Possessed

Stripped

"Come on Zim. Pick up. You're the only one I get to talk to in this dream." He stared down at the communicator in his peach colored five digit hands. It had been ringing Zim's communicator for about five minutes. It never took the Irken this long to pick up. Maybe his father was experimenting on him.

He shook his head. He had no father, Irkens didn't have parental units, he scolded himself.

Abruptly the screen turned on, but the sight was at a strange angle, facing the wall. A voice that sounded almost like Zim mumbled, "What is this…" And then the view flipped, turning to reveal Zim. The boy gaped.

The Irken's head was completely wrapped in gauze, but green stains leaked through in several places. Only his face was visible, and thick black sutures that peeked out from the edges of the gauze near his eyes. Those eyes were no longer a deep maroon, but a lighter shade of red.

"What…. What happened to you?" The human breathed.

"What is this?" Zim stared at the camera as if he'd never seen the communicator he was holding. "Is this a show-watcher? I like show-watchers."

"No, this is a communicator, don't you remember?"

"Is that what it is?" He even sounded different. The harsh, commanding voice was gone, replaced by a softer, curious tone. "And who are you?"

"I'm…" He faltered. This felt so real. But it was a dream, and had to be treated as such. He straightened. "I'm Bid. A soldier in the Irken army. I had a nervous breakdown ten or eleven years ago, but I'm doing much better now. Part of my rehabilitation is that I need to explain to you that I'm not really human. I'm Irken." He glanced at his hands again. "I know I look human, but that's just because I'm dreaming."

"You're dreaming?" Zim mused. "So I'm a dream?"

"You must be."

"I think I'd like to be a dream. Dreams end, and then there's no more hurting."

The boy frowned. This wasn't like Zim. He'd been so sure that the Irken would be screaming and ranting about how stupid he was being, and of course he was Dib and not Bid. "What's on your head?"

Zim reached up and touched the gauze. "Oh, not supposed to take it off." He smiled, a smile completely devoid of malice or mischief. "Doctor fixed my head. Said I'm sick, has to keep looking to make sure I'm not sick anymore. Nice doctor. He remembers my name."

Snorting, the boy laughed. "Who wouldn't remember your name, you only scream it all the time." Puffing out his chest, he gave a shrill imitation, crying out, "I am Zim!"

Zim's eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth opened. A deep, wrenching scream issued from his throat, and the camera shook as the Irken's body spasmed. Behind him, men dressed in white appeared, seizing Zim by the arms and dragging him to a strange looking chair, stained green all over. A hand fumbled over the communicator, and the screen went black.

He stared at the blank screen, dumbfounded. He knew they'd been experimenting on Zim, but this… since when did saying Zim's name cause him to have a fit?

He shook his head roughly. Zim no longer existed. The defect had died a long time ago. He only existed in the dreams because he had idolized Zim's strategies before the Invader had gone mad. Then he too had gone mad.

Still, wasn't there some way he could alter this dream so that his old hero could have some dignity? It was his dream after all.

Turning the communicator back on, he programmed it to dial Zim's communicator again. Maybe he could get through to his fa—to the man in charge of Zim.

The screen turned on by the second ring, opening to a view of the man he'd believed to be his father. He sighed. This would not be easy.

"Son, hello. I knew you weren't on some alien planet." Professor Membrane chuckled. "Just a ploy by this fellow to throw me off. You're safe and sound at home."

"Yes," he murmured. "I am home, that's for sure."

"So, son, what have you and A-1 been talking about?"

He frowned. "A-1, what's that?"

"That's what we've been calling the little green fellow."

Blinking, he felt something rise up inside of him. "His name is Zim." In the background, he heard another wrenching scream.

Hastily, the Professor whispered, "Don't say that. His name is A-1, it's taken quite a bit to get the subject to accept that. A-1 still reacts violently when hearing its given name."

He couldn't believe his ears. This was beyond stripping his hero of dignity. "You can't do that! What did you do to his head?"

"Now son, don't excite yourself. We just removed the aggression centers of his brain."

He felt his chest constrict. "You… did what?"

"Now he's quite responsive when we run minor tests and ask questions, when he can remember the answers anyway. It's still a better situation than before."

"You… you castrated him!"

The Professor chuckled. "Hardly, son. There isn't even anything there, we checked."

"That's not what I mean! You took away what made him Zim!"

"And that's a bad thing, son? He was bent on trying to destroy the world. Just like you always said. I apologize for not believing you sooner, but all that is behind us. You really should come in to the lab, you'll have full clearance to view our work with the subject."

He opened his mouth to tell the man that he was NOT his son, and that, given half a chance, he would gladly take over the planet himself, but something in his mind sputtered at the thought. He blinked, and found himself saying, instead, "Maybe I will. Another time."

"Excellent. I'll inform security to let you in any time."

"Very well. Goodbye."

"Goodbye son. Enjoy your dinner."