Chapter Text
Incipiently there were planets. Millions of planets with a population of millions, maybe more if newborns were counted. With many planets in their galaxy, each planet was ruled by one or two. Some strong, mighty, and powerful, others weak, skittish, and practically grasping onto power like a thin thread. Some planets birthed strong Lords and warriors, while others produced mass amounts of equals just to be sufficient with The Lords and warriors. Irk was among them; they were only feared and valued for their mass population and the number of warriors they would send to invade or destroy other planets. Irk was strong for what they believed and what they thought was life, but their rulers were weak and were only feared due to their pleasures in watching others' executions.
Irkens were bred to be unstoppable machines of slaughter, unlike other species of races they were made perfect. Agile, numb, unstoppable machines. With one fault, Defectives.
Irkens were born as a shell, a weakling. After birth they would be re-coded, made Better. A collection of data on Irken life, how to act, how to be, how to kill, was implanted on the newborn, immediately making them a weapon to be used. It wasn't like anyone could have spoken up. Ways were changed, children were treated like warriors even after birth, there were no “Families” for Irkens to return home to. It was just one big mess the universe just had to handle.
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He knew something was off about him, but he could not put a finger on it no matter how hard he tried. So he started ignoring it, ignoring the burning pain that shot across his body when he acted “out of turn” and like himself; the burning pain became a thing like background noises, like steam from engines. He ignored it until it got worse. He didn’t know it got worse, but everyone who knew of him, lucky enough it was the entire planet by now, had claimed it was unbearable. He couldn't fix it, The white-hot pain was now a part of him he got used to, now unable to react to it like it was wrong.
He was an Irken, born and raised a warrior, a little pain wouldn't end him. He was made to handle torture, shooting wounds, deep wounds, anything. Anything but the mental pain of being called broken. His PAK was not broken. His PAK was wonderful, holding all that was and would ever be him.
Two sharp fingers snap in his view and he is unfortunately dragged back to reality, pain ebbing in his upper back as he blinks in confusion “Eh?”
“You’re losing yourself again.”
He blinks a few more times, eyes a little watery as he rubs them. The air smells like smoke, like ship oil and wielding burning metal. He looks up to meet the Purple eyes of his crewmate, He watches her curled antenna go flat against her head when their eyes meet. He scoffs, “I never lost myself in the first place, so I cannot lose myself again.” Folding his arms over his chest he hears his cremate, Tak; a rather arrogant and graceless female, hiss.
“You’re so infuriating, do you realize that?” she snaps, her body fully turned towards him as he recoils slightly. Before he can respond to her disrespect, a sharp pain strikes him, racing up his spine to his forehead, as though his body were being torn apart and entangled in barbed wire. Before he can even think of reacting, a loud crash interrupts his thoughts as smaller, stockier Irken stumbles through the doorway. He vaguely hears Tak curse under her breath, but the agony tearing at his focus is all-consuming.
Suddenly A hand grips his shoulder, and he recoils, hissing in pain at the contact. His vision sharpens, his teeth bared in a defensive snarl, but when he focuses, the smaller Irken gives him a sheepish grin. “Please don’t bite my hand off, I kind of need them both.”
He lets out a long, weary sigh, his tension easing just a little. “I could rip you apart...but the ship needs a repairman, so you’re safe—for now.”
Skoodge, the shorter, bulkier alien, squeezes his shoulder with an airy chuckle. “I’ll take it. How bad are you hurt?”
Zim’s expression falters as a sense of exhaustion settles over him. He’s lost track of how they ended up here, how their situation spiraled out of control. They were all fugitives—Tak for theft, Skoodge for disrespecting the Almighty Tallests, and Zim himself for murder.
Murder.
The deaths of millions of Irkens, including Almighty Miyuki and Almighty Spork—the last Tallests before Red and Purple. A wanted criminal on the run, stuck with two Irkens he despised, all three of them fleeing for their lives aboard a broken-down spaceship. His eyes flick down to the dirtied tunic, and in a swift motion, he rips it off, quicker than usual, leaving only the black underlayer, damp in a few places. He looks over himself, crooking his head to the side with an unsure sound. He doesn’t even need to fully look up to know that Tak is facepalming. Skoodge lets out an audible sigh before gesturing toward Zim. "At least you didn’t stain your uniform, but still, I’ll fetch the aid."
Suddenly, the ship jerks violently, and red warning lights flood both his mind and the ship’s interiors. The ship lurches again, causing all three of them to be thrown sideways. Skoodge crashes to the floor while Tak is hurled into a wall next to her. Zim struggles to cling to the metal beneath him, his claws digging into the surface. He’ll tend to his hands later—right now, he’s struggling to fight off the overwhelming pain and nausea.
“We are under attack-”
Tak Hisses at him “Yeah no duh, idiot!” She rushes past him, hands gripping onto the ship's console, flipping switches before plopping down in the pilot's chair just as Skoodge slides across the floor with another jerk of the ship, Zim watching him go with a small snicker. Tak seems to catch onto it as she shoots him a glare, knuckles having turned a light green from how hard she's gripping the ship's steering wheel “Stop being useless and get over here and help me. now!”
He moves fast, flinging himself into the co-pilot's seat as Tak flips and messes with the controls “We need to go now- We can't stay here for”
He interrupts her by swatting her hand away from a virtual screen that shows a map of the entire universe their home is in. He exits that map, moving the map fast as Tak watches with widened eyes as he clicks on another galaxy, clicking on the planet Earth. There’s something unspoken ‘are you sure?’ From Tak and Zim only snarls and swats at her to drive. And she does without another word, Zim calling back for Skoodge to hold onto something as they fly with an intense speed. They were going to Earth, He was going back to Earth, that disgusting planet. But they needed to hide, they also needed a better repairman. And Zim unfortunately knew of someone who could help.
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The ride was nothing short of miserable. Tak grumbled the whole way, complaining about the other two, all while Zim was stuck being tended to by Skoodge. His injuries were minor, nothing worth making a fuss over, but they were enough to make Skoodge frown as he worked. Zim’s body was built for strength and agility, accustomed to fighting and taking blows. What it wasn't used to was being pampered. He wasn't really prepared for that mentally either. It was something entirely new. Skoodge had to dodge Zim's claws a few times while applying disinfectant. Zim eventually relaxed when he was left alone, curling up against some crates in a quiet corner. He drifted into his own thoughts, zoning out as he reflected on how he even ended up here—how his life as a runaway had gone so terribly wrong. He hated the earth. Hated how it smelled, hated the so-called food, hated its occupants too. But there was something exhilarating about being pursued, the thrill of anticipating a fight that made his blood boil. The warm blood staining his claws, blood not his own, always made him feel guilty—but still, a smile crept onto his face. He smiled because his enemy wore a grin just as twisted, filled with the same sadistic satisfaction. He came to as Earth loomed into view, getting his feet under him before going to stand behind the pilot’s chair to get a better look at the planet’s blue and green hues.
“Still here.” Tak says rather quietly, as if relief had taken hold of her, her annoyed tone from earlier fading away into consolation. “Do you think they are still there?”
He knew precisely who she was referring to, and he understood the restraint she was showing. “They have to be. If not, I’ll take them both on.”
Tak let out a soft, breathy chuckle Zim had never heard before, watching as she guided the ship smoothly through the atmosphere. Skoodge remained entranced by the shifting colors outside, Tak lost in her thoughts, and Zim consumed by his own desires. They better be there. He better be there. What’s life without a nemesis? Sure, he could find a new one, but it wouldn’t be the same. He liked the one he had.
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The air was still as stuffy as he remembered, the sun bearing down and making everything so unbearable. His skin was sticky with sweat, his pointy tongue poking out of his mouth as he pants, groaning as Tak and Skoodge took too long to get off the ship. He kicks the dirty floor “Ugh- can you hurry it up in there!”
Tak appears in her disguise, purplish hair being tied into a bun in the back “Can you stop whining. You need a disguise. Your old one”
“Is PERFECT.”
Skoodge steps out besides Tak, His eyes wide with joy. Like a filthy worm baby “Come on Zim! She made us Disguises and i really wanna-”
“Nope” He huffs, turning around and walking off, hand coming up to tuck his Antennas under the black wig he's wearing. He fixes his grey hoodie (Which he totally did NOT steal from a store) As he hastily makes his way down the sidewalk, making a beeline towards where he knew his nemesis’s house was. He had no idea how many years had gone by since he was last here, but when he arrived, the house seemed unnervingly pristine. It was so spotless it almost felt abandoned, and he hadn’t even entered yet. He couldn’t afford to linger any longer. Pain flared in his head, his mind descending into a dark, jumbled space. Without hesitation, He quickly climbed the side of the house, making his way up to the roof and across to the circular window, moving with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. The path was etched in his memory.
Zim grinned, pleased to find the window was unlocked, the same sticky note still clinging to the glass from all those years ago. It read, “Windows unlocked, so stop breaking it to get in, asshole,” written in the human boy's messy handwriting. Zim paused, pressing his forehead against the note and closing his eyes for a brief moment. Odd as it was, moments like these were enough to quiet the relentless thoughts that had been spinning in his head. He exhaled, his head pulling away as he opened the window and slipped into the room. The pain in his head surged, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache that spread through his chest when he saw the room. It was almost too clean—bare. The desks, once littered with trinkets, were now empty. His bed, stripped of its sheets and stuffed animals, saddening, The glow-in-the-dark stars, once a comforting presence on the walls, had begun to peel away, some barely hanging on. Zim sank to his knees, the weight of disbelief crashing into him first, followed by the sharp sting of pain. His eyes, blurry from the ache, scanned the room again, as if hoping it might suddenly return to how it was. But nothing had changed. It was just emptiness. What happened? Where did he go? How long has it been? How long had he been gone? The reality of the room hit harder than anything physical could—this was not the place he remembered. He was angry, claws digging into the carpeted floor beneath him.
And yet, here he was—alone again.
He feels sick. Sick and furious, a storm of rage and nausea that churns in his gut. He screams, a cry so loud and desperate that anyone else would mistake it for the sound of someone being tortured. “Fuck you! You fucking asshole, you left me again! He left me! ME?!” The words tear from his throat, raw and jagged, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s crying. The tears burn, a sharp reminder of the emotions he’s not supposed to feel. He wasn’t built for this—wasn't meant to cry, to feel this sickness twisting inside him. That was The humans fault, the stupid big headed human who he felt sick missing. He punches something—he’s not even sure what—his knuckles making contact with something solid. The shock of pain snaps him out of the haze he’s been in, but it doesn’t stop the agony inside. “FUCK-”
Footsteps approach quickly, and the bedroom door is kicked open with a force that would’ve sent anyone else running, but Tak pauses as soon as she sees him. Zim’s sitting on the floor, his hand cradled against his chest, tears streaking down his face, hiccupping violently. Her gaze moves to the pinkish blood dripping down his fingers, then meets his eyes.
“Don’t Fucking look at me.” he Hiccups, voice cracked and raw.
But she doesn’t listen. Instead, she stomps into the room, her heavy steps making him flinch and scoot away in fear, his breath coming faster. “Stop—STOP!”
Without hesitation, Tak leans over, crouching down, and pulls him into her arms. Zim freezes, his body tense, until she whispers, “They’re gone.” That’s all it takes. Zim starts wailing, the sobs shaking his entire body. He buries his face in her shirt. It’s a bad texture, but he doesn’t care.
“They left! They left us- Why do they always leave us?”
Tak’s grip tightens around him, her voice softer than he had ever heard, but it still carries a weight of truth he doesn’t want to hear. “They had a life, Zim. They had to move on.”
The words send a wave of frustration through him. His body reacts before his mind, his fists pounding weakly against her arms. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch. “Don’t make it sound like we’re dead! We’re not dead! They have to come back!”
“It’s been 11 years. From what I can tell anyway. There’s no way they are coming back.” She starts, shushing Zim harshly when he’s about to argue back, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t look for them. I want to see The big-headed boy’s sister as much as you wanna see him.”
Before Zim can respond, Skoodge shuffles into the room, his broad form making a quiet entrance. Zim pulls himself out of Tak’s hold, his legs shaky as he struggles to his feet, still fighting the weight of grief and anger.
“Fine,” he mutters, his voice hollow.
Tak stands slowly, her hand outstretched toward him, but she hesitates, then lets it drop to adjust her sleeves, her movements stiff. She turns her gaze to Skoodge, the moment of hesitation passing quickly. “What did you find?”
Skoodge shakes his head, his voice quiet and detached. “Nothing much. Some old first aid kits, tools for the ship... other than that, the house looks empty.”
The word empty cuts through the air, and Zim winces as though physically struck. His face twists in pain, his heart sinking with its weight. Skoodge notices, his eyes darkening for a split second before his usual blank expression settles in.
“Let’s go then,” Zim mutters, already moving toward the door. “If you two keep standing around like that, I’ll have to get rid of you both.”
Zim doesn’t move out of the room immediately. Instead, his gaze drifts around the room as he stands in the doorway next to Skoodge, his mind swimming in a haze of longing and loss. As Skoodge shuffles out, something blue catches his eye. It’s a forgotten shirt, tucked behind an old dresser, left to gather dust. He moves the furniture aside with shaky hands, pulling the fabric free. The moment he feels it, his heart stutters. The soft, familiar texture is a cruel comfort.
He lifts the shirt to his nose, inhaling deeply. It smells like him—like the human boy who had been his worst enemy yet his best friend. Zim’s antennas twitch beneath his wig, his body stiffening, a strange mixture of grief and longing flooding him. He holds the shirt to his chest, clutching it like a lifeline, before wobbling out of the room, his legs weak under him.
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It doesn’t take long to make it outside, but the world has already changed when they enter the door. The sky is dark, with heavy clouds swirling above, and the air smells thick with the promise of rain. Zim hisses at the cold wind, the sensation unpleasant against his skin, before he turns and shuffles back inside, seeking refuge. The shirt remains tightly clutched in his hands, his fingers curled around it like a lifeline.
He makes his way to the kitchen, trying to shake off the discomfort of the air. His mind is still too heavy with the weight of the past few hours. When he enters the room, he sees Tak and Skoodge huddled together, talking in low voices.
“It’s going to rain. And it’s getting dark,” Zim mutters, his voice tinged with irritation.
Tak’s eyes narrow as she looks up at him, her frustration evident. “Great,” she groans, rubbing her temples.
Skoodge, ever the optimist, perks up. “This place may not be exactly comfortable, but it’s a shelter! We could stay here until morning, maybe?” His tone is cheerful as if nothing’s wrong.
Zim feels a surge of bitterness rises in him at Skoodge’s unshakable cheerfulness. He can’t stand it—how easy it is for Skoodge to be so... content. But before he can voice his objections, Tak cuts in.
“Fine,” she says with a heavy sigh, clearly exhausted. Zim can’t help but feel frustrated. He had hoped she’d back him up, but instead, she’s giving in.
He clenches his fists to fight the anger that bubbles inside him. But it’s no use. With no better option, he turns and storms up the stairs. His mind is clouded with conflicting emotions as he reaches the boy’s room.
He presses his forehead against the door, his heart pounding. There’s a strange, suffocating ache deep in his gut. The room feels so much colder now, so much emptier. The faintest trace of the human boy still lingers here, but it’s fading. Zim closes his eyes, squeezing the shirt tighter as if holding onto it will somehow keep him grounded. Zim sighs, the weight of everything pressing down on him, his body moving sluggishly as he walks over to the bare bed. He pats the spot on the bed, a futile attempt to make it feel less abandoned, before curling up into a tight ball. The shirt, still clutched in his hands, is pressed to his face. Its softness is the only thing that brings comfort, but even that feels like a cruel reminder.
With trembling fingers, he pulls the hood of his hoodie over his head, cursing at the world for stabbing him with pain like needles in his back. He shuts his eyes tightly, blocking everything—the room's silence, the howling wind outside, and the crushing weight of loneliness.
I’ll find him. I’ll find that human boy. I’ll destroy him. Destroy him for making me feel this way, for reminding me of how broken I am.
He clenches the shirt harder, willing the anger to consume him. But beneath it all, there’s an ache he can’t escape. The big-headed boy who had always been there—annoying, stubborn, always ruining his plans and getting in the way. Yet, at the same time, he was the boy who sat on Zim’s doorstep in the pouring rain to listen to him rant behind a door that had always kept them apart. The same boy who would show up night after night, to watch horror movies with him, even though Zim never showed any genuine appreciation for it. The same boy who promised me we’d never be apart.
11 years. And who broke the promise?
Zim isn’t sure anymore. He doesn’t even know what to believe. The anger is still there, sharp and bitter, but it’s fading. The hurt is taking its place. He closes his eyes again, squeezing them tight as if trying to hold on to any last shred of the hatred he used to feel.
Dib Membrane. Age 12 when they last spoke. He’ll find him. He will. He has to.
But there’s a weight in his chest that he can’t ignore anymore. It’s new, this feeling of tiredness. A strange, foreign exhaustion that eats away at him, making it harder to stay awake, harder to fight. Before he can make sense of it or push it away, Zim is pulled into the darkness of unconsciousness, the last remnants of his anger slipping away as he drifts into sleep.