Stitches

Written by Zelda

 

Part Two

 

 

 

                Dib felt adrenaline surging through his body as he settled in his seat. The room, though it was hard to see while in that bright light, was actually octagonal in shape. Painted in a grayish blue, sterile hospital color, it was constructed mostly of cinder blocks. The smaller floor was centered in a higher ring of seats, like a gallery in hospital’s surgery room. And Dib had this show all to himself. How often had he dreamed of this moment, since he had first spotted Zim and known, straight off the bat, that he was a genuine extra terrestrial. It was, very much, like a dream come true! He didn’t even mind the big head comment. Dib rubbed his palms together and waited eagerly, oblivious to the hissing and thrashing alien still conscious on the table. Zim had years to rattle off his empty threats. Today, the danger of Earth being conquered would disappear, at least for now. And Dib had been responsible for it all! The boy was positively giddy, and he seriously considered a little snack from the vending machine to top things off. But he didn’t want to miss a moment, it would be his first real alien autopsy procedure! So he stayed in his seat, hovering close to the inner edge of the ring, watching intently. The ‘coroner’ who had been assigned the autopsy task was busy preparing his equipment. Dib didn’t remember his name, it was difficult to get used to so many code names, after all. But he seemed to be high up in the ranking within the Swollen Eyeball. Maybe he’d done this before? So many questions! But they would have to wait for later. Dib watched with silent glee as the man wheeled a cart full of tools out towards Zim. Dib noticed the frightened look that was growing on the alien’s face, and couldn’t help but grin in return. How many times had that wretched thing laughed at him, kicked him when he was down, mocked him before his peers? No, now it was quite nice to see the tables being turned. Zim had helped to cement Dib’s place as a social outcast at skool. Kids used Zim as an example of how crazy Dib was, and so they allotted him the lowly role of punching bag for the  bullies, and getting the cold shoulder from pretty much everyone else. Dib’s hands fisted in anger. NOW they would see that he was right all along! He could nearly picture the headlines now, the special feature he’d get on Mysterious Mysteries too. They’d hail him as a genius, only fitting for the son of a genius of course. Pride, that’s what he was feeling. Dib was quite proud indeed of what he had done.

 

                Until Zim’s previously blocked out babble arched up into a howl, and Dib felt his stomach drop involuntarily. His distracted mind snapped back to the present, his eyes to the metal examination table. And he was rather shocked to find the man pressing a scalpel blade into Zim’s skin, while the alien apparently hadn’t been anesthetized at all! Dib took a moment to make sure that he was actually seeing what he thought he saw, and yes, a few more moments confirmed it. The man in white was running the scalpel straight down the middle of Zim’s chest, the Irken renewing his struggle for freedom as the blade slit through his shirt, and a good few layers of skin too. Purplish blood pooled up in a thin line from the wound. Dib leaned closer to hear the man in white speaking into his microphone, taking careful notes.

                “Specimen appears to have purple fluid in the circulatory system. Analysis will be completed for toxins and possible hemoglobin content… Specimen’s upper dermis layers appear to have no pores or sweat glands… Specimen’s garments appear to be constructed of a non-native polymer material.” he muttered, all the while completely ignoring the loud yowling coming from the alien. He had renewed his struggle to escape, but couldn’t move enough to even make the scalpel’s path stray.
                “Ummm…” Dib found a doubtful noise rising in his throat. “Mister, shouldn’t you have, um, knocked him out first?”

                The man in white sighed and turned up to face him, the light glinting off of his goggles. “Little boy, I am entirely unaware of the specimen’s physiology. Exposure to chemicals could kill it or alter its body chemistry. It’s important that we take our data as accurately as possible.” He spoke as if he were reiterating from a textbook. “Now please don’t interrupt any further? I’m trying to compile a report.”

                “Sorry…” Dib retreated into his seat, his words finding a bit of an echo in the room, since Zim had stopped in his screaming to catch his breath.

                “You will learn NOTHING of ZIM, worm-scum!” he spat at the man in white. “NOTHING!”

                “Specimen appears to have a fluency in English.” the man in white noted absently into his microphone. “Competency tests may be run at a later date…”

                “Did you hear me?! What are you doing to ZIM?” the alien continued to demand, his head wrenching freely. “You will release me!”

                The man in white brought out a syringe and vaccumed up the small amount of blood that had pooled in the line he had previously created. Sample taken, he laid the syringe back on the cart, and peeled Zim’s cut shirt aside, over his arms. He raised the scalpel again, this time redrawing the line he had begun at the top of the alien’s chest.

                “Release me noWAAHHGG!” Zim’s threat turned into a long cry, and Dib saw the blade pressed far deeper into the alien’s green flesh. The man in white didn’t stop in cutting down until he seemed to have hit something, and then pulled the blade downward a few inches, before prying the wound open with a metal spreading device.

                “Specimen appears to have a skeletal structure of some sort, appears from surface properties to be calcium based, with a cartilaginous component…”

                Dib could hear the man speak over Zim’s squealing. He was used to that, Zim was prone to those sorts of noises all of the time, even if there was no real reason for them. Still, as the purple blood started to spill down one side of his chest, Dib did feel a pang of sympathy. He certainly wouldn’t want to be going through that, anyway. But then again, that’s why he’d helped capture Zim, and not the other way around. If this ‘armada’ that Zim bragged about was as big and terrible as it sounded, who knew what horrors would befall innocent civilians when it arrived. Well, no need to worry about that, not anymore. Still, the alien was making a lot of… noise.

                “Filthy human.” Zim hissed. “You  have no IDEA the pain that awaits this pathetic ball of dirt that you call a home. I’ll make sure the Tallest turn this place into a planet of janitorial supply closets!”

                The man in white turned away for a moment, setting the scalpel down on the cart, and reached up past the bright overhanging light, to pull down a device that hung from the ceiling on a spring-loaded arm. He positioned it over the alien’s chest, hovering just a foot or so above the still-open incision. After that, he walked away, and almost vanished outside the rim of light. Dib saw the man walk over to a rack of coats and gowns on the wall. He hefted up something thick and heavy, and slung the new gown over his old one. He then flicked off the bright overhead lamp. Dib now understood that he must have been taking x-rays! The man only approached the table again a few times, to reposition the camera, and then retreated again to snap away. After about five minutes, he removed the lead drape, hung it back on its peg, turned the overhead light on again, and came back to his work. “X-rays of the specimen’s torso area have been taken, numbers three twenty one to three twenty nine…” He removed the spreader from the hole in Zim’s chest, eliciting a pained grunt from the now unusually quiet Irken. Zim had taken to staring intently at the man, calculating. He was going to try and think his way out of this, was he? Dib was pretty sure that option offered the alien little hope. Now the man in white leaned back in with an assortment of scalpels in one hand, a single one in the other. And with that single one he proceeded to continue the deep cut, to halfway down the Irken’s chest. Again Zim renewed his noisy struggle, again blood spilled over like too much water in a glass, getting soaked into his shirt. And again, Dib began to question the decision not to sedate the alien. Sure, he was interested in seeing what made Zim tick, but he wasn’t exactly pleased by the writhing and screaming and bleeding. Dib turned the thought over in his mind. Didn’t he think that Zim deserved this? Well, maybe some of it, at least. He was brought back out of his thoughts by again having Zim’s protest change in tone. His screeching choked quickly off to a violent gargle, and Dib saw that the man in white had somehow gotten his hand into Zim’s chest. Odd…. oh now he understood. The man must have peeled back the alien’s skin and muscle, so much so as to be able to reach into his chest cavity. Dib thought back to the one time when Zim had gone on that organ-stealing kick… what a mess it was getting everyone’s parts back in the right places! But he had seen the inner workings of the Irken with that old X-scope of his. He was kicking himself now for  not having run a skeletal scan, along with the internal organ one. But he did remember a good deal from the work he had done. Zim didn’t have normal human organs. In fact, he didn’t think he had organs, plural, at all. He remembered just one massive pulsing thing, oddly shaped and pretty disgusting. A squeedlyspooch? Is that what Zim had called it? Well whatever it was named, the man in white had apparently found it.

                Gasping for air, eyelids fluttering half-shut, Zim’s head thudded back weakly against the table, although his angry hissing continued. His hands, which had previously been balled into fists, now were loose and twitching at his sides. His antennae were plastered back against his head. He gritted his teeth, watching as the man in white rummaged through his insides like a calculated raid in a junk drawer. “Get---out of my body--!” Zim snarled.

                “Specimen’s internal organ layout is difficult to assess currently.” the man noted absently into his microphone. “X-rays will need further study before complete analysis can be done…” He removed his hand from Zim’s chest, a good deal of blood burbling out with it, and the Irken let out a slightly relieved gasp. The man in white stood back for a moment, then let out a sigh himself, one of disappointment. He put down his assortment of scalpels and retrieved a surgical needle and thread from the cart.

                Dib blinked, confused. Was that all there was? Surely the autopsy was incomplete. Again, he edged over the side of the wall, and got up the courage to speak. “Are you done?”

                “Far from it.” the man shook his goggled head. “We’ll stitch the specimen up and place it in a recovery unit until x-rays can be further analyzed. Although, since we have it here, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to run a few electrical conductivity exams, it’s a pretty hardy creature.”

                Distracted, Dib checked his watch, and bit his lip. Already past nine… Gaz would have a fit if he wasn’t home soon. And she’d tell Dad, and Dad would lecture him endlessly again. Sheesh he hated that! Why did Gaz bother anyway? “When do you think you’ll resume the autopsy?”

                “Tomorrow. It seems you’d like to return, hm?”

                “You bet I would!”

                “Well then, if I were you, I’d run the idea by the security group out front.” the man waved him away. “They’ll schedule you permission to enter headquarters again.”

                “Alright!” Dib couldn’t help but feel a grin creeping up again. “Don’t worry Zim, I’ll  be back for you.” he snarled.

                The alien picked up his head a little, and Dib noticed that his blood was starting to drip off of the metal table, and onto the floor. Although there was a glare in Zim’s eyes, the Irken said nothing.

                With a surging feeling of victory in his heart, Dib was content to exit the room, and start off for home. As he walked up the stairs and out of the observation deck, he saw the man in white reach into the cart, for a pair of electrical charge prongs, mumbling something into his microphone.

 

               

Dib felt relieved once he was back inside the walls of the Swollen Eyeball’s secretive underground headquarters. Getting here hadn’t been the problem, one of his dad’s super-transporters had taken care of that. It was nice that his dad had also fixed that nasty nacho cheese problem the machine had caused in the past too. No, the hard part about the day had been spending the day in class. Without knowing what was happening to Zim, the day’s lessons had been even more unbearable than usual. He didn’t take time to bother with the other kids today, it was in, out, and here. And now that he was here, he was finally happy. Dib bounded up to a massive security setup just inside the building’s entrance. A ghastly pale old man greeted him by leaning over the big black desk, his bones creaking.

                “And what are youuuu doing here, little boy?” he asked.

                Dib tried to ignore the foul odor creeping out from his mouth. “I’m here for one of the procedures they’re doing today? I have clearance…” Dib reached into his pocket and pulled out a laminated ID card the guards had made for him the night before.

                The old man took it from him with a trembling hand, and inspected it closely. “Say young lad, your head is awfully large…. are you sure this is your picture?”

                Dib let out an aggravated sigh. “My head is NOT big.” he grumbled. “And of course that’s me! Agent Mothman!…Can’t you see how -swollen- my eyeballs are?”

                The man at the desk sat back, reached behind his head, and pulled off his face – which was actually a rubbery mask. Dib was actually looking at a young woman! “Very well then agent, you may proceed.”

                Dib took his security card back, pocketed it, and walked through a rectangular scanner. Finally, he proceeded on his own through the maze of cinder block hallways. The security guards had instructed him on where he could return to. The autopsy procedure wouldn’t have resumed just yet, but he could head down to the containment ward, and meet the scientist from yesterday there… Dib rounded down a few flights of stairs, and came out on a level that had lost its cinder block charm. Here, the walls were plated in sheet metal. The air smelled decidedly of antiseptic, and had a dry, energetic buzz to it. Recessed florescent lighting lent a sickly glow to the place. Dib proceeded down the hall, past chambers that contained various odd pieces of equipment. There were egg-shaped capsules, cages ringed by energy beams, rooms with nothing but massive gun-like projections coming down from the ceiling. All of them were spotlessly clean, but not in use. Dib was fascinated, but passed them by. He had other concerns at the moment. Finally he approached the end of the hall, presented with a corridor running right, and one running left. A sign on the wall pointed in both directions, varying by numbers. Specimen numbers, Dib thought. What did that man say Zim’s was? Recalling the first few numbers, Dib started off to his right and hoped that it was the correct choice. It seemed like one could get lost easily in here. Soon he was passing by more rooms, really more like cells. They were large, rectangular recesses in the hallway, each strung with dozens of devices that looked to serve as life support and restraining devices all in one. But like the rooms before, they were all empty. Dib continued walking, seeing one part of the hallway ahead that was more brightly lit than the rest. Finally, Dib scampered up to a thing that he recognized: Zim. The Irken looked to be asleep, his eyes shut and his skin pale. He was hanging, suspended from the center of the cell, with a mask over his face, needles and tubes sticking out of his arms and legs. And he wasn’t wearing any clothes. At this realization, Dib instinctively flinched and put a hand up over his eyes out of decency. But peering through his fingers, he realized the Irken had no real… anatomy that he could see. Just smooth green skin, broken only by the tubes, and by a single line of large black stitches that ran up his chest. In the dim backglow that the devices produced, he looked entirely dead. Dib’s heart sank, a little disappointed. Would they have killed him that quickly? Was the autopsy already done with? With a low sigh, Dib let his arms rest at his sides, and he walked closer to the alien. But as he was about to step out of the hallway and into the recessed area, it felt like he walked clean into something, something hard and crackling with electricity. “YEOW!” Dib stumbled back, emotionally and physically shocked. A force field! Amazed, Dib reached a hand out, glancing against the barrier again, when he noticed he wasn’t the only thing moving. Zim was alive after all! The Irken twitched a little, then picked his head up under his own power. Slowly, his crimson eyes slid open, and focused.

                “DIB-WORM!” Zim howled, greatly muffled by the mask fitted over his face.

                Dib’s look soured. “Well, that didn’t take long.”

                “Filthy earth-creature!” the alien glared at him, arms winding uselessly in the air. “Do you realize what you have done to me?!”

                “Given you the fitting end that you deserve?” Dib bit back. “This is what you get for messing with Earth, Zim! Tell that to your leaders!”

                Zim’s eyes narrowed venomously. “I will not have the chance, Dib. They plan on keeping me here, alive with these crude devices, cutting me open day by day, testing and analyzing.”

                “And what were you thinking this would be, Zim?” Dib asked nonchalantly. “A quick few slices of a scalpel, and it’s all over? I’m GLAD they’re being so thorough. By the time the Swollen Eyeball’s through with you, if your ‘armada’ bothers showing up here, we’ll know exactly how to pick them apart.”

                Zim growled and clawed violently for Dib, his face pained as the needles moved in his skin. But rage was the emotion that overruled all others. “I think NOT Dib, your pitiful human brains couldn’t possibly comprehend Irken physiology! I would rather DIE here and now than have to know your ugly meat-filled face is staring at me in that room.”

                Dib turned as he heard footsteps coming from down the hallway, and grinned. “Sorry, alien scum.” he teased. “That room is waiting for both of us.”

 

               

And so Dib sat in his seat by the edge of the gallery again, and again watched as the same man in white proceeded to slice and probe and pierce and prod at the alien. Again, Zim wasn’t sedated, and again he put up a valiant struggle. Now without clothes, the steel bands that held him in place chafed his skin until it was raw. Dib’s earlier half-formed theories about the alien being a quick healer were correct indeed. Even after the treatment he received yesterday, the ragged scar that should have been across his chest was blurring, and he didn’t seem to be affected by the blood loss. Today’s treatment was far different, though. After a careful study of Zim’s x-rays from the day before, the man in white had cut out an entire rectangle of flesh, clearly exposing the working innards of the Irken. There was a long study on the specimen’s single internal organ, what Dib had identified as the squeedlyspooch, indeed. After that, he had, by accident as he was wiping up, discovered the alien’s adverse reaction to water. This was, of course, fascinating. A thorough study of such a characteristic left the alien’s body charred black, with oozing green sores breaking on his skin where the greatest exposure had been. But he healed quickly. By the time Dib had to leave again, the ruined skin had mostly flaked off, revealing fresh green underneath. So he left the alien in peace, and returned the next afternoon, this time able to sneak a small notepad past the guard. He spent the third day of the autopsy taking careful notes and sketches, concentrating his sight on the notepad and leaving his ears to tolerate Zim’s screaming and protesting. The noises were becoming increasingly irritating to him, and he started to wish that the man in white really would sedate or at least gag the Irken. Another day passed, and Dib began to notice that the alien wasn’t recovering as quickly as usual from the gauntlet of tests he was being subjected to. He wasn’t protesting as fiercely either. That was definitely a good thing, Dib noticed that Zim’s yowls tended to make him feel rather ill. It was good, then, that he could detach himself further from the process. Perhaps his treatment was finally starting to get to Zim! Dib and the autopsy conductor seemed to both be interested in the changes in data they would see while the alien was under extreme stress conditions. On the fifth day of the study, Dib had to leave the compound early, much against his will. Dad had ordered him to accompany Gaz to the mall to pick up a new cartridge for her Gameslave 2. Real life was becoming quite the obstacle to Dib’s ability to follow Zim’s autopsy closely. Skool simply didn’t interest him any longer, and he ignored the torment from Ms. Bitters that he usually received. He made sure to return on the sixth day right after skool was over, right after he had reached home, and allowed himself time to down an Ice Sucky. With the aftertaste of chocolate bubblegum in the back of his mouth, he found himself wandering down the now-familiar corridors of the containment floor, anxious to reach the cell of the lone occupant. But when Dib approached the barrier and flipped open his notepad, a very unusual sight greeted his eyes.

 

The difference in Zim’s appearance from the night before was almost startling. He looked… wrinkled, shriveled, like a skinny green raisin. Even his eyes looked a little smaller. Dehydration? But they were giving him food and water, or at least nutrients and fluids, through all of those tubes. Zim was staring straight back at him through half-lidded eyes, but did not respond. The antennae that drooped over the back of his head merely twitched, then fell still again. Dib arched an eyebrow questioningly, and pocketed the notepad for a moment. “Zim?” he asked, stepping closer. “You still alive, alien scum?”

A corner of Zim’s mouth twitched in obvious disgust. His answer was slow, his voice dry and cold. “Very much so, human filth-beast.” he growled through the mask. “Very much so.”

“You’re not looking so great Zim.” Dib noted with a hint of amusement. “Whatever happened to that Irken determination huh? This place finally starting to get to you?”

Zim returned none of the entertainment. Emotion, including even hatred, drained from his pale face. He took a moment before he replied, locking Dib in a hard stare. “It was only a matter of time from the beginning.” he stated matter-of-factly. “They removed my PAK on the first day…”

“That thing on your back?” Dib asked absently. “Sure, with all of the weapons you tote around in there. That thing was practically attached to you at the hip anyway.”

“… How many days has it been?” Zim asked.

“Six, Zim. Losing track of time already, hm?” Dib taunted.

Zim was lost in thought for a moment. “That’s… about right then… by your Earth time. My PAK is literally attached at the hip… or rather along the spine, worm-creature… We get ours the moment we’re born… It’s why we don’t have to eat, almost never have to sleep. Metabolizes all of our energy for us, for our entire lives…”

Dib quirked an eyebrow. Zim had never shared information like this with him before. Maybe that’s why he’d never seen Zim eating the lunches at skool…He was sure that the man in white probably hadn’t heard this either. He quickly jotted a few keywords down in his notepad. “Does it now? Heh, well then, I bet you’re missing it, aren’t you?”

“Whatever they have in these tubes…” Zim tugged on an arm and winced. “Is foreign… it doesn’t work. I haven’t had any food or fluid or rest--- for six days…”

Dib folded his arms, for the most part unimpressed. Six days was a long time to go without even food, to say nothing of water and sleep. But Zim was an alien too, who was to say that wasn’t normal for him? Maybe that would explain the dehydration, at least.

“Dib…” Zim started.

Dib was a little surprised by the near-whisper. Zim rarely addressed him by his name alone, without a threat or insult attached to it. Even more rare was the tone Zim was using. The alien sounded… tired.

“You must tell them… tell the man… to give me my PAK back again…”

“Hah, you must have lost it Zim!” Dib scorned. “With all of those devices packed in there, do you honestly think they’d just hand it over?”

Zim merely blinked in reply. “You must tell them.” he repeated lowly. “Otherwise… I only have a few more days left… they cannot keep me alive without it.”

“You’re bluffing.” Dib waved it off with a toss of a hand. “I don’t believe you for a second.”

Again, a neutral and calculating stare from the alien. “So…” he spoke. “Then you wish me to die.”

Here, Dib’s words caught in his throat. ‘Of course’ simply wouldn’t emerge from his mouth. But wasn’t that the truth? Hadn’t he wished for the Earth to be rid of that alien from the first day he’d seen him? The hollow and familiar sound of footsteps down the hall cut into his thoughts, and Dib stepped away from the force field. “Looks like I’m not the only one.” he replied simply.

 

 

Day seven found the Irken fainting from weakness towards the end of the day’s operations. Day eight found him barely protesting to having his arm nearly cut off at the shoulder. On day nine, Dib once again arrived early from skool. Instead of being confronted with a captive alien, Dib was presented with a trapped ghost in Zim’s cell. The Irken’s body had entirely stopped healing. Wounds were fresh and raw from the previous night, stitches lacing his body in thick black filament. The alien barely responded to Dib’s presence. His breath was dry and slow. His skin was now a sickly shower-scum green, his eyes growing pinkish. The holes in his skin where the needles had been inserted and reinserted were large and ringed with purplish bruises. His face was growing hollow, his body nearly skeletal. As Dib stood before the cell, taking copious notes, Zim’s glazed eyes somehow seemed to focus on him.

“You… must tell them…” he started, voice now a rattling whisper. Through the gas mask over his face, it was difficult to make things out clearly. “Get me… my PAK…”

“Again with the PAK thing?” Dib shook his head, not looking up from his notes. Dib continued scribbling away, only barely catching what could have been a whisper from Zim. Dib could have sworn that he heard a ‘please.’ Only then did he put down his pencil and look the withered alien in the eyes.

“Whatever happened to that whole ‘I’d rather die’ thing, hm Zim?”

The alien didn’t answer.

“So.” Dib folded his arms. “You’re asking me for help.”

Zim closed his eyes.

Dib stood in silence, turning the thought over in his mind. He remembered a few days ago, when the alien asked if Dib had wanted him dead. The answer to that question wasn’t clear at the time. It seemed even less clear now, if that was possible. That queasy feeling he’d gotten in his stomach when he heard Zim screaming, saw his blood dripping on the floor. Was that sympathy in him? Was that something telling him that the whole autopsy thing was wrong? Zim had told him a few days ago that without his PAK, he would only have a few days left. Well, those few days had passed. The alien certainly looked more like death warmed over than any time Dib had ever seen him before. This whole thinking thing would be a lot easier if that man in white would come down the hall and interrupt him. But there were no footsteps, at least not yet. Dib stared absently straight in front of him, unknowingly watching Zim’s chest rise and fall, his ribs shift against his split skin. Maybe Zim did deserve this battery of tests, but Dib realized that they’d learn little from him if the alien died, or stayed on the verge of it for so long. That, and something about the way Zim looked disturbed him. “Alright Zim.” he spoke lowly. “I’ll see if I can get it back.”

The alien twitched a little, his eyes sliding half-open again. He seemed to  nod, before he went back to resting.

Dib stood idly for a moment, and then checked his watch. The man in white was late today. What could be keeping him? Resorting back to his notepad, Dib began to observe things around him, make notes on devices in the cells. There was a low chuffing noise from Zim’s chamber, and he turned back to see one of the tubes activated. Fluid was pumping through it, into the alien’s neck. Zim winced as the process started up. Intrigued, but also slightly disgusted at the same time, Dib watched as the liquid from the tube flowed into the alien’s bloodstream. And slowly, the disgusted feeling in him began to rise as he saw the unhealed cuts on his body slowly begin to leak. Fluid-thinned blood started to seep through the stitches, and run down his dangling arms and legs. So that was what Zim had meant, his body really wasn’t processing whatever those tubes were feeding him. It merely drained right back out of him. Eww. Dib quickly jotted down some notes. Another tube was activated, and the goo started to drip down to the floor. Dib didn’t like this, didn’t like seeing this at all. This really wasn’t what he thought he would experience, witnessing an alien autopsy. Making an attempt to keep the alien alive was an interesting concept, but this was rather… inhumane? Did that even matter? Dib glanced nervously down the hall, waiting for the familiar sound of those footsteps. But he didn’t hear anything, except for the liquid flowing through the tubes, and the liquid dripping, drop by drop, onto the floor. Zim’s breathing sounded strained. Deciding that he wanted to find out just why the man was so late, Dib pocketed his notepad and walked away. He knew his way around these corridors pretty well, and he also knew where the man in white’s office was located. It was somewhere down here on the containment level… off to his right? No, his left. Yes, here it was. Dib pushed the door open to find the man already in his surgery garb, standing and observing a set of x-rays clipped to a lightboard on the wall.

“Oh, you again.” the man noted dully, glancing at Dib as he entered.

“You were late, I thought I’d come find you.” Dib gestured to his watch.

The man merely shrugged and went back to the x-ray sheets.

“I wanted to ask you something, about Zim.” Dib started. “It’s pretty obvious that his health is deteriorating. I’ve been able to study his behavior for all of the time that I’ve known him. It’s that mechanical backpack that helps him to metabolize energy, I think that’s why he’s not healing.”

“Sounds about right.” the man nodded, not looking away from the wall.

Dib frowned a little. “Umm, so… don’t you think it would be a good idea to… reinstall it?”

The scientist gave an uncaring shrug. “Probably best to let nature take its course at this point. We’ve gathered a great deal of information and sample material from the specimen already, it will take us years to analyze it completely.”

“You mean you’re just going to let him die?” Dib was massively confused.

“Young man, it would take a very large amount of resources to keep any alien life form alive.” the scientist shook his head. “The Swollen Eyeball needs that kind of money to go chase down leprechauns, you know.”

“Well… leprechauns are very mysterious…” Dib conceded. “But—“

“Standard policy, little boy.” the scientist shut off the lightboard and moved for the door. “We’ve already got a nice tank of embalming fluid ready for our current specimen. He’ll be much more useful to us dead, at this point, than alive. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go use the little coroner’s room before we begin the final stage of the procedure…” The man in white exited, leaving Dib very confused, alone in his office.

“Final procedure?” Dib repeated aloud. Were they intent on killing Zim tonight? Dib’s first reaction was one of horror. How could they just kill him, or leave him alone in that cell to die? Then, Dib realized that he was the one who had Zim captured,  he was the one who had sat up in that gallery and just waited for the alien’s death. He thought he’d get it outright, why was he so disturbed that it was just coming more slowly? Dib wasn’t sure why, but he knew that something about this was wrong. Something had to be done. If that scientist wouldn’t give Zim his PAK, Dib would get it for him, by himself. With a determined huff, Dib scooted out of the office and further down the corridor. They had walked past a storage area before, and the man had mentioned something about Zim’s belongings being in there. Dib found the door, and slipped his security card through a scanner on the wall. With a hiss, the sheet metal door pulled itself up into the ceiling, revealing a room beyond full of empty cubbies. Empty except for one. In a far corner was Zim’s PAK, the only other thing he’d had with him besides his clothes. Dib pushed an inverted cardboard box over and stood on it, to be able to snag the PAK, and run back out of the room, hugging it close to his chest. He didn’t stop running until he’d reached Zim’s cell again. By the time he arrived, he was out of breath. “Zim!” Dib panted. “I got it!”

Zim’s eyes rolled open halfway again, and he gave Dib a slow nod.

“We have to hurry Zim, that guy’s coming to kill you.” Dib explained, searching for some way to get past that force field. There had to be some way of shutting it off… He glanced up to see a shadow of confusion crossing Zim’s face. Yeah, he knew it sounded pretty weird. Dib was actually saving Zim? He wasn’t exactly sure what was driving him either. There! On the wall, there was another access panel. But this one didn’t have a scanner for his card, it was a keyed panel, something accessed by a code of numbers. Password? Dib didn’t know the password, he’d never cared to look when that man was in the process of removing Zim from the cell. Stupid stupid stupid! Dib started trying anything he could think of, buzzing over combinations with his fingers, but none of them worked. He forced himself to stand back, and to take a breath and think. When he approached the panel again, Dib punched in what he thought was Zim’s specimen number. With a mechanical whirr, the force field glowed for a moment in blue, and then faded to nothingness. Zim’s body sagged closer to the floor as the cables in the ceiling lengthened to let him down. Dib took a quick glance down the hall, hoping that Mr. Autopsy wasn’t headed this way. He probably wouldn’t be pleased that Dib was interrupting the experiment. But what did Dib care anymore? He adjusted Zim’s PAK in his hands, and jogged over to the Irken, turning him slightly to face his back. Lines of stitches ran across here too, sections of flesh having been previously cut along his backbone, the vertebrae and ribs lumped obviously beneath his dry skin. There were two holes in his spine, ringed with metal like they were for a giant plug. And two prongs poked out of the back of the PAK. Seemed simple enough. Turning the device to make sure it was right side up, Dib pushed the prongs in, and took a step back. The PAK whirred mechanically, then glowed with a soft magenta light.

Zim’s eyes opened quickly, and he gasped in a breath.

“Well, that’s that.” Dib started, when a distant noise interrupted him. Footsteps! Dib’s mind started to race. “Pull yourself together Zim, we’re getting out of here…” Dib reached up and pulled on one of Zim’s arms, starting to pluck the needles and tubes out as quickly as he could. Zim whined softly, but didn’t or couldn’t pull away. As the tubes were disconnected, fluid spilled out of them, making the floor slippery. And needle by needle, Zim was finally lowered to the ground. The Irken, looking disoriented, made an attempt to stand. His wobbly and nearly sliced-through knees refused to hold him, and he went thudding to the floor face-first. Dib unceremoniously hauled him up, ignoring the dry protests, and looped a skeleton-thin arm over his shoulders. Those footfalls were becoming much louder now, he’d hate to have to run into the security they must have kept in this place… Shoes squeaking on the floor, Dib darted from the cell and was off down the hall, as fast as he could move with the nearly invalid Irken weighing him down. He could feel goo, whether it was blood or something from the tubes, seeping from Zim’s arm into his trenchcoat. Dib was nearly through the containment corridor, and ducked aside into a stairwell as he started a two-floor climb back up to the main level. But here he faced another problem: there would be others up there, at least that oddly disguised security girl. How was he supposed to get an alien out of a base made for the study of aliens? On a stairwell landing, Dib paused, propping Zim against the wall as he stood back a few paces, and began to remove his coat. Zim didn’t appear to be getting better very quickly, if at all. Some of the hundreds of stitches on his body had torn in all of the hustle and bustle. His eyes, though slightly more focused, were still dull. Loosely gripping the handrail, he half-sunk back to the floor, antennae dragging on the cinder block wall, watching Dib silently. “Here.” Dib thrust the coat at him. “You’d better make like a human if you wanna get out of here in one piece.” Dib ended up having to drape the trenchcoat over Zim’s shoulders before starting to haul him along again. “Just don’t go and bleed all over it.” he warned, serious. Finally, they reached the main floor. Back in the dimmer cinder block halls, Dib felt a little bit safer. There was just the security desk… no running through there. Approaching it, Dib slowed to a painfully normal walking speed, whistling loudly as he proceeded through the scanning portal.

The woman-or old man- behind the desk cleared her throat loudly. “And you two are both checking out for the day?”

“Y-yes we are…” Dib started, flashing the guard his ID card.

The guard screwed an eye up at it, then turned her gaze to Zim, who was turtled as far as he could be into the trenchcoat. “And what about you?”

“Oh, heh!” Dib laughed. “This is… my cactus! Just taking it home for a little water, hehe…”

“Your cactus wears a trenchcoat?” the guard frowned heavily.

“Well, have you seen the sun today?” Dib tried. “I wouldn’t want it getting sunburn on the ride home…”

“It’s a CACTUS.” the guard growled. “And why does your cactus have eyes?”

                “Um… all the better to see you with?” Dib attempted.

                “There he is!” a voice suddenly shouted from down the hall.

                Dib spun to see the man in white running for him, backed up by five or six of those men in the black body armor that had originally helped in Zim’s capture.

                “That’s him, the kid with the gigantic head! DESTROY HIMMMMMMM!!”

                “Gah!” Dib spun around again and broke into a run, reaching into the pocket of his trenchcoat to fish out the transport he’d used to come here. He pulled a disk the size of a quarter out of his pocket, and tossed it in front of him. It hit the ground, and suddenly widened and levitated up just a few inches. Dib hopped onto it, hauling Zim after him quickly. “Whoo, pocket-sized teleportation pad. You owe me bigtime, alien.” And with that, the pair vanished in a flash of light, blinding the guards who were rushing them, and sending them tumbling over one another like fleshy dominos.

 

 

To be continued…