Danem

Running Out of Time

"Red, I need to leave and collect more supplies for a few hours." Zim stared down at Red, who hadn't moved much since Gaz left. "GIR will keep watch and make sure you're safe."

"TACO!" GIR glommed onto the Tallest's head. "I love you!"

Red didn't respond.

"I'll be back in a few hours." Zim turned, leaving the campsite. Today was his third session with the Swollen Eyeball, and already he realized it was taking too long. Any day now, they would find him, and drag him back. It would all be well intentioned, of course, but then Gaz would make good on her promise. Besides, there would always be Irkens coming to find him, if he left the city like Gaz said, his family would be safe from them.

And the faster he left, and cut ties, the less the Eyeball would consider causing his family harm.

With these thoughts in mind, he approached the manhole at the dump. He considered it for a moment, then knocked for entrance. It slide aside, the chute lighting up as usual.

He hesitated for a moment, then turned around, slowly climbing down the ladder correctly. Every second, he felt as if something was going to attack him from behind, but he forced himself to do it. He knew DarkBooty was watching. And he would need to appear cooperative for what he had in mind.

At the bottom, he was met by Agent Tunaghost. He expected a cold reception after their conversation the previous day, but was surprised when she smiled tiredly at him.

"Well, still coming back. Come on. You know the way."

Zim raised an antenna, but cautiously led the way to the room set aside for testing and questions. The gym equipment remained, and she gestured to one of the machines.

"This is a weight-lifting machine. You hold the handles here," She demonstrated, "And pull, release. Pull, release. I will add more weights, and you can tell me when it's enough."

Zim nodded, sitting on the bench, and grabbing the handles.

Tunaghost sat in her chair, looking down at her notepad. She glanced over at Zim, a troubled expression on her face.

Zim grunted, lifting the first set of weights. "Ask. It's what Zim is coming to this filthy stinkhole for."

Tunaghost rolled the pen between her thumb and forefinger. "You don't have an ounce of psychic ability, do you?"

Zim paused, glancing over at her incredulously. "Did they brief you at all on the Irken race before assigning you to ask questions?" The discomfort on her face was all the answer he needed. Turning back, he continued lifting. "Irkens aren't psychic, or telepathic, or empathic, or proficient in any sort of mind-to-mind wavey-things. For that, you want a Morflar or a Devorrah. Maybe a Meekrob. Why?"

Tunaghost glanced up to the corner of the room, a hard expression on her face. Zim followed her stare, spotting the tiny camera, hidden away in a niche by the ceiling. Glancing back at Tunaghost's frustrated expression, he snickered.

DarkBooty put her on this case to see if I brainwashed Dib through magic or psychic powers, since that's her specialty, and didn't tell her.

Tunaghost glared back down at her pad, and muttered, "Shut up. Next question."

....

At the end of the session, Zim stretched his weary muscles. He may have been fast in the academy, but he'd never been the strongest. His agility and speed has been his most valuable assets, not brute force.