InsaneJournal

Chapter Six – In which certain skills might be useful

It was all protocol, really.  ‘When you see a target, take it down’ – in the books, official, wonderfully simply easy.

So, when the excited rambling had been heard, and when the Irken it came from was seen moments later, the Krakemeth did what protocol demanded of it and started shooting.

The first shot glancing off of Zim’s PAK was all he needed to stop ranting, whip around, and realize that there were a couple of other shots that he should probably dodge if he didn’t want extensive bodily damage.  Dashing and hopping from side to side in a most ungraceful fashion, he was able to avoid most of the onslaught, though several of the plasma bolts had been successful in leaving rather large burn marks along various parts of his uniform.

Those would take ages to get out, the Irken observed with no small amount of irritation, though (of course) that wouldn’t matter if his newest adversary killed him.

Which it wouldn’t, because he was amazing.

Agony flared as another plasma bolt narrowly clipped his side; the Irken hissed lowly and forced back a pained grimace as he twisted out of the way of yet another shot, not wanting his opponent to be aware of any sort of weakness.  He pointedly ignored the fact that the obvious injury would be enough to clue the other in, and also pointedly ignored the wet feel of blood soaking through his uniform.  It was just a flesh wound, anyway – he could handle it.  Again, he was amazing.

Okay, sure, perhaps a bit rusty in the battling department, but still amazing.

To prove this point, if only to himself, Zim haphazardly rushed at the droid, a bolt of energy blazing dangerously close to his face before spiderlegs splayed out once more, the thin metal appendages weaving him out of the way of following shots before they hooked onto the covershield of the Krakemeth’s droid.  For one terrifying moment, Zim found himself wavering as the mental strain of the constant use of his mechanical legs rocketed wildly to a near punishing level – he’d have to end this quickly.

Metal legs slammed into the flexiglass covershield of the mech before slicing through with such ease as a knife through butter – the alien within looked sufficiently freaked, all four beady eyes bugging as it scrambled at the controls, trying to throw Zim off.  The Irken clung to the droid stubbornly, however, spiderlegs retreating back into the PAK after yanking a portion of the covershield off and aside, allowing access to the creature within that was hastily taken.

“This is for ruining Zim’s mission!” the Irken screeched as he slammed his fists against the other alien’s head – or at least, he would’ve done that if one of the Krakemeth’s dual-handed arms hadn’t whipped up to keep him at bay.

Huh.  It was stronger than he’d expected for a blobby, boneless-looking tentacle creature.

Seeing the other dual-arm reaching for a nearby plasma pistol, Zim snarled a few choice words and directed a sharp kick to his opponent’s face, which connected with a particularly nauseating (albeit gratifying) squish.  The alien promptly dropped the Irken to the floor of the droid, emitting a grating squeal of agony and clutching at the injury; as he grabbed frantically for the creature’s pistol, Zim noted with some satisfaction that he’d ruptured one of its ugly eyes.  Ah, yes, he was incredible.

Once the pistol was firmly in his grasp, Zim twisted around to face the creature, whipping the weapon up and readying to fire when one thick tentacle-leg slammed into his side with enough force to send him skidding backwards.  As his PAK thudded roughly against the droid’s metal wall, the Irken grit his teeth, clapping his free hand over his mouth to keep himself from shrieking in pain – it just had to be his injured side that took the abuse – before lifting the weapon level once more and squeezing the trigger.

For a moment, both he (with pistol still held at the ready) and the Krakemeth (with one dual-arm still pressed against its ruined eye) were silent.  Then, he gave a hesitant laugh that his opponent echoed in its typical gurgling fashion. 

Of course.  No one in their right mind left a plasma pistol laying around with the safety feature off.

The second dual-arm snatched him off the floor before he could correct the slight setback, bashing the Irken front-first into the edge of the control panel and knocking the wind out of him.  The other dual-arm, slick with things Zim definitely didn’t want to think about, curled around his throat, further blocking off his air – he stubbornly kept his grip on the pistol, however, weakly struggling to get away.

Once again, it was his PAK that saved him.  Drawing from emergency energy reserves, mechanical legs burst from the pod, seemingly of their own accord, and buried themselves forcefully into the thick skin of the Krakemeth above.  Almost immediately, the dual-arms slackened somewhat, enough for Zim to get a gasp of air and a grasp of what was happening.

His mind reeled somewhat as his PAK turned control of the metal legs back to him, and he retracted them quickly, the appendages tearing back through the other alien’s flesh in a very disorderly and distasteful fashion.  The dual-arms clenched just slightly as the creature over him emitted an agonized screech, a piercing noise that quickly diminished to a choked burble – the Krakemeth then slumped heavily against him before sliding to the floor in a wet mess, leaving Zim standing shakily and struggling to regain his breath.

And so, half-covered in slick black liquid and clutching at the pistol as though it were a lifeline, the Irken collapsed feebly into the control chair (which was many times too big for him) and managing a faint grin as he glanced over the many buttons and levers.  Yes, this would be perfect.

…Or perhaps not.

One panel had begun to blink red.  Now usually, a blinking panel isn’t something to be concerned about, but when a panel starts blinking red, you just know something’s wrong.  Zim stared at the panel blankly for a moment, still trying to regain what little composure he usually had, before leaning in to examine it.  Although it was in the Krakemeth’s language, his PAK seemed to have translations for it, which was a surprise, to say the least.

It was about this time he remembered that the Krakemeth race had actually been covered during Invader training, and that he’d only partially paid attention during that lesson.  And several other lessons, to be truthful – the antics of two certain Tallests-to-be had been exceptionally distracting.

Thank the Control Brains for direct-PAK data downloads.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he went about translating the six agonizingly long words – honestly, was everything in the Krakemeth language so complicated?  One antennae quirked as Zim puzzled over one particular symbol – what on Irk was that?!  (If he tilted his head a little, it kind of looked like a pig face…)

“Pirate?  …No, that’s not right.  Ah!  Pilot!” Zim corrected himself, pleased at his minimal progress before making a rather strange face and asking no one in particular, “…What about the pilot?”  Or perhaps he was asking the panel, which was just as useless – it did seem to be blinking faster, however.

“Pilot…  Err…detected?  No, no…determined.  Yeah.  That sounds good.  Pilot determined…  Determined…diseased?  Zim is not diseased!” the Irken exclaimed before something clicked, and in favor of ranting he translated numbly, “Pilot determined deceased.  Initiating…”

For one rare moment, Zim went completely silent.  Then, he pushed open the covershield, slid out of the droid, and started running.

He was hardly thirty feet away when the droid self-destructed.