I had to do it.
I’d always kidded myself that I could do my job, in spite of his incessant plans to foil it. But I was wrong.
I told him I was sorry. Some things have to be done.
Dib was fun while it lasted. He provided an… outlet, for my more creative energies. He got in the way, but that was just part of the fun.
Too bad he never knew how easy it would have been to dispose of him. He never figured out what a tiny problem he posed. He insisted on believing I was an idiot, a bumbler. I don’t blame him.
That’s what I led him to believe. Had he known the full extent of my training, he would have never thought of the idea to cross me. But he did. And, oh, what HORRIBLE frequency he did it with!
And I let him.
I ignored good sense. I should have destroyed him the first time he told the class I was an alien. But when I began to think of him more and more, the problems started. The humans have a term for the problem I faced.
Affection.
They are deluded into believing it is positive, a thing to be achieved. They even work toward it. We Irkens harbor no such deceptions. And I cannot do my job if I was weighted down with it.
So when I began feeling the symptoms, I had to destroy the source. I had to destroy the…Dib.
I believe, when I explained it to him, he understood. In a way. He didn’t show it, no. He begged me not to do it.
He even admitted to having symptoms of the same disease. I believe, that in a way, I helped him.

I never thought that when the time came, Zim would actually kill me. I know I couldn’t, if our places were reversed.
Now, he’s here in my room. And I see nothing in his eyes but a cruel efficiency.

He had appeared behind me, in my room. I turned to fight him, but before I could even land a single punch, he threw me to the floor, between the bed and the wall. I’m sitting there now, he’s talking to me.

I don’t hear the words, but I know what he means. He’s here to finally end it. The game. That’s all it’s ever been to him. A game. That’s how little he ever felt for my struggles. All I ever did, he could have stopped easily. My stomach is made of ice.

“You can’t do this, Zim. Because for all the fighting, I… I like you, Zim. I don’t know why but I do.” Zim pales. His green skin turns almost white. The tiny gun he has in his hand raises a bit.
“You understand, then, why I have to do this. Because I feel it too. The disease of… affection. It must be stopped, Dib. Stopped at all costs.” The gun clicks as Zim cocks it.
“Zim,” I plead “You don’t have to kill me! Affection is not a disease!” “You know so much, and somehow so little.” Zim says hoarsely.

The gun is silent. But I’m not. Blood streams onto my carpet, and I know I’m as good as dead. I scream, and scream. But he’s already gone.