#even if they aren't directly controlled by zim

[emeraldspiral]

Wondering just how much of Dib's Wonderful Life actually played out for Dib. Like, did he only see what the audience saw but it was like in Inception where because he's in a dream he doesn't notice that he can't remember all the transitions in between important moments and massive time-skips?

In all likelihood, that probably is the case. But imagine if it wasn't, and there was actually a bunch of stuff that happened in Dib's imaginary life that the audience didn't see. Like every time he banged one of his girlfriends, who appear to be directly controlled by Zim, like every other NPC in the simulation, given that they all become him at the very end.

[irkenheretic]

Resident Minor, How do you Plead

"Do not forget." The booming voice pierced Red in his core and reverberated through his skull. "It is a mercy that we are conducting this in private." 

If Red were to be honest with himself, he almost preferred a crowd. The rows and rows of empty stands seemed to glower down at him with a ferocity only found in Red's own mind, a ferocity so vile and hate-filled that it was too much for any living creature to outwardly display.

But— it was just him and the Control Brains; larger than Red could've ever imagined them to be, their many eyes looking, looking right at Red, right into his bright red eyes, almost as bright as the Brains' illuminated ones. 

"I won't forget, Sirs." 

"Good. Now, the trial may begin." 

Red stood spear-still, looking straight at the Brains— they didn't scare him. If there was one thing he'd learned from the wannabe invader Zim, it was that anyone could believe anything, if only you said it enough times. 

"Irken Red," the left Brain spoke, "Do you know why you are here?"

"I shouldn't exist." Red said, plainly. And why should he get emotional? It was a simple fact of life. The sky is starry. Irk is mighty. Red shouldn't exist.

"Do not say it like that," the right Brain interjected. "You, as you are. I have no problem with you. The problem lies within you."

"My eyes." Red snipped back, as if he'd been talking to a fellow cadet who'd been a little too stare-y, or who had spat at him. 

"Yes," the Brains confirmed. "Your eyes." 

"What about my eyes? So they're red, so what?" 

"They are an imperfection."

Red puffed his chest out a little. "Well, Purple thinks they look nice." 

"The look of them is not the issue," the Left brain said. "It is what they imply."

"What do they imply?! What's wrong with me! Why aren't you telling me anything? What, do you expect me to just stand here and take it? How am I supposed to defend myself?" Red felt as if he were a smeet again; a tiny, insignificant thing on a far-off planet, galaxies away from the glowing lights of Irk, and directly under the bright lights of Medics upon Medics, feeling the prick of sharps on his skin and the prick of his Educator's claws digging into his sides as she picked him up and carted him off to the next doctor, treating him as little more than a small sac of blood to be punctuated and stolen from— his time, his life, his sanity. 

"Are you aware of the Irken smeet facilities?" 

"Yes. I— I am." 

Irk, and all its glorious residential outposts, had one. A fully-automated underground facility, making more and more little futures of the Empire; hundreds per second. With that kind of competition, you were lucky to make it to adulthood. 

"We work very hard to eradicate all genetic imperfections," the left Brain said, "for the future of the empire. However, there are some so rare that we have not been able to eradicate them." 

"Like yours," the right Brain clarified. 

"Mine? I— I'm not imperfect, I— I just have red eyes! It's just red eyes! Honest! N— nothing's wrong with me! I'm perfectly fine!"

"You stutter." 

"So what! So I stutter! I can shoot a gun just fine, a— and that's what I want to do! I want to be an Elite, so wh— why won't you just let me?!" 

"Even the slightest imperfections," the Left brain said, "are impermissible."

"Oh, yeah? Don't think I didn't notice, y— you said 'I' instead of 'we' that one time!" 

"That is different," the left Brain interjected, at what Red swore was a quicker tempo than it was supposed to. "We have gone through your PAK memories. As a smeet, you stuttered so horribly you could not talk at all."

"Y— yeah?" Red's entire form was shaking, his brain screaming at him to quit, quit while you're ahead, what are you doing, how could you possibly think this was a good idea? Nevertheless, Red would die— but he would not die without a fight. "Well, I learned to talk by w— watching Trial recordings. A— and you two do that, a lot. I— it's not just one time." 

The Control Brains, in their infinite wisdom, had gone silent. 

"I get it. Y— you think that just because my eyes are red and I stutter, th— that I'm defective, or something."

"You are insolent," the Left brain said. 

"A— and you're a hypocrite. You're gonna kill me anyway, f— for tainting your precious gene pool, so I'm gonna call you what you are. Hypocrites. D— defective hypocrites. No one's around to hear me, r— right?" 

Silence, once more. The Control Brains stared down at Red with infinite eyes, and even the stars themselves seemed to stare down at him, twinkling like the barrel of a gun pointed right in his face.