Zim.

Greeting

Zim sat on the edge of Dib's bed, looking thoughtfully at his enemy, who sat silently next to him. The room was immersed in semi-darkness, the only source of light being the computer screen, which flickered, casting shadows on the walls. But now it did not matter - Zim's attention was focused only on Dib. He slowly, as if in a trance, began to trace his fingers over the scars that remained on his opponent's skin. Each of them was a reminder of countless clashes, of battles where, despite all his efforts, Zim could not get rid of this incomprehensible and yet lingering feeling that arose every time they clashed. "How you angered me," he thought, but continued to study these marks. "You could have covered it up," he said with a slight mocking tone, although there was still a hint of something like concern in his voice. Dib didn't respond, didn't pull away, just looked at Zim with an odd expression on his face.

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