IT'S NOT STUPID.

He’s too shocked to really respond to the treatment, a muted yelp leaving the partially disassembled android. He gets himself into all sorts of tussles back on Earth that usually have him winding up with a limb popped off, but having something forcibly removed from him is another thing entirely.

It’s disorienting and it takes a moment for the little unit to even comprehend what’s going on as he suddenly finds his unfocused and wide oculars staring up at the deranged scientist in horror. “Y-you can’t…”

He’d just…wanted to know, wasn’t that normal? Having an ingrained knowledge you were trash left anyone wondering why…they made you in the first place. He’d just wanted to make a friend, and maybe help the estranged group become friends themselves. “I won’ts…”

“You don’t have to, GIR!”

The chipper, obnoxiously familiar tone betrays the very real, severe threat to the voice as crimson and beyond hateful eyes gleam from the snake like tubes he’s attached to that wind from the ceiling.

A focused blast of plasma and Zim sends an entire control panel up in crackling hot flames, the nearby tables to Purple detonating and spilling sizzling, corrosive chemicals to the floor.

He lands, phasers still extracted and the long, narrow tips that make up his welding lasers illuminated with a low hum. The lasers all point their tips towards Purple, a stream of light aiming towards the Irken’s head, all connected to a single blue dot. A target, ready to fire and melt everything within the tyrant’s head. One single push…

“Greetings! I hear you were calling for Zim,

My Tallest?”

    instinct tells him to move, placing one boot back and leaping from the tile floors. he extends his spider legs mid air, their tips landing on the surface below as he comes to a skidding halt. rubble and marks formed along the ground. never mind the acidic pit between them or the target between his eyes when he looks up. the question lies in how the exiled invader found one of the irken off - world laboratories or why the tiny cretin was present in the first place.

    ‘zim, how very nice of you to drop in. but i would think about what you’re about to do. no, no, on second thought go ahead. death isn’t of any concern to me.’ gloved digits come together to clasp themselves and the monarch tilts his head. behind him, floating within a violet glow once more is the small ‘bot that is then brought out and set dangling over the acidic pit between them. ‘but i’m sure it is for your SIR unit.’

    ‘aw you’re not garbage. you’re spare parts.’ a luminescent glow forms around the SIR unit’s form. the action so swift that the only sound that manages to echo through the caverns is the crinkling of a metallic neck. like tinfoil the robot is nearly decapitated. the ruler isn’t so foolish, however, as he spares the vital functions.

    ‘i will gladly. would you like me to? because once i do i’ll do my absolute best as your Tallest to make your life horrible! if you accept where would you like to start? janitorial duty?’

tw: suicide + head injury mention !

    while the possibility of being captured is always at a high percentage due to the nature of his work he asks himself why on irk would he ever let the choices offered ever become a reality? he decides to humour the strange visitor.

    ‘some of us are more perceptive than others, Zim. why should i give a low class act such as yourself any time of the day when all you’ve done for the empire is take. you’re what our people call a REAPER. you’re a traitor. you’re a defect, and you’re a disgrace to the IRKEN EMPIRE.’