The flash of lights and sirens were practically muted by the sounds of the Jezebel. Beside the bar, two cops sat, one old and grouchy while the other looked into the dancing crowd with an almost jealous statement, the music pulsing through his veins and setting his fingers to tap the steady beat against the bar. The older one, a glowing badge upon his breast and a graying mustache over his lip, nailed the bartender with scrutiny.

“So you’re saying you didn’t see who this kid was with? Didn’t even see him leave?”

Nye rubbed the inside of a glass with his washcloth till it squeaked. “I tend the bar. It’s not my business to watch freshman and make sure no upper classmen are buying them drinks. If this guy got drunk and hurt, that’s his problem, not the Jezebel’s and not mine.”

The older cop nodded. “I understand that, sir. But you said yourself that it was a slow night. Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

“Slow nights still mean at least twenty people. Plus, anybody would have come or left while I was away.”

“You left during your shift?”

Mischievous eyes glimmered. “There was a fight between my friends. Guy named Jax was getting harassed and I left to break it up.”

“Jax Mayfield?” The younger cop looked down at a small notepad, reading off the name at the top of the list. “Isn’t he that Dib guy’s friend?”

Nye set the cup down and pulled another one from beneath the counter, pouring a beer for the two policemen. “Now that you mention it, yeah. I think I remember them being friends at one point. Had a falling out at the turn of the semester, if I remember correctly. Yeah, Jax sat right there telling me about it.” He pushed the glasses before them. “Joys of being a bartender. You get to hear everyone’s crap. Here, complements of the house.”

The younger cop grabbed for one with a smile, but his hand was flagged away as his superior rejected the offering. “Thanks but no thanks. We’re still on the job.”

Nye took the drinks back behind the bar, pouring them down the drain. “Well, if I can’t get you something to drink, can I expect this meeting to be over soon? I’ve a date tonight.”

Older Cop nodded, getting up off the very bar stool Dib had sat in the night before. He brushed the imaginary dust from his shirt, gesturing for the rookie to head out. “If you can think of anything else, please contact us.” He pushed a card across the table. “If not, we’ll be in touch.”

Nye took the card, looked at it as though he were reading it and pocketed it. “Thank you. I will. Good luck.”

The two policemen exited the building, Nye flipping them off when he was sure they couldn’t see.

/Blue-collared fucks think they can pin this shit on me./ He poured himself a beer, despite policies, and drank until his nose twitched with the intoxicating foam. /I’d like to see them try./

His manager came around the corner from the back room, a disapproving look on his face. “You’re not supposed to drink in front of patrons.”

“Blow me.” Nye tipped his glass over, spilling the beer onto the floor over the drain. “I’m leaving. I got places to go.”

His manager nodded. “Fucking punk. Get the fuck out of my club before I call the police back in here. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Better than being worthless.” Nye flipped him off as he untied his apron from his waist and hung it from the nail in the backroom. He didn’t bother to put his jacket on, merely taking it down from the hanger and folding it over his arm as he strolled out the exit and into the dimly lit night. The single street lamp hummed with insects that flew around the magic lantern.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, a shiver passing over his body like the hand of a ghost. It was an eerie tension, invisible to the eye, but sensed with guilt and paranoia. Nye looked around discreetly, his hand reaching out to the door of his Jeep as his gaze wandered the shadows. He knew something was there. He could feel the eyes upon him almost as painfully as a hot poker to his skin. His hand reached into his pocket, fingering the shell of his pocket knife.

“You gonna stay in the shadows all night, you sick fuck, or are you gonna come here and try your luck mugging me?” He slowly flipped the blade to his knife out of the shell, still holding it disclosed in his pocket.

The shadows began to twitch mockingly, carrying knowing laughter over their soft waves.

“I know it was you.”

Nye jumped, turning around to face nothing but darkness and the glowing red exit sign of the building. “Zim?”

A can skittered across the asphalt, rolling to a stop and Nye’s feet. He stared at it for a moment, tracing the direction it had come from. The slightly darker silhouette of a man stood beyond the illumination of the streetlight.

“Zim. How nice to see you up and running again.” Nye’s malicious smile spread across his pale face. “Speaking of running, don’t you have some place to be? Like halfway home by now? I heard the police checked Dib’s room today. Seems they didn’t find any trace of you. I don’t know how you managed to get out in time, but I do admit some surprise at seeing you still here. A smart man would have left by now.”

“People like you don’t deserve to live.”

Nye laughed haughtily. “People like me are life. We are the gods of our generation; idols of fancy and fantasy. It’s people like you, who hide under false innocence and shun your instincts, that don’t deserve to live. Anyone who can’t live their lives the way they want because of some phony idealistic value they’ve placed on material things, deserves to be used and abused by those who can and do.” He watched the stoic shadow, his mind wondering how to bring him into the light. It would be much easier to stab someone you could see. “By the way, Zim, how’s Dib?”

The shadow lurched as Nye’s smug smile opened into a toothy grin. That had done it, he was sure. But suddenly the shadow didn’t look quite like a man anymore. Six long bony outlines appeared, stretching out like skeletal wings, then folding down to the ground, lifting the phantom body up into the twilight. They clinked like metal with every movement, rising to almost ten feet as they stretched and clattered. The light from the street lamp caught the chrome extensions, a soft glow shining off as more and more joined, bringing shadows into painful life.

With horror-filled eyes, Nye saw the six metal legs carry the ruby-eyed being into focus. It could only have been Zim. The face was the same green color, though the eyes and antennae stretching from the head were strange additions. He looked like something out of this world. Indeed, he was.

“What the fuck?” Humanity’s first instinct kicked in: survival. Nye reached for the handle to his Jeep, preparing to flee the scene, as all who want to live to fight another day do. His clammy hands grasped the black bar only to meet the forest-green exterior with his face. His nose cracked on impact, sending sparks of pain through his head and blood spilling out over his mouth as he cursed and sputtered. How Zim had gotten to him so quickly was only the second thing on his mind. The first was how they hell he could get out of it. The knife in his pocket seemed heavier, begging for use with every inch. His hand slipped in to grab it as he was forced to turn around, his back slamming into the Jeep this time while crimson eyes blazed in his vision.

With a swift arc he planted the blade of his knife in the nightmare’s chest. Zim’s face cringed, but only slightly, as one of his real arms wrapped around Nye’s wrist and assisted in the blade’s removal. The human’s eyes grew wide, his fears escalating as his heart pounded in his ears to accompany the ringing from the previous encounter with his car.

“Fucking shit! Wha... What the fuck ARE you?!”

A metal appendage appeared out of nowhere, stabbing through Nye’s shoulder and into the Jeep, another accompanying on the other side. Nye’s howl of pain was masked by the music of the club as bones were broken, blood was spilt, and muscles tore.

With hate in his eyes and blood on his breath, Zim lowered himself to gaze into the human’s terror-filled face. “I am Revenge.”

One smooth green hand came down on the human’s forehead, pushing it back against the Jeep and holding him steady. In his right hand was Nye’s pocketknife. Nye saw the glimmer of moonlight dance over the blade just before it scratched down his face broadside, peeling his flesh away strip by strip. The blood from his nose was joined by that of his cheek, as pale peach was sliced away and crimson muscle made visible. Zim’s fierce grip kept the human’s face still, though he screamed and wriggled to escape the blade.

From cheekbone to chin the blade returned, slicing away the human exterior, trying to find the evil that set him apart. Like a rotten fruit, he intended to cut the ugliness away. The skin fell away from the face easily, the sharpened blade gliding under and pulling it free from tendons and nerves. Piece by piece, he disassembled Nye’s face. When his cheeks were gone and nothing but red, he moved to his nose, severing it completely from his face and leaving a nub hollow space. His lips, vile and destructive, were taken as well. For all the trouble they had caused, the hate they had spread, and the deeds they had spoken, the lips were forced down his throat.

Nye gagged, his mind a frenzy of thoughtless thought, but well aware one did not willingly swallow their own lips. The choice was not his. It was time he, quite literally, ate his own words. Another of Zim’s appendages sprouted and pushed them down his throat fiercely, severing his tongue in the same act.

The face void of a human visage, Zim traced the blade down the human’s chest, the blade skipping and digging into choice parts as it bounced a trail down his torso. One quick slice and his stomach was an open orifice, spilling human organs into view. Zim’s hand plunged into the warm innards, grabbing hold of the long and tube shaped one and pulling, bringing it into the cold night air.

Nye’s body wracked in white-hot pain, his mind begging for unconsciousness. For death. He could feel something slick and warm wrap around his neck, the tug from his open gut telling him without looking that it was his intestines. The red eyes of the angel of death looked on him without remorse and without gratification. It was as though he were no more an accomplishment than stomping out a spider, a small death among other small creatures. Zim’s metal appendages withdrew from the human’s body, the useless mass falling to the ground, splashing in it’s own blood and crashing to the pile of discarded skin.

Zim looked down at him, one hand still gripping the trail of entrails he’d pulled from his belly. He moved to the back of the jeep, wrapping the innards around the spare tire in the back. With keys he’d stolen and a disdainful glance behind him, Zim got into the Jeep and drove off with his prey dragging in his wake.