Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No one was having a good day onboard the Galactic Way Station.

Not the tall, one-eyed alien looking confused and nervous, not the two slightly disgruntled looking holograms looming over the Station’s Bridge, and certainly not the two individuals suspended in war grade Containment Units and bound up in straight-jackets for good measure.

Dib wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve this, but the jacket was overkill. His nose itched. When he asked for someone to do something about it, he realised that the cylinder of buzzing pink energy that he floated in was somehow sound-proofed. He would have been mad about that, but Zim was in the Containment Unit over and the Irken Invader’s furious, foaming melt-down was perfectly muted and that was the only good thing to come out of the day.

His plans for the week hadn’t really accounted for alien abduction. He had been on the very cusp of winning that internet argument against Agent Batflaps on the TruthShrieker subreedit when aliens had blown his door straight off its hinges, tore apart his room like an extraterrestrial typhoon and then bore down on him when there had been nothing left to demolish. 

Dib had barely managed to grab his alien-hunting briefcase before he had been seized and dragged away through another completely unnecessary hole in his bedroom wall.

Fear permeated his every cell. Gaz was going to kill him for that mess.

“I’m sure we’re all very busy, so perhaps we should start?”

It was the tall, blue alien with the one eye that spoke. He wore a colourless, nondescript robe that went all the way down to the polished floor and a pair of scythe-like arms that he rubbed together nervously. When no one replied, the alien awkwardly cleared his throat and turned his red eye downward at the little robot by his side.

“SON, let’s start the proceedings.”

The robot called ‘SON’ slapped a hand to its chest and opened the panel there, pushing a brightly coloured button with much aplomb. The Bridge suddenly flooded with levitating monitors that jostled for space as they bore down on the small group. Dib tried to back up, but the energy field kept him floating soundly in place.

“Star Date 5, Cycle 17:23-7.5!” the robot announced brightly, all smiles. “Irken-Urthen Treaty Arbitration! Observing Inquisitorian: Inquisidore the Onlooker!”

The alien called Inquisidore bowed formally to his holographic guests. “For the Archives, I’d like to introduce… Sir Hyuman of Urth, and the Almighty Tallest of the Irken Empire.”

“I gots soup in my hat,” the first hologram said grandly. Dib gaped at the familiar hulking figure of his local Hobo, brown hat dripping what looked like split-pea soup down his craggy face and into his beard, a rat gnawing unhindered at his earlobe.

The single, lofty Irken in the second hologram blinked slowly, one ruby eyeball at a time, wobbling inexplicably as his long uniform flapped like an empty sock under him. It was always hard to tell with Irkens, but Dib swore the alien wasn’t even looking at them, mouth slightly ajar, worm-like tongue hanging and his antenna crooked.

“Uh, good day. I am… Tallest Stretch, that’s me,” the Irken offered, jaw flapping unnaturally.

“Oh,” was all the Inquisitorian managed, visibly fighting a grimace. “I had no idea there was a new Tallest.”

“Yes, that’s me. Tallest Stretch. ”

“Please commit that to the Archives,” Inquisidore said weakly to his SON unit. He was given a thumbs up.

The Inquisitorian sucked in a deep breath and began.

“Three Interstellar sub-cycles ago,” he announced clearly, “99.3% of our poor, innocent galaxy was struck with an energy event of catastrophic proportions. The Gellaxis wobble-meter recorded a severity magnitude of Very Bad. The event lasted for two hours, thirty seven minutes and twelve seconds, enough time to spread what many thought to be immeasurable destruction across the galaxy.”

The alien coughed modestly.

“Naturally, we measured it,” he said proudly. “My SON unit will now submit as evidence the horrible tragedies that were the result of the energy event.”

Every floating monitor in the room lit up at once. A galaxy worth of wanton destruction and chaos thundered at them in a horrible montage, cities collapsing, stars going supanova, an alien orphanage collapsing, one too many jump-cuts.

It went on entirely too long until the mono-eyed alien gestured with one of his mantis arms and the screens all paused, the last frozen image of disaster pressing down on the containment units like an accusatory jury. 

Dib tried valiantly not to throw up. Zim, from his own stasis field, looked vaguely proud. 

“Of course I must highlight one incident on behalf of our primary plaintiff,” Inquisidore continued grimly. “The energy event was so severe that the Meekrob, energy-beings of planet Meekrob, were critically incapacitated for a full two and a half sub-cycles. I’m told the timing was very... problematic.”

“Horrible injustice!” Tallest Stretch lamented, head lolling and mouth not really moving at all.

“Rest assured,” Inquisidore the Onlooker said placatingly, “after decoding the energy signature into a less destructive wavelength, we were able to pinpoint the two terrible criminals responsible. See: Exhibit A and Exhibit B. Let the record show that this refers to one… Invader Zim of the Irken Empire and, um, Dib of Urth.” 

Dib’s blood ran cold. The day and its terrible circumstances were suddenly thrown into focus; he was being blamed for… whatever chaos had just been punched into his eyeballs. His brain whirred backwards through all of Zim’s most recent plans. Nothing stood out. Not the platoon of earthworms with doom-drills instead of heads, not that thing with the kneecap harvester, not the theft of the planet’s bean supply… Zim had been keeping his chaotic evil to planet scale, and Dib watched him too obsessively to have missed something like a galaxy wide energy-bomb.

There had to have been a mistake.

To their left, the hologram of Tallest Stretch began to grow, suddenly looming over the proceedings like a flickering giant. His drooping face filled the room, big enough for everyone to see the persistent, weak quiver of one of his eyelids.

“Let them speak, Inquisitorian,” the hologram said intently. “We wish to know. How did you do it, Little Zam? An energy-blast that destructive… You can tell your Tallest, can’t you?” 

Zim was already kicking and spitting in the containment unit. The tall Inquisitorian visibly hesitated, then winced as he motioned at the Containment Unit with his scythe-arm.

The energy barrier wobbled and sound immediately burst out of it at ear-rupturing volume.

“-ELEASE ME THIS INSTANT, VILE, HIDEOUS PIG-BEASTS! YOU DARE DISRESPECT MEEE? WITH THESE ALLEGATIONS?! YOU?! MEEEE?! YOU DISRESPECT ZIM?!” Zim’s voice fluctuated wildly as the Inquisitorian struggled with the volume control. “And what is this?! Stretch is no Tallest! He’s barely taller than I am! And too ugly! Get out of the way, insolent Squiz-florp! Where are my Tallest?! MY TALLEST?! They will prove my innocence, bring them to meee!” 

“We have you on record,” Inquisidore the Onlooker said as loudly as he dared over the racket.

“YOU CAN’T PROVE ANYTHING!” Zim burst out instantly.

The tall alien frowned. He waved forward the largest of the hover-screens and angled it forward. Zim blinked, silently staring at the squiggly line emblazoned on the monitor. The Inquisitorian pressed play.

The room erupted in a din that caused everyone on board to wince.

“MY TALLEST?! ANSWER ME MY TALLEST!! I CAN’T HELP BUT NOTICE YOU’RE STILL MISSING! HEY! HEY! MY TALLEST?! IT IS I, ZIM! ZIM IS CALLING! ZIM IS ME! ARE YOU OUT THERE?! HEY! MY TALLEST, GIVE ME A SIGN! A TEXT! A POSTCARD! HEY! MY TALLEST?! WHERE ARE YOOU-”

… It all came back to Dib in a flood of recollection and his stomach bottomed out with dread. He was still sorting through his fragmented memories when the audio very clearly got to the part where Past Dib had burst in and tackled Past Zim to the ground.

When the broadcast was finally paused, the captive Irken stared at the monitor with round eyes, once more still and attentive.

“... This ‘ Zim’ ,” Zim said with a serious, solemn expression, “While he does sound incredibly cool, that sure was incriminating. We can only hope this evil but impressively loyal culprit is found.”

“This one is an idiot, let us speak to the other,” Tallest Stretch said curtly.

The Containment Unit buzzed uncomfortably as it released its sound dampeners. Dib was ready.

“You’re making a mistake!” he shouted instantly, kicking for good measure. “Don’t believe him, his creepy little claws were all over this! I was there, trying to stop him! That was me saving the Earth - wait no, the whole Universe! Who knows what would have happened if I wasn’t there, it would have been horrible! Even more horrible, I guess!”

“Explain to us what occurred, fleshy meat child,” the Irken hologram said forcefully. He was so large within the room, so uncomfortable to look at with his limp, flopping tongue, Dib’s brain short-circuited a little.

“What, from the beginning?” he stammered nervously.

“Speak!”

“Geez, okay. No need to yell. I don’t know about an energy event or whatever, but that’s definitely Zim over there, and that was definitely him on the recording! I followed him in my ship all the way out into deep space to some big, mysterious alien relic because I knew whatever he was up to, he had to be stopped! It’s kind of my thing. Anyway, I think it was some kind of super transmitter because he was using it to try and reach his evil leaders - no offense - and direct them back to Earth. He does that a lot, you know, it’s getting kind of old.”

“HE LIES!”

“Give it up, Zim, this is your fault!”

“That whole energy blast was just… you broadcasting missives?” Inquisidore the Onlooker managed to ask, aghast.

“No, no. That wasn’t me, that was Zim. I was the one interfering. You know, pushing buttons, pulling all the cables out. Some stuff blew up, I guess. I didn’t even know it was a problem until some aliens came and kicked my door down back on Earth.”

“I have a bucket, you know,” the Hobo announced to the room, using a bent fork to pick his nose.

The room stared at one another awkwardly.

“In summary,” the tall Inquisitorian attempted when the silence grew too uncomfortable, “the catastrophic events of Star Date 5, Cycle 15:20-32 were the result of some deeply incompetent individuals doing some deeply stupid things along a broad-wave transmitter of unknown origins for reasons unrelated to anything. They were neither affiliated to a greater cause nor collaborating with one another.”

“Yes,” Zim said.

“That’s right,” Dib agreed.

“Throw them out the airlock,” Tallest Stretch said mercilessly.

“What about me, huh?!” the Hobo asked suddenly, jabbing his fork at the room testily. “I was told there’d be corn! Where’s my corn, huh?!”

“You may now begin negotiations over Reparations,” Inquisidore the Onlooker said primly with a nod.

Both holograms immediately started complaining over one another, the strange little SON unit attentively recording every word, avidly soaking in every inane statement. Dib tried to follow the proceedings with horror. From what he could tell, the debate was to figure out who was ultimately responsible for the chaotic energy-bomb and, by extension, who was going to pay for the damages. It didn’t take much mental acuity to realise that somehow the Hobo was representing Earth. The Hobo, it was worth pointing out, was currently complaining about rat-men stealing his spoons.

“You are such a moron!” Dib snapped angrily to his right, because it could never, ever be said enough. Not so far away from him in the other Containment Unit, Zim scowled back at him.

“Me?!” the furious Irken spat. “Everything was going to plan until you showed up!”

“What plan, huh?! You were just going to shout across space-time until your precious leaders showed up, was that it?!”

“Your puny monkey brain has no hope of comprehending the magnitude of my evil genius!”

“We’re probably going to Space Prison because of your idiot plan-”

The tall Inquisitorian was suddenly between the two Containment Units and frowning at them disapprovingly.

“Now, boys,” he chided. “Arbitration is still in session. Inside voices, please.”

Despite looking like a very tall mantis in a bathrobe, Dib could tell that the alien historian was probably the most sensible person in the room. He cleared his throat and tried to appeal to the creature’s intellect.

“Hey, you seem like a reasonable… insect… alien,” Dib attempted carefully, ignoring the disgusted look Zim shot him from the other Containment Unit. “I think there’s been a terrible mistake. I really don’t have anything to do with… whatever’s going on here. And it’s getting pretty late. Can I get a lift home? I left my ship back on Earth.”

“I’m just an Observer, I’m afraid,” the scholar replied tactfully. “Also, we have impounded the Irken Voot Cruiser in the docking bay. We assumed… uh, that the pair of you were working together. And that you would share.”

“The stink-meat? In MY ship? I’d rather drown in the gooey gastric juices of a Biflorvian Acid Blob!” Zim spat spitefully from his stasis field.

“Can you not be a giant jerk for 5 minutes, huh?!” Dib snapped back, feet kicking.

“Irken-Urthen Treaty Arbitration: Star Date 5 Cycle 17:23-7.5! Official Agreement reached! Submitting to the Grand Archives!”

The announcement came from the little Envoy. As they watched, the small robot blinked his eye rapidly as if to clear it, then gave his surprised master a thumbs up. The holoscreens abruptly vacated the bridge, careening back to the docking panels they had spawned from. The room was strangely cold and hollow without them.

SON closed his chest panel with a clang and passed up a single datapad to his master. The archivist nervously held it up to his one red eye.

“Oh, this is… unexpected,” he said.

“Get on with it,” Tallest Stretch said. The Irken was now drooling, great rivulets of saliva dribbling down his green chin. One eye was slowly sliding closed.

“Are... you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

Inquisidore cleared his throat.

“As reparations for the terrible Energy Event of Star Date 5,” he summarised for the room, “the Irken Empire guarantees full independence and immunity to Urth and its entire surrounding sector.”

“Eh?” Zim managed.

“Along with a Grade S quarantine matrix around said sector for protection purposes. Also one medium-sized bag full of… ‘corn’. Urth finds this agreeable?”

“I gots me corn.”

“EH?!” Zim heaved, the sound coming direct and raw from his larynx.

“And what about the guilty parties?” Inquisidore asked, clearly confused. “What about our two highly disagreeable friends here in Containment?”

“Throw them out the airlock,” Tallest Stretch said again, firmer this time.

“I’m afraid we don’t kill felons here on the Way Station, but there is the debt to consi-”

“Fine, fine,” the hologram interrupted. “The Irken Zim and his accomplice the Dib-human are to be Banished forever into Weird Space, yadda-yadda-blah-blah, exile status to be nulled only by the collective repayment of...”

The pause grew pregnant. Inquisidore hastily checked his datapad and offered, “One Shmillion in damages.”

“... One Shmillion monies paid in full to… Oh, I don’t know, uh… the Orphan Restoration and Replacement Fund. Or something.”

“Exile?! But you can’t exile Zim! My mission!” Zim wailed, outrage and horror battling for dominance on his green face.

“I was saving the Galaxy, you can’t banish me for that!” Dib objected with as much emotion.

“Of course we can, irritating child,” Tallest Stretch drooled. 

“Haw, I know that kid!” the Hobo suddenly said, giving Dib a toothless grin. “Hey, kid! You got some change?”

Both holograms winked out simultaneously. 

Dib blinked, stunned, one shmillion monies poorer and quite suddenly an intergalactic pariah.

This was not how he saw his day ending.

- 22 HOURS LATER -

“This is all your fault, Zim!”

“MY fault?! Wretched human! It was your soup-brained meddling that ruined everything! Of all the - stupid - pitiful-”

“You just can't admit that your precious Tallest got sick of you screwing everything up like a loser-”

“LIES!”

“-when the rest of your creepy little race have conquered half the-”

“MORE LIES!”

“-galaxy before you could-”

“FILTHY LIEEEES!”

Ugly neon lights flickered weakly.

“... You know what, Zim? You suck.”

“And your putrid word hole makes me sick, get out of my ship!”

“Hey, quit it, why wo-!”

“GET THE HELL OFF MY SIGN!” the pump supervisor shouted, shaking a balled tentacle up at them.

The battered Voot Cruiser, it's control visor dented and open, coughed a worrisome amount of smoke out into the tiny, artificial atmosphere. It was wedged firmly in what used to be the gas station’s neon sign.

One of the Voot’s rear panels creaked and snapped off, taking quite a chunk of still blinking ‘Super-Strength-Space-Fuel!’ sign with it. The cascade of wreckage barely missed the seven-foot alien that stood below with the fuel-pump. He gaped up at his gas station's decimated billboard.

Dib and Zim clambered down from the destruction to land on the worn and stained deck. 

The tiny refuelling depot had the faded, exhausted look of a place carrying the weight of too much time and not enough movement. Dib tried not to look up; the cold vacuum of space was only yards away, held at bay by some unseen and probably run-down artificial atmosphere generator. The miniature bubble of stale air really wasn't big enough. Zim didn't appear nervous. Dib pretended that he wasn't.

The pump supervisor lifted one of the hundreds of tentacles he balanced upon and pointed wordlessly at the lodged Cruiser. His great gaping mouth was slack with rage and disbelief. 

Zim turned to look. 

Zim turned back, oblivious, and tossed the Voot's key at the alien. It bounced off his chest-plate and clattered to the ground by his tentacle ends.

“Extract my ship, Fuel-drone, and fill its innards with the inferior sludge your ugly race considers fuel,” Zim ordered loftily, then marched past the gaping alien. “I shall be in the SNACKATARIUM when you are done,” he hollered dramatically to no one in particular. The door to the gas-station chimed as he disappeared inside.

“I'm gonna eat me a buffalo!” GIR cheered, falling from the Cruiser and landing quite violently on his head with a hollow clang. The S.I.R unit sprang up happily and then ran across the landing pad to follow. Rather more sedately, Minimoose drifted down with a complacent squeak. The attendant gaped after the Irken trio, speechless.

Dib remained where he had landed. At some point the squid alien reluctantly slid past him to begin the arduous climb up the billboard’s scaffolding. Its myriad of tentacles turned into a writhing and churning mess as it toiled up the signpost. The struggle was hypnotic to watch, the lumbering thing barely making it a foot before it’d tie itself into futile knots over and over again.

Dib was still processing.

He’d just been shot into the dark corners of space with a Shmillion dollar debt between him and his home planet. It was only a few days ago that Skool had been approaching the end of semester, that the weather had been beginning to turn and that life had felt… normal. The kind of normal he had come to expect with an alien imposter sitting in the front row of his homeroom, plotting the subjugation of humanity between classes. Now he was an intergalactic pariah, exiled for some terrible disaster he was only fractionally responsible for... Maybe 25% his fault. Tops.

He should have known the Gargantis Array was bad news.

Massive, ancient alien relics were worth missing an episode of Mysterious Mysteries for. Dib hadn’t even been sure what the Irken Invader was intending, only that the Array had looked really cool and intimidating and Zim’s exposition was particularly bombastic that day. 

How was Dib to know that the relic was a transmitter, designed to broadcast a signal - any signal at all - to all areas of space simultaneously? Or that Zim was using it to try and contact his missing evil Leaders. Or that messing with the controls would do weird things to the target frequency. Or that falling into the fluctuation field would overload the whole structure.

It was bad, but was it exile bad?  Dib’s finely tuned Investigative instincts told him that something fishy was definitely going on.

… What was with the so-called Almighty Tallest? He had seen Zim’s leaders once before. A pair of them, as lofty as their namesake promised and bone-chilling with their matching expressions of callous, cruel disdain.

The figure on the hologram had been… not good. Dib was pretty sure the Irken had been unconscious the whole time, held upright by some unseen crutch. No one’s head flopped around on their neck that much while awake, and the way his mouth didn’t move when he talked? A dead giveaway. Dib hadn’t seen any strings, so that begged the question…

“Can aliens be possessed?” he asked aloud. “Are there space-ghosts? Can spirits survive in the cruel, cold vacuum of space? Interesting. That’s worth a closer look.”

“Are you talking to yourself?” the pump attendant demanded from the billboard. Dib glanced around and then shrugged.

“I… I do that sometimes.”

The squid alien curled a rubber lip in thinly veiled disgust and snarled at him. As slowly as his nervousness would allow, Dib backed away over to the grime-encrusted double doors of the depot and, with one last furtive look behind him, shouldered his way through.

He was greeted with what may have been the universe’s filthiest eat-in diner. Tiny bugs flew lazily around the ceiling, unperturbed by the single fan that did little more than nudge the thick air around. Weird, twisted alien technology bulged from the stained tables and countertops like roaches nesting. There was a glowing screen above the kitchen pass-through that was covered in incomprehensible alien text. A tray had fallen face-down on the ground at the foot of the counter, the spattered food stretched across the floor space where the legacy of ancient feet had passed through it. 

In one of the distant, rounded booths, Dib spied a pair of familiar antennae. He made his way over to the table and stopped at the edge to glare. 

If Zim heard him arrive, he didn’t let it show. 

Most of the tabletop was taken up by a hologram of the galaxy. To Dib’s left, GIR sucked noisily at a shake while Minimoose slowly rotated on the spot, bulbous eyes unfocused. On his right, Zim pushed some unidentified sludge about on his tray with a fork. 

“Curses!” the Invader fumed. “Those horrible traitors shot me so deep into Weird Space it’ll take me aeons to return to Earth! I can’t afford to be away for that long!”

“So where is Weird Space exactly?” Dib asked, poking at a little glowing star with a fingertip. The alien froze at the sound of his voice, then visibly bristled as if only just remembering the company he kept.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, human?” Zim asked with a sneer. 

“No, I really don’t,” Dib responded flatly, instantly irritated. 

The imperious little Irken had already turned away. He stabbed his fork at a cluster of lights on the holo-image, alone with himself once more. “Here is where it'll be easiest to repair the Voot. A better jump drive will be essential if I’m to make the trip back to Earth... But it is so far away! Hrngh, to be such a sorry distance from anything of importance! The Tallest mustn't have realised how infeasible the journey would be when they assigned me my planet! They could be trying to contact me at my Base right now!”

Dib slid his way into the booth opposite his arch-enemy and tried to collect himself. GIR shuffled closer, inhaling his shake with such a ferocious suction that he was making the entire table vibrate. Two glowing cyan visors drilled unblinking into the side of Dib’s head.

It was hard to think with the little robot ogling him so intently and Zim spewing a constant stream of delusion; the human turned his attention downwards and stared instead at the discarded tray of vile, twitching matter that was posing as edibles.

It had been nearly two days since he’d eaten.

Dib pulled the tray closer to his side of the table, careful not to touch the dripping edges, and rifled around in his coat pocket. The analysis probe was still a little dirty from the last weird alien junk he’d shoved it in, but he wiped it down as best he could with a napkin and turned it on. He dropped it unceremoniously into the slop and waited.

WARNING - Toxic. The small screen blinked red at him.

“-will have to request that- eh? What do you think you're doing, Earth-stink?” Zim demanded, curious.

“What is this stuff? Is this even food?!” Dib wondered aloud in horror.

“Of course it is! It's all perfectly delicious food-stuffs,” Zim replied. “What's the matter, Dib? Your poor weak earth guts too fwibbly to handle the superiority of real food?”

“It has a dish-cloth in it,” Dib pointed out. He used a spoon to lift the fizzing scrap of material for inspection.

“For the texture,” Zim retorted quickly.

“I can't eat this! I'm going to starve if I don’t find something normal!”

There was a delicate pause.

“Your voice is gross,” the Irken announced. “And I don't care about your stupid problems. I have to get back to Earth quickly! It’s been months since I last gave the Tallest an update on my mission status - they’ll be worried sick.”

“Nyeh!”

“Argh, that’s even worse!” Zim moaned. Dib knew his mouth had fallen open, but it took some time to find the words.

“I don't believe this!”

“Eh?” was Zim's eloquent reply.

“There's no mission to go back to, Zim! Earth is under that galactic treaty thing, or nature reserve or... or whatever it is! And did you miss the part about being banished? Even if that didn’t matter, the whole sector has immunity now! From you!”

“Treaty-Schmeety,” Zim said simply, flapping an unimpressed hand.

“Y-You're such a MORON!” Dib garbled, gripping fistfuls of hair in unbridled frustration.

A shadow fell over the table.

“Thank you for stopping at JrrvlAarvch's Super Strength Space-Fuel depot,” the waitress droned, a squat alien with a screw protruding grotesquely from her skull. A gaudy bow had been tied around it. She raised a stained pad and squinted at it before adding, “The meal and supplies loaded onto your ship come to 130 monies, the service fee is 20. The fuel amounts to 200.”

“Yes, yes, take my paything and be AWAY WITH YOU,” Zim hollered as he handed over a small card. The waitress took it with an eye roll and turned to her reader. As if she wasn’t there, Zim continued, “I’ll have you know, Dib-monkey, that this sham treaty has no power over the Irken Armada! Nothing can keep your pathetic planet safe from Zim! NOTHING! And when the Tallest come back and punish that drooling upstart Stretch, there will be nowhere for these pathetic, inferior sub-species to run to that will save them from-”

The alarm killed the threat before it could be finished. Dib and Zim turned to stare at the waitress.

“It’s been, like, declined,” she said flatly.

“Declined?! Me?” Zim sputtered. “Nonsense, give it here!”

Zim’s PAK clicked open and a long metal cord snaked out with a strange pad on the end. It had barely come to a halt in front of him before the Irken was smashing the purple card into the waiting slot on top.

A little display blinked into life. A modest total appeared on it.

“There, you see, Service Minion?!” Zim announced with a grandiose hand wave. “Zim has plenty of-”

The number was greyed out, the universal language of locked. Under it appeared a flurry of activity that took a moment to process; another number, impossibly large and still growing, careened so far into the negatives that mathematics lost all meaning. Eventually the zeroes fell off the end of the floating display and Zim gave a hyperventilating shriek that rattled glass.

“YAAAAY, we DESTITUTE!” GIR cheered, head spinning a full rotation.

Zim clawed at his cheeks furiously.

“My monies!!” he wheezed. “What is this?! Why won’t it stop?! How can this BEEE?!”

“This is just pathetic,” Dib muttered angrily, whatever patience he had mustered well and truly exhausted. “The debt, Zim. Remember? You and me were both fined for your dumb plan with the Gargantis Array! Look, it says it right here: a Shmillion! See? How do you forget this stuff?!”

Zim's eyes snapped wide and his mouth snapped shut. Sedately, the Invader knitted his few fingers together and settled primly into the booth, antennae perked and his mouth a tiny line of silence. The change should have been deeply alarming, but Dib was too angry with the universe to notice.

“Why yes,” Zim said slowly, carefully. “However will Zim pay.”

The diner's door chimed once, sickly.

A faded purple alien with a pair of limp, pale horns was in the doorway. It was roughly Irken sized, but it filled the entryway by virtue of sitting on an enormously complicated hoverchair, suspended in place with a persistent green glow from its exhausts. He lifted a visor from his eyes and peered myopically around the diner as if he were very, very lost.

It was hard not to stare. Dib realised belatedly that he’d left his briefcase - more specifically, his camera - back in the Voot that was only just getting dropped unceremoniously to the landing pad. He watched as the alien hovered slowly through the diner, obviously looking for something. He examined each empty booth, eyeballed every dirt-stain on the ceiling. When he got to the back of the filthy restaurant, a mechanical arm extended out of his hover-chair and slowly opened the restroom door. He peered suspiciously into it and, after a tense pause, the curious old alien moved on.

Dib rotated in his seat to follow his meandering journey, deeply curious.

“Are you gonna pay or what?!” the waitress demanded, planting herself squarely in Dib’s line of sight. He shrunk from her, retreating so far into the leather seat that it squeaked.

“Uh, about that,” he began uncomfortably, turning back. “Hey, Zim what do we-”

The opposite chair was empty.

A horrible, surreal silence opened up around Dib like a yawning chasm, broken only when the sound of an engine roaring to life rumbled through the walls of the diner. He shoved aside the disgruntled waitress and clambered to the other side of the restaurant; pressed against the window, he watched in disbelief as the Voot lifted off the landing pad, Zim and his minions settling into the cockpit.

“ZIM YOU JEEEEERK!” Dib screamed, fingernails skittering down the glass. The Irken took a moment to wave evilly, and then he burst into laughter so loud and harsh it could be heard over the ship’s engines. 

As the Voot Cruiser hovered there, pilot relishing his moment, there was just enough time to see a dark shape lingering at the back of the ship before it slipped from sight. The panel to the cargo hold was snapped shut by a shaggy, black arm.

“Oh dear...” the old alien sighed, suddenly beside Dib at the window. He pulled down the green battle-visor over his eyes and pointed dramatically at the Voot. “Stop that Cruiser!”

Dib didn't need telling twice. His only transportation in the whole dark, scummy galaxy was lifting off without him, and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he barrelled across the diner and out the door.

Zim stopped laughing at the sight of Dib skidding across the landing pad. Slowly, tongue lolling out of his evil, wide grin, the little green alien lowered a finger to press the controls before him. With a ship-jarring jolt, the Voot exploded into motion and shot off into space.

Dib heard someone screaming obscenities, and it took a few moments before he realised that it was him. He fell to his knees in disbelief.

“Well, shucks,” the purple alien said with the same level of emotion as if he’d missed the bus.

“I-I just don't believe this...” Dib stuttered. He stared at the landing pad and tried very hard to wrap his head around what had just happened. 

Zim. Zim had just stiffed him on the bill and left him to rot in the middle of galactic nowhere.

This was what doom looked like. Dib didn’t have Tak’s ship to help him translate alien texts, had negative money, couldn't eat the food, didn't know a Bloober from a Splore or whatever they were, and...

His briefcase was still in the Voot. This was infinitely worse than the (admittedly inevitable) betrayal from Zim. That sturdy, laden case was full of all of Dib’s most useful tools and tech. It held his laptop , the very thing that stored his journals, files, research and, most importantly, earth's coordinates and the access codes to the Membrane satellite system.

That tiny, tenuous link to his old life had just disappeared into the stars.

“I'll get you for this, Zim,” Dib promised, fists clenched so tight that they shook.

“Zim? That little Irken twit?” the ancient alien asked casually. He squinted at Dib’s face and shook his head sympathetically. “Abandoned, eh? That’s a tough break out here in Weird Space. Couldn't get much more stranded than this. What are you, anyhow? Never seen a pink meat-sack before.”

“I'm a human,” Dib muttered, picking himself up morosely. There was an awkward silence he couldn’t bring himself to care about.

“You got a name, or just a species?” the ancient alien prompted patiently. 

“It’s… It’s Dib,” was the grudging response. The elderly alien gave him a satisfied nod. 

“Dib the human. I'm Som Tam. Number one Vortian bounty-hunter in the galaxy, or so they say.” The silence became thoughtful. “Well, are you gonna mope around all day or are you gonna help me track down this little bounty-stealing green friend of yours?”

“He's not my friend- wait, what?”

“Figured you'd have an idea of where he’s headed. I gotta chase him down somehow, he's got my serial-killer in his trunk.”

“And my briefcase!” Dib declared in elation. The Vortian gave him a pat on the back.

“That's the spirit, my girl!”

“Wow, thanks, but I’m not a girl!”

“Who knew? Time to head out, kid, we’re not gettin’ any younger!”

Som Tam the Vortian bounty-hunter hovered away. It wasn’t until Dib moved to follow that he finally noticed the imposing strike shuttle that had been parked on the edge of the depot platform, all cool alien laser cannons and compound, layered shielding. He was so used to the bulbous and organic tangle that was Irken technology, the elegant ship of very different design stopped him in his tracks. 

This is what he had imagined when he used to look up at the stars. This was the promise the universe had made to a small child on a cold rooftop, all those years ago.

For the barest of moments, Dib almost felt hopeful. But then a persistent prodding at the small of his back forced him to turn.

“The total bill comes to 350 monies, and don't you even think about skipping out on it like your horrible little friend,” the waitress snarled, small eyes alight with wrath.

Dib curled a shaking fist.

“I’ll get you for this, Zim.”

Chapter Text

“Shut up, GIR! It's been a month already!”

“But his head was so BIG , Master! Soo biiig. I was gonna make me some people piiieee!”

GIR broke down into hysterical sobs and Zim clawed at his face until his eyelids stretched. It had been a horrible, horrible trip. Even as the edge of Weird Space drew tantalisingly close, the idea of five more minutes in the Voot made him want to beat his head into the command console until his skull caved in.

“Whyyy, Master, WHYYY? !” GIR wailed, tears flooding down his metal cheeks.

“Because he’s the ENEMY. How many times must I say it?!”

“Awwww, but-”

“I DEMAND SILEEEENCE!” Zim hollered, so very ready to fly them all into the nearest sun. Ever the rebellious outlier, Minimoose drifted closer, tilted shrewdly to the left and dared to ask, “Nyeh?” 

“Because Zim needs no parasitic worm-baby to look after! No Irken Elite would ever aid the enemy in such a way! He can ROT on that disgusting rock for all I care, drowning in a Shmillion monies worth of debt! Hah! Did you see his face?! Did you see his stupid, stinking face when he realised ZIM had bested him?! HAH!”

“Nyah!” Minimoose agreed. Zim took a moment to bask in the delicious memory.

“It was neat. But seriously, GIR. Forget the garbage-child, there are more important things to attend to! The Armada waits for no one!” 

GIR blubbered up spit bubbles as he fussed wordlessly with distress, reaching into the empty cavity in his head to pull out a hoary potato with one hand and an old, empty soda cup with the other. Both had faces drawn on them. The S.I.R unit smashed them together like dolls, crying and muttering the whole while.

At least it was better than the screaming.

Zim leant back into the pilot’s seat. It wasn’t silence, but it was the closest thing to it he had achieved since ditching Dib back on that decrepit fueling depot, a month ago. It was the perfect time to collect his thoughts, perhaps the only time to formulate his next pl-

GIR's crying mounted to a crescendo and the robot screamed hysterically.

“FORGET THE DIB-HUMAN!” the Irken bellowed in frustration, desperate to be obeyed.

“How could yew, Master?! Who ates my TAFFY!?” Gir shrieked, and then flung himself around the cockpit in a tantrum so severe he began to dent the plated interior. Ducking, it took a moment for Zim to realise that his robot was screaming about something else entirely.

“Just get some more!” he eventually ordered. Somewhere between the wracking sobs and glass shattering shrieks, Gir managed to garble out, “IT’S ALL GONE!”

Zim ground his teeth together until his skull vibrated. Antennae flattened to his skull, the Irken fell on the supply chute to his left and peered into the metal-plated depths. Bar for a few crumbs at the very bottom, it was empty.

“How on Irk do you eat so much?!” Zim demanded. He hammered impatiently on a button on the main console to bring up more snacks from the cargo bay, willing the stupid vent to go faster to stop that brain-melting wailing. There was a gusty whumph. Nothing appeared. 

“GIR! Did you eat all the supplies?! How is that even possible, I've been locking down the compartment!”

The S.I.R unit sucked in a dangerous amount of air, held it for a tremulous moment, then shrieked so loudly that the computer systems shorted. Zim wrenched on his antennae.

“GIR! ENOUGH! Don’t make me de-activa-” The robot fell face-first to the cockpit floor, snoring soundly. The sudden silence was surreal.

Approaching Sector Border, Energy Signature detected, Computer said dully, not at all impressed with the chaos within the Voot.

Zim threw himself back into the pilot’s chair and glared at the blackness of space before him. On the ship's heads-up display, a callout appeared to flag a nearby planet as Irken owned. The very first sign of hope. The globe hung like an orange eyeball in a cloud of space dust, the only thing of interest in sight. Nothing to do now, other than find something to pass the time with.

Not for the first time, Zim called his data pad out from his PAK. He stared at the blank device for a long moment - time to allow the horrible inevitability to maybe not be horrible or inevitable - before he pulled up the dreaded data.

One Shmillion monies in deficit.

Zim recoiled into the pilot’s chair with a wheeze. It was still there. He stabbed a claw at the read out a few times in some primal instinct to squash something unpleasant, but all he got was a flash of red in denial. Next, he scrolled through the impossible amount of zeroes and braced himself for the most awful of injustices, something worse than the debt itself. He could barely look, it was so outrageous, so horrible… The Shmillion was assigned to two names. Co-debtors.

“Stupid, ugly Dib-stink!” he fumed, wanting very much to snap the datapad in half. As usual, he redirected his anger by kicking viciously at the console in front of him.

Hey, what did I do? Sector Border is imminent, by the way. BioScan underway, Computer said plaintively.

“Computer! You will erase this debt from Zim’s encoding!”

I've told you I can't, Zim, was the reply. PAK maintenance of that complexity is beyond my operating parameters.

“USELESS!” Zim shouted, then slapped the datapad away. It whipped back into his PAK with a snap and he glared out into space, fuming. To have a universal debt tied to his encoding was the stuff of nightmares. To have Dib attached to it as co-debtor was… mortifying. Icky. The very idea of it made him retch.

BioScan Complete, Computer reported into the silence. Zim was forcing down his gag reflex when his antennae twitched, several steps ahead of his flagging thoughts.

“BioScan?” he eventually repeated, finally hearing the word. “Why would there be-”

The Voot hit the barrier at speed. It struck the invisible wall like a lead ball into taut rubber, causing Zim to brain himself on the windshield so hard the flexiglass dented. Whatever the ship had stuck had just enough elastic stretch to delay the inevitable, but then he was flung off his feet when the Voot was bounced violently away into a spin.

ENTRY DENIED!

“GUUuuh?!” the Irken managed as he picked himself off the floor, one eye already swelling up. Out past the now warped windshield, an impressive energy barrier shimmered across the empty stretch of space, so wide it was hard to see all of it at once. A big cross of denial was blazoned over the rippling spot that the Voot had tried to pass through.

“ Oh Come ON,” Zim yelled, outraged.

We appear to be unauthorised to leave Weird Space, Computer explained needlessly.

“They can’t do this, I am ZIM! Computer, blast our way through!”

This idea is a bad one.

“I didn’t program you to be mouthy! All power to the forward cannons!”

Zim angrily scrabbled his way back into the pilot’s seat as Computer gave a deep sigh of resignation. The Irken Invader hauled his ship out of it’s slow spin and glared defiantly at the slowly fading matrix.

Master, about the BioScan. 

“ENOUGH TALKING, FIRE!” Zim bellowed, then pulled the trigger. The Voot Cruiser’s engines sputtered and died as the power was syphoned off and rerouted to the forward laser cannons. 

The fuschia explosion was blinding, an instant flash that seared the depths of Zim’s eyeballs. Glittering smoke erupted out of nowhere and washed over the Voot in a ballooning wave, an odd reaction caused by the two laser types colliding. It took time for the veil to dissipate, and it stretched oddly into ribbons that faded unnaturally.

The barrier remained. The giant cross was back, bigger this time.

Hey, Zim.

“They DARE oppose ME? More power! ” Zim ordered. When Computer didn’t respond fast enough, the furious Irken swept his eyes over his controls, looking for any system that still had juice. Everything had been drained except the life support and Zim narrowed his eyes, seriously weighing the option.

Zim, Zim. Zim. Zim.

“WHAT IS IT?!” the Invader shouted, still angry.

The BioScan. There were two Signatures.

There was a not-so-distant thump.

Zim slowly swivelled in his chair, glaring back at the tiny space tucked away at the back of the cockpit. The minuscule gap was nothing more than a place to stuff prisoners or spoils of war. Unused and without Dib stinking up the place, there was nothing there but the few Earthen tools and GIR, snoring up against the wall edge.

“What do you mean, two? ” Zim demanded suspiciously. His eyes widened as realisation dawned. “Computer! Locate the intruder!”

Locating, Computer replied. There was no mistaking it this time, the reverberating CLANG had come from the ship’s belly, behind the cockpit. LOCATED! Foreign bioform is in the cargo hold. 

A tortured metal screeeeeeech split through the quiet cockpit, closer again. A fine line of sweat trickled down the Irken's temple.

Zim scrambled up until he knelt on his pilot-seat, hiding partially behind it as he scanned the Voot's tiny interior for any whisper of a movement. Minimoose blinked both bulbous eyes curiously. GIR carried on snoring like a chainsaw.

Damage taken to interior plate housing.

“Lock down the ventilation ducts!” Zim ordered frantically. There were so few places for an extra body to hide within the one-man ship, so when Computer tightly shut the vents into the main cabin, the Irken slowly and cautiously settled back down in his chair. That would buy him some time. Whatever had stowed away on the Voot could be dealt with when they lande-

Zim screamed when a black, shaggy limb shot up from the supply bin and latched on to the nearest console. 

His PAK-legs tangled in the small cockpit when he activated them, but he managed to hoist himself up over the chute so that he could slam the lid down on it. There was a shriek of outrage when the limb was pinned, fur overflowing the compartment lip. The hand scrabbled angrily over the command console as it looked for something to grip, lighting up buttons and flipping switches. Whatever was trying to come up out of the Snack Compartment had muscle; Zim was nearly launched by a savage shove underneath him.

“COMPUTER!” he shouted, “Land us!”

Re-routing power, the Computer replied promptly.

The Voot sputtered as the engines started back up. The intruder’s hand had found the thrust controls by accident; the ship lurched forward instantly at full power. They collided with the matrix barrier with a crunch and Zim was thrown over his chair again. 

At the command console, the mysterious creature wrenched the chute cover aside and began to pull itself from the impossibly small entrance, swelling up and overflowing like a black, shaggy geyser, instantly filling the space. A long and pointy face emerged scowling, rows of teeth very white in all that dark, grimy fur.

“Your flying is terrible, dead-thing,” it snarled, scoring deep grooves into the pilot’s seat as it tried to lever itself out. The engines roared. The Voot drove harder into the stretching barrier, creating a red halo around the hulking intruder as the energy matrix intensified.

“Who are you?! What are you doing in my ship?!” Zim shot back, trying to push himself further into the back wall to avoid touching the overflowing fur. He gave GIR a swift kick to rouse him, but the robot simply giggled and rolled over, perfectly unconscious. Zim was forced to snatch Minimoose out of the air instead and held it up at arm’s length, a tiny purple weapon of mass doomsday destruction half buried in the wall of fur before him. “STAY AWAY!” he ordered in a panic, “I have a MOOSE and I’m not afraid to use it!”

The intruder recoiled from the small purple robot, hesitant.

“I... don’t know what a moose is,” it said awkwardly. They stared at one another. Zim lowered his minion.

“Eh? Oh. Well, if you must know, a moose is-” he began, but at that point the matrix barrier won the war on physics.

The Voot Cruiser rebounded backwards with a space-ripping snap , so forcefully that everyone on board smashed into the windshield and flattened there. Zim screamed, face full of alien and GIR’s receiver digging into his spooch. 

Vectorizing! Computer announced over the din as the window flashed from black to orange and then back again. The Cruiser spun sickeningly in a death spiral, careening towards the lone planet with its engines still firing at full power.

There was no recovery. The Voot crashed right through the space-sign welcoming visitors to the ScrubDub V, then plunged into the thick orange atmosphere. The exterior immediately erupted into the flames of re-entry.

Crash Landing IMMINENT! Computer blared. It did not lie.

The Voot hit the ground and exploded.

Into the soupy, tingly quiet, a delicate ping echoed. Four pleasant little beeps bounced softly around the haze, clear as a bell, gentle.

Re-Activating.

The jolt tore through Zim. His PAK gave his broken body a savage pulse of electricity and raced through its BIOS sequence mercilessly, cataloging but ignoring the less critical of injuries and sparing only moments to patch up the rest. A fractured femur, a ruptured left eye, dislocated antennae… His spine was broken, momentarily, before Zim’s PAK transmuted the necessary stored reserves to quick-knit it together again.

There was so much pain.

“Buuhhh,” he exhaled, upper spooch pushing old air out to make room for the new.

The air tasted like soap. Face first in what Zim could only guess was dirt, he smacked his lips, slowly coming to terms with the sudsy flavour currently spread throughout his whole mouth. Swallowing did nothing. It was probably the planet’s atmosphere.

His legs worked before anything else did; Zim drove his face forward through the dirt a foot or two before his arms finally decided to do their job and lift him up. He staggered to his feet swiftly after because no Irken would be caught dead on their knees, no matter what the bodily trauma. Swaying and still waiting for his eyes to mend, Zim summoned his remote comms from his PAK and it wobbled in over his shoulder.

“Computer!” Zim rasped into it, reaching up to snap an antenna back into place. “Run a diagnostic!” There was no response. In its place, there was only the crackling, clinking and low voltage hum of a wreck on fire.

It took effort to winch open his eyelids. Zim grit his teeth against the sting of soapy air on freshly regenerated optics, staring defiantly through the liquid that was absolutely not tears.

Minimoose loomed closer, filling Zim’s world with purple and tooth.

“Nyah!”

“ARGH!”

Zim clutched his gut, PAK once more returning to the rupture it had only just mended.

“Minimoose! What did I tell you about your Master’s personal space?!” he wheezed through the pain. The small robot’s expression didn’t waver.

“Nyeh.”

“Now is not the time for your psychobabble! Feel bad!”

“Myeh.”

“Hng, even disciplining my evil minions hurts.” Zim grimaced and scanned the barren landscape. “I must have lost consciousness during the crash… Where’s my ship?”

Minimoose’s eyes aligned briefly to focus over Zim’s shoulder. He turned and found the Voot Cruiser behind him, still burning. It had gouged an impressive rut through the alien landscape and had come to a halt only when the bank of dirt had nearly buried it. Smoke billowed from various vents and ports, the windshield had been lost at some point during the crash and the cockpit spat sparks that barely lit the dark interior.

“That’s not so bad,” Zim said optimistically. The Voot suddenly belched a bulbous cloud of black smoke and then promptly broke into all of its component parts with a thunk. “But maybe not space worthy,” he conceded thoughtfully.

Zim made his way over to the wreck, marching past the detritus it had scattered on landing and kicking aside the bits he didn’t recognise. There were black, shaggy flesh chunks here and there which Zim stepped over with a disgusted “blech”. He didn’t know who the intruder was or what it had been doing in his cargo hold, but now that it had been reduced to giblets, he didn’t care. 

Carefully, still struggling to see into the cockpit, he pulled himself up on the bent hull of the Voot.

“GIR!” he shouted, leaning as far into the sparking, dark cockpit as he dared. A snore reverberated back out at him. “Wake up, GIR! We have work to do!”

“5 more miniiits?”

“Now, GIR!”

“Okee-dokee!”

GIR somersaulted out and landed amongst the wreckage. He threw a sharp salute, giggled to himself, then rolled around in the smouldering mess with a shrill and excitable “Wheeeeeew-heeeeeww!”, throwing up broken parts and meaty chunks like balls in a ballpit.

Zim glared at the wanton display. Grudgingly satisfied that two of his three minions were present and accounted for, the Irken Invader turned back to the crumpled cockpit and bent in to find the console. He reached awkwardly in and stabbed at the auto-pilot control a few times, scowling when it blinked under his finger only half of the time.

“Computer!” he attempted impatiently, slapping his palm over the entire control bank instead.

Brrzzzz-kkttk-brrsssiii-tttrcvvv-

Computer didn’t reply. Zim pushed down the dread before it could fully form. 

The Voot Cruiser’s processor core was the only piece of tech he had on this side of the galaxy that was big enough to support his Computer. It was limited, but at least it had been functional. Without it there was no access to the universal Irken databases, no remote comms... no semi-reliable servant to do his bidding.

Zim levered himself out of the cockpit and turned around. GIR and Minimoose had both found chunks of the alien intruder big enough to wear as hats, and they excitedly bobbed up and down in a gruesome fandango.

… The dread came back and it was harder to suppress this time. 

“Curse this actual garbage ship made of actual garbage!” he fumed, giving the hull a swift kick. “GIR! Clean up this mess! Minimoose, come with me! The mission is in jeopardy!”

Their faces fell as Zim ended fun-time. He turned and clambered up on top of the Cruiser’s ruin, not bothering to wait for them. More parts fell away as he did.

Zim had totaled the Voot plenty of times in the past, but there had always been the Base to restore it. Here and now, he would have to improvise. The Irken Exile snatched Minimoose out of the air and lifted the small robot to his face as binoculars. He squinted and the viewport zoomed in.

The planet was a wasteland. Not the pitiful, boring kind that had been founded by nature, but the deliberate kind. Something had been done to it. The purplish terrain was covered with steaming, bubbling lakes of liquid, but there was no mistaking the fresh craters among them, the tell-tale signs of explosive force. Charcoal peppered the landscape in droves, as if vegetation had once been present but was razed with single-minded intent. There were wreckages everywhere. Further astray, in deliberate clusters, Zim could just make out the skeletal frameworks of scaffolding and half-finished structures.

This is where he would have ordered Computer to research the planet’s status. Instead, he was left having to wonder . Like some mouth-breathing imbecile. Fortunately, Zim was no such drooling simpleton; there was something pleasantly reminiscent about the formation of the destruction around him. He narrowed his eyes and further zoomed in.

He found precisely what he was looking for nestled between some natural rock formations.

“That’s an Irken Doomhauler encampment!” Zim exclaimed. The Doomhauler itself was gone, but the weird crater it had left behind was as recognisable as a footprint. The skeleton of the forward camp was still there, tattered and neglected. “This is Irken territory! I knew it! But where are the occupying forces? The guards? The facilities? ” 

No matter where Zim turned his binoculars, there was only desolation and the faded fingerprints of his superior people.

“I’ll need to locate the planet’s Invader and secure repairs and supplies,” he said aloud, releasing Minimoose and pushing the floating robot away. He froze shortly after, realising his crash site had changed while he wasn’t looking.

Aliens had gathered. They stood hesitantly at a safe distance from the Voot, clumpy, ugly sponge people with stupid gloves. There wasn’t a weapon among them and they dithered like nervous flerbs.

“What are you looking at?” Zim demanded. They gasped as one and huddled together, appropriately cowed by his very presence.

“You’re Irken!” one of the sponge people called out, inching forward and stupidly identifying themselves as the leader. Zim narrowed his eyes, a little confused but mostly irritated.

“Of course I’m Irken, you porous squish-creature,” he tossed back haughtily. “This is our space, after all. That means your dirty feet are standing on Irken turf. Consider yourselves lucky I don’t destroy you for trespassing. Now, take me to your Conquering Invader!”

The group of aliens huddled once more, whispering frantically amongst themselves. They had a habit of squirting liquid from their spongey pores when flustered, and Zim decided they couldn’t be more loathsome if they tried. He didn’t bother hiding his disgust when the sponge-leader was pushed forward, squishing with every step, to stand before the smoking Voot.

“Uh, this is awkward. I don’t know how to tell you this, pal,” the alien said, dripping anxiously. “But, uh… This isn’t Irken space anymore. You’re on ScrubDub V, planet of the Squeedgians. The Invasion was called off a while back and we haven’t seen a single Irken since the retreat. You guys left a mess, by the way.”

“Retreat?!” Zim sputtered. He stared at the squirting little sponge for a moment. “RETREAT?!” he shouted, just in case he’d misheard.

“Yeah, man. Just took off, didn’t even finish half the stuff they were buildin’.”

“Irkens don’t RETREAT!” Zim blustered, leaning over the edge of his busted ship to loom over the alien, curled fist shaking between them. The sponge expelled so much liquid he stood in his own pool of it. “You are mistaken, drippy wad-thing, this is clearly some brilliant strategy your puny brain so full of holes cannot possibly hope to understand!”

“Wow, rude,” the sponge said with a hurt expression. “I’m telling you, they left. We’re surprised too, I’m pretty sure they were turning this whole planet into a laundromat or something-”

“A car-wash!” a sponge up back interjected.

“-on account of all the chemical pools. And us being sponges, I guess. But they got some orders before they could finish anything and then they were gone.” There was a long pause as Zim tried to make his mouth work again. “Sorry,” the sponge-leader said with an uncomfortable side-glance.

“So this planet hasn’t been Conquered?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a little?” He was given a noncommittal shrug. “You can’t be serious! Me, stranded on some sudsy, non-industrialised planet in the middle of nowhere?! ZIM?!” Zim raged with growing horror, partly to the aliens but mostly to the cosmos. “This is horrible!”

The sponge-leader began to speak, but Zim had already turned aside from the ugly little creature to think, foot tapping impatiently.

… He was somehow going to have to repair the Voot himself. It was unlikely that there were any spare parts left on the planet; Irkens never left valuable tech behind in enemy territory. The components would need to come from somewhere else... He’d probably have to order them.

Zim had been avoiding thinking about it since the fuel-station, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore: he had no monies. More accurately, he had negative monies.

The Voot repairs would need to be paid for. It was easy enough to skip out on a bill with Dib around to serve as sacrifice and a ship to make a hasty getaway, but Zim suddenly had neither of those things. He rarely had to think about it. He took by force what he needed and requested the rest from the mighty Empire. For the odd luxuries, such as the holding cells at Moo-Ping-10 or contraband from Cyberflox, he sold stuff, spoils of war or old equipment he no longer liked. Here he had nothing to sell, no one to sell it to.

It was just enough to make him fret, but only a little. Zim was above such things.

“So if I am to repair the Voot Cruiser and get back to my Mission, I will need to make monies. A substantial amount of monies,” he summarised out loud, claw tapping his chin. He nodded to himself and straightened. “Well that sounds simple enough for the amazing me!” 

“Who are you talking to?” sponge-leader asked hesitantly. Zim rounded on him and pointed a finger with enthusiasm. 

“SILENCE!” he shouted explosively. “You are now my slave, sponge-minion, and you and your kind will henceforth toil tirelessly towards the most important of goals: making your new Overlord filthy, stinking rich!”

“What?! ”

“Oh, the monies Zim will squeeze from you, like so much jelly from a bloated Dorbliz! ” Zim said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. He then asked more seriously, “Do you have any special skills I should know about? A degree maybe? Your species doesn’t look suited to manual labour, but there must be some kind of industrial complex I can exploit you with.”

“You can’t do this!” sponge-leader blurted in horror, expelling a worrisome amount of liquid. Zim recoiled.

“First order! Quit that awful squishy squirting, it’s disgusting! You’ll scare away paying customers!”

They were glaring at one another with mutual outrage when a familiar voice wheedled up out of the haze.

“Maaaaaaaaster?”

Zim tore his eyes away and turned.

“What is it, GIR? Can’t you see I’m bu-IIEAARGH!!”

The black, shaggy alien was in front of the Voot. Out in the open it was huge, big enough to have filled the Cruiser’s cockpit wall-to-wall. The fur did strange things to its bulk and it continued to swell as more of its dismembered flesh chunks wiggled and squirmed their way to its feet, disappearing into the shag.

It held GIR aloft with one clawed hand around the robot’s cranium.

“He gonna crack my head like a peanut! ” the S.I.R unit announced enthusiastically. There was a creak of pressure and then one of his cyan eyes shattered and went dim.

“You!” Zim spat. His PAK-legs were already out and elevating him, high above the wreckage and smoke. The creature’s little white eyes narrowed and it’s teeth bristled out of the darkness.

“Of all the incompetent… Where are we, little bug!? Where have you stranded me?!” the Intruder snarled, glancing around to take in the desolate scenery.

“I’ll be asking the questions, meat- filth!” Zim snapped savagely. “Who are you, what were you doing on my ship, how are you not dead?!” The shifting mass of fur glared at him.

“You think that was enough to kill me?” the creature growled with a throaty rumble. “Do you know nothing of Mr. Veety the Butcher of Xoob, you Irken twit? Does the name not send terror echoing deep into your primal soul? They whisper my name for fear of my coming, tremble in corners as they feel my approach! I have killed scores and plentitudes across the galaxy, a skull for every star! You will join them soon enough, and I will relish the melodic dirge of your death screams!”

Zim stared blankly.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“I ALREADY TOLD YOU!” Mr. Veety shouted back, spit flying. “Horrible little gnat!” Zim pulled a face, trying briefly to parse the stupid speech and then giving up when he realised he’d forgotten all of it. The shaggy alien ground his teeth together in fury. “Mr. Veety! My name is Mr.Veety! And the only reason I crawled into your stupid little trash ship was because you were supposed to fly me out of Weird Space! Like the unsuspecting idiot that you are!”

This Zim understood.

“HAH!” he erupted spitefully. “Jokes on you, I can’t leave Weird Space either! You stowed away on the wrong ship, furry fool! It’s funny! Laugh with me GIR!”

GIR obediently broke out into hysterical giggles, legs kicking. The alien’s outraged expression went dark and grew savage. Zim sneered down at him, unimpressed.

“Serves you right, Mr. Dookie , or whatever-your-name is!” he continued snidely. “Getting stranded forever on this dumpster planet is the least you deserve for infiltrating Irken property and crashing my ship!”

“You’re stranded too, imbecile!” 

“A MINOR SETBACK!” Zim hollered. “GIR! Obey your Master! Destroy the meat-monster!”

“SIR, yes sir!” GIR replied with a salute so sharp that it clanged. His one good eye went red.

A bouquet of buzzsaws erupted out of the top of GIR’s head, shredding the black hand that gripped it into meaty confetti. He was dropped instantly to the ground and Mr. Veety roared, outraged.

“Prepare to be destroyed, Intruder!” GIR announced imposingly, then dropped into battle stance. The buzzsaws retracted and were replaced with a matching pair of rocket launchers, big enough to dwarf the robot they spawned from. Zim leant in, maliciously delighted at the sheer savagery of-

A pair of fish launched from the missile bank and hit Mr. Veety in the chest with a wet splat. They slid down the matted fur and landed on the dirt, very dead, all but steaming with decay . Zim, GIR and their looming enemy looked at the decomposing fish, collectively trying to make sense of them.

“FISHY!” GIR shrieked, eyes fading to teal and excitable giggles erupting out of a broad grin. With a brain-buzzing amount of moxie, the robot cajoled, “Who wants toooooo-naaaah?”

Mr. Veety smashed a fist down on GIR’s head so hard the S.I.R unit disappeared into the earth. Both launchers were a crumpled halo of metal around the new crater, a single receiver poked out of the earthy darkness and Mr. Veety stepped over it all with pure disdain. His shredded hand swiftly regrew, little giblets rushing back to rejoin the rest of him like dark little maggots rushing to carrion. Zim slapped a claw to his face, unsurprised but infuriated anyway.

“Useless!” he spat.

“It’s been years since I hacked up an Irken,” the alien snarled as he approached, growing larger again. “Your kind can survive a lot, if I recall... and we have all the time in the world.”

“You dare threaten ZIM?!” Zim began furiously, but the creature reached forward, arm stretching impossibly far, and he had closed his claws around the Irken’s middle before Zim could react. The subsequent squeeze crushed the air right out of him.

“Please shut up,” Mr. Veety murmured.

He lifted Zim overhead and then brought him down on the Voot’s rooftop with a bone shattering crunch. Before Zim could process the damage, he was raised high and slammed down once more. The Voot tasted like hurt.

“Is… that all you got?” The words garbled out of his unhinged jaw. Mr. Veety grinned. The hulking creature half climbed the Cruiser to get closer, grip tightening and saliva beginning to drip from his maw. His teeth bristled outwards like a macabre flower.

Zim stabbed a PAK-leg right into the alien’s stupid little eye and felt the satisfying pop and squelch.

“ARG!”

Before the shaggy thing could recover, the Irken Invader pressed himself into the Zim-shaped dent in the Voot’s rooftop and braced. His PAK-legs whipped out of their tangle and locked instead into formation, tips forming a quad. 

The energy beam erupted from the vector and cut straight through the arm pinning him. 

Mr. Veety fell backwards off the Voot with a roar, his severed arm slithering down the hull shortly after. Zim sucked in his first full breath and used his smoking PAK-legs to haul himself upright.

“Ready… to… give up yet?” he slurred, swaying from his elevated perch and vision swimming. His PAK wanted to repair his thoroughly broken body. Zim wanted to blast this vile upstart into a greasy stain. The battle for the power reserves made it hard to focus.

“You only make me angrier!” Mr. Veety growled.

“Don’t you mean… uglier?” Zim sneered in return, swollen eyes narrowing. With a look of complete disgust, Mr. Veety reached over with his remaining arm and gripped a single PAK-leg. 

With a sudden and savage tug, Zim was yanked off the Voot by his own apparatus and held aloft over the torn up earth, dangling bonelessly from his PAK. Mr. Veety rippled, new arm growing as the last dissolved and gathered at his feet; the fresh limb was small and patchy in comparison to the rest of his body, but it reached forward and gripped Zim by the head tightly. His other hand closed around the bundle of metal legs and pulled.

The PAK-legs snapped like twigs. The hideous creature curled a lip in disdain when he threw the sparking appendages over his shoulder.

“Enough of that,” he said, glowering hatefully. Zim matched his glare with as much loathing. If this ugly creature thought it was that easy to bring down one of the Irken Elite, he was in for an unpleasant surprise. His PAK was already retracting the sparking nubs of his legs to make way for the doom-blaster.

Zim was not given the chance to use it.

Mr. Veety lurched suddenly, little white eyes wide with shock and confusion. Something had struck him forcefully in the back. He turned with his teeth bared, but before he could find his attacker, there was a neat and clear little sound… and the tethers erupted out of his back.

The cords whipped around the creature so fast the air ripped, narrowly missing Zim’s face as they lashed and overlapped and knotted themselves in a wild flurry. Mr. Veety struggled against them at first, stubbornly hanging on to his prey, but the fight was pointless.

Another electronic sound bounced out of the chaos and the tethers instantly shrunk tight, crushing the hulking alien into a bulging bundle.

Zim hit the ground with a thud.

“Mmurgghh,” he groaned. Everything was broken. To add insult to injury this time, he’d bitten his tongue when he hit the dirt.

“Wow,” a familiar voice said flatly. “You really got your butt kicked.”

Zim lifted his face from the ground and forced his eyelids open. A pair of stupid red shoes filled his vision.

The need to be on his feet was overwhelming. It was entirely possible that he’d been concussed and this was all a horrible, shameful hallucination, but it still rankled to be on the ground at those feet. Unfortunately his arms were all broken, so the best Zim could manage was to flop over onto his back.

Dib looked down on him with an unimpressed expression, stupid glasses bright from the sunlight and his stupid hair a stupid zag in the orange sky. And his head . That gargantuan head eclipsing everything with it’s stupid, swollen… head-shape!

The frustrations and indignities of the day coalesced into a familiar format. A warm mushroom cloud of spite filled Zim’s splintered chest like a second wind.

“Dib!” Zim spat up at him. “You should be dead!”

“Jeez, sorry for being alive,” Dib retorted sarcastically. He narrowed his eyes and added blackly, “No thanks to you. ”

With an enraging air of disinterest, the human turned away. He had a rifle of some kind in his hands, something of Vortian make, but he held it awkwardly like the incompetent, untrained worm-baby that he was. 

Mr. Veety was growling furiously as he struggled against the complicated knots that had crushed him into an ugly blob. With a supreme effort, he managed to swell up enough to force some slack in the tethers-

Dib shot him again, in the chest this time. The second round of cords whistled around him in the same chaotic tangle as the first, and the alien roared in abject fury as he was squeezed down into a filthy hairball.

“Dib!” Zim shouted, confused and more than a little bothered by the new toy. “How did you even get here?! Zim left you to rot! And since when did you have cool weapons and stuff?!” While he raged, his PAK finally began its work to get his bones in order. 

Dib ignored him. The human carefully placed the Vortian rifle on the ground as if he fully expected it to explode, then pulled a small device out of his coat. The triangulators on the transmitter clicked into position and he prudently pressed the button on the front as if it was the most complicated and important thing he had ever done. The device started beeping.

Being ignored was an affront. Being ignored by Dib was unspeakable. 

“DIB-MONKEY! ANSWER ME!” Zim shouted, kicking his still busted legs.

“I’m here to get my stuff back, Zim,” Dib said peevishly. “Because you flew off with it when you ditched me on some weird alien gas-station in the middle of nowhere.”

“Pfff, you’re still mad about that?” Zim scoffed. And because he was feeling particularly petty, he flapped his broken limbs and mocked spitefully, “Look at me, I’m Dib and I’m a schmoopy snot-baby with abandonment issues!”

Dib’s glare narrowed.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” he asked flatly. He swung a hand backward and waved it vaguely at the bristling bundle of Mr. Veety. “I just saved you, you know. I mean, I really shouldn’t have considering what a colossal jerk you are, but he was distracted while he was kicking the absolute snot out of you, so I-”

“ZIM NEEDS NO SAVING!” Zim erupted, denial and panic reaching flash point. “YOU, save ME?! YOOU?”

“Well yeah, he-“

“Itwasallapartofmyplan!” Zim exploded in a rush.

“What plan?!” Dib sniped. “Were you gonna splash him in the face with your blood, or something? Stab him with, like, broken bits of bone, maybe?”

“Insolent human! I was merely biding my time!”

“This is just stupid-”

“I was about to destroy him, you know! With cool… death lasers! Such lasers I had prepared! And then you showed up with your humongous stinking head and ruined everything!”

Zim staggered to his feet the second his PAK had fixed the worst of the breaks, ignoring the warning wobble in his joints. Dib was glaring at him with that stupid sardonic face of his, looking as infuriatingly healthy as the last time Zim had seen him. 

Something squirmed. Darkness had gathered by Dib’s feet, wriggling closer.

“Stay sharp, kid!” a voice interjected from the transmitter.

Dib looked down at the device and, eyes drifting past it, finally noticed the swarm gathering near his shoes.

“Ew, gross, what the-?!”

Mr. Veety had strained against the containment cords so hard that his shaggy flesh was bulging through the gaps and dropping free in chunks. They wriggled and squirmed in the dirt like angry bugs. Dib hopped and stomped his way backwards with a yelp, shaking off little grubs of meat. 

“Catch! ”

Dib gaped at the transponder in his hands for a brief moment before looking up. He only barely figured out to drop the device in time.

A cube of metal flew down from a high angle and the human almost didn’t catch it; Dib fumbled the object around, smashed a finger into one of many buttons on the front and then tossed it gingerly at the bristling alien and his army of flesh chunks. The cube struck the bound creature in the face and dropped to the dirt. 

A green stasis bubble exploded outwards with an abrupt pop.

Mr. Veety and his squirming parts drifted up serenely in the anti-gravity field, slowly floating to its centre. The device that projected it blinked and beeped from its place in the dirt.

“I-I did it!” Dib said aloud, expression bright with success. The accomplishment on his face made Zim want to demolish whatever it is he felt like he had achieved. He would do so, once he figured out what on Irk was happening.

“Well done, Dib-kid!”

An old, faded purple Vortian arrived, seated in a hoverchair far too big for his wizened frame. He had a battle-visor drawn down over his eyes, and it was the only indication that the alien was anything other than an extremely old doorstop.

“Who are you?! ” Zim shouted, confusion intensifying. He was ignored.

“Can he… break out of there?” Dib asked nervously, shuffling back a step; Mr. Veety had immediately started thrashing in his fetters at the sight of the elderly alien, teeth gnashing furiously.

“No chance, kiddo,” was the pleasant reply. To the stasis field, the alien said, “Looks like your time on the run is over, Mr. Veety! Ole Tam warned you, didn’t he?” The bound alien spat and flailed furiously.

“Hey! What’s going on?! ”

“So what now?” Dib asked next. The Vortian tapped a series of buttons on the armrest of his chair, faster than Zim thought possible considering that myopic, stupid expression on his purple face. The little projection cube broke into segments and unfolded. In a violent series of crunches and squelches, the stasis bubble and the alien in it was swallowed up and compacted down into a neat metal box.

There was a click, a hiss of steam, and then all that remained of Mr. Veety was a blinking little package on the ground.

“Now we send our toothy friend off to the authorities,” the Vortian said cheerfully, and the smoking cube was beamed away in a pillar of green energy. As Zim was trying to catch up with whatever irritating scene was unfolding before him, the old Vortian pulled up a data display and smiled through it. “You did good, kid, you’re a natural!”

“Yeah?” Dib asked, beaming. After an insufferable pause, he continued, “Yeah! You know what? It was a piece of cake! It wasn’t that much different from the sealing ritual I use for Demon Ant Ghost infestations! You can do it with a sanctified lunch-box and a vacu-suck, you know.”

“I understood none of the words you just said,” the Vortian said pleasantly. He scrolled through the data on his little screen until he found what he was looking for. He rotated the heads up display so that it faced Dib, and the stupid human pretended that he could read whatever was pointed at him. Zim’s ocular translators made quick work of the Vortian scribble; it was a number, a very large one that spanned over several lines. “I’ll have to balance the books, but we just nabbed ourselves a pretty big one!” the Vortian continued. “Considerin’ how you helped Ole Tam out, how about a cut of the bounty, hmm? A neat one percent?”

One word hung in the air and all of the pieces slotted into place: the weirdly hard to kill space fugitive, the pointless effort to capture instead of vaporise, the Vortian so far out in Weird Space... and that number.

“Did you say... bounty?” Zim asked carefully, shoving Dib aside so he could assess the total again. It was substantial. He was still counting the zeroes when the Vortian gave him a friendly, quivering smile.

‘You betcha, my bruised little friend! A tidy one Bajillion monies for that one. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.”

“One Bajillion!” Zim and Dib both shouted at the same time. “... That’s a lot of money,” Dib continued, sweating.

“One percent okay? I just figured since it was you that-”

Zim shoved Dib aside so hard the human hit the dirt face first. He stepped between his sprawled Nemesis and the Vortian bounty hunter, clapped his glove to his chest and then swept an arm across the crash-site dramatically.

“I think you will find that it was ZIM that softened up the horrible meat-beast for your tardy arrival, and it is only LOGICAL that you bestow upon me all of these monies that you speak of! Is it not fair that you reward Zim for his perfect apprehension of this heinous criminal?”

Dib kicked him in the back of the knee, collapsing his leg and dropping him to the dirt.

“All you did was get your face kicked in!” the human snapped. Zim lunged at him, fully intending to choke him out.

“CURSE YOU HUMAN, YOU WILL RUE THE DAY YOU SPREAD YOUR FILTHY LIES ABOUT ZIM!”

He got half a grip on Dib’s head when he was kicked hard in the spooch. In return, he gripped his Nemesis by one of his fleshy ear flaps and went to claw at his eyes. Those stupid glasses got in the way of a very promising attempt, but before he could try again, Dib seized an antennae and wrenched it hard to the right.

“Now, now,” the Vortian said.

Something gripped Zim’s head and pulled him forcibly away from the task of dismembering his enemy. He was still swinging punches through the air when he realised that he was being held very deliberately off the ground. Dib was just out of reach, also dangling by the head from a robotic hand.

The Vortian bounty hunter’s chair had sprouted a pair of metal arms, and he held the two enemies apart as if they were freshly cracked smeets.

“That’s a whole lotta fuss over a little bit of cash,” the old alien said in an infuriatingly folksy way. Dib straightened his glasses and kicked symbolically in Zim’s direction. Zim swiped his claws back at him. “If you’re that strapped, have you considered a bit of bounty work yourself? Great way to make some fast monies, if you don’t mind gettin’ your hands dirty.”

“Eh?” Zim managed.

“What, me?” Dib asked stupidly.

“Sure! You kids remind me of my own grandchildren - more pep than brains! Perfect for the job! If I’m honest, I’m not gettin’ any younger and I could use the extra muscle… how about the two of you join Ole Tam?”

Zim instantly opened his mouth to object, but old Vortian had left his data display up and all of those zeroes glowed pleasingly in regimented formation, an army of funds poised to crush all obstacles.

His mission was in jeopardy. The Tallest had been missing for months , and if Zim was stuck in Weird Space while they were trying to request his elite assistance back at his Base… the thought sent existential shivers of horror through every Irken fibre of his being. 

His absence would brand him a defector. And a defector in the Irken Elite was a Defective. Zim’s brain skittered off the implications, the concept too profound to fit in his skull.

He had to bypass that ridiculous security wall. He had to get back to Earth.

The bounty hunter’s smile barely shifted, but those small red eyes behind the battle visor crinkled knowingly.

“So, my rambunctious little friends,” he said affably. “What do you say?”