A Parade of Indignities

Chapter 16: Of Invader Dib and Being Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter art created and owned by Lullaby-of-the-Lost.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The previous sense of bustle within Zim's base had been long forgotten. Rather than blaring televisions, bright florescent lighting, and slamming doors, the front room was dim and still, just as Dib had left it. The lights were off, and the only noise that could be heard was the ever-present hum of electricity that emanated from the subterranean levels.

In fact, only a few objects remained as evidence of their presence—a few crumpled candy wrappers littered here and there, a stagnant glass of water nestled against the foot of the couch, and the TV remote wedged between two cushions.

The blinds had been hastily strewn over the window in a last-minute attempt to steer away any interlopers, leaving a very minuscule gap uncovered. Through it, a little beam of warm sunshine managed to creep in and settle in a pool on the linoleum. It continually brightened and faded as the clouds paraded on overhead and the hours ticked by. Just as it was beginning to light up the floor once more in its gentle rhythm, however, it was abruptly cut off by a small face that appeared in the window. Shrewd, narrowed eyes scrutinizing the area for several seconds before vanishing out of sight again. Not even a moment later, they were replaced the by the ear-splitting noise of a plasma gun.

The smoldering remnants of Zim's front door creaked inwards towards the house, then unceremoniously fell off the hinges and thwacked against the floor.

The hunched silhouette of Larb appeared in the doorway, smoking gun brandished before him. When he could plainly determine that the base was empty, he lowered his weapon and scanned the room.

Getting past an Irken security system was the easiest thing imaginable. The original manufacturers behind it had never anticipated the trespassing of another Irken who had an understanding of the mechanics involved. Given that Larb had set up a similar system on Vort and was already familiar with the inner workings of standard base security, what would surely be near impossible for an inferior enemy race was a feat he had managed to accomplish with minimal difficulty. It had taken less than a day for him to locate the defective's military base of operations and subsequently hack into his security long enough to disable it.

His ship was still concealed in the woods less than several blocks away beneath an ample amount of foliage while its owner set out to complete a little reconnaissance work.

By infiltrating Zim's base, not only did Larb have his secrets openly laid out for him like a lavish banquet, but he also had an area to take temporary shelter. As much as he hated to admit it, it was a necessity. Not only was he still in lingering discomfort from the burn wounds that had spanned nearly every inch of his body, but he was running low on his own supplies. It had been far too long since he had had a proper meal, and both his legs were quite cramped from extended periods of time confined to the enclosed space of his cockpit.

He stepped over the threshold, the heels of his boots clacking loudly against the floor. The noise echoed upwards to the intestine-like tangle of tubing that made up the ceiling. It was undoubtedly an Irken base, not unlike his old residence back during his early days of work on Vort.

Unlike his base, however, Zim's attempts at disguising his home were far more noticeable. Far lazier in research. And far more...garish. Larb scoffed at the red and brown tiling and loud array of artwork proclaiming phrases so stark in their obviousness, they might as well be inviting suspicion. He eyed a poster declaring "Earth Food Rocks!" with open disdain. Common sense clearly wasn't a strong suit in those who lacked proper PAK programming in the first place.

Larb continued to wander through the main level in search of access to an elevator. Surely, there had to be one.

All Irkens lived burrowed beneath planets' surfaces, much like they did during ancient times. As generations passed, the colonies of old had been conveniently transformed into tech-filled labyrinths and warm nooks, but the essence remained the same. Primal instinct had ensured that Irkens replicated the same living conditions that they'd always known.