InsaneJournal

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Scanning…

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Threat – Krakemeth Sentinel Mech Class 5-37 – has retreated; no other possible threats – similar Sentinel Mechs (Classes 1-01 through 20-00) and Warrior Droids (Classes AA-00 through ZED-97) – have been detected in the vicinity.  Beginning reactivation sequence.

……Reactivation unsuccessful.  Host in need of repair.  Initiating recovery…

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NANITE ALERT:  recovery scan complete – necessary repairs minor – slight charge may be required -  issue through ports 71 and 94b to begin maintenance.

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Recovery complete.

Charging…

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REACTIVATING. 

The PAK came to life with a blinding surge, forcing electricity through its body shell, which gave a series of erratic jerks before jolting upright.

Gasping loudly, sweet dust-filled air poured into Zim’s respiratory systems; he spent the next few moments coughing helplessly and trying to hack up the dust he’d unintentionally inhaled.  It was during these few moments that his data drives kicked back in, and once they did, they were quick to give him a kind reminder that the area he’d shut down in had been mostly destroyed and was therefore a tad dusty, so he might not want to breathe too deeply.

As the cough-fit abated, irritation and shame at his predicament set in – the latter emotion, one of many that Irkens considered as weak, had the PAK going into overdrive to ‘correct’ it with a concentrated flow of endorphins to the natural brain, as well as having the data drives bring up a past memory file in case the endorphins weren’t entirely effective.

The ‘overall useless’ lesson revolving around what to do when facing a death-mech unarmed, Zim noted blandly, before the memory file got to a certain question a peer of his (Skoodge - the short, fat, and somewhat ugly Irken all the other students had expected to flunk out and be forever demoted to dookie-scrubber drone) had posed to their superiors.

“So…what do we do if we don’t even have our PAK weapons?” Skoodge had asked.

The superiors had then looked amongst each other for a while, antennae quirked and expressions lost, before one turned back, shrugged, and replied helplessly, “I guess at that point, the only thing you can really do is run screaming.”

Ah!  That was all right, then!  Though, that didn’t excuse the fact that these…Krake-whatevers had beaten him to the annihilation of the human race…  The PAK didn’t seem to have an answer for this problem, and though the knowledge that his running (and screaming) had been okayed by past superiors was relieving, even a bit uplifting, the fact that Zim’s mission had been ruined had his mood swirling into an all-time low.

At least, until his logic centers kicked in.

This was yet another area in which Zim differed from other Irkens – most would have accepted and admitted their failure, and would subsequently accept the punishment for their failure.  This was because their logic centers didn’t bother kicking in when they had failed to an utterly unsalvageable level. 

Zim’s logic centers, on the other hand, did kick in, and they did so to tell him that the Tallests didn’t really have to know that he hadn’t actually been the one to destroy the human race.  Sure, they’d wonder exactly how he’d done it, and why his base had been destroyed in the process, but they’d certainly be thrilled either way and honor him as the all-incredible and mighty Invader he truly was.

Yyyyep, there was no doubt about that.  (Well, to be truthful there was – and a good lot of it – but Zim was quite keen on squishing those nagging bits of doubt into some dark and scary corner of his deranged mind in favor of looking forward to prospective Tallests-praise.)

Having shoved his doubt into a terrifying mental time-out, now all he had to do was figure out a way to get back into contact with his leaders.  As Zim pondered over this particular problem, chin in hand and elbow on knee, he glanced about the caved-in structure idly – he nearly jumped out of his skin in shock when his gaze met vacant, unstaring eyes.

The remains of a human lay partially buried amongst the rubble, splattered with crimson and other things Zim didn’t care to think about, expression void and unblinking, mouth still hanging open limply in a soundless scream that had been violently silenced just a short time earlier.  He scrambled back, antennae flattened and eyes wide, too frazzled to even give a horrified shriek – all that came out was a pitiful squeak as he put as much distance as he possibly could between the corpse and himself.

As he averted his eyes from the mess and pointedly ignored its very existence, a rush of disgust and anger replaced the initial shock – how dare these creatures destroy what was his!  This planet and the humans on it – all his, he should have been the one to-!  Zim pushed himself to his feet, determined to enact swift vengeance on this Krakemeth race for such a transgression, motivation bringing a plan bubbling to the surface – it was insane, it was suicidal, but at this point, he didn’t care.  No matter the cost, he was going to annihilate them.

They had stolen his mission.  This pathetic, inferior enemy had…  No, not enemy.  They weren’t even worthy of the title.  A mere annoyance, that was all they were - they could never be a true enemy, a true challenge, for an Irken so impressive as himself.  Only the Dib-human, who had so impressively foiled him at nearly every turn, had ever become worthy of that designation in Zim’s mind, but he had most likely-

The motivation and anger abruptly swirled down the drain; the Irken froze, horrified and struck with a feeling akin to nervousness that he couldn’t quite identify.

The Dib.

There was no way the dirt-child could have been so easily dispatched, not by such a pitiful race.  This was the kind of thing the boy had spent his whole life preparing for!  There was just no way…was there?

He had to see for himself, Zim decided then.  Surely, satisfying his morbid curiosity wouldn’t take too long, and anyway, it would keep the thought from nagging at him as he tried to concentrate on exacting his revenge on these new aliens.  If the Dib was truly gone, then the other race had all the more to fear from the Irken – he was the only one who had the right to end that particular meat-slug’s life, and the converse was equally true (though Zim had always been certain that his enemy could never gather the courage to actually kill him).  Anything different was just…wrong.

If the human boy was still alive…  What was he to do then?  Well, to be sure, the Dib-stink would want to get back at the race who had annihilated his kind and brought the ongoing battle between the Irken and human races to a screeching halt…

“I’ve GOT IT!” Zim screeched gleefully, turning on his heel to run up the stairs and ending up tripping over a pile of rubble.  He jumped back up and continued on as though it hadn’t happened, however, rambling to himself excitedly as he went.  “I’ll find the Dib, and if he is alive – WHICH HE WILL BE – I will allow him to join the amazing ZIM in defeating these pitiful Krakewhatsits!  Delicious vengeance, that’ll be!  And once they’ve all been felled, I will DESTROY the Dib!  It’s perfect!  Absolutely ingenious!  INGENIOUS!”

He began cackling in devious joy, which only resulted in his inhaling a rather unhealthy amount of dust and having to hack it back up via several minutes of coughing and spluttering.  It wasn’t a very pretty sight.

With one last cough and a clearing of his throat, Zim heaved open the cellar door – it was a feat that took all of his strength (and the help of his spider-legs) to achieve, seeing as a good portion of the nearby wall had ended up on top of it.  Indeed, it was only due to a miracle that he’d managed to survive thus far.

Or, more accurately, it was due to several consecutive miracles that he’d managed to survive thus far.

It was an idea that Zim didn’t bother dwelling on, rather, he scratched at his head and wondered exactly where his human enemy could be on such an apocalyptic morning.  Meanwhile, a tiny portion of Zim’s PAK – we’ll call this portion the ‘rational center’ – wondered exactly why he was even bothering with it at all.  Sure, the human was his enemy, but that issue was more of a matter of pride than anything else, and at this point, and in this situation, pride definitely shouldn’t be at the forefront.  The human shouldn’t have been important.

He wasn’t worried about the Dib, was he?  Zim shook his head roughly at that thought as he began scouting the area (before going on a search, it’s usually a good idea to make sure nothing’s going to ambush you while you’re on it - even he knew that).  Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, the Irken quirked one antenna to test for anything his eyes might have missed; when they found as much nothing as before, he began making his way out of the ruins of the house and towards his enemy’s neighborhood.

“Of course I’m not worried about that stoopid Dib-creature,” he scoffed lowly as he picked up his pace, scurrying through yards and side alleys and avoiding the main streets when he could – another tactic that was common sense for any soldier, even an insane one like Zim, in such a situation.

Why was he going out of his way to find his enemy, then?  Zim paused unsurely, hanging back in the shadows of an alleyway between a crumbling wall and house as he bit at his bottom lip in thought.  “Nrgh…  I…  He will be of some use to Zim, if he hasn’t been…”  He couldn’t bring himself to finish that particular statement, though he couldn’t figure why.  That, of course, only got him frustrated, and he stomped one foot irritably.  “It doesn’t matter why!" he exclaimed.  "All that matters is that Zim is NOT worried about that fiiiiilthy pig-smelly and is only ensuring that ZIM can be the one to deliver the final blow!  The Dib is MINE to destroy!  That’s all that matters!"