Disclaimer: Zim no mine.

Author's Note: Inspired by and dedicated to J. Random Lurker, who rocks my freakin' socks.


Fly in a Web


His screams were delicious.


The second, spider-like extension lifted itself slowly into the air, bright metal glistening in the vibrant crimson glow of the sunset: unwanted light pouring in through the "living room" window. Zim felt his lips quirk at the sight before him—the HURT. It pleased him, watching Dib dangling pathetically; pinned helplessly to the wall; his right hand already soaking in blood.

Such intense pleasure. . . it hurt to see it.

But he watched anyway.

"Well, hello, Dib-monster." the small invader breathed, face mere centimeter's from the boy's. "How wonderful to see you. . .Though it's funny—I don't recall inviting you into my home." On cue, the first mechanical leg dug deeper into the plaster when Zim snarled; forcefully grounding away at the flesh and bone and vessels hidden inside the child's palm. A scream of pure agony ripped itself from Dib's throat, his toes curling; straining to touch a floor that lay nearly seven feet away.


Saliva flew from the boy's mouth as a fresh wave of that same, unbearable searing tore mercilessly through his nerves, sending him into a temporary state of shock. Slippery red filth now oozed from both of his hands, staining the Irken's green wallpaper, sliding down to ruin the carpet.

Neither cared.

Growling weakly as his voice gave way, Dib soon began to struggle; attempting to defy crucifixion. His skin started to tear, rip away from his bones— fingers clenching in a vain attempt to grab something, support himself. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. . .

Zim noticed this with a cock of a non-existent eyebrow. "What's the matter, Dib-beast?" he hissed, ruby eyes narrowing; glittering with a sadistic glee. "Isn't this FUN? Isn't this what you CAME for? Isn't this what you WANTED? Sneaking into my base. . . you must have desired my ATTENTION."

A third, spindly pole peaked out of the invader's pack, bending and stretching languidly; tauntingly; threateningly. After a lazy moment, it began to extend in a nonchalant manner, outlining the child's face and neck with the very tip of its deadly point. "Well, DIB. . . You've got it."

Smirking his frighteningly happy smirk, Zim allowed his slithering tongue to dart out, licking the weapon's edge as it pulled a few inches back. He hated the wet, metallic taste—but adored the fear the sight birthed within Dib's eyes.

The Irken, amused, began to lean closer— countering the lack of balance his remaining spider leg provided with the support of the wall and his hold on his captive. Said victim was quite firmly in place, after all; trying to squirm, trying to breathe, trying to live.

Like a fly in a web. . . complete with a weak, useless resistance. He was already doomed: doomed to be killed. To be consumed. To be savored, enjoyed: every look of excruciating pain, all weak attempts at air, each gasp and moan of 'stop, stop, stop'—!

How entertaining this would be, breaking in his new toy. . . !

Zim grinned cruelly, using a gloved finger to tilt the boy's chin. His vision seemed fuzzy, somehow. Blurry. But the invader didn't care. "Oh, what fun we'll have. . ." he whispered, maroon pools narrowing, glittering through the oncoming darkness. "I'll carve myself into your body, into your mind, into your memory—until there's nothing left to play with. Until you are no more."

"—!" Dib let out a frustrated, horrified sort of screech; face screwed up in intense hatred, fear, and loathing. Still, he refused to beg. . . refused to cry. If nothing else, he wanted to protect his pride. "Just— kill me now. . ." he managed to rasp, feeling his palms start to give way.

But the alien only chuckled sweetly, hands pressed to either side of the boy's large head.