Hey Spacejerk

Submersible Saboteur

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE. ACCEPT / DECLINE.

The hoverscreen had been blatting at him for a long time, now. Occasionally it would dive bomb his face, but Dib just walked away from it each time.

He wasn't sure he could handle the final message. Zim's fourth and fifth responses had each started with the shaky-voiced statement, "Accepting incoming transmission from mailbox." After that, nothing but screams. Twice in a row now, Zim had received Dib's letters on a datapad, begun to read, then dropped to the ground writhing and shrieking.

There was no way Zim wasn't asking-begging-Dib for help.

Zim had lined up all his recordings, timing their release. Then he had retrieved Dib and locked him in a room where he would have no other mental stimulation to distract him from figuring things out. The part that sealed it for Dib was these last two messages. Since when did Zim intentionally hand over footage that made him look vulnerable?

Zim had to be desperate. Maybe he hadn't started out asking for help, but somewhere along the line he'd run out of options.

Either that, or Dib was about to be shown up as the world's biggest idiot right before Zim laughed in his face and erased his existence.

Still, what else was there for him? Dad would never find him and nobody else cared. It was either the end of the line right now or it wasn't. Putting it off wouldn't do any good.

Turning on his heel, he pressed ACCEPT for the last time.

"Invader log 65-H-knork3. Mission to retrieve human test subject Dib Membrane successful."

You could hardly call Zim's posture standing. He leaned over a prison pallet where Dib lay unconscious. He clutched the supporting chain with one hand and braced against the pallet with his other. Withered white antennae hung from his head, swaying whenever he moved. Green ooze dripped from Zim's eyes and discolored the lower half of his face, especially around the mouth.

"He was found right where he said he'd be. In Colledge University classes. It was a simple matter. To find him. Then follow him. Home. Capture. Evade security drones. Easy."

Zim turned to grab something out of camera frame, then faced Dib's unconscious body again. He grasped some alien device, a flat dish-like thing on the end of a stick. Zim pressed the flat plate end against Dib's head as he continued. "Subject requires full. Restoration. Of senses before I. Perform experiments. Suspect presence of. Foreign object. In head. Interfering."

Dib's hair fell to the ground in clumps. Once Zim had finished shaving his head, he took a position at the end of the pallet, just behind Dib's head. Four wires sprang from Zim's PAK, each one with a different tool at the end. Three more wires emerged and connected to the unconscious boy's forehead, chest, and stomach.

Dib's stomach lurched. For once he was grateful for his empty belly as he watched Zim open up his head.

There was no talking, no overblown boasting. Even seated on a small stool, it looked like all Zim could do to sit upright. He kept his hands planted on the pallet edge, allowing the wires from his PAK to do the work.

At one point, Zim's PAK blared an alarm. His claws clenched around the edge of the pallet and he hunched over Dib's head, muttering furiously to himself in that other language. Dib had caught him using it a few times, but he could never record enough to figure out their meaning. This time, though, he'd bet money Zim was cursing.

"Ah-HAH!" Zim clenched his fist, thrusting it up in the air and nearly toppling himself off the chair. "I KNEW it, I was RIGHT! Extracting..." One wire slowly retracted from Dib's head, the tip dripping red.

"Initiating. Skull. Sealing." Zim turned his attention from the wires that continued working on Dib's head. He inspected the tip of the first wire he retracted, squinting at it. "Microscopic submersible. Model Irk-zal-4. Missing piloting center, presumed excreted by hyooman body waste disposal system."

"WHAT?" Dib blurted. "That... THAT WAS STILL IN ME?" Even as the words left his mouth he was reviewing the battle in his memory. Gaz had been the one to finish that fight on Dib's behalf, thinking it was only a video game. Two microscopic mechs had battled inside Dib's head. Gaz's mech had roundhouse kicked the other's head off, sending it plummeting to other parts of Dib's body. Dib had guided his mech out and returned it to Dad, but Zim's...

The whole body of Zim's mech had been left behind. Only the head had been, as Zim put it, "excreted."

Zim leaned back in his seat, a self-satisfied grin on his face. "So. Very. Right. Irken software still. Likely functional. Drive of all Irken. Technology, to assist. Invasion and subjugation of. Native species. No piloting center left. Maybe dormant? Or gathering power. Gathering information over. Many years." What little energy he'd shown at his discovery drained rapidly. As all wires retracted from Dib, Zim staggered to his feet, still mumbling. "Integrated in host brain matter. Gather information. Enact sabotage. All the time, sabotage." Zim's lip curled. "Could have beat me if not-AUGH!" He dropped to his knees. "NOBODY CAN BEAT A TRAINED IRKEN INVADER, WE ARE THE FORCE THAT WILL BRING THE UNIVERSE TO ITS KNEES!" he wailed.

Dib's mouth hung open.

Minutes ticked by. Zim remained on his hands and knees. Occasionally, Dib could see Zim's elbow or knee joints flex, as if he were trying to push himself up to his feet. Finally, long spiderlegs unfolded from his PAK, dragging him ragdoll style to a standing position. His toes barely touched the ground as he leaned on the full support of those spiderlegs.

"Ghosts?" Zim muttered. "No. Hallucinations. Undermine. Sanity. Disrupt thoughts until. Unable to tell. When really writing words. Or jibbering. Nonsense. Maybe even." Zim rolled his head to the side, fixing the camera with dull eyes. "Maybe. Even. Self destruct. Set own house. On fire."

Someone was screaming, but it wasn't Zim this time.

"Maybe. Even. Send self. Bomb. Because that." The dripping PAK wire curled around to display the tiny dot it grasped to the camera. "That. Is what. Irk would want. For you."