A Parade of Indignities

Chapter 19: Of Side Effects and Déjà Vu

Chapter art created and owned by xryn-art. Full comic can be found on their Tumblr.

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Zim's brain post-surgery was filled to the brim in a murky fog that effectively shrouded his fully cogent self away from the world around him. What managed to penetrate said fog was only the distant sound of somebody's voice, asking a seemingly endless torrent of questions that held little to no meaning. As if he were detached from his own body, Zim heard the faint sound of his own voice as he made feeble attempts to reply to what he could. He found he could only really answer question one in earnest.

Zim.

His name was Zim.

That was all he could remember.

He must have fallen back asleep shortly thereafter, for when he opened his eyes again, he felt slightly more aware of what was happening around him. He was still groggy, yes, but at least his senses had sharpened somewhat.

No longer was a bright surgical light fixture shining down over his face, and he felt strangely warm and snug. A bleary glance downwards revealed him to be propped in a medical cot, covered in clean white blankets.

Though he couldn't see very much from his vantage point, he could pick out certain things around him. The lower lighting in the room. The sounds of beeping and feet shuffling. Voices, perhaps, though he couldn't quite discern where they were coming from.

As he attempted to blink away the lingering drowsiness, a gloved hand holding one end of a stethoscope came into view and gently pressed it down on his chest. His eyes flicked towards the hand and followed it to its owner: a short, stocky Irken who was adorned from head to toe in the standard white attire of medical drones.

"How are you feeling, Zim?" the drone asked him, still listening for his heartbeat.

He opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a muffled groan. It was then that he dully registered the oxygen mask that had been placed over his face.

The drone merely hummed in acknowledgement, moving the stethoscope down to Zim's abdomen. Then, wrapping an arm across his chest, he carefully drew him forward in bed. The ensuing headrush Zim felt, even at this gentle movement, caused him to groan and pinch his eyes back shut.

The drone pressed the stethoscope in various places on his back, listening to his breathing. Finally, he eased Zim back down and settled into a chair beside him.

"Do you feel any pain or discomfort?" he asked, rephrasing his first question to be a little blunter.

Zim grunted in the negative. On the contrary, he felt oddly comfortable. He was wrapped warmly in the weight of several blankets and bolstered up on an impossibly plush assortment of pillows while, unbeknownst to him, the lingering anesthesia from his surgery continued to course through his bloodstream. His brain felt slow and lazy, taking in the world around him with little more than vague acknowledgement of what was around him.

A tiny piece of his cognizant mind still made an effort, though it was no more than a tiny sunbeam fighting to peek through the heavy clouds of his drug-induced haze. Nevertheless, it was enough to prompt his first words. "Whu happened...? W-where—?"

A coughing fit cut him off, and the drone sitting beside him patiently waited for it to pass before answering.

"You were brought here a couple days ago, in the final stages of PAK deficiency. Your body was failing." He spoke these words gradually, enunciating each one, and waited for a few seconds between sentences to let Zim digest what was being told to him. "What you have woken up from was a full PAK replacement surgery, performed a little over an hour ago. I'm sorry, Zim. It was the only option."