Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Data Entry 1

Incident: Bloaty’s Pizza Hog

06.09

Gaz had a reputation.

Namely, one for being a bit . . . cold. It was hard not to be. There wasn’t much in life for someone like her to show enthusiasm for. Yay, another day for her dad to ignore her and her brother to hold her hostage with his recklessness and abundance of emotional issues? Hooray? 

There was one thing Gaz truly loved in her life, and it wasn’t anything that shared any genetic markers with her. No, what Gaz desired was something far more significant than a sibling or a parent . Parents and siblings failed in so many realms. They disappointed. They were absent, or too overbearing. They dragged her to conferences, or to hellish corn mazes in the middle of the night to nearly burn to death. They were annoying .

What Gaz loved in life . . . was pizza .

The term pizza was first recorded in the 10th century, in a Latin manuscript from the Southern Italian town of Gaeta in Lazio, on the border with Campania. (1) 

Modern pizza was invented in Naples. Grazi Napoli.

Traditionally, pizza consists of a round base, with wheat-dough, cheese, tomato sauce, and a variety of preferential toppings—some more correct than others. Time and growing popularity have since elevated pizza to all classifications; from fast food to fine dining, pizza remains one of the most popular fast food items in the world.

Gaz and pizza were simply two halves of the same whole. A holy duality between man and . . . Italy. 

Blessed be the boot. 

Gaz loved all varieties of pizza the way one must love all their children—even the shitty ones, that screamed about ghosts and nearly get their sisters burnt to death in the middle of the night in a CORN MAZE —fairly. A fair amount of credit where it was due. A cheerful pat on the head. An encouraging remark here and there for doing its best.

But there was, of course, the favorite child. Everyone knew who the favorite was without anyone needing to discuss it or acknowledge it. It was the open family secret that all multi-children households were familiar with. Gaz’s favorite was similarly obvious.

Bloatys. Pizza. Hog.

Magnificent. Perfection. The pizza that didn’t just walk the line between abysmally greasy and perfectly gooey, but was the golden standard for it. Pepperoni fresh from the freezer. Blocks of cheese hand grated by exploited teenagers using their own hands to pick up a block of cheese and drop it into the grating machine. 

Charles E. Cheddar could never.

If original sin was the punishment of man, then Bloaty’s was surely the sticky note left on their severance letter with a little winky face on it. 

Bloaty’s was no godly ambrosia tainted by immortal artificial scarcity and arrogance. Bloaty’s was the everyman’s food. The food by the people, for the people. Just. Righteous. Accessible. Very accessible.

Especially when one’s sibling owed them a very large favor for nearly getting them burnt to death in a corn maze. And eaten alive—one mustn't forget the stench of demon pumpkin breath as she was dangled above its maw. Gaz certainly wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. And she would be damn sure her brother wouldn’t be, either.

Which is why they were now loaded into his old beater and driving a good forty five minutes outside of town with zero protest. Gaz was even fiddling with the radio without a single peep out of her brother. Not that the radio worked; it was mostly a dose of white noise with the occasional local radio voice seeping through as they traveled through the airwaves of various radio stations, but it was the principle of the thing. 

It’d only been four days since they’d dragged themselves from the dirt and made a remarkably sour victory drive home. The sunrise had only grated on her nerves, as it was both too high to fall asleep to, and too low for the passenger visor to block. Forget beautiful, serene silence. The drive home had been deathly quiet, filled with Gaz’s growing rage and her brother’s equally rising apprehension.

Gaz had only said one sentence to him in four days, and she’d only said it to him on the third, when her medical supplies had been delivered. Ankle freshly wrapped in physical therapy tape, no sign of infection anywhere on her wounds, she was good to go. It was time.

She had waltzed into her brother’s room, thrown the door open, and skewered him in a glare. He’d stared back, hands paralyzed above his keyboard.

“Bloaty’s,” she hissed in the voice of poisoned wine. “Tomorrow. We’re leaving at six.” She waited a few minutes to let that information sink into the brain that was so clearly overwhelmed by fear before adding, “And we’re going to the one in the city.”

The slam of the door had prevented any commentary. Not that she expected any, but she felt it was a good emphasis to her point that this was a non-negotiable trip.

The radio crackled something that might’ve been anything from the top 100’s over the past decade. It was hard to tell. In a better mood, Gaz might’ve been up to guessing. Maybe make a game of it. Not today though. She was holding fast to her anger. Her anger was legendary. Gaz could hold grudges like most people held onto a cliff edge, for all its implications. 

A sidelong glance at her brother showed he wasn’t white-knuckling the steering wheel anymore. He seemed to have resigned himself to his fate at this point. Good. He was lucky she wasn’t making him foot the bill too. Although she did see he made a point of checking to make sure he had his wallet before leaving. She’d make sure to rack up an anxiety-worthy bill before producing her own card. Leave him to sweat a little.

Signs to Bloaty’s Mega-Pizza-palooza started popping up as soon as they were within a mile from their destination, each more neon than the last. 

CHEESY GOODNESS NEXT EXIT

TOMATO-TOMAHTO -- WE’VE GOT EM ALL. NEXT RIGHT

STUFF YOUR FACE WITH STUFFED CRUST - NEXT LOT

“Want me to drop you off in front?” Dib offered.

Gaz took a moment to consider it before she caught sight of the parking lot.

“No need,” she said, pointing. “It’s pretty dead tonight.”

Which was weird. It might’ve been a Wednesday, but it was summer , for Bloaty’s sake. This place should’ve been packed. Maybe she’d missed a bank holiday or something. No parent was going to sacrifice precious vacation days at Bloaty’s . 

“Oh wow,” Dib noted. He passed the despondent workers directing what little traffic there was with light up wands—each one with a glowing party hat on top of it—head swiveling to take in the sheer emptiness of the parking lot. “It really is. That’s weird.”

“All is right in the world,” she hummed.

Dib had barely parked before she was hopping out of the car. “You need an air freshener,” she remarked sourly. “Your car smells like old lady potpourri.”

The remark made him weird and skittish. She eyed him semi-suspiciously a moment before letting it go. He was clearly on high alert for any sign of targeted anger. It’d all be fine when this was over. The drive back would be comfortable, perhaps even include some sibling banter. But until Gaz stepped foot outside of Bloaty’s, she was an avenging reaper looking to collect souls and settle a score. Dib would do well to keep his head down and his mouth shut. 

With one last warning glare to unsettle him completely, Gaz crossed the empty drop off zone and headed inside.

The automatic doors slid open, and Gaz allowed true bliss to swallow her whole. 

The air smelled like garlic, and in spite of the amount of vents and the full efforts of every air conditioner in the building, the room still radiated a comfortable heat. Her eyes slid closed, hands unclenching, and for a moment, Gaz simply existed. Arcades looped in the distance. Neon lights flickered even behind closed eyelids. Somewhere, someone had just jumped into a ball pit without any courtesy or warning. Someone else screamed in pain and alarm.

Perfection.

Dib wisely chose to let Gaz have her moment. After several breaths, she sighed and returned to the present. 

The first order of business was to reserve a booth for themselves. For the paltry, casual visitor, finding a place to sit was a monolithic task. For Gaz, such a thing was child’s play.

They headed towards the general seating area, Gaz in the lead. Even with the parking lot as empty as it was, each table was still packed to the brim with bags, jackets, food, and people saving seats, each with a half-wild look in their eyes as they protected their spot. Tch. Fools.

“Welcome to Bloaty’s,” droned a uniformed teenager. “We’re currently at full capacity for seating. Would you like to be put on a waitlist?”

“No,” Gaz replied, smoothly retrieving her lanyard from her backpack. “We’ll take a booth.”

“Booths are reserved for—oh,” he said, his recitation broken by the sight of the laminated card at the end of her lanyard. He glanced between the two of them somewhat warily, perhaps even judgmentally, before he clearly decided that it wasn’t his problem if two teenagers had actually gone out and bought a VIP pass for Bloaty’s Mega-Pizza-palooza. 

He pulled a walkie talkie off his hip. “VIP’s at the seating area. Please send an escort.”

He shut it off without even bothering to await a reply. His smile was polite, exhausted, and thin. 

“Someone will be along shortly,” he said, gesturing to some plastic seats to the left. They were roped off, each sporting a glittery, chipping star embossed with “VIP.” 

They barely registered the seats before a woman in a glittery vest the same color as the stars zipped around the corner. Gaz couldn’t tell what was pulled tighter; her ponytail, or the sides of her cheeks. That smile was painful looking. 

“Welcome-welcome VIP’s! Sorry for the wait!” She said, gesturing grandly for them to follow. She led them around the corner until they came across a roped off staircase, guarded by cameras and a cardboard cut out of Bloaty holding a sign that said “Very Important Pizza-tiers Only!”

Dib seemed mortified to be associated with all this fanfare. Good. Now he knew how she felt when he lugged his equipment around in public.

At the top of the staircase, a large woman in a pair of coveralls stood from her seat. At the sight of their escort, she unhooked the rope, gesturing graciously for them to continue.

“Thanks Tina!” Chirped their escort.

The upper tiers were reserved for extra-special-pizza-patrons only, as their escort recited.

“We’re honored to have you visit us, Miss Membrane,” she continued. “Would you prefer balcony seating, or show seating this evening?”

“Show seating, please,” Gaz replied.

“Excellent choice! Right this way!”

Apart from one family in balcony seating, the entire seating area seemed to be empty. 

“How much are you paying for this pass?” Dib muttered to his sister.

Although the question was aimed at his sister, the attendant chimed in instead. “Oh, what’s money in comparison to fun?! ”

Dib’s brow rose. “That high, huh?”

Their escort shrugged the comment off as though she hadn’t heard it, instead turning her attention to the booth.

Gaz much preferred these. On the very rare occasion they were recognized, the booths guaranteed respite from prying eyes. The booth was actually more of a private room than a simple table and cushioned chairs—although those were clearly included as well. 

The booth had one entire wall dedicated to a tv and speakers that currently displayed a countdown to the next animatronics show, expected in about an hour and a half. 

Their escort dropped the heavy separating curtain behind them, gesturing grandly to each amenity of their room with perfected recitation. TV with state of the art speakers for perfect sound clarity (*audio adjustable from the controls embedded into their table). Full floor and ceiling LED lighting, (*also adjustable from their controls embedded into the table) (**disco lighting feature optional). 

“And, of course,” she hummed, neatly placing a tablet in each of their hands. “Your menus. No need to get out of your seats! Our waitress tonight will swing by with your food the instant it’s out of the oven! What card would you like to have on file?” She added in sweet, polite tones.

Dib sighed, hand reaching into his pocket, when Gaz held up a hand.

“Put it on the card associated with the VIP account,” she instructed. Ah well. Missed opportunity to make Dib squirm, but whatever. She was sure she’d find other opportunities tonight to torment her sibling. 

“Yooou betcha!” She chirped. “Now, of course, I see you already have your waivers on file. Thank you so much! Per Bloaty’s Pizza Hog policy, I am obligated to remind you that Bloaty’s Inc. and associated incorporations are not responsible for any injury, accident, or death as a result of guest negligence. Any damages, injuries, or fatal interactions between guests that occur on the premises will remain between individual plaintiffs, and will not involve Bloaty’s Pizza Hog Inc. or associated incorporations, even in the circumstances that a Bloaty’s Pizza Hog Inc. or associated incorporations item including but not limited to gift bags, passes, merchandise, etc. is involved or improperly utilized in the assault. By entering the premises, you agree to absolve Bloaty’s Pizza Hog Inc. and all associated incorporations from any damages that may occur to your person on the property.”

Dib’s eyes grew progressively wider with every sentence, while Gaz merely perused the menu. 

“That . . . can’t be legal,” he whispered to her.

Gaz growled, jerking him by the arm into his seat. “What’s not legal is what I’ll do to you if you don’t shut up and sit down. ”

“Op! Almost forgot. My name’s Lynn,” their escort added, heading towards the curtain. “That gold button on the wall will let me know if you need anything! Don’t hesitate to give me a call!”

“Thanks, Lynn,” Gaz called, already distracted anew by the menu. They’d added some specials today that she was itching to try out. 

Dib shifted uncomfortably in his seat a few times before finally sighing, surrendering to the absurdity of the whole situation. “So,” he began. “What am I doing?”

It was good that he was deferring to her for instruction. Really showed he knew that he was just a warm body here. That being said, she mostly didn’t care what Dib did while they were here, so long as it didn’t interrupt her personal agenda.

Still, this was Dib she was talking about. Her trouble magnet of an older brother needed stricter guidelines than a shrug and a grunt.

“I don’t care what you occupy your time with,” she began. She waited until some of the tension in his shoulders eased before skewering him with a venomous glare. “But you are not to do anything that is going to attract attention from staff. Or parents,” she added, because the parents here were rabid about their ‘precious angels,’ and she did not want that kind of headache. “You are to do nothing that gets us in trouble, kicked out, or otherwise irritates me into murdering you. Got it?”

“Got it,” he confirmed. His eyes went to his menu, a silent question in his eyes.

“It’s Dad’s card,” she said in answer to the longing expression. “Get whatever you want.” 

Dib had the courtesy to pause for all of three seconds before snatching his own tablet and perusing the menu. Gaz didn’t even bother to contemplate the bill the two of them were racking up in service fees alone. Money was something that happened to other people when you were Professor Membrane’s unsupervised favorite child. Unlike Dib’s personal expense card, she didn’t supply any of the credited funds on the account. And hers didn’t have a cap on it.

Ah, the small joys of being the favorite.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, they’ve got two pizzas—Dib got himself a personal size, while Gaz got herself an XL—a basket of fries, onion rings, and tater tots, a basket of garlic knots, two slurpees, and two trays of tasting glasses, each filled with a shot glass full of unreleased soda flavors. 

Content, they tucked in together. Gaz used her tablet to start reserving time slots on arcade games. Hmm. The arcade was pretty sparsely populated as well from the looks of it. She probably could’ve gotten away with just stand-by for a few of these, but why chance it? She was a strategist at heart after all. One could never be too cautious.

“I’m going to head down to the arcades,” she announced. She’d picked at just about everything, and their food came with warming trays; it was fine to leave. “What are you going to do?”

Dib patted his backpack good-naturedly. “I brought some research stuff to go over. I can stay with the food and make sure no one touches our stuff.”

Her brow rose. “You know this floor has security, like, everywhere , right? No one’s coming in here.”

“Says you,” Dib countered. “Security here is being paid to pretend to care about our stuff and act mostly as a deterrent. They don’t actually care.”

“You’re so paranoid.”

Dib was already rifling through his bag, shifting to the emptier section of their booth and spreading his papers across the surface. He waved her off good-naturedly. “Stop worrying about my mental capacity and go ruin people’s self esteem with your High Scores.”

“Idiot.”

“If someone’s not crying, you’re not trying hard enough!” He called after her.

Gaz rolled her eyes. Tch. Moron. 

Along with their complementary Bloaty’s Tablet came a small pouch for it to slide into while you walked around. Gaz put the strap for hers over her shoulder, made sure it was zipped tight (children who saw tablets in general tended to develop ‘sticky fingers’), and headed into the arcade.

The arcade made up about 40% of the entire Bloaty’s complex. Considering the sheer size of the complex, this was even more substantial than the percentage implied. And it was glorious.

The entryway was a massive wall covered in the logos of various gaming companies, showcasing the variety within. Above the cutout entryway hovered an enormous Bloaty’s head, with eyes that moved to and fro, and arms that swayed in a wave. 

Magnificent. 

Time to begin.

As with every previous Bloaty’s trip, Gaz had her entire night completely planned out. Bloaty’s did not close until 1am each evening, meaning she and her brother would be out the door at precisely 12:59am. They had arrived at 6:45, been seated by 7:00, had her fill of food by 7:20, and was properly fueled for a full hour of gaming. At 8:30, the animatronics show would start, giving her ample time to rehydrate, eat more food, and come straight back to the arcade. Hours of endless, perfect gaming, with access to classic, Bloaty’s-exclusive titles that couldn’t be found anywhere else in the country.  

The first thing she needed to get out of the way were what she referred to as ‘ticket dispensers.’ The easy, mindless games that were just there to get her the tickets she needed for anything she wanted on the Hog-It-All Prize Wall. There were a few massive plushies that drew the amateur eye, but Gaz had her eyes set on smaller things. Exclusive, limited edition, one of a kind things. Things she wasn’t going to be able to get without discipline. Focus, Gaz.

An attendant by the door wordlessly handed her a gallon bucket. Inside were small plastic rings meant to help roll up tickets and keep track. Good. She’d be needing a few more of those by the time she was done. 

Eyes sharp, hands focused, Gaz headed to her first warm-up machine. The Clowninator 1995 edition. She could hear its looping, clownish laughter long before it came into view. But sure enough, there it sat, in a dishonorable spot in the darker, less populated corners of the room. Clearly an ignorant idiot had designed the layout for this section of arcade games. They didn’t recognize one of the greats when they saw it. Despicable behavior. 

Alas, she had a task to focus on.

Clowninator 1995 had been remastered in 2001 by the company that had merged with it, and bought its licensing rights. Licensing rights which were sold off in piecemeal during said company’s bankruptcy in 2004. Clowninator was doomed henceforth into the purgatory of lawsuits and licensing agreements, never to be remade again, its promised announced sequel in 1996 forever a reminder of what could’ve been. Gaz had the announcement poster framed in her room, a coveted collectors item that more than a few people online had offered to buy off her hands.

The digital clown went down, dying a perilous, pixelated death in 8-bit resolution, melted into the acid it had only moments ago hoped to aerosolize and release onto the unsuspecting, fictional city of Eutopia. 

HIGH SCORE!!!!

Player: _ G _ A _ Z |

Next.

Segasus the Pegasus, a late 2005 release that still managed to win fan favorite by astronomical write-ins, in spite of its smaller time on the market in comparison to larger (and still bitter) developers with legacy titles. Segasus the Pegasus had thankfully not suffered the same fate as Clowninator, had a decent sequel, and managed to live on fondly in the hearts of gamers everywhere. 

Segasus—finally having regained his wings from the clutches of the Swamp King—regained his magic, and used his powers to erase the poisonous miasma that the Swamp King had spread across the globe. 

HIGH SCORE!!!!

Player: _ G _ A _ Z |

Next.

And so on.

HIGH SCORE!!!!

Player: _ G _ A _ Z |

Next.

HIGH SCORE!!!!

Player: _ G _ A _ Z |

And again.

HIGH SCORE!!!!

Player: _ G _ A _ Z |

. . . Wait.

Something about that last title screen had caught her eye. She was definitely the high score, but one of the names.

Although one of the children waiting in line for their turn at the game complained about her gloating, Gaz toggled down the list to scan the names.

5. T_R_E_V_R
6. B_E_T_H_<3
7. P_E_N_1_S

And name 2 was—.

.

.

.

.

The second name on the leaderboard.

G_I_R

Gaz let her hand fall from the game, stepped away to avoid inciting the waiting mob, and felt herself grow cold.

1. I. R.

Gir. 

Her knuckles paled with the force of the grip she had on her ticket bucket. 

The leaderboard was reset every day on the more popular titles.

There was no way.

Nope.

Not possible.

Absolutely not. 

Panic began to claw at her throat. In her mind’s eye, the fall of Rome played out, screaming panic and collapsing buildings intermingled with the sight of a green dog suit running rampant. 

She closed her eyes. 

Deep breath.

The panic dissolved, replaced by new resolve.

Alright. The first thing to do was figure out where the little robot was.

She definitely hadn’t seen his name on the classic titles she’d run through, which were mostly clustered in the eastern side of the arcade. Gaz usually counterclockwise, in direct counter to the usual casual gamer, who tended to clear rooms in a clockwise formation subconsciously. Gaz avoided the crowds, and didn’t get burdened down by wait times from filthy casuals.

She doubted Gir had such a strategy planned, considering this game was in the middle of the room.

She paused, eying the machine with some scrutiny. What about this game would’ve attracted Gir? It wasn’t a classic, and it wasn’t a particularly new title. 5 years old, taking third place in any category it was nominated for. Nothing spectacular. 

The current player killed one of the flying enemies. In response, the LED’s danced in rainbow patterns and made loud explosion noises.

Gaz’s expression flattened.

Of course. It was loud and flashy. Duh. Alright, so what other games here were similarly obnoxious? She took a mental survey of the most tourist-trap games in the arcade. They were mostly pretty spread out to try and draw players to different sections of the arcade. The next closest one was around the corner. Toddlers, Trucks, and . . . Tacos. 

. . . Yup. He’d definitely be there. 

Gaz rounded the corner and set her sights nearly immediately on the game. On top of its console sat a pacifier, enormous sombrero, and of course, a taco in gleaming polyethylene. The chair was enormous, obscuring its current player. In spite of this game’s purpose as a flashy crowd drawer, it was ultimately just another driving simulator. There were better, cooler ones with more modern and creative twists, leaving this one devoid of any lines. 

Gaz drew closer cautiously.

On the screen, a truck continuously and repeatedly ran into the cargo of another truck. Gaz had played this title before herself, and recognized that this was still the tutorial. The player hadn’t even left the docking bay. Instead, they were pulverizing some cargo into a pulp. Backing all the way out, straightening out, prepared to turn onto the road, and then maddeningly, right back into the same space they’d just maneuvered out of. Reverse. Turn. Straighten. Drive. Hard turn. Slam. Over and over again.

Honestly, at that point, actually getting a look at the player’s face seemed redundant, but she looked out of an abundance of caution anyway.

Sure enough, swallowed up by the enormous racing chair, Gir sat smashing, wiggling, and otherwise utilizing buttons at complete random. Regardless of the fanfare of his motions, he still managed to do the same thing over and over again. It was sort of impressive.

Although Gaz’s intention had been to try and stay out of sight, Gir was a robot with apparently decent enough sensors to know when he was being watched.

His head snapped towards hers, the eyes of his dog suit narrowing. His voice deepened. “ You—! Oh!” He said, voice immediately returning to normal pitch. He let one hand off the control, waving frantically. “Hiya scary lady!”

Resigned to conversation, and succumbing to her own morbid curiosity, Gaz approached.

“You’re still in tutorial mode you know,” she pointed out. It was a wonder he’d managed to get on the leaderboard in the previous game, but then again, most of that game could arguably qualify as strategic button mashing. That seemed right up Gir’s alley. 

Gir’s tongue appeared, eyes squeezing shut with oblivious joy. “I’m winning.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, eyes on the truck. 

Reverse. Turn. Straighten. Drive. Hard turn. Slam. Her eyes flicked to the ticket output slot on the machine. One ticket hung pathetically, like a small peace offering; a plea to go away. It was the ticket you got just for putting your name in.

She turned her head, looking around. “Where’s your dad?” She asked sarcastically.

Suddenly, something red and glittery was held inches from her face, so close she couldn’t even register what it was. She jerked backwards, creating enough distance for her retinae to make heads or tails of what Gir had just presented to her.

It was a plastic, enormous white, oval-shaped pin. On it, in red, bold letters read the words “UNATTENDED CHILD.” In smaller letters, so small it barely showed, read: “parents waived liability.”

Gaz felt physical relief wash over her. “Zim’s not here.”

“Nope!” Gir confirmed, returning the button to his chest.

“He just . . . lets you come to the arcade? . . . Alone?” 

“Master signed a waiver!”

“Of course he did,” she replied. What alien menace wouldn’t think it was a great idea to send their insane, destructive robot on their own to the biggest Bloaty’s in the state? “Well, you have fun then.”

“Oki doki!”

Gaz took one last glance at the screen out of sheer morbid curiosity. 

Drive. Hard turn. Slam . 

“Riiight,” she drawled, turning away. 

Well, that was one potential disaster averted. Great. Now she could get back on schedule.

Some hour or so later, Gaz had filled three more gallon buckets with tickets, and was ready to refuel. She’d only spotted Gir two more times. Oddly, he seemed to be behaving himself perfectly. Completely fine and content to perform a singular task over and over again, so long as it flashed and made loud noises. No wonder Zim was so willing to let him roam around here on his own. This definitely didn’t seem like his master’s scene, and he probably figured out that for whatever reason, Bloaty’s was immune to his robot’s propensity for screaming fits. She wondered how often he sent Gir here to get out of his hair. Considering it was a random Wednesday night, she had a feeling it must’ve been a regular occurrence. 

“Whoa,” her brother commented at the sight of his sister laden with ticket buckets. “They’re gonna run out of paper at the rate you’re at.”

She shrugged, setting her buckets safely out of the way of any food or grease, and reclaimed her seat in front of her horde.

“Having fun?” Her brother asked. Clearly he was in good spirits. His papers looked more organized then they had when she left. The top page had been highlighted, with specific phrases circled in red ink, and notes scrawled in the margins. 

She nodded, halfway into a slice of pizza when she heard it.

“Sir!” Lynn called. “Eh heh, sir, um, sir, please—!”

The small commotion caught her brother’s attention too. He hopped out of his seat, trying to draw the curtain aside discreetly as possible. Gaz couldn’t get much of a look with his big head in the way from her seat, and quickly decided pizza was more important than eavesdropping. Besides, Dib would tell her what was going on in a second anyways. 

Suddenly, said sibling shut the curtain sharply, staring at her with wide eyes.

She paused in her chewing. “What?”

The curtain was yanked aside, and in the doorway stood Gir, followed closely behind by a frazzled Lynn, cheek-splitting smile still in place below panicked eyes.

Chapter Text

Incident: Bloaty's Pizza Hog

Data Entry 2

06.09

“Oh, goodness—I’m SO sorry!” Lynn blurted out immediately. 

Dib looked alarmed, mouth falling open in shock at the sight of nemesis’s minion.

Gaz swallowed her mouthful of pizza. “It’s fine,” she said. “We know his dad.”

“Gaz,” her brother said sharply. “We can’t let him in here! He could be spying!”

From the look on Lynn’s face, she clearly had assumed some sort of corporate espionage was underway. Lawsuits flashed behind increasingly wide, twitching eyes. Gaz was genuinely worried they were going to pop out of her head if she got any more worked up.

“It’s fine,” she said firmly. To Lynn she said, “You can go.”

The dismissal had barely gotten out completely before Lynn was gone. Gaz had seen cartoons move slower than she had. She was pretty sure she’d left scuff marks.

Gir stood in the middle of the room, swinging his bucket cheerfully, oblivious to the small commotion he’d caused. Dib remained plastered to the walls of their booth, somewhere between terrified and suspicious as Gir lingered. 

His head turned, registering the table as though it had appeared out of thin air. “Ooh, pizza!”

Gaz grabbed an extra plate and extended it towards him. “Go for it.”

“What are you doing?” Dib hissed. 

“Experimenting,” she said simply, her eyes never leaving Gir. 

Sure enough, Gir politely took the plate, and ate the pizza. One bite at a time. And didn’t eat the plate. 

Oblivious to this miracle, Dib continued to rave in her ear. “Are you insane?! Zim could be here any minute, and you’re feeding his evil henchman!”

“He’s an unattended minor,” she pointed out simply. 

As though it was built into his programming—and actually, now that she thought about it, it might have been—Gir launched towards Dib, shoving his button in his face much the same way he’d done to Gaz. 

“See?” She said, through a mouthful of fries. She noted that in launching himself at her brother, Gir had discarded his empty plate within grabbing distance. She reached for it, dumping some onion rings and another slice on his plate. “Good job, Gir. Here you go.”

Squealing, Gir squirmed out of the booth seat, slipped under the table, and popped up beside Gaz. Just as last time, he accepted the plate and got to work eating. One bite at a time. Gaz eyed him with some measure of fascination. It had to be all the stimuli, she theorized. There had to be something broken in Gir’s head that required a constant influx of data. Maybe being around non-chaos was actually a detriment to his processors. 

Weird.

Still, Dib refused to give in. “Just because he says Zim isn’t around—!”

“Master signed a waiver!” 

Gaz nodded in agreement. 

Dib seemed one moment away from spontaneous combustion. “Gaz, seriously, what are you doing?”

“Oh stop having a fit,” she snapped. God, he was such a buzzkill. “I’ve been in the arcade for over an hour, and whenever I saw Gir, there was no one with him. Besides, does this really seem like a place Zim would ever step foot in? He hates Bloaty’s,” she reminded him. Ah, that brought back good memories. She could still recall his screams of terror during their childhood at the sight of the animatronics. Good times. “Gir’s just here for video games. And he’s behaving. Better than you are, anyway,” she added snidely.

“He’s evil,” Dib stressed, quickly shoving his oh-so-special papers in his bag, out of sight of the oblivious robot. “Just because you think he’s, I don’t know, cute or something doesn’t make him not evil!”

The noise he received from his sister for that comment was somewhere between a snarl and a grunt, and was very effective in garnering his silence. His jaw shut with a click, and Gaz speared him in place with a warning glare.

His fear, while extremely uncomfortable, did ground Dib. She could see the wheels turning in his mind, his brain finally catching up with the context of the situation. 

Gaz’s interests were pretty centralized at this point in her life. While her brother and father often fixated on her love for video games, her secondary hobbies were sort of forgotten about. Her brother’s eyes flicked from the screen that now counted down the minutes until the Bloaty’s animatronics show, to the tiny robot obliviously munching on a tater tot, to his sister. She saw the realization click in his mind. 

Right. Robots. 

Gaz was a gamer at heart, but also a programmer. She’d been designing and redesigning her security bots since she was a kid. She adored the animatronics at Bloaty’s. Robots. Experiments. Riiiight. 

“Er,” he cleared his throat, finally settling down into his chair. “He’s. . . pretty advanced, in his way.”

Gaz didn’t respond. Her glare only narrowed further. 

Dib sunk into silence, fidgeting around in his bag, feigning distraction from his papers. Properly cowed, he only shot her one quick glance before immersing himself back into his work and out of her hair. 

Gir squeaked as he hopped out of the booth, shaking himself like a wet dog. His hood came loose around his shoulders. Partially, disrobed, he stared at her with bright blue optics.

“We gonna watch the show?” He asked.

The countdown displayed on their screen now showed less than two minutes remaining. She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay!” He shouted.

He turned on his heel, marching for the door. 

“Gir!” Gaz called. The robot swiveled his head entirely around. “Where are you going? The shows on the TV,” she emphasized, gesturing to the massive monitor the robot had somehow missed. “You don’t have to sit by the stage.”

Ugh, the stage. In spite of the many glories of even this renowned Bloaty’s, the stage was a horror that could never be tamed. Not by this facility, or any other.

Children, clamoring and screaming over the animatronics, each seeming greasier and stickier than the last. Not a single parent in sight. Or at least not any who had any interest in controlling their hellspawn. Gaz didn’t know why people bothered to breed if they had no interest in parenting. Regardless, as every holy land needed its comparative hell, the front stage area was all 7 rings of it combined.

“I like the stage!” Gir replied cheerfully. “It’s sticky!”

Neither Membrane had a rebuttal for that, both wearing identical expressions of disgust and confusion. Gir stared back.

Contrary to his own words, he made his way back to the floor in front of the tv. He sat down with the gentle noise of something deflating (thankfully not accompanied by an odor, as Gaz had briefly feared). 

“Right,” Dib said slowly. He turned his full attention to his sister, gesturing wordlessly. They began to converse in silence only two siblings could manage. 

The general gist of it was Dib, gesticulating in sharp, exasperated gestures while his sister sneered and rolled her eyes. The argument was brief. Gir was staying, and Dib could choke on it. She wanted to observe him in his natural state, and if Dib didn’t like it, he could go elsewhere. 

Whatever force had compelled Gir to stay must have been magnetic, as he remained firmly in place as the countdown came to a close. In the last 60 seconds, the numbers on the screen became individual, and more pronounced. Each second had an accompanying celebratory animation. Gir began vibrating somewhere around 20. It was the sort of vibration a technician would become alarmed at. The force of it seemed to imply combustion was imminent. At sub-10, the recorded, excited voice of children shrieked the accompanying number. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2.

1.

Bloaty himself appeared on the screen seconds later, in all his animatronic glory. 

The band was the biggest draw of this location. Few places in the country could boast hosting multiple members, let alone the full band. Here, however, they performed three times a week. 8:30, on the dot.

Gir’s mouth opened, gasping loudly. For a moment, Gaz feared he was about to scream (at which point her interest would come to an abrupt end). But he didn’t. On the contrary, all his vibrations came to a halt, along with any other visible sign of emotion. The small robot watched the screen with a dead-eyed stare.

“Freaky,” Dib mumbled under his breath.

Gaz was inclined to agree. He was just such a . . . weird little guy. It was hard to keep up.

Not that Gir was the primary concern for the moment anyways. Right now, Gaz had a show to watch.

Bloaty swayed with every wave of his hand at the surrounding crowd, always seeming to teeter just on the edge of playing with gravity before shifting his weight to the other side. Behind him, his several electronic companions rose and bobbed to the deafening beat. Even this far from the stage, Gaz could feel the faint pulse of the bass rumbling the floor.

It was hard to get a feel for the actual stage itself. Carefully crafted lighting and mirrors made it seem infinite. Neon spotlights hovered over each animatronic, bleeding sharply into darkness wherever there wasn’t direct lighting overhead. The mirrors shifted and moved in panels behind them. 

Behind Bloaty, Moose’s head spun. Confetti erupted from the ends of his antlers. Further back still, Octo slammed an enthusiastic, repetitive rhythm on an elaborate set of drums, meant to showcase the range of each of his eight legs. 

Wendy the Walrus was featured in an elaborate, bedazzled two-piece gown rather than her usual bikini ensemble. She strummed the guitar (although unlike Octo, there was no hope of creating the illusion that she was really playing it with her flippers). 

In the lead, just beside Bloaty on the main microphone, Earl the Squirrel shook his tail at the crowd of sticky-fingered children. Security only barely managed to keep them at bay.

“Howdy kids!” Bloaty greeted. “You’re in for a t-t-t-t-reat tonight!”

Gaz frowned.

She had been to Bloaty’s too many times to count, and could’ve choreographed this performance in her sleep.

Bloaty. Did not. Stutter.

“Something’s up,” she announced. 

Because of course something was wrong. She couldn’t just have one night. No. Bloaty needed to be twitching and acting up. The whole thing would probably be off-beat and off-key. It wasn’t worth it. 

She stood. “I’m going to the arcade.”

“Wait, seriously?” Dib said incredulously, watching her scoot from the booth. “Because he stuttered?”

She sneered at him. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

His expression flattened. “Gaz—.”

“Sssssh!”

A pause.

Both heads turned towards the robot on the floor, who held a stubby hand to his mouth.

He grinned. “I love this show.”

“The show is broken, Gir,” Gaz retorted. “It’s going to be terrible.”

Gir seemed on the verge of replying before something caught his attention. His head seemed to angle towards the floor, curiously. Beneath them, the musical performance pressed on, but it was too late for a rebound. Perfection had already been torn from their hands. There was no point in watching their desperate attempt at recovery.

“OOoh,” Gir cooed. He rolled onto all fours, staring fixedly at the floor. He slapped it out of beat with the rhythm of the song. Heavy, and slow. Almost like a metronome. It was a very dramatic gesture. He raised his left arm, slapping it on the ground. He raised his right arm, letting it meet the floor. Left, right, left, right. Almost in the cadence of great footsteps. He giggled at his own terrible sense of rhythm. 

Gaz sighed. This had gotten boring pretty fast. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Dib shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “If you say so.”

“Gir,” she said. When the robot ignored her in favor of his weird game, she spoke louder, and angrier. “Gir.”

He dropped into a ball, rolling rapidly, until he was just beneath the tv. He then leapt to his feet, arms thrown in the air, beaming.

“This is my favorite part!” He announced.

On screen, the band was doing nothing out of the ordinary. They weren’t even in the middle of anything in the song yet; Gir’s statement had interrupted the tail-end of the chorus. He couldn’t have picked a more nonsensical part to fixate on. 

“Right,” Gaz said flatly, barely willing to humor his stupidity now that her mood had been soured. “How about your favorite part be . . .”

. . . Was the screen glitching? 

Something shifted in the mirrors. 

Even on a TV this massive, it was difficult to catch. Just a glimmer of something not right, more of an instinct than consciously registering what it was that was wrong. She drifted closer to the monitor, ignoring Gir’s complaining. She offered him a pat on the head as she passed, but otherwise kept her gaze on the monitor.

The mirrors rotated slowly in panels around the stage, bouncing the lights off one another in interesting combinations. But it wasn’t the light she was looking for.

Nothing.

She saw nothing. 

Still, Gaz wasn’t someone to doubt her instincts. She knew she saw something. Not a stagehand, or something worth ignoring. That little monkey part of her brain (that seemed the dominant thought process in her brother’s brain) was demanding her attention. This was weird.

No, wait, she saw it. Underneath the animatronics. Oil. Were they leaking? It was definitely oil. The yellow-brown color was recognizable wherever the uncolored spotlight hit it. But the puddle was shaped strangely. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. 

“Hey,” Dib said from behind her, his voice gentle and probing. “Is everything—?” 

On the screen, the animatronics twitched and jerked, suddenly out of rhythm. 

In the next moment, an enormous electrical groan seemed to hum from the floor itself.

The lights shut off without so much as a warning flicker, leaving them all in complete darkness.

Gaz felt her muscles freeze. The blood seemed to rush out of her limbs, leaving her hands completely numb.

Logically, she was aware the only thing around her that had changed was her visibility. She was still in the same room, next to the same people. She could even hear her brother fumbling for his phone, the slap of his palm on the table as he tried to feel for where he left it. Everything was fine. She just needed to wait for the lights to turn on.

She chewed on her tongue to keep a scream—or something more vivid and embarrassing—from bubbling out of her throat.

Footsteps padded towards them. The curtains were grabbed. Gaz jerked, inhaling sharply as her foot caught something, hands scrambling wildly for a wall she no longer was sure was even there—.

A flashlight swept inside the room, the harried and slightly alarmed looking security woman—Tina, she recalled—holding the curtains open.

“Hey folks,” she said. “Looks like a power outage. Our apologies for the inconvenience. Anyone need any help getting around in the dark? Any visual disabilities?”

“Just a little nearsightedness,” her brother joked. “Do you mind aiming that light over here a little more? I just need to grab my papers.”

Tina grinned as she complied. “Doing homework? In the summer? At Bloaty’s? That’s a new one.”

“He’s a dork,” Gaz cut in. The feeling was starting to come back to her hands, though her tongue still felt thick and uncooperative in her mouth. “What happened to the power?”

Tina shrugged. “Probably blew a circuit. It’s been happening on and off the past few weeks.” Her face suddenly changed, looking nervous, and regretful about having answered. “Er, but . . . maybe don’t mention to Lynn I said anything.”

“Deal,” her brother agreed, gathering his things at last. He glanced her way, frowning. “You can probably leave the tickets, Gaz.”

She hadn’t even registered that she was still holding the bucket. Her fingers uncurled stiffly, and the bucket dropped to the floor with a muffled thump. She didn’t need to look at her hand to know the imprint of the plastic handle was now embedded in her stinging skin. 

“Don’t worry guys. I’m sure Lynn’s already handing out vouchers for loads of free stuff as we speak. C’mon,” she held the curtain aside, letting them pass under it before taking the lead. “Out ya go.”

She held a massive flashlight that was maybe one growth spurt away from being an outright headlight. It illuminated nearly the entirety of their surroundings, doing wonders for Gaz’s frayed nerves. Outwardly, she kept her expression unreadable, and did her best not to grimace. 

“Hey there, little man,” she said, squatting to be more eye-level with Gir. “Lookit you, being so brave in the dark!”

Gir beamed. Nearly literally. The eyes of his costume were definitely more glowy than they had been a few minutes ago. If Tina noticed, she didn’t comment. She likely assumed the eyes of his onesie were just reflecting the flashlight beam strangely.

“Why don’t you hold my hand, so you don’t get lost?”

Gir pointed one stubby finger towards his head. “I got a GPS in my brain!”

Tina’s smile faltered. “Er.”

“He’s really good with directions,” Gaz replied. Fearing what would happen if Tina kept trying to insist on a buddy-system with the ‘youngest’ person in the room, Gaz found herself scooping him up, moving past their guide (though never moving far from her flashlight). “I got him.”

“Perfect,” the older woman said cheerfully. “This way!”

It was a little neat to see so many flashlights moving in the dark. Children were draped in glow stick bracelets and necklaces, restrained by parents as they attempted to go running in the dark. Some parents were already loudly complaining and insinuating financial compensation. Their pointed looks when ignored by staff. It was like being directly across an airstrip. Lights moving in metronome, guiding them towards the exit. Thankfully, they made their way outside just as easily as anyone else.

Tina excused herself after doing a quick headcount, to ensure none of the three of them had drifted off when she wasn’t looking. Gaz didn’t envy her. Kids loved to hide. It was definitely going to be an ordeal to ensure that everyone had been safely evacuated.

Sure enough, just as Tina said, Lynn was in the midst of a crowd of parents, handing out a variety of papers and apologies in tandem. That grin was more frayed than the edge of Gaz’s jeans. If she were a robot, she’d be twitching. Gaz could practically see the sparks.

“Thank you everyone for coming! We’re so sorry for the inconvenience! Please, take a voucher! And a voucher for you, yes! Come back and see us again! Please . . . !”

Lynn seemed on the verge of tears, or a mental collapse of some sort. She looked capable of combusting at any moment. Whereas earlier, Gir’s vibrating seemed to indicate an imminent explosion, somehow, Lynn’s stillness seemed to carry the same implication.

“I want a full refund for everything! I still have plenty of food in there! I’m calling corporate about this!”

“Of course, ma’am. The code on your vouchers will allow corporate to recognize your issues and offer further accommodations. Please accept my sincerest—.”

The voucher was snatched from her hand sharply. Lynn’s eyes barely twitched. 

“Please, everyone!” Lynn called out, gesturing to a cordoned off area, with lines painted on the ground, usually designated for handicap drop-offs. “If you are still waiting to be reunited with family members, please stay within this zone!”

“Who would leave the building without their kids?” Dib muttered. Sure enough, a parent or two was texting on their phone frantically. 

Thankfully, Tina soon appeared with an only slightly fussy young child. Both parents began muttering shots at one another, blaming one another for the loss. The mother yanked the child, hustling him into a waiting minivan while the father followed grinding out insults between his teeth.

“Touching reunion,” Gaz remarked. 

She felt a pair of eyes scalding her cheek. The remark had been intended for Dib, but it seemed he wasn’t the only one in earshot.

Lynn’s eyes were wide as her smile, radiating fury. Gaz’s brow rose.

Bloaty’s was draining of its irritated patrons fast. On a previously unseen walkie-talkie at Lynn’s hip, several voices announced their sectors were empty, and that they were heading out.

A piece of paper suddenly appeared between Lynn and Gaz.

“Please,” she said, voice venomous even through a pearly-white grin. “Take a voucher.”

“We’re good, really,” Dib said graciously. “It’s not a big deal. Power outages. Not your fault, right?”

“Not her fault?!” Shrieked a sudden, shrill voice. 

Gaz winced at the new ringing in her ear as a man with a short haircut, dragging a child behind her, shoved his way between the Membrane’s and the threadbare manager.

“This is the third time I’ve been here during an outage!” He shouted, practically foaming at the mouth. “You think you would’ve learned to get your generators checked by now!”

“The generators are working perfectly, sir, we assure you,” Lynn replied. “We’ve had them checked numerous times. They’re fully operational—.”

“Well clearly not,” he snapped, emphasized by snatching the voucher from her fingertips. He stormed off, drowsy child in tow, whining to be picked up.

The car lot was emptying faster than water down a drain. Gaz was starting to understand why, given the complaints of the previous parent. This had been happening a lot? She hadn’t heard of anything, but then again, she usually only kept up with activities at their local Bloaty’s location. 

A few staff appeared. Lynn took a deep breath, diverted her attention to the straggling staff, Tina amongst them.

“Look,” someone began—a middle-aged woman, with curly hair and a sour expression on her face. Her name tag identified her as ‘Georgia,’ and encouraged you to ask her about how to get a Bloaty’s VIP card. “Lynn, this is enough. Seriously.”

Lynn’s smile drooped. “It’s just another power outage. Really.” Her eyes darted around to the stragglers.

With unspoken coordination, Dib and Gaz both feigned preoccupation with their phones, doing their best to look as inconspicuous as possible. It seemed to work well enough, although Lynn’s voice dropped into a barely-audible whisper. She angled her body away from the general public, trying to coax the staff further away. Georgia refused to be moved, crossing her arms and shooting the younger woman a stern look.

“It’s not just the power,” Georgia insisted. “And that’s a load of . . . of hogwash.”

Gaz clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from snorting. Thankfully, Lynn was too preoccupied with her staff to register it.

“It is just the power, and I’m going to have another technician out here to check on it! I’ve already called them! It’s nothing to worry about, really!”

“I have kids, Lynn. You’ve met my kids.” Georgia insisted. She was untying her apron at the waist, struggling some. From the way she moved, there was clearly something stiff in the movement of her shoulders. “No pay is worth this ridiculousness, and you’re fucked up for playing stupid when people’s lives are—.”

“Keep your voice down,” the manager hissed. She seemed about to reach for her, to clap her hand over her arm, or her mouth, or something, before her hand quickly returned to her side. “I’m not pretending there’s nothing going on. There isn’t anything going on.”

“Come on, Lynn. You work in the front,” a much younger teenager, with wild hair and dark under eyes snapped. “You don’t experience the shit that’s going on in the background, and you don’t believe us when we tell you.”

“Zach,” she began, taking a deep breath. “I do believe you. I’ve been monitoring the cameras. We’ve outsourced security on top of hiring additional staff to keep an eye on things. Nothing is happening, and we haven’t found anything. This is a . . .” she trailed off, glancing quickly to double-check again that no one was eavesdropping before lowering her voice even further. “. . . This is a rumor that’s just getting out of hand. We have faulty wiring somewhere.”

“Christie hasn’t called me back in weeks,” Zach insisted. “She hasn’t updated her posts, and I haven’t heard anything from June either. They both worked the same shift, and they both—.”

“Quit.” Lynn snapped, her facade dropping for the briefest moment. She took another breath. “Zach, they’d been missing shifts and leaving early for weeks. They clearly got it in their heads to quit together, and not come back. This is retail. It happens.”

“They’d been ditching because they were too freaked out to show up!” The younger boy shouted. 

Lynn became frantic, quickly waving her hands and encouraging him to lower his voice. Her stream of words was too low and quick to pick out words from, but whatever she said was apparently the last straw.

Georgia huffed, managing to tear off her apron at last and throw it in Lynn’s hands. “Fuck this,” she scoffed. “Come on, Zach. You can use my phone to text your parents. I’ll drive you home.”

A few employees watched the scene passively, including Tina. It was difficult to discreetly survey all of them, but it seemed their sentiments weren’t unique amongst the remaining staff. No one else handed over their uniforms, but the tension was obvious.

Lynn took another deep breath, clearing her throat and smoothing a hand over her hair.

Her smile returned, with a slightly less manic edge to it. “Well, everyone . . . The rest of you are off for the evening, of course. Don’t worry about clocking out. We’ll adjust your timecards at a later point. Great job everyone! Fantastic work as usual! Thanks!”

Her chorus of praise was met with polite smiles and miniscule waves. Further people dwindled, until there was no one left but the parents in the distance loading their uncooperative children in the car.

“. . . I smell a rat.”

Gaz side-eyed her sibling, already feeling an incoming headache. Simultaneous to her irritation with her brother was her irritation with herself, as the entirety of the time standing there, she’d gotten the same feeling he was expressing. There was something not quite right here. The staff had made some implications, and her skin still rippled with goosebumps. Her intuition seemed to agree with her siblings. 

Still.

“Not interested,” she announced, cutting his scheme off at the knees before it could make its first step. “Bloaty’s is closed. We are going home now.”

Dib looked like he was struggling to come up with a rebuttal. Unfortunately, Gaz wasn’t interested in giving him the time to do so. She turned her attention to Gir, ignoring her brother in favor of the little bot.

“Can you get home by yourself?” She asked.

Gir stared back wordlessly.

. . . Was that a yes?

“I’m taking that as a yes,” she decided, patting him on the head. He preened at her touch, giggling softly. “Don’t follow us home.”

Dib suddenly gasped. Loudly. Dramatically. And annoying enough to earn a glare. His eyes were wide with ideas.

“Bloaty’s is in trouble,” he said in a rush. “Don’t you want to help?”

Gaz slowly turned to face him fully. Beside her, Gir whined at the loss of contact. “What?”

Dib guided her a few steps away from where Lynn still lingered. She didn’t look like she had any intention of leaving anytime soon. She was on a phone call with someone. Judging by her tone, it didn’t seem to be going well.

“The staff implied something dangerous is going on here,” Dib said quickly, gaze darting between his sister and the harried manager. “Two of them just quit, and I bet more are thinking about it. If they all quit, this location will close down.”

Gaz frowned. She didn’t like where this was going. “So? There’s other Bloaty’s.”

“Ah, but this is the only place within six hours of us that you can use that rewards card,” Dib said triumphantly. He beamed, both smug and jittery all at once. His enthusiasm was infectious. Gir was starting to bounce up and down as well.

Gaz’s temple throbbed. God fucking damn it, but he was right. Her life would get infinitely worse if she no longer had access to this Bloaty’s. No more limited edition, secret promotional material. No more private booths. 

No more arcade.

She stiffened. “What makes you think you can help, dingus?”

“Gaz, this stinks of paranormal influence,” Dib insisted. “Scared staff? Nothing showing up on the cameras? Sudden, inexplicable power outages?” He threw his arms wide. “It’s got all the signs!”

“Yeah. Of bad management and faulty wiring.”

“Excuse me,” a very chilling, sing-song voice cut in. “Bad. Management?”

Both siblings froze, slowly peeking over their own shoulders in unison. 

Lynn’s smile was overwide. The farthest corner of it twitched. Across from her, neither Membrane reacted. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Lynn’s face fell into something snide, petulant, and above all, furious. It was the first expression that Gaz had seen from her all day that’d felt sincere. 

“You think it’s EASY?” She hissed, eyes darting around to the dwindling crowd. “If this place goes, I lose my job. I’m one promotion away from making it to corporate, and then I never have to come home smelling like cheese and children’s spit again! Do you have ANY idea how many showers I take a week?! DO YOU?!”

“Uh,” Dib said, leaning further out of her personal space. “. . . A lot?”

“A LOT,” she repeated, seething. “And it never works anyways! I shower and scrub and rinse and I STILL. SMELL. LIKE. CHEESE.”

Gaz didn’t really understand the problem. Bloaty’s pizza was the ideal aroma, but some people just weren’t connoisseurs like she was. They just didn’t get it.

“And in the middle of all this usual bullshit, I’ve got power failures!” She continued, hands raking across her head. “I’ve had electrician after electrician out here to look at everything from our generators to our light switches, in case some asshole has figured out how to trip the breakers by plugging something in, and you know what they came up with?”

“. . . Nothing?”

“NOTHING,” she shrieked. She quickly snapped her mouth shut, taking a deep breath. After a pause, she composed herself enough to speak in quiet, sharp tones again. “My staff is quitting left and right because they think the place is fucking haunted. We have the best pay in the city. I personally negotiated the benefits and incentives for our staff. The fucking part-timers are applicable for scholarship funding. I should be hemorrhaging applications. And you know what I get instead?” She threw her arms out wide. “I have staff quitting left and right, and telling anyone who will listen that people are ‘disappearing’ on the night-shift.”

“Um,” Dib began, clearly at a loss. “That’s . . . terrible . . .?”

“It IS,” the older woman insisted. “It IS terrible, and I HATE it. And the LAST thing I need is two kids criticizing my management strategies tonight, okay?! Are we clear?!”

Gaz offered her a silent thumbs up. To her amusement, so did Gir. Dib, oblivious, pursed his lip.

“. . . Are people disappearing?” He asked.

If looks could kill, Dib would’ve been just another corpse dumped into an empty parking lot on a Tuesday night. Thankfully, this was a look he was accustomed to from a much scarier party (thanks Gaz). He was able to keep a straight, politely inquiring expression while Lynn made apparent with her eyes that she wanted nothing more than to choke him where he stood.

“No,” she finally ground through her teeth. “People just walk off their shift without giving any notice, and don’t show up to their future shifts, and it’s fueling these stupid rumors.”

“. . . So as far as you’re aware, they’re not missing . . .?”

“Listen you little shit,” she hissed. “No one’s called us asking if we saw their loved ones, and I did my diligence. Three different attempts to reach out, each two days apart. They all just no-called, no-showed. Whatever personal shit they’re dealing with, it’s not my job to find out, you got that?!”

Dib nodded quickly.

Lynn subsided, but only barely. She was clearly just another ill-timed question away from jumping down his throat all over again. She blew a loosened strand of hair out of her face. It seemed her emotional stability wasn’t the only thing coming loose. With a groan of defeat, she pulled out ponytail free. There was a noticeable dent in her hair where the elastic had pulled all night, but she didn’t seem to care, nor did she seem to have a brush on hand to solve the problem.

“Shouldn’t you guys be heading home?” She asked, holding the elastic between her teeth. She seemed to be trying to loosely braid it. “Rubbernecking is rude. Also, we’re closed for the night. No point in hanging around.”

“I agree,” Gaz said, eying her brother pointedly. “Dib. Let’s go.”

Dib straightened, even going so far as to straighten his coat and adjust the strap of his duffel bag.

“I’d like to investigate your building.”

Lynn’s brow rose, the hairband dangling in her mouth. “What?”

“We, er, sort of overheard your issue,” he began diplomatically. “We think we can help.”

Her brows rose higher, looking between them. “You’re looking for jobs? Applications can be processed online, but like I said, we’re desperate. Do you have any prior experience?”

Gaz was both amused at the offer and insulted at the inquiry. Hadn’t she just finished screaming about how desperate they were? And she still had the nerve to be picky? Pfft. Gaz probably knew Bloaty's schedule better than any of their staff. 

“No, no,” Dib said quickly. “We’re not looking for jobs. We’ve already got jobs. Um, let’s see. Business cards, business cards,” he mumbled, patting around his pockets. Gaz sighed loudly, eyes going to the sky. There was too much light pollution to make out any stars.

“Aha!” He said, triumphantly producing a crumpled, glossy white card. “There ya go.”

Lynn finally finished her braid, flicking it back over her shoulder. She took the card reluctantly, looking prepared to yank her fingers away at any moment. When nothing happened, and the card proved to be exactly what Dib said it was, she looked it over more seriously.

It was Dib’s official Swollen Eyeball card, edited to provide his individual codename, business number, email, and his title.

PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR

“. . . Is this a prank?” 

“God, I wish,” Gaz groaned.

“You’re fucking with me,” she argued, gaze darting between the two of them. “You two are investigators? You? Seriously? You look like . . . fifteen.”

“I’m eighteen,” Dib corrected. “And I’ve been a paranormal investigator since I was twelve. Six years of experience looks pretty good on a resume, huh?”

Her eyes flicked to Gaz. “And you?”

“I keep him alive,” she replied. 

Lynn snorted, but seemed to accept that at face-value. “And what? You two heard the rumors and thought you’d trick the gullible manager into letting you make some little blog that’ll ruin the reputation of this place for good if it goes viral? Ha. No.”

“We don’t carry recording equipment, aside from this,” Dib fumbled in his opened bag for a few seconds before producing his tape recorder.

Lynn eyed it with a mix of surprise and disdain. “You’re kidding.”

Gaz sighed. “I really wish he was.”

“Well you’re delusional if you think I’m about to let you in that building unsupervised,” she snapped. “I know who you two are. I’m not an idiot. You’re Professor Membrane’s kids.”

Dib frowned. They’d never actually run into this problem before. Everyone loved his dad. That usually opened doors, not closed them. “Shouldn’t that . . . instill confidence?”

“Rich people’s kids have no concept of the consequences their actions inflict on others,” she mocked, widening her eyes purposefully. “If you go in there and trash the place, all that happens to you is that maybe Daddy has to foot the bill for cleaning and repairs. I, on the other hand, get fired. No letter of recommendation, no scholarship, no benefits. Nothing. So I’m so sorry for the disappointment, but in no universe am I about to let some trust fund babies live out their fantasies of playing ghost hunters in the dark of my establishment.”

Dib seemed at a loss for words, though certainly not at a loss for thought. Gaz could smell the burning of them without even looking at him. Dib was a creature that saw the world in problems, and solutions. So very like her father, and so different from him. Their similarities and dissimilarities would give anyone a headache thinking about it, so more often than not, Gaz ignored it altogether. In moments like these, where his fists squeezed in tandem with his frustration, and his eyes narrowed wordlessly, it was hard not to. 

Her hand reached out, steady. “Dib.” Let it go, was the wordless implication. Her hand squeezed an already tense bicep. 

His nostrils flared briefly with an exhale. Suddenly, the frustration evaporated; the clear sign of an idea stirring. 

“What if you had collateral?” 

Lynn paused.

“You’re reasoning is that you’re inheriting all the risk in letting us in there,” Dib continued. “What if we offer you collateral?”

The older girl turned slowly, pinning them with a suspicious, narrowed-eyed glare. “Like what?”

He flashed a grin that spoke of trouble.

“My car keys!” Dib announced.

From his pocket, he produced exactly that; gray, sparkling keys with a mothman keychain dangling from it.

By this time, given the lack of cars in the lot, his was obvious. Regardless, he made a show of clicking his lock to emphasize his point. 

Gaz groaned. 

“Kid,” Lynn said, eying him like he’d gone nuts. “You . . . You can’t just give strangers your car keys.”

“I’m not giving a stranger my car keys,” he replied, holding them out for her. “I’m giving the trusted manager of Bloaty’s my car keys.”

“You don’t know me from Jack,” she replied insistently. “I could literally take your car while you’re dicking around inside and leave you stranded in a city in the middle of the night, and there’d be nothing you could do about it.”

“Sure,” Dib agreed. “That’s why it’s such good collateral.”

“Also,” Gaz added. “We know where you work. And your name. If you trashed the car, we could find you.”

Lynn looked like the comment made her skin crawl. She muttered something that sounded like an unflattering comment about their father’s resources under her breath, turning to face them fully.

“You’re serious,” she said, eying him strangely. “You’re actually serious.” She held her hand out. “Okay. Give me your car keys.”

Dib handed them over immediately, ignoring his sister’s warning glare. It was almost cheerful. The car keys fell in Lynn’s palm. Dib even made a show of stepping backwards. 

“Can we go in now?” He asked, almost giddy.

Across from him, Lynn stared incredulously. “You’re serious.”

“You said that,” Gaz pointed out. “And unfortunately, he is.”

“You’re going to go in there, abandoning me with your car, because you want to try and . . . I don’t know, exorcize the building?” 

Dib nodded, doing his best to look stern and important. It was a useless effort. His giddiness was transparent. “Yes.”

Lynn eyed Gaz, clearly sensing she was the larger source of reason between the two. In response to the attention, she shook her head, exasperated. Dib was going to Dib, regardless of Gaz’s opinion on the matter. She could smack him later. For now, she sensed weakness.

Sure enough, Lynn’s hostility eased into befuddled amusement. “You’re nuts.”

“You should see his permanent record,” Gaz muttered, earning an unhappy glare from her sibling. 

The older woman didn’t seem to know what to make of them. Her gaze swung to Dib, and Gaz, and back again in a near-timed pattern. She looked perplexed and exhausted all at once. Above all, she looked so completely done with the situation. Dib neatly tucked his hands behind his back, grinning, doing his best to look like the well-meaning moron he was. Against the odds, it seemed to be working. Her gaze lingered on the taller sibling, blinking slowly. 

With a sudden sigh, all the suspicion and hostility seemed to drain away with the last of her energy.

“You know what, I don’t care. Whatever. Maintenance probably isn’t going to show up until the suns back up, at the earliest , and I’m expected to man the fort until they do since all the automated security is down with the power. Your car looks a hell of a lot roomier than mine to take a nap in.”

“Be my guest!” Dib encouraged. “It’s freshly cleaned. Steamed and everything.”

The thought seemed to disturb her rather than soothe her. “ . . . Why?”

“Demon blood,” Gaz replied flatly. “And yes, it smelled as awful as it sounds.”

The older woman seemed to seriously consider asking. She could see the words forming on her tongue, sucked against the roof of her mouth, before giving up with another sigh, and a barely discernible roll of her eyes.

“You,” she said, suddenly looking at Gaz. “You still have that tablet?”

She did, actually, but she’d sort of forgotten about it. In the dark, and with her brother’s bartering, everything had happened fairly quickly. But at Lynn’s mention, the weight of the bag’s strap against her shoulder suddenly felt as though it was digging into her skin.

Assuming she wanted Bloaty’s property back, Gaz handed it over wordlessly. 

Lynn ignored the carrier, sliding the tablet free. 

“I’m giving you admin access,” she said. She shot them a sharp glare riddled with anxiety and managerial paranoia. “It’ll open anything you want, and it has a map of the building.”

Gaz held her hand out expectantly. The thin device was held out, but not released. The older girl used it as leverage to drag Gaz unexpectedly closer a half-step, glaring deeply into her eyes. 

“If I lose this job, I don’t care who you are, or who your father is. I promise you that I’ll make you regret it,” she hissed. 

Dib shared a look with his sibling. High strung didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of this lady. “We won’t,” he assured her. “We’re just going to take a look around. See if the place needs a cleansing.”

“It doesn’t,” snarled Lynn. 

Dib said nothing, amicable now that he’d gotten what he wanted, but Gaz heard his thoughts in the way he squeezed her hand. 

We’ll see about that.

Chapter Text

Incident: Bloaty's Pizza Hog

Data Entry 3

06.09

“This is one of your stupider ideas.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not!”

“I’ve got lots of stupid ideas!” Gir suddenly chimed in, beaming. “You wanna hear ‘em?”

“Maybe later Gir,” Gaz placated. 

Rejected, he entertained himself with quiet, off-key humming that didn’t seem to follow any song she recognized. Gaz gave him a scrutinizing look. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why he was still here. Presumably, he could’ve made his way home at any moment. Or maybe there was a designated pickup time she didn’t know about. Honestly, thinking about it, Zim probably just abandoned his robot here and picked him up whenever he remembered he existed. That sounded about right.

It seemed Dib was thinking along the same lines. He gave Gir a sullen, impatient look. “Shouldn’t you be going home? Bloaty’s is closed.”

“Oh yeahhhhh,” Gir hummed, mouth remaining in a thoughtful ‘o’ shape. 

His steps slowed. Subconsciously, they slowed with him, until all three of them stood still together. 

Gir’s head twisted anxiously from them to the exit, and back, mumbling to himself in a panic.

“Uhhhhhh,” Dib began. “You can go if you need to, dude. We’re not, like, keeping you here. We won’t be . . . mad . . . or anything.”

Gir seemed not to hear him. He paced in a circle, clutching his head. A low whine was starting in his throat and getting progressively louder.

“I think you broke him,” Gaz said thoughtfully. Huh. A robot incapable of following its own protocol. He really did display a remarkable amount of sentience, even for something so stupid. 

“How do we get him to stop?” Dib replied. It seemed Gir’s anxiety was rubbing off on him. He was wringing his hands, looking around. Gaz wasn’t sure if he was looking for an escape, or for something to subdue him with. 

Gaz wasn’t nearly so indecisive. She stuck her foot out, stopping Gir in his tracks. Sort of. His feet still shuffled forward even though he was no longer going anywhere.

“Hey,” she said sharply.

Gir continued to push against her foot, but his head turned towards her attentively.

“Did he tell you to come home at closing time?”

Gir shook his head rapidly. His head blurred from the speed of it. It was trippy. 

“What’d he say?” She pressed.

Gir’s eyes flashed red. In a deeper, unfamiliar tone that was clearly meant to mimic his master's irritated one, he said, “Come home when you’re done! And rinse the pizza grease off in the yard before you come in the base!”

“. . . Okay,” Gaz said slowly. “So, are you done?”

Gir stared blankly back at her, eyes blue again. “Done with what?”

She smiled thinly. “Exactly. Problem solved. Stop screaming.”

He beamed. “Okay!”

Gaz turned to her brother smugly. Dib could lug his big book smarts around all he wanted, but it would always be her with more common sense, and she’d hold it over his head at every opportunity. As expected, Dib did little more than roll his eyes and sulk his way deeper into the building. Dork.

Admittedly, Gaz was ecstatic to be in the building after ‘close.’

Dib, being stupid and paranoid, had a bulky flashlight that lit anything in front of them at least a good 30 feet, in a wide, high arc. It looked expensive, and was definitely more impressive than the ones they’d dragged around the corn maze. He’d clearly swapped out his equipment for better stuff since then. Now that she thought about it, some of it probably had gotten damaged. If the fires hadn’t taken it out, the smoke damage might’ve. They likely weren’t the only things that had escaped the grounds that had been in need of a good scrub. 

He wound them around the ground floor cafeteria. It’d been packed to the brim earlier. Seeing it empty was sort of surreal. She almost expected some feral parent to come hissing out from under the table, forever keeping stake over their spot. She felt compelled to peer under a couple of them as they passed. Thankfully, looks were not deceiving. They remained as empty as they appeared.

“Where are we going, dork-wad?”

“According to this,” he tapped the side of the tablet, its map swallowing the entirety of the screen. “The basement.”

“Why the basement?”

“We’re checking the generators.”

Her brow rose. “I thought that was just a gag to get past the front door. You actually gave her your keys just for the opportunity to poke at their generators?”

“Well—It’s—,” he shook himself, flustered. “I have a plan! And a checklist! First on the checklist is to rule out the most obvious conclusions.”

“Yeah, but you heard Lynn,” she retorted. “They’ve had them checked. Probably by people who know a lot more about them than you do.”

“Ha!” He scoffed. “I’ve fixed things way more complicated than some generator. I’ve built better from scraps I cobbled together from—.”

“Stealing other people’s garbage?”

“I was going to say ‘recycling,’” he corrected. At his sister’s look, he grew defensive, hunching towards the tablet. He tried to angle his scrawny shoulders to block her line of sight with little success. “The point being, this should be a piece of cake. I could’ve built one of these things with a manual by the time I was nine. Without a manual by the time I was eleven. Aaaaand,” he added, when she seemed poised to argue further. “If I fix it, I bet she’ll be grateful.”

Gaz pursed her lips. She liked the sound of that, but she didn’t want to look like she did. It was her turn to avoid her sibling’s pointed look. “How grateful are we talking?”

“Free arcade games for a day—.”

“Keep talking.”

“—Maybe a week. Or two.” He teased. Tongue firmly in cheek, he took a moment to gesture widely to their surroundings. “Free, limited edition pizza. Extra toppings. All you can eat. We’ll have saved Bloaty’s from an employee deficit. A franchise manager, in your debt. That’s a lot of leverage.”

She huffed, doing her best to remain visibly unaffected. By her sibling’s quiet snickering, there must’ve been something that had given her away. It couldn’t be helped. Gaz thought of Bloaty’s the way some people thought of the afterlife; a destination of limitless possibilities. A euphoria. A place to rest. A place to be made whole. With her VIP status, Gaz already had access to most things other Bloaty’s connoisseurs could only dream of. With VIP status and an in with the manager? Now that was something dreams were really made of.

“Aha!”

Dib’s outburst interrupted her cheese-related musings.

Her feet had gotten away from her. They were past the dining room, just leaving the kitchens, and had now found themselves in some sort of service area. Dib seemed to have his attention fixed on a door with a big yellow triangle and a bold exclamation mark on it. Next to it, a smaller sign with a big lightning bolt on it. Yet another warned that only authorized employees with appropriate hierarchy would be allowed entry.

“You ever thought of working here?” Dib suddenly asked. He was already swiping Lynn’s card.

As they walked, Gaz mulled over the question. She had thought of working there before, but not with any true sincerity. More of a hypothetical musing than anything else. “Not seriously,” she replied. 

Dib nodded, shooting her a look over his shoulder. He was gaining speed with his longer stride inadvertently. She also suspected his enthusiasm was quickening his steps as well. “I don’t think customer service has done Lynn any favors,” he remarked. 

Gaz shrugged. As a secondhand-public figure, she’d been exposed to the common man far too many times, very early in life. They both had. The general public was like its own mass organism. Trying to focus on any individual was like trying to give undivided attention to a single drop of rain—if rain was obsessed with her father, and would suck up to anyone remotely close without the presence of security barriers. They hadn’t endeared themselves to either sibling. She sympathized with the weary manager of Bloaty’s.

Dib suddenly paused, brought to a halt by yet another door. This one had a red sign, and had far more warnings. It was engraved, screwed into the door, warning staff that trespassing without prior authorization was grounds for immediate termination, liability for damages, blah blah blah. Dib brushed past this one without any concern, and Gaz followed, grateful for Dib’s flashlight. This deep, there was no more natural light to aid them. Everything not affected by Dib’s flashlight was completely dark. 

“Master doesn’t like fast food,” Gir said suddenly. His tone was strange. A little thoughtful. As though he himself was pondering the revelation. He was looking at the floor, a faraway look in his oddly expressive optics.

“It’s the grease,” Dib said dismissively. “He hates the stench.”

Beside Gaz, Gir giggled. “I like the way it burns!”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you do,” he trailed off, head rotating around the room in the same path of his flashlight.

The beam soon landed on what appeared, in Gaz’s opinion, to be two smooth metal boxes. However, they seemed to be exactly what her sibling had been searching for. He beelined straight for them.

The closer they got, the more apparent it was that the boxes were making noise. Or trying to. Every so often, in irregular intervals, it made weird noises. Like an old computer trying to start, and failing at random. It was incredibly annoying, and equally hard to ignore. Dib set his larger flashlight down to cover the area. Satisfied with its placement, he removed a smaller flashlight from his bag, and began circling both metal boxes. Gaz chose to keep her distance, preferring to observe from afar. 

“Huh,” he said. One ear hovered close to the box before pulling away.

“This is the generator?” Gaz prompted.

“Yup,” he confirmed. “Hey, do me a favor.”

“No,” she replied reflexively.

Dib flashed his most pleading eyes.

She growled under her breath. “What?”

“There’s a panel with some switches behind you.” He said, gesturing. Sure enough, when Gaz turned, there they were. “Can you shut that off?” He asked, continuing to circle the generator. He was lucky he was so tall. He was just able to see over it. “The one labeled ‘Utility Disconnect.’ Just flick that one off.”

Made cranky by being forced to participate in this nonsense, Gaz reluctantly made her way to the breaker, and flicked it off. 

To her surprise, a few lights flickered on. Granted, they were incredibly dim, but their surroundings were more visible than they had been a few seconds ago. 

Dib seemed only mildly interested in the new change of lighting. He remained still, his head tilted, listening intently. 

“. . . What are we listening for?” Gir whispered. Or tried to. The result was more of a loud stage whisper.

“A hum.” Dib answered. He seemed too focused to be irritated by Gir’s interruption. 

They remained silent for several seconds longer. Ten. Fifteen. 

“. . . It’s not humming,” Dib muttered. With a subconscious flourish, he stood tall, gesturing to the generator with a sweep of his arm. “The generator is broken. You disconnected the building’s power, and the generators should now be supporting it instead. Some of the emergency lights are barely working, sure, but there’s no hum,” he emphasized. Sensing he was losing his sister’s attention—and patience—he turned his body mostly towards Gir. Apparently, he had decided the small robot made for a better audience. “If there’s no hum, it’s not turning fully on.”

Gir was in fact a perfect listener. He made a soft ‘oooh,’ as though Dib’s words were a revelation. Gaz suspected that manic ranting was something he was used to. 

She had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing at the sudden connection. Gir was definitely used to this behavior from his master. Oh man, that was great. Like enemy, like idiot brother.

Dib seemed a little pleased at the attention. So pleased that he unfortunately felt compelled to continue. “I’m going to have to take a look inside.”

“I don’t think ‘look around’ also came with permission to start taking their generator apart,” Gaz noted. 

Dib waved her off. Which was expected. He could sneer at their father’s line of work all he wanted, but Dib liked taking things apart just as much as their dad did. Whether he admitted it or not, he always got a certain gleam in his eye when presented with an opportunity to poke and prod at something.

“Hand me my bag,” he said.

She groaned. “Please don’t tell me you actually brought tools.”

Dib grinned at her, tongue between his teeth, and pointedly kept his mouth shut otherwise. He hoisted the bag to the side opposing her, only unzipping it about halfway while he dug around elbow-deep. Eventually, he produced a small case, no longer than his forearm, and mostly flat. It was matte black, with a glossy M stamped on the front of it. The sight of the emblem made her brow rise.

She almost asked where he’d got that, until she realized his answer would be obvious. That was their dad’s. Not his brand, or his merchandise, but Professor Membrane’s personal toolbox. One of a few dozen, probably, but still. Dib (and Gaz, admittedly) were accustomed to ‘borrowing’ a variety of things from Membrane’s home lab, but there was a sort of . . . silent understanding that certain things were off limits. The Professor had stopped bothering to lock his lab by the time Gaz was twelve. Aside from a brief lecture about safety equipment, they had free reign.

Regardless, certain items carried an almost tangible weight. Even looking at them was vaguely uncomfortable. Antiques, or collectors items were among them, but things that their dad had personally engraved himself also gave her that uncomfortable itchy feeling. Even when they were more convenient, Gaz’s searching hands tended to reach elsewhere. The fact Dib’s hadn’t was . . . odd. It implied a lot, and not anything good. She frowned.

Questions were on the tip of Gaz’s tongue. All of them aimed at what made him feel so comfortable taking their dad’s stuff. None of said questions were formed correctly, each of them too easy to dismiss or weasel his way out of. 

Oblivious to her observations, Dib started muttering to himself. The toolbox remained on the floor, in reach of the generator. 

“I bet they forgot to fill the gas back up,” he mused.

Gaz snorted. No matter how defensive Lynn got, there was no chance in hell that a bunch of retail-adjacent workers were going to take things like generator refueling into consideration. And no way some contractor making money by the hour wasn’t going to drag out the problem as long as possible.

Dib had the face paneling off fairly quickly, easing its weight onto him. “A little help?” 

Gaz’s brow rose. She didn’t make any move to help him. 

Gir cheerfully darted over, lifting his stubby costumed paws. He set it down with ease, taking the weight off her sibling. It fell to the floor with a gentle thump. Dib eyed him with suspicion. Still, his manners won out. 

“Thanks,” he said. Gir nodded hastily. 

To Gaz’s amusement, he began pacing her brother, walking behind him in the same stride. Aw. Daddy’s little helper. How cute.

Dib got the cap off of something removable, sniffed, and frowned. Gaz soon got a whiff as well.

“Definitely not a gas problem,” he said, quickly replacing the cap.

Gaz covered her nose. “You think?”

Gir shuffled forward, palming the machine curiously. He squealed. “It’s HOT! WOO!”

Dib’s head snapped towards him. “What?!”

“WE’RE SIZZLING!”

Dib shoved him backwards, out of the way, hand hovering over the tubing the little robot had been gripping a moment ago. “Oh shit, he’s right. Shit!”

“Dib,” Gaz said sharply. “What did you do?”

“It’s overheating,” he said, digging into his bag. “I don’t get it. It’s not even on. It can’t be overheating. Fuck, is it the coolant? How did they . . .?” His words were soon streaming too quickly to keep track of. 

Gir seemed wounded at having been shoved aside. He ran towards Gaz, making low whining noises in his throat. She ignored him, and the even louder whining sounds he made as a result of her inattentiveness. 

Gaz was about six feet away from the big machinery, and even she was starting to notice the room getting a little warmer. Was that nervous sweat, or heat sweat? This had just gotten too real too fast.

“Is it gonna catch on fire?” She demanded. They didn’t have a great track record with fire recently. 

“I don’t know!” Dib shouted. It was hot. Way, way too hot to indicate that its cooling systems were functioning correctly. “Probably not?”

Needless to say, it was a terrible answer. ‘Probably not,’ he said. The room was starting to overheat. It smelled stale, and hot, with the distinct tang of imminent mechanical failure. 

“Hold on,” he insisted. “This is fixable. I can fix this. Just . . .” he trailed off, elbow deep in the exposed paneling. Whatever he was doing was making the dim lights flicker. Gaz found herself eyeing the ceiling, wary of being thrown into darkness all over again.

Finally, with a spark that had Dib yanking his arm backwards, the heat dissolved.

“Fuck,” he said again, slumping to the floor. He scrubbed at his face with his palms. All it did was spread the sweat around, but it seemed to make him feel better anyways. “Okay. Immediate crisis averted.”

“Lynn will be ecstatic to know we broke something expensive within twenty minutes of being in the building.”

“Discovered something broken,” he corrected. “If I make like, two runs to the nearest open appliance store, and a few uninterrupted hours with this thing, I can definitely fix it.”

“Somehow, I don’t think she’ll be grateful.”

“She should be,” he insisted, rapping his knuckles against the metal. “This thing is easily fifteen grand. The repeat maintenance requests for a specialist to come look at this thing have to be costing a fortune, too. I’m about to get her back her bonus and then some.”

“You can’t give it out for free,” Gaz chided. “If you’re good at something—.”

“Do it on TV?” Dib suggested flatly, leaning against the machine behind him. 

The comment was awkward. An overly serious interjection into an otherwise playful conversation. First the tools, now the remarks. 

. . . They hadn’t talked about their dad in a few days. Since the corn maze thing, they’d been avoiding each other. Inadvertently, nothing else about Dib’s future had been discussed either. Their dad hadn’t been home in days, as was usual. Gaz had been nursing her wounds since they’d nearly been eaten by a demon. Dib seemed to have been marinated in his.

She faltered. “Dib—.”

A whine interrupted her. Initially, she thought it was Gir. She was seconds from kicking him until she realized the little robot also seemed confused. 

Dib folded over at the middle, shoulders bunched, hissing in pain. “Ow! Hot!” He shouted, scrambling to his feet. “Hot! Very hot!”

“You said you shut it off!” 

“I did!” He insisted, stumbling around the machine. “Go to the breaker! Route the power back to the building! Just flip the switch back on!”

Gaz hurried to do as instructed. The heat was pungent. It was far more intense than before. It punched through the air and wafted over their exposed skin. It felt like exiting an air conditioned building and walking directly into Nevada heat at high noon. And it was only growing hotter. 

The breaker shifted positions, but to no avail.  

“You broke it!” Gaz accused. Sweat was starting to get gross. Her clothes were sticking uncomfortably to ger skin. 

“This isn’t how machines work,” he said, nearly too fast for her to keep track of. 

“What’s so complicated?” She demanded. “You fucked with thousands of dollars worth of equipment that you don’t know how to use, and now you’re dealing with the consequences.

“Machines can be broken for an innumerable amount of reasons, but each of them make sense! ” He insisted. “Something without power cannot be overheating. This is wrong.”

“Dib—.”

“You’re not listening!” He shouted, startling Gaz. “I know machines. No, okay,” he added quickly, sensing her argument. “I don’t know this machine, specifically, but I know how machines work. This isn’t how machines work, and there’s no logic to this type of machine breaking in this specific way.”

Between them, Gir began to make noises of obvious distress. It was obvious that arguing wasn’t something he was a fan of, even if by-proxy. Fearing an imminent meltdown of two different machines, Gaz decided to hold her tongue. 

She tore her sweatshirt off, hustling to her brother’s side. “Let’s say I believe you,” she said. “Then what do we do?”

Dib kept quiet another few moments before, at last, he seemed ready to speak. “I think this is paranormal.”

It took a lot for Gaz not to speak. Her reflex demanded she argue or protest at the minimum. Dib saw what he wanted to see sometimes. It was his worst quality. Not being able to let something go, even if it was for the best. Even if nobody cared, or wanted to care. But he was serious about this, and she owed it to him to at least hear him out. If not for his sake, then for the sake of keeping her favorite Bloaty’s restaurant from burning to a crisp. The smoke damage alone could shut this place down for months. And that wasn’t even taking any resulting structural damage into consideration. 

She took a deep breath, swallowed her snide remarks, and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. Tell me what to do.”

“Bag,” he said quickly. “I need my bag. Gir,” he added sharply. “Do you have any sort of cooling liquids? Something you’d deploy in the event of an emergency fire in the labs? Does that sound familiar at all?”

Gir stared dumbly for several seconds. Dib sighed, initially ready to give up and ask his already hustling sister to try and locate a fire extinguisher too, when Gir’s head casing began to swell. 

“Not on us, idiot,” Gaz snapped, as the robotic nimrod began stumbling towards them. “On the generator!”

“Here!” Dib pointed. 

Gir paused. Like a ballerina, his weight shifted entirely to one foot. He pinwheeled in several drunken circles. By this point his head had easily ballooned to thrice its original size. It was clear expulsion of his ‘fluids’ were imminent. To their immense relief, he veered where directed, slamming head first into the now steaming piping. 

Only to vomit blue and red slush all over it.

Literally. 

“Slushie,” Gaz deadpanned. She recognized some of the mystery flavor colors in his projectile vomit. “Nice.”

“It’s . . . something, I guess.” Dib muttered. He was already elbow-deep in his bag. “If this is what I think it is, we need a ward.”

Gaz huffed. She’d been around Dib long enough to have a rough idea of what warding entailed. However, the time crunch was not in their favor. Also, they were short on supplies. 

“Don’t you need a bunch of herbs for that? What do you want us to do, rob the kitchen?” She snarled.

Dib didn’t immediately answer, clearly too preoccupied with keeping the machine from reaching its melting point under his supervision. She didn’t blame him. Lynn had been kind of scary. Not “run around in the dark after energy-stealing unknowns“ scary, but scary enough.

Maybe they could make a grocery store run. They’d get out of the building and come back with rosemary or sage. Maybe it was allergic to garlic too, who knows. 

All plans for late night grocery runs fell short as Dib produced an unassigned talisman from his duffel bag. It looked like a wood carving with haphazard paint markings. It still lacked herbs, but those too quickly appeared in labeled, sealed bottles. Dib shoved several into her grip, a wordless demand to follow his lead. Together, they began rapidly unscrewing the lids.

“Planned on seasoning your own pizza?” She said, flatly. The heat was making her breath come fast in her chest. 

Dib didn’t answer. Initially, Gaz assumed he was too busy rushing through his ‘ingredient list’ to make a snippy, defensive reply. However, the quick, nervous look he shot her gave her pause. 

. . . Something smelled fishy here. And it wasn’t Gir.

(Or. Well. Not entirely Gir.)

“You brought an awful big bag just for catching up on some paperwork,” she said slowly. 

Dib didn’t answer aside from a shrug. A strangled noise that might’ve been a hum of agreement came out between his teeth. 

. . . Dib had been quiet since they’d left. Gaz had initially assumed his skittishness was caused by their fight. Now, some things were starting to shift with her newfound perspective. 

Lacking any more jars to uncap, her hands drifted into his bag subtly. Dib was too transfixed by his task to notice her slowly removing one of the hastily retrieved papers. The sweat on her brow began to cool as the words began to register. 

POSSIBLE ACTIVITY AT 15166 BLT AVE

SIGHTINGS CONFIRMED

INVESTIGATION REQUESTED

The paperwork. 

The research. 

In front of her, dozens of prepared herbs . . .

. . . The potpourri smell in his car. 

She had the sudden realization Dib was looking at her. Or more pointedly, the paper slowly being crushed within her white-knuckled fist. His hands shook as he anointed the talisman, carefully avoiding her eyes. 

“You knew,” she accused, voice a low growl.

He continued to ignore her. It was a massive giveaway. Only a desperate Dib would risk keeping his little sister out of his sightlines. This was prey burying its head in the sand and hoping the predator was in the mood for something more intelligent tasting. 

“Dib,” she hissed, louder.

He was cracking. She could see it in the twitch of his cheek and the way he was picking at the fit of his glasses while he worked. The heat had nothing to do with the sweat.

“Oh, you are dead meat,” she promised, advancing. “I’m going to crack your skull and cook your stupid brain over this machine like a fried egg.”

Dib winced, his hands abandoning the talisman, flying over the different controls. “This isn’t really the time, Gaz.”

“It’s always time for breakfast somewhere!” Gir cried, hands flinging in the air joyously. Slushie drooled down the front of his mouth, dripping onto his costume. It was a sharp realization that his slushie-supply had apparently run out. The pipes were black and steaming in the places he’d managed to keep cool, for however brief a time. Some places were already beginning to glow red hot again. 

Gaz nodded firmly, patting him on his head. She regretted it shortly after. The fabric of his dog suit was sticky everywhere from unseen splatter. Out of morbid curiosity, she gave her hand a sniff. It smelled like sugar and grease. Ew. 

“That’s right Gir,” she agreed, discreetly wiping her skin off on her jeans.

“I want waffles!”

No. “Maybe later.”

He deflated some. “Aw.”

“It’s not my fault!” Dib suddenly shrieked.

Bingo. 

Careful to keep her expression unreadable, Gaz crossed her arms and began to tap her foot.

“YOU were the one who suggested we come!” He pointed out in a rush. His hands began to shake harder, losing some coordination as he keyed in controls. “And you didn’t let me say anything before you left!”

“You knew,” she repeated. That’s why he hadn’t argued. Not because he felt she’d earned the retribution, but because he smelled a rat and wanted to go hunting. She should’ve known. Nothing would stop Dib from complaining if he felt like it. 

“You didn’t give me any time to explain!” He said, increasingly desperate. 

She could strangle him. Her eyes went wide, promising violence, her fists shaking at her sides. “You led us into a trap. For your stupid—!”

“—It’s not—!”

“—paranormal—”

“—You left the room—!”

“—stupidity!”

“And I didn’t come unprepared!” He reasoned. It sounded more like a plea for mercy than a legitimate counterargument. “I’d never lead us somewhere dangerous without being prepared!”

There was so much wrong with what he said that she didn’t even know where to begin. “You are fundamentally broken in the head,” she hissed, emphasizing her point with a harsh poke to his forehead. As that felt somewhat satisfactory, she did it a few more times as she spoke. “Your big, stupid head.”

Quite suddenly, the machine whined low. 

Dib’s hand flew out, muttering words too quick for Gaz to catch. It didn’t sound like it was English. He gripped the talisman with both hands, and with a dramatic gesture, slammed it against the side paneling. 

The machine screamed like a boiled teakettle. Weirdly, it sounded farther away than it should’ve. The noise echoed strangely in the room with them. Gir, compelled by the chaos, joined in. Gaz’s hands flew to her ears. In front of her, Dib cringed, unable to do the same without his hands free. 

And then the power went out. 

There was something about being in sudden, complete darkness that felt too much like being swallowed. Like a real, physical force had come and trapped them alive without a fight. Bugs, waiting between two clasped palms for the sudden squish of death. No matter how wide Gaz opened her eyes, there was only darkness. It was so dark her brain was imagining color, interposing dark purple-blue sunspots over infinite blackness. She raised her hand and felt nothing. Her brain was screaming suddenly that she was alone. That she wasn’t where she thought she’d been anymore. 

There was something else about the dark that felt intensely like being watched. She felt compelled to stillness. An animal instinct to remain still and not attract attention when she was vulnerable to the hidden unknown.

Something grabbed her palm, and she swore she nearly threw up.

Before her gag reflexes could betray her, two blue eyes appeared in the dark, shining like dim headlights. 

Her free hand clutched her chest, trying to calm a thundering heart. Gir stared at her, antennae glowing like an anglerfish above his head. He eyed her blankly, his face illuminated by the glow of his eyes, before turning his attention to her brother.

Dib seemed far more composed than she. If anything, he looked more frustrated than concerned. 

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said quietly, more to himself than either of them. 

Skin riddled with goosebumps and residual panic, it was all she could do to keep her mouth shut. She feared talking would reveal her terror. Instead, Gaz squeezed Gir’s stubby palm in hers. She didn’t mind the stickiness so much. She was pretty sure she was sweating anyways. To her surprise, Gir’s hand flexed back. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to be reassuring. As she did know better, she assumed it was reflexive.

“I must have short-circuited something,” he continued, oblivious to his sister’s frayed nerves. He scooted closer on his knees, trying to use his own phone’s flashlight to peer into the inside of the control panel. “But still, it shouldn’t have caused a massive system failure like that.”

Gir was ignoring Dib, headlight-eyes ghosting over their surroundings. Gaz couldn’t help but focus on the spaces he illuminated, fearing any moment something would shift in the shadows. Nothing did. 

He turned the full force of his gaze on her.

She wet her lips, swallowing the bile in her throat. “Hey.”

He quite literally beamed, glowing brighter at the acknowledgement. “Hiya!”

“S’pretty dark,” she said, jaw too stiff to form anything but clipped half-syllables. It was a good thing she wasn’t usually a chatterbox.

Gir nodded vigorously. It sort of hurt her eyes to watch the light move like that.

He nodded slowly, words drawing out ominously. “Reaaaal dark.”

Maybe talking to Gir wasn’t such a good idea. There wasn’t much else to do in way of a distraction, but still. 

“Hey,” she said suddenly.

Dib paused, glancing at his sister with renewed nervousness. “Look, I know you’re mad, Gaz—.”

“Shut up,” she snapped. She took a deep breath through her teeth, making as little fanfare of calming her nerves as possible under his scrutiny. She was slightly grateful for how dark it was in that regard, at least. “If you just broke the generator, why’d your flashlight go out, too?”

Dib opened his mouth, an answer ready.

. . . And left it open.

His face slowly fell. 

Great. Her lips pressed briefly into a thin line. It was difficult to tell if she was more nervous or angry. Anger was definitely the preference. “You want to tell me what it is you and your stupid friends think is going on here?”

“Er,” his face fell, clearly trying to choose his words carefully under her interrogation. “Generally, power outages are a sign of ghosts, or other specters. They tend to feed off energy stored in electrical systems. Stealing power from something of this size though is . . .”

Gaz’s eyes narrowed, her temple throbbing. “I’m guessing not great.”

“Not great is . . . an apt description,” he agreed, wincing.

The throb ached harder as her teeth ground together. “And you had no intention of telling me about this.” It wasn’t a question.

“I had no intention of investigating this,” he began, in a pleading tone. His hands were working to repack his bag, twisting caps on securely. A hard smack to his flashlight showed it was truly dead. “I really came here for paperwork. Casual observations, at most.”

Gaz’s gaze flicked wordlessly to his duffel bag.

“Precautionary,” he insisted. “Strictly precautionary. After what happened in the maze, I didn’t want to show up unprepared again.”

Tch. She scoffed. He could simper all he liked. Gaz knew better. Leave it to Dib to rob her of a night out for his own selfish reasons. She couldn’t believe she’d assumed otherwise. Her ankle hadn’t even fully healed, and here he was, silently pointing her in the direction of danger and following behind with a pair of binoculars just to see what happened.

“You’re an asshole,” she hissed. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Gaz—.”

“Now, Dib,” she snarled, tone rising. She was furious to find herself losing composure. Her throat was tightening, and her eyes were getting suspiciously scratchy. “I’m serious. We are leaving right now.”

“Something is actually here, Gaz,” he pressed, because he couldn’t let anything go. Not for her, or for anyone else. 

“And you think it’s dangerous.”

He nodded rapidly, seemingly on the verge of hope that she might understand. 

“Right,” she agreed. “And you put me in danger. Again. Without even asking me.”

His face drooped. “It wasn’t supposed to be anything.”

“But it is, and you proved it, so now you get to tell all your stupid friends—.”

“Why do you have to belittle it?!” He demanded, jumping to his feet. “Why do you have to talk like Dad?!”

“Oh, I’m the one who’s acting like Dad?” Gaz demanded, advancing a step. Gir’s hand slipped unnoticed from hers. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You drag me here—!”

“You asked to come! You were the one who picked this place!”

“You couldn’t stand to have one evening that wasn’t about you!” She shrieked. “That’s what it’s gotta be, right? Aaaalways about Dib and proving something.”

It was hard to tell in the dim lighting of his much smaller flashlight, but his eyes seemed strangely glossy as well. It brought a vicious sense of satisfaction to her. “Fuck you, Gaz.”

“No, fuck you, Dib,” she snarled. “You’re a selfish, egotistical, inconsiderate asshole, and I’m not doing this tonight. I wanted one night of peace, and you couldn’t even give me that. I don’t give a shit what you do, but I’m leaving.”

“Then go!” He shouted, throwing his hands up. The dim phone light nearly disappeared into the inky blackness, barely illuminating the both of them now. “Go home and ignore the fact that other people are in danger, getting hurt, and that you could do something about it. Oh, but that’s too much, right? You’d rather just play games instead! You’re right, that’s so much more important.”

Wordlessly, Gaz straightened to her full height. The two of them stared at one another in angry, seething silence, both too angry and wounded to speak further.

“Come on, Gir,” she said, voice quiet with rage. Her eyes never left her siblings as she held her hand out, wiggling her fingers pointedly. “We’re leaving.”

Dib scoffed, dragging his repacked duffel bag onto his shoulder. “Sure, go visit Zim too, while you’re at it.”

“You and him can both go to Hell,” she sneered. “Since neither of you can be bothered to give a shit about the people you live with, Gir and I will just stay out of the way.”

Dib visibly bristled at the comparison. It was a low blow, but no lower than his, and if he wasn’t pulling punches, than neither was she. Comparing him to Membrane had been cruel, but pointed. Comparing him to Zim had no other purpose than to piss him off. 

No fuzzy hand produced itself. Impatient, Gaz huffed. “Gir,” she snapped, further admonishment on the tip of her tongue as she looked down.

Only then did she see him.

Gir had wilted in on himself. An odd pang of guilt caught her off guard. She was surprised that he seemed so affected by their arguing. She’d have assumed he was used to yelling by now, what with the company he kept. It was weird that he wasn’t acclimated to this kind of thing  by now. The poor guy looked freaked.

“Gir?” She prompted.

His eyes narrowed, but not in their direction. He seemed to be looking off in the distance, into the dark, where it was impossible to see now without Dib’s larger flashlight in working order. Gir took one aggressive step forward.

A hellish noise suddenly burst into the air.

Mechanical screaming, like metal grinding against metal. Gaz had only ever heard a noise like that from their neighbors old beater, the noise of a vehicle running on fumes and the determination of an owner in complete denial that their car was more scrap metal than ‘vintage.’ It invaded her ears and ground into the space between her clenched teeth.

Gir’s eyes narrowed, flashing red. 

“Monkey,” he growled. It was nonsense, but the fact the sound seemed to have triggered some sort of alarm in him was enough to scare the Membrane siblings a little shitless.

Dib coaxed her towards him, eyes straining in the dark to discern the source of the approaching sound. Gaz forced her limbs to move forward. They were stiff and uncooperative. It felt like trying to operate an old marionette. Regardless, she managed to make her way behind the generator with her sibling. It smelt awful, and radiated enough heat to make her sweat, but it was better than standing stupidly in the open. 

She only just managed to get into a crouch when they saw it.

The distance between them and the rhythmic creaking was no more. It radiated its own light. Faint, like an old glow stick. They saw its minimal glow just before it rounded the corner.

Gaz’s mind felt a sudden kinship with the exploded, useless generator at the sight of it.

“What the fuck, ” Dib hissed, barely audible. Gaz remained speechless.

Because it was a Bloaty’s animatronic. Not just any animatronic, but one she recognized . 

Released in 1993. Decommissioned in 1994, for being too expensive to maintain. Not the Bloaty’s Pizza Hog anyone recognized, with its fat torso and relatable, kid-friendly top-hat-and-bowtie combination. 

It never had a name of its own that wasn’t “Bloaty’s,” but connoisseurs of the franchise history tended to refer to it simply as “Bloat.” Bloaty was friendly and accessible. Bloat was different.

Back in ye olden days, pre-animatronic Renaissance, and before anyone thought to start funneling money into the prop and artist departments—when project managers foolishly prioritized solely the engineering—there was only a priority on “making the damn thing move, for fucks sake.” (1)

(1) As was worded in recovered document 13.1b, within an email correspondence between a project manager and lead engineer; a rare artifact in Bloaty’s historia

No one considered that just because it could move, that didn’t mean it looked good doing it. It’d have been one thing if it was just ugly. Bloaty’s was ugly, and he was great. There was an accessibility to his waddle and his clumsiness. Just a pig who loved himself some pizza. 

Bloat was an abomination. Well-loved by some for just how appalling it was that anyone with eyes thought it’d be a good idea to put that thing anywhere anyone could see it by accident, let alone on purpose. Like any expensive bad idea, it’d simply eaten up too much money to justify starting over, or significant repurposing. So he was left, in all his horrific glory, to go down in history as a laughable, quickly decommissioned monstrosity. Just one of many early-concept prototypes many brands winced over and did their best to sweep under the rug.

The Bloat in front of them was even more different than it should’ve been. Gaz was too young to remember or have seen it firsthand, but she had the promotional posters. She’d seen old photographs from terrified children posed next to its form. 

A creature entirely of mouth, and stomach. The original concept had been for it to actually be capable of simulating “eating” pizza. Naturally, the immediate problems were obvious. According to other retrieved documents from its conceptualization, it kept veering between over-oiled from greasy pizza, or too clogged with food. As a result, the design of its mouth kept increasing to accommodate for technical problems, as did its stomach to account for how (in)frequently staff would be able to empty out its tank. No verified records had ever been found of anyone suggesting other proportions be scaled along with it. Another problem to consider was the relative inexperience of the production team, whose sole experience were in human animatronics, and did not account for more 'pig-like’ features than a curly tail and ears. 

The infamous end result had looked like a jumbo pair of Chattering Teeth shoved into the mouth of a dramatically pear-shaped human male. Pig ears and tail included. Bloat. Glorious, hilarious Bloat. 

He didn’t seem so funny now. 

Gaz tried to remember if any documentation had ever indicated what location he’d originally been released at. As the memory of him had been deliberately suppressed by Bloaty’s Inc and Associates, it was impossible to know for sure, but most people tended to favor the theories that it simply had to be one of its founding sites. Others had insisted they wouldn’t dare release something as obviously deranged as Bloat’s prototype anywhere with prominent publicity. It made far more sense to release him somewhere smaller to assess public feedback. She supposed she’d solved the mystery now. 

The photographs had pictured Bloat with a large straw hat and purple jean overalls, embroidered with his own face on the chest. Unlike the (wisely) water-resistant Bloaty of today, Bloat was all pastel pink velvet, even over his snout, above which rested two enormous yellow eyes. No one could ever quite tell if the eyes were painted, embossed, or served some sort of motion-sensor function from the photos, and the blueprints had never been discovered. 

Gaz noted they had to have been painted, as only one eye seemed to have an orange iris left intact. The other was freckled with paint, but otherwise bare, aside from dark age stains. The only indication it’d ever worn overalls was the purple bib that hung down from his neck in tatters. The embroidery was no longer legible, scuffed and scratched far past recognition. Chunks of his velvet were missing, revealing its metal endoskeletal and chicken wire-like structure underneath. The edges were shredded, and stained brown, as though he’d been soaked in tea seemingly at random. 

And the smell of him. Fuck. 

Mildew and old grease didn’t begin to describe it. This was worse than poor hygiene. This was rancid . This was sewage. This was something three years expired and thrown in the oven until burnt to charcoal. Everything about it screamed decay.

Everything but the teeth.

This far away, it was impossible to know how big they were for sure, but Gaz had a negative desire to get any closer and measure. They were at least as individually tall as her hand. Although stained, there were no cracks or signs of chipping on any of them. And in spite of the stains, they still glistened eerily in the low light of Gir’s eyes. They could’ve been wet for all Gaz knew. 

Actually, it was wet.

Grease dripped from the seams of teeth as its mouth opened. That’s when the smell suddenly made sense.

Food. Mounds of it. She could smell mold, but not all of it looked old. In fact, she recognized a crushed novelty slushie cup in there. Alongside random cables. Some controllers. Promotional gift bags. Something plastic that might’ve once been a prize. Clearly, it hadn’t been picky in its consumption.

It was a monster of electricity, scraps of homogenized food, and borrowed cybernetics. It dripped with grease and smelled of mold, motor oil, and something expired. It was noxious. 

Both eyes shifted, though it was only from the mostly intact one that she could tell where it was looking. It searched the perimeter of the room, unmoving save for the constant slide of dripping fluids, until it found them.

It remained still. Gaz imagined it might’ve been surprised, or perhaps was just processing the anomaly. She remained frozen. She barely breathed. 

The creature’s mouth fell open with a grating creak.

And then it screamed.

Dib’s hand was suddenly on her shoulder, shoving her, turning her back towards where they came. In his other hand, he hauled his duffel. Unlike their experience in the corn maze so few days ago, she didn’t need to be told twice to haul ass.

She broke into an immediate spring, hoping belatedly that Gir had the sense to follow. Even with his heavier load, her sibling was close in line behind her, making up for the extra weight with his lengthier strides. 

“Oh my godohmygodohmygodohmygod,” streamed from his mouth in quiet, squeaky noises.

“That doesn’t look like a fucking ghost, Dib!” She shrieked. 

Gir suddenly appeared, hovering in the air by their shoulders, rocket feet keeping pace easily with them. “Hiya!”

Well, that was one less thing to worry about.

“Gir, navigate us out of here!” Gaz demanded. It was too dark to see on their own, or rely on Dib’s measly phone flashlight.

Gir grinned. “Okey dokey!”

He took a hard left, beckoning them. The closer they got, the more easily they were able to discern he was standing by a door. Relieved, they beelined right for it. Behind them, the screaming continued to echo off the walls.

Gaz wrenched the door open just long enough for Dib and Gir to dart into before slamming it shut. They turned, ready to spring off again before pausing.

“Gir,” Gaz said slowly. “This is a supply closet.”

And it was. Maybe a large one, and it had another door, but this was definitely not the route they’d come in from.

“Mhmm,” Gir agreed. 

“You were supposed to get us out , not lost,” she hissed.

The small robot’s face turned thoughtful. “Oh yeahhhh.”

“Sshh,” Dib hushed, coaxing them towards the other exit. “Just go. Now. ”

Gaz opened the other door as silently as she was able. Not that it mattered. Any noise she made was drowned out by the growing scream of their pursuer. 

The sight of the new room hit her with a wave of dread. This was definitely not the way out. Instead, they appeared to be in some sort of supply room. The walls were covered in extra toys, boxes of cleaning supplies, and other miscellaneous employee necessities. It branched off into several pathways. 

Dib’s hand found her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “All of these routes have to inevitably lead outside,” he said, insistently. “Come on, let’s just—.”

“Heya!” Gir shouted, immediately attracting the panicked attention of the two siblings. “This way!”

“No,” Dib snapped. “You don’t get to pick!”

Gir wilted. “Aw.”

“It’s already open, just go,” Gaz insisted, pushing him forward. 

The next room was far larger than its predecessors. Somehow, they appeared to be on the second floor. They must’ve been looking down into the basement level. There was no obvious way to get down, but there was a way forward. Hyper-aware of how loud their feet were on the metal platform, they continued onwards. As large as the room had been, they soon found themselves in yet another room. The stairs to the left made it obvious now how to get down. Not that way, then. Gir was already opening the door still level with their current position, flying ahead. 

“He’s doing this on purpose,” Dib growled. “This is some dormant programming from Zim, to try and get us killed, given the opportunity.”

“I don’t think Gir’s that smart,” Gaz replied, winded. 

The next two rooms passed in a blur of shelves and panting, until finally, Dib held up a hand and pointed to a door.

“That one,” he said, gasping for air.

Gir’s eyes flickered briefly red before opening it. The handle cracked under the pressure of his hand. Locked, then. Maybe that was a good sign.

It was not a good sign.

A smaller supply closet greeted them.

“Fuck it,” Gaz dismissed, stumbling inside. “We hide here. Come on.”

The boys followed. Gir aided Dib in shoving a shelf in front of the door, the robot clearly doing the brunt of the work. Slightly more secure in their position, Gaz and Dib both took the opportunity to catch their breath. Gaz kept herself upright, gripping her knees to steady herself. Dib chose to slump against the wall.

The screaming was growing quieter. It seemed to be echoing from the vents rather than anything to do with actual proximity. Gaz still found no reason to linger, but it was at least reassuring that it wasn’t gaining on them. Probably .

Several minutes passed before, at last, Gaz’s lungs stopped burning long enough for her to start taking slower, even breaths.

Dib wet his lips. “Okay,” he began. “New theory. No ghosts on the premises.”

“I got that part, yeah,” she panted, half breathless. “Don’t you have any weapons in that stupid bag of yours?”

“I told you,” he stressed. “This was barely a reconnaissance mission.”

“So much for being more prepared,” she sneered. She didn’t even have her pocket knife on her. It’d been left at home, dented and in need of a fresh sharpening. Fucking hell. 

“I’ve never seen a Bloaty’s animatronic look like that,” her brother replied, ignoring her snide remark. “That thing looked like someone tried to make Bloaty from garbage.”

“That’s Bloat, I think.” At her brother’s look of confusion, she shook her head. “Bloaty’s original concept design. Decommissioned for looking like shit.”

“They were right.” He agreed. “That thing is going to give me nightmares for weeks. And I thought the demon smelled, jeez.”

“Is that the thing messing with the power?”

“It might be,” he admitted. “Something nasty could be using it as a vessel. Theoretically.”

“Yeah well, ‘theoretically,’ how do we get rid of it?” She patted her pockets dramatically. “I’m out of knives drenched in holy water.”

“That’s not gonna work on something like this anyways,” he dismissed. “This is more exorcism territory.”

Her brow rose, her hand fumbling in her pockets again. This time, she produced her own phone. “Yeah,” she mocked. “Let me just call the nearest priest.”

In actuality, her fingers went for the emergency line. If they couldn’t get out on their own, she’d just make her father come get them. They’d just have to abandon Dib’s car to Lynn’s vengeance. Whatever. Serve him right for being such an asshole. 

She hit the dial, holding the phone up to her ear, and waited. Gaz pointedly ignored Dib’s questions that swung between demanding to know who she could’ve possibly been calling, and pleading for her not to get them in trouble. 

To her immense confusion, only a gentle static played over her speaker. Pulling the phone away, she soon saw why. 

No Signal, her phone warned. 

Dread pooled in her stomach. Great. So no help coming from there. “I’m not getting a signal,” she announced. 

“We need . . .” Dib trailed off. 

Suddenly, his head craned to her left, where a certain robot was busy rearranging items on the nearest stocked shelf. 

“Weapons,” he finished, more to himself than Gaz. 

Oh. Actually, that wasn’t a half bad idea. The panic had made her forget the obvious, immediate source of aid they had at their disposal. 

Dib’s approached the robot cautiously, as though afraid he might bolt at any moment. 

“Hey,” he called. “Gir?”

The robot hummed, but otherwise remained focused on his task.

“Hey, look.” He continued to prod. He knelt on the floor beside him. “We need your help right now.”

The small robot seemed to have located something edible—or something he thought was edible. 

“Gir,” Gaz said sharply. 

Unlike her sibling, she had far more success in capturing his attention. His gaze snapped to her curiously. 

“We need you to activate some of your weapons.” She explained. “That thing that chased us is bad. We need you to help us take care of it.”

Something pulsed in Gir’s eyes, briefly intensifying the glow of his optics before fading away to its former brightness settings. “Oh,” he said. Then, grinning, he replied, “Nuhuh!”

Both siblings stared at him, dumbstruck. 

“What?” Dib exclaimed. “Why not?”

“Not allowed,” he replied, in a tone that implied he was chiding Dib for even asking. “No weapons on the premises. Master’s orders!”

“Gir, look at me,” Dib stressed, grabbing the bot firmly on either side of his bucket head. “This is bad. Really bad. Danger.”

Gir stared back uncomprehendingly. It was truly fascinating how he managed to fixate his entire attention on her brother without seeming to register a single word he was saying.

“Danger , Gir,” Dib hissed, pointing. The gesture was pointless; Gir continued to stare at the paranormal investigator without ever even glancing elsewhere. “We’re in trouble. Exceptions need to be made.”

That seemed to ignite something. The antennae on his head rose an inch. He stoically replied, “No weapons, attacking, or fighting on Bloaty’s property. No exceptions.” His face split into a wide, proud grin. Gaz didn’t even want to imagine how much time and energy that lesson had taken to embed within Gir, but she didn’t envy Zim the task. Simultaneously, she cursed his adamance. Of all the times for the little robot to be obedient, he chose now .

“This is an emergency, Gir,” Dib snapped with growing panic. It was clear that he hadn’t expected Gir to resist the allure of chaos. This should’ve been child's play. “The regular rules don’t apply during an emergency!”

Gir’s head tilted to the side with consideration, the innocent joy evaporating. “Emergency . . . ?”

“Yes!” Dib agreed, nodding his head adamantly. “Yes, so it’s very important that you access your weapons cache and disengage the security locks on them right now. ”

Gir brightened again, that same dumb children’s smile reappearing as he recited, “No weapons, attacking, or fighting on Bloaty’s property—.”

“But you just—!”

“— no exceptions!” He finished with extra zeal, eyes squeezing closed with the force of his enthusiasm.

“Leave it alone, Dib,” Gaz urged. “ Zim probably couldn’t even deprogram him right now, and we don’t have the time to find a workaround. We have to focus our efforts on getting out of here.”

She could tell from the expression on his face that it was a big ask of him. Here, just next to them, was a weapon of mass destruction capable of besting their foes effortlessly, and it was too focused on a sweeping order to be of any actual help. Like having 911 on the phone, with an operator who didn’t speak English. It was driving him nuts. But Gaz didn’t have time to placate or empathize with his frustration. Right now, they needed to get the hell out of the building, before any hostile entities discovered them. Maybe Gir could be of some help down the line, but in the immediate, he needed to be considered more of a hindrance than capable of any assistance. 

“Emergency . . .” Gir murmured to himself, gaze distant. 

Dib shot the uncooperative little robot one last scowl before taking a deep, steadying breath. 

He turned his full attention to his sister, face serious. “Okay,” he said firmly. “We need a new plan.”

“The only plan is to leave,” Gaz insisted. At the sight of her sibling’s imminent protest, she held a palm up. “We need to regroup, at the minimum. We can’t do whatever stupid plan you have in mind to save Bloaty’s from an injury-related lawsuit without proper supplies.”

He grumbled but seemed begrudgingly in agreement. He at least didn’t say anything, prompting Gaz to continue. 

“We just need to find a map, or an exit. Somewhere in here has to be some kind of evacuation plan. I’m guessing—.”

Something white in the darkest part of the room had them both freezing. Fear clouded their immediate comprehension for several terrifying microseconds, before both Membrane’s realized that while the source was a robot, it was the stupid, non-hostile one.

Gir sat in the corner, staring at a wall, pulsing white. It’s sort of peaceful, if it weren’t so out of place. In their present situation, anything out of the ordinary was extremely unwelcome.pm

Gir’s face lost its near-lifeless stoicism as he caught sight of his own glow on the wall. Though he still pulsed, greedy hands clutched and smeared along the cement, as though trying to hold the light in his palms. 

“Uh,” Dib said slowly. After a beat, he caught his sister’s eye, who simply shook her head incredulously. He let it go and moved on. “Right. Fine. Deal. We get out, recuperate, and come back with more supplies.”

Fat chance Gaz was coming, she thought bitterly. Then sgain, this was Bloaty’s fate they were messing with. She didn’t trust Dib to handle it all by himself. Then again again , if he wanted to throw himself headlong into danger, she saw no reason to enable him to do so. Decisions decision. 

Deciding this was a problem for future Gaz, she brought herself to a full stand. They’d idled here long enough. “Come on,” she coaxed. “We should get moving before that thing catches up to us.”

Bloaty’s was somehow far bigger behind the scenes. It seemed unfathomable, given the scale of its offered shops, amenities, and entertainment facilities, but it was indisputable. In other circumstances, she would’ve relished such a backdoor look at the operations end of the facility. Now, she was just getting a headache. 

Jarring metal screams would sometimes echo towards them, slicing through the silence, a warning that they had to keep moving, lest Bloat catch up to them. It quickened the pace of their feet and heartbeats in tandem. Their walk was tense, reminiscent of their time spent in the maze. It was all far too similar for her liking. 

Eventually, after ages of walking that was likely only twenty minutes or so, Gaz at last reached for a door, and found its handle would not turn. 

“Gir,” she said in a rush. “Help me with this door.”

She hoped his reservations about weapons did not necessarily apply to his propensity for general destruction. Pleased at having been included, Gir smacked into it so hard it burst open with a loud bang. Cursing his idiocy, they found they were no longer on the first floor, as Gaz had hoped, but the second floor. In front of them, rows and rows of empty shops, each individually tailored to some aspect of the franchise, stood in front of them. 

“At least we’re not in the employee rooms anymore,” Dib muttered. “There’s an elevator. That must mean there’s a staircase nearby.”

Gaz’s brow rose. “I wouldn’t count on it. Bloaty’s is famous for shirking safety in their designs in favor of crowd management. We’re by the shops,” she emphasized, with a sweep of her arm. “They want people to stay here good and long.”

Dib groaned. 

And then stopped.

Something mechanical was clicking gently. Somewhere. In the large area, in the darkness, it was difficult to tell where. 

Gaz swore under her breath, backing up. Gir followed at a leisurely pace. He seemed to have forgotten by now that they were running at all.

She snatched him from the ground, dragging him into the cage of her arms. He seemed surprised, trying to squirm away even as she hissed for him to keep still. 

“There’s an escalator,” Dib pointed out. 

He was right. It was covered in caution tape, but it existed. Neither of them made any move for it. 

“. . . Aren’t those dangerous when they’re off?” She had access to the internet, after all. She’d avoided videos, but she’d seen transcriptions of some . . . less pleasant events involving rogue escalators. 

It seemed Dib was similarly wary. “Maybe we can slide down the banister?”

Gaz turned her head towards him, incredulous. “I don’t think the rotor would be anymore likely to hold our weight on the railings than it would on the stairs themselves.”

“Slide down the middle?” He suggested.

Both of them eyed the escalator wordlessly. Two stories worth of a steep, metal slide was no more appealing of an option.

“We just need to find the stairs,” Gaz dismissed. “I’m not running from some possessed children’s costume just to kill myself on an escalator.”

“Yeah,” Dib agreed. His head snapped to and fro, taking in as much of their surroundings as was visible from his flashlight. “Where’s the map for this floor?”

Gaz squinted, pacing further into the room. It was hard to see, but she thought she saw an information booth deeper in the area. Gir seemed content to be carried, humming quietly to himself, feet swinging gently in the air. 

She gestured with her chin towards a booth whose silhouette she could barely make out. She might’ve been wrong, but there seemed to be an arrow above it. If she was remembering correctly, that usually was a station for lost guests. Not the same thing, but they probably would have a few maps lying around. 

Dib followed her lead. The closer they got, the more apparent the booth was. She was right. A large sign gleamed into view, encouraging anything lost, found, or confused to head on over for assistance. 

Their mutual relief was interrupted by the hollow sound of denting metal. 

Both Membrane’s froze.

.

.

.

.

They might have been wrong. Maybe it was the building shifting?

(And maybe a hole would open up leading them directly outside, right next to their car for an easy getaway.)

Both of them rotated slowly, trying to discern if anything in the dimness seemed unusual.

The unmistakable sound of something metal clattering to the floor had them spinning towards the booth. 

They weren’t close to it. Not yet. But closer than they would've liked to be at the moment.

Two red eyes stared at them from the dark. 

Dib shrieked, and Gaz’s muscles froze. In her arms, Gir wiggled and squirmed, hands grabbing and reaching towards the unknown evil in the darkness. While its eyes were chipped, it must’ve been programmed with some sort of night vision. She could think of no other (non-hysterically motivated) reason that they’d look that red.

She tried to coax Dib into moving with a harsh nudge of her elbow. It was all the gesture she could manage with Gir moving so much. It was hard to keep her grip on him. He was a nuisance and an idiot, but she knew that if it was ever discovered they played a part in his death, even passively, that they’d never hear the end of it from Zim. She wasn’t even sure if Gir could die, but she wasn’t about to find out. The last thing she wanted was to find herself an active player in his and her brother’s rivalry. 

The creature’s eyes narrowed to slits, advancing slowly. Or so it seemed. It was hard to tell with so much adrenaline skewing her senses. Still, Gaz wasn’t inclined to linger and find out. 

She turned, bolting for the escalator, Gir clutched to her chest like a bookbag. Danger be damned, she’d rather face the death slide than Bloat.

Gir’s squeals remained muffled by her palm pressed over his mouth, hand still flailing cheerfully. At least someone was having a good time. To her relief, she could hear her brother’s clumsy footsteps following behind her. 

It was only when they got closer to the escalator that they noticed it wasn’t tape it was covered in. It was boards. Boards they didn’t have time to scale. 

Gaz cursed, veering in the opposite direction, trying to buy time for an idea. They had to hide. Maybe they could lose it in the gift shop. Although the plushies mimicked the animatronics, none of them actually moved or talked. The most dangerous thing in there would be the cash register. Gaz was willing to take her chances. 

She pivoted left, darting into the nearest novelty store. She risked only the briefest glance over her shoulder to confirm Dib was still behind her before skidding beneath the counter. She shoved her back up against it, trying to make herself as flat as possible, and all but held her breath.

In her lap—squeezed between her bent legs and her chest—Gir stilled. Sort of. While he stopped squirming, his head rotated on his neck to stare at her curiously. Gaz held a finger to her lips and prayed he understood. It was too dark to see his actual gesture, but the sudden, rapid upwards-downwards movement of his eyes seemed to indicate he was nodding. Enthusiastically. 

Something creaked in the store. She had no idea where Dib had taken refuge, but she hoped he’d found somewhere decent to hide. He at least didn’t have an insane robot incapable of understanding the severity of their situation with him in his hiding place. 

It was impossible to tell just how silent their surroundings were with her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Gaz considered herself composed in all manner of situations, but outward stoicism wasn’t going to help her here as she hid in the dark. 

Above her head, the counter creaked.

She barely had time to be afraid before the red eyes were in front of her, lowering from above, hovering in the darkness. 

On pure instinct, her fist shot out.

To her surprise, instead of sinking into a velvety carbon-fiber skeleton, her knuckles collided with something soft—softer than metal, anyways.

No longer bound by both arms, Gir shoved himself out of her grip, rolling onto the floor and squealing gleefully. In front of her, the mysterious figure grunted as it slammed into the floor. Gir’s wide grin illuminated the darkness as he rolled to his feet.

On the floor, the figure cursed.

“My FACE!” It shrieked, although its cries were muffled. Gaz realized belatedly that the sea of neatly displayed plushies behind the counter had apparently been knocked loose on top of it when it’d thumped against the floor. 

The adrenaline faded, finally allowing Gaz to register what she’d just heard.

“Zim?” She hissed.

Two red eyes appeared, scowling at her, one smaller than the other—probably swollen.

“Idiotic she-monkey,” he snarled. “Who else would it be?”

Chapter Text

Incident: Bloaty's Pizza Hog

Data Entry 4

06.09

Gaz wasn’t sure whether to hit him again or cry with relief. Considering the second option was too appalling to even consider, she choked down her adrenaline-fueled tears and settled for a scathing comment instead of further violence. She didn’t want to risk trying to throw another punch that only managed to display how shaky her hands were.

“I was hoping it’d be someone useful ,” she sneered. Something plastic and tube-shaped dug into her hip. He’d clearly knocked over the display on the counter. She fumbled in the dark, getting a grip on it, feeling her way around until she realized what it was. A little novelty flashlight. One of the blacklight ones parents bought for the kids for the ‘dance party’ area that made the flourescent glow-paint light up.

The darklight illuminated the space between them, bathing them both in neon blue-purple. It did weird things to the glow of Zim’s eyes. Instead of brighter, they actually seemed darker, aside from a previously unseen white bulb in the center of his pupil. Weird. 

She was smug to note that his cheek was a little swollen. She’d got him good. 

Her smirk incited a snarl from him. He threw a stuffed animal in her direction as he dug his way out of the pile of them. Gaz blocked it with her arm, though she needn’t have bothered. It didn’t hurt.

“Gir!” He snapped, brushing loose faux fur from his uniform.

The robot snapped sharply to attention for two seconds before easing into giggles. 

“Good job on calling me, Gir.” He praised, though the sternness of his voice still made it feel like a scolding. “Being kidnapped by the humans does count as a suitable emergency to deploy your distress signal. Well done!”

“We didn’t kidnap him, you asshole,” Gaz hissed. “And keep your voice down .” 

She rose to a kneeling position, peering over the counter. Surely her brother had heard them by now? He should be coming out of their hiding place.

“Dib,” she whispered sharply into the darkness. “Dib, come out. Zim’s here.”

The t-shirt rack shifted. The silhouette of a scythe-lock appeared above it. Gaz snorted.

Zim’s eyes narrowed at her, suspicious. His gaze flicked between her and her approaching sibling. 

“. . . Why do you sneak about like rats in the sewers?” He demanded.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Dib hissed. He darted behind the counter, peeking over the edge himself. 

Zim’s eyes widened with offense. Gaz felt her heart stutter in her chest, realizing with complete certainty that he was about to start screaming. 

Her hand snatched Gir, who was either trying to hug a plush or strangle it, and whipped him in the direction of his master. Zim took the full brunt of the impact in his ribs. He wheezed, grasping at the air that refused to get into his lungs—or whatever organs he had as equivalents.

“There’s an evil animatronic robot-garbage-pig-thing chasing us.” Gaz said in a rush, before he could regain the air to start screaming with further vengeance. “So you need to be quiet so we don’t get found .”

She could see beneath the panic of breathlessness that he was seething . She was pretty sure his wild flailing may have also been aimed her way, and signaling a murderous intent to cause harm. Pfft. Her fist ached where it’d collided with his face, but she had two hands. If he knew what was good for him, he’d keep his to himself.

Any protests he might’ve offered died at the sound of an immensely unnatural groan echoing towards them. 

Gaz only caught the briefest glimpse of surprise on Zim’s face before she switched the little blacklight off. She heard the soft noises of her brother shifting lower, felt the brush of his coat against her arm as he squeezed in.

The only thing she could see of Zim were his eyes, narrowed in front of her. Without the aid of the blacklight—or any other light, for that matter—it was impossible to tell the direction of his glowing gaze. She felt like he was looking at her. She didn’t have much time to ponder, for soon he was moving. 

He brushed past her. She felt him bump into the tips of her shoes. She could’ve sworn his claws also dragged across her shoulders too. He seemed to be trying to discreetly peer around the counter. She took deep, steadying breaths. Trying to snag him would probably only result in him bitching. For the moment, she’d have to trust that Bloat wasn’t close enough for it to matter that he was inadvertently giving away their hiding spot—assuming the creepy monstrosity could even see. The thought gave her pause. 

Bloat had lost sight of them fairly quickly. So how was he tracking them without a visual? Smell? Sound?

There was another distant mechanical groan, reminiscent of a whale call. To her relief, it seemed farther than the last.

A small beam of light appeared suddenly. A thin flashlight aimed directly in her eyes, burning her retinae. 

Beside her, Dib cursed. Apparently, they’d both been blinded. Zim’s quiet, malicious giggling had her wishing she had something to throw at him.

“Asshole,” Dib hissed.

The flashlight came from his PAK, dangled on the edge of a metal wire with the same thickness as her finger. It lowered in intensity, only a dim glow in their little hiding spot. 

“You deserve far worse for luring Zim into a trap,” sneered Zim.

“I sure as hell didn’t call you,” Gaz retorted. 

Gir, for his part, seemed to have burrowed himself into the pile of knocked over plushies. His optics had ‘closed’ while he feigned sleep, squeezing a plush pig close to his chest. Her brow rose at the sight of it, but otherwise didn’t comment.

Zim scoffed at his minion, but seemed equally content to ignore him. He shot Dib a furious glare, gloves flexing with the strain of his balled fists. “What is your game, hmm, Dib-thing? I assisted you with that hideous corn demon, and now you expect my aid with this,” he made a wild gesture with his hand. “Swine?”

“No one asked for your help, and no one wants your help,” Dib retorted.

“Lower your voices,” Gaz growled, sensing an argument. She peeked her head up from behind the counter, straining her ears for any sound of movement. 

Zim’s antennae twitched against his head. “Sit down, idiot girl,” he snapped. “I can hear far better than you can. Whatever is chasing you is not close.”

“Fuck off,” she retorted, but she did ease back to a seated position. She didn’t trust Zim not to lead them into a trap, but she did trust him to flee at any sign of danger. If he wasn’t trying to make excuses to leave, then she was mostly confident they were alright. For now, anyway.

“Watch your tone, she-beast,” he snarled, pointing a finger her way. “Or I will feed you to whatever you’re running from myself.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she sneered, sticking her tongue out at him. The action earned her a low growl. His fingers flexed, likely with the urge to squeeze the life out of her. 

She felt the sudden presence of Dib, hovering closer than he had been a few minutes ago, likely shooting Zim a warning look. Now was not the time for a secondary fight, but man was it way too easy to get into it with Zim. Regardless, Zim did not lunge, and she counted that as close to peace as they were going to get.

Zim’s eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Zim has no problem declaring animatronics evil. They are accursed abominations—a wretched, unique evil native only to this horrid planet.” He began, arms crossing over his chest. “How did you wretched humans manage to incite it to give chase?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Dib said flippantly.

Zim’s head tilted minimally, clearly waiting for further elaboration. When one didn’t come, his eye twitched. “Explain.”

It was Dib’s turn to be petulant. “No.”

The alien’s eyes blew wide at his audacity. “You will explain now, or I will skewer you to this obnoxious carpet.”

Compulsively, Gaz glanced down. Huh. It was kind of an ugly pattern. Dark confetti and nauseating swirls against dark orange fabric. 

“I—we,” he corrected quickly. Gaz noted that he was avoiding her glare as he spoke. “ We showed up just to hang out. The manager of this facility reported odd power outages and staff disappearances. We decided to investigate.”

One of Zim’s eyes widened, the other narrowed, in an expression of disbelief. “And found a . . . pig.” His voice was flat, and a touch exasperated. 

“Evil robot pig,” Gaz corrected. “Its name is Bloat.” 

“Horrible. Horrible name,” he remarked. Gaz simply shrugged, earning her a scoff before his attention returned to his nemesis. “Cowards. You flee instead of obliterate it?”

Dib seethed, seeming equal parts angry and embarrassed. “We came prepared to investigate, not kill it.” 

Gaz shot him the most venomous of side-eyes she could manage without drawing Zim’s attention. ‘We,’ he said. As though Gaz was just as prepared for the situation as he was. Sneaky asshole. 

Zim’s answering bark of laughter was loud enough to redraw her attention. “Fools! You come to battle unarmed? Have you no brains?”

“One of us doesn’t,” Gaz muttered, unable to help her more blatant glare towards her sibling. Dib huffed, shifting uncomfortably. 

“We’re going to go get weapons, come back, and kill it,” Dib insisted. “We’re just trying to get to the exit.”

“Without getting eaten,” Gaz added. Memories of that dripping maw were already no doubt integrating into her psyche. Next to the corn demon and its dripping, fleshy maw. Judging by Zim’s cringe of distaste, she wasn’t the only one with not-so-fond memories of their recent adventure. His eyes darted tellingly to Gir with a frown.

A distant, far off memory was starting to come back to her, persistently demanding more and more of her attention. A time where she and Zim had gone head to head for the first time as kids. She’d needed to bring Dib back for . . . something or other, and Zim had him hostage.

Right, it was family night. She’d dragged Dib screaming all the way to Bloaty’s. Zim had followed, only to be chased out, terrorized by the less-advanced iterations of her favorite mascots. The closest Bloaty’s was smaller, and didn’t warrant the larger, more impressive robots. She was pretty sure he’d never stepped foot in a Bloaty’s since. 

. . . Which is why Gir had been here alone. Ohhhhhh.

An idea was occurring. One that she knew her brother wouldn’t like, but that was seeming more and more obvious the longer the two idiots bickered. 

After all, what was the point of going to get weapons if they had one in front of them?

“Hey,” she said. “You hate Bloaty’s.”

Zim sent her a strange look. He spoke slowly, as though Gaz was too stupid for normal conversation. “Yes,” he began. “It smells like spit and your species’ young. It’s horrible.”

“And you hate the animatronics the most,” she pressed. She remembered how they’d surrounded him, their programming compelling them to ‘cheer up’ the distressed child. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him run that fast before. Her mouth spasmed, threatening a laugh at the memory of his shrieking. 

Zim’s expression turned hostile, shrinking in on himself. Just because Gaz hadn’t laughed didn’t mean it probably wasn’t written all over her face. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said curtly.

Yes you do, she almost said. Instead, Gaz took a deep breath, sitting up a bit straighter. “What if we— potentially —gave you the opportunity to get revenge?”

Zim’s head cocked, listening, but saying nothing. It was as much of an invitation to continue as she was going to get. At least she had his attention for the moment.

“On the animatronics,” she elaborated. “The first one Bloaty’s ever made.”

Something brightened in Zim’s eyes. Nearly literally, in the dimness of the room. Intrigue that hadn’t been there a moment ago, shown in the slightest widening of his gaze.

Dib, for his part, remained mercifully silent. Which was good, because she was pretty sure even Zim would notice if she kicked him to signal him to shut up. She hoped he knew where she was taking their line of conversation.

“It’s their favorite,” she continued. “It’s infamous.” No need to let him know just how niche that infamy was.

His eyes gleamed strangely. “You . . . are asking Zim . . . to kill the pig?”

“NO,” Gir wailed suddenly.

The burst of noise startled all three of them. Dib moved to grab him, but Zim was quicker. 

He tackled his robot, slapping his palm over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks. “Be QUIET Gir,” he hissed.

Gir continued to struggle, crying out around his master’s fingers. “Not the pig! Not the pig!”

“If you are not silent this instant, I will take every one of your pigs and throw them into the incinerator at home,” Zim threatened with a hiss, antennae pulled taut against his head. His flashlight hovered over the two of them, spotlighting their fighting. 

Gir inhaled sharply, staring in abject horror. Zim’s eyes narrowed, engaging in a silent battle of wills with his own minion.

Finally, Gir went limp. His robot petered off into pathetic sniffles that went ignored. 

Zim remained crouched, neck twisting farther than would’ve been natural on a human to glare at them.

“Why should I help you? ” He hissed.

Damn. Gaz was hoping he’d be too caught up in the enticing promise of defending his honor to notice that little detail. She scraped her brain for something to say in reply that wouldn’t have him backtracking and came up short. The silence continued between them.

A slow, mean smile began to creep over Zim’s face. 

Shit.

“You need the help of Zim,” he mocked. One hand released his robot, yanking him away from the stuffed animals. His robot began to squirm, legs kicking in the air pathetically. Exasperated, though without ever breaking contact with the Membrane girl, he snatched the pig plushie he’d been cuddling earlier, thrusting it into his eager minion’s arms. “And I will ask again; why should I?”

Gaz’s treacherous mind continued to draw a blank. There was nothing she could threaten him with presently that wouldn’t in turn endanger her and Dib. There was nothing she had that he wanted—not with Gir now in his grasp again (and, arguably, he probably didn’t even want him, either).

“Because,” she began slowly, stalling for time. The words flowed out of her, each chosen only moments before she spoke them. “When will you get this opportunity again?”

Zim’s eye narrowed. He seemed unconvinced, but at least entertained enough to listen. “Explain.”

“The manager of this building knows we’re in here, and knows we’re here to exterminate Bloat.” Sort of. In a roundabout way. Who would it really hurt to omit the details, after all? “She’s expecting him to turn up dead. But if you did it of your own accord, you’d attract attention.”

Zim scoffed, but it wasn’t as convincing as it might’ve been a minute ago. “They would never catch me.”

“But they’d go looking ,” she said, finding her footing in the conversation once more. “Would you really be willing to take that risk?”

Zim's mouth twisted into a frown.

“As far as the manager is concerned, Dib and I are the only one’s in the building,” she continued, leaning ever so slightly towards him. “No one even knows you’re here. ”

Zim’s eyes became distant, his grip slackening on his minion, just enough for Gir’s feet to rest once more on the ground. 

It took a lot from Gaz to keep the grin off her face. Got him.

His lip pursed thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. His fingers drummed against the side of his robot’s head as he considered. Whatever he’d been thinking, he now seemed to be reigning himself in. His expression wasn’t uncooperative, exactly, but cautious. 

“I kill the pig,” he said at last. “And you will do Zim a . . . favor.”

“Absolutely not,” Dib said immediately.

“What kind of favor?” Gaz said at the same time.

Zim’s lips curled viciously. 

Damn it, she’d nearly had him. It was clear he sensed weakness. Their desperation was too obvious for even someone as stupid as him to miss.

“Then I shall leave you to your ruin,” he replied, directing the remark at her brother. Although he made no move to actually stand, he still held his free hand out for his robot’s attention, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Not that he actually received it. Gir seemed content to squeeze his new plushie hard enough that it seemed the pressure might pop the head off. “Gir and I will take our leave and make sure you two can’t follow.”

He probably would, too. He’d weld the door shut if it meant watching them squirm for his own amusement. 

Throughout the entirety of his speech, Gaz pinned her brother’s profile with her nastiest glare. She could tell from his absolute refusal to make eye contact with her that he could feel the force of it on his skin. The message was clear. 

“What do you want?” Dib said through his teeth.

“Oh Dib,” Zim hummed sweetly. “You know what you did.”

Wait . . . “What?” She said aloud, finishing her own train of thought. 

She and Dib had been recovering all week. He was actively hiding from her, sure, but she was pretty sure he hadn’t left the house. He definitely hadn’t come home injured, or worse, gloating . Dib’s attempts at secrecy were hilariously bad. There was no way he’d gotten one over on Zim in the past week. Was this old beef? But no, if it was, they would’ve hashed it out on the corn field. Or . . . had they? She had tuned out of their conversation at the beginning there. Had she missed something?

Judging by Dib’s expression, he knew what it was his nemesis was talking about. So that just left Gaz in the dark. 

“Agree to return Zim’s things,” the alien continued, in his sing-song tones. “And I will assist you in this act of vandalism.”

Gaz felt compelled to correct him, but thinking about it, it wasn’t worth the argument. This was not the time for semantics. Besides, Zim would probably react negatively to being framed as a rescuer in any shape or form. He’d probably just raise the price of his help. Let him think their intentions were mischievous and cruel, and aligned with his temperament. 

Beside her, Dib seethed. “No.”

“ Dib ,” his sister hissed. “Stop being a baby.”

“And a thief,” Zim added with a sneer.

“You forgot about them,” her brother petulantly insisted. “I didn’t steal them.”

“Zim forgot nothing!” He hissed, pointing a finger her sibling’s way. “You and your wretched littermate are thieves, and I will not stand for it another day!”

Gaz’s attention snapped towards him. “Wait, hold on, what the hell did I steal?”

“Do not feign ignorance!” Zim near-shouted, seeming on the verge of a truly monumental fit. “It was you who announced your intention to steal Zim’s property, little Gaz. Do not think I forgot!”

What the fuck? When had she ever announced she was about to . . .?

Oh. Oh wait. 

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Some pieces were starting to slot into place here. 

“Are you talking about the trackers?” Gaz said incredulously. “But we . . .”

She trailed off. The trackers. Now that she thought about it, they hadn’t given them back. They’d gone home without returning them. Everything about that night was sort of an angry blur, but she remembered leaving her stinky clothes in the laundry room for her brother to deal with, as one of many small acts of vengeance between that night and today’s final act of reparation. He must’ve found Zim’s device on her clothes, and kept it. He’d kept both of them.

She skewered him with a glare. “You’re an idiot. ”

Dib shrunk under her glare, but stubbornly said nothing. 

Gaz turned to Zim. “You can have your stupid pins back if you get us out of here. And we’ll even let you destroy the robot . . . monster . . . thing. ”

The agreement sent a pang through her chest that she stubbornly ignored. It felt sacreligious to barter for the destruction of a piece of Bloaty’s history, but it was unavoidable. Just as they had earlier in the week, they needed Zim’s firepower if they hoped to make it out of this situation in one piece. 

Zim’s smile had a razor sweetness to it. “You have a deal. ”

And he held his hand out expectantly. To her. Gaz eyed his palm, and then his smug face with disbelief. What was this, a business deal?

“You have to shake on it,” Dib mumbled from the corner of his mouth, still sulking. “It’s custom. ”

The way he said it made it seem like this was some sort of stupid cultural misunderstanding. The more she thought about it, given how disgusted the two of them were after their handshakes from previous truces, there was no way Zim would willingly touch a human unless he deemed it absolutely necessary. Holding Dib’s honor hostage seemed like a good reason. 

She didn’t quite get why he was asking to shake her hand instead of her siblings, but whatever. She held her hand out, clasping his and pumping once before releasing. He made a face during their brief contact, but so did she, so she figured they were even. 

“This is bullshit,” Dib huffed. To Zim, he said, “I took one of them apart already.”

Zim’s lip curled. “You are lucky I don’t take you apart, bologna child.”

“Maybe later,” Gaz suggested, coming to a stand. “First, we need your help exorcizing a robot.”

“‘Help,’” Zim mocked, following her in rising to his feet. He rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to be coy, human. Point, and Zim will do the slaughtering.”

Gaz’s brow rose, trying to reign in the urge to smack him. “I said what I meant.”

“Oh please, ” he began. He smiled at her, all sweet condescension. “If you could kill it alone, you would have no need for Zim.”

Her eyes widened dangerously. Beside her, Dib cringed.

“Dude,” he said, teeth bared nervously. “I wouldn’t poke that bear.”

Zim frowned, looking around. “What bear?”

“My sister can and will break your spine,” he said flatly. “But we can’t see in the dark. There’s only so much the two of us can do without being able to see against this 2-ton pig . . . thing.“

Zim’s gaze flicked briefly—near protectively—towards his robot and back. Though he didn’t say anything, the implication was as clear as his offense on the matter. 

“Gir doesn’t count. In fact, he counts as an obstacle. He’s the complete opposite of helpful,” Dib argued.

“That’s because he doesn’t take orders from humans,” Zim huffed, brushing past the both of them. “Come, Gir. Let us lay waste to this metal creature.”

“I’m a metal creature!” Said SIR unit squealed. 

Zim paused, seeming to consider that a moment. He and Gir stared at one another for a long few seconds.

“Yes. Yes, you are,” Zim finally agreed. “Now hurry up!”

“Okay!” He chirped, springing to his feet. 

To Gaz’s surprise, distracting her from murderous thoughts regarding his master, he held his pig out for her to take. 

“Uh,” she said. “That . . . sure is a pig.”

“Hold Mr. Piggy for me,” he said politely. “Pleeeeeeeeeeease—?”

“Yup, sure,” she said quickly, hastily stopping the annoying whining. She took the pig from him. “Good?”

Gir shot her a thumbs up before marching off.

Her eyes followed him for a few seconds until she felt another pair of eyes on her. She looked up, finding Zim watching her strangely. Not quite suspicious, and not quite confused. Something else. Almost searching. 

It didn’t last long. He dismissed her attention wordlessly, marching blindly into the dark. 

“That was weird,” Dib said beside her. “I think he likes you.”

Gaz’s skin crawled. “He does not.”

“Why else would he give you his pig?” 

Oh. He meant Gir. Ooooh. Thank fuck . 

She shrugged, in an effort to hide the chill creeping up her spine. Eugh. Shaking that brief horrifying thought off, they followed Zim out of the shop.

Gaz paused at the threshold, eying the stuffed animal still in her hands. She didn’t really come to Bloaty’s tonight to shoplift, nor did she have hands for it. However, a gut instinct warned her against abandoning it. With a sigh, Gaz clipped the keychain attachment hanging from its back onto her pant loops and kept walking.

They found Zim kneeling in front of Gir, speaking in low, quick tones. By the time they approached, he’d straightened again. 

“You mentioned an exorcism,” he began. His flashlight was scoping out their surroundings in long sweeping motions. He spared a moment to shoot them a look of distaste. “Is it going to be as smelly as the corn demon?”

Gaz grimaced, deferring to her sibling. She really hoped not. 

Dib shook his head. With a new, feasible plan falling into place, his impulse to lead them into the hands of a dangerous cryptid seemed to be taking over. Oh goodie.

“If we do it right, no,” Dib began. At the sight of his scowling audience, he quickly continued. “I’m running on a few assumptions here. Namely, that Bloat’s casing is being possessed as opposed to just . . . like that.” A look crossed over his features, eying his sister. “He’s not . . . like that on purpose, right?”

Gaz shrugged.

“. . . Right.” He said, shaking himself. “Well, assuming it wasn’t designed to just walk around eating or draining anything in its path, the only plausible explanation is possession.”

Beside him, his sister frowned. It wasn’t like she was actually interested in her brother’s paranormal lore, but, well. “Can you possess something inorganic?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” he replied at once. “Especially if this is the kind of spirit I think it is. Given the date, I’m pretty positive I’m right. Which, in the long run, spells trouble for us, but right now, for this specific problem, we have a solution.”

“Which would be?” Zim pressed, waving his hand in a ‘hurry up’ gesture. “You are boring Zim with this discussion. When can Zim tear apart the metal pig?”

“I’ll need to set up a banishing circle,” he replied. “We’ll have to lure it into the trap. I’ll be able to perform the banishing there.”

The skin of Zim’s brow rose. “You wish for Zim to throw its torn up pieces into the circle?”

“Ideally, all of it goes into the circle in one piece.” Dib replied. With a shrug, he added, “But you can tear it apart as much as you want after it’s been cleansed.”

“Fine,” Zim huffed. Then, probing, he added, “What if it is . . . mostly intact?”

Dib’s eye twitched. He took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Beside him, Gaz snickered at his obvious irritation. “We need the part that has the spirit in it in the circle . There will be less room for error if all of it goes in together.”

Zim snarled, muttering something under his breath. The two Membranes watched him kick childishly at the ground. Regardless of his obvious displeasure, he didn’t argue about it, even if he seemed to really want to. That’d have to be enough. With Zim, compliance of any sort was a victory. 

Gaz was winging this whole thing anyways. It was a small miracle Zim had agreed, and a larger one that some semblance of a plan was starting to come together. A feasible one. 

She took a deep breath. Just get through the night. Just . . . one foot in front of the other. Compartmentalize the stress, and reserve it for later. A more convenient time, when she could scheme up some sort of revenge against Dib for doing this to her again. This was the worst kind of situation to be having deja vu. 

“Okay,” she took a deep breath, dragging her hands down her face. “Where are we setting up this trap?”

“I was hoping you’d have an idea,” Dib admitted. “You know the building better than me.”

The utter look she gave him had him shrinking in on himself. Zim snorted at the cowardice of his enemy. 

“What about the stage?”

All heads swung towards the edge of their little circle, where a blue eyed robot stared innocently back. 

Gaz considered. Open area. Lot of vantage points. Even better, a lot of escape routes. Cameras set up and ready to gather live feed from. 

She reached over, patting Gir on the head. He absolutely beamed at the small show of praise. “That’s as good a place as any,” she said aloud. She glanced around critically, mentally mapping out the quickest route. They were on the third floor, somehow. The nearest escalator was close.

. . . But Bloat could be closer. 

Well. Zim had said he’d hear him coming first. And they’d shook on it. Hopefully, that was enough significance to keep them from being eaten. For now.

Naturally, the escalator was broken. The power was off, along with the rest of the building. It admittedly made Gaz a little queasy trusting them not to shift underneath them, (she’d seen way too many questionable OSHA videos) but they managed. Twice. By the time they made it to the ground floor though, she was balling her fists into her pockets to keep her hands from trembling visibly.

(Navigating in the darkness wasn’t exactly helping either.)

The stage area was hard to miss. Huge statues draped from ceiling to floor, carved to look like curtains billowing out towards the viewer. The floor seemed made entirely of glitter that went uncaught by the relentless staff vacuuming post-show. Her flashlight swept in an arc across the room, catching decorations, a few handicap chairs. If she aimed higher, she could make out a few balcony seats reserved for birthday parties or other circumstantial guests. 

Zim’s gaze followed hers, meeting her eyes briefly before returning his attention to his more immediate surroundings. She watched him kick at someone’s discarded soda, spilling it on the ground. It was kind of gross how the carpet didn’t really change all that much in appearance at the spill. 

Wrinkling her nose, she turned to her sibling. “Happy?”

Dib was nodding to himself, fingers pinched at his chin—an old habit he developed to try and make himself look more esteemed, and now one he did subconsciously. 

“Great,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her ankle hurt almost as much as her pride. Allowing herself to be fooled by Dib, of all people. Tch. She was getting too lenient with him. She should’ve known better than to offer him the benefit of the doubt.

Typical for Dib to turn an event meant for her into one entirely about his hobbies. She really wished she’d brought something heavy to hit him with. 

Oh. Wait. Idea.

Gaz hopped on the stage, following her brother’s distracted pathing. They diverted when Gaz jumped down into the orchestral pit just behind the main platform, out of sight from guests any lower than the upper balconies. 

It was technically not in use. Bloaty’s had pushed every aspect of their shows kicking and creaking into the modern world. Everything was high-end speakers and hidden subwoofers nowadays, but the pit remained.

And if she was lucky . . .

Triumphant, Gaz raised back to her feet with a satisfied smirk.

Security tended to hide in the pits, whether to actually do their jobs and keep an eye out for any stage-crashers, or to hide during non-show-times. Lucky for her, they’d left a few things behind.

Clearly, this pit was in regular use. A few snacks were stacked in a bin, along with a phone charger plugged into the wall, a few foldable chairs, and some books. None of which was valuable to Gaz. The real prize lay in the box in the corner.

CONFISCATED ITEMS

Gaz had a surprising array of items to rifle through. Mostly pocket knives and utility tools. Her brow rose at an orange-tipped toy gun that was a bit too on the realistic side. Probably best to leave that alone.

She pocketed three knives; a multitool in a polymer red sleeve, a folding knife roughly the size of her index finger with a black handle, and a retractable utility blade that looked way too fancy to be in there. Oof. Someone must’ve been pretty peeved to lose that. 

Everything else was pretty junky, or redundant. Honestly, she was really hoping for a taser of some kind, but no luck. Security here must’ve been forced to turn in bigger stuff over to the authorities the same-day. Damn. A knife wasn’t going to do much against Bloat, but it was something. Her lips pursed as she climbed back out of the pit. Maybe she should check out that fake gun.

For good measure, she also grabbed a handful of candy. She’d had her fill earlier, personally, but maybe Dib could use it for a trap or something. Or for ammo to throw at his head when he was getting annoying. Either worked for her.

Unfortunately, Gir spotted her handful of treats and gasped. “CANDY!”

“SSHHH!” Three voices said in unison. 

Gaz threw a piece immediately deeper into the room, sending him chasing after it. It was hard to see back there, but he seemed to be going at it ravenously. 

“Don’t you feed that thing?” She asked, shooting Zim a look.

Zim seemed just as disgusted, and twice as exasperated. “He doesn’t require feeding,” he grumbled, running a hand over his face. “He’s just . . . playing. Or whatever.”

“He needs more enrichment,” Gaz remarked, earning the glare she was gunning for. 

“What’s the candy for?” Dib called, as loud as he dared. 

Gaz held her hand out, “Bait.”

Dib snorted, stealing a piece. He rolled it in his palm, seeming to consider whether or not it was a good idea, before deciding against it. Probably a good idea, Gaz thought.

“It’s clearly attracted to something here,” Dib snorted. “But I’m not sure its mystery candy. Unfortunately, we don’t have the kind of time to figure out what it is. If we don’t send it back where it came from, it’s going to start taking bits and pieces out of anything it comes across.”

Like, for example, a couple of woefully unprepared teenagers. And a robot. And a green dickhead.

One who scoffed loudly, drawing the focus of Gaz’s flashlight.

“Isn’t the answer obvious?” Zim sneered. “It’s the Foodening. ”

Chapter Text

Incident: Bloaty's Pizza Hog

Data Entry 4

06.09

………..

……………………….

…………………………………………

“The what.” Dib’s tone of voice was one of profound, unamused disbelief. The kind of tone usually reserved for idiots on television trying to explain obvious paranormal incidents away with hand-wavey science. 

Now, instead, a paranormal idiot had just given him a profoundly stupid answer.

“Th e Foodening,” Zim repeated. With emphasis. As though that made what he was saying any clearer than the first time he’d strung together his nonsensical syllables.

“. . . I’m going to ignore you,” Dib decided. He even began to turn away, mind refocusing on their mortal danger. 

Zim bristled, stomping his foot in agitation. It quickly redrew both Membrane’s attention—the noise had been muffled by carpet, but still. Unnecessary noise was just another way to draw some seriously unneeded attention to themselves at the moment. 

“Don’t do that, ” Gaz snarled.

“You are not listening,” Zim snarled right back. He bared his teeth, tone twisting into mocking condescension. “Foolish Earth creatures with your narrow minds and narrower experiences. All of your situations must seem so unique when your lives are so small.”

“Stop, stop,” Dib insisted, waving his hands in front of his face, as though to ward away his cloud of idiocy. “Shut up. I don’t care that you’re some evil ageless alien asshole. You have not experienced a possessed, potentially homicidal electronic pig before. Fuck you.”

“The pig is merely a vessel to the Foodening ,” Zim hissed, his hand clenching before his face. His gaze turned skyward, expression distantly thoughtful. “Oh, how mighty its reach is. I did not expect to find evidence of its echoes so deep into the galaxy.”

Dib looked on the verge of joining said electronic pig in homicide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Gaz intervened, morbid curiosity (and the urge to prevent a screaming match) winning out. She had a feeling his answer was going to give her a headache. “What are you talking about?”

Zim straightened, pleased to at last get the attention he’d clearly been craving. “There is a planet in the galaxy called Foodcourtia, which closes its borders every twenty years to contain the sheer might of snacking that occurs. None can enter, and none can exit.”

Gaz frowned. “Because the snacking is . . . dangerous?”

Zim nodded. “Very.”

“Because it’s . . . gross?”

“I don’t get it,” Dib agreed. 

Zim’s lip curled, clearly growing frustrated at the fact he hadn’t immediately been praised for the scholar he so clearly considered himself. “The gravity such monumental snacking creates prevents any creature from escaping.”

Dib’s eyes widened in disbelief. “ Gravity? ” He repeated. “You’re kidding. Stop fucking around, Zim, this is serious.”

“Zim is serious, you ignorant monkey!” He snarled. “The mysteries of the galaxy are beyond your pathetically minimal understanding!”

“That’s not how gravity works, Zim!”

“We’re not having this argument,” Gaz cut in. Her sharp gaze dared any of them to try and protest. “Zim, get the point.”

Zim glowered at her. He seemed to be warring between petulant silence, and his own compulsion to hear the sound of his own voice. “The Great Foodening is a phenomenon of the universe. The amount of snacking that occurs creates its own void of consumption. The consumption creates a vacuum that must be quarantined, lest it pull the rest of the unsuspecting galaxy into its orbit and cause the galaxy’s most ridiculous, universe-ending implosion.” He said, grinding his teeth all the while. “This creature. You say it’s consuming anything and everything in its path, yes?”

“It certainly smelled like it,” Gaz muttered.

Zim spread his arms wide, illustrating the magnificence of his point. “The creature is compelled by the compulsion of consumption. It seeks fuel endlessly, and single-mindedly.”

Dib frowned. “You’re saying if we don’t stop it . . . it’s going to implode?”

“Precisely,” Zim said, pleased that he’d been understood at last.

Dib’s frown deepened. “That’s stupid. Spirits don’t implode.”

“Ignorant little rat!” Zim snarled. “You simply cannot comprehend the nature of these things!”

The irony. 

For the most part, Gaz was largely unimpressed by Zim’s explanation. However, there were some traces of reason in there. Bloat wasn’t going to be stopped. It seemed like he’d already gotten a head start that had likely only made him stronger over time. They may not have proof, but increasing escalation didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. 

“It’ll eat its way out of the building before it stops,” she realized, audibly. 

Zim and Dib both turned towards her, their postures more hostile than they were when she last registered them. Huh. She must’ve missed another petty argument. Lucky her.

“So?” Zim scoffed. “There are many things in this nightmarish building to be eaten. This sounds to me like we have plenty of time.”

“I think the implication here is it’s going to start taking bits and pieces of people ,” Dib said flatly. 

Not what she meant, actually, but she wasn’t going to argue. Especially when it seemed so unfortunately plausible.

The thought was disturbing. The creature was gross enough as it was, but the idea of it adding stray limbs or a skin quilt into the mix was chilling, even for her. Horror games were great in digital, but not in reality. No way did she want to throw hands with something whose hands outnumbered hers by the dozen. Dib was right, for once. It was best to snuff the problem out before it grew.

Zim’s frown deepened, revealing teeth. “Disgusting,” he grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. “Filthy, nasty, revolting . . .!”

They left him to his angry muttering. With both siblings in agreement, the makings of a real plan were in order. 

“So,” Gaz began, her attention directing back towards her brother. “What am I doing? Babysitting the green moron and his sidekick?”

Gir perked, wide, eerie blue eyes shining a bit too focused in her direction. She gave him a flat wave.

Dib seemed to notice Gir’s fixation, and appreciated it just as little. He glared outright, earning him a wide flash of a smile from Gir before his attention strayed. 

“. . . Do we need to worry about other robots, too?” She said, quieter. Zim had distracted himself by snapping one of the candy’s scattered around the stage in half, throwing both pieces at a delighted Gir. 

“It’s not really about being a robot,” Dib began, scratching at his chin. “It’s definitely making the situation worse, though. Bloat’s seeking energy. Some of that is transfixing itself into electricity, but I agree with what you said earlier. Seems like he’s eating anything and everything that could fit the interpretation. The only real distinction is that some of it’s being mixed up as what a robot needs—which is to charge—and some of it’s being mixed up as what a ghoul would need.”

“A ghoul?” Gaz pressed. “It’s a ghoul now?”

“Ghosts don’t eat,” Dib pointed out, as though that was supposed to mean anything to her. “Ghouls, however, are gluttons. Supposedly. I haven’t ever really gone looking for one. They seemed . . . gross.”

Gaz widened her eyes purposefully. “You think?” 

“They’re normally shapeshifters though,” he continued. “Not possession-types. Usually. Although, I guess that’s more of a directly Eastern interpretation? Shapeshifting as some form of energy to accommodate a host could be a thing, too, I guess, but I think that’s a pretty loose—.”

“Save it for your forum,” Gaz snapped, shoving his shoulder. “What are we going to do about it now?”

 “Right, uh,” he looked around, grounding himself, searching as though the answers would stumble into him. She could see thoughts and plans forming and discarding with every dart of his eyes. As annoying as her brother was, she was relieved to have that big head of his focused on the problem at hand. Hopefully there’d be a solution in there somewhere. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, his face was a mask of determination. 

“Banishing circle. And a prayer circle.”

. . . . .

“. . . No,” Zim said flatly.

Dib huffed. “It’ll kill it. Or at least banish it.”

“Zim is neither religious nor willing to humor your religion,” he said, picking at the sharp tips of his nails through his gloves. “I will not humor your pointless magic ceremonies to a creature Zim would just as soon kill before worship.”

As unfunny as the situation was, Gaz couldn’t help the wry grin forming. “You want to fist fight God?”

“Don’t be uncivilized,” Zim replied coolly. A moment later, he flashed her a wicked grin. “A laser cannon would suffice.”

Gaz felt laughter twitching in her chest. “Dude.”

Dib threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t need you to believe in God, idiot. Or any god, for that matter. What I need is the ceremony.”

“We gonna dance?” Gir gasped. 

“No,” Dib replied, ignoring Gir’s immediate deflation. “Look, none of us are religious. That’s not that point. The point is, we have to follow what the ghoul believes.”

Gaz’s brow rose. “. . . The ghoul is religious?”

“Yes. It’s more complicated than that. But shut up,” Dib huffed, waving off her skepticism. “Look, the point is, I need this room kept safe long enough for me to use what’s in my bag to make a banishing rune. And I’ll need it lured into the trap. I don’t need either of you to pray, or chant, or whatever, I just need you to be a participating body. Okay? Is that non-secular enough for everyone?”

“Zim wishes to participate in the flaying of its corpse,” he said cheerfully. 

“And you can,” Dib said pleasantly. “Right after we evict the ghoul. Or whatever it is.”

He began removing things from his bag. To Gaz’s vague amusement, he also began trashing some of the decorations in the room. Children’s paint markers were snatched from the floor. Her brow rose as he began using a fluorescent white to start making marks on the floor. Small streaks that predated a pattern she couldn’t hope to guess. 

Zim’s voice at her side startled her, moreso when she felt a shift against her hip.

She spun, nearly coming out of her skin, fist half-raised to punch until she realized she wasn’t in immediate danger. 

Zim had pickpocketed her. He held one of her filched knives up—the red one. The flashiest. Typical. He eyed it, and her, skeptically.

“This will not help you,” he said slowly, as though explaining to a child. 

Gaz snorted, holding her hand out. Zim wiggled it teasingly before dropping it like trash into her waiting palm.

“Gir will wait with your littermate,” he said. One eye narrowed at her, seeming displeased and reluctant to finish his sentence. His mouth hung open in vague disgust before sighing. “You expressed your intention to participate in the hunt of the pig, no?”

He seemed to hope that the answer was, indeed, ‘no.’ But Gaz was so not going to let Zim run amok in the building, unhurried and unsupervised. He’d take his sweet time coming to their rescue if it came to it. She couldn’t have him too comfortable.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

Another glance at her sibling showed Dib had moved onto cajoling Gir into helping. Said robot seemed to be taking direction well enough. He wasn’t eating any of the salt Dib was starting to shake around—stolen from the tables, she realized. Dork.

She rolled her eyes, returning her attention to Zim. “These are all I have,” she explained dismissively, shaking the returned knife and the pocket that held the rest of them.

Zim rolled his eyes. For a moment, she thought he might offer her another gun, or a weapon of some sort. She was his backup, after all. It’d make sense for her to actually be able to wield something useful.

But apparently, he wasn’t feeling very generous at the moment. With a grunted order for her to follow, he marched forward, back towards the danger and the darkness.

She hesitated.

She’d be lying if she said her bones weren’t turning to mush at the thought of the dark—and Bloat—swallowing her whole. Zim was barely a factor. He had his own motivations, and most of them directly clashed with theirs. Gaz didn’t put the same stock her brother seemed to in their little handshake. 

Zim took about two steps before he paused, shooting her a look over his shoulder in the same instance. It was a little startling just how fucking fast he was, sometimes. His eyes flicked over her.

A slow, mocking grin crept across his face. Gaz felt herself flush with rage the instant she realized he’d clocked her nerves.

“Scared, human?” He purred. “Why don’t you stay here, where it’s safe, little Gaz, hmm?”

Fuck. Him.

Gaz marched right past him, making a point to try and stomp on his foot. He whipped it away, out of danger. Her attempts at violence did not deter his squeaking, raspy laughter behind her. Said laughter didn’t deter her, either, from quite literally marching blindly into danger. 

Only Zim’s hand clamping firmly on her shoulder managed to yank her angry recklessness to a halt. 

“Your puny vision will not serve us here,” he muttered. “Follow Zim.”

She was about to point out that she couldn’t see him, either, til he walked past.

Oh. Right. His PAK glowed. 

Faint, but definitely enough for her to follow. Okay. Well. She could work with that. They couldn’t risk the flashlight, but this would do. 

It still made her sick to walk into the near-complete darkness, with only an idiot as her backup, but it’d have to do.

“Do you know where it is?” She dared to whisper.

Zim’s red eyes turned towards her briefly. His PAK gently illuminated his shoulder and the sharp angle of his jaw, but not much else. His eyes bobbed in the darkness; a nod. 

A glitter of teeth. A flash of tongue dragging along them.

Gaz’s face twisted in disgust. She’d never understand what Dib saw in Zim as an enemy. He was just a bad combination of deranged and bored. Jingle some keys, and he’d be properly distracted too long for his plans to ever amount to anything. A wiry brute with a low attention span, and a hungry look in those fluorescent eyes of his. A giddy little hiss in the dark. 

She hoped it ate him. Or not all of him, since that would put them in a bad spot. Maybe a shoe. Or a finger. Something to teach him a lesson.

It was hard to tell in the dark, but Gaz soon got a feel for where they were going. Sort of. She’d been enough times for her muscle memory to guide her through the mausoleum of pizza—which was good, because Zim seemed to have forgotten she existed pretty much the moment he turned away. All thoughts had apparently turned to ‘hunt’ and ‘destroy.’ Probably ‘stab,’ too. Whatever it was that got his alien metal gears going.

If her intuition was right, he was leading them back towards the arcade room.

. . . And, eventually, the prize wall.

The filched pocket knives hung heavy in her pockets, but her own brain was turning at the idea of potentially more useful items on that prize wall.

Sure enough, lit by buckets of glow-in-the-dark erasers and assorted other prizes, was a wall of miscellaneous items, each ripe for the taking. Gaz hadn’t planned on any thievery tonight—petty crime wasn’t really her style. An organized heist here or there, sure, maybe, but the times called for desperate measures. Or opportunistic ones. Shut up.

“Stop,” she dared to breathe. “Hold on.”

Zim’s PAK halted instantly, head whipping around. As she suspected, he’d forgotten she was there. Her voice had startled him. She rolled her eyes, pointing to the wall. Zim’s unhappy snarl of teeth flashed again in the dark. Jackass. This wouldn’t be necessary if he wasn’t being stingy with the weapons this time around. 

Gaz hopped onto the counter, grimacing at the stick of her sneakers as they touched the surface of it. Gross.  

Anything inside the case was useless. It was all the small, expensive stuff; special edition collectibles and glittery figures. Nothing useful for what she needed now (and as if Gaz didn’t already own them, anyways). 

But she wasn’t tall enough to reach her actual fixation without standing on the counter, so alas. Needs must. 

Even standing on the counter, perched on her toes, she was about a foot short. She snagged the broom from where it leant against the counter, nudging at the shelf, jostling it once. Twice.

“Thief,” Zim’s voice accused behind her, vindicated from his earlier accusations.

Gaz rolled her eyes and ignored him. Another nudge, harder this time. The shelf rocked. 

Zim scoffed, but otherwise she didn’t hear him offer any further protests. Another hard budge made a noise louder than she’d have preferred, but at last, the plastic case on the shelf dislodged. Lucky for her, the employees didn’t bother to lock up anything this high up. 

With the tip of the broom, she slid the plastic topper towards her. It dragged the object of her fixation with it, rolling it towards the edge of the shelf. A good, solid wooden rattle that reassured her decision to waste time to get it. She’d feel much better with it, at the very least. Zim could do all the heavy lifting, but she’d be a fool to leave herself to his mercy. Defenseless in a hunt? How stupid.

She wasn’t careful enough. Too distracted by her disparaging thoughts of her current ally. 

The broom couldn’t support the full, sudden weight of the plastic. In the dim lighting, she’d overestimated just how much was hanging off the edge.

It went clattering to the ground, bouncing and rolling along with her weapon of choice. 

Cringing and panicking, Gaz jumped down from the counter, hands scrambling. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

At last, her hands curled around solid wood. As panicked as she was for her stupid mistake, it was a relief to feel something bigger than a pocket knife in her grip at long last. 

She was waiting for the angry, probably-too-loud whispered curses from Zim. But the longer her heart pounded in her chest, the longer she realized she hadn’t heard anything.

Gaz peeked over the counter, a sense of disbelief washing over her.

. . . Because there was no Zim.

He’d left.

That FUCKER.

Gaz launched herself over the counter, one hand steadying herself while the other wielded her newfound weapon: one Bloaty’s Pizzeria special edition stainless steel baseball bat.

Honestly, it was pretty hefty. And definitely not suitable for actual sports. But hey, baseball was supposedly America’s favorite pastime. And Bloaty’s was an American company. What was more nationalist than baseball, pizza, and rapid consumerism? Also, it had Bloaty laser-etched into the sides, so that was cool, too. Plus a glow-in-the-dark ink dye with ‘BATTER UP, PIGGY!’ splashed in piggy-pink on the side. The handle surrounding the steel was a dark, comfortable, waxed wood. Very tasteful, if a little slippery. She was definitely keeping it after this.

Calling out to Zim was stupid. As stupid as making a big racket when she was questionably close to their target, but that had been an accident. Hopefully, he’d still be nearby. And hopefully she could keep her shit together in the dark long enough to move one foot in front of the other. 

Without Zim’s PAK to guide the light, she was facing the darkness all by herself. The urge to stay in the glow of the glow-in-the-dark refuge that the prize area created was embarrassingly strong. 

. . . God damn it though, she couldn’t leave Zim to his own devices. She had to go after him. Dib was counting on her. And she was counting on Dib to exorcise this fucking thing. She had to do her part and make sure that moron didn’t leave little pieces of ghoul soul all over to regrow, or something equally annoying. Were ghouls like hydras? She didn’t know, but she had no intention of finding out. Not tonight. 

But stumbling around in the dark seemed just as stupid. She could run right into—.

A stench so vile it had her gagging on reflex flooded her scents. Gaz’s hand flew to her nose, the other squeezing the bat so hard she must’ve been leaving indents in the soft wood. That nasty, horrendous odor was followed by the gentle shiver of the floor, reverberating as an enormous movement in the distant rippled towards her.

The noise. The sound of the bat, and its case, falling to the ground.

It’d heard her.

FUCK.

Where the fuck was Zim?!

Gaz had half of a plan and a lot more panic. The bat had been meant as a last resort, not as an offensive measure. The better idea was to divert its attention. Get away from the area it was heading towards.

Her wildly flickering eyes landed on something just beside the counter.

. . . Or divert it elsewhere.

By the time she was done, the smell was making her eyes water. She didn’t bother wiping away the streaks making their way down her face. No one was around to see her perceivably crying, anyways. Zim had fucked off to who knows where—hopefully eaten very, very painfully. Once again, Gaz was left to pick up after someone else’s mess with nothing but her creative ingenuity and a little brute force. 

The footsteps had grown close enough to sense the rhythm—like ever-approaching thunder. It was sickening to feel her every sense react to Bloat’s possessed presence. The air was starting to taste of him. Grease and rot and her own bile threatening to bubble up. It burned in a way the acrid smoke of the corn maze hadn’t. 

Gaz held herself behind the cabinet, wedged in the darkest corner she could find. As terrified as she was, she was proud by the fact that she didn’t tremble. Her tears were a reaction to the odor, not of despair. She didn’t whimper. She didn’t cower. Her features firmed, her bat was ready, and she lay there in waiting. A predator to a creature that only knew the other end of the hunt, unaware of the scope pointed at its grimy forehead for once.

Fuck Zim, fuck Dib, and you know what, fuck Bloat, too. She could handle this on her own. She could always handle things on her own. She didn’t need anyone then, and she certainly didn’t need them now. She’d lure this robot on her own, no thanks to that alien, disappearing jackass.

The mechanical groaning was growing loud enough to hear. Bloat was close. Gaz buried her face in her hoodie, trying to mask the stench as best as she could to maintain her focus.

Bloat’s screaming burst into the air. It very nearly made her drop the bat, but she was ready for it. She ignored the instinct to cover her ears and protect them from the trauma. Hold steady.

Sudden silence. The renewed creaking of robotic limbs grinding against its own exoskeleton as it continued approaching. 

The screaming was a strategy, she realized. See what went scuttling out into the dark in a panic. The thing had a mind of its own—enough of one to strategize. Shit.

Another scream, this one closer and louder than the last. Knowing it was looking for a reaction made it somewhat easier to hold still. Brace against the noise. Hold still. Wait.

It began approaching the counter. She caught a glimpse of its velvet, turned green-gray where the glow-in-the-dark lighting hit it most. It was fine. It was going to be fine. One of its hooved hands scratched at the counter, bumping into it.

Aha. So it was blind. Or at least poor-sighted. That was good to know. 

It continued to bump into the counter, screaming occasionally in growing discontent, unable to find its way around it. Okay. Great. She took a deep, silent breath. She reached one hand downwards, towards her hip. Alright. In 3. 2—.

A blur of something dropping from the ceiling had her freezing in surprise.

A crackle of static burst, distracting Bloat. He turned himself in its direction, unaware of the figure falling from above. 

The PAK leg that had moments ago been about to sink into its skull skimmed the back of it, blunting off the mental frame and sending the assailant rolling.

Zim shrieked as he rolled, rediverting the attention of Bloat to his figure. 

And then all hell broke loose.

Gaz’s finger slammed down on the button in her hand again, hoping to draw its attention away from the green nimrod that had just completely fucked her plan. 

She couldn’t even curse him out, too mindful of the attention it would attract from Bloat. Not that he’d probably have heard her over the ear-piercing screech of said monster gunning right for Zim, anyways. Fuck!

All thoughts of her plan were out the window now.

Zim was quick to regain his footing, but not his composure. He looked panicked, furious, and afraid all in one. He retreated quickly, bouncing up onto his PAK legs to spider away from the bullrush of Bloat. As the robot charged, Zim bounded up the wall, creating better distance. His PAK legs sunk into the wall, one hand gripping the large ARCADE sign as he looked down at Bloat. The animatronic screamed, mouth opening and closing so rapidly his teeth seemed to be chattering. 

“VILE,” Zim barked out. 

“There’s a cage!” Gaz shouted. “Put him in the cage!”

Bloat spun around, suddenly aware of her in the worst way. This was not what she’d planned, but oh well, fuck it. 

Her hand clamping down on what it’d been reaching for; a toy, remote-activated noise maker. A shitty little one probably incapable of transmitting noise clearly across long distances, but loud. Or so she’d hoped. Gaz hadn’t even had time—or the nerve—to test it.

It’d been attached to an RC car. She was going to use the noise to lure it wherever they needed without any struggling to worry about. All Zim had to do was nothing, but of course, that wouldn’t do!

The little remote control car wheeled past him, mercifully diverting its attention to closer prey. It charged, feet stomping hard enough to rock the floor. Gaz ran after it as close as she dared into the heart of the arcade, ever mindful of the limits of the toys’ connectivity.

Inside, towards the back of the room, was a batting cage. It was just meant for fun; the baseballs were too lightweight to do damage, even at full speed, and the bats were plastic or, for smaller kids, inflatable. It was the companion game for the weapon she gripped in her other hand. 

The game may have been intended for children, but that didn’t mean the cage itself wasn’t sturdy. Whether or not it’d be strong enough to hold Bloat, who knew, but it was her best chance, and she was sticking to it. Just because Zim had decided to show up finally didn’t mean she was changing gears now. He could help, or stay out of the way.

Thankfully, he chose the latter. Gaz could see him swooping like a monkey around the roof of the arcade, well out of reach of Bloat—and her. If she got her hands on him, ally or not, she might not be able to keep herself from strangling his stupid ass. He could’ve gotten them both killed then and there. He still might, if he wasn’t careful.

The RC car, under her direction, veered into the battering cages. Bloat bull-rushed it, slamming into other games or obstacles when the corners were taken too sharply. Gaz tried to encourage this as much as possible; pieces of screws and bits of metal were left in his wake. With any luck, maybe he’d just combust at the seams. He was old, after all. He couldn’t be holding together all too well, possessed or not. 

Zim seemed to understand the plan, thank fuck. When the batting cages came into sight, he darted ahead, wrenching the gate open. Bloat’s attention diverted from the little toy car and accompanying noise maker at the much louder sound of the gate squealing open. Perfect. 

Even still, just to be sure, Gaz directed the car into the batting cage. It continued to screech, siren sounds intermingling with boings, pops, and whoops. Every parent’s nightmare. A gag gift to give to children whose parents you didn’t like.

Bloat stumbled after it, screaming and tearing off in its direction. Zim darted outside the cage, his PAK legs sinking into the ceiling, trying to avoid making any further sound. 

Bloat wailed, hungry and agitated. It stumbled into the doorway of the cage, grasping for the source of the sound. 

Only when it was deeper into the confines of the batting area did Zim dare to dart down, slamming the cage door shut behind him with a grunt of satisfaction.

Bloat’s fist went slamming towards the ground, too distracted by the ongoing noise of the circling RC car to pay any mind to them. 

Gaz took a slow, deep breath. In. Out. 

Alive. Somehow.

Zim dropped down beside her, dusting his gloved hands off against one another. Gaz dared to sigh. Her limbs were trembling. All of her was.

“Well done, human,” Zim said, voice far too loud to be safe.

Bloat’s head snapped towards him.

Gaz stared at him, eyes wide with murder, gesturing for his silence.

He waved her off. “That cage is adonized steel,” he lectured. “It should suffice to hold one stinking pig.”

Gaz frowned warily. Bloat was stumbling towards the sound of his voice, head on a swivel. Much quieter, she replied. “Sure. But let’s not push our luck, moron.”

Zim sneered. “Look at it,” he spat. “Pathetic little thing, fallen into a puny human’s little tr—.”

Bloat’s llimb shot through the cage like tissue paper.

The both of them screamed, jerking backwards hard enough to nearly lose their footing. 

“WHAT?!” Zim screamed. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY TRAPPED, YOU EVIL, MISERABLE PIG!”

Bloat grasped blindly for him, pulling himself further and further out. Stupid. She’d been so stupid. Of course that wouldn’t hold him. He was too big. Too strong. 

Bloat came bursting at last from his insufficient confines, creating a silhouette where steel had once been. He reached for Zim, swiping viciously in the dark for his next meal. Gaz’s hand seemed to move of their own volition first.

She swung, and hard.

Bloat jerked backwards.

Gaz’s eyes widened, unable to stop her own momentum in time.

Her arms shivered as the bat sank home in the remains of the batting cage instead of the metal of Bloat’s skull. It stumbled away clumsily, moving too quickly to keep its balance.

Thankfully, Zim reacted before it could.

His PAK leg swept across the air, connecting into Bloat’s enormous gut and smearing him against another arcade game. It screamed, shrill and pained, sparking and writhing as it tried to regain control of its motor functions.

“Fuck,” she spat, yanking on the bat. It didn’t budge much. Zim spared it a glance, watching her struggle for a brief moment before reaching for it himself. With a half-hearted tug, he got it most of the way out.

“Weak,” he mocked. As always, it was never a bad time for gloating for him. 

“Fuck off,” Gaz snapped, shoving his hand away. He held it up in mocking surrender, his slithering tongue pinched between his teeth in glee. His expression soon turned to one of disgust as he seemed to scent the air. 

“Disgusting, evil metal swine,” he muttered, turning his attention back towards their adversary.

It all seemed to happen very slowly. 

The slight widening of Zim’s eyes, growing larger with every dragging second as he looked towards her left. Gaz turned on instinct, her head moving much slower than she willed it to. 

In her peripherals, the growing pink mass shooting towards them, teeth first.

Zim’s PAK leg sinking into her abdomen, at first just a brush of metal on her sweatshirt, and then more. The tip blunted, pressing into her ribs, harder and harder, her body pushed backwards at the impact. 

Bloat’s teeth swallowing the entire left half of her vision.

The world came back in a painful jolt of motion.

Gaz was flung backwards— hard. Her ribs wheezed in her chest at the impact of Zim’s PAK leg digging into them in one pinpoint shove.

A wall of solid metal slammed into Zim, his face there one moment, and gone the next. He wasn’t the only casualty. 

Gaz felt her very bones shiver and scream at the sensation of white, hot something. So painful and sudden that her brain, for a brief, merciful moment, she only felt alarm. Something was wrong, but much like what had just happened to Zim, it hadn’t caught up with her yet. Until it did.

Her foot snagged against the loose fabric of Bloat’s shredded overalls, caught in one of the holes as he rushed past. Zim’s efforts to get them out of danger had failed for the both of them. 

Her ankle screamed as loud as she did, pulled suddenly in a direction, nearly leaving the rest of her behind. She swore she felt it pop. Too much was happening too quickly and processing too slowly. Her weight was dragged out from under her, tangled in fabric for only long enough to send her face crashing towards the ground. The impact of her wrist on the velvety, sticky carpet turned her vision white. Sparks and stars flooded her eyes in an avalanche. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe.

Cursing, Gaz writhed on the floor, gasping and hiccuping for air that wouldn’t be found. Her ribs wouldn’t expand. Her ankle was expanding too much. She could feel it swelling. Hot and sharp and blooming in shocking agony. Her stomach threatened a violent return of every ill-thought-out meal she’d had this evening, and fear shocked her just as violently as the pain. If she threw up, she’d choke, and then she’d really die.

Screaming popped into her ears, slicing through the thick curtain of disjointed shock. Shrill, panicked screaming that was familiar to her.

Grinding her teeth hard enough to crack, Gaz somehow found herself on her hands and knees, staring blindly into the dark.

Zim.

Scrambling backwards, one PAK leg dangling at an angle that’d be worrying on bone, nails shredding carpet as he scrambled to get away from the rapidly approaching mound of metal and teeth clawing for a grip on him. Bloat swiped his legs, missed, and swiped again. And again. Zim’s remaining functional PAK legs jabbed at random, skidding off velvet and denim and glancing off its exoskeleton worthlessly.

Gaz gagged on her own words, the stench of Bloat flooding every struggling sense she had. One hand clutched her nose and mouth in vain. Dank, musty, moldy, greasy filth. Seeping into the atmosphere, into her very skin. Dark and putrid and invasive. Like she’d never be clean again.

She had to get up. Had to do something, because Zim was too close. He’d kept his distance for a reason. As much of a brute as he was, Bloat was clearly the stronger between them. 

Zim was screaming, she realized. Screaming and cursing and swiping. His eyes were blown wide, red like blood. Blood she’d see soon if she didn’t get. up.

A mechanical scream drowned out Zim’s. He had one claw pressed against its makeshift jaw, though the grease made it slippery, and there wasn’t enough structure to it to get a firm grip on it. His hands sunk into its face, and another burst of powerful, rancid odor wafted into the room. It made her eyes water and her stomach heave. Zim’s screams were muffled by the abrupt closure of his mouth, his cheeks bulging. She didn’t know if he was suppressing the urge to throw up, or keep screaming. Maybe both. 

His knees shook as it pressed relentlessly forward, his boots sinking into the velvet flesh as he desperately tried shoving it backwards. Though it’s face was turned sharply away—for now—its jaw began to unhinge. The dripping of oil made it look uncannily similar to ravenous drooling. It was horrifying.

In a burst of adrenalized panic, Gaz shot to her feet, and swore nearly immediately at the protest in her ankle. The ache was deep and sharp, a warning to stop moving around. But it wasn’t like she had a choice here. If Zim died, they’d all be next. They wouldn’t last long without their brute force.

Not that she didn’t have some brute force of her own. Her ankle may have been busted, but she didn’t have a concussion. Her head was clearing with the aid of the adrenaline. It fucking hurt, but she was still in there. And she had an idea. Sort of.

It pained her to deface any part of Bloaty’s. But needs must. The punishment came in the form of her complaining muscles as she separated her bat from the cage. It was tragedy in motion. Still, Gaz prevailed. 

With a wrench of her arms, the bat was torn free.

Zim was bucking, desperate and wild eyed. Though both were trembling with the force of their clash, it was clear that the monstrous creature was gaining in proximity. It’d win out eventually, and they both knew it, driving the situation to increasing levels of frenzy. 

Swearing one last time at her complaining joints, Gaz rushed forward, bat poised over her shoulder, and swung hard enough to spin herself one and a half times over. 

A thunderous crack followed. 

She came stumbling to a stop, resting her bat on the floor to support her weight and stop her momentum. 

Bloat flailed, his head spinning rapidly. It looked like the impact had disconnected its head from its body. It sputtered and sparked around its neck. She feared for a moment the velvet was going to catch. That’d be bad. The last thing Gaz needed was another fire incident. Lynn would probably skin them alive.

No longer capable of orienting itself, the body stumbled in a dizzy, erratic circle. The entire frame seemed to seize, jerking backwards and clawing blindly. One hand jerked forward, too close for comfort. 

Gaz hurriedly brought the bat overhead, slamming it down with the intention of breaking fingers. She missed, hitting its wrist instead. Another hideous crack burst out. Although it didn’t separate, a near 90-degree bend appeared where her bat had collided with false flesh and bone. Small victory.

Four PAK legs zoomed by her face, sinking into meat, raggedy velvet, cheese and possible petrochemical waste, releasing another near-tangible cloud of odor. 

Gaz gagged, hiding her face in her elbow and turning away quickly. Zim advanced as she retreated, eyes impossibly wide. He made no noise. His PAK legs simply sunk into the body again. And again. And again. It was sort of deja vu. She expected him to start tearing at it with his hands any minute now. But it seemed he’d thought better of it. Murderous frenzy or not, there was some part of him that clearly didn’t want to touch the thing anymore than he had to. 

Although his attacks were relentless, the creature still flailed and spasmed. Moosh and goo leaked from some of the new puncture marks, but not enough to imply any significant damage. It seemed to have its own gravity, mostly keeping shape even as it oozed along the floor. Gloved fingers still tried in vain to grasp and spasm its way towards further violence. 

Worse still, Zim’s PAK legs seemed incapable of puncturing the titanium frame. Anytime they collided, they glanced off one another uselessly. His efforts were only keeping it at bay. It was a stalemate, and furthermore, it was disgusting to watch. Gaz had never regretted having a functioning pair of eyes more. 

“Stop, stop,” she managed. Her words were dry and strained, her throat still threatening a violent return of her dinner. She really was staring to regret those slushies. She held a hand up, nearly touching his shoulder. “It’s not working. We need to do something else.”

Two PAK legs sunk viciously into the creature, pinning it in place briefly. It was less Zim’s influence, and more the way it’d been backed between the freezers. With its head still spinning and its body incapable of walking in a straight line, and now Zim’s PAK legs further obstructing it, escape was now a monumental task. Vivid memories of 8th grade science class filled her with an odd discomfort, though largely overwhelmed by the urgency of their present situation.

She didn’t realize just how close her hand was hovering until it was gripped in fingers that had moved faster than her eyes could register. 

Gaz suddenly realized just how heavily Zim was breathing. 

Her self-preservation instincts had redirected from the spasming Bloat in the corner, and were now wholly focused on how many teeth the alien beside her had bared, and how crushing that grip could be if it really wanted to. 

The hand that held hers was shaking.

A long time ago, Dib had brought home a stray cat that he’d decided was his one and only attempt at charity. For all his moral righteousness to defeat and conquer in the name of good, smaller virtues were something he had difficulty with in his youth. 

Still, something about that one tabby cat had called to him, and Gaz had found it hissing and scrambling around their living room, swiping at her well-intentioned idiot of a brother whenever he got too close. She’d pitied it. A cornered creature out of its element, desperate to appear frightening lest it succumb to the grabby hands of the unknown, aka her pubescent sibling. Cats were strategists. This one knew that not being the scariest thing in the room meant a certain uncertainty—an uncertainty that could spell pain and death. In the end, Dib had given the cat to a shelter more equipped to rehabilitate it. It had been Gaz who’d managed to coax it into a carrier to get it out of the house in the first place. Gaz had caught one last glimpse of it, trembling in the corner of its concrete cage and yowling at any passersby. 

She recalled that incident now as she maintained careful eye-contact with the trembling alien in front of her now. She made no attempt to pull away, or exhibit any sudden movements at all. She lowered her chin ever so slightly, taking deep, even breaths. Non-threatening. Not hostile. Simply in the same space as him, as if by complete coincidence. 

“ Keep your filthy hands off of Zim ,” he hissed. The noise was deep in the back of his throat. It was loud, too. Louder than he should’ve been, even for him. 

Yowling.

Gaz said nothing, and was careful not to let her eyes say anything either. A blank slate, receptive of anything. 

“Okay,” she said. Not overly agreeable, or frustrated. Not sarcastic, or demanding—and certainly not frightened.

His hands shook less. The slightest pause between each earthquake, like an aftershock. His hand flexed once. Just once. Just short of being painful. And still, Gaz did nothing.

He released her, his open hands still hovering in the air as hers fell from his grip. She was careful not to let it fall too fast, or act alarmed. It was him who moved away from her . 

Zim pulled his gaze from her as though scalded by it, and Gaz turned away politely, as though she hadn’t noticed.

For a time, the only noises were his ragged breath, and the noises of the creature that were best kept undescribed in its current state.

“We could try burning it,” she suggested. She darted a glance at his profile, and quickly looked away when she found his face turning towards her again.

It was more destruction than she would’ve liked. The threatening words of the manager hovered overhead, but to little effect. Lynn may creep her out, but not as much as this thing. Besides, Zim liked fire and burning and ash. 

He remained silent for several more breaths, each slower and more drawn out than the last. Gaz kept quiet. Receptive. Inoffensive. Barely a presence.

(Here, kitty kitty.)

“. . . terrible idea.”

He was muttering to himself more than her, which was good, because Gaz was aiming to barely register on his radar. Her wrist ached, and her instincts were trying to coax her to slink off in the dark unnoticed. As she was not actually prey, she kept her feet firmly in place.

. . . What wasn’t so good was the realization that the only thing she could hear was his muttering.

Her gaze went to the corner. While wet, the aged, yellow tiling was void of a deadly animatronic.

“Oh fuck ,” she blurted out. 

Zim’s gaze followed hers, jumping at the realization his PAK legs no longer held anything in place.

Chapter Text

Data Entry 6

Incident: Bloaty’s Pizza Hog

06.09

The good news was, in its current state, it left an obvious trail to follow. Not even the money behind the Bloaty’s incorporation could find a tiling or carpeting that didn’t stain under the might of pizza grease. Still.

“This feels like a trap,” she said. Wisely, she let him stomp past without attempting to stop him again. Please keep all hands and feet away from the vehicle at all times, or something. 

“It is,” he growled. “For this horrible meat monster.”

He was still twitching. Worryingly so. His hands shook and trembled at his sides, intermittently flexing into fists. Gaz was sort of at a loss.

The stray cat had been able to be rehomed. For now, in the immediate, she really needed Zim’s help. She couldn’t just send him off to a good home. 

Trying to soothe him would only make things exponentially worse. She genuinely couldn’t imagine how bad the fallout of trying to comfort him would be. No way would he stay to help; he’d probably figure out a way to get Bloat to gore both humans on the premises, and set fire to it for good measure.

The best thing to do would be to pretend nothing was amiss. But simultaneously, be a little easier to be around. Not pick at him so much. Watch her mouth. Gaz might have not been so good at holding her tongue, but she did know how to compartmentalize and ignore her reality. She had to learn to cope with her familial tragedies somehow, after all. 

She took a deep breath, ignoring the way Zim’s head snapped in her direction almost immediately. In. Out. In. Out.

It was easy to ignore Zim’s twitchiness when the throbbing, white-hot pain in her ankle was only growing worse by the second. She leaned her weight against the now-scuffed bat, like a cane, trying to take the pressure off of it.

“You are injured,” Zim remarked, testily.

Gaz focused her attention on the ceiling. And then, when the dark seemed to swallow her vision whole, refocused on the glowing parts of her bat. It didn’t help the swimming in her gut—who knew pain could make her so nauseous?

Putting pressure on it was sickening, but doable. This was definitely getting into ‘need to seek medical assistance’ territory. She pressed her lips in a thin line and shuffled forward, as delicately as possible. 

The pain seized up the nerves in her leg, but she could support her weight. It fucking burned, but she’d live. She didn’t dare pull her pant leg up to get a look at the no-doubt swollen flesh beneath. And if she didn’t look at it, didn’t that mean it wasn’t real? That’s how it worked, right?

Zim rolled his eyes at her ginger footsteps, clicking his tongue. “You are useless to me in this state.”

She only just managed to keep herself from saying something snide, physically biting her tongue to resist the impulse.

“I’m fine,” she grunted instead. “Where’d it go?”

Annoyingly, he didn’t answer her. Instead, he continued to scrutinize her. The longer he looked, the more pissed off he seemed.

Well, fuck him. The grease stain trailed off into the dark, and Bloat wasn’t going to get any closer. Unless he was hunting them? No, the air didn’t stink of him. Even in the lingering grease, the odors left behind were distinctly stale. It lacked the specific putrid-sludge sensation, as though the very air itself was sticking to their skin and layering over their tongue. Choking them. The room now only smelled a little greasy, and a little musty.

 Bloat, and whatever had possessed him, had chosen to retreat. That spoke of intelligence. Of strategy. Which was honestly really worrying.

“It’s blind,” she said aloud. Or, mostly blind. It was definitely tracking them by sound, but probably also by some other method. After all, they’d ran him all over the stupid Pizzaplex without losing him completely. If it had such good hearing that it could hear them from across the building, it definitely could detect her breathing in the same room as her. But it hadn’t. It’d only heard the crashing sounds as she tried to retrieve the bat. 

“Sound, and . . .” she huffed to herself, hobbling her way past Zim. What other senses were there? Were ghouls or whatever only limited to human senses? This was probably a question she should’ve asked her brother prior to splitting up, but nothing to do about it now. 

. . . Her brother.

The only other life in the building, alongside Gir. 

Gaz’s eyes widened, freezing.

It’d retreated from them. She genuinely had no idea if they’d managed to do any damage, or if they’d just put up too much of a fight to be immediately worth it. 

Dib, on the other hand, had yet to prove himself such a nuisance.

Her head snapped toward Zim, quicker than she should’ve. He bristled, startled from his own musings.

“It’s backtracking,” she hissed. “Towards Dib.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” Zim retorted. “We’ve served our part, no? Let your hideous brother do his part.”

“Gir alone isn’t going to be able to contain it,” she snapped back, only barely refraining from calling him an idiot. “You stabbed that fucking thing to shreds—skewered it, actually, and it still ran off on its own.”

The revelation seemed to surprise him, like he’d forgotten about Gir’s involvement in this mess. Jeez, had he slammed his head that hard? Even in the dark, Gaz could tell he looked exhausted. Was this just stress? Two back-to-back, potentially-deadly paranormal encounters were just too much on his weird little alien brain?

Recovering from his initial confusion, Zim’s eyes narrowed, an expression somewhere between suspicious and perplexed appearing on his face. 

“Gir is the pinnacle of Irken engineering and altered with my own personal adjustments. He will be fine,” he said. His chin tilted upwards, scrutinizing Gaz more intensely. “What manner of trickery is this?”

Gaz’s brow rose. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” he gestured, hand flapping in the air. “Kinship behavior your are exhibiting with my SIR unit. He gave you his pig, and now you mention his well-being alongside your horrible littermate’s. What plot is this?”

“I don’t know why your robot wanted me to hold his stupid pig, Zim,” she snarled.

Zim’s expression clearly said he didn’t believe her. Regardless, they had other more pressing priorities at the moment than getting to the bottom of Gir’s fondness for her. 

“I gave him snacks earlier,” she ground out. “Maybe he thinks he owes me.”

Truth be told, Gaz recalled that Gir had always sort of fixated on her. She remembered a few instances during their childhood in which he’d demanded her individual attention. Gaz’s tolerance for all things loud and stupid hadn’t improved much as she aged, but she at least now recognized that Gir was more interesting than she’d initially suspected. Major personality defects aside, he was sort of cool. A marvel of cybernetic engineering worth a second or third look at.

In her opinion, it kind of made sense. Gaz generally liked robots. For whatever reason, this robot liked her. It wasn’t that complicated, and certainly wasn’t worth wasting time arguing about right now. 

Zim had nothing to worry about, anyways. She wasn’t about to go laying out racoon traps for him. Sure, she’d like to take a peak on what was going on in his programming, given the easy opportunity. From the look on Zims’ face, she had a feeling he wasn’t about to offer one up. Gaz in fact was pretty sure Gir was about to get a new update specifically labeled ‘anti_Dib_sister_protocol’ the second they got back to his base. 

Gaz grit her teeth against another biting insult aimed at his attention span. There were other priorities. “Zim, we don’t have time for you to be territorial over your robot. We have to go. Now.”

Bloat might not be ambling directly for Dib and Gir’s location. With any luck, Dib might be ready for the hellish robot. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t need any backup to keep Bloat corralled while he did his weird little ceremony. If they left immediately, there was a chance they’d beat Bloat there. While the robot’s intelligence was unknown, Gaz and Zim at least had a confirmed sense of direction.

Zim’s hands flexed at his sides, eyes darting about nervously. Fuck, was he seriously so freaked out? Surely he’d encountered worse than a carnivorous robot pig before? Wasn’t he supposed to be some kind of soldier?

With a hiss of air between his teeth, Zim stormed past. “Then hurry up, rancid dirt-child!”

. . . Oh, she was going to murder him later. Save Dib, banish Bloat, and then murder Zim. A very clear order of operations lay ahead of her. 

She let the rage carry her forward, ignoring the horrible sensations zinging up from her ankle with every hurried step. It was fine. She’d be fine. Hospital later, exorcism now. Kill Zim later, help him kill—or at least control—Bloat now.

A scream penetrated the air, mechanical and guttural and so very hungry. For a half-second, Gaz could’ve sworn she saw those teeth slashing at her face again, inches from her nose.

She choked down the bile bubbling in her throat, roiling in her gut, and pressed forward. 

The doors to the auditorium Dib hid within loomed ahead, propped open by a chair. Bloat was close. She could smell him, somewhere. The adrenaline sharpened her senses, tasting the air. 

Zim darted past, dragging her by the elbow. “Get inside,” he hissed, quietly.

The room was lit with the dull glow of more glowsticks and fluorescent paint than Gaz had ever seen in her life. It kind of stunned her. 

Gir hastily ran two and fro in the room, rushing out from behind the stage area with what appeared to be glow-in-the-dark toys. He tossed them at random in a corner of the room, immediately lunging for the closest one to gnaw on. Zim clicked his tongue at his robot, displeased, but didn’t call out for him. He seemed content to leave him to whatever it was he was doing. Gaz conceded to his logic; whether or not his task was of any use, at least Gir was being quiet about it.

The room had changed drastically since Gaz and Zim had left. Now that she thought about it, she genuinely couldn’t have guessed at how long they’d been gone. All she knew was she’d left mostly intact, and come back with some form of ligament damage. And more trauma, but that’d been a guarantee.

Dib’s paint-marker drawing had grown considerably since she’d last seen it. Along with a large array of herbs, salt, and random artifacts. A much larger circle now encased the first one, along with scribbles that Gaz would generously refer to as “runes.” 

Dib was talented with inventions, but his handwriting had always been chicken-scratch at best. Clearly, his finesse was lacking. Gaz was confident she could’ve done better in her sleep. The whole thing was pretty big. She could’ve laid down in the center, and been nowhere near touching the edges. This must’ve been what he needed to buy so much time for. Glow-sticks had been laid out all around its perimeter, with a few haphazardly thrown in the center of it. Gaz had a strong feeling that it was Gir’s doing.

“What is this?” Zim hissed.

Dib waved his hands frantically, trying to coax him away from his drawings. “Don’t touch it!” He whispered, furiously. 

“Are you done yet?” Gaz demanded, in equally hushed tones.

“The banishing circle is done,” Dib confirmed, tapping rapidly at the tablet. “The gear in this place is pretty near, but the fucking software they use isn’t built for bluetooth. Everything needs to be wired in, and I don’t have my laptop, which means I need to use their stupid audio system which doesn’t have internet connection with the power out, so I need to—.”

“I don’t care,” Zim interrupted viciously.

Admittedly, Gaz didn’t quite care either. She detested Zim on principle, though, so she still shot him a sidelong glare. “What do you need, Dib?”

“I’m almost done,” he dismissed, waving her off. “There’s an audio track I have on my phone. I’ve hooked that into the tablet,” he said, tapping his hip. 

Sure enough, now that Gaz looked again, there was a stripped wire connecting the tablet into Dib’s pocket.

“Gir’s also boosting the signal,” Dib added, almost absentmindedly.

Zim spun around, eyes blown wide. “You do NOT have permission to—!”

“Shut up, space boy,” Dib snapped, sparing a moment to glare at his nemesis. “I didn’t even touch him. I’m just hooked up to his wireless signal long enough to download something.”

“Gir is not part of our deal!” Zim snarled. And for some fucking reason, he rounded on Gaz, pointing one finger threateningly. “Gir is not a hotspot!”

“He is for another minute,” Dib retorted. “I’m not even downloading anything from him, moron. I’m literally just using his signal to speed this up. I think he forgot, like, ten minutes ago that I even asked to connect to his signal. Stop bitching about it.”

“This!” Dib hummed, a little louder than Gaz preferred. 

He held up a round wooden disc, carved with runes far more impressive than those on the floor. It also looked unmistakable old.

“. . . Garbage?” Zim asked wryly. “The key to defeating the pig is garbage?”

“It’s a talisman, you ignorant dickhead,” Dib snapped, pressing it towards the irritable alien. “We’re going to need it to keep the ghoul that’s in Bloat inside the banishing circle.”

Gaz’s instincts warned her that she really wasn’t about to like where this was going. Zim’s narrowing eyes mirrored her inner suspicion. “Explain, Dib-thing.”

“He needs to eat it.”

Gaz’s head whipped towards her brother. “What?”

Dib cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze as his fingers continued to dance across the tablet. 

Gaz stormed over to Zim, snatching the talisman from his limp grip. The alien seemed equally shocked. 

It wasn’t like they had a fucking t-shirt cannon, or anything else they could possibly use to shoot this stupid piece of wood into Bloat’s gaping maw. w

“How the fuck do you expect us to do that?”

“I think Bloat’s blind,” Dib said in a rush. “Ghouls usually can’t completely possess a creature. They miss some senses. It’s like wearing a costume that doesn’t fit right, or one with an extra limb in it. There’s nothing they can put in that extra sleeve, so they’re missing the functionality.”

“So what?” Gaz demanded. “He can still hear us. And he’s definitely tracking us across the building with more than just really good hearing.”

“He’s tracking energy,” Dib replied, insistently. “Our energy.”

Zim made a strangled noise in his throat. “The force of the Foodening! Zim told you this!”

Dib’s eyes blew wide in insult. “You said it would eat until it imploded! Not that it was tracking our energy, you moron!”

“It needs fuel,” Zim hissed. “It must eat something, idiot boy, and it must in some way be capable of locating it. It is a predator. It is not Zim’s fault you weren’t listening!”

Energy . . . Something about that was scratching at her brain. 

It kind of made sense that this thing had picked Bloaty’s Pizzaplex at large, then, as his hunting grounds. Food, in endless quantities. A generator, ready to be freshly drained anytime anyone came to fix it. 

And people, potentially. Just because they hadn’t found any overt evidence didn’t mean it was impossible. Wage-workers quit all the time with no notice. There were legitimate explanations for their sudden absence. The manager claimed that no one was calling to look for them. She was clearly desperate to protect her livelihood, but had still bowed to allow the Membrane’s free reign with proper leverage. Eventually, someone would notice if there were a significant number of disappearances occurring in the same building.

Either way, Zim’s theory made sense. Bloat wasn’t relying on any human-equivalent sense to track them. He could sense energy. Anything that could be converted and digested into fuel for its gluttonous desires. That’s how it kept finding them. Sound helped, but it was that instinct that drove it onto their heels.

“Shut up. It doesn’t matter. I have a plan to disorient it,” Dib announced, at last seeming content with whatever he was doing on Lynn’s tablet.

Gaz eyed his banishing circle. “Is it the glowsticks?”

“No,” Dib replied. Paused. “Well, not only the glowsticks. I’ve gained access to the sound system, alongside the rest of the entertainment system.”

A roar, far closer than previous, rattled the bones of everyone in the room. Gaz’s hand clamped around the talisman hard enough to pinch her skin.

“We have to be ready now, idiot boy!” Zim snarled. “Whatever it is you are going to do, do it!”

Gaz felt the footsteps she knew would haunt her nightmares vibrate the ground. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Louder with every step. Bile swam in her gut anew. 

“Dib,” she said, tone a mere whisper. She hadn’t intended for it to be. The words got stuck in the knot in her throat.

The doors rattled in rhythm with the footsteps, trembling. Gaz’s chest shuddered. She heard a sharp inhale from beside her, where Zim stood, but found herself unable to turn her head to look at his expression. 

In a burst of motion, Bloat burst through the doors, mouth agape, aimed towards the ceiling as it screamed.

Dib choked. “Oh, fff—.”

His hand slapped against the tablet. 

The room suddenly lit, red, green, and blue spotlights dropping from the ceiling in sweeping motions. A disco ball the size of Gaz dropped with them, illuminating the room in disorienting, confusing patterns. She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, refusing to take her eyes off of the murderous ghoul lumbering into the room.

Bloat, at least, seemed vaguely confused by the shifting shadows that they now cast. So not completely blind, then. Just mostly? Probably? 

Its head swung towards the ceiling as the mechanic lights began to hum.

“What the—,” Dib cut off his own exclamation, frantically tapping at his tablet. “Hey, that’s not. Shit!”

“What?!” Gaz hissed, as loud as she dared.

“Zim’s fucking robot is doing something to my audio track,” Dib hissed. His head whipped around, unable to immediately locate where Gir was hiding amongst all the clutter and deliberately poor lighting. “He’s using the signal attachment to change it.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s not good!”

Bloat stumbled towards them in circular rotations, sightless yellow eyes glinting unnaturally in the party lighting. Gaz didn’t think she was imagining its ravenous frenzy, rushing quickly in one direction before stumbling off into the other. It kept pausing, reassessing, before veering off in another direction. While it wasn’t a straight line, it was still very obviously heading in their direction. 

“Human,” Zim snarled. “So help me if you do not begin your plan, I will strangle you with my bare hands before the pig can kill us!”

“Come on, come on, come on,” Dib groaned, tapping frantically at the tablet.

Gaz could’ve sworn she heard Gir squeal, as though he could hear Dib from across the room. As though his ‘signal boost’ had routed him some form of direct communication. For all she knew, it had. 

But the next second, booming electrics filled the room. Gaz didn’t initially recognize it, but judging by the grimace on her brother’s face, it wasn’t what he’d been aiming for. Her eyes narrowed in confusion, and her ears complained at the sheer volume of the music pounding through the speaker system.

“REMIX!” Gir screamed, shrill voice punching through the bass.

Gaz’s head snapped to her brother reflexively. Regardless of the severity of the situation, and how unwise it was to take her eyes off of their enemy, she couldn’t help it. Because what. the fuck.

“You-!” Dib’s cheeks swelled with frustration. “That is NOT the right song you fucking—!”

“Do NOT swear at my robot!” Zim screeched. “He played your stupid song, shut up and do YOUR part!”

“It’s the WRONG ONE,” Dib shrieked in kind. “This is NOT chanting monks!”

“I DON’T CARE. DEAL WITH IT,” Zim screamed.

Bloat’s screamed, head swinging side to side in an animalistic thrash, and blindly charged ahead.

Zim spat something that definitely wasn’t in English, but was also just as likely unfriendly. He sprung onto his spiderlegs, mindful of the broken on still hanging strangely, and launched himself to intercept Bloat. 

Gaz only grew more sure that somewhere in that exoskeleton, Bloat harbored a form of intelligence. The ghoulish creature lacked coordination, but it was obviously doing its best to avoid Zim’s stabbing.

“Get him into the circle!” Dib shouted.

Bloat’s head swung in Dib’s direction. Gaz grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him a few steps back.

“SHUT UP!” Zim screamed. Bloat’s head swung back towards the nearer target, moaning hungrily.

Gir, meanwhile, completely ignored the argument as he clambered onstage. Or didn’t register it in the first place. His head snapped to and fro in tandem with the pounding, easily identifiable beat of a Eurythmics song that belonged nowhere near a banishing ritual. Evidently, their opinion had been overruled by the invasive species in the room. The urgency of the situation paralyzed them to pursue the argument. 

“Fuck it,” Dib spat, raking a trembling hand through his hair. “Fuck it, whatever, we keep going.”

“To Eurythmics?” Gaz asked, unimpressed. 

“I don’t give a shit at this point if he plays Britney,” Dib muttered. “He can sing it himself, I just need sound in a rhythm!”

Gaz took a moment to process. Spared a singular second to center her reality; a demon banishment. To Sweet Dreams. Relying on a treacherous alien megalomaniac for protection and his attention-deficit robot to DJ for them. 

“. . . Fuck it,” she agreed. “We ball.”

“Thatta girl,” Dib said between his teeth, never looking up from his work. “Go kill me a pig.”

Yup. Sure. Fuck it. Why not?

Gaz’s hand reaffixed around her bat, fluorescing under the activated party lights, and charged. 

Zim was stabbing at it, careful not to get too close. His earlier encounter had made him visibly wary and furious. While he had more of an abstract hatred for the animatronic earlier, his loathing had clearly become personal. Thankfully, his grudge had proven useful. 

“Hey!” Gaz barked, over the booming synth. “Circle it this way!”

“I’M—.” He spidered rapidly backwards on his PAK legs, hissing as Bloat charged in a short burst. “TRYING. MISERABLE, SMELLY, AWFUL LITTLE—!” 

Gaz genuinely wasn’t sure who between them he was insulting. Nor did she have time to care. His insults cut off as Bloat charged again. He only seemed able to take a few rushed steps before pausing to reorient himself. But he was fast. If Zim wasn’t so agile on those PAK legs, he might be in trouble. Which made it a bad idea for her to act as bait with her fucked up ankle.

But she had the actual, paranormal bullshit banishing thing to shove down his throat. Her fingers gripped the talisman in a vice, racing for an idea. Maybe she could toss it to him? In video games, you could just toss things in the path of boss battles, and the programming would make it eat it right up. Bloat was a robot, albeit a possessed one. Maybe she’d get lucky? 

“WHAT are you DOING?” Zim screeched at her. “DO something!”

Gaz held up the talisman. “He needs to eat this!”

“Then shove it down his throat!”

“HOW?” She barked back, exasperated. 

Zim’s head snapped rapidly between her and Bloat. The monstrous robot teetered on his footing, and then charged again. 

To her shock, so did Zim. 

At her. 

Alien talons dug unforgivingly into flesh as he yanked her upwards, into his grip, and several traumatic feet higher than she’d prefer. Gaz only grunted in pain at the biting sting on her flesh. One second her feet had been mercifully on the ground. The next, Zim had tossed her on his back, her gut slamming into his PAK and rattling her ribs. Instinct had her wrapping her legs around his hips, her arms slung over his shoulders. He was vicious, jerking her by the elbows so that she sat higher up than piggy-back position usually dictated. 

Piggy-back. Hah. 

This high up, his PAK was sort of more cradled in his pelvis, and she could put his hands on his shoulders to hold herself upright rather than around him. His hands hooked beneath her knees to keep her up there, but it was definitely an ab workout to keep herself from hunching over his head. 

By the time she’d oriented herself, Bloat, to her horror, was charging again. 

The precarious balance she’d only just gotten was immediately put to the test as Zim darted backwards once more. She was sure her own nail-marks were in his skin now.  She didn’t feel too bad. Her own arms were burning. 

“How does this help, fuckhead?!” She snarled. 

“When he charges, he opens his mouth, stupid,” Zim snapped back. “Throw it!”

“You keep moving!”

Zim’s head snapped towards her incredulously. “You’d rather I not!?”

Well. When he put it like that. 

Gaz took a deep breath. Okay. Throw with accuracy when both her and the target were moving. Okay. Sure. No problem. 

Fuck it, she reminded herself, steadying herself as much as she was able. “We ball,” she announced. 

Zim’s face screwed up further. “What!?”

Further interrogation was interrupted by Bloat’s charge, this one announced with a frustrated, ominous groan. Rot filled the air. Gaz couldn’t spare the hand to cover her mouth. It probably wouldn’t have helped anyways. In front of her—beneath her?—Zim gagged dramatically. 

“Back towards the circle,” she reminded him. 

“Obviously,” he sneered. 

“NEXT!” Gir’s voice suddenly broke out in a squeal. 

“Do NOT change the song!” Dib’s voice barked out.

“Aw!”

Zim did as asked, angling himself to position his back towards the banishing circle. Bloat rushed at the wrong angle, but Gaz used the miss as an opportunity to practice steadying her balance. It was nauseating, but manageable. She forced her hand to release Zim’s shoulder, holding the talisman aloft with her good arm. Zim’s grip on her legs was firm, bruising, and didn’t let her waver too hard. If he just went fully backwards, this was manageable. Probably. She glanced behind them. 

“Next charge,” she told him. “Straight backwards.”

Zim only grunted.

Bloat steadied himself. Sniffling the air, he began to track his target. 

. . . Which was not them. 

Instead, the glittering, shimmying robot in the central part of the room, oblivious to danger, had apparently proven a more enticing option as Gir leapt from the stage, wiggling closer to Bloat. 

“GIR!” Zim barked. “MOVE!”

Gir threw his arms aloft. “MOVE YA BODY!”

Bloat charged.

Gaz felt gravity punch a hole into her gut.

Or maybe that was Zim’s PAK as he dropped towards the ground, with both of them in tow. 

Later, she might be impressed with how seamless he was, physically. Unlike being snatched from the sky, falling from it seemed to happen far more slowly. 

Zim dropped his PAK legs, sliding them towards the floor. The second his feet hovered over the ground, his hands slid from beneath Gaz, discarding her seamlessly. She had the good sense to brace, landing on her feet and letting the momentum immediately carry her into a roll. Zim sprung away from her, towards Gir in what might’ve been spine-snapping momentum had he collided with a human. 

Instead, Gir was snatched from the opportunity to be eaten by a demonic creature for the second time. Zim slammed into the stage equipment, groaning from the impact. But he never released Gir. For some reason, that detail stuck in Gaz’s otherwise furious brain. 

Quickly discarded, however, as she realized that she was now the only one at the correct angle to bait Bloat. Who was once more sniffing the air for a target. 

The nearest being her visibly paling sibling.

Zim groaned, clearly dazed from the impact as he tried to regain his footing. 

Gaz had the sudden clarity of mind to act, ignoring every instinct inside of her that screamed for her to stay still. The talisman seemed lighter in her palm. She reached into her backpack, in one fluid movement holding up the small felt object taking up the most room. 

A small stuffed pig. 

Squeak. 

Bloat froze, his head tilting away from Dib and towards the toy. Towards Gaz. 

Towards the banishing circle. Her hand flexed, nails biting into plush. 

Squeak.

“PIGGY!” Gir cried out.

He seemed far away to Gaz. Everything did. Everything; the booming music, the circling lights, the glitter. The smell. The sound of her name in her brother’s mouth. Everything narrowed and tunneled into Bloat’s pupiless white eyes seeming to meet hers. 

As his jaw slid open hungrily, hinges wide as far as they’d go. Saliva oozing down his lipless mouth. 

As he broke into a charge. 

Gaz’s arm reared back, snapping forward. The room seemed so still, so quiet, that she swore she could hear the crack in her wrist as she did so. 

Bloat’s arms hung limp at his side. No attempt to grab. No need to. He led with his mouth, knowing perhaps with the instincts of an animal, or demon, or programmed sensors, or whatever intelligence he housed inside of his frame that Gaz would not be able to move in time. 

Something blurred in the side of her vision, but all she could see was the snap of Bloat’s teeth closing in on her. As his feet stumbled into the banishing circle. 

As the talisman slid just past those tombstone teeth and aimed for her face for a second time.

By instinct, she closed her eyes. No need to watch her own flesh render. She hoped it’d be quick. She hoped Dib wouldn’t feel too bad. Or maybe she did. She didn’t know. She’d fight it out when he rang her up on a ouija board or something. 

She did expect death to come with the abrupt loss of air. She did not expect it to hurt her chest so fucking much. Maybe her heart was exploding in fear. How embarrassing. 

She also didn’t expect death to knock her feet out from under her, into the floor. Ah. So Bloat had escaped the circle. Damn. She died for nothing. 

Her head slammed against the ground, cushioned by something fleshy and bony. For a horrific instance, she thought Bloat had maybe coughed something up on her. Her eyes opened with a reflexive gasp. 

Dib stared at her face beside her, glasses askew, and pupils pinprick. Staring. She’d landed on his arm. Trying to cushion her fall, knocked out of his embrace when they hit the floor. 

Her brother quickly lost the battle for her attention as Bloat loomed over them both, diving towards them. She couldn’t help but notice the rope of the talisman stuck between his teeth. She’d done it. 

Gaz found herself suddenly gagged, and yanked into the air. 

The choking was vicious, but short lived as she—and Dib—were dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Her pelvis screamed in protest, but at least she could breathe after a few gags. 

“Asshole,” Dib choked out in a wheeze. 

“I didn’t smear your precious circle,” Zim’s voice snapped, nearby. “Get up. The pig is trapped. Move!”

Sure enough, Bloat slammed against an invisible barrier when he made to charge for them again. Dib’s interception had kept her from immediately becoming food, but had knocked them into the circle rather than away from it. Zim had snagged them free via PAK leg to their clothes. Skewered, judging by the nice new tear in her hood. Great. Whatever, she had already accepted it probably wouldn’t survive this. At least she had a chance in its stead. 

Gir’s head popped into her vision. “Hiya!”

Gaz ignored him, trying to follow the other two boys to her feet. Dib’s back was to her, holding up his hands, pointer-to-pointer finger, thumb-to-thumb. Forming a triangle. He brought the triangle down, almost like an arrow.

Dib began muttering something indiscernible over the pounding of the music. Chanting in words that sounded ghoulish to her, growing louder to be heard over Bloat’s screeching. 

It snapped at the air, clawing at itself. The stench grew truly awful the longer it kept its drooling mouth open. The drool pile grew a small puddle. For a moment, Gaz feared the wet would threaten the integrity of the banishing circle. But it seemed impervious to the saliva, even stopping at the edges of the circle, as though it too was affected by the barrier. 

Sweat beaded along Dib’s brow as the puddle grew higher, held together by an invisible glass rim. Growing dark and murky around Bloat’s ankles. It skittered in a circle, looking for any opening in the unperceivable cage it had inadvertently stumbled into.

Trapped.

In the meantime, the radio blasted overhead. Gir’s shrill screaming that he seemed to think was singing raked against her eardrums in tandem with the bass.

The sour yellow of Bloat’s eyes began to glow as it reared its head back with a truly unholy, ear-splitting shriek. 

Gaz’s hands snapped to her ears, eyes squeezing shut. For a moment, she could’ve sworn she saw a flash greater than the disco ball sparkling overhead. Bloat seemed to belch forth a light, or an odd reflection hit his tongue. 

In the same instant, Zim’s PAK flared. The pulse of light she wasn’t sure she saw sent him crashing to his knees, gasping. The noise from Bloat only grew louder. Rather than grab at his antennae, he grabbed at his chest, clawing at his shoulders.

And Bloat screamed, wavering until he fell to his own creaking knees.

Dib, oblivious to Zim’s odd behavior, bent his hands towards one another, folding his fingers until they formed a gun-shape. 

“—and FUCK OFF!” He added, with finality, his chanting coming to an abrupt end. 

His hands snapped abruptly skyward, as though he’d shot. 

And Bloat reacted as though he’d been shot. His head snapped backwards. The liquid stopped growing around him. With sudden silence from the screeching creature, his limbs went slack. His eyes went dull. The stench evaporated from putrid to stale.

(Was a horrible stench just something monsters always had? Was that just an unfortunate truth of what Gaz had dismissed as a stupid trope? It wasn’t bad enough that they were trying to kill her, they had to be stinky about it, too?)

Somehow, he seemed colorless now. Robbed of whatever life had possessed it. 

And then, with a creak of nothing but rusted metal, Bloat teetered backwards. And fell.

One short, anticlimactic thump for what, only moments ago, had been such a terrifying monster. Something that had nearly eaten Zim, for fuck’s sake, just . . . gone quiet.

The lights flickered, slowly coming to a halt. The music stuttered to a garbled, protesting halt. 

In the circle, the pool of saliva bubbled. Twisting. Spidered up the sides of the sides of the barrier like ice frost, sliding back in defeat. It seemed to hiss, but quietly. Pathetically. 

Dib kept his fingers pointed heavenward, firm in his stance. Gaz, nor anyone else, dared to move. 

The bubbling quickly turned to steaming. The steam twisted in a familiar rotating pattern, roiling skyward, upwards through the roof. The hissing whined, pathetically. Hungrily. But nothing escaped. A soft end to a roaring monster. 

Only when the steam had completely dissolved did Gaz begin to breathe. 

But only when Dib had counted some long, methodical seconds after that did he put his hands down. And only then did Gaz actually move. 

Dib heaved a great sigh of relief, turning in time to eye his approaching sister. 

“You okay?” He demanded, eyes roving over her. “Concussion?”

“Sprains,” she corrected, with a shrug. “Scrapes. Bruises. Punctures.” 

Nothing serious, she meant. Dib took a deep breath, steadying himself. 

“Good,” he muttered, hands flexing at his sides. But his eyes grew misty. 

Fucking baby. 

Gir hastened past them, approaching Bloat’s carcass with intent. Since Dib didn’t stop him, no one else did. 

Morbidly, he mimicked Bloat’s collapse, cheek flopping against the ground as he stared at the now-depossessed robot. Giggling. As though this had just been a fun party for him. 

Zim remained braced against the stage, breath heaving irregularly through an open mouth. His eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them.

Gaz didn’t have much of an opportunity to look much further. Between one blink and the next, all of her personal space was suddenly being taken up by a gangly sibling of hers.

Dib grabbed her around the shoulders, embracing her fully. Gaz endured it with a grimace and pretended her fists were curled to punch and not to keep her hands from shaking.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay, we’re okay,” he said, and it was clearly more of a reassurance to himself than her. He squeezed tighter, taking deep, shuddering breaths. He chanted  the words as though this incantation, too, was a spell he could manifest. 

Muffled by the fabric of his coat, Gaz’s words came out as grumpy as she’d hoped. 

“I can’t believe you made me do that,” she huffed. “Especially since you seem so surprised that it worked. Asshole.”

“Was the beast’s groping hands not enough for you?!” Zim’s voice suddenly barked out. Gaz didn’t need to see the curl of his snarl to hear it in his tone. “Now you must attack each other as well?”

Almost spitefully, Dib’s grip tightened around her for a pulse. But he did release her, eyes raking over her, clearly checking to make sure she was all in one piece for himself. Gaz was bloody, ragged, and frayed, but alive. She gave him a weary thumbs-up for the assessment.

Shifting his attention behind her, he said. “You’ll like this part, alien scum.”

Zim’s voice was flat and unimpressed. Tired, she might dare say. “I doubt it.”

Dib clicked his tongue. “Don’t be so sure,” he said, visibly weary himself. “Now, we burn it.”

Gaz turned in time to see the visible glitter in Zim’s eyes. “. . . Burn what, filth-man?”

Dib grinned.

————————————

Bloat’s carcass burning was akin to a book burning, for Gaz. History, burning to a crisp in the basement’s boiler room, with a crayon-scribbled talisman in its crisping teeth. Gaz might’ve protested more, argued against the necessity of burning what had been exorcised already, if strange fog didn’t keep belching out of its mouth.

Still, her heart ached against the reality that the only memento she could keep of Bloat was a memory. The only trophy she got to walk off with was her life. 

The infamous Bloat. In ruins. All because of her.

There was only one thing she loved in life. One simple, perfect thing. Untouchable before now. And she’d killed it. What were a few souls anyways in comparison to the holy bastion that was Bloaty’s history? Didn’t masters of their craft constantly perpetuate the idea of needing to put your heart and soul into their work? Why should she sneer upon such a long-standing conceptualization of hard work and dedication? Who was she to get in the way of that?

Gaz sighed at the sight of its smoldering metal frame, eying the charring top hat with some sadness. It was affixed to a spring, which wobbled the daisy cap to and fro as it moved under the heat currents. It wasn’t small, exactly. It was roughly the size of her hand, and that was without the spring. 

The thought struck her to take a souvenir.

She glanced sidelong at her sibling. He seemed exhausted, but his eyes were transfixed on turning Bloat to ashes. It was probably a bad idea to take something that had once (still?) housed a cursed spirit home with her. Sigh. Oh well.

Zim seemed to be having the most fun, which was another twist in her emotional wounds.

He stabbed and laser-blasted the charring monster in tandem with his impulses, giggling madly. Dib seemed disinclined to do anything but supervise. Gaz privately agreed; it wasn’t a fight worth having. And besides, Zim seemed to be doing a more than thorough job of it. 

With Zim’s efforts, Bloat was less than even ashes in less than twenty minutes. Each of those minutes brought with it a new pain and ache that adrenaline had been disguising. And the awareness of how disgustingly sweaty she was. She shrugged the remains of a very ruined sweatshirt off, grimacing at the way it peeled off her skin in some places.

“You stink worse than the pig,” Zim snarled.

“You say the nicest things, doll.”

Gir’s head snapped up. He’d retrieved his prize as well, scooping up the discarded toy Gaz had used as a distraction as they were dragging Bloat away. “Doll? Where?”

She ignored him, testing her shoulders willingness to cooperate with her. Judging by the abrupt burning pain, it wasn’t going to be playing nice for a long while. 

“Done?” She asked to the room at large. 

“Done,” Dib agreed. “We can go.” 

“Finally,” Zim groaned. Gaz was surprised to see him rolling his own shoulders. She knew he could get hurt, but seeing the soreness hang in the hunch of his own posture was still somehow surprising. “Gir, we’re leaving. And never returning.”

“Okay!” The robot said, voice muffled by the grip he had on the toy pig with his teeth. 

The maintenance elevator was a mercy to all of them, even if their combined scents wafted in the enclosed space. Grease, motor oil, and a number of things Gaz never wanted to smell again burned her nose. 

“How long have we been in here?” Gaz grunted. 

Dib shrugged one shoulder. “Dunno.”

“Hours,” Zim hissed.

Gaz’s brain was starting to catch up to her. Her bat tapped against her own boot, lips pursing thoughtfully. “That manager definitely keyed your car by now.”

Dib startled. He scrambled for his bag, digging through it in obvious panic. Gaz rolled her eyes. 

“Did you lose her tablet?” She huffed, in disbelief.

“I might’ve left the stupid thing by the stage,” Dib replied hastily, hands shoving aside the dense variety of items in his bag. 

Zim sneered, leaning as far away from them as the elevator allowed. “A likely story, thief.”

Dib’s lip curled. “I’m not stealing her stupid store tablet, Zim.”

“Just like you didn’t steal my trackers,” the alien retorted. “You were just going to keep them without permission. So much different.”

Gaz pressed her lips together to keep from snickering. Zim would’ve taken the noise as victory, and Dib a betrayal. The situation would escalate beyond what she was currently capable of handling without violence, and she was much too beat up to give everyone the smack they’d deserve. It was tough though.

“She’s probably pissed,” Gaz offered up as a less-than-helpful change of subject. “We said, like. An hour.”

“We gave her no specified time,” Dib corrected, a little more cheerfully than he had been moments ago. There was nothing he liked more than pointing out a technicality, the smartass little shit. 

“It was implied.” 

“It really wasn’t.”

“Who we talkin’ about?” Gir asked. 

“The nice manager who let us back in the building, Gir,” Dib reminded him, tongue sticking between his teeth as his search slowed to a more methodical approach. 

Gir deflated some, voice dropping to a gossipy whisper. “She wasn’t very nice.”

“Who wasn’t very nice?” Zim asked, slowly. “What management drone did you idiots strike a deal with?”

“Dib gave a neurotic, overstimulated stranger his car keys in exchange for access to the building. As collateral,” Gaz explained.

The door opened at last, releasing them back onto the main floor. They were deep in storage, but at least they wouldn’t have to fight with stairs from here. 

Zim’s eye narrowed. “. . . There’s a human waiting outside?”

Ah. Right. And him without his disguise.

Gaz had managed to find her phone. Sans spooky bullshit, it worked fine now, displaying the egregious hour of night creeping into day. “Maybe not? It’s kind of late.”

“She said she had to wait for security anyways, since it’s down,” Dib replied. “Aha!”

At last, the tablet emerged from the deep confines of his duffel bag. A small victory in an exhausting night. At least that meant they wouldn’t have to anticipate another fight tonight.

Gaz turned her attention to Zim’s darting eyes and suddenly nervous posture. “You didn’t bring a backup disguise, dude?”

His answering snarl wasn’t a ‘no,’ but it clearly was meant to be one. 

“Just steal more shit from the gift shop,” Dib said, with an eye roll. And a pointed, “Thief.”

All eyes went to Gir, still smiling and clutching his stuffed pig.

One stolen oversized hoodie thievery later, and failing to find a side exit, Zim begrudgingly made his way out with them. 

“You didn’t even get one of the cool ones,” Gaz chastised. 

Zim hissed at her, tucking the dark pink fabric tighter over his face. He hadn’t grabbed one of the expensive ones with ears and theming. Just a fuschia one with BLOATY’S in electric green embroidered on the chest in small letters. Big enough to slide over his PAK, leaving his silhouette with a suspicious hump.

Dib faltered in his step as they approached the door. “Do you think she’s going to get suspicious that we went in with two people, and came out with three?”

Gaz hummed. She hadn’t really thought of that. Oh well. It wasn’t like they could convince Zim to hang back. He was crawling out of his skin to get the fuck away from the building. And if he stayed, Gir would, and then they’d have to explain why someone was missing instead. Better to just shut down any line of inquiry involving Zim’s appearance for a number of reasons. 

To Gaz’s surprise, Dib’s van appeared to be the only car in the lot. Maybe she’d parked around back?

“Huh,” Dib muttered, looking around. 

Zim, on the other hand, strode out confidently after a glance. “There’s no other human life around this parking lot. You have been abandoned.”

“Wait but,” Dib’s mouth dropped. “. . . She . . . has my car keys.”

Zim guffawed. 

Gaz watched with a brewing tantrum as Dib raced to his car, grabbing the handle. To their mutual relief, it swung open. To their equal confusion, Dib retrieved the keys from the seat. Along with a scrap of paper; a note had been left on the back of a receipt. 

‘Thought better of sleeping in ghoul blood. Seemed like bad mojo. Maintenance isn’t coming til Tuesday anyways. Those tablets are company property, but I’m entrusting them to your care for the next 12 hours. I’ll come pick them up tomorrow. Text me.’ Her number had been scrawled beneath it.

Gir yawned loudly, and Gaz felt his mimicked weariness ache in her bones. Along with many other bruises and strains. 

“This isn’t over,” Dib said darkly. 

“Yes it is,” Gaz hissed, scrubbing her hands down her face. “This is done. I want to go home.”

“I’m serious,” her sibling pressed. “There’s more to this, Gaz. And I’m going to find out what it is.” 

“You do that,” she said flatly. “I’m going home. And never going anywhere with you again. Ever.” She pointed an accusing finger his way. “You’re a jinx.”

“Me?!” He demanded, exasperated. “It was YOUR idea to come here!”

“And YOU who neglected to tell me this place might be fucking . . . cursed, or whatever,” she hissed. 

“Zim is inclined to agree,” said alien chimed in. He stood off to the side, quietly seething, too tired for his trademark shrieking. Privately, Gaz sympathized. The guy reeked of oil and had nearly had his head bitten off by some kind of possessed meat monster. Being nearly eaten took a lot of a person. She would know. At Dib’s scowl, his lips curled back in a sneer. “The big-headed boy is a jinx. His proximity brings doom and despair and trouble. And I shall have no more of it. Gir!” 

The robot perked.

“Come,” Zim snapped, beckoning with a sharp motion of his wrist. “We’re leaving.”

Gir seemed to process the command for a few moments. Then, quite suddenly, he launched himself at his master, colliding with his ribs. Sticky, soiled hands reached for his face, the exhausted alien abruptly finding himself in an unexpected wrestling match.

“Stop touching me!” Zim snarled, shoving him off at last. He skidded along the pavement, deliberately rolling further than his natural momentum. “Eugh, you stink!” 

“I smell like a pizza!”

“A rancid one,” Gaz muttered. 

She’d barely grumbled. Regardless, Zim’s gaze snapped to hers unhappily. She was surprised he’d managed to hear her. Then again, he was a freaky alien. Who knew how good his hearing was? 

He glanced at Dib, teeth bared, before seeming to come to some sort of conclusion. He turned towards her, body language shutting her brother out of their interaction completely. 

“I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain,” he reminded her firmly. 

Right, yeah. The stupid trackers. Their ransom. For a moment, she was confused as to why the comment was directed towards her. Then she recalled; right, she’d been the one to shake his hand. The bargain must’ve been solely hers in his backwards little brain.

“Dib will personally deliver it tomorrow,” she said brightly, shooting a sharp look at her pouting sibling. 

“I did not make a deal with the jinx,” he hissed, eyes narrowing. “You will deliver them.”

Gaz’s brow rose, expression twisting with disbelief. Was he serious? He had to be kidding. But there was no humor in his gaze. The insult was a mockery, but the demand wasn’t. 

She rolled her eyes. Honestly, whatever. She didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, Zim was probably half-right. If Dib delivered them, he’d probably do something stupid that would incite more problems, and Gaz didn’t have the energy to yank him out of them right now. 

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not coming until the afternoon. I need to sleep. And shower about a dozen times.” The odor on her clothes was truly something to behold. More clothes for the bin. If this pattern kept up, she’d need a new wardrobe by the end of June.

“Acceptable,” he replied. He leveled her with the full force of his narrowed eyes for several long seconds. He almost seemed on the verge of saying something else. Whatever it was, he apparently thought better of it. He gripped his robot by the scruff of his disguise. “Come, Gir. We’re leaving.”

The robot flailed, throwing elbows into the air as he was dragged off. “I don’t wanna!”

“Yes, you do,” Zim growled.

The little bot paused, seeming to consider that contradiction. It struck him dumb long enough for Zim to toss him into his ship without further struggle. Zim didn’t acknowledge the presence of the siblings any further. The hood of the ship slid shut with mechanical hiss. He hovered briefly in the air, and though Gaz couldn’t see through the hood, she swore she could feel his eyes on her. The moment was brief. Once the ship had fully whined to life, it shot into the sky. By the time she blinked, it was already a distant blip in the atmosphere. 

“I’ll drive you tomorrow,” Dib offered in the ensuing quiet. “It’s usually not a big thing. You hand him the trackers, he scowls at you, takes them, and slams the door in your face. Pretty straightforward.”

“I’ll slam the door on his fingers first,” she growled.

The threat didn’t have much heat in it. Her energy was wearing thin. The running hadn’t been great on her ankle. Everything hurt, and she was definitely going to need some kind of medical intervention in the very near future. For now, however, it was nothing she wasn’t sure some ice and heat wouldn’t handle. She mostly needed a shower and sleep. 

At this point, half-delirious, Gaz was seriously contemplating buying some kind of foldable waterproof poncho to keep in her bag. ‘Wear in case of nasty goopy monsters.’ Man, why did they all have to stink? First the rancid pumpkin, now rotten food and motor oil. Whatever happened to hygiene standards? Why couldn’t they encounter a murderous monster who brushed his teeth every once in awhile? 

Dib opened the door, situating himself in the driver’s seat with a sigh for the upholstery. It was going to need cleaning. Again. 

“C’mon,” he coaxed. “Let’s go home.”

Gaz climbed in, slamming the door shut with extra effort to emphasize her sour mood. “This doesn’t make us even,” she warned, shooting him a dark look.

Dib sighed again, starting the ignition on his car. 

“Yeah,” he said, pulling out of the abandoned lot. “I figured.”

The car rolled onto the paved road without further commentary from either of them, disappearing into the gray morning.

End