InsaneJournal

Chapter Four - In which an Invader runs screaming

It was an accepted fact that Irkens were generally good problem-solvers; when presented with a situation, they could easily come up with a (usually decent) solution that quite often ended up just being off the top of their head. It was no different with life-threatening situations; the PAK kept them level-headed (for the most part) and able to think clearly enough to enable them to escape mostly, sometimes completely, unscathed.

It was an accepted fact among Irkens themselves that Zim was generally not a good problem-solver; when presented with a situation, he’d often simply cause things to blow up in one way or another until he considered the problem ‘solved’ and called it a ‘job well done’, no matter whether he was supposed to blow everything up or not (and especially no matter if what he blew up was of any sort of importance).

Strangely enough, this seemed to work for Zim, and though it did tend to land him in an awful lot of trouble more often than not, he hadn’t lost any limbs, had his PAK irreparably damaged, and he most certainly hadn’t died yet, so one would have to assume that while his idea of problem-solving was indeed different and caused a great deal of property damage, it was still helpful in the long run.

Whether or not this was a good thing remained to be seen, because unfortunately, the current situation (one that was most definitely life-threatening) had Zim at a bit of a loss. Here he was, at the mercy of an enormous battle mech, something that could – and would – flatten him in an instant if he made so much as a single wrong move…and he had nothing with which to blow it up!

Rather unfair, in his opinion.

Irkens, however, also had a keen (and admittedly somewhat strange) sense of self-preservation. While they’d certainly risk life and limb to serve their beloved Tallests (and the Empire as a whole) – and without so much as a second thought, no less – when forced into a dangerous situation that didn’t have anything to do with their Empire, they’d go to impressive lengths to stay alive.

In this respect, Zim was really no different than any other Irken; despite the shame of having an inferior race succeed where he had failed, he hadn’t really planned on dying today, so he really didn’t intend to. And since matters honestly couldn’t get much worse, he resorted to what most self-respecting Irkens would consider an entirely unspeakable method of self-preservation.

He turned and ran.

He screamed in terror, too, but that was understandable – most Irkens, and most members of any other race for that matter, would have done the same had they been in his situation.

It was around the time when one of the mech’s side appendages nearly swatted him off his feet (it flattened a nearby house instead) that Zim remembered a useful tool of his own. He then promptly took to his much sturdier PAK-legs, skittering hastily over rubble and debris with ease and a sense of balance and grace that he generally didn’t have when on foot.

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, the Irken noted with some aggravation that he hadn’t – as he’d hoped – put any sort of distance between himself and the mech. He also noted, with quite a lot of aggravation, that there was a rather large cannon aimed at him and charging with alarming quickness.

Now that was definitely unfair.

Eyes narrowing, Zim continued forward and waited for the mech to fire, planning to dart to the side in order to avoid the shot. Sadly, his spider-legs seemed to have had a completely differing idea, as one caught in the rubble below and sent him tumbling into a couple of painful rolls. While he did manage to avoid being vaporized in an excruciating fashion, he ended up on his back, somewhat dizzy, and with his PAK legs splayed uselessly in varying directions (to be blunt, he looked a bit silly).

The gurgle-laugh the Irken had come to hate emitted from the mech as it approached, and at just the right pitch to further infuriate him. To make up for at least a portion of the whole mess, Zim’s PAK kindly informed him exactly just what the heck his spider-legs were doing and where they were so he could give them a sharp mental reprimand – something along the lines of ‘straighten up, stop fooling around, and destroy this stupid mech before it destroys ZIM!’

Suffice to say, Vxxethasylcb was particularly surprised when he found his mech on the receiving end of near-deadly lasers.

Badly aimed near-deadly lasers, but near-deadly lasers nonetheless.

Zim cursed to himself as he scrambled to his feet with the assistance of three of his PAK legs (the fourth was still somewhat preoccupied with blasting off laser-fire), only narrowly avoiding being flattened when his much more appropriately equipped opponent decided he’d had quite enough of the vaguely dangerous light-show and attempted to stomp on him.

It was at this point that the Irken grudgingly wished he’d paid a bit more attention during certain portions of his past training, as it might have helped with his aim just a bit. On the other hand, there could’ve been more drills based on the possibility of facing a giant mech while mostly unarmed. There had only been one, so far as Zim could remember, and the only thing their superiors had bothered to mention was that it probably wouldn’t happen, and even if it did, then surely a bit of laser-fire from one’s PAK legs could bring it down.

An overall useless lesson, in his opinion.

Darting out from beneath a thick metal appendage – unsurprisingly aiming to crush him – Zim gave one last attempt at blasting the mech before giving it up as a lost cause, cursing his terrible aim, and once again going with Plan A: running like mad. A loud groan emitted from the attacking mech as it moved to follow, though whether it came from the gears themselves or the Krakemeth within (who was most likely thoroughly exasperated that Zim hadn’t been squished into a gooey pulp yet) was unclear.

Just as exasperated as Vxxethasylcb might have been, though for an entirely different reason, Zim glared over his shoulder as his spider-legs carried him forward, shrieking a choice phrase (“Oh, come on!”) as the mech continued after him. On a sudden whim, the Irken skirted to the side, scrambling over a chunk of twisted metal that might have been a gate at one point in time and short-cutting through several backyards – many of the walls separating them had been crushed to pieces, and the ones that hadn’t were easily scaled.

Not expecting the prey to change tactics (though admittedly, said prey hadn’t shown much of a tactic initially aside from attempting to run and attempting to return fire), the Krakemeth’s mech paused before turning slowly, almost painfully so – it was something Zim didn’t fail to note when he shot back another glare. Instead of continuing to run, he dove out of sight, pressing himself up against the rear wall of a partly-destroyed human residence and catching his breath, eyes roving slowly over the backyard’s expanse and coming to rest on a colorful globe lawn ornament – pretty, fragile, made of glass, and reflective.

The mech wasn’t moving.

Silently, Zim watched the mech’s reflection on the glass orb, swallowing thickly as it turned this way and that ever-so-slowly in search of its quarry. When it finally came to a stop, facing his hiding place, the Irken fidgeted nervously and began inching towards the house’s back door, further put on edge as the mech took a rumbling step in his direction.

Preferring to find out if the house he’d chosen to hide behind had any safer areas inside, rather than simply standing outside uselessly and watching as the death-machine got closer and closer, Zim darted for the open door.

He found himself sprawled on his PAK moments later, face and back aching as the Irken tried to figure out what had hit him. It certainly hadn’t been anything from the mech, though that particular problem was getting closer. Spider-legs propping him up as he rubbed at his injured forehead, Zim stared critically at what he had supposed to be an open door, which was, in fact, just a very clean - and very sturdy - glass door.

In his defense, it had looked a lot less reflective from the previous angle.

Now thoroughly aggravated at his increasingly bad luck, Zim splayed out his spider-legs, just about to cut through the door when something at the side of the house caught his eye, a wonderfully lucky something that, like the glass door, he hadn’t been able to see from the previous angle.

The PAK legs retreated after pushing the Irken back onto his feet, and while the jarring steps of the mech grew ever closer, Zim leaned to pull open the heavy wooden door of the house’s cellar, slipping inside and almost falling down the small flight of stairs that he admittedly should have anticipated. As he picked himself up from the middle stair he’d landed quite painfully on and situated himself on the bottom step, an entirely unintentional shudder coursed through him slowly from the tips of his antennae to the ends of his toes, something that had an icy weight settling at the very bottoms of his squeedilyspooch when he figured out exactly why the sensation was so familiar.

The mech had bioscanners.

He had only the presence of mind to cover his head before a thick appendage slammed its way through the house above, a portion of the cellar caving in immediately – human structures; so weak, Zim thought before realizing he still was thinking and subsequently realizing that the mech had missed.

In any other situation, he might have laughed. However, in this situation, there was a deadly mech situated directly above his hiding spot, and if the slow shuddering in his antennae was any indication, it was about to ensure whether or not its prey needed any more smashing.

Personally, Zim preferred the ‘not’ option.

Had any other alien been in his situation, they would have been – in the most blunt of terms – completely screwed. Fortunately for Zim, he wasn’t any other alien, but was instead Irken (a fact he’d always been extremely proud of), and like any other Irken during a potentially (or in this case, definitely) dangerous bioscan, he gave a quick mental signal to his PAK, which promptly shut itself off.

…

Initiating temporary shutdown.

Backing data drives… Data drives successfully backed.

Systems locking… Systems successfully locked.

Shutdown in three…

Two…

…

Zim slumped as the PAK’s systems abruptly ceased, eyes dulling and taking on a lifeless glaze – muscles twitched ever-so-slightly as the bioscan continued, finding nothing but an Irken body shell, useless without its controlling PAK, and what remained of the building's previous residents.

Satisfied with its results, the mech retreated, sounding its eerie computerized shriek as it went, flat and unharmonious notes echoing in reply.