands.

Death among the innocent is a natural occurrence in their line of work, but (Y/n) has a suspiciously high count of dead drunkards who just supposedly had bottles of liquor in their hand at the time of death. An obvious lie to mask a more horrible truth-- the last part. Which is strange-- it would be a lot easier for a girl with a teleportation device to just rob a liquor store than to target and assassinate innocent civilians. Of course, it’s even stranger the amount of effort she puts into staging such a thing.

‘What’s easier than robbing a liquor store yet more dastardly than killing an innocent man for his booze?’

It can make a Commander wonder.

Her pet game got him to thinking maybe she needs a leash.

“Oh, uh, Commander? I totally forgot to mention, the fuzz were called and I also maybe crashed one of their cars after stealing it.”

She definitely needs a leash. With a roll of his eye, he orders the navigator and driver to get back onto course. They have some runs to make and he has no interest in adding an entire police force to their hit-list.

Despite what that disastrous, fucked-up game of Tag demonstrates, The Forsakenz is more capable than your average rag-tag space crew. And it isn’t just due to the immense strength and deadly look of Borgz, commonly referred to as the Tank.

You had your medic, Veeka. She’d have been the galaxy’s number one doctor if the hospital she worked at remembered to stock her favorite soda. The gas station The Forsakenz used to be stationed at always had Fizz-Pop in stock and that’s all the convincing she needed.

And while Borgz is able to get a hold of a team of scientists at any time, it helps to have one that can travel with the crew in case of dire situations that require immediate attention. That’s where Oggy comes in.

But it should be noted that The Forsakenz got their start from the deadly assassin and expert marksman, Spoofly. He was the second-in-command and was deserving of such a position. He used to carry the title of never having once missed a target. That is until (Y/n) came along. To this day, he calls her a cheater.
There was some inevitable tension when (Y/n) joined The Forsakenz, being the newest recruit to the team. She acts as the spy, the intel, and her nack at teleportation is unprecedented and according to Borgz, a necessary tool to their cause.

Which brings up a wonderful inquiry: what is their cause? To ignore the pleasantries and tourner-autour-phrases that often come from people (who’d drop dead with a migraine from the immense change in barometric pressure if they ever had to step down from their skyscraper-of-a-pedestal) The Forsakenz is the alien-equivalent of a black market-- among many other similar crews working under a single power. Vaporizers, deadly robots, booze for minors, alien-slaves, they’ll even get the hostages for you! You want it? They have it. Think of it as overly-zealous supply and fucked-up demand.

Speaking of which, what horrible demands are The Forsakenz answering to today? Two words: biggo guns.

Sitting in the camouflaged weaponry ship in the parking lot of a heavily-guarded firearms factory, (Y/n) sure doesn’t feel like she’s the stealth asset to her crew.

‘Why did Oggy and Spoofly insist on stealing the blueprints? It would have been an easy in-and-out if they just let me go!’ She crosses her arms across her chest. She knows the answer.

The crew had gotten the contacts to an engineer that was willing to work as their mole. Her name is Monique-- (Y/n) recalls-- and she can get them in. And according to Spoofly, she’s smoking hot and is worth getting a good look at. So Romeo-Spoofly and always-horny Oggy went to stare at the babe. All (Y/n) has to do today is be their get-away.

“Have the ship running. If we waste even one second, it’ll be all four of our heads!” Oggy told the human before leaving the ship.

“Four?” She had asked.

“Maybe Monique will leave with us,” Oggy muttered back, a blue blush over his gray skin.

“She’d look good in our uniforms,” Spoofly said while wiping drool from his lips.

“Ooh, really?”

Spoofly panted, his two tongues hanging out the side of his mouth. “Doralalas always look good in purple, Oggy.”

(Y/n)’s lip curls up at the memory. She wants this to be fast and those idiots were obviously taking their sweet time. She has somewhere to be!

The sound of double doors slamming open causes her to gasp.

Despite seeing it’s only two workers clocking out of their shift, her heart still beats rapidly in her chest, and her face flushes in shame at how jumpy she is. To her surprise, it’s just a married couple, a tall and curvy Doralala female holding the hand of her shorter, male counterpart. The male leads her to the passenger seat of their two-seater, camper-ship. Although their smiling faces and loud laughter suggest an obvious amiable relationship, (Y/n) can only imagine the wife eating the husband’s head for dinner. Afterall, that’s what they did in their primal days long before evolution molded them into a more civilized kind. Now, Doralalas were relatively weak and especially vulnerable. They don’t even notice (Y/n) watching them so carefully, her hands pressed against the glass window of the get-away vehicle.

The couple’s ship is nice, one of the more expensive ones. (Y/n) knows they normally have a bathroom, a kitchenette, two cots, and a driver and passenger seat. This particular model is a glittery purple with white stripes down the side, and these particular owners are probably incapable of basic self-defense and might not be missed--

‘No, I’m doing this the right way,’ (Y/n) tells herself, ending her malicious train of thought. She glances at the duffel bag in the passenger seat which overflows with monies. ‘This time, I’m serious.’

The engine of the ship roars as (Y/n) peels away, leaving only her dust and intercom she tosses out the window in her wake, which clatters against the asphalt.

It’s only a few moments later when the intercom fizzes.

“(Y/n), this is Oggy. We’re out!” The voice of the scientist crackles out. “Ya hear me?”

“AHHH! THEY’VE GOT LASERS!”

“(Y/N)? COME IN! HAVE THE SHIP READY!”

“Shit, shit, where is that hairball?!”

“WE’RE OUTSIDE BUT WE DON’T SEE YOU? WHERE’D YOU PARK THE-- NO!”

“NO!”

“NOOOOOO! THE PAIN!!”

Borgz stands in front of his crew, arms crossed behind his back. He slowly paces in front of them. Veeka stands at confident and cool attention, however, Oggly and Spoofly have seen far better days. Their bodies are littered in burns and their uniforms are in ruins.

“You have the blueprints?” Borgz asks flatly.

“Yessir.” Spoofly salutes dizzily and he slides the roll of prints to his boss with his cane. He had broken a leg.

“You have the ship?”

“Yessir, crash-landed on Foodcourtia during our lunch break,” Oggy tells him. He points out the window at the weaponry ship being hauled by a mechanic’s tow-ship. It’s utterly destroyed.

“Excellent.” Borgz smiles and laughs despite the grim mood of the rest of the crew. He plops down into his commander’s chair like a kid eager for a rollercoaster ride. “Do we have (Y/n)’s coordinates?”

“No, sir. But! We’ve got something even better!” Oggy tells him.

Borgz spins around in his chair to face the crew who all bristle at his narrowed eye. “WHAT?!”

Spoofly waves his four arms over to the curvy, yellow-skinned, squid-like alien at his side. She dons their purple jumpsuit and badge like the rest of The Forsakenz.

“Our newest recruit, Monique!”

“Recruit? Only I recruit new members!” Borgz growls. “What qualifications does she possess that makes her worthy of joining the formidable, terrifying, merciless FORSAKENZ!!”

An awkward silence follows but soon, the alien in question speaks up. “I’ve killed a man before.”

“Our medic-- the person who’s entire moral compass steers her towards pacifism-- has the blood of hundreds on her claws. That’s not enough!” Borgz points to Veeka, whose silver eyes stare Monique down with ferocity.

“But she’s so hoooot!” Oggy cries.

“ATTRACTION BETWEEN SPECIES IS COMPLETELY SUBJECTIVE! BLUNDERING FOOLS! GET ME (Y/N)’S COORDINATES!” He yells at such a loud volume, their ship shakes. Quickly, the two scramble off in different directions, Oggy to the navigation room, and Spoofly to investigate (Y/n)’s quarters. That leaves the very frigid and scared-- “MONIQUE!” Borgz shoves a finger towards the woman who squeals in fright.

“Y-ye-yes-s-s?” She slithers out.

“Clean the toilets,” he orders her monotonously and tosses a mop in her face.

She salutes. “Right away, s-s-sir!”

Borgz turns back in his chair to face the vast expanse of space. “This will be our greatest game yet, (Y/n). And I don’t plan on losing.”

Despite the sour mood, the rest of the crew is giddy with excitement in whatever task they assigned themselves. The adrenaline of a chase makes for good entertainment while they’re on the road.

Borgz’s mind rushes with plans of (Y/n)’s capture. “Stealing four million monies? Tch, sloppy! And she says, I’ve lost my touch! Can you believe that, Veeka?”
The medic’s steely eyes stare straight back and a razor-toothed smile stretches across her face.

“You’ve got that look on your face! You taste blood, don’t you?” Borgz shuffles in his chair. “Mr. Dominus will want his money back… she can’t stay hidden for too long or…” Borgz shudders and Veeka nods her head excitedly, her tight smile unnerving to the unacquainted. He grips the arms of his chair. “But that’s the thrill of the chase, isn’t it? Why run if not out of fear for your life?”

Veeka begins to drool and her hands shake which makes it all the harder to navigate the control panel she maneuvers. She can only sputter out an agreement in her native tongue.

“Who knows where (Y/n) is living it up on four mill, but wherever she goes--”

“We’ll follow,” Veeka murmurs, her voice like silk, as her eyes look blankly at the stars.

“Y’know, that’s the one thing that always confused me. Nomadic aliens always took for granted just how fuckin’ cool space is,” (Y/n) says.

And it’s in her legally-purchased-- with illegally-obtained monies-- that (Y/n) truly basks in the beauty of space. The deep black that sucks you in, is only the daunting absence of those pretty flecks that pepper the sky. Twinkling lights like sweet sugar crystals and grandiose planets prettier than a decorated Easter egg. It’s the swirling patterns that capture her eye. Whenever she spots a Saturn-look-alike, large rings hooping around the diameter of the planet in ribbons of colorful dust and gas, she’s unable to look away.

Or maybe it’s these sappy love songs that’s got her feeling so poetic. Her voice is strained from belting out in foreign languages to whatever weird alien song came on the radio so she finally lowers the volume.

She laughs. “That’s enough of that.”

The following silence only makes her nervous.

“Man, can ya picture just how freaked The Foreskinz probably are about me leaving? I bet Borgz is havin’ a stroke just now tryna figure out where I am!” (Y/n) laughs again, louder this time, to fill the silence in her ship.

“Honestly? I’m just more glad I didn’t have to do this alone… I really thought it’d be me against the universe, ya feel? I just wanted you to know that, okay?” She spies the blurry figure in her peripheral view. “Who would have guessed, right? At The DealerShip, I didn’t expect to see someone like you there and at first sight, I knew-- I just knew…” She reaches over the gap between the two seats and intertwines her fingers between three rubbery ones, marveling at how perfect it felt in her grasp. “I’m so happy someone like you is here with me,” she pauses in her confession to finally gaze into the ruby-colored eyes of, “Monique.”

The rubbery, feminine face of the Doralala stares back blankly and (Y/n)’s radiant look falls flat in annoyance at the lack of response. The blown-up sex-doll only gives (Y/n) a lewd look from the passenger seat. Equipping a screwdriver, it’s suddenly through “Monique’s” forehead and the glorified yellow balloon deflates until it slumps deplorably in the seat.

And (Y/n) is alone again.

Chapter Text

“IT’S OVER, ZIM!”

“Don’t make me laugh, pitiful Earth-monkey-- Oh! Too late, here I go!”

It’s a typical day for the neighborhood. The children are all hiding away in the safety of their homes to avoid the discord that trails behind the chaotic teen and the always-maniacally-cackling alien.

Six years.

Six years of this insanity. Seventeen, if you account for the years they’ve had to deal with Dib’s crazy antics alone. But no one had grown wiser to the alien’s existence, well, they had-- but of course, his eccentricism blended in with the crowd of the other disgusting, stupid humans on the planet. This very fact is enough to spur arguments in passing on the daily.

After Dib had told Zim to shut up a dozen times, the alien finally ceases in his laughter only to continue with his mocking mantra. “No one will ever believe you, Dib-worm!” The alien digs his heel into the plastic film strewn on the asphalt in front of him to emphasize this point. “It’ll take more than your primitive cameras to expose me, Ziiim--!” He shook his fists at the sky in pride.

“That was expensive, man,” Dib whines, ignoring the alien’s babbling. He has long since learned to tune out his hurtful words, afterall, he didn’t need a reminder of his shortcomings as an amateur paranormal investigator.

“Even after the Florpus, these stu-pid, stinkin’ humans didn’t understand the doom they faced in phase two of my INGENIOUS plans! Mass hysteric, is that what they called it? Of course, leave it to hyoomans to pretend the horrors I bring to their world don’t exist! Their ignorance will be their downfall! Unless some ship comes crashing down to Earth to abduct a human like your naive sci-fi movies demonstrate, then I don’t see how--”

“WHAT IS THAT THING?” Dib cries out pointing to something behind Zim.

The alien ducks down just in time to avoid a flying saucer that swoops down and spirals through the air dodging bright, red laser beams shooting from an even bigger ship from behind. The saucer makes a harsh turn upwards back into the sky.

Soon, people are pouring out of their homes, joggers pull out their headphones to marvel at the aircrafts, and cars pull over to watch the display. The saucer flies directly in front of the sun, and onlookers squint through the bright light to make out the shape they recognize all too easily.

"A U.F.O.!” A man peeking out from the driver window of his car cries out. Families scramble out of their car and begin snapping photos with their phones.
Dib grins at the panicked face of Zim. This is his chance!

Hey, everybody! I got an alien right here--”

Nyooooom-CRASH!

Like a Kamikaze plane, the saucer crash-lands in the yard of a house across the street of Zim’s cul-de-sac. A crowd gathers around the two boys to get a better view as the semi-circular glass dome on top of the ship is lifted up by a white-gloved hand. Out jumps a bipedal creature in a bright purple uniform. It prances up to the front door of the house. Raising a fist, it violently knocks on the door, every hammer to the wood rattling the door against its frame. Notably, the being had (h/l), (h/c) hair and what Dib recognizes to be a headband with fake, bobby antennae poking out.

“COME OUT, COME OUT, LOTTIE! I’M HERE TO ABDUCT YOU!”

At that, the people scatter from the scene, wailing in terror.

“OH MY GOD!”

“AN ALIEN!”

“IT’S GONNA EAT OUR BRAINS!”

Seeing this as another opportunity, Dib fervently jabs a finger in Zim’s face and smiles at every person that runs by him. “Look! Look!”

But to no avail. Dib is ignored and the streets are clear once more.

Even Zim ignores him. The alien at his neighbor’s doorstep intrigues him. The black stalks with silver bulbs on her head give him a clue as to what species it might be. It takes out something small from its pocket-- perhaps a remote-- and just like that, it’s gone. Instantaneously.

It doesn’t matter-- Zim has bigger problems to deal with when the larger ship that was attacking the saucer lands in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

The purple, metal shell of the ship splits apart to allow a ramp that lowers down onto the street. Out marches the eleven-foot tall mountain that was Commander Borgz clad in a black, leather uniform. Behind him trails the heavily armed Spoofly, Oggy on a hoverboard, and Veeka. Her hardened silver gaze flits between Dib and Zim and her lips pull back into a tight grimace, revealing her yellowing razors for teeth.

“Now, where is that idiot? Come on out, (Y/n)! You can run but you can’t hide!” Borgz calls out as he paces around the street.

“WE’RE NOT AFRAID TO BLOW YA HEAD OFF, OKAY!” Spoofly cries in a fit of rage, waving his gun towards her ship.

Zim has had his lasers from his PAK equipped the moment they stepped off the ship. One look at them and he can tell they’re criminals. Their uniforms are patched up in various places with different shades of purple and their ship looks like a hodge-podge of random weapons attached in various places. He has to be cautious, who knows what they’re willing to attempt. But he also needs them back on their ship and back to wherever it is they came from.

His yells for their attention fall on deaf ears. “HEY! HEY! EXCUSE ME! HEL-LO!”

Borgz looks over his shoulder to be face-to-face with squinted piercing eyes-- eyes that reminds him of (Y/n)’s. He backs away in shock and for a moment wonders if she had led them to her home planet-- only to realize it’s a disguised Irken standing tall on his PAK legs.

“HEY!”

“Oh? An Irken?”

“WHY AREN’T YOU OR YOUR SHIP DISGUISED? YOU’RE GONNA BLOW YOUR COVER!”

Borgz cringes at his loud volume and creates more distance between himself and Zim. “Yeah…” He scratches the back of his head and looks off to the side in shame. He waves a shaky hand to the other aliens. “Back on the ship, crew!” As the aliens hobble back to their ship, Borgz apologizes to Zim. “Sorry about all… this,” Borgz pauses to pull a flask out of his coat to take a swig from it. “We didn’t realize that-- uh, our friend over there led us to a planet already claimed by the Irken Empire. We’ll just be taking our leave.” He hums and holds the flask up to Zim’s face with a raised, hairless brow.

Zim’s eyes narrow at Borgz. He scowls and slaps his hand away. “No, thank you.”

Borgz laughs and puts the flask away. He walks away but not before giving him a thumbs up. “Good luck with Operation Impending Doom II, sir.”

“Yeah! FUCK IT UP!” Spoofly cheers Zim on between two of his hands cupped around his mouth.

“Wait! What about your little friend--”

“Huh?” Spoofly pokes his head out through the crack of the ship’s doors. “What was that? Can’t hear you over the sound of us leeeeaa-ving!”

As the ship levitates above the ground and begins to fly away, Dib rushes off behind it, cell phone in hand snapping pictures and calling out for them to stop.

Zim’s a little surprised at how easily they caved but figures since they are criminals-- to what degree is unknown-- they probably cower away from any sort of authority, even an alien invader. They’re nothing like the planet jackers; they respected Zim’s claim on this planet when they mistakenly thought it wasn’t marked as Irken territory. Although he knows he should stop Dib, that Doralalalian-- he can tell by the antennae-- has already caused such a ruckus. She’s drawing too much attention to their neighborhood. Soon, her ship will be seen and the street will be clamoring with journalists, photographers, paranormal investigators, the police-- Zim shivers at the thought and let his PAK legs lower him to the ground. He marches right up to the sidewalk leading to the house only to stop when the front door swings open. The Doralalalian with the horrible human disguise steps out of the house with another Earth-female at her side.

“They can never learn to shut up! It really just makes me wanna pour molten silver down their throats. Let’s see you tell me to clean my room through your screams, Brenda!” The ‘Doralalalian’ snarls out. “Oh, wait! Lemme just lock this!” She pulls out a pair of keys and points it at the ship. It honks loudly.

That’s it, Zim has had enough. He marches up to the alien and he has to tilt his head to look up at her. “You! Who are you?!”

Lottie groans and rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him, hun. He’s just the neighborhood weirdo-- always up to something! This kid has a bone to pick with everybody.” She turns to Zim and crouches down slightly to be eye level with him. “Listen, buddy. Isn’t it past your curfew? Don’t mommy and daddy need to tuck you in?”

Like an angry dog, Zim growls out and grits his teeth. Before he can lash out again, the two have already gotten invested in their own conversation.

“Hey, wait-- speaking of mom and dad-- how are your parents, Lottie?”

“Oh, my mom is still cheating on him with just about any guy who’s dick is as thick as his wallet--”

Like before, Zim starts yelling out to gain their attention. “Hey! I’m not done yet! Listen to Zim!”

Lottie gasps. “That reminds me! I forgot my wallet!” She runs back into the house with a groan. “Be right back!”

The ‘Doralalalian’ moves to lean against her crashed spaceship. She pulls out her communicator to call a tow-and-repair guy.

Zim puts his hands on his hips. “Are you going to listen now?”

“Uh?” The girl grunts back.

“Who are you? And why have you come to Earth disguised as a human? And why haven’t you disguised your ship?! And what’s with having your antennae out? That’s a dead giveaway!”

She looks away from her screen and squints down at him. “You’re a fucked up lookin’ Irken.”

“EXCUSE YOU--!”

“That’s what you are, right?” She goes back to scrolling through a list of contacts. “But you have hair and your eyes are… weirdly human. It’s kinda creepy.”

“It’s a disguise!” He says exasperatedly.

“Well.” She smacks her lips and looks back down to him. “So is this.” She points to her antennae.

“Heh?” Zim grunts out.

She takes off her headband, the antennae bobbing back and forth as she waves them in his face. “See? Just a gag. I thought it’d be funny!”
Lottie exits the house in an excited skip and locks the front door behind her. “I’m all ready, now!” With a spring in her step and her hands clasped behind her back, Lottie leads the way.

(Y/n) clicks her tongue catching Zim’s attention and she sticks the headband onto his head. He looks from her to the bouncing silver bulbs with curiosity. She snorts at him in brief laughter and follows her friend down the street.

Zim walks off the property and back to the center of the cul-de-sac to watch as they walk down the road, talking casually like old friends.

He rubs his chin in thought. “What could a Doralalalian be doing on planet Earth?”

Suddenly, a terrified scream comes from the house right next to Zim’s. He sees his neighbor, Al, pointing and screaming at him. “AN ALIEN!” He drops his gardening hose to the ground and runs into his house.

With another angry growl, Zim tears the antennae off his head and throws them down to the ground. He already has to deal with Dib, now he’s got to wipe “Al’s” memory. ‘She has got to go.’ First step though, is dealing with her ship. It’s out in the open and that’s no good.

“Borgz! I’m not messin’ around!” (Y/n) yells into her communicator.

“Aw, geez. Lay off!” Spoofly’s voice rings out.

“Spoofly! Get off the line!” (Y/n) grips her communicator. “Go back to making out with the laundry drone--”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME!”

Borgz hollers his name in annoyance.

“Not cool, dude,” Spoofly mutters before his line shut off.

“Anyway.”

“Anyway.”

“I know you have my ship! This isn’t funny, Borgz!”

“I would never! The game’s no fun like that because then who chases after who? But trust me, when you’re out of that solar system, game on! I’m gonna catch you!”

“Why when I leave the solar system?”

“You know, there was an Irken on that planet. That’s why we left as soon as we came and your legs are still attached to your body.”

“An Irken? Yeah, I saw. So, what? We’ve bumped into one of their kind before. Remember that one woman who bought a ton of guns for her little ‘gang’?”

“Yeah, she bought ships too, remember?”

“Man, she started out from the bottom! Nothing but money to her name! Like, what alien do you see out and about in the galaxy that doesn’t have their own ship! Anyway, what’s the deal? So what? Is this guy just a gangleader, too?” (Y/n) leans back on the porch swing in front of Lottie’s house and rocks herself back and forth with the toe of her white boots.

“Not all of them are the same. I don’t s’pose you heard of the armada and Operation Impending Doom but they’re a pretty big deal. You don’t want to have any bad blood with one, let alone get in the way of their mission.”

She sits up and begins scanning her surroundings. “Is that so?”

“That one was an Invader. He claimed that planet. And you’re on his planet.”

She bites her tongue wanting to shout, ‘this is my planet!’ but Borgz doesn’t need to know that about her. “So you’re saying…” She trails off, not seeing how this all connects.

“What I’m saying is, he’s trying to do this undercover and you were blowing his cover. He probably took your ship if you left it parked in front of that house like you said. He was really upset we didn’t disguise our ship.”

She huffs.

“Do you want us to come get you?”

“No! I’m getting my ship back!”

“You’re gonna die,” he tells her flatly.

“Well, I’ve never died before, so--” she stops herself and shrugs, even though he couldn’t see it.

Borgz sighs. “You’re not gonna listen to me, are you? Stubborn, as usual. Good luck, (Y/n).”

“I will,” she says back.

“That didn’t make sense.”

She spends the next ten minutes rocking herself on the porch swing deep in thought. She tries to devise a plan but she has no weapons, no crew, and no idea of who she was up against. But she has her teleporter and her keys she could use as a knife-- as she’d seen in those self-defense videos. She decides she’ll just wing it.

(Y/n) stares down at the underside of her forearm and runs her finger over the small scar where a chip had been implanted-- the chip that helps her control the teleportation device remotely.

She envisions the carpeted floors of the stairs in the house, steps forward, and pulls the trigger on the side. Now standing on the stairs, she makes her way to her friend’s bedroom in a similar fashion. “Lottie, it’s getting late. I’m gonna get goin'.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize you had a place to stay,” Lottie murmurs as she folds a blanket. (Y/n) feels a weight sink in her stomach at the sight of her friend’s bedroom. There are blankets and pillows set up in the same fashion they had for their sleepovers when they were younger.

(Y/n) scoffs. “Of course!”

“Your parents are letting you stay with them again?”

(Y/n)’s smile tightens at the painful memory of when her parents kicked her out. But she hadn’t told Lottie much about where she had disappeared to for the past five years. To save face, she decided to hold off on telling her that she never really did reconcile with her family. “Uh, yeah! Duh… We-- it’s-- it’s taco night, tonight! Woo!” She cheers. “Dinner with the fam’! Then some Scrabble! Who doesn’t love family game night?”

Lottie furrows her brows but smiles anyway. “I’m glad to hear you worked things out with them. I was worried for a while.” She looks to a pillow she fluffs in her hand before tossing it into the pile of the other dozen that she had brought up for (Y/n). “Y’know? I thought you’d been alone all these years. No one knew what happened to you and it’s not like we were eager to talk to your parents about it all. What would they say when they found out we lost their daughter ‘cause we were all tripping on acid--”

“Yeah! What would they say? It’s better that you hadn’t,” (Y/n) assures her. She waves a hand casually, dismissing the matter that was turning her insides to mush. “They totally understood. When I told them. Any-way, I had a question.”

“Anything!”

“That weird kid?”

“Uh-huh.”

She makes finger guns at Lottie. “Where does he live?”

Waving to Lottie over her shoulder, (Y/n) hides the deep frown on her features. So far, nothing played out like she intended. For months, she fantasized about the day she’d come back to Earth. First, she’d use a human restroom, the first one she would have seen in five years. Then, she’d beat her old enemies to a pulp before tying them to a hydrogen bomb and shooting the whole damn thing into space. Of course, her more realistic goals also include telling Lottie, her most trusted friend, the whole truth of her disappearance.

But, how can she?! How can she when humans are so dumb! Of course, she's human, too.

(It was the denial, though. The denial and ignorance that made humanity so stupid compared to the slightly-less-stupid (Y/n).)

When Lottie questioned her about the spacesuit and U.F.O. in her front yard, parked right on top of her mother’s tulips, (Y/n) had jokingly told her, “That’s a government spaceship!” To her dismay, Lottie bought it. She bought it right away and without much convincing. And this is the same girl who’ll spend hours in the mall to leave with one top.

And when Lottie said the horrible, “oh, okay!” in response to such a lie, (Y/n) could practically see the nails being stuck in her coffin. And she cursed herself for being such a good liar. Something about the distant, far-away look in Lottie’s eyes makes (Y/n) question her dream future with the girl. There’s a sneaking suspicion that, although she planned to tell Lottie the truth-- eventually! -- that might not ever happen. It’s a feeling that you shove deep down but it invades your mind like a weed, because weeds flourish even with neglect.

But, maybe she’s being dramatic! It’s only day one, afterall.

“Hey!”

(Y/n) spins around and stops in her tracks to face her friend who’s peeking out her front door.

Lottie looks from (Y/n) to the quirky, green house right over her shoulder. “That weird kid?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is he an alien?”

(Y/n)’s eyes widen. So, there was hope!

“I mean, he makes it so obvious!”

A smile slowly creeps onto her face but then Borgz’s words come to mind. Although it’s certainly preferred she spills the tea about the alien invader to her best friend of many years-- in the grand scheme of things maybe blowing the cover of an alien she didn’t want to rub the wrong way isn’t the best idea. For right now, at least. She’ll get her ship back and take to the stars and then she’ll tell Lottie about the Irken, about any alien she wants to hear about, about every crazy thing that’s happened to her in the past five years.

“No.”

“Oh, okay!”

‘Soon,’ she reminds herself with strain. (Y/n) continues her walk across the street to Lottie’s neighbor who, “just kinda showed up one day.”

The house is so obviously alien! It looks a lot like the homes of the Doralalalians, or the Xaldruxians, with a splash of Groigol! Then she notices the men’s room sign on the front door. She cocks her head to the side and gawks at it. Come to think of it, just how long had this alien been on Earth and how had she not noticed him sooner? Curiously, the door seems to disappear and she’s staring into a living room that looks a lot more standard compared to the outside of the home.

“Ahem?”

“Where’s the women’s restroom, by any chance?” She asks the humanoid-Irken with a smile, making a jab at his horrible Earth cover-up.

“What?”

To answer her earlier question, it seems his stay on Earth hadn’t been a long one if he wasn’t understanding her brilliant humor. “Right… so! I noticed you’ve snatched my ship. Can I have it back, please-and-thank-you.”

The Irken scoffs at her and opens his door wider to assert dominance, hands propped on his hips. “Your very existence is blowing my cover! I shall have no Doralalalian getting in the way of my invasion.”

Just the mention of the species reminds her of that couple she saw at the factory and of Monique. She scowls. “I’ve met a Doralalalian and they are duh-umb with a bold, italicized, capital D.” But this is no time to throw shade with another alien. “Anyway, I just want my ship back.”

Zim tilts his head to look past (Y/n) at his neighbor who was outside pacing her front lawn.

“AL?!” She calls out over and over again but stops at the sound of their loud conversation, to the complete obliviousness of (Y/n) who took to gossiping about every alien species she could think of.

“You ever notice how Gork-mothers always have to make a point about their sons in the Gork-lympics? Like, it’s required for them to participate! They’re not special and I don’t care about how chubby his poison sacs were at birth-- WOAH!”

At the narrowed gaze of Al’s wife, Zim grabs (Y/n)’s arm and yanks her into the base and slams the door behind him. He circles around her with a glare. “You’ve been a real glorpsquag in my squeedlyspooch, Doralalalian!”

“(Y/n).”

He grunts in confusion.

“That’s what you can call me. I’m not a Doralalian. Haven’t we been over this?”

“I’ve never met a (Y/n) before, and I’ve traveled throughout the galaxy!”

She chortles in disdain. Maybe humans aren’t alone in their stupidity. “What? No! I’m human! See!” To demonstrate, she pulls and squishes at her cheeks, in case he thought it was a mask or hologram. Which he did.

His distaste, to put it lightly, for humans became apparent when he backs up from (Y/n) in fear.

“Oh, yeah. I guess that’d normally mean bad news for you since I’m the species you’re trying to conquer. To make a really long story short: I got abducted ‘bout five years back but I came here ‘cause I had some… unfinished business I needed to take care of. The only thing keeping me in your… hair? is this whole misunderstanding with you totally-accidentally-not-on-purposely taking my ship! Y’see, I paid good money for her and I’m gonna need ‘er back because me and my friend are gonna take ‘er to outer space!”

He stares at her blankly before bursting out in laughter. “You humans! So naive! So stupid,” he growls out, his tone becoming serious once again. “You’ve only been on Earth for all but four hours and you’ve already managed to add a memory wiping of the whole neighborhood, among other things, to my ever-growing list of things to do before I can conquer your filthy planet!”

“You’re really gonna memory-wipe the whole block?” She asks, her lip curling in a grimace.

He sighs in annoyance. “Well, no. The humans are too stupid to connect something like that to me-- it’s you they'd want to dissect, not me--”

“Yeah, ‘cause I was gonna say, that’d take too long and probably wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

“YOU DARE INTERRUPT ZIM?”

She flinches back. His hands are clenched into fists, probably to keep himself from clawing her eyes out. “Ooo-kay, good talk! And about my ship?”

“Not happening.”

“Okie dokie!” She strides to the door with such purpose, it catches the Irken off-guard. She might’ve made it out too, if she hadn’t lingered as she did. With a sneer, she tells him, “I have my ways. Let’s see you deny me my own goddamn ship with your guts strewn on a lab table!” She throws her head back to cackle menacingly as Borgz had taught her, but her mocking jeers are cut short when she’s suddenly hanging upside down, suspended by magenta cords that sprouted from above. (Y/n) tilts her head up to stare at the high ceiling filled with cords, cables, and probably weaponry.

Zim strolls up to her, nonchalantly inspecting his claws. “Oh, what was that you were saying? Something about guts on a lab table--?”

“How didn’t I notice all that before--”

“BECAUSE THAT SOUNDS LIKE A GRAND IDEA!” He yells over her. He was rather proud of his comeback and for her to speak over him like that is just rude.

“Does your T.V. have cable?”

He walks towards his couch which tilts back revealing an elevator shaft. “Shut up, human.” He waits for the elevator to rise to their level.

“Do you have Netflix--”

Instead of waiting, he has her tossed down the several stories to the ever-rising elevator platform. She wails out in pain when she hits the platform with an echoed THUD! The elevator finally rises to his floor and the crumpled form of the restrained human looks up at him pathetically.

At his command, Computer begins to lower them down to one of the lowest parts of the lab where Zim will have fun finding out what makes the annoying human tick. “Learn to heed my warnings and that won’t happen again. Or, maybe it will--”

“Hulu?”

He cries out in frustration and the human laughs at him.

‘Deja vu,’ (Y/n) thinks to herself from her seated position in the glass containment chamber of Zim’s lab.

It’s just like her first abduction all over again and she has a feeling she was maybe in over her head for challenging an Irken invader. It especially doesn’t help her nerves that the room they’re in is full of other experiments. Humans with odd mechanisms and extra limbs that had been surgically attached were floating in green goo in giant test tubes that lined the walls. These people are still alive and very conscious. Although they can’t speak or move much, she has enough proof just from the pitiful looks she receives from every man, woman, and child. A teen boy with a giant alien probing device lodged in his forehead presses his hands against the glass and despite the permanent smile on his face, he looks sad. She can see it in his eyes and such a deplorable sight makes her squirm.

But anything is better than watching Zim. He’s in the center of the dimly-lit room performing brain surgery. He must have great eyesight to go without the bright fluorescent lights used in hospitals. She makes the mistake of glancing over just as he lifts the flap of skin to cover the man’s scalp. There’s a lot of blood. The alien shifts though, thus blocking her view of the gruesome scene. He appears to be suturing now with a pair of forceps and wire in hand.

Her fate is sealed and tied nicely with a bow-- probably made of a ribbon of someone’s entrails. That she can accept. Her time on Earth had been miserable. She should’ve followed the path she was already on because this just shows her for trying to go back home. Her first day on Earth and what happens? She’s abducted, again! However accepting she is of her fate, she doesn’t plan on making the alien’s experimentation on her fun or easy.

“So, when you said memory-wipe, you meant a brain transplant between a man and a turtle?”

“Silence, human.”

“Is that what you’re gonna do to me?”

Throwing his tools down suddenly, he whips his head around to face her.

“Can I have the brain of a dolphin? They’re supposed to be pretty smart cookies-- oh, a cookie sounds good right now! Anyway, they’re smart enough to have sex for fun! They’ll even inject themselves with enough poison from a pufferfish to get high.”

He hops off the stool and slowly approaches her. “I’ll tell you what I have in store for you, Earth scum. A ‘brain-transplant’ as you called it would be merciful.” He stands with his arms behind his back and she’s now able to get a good look at him without his disguise.

He’s not as “fucked-up-looking’” as she had originally thought. His eyes are large and magenta-colored and his antennae are perked stiffly from where they sprouted on his scalp. He has a sharp jawline but a baby-face at that same time. His eyes are glassy and his skin is smooth and a vibrant green. Like grass or emerald.

She scoots closer to the glass that separates them. “You’re pretty.”

He scoffs at her. ‘Is she even listening?’

After a moment of silence paired with an intense staring contest, he lunges forward, slamming his fists onto the glass. He fights back a grin when she flinches and scoots away from him until her back is flush against the other side. “First, I’ll test the durability of your inferior human lungs when they are mixed with water. Just how much water can they hold?”

“Tha’s not what they’re made for!” She weakly protests.

“How can we know for sure before the experiment? All hypotheses are followed by trials and tests. Then, we’ll see just how fragile your bones are! If all goes well and you’ve lost control of your four limbs, we’ll get to see what happens when we mix your insides with a chemical of my own design!” He steps back to lead her eye to a cylindrical prison in the far corner. A chicken’s left wing is featherless and whatever skin is left on its bones is red and blistered.

“Is the chicken… the chemical?”

He stares down at her, bewildered. “NO! How-- how can hyoo-mans be so stupid?!”

His gaze is unwavering and although her stare matches his, it’s like she’s looking right through him. “Is that a no on the dolphin-brain?”

“AHHHHH!” His cry of frustration trails to a quiet grunt. “I have a better idea! Your slow and grotesque death is also too merciful for a pig-monkey like yourself. I’ll spare your life but only so that you may live to bear witness to the destruction of your planet. Let’s see that act of blissful ignorance when your loved ones are begging for mercy at the powerful hands of ZIM!”

She interrupts his loud guffawing. “I’d like to see what else those powerful hands can do.” She wiggles her brows at him.

But he doesn’t understand her lewd comment and instead takes this as an invitation for more insults and threats. “SO MUCH can these amazing hands do! SO MUCH! You’ll get to experience it first-hand!”

“I like the sound of that--”

“When I rearrange your innards and put you on full display for all the humans to see. They’ll know then what awaits them at my conquering!”

At this point, his threats are more incoherent babbling than anything she feels she has to worry about.

“I will be the downfall of humanity, me, ZIM! I’ll make anyone who’s ever loved you mourn the loss--”

“Jokes on you, knucklehead, no one’s ever loved me before!” She says defiantly, her nose pointed in the air.

His hands which were once dramatically raised to the sky fall to his sides.

“Besides, I don’t really care what you do with Earth or humans. This planet’s a ticking time bomb, anyway. Your leaders are pretty dumb for sending you here.”

He points a finger at her which shakes with his anger. “YOU DARE INSULT THE ALMIGHTY TALLEST?!”

She grins, his random lash-outs no longer phased her. "I'm just telling it how I see it," she tuts.

“Stupid, naive Earth-monkey. Do not underestimate the plans of The Almighty Tallest. They know exactly what they’re doing. My plans for the conquest of Earth are only one of many… other con-quests and is only a fraction of what Operation Impending Doom II will be!”

“Oh-ho-ho, okayy. Well, do your alien overlords know that Earth is a dying planet?”

“Every planet is a dying planet!” He doesn’t expect a human to realize this, even if she is from space. They’re all so ignorant to their tiny insignificance compared to the vastness of their ever-expanding universe. “No ball of dirt such as this is a stranger to the hands of fate!”

“Do they know that in thirty years a huge chunk of land is going to break off this continent triggering a volcano that has been dormant for centuries in what can only be described as Pompeii-on-crack? What the lava doesn’t obliterate will be suffocated by a giant cloud of death that’ll coat the entire western hemisphere of the planet.”’

“YOU LIEEE!”

“Do your leaders know that in less than forty years an asteroid is going to collide with Earth that’ll ultimately destroy whatever living thing that hasn’t been wiped out by global warming. You Irkens must be pretty dumb to come all this way to take over a solar system of dying balls of dirt and clouds of gas. I mean, Jupiter’s basically a giant space fart, so--”

“SILENCE! CHANGE OF PLANS!” He paces back to the table where Al lies and quickly sutures the rest of his scalp back on. He calls for G.I.R.

That’s when the cutest thing in the world graces (Y/n) with his presence. A short, silver robot with bright blue lights for eyes stands at attention while saluting the taller Irken. “Hi, master!”

“AWWW! Who’s this cutie?” (Y/n) coos while tapping a finger on the glass. Neither of them gives her their attention, however.

“G.I.R. I want you to prepare the lab for the organ… liquefying… procedure-thingy.”

“I don’t wanna!” The robot throws his hands back like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Then suddenly, he’s obeying, pushing Al on the table to a dark corner of the room. He comes back with another lab table that he wheels in. On the sides of the table is an alien mechanism (Y/n) has never seen before. It’s made up of cylinders of bubbly, multi-colored substances.

“You were going to be spared your life but you just had to go and insult Irken-kind. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself and I have no pity for you,” he says in a somber tone, his trill voice deepening significantly.

She shrugs.

He’s hesitant to question her, but it doesn’t matter because she’s going to prattle on no matter how unprompted it is.

“Well, I’m gonna die anyway. Might as well be in an alien laboratory with my liquefied organs dispensing out of every orifice of my body like a fucked-up soft-serve. Let’s make some ice cream.”

“ICE CREAM?!” The short robot yells in excitement. His stout legs carry him to Zim’s side who stands across from the human. He waves his hands in Zim’s face. “Master! Master! Master!”

“What?”

G.I.R. reaches up and grabs Zim’s cheeks to bring him eye-level. “IIIICE CREEEEEAAAAM! Let’s go get ice cream! Let’s. Go. Get. Ice cream!” He shakes Zim back and forth with every word.

Zim slaps the robot’s hands away and straightens his posture. “I’m sorry, G.I.R. But, we do not have the Earth monies to spend on ice cream, right now.”

(Y/n) clamps her hands over her ears when the robot screams in a shrill voice at the top of his little robot lungs, sobbing and hyperventilating. Even the glass barrier does little to block out the ear-piercing tantrum.

“ALRIGHT, ALREADY!” Zim huffs. “We’ll go get ice cream!”

“YAY!”

The robot’s metal legs pound against the metal flooring as he runs to the elevator. Zim follows behind and (Y/n) notes how his gait is that of a soldier in front of his commander. He steps on the elevator and turns to the human as she watches the two intently.

“You, don’t move! When I get back, we will continue with the liquefication of your organs,” he tells her with a sinister smile-- which falls at her response.

“Bring me back a smoothie?”

The elevator raises and they are out of sight.

And as if on cue, Al suddenly sits up. She can hardly make out his wide eyes and panicked expression from the dark corner he’s stored in. There’s a thud and then the sound of skin slapping against a flat surface. In the halo of light, she sees two human hands dragging the body of Al forward and strenuously. His deep voice reverberates throughout the lab.

“My-my shell! Where is my shell! Why is it so cold? It’s so cold without my shell!” And then he’s on his back, rocking side to side like… a turtle on its back. His erratic behavior is unsettling to say the least and she decides she’s had enough.

At least with the alien the creepy atmosphere was sorta fun. “This is fifty shades of fucked up,” she declares and pulls her teleporter out of her bra. Taking a deep inhale of fresh air once she teleports out of the chamber, she cringes at the strong aroma of cleaner and chemicals. ‘It smells like a hospital in here.’

An abrupt, booming voice causes her to flinch. It speaks in a language she doesn’t understand. There’s a screen in the center of the room with a giant, red, alien symbol she recognizes-- something used for urgent alerts. It’s flashing repetitively. She figures if she changes the language settings, she’ll find out what was so important. Despite not being able to read Irken, she navigates through the settings very easily, used to not understanding foreign languages. The only problem is picking the right one since all the labels are also in Irken. Luckily, there are symbols next to each one and she locates the category for Earth.

"AVERTISSEMENT: INTRUDEUR INCONNU--”

“Nope.” She tries the next one.

“PROEIDOPOIISI: AGNOSTOS EISAGOGEAS--”

And the next one.

“VNIMANIYe--”

“ADVERTENCIA: ¡INTRUSOR DESCONOCIDO EN EL--”

“WARNING: UNKNOWN INTRUDER IN THE OPERATING LABORATORY, LEVEL C!”

She cheers at her own victory until the message finally clicks.

“INTRUDER LOCATED!”

She turns around to find herself staring down the barrel of an Irken laser-cannon.

“A little warning, maybe?”

He gags at the sight. Wordlessly, he hands his robot servant a wad of napkins to clean up the dribble on his furry costume. It’s his fourth cone and of course, they were all some bizarre flavor like cheese or baloney.

Zim jerks his hand away when G.I.R. grabs the napkin, his ice cream covered paw almost brushing against him. With a scoff, he continues down the path to his front door and swings it open. He’s eager to get back to work.

When he swings the door open, he’s met with a sweet aroma that makes him suddenly crave whatever treat was emitting it. Then, he realizes that there should be no reason for the base to smell so good and that his experiment shouldn’t be lounging on his couch watching his T.V. She’s sat upside down but still manages to stuff her face from a plate of--

“COOKIES!” G.I.R. swallows the rest of his cone whole and is suddenly at (Y/n)’s side. He practically inhales the cookies with loud lip-smacking sounds.

Zim slams his door and storms up to (Y/n), fists at his sides.

“You’re blocking the T.V.”

“I told you not to move! How did you even get out?”

“I punched my way through the glass,” she lies.

“And what is this!” He points to the plate on the floor. “You baked cookies?!”

“I got the munchiessss. You can have some.”

“Where’d you even get the ingredients for this?”

“The store, duh?”

“Let me get this straight. You escaped from my lab, escaped from my base, then broke back into my base for imprisonment?”

“Couldn’t’ve summed it up better myself.”

Zim cries out in frustration and kicks the plate of cookies away.

Upon noticing the trail of tears pouring from the green dog’s eyes, she tells G.I.R. that there are more in the oven. He cheers and runs into the kitchen as a small floating moose enters the living room.

It floats to Zim’s side noiselessly and in the odd awkward silence, (Y/n) feels his cross-eyed gaze to be especially intimidating.

“Uh… what is that--?

Zim, after he’s done spacing out, turns to the floating robot-animal. “Minimoose! Computer! And just where were you two during all of this?!”

“Nyeh!” Minimoose chirps.

“Taking a nap?! While our plans are at stake? You don't even require sleep!”

“Nyehhh?”

“I don’t know why you would buy a futon if you didn’t need sleep. And what’s your excuse, Computer?”

(Y/n), awkwardly scoots on her backside to the side, eyes glued to the T.V.

“Computer? Computeeeer! Answer Zim!”

G.I.R. joins her on the couch, now with another plate of cookies and they both start snacking on the dessert together.

“COMPUTER!” Zim yells much louder, loud enough to drown out the sound of the reality show.

(Y/n) groans, not turning her attention away from the T.V. “He’s muted.”

“What?!” Zim growls.

But she ignores him when G.I.R. changes the channel to the angry monkey show so she could snatch the remote from him and change it back.

“Computer! Unmute yourself and answer to your master!”

There’s a tiny beep followed by, “zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero--”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“I figured a math equation could be enough to keep him distracted so I asked him what one trillion to the trillionth power would be. I don’t think he’ll be stopping anytime soon, though.” She explains while one-handed wrestling the remote from G.I.R. who wails about the angry monkey.

Zim, with his hands on hips, glares down at her like a parent to a misbehaving child. Without breaking his gaze on her he says, “Computer, provide the sum in scientific notation.”

Computer stops in his repetition abruptly. “One trillion to the trillionth power is one times ten to the one- trillion, two-hundred billionth power.” He answers in a flat and robotic tone. Then, Computer sighs. “What did I miss? I think I blacked out for--” his voice goes flat again. “Approximately one hour, twenty-seven minutes and fourteen seconds.”

“YOU CHANGED HIS LANGUAGE SETTINGS?!” He turns up to the ceiling at the disembodied voice. “Computer?! How could you fall for her schemes? You let an inferior human trick you!”

“Oh, my humblest apologies, sire!” The Computer mocks.

Then Zim turns to (Y/n), four lasers guns springing out his PAK aimed at her head. “And as for you!”

She screams and jumps to her feet, sprinting towards the kitchen.

“Computer, DETAIN HER!”

“Oh, I’m not in time-out anymore?”

(Y/n) uses this spare moment of Computer sassing Zim to shimmy down the garbage can. She makes it to the next level down and runs as fast as her legs can carry her.

She stops when she comes to fork in the long hall. She rakes her fingers through her hair panting heavily. “‘Kay, playtime’s over. Where’s he got my ship?” She asks herself.

The sound of spidery, metal legs running behind her makes her skin crawl. She glances over her shoulder to see Zim advancing after her on his PAK legs and she rushes off.

His lab is a labyrinth, but fortunately for her, she comes to a room full of firearms and edged-weapons lining its walls. But for the rather slow girl, it takes several moments for this luck to dawn on her. Zim has a grin on his face as his legs carry him towards her until her back hits a wall. He lifts himself high to tower over her where he has the human cornered. She shrinks into herself. Wide eyes scan her surroundings for a possible solution. To her left, is a regular looking handgun, something she has experience with so she snatches it from the wall and points it at Zim.

“Stay back! I know how to use this!”

Zim hesitates.

She adjusts her grip in her sweaty, shaking hands and accidentally presses a trigger and a tank of orange fluid pops out from the gun. She squeals in shock.

Zim laughs at her and inches towards her once more.

“Ok, well, I don’t. But you don’t wanna see me try!”

Ignoring her threat, he lunges at her with a war cry to wrestle the gun from her hands. She throws herself to the side and misfires. The laser blasts through the wall and the metal melts away in bright red heat.

“HEY! Watch where you aim that thing!” Zim yells.

(Y/n) is too focused on the giant hole in the other wall, however. She can hear the sounds of pigs oinking and running around. G.I.R.’s head jumps into view and he waves at the two. “HI, MASTAH! I can see you from the piggy room, now!”

“G.I.R.! ATTACK!”

The robot’s eyes glow red and he salutes. “Sir, yessir!” He somersaults through the hole and takes aim at the human with a laser. (Y/n) quickly exits the weaponry room, both alien and robot servant hot on her heels. Eventually, they make it back to the main laboratory.

Once there, Zim lingers to the side, shouting out orders for G.I.R. The robot, despite having guidance, has no luck in stopping the human. The best marksman in the galaxy can’t land a hit on her, let alone a defective S.I.R. unit. Every dodge of every laser results in the destruction of one of Zim’s machines or another hole in the walls of his lab. Dodge after dodge, explosion after explosion, Zim’s angry and determined attitude fades away into oblivion and is soon replaced with panic.

“Wait! G.I.R.! Watch out for the--”

(Y/n) teleports out of the way allowing a laser to burst through a tank of flammable gas, scattering flames everywhere. Zim frantically pats an ember on his tunic out with his hands.

“No! Not the monitors!”

(Y/n) teleports in front of every security monitor in the lab. One-by-one, they’re blasted through.

“Stop! STOP! Stop this madness!” The grovelling alien is on his knees, fists shaking above him.

None the wiser are the ever-determined robot and the trickster human who’s enjoying how easy it is to destroy every important piece of equipment that could've been used to stop her as she ran for her life.

In her confidence and gusto, she takes to prancing across the floor, using lab tables as skateboards to slide quickly through the lab, and twirling around alien mechanisms. It's when she uses a set of cables to swing her body around gracefully when the terror comes to an end. G.I.R.’s lasers fire through the cables and the lack of tension causes the wires to zip through the elaborate pulley system that is attached to--

WHAM!

The elevator falls onto G.I.R. and their chase is over.

The alien calls out to him, and when he doesn’t respond, he calls for Computer.

But, to his relief, the elevator is slowly lifted up and blue optics blink innocently from the dark. G.I.R., while still holding the very heavy platform above his head, stares out at the destroyed lab in awe. Then a smile is on his face. “Wow, master. I like what you’ve done with the place!”

The panting human trudges to Zim’s side and she leans on her knees to support herself in her fatigued state. She holds a hand out to him. “Truce?”

He smacks her offer away. “TRUCE?! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO MY LAB!”

(Y/n) does so but only feels a surge of pride at the tangled mess of wires, shattered glass, metal scraps, and the blazing fire that was once a secret alien laboratory.

Zim continues. “It’s destroyed! This is top-of-the-line Irken technology! Not only will it take weeks to repair but who knows when I can get all the parts in!”

“Just pay extra for Prime-shipping!” G.I.R suggests.

“Yeah, cheap-ass,” (Y/n) tells him.

“Cheap--?!” He stops short to growl at her.

“Well, I’ll just take my ship and be on my merry way.” She hesitantly steps towards a hall she has yet to go down-- maybe that’s where he’s keeping her ship.

But his voice stops her. “You don't seem to realize the gravity of your situation, Earth-filth.”

“I'm pretty sure on Earth it's something like 10 meters per second squared.” She watches the shorter green man pace around the destruction, putting flames out with his heel as he passes them.

“My mission is now at a stand-still! All my evil plans-- RUINED!”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

“It is very much your problem,” he starts giving her a deadly look. “Because-I’m-going-to-kill-you!” He rushes after her but grabbing him by the collar, the human easily manhandles the violent alien whose feet just barely touch the floor. She’s strong and her grip on him is resilient even as he thrashes around in her hold, trying to punch or kick at her.

“You already tried that and look where it got you!” She tells him over his yells and insults.

He uses his PAK legs to swipe at her and she withdraws her arm. He lands on the ground on all fours and stares at her in satisfaction when she cradles the fresh wound to her chest. Blood pours from the scratch down her forearm.

“There’s gotta be some agreement we can come too.”

His PAK legs retract and he stands to his feet. “Agreement?”

“Yeah! Like a trade?”

“You’ll pay me monies for the damages you caused in my lab?”

“The damages your robot caused, you mean? And yes.”

“You have the monies to replace all this equipment?”

“Of course, I do!”

He hums out in suspicion.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I’m only wondering how some lowly human came upon so many monies. But fine. I wouldn’t expect anything less, after all.”

“BUT! I want my ship back.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“What?! Why the fuck not?”

His fists shake as he speaks. “It’s destroyed! Disassembled! I even scavenged it for parts but most of it was junk anyway!”

“You’ll just have to repair it then.” She crosses her arms.

“No way!”

“Yeah, if you didn't send your robot to vaporize me just now or, yknow, KIDNAP ME FOR EXPERIMENTATION, none of this would be a problem! It’s only fair I get something in return. No ship, no deal!”

Zim weighs his options. Maybe he can just send her to Moo-Ping 10 like all of the other annoying aliens he’s sent there. But then he’d have to pay to repair all of this by himself plus the payments to that space-prison-- which were expensive. Or maybe he can just chase her out the base since killing her is not an option. Then again, if she’s serious about exposing him if she doesn’t get her ship back… His best bet is for her to go back to outer space and far, far away from here so she wasn’t a problem. And it seems there’s only way that’s gonna happen… He hates having to give in, but this is the best option. At least he wouldn’t be losing any more monies with this way. “...Fine.”

At the very least, ship repairs should not take him longer than a week!

Unfortunately, Zim had failed to read the fine print of their deal. She had no place to stay and was insistent on freeloading off of him. Regardless, the thought of her leaving the base only makes him worry over all the trouble she can cause for him. So, he reluctantly agreed, not wanting to take any more risks. It didn't take long for him to learn just how unbelievably stubborn the human was, and all in her first day staying in his base! She even managed to convince him to create living quarters for her.

At first, he provided her with just a bed, as that was all she needed. Then, of course, he had Computer attach a bathroom with all the necessary human appliances inside when she threatened to take a shit down the elevator shaft in the kitchen toilet.

She was intolerable and thus he avoided her like the germ she was. When he wasn’t prodding at her with a needle--which he did partially for research purposes and partially to try to keep her in line-- he was hard at work, laboring day-and-night on repairs for the ship. He missed a week of school, which, although may have looked suspicious, was entirely necessary. He didn't need any more stress.

She wasn’t just intolerable, however. Zim would never say it out loud, but she was quite frightening. Frightening in a way that reminded him of the “Halloweenies” he’d see on TV-- like a creepy, stoic vampire or a wicked witch. Whenever he was fed up with her constant questions and lingering around him while he worked, he’d stick her in any cage. A cage with sturdy metal bars, a chamber made of bulletproof glass, a crate with a giant weight covering the top. But it didn’t matter because she escaped all the same. And without a trace.

It wasn’t just that, though. He found his skin crawling at a particular memory, of a time when she didn't escape. She was in the glass containment chamber and he had relayed to her how he planned on harvesting her lungs for his own enjoyment. He was hoping to catch her in the act, as he told the Computer to monitor her activity after he left her alone. Was it scarier that she could escape from any prison he had for her or that she didn’t escape when she had the chance to, when she was well-aware of the horrors that awaited her? Computer had alerted him that he no longer had sight on the human and immediately Zim scurried down to the lab. When he got there, the containment chamber was filled floor-to-ceiling with a cloud of thick white smoke. He wondered, for a moment, if she had melted like a witch, or turned to dust like a vampire exposed to sunlight. He ordered Computer to air out the holding cell and was horrified to find (Y/n) lounging on the floor, a pipe and lighter in her hands. She had hotboxed the containment chamber.

Really, it came to a point where anything she did would set Zim on edge. She was just so weird and unpredictable in the most ridiculous ways. It was like having another G.I.R. in the base, someone who freeloads and just does whatever they want when convenient for them.

He doesn’t like it.

He doesn’t like her.

So, when he finally finishes repairs on the ship nine days later he’s eager to drag her down into the lab to reveal his completed work.

“Behold! Your ship has been finished!”

(Y/n) clasps her hands together in excitement. The finish on the paint makes the ship sparkle in the bright lights of the hangar. He gave it a magenta color rather than the silver it came in when she first bought it. But she likes it. “It looks awesome, dude!”

“Yes, yes. Besides looking awesome, I've made some other modifications of my own. You see, the engine you had before was…” He trails off, not knowing how to dumb it down for the human.

“Trash?” She offers.

“Yeah, it was dookie. But now it resembles the powerful engines us Irkens use in our Voot Cruisers. Their speed is incomparable. Your engine’s power output was pathetic, to say the least, when considering the weight of your vehicle--”

She nudges him with her elbow and makes a motion of her hand passing over her head.

He just stares at her in annoyance at her interruption.

“That engine-spaceship talk is going over my head. Can you just show it to me?”

“I was about to-- if you’d just SHUT UP AND LISTEN FOR ONCE!” He yells so loudly it sends her hair flying back. He clears his throat and pulls out a remote. “Now, allow me to demonstrate.”

The ship lets out a thundering roar before silencing to a low hum. “Ooh, listen to her purrrr!” (Y/n) rolls her tongue and she gives her new spaceship a lustful look.

Meanwhile, Zim repeatedly slams down on the button of the remote. “It-it’s not supposed to make that sound! C’mon! Turn off, turn off!”

(Y/n) points a finger at Zim’s robot slave who sits on the hood of the vehicle while sucking on a metal pipe with a mess of wires in his other hand. “Is that important?”

G.I.R. pulls it out of his mouth and smacks his lips in confusion. “This lollipop tastes funny.”

Zim frowns and his antennae fall flat on his head. “Oh no.”

And the ship explodes in a burst of flames.

The blast sends G.I.R. soaring overhead but he manages to flip himself over and land on his feet next to (Y/n) with a stumble. His hands are in the air, palms facing up. He looks up at her and asks excitedly, “How’d I do?!”

(Y/n) taps her chin. “You botched the landing but that's still like a solid seven.”

Zim has a distant look in his eyes as the ship burns down to the ground. G.I.R. goes back to sucking on the pipe which his alien master snatches out of his hand wordlessly. He storms back to the ship and picks up a toolbox on the way to the destruction. He orders Computer to activate their sprinkler system over the ship and the fires flicker to a dull.

(Y/n) frowns at him, feeling pity for how horribly that failed. He was really proud of the finished product. Hoping to cheer him up she shouts to him as he climbs up the ship with his spider legs. “Hey, I’ll order a pizza for dinner!”

The backdoor to her ship slams shut harshly and she flinches.

“He hates pizza,” G.I.R. tells her. “And meat. And chocolate and ice cream and--”

“Well, what does he like?” She asks over the clatter of Zim stripping the vehicle apart from the inside.

Doors, panels, furniture, scraps of metal, and the like are flung out the open window.

His robot gives her a blank look. She can’t tell if he’s thinking really hard or if he doesn’t understand her question.

“I know what he doesn’t like!”

She gives him a forced smile but begins to lead the robot out of the hangar repair room. “Okay, that’s a start! We’ll narrow that down to figure out what he does like!”

“He also doesn’t like humans or monkeys or piggies...!”

Chapter Text

“Holy shit! Is that what I think it is?” (Y/n) says in awe. She stands at the center of a large metal frame surrounded by black monitors. Her first thought is that it’s a giant teleporter; ‘oh, with maybe a purple swirling portal appearing in the center!’ able to take her to her favorite alien bar or shopping mall in an instant. She doesn’t have to wait for her ship to be repaired to get some very much necessary self-care! What’s it called, retail therapy? Her monies are otherwise worthless on Earth and although she considered it many, many, many-many times, she decided against stealing from the alien that’s been so gracious to house her. She knew everything has its limits. Besides, the clothes from space malls are much cooler than Earth’s clothing.

After several minutes of trying and failing to figure out how to make the device work-- most of the time spent fantasizing-- she kicks at the box that stores the attached computer in frustration. It creaks and she stumbles away when a side panel breaks off.

“That was like that when I got here!” She shouts in defense, fearing a sudden appearance from Zim. Staring at the entrance she’s relieved no one comes in-- no witnesses.

“No, it wasn’t,” Computer says.

But she’s not worried. She’s well aware of Computer’s laziness and lack of dedication to his alien master. He’ll never snitch.

She rushes to the hangar repair room and teleports aboard the ship, although there was a ladder leading up to the open glass dome on the saucer. She spots Zim, who welds metal panels of the ceiling together. The ship looks mostly complete. All it’s missing is its furniture.

“Hey, bud--”

“AHHH!” He screams in fright and spins around to face her. “Human! Don’t sneak up on an invader like that!” He hisses while waving the blow torch to her. “Who knows what I might do!” He hollers over the buzz of the machinery.

“Sorry.” She shrugs but nonchalantly strolls up to his side, hands behind her back. “Soooo… I was in that creepy abandoned part of your lab.”

“And where is that?”

“In that room with the giant teleporter and the monitors everywhere!” She bounces on her toes, not wanting to beat around the bush.

“Zim has no teleporters!”

“He doesn’t-- you don’t?” She asks. “Then what was that stuff? The big metal frame-thing with the staircase and the control panel and the monitors?” She rambles, trying to describe the mostly barren room that shares too much semblance with the rest of the underground lab.

But, he understands. “That’s not a teleporter,” he tells her with a shake of his head and a condescending chuckle. “AND WHO SAID YOU COULD GO DOWN THERE!”

She flinches away from him. “I didn’t touch anything!”

He huffs but ultimately decides he doesn’t care. He pulls the welding mask back over his face and continues working.

“Well, what is it?” She shouts over the roar of the flame.

With a sigh, he throws his mask to the side, shutting his equipment off. She won’t leave him alone until he answers all her questions, so he figures it’d be best to get it over with. “It’s a Space-Time Object Replacement Device.”

“Like I’m supposed to know what that means.”

“You set the coordinates for the location, time, and date into the computer. Then, you can insert the object through the metal frame and it will replace the other object of your choosing… But, you have to be careful with what you choose to replace.” He shudders at the thought.

“So, it’s like a time machine?”

“No, it’s not like a time machine,” he mocks her in a high-pitched voice. “It’s exactly like what I just explained!”

“That sounds way too complicated though. What would you even use it for?”

He hums as he wracks his non-rubber-piggy brain for the memory of that machine. “I can’t remember. I’ve never used it, anyhow.”

“You’ve never used it?”

“Not in this timeline.”

“This timeline?”

“At some point, I planned on using the machine, but right as I was about to…” His antennae flatten against his scalp at the memory of future-him somehow replacing the brain of his past-self with a rubber piggy. It’d be humiliating to admit that to her, so he skips over that detail. “I received a message from my future-self through that machine warning me not to. I didn’t tell me why, though.”

“Really?! That’s so badass, Zim! That’s just like those Terminator movies… I wonder what apocalyptic world you were protecting yourself from. How cryptic...”

Although he’s beaming at her praise, his smile falls at the last part. He never once considered what it might be that he would try to warn himself against. He just trusted his own intuition. He gives her an unconvincing chuckle though. "...yeah, I wonder?"

"What did you plan to send through the machine?" She asks.

"Just a giant killer robot--"

"IT IS JUST LIKE TERMINATOR! You have to activate the machine, Zim! It’s the law of time manipulation."

"No! I already told myself not to, and when I say no, I mean it!"

"I won't tell on you."

"What? No-- you're missing the point!"

She pinches her fingers together in front of her eyes. "What about just a little-itty-bitty tiny one?"

"What good would a tiny one do?"

"If you send it back far enough in time, a tiny one is all you need! Haven't you heard of the Butterfly Effect?"

He guffaws at her. "A little butterfly isn't going to help me conquer your planet!" But he stops laughing when she laughs at him.

“No, dumbass!"

He gasps, loudly and dramatically, as if she had just shot him in the chest. "How dare you--?"

"The Butterfly Effect is a scientific theory. You change one little thing and, like, a line of dominos falling, one after the after, the rest of history is affected! Even killing just a simple butterfly during dino-times can really fuck up the present!”

“A butterfly,” he says flatly, crossing his arms with an incredulous look on his face.

“Well, that butterfly could've been what saved a toad from starvation but now that butterfly is dead and so’s the toad. And whatever would‘ve eaten the toad is also dead, and the thing that would’ve eaten that! Next thing you know, cows never existed and the human species is burger-less and extinct.”

Zim roars in laughter again. “I know humans are weak and pathetic but it would take more than a butterfly to wipe them clean from the Earth! ...Stupid-stupid girl. Invading and conquering a planet isn’t so simple. I assure you, sending a robot to kill a tiny, insignificant bug won’t be how I take over your planet.”

“It’s just an example!” She groans. “Think outside of that! Like, if you went to a really important time in history for humans and sent a killer virus there then picture how much that could change the present!”

“I’m growing tired of your silly stories.” He picks up the welding mask and slides it back over his face. “Tell them to someone who cares, like G.I.R. He likes stories.” His voice is muffled through the mask.

He turns his equipment back on, the whir of the machines drowning out her bitter response of, “eat a dick.”

Having spent hours working on the ship, a job that was full of mind-numbing tasks, Zim felt he deserved a break. Maybe he can watch some Earth T.V. That reality show (Y/n) has been binge-watching recently has become a guilty pleasure of his, as well. He’d listen in to the drama from the kitchen and before leaving for school, would linger by the door to watch along with her.

But rising from the toilet-elevator, he is disappointed to hear a distinct lack of screaming and censored swears from the television. He hops off the toilet and walks to the living room to see that both of his robot minions had joined the human on the oversized sofa. He leans on the armrest next to her to get a better look at the screen.

It was some black-and-white movie and already he is disinterested. He came across many older movies where, for some reason, the humans took the artistic liberty of not including sound or color in the films, sometimes both! Art was weird on this planet.

A man with white, fluffy hair and a heavy, frilled coat was standing on a beach, holding a sword out to a dark-skinned and mostly naked man. The darker-skinned man touches the blade of the sword and hisses in pain as he withdraws his hand.

Zim’s antennae perk forward in curiosity. “What are you watching--?”

“NYEH!”

“Sshhh!”

“Shut-the-fuck-up!”

He staggers away from the couch in shock at the backlash but his attention returns to the screen at the deep voice of a narrator.

“Columbus documented in his diary about the ignorance of the natives he met but he was the true ignorant one, unaware of how this meeting with what he and the colonists considered savage people would forever change the world he knew. It was his initial journey in 1492 that began the Columbian Exchange and without it, all of the world's most powerful nations would be left poorer and weaker. It is in this day and age that we--”

“THAT’S IT!” Zim points at the T.V.

G.I.R. groans and (Y/n) hollers at him in annoyance. Minimoose lets out a sad ‘nyeh’ that only Zim understands -- that’s not even what I wanted to watch, anyway-- and the robot floats out the front door in a huff.

“You ruined the last line, Zim!” (Y/n) crosses her arms and gestures to the now black screen where the credits are rolling through.

But the alien ignores her and continues to mutter on about his plan. “Yes, yes! It’s genius! Without this Columbian Ex-change humans will be left defenseless! I will send a tiny robot back in time to the year-- uhh...”

“Duh, there’s a rhyme,” she jeers. “In sixteen hundred twenty-two, Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue! He had three ships and left from Spain. He sailed through sunshine, wind, and rain--”

“Yes! I can reprogram the Space-Time Object Replacement Device to be compatible with sending a robot back to 1622 where it will unleash a deadly virus that’ll infect the human’s food supply. There will be no Columbian Exchange and humanity will be doomed! After all, it’s just like a time machine!”

She throws her arms up. “Are you kidding me?! That’s literally what I said!“

“You wanted me to kill some stupid butterfly.” He walks back to the kitchen, a finger raised in the air. “Now, I must return to my lab! There is much work to be done. G.I.R.! Come with me to the Space-Time Object Replacement Device room!”

“Coming!” G.I.R. jumps off the couch and chases after his master in a sing-song voice.

Once they’re both out of sight, (Y/n) quickly flips the channel back to her favorite reality show and she unpauses it. She can’t stand watching it with Zim, he always asks too many questions…

A woman with blonde-dyed hair and brown roots is on-screen in front of a purple back-drop. “And I said to this-- BEEP-- don’t touch my man again! If I didn’t love Earth so much, I’d curb-stomp your fake ass cheeks in and leave you there for garbage day-- but plastic is bad for the environment.”

‘See, I’d definitely have to pause just to explain how people get silicone injected into their ass and then he’d ask why they would do something so gross and weird-- oh, but then I would’ve told him, most people aren’t as blessed as you.’ She hums in delight. Then another thought crosses her mind. ‘But then I’d have to explain that to him, too.’

Adjusting the straps on her Foresakenz uniform-- the only comfy, traveling clothes she brought with her-- (Y/n) gives a mental farewell to the upper-level of the base. Mostly the high-definition T.V. There weren’t any good shows from space.

She clambers awkwardly into the elevator, requests Computer take her down, and--with an exaggerated and long groan of annoyance that lasts for the entire descent downward-- he complies. She wants to say goodbye to G.I.R.. And, knowing he won’t even care, she feels she should thank the alien for housing her and repairing her ship. And maybe ask for his number. However, when she comes down to the lab, he is nowhere to be seen. She can just leave right away, but she's curious to see what the alien is preoccupying himself with. Another plan to conquer Earth?

Finally, after traversing the confusing halls of his lab, she finds him in the same room she found the Space-Time Object Replacement Device several days ago.

“Boys!” She begins and steps off the platform and makes her way over to Zim. “I’ll be taking my leave! Thank you for fixing my ship, Zim.”

He doesn’t look up, however, and only waves a hand at her. He is too focused on setting the coordinates into the new machine. “Ah, yes. Farewell! Return to your sad life, pitiful Earth-monkey.”

She bristles at this. She’s only trying to be polite. “You have fun with your sad life, you nobody!” Not the most creative with her jabs when under pressure…

“I am an Irken Elite, an Invader. That’s not ‘nobody.’ And what are you, (Y/n)? Some criminal that hops from couch-to-couch freeloading off any alien you meet?!”

For a second, she’s overjoyed at him finally addressing her by her name instead of a weird insult like “earth-stink”, “scum”, or “pig-smelly”. But he said her name with such scorn, he probably meant it as an insult anyway. She holds a finger up as if she has a rebuttal, but that was really on the nose. ‘Man, does the truth hurt.’

He stops his work to turn to her. “Don’t feel too bad,” he coos at her as if talking down to a baby. “Not everyone can be as incredibly revered and respected as I!” He touches a hand to his puffed chest. “Besides, nothing was ever expected of you, was it?” With a chuckle, he turns back to his work. He ignores the harsh glare (Y/n) was giving him and orders G.I.R. to bring in the mini-bots. He sets the coordinates to November 8th, 1622.

G.I.R., for once, carefully follows through with his master’s orders as he lines up the mini-bots in a straight row. Each bot is built like an insect, with a set of mechanical wings and six legs. On their backs is a vial of yellow liquid full of the virus he created. The bots are programmed to board Columbus’ three ships and, like mosquitos, would syringe the goo into their food supply. Little does Zim know, he would miss La Niña, La Pinta, and La Santa Maria by about two hundred years.

“G.I.R.! Unleash the mini-bots!” Zim orders and just the thought of what’s to come is enough to fill the alien with glee and he bursts into maniacal laughter. But at the distinct lack of temporal doom, he stops and turns to his S.I.R. unit. “G.I.R.! Why haven’t you--”

But the mini-bots are no longer lined up. Instead, they are held in the arms of (Y/n) who charges towards the time machine with a battle cry. She hops up the steps and jumps through the portal. “Just like Terminatooooor!”

Zim stares blankly at the portal.

“Wow! The crazy lady gone!”

Zim folds his hands behind his back. “Yes, G.I.R. It seems the crazy lady finally is gone. To think I wasted all that time on rebuilding her ship…” He says to himself, rather woefully. “But, no matter! The deed has been done! The mini-bots have been sent and as we speak they are wreaking havoc and doom upon early humanity! It is only a matter of time before we see the onslaught of disease and death that will descend upon this planet. For now, we play the waiting game.”

G.I.R. trots to his master’s side. “Is this the part where I get the moon?”

Zim pats his head and laughs. “Patience, G.I.R. Patience. Now! Prepare my throne, G.I.R.! I want to look my best when the humans are groveling at my feet. And this time, no peanuts, please.”

“Yes, sir!” His robot salutes.

It was about midday when Zim felt the earthquake. He’d been terrified of any possible natural disaster to come because IRK didn’t have anything similar to tornados, or hurricanes, and especially, not earthquakes. Why would the Earth randomly shake?!

He scrambles off the couch from his relaxed lounge and rushes to the front door. He’s excited to see the downfall of humanity but the fact the planet is taking a physical toll worries him. He flings the door open and can’t believe his eyes.

There are humans. And plenty of them! They’re the picture of health and scientific advancements! Children chase each other on jetpacks, adults that chatter away on wrist-watch-holograms float by him in bubbles. And there are flying cars, everywhere!

“What is the meaning of this?!” He cries.

A giggling child flies overhead Zim and as the kid passes he yanks on the alien’s antennae.

“HEY!”

He runs forward to catch the flying child only to find himself teetering off the edge of his front lawn. He looks down and sees his entire cul-de-sac floating miles above Earth. Had that been the cause of the tremors? His base floating up into the sky along with the rest of the block? He ducks his head underneath the sidewalk to see the upside-mountain of dirt that is directly under his base, housing the lab. (As if his house didn’t stand out enough already…)

That’s when he notices just how thin the air is. He equips from his PAK an invisible, full-face oxygen mask. He watches in awe at the humans that went about their daily lives, not paying any mind to the wide-eyed alien before them.

“What did that horrible human do?!”

A hovering platform with a group of teenagers pulls in front of Zim’s feet. Now he’s face to face with these humans who don't spare him a second glance.

“Hurry up! You’re gonna make us all late!” One of the teens yells at him.

He hops on and squeezes past the taller adolescents to get to the front of the platform. In big holographic letters above the platform reads, “Destination: Scool”.

He narrows his eyes at the odd spelling. “She always did hate the letter ‘K’. But, how did she manage to get rid of it?”

The bizarre differences don’t end there. Zim found himself in a very advanced version of his physics class. Students in the back were busy with a scale model of a rollercoaster. The humans are much smarter than they were before. Dib is standing at the front of the classroom drawing diagrams on the holograph-board while his peers listen attentively. Trying to maintain some normalcy, Zim greets him in the typical way they did every morning.

“Greetings, Dib-stink!”

Dib furrows his brows at the alien in confusion. “Huh? Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you, earth-monkey--!” Zim is cut short at the offended gasps of everyone in the classroom.

“Earth-monkey?” Dib repeats, his face paling.

“Who gave you the m-word pass, bug-boy?!” Someone cries from the back.

“Don’t worry, Torque. I got this-- we shouldn’t stoop to that level,” Dib chastises as he holds his hands up in defense. He puts his pen down and approaches Zim with his hand held out. “You must be new. My name is Dib Membrane. You may have heard of my dad, Professor Membrane--”

Zim slaps his hand away. “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Drop this stupid act, insolent fool-boy! We’ve known each other for years! You’ve been trying to expose me as an alien and now your class finally believes you and this is the way you act?!”

“Expose you… as an alien--?”

“YES!” Zim cries.

Dib scratches the back of his neck. “But, um… aren’t we technically all… aliens?”

It’s then that Zim really gets a good look at the classroom. While it is mostly humans, he notices a number of different alien species in the room. Some with gills, some with wings, some with ten eyes, and some with eight limbs.

“Take a seat, freak!” Someone throws a piece of scrap metal at Zim’s head and he crumples to the ground. Dib reaches out a hand to help him up but it is harshly rejected.

Zim reluctantly makes his way all the way to the back of the classroom at a lonesome lab table. He can’t help but feel he’s back at the training academy almost a century ago in his past and he hates it.

He catches the stare of a familiar blonde-haired girl who sits in front of him. “I’m telling you, it’s always the green ones who are weird!” Jessica whispers to her girlfriend next to her, loud enough for Zim to clearly hear.

The pink-skinned girl next to her punches her shoulder playfully with a giggle. “Jessie! Ssh, I think he can hear us!”

He sighs and leans his head down on the table, regretting his decision to come to scool.

“Minimoose, you’re in charge.”

“NYEH!”

Zim’s eyes nictate in surprise before he looks down at his own appearance. He sports a purple, armored uniform equipped with firearms and an electric net to capture the insane lady. “Why thank you, Minimoose! I was hoping to put this to use soon but it’s been a while since I’ve had to capture a human or run-away experiment!” He then faces forward, back stiff as a board. “Minimoose, pull me out in approximately ten minutes.” Zim marches forward with a determined look. “This shouldn’t take long.”

And then he walks through the portal.

The sensation of time-traveling is something Zim has never experienced. It’s freezing in the void he walks through, like a strong gust of wind on a chilly Irk night. In only a few moments, he’s crossed the pink, foggy barrier onto a beach shore. He stumbles somewhat in his brisk walk as his boots sink deep into the sands. He hates beaches.

Ahead is a thickly wooded area. He realizes he has no idea how to find this girl. ‘Where could she possibly wander off into uncharted American territory--?’

He is harshly pushed to the side and when he looks up at the perpetrator who mutters out an apology, he is suddenly aware that he managed to forget his disguise. But it doesn’t seem to matter as the man that has a large wooden barrel hoisted on his shoulder pays him no mind. Nor does the man carrying another heavy barrel behind him, or the man behind him--

There is a long line of men in those old-timey clothes Zim had only seen in Earth history books and each one carries a barrel or a wooden chest on their shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t so uncharted?

He trails behind them in the back of the long line as they lead him through the woods which are rich with flora and fauna, some Zim had never seen before. The alien sights are enough to occupy Zim so when they finally arrive at a large clearing, he’s caught off guard.

The men disperse in front of him through a primitive-looking camp and he dives behind a bush. He peeks through the leaves. There are cone-shaped tents made out of what Zim assumes are stretched animal skins. The tan men and women also wear beige clothes made out of the same fabric and he notices they’re mostly naked. He cringes. How creepy that humans used to wear the skins of other creatures as clothing.

‘Did early Irkens do that?’ he has to wonder.

But in the center of this camp is a dark wooden captain’s chair surrounded by knapsacks of corn, gold, beads, buttons, and some trinkets the alien doesn’t recognize. Leaning on the armrests and back of the throne are weapons-- some old-fashioned firearms and others are spears and arrows made out of sharp stone or iron.

When the crowd gathered around the throne separates into long rows, Zim can finally get a good look at their leader. And sat in this regal throne surrounded by valuable treasures and gifts was none other than (Y/n).

A tall, dark-skinned man stands in front of her as they converse. The men in the old-timey clothes suddenly kneel to her. The alien assumes the tan people are natives of this land, as the documentary had explained, and the men dressed in colorful garments are the colonists.

(Y/n) stands on the red, cushioned seat of her throne. “I bring to you from… Heaven? Yeah! Heaven-- these gifts in exchange for gold and beer-- Oh! Neat, you got the booze.” She acknowledges the colonists who had barrels on their shoulders. “Put it over there! Anyways, uh-like, accept this offering from your god!” She holds up in her palms a mini-bot. “And use it to advance your… less-good civilization to be… more-- uh-- more good!”

Seeing her take credit for his work and giving it away to her kind is enough to pull Zim out of hiding. He jumps out of the bush. “Hey! That’s mine!”

The colonists and natives turn to follow (Y/n)’s harsh glare at the alien. At the sight of Zim they back away from him.

“Its skin is green!”

“What-- are those antennae coming from its head?”

Zim ignores their mutters and the incomprehensible comments made by the natives as he marches towards the front of the lines.

“Zim! What’re you doing here?” She crosses her arms.

“To fix your mistakes, stupid… smelly… filth-stink!”

Everyone gasps.

The tall, tanned man from before gingerly approaches Zim. He wears a headdress made of colorful feathers. Zim assumes he is the leader or chief, as the early humans called it. “She is a being of divine power. She comes down to us from the skies, offering gifts and knowledge. Please, respect her.”

“Yeah, Zim! Show me some respect!” She chuckles at him. “How sad is this life for you, huh? Said I wouldn't amount to anything-- BUT! Here I am, a queen! A goddess! What’ve you accomplished today?”

The men let out a chorus of "oooh's" just like she taught them to do whenever she insulted someone who dares defy her.

"iDiosa ha hablado!" One colonist says while getting down to his knees again.

"Eh?" Zim curls his lip up at the men.

The colonist gives Zim a bewildered look. “iElla es nuestra diosa!” ‘She is our goddess!’

The alien recognizes his words from Mexico’s primary language. That time G.I.R. got them lost all the way South seemed to be good for something. “Vale… Pues, necesito hablar con tu… diosa.” ‘I need to have a word with your goddess.’

“What are you saying? Huh?!” (Y/n) yells down at the two. “iMas alto! No puedo escucharlos, ibichos!” ‘Louder! I can’t hear you, vermin!’

The colonist talking to Zim meekly crawls to the foot of (Y/n)’s throne with clasped hands. “¿Qué hacemos con esta mancha de mierda*?” ‘What do we do with this--’

Zim didn’t understand the last part of that.

“Huh?” (Y/n) curls her lip up.

The chief takes it upon himself to translate for her. “My lord, he asks “what shall we do with… the non-believer?”

And then her people turn their full attention to her, awaiting her next orders. This question followed by the pensive look in their eyes stir something within the girl, that much is obvious, since she can’t bite her tongue quick enough to stop her overzealous exclamation. “Execute him!”

But Zim can only tolerate her games for so long. Before any men can get their hands on him, he stands on his PAK legs and pulls a gun from its holster on his hip. They immediately back away from him again. He crawls on the mechanical, spindly legs over to (Y/n) and towers over her menacingly. She pales. Before she can holler out any orders to her ever-loyal men they all get to their knees, something the natives weren’t even willing to do for her.

“EL REY ARAÑA!”

“The Spider-King!”

“Just as the prophecy foretold!”

Zim gives her a quizzical look but she ignores him and stares down at the men in horror. “Stand up! Stand up and fight for me! You good-for-nothings! What the hell’re you doing?!”

The chief peeks his head up from his bowed position. “You told us of a great spider that will hail down from the sky! The prophecy foretells great pain and anguish will come our way for mistreating you, my lord! He will eat all the humans on earth and lay his eggs in our eyes for disobeying you… Remember?”

An English colonist speaks up. “And that he gets especially upset when we doubt you!”

“Did I really say all that? I must’ve been hammered.”

“Well, the prophecy was right about one thing, human,” Zim mocks her.

She stares up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

He stares down at her menacingly. “Great pain and anguish--!”

She swipes the robots up into her hands and rushes away, Zim hot on her heels. She runs throughout the camp, squealing with every clumsy dodge of the lasers he starts firing from her. “No fair! At least let me get my tellie out!”

It’s not long before he chases her into the woods, lasers blasting at her feet.

The colonists and natives stand to their feet to watch the chase scene through the thicket.

The chief clasps his hands to his chest. “The gods are reunited! Prosperity and a fruitful harvest shall come our way!”

(Y/n) is at a dire disadvantage. Zim’s strides are much longer than hers and she’s constantly having to duck and jump over fallen logs and tree stumps in hopes to trip him up. Unfortunately for her, when hurdling over a particularly large log she should’ve had the foresight to duck under, her foot gets caught and she goes sailing momentarily.

At this exact moment, Zim fires a gun and it releases a net that wraps around her.

But upon landing harshly on her side, she is confused to see herself on a shiny, pink-tiled floor rather than the dirty ground of the outdoors.

Zim, taken aback by the sudden change of scenery, hesitates when retracting his PAK legs. He gets terrified stares from fancily dressed guests, the men in dark tuxedos and the women in large, frilly dresses. He gets on his toes trying to peer over their shoulders but can’t see any signs of (Y/n) anywhere. Just his luck when he hears glass of a broken window shattering in the distance.

From outside the walls of the fancy ballroom he’s in he hears a chorus of shouts.

“VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION!”

The guests are suddenly screaming and running without direction in the ballroom in a frenzy. In this panic, he’s able to spy (Y/n) who is crouching down on the ground, struggling to untangle herself from the net. She notices him too and quickly escapes from the net, rushing away from him. Zim harshly shoves any man or woman that gets in his way, his eyes never once wavering from (Y/n)’s retreating form. And then she stops, seemingly for no reason, and Zim is able to catch up with her.

But when he comes to her, he understands why. She stopped a jittering waiter who shakily holds out a tray of champagne glasses to her, which she is grabbing and guzzling down rhythmically.

“(Y/N)!” He snaps at her and stomps his foot down.

She spares him a glance but goes back to chugging down the many glasses of champagne. Fed-up, a PAK leg fires a laser at the tray, sending it and the glasses flying. The waiter runs away with a high-pitched squeal. (Y/n) immediately squeezes her way into a dense crowd of people and Zim loses sight of her again.

He follows the group of panicked guests to the entrance of the palace where carriages are lined up. He stands atop the grand staircase and sees (Y/n) separate herself from the group to climb up on the driver’s seat of a four horse-drawn carriage.

She grabs the reins and meets Zim’s eyes from afar. “Eat my dust, Irken!” And then she snaps the reins down harshly and the horses whinny in response.

Then, there’s a flash of pink light and their surroundings change once again. Zim now stands on the porch to an old western saloon and (Y/n) sits on a wagon holding the reins to a malnourished donkey. She pouts and her shoulders sink.

“What was that you were saying, stupid human?!” At her deplorable state, Zim holds his stomach and bursts out in laughter. When he finally catches his breath and wipes a tear from his eye, (Y/n) has disappeared from sight once again.

‘Minimoose, you’re in charge!’ The words fill the robot with pride. He is glad to be so trusted as Zim’s robot minion, it means a lot to him that his master recognizes that he is far more reliable than the insane S.I.R. unit and the lazy Computer. To his delight, the task Zim entrusted him with is much easier than anticipated. Not only is he going to succeed and earn praise, but he’ll have to put in little-to-no-effort at all! He levitates the bowl of popcorn he made for himself and the S.I.R. Unit taking the elevator down to the lab. When the platform lowers, he floats over to the room that holds the ‘Space-Time Object Replacement Device’-turned-’Time Machine’.

The door opens and Minimoose is met with a sight that causes him to drop the bowl. The sound of glass shattering does nothing to pause the chaos before him.

G.I.R. is playing tug-of-war with a robot arm that protrudes from the ceiling of the lab. Rubber piggies-- and live ones too-- fill the room, the robot shooting the toys out of his head at the ceiling.

“G.I.R.! MASTER ZIM WILL BE--” Computer scolds.

"PIGGEH! Piggeh-piggeeeeh!" The robot cries with every blast from his head that bounces off the Computer. The A.I.'s demands for his obedience are drowned out by the S.I.R. Unit's constant screeching and the oinks of the pigs scrambling around, coating the lab floor in mud-- and possibly feces.

G.I.R. manages to yank the remote from the Computer’s arm. He stares down at the remote’s many buttons. “WE SHOULD SEND THEM TO THE 80’S! LIKE THE COPS SHOW!”

The Computer uses an arm to restrain G.I.R. and summons another arm to try to yank the remote out of G.I.R.’s iron grip.

The toddler-like robot wails. “SEND THEM TO THE 80’S!”

“CHUH! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” Men chant in encouragement to the young lady who’s head is ducked under the spout to a wooden beer keg. She takes one last full gulp before dizzily sitting up and raises her arms with a cheer. The men roar in applause and one particularly burly one gives her a strong slap on the back.

She hacks and sputters at having the wind knocked out of her but smiles up at the group nonetheless. She wipes the beer that dribbles past her lips with the back of her sleeve. “Naow, naow, tha’ was--” She pauses to hiccup. “Tha-- tha’ wassss on-ly roun’ one!”

They gasp at her.

She waves the bartender over and he rolls a brand new beer keg in front of her.

“If you finish this one, it’s on the house, purdy lady,” he tells her.

“I’ll never pass up on-- pass up on free shit.” She pulls her hair to the side and scoots her stool back some to duck her head under the spout.

Just when the men begin the countdown, the doors to the bar swing open and clatter noisily against the frame. There in the blinding orange haze of the sunset stands the short and slim silhouette of her chaser. Except, he sports a sheriff's uniform, complete with a black vest, gold badge, and a black cowboy hat. The men hold their breaths as he takes slow, purposeful steps towards the lady.

“We ain’t welcomin’ ta newcomers, ‘specially not any ay-corns such as yerself--” An old, wrinkly man in overalls speaks up.

When Zim passes by him, he gives him an animalistic snarl and the elder flinches away. At that, the rest of the men clear a path and break away from their protective stance surrounding (Y/n).

She sways on the barstool and stares at him, uncertainty in her eyes.

“I’ve finally found you,” Zim says lowly, his voice gruff in a way (Y/n) finds somewhat arousing.

“Ohhhh, have you, now? Some might--” She hiccups. “Sum my’ say that-- that it is I, who has-- have… found you, spaceman.”

He pauses in his threatening stride and his shoulders drop. “Who would say that?” He asks his tone one of genuine confusion.

She slowly blinks at him, her eyes mimicking the rhythm of a chameleon. “I uh-- Huh! I dunno?”

“Tell ya what, darlin’,” the bartender leans across the bar, suddenly butting into their exchange. “If you finish him off, all the other kegs you finished are also on the house.”

She gasps and suddenly hops off the stool. “Them’s fightin’ words. Man, I’d be dumb to not kill this addle-headed snake-on-stilts motherfucker.”

Zim narrows his eyes at her dangerously and tilts his cowboy hat downwards. “Then, it’s on,” he says, his voice gruff and low.

She threw her fists into the air in another cheer. “My house is gonna have so many-- so many beer kegs onnit… Where is this house, anywhere's?”

The men at the bar sneer at her.

“Man, are you stupid,” the burly one comments.

The alien and human stand back-to-back in the sandy, desert clearing, guns raised to their chests.

“Can’t believe I didn’t think to look for you at the bar first. All you’ve been doing today is drinking non-stop! Where’d you get the money for that, anyway?” Zim mutters.

“Found it.” She responds bluntly.

He scoffs at her.

After a moment of silence, she finally speaks up again. “Where’d you get your evil hands on that sheriff’s uniform, huh, pardner?”

He bristles at her question and tries to glance at her but doesn't dare turn his head. He stares at her shoulder in his peripheral. “...Found it.”

'Must’ve been a tiny sheriff.' Her brows raise. “Huh.”

“Hm.”

The men and bartender kept their distance from the two. When a group of men rolls the keg of beer to the clearing, they stand it up and call for (Y/n).

“Lookie, here! We’re raisin’ the stakes. A bullet in that crocodile’s head and you got yerself beer for a month!” The bartender slaps a hand on top of the barrel.

“Oh, for a month! Where’s the rest of it, then?” She hollers back.

Their faces fall and Zim only snickers in response. She nudges him harshly with her shoulder.

“Maybe they couldn’t carry it all,” she grumbles to him.

“Oh, yes, that’s it. We better hurry this up, hyooman-- in case you’re late for your A.A. meeting.”

“Bold of you to assume I'm capable of even admitting I have a problem.”

The men impatiently groan. These stand-offs are designed to befast and more shooty than this one had been so far.

“On my count!” The bartender yells at them. “After taking twenty paces, you fire! Rules are simple: first to die, loses!”

“What happens when you lose?” (Y/n) tilts her head.

“You… you die!”

She shifts uncomfortably at the harsh tone he took with her, feeling embarrassed. “Sorry, ‘kay. Jus’ thought-- jus’ thought there’d be more incentive than that--”

“Winner gets the beer keg, loser dies,” the bartender elaborates.

“No, no. I got it, it’s jus’, I’m not really worried about dying--”

“Okay, well, there’s not much more we can do to punish you when you’re-- when you’re dead--”

“Yeah--”

“Don’t know… don’t know what you want us to--”

“Yeah, it’s jus’ like… it’s jus’ like my shtick, y’know? I don’t care about dying.”

“Got it.”

“I do not fear death,” she says sternly while cocking the hammer on her gun back.

“Good for you. ...Right. Let’s just get this started. TWENTY PACES!”

And so they each took a step forward. Each one listens carefully to the other’s footfalls. The gentle sound of sand shifting under the heel, the pebble that would get scuffed to the side, the crunch of twigs or dried grass. There’s silence and they are twenty paces apart, their backs still facing each other.

“One!” The bartender holds a finger up.

Zim pulls the safety on his gun off.

“Two!”

(Y/n) rolls her shoulders out.

“Three--”

The final beat of the countdown is cut off with a shriek and Zim whirls around to see (Y/n) has her gun pointed above his head with a look of fear. He grips his gun tightly, with such a strong grip his knuckles turn white under his black gloves.

“You cheated!” He points an accusing finger at her. “You turned around before the countdown--”

A wet, sticky substance splatters onto his shoulder and a wave of hot air blows over him. He tenses and slowly turns to find himself face-to-face with the yellowing fangs of a twelve-foot dinosaur. Thoughtlessly, he drops his gun and runs away with a scream, (Y/n) right behind him.

Back in the lab, Minimoose is shouting at the two bickering robots as they continue to play tug-of-war.

“Nyeh! MEH!”

“No one knows what you’re saying!” The Computer says exasperatedly. The only one who learned how to decipher Minimoose’s obscure language was Zim, who was now running for his life from a bloodthirsty dinosaur.

“Minimoose said it’s my turn with the Time Machine!” G.I.R. lies.

Minimoose floats over and yells at them again. Suddenly, the Computer retracts his arms muttering about how he ‘gives up’ and G.I.R. falls to the floor, crushing the remote in the process. The small S.I.R. unit gets to his feet, spares a glance at the broken bits of the remote, and then runs off screaming, on his way to the ‘Piggy Room’.

“Uh-oh,” Computer says.

Minimoose floats up to the monitor that displays where Zim is at all times. He lets out a sad ‘nyeh’ at the sight of his frightened master. Feeling determined to not disappoint him, he turns to the Computer’s hidden camera and yells. “Nyeh! Nyeh!”

Although he doesn’t understand the robot-moose’s language, he has a faint idea. “On it.”

Metal arms pick up the remains of the remote and equip a multitude of tools to begin repairs. Minimoose floats back up to the screen that is much larger than him. He lets out another sad “nyeh” when Zim gets scooped up in the mouth of a dinosaur.

It doesn’t need to be said, but the two are not faring well in the Jurassic Age. However, (Y/n) did manage to teleport herself into a tree, temporarily saving her from the hungry jaws of a dinosaur that chases Zim in circles. He fires lasers at the dino that does little to stop the bloodthirsty rampage. Wanting to feel helpful, (Y/n) takes to shouting obscenities at the reptilian beast.

“At least my arms are proportional to the rest of my body! At least my species’ evolution actually led to something, pea-brain!”

“That’s rather generous of you to say!” Zim yells at her.

She climbs higher into the tree. “Humans are definitely smarter than dinos-- okay? Maybe not the sharpest knife in the crime scene, maybe not the brightest pflorgog in the boing-loings-- but smarter than these guys.”

“Oh, really? Yet you’re the one hiding in the tree.” Zim stops in his running with his hands propped on his hips.

She flips him off but her eyes widen in fear at the T-Rex that opens its jaws to bite into Zim again. Before the alien can meet his doom, however, the two are suddenly back in the lab. (Y/n) falls from the height of the tree she climbed up onto the hard metal floor. Minimoose floats over to her, letting out a concerned mewl. She slowly lifts herself and prepares for the lecture she’s surely about to get from Zim when she sees the crushed bits of the mini-bots fall from her pockets.

But before the alien could get a word in, they hear a loud honk*-- like a demonic-goose honk. Poor G.I.R. picks the wrong opportunity to try to run up to his master to hug him because the moment the T-Rex spots the tiny robot, it chases after it. G.I.R. squeals happily and runs down the hall into a different part of the underground base.

Minimoose, Zim, and (Y/n) follow the sound of the insane robot’s cries and the dinosaurs thundering footsteps into the halls. To their horror, it leads them right to the hangar where (Y/n)’s ship was repaired. When they come into the room, they find the dinosaur nibbling on the glass dome to her flying saucer and G.I.R. front and center of the destruction. The robot pouts when Zim rushes up to him seething.

"G.I.R.! HOW COULD YOU?!”

“Aw, the ship’s all broken again!” G.I.R. says.

Zim rubs his temples in frustration as the ship creaks in strain and the rear completely falls off.

A sharpened rod of metal clatters and rolls to (Y/n)’s feet and she swipes it up. With a battle cry, she charges at the dinosaur and it takes off running away from her down the many halls of the lab.

Zim crosses his arms and stares quizzically at the destruction of his hard work for the past week. “Maybe some parts can be spared--” Zim starts to say but then the ship explodes in a mess of flames. A dented and charred metal door skids across the floor and Zim kicks at it sending it flying with an even bigger dent. He is practically foaming at the mouth in anger.

He spins around when he hears a shrill cry coming from the hall (Y/n) had just run down and she runs back into the lab, arms waving wildly. Behind her, the T-Rex marches after her with long strides, her makeshift weapon clenched in its jaws and pointed right at her.

“It seems we are the only sane ones, Minimoose.”

“Nyeh…”

Chapter Text

“All one really desires in this world is time. Time to grow and to develop. Time to decide where one’s place is and what their purpose in life is supposed to be. Maybe that’s not something I can find here, maybe it’s something you find when you’re gazing at the silver moon on a dark and lonesome night, maybe it’s something you find among the stars! ...Or maybe there’s not enough time in this entire universe. In an infinite expanse of infinite possibilities and opportunities yet you still find yourself lost? I think that would be the most heartbreaking and soul-crushing experience. So, I guess, the question is: do we live in our own blissful ignorance and ignore our insignificance… or exist wholly and courageously, even if it means reducing yourself to but stardust of the cosmos?”

…

“Lottie, the question was if you would go to space with an alien if you had the chance to, not--not that tweenage-Friedrich-Nietzsche-existential bullshit.”

She blinks-- I can't help but think of a computer with a loading screen-- and then throws herself into a fit of giggles. “Man, I’m sorry, (Y/n)! I guess I just didn’t really understand what you meant!”

This girl is dumber than a brick, goddamn! “Nevermind… I’ll ask you another time.” I make my way out of the kitchen, leaving Lottie to sit at the table and stand at the entrance to the living room. It looks more like a college frat party rocked it in here rather than two girls catching up. What else can I do to commemorate my first month being back on Earth except for drinking my sorrows away and eating enough food to slip into a coma. That’s what food comas are, right?

Not wanting to face the control-freak’s wrath, I begin to pick up the mess we made in the living room. Garbage bag in hand, I toss in the many cups and wadded up napkins we had littered around. Bottles and take-out boxes went in the trash too. While most of this had been devoured by the always-hungry Lottie, G.I.R. joined us during the documentary to mooch off our snacks as well. Just as I dump a horribly stained dip bowl that I was too lazy to wash into the garbage bag, the front door opens. I quickly peruse the living room and it is decently cleaned enough, save for some spills and crumbs.

“Welcome home, son. How was school?” I ask, somewhat mockingly. I made it a habit to send the Irken off to school with an optimistic farewell-- “Have fun at school!” and then badger him later in the day. I’m sure he appreciates it.

Zim glares at me and slams the door shut behind him. “Horrible, as usual.”

I sit myself down on the couch cross-legged and ready myself for another rant of his.

“Don’t even get me started. First, Dib accused me of being an alien in physical education just because I refused to get undressed in front of those filthy adolescents in the locker room. There should be rules against that, no there should be mandated laws!”

‘I mean, you’re an adults so that is incredibly illegal,’ I think, but know better than to interrupt him.

He stops in his pacing and turns to me with his hands propped on his hips. “Honestly, what’s wrong with you people?! Have you no shame? This dirty planet is just asking to be destroyed at this point.”

“I hear ya.” I nod at him and he returns the gesture in approval.

“You could probably get a doctor’s note if you hate changing in the locker room. That’s what I did,” Lottie butts in as she leans against the entry to the kitchen.

Zim lets out a shriek and jumps behind the armrest to the couch. “INTRUDER! COMPUTER, CAPTURE--”

“NO! She’s a friend!” If Zim is worried about bein’ all exposed as an alien invader in front of Lottie, ordering his house to grab her with robot arms is not the way to go. I get to my feet and motion for him to come out of hiding. “I just… invited her over!”

“I never gave you permission to have your friend come over, stupid, selfish human!” He turns his glare to Lottie, not coming out of hiding. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. GET OUT!”

She only stares back at him blankly, as if the words aren’t registering. Lottie’s a bit of an airhead but the silent moments that pass are really showing me just how much I overestimated her intelligence. Right before I can try to flick her on the forehead to snap her out of her thoughts she gives a low hum and narrows her eyes. Her gaze flickers from me to Zim, then back to me, then to Zim--

“Heeeeyyyyy, wait! You live with this kid?”

My mind draws a blank as I try to come up with a response, because, duh? Hadn’t she realized this before? “Yeah… you were the one who told me where he lives, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“So, I figured you’d connect the dots. You’re in his house, right now, Lottie,” I explain carefully.

Her head swivels around, left then right. Up and down. She peers right over my shoulder. She walks forward, her gaze never wavering, until she’s at the window. “Ohh, yeahhh. There’s my house! Right over there!”

I pat her on the shoulder. “Yes, that is your house, Lottie.” I force a smile and can’t help but regret how we spent our afternoon together. Maybe instead of lazing out in front of the T.V., I should’ve started educating her on things to know before entering outer space. I turn to Zim and he curls his lip up at me in dismay. I purse my lips and nod in agreement. I pat her back again. “Well, you heard the man-- er, kid-- it’s time to--”

She suddenly whirls around to face me. “Wait, I thought you were staying with your parents?”

Dammit, she’s always attentive when you don’t want her to be, huh? “Ah, well… my parents, they-- uhhhhh-- they, uh, renovated my room into their home gym! Wild, huh! My stir-crazy parents always have to start on some project.”

Lottie laughs along with me but then she stops abruptly. “Didn’t they already have a home gym?”

“They… wanted… two?”

She furrows her brows at me and I look down at my shoes, trying to seem forlorn.

“They don’t do much together, anymore. My leaving really left the marriage in shambles...”

Lottie’s face falls into a deep frown. “Ah-- uhm, sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to pry--”

“No, it’s fine! It’s good we catch up on these things!” I grin at her. It’s moments like these-- although fake in their nature-- that I am glad to have maintained such a friendship. She may be dense but her heart’s in the right place. She cares.

“Ahem.” We both look over to Zim and his arms are crossed, impatiently tapping his foot. But calling attention to himself like that doesn’t produce the results he anticipated.

“Wait, why do you live with him? He’s… weird,” she tries to whisper the last part to me.

Suddenly he’s stammering to come up with a lie. ‘I stole her ship and money so now she’s imprisoned me in a bogus verbal contract’ is not the type of thing you admit with pride. “Well, uh… she-- uh-- she’s myyyy--”

I come up behind him and grip onto his shoulders to get him to shut up. “He’s my younger cousin!”

Zim nods eagerly.

Lottie slaps herself on the forehead and snorts. “Duh! Now I see the resemblance!”

“You do?!” Zim and I chorus.

My friend laughs at our reaction. “Yeah, you two could be, like, siblings!”

Zim tilts his head at her, probably marveling at the stupidity of humanity in his head so I take this break of interrogation as my window of opportunity.

“I just remembered! It’s National Cousin Bonding Day-- don’t look that up.”

“Wow, really? I’ve never--”

“So we have a ton of fun, family-bonding activities to tend to!” I forcefully usher my friend out the door. “I’ll see you another time, yeah?”

She nods at me with a grin. “Sure thing! See ya!” She walks down the sidewalk and we wave at each other, further drawing out this painful process.

“Yep, yep. See ya!”

“Bye!” She blows me a kiss. “And Happy National Cousin Bondage Day!”

“Yeah, bonding but, okay.” I slam the door shut. “Not even real anyway,” I mutter to myself. Now staring at the purple surface at the door in the silence of the living room, I’m faced with the realization of what is to come--

“JUST WHAT WERE YOU THINKING--”

His grating voice causes me to flinch and I slowly turn to face him.

“PROBABLY NOTHING! I thought I’d met the dumbest of the dumb but you outshine every stupid earth-monkey on this equally-stupid planet! Does anything go on in that head of yours? Or is it just pure dookie!”

“Dude, that was Green Day’s best album, can you blame me--?”

“FOCUS! Focus on the words I’m telling you, hyooman.” As he says this, a complex mechanism unfolds itself to reach down and remove his disguise.

“Well, with you lookin’ like that, you just made it all the harder.” He lurches away from me when I try to place my hands on his shoulders once more. How unfortunate. I thought I had made some sort of progress but I guess he was just playing nice for Lottie.

“You’ll just have to try your best, then.” He marches away from me, arms crossed behind his back like a soldier. I reluctantly follow him to the kitchen. “When I agreed to your conditions of the deal I should’ve enlisted some rules of my own. I won’t let you make a fool of Zim, again, by trusting you to have enough common sense to know that we ward humans away from the base! Never invite them in! Especially that airheaded friend of yours!”

“Hey! Lottie is-- wait, what’d you call her? An airhead, yeah, that’s fair.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “She knows too much. She’s seen too much. You’re lucky I don’t capture her and wipe her memory--”

I rush up to him with clasped hands. “Hey-hey-hey! No need for that, right? She’ll learn about aliens soon, anyway! Why waste the effort? Right? Right?”

He smiles at me, and for a moment I think it’s genuine. “You really think someone like Lottie could last a single day in space? What you experienced was pure luck.”

“What do you know?” I huff and cross my arms. I mean, he was right but it’s not like he had any evidence to back that claim up.

“More than you. You’ve been nothing but trouble… You know,” he announces as he climbs up the toilet. “I have half a mind to rid myself of you once-and-for-all once the repairs of my lab are finished. And what can you do about it?” He sneers.

Something about his tone feels like less like ‘farewell-in-your-fixed-ship’ and more like ‘say-hello-to-your-demise’. I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, okay, shit, dude! You don't gotta bust my balls... I’m sorry, I won’t let Lottie in here again--”

“Good.”

“I never meant for her to even stay for that long, we just got caught up, y’know? We were watching this genuinely interesting documentary--”

“Yeah, I really don’t care.” He cuts me off as the elevator takes him down.

I peer through the shaft with a frown as he descends, not sparing me a glance. I listen intently for the thud of the elevator platform pressing flush against the metal lab floor. It’s distant and subtle. But when I hear it, I trigger my tellie device to be walking right by Zim’s side.

“Oh, but I think you will--”

“HOW’D YOU GET HERE SO FAST?” He squawks and scuttles away from me, back against the wall.

Ignoring him, I continue forward and with my explanation. “It was a documentary about Earth and its magnetic field. All that science jargon almost put me to sleep but then when it got to the interesting stuff--” I cackle and drum my fingertips together. “Did you know just how important the axis of the earth is to the survival of humans? Apparently-- assuming it’s not an asteroid or global warming or Mutually Assured Destruction that does the job-- the Earth is one day going to tilt away from the twenty-three-degree angle and humanity will be ruined! Without that tilt, the Earth is exposed to all that spicy space radiation--”

“Spicy?” Zim curls his lip up.

“Yeah, the kind that makes cancerous tumors go sicko mode or… malignant, in scientific terms. Humanity would get merked, and if we don’t take the L from all the space-cancer and Mother Nature gettin’ her-- ahem-- ‘Red-Badge-of-Courage’ who knows just how society might tear itself apart! It’s almost N.E.W.K., dude.” During my speech, Zim and I stop walking as he listens to me attentively.

He stares at me for a few moments, as if in deep thought. “Normally, human, nothing you say has any substance or meaning to me, but I think I understood most of that…” He hums and his eyes flit down to the metal floor panels. He looks up, astonished. “It’s genius!”

“What is--?”

Then, he’s rushing further down the hall, hollering incomprehensible orders to Computer.

“I was still talking!” Then, watching his retreating figure I sigh out. “Oh, but how I love to watch you go,” I purr.

Belting out as obnoxiously as possible, to the point where I was straining my throat, did nothing to drown out G.I.R.’s constant knocking on the bathroom door. I begin rinsing the shampoo out of my hair and watch myself in the steamed, full-body mirror across from me. Above the singing of the chorus, I can hear G.I.R.’s pleas.

“Let’s have tea-time, fluffy! Or I might explooode!”

Ignoring this, I sang right over him along with the song. “We are in a mess-- a danger zone! What will happen next? You never know--AHHHH!” I jump away from the trickling water of the showerhead and shiver violently. Almost slipping and shattering both of my fuckin’ kneecaps, I step out of the tub of the shower and grab my towel. “COMPUTER! WHAT’S WITH THE COLD WATER?”

I can barely make out his response over the pounding of the water droplets, the stereos blasting, and G.I.R.’s yelling so I silence what I can before calling him again.

“Water pressure has lowered significantly and Generator C has been shut off in replacement of Generator F through J to power--”

“In English, Computer.”

"I am speaking English. You changed my language settings, remember?"

"I meant in simpler terms."

“Zim’s new plan requires water, and a lot of it, so he shut off the supply to the base.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” I yell. I throw my towel down on the floor while I rush out the bathroom door in my birthday suit to my connected bedroom. I shuffle through the dresser and the closet that Computer provided me for something to throw on, but it’s hard to focus with the little robot still yelling at me. He grabs my bare leg. Surprisingly, he’s out of his doggy disguise he likes to wear so much.

“Look! I’m nekkid too! Nakey tea party!” And like a little piglet, he lets out a long high-pitched squeal in excitement.

Though he has the brain of a child, G.I.R. is a lot like a dog in the ways you have to train him. Lecturing him doesn’t really work, as Zim so fervently demonstrates. I find that the best way to discipline G.I.R. is to ignore any attempts he makes at getting your attention-- not that Zim has the backbone to do so. If you’re lucky, he’ll get the point of silent treatment and obey. But most of the time he is enough amusement for himself and as we are all painfully aware of, screaming is his favorite pastime. This is one of those unlucky moments. Though I do manage to get dressed, he only continues to follow me around when I make my way out the door.

“Fluffy! I’ll be a doggy, again! Fluffy! Fluffy?”

Just like his master, he can never be bothered to use my name, so he takes to calling me fluffy. Probably because he absolutely loves the one thing I have that Zim doesn’t. And that was a full head of my beautiful, voluminous hair. It’s not arrogance, it’s self-awareness.

“I didn’t get to finish my shower, G.I.R., so sorry. No can do.”

He lets out a whine. “But you’re the guest of honor!”

I can just teleport away from G.I.R. and into the lab, but-- no duh-- I still have a soft spot for the cutie. He just needs to learn boundaries. “Instead of tea time, watch me murder your master in cold blood. Cold like that fucking shower,” I seeth as I step down into the trash can.

He hops down beside me and waves his arms up wildly. “Yay! Murder!”

The moment the elevator lowers down to the level of Zim’s lab, I crouch down and hop off, not waiting for it to come to a stop. “You got some nerve stealing all the hot water, jackass!” I yell at him. G.I.R. skips to my side and latches himself onto my leg again.

Zim’s at the top of a tall platform and behind him is a semi-circular control panel full of many buttons and dials, a big red lever in the very middle of it all. Zim turns to me almost as if he were expecting me. “I was expecting you, human.”

Right on the nose with that one, huh? “What is all this shit?” I motion to the lab. While normally, the area was clean, spacious, and empty, it’s now cluttered with a cluster of machines. The most daunting of apparatuses was these large cylindrical glass pumps full of water. There are four of them, standing at maybe ten, fifteen, twenty feet. I don’t know, I don’t really have an eye for accurate guesstimations like that. In between these machines are thick magenta tubes that connect them together into one, centralized mess in the center of the lab. “You better start working on my ship after this, Zim!”

He places a hand on his hip and dismissively waves down at me. “Oh, I finished your ship last night, but you were asleep.”

“Ooh, really?”

“Yes, but before you go, allow me to enlighten you on my latest evil invention!”

I sigh. “Okay, go ahead.”

He eyes me warily before he begins. “You… gave me a wonderful idea several days ago when you told me about the earth’s axis.”

It seems he’s learned from his past mistakes to give credit where credit’s due.

“By using these pumps as my conductors, I will generate two powerful magnetic forces that will shift the earth’s magnetic field to my will! Then, I will flip the Earth’s magnetic poles and the rapid precession will shatter the force field that protects it from space radiation and--”

My face pales. “Wait-wait-wait, you’re actually doing that?!”

“YES! Genius, isn’t it? Praise Zim!” He laughs maniacally.

“No! That’s a horrible idea! Every grid on planet Earth will be fried! No electronic device will be spared! No global communication, no radio signals--”

“Even better!”

I scoff. “That’ll affect you too!”

“You LIE!”

“You’re literally on Earth! Listen to me, for once! First of all, you wouldn’t be able to access your lab-- you don’t have any stairs in the base. And you wouldn’t be able to send any signals to your space-buddies in space, so you’d be stranded here! With nothing to do…” I mutter to myself at the realization of how boring and meaningless life would become. “No internet… no cell phones… no cars...no T.V.! Wait! The season five premiere of Secret Bad Girls Club* is tonight!”

“Ooh, it is?” He leans over the railing, antennae perking forward.

“Yeah! Come onnn!” I sing. “You wouldn’t wanna miss that, would ya? I think Wanda’s gonna fess up about her relationship with that landlord-guy!”

“He would never put his job at risk for some love-pig!” He counters. “But anyhow, my mission is much too important to put on hold!” He bellows as if giving a rallying speech to an adoring crowd. “I can practically taste the destruction, the martyrdom! The sufferiiiing!” He hisses while leaning his body over the railing to grin down at me. He swings himself back up and crosses his arms. “Besides, we can just put it on the D.V.R.”

I nod back at him, in agreement. “Wait--no! I got side-tracked... Pull the plug! You’re not doing this!”

“And why not,” he asks, if only to humor me, I’m sure.

I take a deep breath, a very deep inhale as if somewhere in the tiny, microscopic particles in the oxygen is a smidge of sanity and patience to help me explain to him why this is so stupid. “Zim.”

“What.”

“The thing on your back. What is that?”

“My PAK!”

“Good, good. Okay, and what exactly is your PAK?” I ask him.

“That’s none of your business--!”

“Fair.” I already know the answer. The one and only other Irken I’ve met generously took the time to explain its basic functions to me. One of them being that it’s a computer-- an electronic device. “Now… you… are on Earth, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And this device--? It’s made to fry every electronic on Earth. Correct?”

“Correct.”

I raise my brows up at him and wave my arms to the side.

“I don’t see what you’re--”

“O-kay, let’s review! Who’s on Earth?”

“The humans,” he snarls in disdain.

“And…?”

He stares at me in puzzlement and hums lowly. Slowly, he raises a finger to his chest. “...Me--?”

“YES! Yes… right. Are you seeing where I’m going with this?” At the blank stare he’s giving me I huff out in frustration. “Your PAK! It’ll get fried, too--!”

“Silly human, you underestimate me! And who are you to go around ordering me-- ZIM!”

“I’m not underestimating you!” I cry out, desperately trying to get through to him. “Like, this--” I pause to peruse the lab once more and gesture towards the intricate apparatuses. “This is really smart! And evil! I definitely know you can do it, Zim. One-hundred percent, without a doubt, this is your best idea to conquer Earth--!”

“That’s very nice of you,” he says graciously.

“It’s just--! ...Hm,” I pause to drum my fingertips together in careful thought. “There’s a difference between the things you can do and are completely capable of doing-- right? And the things you shouldn’t do. Like you really shouldn’t do this-- do you get that?”

A look crosses his features, as if a lightbulb just went off in his head. His eyes widen and his brows raise up, lips parting open. He steps to the rail and grasps it, ducking his head down at me, the astonished look on his face only growing-- “Eh?” He curls his lip up.

A guttural groan grumbles in my throat. “You’re lucky you’re cute but looks can only take you so far, Zim. I mean, you really make the dumb-blonde look like ugly-Einstein.”

“I am not cute! I’m not adorable, or precious-- or-or any other stupid thing you call me! I am fierce, mighty! A trained soldier and I’m going to watch your world burnnn!”

“Come on, Zim! Where’s that little voice in your head telling you not to follow through with bad ideas? You have it in you-- it’s probably just really, really, really, really, really-really, reallyyyyy quiet due to years of neglect.”

“Silence! You don’t know what you’re talking about, Earthling!”

Oh, he knows how much I detest when he calls me the “E-word”. But, he has a point. I really don’t know anything about the functions of his plan or machines outside of what he revealed to me. So, just like any ignoramus with enough self-awareness to realize they’re in over their head, I figure the best course of action is to take matters into my own hands. I nudge G.I.R. off my leg. Finding a pile of spare parts in the corner of the lab-- tools bent out of shape, chipped circuit boards, and dented metal panels-- I pick up a rusted monkey-wrench. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see he’s taken interest in what I’m doing. I match his stare taking brisk and purposeful steps back to the machinery.

CLANG! CLANG!

“What’re you--”

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!”

“You’re not really--”

CLANG!

“Enough!” He barks.

The banging of pipes against the metal tubing and other-seemingly-weak aspects of the machines has no effect. With one last effort, I fling the pipe as hard as I can against the glass of the water pump. I duck down-- it ricochets and almost knocks me out. Zim laughs obnoxiously. But then I see G.I.R. standing on the control panel over his shoulder.

“I’ll help you finish your shower!” G.I.R. tells me in the most horrifyingly-vague and cryptic way possible, because-- sorry, but what the fuck does that mean?

Zim doesn’t seem to pay his robot servant any attention as he only continues to mock me from above. G.I.R. jumps up and yanks down the red lever in the center of the panel and like flipping a switch, a cacophony of sirens and “WARNING!”’s from Computer drown out Zim’s scolding to the robot.

I clasp my hands over my ears and cringe at the deafening sounds. The pumps begin working faster-- the water sloshing. Straining at the glass. The pipes burst one by one and a hiss of hot air is released.

This thing is going to blow!

I rush towards a cart that has an array of tools and knock it on its side. I duck behind it and clasp my hands over my head and tuck my body close to the floor. The ground quakes and I hear a muffled explosion.

Cracking an eye open, there’s a slow stream of water trickling past my cover. I gulp. Peeking my head up over the table to assess the damages and-- just as I guessed-- a vein is stretching across all the glass of the pumps. It’s about to crack! On my feet once more, I scan the ceilings. The covers to the pumps are suspended by sturdy cables. It’s my only chance and just as a wave of water rushes over the place I once stood, I’m teleported to a metal covering on my hands and knees. The pumps bring in hundreds upon hundreds of gallons of water and everything in the lab is getting washed away.

Flailing gloved hands catch my attention as Zim gets swept up in the waves. “YOU’RE LUCKY I TOOK MY PASTE BATHE TODAY!” He sputters out between mouthfuls of water. “YOU DID THIS! YOU DID THIS, YOU STUPID, INSOLENT--” And he’s yanked down in the water as another wave overcomes him.

The water bursts through the doors and fills the halls and adjacent rooms. Wave after wave after wave! If this continues, the water will rise past my safe spot above the destruction.

“Shit! What now?!” I squint my eyes as if it will help me see past the dark waters down into the lab. And then it hits me. That lever G.I.R. pulled must control the surge of water flow into the pumps. I’m much too far to reach it from here but I’m sure I can swim--

As I’m thinking this, my hand dips down and breaks the surface of the water but I quickly retract it back.

It’s freezing! What happened to all that hot water Zim stole from me?!

No way I’m going through that! Truly, this path is far too treacherous to cross. My fate is signed, sealed, and delivered by the big guy up in the sky and I know better than to argue with the forces of nature. I wonder if hell allows aliens? ‘Cause if so, I’m gonna reunite with a lot of people that will be mega-excited to see me-- for reasons that’ll probably involve hot lava being poured into my eyes and my innards being worn like a ceremonial headdress as they prance around my writhing ghost-body--

Floating around me is debris of all shapes and varying masses. Well, there’s a solution I like! If they aren’t dense enough to sink, they might not be strong enough to have any real effect but it’s worth a shot. I pick up a plastic canister and fling it at the lever but it bounces off the side of the panel. I missed it completely! I grab another piece of debris just like it and try again yielding the same result. I try again, and again, and again!

Miss. Miss. Miss.

I don’t know how many minutes have passed but my arms are sore and I’m about ready to throw the towel in. I sit back and huff out an annoyed sigh. Then I hear the sound of humming and splashing coming from behind me. G.I.R. is doggy-paddling through the water happily as he hums the song I was singing earlier in the shower. That’s when I get an idea. I lift him out of the water.

“Hi, Fluffy! Is it time for tea-YEEEEEEE!” He screeches when I fling him at the lever. To my relief, his quick-reflexes allow him to latch his tiny hands onto the lever as he flies past it. Though his momentum yanks it out of the control panel, it shuts off the pumps, nevertheless. Just in time too as the water just reaches the brim of the cover I’m cowering on. The rolls of water begin to weaken and my situation dawns on me. I’m on a metal island in the middle of a still lake. It’s eerily silent in the lab, save for the rhythmic pattering and plinking of water droplets-- and G.I.R.’s distant singing.

“Maybe I should’ve taken that more seriously,” I say aloud as I assess the scene before me. “This better not be a thing, Zim!” I yell out in case he can hear me from wherever he is. “I can’t keep doing all the hard work to save your butt!” That’s when I notice his PAK jutting out from the surface of the water like a turtle shell. “Oh, speak of the devil!” I crawl over to the edge. “Real nice of you to show up after I fixed your mess--” I reach over and lift him out of the water by his PAK and I’m momentarily surprised at just how light he is. And then it dawns on me at how utterly Irken-less the PAK in my hands is. “Holy shit-- ZIM!” I call out and get to my feet, clutching the PAK close to my chest. But then a mess of wires spills out from it and tries to grab at me. With a squeal, I toss it to the other side of the cover. Four legs pop out and it tries to chase after me.

I teleport to the next cover over and once I’m far away, the PAK lies dormant again. I can only imagine it got knocked off his back somehow during the whole fiasco. I call for him again, this time louder, but I get no response. “Fuck, fuck! Can he even live without that?!” I cry out.

That’s when the ever-reliable Computer decides to finally chime in. “Irkens can survive at maximum ten minutes from the moment their PAK is detached. However, for the duration of that time limit, their bodies and brain will deteriorate until they are reduced to a state of--”

“English!”

“He can only live for ten minutes without his PAK and while it’s off he becomes really, really, really stupid.”

I yell out in frustration. “WELL, HOW LONG AGO WAS THAT?!”

“No idea.”

“You’re useless!”

“I just observed that whole thing, same as you, (Y/n). I’m a Computer, not an omniscient god--”

I don’t give it much thought but suddenly I’m plunging down into the water, the cold leaving a numbing, tingly sensation throughout my body. The worst thing would be to die from shock, so I begin pumping my arms to doggy paddle through the deep lake. Micheal Phelps could never. I squint my eyes open and scan the entire lab. It’s hard to see through the darkness and murkiness but I’m able to spot his arm from far away. Swimming closer, it’s clear he’s stuck underneath the metal platform he was standing on.

I swim up and gasp in for a breath when I break the surface. “COMPUTER! Come help me get that thing off him! It’s down here!”

A metal arm emerges from the ceiling and it follows me back down through the water. I swim to the side and try to keep myself from floating up as I point to the platform. The arm is joined by several others and they lift it. I scoop the Irken up into my arms and begin to ascend to the surface. I kick my legs and bring us to the cover with his PAK and while still latching onto one of his arms, I’m able to pull myself up first. Then, I hook my arms under his and drag him onto the cover. Almost immediately the PAK attaches itself to his back.

Shuffling away, I eye him carefully as he's lying on his side, expecting him to wake up right away and lunge at me in attack-- but he doesn’t. I watch his chest to see if it rises or falls as a sign of breathing, but it doesn’t. I watch his antennae to see if they’ll begin to pick up on his new surroundings, but they don’t. He’s utterly still. It’s like he’s sleeping. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him sleep before. As cliche as it sounds, he looks very peaceful in this state. But also very dead.

Worry overcomes cowardice and I scoot closer to Zim. I push my sopping wet hair behind my ear and lean down to his chest. I listen intently for a heartbeat but then it dawns on me-- he doesn’t have a heart.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! I dunno how to tell if you’re alive or dead or not!” My breathing becomes erratic as panic overwhelms me. “What the fuck do I do?! How do I check someone’s vitals when I don’t know the vitals-- oh! Your PAK!” At this, I turn him onto his stomach and press my ear against the polka-dotted, egg-shaped, computer-brain on his back. I try to listen for a sign of life, something, anything, and then I hear it. It sounds like a low hum, and I’ve heard something like this before. It's the same hum you can hear from the fan in a computer or laptop. Maybe his PAK is drying itself off? “Okay, so he’s alive!” I conclude aloud. “Y’know, if you wanna butt in at any time, Computer, your input would be greatly appreciated. I’m not just voicing my thoughts out ‘cause I like the sound of my voice.”

“You’re handling the situation just fine--”

“REALLY?! ‘CUZ IT DOESN’T FEEL LIKE IT!” I yell at the ceiling. But there are bigger priorities right now than cussing out a sassy and a not-so-intelligent artificial intelligence.

“Hey!”

“Oh, did I say that out loud? That thought I meant to keep to myself…” This time, I really do turn my attention back to Zim, who isn’t as dead as I originally thought. Yay! Maybe he inhaled too much water though...

C.P.R. would be the best method of approach. I turn him on his back. From what I recall in P.E., I have to clasp my hands together like so and place them on the center of his chest. I shift to get into a position that’ll allow me to apply all my weight onto my hands-- and thus his chest-- and I press down to give the first compression--

But then I hear something strain.

His PAK.

I scoff and sit back. “Wha-- How am I supposed to give him C.P.R.?! Computer! I don’t know what I’m doing! He needs CPR, right? But, like, his PAK is directly under where I’m supposed to be pumping his chest so I won’t be able to apply the right amount of pressure! That’s so inconvenient! And I can’t exactly take it off.”

To my relief, a screen lowers down from the ceiling with a display of two pink-silhouetted Irkens. One is lying on its back with their head tilted back and the other is holding their head in place, providing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I flush, though it is not the time to let my sexual frustrations get in the way. Also on the screen is a paragraph of Irken text, which I can’t read or comprehend for shit. Luckily, Computer takes the time to translate for me.

“In situations like this, it’s rare for an Irken to require any form of Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation-- in the ways you humans define it-- as the PAK does most of the work. But, it can help to provide mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in order to stimulate respiration.”

I nod wordlessly and scoot even closer to his side. I tilt his head back and lower his jaw. When his lips part, his tongue lolls out to the side and I cringe. But upon further inspection, I notice it’s kinda tentacle-like-- not a flat and squishy muscle like we humans have-- and it's long and segmented. “That’s a lot like Oggy’s tongue,” I note.

“Are you stalling?”

“You’re right-- sorry!” I lean down. I take a deep breath and clasp my lips around his, fully covering his mouth like I learned in P.E. but in the next instant I’m harshly shoved backward and I land on my rump. Zim sits up and he practically vomits out a bucket-full of water. He hacks and coughs violently and I’m pretty sure I can hear the water that has clogged his systems. He turns to me despite his heaving breaths and glares at me. His antennae are flattened against his head. I’ve seen him angry before, but this look is foreign to me somehow. He must be really pissed.

Since there’s no way to morally place the full blame on him, maybe I should suck up my pride. “Heyyy… I’m, uh, really sorry about breaking your evil machine-thingy and indirectly destroying your entire lab, again. I didn’t think that would happen--”

“WERE YOU KISSING ME?!”

What.

Is that seriously what he’s more focused on right now? “What-no! Zim! I was giving you mouth-to-mouth! But, as I was saying, I’m sorry--”

“PERVERTED EARTH-MONKEY! FIRST, YOU KNOCK ZIM UNCONSCIOUS AND THEN YOU TRY TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ME WHILE I'M ASLEEP?”

“You weren’t asleep! You were fucking DYING!”

“Nonsense!” He gets to his feet and glares down at me.

“It’s not nonsense! You-- your PAK fell off and--”

Suddenly, he’s above me on those awful spider-legs. “YOU REMOVED MY PAK?!”

“Come on…” My voice wavers. “No need for hostility, let’s just talk this out and-- Computer! Tell him!” I plead at the ceiling.

“I’m not touching this,” Computer responds

“Why jump to conclusions! I’m telling you the truth.”

“YOU'RE LYING!” He points a finger at my face.

I see. He’s just regular-upset. At this point, I’m sure he’s just screaming to hear the sound of his own voice. Still, he doesn’t have to act so disgusted with me. I smack his hand away.

I stand and walk to the edge, my wet shoes nearly causing me to slip, and I grip the cord for support.

“Hey! Human!” He calls out to me.

But I only ignore him and delve into the depths of the water. As I doggy-paddle away from him, I call back over my shoulder. “I honestly thought you’d be more upset about me flooding your lab.”

“I hadn’t gotten to that yet! Come back!”

Once I got used to the chilliness of the water, swimming through the lab is actually kinda fun. Especially when keeping in mind just how clean Zim kept his lab so I know I’m not swimming through dirty, shitty, water. It’s probably cleaner than a public pool! And holding onto the door frames to duck into the next room is all part of the fun. It feels like swimming through a sunken ship or something. After poor navigation and getting lost a number of times, I finally find the part of the lab I had been searching for: the hanger-repair room. I can hop on my ship and fly far away from here. None of this is my problem anymore-- I had already apologized.

But to my dismay, the ship is entirely in shambles. I was so excited to leave here, I hadn’t realized that all the debris I swam through to get here were actually parts of the RV saucer. The paddling that kept me wading afloat in the water comes to a cease at the disappointing scene and I allow myself to sink under the surface. If I’m lucky I’ll drown.

Or else, I’m gonna be here a while.

“You missed that one!”

I groan but readjust my grip on the shovel and start digging at the debris that suctioned itself to the drain. As soon as I shove the metal hunk away, the drain sputters like some gross, slimy, fish and the water begins to spiral into a tiny, little twister down the drain.

“Less ogling and more working!” Zim shouts at me. He stands on a dry platform above the flooded lab floor.

I stick my tongue out at him and he flinches though I’m very far from him.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That pitiful attempt at attacking me!” He snaps.

“That wasn’t an attack, Zim. I was just making a face at you, to piss you off.”

He ignores my generous explanation and points out another clogged drain on the lab floor. I trudge through the sloshing water that reaches up to my knees.

“I can see it worked,” I mutter to myself, his narrowed eyes stare me down with such intensity, I won’t be surprised if he explodes again. “Here?” I ask and nudge some debris away with the blade of the shovel.

“Yes, do you see it?”

“I see it.” I shove the trash away and the water flushes down more efficiently. I spot another drain and make my way towards it.

“I wanted to ask you, human…”

I hope it’s not about the kiss-- as he calls it-- again. He gave me another earful for it about how gross it felt and honed in on the rules of consent. Last time we watch reality T.V. together… The alien knows too much about Earth culture. With reluctance, I finally ask, “what?”

“How did you escape to high ground so quickly? Why didn’t you get washed away in the flood?” He sneers at me in suspicion. “Did you plan for all this to happen, huh?”

I rest the handle of the shovel across my shoulders and lazily anchor my arms around it. “Uh… nope. Didn’t plan it--”

“You planned for that to happen, didn’t you?”

“No, Zim. It completely fucked my ship so if I did plan it--”

“Didn’t you?!”

“I already said I didn’t! Do you have a problem with listening, Zim? Maybe if you weren’t so stressed all the time, old man, you’re antennae wouldn’t be in such a twist and you could hear me better! I think--”

“DIDN’T YOU?!” He hollers and points a trembling finger at me.

I sigh and slosh through the water towards him. I ditch the shovel and lift myself up to sit on the platform next to him. “What if I tell you how I got away from the flood so fast, will that calm you down--?”

“DIDN’T YOU--”

“Okay, that’s gettin’ old.” I pat his back and he seems to snap out of whatever malfunction his PAK let him slip into.

“Yes, tell Zim, hyooman. Your secret weapon.”

I lean on my hand to reach into my back pocket. “It’s not a weapon, actually!” I smile and hold it out to him. “It’s more like a convoluted shield if anything. I got this as a gift five years back and I rely on it for practically everything now. I get myself into a lot of shituations where I can’t defend myself…” I explain, feeling kinda sheepish. It’s not often I dwell on how vulnerable and… fragile I am compared to other space aliens. It only takes a good ol’ shank in the gut or bullet to the chest for the Tom, Dick, or Sally. ‘Tis but a scratch,' the average Swib, Dkoog, or Libik might say.

He turns the device over in his hands. “Ooh, what is it?” He slides his claw down an obelisk latch down the side. “It’s pretty! Gah!” He yelps when it suddenly flips open at his touch and a thick, hooked needle pops up.

Like a fairy wand! “It’s a teleportation device, but it’s super compact and super top-secret.”

He looks up at me in awe. “This small thing?”

“Crazy, huh?”

“Crazy? It’s impossible!”

“Not when you break it down. Here.” I take the device from him. “This needle goes into your wrist--” I trace my finger over the exact nerve. “And connects to the cerebellum, motor cortex, annnnd, the frontal lobe?” I pose as a question, unsure if my memory is failing me. “And basically, it replaces the functions that make your muscles move as commands for the device. Technically, all you gotta do is just picture where you want to go-- once you get good at it, that is. Then, it’s basically like how Star Trek explained it! It separates your atoms and duplicates them into a new location in space and there are these laser-thingies inside--” I point to a corner of the device. “That vaporize the parent atoms of the copies.”

He nods his head in understanding, but at the last part, his expression falters and he gives me a scowl. “Wait, so… this makes a clone of you?”

“Essentially.”

“And murders the current you.”

“Exactly.”

"And that's how you escaped all those times!"

"Obviously."

He pushes his bottom lip out in a pout and he looks away from me to the destruction of his lab. “If you wanted to show off to Zim, you didn’t need to destroy my lab for that--”

“I TOLD YOU, I DIDN’T PLAN THIS!”

In a galaxy, not all that far away…

“Y’know…” Borgz lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s moments like these I really start to miss that crazy girl.”

“It would definitely make this a lot faster,” Oggy agrees from his spot on a stack of crates. The short creature likes to be eye-level with his tall Commander.

“Yeah, yeah, that too. But I didn’t mean just her teleportation abilities,” Borgz says thoughtfully. From where he sits on a trunk full of weaponry, he leans back on his hands and kicks one of his legs, up-and-down rhythmically.

“She lusts for the martyrdom of the powerless,” the always-silent Veeka says, the cool tone of her voice immediately drawing in the attention of the crew. “It is their bloodshed that excites her, like a dying sun that feasts on another star's dimming light, such explodes in a supernova of rage and fury leaving behind only stardust that sows the seeds for her prey.”

Borgz lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, that too. But,” He stops and tsks in frustration. “I mean, wasn’t she so fun to be around! She was the life of the party!” When he looks back to his crew, neither Oggy or Veeka will meet his gaze. “What?!” Their silence only further irks him. “C’mon! Spit it out!”

“You’re really the only one that likes her!” Oggy cries out suddenly. When he’s met with Borgz’s fierce glare, he looks back down to his feet. “Uh, Commander, sir.”

“That can’t be true! Veeka! You like her!”

Veeka turns her nose up and pouts.

“Oggy! You always play video games with her!”

“Only ‘cuz that four-armed freak will insist he gets to play as two fighters and can gang up on me!” Oggy defends. “And we all know how Spoofly feels about her.”

The crew turns silent as they all nod their heads in agreement. But they find the notion to be mostly amusing.

“Well-- well, I think she’s cool--”

“SHUT UP, MONIQUE!” Borgz hollers in her face.

“NO ONE ASKED YOU, MONIQUE!” Oggy yells.

“SO STUPID!” Borgz adds.

“Foolish woman,” Veeka hisses.

“Okay, wow,” Monique huffs and crosses her arms, leaning against the rungs of a ladder.

“I don’t get it…” Borgz mutters to himself. “You and Spoofly always insist on having (Y/n) join you on your missions.”

“Well, we may be stubborn but we’re not blind. Anyone can see that she knows what she’s doing-- well, no, that’s generous.” He shakes his head. “She’s good at what she does,” Oggy concludes.

“Exactly my point! Y’know, when I was in training, I hated my mentor at first. But then I understood his craft, just how skilled he was! And through respect, I learned to like him and care for him! Y’know… before I beheaded him and ate his eyeballs.”

Oggy nods in thought. “Yeah, Vortian eyeballs are a delicacy. How could you resist?”

“Exactly--! Wait, you’re missing the point. The point is, you need to give her another chance.”

“No, Commander. I’m sorry, but the point is: is that (Y/n)’s only so unnaturally-skilled at her teleportation abilities because she’s so self-centered that she’s perfected making things work in her favor!”

A distant cry almost veers Borgz’s attention away from the conversation.

“She’s ambitious!” Borgz counters.

“No, ambitious is all of us training in our respective field day-and-night for most of our lives. Self-centered is (Y/n). (Y/n) is self-centered.”

“Commander!” Spoofly cries as he runs up to them.

“You’re not seeing the big picture! Don’t be bitter just because she was born for this!”

“Commander!” Spoofly pants out as he reaches Borgz’s side. He catches his breath and points to a holographic count-down on his watch. “Commander--!”

“Shut up, Spoofly!” Borgz yells. “We’re having a conversation here!”

Oggy rolls his eyes. “I’m not being bitter, I just think you’re giving her way more credit than she deserves!”

“When you’re good, you’re good! There’s no arguin’ that!” Borgz says.

“Commander! I really think that--”

“We already know what you think of her, Spoofly,” Borgz hisses at him.

“Yeah, Romeo. Go take your broken-heart and shove it!” Oggy pounds a fist into his open palm.

Spoofly scoffs. “Romeo? You’re not using Earth slang, are you? Anyway, no, that’s not what I’m tryna tell you--”

“Yeah! You use her people’s slang all the time, Oggy! That’s practically appropriation: if you hate on her but use her culture!” Borgz points out.

“Oh,” Oggy cringes at himself. “Guess you’re right. But her references are so cool!”

“Commander!” Spoofly butts in, nervously eyeing the ever-shrinking timer.

“Yeah! They are! So why don’t you like her, then? You think her abilities are cool, you think her dialect is cool, you play video games with her! What gives, Oggy? What changed?” Borgz numbers off on his fingers as he speaks.

"She’s just a bad person, Commander!” Oggy says exasperatedly. “It took me a while to realize that with her.”

“Commanderrrrrr!” Spoofly whines out.

“We’re all bad people, Oggy! We’re criminals, for cryin’ out loud!”

“Commander!”

“Well, she’s a different kind of bad! She’s such a jerk! She’s selfish--!”

“Commander!” Spoofly calls out again.

“SHUT UP!” Oggy and Borgz chorus.

Oggy takes a deep breath before he continues. “She doesn't care about anyone but herself! And yeah, we’re criminals but at least we’d never bail on each other. I rest easy knowing that if I were ever in trouble, I could count on any of you to save my ass-- even Monique and she’s a dumbass! I don’t know if I could say the same about (Y/n)…”

In the following silence, Spoofly raises a finger and points at the hologram just as the count-down reaches one.

FWOOSH!

A tower of heat and flames soars high in the air as the entire crew slowly cranes their heads around to watch the fiery display. A cloud of thick, black, smoke obscures their view of the destruction, and they’re glad they had taken cover behind that wall long before beginning their conversation.

As the ash disperses, Borgz waves a hand in front of his face. “What were you trying to say, Spoofly?”

“I was going to say that the count-down to the bombs that we strapped to every single hostage behind that wall was gettin’ really low and we were running out of time,” Spoofly reports.

Borgz gasps. “Quick! Oggy! Disable the bombs!”

Spoofly clears his throat. “Sir, the hostages blew up.”

“Dammit! Well… did we manage to get the bounty we asked for in exchange for the hostages?”

Spoofly tilts his head. “Uhm… I--I dunno if they’ll accept--”

Borgz glares at him expectantly. “Well, did you ask?”

Spoofly lets out a groan. “No, I’ll-- I’ll go ask.” His second-in-command runs away and the crew is left to listen to his one-sided conversation from the cover. Borgz takes interest in biting at a hangnail while he awaits intel.

“Hey! HEY! Would you accept the hostages… dead?” Spoofly yells.

There’s a long pause as he awaits their response.

“Of course in exchange for the money! Don’t be cheap!”

There’s a shorter pause.

“In-tact? Uhh, I don't-- uhm, Borgz! Commander Borgz!”

His Commander spits out the skin he peeled off with his teeth. “WHAT!”

“The Rufugaters wanna know if the hostages are still intact!”

“Define intact!”

“Whaaat?”

“DEFINE INTACT!”

“Like… do they still got all their bits?”

Borgz and his crew climb up the ladders to look down into the hole where the hostages were being kept. Amongst all the splattered blood and carnage of the flames, the Commander comes to his answer. “YEAH! ALL THE BITS ARE HERE!”

“BUT ARE THEY TOGETHER? LIKE ATTACHED? LIKE IS IT STILL A BODY?”

“Oh… NO-- TELL ‘EM NO! But most of the ears are here!”

They climb down and Spoofly’s voice grows distant once more as he runs back to the Rufugater’s meet-up. “They said no, they’re not intact!”

There is another pause.

“WELL, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TRY TO HEIST YOUR RANSOM BACK! THIS COULD’VE ALLLL BEEN AVOIDED!”

Yet another pause.

“OH YEAH? WELL, TRY TELLING YOUR SON THAT, FARLY! I CAN GIVE YOU HIS RIGHT EAR OR DO YOU WANT HIS LEFT EAR TO HEAR THAT? I MEAN, IF YOU REALLY WANT THE MESSAGE TO GET THROUGH, IT’LL BE DOUBLE THE PRICE FOR BOTH!”

After a long silence, Borgz got impatient. “WELL?”

“THEY SAID THEY’LL ACCEPT THE BITS! But for half the price,” Spoofly lowers his voice as he approaches the crew.

Borgz grimaces, as if insulted. “That’s it, just burn up the remains, I don’t take allowance money.”

Spoofly turns to Veeka, Oggy, and Monique. “Well, you heard the man! Start loading up all the legs and torsos into the incinerator. But save the cartilage and tentacles! We can use that in the boiler-- Rufugater-flesh makes for good fuel.”

“Good thinkin’, Spoofly. It’s people like you that really care for the environment. You really put the fossil in fuel,” Borgz pats him on the back.

“Thank you, Commander.”

As his crew walks off, Borgz lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s no way I can make back what she stole.” Imbued with a sense of determination, he decides, “Looks like I’ll have to go get ‘er myself. After all,” he cringes. “The big boss is gettin’ impatient.”

Chapter Text

They made an agreement.

Well, besides the one that got these two stuck under the same roof in the first place. It took hours and hours of relentlessly begging. But eventually Zim gave in to (Y/n)'s demands; he would make her jet-pack boots. She insisted she could, in return, help him out in the lab-- not with any task that required more than a double-digit I.Q., only simple favors. Like fetching him juice or snacks when he wanted it, or handing him tools out of reach, or keeping him company. The offer was vehemently and pridefully denied.

That is, until the initial test-run.

“Superman can suck my balls.” She disabled one of the boots with the pull of a trigger and flipped back in the air.

“Watch out for the--!”

The flames sprouting from the soles burned through the metal walls of the lab. “Leaping buildings in a single bound?” While twirling around, she accidentally crashed into a work table, knocking over a variety of tools and chemicals. “I’m gonna somersault over the fucking moon!” She had exclaimed after coming to a harsh stop, nearly crashing into Zim.

“STOP DESTROYING MY LAB!”

Although (Y/n) fully intended on repaying Zim for the favor, G.I.R.’s suggestion for them to use the jet-pack boots right now was much too tempting-- unbeknownst to Zim.

From where he lay on a mechanic’s creeper underneath a generator-- which got blown up during the jet-pack test-run-- Zim sticks an arm out, palm up.

“Monkey-wrench,” he orders and lets out a grunt. “And, hurry, this destabilizes immediately.” He waits a moment, opening and closing his hand as if to rush her. “(Y/n)? Monkey-wrench!” He demands.

Then, an alarm starts rapidly beeping.

“(Y/n)--!” He stops himself. “OH, FINE! I’ll get it!” He rolls out from underneath the generator and glances up at the bench that holds the toolbox to discover (Y/n) is nowhere in sight. Hot gas starts hissing out from next to him.

“Warning! Generator is in critical condition! Proceed with Cool-Down protocol,” the Computer alerts him.

Zim scoots off the creeper quickly and crawls over to the toolbox.

“Warning! Generator is in critical--”

“I’M GETTING TO IT!” Zim yells back. He searches through the box, throwing tools over his shoulder, but the wrench is nowhere in sight.

“Warning--!”

Suddenly, the beeping stops as a blast of thick gas clouds the lab in a hot haze. It dissipates and an ash-covered Zim is left to stare dumbfoundedly at the ruins. He lets out a yell of frustration. “Urghhh-- G.I.R.! Come down to the lab and clean this up…! G.I.R.? G.I.R.?!”

It had taken him only an hour to clean the mess in the lab and feeling he deserved a break, he lounged in the living room awaiting his robot servant’s and the irresponsible human’s return.

But lounging and watching the boring T.V. only made the time drag on longer somehow and soon Zim found himself to be pacing back and forth in the living room.

‘Where had they gone off to?’

‘What was taking so long?’

‘Did something bad happen--?’

Before any real concern can take over, the front door opens.

“FINALLY! WHERE WERE YOU--! G.I.R.?” Zim squints in confusion.

The little robot waves at him excitedly. “Helloooo!” He slurps loudly from a slushie and, shopping bag in hand, he plops himself down on the floor in front of the T.V.

His relief at seeing the robot who had disappeared for the entire morning without warning is fleeting. “And where have you been?”

“Out!” He sasses. He’s been hanging around (Y/n) too much.

Zim puts his hands on his hips. “Out where?”

G.I.R. puts his slushie down and pulls out a D.V.D. case from the bag. He inserts the D.V.D. into the player as he recalls his day, “to the dance club, then to the pet store, then the Video Outhouse. (Y/n) had earrings!”

“Errands?” Zim stares down at the robot who trots to the oversized couch.

“That’s what I saaaid!” G.I.R. whines.

Zim stands in front of the TV and G.I.R. tilts his head to try to see past him.

“And where is she?” His master pries.

“Who?”

Zim face-palms and huffs at his robot in exasperation. “The human!”

G.I.R. can only start giggling madly. “With a booooy!”

“A boy?” He parrots in disbelief. At the robot’s slobbering smile, the slushie dribbling down his chin, Zim crosses his arms. “I don’t see why she has to hang around such earth-fffffilth! She-- she’ll drag in that smell with her-- and, oh! The germsss...”

“Isn’t sheee earth-filth?”

The movie begins and a man is drinking at a bar. Sitting next to him is a lumpy-looking man in a brown trenchcoat and a bowler cap. The camera zooms in on the mid-section of the trenchcoat man and the coat opens up. It’s revealed to be three kids stacked on top of each other, only disguised to sneak into the bar.

Zim, already disinterested, turns his attention back to the robot. “When is she coming back?”

G.I.R. ignores him, too engrossed in the movie.

“G.I.R.!”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!” G.I.R. drawls out, even pausing to take a breath between the long-drawn question. Before Zim can repeat himself, G.I.R. laughs loudly.

“I don’t know why I bother…” Zim mutters and trudges back to the kitchen down to the lab, deciding he’d get to work on the unhelpful human’s ship.

“Where is she?” Zim asks Minimoose as soon as he enters the living room. The master of the house stands in front of his four robot servants, and even ensures Computer is attentive.

“Nyeh?”

“Minimoose! Didn’t I tell you to pass on the message that I was calling a meeting in the morning?”

“Nyeh!”

“Oh, you did? So, she’s just late. Typical. Y’know, I’m not surprised,” he comments, hoping to fill the awkward silence as the household awaits an appearance from the human. His servants are all staring at him…He begins tapping his foot.

He stops when he hears a door open and soon (Y/n) emerges from the kitchen, slinging a bag over her shoulders. She stands next to G.I.R. in the line.

He smiles up at her. “Good night!”

“I wish,” (Y/n) jokes and sticks her tongue out at the short robot. But her attention goes to the two pairs of eyes that gaze at her with the unblinking stare of a goldfish. The robo-parents are always too creepy for her liking. “Whatever this is about, can we make it fast?”

“I see no need to rush. I think it’s about time I start instilling some boundaries and rules in the house--er, base.”

“Great idea! Why don’t you text me that?” She walks past him and makes a texting-motion with her thumbs. “I gotta go.”

“Where are you going so early? You’re never even awake at this hour!”

“Work.”

“Work?! You don’t have a job! Since when do you have a job?”

“Since last night-- when I was with G.I.R. I met this dude who offered me a position. They were apparently super desperate--short-staffed. Besides, someone’s gotta pay the bills.” And she’s out the door.

“WE DON’T HAVE BILLS!”

And that was the beginning to a nightmare Zim would have never anticipated in his one-hundred-sixty-seven years of living: the absence of someone.

Not that he missed her!

He just… found it odd to not see her taking up space on the couch. She no longer binge-watched T.V. late into the night which meant he could no longer sneak up to quietly join her. And she no longer stayed up until early morning so he’d see her before leaving for Hi-Skool.

“Have fun at school!” She’d tell him.

And then he’d insult her and slam the door.

...Or when he’d go up to the base after working in the lab for hours on end, she wouldn’t be looking through the fridge for a snack or making some weird food concoction with G.I.R. Even her messy living style was out of sight: none of her things left in the living room, no unwashed dishes in the sink, or no old food sitting out on the table.

And it was certainly less interesting to work in the lab without her pestering him constantly. Somehow, the work felt more tedious when he wasn’t having to stop to explain every little thing, answer every question, teach at least one-hundred years worth of mechanical and chemical engineering to a stupid, Earth-monkey.

Of course, she’d try to make up for her absence with the little gifts and trinkets she'd leave. With her newfound source of steady income of Earth money, she was enjoying splurging on the robots and even Zim. But he wouldn’t be so easily fooled by her lavish gifts, he told himself.

It was like she was never even there in the first place, save for those fleeting moments they shared when he’d come back from school as she would leave for her new job. Or when he got to pull her aside to show her her repaired ship only for it to mysteriously malfunction.

This was another one of those rare moments. He closes the front door behind him and there she is at the kitchen table, wrapping herself up in a light jacket and scarf. He crosses his arms and waits by the door as she slings a bag over her shoulder. She makes her way out the kitchen.

"Where're you going?" He snaps at her.

She stops in her tracks, half-way through the living room. "Ugh, work, Zim! Listen, do we really need to do this every time? Every day, it’s the same question and you get the same answer-- it’s always work!” She throws her arms to the side but then shuts her eyes, sighing heavily. “...Anyway, I brought back these really good doughnuts from that fancy bakery you lie about not liking.” She points a thumb over her shoulder. “They're on the table and I got your favorite! Jelly-filling!"

"I don't want your doughnuts!"

She groans and rolls her eyes at him. "Whatever."

Zim steps out of her way and she’s halfway out the door but he suddenly calls out to her.

"What?"

He hesitates. "Have… fun," he suggests meekly.

She gives him a small smile. "M’kay."

As soon as she slams the door, G.I.R. and Minimoose can be heard rushing into the kitchen from the lab.

"Did Fluffy bring snacks?!" G.I.R. cheers.

Minimoose opens the box. "Nyeh!"

"Ooh, master! She got your faaaavoooorite!"

Under any normal circumstances, he wouldn’t care to question the human. When she was taking up space in the base, he couldn’t care less what it was she did with her time. It was always something obscure that wasn’t even worth knowing or understanding-- that, or it was boring like watching T.V. She really had just become another G.I.R. in the house, even encouraging his insane antics… but she did serve as a distraction when Zim was busy with important work-- well, work important to her. Like ship repairs.

Now, not so much.

“I’M RUNNING! I’M RUNNING!” The S.I.R. unit lets out a shrill scream at the end of his chant.

The Irken buries his face in his hands. “You don’t have to keep narrating everything you’re doing--”

“Watch me, master! Look at how fast I’m running!”

Zim watches as G.I.R. runs laps around a magenta apparatus, doing flips over the thick cords sprouting out its bottom like roots to a tree.

“Your speed is impressive, G.I.R., but nothing new. Now, go back up to the base. I’m working--”

And suddenly G.I.R. is flying awkwardly around throughout the large lab and narrowly misses crashing into his master.

“G.I.R.! Where did you get those--? Come down here, right now!” He points to the floor at his feet, squinting at the robot that flies loops in the air, leaving streaks of ash along the ceiling in the flame’s wake.

“Ok-ayyyy,” he whines. The fire sputters to a stop and he hurdles down in crash-landing. “Aw, the ground missed me!”

“Those aren’t yours, G.I.R.! Put those jet-pack boots back where you found them!” He reprimands.

“They were just out in the lab,” the robot sasses.

Zim sputters in disbelief. The boots he took hours perfecting for (Y/n)-- and not only are they damaged, but she just left them? Abandoned? In his lab like she never begged him for them in the first place? G.I.R., after pulling them off his feet, hands them back to his master.

“She’s not using them anyway…” Tears begin to well in his eyes.

Before Zim can remind the robot of his own flight capabilities, the unit’s distracted by something and runs off screaming down the halls.

Performing a brief inspection, he can easily see that one of the jets is busted. He scoffs. He’ll have to disassemble the entire thing just to get to that one component.

But it doesn’t take him much convincing to get right to work on it, even though it means abandoning his other work. He begins taking one of the boots apart, through the sole of the shoe. It’s been a while since (Y/n) had any reason to pay attention to any of his latest inventions, pay attention to him.

He grumbles to himself. Not that he needs her attention-- just, what could be so interesting? She hates Earth! She complains about humans all the time. How dumb they are, how loud, selfish, ignorant they are--

She’d shrug mid-rant then. “Eh, but it takes one to know one.”

One memory, in particular, comes to mind. It was a dull evening, no work to be done, no excitable G.I.R. to reprimand, and so he sat on the couch with the human. “That’s true.” He jeered, not that she took offense to his insult. “But, these humans are especially… vile.” He scowled at the T.V. screen.

She snorted. “Don’t they have reality shows on… whatever planet you’re from?”

“Irk? No… none of this mind-numbing trash!”

“Figures why I always catch you reading the paper-- they taught the fun out of you, old man.”

“I’m not old--?!"

“I mean, you gotta know, these reality shows aren’t actually… that. They’re not all real. The people that make these things just want to make money, so they’ll sometimes reshoot certain events, edit parts to high-hell so words are taken out-of-context. Shit, they’ll even stage entire scenes--”

Zim gasped. “They would do that?! Then, how do you know what’s real? Did Wanda actually fall in love? Did Jawrence really run away to New York to follow his dream of being a news journalist? Did Brody not actually go on tour in the summer?”

“...Okay, I don’t know what most of that is-- are we watching the same show?”

He grimaced in disgust. “I can’t believe how they can just make things up like that! Are all humans liars?” He seethed.

She grinned at him. “No.”

“Don’t prove my point so smugly.” He crossed his arms and faced the T.V. once more, trying to ignore her laughter. “Is that even real right now?!”

“Yeah, the husband you wished you had!” They winced in empathy when "Wanda" reached forward to yank on a woman’s hair and proceeded to drag her across the floor, the others on-screen throwing themselves into the uproar.

(Y/n) cringed. “Very.”

He scowls at himself, looking up from his work momentarily. The mindless task of taking the machine apart had allowed his thoughts to wander. Why would he purposely remember something so unpleasant and allow it to go on for so long? He shakes his head and sighs out heavily.

Grabbing a silver hoop from a drawer, he replaces the bent and burnt one. It slides into place with a click! He tightens the entire component back into the boot, then begins to assemble the rest of the pieces back inside.

In his mind’s eye, she turned to him with a grin, “no,” she fibbed. And then recalled her giggle after he said “don’t prove my point so smug--”

He yells out in frustration, sitting up with wide eyes. “I’m doing it again!”

“Doing what again?” G.I.R. asks from his seat on an upright metal tank.

Zim whirls around. “I-- uh… what is that?”

“It’s mashed potatoes!”

“Mashed pot--ay…” Zim trails off, at a loss for words. “Why… in a barrel?”

“So it can all fit inside!” G.I.R. tells him in a tone suggesting the question was stupid because the answer is obvious.

“Right…” Zim then notices the time. “It’s nearly twelve, already?” He moans in distress and throws himself back into work. He does some final adjustments before standing from the stool, jet-pack boots in hand. “I’m going to go back up to the base, then, G.I.R. Don’t make a mess.”

He marches back to the elevator. (Y/n) will be home soon.

She was always back by midnight. This he reminded himself once more, pacing in the living room. Zim’s not a patient person.

He doesn’t like to wait.

In fact, he doesn’t care much for sitting still.

Which is why he’s indenting a trail into the floorboards with his feet. Because it’s too boring to just sit on the couch. Not because of the overwhelming emotions stirring within him-- overwhelming? Emotions? What emotions?

‘I’m not worried!’

“Sir?”

‘Maybe she’s running late?’

“Master…”

‘But running late from what--?’

“Zim!”

He stops. He looks up. “Huh?”

“It’s three a.m.”

This sends him into another frenzy.

“Time for your paste bath--”

“What?!”

Computer sighs. “You told me to start reminding you when to take your paste baths because if you wait too long then you wake up sticky right before school and then you get leaves and dirt stuck on your skin on your walk there--”

“No! No, I know that! It’s three a.m.?” He asks in shock.

“No.” Computer says, sarcasm in his tone. “I just said that because I’m so eager to interrupt one of your episodes--”

“I’m not having an episode! Just… just remind me in ten minutes,” he orders, his gaze panning across the bare living room-- the shut-off T.V., bare floors, empty couch, and all-- to the front window.

‘Earth is a dangerous place,’ he thinks. The food source is toxic, acid falls from the sky at random intervals, and the sun is booby-trapped. What else could lurk out there that he has yet to encounter even from the several years he’s been on Earth now? What silently waits in every ally, under every manhole cover, in the bushes, for its next vulnerable prey. He doubts the humans know this to the full extent. Not even (Y/n)… Especially, (Y/n).

That woman is so stupid! She’s ignorant-- reckless! She’s constantly putting their lives in danger. He can’t understand how she survived being out in space for however long she did. A stroke of luck? A miracle--? and the universe doesn’t grant miracles. Who knows what she’s been getting herself up to; it can't be just work. She’s always gone for too long. Human workdays are only eight hours long; their stamina is incredibly low. And he’s well-aware the human is a pathological liar.

She can really be anywhere at the moment. At one of those human “nightclubs” G.I.R. not-so-secretly frequents, at a shady bar, maybe even somewhere downtown. The city is incredibly dangerous. And terrifying. But serves her right for abandoning him so! She deserves to deal with the creepy civilians that haunt her planet, walking back to the base without any form of protection. At night! ...Alone…

He gulps.

And then, it hits him. He can simply text her, as she always insisted of him. He opens the messaging application on his-- very archaic-- communicator and selects their long conversation-- the entire screen filled with messages from her that he chose to ignore.

Sometimes she sent him obscure and creepy photos* or made random jokes that definitely didn’t make him laugh ever. The more repetitive texts from her came during his school day, however, pestering him with 'where are you?’, ‘what are you up to right now?’, and ‘what do I do if-- hypothetically speaking-- one of your man-eating experiments escapes?’

But the frequent messaging came to a sudden stop-- around the same time she got that job… now that he thinks about it. Now that he checks the exact date and time stamp… From sixteen days ago.

Which Zim is oh-so-thankful for and most-definitely relieved about. Her last message asked him to join her at the theater. What a stupid question! The theater is smelly and dirty and people cramp too close to each other in their seats.

Irritated, he sits on the couch to quickly compose his message and sets his communicator down.

And now he waits.

And waits.

‘Maybe just the one isn’t enough?’ He hovers his thumbs over the keypad, imagining a follow-up--

“Master--”

“WHAT?!”

If Computer had eyes, he would use them to blink slowly at Zim. “Rude… Your timer is up. It’s been ten minutes.”

Zim, with wide eyes, looks back down to his communicator. Then he scowls. ’What am I doing? This is a waste of time!’

The human can handle herself just fine! And him worrying wondering contemplating?-- no, entertaining the thought of her painful death certainly won’t un-kill her! He hops off the couch and makes his way to his chambers. After so much stress over nothing, he deserves some relaxation and a paste bath sounds like a wonderful idea. It has to be done anyways.

He stops at the threshold to the kitchen, rushes back to grab the abandoned communicator, and continues on his way. ‘Just in case…’

“That bitch really asked me to stir her coffee FOR her. Like, did you want me to momma-bird feed it to you, too?” (Y/n) scoffs and sinks herself down into the passenger seat of the beaten-up car that's older than both of its passengers combined.

The driver laughs at her in amusement.

She kicks at the dashboard. “Digest it for you too, actually, while I’m at it. Shit it out for you too, Karen?”

He groans at that. “Ewww, the fuck, dude?”

“That’s such an entitled name,” she rants. “If you name your child Karen, you’re setting them up for a life of high-expectations and public freak-outs that have them cursing out minimum-wage workers that couldn’t give less of a damn about how your son has a dairy allergy. Like no, I’m not gonna wash the spatula before I make your burger--!”

“But, you did.”

She sighs. “I shoulda’ given it a spit-n-shine!”

“How ‘bout that?”

“And made her watch--”

“You would’ve main-tained eye contact.”

“I would’ve.”

“You should’ve.”

“I could’ve.” She looks out the window with a pout.

“You couldn’t’ve. You would’ve been fired.”

“Oh!” She sits up and smacks herself on the forehead with a snort. “Dude, I--uh, I totally forgot to tell you. I got fired.”

The driver swerves to the right as he turns to face the girl in shock. “You-- WHAT?! Already? It’s been… like two weeks?”

“Two weeks too long, if you ask me. I don't know what I was thinking! Getting a part-time job at a fast-food joint? Like I needed any more reasons to hate humanity. I mean, if I really wanted a reminder I could’ve saved eighty hours of my life and tuned in to the local news station. ‘Neighborhood boy gets his giant, gargantuan-sized head stuck in a graveyard fence huntin’ for ghosts!’ Like, c’mon, man!”

“Did that really happen?”

“I dunno, something like that.”

“If it’s any solace… I thought you were doing really good…”

She scowls and dismisses his flattery.

“Well… what happened?”

“I wouldn’t give Sean a B.J. when he asked for one,” she explains.

“Sean? The trainee? Why would they fire-- why would he ask for that--?”

“Well,” she begins while scooting herself to be more comfortable in her seat. “For starters, he’s a little bitch-baby about everything.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah! And he-- he was always arguing with you and the other managers when you guys asked him to do something…”

“Real wise-guy, I know.” The driver rolls his eyes.

“And I asked him to empty the grease vat.”

“Okay?”

“And he said, 'suck my dick!'”

“That wasn’t him asking you for a blowjob, (Y/n),” her manager explains carefully.

“I know. I just said that to make the story sound more interesting so that way you’d pay more attention.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “My God,” he sighs out.

“It worked, though, d’int it?”

His laughter is enough of an answer for her. “Okay, wait, but that doesn’t explain how you got fired.”

“Right, right, so I lobotomized him.”

He snorts in disbelief. “Come again? You--”

“Lobotomized.”

“Lobotomized--”

“Him.”

“Got it… Care to elaborate?”

“Well, when he said 'suck my dick, (Y/n), I’m not doin’ shit!' I slugged him in the gut--”

“Ooh!” He winces in empathetic pain.

“And then when he was ducked down because of the-- ‘cuz of the immense pain he was in n’ all--”

“Uh-huh?”

“I, uh, grabbed his hair and kneed him in the face so hard I broke his nose. I swear, it looked inverted.”

Her manager cackles loudly, half in shock, half in nervousness. “Holy shit, dude! You... really?”

“Yeah!” She nods at him, relishing in his shock. “That’s what happens when you work a closing shift; you miss the action from the dinner rush.”

“Wait… so you didn’t lobotomize him?”

“No, again, I just said that to, y’know, make the story more interesting. It really leaves you wondering how point A makes it to point D, so you pay attention to all of the details.”

“But then you disappoint, y’know? ‘Cuz, he never really asked you for the blowjob and you didn’t actually lobotomize him.”

“Nah, I think it’s more about the journey, not the destination. Besides, nothing I can ever say could match the absurdity of something that lacks so much context.”

He shrugs. “Agree to disagree.” He pulls over to the side of the road once he reaches her cul-de-sac. He ducks his head down to look at the teal home. “So… that’s your house?”

“Yep! Oh, by the way, thanks for letting me borrow your charger.” She unplugs her communicator from the USB-port.

“No problem. I’m surprised your… phone can fit that cable.”

“Me too! I should’ve charged it last night, I didn’t think it’d die, though.” She presses the power button and clenches her jaw when she realizes she’ll have to wait for it to start up. After gathering her things she steps out of the car. “That was some good fucken’ pizza, dude.”

“Yeah, love that Bloaty’s started being 24/7!” He agrees. “We should do this again--”

“Nah.” She slams the door staring down at her phone.

The window rolls down. She gives him a funny look when he ducks his head down to meet her eyes.

“Uh, by the way, I dunno if this is weird for askin’ but-- uh, what’s with the house?”

She blinks at him dumbly, then slowly turns her head to follow his stare on the home. She turns to him and shrugs. “Oh, an alien that’s trying to take over Earth abducted me and now I live with him. That’s his house.”

He stares at her with wide eyes and his jaw drops as he takes in the details of the home. The “I 'heart' Earth” sign, the obscure garden gnomes, the skinny and tall build of the house that’s smack-dab in the middle of two apartment buildings with the segmented, magenta tubes attaching itself to its neighbors-- as if it’s drawing energy from the complexes. Then, his face falls slack before he just chuckles at the girl. “Yeah, you’re not gonna get me a third time. Fool me, twice-- shame! Fool me three times…” he trails off as he rolls the window up and waves in farewell.

As he drives away, (Y/n) glances down at her phone since it decides to finally turn on. She pales immediately. Several messages from Zim, all demanding that she return to the base at once. The last one was from an hour ago… and it’s four a.m. ‘I’ll just teleport in and say I fell asleep when I see him come morning, it’ll be just like sneaking out at night!’ Such is her forte. Plus, with her tellie--

“Ooooh,” she hisses at herself when her hand pats her empty back pocket. She left it at home since her managers never let them have any devices on their person during the shift. Normally, she doesn’t care, but tonight she decided to leave it at the base just in case. The one time she decides to be responsible… “Never again.”

She meekly approaches the white-picket-fence, and upon stepping on the sidewalk, she dives behind a garden gnome. She knows their eyes have cameras, so she takes care to avoid those. As she gets closer to the house, she crawls on the grass, avoiding the windows. Her heel knocks against the plastic flamingo and she nearly suffocates on her heart at how it practically leaps out of her chest. Her hands shake as she adjusts the flamingo to stand up straight again. She shuffles closer to the front door.

The front door.

This, she’s mastered. She presses herself flush against the door and pulls the doorknob towards her as she turns it slowly, listening to the gentle click of the latch inside. She starts out slow, then at the creak of the door, she lifts up and towards the hinges and rushes the process, silencing the door’s squeak. The gap’s wide enough to slip through. She keeps on the balls of her feet and enters. The process is repeated for closing the door as well, not making a single sound.

She even whispers her self-congratulations in her head.

Then, she hears a click, and her shadow is reflecting itself on the door.

“Sneaky, huh?”

She gasps and spins around to find Zim sitting on the couch with a lamp-- one she had never noticed until now-- that illuminates him like a spotlight in the otherwise pitch-dark living room.

“And where have you been?” He crosses his arms in his fuzzy, yellow bathrobe.

She notes he must’ve just taken his paste-bath. And seeing him like that in this situation, she can’t help but compare him to an angry housewife confronting her unfaithful husband, or a frazzled mom about to scream at her rebellious teenage daughter-- she smiles at the idea of Zim being a housewife, pushing the latter thoughts far from her mind.

“Oh, wow. You caught me.”

He gives a short and sarcastic snicker. “There are cameras everywhere, (Y/n). You know this. I saw you as soon as you got past the fence.”

She pouts at him. “Hm, yeah… But, wasn’t I so quiet?!” She asks him excitedly.

Zim blinks at her, and his shoulders sag. Then, he sighs. “Yes, yes, your skills in stealth are impressive. That could be useful,” he mutters.

(Y/n) smiles at the praise because for a moment she thinks she’s off the hook.

“But why didn’t you answer any of Zim’s messages, huh? You weren’t ignoring me, were you?”

“Chill! My phone died.”

“But where have you been?!”

“Aww, were you worried?”

“YES! For the safety of the base! Because you weren’t home, I-- I couldn't turn up the security in the base or return to work! I had to wait for you for four hours!”

“You’re overreacting!”

“I am not!”

“You are! You definitely didn’t have to wait on me-- you don’t own me, I can be out for however late I please. You’re lucky I even came home today!”

He hops off the couch. “This is my base! You--you’re living here rent-free! Zim is being generous and doing you a favor! Anyone under this roof will obey Zim--!”

And suddenly, she’s rushing past him towards her room. He calls after her and is quickly right on her heels but the second she makes it to her room, she slams the door behind herself. He glares at the door and with a grunt, he decides to drop the matter.

After all, he has a few ideas to prevent anything like this from happening again. He’ll need to get to work right now if he wants it done by morning.

The next morning, a sluggish (Y/n) creaks her bedroom door open, starving for breakfast. It’s when she sees Zim eating at the table that she realizes it’s a Saturday. He looks up at her and lowers the newspaper he’s reading.

“Morning,” he greets.

She blushes in embarrassment and immediately averts her gaze. She’s panicking and unsure whether to subject herself to the discomfort of sitting and having breakfast with him... or the much preferred ‘grab-something-and-hide-in-her-room-gremlin-style’ tactic.

But she wants to make it up to him, somehow. (Y/n) hopes to have matured in some ways since living on Earth and causing a repeat of what ultimately led her to hop from couch-to-couch would be her biggest regret. This alien, no matter how controlling, is giving her a bed to sleep on and up until two weeks ago, was paying for all her meals without any complaint-- some complaint, but none that she listened to.

So, she musters up her courage, most of it fueled by her need for cereal and shuffles to the cupboard.

“Mornin’,” she mumbles back. She preps her breakfast and steals glances at Zim over her shoulder who pretends to not be watching her as intently as he is.

Bowl in hand, she makes her way to the seat across from him and slides the chair out. She sets her cereal down and just as she’s about to sit, she notices something shiny glimmer on the seat. She scoffs and picks it up, noticing it’s a red-ringed, corkscrew-shaped nail, as small as a thumbtack. She places it in the center of the table. “You shouldn’t leave your alien junk around like that, someone could get hurt.” She smiles at him though so that he knows she’s half-joking in her scolding.

He growls and clenches his fist hard enough that the white, sugar stick he was eating with snaps in half.

“Oh, was I… supposed to sit on this?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he sighs out.

She looks down at the tack with narrowed eyes. Part of her reasoning is her desire to make up for their fight, the other part is morbid curiosity, but regardless there’s little thought in her next actions because she harshly slams her palm down onto the pointy tack, so much so that the dishes rattle on the table and Zim jumps. She yelps in pain as she plucks it out from her palm, only half-regretting having done that. But as a final measure, she tosses the bloodied tack into Zim’s bowl of pink-colored, Irken sugar.

“Ew.” He cringes.

Zim looks up from his bowl with wide eyes when he sees (Y/n) sitting in her seat and scarfing down her cereal as if nothing had happened-- save for her wounded hand she’s clutching to her chest.

And then, she abruptly stops chewing, swallows, and face-plants into the bowl of milk, which splatters on the table. In the quiet room, the milk drips down onto the table, onto the floor, and down her chin as she lifts her head up. “What are my orders?” She asks robotically.

The alien across from her roars in maniacal laughter. “All according to plan!” He assures himself, rather naively.

Because, when it comes to the two of them, nothing ever goes according to plan.

The serum-infused-thumbtack is a success. As Zim eats his new bowl of non-human-blood-filled Irken sugar, (Y/n) scrubs the base top to bottom. Every crevice sparkles anew and it smells lemony-fresh on the first floor. She works so efficiently, he even finds amusement in watching her from the kitchen table.

“Heh, you mithed a thpot,” he says through a mouthful of sugar and points at the wall with his sugar stick.

She scrubs even harder at an orange stain on the wall until it disappears. She’s panting and has even worked up a sweat, which she swipes away with her forearm across her forehead. She crouches down on her knees to begin scrubbing away at the crayon markings on the wall.

“Wait!”

She stops and turns to him, awaiting his orders. He had never gotten around to getting rid of G.I.R.’s scribbles on the walls, so they always remained there. He can’t really imagine completely clean walls, anyway.

“Go… go sanitize my lab equipment. And don’t break anything or-- or I’ll break you!” He threatens.

Which brings them to the lab, where she’s even more of a help. She would hand him any tool he needed, sometimes without a verbal command. When a trial went berserk for whatever experiment he was working on, she was there to cheer him on and encourage him through the next one. When something went haywire, she was there to clean the mess and when he was fixing for a snack, she’d rush to the kitchen to make it for him.

She was loyal to a T. So loyal in fact, that she shows up to his chamber door in the dead of night insistent on worshipping him in all of the ways possible. Although he doesn’t quite understand to what extent she’s implying, he knows he doesn’t like the idea-- especially in her somewhat-unconscious state of mind.

“Thaaat... won’t be necessary. Go to your bedroom, now.”

“But, sir!” She gets to her knees to beg, hands clasped together. “Who else can appreciate you in the ways you deserve? I don’t see anyone else in your chambers--”

He steps in front of her view when her head tilts to peer into his room. “I already said no. Stop arguing and just obeeeyyy.” His hands flex in frustration and he shakes them in her face.

“Sometimes a master doesn’t know what he needs,” she counters and takes his hands into hers.

He snatches them away. “Master always knows what he-- what I need and what I need is for you to get out, SO I CAN REST!” He points a finger down the hall over her head. But his arm falls to his side and his antennae droop down when he feels her hands begin to travel up the sides of his legs.

He hollers in embarrassment and kicks her in the face. When she flies back at the contact, his chamber door slams shut and locks for good measure. His back is pressed firmly against the door, panting heavily. As his nerves begin to dwindle, he stiffens once more when she claws at the door and he slowly backs himself away. The back of his legs meet the curved, lounging chair and he gasps. But, he realizes his own jumpiness and lays down on it. Zim tries his hardest to ignore the human.

Like a cat, she continues to claw at the door. He hears her moans of annoyance but can’t make out whatever she’s saying through the thick metal.

Three hours later, her insistence comes to an end and she goes eerily silent. Zim is able to rest for the four hours he needs to recharge and upon waking up, he has the courage to finally leave his chambers.

He stands at his door, tapping his fingertips together as he focuses his attention on any possible sounds from outside the door. He hears nothing and so he raises the door. One foot crosses the threshold. He gives it a few seconds, then the other follows. Outside his chambers he can see there’s not a thing out of place or anything suspicious insight down the long hallway. He can’t help but laugh at himself.

“She’s not here. I let my fears get the best of me!”

Plop!

Something warm splatters on his head. He cranes his head up to find a drooling (Y/n) sleeping above him. She had somehow stowed herself between the beams and pipes of the ceiling-- a knife and roll of duct tape in her hands.

He gulps, and in a shaky voice he asks himself, “had she just been waiting there... the whole time?” But, he swallows the lump of terror that forms in his throat and reassures himself that the dosage for the serum had only been too high. Using his PAK legs, he raises himself to her level and unarms her. He uses the duct tape to restrain her limbs and carries her to her bedroom where he tosses her on the floor like a sack of potatoes. She snores away all the same.

“LITTLE SHIT, LET ME IN!” Weak fists pound mercilessly at a glass barrier, their owner snarling animalistically. She pauses to press her forehead against the barrier as her hot breath leaves a circle of condensation.

Zim holds a remote device in his shaking hands but his nerves are relatively calmed now that he’s found a way to create some distance between himself and the human. “I don’t understand!” He yells at her, which is the equivalent to arguing with an untrained puppy in the brainwashed state she’s in. “I’ve lowered the dosage every trial! And each time, you just go crazy!”

It’s true. Here he is, locked in one of his own cages for experiments, cowering in fear from a mere human. He originally managed to contain her in an electric field, but to his horror, when she made contact with the painful volts of shock she teleported to be right in front of him. The glass cage had been the closest form of protection. Poor Zim had done everything in his power to reverse or weaken the violent and obsessive side-effects to this brain-washing serum in which the most unwilling participant would devote themselves entirely to him. It never occurred to him how such a substance may affect someone who’s already taken a liking to him, especially someone as disturbed as (Y/n).

She pounds on the glass once again, this time with such gusto and force, a hairline crack mars the pristine surface.

He yelps. “If you break it, you’re buying me a new one!” He manages to stammer out, practically shaking in his boots, as if maybe joking with her would quell the storm.

“Come here!” She hisses at him.

He inches away from her to the other side of the wall.

“I can hardly see you from all the way over here!” She fibs.

Her taunts make Zim decide enough is enough. “I order you to back away from the door and get back into your containment field!”

She drags her nails down the glass. “Come over here and try saying that with our lips pressed together!”

He growls in disgust at her. “That will never happen… again! Now STAY BACK! Get away from Zim!”

He suddenly wishes more than anything that she would go back to whatever planet or criminal organization she belongs to. Or more realistically that she’d think to ask about her completed ship.

She stares back at him, the words entering one ear and going right out the other. She shakes her head slowly at him. “Silly…” She chastises. “Let me in, now.”

No logic would break through her foggy mind. “Fine! Be stubborn like that!” He kicks at the glass hoping to startle her but her wide eyes continue to bore into his, unwaveringly. Her aura unsettles him, and he backs away again. “Don’t think I can’t wait you out, human. I survived a year with G.I.R. as the base. An Invader like me--? Well, we were trained to handle situations exactly like--”

He stops mid-sentence to watch as she draws a heart in the condensation from her hot breath.

He cringes but he can wait her out-- he can manage this much by now.

“What could be the problem?” Zim mutters to himself as he uses a pipette to drop a droplet of a chemical into an Erlenmeyer flask. He stirs the mixture and uses a syringe to suck up the bright pink liquid. “The results are always the same no matter what I do!”

“Hey, Zim--”

“AHHHH!” He jumps out of his skin at the sound of (Y/n)'s voice and hides behind his swivel chair.

“You idiot, it’s jus’ me!” She giggles at him.

“I know…” he seethes under his breath.

She peers down at his work but he stores everything away, and a claw from his PAK takes the syringe. He feels wary around her, especially since the serum should be working its magic on her once again.

“What’re you doing?” She asks in curiosity.

“I should be asking you the same!”

“Huh?”

“I left you in that cage! With the tack?” He reminds her.

“Oh, I left. I got bored.”

“No! You obey, Zim. You must always obey! Go back to your cage!”

She frowns at him and he mimics her.

“Huh? Why’re you just standing there? I gave you an order!”

“I don’t wanna.” She shrugs at him and sits herself down in his chair. She kicks at the panel to send the chair flying back in a series of twirls.

He halts the chair by holding onto its back. He turns her around to face him and he leans down to her face with a glare. “You didn’t take the serum, did you?”

“The what? Oh, you mean this?” She pulls the tack out of her pocket and flicks it at him which he dodges with a shriek.

“Why not? I left you a note! My instructions were very clear!”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you… Not that I really care because nothing matters and we’re all going to die anyway,” she rambles out in a single breath. “But what’s this stuff you keep having me inject into myself? I always feel so tired and I can never remember anything that happens between morning n’ night-- n’ that’s like the whole day!” She then sinks down into her chair with an annoyed scowl, crossing her arms across her chest. “It’s just like that alien crackhouse in Vex-Dru’ur 11. So many blackouts… so... many… skin-balloons.” She shivers at the unpleasant memory.

Even if it isn’t because of him, he feels a surge of pride when she squirms beneath him. He smiles at her with an evil glare. “Allow me to enlighten you, (Y/n)-filth!” He paces in front of her. “I grew tired of your absence getting in the way of my plans and my diabolical evil! Zim could stand for it no longer! And you disappearing until five a.m.--”

“It was like two--”

“Four a.m. was the final straw! So I developed my own serum that would prevent you from ever getting in my way like that ever again!”

“Slow-acting poison?” She asks with wide, curious eyes.

“No! A brainwashing formula!”

She stares up at him in horror and feels her muscles tense as fear crawls its nasty fingers over her body, stunning her nerves leaving her in a state of frozen terror.

“Never again will you disobey, Zim! You will learn to submit to my iron fist as your ruler! As your master! You will be the most loyal and ruthless, mind-slave. But, don’t worry! Your skills will not be wasted. It’s better that you accept your fate now, there’s no fighting it, (Y/n). You are mine.”

Her pupils flit back and forth, as she further shrinks under his stare. His words sink in and she swallows thickly. And like a radio finally tuning in and silencing out the distracting and mind-numbing static, she perks up. “Awww! You missed me!”

“WHAAAT?” He yells at her.

“You should’ve just said so,” she coos. “Y’know, I was fired anyways.”

“I certainly did not miss you, filthy, stupid, stinkin’ hyooman!”

“The first stage to falling in love is denial, Zim.” She muses.

“I’M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU!” He yells at her exasperatedly.

“Then anger.”

“THIS IS ALL YOU GET FROM WHAT I JUST EXPLAINED?! YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE, HUMAN!” He jabs a finger in her chest. “You know, I’d give anything to submit you through all the torture I’ve endured since meeting you. Luh-ve is a far cry from what I feel towards you.”

“And now bargaining! Wow, you are flying through this, aren’t yah?” She yanks him closer by his collar and purrs, “let’s just skip the depression-bit and get right into acceptance.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move and stands stock still. But that moment is enough for Zim to decide that he wants to kill this human. “URGHHH!” With a strangled battle-cry, he pushes her down and she falls back in the chair. From the awkward position of him leaning over the seat of the chair to reach her on the ground, she wrestles him off.

She stands on the control panel and he glares up at her. “Get down from there!”

“You don’t own me!”

He smirks at her when a PAK claw pops out to place the syringe of pink liquid into his open hands. “But, I will!”

And she jumps down from the panel just as he makes another grab for her. “Woah! No way! What gave you the idea?”

He ignores any logic or pleas she throws at him. He claws at her, but when she ducks, he simply kicks her feet out from under her. She scoots away from him, dodging any other attacks. “What’s with the violence, huh?” She asks, her voice trembling.

“What’s with you waiting outside Zim’s bedroom with a knife?!”

She stops in her escape and curls her lip up in confusion. The sentence runs through her mind and she can only mouth ‘what?’ at him. Then, suddenly, she has to roll away, a laser burning a hole through the floor where she once lay. “YOU’RE CRAZY!” She hollers at him.

“Am I crazy? Is it crazy to give you an ultimatum or incredibly generous?”

“Ultimatum?”

He holds up the syringe. “Enslavement?” His laser-leg points at her. “Or death?”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Invalid answer,” he tsks. When he tries to fire at her again, she gets to her feet and rugby-tackles him with such momentum, she’s able to bodyslam him into the nearest wall. Having hit his PAK so roughly, Zim feels the wind get knocked right out of him. She pushes him down on the ground and pins his wrists down under her knees then his PAK legs just as they spring out. He tries to buck his hips up to flip her off him but she only rises to avoid this.

Despite his normally-overwhelming strength, he groans at the crushing weight on his wrists and struggles even more under her grasp. She doesn’t budge. Zim tries to sit up but his PAK being held down restricts nearly all movements except for his head and legs.

He’s trapped and at this realization, his squirming slows to a cease. His ragged breaths are the only sounds that echo throughout the quiet laboratory. He glares up at her but her eyes only bore into his with a rather calm expression. Her face is flushed and she’s panting. She seems mostly curious about what he might try next like she’s waiting for something else to happen. His scowl turns into one of discomfort. Another reason to abhor humans so much: they had such creepy eyes. Her pupils make her gaze feel all the more piercing and unsettling. It’s like being under a microscope. He hopes that that human expression, ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’, isn’t true-- but, it must be because it feels like she’s staring right at his.

Suddenly, she leans her head down to get closer to his face. “What are we?” She flirts.

His mouth goes agape in shock and his antennae droop down from their aggressive perk. She's so close to him, their proximity is enough to-- He recovers only to squirm even more than before and gnashes his teeth in anger. “We’re nothing! LET ME GO!”

“Only if you promise to not stab or SHOOT me!”

“FINE!”

The second her weight over him gives way, she’s harshly flung off him and he’s on his feet.

“This isn’t over, Zim! Where’re you goin’?” She calls after his receding form. But when the lab door closes behind him, she can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto her face along with the blush that heats her cheeks. “He was into that,” she decides.

Chapter Text

The run-down bar, full of drunkards and party animals drinking and dancing the night away, stands out like a beacon amongst the dead asleep town. She sits in a lonesome corner. She finds this isolation much better than what she was receiving at the base. Zim shut her out completely. Every elevator to any part of his underground lab was locked and Computer wasn’t budging from his master’s orders to keep her out. She imagined him hard at work on repairs. The more dedicated he is the sooner she’ll be gone from this planet. That notion doesn’t help to bring up her mood one bit.

Their physical fight felt a lot more romantic and more fueled by sexual-tension-- but she supposes now, that that was more on her end than his. He is genuinely upset with her behavior.

Somewhere, between his harmless insults of: “stink,” “filth”, “scum”, maybe are actual flaws he sees in her. Irresponsible. Selfish! Nothing she hadn’t heard before… but why does it hurt more coming from him?

Among the hoots and hollers of some riled up onlookers, watching a petite girl impressively chug a mug full of beer down, (Y/n) finds herself scowling down at her reflection in the still full shot-glass.

“Try doin’ that with some moonshine. Try doin’ a whole keg, you attention-whore,” she mutters under her breath. She wants to get so drunk, so hammered, so wasted… but Earth liquor is horrible. She’s positive there’s some strange conspiracy about why that is. The alcohol she tried back in the 1600s, the wild, wild west, 18th-century France-- that tasted just divine! Maybe the Illuminati really is real… and they poisoned the Earth’s supply with some weird, muddled, dirty taste. Like going from Ice Mountain to tap water or Ice Mountain to shitty-Dasani. That's another conspiracy that haunts humans.

‘Why does it fucking fizz when you open it?!’

But, the Illuminati? What a weird direction to take with that kinda effort and dedication. And yet somehow it still makes more sense than believing airhead celebrities randomly space out due to glitches in their carbon-copy clone-coding. 'Cause that's totally more likely than them being coked out or having a hangover…

Great, now she's remembering how much she hates this planet! Like this is helping her sour mood.

Space-whiskey, now that’s where it’s at! It’s been a long time since she had any spacey-alcohol or space-coke, or alien-weed, or-- well, the list goes on. Zim never has any of that stuff in the base and she ran out of her own supply pretty fast. Concerningly fast. Looking back, maybe the chaos and destruction that occurred in these past weeks are more symptoms of withdrawal from every drug in the galaxy rather than defects in her moral compass. Or maybe a hot, steaming, stew of both.

She curls her lip up, watching her own reflection in an attempt to make herself laugh but has no such luck. The liquid in front of her can help with that, though. If only she can stomach its taste. “Down the hatch,” she encourages herself, but it comes out as more of a question.

She pinches her nose and brings the glass to her lips ready to knock back the shot when someone pushes past her from behind. The shot-glass slips from her fingers. She barely catches it but is nevertheless left sputtering and soaked on her face from the alcohol. “Well, fuck you very much!” She snaps scanning the bar quickly for the perpetrator, but they are out of sight. Giving up her search, she turns back to her table. Then Zim is suddenly climbing up the barstool across from her which is much too tall for him.

“Dude.”

“(Y/n),” he begins lowly.

"So, now you come outta hidin'? How'd you even know to find me here?" She asks.

An incredulous look.

“You fuckin’ spilled shit all over me,” she adds.

He crosses his arms over his chest and won’t meet her eyes. “That’s your own fault. You shouldn’t be participating in such loathsome activities.”

“Well that’s never stopped you before.”

“What?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, were you referring to my very normal and human inclination towards recreational drinking? I thought we were on the subject of you BRAINWASHING me into SUBMISSION!” She slams her fists on the table and yells loud enough for him to hear past the other parties’ own volume.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you would just listen to me in the first place! You humans are so annoying and stubborn! You think you know better!”

“Takes one to know one.”

He smugly points a finger to his wig. “It certainly does take a filthy, horrible, stinkin’ human to know another filthy, horrible, stink-human.” He then points to (Y/n) whose jaw drops at this.

“I shower at least once a day! Y’know, sometimes three times depending on how often G.I.R. decides to make his mashed potato slip n’ slide.”

“Oh, so that's what that barrel's for...?” He says under his breath.

“Yeah.” She sighs and wipes her face, neck, and chest down with a napkin.

Zim’s eyes follow her hands for too long before he remembers he’s angry with her. “But you’re messy! You leave your stuff everywhere! In the kitchen, in the living room, in your bedroom--”

“It’s my bedroom?” She explains as if it’s obvious.

“Everywhere you go-- a mess is left behind! You’re worse than G.I.R.! The least you can do is pick up after yourself! You don’t even pay rent!”

“YOU DON’T EVEN PAY TAXES, ZIM!”

He crosses his arms on the table. “You make me out to be some sort of criminal.”

She chortles at him with a shake of her head. “Alien invasion-- more like tax evasion.”

“Oh, and another thing! You never listen to me! Do you even hear me, right now?!”

“Unfortunately--”

“And not to mention, you’re incredibly shell-fish!”

She scoffs at his pronunciation. “Look at that, the pot calling the kettle black!”

“And look at the hairy, filth-monster calling for itself in the mirror!”

“What…? That, doesn’t… even begin to make sense.”

He narrows his eyes. “It’s called an expression, hyooman. Look it up.” He turns his chin up in the air pridefully. “It probably doesn’t make much sense in your inferior language but--”

“No, it’s prolly just a stupid expression.”

“DON’T INTERRUPT ZIM!” He hollers loud enough to catch the attention of a group of women who stop in their giggling to eye Zim weirdly.

She notices this and leans to him across the table.“Let’s not yell, okay?” She tries to tame him. “Fighting like this is getting us nowhere--”

“I’M NOT FINISHED!”

She props a fist up under her chin. “Fine, go ‘head.”

“Well, for starters,” He begins. He kneels on the stool and looms over her as he berates her. She flinches every now and then when spit flies from his mouth, but otherwise, she allows him to blow off his steam. “AND, you never take the D.V.D. out of the T.V. when you’re done! So, whenever it turns on, it goes straight to playing the movie and if G.I.R. is in the room, I have to hear him wail about having to work ‘cuz now he wants to just sit and watch the movie!” Having finally paused to take a breath, Zim finds himself panting like he just ran a mile.

“Feel better?”

He plops down in his seat and lays his head down in his crossed arms, looking off to the side. “No.”

She follows his gaze in curiosity and finds him watching a rather strange scene unfold. The women are staring down the security guard, craning their necks like giraffes to stare at him while he talks to a man in a suit.

‘Flirts,’ she thinks to herself. “But, Zim?”

His eyes flit to meet hers. “What.”

“I hear you… and I get it. I haven’t exactly made it easy to live with me.” Her heart begins to thud in her chest as she carefully mulls over her words. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have walked out on you in the lab with G.I.R., or destroyed that big magnet almost drowning you, or stolen your tiny-bots--”

“Mini-bots.”

“Whatever,” she says flatly. “Stolen your… mini-bots and ruined the present all the while putting your mission at risk, nor should I have--”

“Get to the point!” He seethes.

“But, I’ll do better. I’m going to be a better roommate. I promise,” she smiles at him.

“Roommate.” He scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“As long as I’m not an experiment or human slave, I’ll be whatever you want!” She leans on the table and winks at him. “Until my ship’s fixed.”

“Ugh.” He sits back in his seat. “Oh. Yeah, your ship... speaking of which--”

(Y/n) jumps when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns to see the bartender with a tight smile that is mostly obscured by a horseshoe-shaped mustache.

“Sorry to interrupt, you two.” He directs his attention to Zim. “But--ah, young man? I’m gonna hafta see your I.D.”

“What for?” Zim hisses.

She jerks her shoulder away from his touch. “He’s with me,” she tells him sternly.

The bartender has an incredulous look on his face. “It doesn’t work like that. This is a bar, meaning twenty-one n’ up.

“C’mon, man. Why don’t you lay off? I’ve been in orgies with more ‘lax rules. Can’t you be chill?”

At the bartender’s scowl of discomfort, Zim feels glad he doesn’t know what the human is talking about. The bartender shivers and shifts away from her, but soon his anger spikes once more. “YOU BROUGHT A CHILD WITH YOU!”

Placing his hands on his hips, Zim stands on the stool, propping a leg on the table. “Yes, annoying alcohol-drone! I am a normal human worm-baby.”

“Not helping!” She hisses at him.

The bartender analyzes Zim from head-to-toe. “Yeh, tha’s what I thought.” He makes a motion as if waving someone over. The security guard approaches him from the table by the ladies.

It’s then that (Y/n) notices the bartender is the same man in the suit who the security guard was talking to. And then it all clicks together. ‘They’d been watching us for a long time!’ She realizes.

“The police are on their way,” the security guard says once he’s directly behind Zim.

“WHAT?!” (Y/n) cries.

The security guard sits on the stool next to Zim, cautiously, like he’s a dog ready to bite. “Should I call C.P.S.?” He asks the bartender.

“Umm,” (Y/n) stammers, trying to alleviate the tension. “No need for that! He’s--uh…” She looks between the two and a half-men surrounding her. “He’s not even mine! Right, Zim?”

Zim meets her eyes and realizing their situation is getting out of hand, tries to go along with her play. “Oh, yes. My parental units are at home and were completely uninvolved with this exchange. They don’t even know this woman so the protective services for children are not needed!” He waves his hand in the face of the security guard, shooing him away.

The bartender and security guard exchange a long look before the security guard ducks his head to speak into a walkie-talkie above his breast. “Requesting back-up for a possible kidnapping, a-- uh, ten-fourteen.

“What, no!” She reaches over the table and pulls Zim to her roughly by the shoulders and shakes him. “You idiot!”

The bartender is quick to respond pulling (Y/n) away from Zim who topples off the stool.

The security guard kneels down to him. “Are you alright, son? Don’t worry, she can’t hurt you anymore. Now, can you tell me what happened?” Zim shuffles away from the guard’s pestering.

The other patrons fall into hushed whispers as they watch the scene unfold. As (Y/n) tries to wrestle out of the bartender’s restraint he shoves her back against the wall, and in the process, her teleporter slips out of her waistband and slides across the floor. An elbow to the chest and she’s out of his grasp and diving for the tellie. He tackles her down before she can reach it. The guard abandons his position with Zim to help pin (Y/n)'s limbs to the ground; although she’s strong enough to wriggle around and keep them from getting a firm grasp she’s quickly tiring from the effort. She jerks her head back, knocking the bartender in the chin. The bartender loses his footing, and when trying to readjust their hold on the flailing girl, the guard kicks the teleporter to the side and it slides to be in front of Zim, at his feet.

He quickly scoops it up, flipping open the latch on the side in one motion. The needle sticks up straight. He hesitates. He pulls his glove up, sleeve down, positions the needle over his wrist with a shaky hand, and he swallows. It slides in, easily yet painfully. When it’s pushed in enough he pulls the trigger, envisioning the entrance to the bar. A tingling sensation overcomes his body and he can practically feel his atoms detaching and reuniting in the new space, right in front of the door--!

But, instead, he topples on top of the dog pile of the bartender, the guard, and (Y/n). The bartender and guard lose their hold on (Y/n) and struggle to get to their feet, but she lays still on the floor the wind knocked out of her. Zim is already running towards the door again, needle injected, tellie at ready, he pulls the trigger--!

He’s by (Y/n)'s side again. She’s slowly lifting herself onto her hands and knees. She notices him, snatches the tellie from his hand, and pulls him along with her. The bartender and guard are hot on their heels. But not for long. She pulls the trigger and they are out the door, then around the corner, and down the block. Down the next block, and the next--

Zim wrenches his hand from hers. “Wait!” He heels over and pants heavily. “That was--! Too much! Why does it feel like that?”

“Like your body is a balloon animal?”

He spares her a glance, squinting an eye at her in that dumbfounded look he’s always wearing.

“Like your skin is staticky and you’re just very aware of where your body is in space and like your floaty and full of air!”

“I was supposed to get all that from balloon animal? And, you didn’t have to yank the needle out of my arm!” He sasses to her while pointing to his tiny wound.

“You’re crazy!”

“As you always remind me.”

“I have to remind you in case you ever decide to act sane,” he quips, taking long strides forward to lead the way home.

“I’ll have you know that legally I am!”

Zim only hums. He rubs his sore wrist and pulls his sleeve up to inspect it. “How’d you do that?” He asks, still peeved by the result of his attempt at her fancy teleportation technology.

She understands his question by the way he glares down at the wound in his forearm. “That part of it always sucked. That’s how I used to have to do it, y’know? But then I got that chip in me I showed you. I suppose you do deserve an explanation, however. A more thorough one. The truth is, Oggy developed this one for me-- only one in the galaxy like it!”

“Who’s Oggy?”

“Ah, he’s just… this… person." She flushes at the memory of her history with the short, moody, bug-eyed alien who—now that she thinks about it—reminds her a lot of Zim. “Uh, no one, really. Just this guy, that—I, uh, we’re on the same crew together.”

“You have a crew?”

“No, I’m just part of one! Geez, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, you realize that, right? But, yeah, he’s our engineer; smart guy he is.”

Zim studies her flustered mannerisms and can’t help but dislike this Oggy. Then, he processes her statement past the description of the Oggy-character. “I thought you were a wanted criminal! Those aliens that were chasing after you when you first crashed here certainly looked like criminals,” he scoffs.

“I’m not a wanted criminal! Well, technically, I am-- but I’m not wanted. I’m pretty behind the scenes, y’know? And those guys are my crew. The big purple guy is my Commander,” she explains and smiles at the mention of him.

Zim is now eager to derail this conversation. “So, about the device. Go on.”

“Right, so this is the only one like this one. It’s hard to explain how he managed to make this much more efficient and stealthier, but I think I have something to do with that. Not to toot my own horn… but who am I kiddin’, I love tooting my own horn.”

“I’ve never seen you play an instrument.”

“I don’t know why I bother.” She giggles. “It’s another expression. It means to brag to someone.”

“I see.”

“You toot your own horn a lot, Zim.”

“Here’s a human expression for you.” He gives her a sweet smile.

“What--?”

“Shut up.”

To his surprise, rather than fire back, she bursts into laughter. “Man-- alright, I deserved that.”

“Yes, we get it. I’m a master of comedy,” he says annoyed, but he can’t help the grin of victory he has. “Anyway, as you were saying about your teleporter?”

She catches her breath but can only shrug. “I mean, what else is there to say? If you want to use it, you just hafta put the needle-thingy in a vein—it has that tiny hook with the chip in it that does all the magic—you pull the trigger, and POOF!” She makes jazz hands to emphasize the magic of the device. “I dunno, I’m pretty good at it.”

“GOOD, Spoofly? Monique is just ‘good’ at using the teleporter?” Commander Borgz pounds a fist on the armrest to his commander’s chair. “Good doesn’t cut it! If we have her as our intel and stealth, she has to be as-good-as or better! (Y/n) was the best in the goddamn galaxy. She made your marksmanship look like shots in the dark! She made your marksmanship look like SHITS in the dark—disgusting, shameful, and I’m almost glad I may never get to see such a pathetic display again. Get Monique over here!” He points a finger down at his feet.

Spoofly bounces on his toes in anxiousness. “Right away, Commander!” He salutes and rushes out of the biggest room in the ship. The sliding door shuts behind Spoofly and at the sound of the elevator’s whir, Borgz relaxes into his chair and rubs his temples.

He stares out at the front view of the ship, at the stars in the dark space. He never understood their appeal to the human, but she had a way of making the mundane seem mysterious and fantastical. ‘If only I could see the world through her terrifying, piercing eyes,’ he thinks woefully. He always thinks she has a gaze that can rival Veeka’s murderous stare if it wasn’t for how ‘soft and fluffy (Y/n) is! But maybe her entire species is like that?’

The doors slide open and Spoofly marches in with Monique at his side.

“Thank you for coming, Monique. Spoofly was giving me a report on your performance. And I didn’t like what I heard,” Borgz told her in a sing-songy voice. Immediately, Monique slugs Spoofly in the gut and he crumples to his knees with a wheeze. She hisses a curse at him in Doralalalian, her native tongue.

“I told him you were good!” He squeaks out.

“He did tell me you were good,” Borgz agrees.

Monique looks at her commander with a smile.

“I was very disappointed.”

She frowns and her shoulders sag.

“But, I believe we are not practicing your skill to the full potential. There is still hope! (Y/n) was a natural! Who’s to say with a little elbow grease, we can’t fine-tune you to be better than Dominus’ men!”

“And better than your last intel!” Monique cheers, the excitement getting to her. But once again, Borgz squashes her hopes when he roars in boisterous hearty chuckles. “What? What’d I say?”

Spoofly rises to his feet and coughs as he continues to level his harsh breathing. “Y’see, Monique, you’re new so you don’t get this. (Y/n) may be the most repulsive, annoying, disrespectful, selfish, chaotic, arrogant—”

“She gets it,” Borgz cuts in.

“--and otherwise-incompetent member of the Forsakenz, but she puts any of Mr. Dominus’ tellies to shame.”

“Tellies? What’s that?”

“Yeah, that’s degrading,” Borgz scolds Spoofly. He lends his attention to Monique. “They call themselves Berserkerz. They also work for Mr. Dominus, like us. They were the group that was specially selected to beta-test these teleporters, so they've had years of training. But, like I said, (Y/n)'s a natural.”

Spoofly offers a reassuring smile. “But, uh, no pressure!”

Borgz rises from his chair and descends the steps to stand beside Monique and puts a hand on her shoulder. ”As-good-as or better, though. Or you’ll die out there.”

Spoofly puts a hand on her shoulder, as well. “Yeah, as-good-as or better.”

“Ya feel better?” The human asks from her curled up spot under his lab table, playing an improvised card-game with G.I.R. They lay in a nest of blankets and pillows, all of which on G.I.R.’s side is covered in crumbs and cheese.

“Somewhat,” Zim answers after a heavy pause. She peeks her head out to watch as he fiddles with her teleportation device.

"I mean, my earlier offer is still up for grabs--"

His antennae fall and he scowls down at her. With a pointed look, he nods his head to his S.I.R. unit.

She flushes but mutters stubbornly, "not like even you understand my offer, I bet." Still, her stare lingers to his lap from under the table. 'I'm already right here,' she had explained.

A kick in the face is what she got. For some reason, it seemed very familiar to her…

She allowed him to mess with her device after he presented her completed ship and it blew up. Again.

(Y/n) began to lose count of just how many times it exploded into flames after it was flooded in the hanger. Sometimes it didn’t explode though! Sometimes, it was eaten by the escaped dinosaur, or sat on by that one ham-demon, or turned into a squid by that one wizard from the ninth realm.

...This was something to ease the stress on his mind. He’s eager to understand how the device works and her lack of education in the field provides him with lackluster answers, and most were wildly inaccurate guesses of its inner workings. And yet…

“I don’t understand! It should function as you said but why couldn’t I get it to work for me?!” He whines.

“What’d you find?” She shuffles the deck of cards and flicks them in G.I.R.’s face. He waves his hands and tries to catch the cards as they flutter down.

“This chip acts as a mind-reading device and these are the atom-- wait, are these lasers? They really are lasers-- just like you said!”

“Really? That was just a guess. I mean, no wonder it feels so painful.” She slaps an ace down on the floor and G.I.R. rolls away from her in tears. “And yeah! You did it right. That’s all you gotta do: visualize and then pull the trigger. Simple.” She watches G.I.R. barrel-roll down the hall and around the corner into the next room. 'And now that robot-boy's gone…!' She shifts onto her knees reaching for his lap--

“No! I kept appearing by you! It must be broken…” At this thought, he pulls a magnifying lens down to get a closer look at the insides of the tiny device.

“Wait!” Her head peeks out from under the table to look up at him. “You were gonna leave me behind?!”

“You were going to blow my cover! You put my mission at risk!” He defends.

“That was your own damn fault and you know it! Who goes to a bar disguised as a kid? Jerk.”

“Well, you always criticize my other disguises so--”

“Your other disguises are a grandma and an old hobo.”

“...So?”

He watches her crawl back under the table with an irritated look until she disappears from view. He slightly slides his chair back to watch as her legs shift to curl back under a blanket. “I could fix it.”

“It’s not broken.”

“Yes, it is! I’d try teleporting to the door or outside and I’d just end up by you… maybe my connection was overridden by your chip somehow…” he thinks aloud.

“But, no that doesn’t seem very plausible.”

When she doesn’t respond, he ducks his head down to see her with a smug grin.

“What?”

“You know what that means?”

He furrows his brows, not liking her tone one bit.

“You didn’t really want to leave me behind.”

He tries to ignore her to study the device further, but nothing looks amiss or broken. Just like she said.

“Ziiiim,” she sings.

“It’s broken.”

“Okay, okay. It’s broken.”

There’s a long beat of silence and Zim glares down at the teleporter that’s in perfect working condition.

“Y’know, if you are willing… I do have a couple a’ ideas for some cool mods you can make to it,” she suggests.

“YES!”

Chapter Text

It had already been a long day for the alien. First, he had a timed essay in homeroom on a subject he couldn’t care less about. Then, Torque Smacky shoved him in a locker even after Zim willingly gave up his lunch money. And finally, Dib dumped a bucket of water on him in P.E.-- which had little-to-no-effect, except for just being really annoying, what with his regular paste baths. So upon entering his base and finding (Y/n) at the kitchen table clearly scheming away with another horrible idea of hers, he was really second-guessing whether to question her or not. There was only so much nonsense he could handle in a day.

But seeing as she is surrounded by wrappers, rubber gloves, and a row of buckets and jars, his curiosity gets the better of him.

“What're you doing?”

She looks to him in shock and then at her work then back to him. “Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes. “You're clearly up to something. Out with it.”

“Well, you have to promise not to get mad.”

He frowns. “What did you do?”

“Welllll, I found your supply of cleaning chalk.”

Quirking a brow, he picks up a wrapper to examine it. “I see.” His human-disguised-eyes trail across the table where there sits a huge pile of his cleaning chalks’ wrappers. Probably the entire supply had been unwrapped. “What did you do with them?!”

“Relax! Relax! You can still use them!” She lifts what looks to be a severed appendage out of a bucket. “They're just now in the shape of human hands.”

“WHAT? WHY??”

She starts cackling loudly. “I dunno. I just-- I just--! Saw it online and thought it’d be really funny if you had to rub your body down with human hands!” She says between laughter.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not!” She dismisses, and for once, the notion makes the situation worse.

He snatches the soap out of her hand and looks at it. He shivers at the sight. “This is disturbing. What is wrong with you? You humans have too many fingers; it’s… creepy.”

“Hey! That took me a long time to get right!”

“Right? This is so wrong!”

“Y’know I wanted more variety in skin-tones but I could only get it as close to that color. And the gloves would stretch too much and made some of them kinda gross-looking.” She held up a bulbous and round “hand”.

“THEY'RE ALL GROSS LOOKING! I CAN'T USE THIS!”

She takes one and strokes him on the cheek with the soapy, slimy fingertips. “Let the fingers cleanse you, Zim.”

He lets out a short scream before jumping into the nearby trashcan down to his lab.

Something truly is amiss with the young woman, that much is obvious. Maybe it's because she hung around the wrong crowd growing up or she had dropped too much acid that fateful night-- or maybe it was that awful blow to the head she got when getting abducted by that alien spaceship.

It was plain bad luck how (Y/n) stumbled upon a new beginning for herself. She had maybe overdone it with the psychedelics but after all that hype from Lottie and the others, she just had to meet some fairies or aliens! It was unwise but not unexpected of (Y/n) to wander away from Lottie’s house and start exploring the neighborhood. It was dark and isolating but she felt at peace with everything.

She even felt peace when a beam of green light encompassed her entire body which dragged her upwards towards a giant whale in the sky.

“This sum good shiiiiit,” she slurred out in awe.

What she could recall came in flashes and disconnected memories due to the many times she’d space out or have some sort of revelation about what the tall, dumb, gray aliens were saying to her.

They wrapped her arms in tape, pieces of pipe, and one juice box and stuck her in one of the glass chambers. She thought they were gifts of some otherworldly value. She didn’t recognize the simple, everyday objects, or at least, thought she didn’t. She even felt like the chamber was her new home and she was okay with that idea. She happily sipped from the juice box taped to her bicep.

“Psst!”

There was another alien on board. Or wait, was it a human, too? He had giant glasses and a black horn sprouting from his head.

“Psst!”

She leaned over in the chamber to face him. He pressed his hands against the glass of his own imprisonment.

“Hey, you! We gotta get out of here! They’re gonna experiment on us if we don’t, but we might have a chance! They seem really dumb, like extraordinarily dumb-- and I know a dumb alien!”

Her lips opened and closed like a fish as she thought of how to respond. Where to start? “Your head is huge and you have, like, thirty eyes.”

He threw his hands to the side and scoffed. “My head’s not big-- wait, isn’t the insult normally four eyes? Nevermind!” He scooted closer to the edge of the chamber. “Listen, I have a plan! When they’re distracted we’re going to--”

“Hey! You two better not be talking about escaping!” The alien with the deeper voice, who called himself Fred, shouted.

“Uh-uh-uh--YEAH!” A high-pitched voice cried; she called herself Mary.

The other human on board was none other than Dib Membrane, who had been abducted that afternoon. The aliens thought he was a weasel. They thought (Y/n) was a squirrel.

The next thing she remembers is running through many rooms filled floor-to-ceiling with empty glass chambers. Dib had a tight grip on her arm and was panting heavily.

“C’mon! Don’t make me drag you outta here!” He yelled at her, panicked.

She was terrified beyond her wits. The only thing she could focus on was the overwhelming anxiety that was brought on by this young boy who she discovered was a human-weasel of some sort. Her thoughts felt like they were spiraling and spiraling only to loop right back again. It felt like time was at a standstill and she’d be trapped in these gruesome moments for the rest of her life. Once they came to the fifth room that looked identical to all the others, she lurched her arm away from his grasp.

“What’re you doing?! We’re almost--”

“Get away! Who even are you?!” She yelled back.

He was bewildered at her behavior. It had been erratic their entire time together but she had only acted euphoric. Suddenly, she was pissed?

She had a lot more to say to him, curses and insults filling her mind like a whirlwind. But she knew that when she was in that room with those two tall aliens she was happy and calm. They gave her gifts, didn’t they? ‘Yeah, they’re nice. They sound really nice right now,’ she thought.

“I have to go. Sorry,” (Y/n) told him and waved. Not wanting to put much thought into understanding her situation, she kept it to a simple farewell. She didn’t know the appropriate way to dismiss herself. She especially didn’t know she just missed her chance to escape back to Earth for a long time.

The next few hours felt magical to her, however. Flying through space with two intelligent lifeforms sharing with her the knowledge of the universe, and reminding her just how insignificant she is in the grand scheme of things but at the same time, making her feel like she was truly one with the galaxies! She likes to tell herself the insurmountable grief she faced the following months at this prospect was completely worth it.

Best. Acid trip. Ever!

One thing was apparent to her. The aliens were dumb. But she was a teenager, a human at its most reckless, and a particularly ditzy teenager at that. Thus, it took her multiple attempts to escape. Her escapes were carried out in the same fashion every try. So even the two dumbest aliens in the galaxy were beginning to catch on.

She would ask to use the bathroom, which they didn’t have, so they’d have to stop at a gas station. As simple as that. She figured if she waited long enough, they might forget about her and leave without her. That never did happen. After an hour-- they didn’t know that that was a ridiculous amount of time to deal with one’s business-- they’d start knocking on the door. At first, she’d stay put and start giving excuses.

“Uh… ten more minutes!”

“Oh, okay!” Mary said.

All good and fine. But then they would take that as an invitation to talk to her since they finished their shopping at the gas station’s store.

“So I bought some more of that juuuiiice to fuse to you because for some reason it keeps getting empty,” Mary complained.

“No! This juice is mine! I don’t think we should fuse any more juice!” Fred snapped.

“But, pa! It weakens the subjects!”

It was times like these she’d wished the aliens never took the liberty of learning her language. And every escape attempt ended with her eagerly walking back onto the ship. If she got to her chamber fast enough, she’d be left with a few moments of silence from the aliens that never rested or slept. Ever.

The day she escaped was the one day Fred got to decide what they “fused” to her body. He duct-taped a multitude of pipes, wrenches, crowbars, and other various tools. As she sat in her chamber with a dumb and faraway look on her face she felt rather uncomfortable with the cool metal pressing against her limbs. She shifted on the floor and crossed her legs to get comfier, but then the end of a pipe was jutting painfully upon her thigh. She scooted to the edge of the chamber to rest her back on the glass but flinched at the feel of the crowbar that was pressed against her spine.

‘That’s it. I have to escape,’ she decided.

“What would weasel-boy do?” She wondered to herself. She needed a clever plan. Like he had. In his, they somehow left the chambers unscathed and unharmed and were going through an escape pod. She watched the two aliens who chattered amongst themselves. It quickly delved into another screaming match.

Her eye twitched. She juggled a few sudden ideas that came to mind, involving a lot of blood-shed, but logic overcame all the malicious thoughts. 'No, I have to be smart about this!' She encouraged herself.

“OH! OH! SO IT’S MY FAULT THE WEASEL AND HUMAN GOT OUT?!”

“Yeah!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh--!”

Then again, how could she be expected to come up with a plan amongst all this jabber! She’d need silence to think.

It was strange.

The girl who had never had a violent encounter in her life went about incapacitating the two aliens in a ferocious display that could rival that of any alien-soldier. Fred and Mary didn’t have the gall to fight back. Every strike was a metaphorical nail in her own coffin, the next hit always felt worse than the last. But, breaking the glass of her chamber with the crowbar made the rest of the destruction feel like slicing through butter or hitting a golf ball! It certainly was a lot more screamy and bone-breaky than glass but it was a good breather between two egregious tasks. The next step to her improvised-on-the-spot plan was to find the ship’s steer and get it to turn around back to Earth. She’d set the coordinates in and follow the map. But, driving a spaceship was a lot harder than she thought and she'd come to find landing was even harder than driving.

She did pride herself, however, in knowing how to careen around asteroids and understanding all the alerts the ship told her despite it being in an alien language. She easily recognized the reminder to fill the fuel tank up, she figured out how to input a pitstop to a nearby gas station into the GPS, and felt especially proud at how she understood the alert to evacuate the ship because it was going to explode!

She slid down the side of the giant aircraft down to the ground with a stumble. Momentarily, she worried she had left something inside. Then she face-palmed. She jogged as far as she could from the ticking-time-bomb-of-a-ship and the multiple gas pumps lined up around it.

A muscular and large purple alien rushed out of the shop doors, spotted the crashed ship, spotted (Y/n), and sprinted over to her. He called out to her in a language she didn’t know. When he was at her side, he towered over her and yelled at her again.

Not knowing exactly how to answer the man, she pointed to the ship and shielded her eyes with her hand. They watched in awe as the large ship exploded and in a domino effect, the gas pumps burst into flames that ate away at the shop.

“If no one hears your screams, did you really burn alive?” She mused nonsensically in a flat-tone as she watched the fireworks.

“Ahem.” Her attention was now on the purple alien beside her. He held a cylindrical device with a red bulb at the end which he held to his throat. “You understand me now?”

She nodded.

“I don’t s’pose you got any money to pay for these damages?”

She shook her head.

“You wanna go to jail?”

There was reluctance, but she shook her head.
“

Yeah, course you don’t. Space prison sucks. Never get yourself into space prison because you won’t get out. You’re not from around this area, huh?”

No, another shake of the head.

“Well, I won’t be calling the authorities then. I’m gonna call up some friends of mine, though. Grab a broom, over there, and get to cleaning. You’ll be working for your compensation.”

‘Were all aliens this nice?’ She wondered. She had been so grateful to her new boss, Borgz, that she didn’t pay much attention to the strange assortment of “friends” he had. She had no reference for what a normal group of alien friends might be, anyhow.

Borgz was so nice, in fact, (Y/n) ignored all the more obvious and in-your-face red flags about him. Like how forward it was that he started to pay for her motel room nearby so she could continue working. She didn’t know that it was actually free for her to stay there on account of the fact the head honcho to their space-mafia-organization, Mr. Dominus, owned the motel and gas station. Along with giving her a place to live, he gave her many lavish gifts. Again, maybe she didn’t quite understand what was considered lavish, but a teleporter, ray gun, and a tiny robot servant should’ve raised some brows for the ignorant teenager. There was also the strange fact that the gas station she worked full-time at received a lot of delivery trucks. Like, a lot of delivery trucks. The stock of junk food, cigarettes, and booze didn’t compensate for just how much product was coming into the store every day. Tall stacks of metal boxes would be carried down to the basement she wasn’t allowed in. She felt no unease and even human curiosity wasn't enough motivation to investigate these things. She didn’t really care.

There were many more riveting things to look forward to. She lived by herself, had a regular job, and although she had no money to spend, she had a teleporter that could take her to any place nearby if she was smart about it. She practiced all the time. Pushing her limits more and more even though the leaps she wanted to make should’ve killed her. She showed off to Borgz often. One day, he rewarded her efforts with a chip in a plastic baggie. Again, sus but she didn’t question it. His friend, Veeka, was apparently a trained medic and implanted the chip into the girl’s arm herself. Free of charge. Along with everything else.

It had only been six months and (Y/n) had long since become comfortable with this new life of hers. It was a shame it all had to come to an end so quickly. A row of police cars pulled up to the gas station and they took aim at Borgz and (Y/n) through the store windows. They were the only ones inside, which confused (Y/n). ‘Where was the criminal?’

But her question soon found its answer as Borgz quickly escorted her to the basement where all of his strange friends were gathered around a table playing poker, surrounded by crystals, cash, weapons, and drugs. ‘Oh, we’re the criminal.’

The four-armed alien dropped his hand of cards and leaned forward on the table. “Who’s this?” He purred out.

“Keep your dicks in your pants, Spoofly. This is (Y/n). She’s one of us, now.” Borgz waved a hand over to her.

“You never said anything about a new recruit! Where’s this coming from?” Oggy sat up.

“Well, we need a new intel!” Borgz said.

A lanky alien with spider fangs protruding from his jaws turned around in his chair to face the two who stood at the foot of the staircase. “What? But, Commander Borgz, I’m the intel!”

Borgz looked straight ahead at the wall behind the fanged-intel in a blank stare and a line of drool slowly formed at his bottom lip. It plopped down on the tile floor.

She hadn’t yet mastered their preferred language, but she was somewhat fluent. “Him and I had a drinking contest before he suddenly rushed me down here, so maybe he’s not in the best mindset to decide this?” (Y/n) shrugged at the crew with an embarrassed look on her face.

Spoofly jumped to his feet and held his arms out. “No! No! The crew needs you! Who are we to not trust Borgz’s judgment on new recruits? We are The Forsakenz!” He slung an arm around the short human’s shoulders.

“I dunno...” Oggy started.

“Dude, he’s shit-faced,” (Y/n) countered but Spoofly slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Veeka, what do you think?”

At the medic’s expected lack of response, the sound of a gunshot filled the silence. And blood pooled out of the spider-faced alien’s forehead as he slumped forward and out of his chair. The crew looked to Borgz who held a gun pointed straight ahead. He seemed to be spacing out again.

“We need a new intel!” Borgz suddenly cried out in shock.

“Oh my god,” (Y/n) muttered. She felt her insides lurch at the sight of the dead alien at her feet. ‘I’m never gonna get used to that,’ she thought.

“Well, would ya look at that!” Spoofly smiled down at the pretty girl who curled her lip up at him.

"It was startin' to feel like a real sausage fest, 'round here," Borgz defended. “Oh! Forgot to mention, we gotta bounce. Cops are here--”

There was a rough banging on the door at the top of the staircase. “This is the police!”

“Cheese and crackers, Borgz! How about some more warning, next time?!” Oggy cried and got to work activating mini-bots who began to gather their supplies. Veeka took to gulping down cans of soda as if that were helpful and Spoofly opened the doors to reveal the Forsakenz spaceship. It was purple and large and stood with pride. (Y/n) strolled up to it and her jaw dropped in awe. She clasped her hands together in excitement.

Spoofly leaned against the hanger’s door frame with one arm, placed his other on his hip, and crossed his other two across his waist. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

He was just dripping with suaveness. But she had no problem with humoring him. “Yeah. Really cool.”

“The life of a Forsakenz!” He stared at the ship. “We spend our days navigating the cosmos! Killing greedy bastards who won’t give up their goods and bringing the most dangerous artillery to the most dangerous people. We are the catalysts of space! We will be feared for generations to come! That is our legacy!”

It sounded wonderful. But she figured he was being dramatic. “Yeah, you guys got cable?”

His shoulders slumped. “Uh… yeah! Let me show you where the T.V. is! I’ll give you the grand tour!” He led her away by slinging an arm around her shoulder.

Before she could ask why they weren’t worrying about the armed cops trying to break the door down, she got her answer with a glance over her shoulder. They had just burst through the door and a grid of lasers sliced their bodies into little cubes, like the stuff they pass around as hors d'oeuvre at fancy parties. She gagged. She was in good hands, she concluded.

With a smile on her face, she hip-bumped Spoofly in glee who gave her shoulder a squeeze. She was going to love it with them.

For the next four years, they’d spend every day together: on missions, on vacation days, on traveling days on the ship. They had become a sort of family, at least, that’s how they all felt. Except for (Y/n). She was more like the annoying teenager that somehow tagged along, and she had been. Except, even when she came of age, that annoyingness never seemed to go away and they concluded that maybe it was just a human thing. But for all the love the rest of the crew lacked for her, it was all bottled up in Borgz’s heart. He cared for her as his own, would support her through thick-and-thin, and would be her giant, purple, rock. It was something about her chaotic nature, her nonchalant attitude to everything, her loyalty and obedience-- which was unwavering as long as there wasn’t something slightly more interesting or deemed to be more worthy of her time.

Whatever reason it was that Borgz had for liking the human as he did, it was unbreakable. The long weeks away from her were much needed, of course, but the peaceful quiet was becoming too peaceful and less unsettling like it often felt when she was in the room. And the crimes they committed on a daily felt less… crimey and more like a responsibility.

Which is why he had his engineers invent a brand new teleporter. This one, however, was built into the wall of the ship and was made for long-distance. 'Long enough to reach earth outside of the solar system' long-distance.

"What'd I say, guys? She can run but she can't hide!" He laughed out as his crew fastened weapons and armor to his bulky body. He gave a narrowed look through the teleporter. "Should I charge interest for that four million?"

Cobalt rings of light halo down into the center of a cul-de-sac. As they descend, they increase in rapidity with each succession. A luminescent and hazy mirage pixelates in the air. The particles vibrate with a low hum until they join together and solidify, becoming the strong and sturdy build of Commander Borgz. The ethereal glow on his body fades.

If it wasn’t so late in the evening, the neighborhood may have noticed the eleven-foot tall, purple alien that just teleported from a Solar system away.

If humans were smarter, more observant, they may have been present to bear witness to the confident gait of the alien as he marches towards a teal and purple home. It’s the only house that stands out to him, he’s sure that whoever lives there will have what he’s looking for. While his heavy-duty gear and armor should have slowed him down, it only makes his approaching steps more assertive, more threatening. One could hear the stretch of his leather armor with each stride, the rattle of the bullet shells looping around his waist and across one of his shoulders, and the striking glow of moonlight when it reflects off the blade to his bayonet.

He crosses the threshold onto the lawn, past the white fence, and he passes the first row of gnomes. Their heads swivel to watch him but only one in the second row decides to act. Its pupils glowed red as it charged its laser only for Borgz to reach out and close his fist around its head, crushing it like a walnut. He steps on the porch and raps his knuckles on the door. With an absent mind, he brushes the broken gnome-head bits off his hand against his thigh. He waits.
And waits.

While waiting, he begins to whistle to some jazz music the engineers in the lab liked to listen to. It was pleasant. But he despises pleasant so for many reasons he’s glad when someone finally answers the door.

His eye nictates as he stares into the empty house. Just when he thinks of how ominous it was that the door just opened by itself--

“HI!”

With a gasp, he looks down to find a green, hairy creature with floppy antennae and piercing eyes-- eyes just like (Y/n)‘s. He crouches down, but that wasn’t low enough, so he sits down cross-legged in front of the creature.

He greets it in his native language.

The small beast nods its head as Borgz speaks then turns around to look into the house for a few moments before looking back up at the man, who was still much taller even while sitting. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING!” The creature tells him as if it were the best thing in the world.

“Ah, so you speak the language of the… human girl,” he responds.

“Human girl?” The creature parrots and then gives a forced laugh, resembling more of a pained sob.

Borgz had never met such a creature before-- he can feel its brain working on overdrive. “Yes, the human-girl. Her name is (Y/n)... About yay-tall.” He raises a hand above the creature’s head. “She has these… appendages on her head, probably a million of them. They’re about this long.” He gestures the length to his body. “And… big.” He hovers his hands around his scalp as if molding her exact hairstyle onto his own head. “Her skin is squishy and fuzzy. Like Grobuole-fruit!”

The green beast nods his head again and his head lolls to the side. He stares up the Commander with wide, empty eyes before they narrow. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!”

Borgz face-palms. Then, he almost does so again because he comes to an easy solution that he wishes he had thought of earlier. He raises his arm up, like checking one’s watch, and when he hovers his hand over his wrist a latch on it slides open. A green hologram hovers in front of him like a flat surface and he taps through the screen. He swipes a few times before finding what he’s looking for. He pinches his fingers to the center of the screen and then spreads them in front of the creature’s face. A large image of a familiar face takes up the creature’s view and the piercing eyes light up at which his pink tongue pokes out of his mouth and his tail wags.

“You recognize her!”

“You mean Fluffy!” The creature corrects.

The Commander analyzes the beast for some seconds, running the name in his head a few times. “She is fluffy. You’re right! Well, I’m looking for Fluffy. I’m her Commander. I’ve come to collect what’s mine. Is she here?”

“Hmmm! Lemme check!” And the beast slams the door in Borgz’s face.

“Thank god for that stupid fucking robot,” (Y/n) mumbles to herself as she clambers from the kitchen to her bedroom.

G.I.R. yelling at the top of his lungs at whoever was at the door, whether it was intentional or not, was the perfect cue for (Y/n) to sneakily investigate. So she abandoned her messy post at the kitchen table-- with the soap and buckets strewn about-- to peer into the living room. Lo and behold, sat criss-cross-Applesauce at the front door was her Commander.

Her mind buzzes with excitement.

‘How long has it been since our last chase?’ She wonders.

She grabs a duffel bag from her wardrobe along with a change of clothes. One will never know for how long Borgz will have you on the run. Days, weeks maybe? She goes through a mental checklist in her head and grabs a few more essentials like water and protein snacks. She opens her nightstand drawer with a wicked grin on her face. It was her weapon drawer when she first started staying in the base, whatever sharp or blunt or shooty object she found she began to store here for safe-and-later keeping. She likes to be prepared for the worst.

Unfortunately, Zim had caught on and began to do routine checks on her belongings because of the one time she may have accidentally-on-purpose kinda stole a ray-gun from him. She retaliated by keeping her vibrator and lewd magazine in the top of the drawer so he’d think better than to look or touch anything-- not that Zim really understood what the vibrator was for while she extensively explained it to him. Until he suddenly rushed out of the room trying to cover his antennae.

Lifting up the magazine that had a yellow-skinned alien’s ass on the cover, she finds the tiny remote-like device she managed to steal from Zim’s lab weeks ago. When he was performing the preliminary experiments for his master plan of changing the Earth’s magnetic poles, he created a hand-held device to measure the effects on a small scale. It works by emitting microwaves that will disable any electronics it nears. She’s glad that this was spared by Zim’s nosy efforts to disarm her.

She does a quick scan, a complete once-over through all the random, miscellaneous objects in the drawer before patting her pockets. ‘Tellie… where’s the--’ She wants to smack herself, she left it in the kitchen.

She decides to grab it on the way out.

“But before that!” She whispers out in a sing-song voice. She reaches under her bed and fishes out a long pool net. She nears a dark corner of her room and cups a hand over her mouth and nose. There lies a heap of blood-stained, sweaty clothes, moldy pizza, take-out boxes, emptied bottles, crumpled newspapers and magazines, and things that were so old and crusty she couldn’t even recognize them anymore. Using the pool net, she shimmies the pile to the side. She screws her eyes shut with a gasp of breath and reaches forward for a flat Ziploc. Borgz’s money. She uses the net to push the trash heap back over the spot it once lay.

“The only way to keep that alien away from my shit,” she reminds herself. Zim wouldn't get near anything he deemed filthy if he could help it, let alone if it was her filth.

She stuffs everything she gathered in the bag and slings it over her shoulder and briskly walks to the door that leads to the kitchen. She stills when she hears Borgz’s voice.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

She curses under her breath and considers just trying to shimmy out the bathroom window. But, she needs her teleporter.

She opens the door and sees Borgz standing at the threshold between the living room and the kitchen. And to her utter shock, Zim is there, in a face-off with her Commander on his PAK legs.

“I already told you, criminal-scum,” Zim spits back. “I have no idea of who or what you’re talking about! Leave Earth immediately! This is your second warning.”

“I will, I will. I’m just here for one thing--”

“And there will be no collecting of what you think is yours!”

(Y/n) readjusts her grip on the duffel bag over her shoulder at this, assuring herself that if he even got near her monies, she’d bite his fingers off.

Borgz notices her.

“Commander,” she greets flatly.

He smiles at her. “(Y/n)! Finally.”

Her lip quirks up into a smirk at his excitement at seeing her, but before she can give a proper greeting to him--

Zim’s PAK legs move him between the two. He makes himself as tall as possible, his shoulders hunched and claws flexed, and he hisses at Borgz-- something (Y/n) didn’t know Irkens did.

“Oh, so he wants part in this, too, (Y/n)?” Borgz asks.

“SILENCE! Your empty threats are only a pathetic attempt to intimidate us. We see past your ruse,” Zim tells Borgz in an uppity voice.

Something bubbles in (Y/n)‘s chest and she suddenly can’t help herself. His trash-talking is on-point, in her opinion, and she has the sudden urge to hug him. She ducks under the mechanical leg to reach Zim and when she does, she wraps her arms around his calf and looks up at him. If she had known just how eager he was for a good chase, for some action, she would’ve done everything in her power to get Borgz back to Earth much sooner than he had. Seeing such pride come from the little alien only makes him look so much cuter and oh-so-adowable!

Zim looks down at the human flinching at her touch and wanting to reel away from her when she tries to tug him down. But one look at her wide eyes and he instantly recognizes that look. The fragile human is scared! So much so, she risked being in closer proximity to the monstrous criminal who looks ready to gut her just to stand by his side. From all the chaos they’d been through together, he was under the impression she was more than capable of handling herself-- unless this criminal-Commander is a much bigger threat than he originally anticipated. Looking between the two, he feels a surge of an unprecedented amount of pride. (Y/n) trusts him to have the situation under control. No one had ever entrusted their safety with him before. Well, not like this.

His attention is on Borgz once again. Zim tries to make himself look bigger and more threatening, making his PAK legs lift him even higher-- if that was possible. “Try and see what happens when you challenge an Irken invader, Commander,” Zim mocks in a low voice.

Borgz guffaws and throws his fists up in the air. “Now, we’re talkin’!”

(Y/n) snorts. “We’ve been talking. All bark and no bite, huh? Well, tha’s fine-- we don’t need teeth?”

Borgz curls his lip up. “What--”

“After I slice your guts up and drink you like an abortion smoothie!”

Shaking his head, Borgz lets out a heavy sigh. “Carrying on--”

“Oh, wait-- lemme just explain--!” She turns to look up at Zim.

“Huh?”

But she’s left no time to explain the rules to their fun game because no sooner had Borgz pulled something from his pocket, there’s a thick wall of smoke that fills the base.

“Smoke bomb?!” Zim hollers out in shock. His panic and disorientation only worsen when (Y/n) stops holding onto his leg with a cry. He coughs out the hot air that fills his lungs to the point of tears waving a hand in front of his face. He catches his breath, somewhat, and orders the Computer to ventilate the room, still hacking and coughing through the foggy room. Zim navigates through the kitchen almost blindly. The PAK legs make it harder for him to move around so he gets down to his feet. Despite not seeing properly, it’s clear to Zim that she’s gone.

He pants heavily, taking in greedy gulps of air, and he does a once-around, not believing this fact. But there are only so many desperate circles throughout the base that the alien can make before the truth becomes painfully apparent.

Slowly, the lid to the garbage can is lifted and cerulean eyes peek out. “Is he goooone?” G.I.R. asks.

Zim, not hesitating in his pacing, answers his robot. “Yes, G.I.R.”

“YAY!”

“But he took (Y/n).”

“YAY!”

He glares at his robot. “No, G.I.R.! This is not good!”

G.I.R. frowns and he sinks lower into the can. “Oh…”

“NYA!” Mini-moose pipes up. He floats out of the garbage can and in front of Zim who halts in his tracks.

“I tried to stop him! You think I would let that--that moron steal one of my minions!”

“NYA!”

Zim staggers back, in shock at the powerful and inspiring words of the tiny moose. “But-- but, Minimoose--”

“NYA!”

The Irken steels himself and puffs his chest out. “You’re right! What am I thinking?! Fretting will get us nowhere.” He places his hands on his hips. “COOMPUUUTER! Fire up the Voot Cruiser!”

Computer groans. “Ugh, do I have to?”

“Don’t you want to save (Y/n)?!”

“Do I have to come with?”

“Obviously? You’re in the Voot Runner’s system!” Zim looks up at the ceiling.

“Ugh, whatever.”

Zim squeezes into the tiny elevator with his minions and the Computer begins to raise them into the ceiling. It’s silent on the ride up.

“It’s just-- she’s crazy, Zim,” Computer defends his unwillingness to help.

“Mhm-hm.” Zim hums.

After a few moments that were mostly comprised of quiet and G.I.R.’s off-key humming, Computer finally speaks up. “Y’know she downloaded three hundred hours of random people screaming into my hard drive?”

“What?” Zim grimaces but he finds ease in rationalizing such a claim. “Well, I see no issue. She probably knows you have an infinite storage--”

“She doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Zim mulls over Computer’s complaint. “Three hundred hours? Where’s it from?”

“... Doing a reverse search comes up with nothing.”

Zim’s eyes gloss over. “Oh.”

“When you said you were going to try to get your ship back, I didn’t think you’d be able to do it, honestly. At least, not at first. I figured you had some weird, elaborate, and complicated scheme but--” He pauses to turn to the human in the passenger seat and curls his lip up. “Seducing an Irken wasn’t exactly what I expected--”

“You cheated!”

The purple alien, who was uncomfortably hunched over in the driver’s seat of the Earth vehicle, doesn’t take his eye off the road. “How did I cheat?”

She thrashes around in the passenger seat of the stolen car Borgz was operating to prove her point. No matter how hard she tries her arms remain glued to her sides all due to her tight and constricting restraints. “This-- this shit!” She ducks her head down to try to gnaw away at the cord that ties her up but her teeth painfully clang against the metal. She tries again, and again, each time flinching away at the dull ache in her teeth.

“The only rules are that there are no rules. How can I cheat if there are no rules to break?”

She glowers at him and when he gives her a side-glance with a smile she leans into his face and blows a raspberry. Their car swerves sharply to the right and (Y/n) falls back into her seat.

“No one said anything about me not being able to bring my own tools! You know I give it my all.”

She pokes her bottom lip out and sinks in the seat. “Well, yeah, but… I got excited and all when Zim wanted to join the fun!” She bites at the cord again.

“Careful! You mess with that thing too much and it’ll give you such a painful shock, you’ll think you died and went to Hi’ir-Vala!”

She slumps in her seat. “...You didn’t even give him a chance to see what he would do.”

“Sorry, (Y/n). But, on my end, I’ve been fightin’ tooth n’ nail to get to you again.”

Her eyes meet his. “Really?”

He nods. “Yep, you stole a lot of money, (Y/n).”

She stares straight ahead at the road. “Yeah.”

“Did you spend any of it?”

“Hm, yeah,” she answers casually. “I used it for the ship and some other things…”

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he mulls over her answer. “Then get ready! We got a busy work week ahead of us. I booked so many gigs for us!” He bounces in his seat slightly, despite his head meeting the ceiling and his shoulders squeezed in the small car. “Don’t worry; we’ll make all that money back!”

“We’re gonna make three million in a week?”

Suddenly, the car jerks to a halt, and (Y/n) is flung forward, her head smacking on the dashboard.

“THREE MILLION? (Y/N)!”

She groans and, like a worm, wriggles herself back up in her seat. “You could have at least buckled me in. Zim would have buckled me in, you jerk-off.”

“How?!” Borgz hollers at her.

“It’s easy. All you do is pull the strap and click the buckle into that little slot--”

“No! How is it that we have to make back three million?!”

“I told you I spent some of it.

“SOME? THAT’S MOST OF IT, (Y/N)! You said ship and other things. What’s other things?”

“Well, I kinda destroyed his lab a number of times, and he’s been rebuilding my ship.”

A car honks at them from behind and Borgz puts the gear back into drive, grumbling to himself. He continues driving down the long road.

“Rebuilding how many times? Seriously. What would have lasted you sixty years, you blew in six months.”

“You think it’s been that long?” She smirks.

“I don’t know; I haven’t been in one singular solar system so I guess it depends on who you’re asking.”

“Well, you’re asking a human on Earth and it’s been three.”

He chortles at her. “Still, that’s a long time! In any case, I hope you and your little Irken-friend had fun because now it's time to go back to the real world.” He starts fiddling with the dials and buttons in the center of the car. “You ready?”

“For… Metallica?” (Y/n) asks him, intently observing his fingers mess with the device.

“Blast-off!”

With as much gusto as one would expect from an alien, he slams a fist down on the round button in the center of the dash. Loud, screechy music blares through the speakers and the car swerves to the right then harshly to the left when Borgz lets go of the steering wheel to flatten his hands over his lekku.

“Borgz!” (Y/n) calls out in her defenseless state. But, he doesn’t listen, and the car continues to accelerate while swerving. She uses her forehead to press the button and the music stops. She hisses in pain at having hit the same sore spot from before. “You dickhead.”

“What was that?” Borgz frowns with tears threatening to fall from his eye.

“Flying cars haven’t been invented by humans yet, Borgz.”

“Your species sucks.”

“It's not my fault you didn't plan ahead.”

“Now what! I was supposed to fly us back to the crew! We’re stationed on this small planet, called Pluto.”

“Pluto’s not a planet,” she tells him.

“Duh! It's so small, but don't let the Plutonians hear that. Trust me, they’re really sensitive…” He trails off as a cringe-worthy memory comes to mind.

“There are aliens on Pluto?!”

Pew!

“AHHH!”

The two holler out in shock as Borgz is forced to steer the car to the right just in time to avoid a bright red laser that shoots down on the street. The tires skid on the road as they lose traction momentarily. Just as they recover and take a deep breath, another laser fires down and the car swerves again. Suddenly, they are dodging lasers left and right.

Sometime during the commotion, (Y/n) finds herself slumped over in the seat and unable to get herself back up. She’s blind to the windows and can only guess Borgz’s next move: her foot upon the console to keep herself from being flung out of her seat and onto her Commander’s lap.

“What the fuck is happening?” She wails.

Borgz first instinct is to check the side mirror but before his eye can adjust, a laser shoots it off. He lowers the window to peek his head out. At the sight before him, he bristles and shifts back in his seat and raises the window once more. He stares straight ahead, eye as wide as a saucer as if he’d seen a ghost or a-- “Clown. There’s a giant clown in the sky firing LASERS AT US!”

(Y/n) deadpans at the crazed look he gives her. “Figures,” she scoffs, already having connected the dots in her mind.

But Borgz takes her lack of surprise to mean something else. “Ugh, I hate your planet! And I hate clowns! And this is normal?! No wonder you left.”

“No-no, Borgz. It’s just Zim. Re-lax!”

Borgz cocks his head to the side, his fear diminishing immediately, and he goes about dodging the lasers with much more ease and less panic. “The Irken is a clown-for-hire? I thought he was an invader…” he says thoughtfully.

“He is an invader! He’s like, the best one out there! He’s one of Irk’s finest invaders, I’ll have you know,” she informs Borgz, repeating the description she’s heard at least a hundred times in her few months with the alien.

“Does he do birthdays? My niece is turning sixty-eight years old. She’s off her training wheels, now!”

“He’s not a clown. Listen! It’s just his ship, dummy. It’s disguised,” she says this with pride.

“The alien! So he has a ship? Perfect…” Borgz reaches behind (Y/n)’s seat and fumbles for a navigation device. With a free hand, he types in the search bar to scan the nearby area.

“He has a name, you know!”

The Commander is disappointed with the results, but as one who’s quick to improvise, he selects the coordinates to a nearby forest preserve. The G.P.S. creates the quickest path for him. “Right, Jim! Well, Jim won’t know what’s comin’!” He jerks the wheel and the car spins to the left and he accelerates down an alleyway. The engine roars as the speed increases, unhindered by the many trash cans the car crashes through or the pedestrians that have to dive out of the way. At the end of the alleyway is a little boy being led by his mother by her hand, but he stops in the middle to point at the giant clown floating in the starry night. “Mommeh! Look at the clown!”

Ignoring the strange phenomenon in the sky, the mother pulls her son out of the path of the speeding car with a squeal.

After weaving through the many confusing roads and alleyways, they arrive at the forest preserve. However, it’s not long before they run out of road to drive on and Borgz is dodging both trees and lasers from the sky.

(Y/n) is sitting up in her seat now and watching the woods just as intently as her Commander. “Watch out for the--”

The car swerves to avoid a tree.

Her head hits the window at her side but she recovers immediately. “And the--”

“Got it. Take it easy, (Y/n)!” Borgz assures her. “I got this covered.”

“You suck at driving.”

“Well if you’re so good, why don’t you try?” He smiles at her and takes his hands off the wheel.

She takes his smug look as a challenge and leans her body forward to clamp down on the wheel with her teeth. They jerk from side-to-side and Borgz shoves her away.

“Sorry, I asked.” And he hits the gas eagerly, accelerating the car, even more, rushing straight towards a cliff.

She pales. “Borgz… uhm, not that I’m not okay with this, but maybe you shouldn’t drive off that cliff?” She tells him thoughtfully.

He doesn’t respond and only howls with laughter.

Peeved and a bit offended with the strange turn of events she calls for him. “Borgz?”

More laughter.

“BORGZ!”

They’re ever closer to the cliff and she screws her eyes shut and her muscles tense in anticipation to the sensation of free-falling in a giant death machine--

Borgz pulls the emergency brake and jerks the wheel to the left and the car spins out until it’s left half is teetering off the edge. It’s a miracle it doesn’t tip over due to Borgz’s weight.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer her and continues to fumble around in the backseat, gathering up miscellaneous items and stuffing them into a bag. He grabs his bayonet-equipped musket and the bag, slinging both over his shoulder.

“Uh, Borgz?” She calls for him again, not used to being ignored by him. But he only pushes her seat up and once the back is opened up more, he crawls through and out the rear passenger door. She swivels her head this way and that, calling for him all the while; he never blatantly ignores her! He never leaves her out of his plans. “What the fuck are you doing?! What happened to the Dynamic Duo? BORGZ!” At the loss of his body weight, the car shifts somewhat and (Y/n) yelps.
He walks towards the line of trees leading to the dense woods.

She spins herself around in her seat and uses her bound hands to press the button to lower the window. (Y/n) pokes her head out as much she can but then she swears she could feel the car creak and she flinches back inside. “BORGZ! WHAT-- GET ME OUTTA HERE!”

Over his shoulder, he gives her a smile and waves an arm at her. “Good! Keep doing that! We’re going to lure him out!”

“You pumpkin-fuckin’-cuntbag! You’re making me the bait?!”

“What? Noooooooooooo-- wait, what was your question?”

“You’re making me bait!”

“Oh. Yes. Good job!” He encourages her. And when he reaches the treeline, he ducks behind a bush.

As if on cue, the clown comes hovering above the thicket and soars over the cliff, passing the car. At this, the girl scoffs and grumbles under her breath. But then it circles back around and it lands in front of the car. Once the clown’s red nose and big red shoes press flush against the Earth, the disguise fades away and the Voot Runner is revealed. The hood is sheathed and Zim exits the ship.

(Y/n) sits up in her seat and cries out in joy at the sight of her hero. “Oh, Zim, you came! My knight in shining… purple alien armor!”

Zim is on the defense though, a firearm raised to aim at the window. He cautiously approaches the car but he takes notice of the empty driver’s seat.

“Hey, he’s not here, Zim. Now get me out of here so we can shareth true love’s first kisseth.”

He cringes at her but puts his gun back into his PAK nonetheless. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hark, brave warrior! Thy deed is good and thine heart is gold,” she soliloquizes as Zim pries open the door with a PAK leg. He unties her restraints. When her wrists are unbound, she turns around to look down upon him and cups his cheeks with her hands. “Thy hast slain the dragon--”

He pushes her hands away. “Where is he?”

“Oh, uh, right--”

“HAHA! HE FELL FOR IT!” Borgz obnoxiously cheers jumping out of the bushes. He dashes to the ship and the Irken watches dumbly as the Commander lets himself in and kicks out his two robot minions.

“Hey! That’s not yours!” Zim tells him.

Borgz gets to work on activating the ship’s engines and as it finally raises in the air, the hood slowly closes over it. And just like that, the ship disappears high into the sky.

“He took my ship!” Zim says, turning to (Y/n) to decipher her reaction.

But she’s occupied with grabbing her duffel-bag stuffed under her seat. Once it’s out, she zips it open and searches for the smelly Ziploc of monies. She finds it and smiles in victory but suddenly, she’s on the ground and rubbing her sore back. Zim had pushed her down.

“What?!” She snaps.

“You betrayed me! After I went to come save you!”

“Okay, maybe I should’ve let you know he was gonna try to steal your ship--”

“Try? He DID!”

“Yeah, true. But I did not have a say in that li’l stunt he pulled. I was the victim!” She leans on her hands and looks up at him from her reclined position.
He stomps over to her side to stare her down. “Well if you hadn’t been babbling about your weird… fantasy-- make-believe… thing--”

“I prefer roleplay-- And,” she pauses to flutter her eyelashes at him. “Can ya blame a gal for tryin’?”

Just then, the Voot Runner bursts through the cloudy night sky and orbits the cliff for several revolutions. Zim takes to hollering insults and demands at the Commander while (Y/n) fishes around in her bag. The ship slowly lowers down to hover level with the cliff’s edge. The hood slides open.

“GET IN!”

(Y/n) smiles and drops her bag into the seat beside him. “Why don’t I catch up with you?”

Borgz’s lekku fall flat against his head and he gives her a perplexed look. The hum of the ship falls silent as it powers down and before he can act, it begins rapidly descending. Zim and the human scramble over to peer over the edge just in time to see Borgz crawling out of the crashed ship.

“YOU BROKE IT! THAT IS IRKEN-GRADE TECHNOLOGY YOU’RE MESSIN’ WITH! HOW DARE YOU!” Zim shakes a fist down to the Commander.

Feeling cocky at her success with equipping the microwave-device-thingy in the bag to deactivate the Voot Runner, (Y/n) sashays to the teetering car and shoves her hands in her pockets. She stares at it quizzically, as if in a deep trance or daydream, and then her foot is flat against the passenger door and she applies the slightest of pressures. The car teeters over the edge and flips and rolls and tumbles down the face of the cliff, Zim’s head bobs up and down with each bounce of the vehicle until it firmly slams down onto Borgz.

When (Y/n) joins Zim’s side once again, the car explodes into a burst of flames, and the skeleton of the car crackles in the fire. She grins down at him. “You’re overreacting, y’know.”

“I can’t believe you just--” Zim momentarily looks away from the wreckage to her.

“After all, I still have the monies.”

“Monies?”

“And so the chase continues!”

A befuddled look crosses Zim’s features and he blinks at her. “Wait-- so, this whole thing was just about monies?!”

“Uh, yeah, duh! What did you think Borgz was after?”

His antennae fall flat on his head and he looks down to the wreckage. “Stupid,” he mutters.

“Huh--?”

“THIS WAS STUPID!” He shrieks at her. Then, his shoulders droop and he brushes past her. “I’m goin’ home. C’mon, G.I.R. Minimoose.”

“Nyeh.”

“I still have no idea what’s goin’ on!”

“I’ll explain it on the walk home, G.I.R.”

(Y/n) scoffs but can’t help the insecure frown that tugs at her lips. “Hey, wait up! I thought you knew! Zim!”

Beside the dying flames to the skeletal-car lay a weakened alien. Tiny feet skitter over his body, a small, cockroach-sized robot checking his vitals and performing basic first aid. However, he doesn’t need much: Borgz is fire-proof.

He comes to and flicks the insect-like robots off his body like they were pests. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Just sore is all,” he coos at them.

One responds with a high-pitched trill. With a giggle he allows it to crawl onto his index finger. It weaves through his fingers before coming to a stop on his knuckles. He smiles fondly at the creature and lifts himself up, careful not to disturb the critter. He points to the other bugs on the ground. “Wake your elders!”

And they scurry off towards the Voot Runner. Soon, a black bag is being pulled out of the carnage and disk-shaped bots crawl out. Each of their single red eyes stares up at the Commander patiently. “Self-replication bots. Oggy’s greatest creation yet. Well, you know what to do!”

At that, the disk-shaped bots collapse into drills and burrow themselves into the dirt of the Earth, digging deeper and ever deeper. They gather metals and mine away at the rock for ore. Meanwhile, one lingers above ground to begin constructing an elementary smelting station. Like a factory-system, each bot brings the ore to be smelted, and a few stay behind to begin the assembly line. Soon, a new bot is being added to the collective by the minute.

“That was fast! This planet is plentiful,” Borgz observes. “No wonder the Irken is so clingy and protective over it!” Once a few dozen bots are lined up at Borgz’s feet, he hashes out the next commands. “Unit A, keep replicating. Unit B, you’ll be our eyes. Unit C, fortify a base. And Unit D, you’ll be with me. Arm yourselves!” He pumps a fist into the air and the self-replicating robots clamp their tong-like appendages together like applause. Borgz brings his fist up to be eye-level with the critter on his knuckles. “This will get messy.”

It trills back at him and nuzzles his nose.

His face scrunches but he giggles nonetheless. “Stop it, Bubsy!”

Chapter Text

“You really need to keep that dog on a leash.”

“Normally, I do but seeing as we were in the midst of a rescue-mission-- it failed to come to mind,” the alien snaps back.

She snorts in laughter at him.

“What are you laughing at?” He asks with a warning tone.

“I’m really feelin’ the rescue!” She cackles heartily after the words escape her mouth.

“Zim is thinking of something!” He hisses. “The sooner you shut up the sooner I get us out of this!” As he lectures her, he has to swivel his head around to face her from his suspended and restrained spot where he hangs upside down from the ceiling.

Both of them hang from the ceiling, wrapped up in the same thick cables Borgz had initially used on (Y/n). The room they were in was nearly pitch-dark, she could hardly make out his silhouette from afar.

Not that it made much of a difference to her. She felt they were sitting ducks, in the dark or not. Tiny robots that they didn’t have a chance to get a good look at had captured the two swiftly and abandoned them in the room.

‘If only I could’ve caught up to G.I.R.!’ She thinks to herself rather woefully. With a despondent sigh, she thinks back to the events that led them here. She was sure somewhere along the way it had really been Zim’s fault. After all, it wasn’t like her to screw up this bad. Especially not with Borgz. Twice in one day, he managed to have her tied up, something never even achieved once before.

While walking through the woods, they came upon a-- supposedly-- abandoned electrical system-- something both parties whizzed by during their chase. While Zim hadn’t given the station more than a glance, G.I.R. was intrigued by the intricate wirings, tall metal poles, and the saucer-ringed circuit-breakers.

“Ooh, what’s that!” He pointed.

“An old sub-station,” she explained vaguely, not thinking to educate the childlike robot on the complex account of the electrical distribution and transmission system of the old days. “It’s been out of use ever since some super-genius guy invented the digital version of it. Before I was born, in fact--”

“Do ya think they got a meatball sub?!” The little robot interrupted.

She grimaced. “Uhhh, they’re not even open right now, G.I.R.” She told him, deciding to humor him rather than bore herself and everyone else with any correction.

He let out a whine and stared down the station as they walked past it. But, a loud buzz emitted from the station and it crackled to life with volts of electricity running up-and-down the wires.

“Lookie! It’s open!”

“Wait, G.I.R.!” And she chased after him. The robot quickly scaled the fence and she lingered behind him, fatigued. “Zim! Do something!”

“I’m coming!”

She weaved her fingers through the wire of the fence only for a painful jolt to run through her body. Suddenly, she was staring at Zim from the other side of the fence.

“You said you forgot your teleporter!”

“I did!” She defended. “But, uh…” She hummed to herself in thought. “I-- I guess the shock of the fence triggered the chip in my arm.”

‘That’s it!’ She snaps out of her daydream. She squirms around in her restraints, trying to shimmy the cord up to her shoulder, grunting all the way.

“What’re you doing, human? Didn’t I tell you to keep-- are you trying to chew your way out?” He laughs wickedly at her. “This is no time for jokes, (Y/n). Seriously, stop that pitiful act-- it’s distracting--”

He stops abruptly when a volt of electricity illuminates (Y/n) and she convulses in pain at the delivered shock. The room falls once again into darkness and he hears her groan.

“Did you die?” He calls out. He’s unable to see what with how that bright light strained his eyes so. They are once again adjusting to the darkness.
He flinches when he feels a pressure on his forehead, like a finger poking--

“I still got it,” she gloats.

“You escaped?!”

“Yessiree.”

“I see: you used the defense mechanism of these artificially-intelligent cords to deliver a shock that triggered the teleportation functions in the microchip. That… was actually kind of... smart!" He concludes.

“Thank you!” She says and pokes at his shoulder, and he begins spinning around.

“Hey! Quit that!” He yells.

“You’re like a Pinata.”

“Get me out of here!” He demands.

“Or like flypaper to catch bugs,” she says and gags at the thought.

“I’m serious, human!”

“Or mistletoe!”

“Release Zim this instant--!”

She bends down to be eye-level with him. “And speaking of which, before I let you go, did you want me to kiss you? I have a feeling you'd be into restraint.”

Mouth agape, he blinks at her.

Then twice.

A third time.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? STUPID, STINKIN’, SMELLY, PERVERTED, EARTH-STINK!” He jerks like a fish-out-of-water with every insult and makes sure to swivel his head around to maintain eye-contact even as the cords that suspend him rotate him around.

And with the fuss he was causing, the cords deliver him with a painful shock and suddenly he’s on the ground. He slowly gathers himself from the dirty floor and dusts his clothes off.

Just by touching him, the microchip in her arm can teleport him, as well.

“Well, I got you out--”

“Oh, don’t act so smug.” And he brushes past her. “Let us find G.I.R. and Minimoose.” He orders.

He makes his way down the hall.

“Ohh, wait up!” She huffs. After tripping over the cords and stumbling through the dark room, she catches up with him.

“Hurry it up.”

“I can’t exactly see,” she sasses.

“Then, don't close your eyes! There's nothing here to be scared of," he reassured with a somewhat condescending tone.

“What? I’m not scared. My eyes are open!”

“You just said--”

“‘Cuz it’s dark. What-- lemme guess: Irkens can see in the dark?”

“I don’t exactly have night vision, but it’s not that dark in here.”

“Ugh, aliens always get all the cool abilities.”

“Don’t feel too bad, (Y/n). At least you have a planet of eight-billion people to share that pain of unworthiness with--” He gasps and tears his hand away when he feels her sudden hold. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“I was just trying to hold your hand.”

“YEAH! I FELT THAT!”

“Cuz it’s super dark in here, and, y’know, a cutie like me needs a strong, elite soldier to protect me in case I trip or get murdered. You never know.”

They stop walking. “This is the third time you’ve pulled something like this today!”

“Only the third? Man, it must be a slow day for me, then.”

“What’s with this flirting?! It’s disgusting! And you do it all the time. It’s like--like--” He stops to suck in a harsh gasp and points a finger in her face, though she can’t see it. “YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH ME!”

“Woah, okay, Zim. Love’s-- love’s a strong word,” she stammers out.

But he cuts her off with flustered rambling at this realization. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been this mushy-gushy-grossness with me! Always with your- rrghh! Affections!” He spits the last word like it’s venom on his tongue. “All these comments you make, trying to hold my hand!"He squrims. "Or hug me, or that HORRIBLE time when you put your weird, hyooman, ape-lips on my superior ones! You’re obsessed with me!”

“You could put it that way.”

He stares back at her blank expression with an astonished one.

And even though she can’t see him, he still shrinks under her gaze. “Well, I-- uh…”

“MASTAH!”

With a look of relief, he turns to his minions who race down the hall towards them. “G.I.R.! Minimoose!” When they reach his side, he hisses at them with a whisper of, “Where were you two?!”

“Nya!”

“You found Borgz commanding an army of self-replicating robots to build a teleporter here on Earth?”

“Nya!”

“And he plans on using my ship to power this new device of his?”

“Nya!”

“And he’s going to take (Y/n) back to Outerspace with him?! Good work, Minimoose! You’re a natural spy,” Zim praises. “All we have to do is find the Voot Runner, steal it back, and--”

“Get the hell out of here?” (Y/n) asks.

“Precisely. Minimoose! Lead the way!”

BZZT!

(Y/n) ducks for cover near a generator at the last possible moment when a laser nearly slices her head clean off.

“You failed to mention that they had lasers, Minimoose!” Zim whispers to his servant.

G.I.R. whimpers. “We din’t see that, master!”

The four peer over the generator to watch as a unit of the robots guard the repaired Voot Runner. When a rat scurries across their vision, without any hesitation it’s disintegrated into dust.

“They are sensitive to movement,” Zim gathers.

Minimoose frowns at the pile of ash. “Nyeh!”

Zim gasps. “Minimoose! Where’d you learn that word from?”

“Nyeh!”

“(Y/n)!” Zim glares at her.

But she’s not listening to the alien and his servants. She chews on her lip and carefully observes Borgz who is preoccupied with supervising the construction of a metal frame. “That’s probably the teleporter,” she concludes.

“That much is obvious!”

“Right…” she agrees, abashed. She understands his frustration though; time isn’t exactly on their side. The robots will only continue to self-replicate, thus their defenses will get stronger and the teleporter will only be completed faster.

She takes careful note of every element in their scenario, working through each one as she does with every mission of the Foresakenz when they find themselves in a tough spot.

‘Those self-replicating bots could be hacked into and we could trap them in a loop of taking each other apart only to rebuild themselves. But something advanced like that… only Oggy could handle that.’

‘The patrol unit is following a pattern of scanning their parameters. We could learn their movements to take them out one-by-one with Zim’s gun… But their own lasers would need to be taken out first and only Spoofly has the sharp eye for that.’

‘If my chip was connected to one of the generators, I could fizz out the whole system! While the lights are out, Zim could get the upper hand and-- no, only Veeka knew how to do an operation like that. And also I’d die.’

And then it hit her, kinda. She only has to gain the upper hand to win: the Voot Runner can help with that!

“I think I have a plan…”

“You have a plan?!” Zim whisper-shouts in excitement.

“Part of a plan… Like thirteen-percent of a plan.”

“THIRTEEN?! That’s not a plan!”

“Nyeh!”

“So, what if it’s more than eleven-percent, Minimoose? What does that have to do with anything?*”

Again, she finds herself tuning out the others. “It’s go-time!” And then she hurdles over the generator and runs headfirst into the action.

“WHAT--?! You’re just--” Zim scoffs and falls back to his knees. “No matter. I’ve come up with a plan on my own! And oh, how brilliant it is!”

Just as she jumped out of the cover of the generator, (Y/n) is dodging lasers from all sides. The robots zip over to her, their sights targeting her and opening fire. She slides down to duck under their lasers and slips underneath a metal trunk. Their lasers chase her blasting the trunk to bits and the lights go out.

“Dammit!” Borgz hollers out.

(Y/n) smiles to herself. Just her luck she hid under the generator Borgz built to power the entire building and his teleporter. But now it’s pitch dark and the same bots have her surrounded from all corners. She’ll just have to wait for Zim to figure something out.

“Unit A! Begin repairs on the main power core!” Borgz orders. He takes hesitant steps forward, not able to see in the dark either. “Unit C, continue construction of the teleporter. Unit D, try powering on the Irken ship again. We will continue with our plan to use that to power the teleporter.”

Signaled by the whir of the flying drones, they can hear as the bots manage to turn on the Voot Runner. The interior glows in a light pink and the engine roars loudly.

Unbeknownst to the Commander and (Y/n), Zim used the dark and his PAK legs to his advantage to stealthily scale up the wall and to the ceiling. He alerts Borgz, however, when he equips a laser to begin cutting away at the ceiling.

In the light of the laser, Borgz can just hardly make him out. “Hey, just what do you think you’re doing, little man?” Borgz asks him. He laughs then. “Aw, is this too much for you? Are you going to try to escape--”

WHAM!

Borgz lets out a squeal of surprise and curls into himself from the loud sound. (Y/n), having also flinched, slowly peeks her head up. It’s brighter somehow and she can make out a large, thick panel of metal in front of her.

Zim cackles mockingly. “Who’s scared now, Commander Borgz!”

The Commander can see Zim in the square of light he cut out: shining down on him and the blasted generator where (Y/n) is hidden underneath.

Minimoose comes out of hiding. He uses his telekinesis to lift up the metal panel, revealing the twitching broken bots underneath, before flinging the panel towards the others. He catches the robots’ attention. They quickly disintegrate the metal square then fly to the broken robots on the ground; the broken robots jerking erratically all the while as their living comrades begin to fire down at them.

To Borgz’s despair, he watches as all his robots stop their work to begin firing lasers down at the twitching broken ones, like beating a dead horse.

“Now, G.I.R.!”

At his master’s command, the robot comes out of hiding to begin shooting the mini-bots down one-by-one.

“I’m ‘fraid it won’t be that easy, puny one.” Borgz easily comes up from G.I.R.’s side-- despite his master’s panicked warnings-- and grasps the S.I.R. unit in a closed fist. Laser after laser pelts at Borgz’s skin, now as Zim tries to shoot him down, as well, but it has no effect on the fire-proof alien.

In a fit of rage, Zim drops down from the ceiling and his PAK legs latch onto Borgz.

Seeing this distraction as an opportunity for the ‘thirteen-percent-of-a-plan’ plan, (Y/n) pushes herself out from under the power core. She’s unsure of what exactly she’ll do once she reaches the Voot Runner-- ‘maybe Minimoose will have an idea!’ She grabs him. She gives him a shake or two and he lights up in a purple glow.

“You’re like a nightlight!” She comments.

“Nya!”

“Okay, geez. I’ll ask next time,” she mutters while she grasps him under her arm.

“Nyeh?”

“Yeah, not gonna lie, I don’t actually know what you’re saying,” she admits. Ignoring Minimoose’s constant mewling, she uses him to light her way to the Voot Runner.

Finally, Borgz manages to wrestle the alien that scrambled over his large body like a mechanical spider. He holds the flailing alien at arm’s length. “Man, you’re surprisingly strong for a little guy, aren’t ya--?”

“RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME NOW, SMELLY CYCLOPS MONSTER.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, while he watches the alien struggle in his grasp-- ignoring the S.I.R. unit that sits on his shoulders, pummeling his head with tiny, metal fists.

And suddenly--

“What’s that?” Borgz asks flatly when he swivels his head to stare down the magenta barrel to a large cannon.

“A big ol’ lollipop-- what d’ya think, fat-Thanos?” (Y/n) sneers.

Above the Voot Runner’s lollipop, he can see (Y/n) and Minimoose at the ship’s control panel.

“Nyeh!”

“Hah! Good one, Minimoose!” Zim praises. He kicks at the distracted Borgz’s elbow and his arm buckles, releasing the Irken who rushes away.

Borgz places his hands on his hips. “You really think that’s gonna do anything to hurt me?”

The whir of the Voot Runner’s engine can be heard as the cannon charges up as if to further taunt the Commander.

“Haven’t you met me?” He throws his head back in loud laughter. “I’m Borgz! Commander of the Forsakenz!”

FWOOM!

To his utter shock, rather than a super-charged, powerful laser, Borgz is hit with an electrical net that pins him to the ground. He writhes at the painful shocks. His eye is screwed shut in pain but his lekku pick up on an approaching figure.

Zim stands over his head to peer down at him. He smirks. A pink shell on his PAK slides away and a long mechanical leg springs out, the sharp tip is pointed at Borgz stomach and slowly trails up his chest. “Tell me-- where is your heart, alien? Zim shall make this fast and painless--”

“Woah, wait!”

Zim sees (Y/n) scrambling out of the ship, flashlight in hand. “What?”

“What’re you doin’?” She asks and shines the light in his face as she nears him. “Take it easy, huh?”

Zim doesn’t spare her a glance and glowers down at the Commander. “I’m going to end his life! I told him to stay away the first time and he comes back?! And attacks us in my very own base, no less. I won’t make the same mistake twice of sparing him,” he spits out.

Borgz pauses in his painful grunts and ‘writhing-in-agony’-ness to raise his brow up at him. “Attack you guys?”

“He’s not attacking us, Zim,” she reassures. But he doesn’t buy it, thus, he’s very flustered and panicked when (Y/n) motions to Minimoose to shut off the electrical net. “Kill it!”

Minimoose powers down the net from the Voot.

“Minimoose, no--!” Zim protests.

(Y/n) crouches down to help Borgz untangle himself out of the net.

Minimoose mewls apologetically to Zim and hovers over to him.

The Irken growls and clenches his fist, getting into a defensive stance when the Commander sits up. Not wanting to intimidate him any further, Borgz stays sitting down.

“This was all… just a game,” (Y/n) explains finally.

Zim stiffens and glares at the human. “WHAT?!”

“Nya!” Minimoose nods to Zim: ‘called it.’

The Commander shakes his head and easily reaches up to pat the human on the shoulders. “I’ll get you next time, broh.”

“A game?” Zim parrots.

The lights in the room turn on and it’s then that the Commander realizes his robots had eventually returned to repairing the power core. Borgz stands to his feet, unnoticed by the other two as they delve into bickering, and walks over to the metal frame that makes up the unfinished teleporter. “All units, complete construction of the teleporter! And hurry it up!” He smiles as they fly by him returning to work. “Please,” he nods at one as it passes him. He feels a tickling on his calf, then his thigh, waist, chest, shoulder, until finally-- “Oh, hiya, Bubsy. You had a nice break? I could’ve really used your help, y’know,” Borgz tells the critter-bot on his knuckles.

It gives him a shrill hum in acknowledgment.

“D’aw! I could never stay mad a’chu,” he coos.

“Hey, wait! You can’t just use my ship for your stupid tele-porter!”

“I repaired it, though! No biggie, we’re cool. Yeah? Huh?” Borgz waves his arms to the Voot Runner.

“No! We’re not cool! You stole my ship!” Zim yells.

“And then your broken ship nearly took me down with it! I could’ve died. I can sue you.”

“You won’t sue me!” Zim denies. “You’re a criminal!”

“Yeah, tried that. You’re not gonna win him over by threatening legal action.” (Y/n) crosses her arms and scoffs down at the alien.

“Listen, in exchange for repairing your ship, I get to use it to power the teleporter. You can’t get something for nothing, after all.” Borgz urges.

(Y/n) scrunches her nose in scorn.

The phrase leaves her uncomfortable, and antsy. It’s one used commonly by those working under Dominus; if anything, it’s the motto the entire organization lives by, something to inspire motivation, hard-work, and other times: fear.

In these cases, annoyance.

Zim stands on his PAK legs and stalks into Borgz’ personal space. His eyes are narrowed and there’s a deep frown on his face. “You can use the Voot Runner, fine. But you get into the teleporter and you never come back,” he spits. “Got it?”

Borgz nervously smiles. “It’s… been gotten…”

“Good,” Zim growls.

“You guys really butchered that exchange,” (Y/n) remarks.

It only took several minutes before the teleporter was finally built. “It’s easy shit once you got the blueprints and a hundred robots,” Borgz explains to Zim who marvels at the efficiency of it all.

“Try designing your own one,” Zim snaps.

“You designed your own teleporter?” Borgz asks, impressed.

“A Space-Time Object Replacement Device, actually,” he corrects smugly, his chin pointed up.

“Sooo… a time machine--”

“Told ya,” (Y/n) quips.

“It’s not a time machine!” Zim huffs.

“Din’t you say that you got the Time Machine blueprints from Membrane Labs?”

“SILENCE!”

She sticks her tongue out at him but this only enrages him more.

“You foolish human and your mockery! You will pay for-- mmph!”

(Y/n) smiles up at Borgz as she wrestles with the alien in her arms, hand clasped over his mouth. “I think this is our cue, yeah? I’m tired out from this arguing and yelling and fighting--”

As she tries to drag Zim away to the Voot Runner, Borgz stops her. “Wait! (Y/n)? This... doesn’t change anything.”

“Uh?” She half-assedly hums out, not caring to continue the conversation.

“What should I tell Mr. Dominus?”

“PWAH! Never do that again--” Zim yells at her when he shoves her away from him.

“Whaddaya mean?” She asks Borgz.

“He wants to hear from you,” Borgz begins.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

“Y’know, the person that literally boosted four-mil from him?” Borgz finishes.

“Hello!”

“Damn, some people just can’t let go of a grudge,” she huffs.

“Hel-lo!”

Borgz purses his lips, not caring to explain how skewed her view of this situation was. “Any message to pass on, (Y/n)?”

“How ‘bout, ‘kiss my ass?’”

“Kiss my ass,” Borgz repeats in monotone.

“Well, you can say it nicer than that,” she chortles.

“Right,” he nods, unconvinced. “I’ll… just send him your regards. How ‘bout that?”

She shrugs.

But just as Borgz stands in front of the teleporter-- portal activated and swirling-- as the self-replicating bots fly through first, (Y/n) calls for him.

“I almost forgot!”

“What?”

She fishes out a glass-screened device from her duffel bag. “Think fast!”

He catches it easily between two fingers, inspecting the device that’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hands. “What’s this--oh.” He notices the two white wires hanging from it. “No way.”

“Yep! The Bee-Zee Boys!”

“No.”

“Who else?”

“No!” He hollers in disbelief again and wraps the wires around his lekku. He shuffles through the many songs. “You really pulled through, eh?”

“I always come in clutch.” She nods, basking in his praise. “I even got the stuff when they were first underground-- like sixty years ago? Earth years, that is.”

“Is this all of them?”

“All three hundred hours, baby! They rock, don’t they?”

“I never thought Oggy could hit such killer notes,” Borgz says, eyes closed as he listens intently to the music blasting through the wires.

“Or that Spoofly could play two instruments at once; that dude’s a prodigy,” (Y/n) adds. “Y’know, a dickhead, but a prodigy.”

A few days have passed since Borgz’s chase, yet Zim is still stuck on the events that played out, particularly--

“I can’t believe you taught Minimoose such foul language!” His shouts echo in the underground base.

“I said I’m sorry. And besides, it’s better than any of the stuff he would’ve learned from you!”

His jaw drops.

“Oh, c’mon. You call all things stupid, foolish, pathetic, stinky… dookie!”

“What’s wrong with that!”

“Nothing, nothing!” She puts her hands up in defense. “Eh, speakin’ of which… I don’t think I ever really thanked you. You saved my ass out there, Zim. And my ass is a good ass to save.”

Ignoring the last part, Zim folds his hands behind his back and nods at her. “Yes, I believe you did forget to praise my incredible genius.” His voice lowers and shakes for emphasis at the end.

She sits comfortably in one of his curved, cushioned lab chairs. “First of all, super badass that you used the darkness to your advantage like that. Most aliens don’t have good vision in the dark. I didn’t know Irkens had such enhanced eyesight!”

“Yes, why I keep telling you that the Irken-kind are truly the superior species.”

“The way you figured out how to distract those robots by crushing them and having Minimoose get their attention? Great! And quick thinking-- to know they’d be shoddy like that!”

“Yes, yes. I am truly amazing.”

“And how just JUMPED onto Borgz! Ha! I wish it hadn’t been so dark, I would’ve loved to see the look on his face!”

He sits down next to her. “It was fantastic. You should’ve seen it. And he kept saying how creepy my legs were. I am very creepy, you know,” he tells her proudly.

“Mostly handsome.” She leans over the armrest to face him.

“Yes-- wait.”

“And your eyes are so entrancing, I feel drunk and giddy all at once just looking into them. Shame you’re so shy and you won’t ever look me in the eye-- they’re like rubies.”

He curls in his seat, away from her approaching figure as she tries to lean closer to him.

“They’re so pretty. Well, you're so pretty--”

“Oh-okay, human. I get it,” he stammers, sinking into the corner of the seat.

“And, oh, how protective you were when Borgz barged in.” She bites her lip and takes his hand.

He stares down, her touch and her words lighting a fire inside his entire body. A hot intense fire-- in his body? Is he dying?!

“Seeing how tall you made yourself look on your PAK--” She continues her hand trailing up his arm--

“ENOUGH!” He hollers out and she flinches. But she’s able to see through that anger; he won’t meet her eyes and his antennae are pressed flat to his head. He glances at her, frustrated to see she’s still staring at him so intently. The silence is deafening to him. “Let’s… save the mushy… filthy…” He squirms at his own words as if they left a foul taste in his mouth. “Flattery for another time.”

That’s a win, in (Y/n) 's eyes. ‘There is always later.’ Wanting to quell the thick atmosphere, she adds, “We actually make a pretty good team, too. Don’t ya think?”

His shoulders fall. He presses his fingertips together in thought. “Your performance under stress was… adequate,” he acknowledges. “And it won’t be long before I bring Earth under rule and conquest with the help of my minions!” He giggles in glee at whatever diabolical plan he’s forming in his head.

As usual, the human hears what she wants. “Ooh, from experiment to slave to minion! I’m climbin’ the ranks,” she bounces in her seat in joy. When she meets his eyes again, she’s surprised to see him smirking at her. “What?”

“This reminds me, human,” he hops off the seat and goes to a cabinet. “I have a present for you.”

She gasps, unsure if she had heard him right. “A present? For me?”

He hums and opens a cabinet revealing a wrapped gift box.

“Aww! And it’s even wrapped. What a pretty bow,” she points out when he places it on her lap.

“Zim is very generous, I know. Now, open it!” He hisses.

She unwraps the red bow and lifts the lid off the yellow box, placing it aside. She ducks her head down to peek inside. Her smile drops. An exaggerated scowl mars her features. Reaching in she pulls out the gift-- a green, three-fingered hand. “Uhm… how do I phrase this nicely-- what the fuck?”

He roars in laughter and points at her. “The look on your face! Priceless! This is called revenge, foolish human! Let’s see how you like it when I take your hygiene products and turn them into horrible, creepy, hand-shapes! You will rue the day you ever prank Zim! Unlike your primitive rubber-glove molds, I used the real thing!”

She examines the soap in awe, turning it this way and that. “So, you’re saying…”

“I used a mold of my own hand! Have fun cleaning yourself with the feel of Irken hands on your filthy body! Be terrified!” He flings his arms back as he yells his taunts at her.

She stares at him. She stares down at the soap.

He crosses his arms, annoyed at her lack of response. “Well?”

Her fingers trail over the palm of the unsettlingly, accurate mold before giving Zim another blank gaze as she monotonously declares, “I’m going to touch myself with this in pleasure every night and pretend it’s you.”

His jaw drops and he feels a shudder crawl up his spine. She gets to her feet and makes her way out the lab with the box of soap hands in tow, his eyes wide as saucers as he watches her all the while.

“I don’t know what that means, but I know I hate you for it!”

“Not feelin’ the hate from my side-- what a generous gift!” She cackles and the elevator takes her up.

He kicks at his chair in frustration. “JUST. ONE. WIN! Is that so much to ask?!”

Chapter Text

It’s Sunday. A lovely wintry morning with light snow flurries that covered the town being melted by the high-noon sun. Such a day like this keeps many people indoors, however-- spending time with friends or enjoying a pleasant family brunch, sharing the delightful day together.

Even a militaristic alien and a misanthropic human can partake on such a day. Even if it is deep underground in a secret alien laboratory.

“Doo-dee doo-doo dooo,” the alien sings to himself while scribbling down onto a tablet. He walks up to a row of monitors and taps a screen with his stylus. “Vitals seem normal… But this particular experiment has definitely seen better days.” He makes his way back to a table and sits next to the human on a stool. “Well, what do you think?”

She flushes. “Pretty cool, this whole set-up you got goin’ on here.” She waves her hands outwards towards the lab.

In the very center of the room is a holding-cell made up of four glass walls. In the corner of the cell is a giant water bottle with a spout jutting out from the bottom-- something you might see in a hamster cage. Likewise, there’s an exercise wheel right next to it. The cell is mostly barren with this, save for the metal-framed cot and the human that cowers behind it.

“But, what’s all this for, anyhow? Is this what you’ve been so busy doing lately?”

“I’m glad you asked!” He presses a button on the table and a screen lowers down in front of the two. “I decided to take your advice on setting up a system of requisites for the test subjects; there is a scale for the minimum B.M.I.-- depending on a myriad of factors ranging from age to gender--”

“Zim,” she cuts him off.

He stops his explanation and turns to her. At her stern expression, he rolls his eyes and clears his throat. “I mean, I’m going to be picking healthy and fit humans from now on. Now, stop interrupting and let Zim finish! ...Normally, I’m unable to test on any humans because while capturing you Earthlings is relatively easy, you’re far too sentimental. When one goes missing the rest of you freak out about it! Next thing you know, there are missing-person posters on every lamppost and street sign and I have to hack into every surveillance camera in the area, erase the memories of any witnesses, and-- well, frankly it’s not worth the effort. Until now.” He taps on the screen in front of them pulling up a list of files, opening them up one-by-one. “These are lab results from past experiments. I mean-- look at all this!” He points to a scatter plot graph. “It’s-- it’s… pure dookie! All of it!”

“Still can’t read Irken, Zim.”

He huffs. “What I’m saying is: you were actually right for once.”

“I was?!”

“For once. The humans I was capturing were all weak! Or obese or underweight or too lazy to commit to the trials or too stupid to realize what’s to come if they were to disobeeeey! There were too many external factors interfering with my results. And when you told me I should try experimenting on a healthy human-- a physically fit one-- well, my curiosity got the better of me. And-- c’mon,” he tells her and hops off the stool. He walks to the cell and stands by it, a remote in hand. “Check this out!”

He points the remote to the cage and the cot folds into itself, revealing the experiment. At the sound of the metal panels shifting in front of him, the experiment wraps its arms around its legs in a fetal position, trembling.

“Why’s he hiding like that?” She asks him but gets up to be at Zim’s side.

“Aw, he’s just scared. I caught him while he was out jogging, and he had those-- those-- ear… plug-wire-thingies in so he didn’t even hear me sneak up behind him! Shame, though,” Zim mutters to himself, tapping his chin. “I had a really cool, evil monologue planned and I guess he didn’t hear any of it. Ah, well. His loss, right?” He smiles at (Y/n).

She nods in agreement and kicks at the glass wall, the experiment flinching and curling into an even tighter ball. “Maybe this’ll teach ya to listen when someone’s talking to you! Now, an alien’s gonna harvest your organs starting with your brain! You know the saying: use it or lose it, jackass.”

“No-no. I won’t be harvesting his organs.” He shakes his head. “Well, at first. Since I seem to have the luck of the draw on my hands, I figure this would be the perfect subject to test the durability, endurance, and overall limitations to the human body. If you look closely, you will notice a yellowing to the pigmentation in his skin. Do you see it?”

She squints and leans against the glass. “Uh, oh… yeah! I do.”

“A possible side-effect to the strength enhancers I’ve been treating him with.”

“Steroids?! You’ve been pumping it full of steroids, Zim?” She gasps out and stares at him for a long moment. Then, she leans into his face. “And you didn’t share any with me?”

He groans and pushes her away. “Don’t joke like that. I’ll start putting locks on all my cabinets just so you won’t get into them if I must! Anyway, my plan for this experiment is to have him participate in a series of trials that will span over the rest of this month. And maybe at the end of it all-- heh, who knows? Maybe I’ll make him fight a giant-death robot or some man-eating alien beast from another planet.”

“Ooh--ooh, make it a giant death-bot. Do a giant death-bot!”

“Zim will think about it.”

An alarm goes off and Zim orders Computer to shut it off. “Wow, it’s one-thirty already? Okay, time for supper, little human.” He points a remote up at the ceiling. A metal tray and spoon clatter down. Then, a mechanical arm comes down to plop a ladle of white-porridgey slop onto the tray.

The experiment stays in his fetal position in the corner, however.

“Uhhh, is it gonna eat? Why’s it bein’ so weird?”

“He has just returned from a trial I administered remotely. His skills in basic self-defense are flawless! You humans are much more capable than I originally thought. All the more reason to be running these tests!” He marches back to the control panel and sits down.

(Y/n) stares at the tray of food. “Doesn’t it need to eat more than that?”

“That’s more than enough!” He goes back to recording information into the giant screen hovering above the table. Impressively, he multi-tasks-- still taking the time to discuss the experiment. “I’m going to be upping the dosage of the strength enhancers next time around. They don’t work as well in his weakened state or on an empty stomach, so first, he must feed. So, I’m going to finish up here and then we’ll have to leave the lab. He won’t ever eat if someone’s in the room.”

(Y/n), despite having her hands pressed against the glass, watches Zim while he works. The screen is a blue hologram, so she can see him through it. “Well, then! If that’s the case… why don’t we go back up to the base and watch some T.V. or somethin’. I mean, you’ve been so busy, I think you deserve a break!” Her eager smile and flushed cheeks fade away into a face of dejection when Zim hardly reacts.

He peeks at her quickly, then goes back to his work with furrowed brows. “Can’t. I have a brilliant new plan to stop theDib-worm from interfering with my plans any longer--”

“If your new plan doesn’t involve child-homicide then it’s not-so brilliant.”

He scoffs, but grins. “Oh, just you wait! You’ll surely be wowed by this one, (Y/n)-human. And besides, you criminals know nothing about the intricacies that come into play with an invader’s delicate strategies! We work under the radar! And without being noticed… And when the enemy thinks they have you all figured out? That is when we strike.”

Her eyes light up at this and slowly they trail back to the experiment and, to her shock, the experiment is sat in front of her eagerly shoveling spoonfuls of the white porridge into his mouth. “Woah, huh. He came out of hiding?”

“Is that so?” Zim looks up incredulously and cringes at the human’s display of desperate hunger. “It’s rather bothersome that you humans need to eat so much and so often! Don’t you get tired of all that food, (Y/n)?”

She wants to laugh at this, but his words from earlier are still replaying in her head and she mulls over his speech about what it takes to be an invader. Her frown deepens into a pout, watching the human experiment.

Then, he notices her. “You-- you’re a human?” He whispers out.

She blinks at him, shocked to hear him speaking to her.

The experiment gives a chuckle in a mixture of disbelief and relief. “Thank god. You-- can you get me out of here?”

Truly pathetic, is what (Y/n) can gather from the experiment. Pathetic for letting himself wind up in this situation and getting all depressed about the inevitable. Pathetic for thinking he has any hope. And especially pathetic for thinking that because she’s human, that means they have some special sort of comradery between the two of them. Someone like him wouldn’t last a day in space.

But most notable to the girl is the fact that the jogger is shirtless. He's sweaty from the recent trial and it makes his muscles glisten in the hot lights. But, instead of making her swoon in any way, she cringes.

He scoots closer to the glass. “Listen, we can do this together. Does he have some sort of explosive collar strapped to you? Are you being blackmailed?”
She scowls and stares at Zim over her shoulder. ‘Does this little guy really give off that horrific impression--?’

“Listen, I can help you with the alien,” the experiment persists.

And then, it hits her. ‘Oh, the experiment certainly can help me.’ Her head snaps forward and she crouches down to be eye-level with the jogger, cupping her hands around her eyes. “DAMN! He’s hot, Zim!”

“He’s hot? The strength-enhancers are prone to acting kinda funny when the subject is overheated. Computer! Commence the cool-down sequence for experiment number seven hundred seven!”

“No, Zim! Like, he’s really attractive,” she explains and bites her lip. The jogger wipes the dribble of porridge off his cheeks. “You pick ‘em good! You need to get more joggers! This place could use some eye candy,” she jokes.

Experiment 707 is stiff as a board from fright especially when the alien shoves the holographic screen away to glare at him. The green alien curls his lip up, an expression of extreme revulsion tugging at his features.

“Pft! Attractive?” The alien gestures to him with a hand. “He’s hideous! He’s-- he’s so hairy-- and-- and--”

“You think all humans are hideous, Zim." She cuts him off with a sneer directed to him over her shoulder. She turns her attention back to the experiment. "‘Specially love the decision to lose the shirt. You mind flexing your muscles, just a tad?”

Having long since learned it’s best to obey the first time a command or request is given, 707 complies. He straightens his posture and tenses his muscles. He whispers, “is this part of the plan--?”

“Ooh,” she purrs at him. “How much do you think you could bench? Like, we talkin’ 150-range? Two-hundred, maybe?”

“Three-hundred-fifty was my highest bench before-- before--” His lip quivers and he bites his tongue harshly trying to fight back the tears.

“Holy camole, that’s something I’d like to see! Now, how about your thigh-curls? How are they looking?”

“Uhhh…”

“Lemme see ‘em! Yeah, stand up…”

Zim’s antennae flatten against his head and his eye twitches. “Come along, (Y/n). I need to show you my latest evil plan”

“C’mon, c’mon! Lunge down…” Her voice lowers with her head. “And up!” She instructs 707 who has his hands on his hips. “One more time! Down and--”

“(Y/n)!”

“Okay, okay! Sheesh…” She walks to the door where Zim stands.

He lets her out first. Zim smiles at the prisoner in the glass cell and flips a switch on the wall. Metal doors lower down from all four sides, surrounding the cage in darkness. “Nighttime. Goodnight, human experiment.”

At first, the walk to the main lab-- where Zim does all his evil-scheming-- is silent. Zim is stuck in his own thoughts, however, (Y/n) soon begins giggling madly to herself.

“What.”

“You were so totally jealous back there. And you said you didn’t like me!” She teases and pokes at the top of his head.

Her hand is smacked away and he scoffs. “I have gone through rigorous training exercises my entire life! I am far from gelatinous!”

“No, no. I said you’re jea-lous. It means that you envy someone or something!”

They arrive at a door and an invisible scanner identifies him. The door raises for them.

When Zim says nothing to her, she takes this as a cue to continue. “In this case, I think you’re jealous of the experiment,” she explains to him while he leads the way to the giant monitor in the room.

Zim laughs. Loudly. He hunches over, one hand on the panel to support himself, the other wound around his stomach. Then, he starts hacking violently.

“Are you done--”

“HACK! HACK!”

“Are you done yet?”

He coughs a few more times then goes silent. When she opens her mouth once more, he points a finger at her and starts laughing again.

“Don’t deny it!” She yells over his taunting.

“Experiment 707 is locked in a cage, left to wallow in his own despair at how hopeless his situation is, and when he’s not imprisoned, he’s being subjected to horrible and painful experiments and trials. What does he have for me to be jealous of?”

“Oh, y’know. My attention and admiration.”

He bristles at this, but she pats his cheek.

“But now that it’s just you and me, you have all my attention,” she coos.

He blinks at her then brushes her hand away. “Good, so that means you’ll stay focused when I explain my evilest plan yet!”

With a roll of her eyes, she falls back into a chair and props her legs up on the table. “Fine, go ‘head.”

"This idea came to me when Zim was informed about the special class-trip the Physics class is taking--”

“How is that, by the way?”

“I’m passing, of course. Anyhow, due to the weather conditions, we’re going to be taking a tour of the interior of Membrane Laboratories this Friday--”

“INCOMING TRANSMISSION!”

Zim flinches and searches frantically for the source of the sound. “WHAT?! What’s going on?”

“Computer just said--”

“INCOMING TRANSMISSION!”

“Transmission? I thought my receiver was broken… which is why I never get any messages or calls from anybody,” Zim thinks aloud. “From whom?”

“THE ALMIGHTY TALLEST, SIR--”

“AAHHHH!” Zim grasps at his head and screams out in panic. “Oh, Irk! Now?! The Tallest? My Tallest? Calling? Zim!”

(Y/n) can’t help but grin at his excitement. She stands up and nudges his shoulder. “Well, go on. Answer it--”

“You have to hide!”

“What?! But--”

“They can’t know I’ve allied with the species I was sent to destroy-- I mean observe!”

The last thing she wants is to get him in trouble. He taps his fingertips together, despite his hands trembling. He seems as if he just took every drug imaginable. His antennae are wiggling and his eyes flit over to everything in the room, muttering about how messy his perfectly clean lab is and how he should’ve steam-pressed his uniform. “Listen, what’s the big deal? I’ll just go under here, ‘kay?” She reassures and ducks underneath the large, semi-circular desk. “And answer already! That alarm is really annoying.”

When Zim assures that she’s under the table and won’t be seen by the webcam, he finally accepts the transmission.

She breathes out in relief and massages her temples. That alarm had been really loud and really annoying. She had never heard it her entire time here. Has Zim never received a message from anyone before? She figured he was the lone-wolf type, but to not have anyone to pester someone like him? She doesn’t get it-- he’s so cool!

Except for right now. Right now, not so much.

At the beginning of the call, it almost seemed like The Tallest were very surprised by something. She didn’t retain much information on the Irken leaders, despite Zim never shutting up about them when it’s brought up. However, she did remember their names: Purple and Red. Zim said Red was the sterner out of the two so she assumed Red was the deeper-voiced speaker. He took the lead in most of the conversation when it wasn’t Zim prattling off about whatever it was he was so excited about.

She assumes this would be a lot smoother sailing for her Irken if she wasn’t here under the table. Having to hide from such an important conversation? An Irken elite in a meeting with the most powerful leaders in the galaxy while his criminal-lover hid away from view?! Like they’d just been caught in the act?!

(Needless to say, her imagination is getting the best of her.)

His foot is tapping rapidly-- like he’s restless, or on-edge.

‘I wonder why!’ She thinks to herself, amused.

She reaches forward to grab both of his ankles and for a second, she considers pulling his feet out from under him but then a more sinister idea comes to mind. Her hands make their way up the sides of his black leather boots stopping at the dip in his legs by his knees. She peeks her head out to see his reaction. He’s staring down, wide-eyed at her hands, then at her. His lips part in shock.

Then, Red yells out harshly and Zim stands at attention again.

She quickly retracts her hands back.

‘I almost got him in trouble. Was that his name they just yelled?’

To (Y/n), their language is strange. It would be insanely difficult to speak and impossible to write with the English alphabet. But there is one written word she had learned over time, and that's his name. It's written with only two Irken symbols. She sees those symbols written everywhere in his handwriting. He had neat handwriting in Irken when compared to the graphics created by his computer. Almost like it had been typed out. But he was, as (Y/n) would put it, shit at writing in the English alphabet. The letters are thinner and daintier and harder for him to recreate.

And of course, she wasn’t trying to be a jerk and get him in trouble, but isn’t that the best thrill of it all? Trying to mimic the sound Red just made, she pushes her tongue to the roof of her mouth and emits a short trill of clicks as quietly as possible.

Her theory is correct. Zim stares down at her in bewilderment.

Purple shouts a long string of words and she no longer feels as smug anymore. It’d be a long time before she ever learns more than just "Zim".

Zim meekly responds-- and (Y/n) can only imagine he’s apologizing for getting distracted.

But she quickly grows bored as their conversation wears on. Zim just won’t shut up.

Feeling bolder than before, she reaches for his legs again and he squirms under her grasp. When her hands grab behind his knees, he steps away from the desk, but she just crawls forward. Seeing as it’s not ideal for a human to crawl out from under the table in front of his leaders, he rushes back forward into her grasp.

She internally cheers.

Continuing, she lets her hands trail up the sides of his thighs and leaves them there. Testing the waters. Watching and waiting. Impatience comes once again, and her hands trail up further to be under his tunic. She wishes then more than ever that she could understand Irken. What she would give to know just how much she's messing with his head. However foreign their language is to her, it’s obvious to hear the stutters in his speech and how he starts to lose focus mid-sentence. She pulls him forward and he’s leaning against the panel now.

"Uh…" he suddenly says, in human language.

And his leaders notice this because they mimicked his "uhhhh" in confusion.

"I-- uh…" then he continues with the clicks and trills, back on track.

That is, until, her thumbs begin to rub circles on his hips. He stops entirely and lets out a harsh gasp. His hands grip the edge of the panel from underneath. She chews her lip, trying to fight back her own giggles of excitement. A desperate want fills her, and her fingers grasp his rump--

He shouts a short message to his leaders, and he slams his fist onto the panel causing it to rattle followed by a small blip!

He had ended the call.

But he doesn’t move.

And she quickly retracts her hands.

There’s silence for some time. Her face is flushed and she’s too scared to crawl out from underneath.

"I'll give you a head-start of 30 seconds."

'Only thirty--"

"Twenty-nine, twenty-eight--"

As he counts down, she quickly scrambles out and sprints to the elevator. He turns to face her, arms crossed, while he continues to count with narrowed eyes. His antennae are flat against his head, but she smiles at him. She’s slowly learning to recognize his flustered expression. The elevator brings her up and out of the lab, out of Zim’s sight.

Maybe that didn't go over so well. But if there's one thing to take away from this, it's that she knows exactly how to keep his attention on her.

“Whaaaat are you doin’, Fluffy?” G.I.R. asks

“I’m gonna try making homemade soup.”

“Oooh, bacon! I like me some bacon! Gimme!” G.I.R. throws himself at her calf, waving
a hand up to the stove.

She smacks it away with the wooden spoon in her hand. “I didn’t even say bacon, G.I.R. Sorry, little guy.”

He begins sobbing loudly.

“Just ignore him…” She mutters.

G.I.R. drops to the ground and begins punching the floor.

She sighs and goes to the fridge to take out the package of pre-sliced bacon and brings it to the stove with a frying pan. “If I make you some, you have to stop crying.”

He pulls himself from the floor and rushes to sit at the kitchen table. He swings his legs at the chair.

“Y’know, I think Zim doesn’t give you enough credit for your acting abilities-- you’re at least annoying and loud like a dog.”

“I's not acting! Can you put ‘em on a sammich?”

“Nuh-uh, I’m not making you lunch. You know how to cook for yourself, G.I.R.”

He whines. “Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww-- but you makin’ the mastah lunch and he knows how to cook, too!”

“But does he?”

“He can make sammiches!”

“Then, why don’t you ask him when he gets back? And besides, this isn’t for Zim.”

“Who?”

“Master.”

“Who’s it for?” He whispers in shock.

“That new human experiment of his.”

G.I.R. gasps in excitement. “The nakey-man?!”

“Yeah-huh!” She nods. She grabs a glass lid and covers the pot on the stove. “Y’see, G.I.R., lemme give you the whole supervillain monologue-spiel. And listen close because I’m only gonna explain this to you once,” she says and brings him the plate of bacon to the kitchen table taking a seat.

G.I.R. begins slobbering up the slices.

“You know, Zim’s just so stingy when it comes to giving anyone the time of day! It’s always work-work-work with him! He doesn’t respond well to nice subtle cues and surprisingly, my more direct approach has failed me too! He just won’t give me any of his attention,” she whines. “And god, it can get so boring bein’ cooped up in here all day…”

“I know wha’choo meeeaaaannnn,” G.I.R. drawls sadly.

The human mimics his glower sympathetically. “So… I’ve decided to try a new… strategy!”

“What’s that!” G.I.R. sits forward with an excited grin.

“I’m gonna… convince him that my own time is not only very valuable, but it is scarce! But, instead of outright telling him that, I will demonstrate so, by… giving someone else even more attention and care than I ever did for him! That way…! He’ll feel a sense of urgency in needing to reciprocate--”

“THAT JUST SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE GONNA TRY TO MAKE HIM JEALOUS--”

“Shh-sh-sh!” The human holds a finger to her lips and flaps a hand down, gesturing for G.I.R. to lower his volume-- “He’ll be home soon! What if he walks in while you said that--?”

“JUST LIKE THEY DO IN THE T.V. SHOWS--”

She dives forward and clamps a hand over his mouth, muffled screams slipped through the cracks in her fingers.

“An ifn’t dif-tracting da mastah while he’f workin’ baaaaaaad?”

Once she affirms he will no longer shout out her secret plan, she withdraws her hand and wipes his slobber on her pants. She stands to walk to the couch. It rises and a platform comes to her feet and she steps on, leering down at G.I.R. with raised brows. “Get with the memo, G.I.R. Bad, is the new good.” And she disappears down the elevator shaft.

G.I.R. is silent, staring at the couch where the human once stood.

His eyelids shutter intermittently, but, when a fly lands down on his brow and crawls into his blue optics, his eyes glaze over.

Suddenly, he jerks, the fly buzzes away, and he lets out a shrill squeal. As if he’s top-heavy, his legs carry him in fast circles around the living room, his arms, and head flailing behind him until he sprints to the kitchen and crashes into the fridge. He falls back. Staring at the ceiling, his legs and arms curl up to his body and he giggles madly.

“Bad’s the new good!” And he too, has a wonderful idea.

It’s been well over a century since Zim last lived what his empire would consider a “normal” lifestyle. Amongst dreams of infamy, conquest, and glory, it never once occurred to him what the duller moments leading up to such dreams might entail.

Like living on a rotten planet of bipedal naked apes. Or wearing itchy lenses to attend high school with the planet’s adolescence. Or dealing with the unhinged whims of a particularly hasty exhibitionist like (Y/n).

So, when he comes home to find (Y/n) spoon-feeding experiment 707 tied up to the kitchen chair, he half-considers the benefits of just blowing planet Earth into oblivion and calling it a day. And then comes his second consideration—

“What are you doing?!” He squeaks. Scolding.

707’s eyes widen at Zim and if he wasn’t trembling already, he surely is now. Just the sight of the Irken is enough to strike fear into his heart and the adrenaline to begin pumping in his veins; it was enough that the creepy human randomly appeared inside of his cage as if out of thin air, knocked him over the head with a monkey-wrench, and awoke him with a splash of cold water where he found himself in the position he is now-- with a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of him.

He opens his mouth to defend himself: the last thing he wants is the alien to assume he tried to escape or did anything malicious to cause his human ally to lash out as she did, but just as the words manage to creep their way out past the lump of fear in his throat—

(Y/n) shoves a spoonful of the scalding soup into his mouth. “Feeding my friend; he looked absolutely starved.”

Zim marches to the table and gestures to 707, the wave of Zim’s hand causing him to stiffen. “You brought him up to the base--?! Wait… friend?” Zim hissed. “We do not make friends with the experiments, (Y/n). How many times do I have to tell you?” He leans into her personal space, his anger only growing at the grin that creeps onto (Y/n)’s face. Oh, that horrible, mocking smile of hers. Like she knows something he doesn’t. Like he had just fallen into a trap of hers of some sort.

She snatches the bowl from the table and stirs the soup with the spoon, blowing the steam away with a gentle exhale. “Well, it’s been awfully long since I’ve had the… company of a friend,” she pouts at him. “Ahem, the beneficial kind preferred,” she mutters quickly. Then, she puckers her lips and coos to 707: “open wiiiiiide!”

707 shakes his head and purses his lips, completely disgusted, and horrified at the situation. He realizes then she’s only been trying to make the alien jealous; what might the alien do to him? But to 707’s relief, Zim only has a demeanor of confusion.

“You would never think all that would be underneath such a normal-looking home,” a deep voice comes from the living room.

All three heads swivel to the threshold of the kitchen just as G.I.R. walks in, a human police officer in tow.

“And this is the kitchen where I make waffles! You want some? I make ‘em with lotsa mayonnaise!”

Zim sucks in a harsh breath and sputters out. “G.I.R.! What do you—”

“Oh, hi, master,” G.I.R. greets in a somewhat somber tone. “This is mah new friend! I’m gonna make him some waffles!” He yells.

“An-an alien! A real alien!” The officer exclaims.

707 squirms in his seat. “Thank god, I’m saved! I’ve been kidnapped! They-they threw me in a cage and pumped me full of drugs and—my name is Beev Crayton, and-and I’m probably on the missing person’s list--!”

“A real alien!” The officer repeats.

Zim glares up at the officer. “Great, G.I.R. Now I have to wipe his memory.”

“No! Don’t wipe my memory I won’t tell anyone what I saw!”

Zim ignores the officer. “What have I told you about bringing humans to the base?”

“You brought (Y/n) to the base,” G.I.R. whines.

“No, I didn’t!” Zim argues.

“Yes, you diiiiiid—”

“You didn’t bring me, but you definitely are a major contributor to why I’m here in the first place.”

“SILENCE!” He glares over his shoulder to (Y/n) and 707 then sighs heavily. “Just… put him back in the cage when you’re done. G.I.R.! Capture the human!” And he points a finger to the officer who flinches.

G.I.R.’s eyes flash red and he salutes. “Sir, yessir!” He bellows deeply. Then, his eyes dull to blue once more and he skips past his master. “Right after I make my neewwwww friend some waffles!”

Zim groans and drags his hands down his face. In his frustration, he perks when the officer walks past him to kitchen table to take a seat—

He draws a laser out of his PAK pointing it at his head. “Cooperate and I won’t blow your head off,” he says, almost boredly.

The officer considers the alien. Unconvinced by the threat, he reaches a hand to his gun’s holster— nothing.

He suddenly recalls a floating moose disarming him. And that he’s being kept in this home against his will by the toddler-like bot.

Even so, the laser whirs as it begins to charge and Zim narrows his eyes.

“Yep, yep! Just tell me where to go!” He chuckles nervously, hands raised. He turns to walk back into the living room, Zim prodding at his spine with the PAK leg, urging him forward.

(Y/n) huffs when Zim leaves and glares at G.I.R.’s back. He slobbers all over the empty jars of mayonnaise while waiting for the waffles to finish cooking.

“Well, that didn’t work,” she snaps and drops the bowl from her hands into 707’s lap, standing to storm to her room.

707 screams and jerks violently in his chair, sending him crashing down onto the kitchen floor, smacking his head on the tile. He moans in pain. He lolls his head up to the robot watching the gross display. He cringes and lets his head fall back down.

There’s a ding! and then after some moments the robot hops down from the countertop. He swivels his head around frowning. Then, his eyes land on 707 and a smile slowly grows on his face.

“Oh, there you are, friend!” He waddles over and begins smacking him on the forehead with the waffle. “Bite it! Take a bite! Bite it!!”

“I’m never getting out of here,” 707 realizes, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

“Excellent!” Zim cheers. Another result is recorded into the table, this one a much higher number “Excelleeent,” Zim drawls out deeply. His dark chuckles reverberate throughout the lab as he stalks towards 707 quivering in the cage. “You are coming along nicely. Your performance in self-defense against the Death Mech was near adequate!” He smiles at the wounded human. “Truly one of my most successful experiments yet! You know,” he sighs and places his hands on his hips, cocking his weight to one leg. “If you weren’t a filthy, horrible, stupid Earth-monkey I might almost feel rather… proud.”

“Fuck you.”

Zim bristles and scowls down. “Tch, you humans have such foul tongues! Always quick with the vulgarity. I’m sure it makes it difficult for something worthwhile to come out.”

707 glares up at Zim from his fetal position on the floor. “You want something worthwhile come back in four-to-six hours and it’ll be coming out my other end—like you’d even know the difference.”

“When will you learn?” Zim asks solemnly with a shake of his head. Zim growls. “G.I.R.!” He hollers out. “G.I.R.! G.I.R.?” Again, and again he calls for his robot servant.

When the elevator doors open in the back of the lab (Y/n), instead, steps out.

“Oh, (Y/n)! Perfect, call for G.I.R. and tell him to prepare the lab for the organ liquefying procedure!” He shouts as she walks towards him, and when she draws near him, he whispers, “I’m going to try to frighten experiment 707 for—”

She passes right by him and then teleports in a blip into 707’s cage.

“What?”

Crouching down, (Y/n) displays a white plastic box with a red cross on top. First aid. “Hey, friend! Don’t worry, nurse (Y/n) is in and she’s gon’ patch you right up!”

“No! No one will be patching up anything!” Zim demands. “Get out of there, (Y/n). Right now.”

She falters in the task of unpacking the tools from the kit, but gingerly carries on. “First, let’s disinfect those wounds.”

“(Y/n)…” He mutters lowly. When she doesn’t listen, he panics and rushes to the lab table to snatch up the remote. Spamming the switches when they don’t react immediately to open one of the cage doors, Zim scolds her. “I know what you’re trying to do but his healing process is part of the trials I’ve set up! You are interfering with Zim’s evil!” And then, the button mashing takes a toll.

The four metal doors are loudly winding down then up, down then up, down then up again around the cage and the lights and other minimal functions in the cage are acting awry, as well. The cot folds in and out repetitively. The exercise wheel spins faster, and faster. And white porridge pours from the ceiling in mass amounts.

And 707 is reacting badly. He’s sweating and sobbing from the overstimulation, the pain relievers Zim had pumped him full of only adding to his delirium and soon 707 is running from (Y/n)’s helping hand in circles around the cage. And then she begins teleporting around him. And 707 is even more terrified: hollering curses and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“(Y/n), stop this instant!” Zim grimaces and a communicator pops out from his PAK. “G.I.R.! Come down to the lab immediately—”

“Oh, hi mastah!”

His servant’s voice rings pleasantly from behind him and Zim whirls around with a look of relief. Which quickly morphs into one of terror.

G.I.R. enters the lab with a gaggle of children trailing behind him who all seem particularly excited to roam in the alien’s lab and play with the vast array of toys.

A little girl pulls a pair of goggles over her head. Another smacks at her with yellow rubber gloves. A particularly curious child pulls open a table where a full chemistry set magically pops up in a series of robotic and mechanical movements. It isn’t long before Zim’s lab is full of frantic and hyper children throwing beakers and test tubes, getting into fights over who’s turn it is to play with their new toys, and wailing loudly when they get hurt.

And Zim has no other way to word his burning question. “G.I.R. Why?”

The S.I.R. unit places his hands on his hips and turns his chin up while shutting his eyes, putting on the countenance of an uppity brat. “Sorry master. But my time is not only valuable but scarce!” And then he walks away to join his new friends.

A look crosses Zim’s face at G.I.R.’s words and attitude. He glances at (Y/n). But, he only huffs and stalks to the elevator. And it takes him up. “Computer, lock the laboratory until further notice. No one is leaving until I say so… I’m not dealing with this right now.”

“Jerome?”

“Here.”

“Jessica.”

“Here.”

“Dib?”

“Present!”

“Alright, it looks like the entire class is accounted for!” A middle-aged woman holding a clipboard slides a pen into her tight hair bun. “The buses will be arriving shortly. They’ll be just outside at precisely eight-thirty. We need to stay on schedule. Okay, single file!” She ushers the students to line up in their groups, rattling off the instructions for the day. “Remember, our lunch break is at noon. We’ll be meeting in the observatory room where Professor Defaci will be giving a presentation on exoplanets and the future of their exploration!”

The students whisper amongst themselves, making sure not to speak above their teacher. Everyone is excited about this class trip. It means they’ll be excused from school for the day. For some, like Dib, it means getting a chance encounter with some familiar faces at Membrane Labs.

And for others, like Zim, it means relief from his minions’ attempts to drive him mad.

“What are you planning, Zim?!” Dib accuses.

“What?!” The alien snaps back.

“You’re smiling, so evilly. I know you’re up to something!”

Zim grins and folds his hands behind his back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dib-worm.” The two are lingering in the back of their class’ line.

The bell rings and out pours the student body from every classroom.

“I don’t believe that for a second! What-- are you going to send us to another room with a moose?!”

“Like I said, Dib. I have no idea what on Earth you’re talking about! Zim has no evil plans--”

“So, how’s that diabolical scheming goin’ for ya?”

Zim whirls around with a yell of fright. A woman with giant, white-framed sunglasses and a white peplum winter-coat stands behind him, leaning against the lockers, a brown paper bag in her hand. Her hair is in a tight up-do and despite her flashy disguise, he recognizes her immediately. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, y’know, just here to wish you good luck on your evil plan! By the way, you never told me what it was…”

“Ha! I knew it! So, you are planning something!” Dib jabs a finger in Zim’s chest.

“No, I’m not!”

“Well, you picked the wrong day for your schemes, Zim! I’m going to expose you to my dad--”

“Minimoose also asked me to send his regards, bab,” (Y/n) interrupts.

Zim turns his back to Dib. “Oh, really?”

“I mean, he just said nyeh like-- y’know-- he always does,” she explains.

“Anyway, I’m going to have my dad--”

“That’s how he communicates!” Zim defends. “How’d he say it?”

“It was like-- like… nya!” She squeaks out.

“I’m going to expose you to the whole class--!”

“Or, no… Like, nyah!” She mimics herself three more times, making her voice higher-pitched each time.

Zim chortles.

“Wha’s so funny, dickhead?” She crosses her arms.

“Ah, no… no, you wouldn’t get it.” Zim dismissively waves a hand at her. “Man, do I wish Minimoose were here. He’d get just how silly you sound, right now.”

“I don’t sound silly! I was doing it right-- here, just lemme try again. Nyeh!”

Zim doubles over in laughter at that. “You have no idea what you just said--!”

She smiles at this and leans into his face, continuing to mewl like Minimoose, gauging his reaction. She only continues to do this when Zim goes into a fit of giggles.

“WHO EVEN ARE YOU?!”

The two both turn their attention to a shouting Dib. He even catches the attention of nearby students who are rushing to their class. Many of the kids in the hall take interest in the finely dressed lady talking to the two freaks of the school.

Seeing the many eyes glued to them, Zim panics. His eyes are wide and darting to and from every face in the halls. He’s caught in a loop of stutters, “I--uh, she’s-- she’s my-- my--”

“I’m his mom. You forgot your lunch, sweetie.” She hands him the brown lunch sack she’d been holding.

Zim looks down at the bag and before he can even utter a thank you, he’s smacked in the back of the head and the bag is swiftly snatched from his hands. He rubs his head and adjusts his wig.

Torque Smackey glances over his shoulder to wave the bag in the air. “Thanks for the food, Zim’s-hot-mom.”

Now that Zim understands such a comment, he snarls at Torque’s receding figure down the hall.

Dib, who’s unconvinced by the obvious lie, places his fists on his hips. “Oh yeah? What happened to your Robo-mom, Zim?”

(Y/n) pulls out a handkerchief from the inside of her white coat and dabs at her eyes underneath the comically large sunglasses. “She’s bedridden. Poor dear! But we did what we could to ease her pain in this crippling illness. Didn’t we, son?”

Zim nods solemnly. “Yes, we did all we could. Poor mom.”

“Zim, you can’t have two moms--”

“LOVE WINS!” A student shouts from across the hall.

“No, because you already have a robot-dad. You idiot!” Dib spits. He shoves Zim back by the shoulders. “And who’s the lady, huh? Someone you brainwashed?”

(Y/n) pulls Zim away from Dib’s grasp and stands between the two. “Get your filthy paws off my son! He’s big-head-boy-intolerant!"

"My head isn't big!"

"And we don’t talk about his biological father,” she hisses at Dib. She turns to Zim and pulls him into a suffocating embrace, petting his hair. “Don’t worry, Zimothy. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Let go of me--!”

“You won’t let your own mother hug you?!” She whines.

He groans and his body goes slack as he gives into her tight hug. He narrows his eyes at Dib and shrugs at him with a smug grin. “See? Fool-boy, she is my mother. Just as we said. Now, leave us!”

Dib scoffs. “Whatever. I’ll get to the bottom of whatever it is you’re planning. And I’ll save all your brainwashed human slaves as soon as I break into your base.”

The deafening ring of the bell alerts the students of the end of their passing period.

“I’ll call the cops,” (Y/n) warns.

“Sure, you will,” Dib mocks.

“Okay, everyone! The buses have arrived. Single file, now. Let’s get going!” The teacher announces.

Dib glares at Zim over his shoulder as he walks away with the rest of the class. Once he’s out the door and the last of the students file into their classrooms, the hall is empty and soundless.

Zim writhes out of (Y/n)’s hold. “What are you doing here, (Y/n)?”

“I was bored!”

“You put my mission at risk because you were bored?!” He repeats.

She lifts the latch to the locker by her side and it swings open; a green dog crumples to the floor at their feet. “I brought G.I.R., too.”

“WHY?! You’ll ruin my plan!”

“So, you do have a plan?”

“Zim always does. And oh, how evil it is! But I can’t carry on with you and G.I.R. blowing my cover and drawing attention! This is Hi-Skool! So, no doggies,” he says pointedly to G.I.R. as the robot stands to his short stature. “And no mothers!” He stares up at (Y/n) with his hands on his hips.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, then. We’ll leave. Just keep your filthy evil out of the house!”

“What? Why?” Zim curls his lip up.

“It’s your mother and I’s twenty-fifth anniversary! What do you mean why? You know, I bet you didn’t even get us a gift! What a horrible, self-centered son--”
As she rambles, his expression falls into one of disinterest and annoyance.

“Did we raise you to be this way? Always on that damn phone, just like your father--” She sucks in a harsh gasp. “Oh my,” she whimpers and brings a hand to cup over her mouth. She reaches to Zim who just boredly watches her act. “I-- I’m so sorry, son. I should’ve never…” She turns away from him and curls into herself. “I should go!” And she grabs G.I.R. and rushes away with her dramatic sobs to echo down the long hallway.

“...At least she’s good at lying,” Zim tells himself.

“Zim! Do you want the busses to leave without you?!”

He flinches and whirls around to find his teacher glaring down at him. He rushes past her. “No, sorry, Ms. Mabel!”

“Oh, Dib! Poor, unsuspecting, foolish Dib!” Zim mocks. He’s hidden in the air ducts of the lab, peeking through the vents to spy on the teenager.

Dib is helping Professor Membrane’s assistant with a demonstration. Luckily for Zim, it’s on a new A.I. system that he’s managed to hack into. With a simple push of a button, he’ll be able to take control of the entire security system in the lab-- with the nation’s leading scientists and youth all trapped in the building together-- and soon, the whole world! He’ll have to time it just right, however. The timing is the most sensitive part to this plan, so it’ll require his full focus and attention--

BRRRRING!

“What was that?” Dib yelps. His fellow classmates and the assistant scan the room.

Zim leans closer to get a better look--

BRRRING!

‘It’s coming from me?’ He realizes. His PAK brings out his communicator which he quickly silences, but it’s too late.

“There’s going to be a pause on this demonstration. Sorry, students! We’re going to have to call in the guards. After all, the last thing we want is a breach in the security system!” The assistant announces much to Zim’s dismay.

He growls and rubs his temples in frustration. “All this for nothing!”

“All what? Hello?”

He sighs heavily and holds the communicator up to his mouth. “What,” he asks dully.

“Oh, heh. Hey!” A voice sings back.

“(Y/n), I’m working. What is it, now?”

She’s silent.

“Out with it, already!”

“I missed you--”

“You’re joking!” He huffs back. Knowing a call with her will not be hasty or subtle, he scoots back down the air ducts, far away from the vent. “You nearly blew my cover! Again.”

“You know… I could really help you out with your plans.”

“No way. You lost your chance! Especially after that-- that,” he pauses and screws his eyes shut, trying to not let his words fumble over the memory. “Little stunt you pulled when I was talking to the Almighty Tallest!”

He absolutelresents her for that day. Every part of that. From the way she attempted to speak in Irken to her gentle caresses. Before her, he had never known such a soft touch from anyone, and it was disgusting. So revoltingly pleasant and horrifically weakening. For the past week, when he was experiment on 707, he’d find himself rereading the same paragraph repeatedly, staring blankly at a chart of numbers and results, his mind completely elsewhere. Thinking back to her hands on his legs, on his body, and how eager her smile was when he watched her. His thoughts would begin with just that-- an innocent reminiscing-- then he’d tumble down the rabbit hole. He would think back to other times when work was slow, the lab was lonely and quiet, but she’d come to fill the space and silence. She’d maybe crawl under the desk and sprawl herself out by his feet and listen to his rambles about his day. And then she’d make him laugh with some funny insult. ‘You should’ve said this!’ She’d say. But the sweet bliss would turn sour and he’d curl into himself, flustered by some flirtatious comment. If anything, her advances only worsened after Borgz came to Earth. He’d mull over these moments, deeply and carefully, as if he could just recreate the memory into thin air. And these reflections would turn to fantasy: she’d say something new or try something different. She’d peek her head out from underneath his desk and place her head on his lap or try to hold him—

And then he’d snap out of it.

Zim daydreams often, that much he is willing to accept. He would visualize himself crushing his enemies, sitting on a throne above a throng of human slaves, or in a spaceship far away as he watched the world burn. He never thought it’d be a human to invade his fantasies.

He never knows what to make of these thoughts. Only that they weigh down heavily in his chest and stomach. And only that they seem to all but disappear when she’s near. Is it a poison? A brain parasite? Or is it something wrong with his PAK? In the beginning, he thought that maybe he could find companionship in the first human that didn’t want to hurt him-- the first human, besides the child named Keef-- but she has other, more intimate, plans for him it seems.

“You were into it,” she says breaking into his thoughts.

“Was not,” he seethes.

“Were too!”

“Was not!” He shrills back. “Listen, I’m hanging up. Don’t call me again and-- are you keeping an eye on G.I.R. as I told you?”

“Yessir!”

“Good. Bye.”

“Wait, no--!”

“Goodbye, (Y/n).”

“Fine! I’ll just use that experiment to keep me company. That’ll be enough of a distraction, ooh-la-la!” She purrs out.

He hangs up.

“Hello? ZimZim?” She groans and drops the communicator in her lap. Sinking herself down into her seat, she presses a series of buttons on the armrest. “Not like Iexhausted myself with this already.” A microphone drops down to her level. “‘Kay, let’s give it another go! You ready?”

“No! No! Please, not again. I can’t take much more,” 707 sobs out. He presses himself against the glass cage.

“You got the whole basics down. You stop running, you get shocked. You get lost, you get shocked. Just find the cheese at the end of the maze, a’ight?”

His lip trembles. “The… the robot ate the cheese.”

“That really does suck for you, doesn’t it?” She asks her attention now on her communicator. “Now, begin!”

Bzzzt!

“Don’t stop,” she reminds him, never glancing up.

“I… I didn’t even get a chance to start!” He pants out as he sprints down the first hall to the intricate maze in the underground lab.

“Your results are really coming along, human,” Zim praises.

“Yeah, only ‘cause that bitch made me run ‘till I nearly dropped dead!” The caged human snaps back. He’s back in his cell sitting cross-legged and scowling at the alien.

Zim furrows his brows, unfamiliar with that term. “You’re talking about (Y/n)?”

“Who else, spaceman?!”

“Ah, so that’s what she was up to…” Zim says this with a relieved tone.

“Oh, so this is preferred? Didn’t you hear me! I said I nearly died!”

“No human can die from just running, certainly not one as healthy as you,” Zim reasons. He has his back turned to 707. He’s in the corner of the room working at a table.

“She was electrocuting me,” the human clarifies.

Zim glances over his shoulder to scrutinize 707 up and down. “No one likes a snitch.”

The human gives him a face of bewilderment and disbelief, mouth agape. He scoffs.

“Don’t make this any more complicated than need-be, okay? Zim has already had a very long day and I won’t tolerate your disobedience like I normally do.”

“Ah, yes. Because you’re normally so gentle and nurturing. You should really become a nurse!” The human mocks.

“While I’m trained extensively in biology and can perform a number of different surgical procedures, Zim trained to be an elite invader-- not a medic,” Zim explains while he prepares a syringe of clear liquid. He walks up to the glass cell.

Again, the human gives him an incredulous look. His frustration festers into a knot at the blank expression the alien gives him.

A panel in the glass slides open and Zim holds a hand out, syringe prepared in the other.

With a huff, the human sticks his arm out through the hole. “Let’s just this over with!”

Zim tugs on his arm and the shirtless human is pressed flush against the glass. As he penetrates the needle through the tight, yellowing skin of his arm and injects the clear liquid in, he’s staring down at the human. Suddenly, the alien is seeming very annoyed and frustrated. He wears a scowl and he gives the human a look of disgust.

“I don’t know what she sees in you.”

“Who? That freak who just gawks at me while I’m suffering?!

“You’re one to talk,” Zim says smugly.

He finishes the injection and the human pulls his arm back with a wince of pain.

Zim walks up to the table in front of the room. He sets a timer for two minutes on his computer. While doing so, he waves an arm out to the human. “Sure, you’re ripped and incredibly strong. But you look revolting!”

707 studies his own biceps and forearms. His veins are painfully bulging against his tight skin which is littered with blood bruises and yellowing sores.

“You’re disgusting! It’s a shame she couldn't come to terms with that herself, however,” Zim says woefully.

“Wait a minute… you’re jealous!” 707 laughs at him loudly.

Zim turns to him with a narrowed gaze.

“The hideous alien has the hots for a human!”

“HIDEOUS ALIEN?! WHERE?” Zim is suddenly standing tall on his PAK legs while on full alert scanning his surroundings. "How did another experiment escape?!"

The human laughs again and presses his finger on the glass. “YOU! You’re the hideous alien. Man, a real beauty and the beast love story, huh?”

Zim’s PAK legs retract back, and he strolls up to the cage. “What are you going on about? Zim is an alien, yes, we have established that. But, I’m not hideous. I’ll have you know; I’ve grown two inches in my past few years on this dirt planet, thus increasing my attractiveness!”

The human tilts his head in confusion and curls his lip up. “What… does height have to do with how good-looking someone is?”

“EVERYTHING!” Zim throws his fists into the air dramatically. “It has everything to do with how look you good!”

707 jeers and gets to his feet. The especially tall male towers over the alien. “Well, then you’re as short as you are ugly.”

Zim frowns and his eyes are downcast as he studies the tile floor. He’s deep in thought and his antennae perk at a sudden memory. With a smirk, he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s not true. The human herself told Zim I was pretty when she saw my true, terrifying, alien form!”

“Dude, you’re in over your head. She’d never go for someone like you! You’re no taller than a twelve-year-old, you’ve got no nose, and your eyes are freaky! I mean, she’s no ten in my book, believe me. But, us hyoomans, the ‘filthy’, ‘disgusting’ ‘worms’ you call us? Yeah, we still have standards. I mean, beauty is only skin deep, Zim! And yours is fucking green!”

“And yours is inverted!”

“What?” The human tilts his head.

Zim glances at the timer and his antennae droop down. “Oh, sorry, six seconds too early-- four, three, two--”

“AHHHH!” Suddenly, 707 collapses and writhes on the floor. His limbs jerk and twitch as if he’s having a seizure.

“It’s a shame my GENIUS experiment had to come to an end! Who would have ever guessed my success and intelligence would be my own downfall! No one. Not even me, ZIM! There was too much at stake! Too much to risk! So, I figured, hey! Why not change things up a bit! So, I designed a chemical that would cause your muscle and tissue to eat away at your own epidermis! Let’s see how attractive (Y/n) finds you without any skin! Let’s see her give all her attention to your pathetic corpse, Earth-man! When she buries you in your grave!” He throws his head back in laughter but immediately stops to stare at the writhing human. “Is it working--?”

He’s cut off when the human screams again and this time, his skin is shriveling away to reveal the tendons and veins of his body.

In the elevator that quickly descends downwards to the lowest level in the underground laboratory, (Y/n) stands with a tray of snacks and iced glasses in hand. Zim had stormed into the house that afternoon with such a saddened expression. She was sure he immediately plunged himself into work-- his own form of escapism from today’s disappointments.

She decided, since Zim is so hard-working, he deserves a break! Besides, she’s rather curious about the progress on her ship’s repairs. The last time it was completed, it spontaneously combusted.

The elevator doors slide open and she steps off the platform. The sight before her is so overwhelming, the tray slips from her hands, and the glasses shatter on the ground.

A timer is blaring its alarm and the red lights to an unknown alert glare down on the alien. The red lighting highlights his features in such a way that it causes a shiver to crawl up her spine. He looks so dangerous, yet so overjoyed. He has the biggest smile on his face, it’s as big and beautiful as his wicked ego. He’s laughing out loudly and openly, the most wonderful of sounds to her. She can listen to him laugh all day.

She’s so happy to see him in such a state, she doesn’t even think to ask about her ship. It’s probably just going to blow up again.

“Nice to see you’re enjoying yourself now, Zim. You’ve been working yourself like crazy, y’know that?”

He whirls around to her. “Oh! Of course!”

“I came down to bring you a snack, but I-- eh, dropped it.” She steps over the mess of glass, juice, and chips and makes her way to Zim to lean against the lab table.

“Ohh, that’s fine. G.I.R. will clean it up as punishment for his recent misbehaving.” He waves a hand dismissively. “You don’t perchance know or have anything to do with that, do you?” Zim smirks at her smugly.

“Pft! Me?” She places a hand to her chest. “Never, Zim!” She laughs it off.

“If you say so, human,” he sings with raised brows, but gives her a small smile. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know if anything good is playing tonight, do you?”

“Oh, hell yeah! Predator’s on-- but, oh, I thought you were too busy with your new human experiment to watch T.V. with me and G.I.R. anymore,” she pouts.

“Something tells me experiment 707 is rather preoccupied right now.” And he leads the way to the elevator in the back of the lab. “Come along, (Y/n).”

“Heh, right. I was wondering what that sound was!” She exclaims with a glance over her shoulder at the gargling and writhing bloody mess in the glass cage. “Let’s ask Minimoose, too! He makes good buttered popcorn!”

In a distant galaxy...

Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping!

The bounce of a paddleball fills the silent control room of the Irken Armada. Suddenly, the ball flies off the string, and Purple flings the paddle at a servant’s head.

“Bring me another!”

“You’ve been going through paddle-balls all day! Give it a rest, already. Will ya?” Red pleads.

“No! I’m bored,” Purple pouts. “We’ve only blown up thirteen planets! Thirteen! How can that be?! We’re flying in a perfectly straight line!”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.” Red sighs sadly. “The most exciting thing that happened this week was that call with…” He gags. “Zim.”

“Don’t remind me! Why would you remind me?”

“Speaking of reminders, remind me to take Zim off speed dial! I never want to accidentally call him again!” Tallest Red throws his arms up in exasperation.

“Yeah!” Purple agrees and outwardly cringes. “He was acting so weird.”

“More insane than usual,” Red adds.