A Parade of Indignities

Chapter 10: Of One-Way Conversations and the Pinnacle of Rock Bottom

Zim sat frozen in his mass of blankets for an untold period of time after watching the door slam behind Dib, his eyes wide and vapid with shock. Moments slipped away from him as his heart battered against his chest and his bare feet curled beneath the covers.

A patch of sunshine gleamed lazily on the floor before him from the window, and the living room dimmed and brightened continuously as clouds drifted overhead, repeatedly passing over the bright rays outside.

Finally, Zim blinked and looked around. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? The blood pounded through his head as he searched the area for anything amiss. Any threats that he could add to his growing list.

Nothing in the base had been disturbed, at least that he could see. He stretched his neck a bit and meekly peered out the window, but there was no sign of the police or FBI. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. He watched the ugly neighbors from next door walk by outside, chatting in muted voices as they ambled up the sidewalk.

The only sign that Dib had even set foot in the base was the glass of water at his feet and the balled-up clothing in the kitchen, covered in Zim's own sweat and vomit. His tunic, gloves, and boots were wrapped with Dib's trench coat, abandoned by him in his haste to leave.

"C-computer," he squeaked finally, his voice hardly audible.

A jolt of adrenaline ran through him when he got no response. He was surrounded only by the unnerving stillness of his base in the wake of his command. The ever-present whirring of electricity was the only noise, and even that had taken on a somewhat disturbing cadence.

"Computer?" he asked again, a little louder this time.

Once more, he was met with jarring silence. The computer was offline, giving him absolutely no insight into his base's operations. As the gravity of this hit Zim, he started to tremble and cower into his blankets.

The Dib! He did this! Who knew what else had he meddled with?

He was hyperventilating. His head throbbed and his spooch ached and churned mercilessly. He worried he was going to be sick again. Ragged breaths turned to desperate pants as he heaved himself from the couch and stumbled unsteadily into the kitchen. He needed to get to the lab; needed to know if the human had done anything that could potentially compromise the mission.

On his way, though, Zim felt a tug of resistance from his back. Turning his head slightly, he gasped at the sight of all four of his PAK legs piled behind him on the couch, limp and tangled together at their joints.

He stared at them for several seconds, mouth agape. Then, dropping to his knees, he held one in his gloveless hands, shivering and whimpering softly.

Knowing what would happen, but still attempting anyway, he tried to summon them back into his PAK. A weak humming reverberated in his antennae from behind him as the device on his back tried in vain to comply.

Zim swallowed thickly.

Pushing his communicator back into his PAK was one thing, but his PAK legs were an entirely different predicament. Extending over ten feet in the air when fully exposed, they were long and intricate in design, requiring elaborate folding and placement in their designated compartment. The PAK was designed to do this automatically. Trying to fix them manually may as well be likened jamming the twisted, knotted tape of a videocassette back into its rightful place with no tools or aids.

Dolefully releasing his hold on the single PAK leg, Zim scooped the entire snarled mess into his shaking hands with a desolate air as he heaved himself to his feet again and made his way towards the toilet. Once in, Zim hugged the lot close to his chest and stared straight ahead with that same vacant stare as he was lowered down into his lab.