Losing your father put priorities in order.

Gazlene Membrane's head hung low, her eyes stony and cold as the man in the suit read out her father's will to her and her brother. She hadn't even brought her Game Slave. Losing the person she cared most about in the world had actually managed to pierce through her incredibly hard, outer shell of emotional deadness and she just sat there in the chair, hands on her lap. The man droned on and on, his stupid red tie the only in the grey room beyond her hair and her brother's small blue tie. It had been hastily put on, but he clearly regretted it, since he'd gotten it out of his father's closet and it looked as though merely wearing it was making him steadily sicker and sicker.

Dib had a single tear trailing down his cheek. His lips were taut as he listened to the man. He had to. Gaz was simply lost in herself, a frail twig being blown about in a whirlwind of pain, her face occasionally twitching, revealing just a fraction of pure agony. She couldn't handle this. Not really. He knew, by the time they got home, Gaz would get it all out. But until then, he'd have to be strong for both of them and listen to the man in the suit. His dad's will had to be understood, and his father's wishes were important. Most of all, it involved Dib taking over the family business. Looking after the lab.

It would be difficult, admittedly. After all, he wasn't even 18 yet. But Dad had insisted his genius son would rise to the task. After all, hadn't he been talking less and less about Zim over the years? Becoming more interested in true science such as genetics?

And ironically, this was true. Zim had made a hurtful comment to Dib one day about him being just as much a pathetic "test tube baby" as he was, and Dib had hit him across the face so hard he'd flown across the hallway and into a locker. But it had made him look up his own true parentage and had kicked off a fascination with DNA and the study of genes. Dib still didn't care exactly how he was made, though. Because just hearing his father had trusted him with this made him feel closer to his father in death than he ever had in life.

There was one requirement, however, for them to inherit their father's wealth, and this meant proving to the federal government they would both have a steady source of income to provide for themselves. And Dib wouldn't be able to take his position at the lab for at least a week while the paperwork was filed. So this meant Gaz had to find a job, and do so by the end of the week or the government would classify them as wards of the state, and their father's fortune would be cut off from them until both were 18.

Dib didn't want that, though. And he knew Gaz didn't. This was rightfully theirs, and the sole comfort of being without a father. They needed that money. So this meant Gaz would have to find a job.

But where she could go would have to wait. As Dib drove Gaz home, her head still bowed slightly, he bit into his lip, his amber/gold eyes behind the blue glasses he had briefly glancing back to Gaz as he tried to think of what to say, the rain pouring down in a steady rhythm against the windshield. He hesitated, mouth slightly opening as the windshield wipers went SWISH-SWISH back and forth. "I'll, um…I'll boot up my laptop, get the Classifieds so you can look. But it can wait until tomorrow, right?"

Unfortunately, he'd been wrong about the whole "let it all out by the time they got home" idea. Before the light even turned red, Gaz began screaming, gripping her hair, the tears streaming fully down her cheeks. Her throat turned hoarse as she howled, her eyes red and near bloodstained as her body quaked, Dib pulling the car over and just looking at her, wanting to do something, anything, but unsure he could even try.

At last, she finished and held her head in her hands, silently wracked by quiet sobs before, at last, turning to look at him.

"I need a pizza." She muttered. "Just…just need something to eat. I'll probably feel better."

"I'll swing by the new Bloaty's." He offered.

That got a tiny little smile out of her as he pulled the car back onto the main road and began driving, Gaz gripping her knees as Dib kept the car moving deeper into Philadelphia. It wasn't long before the familiar colors of Bloaty's Pizza came up on the horizon, a big, cartoon Bloaty's stuffing a pizza into his mouth situated atop the restaurant on Fifth and Main as the word's "Bloaty's" flickered on and off the neon sign the gaudish sight shared. Within a few minutes, they were walking inside, Dib getting a booth in the brightly-colored yellow and red-walled pizza place as kids whacked away at arcade machines in the back and Gaz looked over a menu.

Being at a Bloaty's always made her feel a bit better. Their pizza was so much a part of her childhood that the mere smell of it made her sniffle less as Dib ordered the usual for himself, Gaz taking notice of something at the back of the menu. Something located at the bottom, and her eyes widened. Gaz and her brother shared something: they didn't really believe too much in coincidences. And the words "Help Wanted" at the bottom of the menu was sending a very clear message to her.

"Excuse me, is-is this for real?" Gaz asked the blond waitress that was serving them, raising an eyebrow up, trying to regain her voice, despite how hoarse it was right now. "You-you're really hiring?"

"Yes, our business is hiring. You see, we need a night guard to look out for this location." The waitress admitted, gesturing around the Bloaty's as a few kids ran by the waitress to go and play at the ball pit, hopping inside as the rainbow-colored plastic balls went flying all around. The kids began bobbing each other over the head with the balls, giddily laughing as Gaz stared at them, then the arcade games, then the kitchen far, far in the back, slightly to the right of the bathrooms. "Are you interested, ma'am?"

Gaz almost thought about whacking her in the face since she was younger than this woman by at least a decade, but she didn't care. She needed a job. And Bloaty's was hiring.

It was, to put it simply, perfect.

The next day, Gaz was looking over the paperwork she'd been given by Bloaty's management the night before, and was scribbling down answers furiously, eager to get this over with and to get to work. Once she handed it in, she could get started that evening. But Dib was slightly worried. He, at first, had been quite happy with the idea of Gaz working at Bloaty's. How hard could it truly be to be a night guard? What kind of a loser was going to rob a frickin' Bloaty's?

But he remembered the rumors. There had, after all, been that awful incident. The one that had gotten the former man who played the Bloaty's of "Bloaty's the Pizza Hog" fired. He had, according to the establishment, accidentally suffocated a child to death in his fat flaps during a private party. But Torque, who'd been at Bloaty's that day, said that was bullshit. No, he insisted that the guy had purposefully done it because the kid had been making fun of how fat he was, and that Bloaty's had just paid off the kid's parents to keep them from filing charges. Dib had doubted that a man would smother a child because they told him he was fat. But it hadn't helped when he saw the former man, Phillip Hartnett, on the news. He'd radiated something "off" about him.

And then there had been that missing child. That kid, Keef. The creepy, orange-headed kid. He'd just gone missing one day, and he'd last been seen at Bloaty's. Dib had wondered if, perhaps, Zim had had something to do with that, but Zim had supposedly been called away to Irk by his leaders, according to GIR, and hadn't been around for almost a year.

So as Gaz kept writing on the circular kitchen table, Dib came in, putting down something next to her as she looked it over. "…what's this?"

"It doubles as a lighter and a can of mace." He said. "Just, you know. In case."

Gaz looked it over. He was trying to be helpful, and as much as the old Gaz might have told him she didn't need this stuff, at the moment she didn't mind. Besides. Free lighter and mace shooter. "Okay." She said, snatching up the black, rectangular thing and pocketing it in her striped "Bloaty's Pizza Hog" uniform. "But if you really want to help, go talk to Bloaty's management and say, as a customer, you're sick of them making the female staff wear skirts."

This was true. She had to wear a fuckin' skirt. A goddamn skirt. She was supposed to be a night guard. Not a freakin' waitress. She wanted to look like Ripley, not Dorothy. Instead she had to wear a white, yellow and red outfit with a stupid wannabe trucker hat and a goddamn fuckin' skirt. The only thing that gave her comfort was that she could still wear her skull choker around her neck. Dib gave her a nod as he let her get back to the paperwork, Gaz lifting her head up again. "Hey, by the way, have you seen GIR? He hasn't been by our house to bother me lately."

"No. I don't know why not." Dib admitted with a shrug as he opened up the refrigerator. "I kind of missed his attempts to hit on you. It was cute, like a dog digging up something and plopping it at your feet to cheer you up!" He chuckled, Gaz putting her signature on the paper before stapling them together. "All done? Good thing you're only a block away. You're so close you can just walk there."

"This'll be easy." Gaz reasoned, adjusting the hat atop her head before getting up and heading out the door.

…

…

…

…Bloaty's Pizza Hog was a far different place at night than it was at day. A fact Gaz was keenly aware of as she walked around the dining area, shining the flashlight she'd been given, frowning a bit. Every single plushy red booth seat took on a sickeningly dark red shade in the lack of light, save for the few booths that had moonlight filtering in from outside. To save money, all the lights were turned off, and the door was chained from the inside to keep out potential criminals, cold iron jangling after she'd finished adding the final touches. The floor was equally cold, she could feel it through her sneakers, an ugly faded white color that was stained with countless ketchup and pizza sauce stains as she sauntered around the dining region, eyes peering over the many tables. It was too cold too, she could almost faintly see her breath in the September air as leaves from the trees outside flew by the tightly-shut windows, the wind making the entire place seem to "breathe" as it creaked slightly.

Gaz kept moving forward, passing into the arcade section in the west section of the restaurant. All of the games were turned off, big, overly cheery or violent faces on the sides of every machine as Gaz walked by them. Fists held up to smash into enemy monsters on the other end of the games, big race cars-oh! Vampire Piggy Hunter, Hyper Arcade Edition. Gaz smiled a bit at this, stopping before the large black machine, putting her hand on the slim face of "Piggy Hunter's" main protagonist, the black, wide-brimmed hat wearing eponymous hunter for whom the game was named. Maybe if things worked out, she could find a way to get the power back on and play a few rounds. Turning her head to look past the machine, she could see the prize booth at the far end of the arcade, next to an immense black change machine and a couple of vending machines selling Poop cola. She approached the booth, placing her free hand on the glass case and looking down. All the prizes were gone for the moment, there was nothing below her nor on the large and long white shelves behind it, a single cash register to her left with a tiny little bell to ring at the very top.

She playfully rang it. Ding! "I'd like to report I got all these tickets, and you ain't got any prizes? Ripoff artists." She snarkily remarked, turning around and heading for the kitchen.

The vending machines were off too, but as she made her way through the north wing hallways to the kitchen, the possibility of getting some leftover pizza from the kitchen's fridge was an appealing one. She pushed the double doors with their singular circular window open, blinking as she looked around. Ovens for cooking the pizzas, check. Countertop for mixing ingredients, check. Cabinets and cupboards full of ingredients, check-ah! The fridge! She walked over to the large, steely grey fridge, moving across the oddly pristine white floor of the kitchen as a single light fixture swung overhead.

She opened up the fridge, looking inside. Yep, there were some pizzas about halfway cut still remaining, the pieces to be sliced up and served as individuals to customers later. Just taking one wouldn't hurt, she reasoned to herself, reaching out and picking up a pepperoni slice, making for the oven. She'd just heat it up a bit in there, since the place didn't seem to have a microwave. Putting the flashlight on the countertop by the big oven, she reached for the handle on the oven. It was an unusual type of oven, it had a window, but it was oddly high-up on the slab-doors. She didn't know why they'd have a window so high up on an oven door that you almost had to stand on your tippy-toes just to peek inside-

Ding!

Gaz froze. She almost dropped the pizza then and there, instead slowly turning around, opening the oven door and putting the slice in, then carefully closing it. She picked the flashlight up, inching towards the door to the kitchen, grabbing hold of the lighter/mace she had in her pocket. She pulled it out, flicking the "mace" function on as a small nozzle popped up at the top of the black rectangular device and advanced towards the door. Her eyes narrowed as she slowly pushed it open, gazing out through the hallway, making her way past the children's drawings posted on the wall, aiming her flashlight back the way she'd come at the arcade room and the prize counter-

A brief flash of something white, and then it was gone. Gaz blinked, glancing left and right as she approached the countertop, looking at the cash register.

The bell was gone.

Gaz growled, shaking the flashlight a bit as she looked around. "Dib, is that you?! Are you playing some kind of stupid joke on me!? Or is this one of your stupid tricks, Zim?!" She hissed out, advancing forward through the arcade.

Ding!

She whipped towards the noise. The kitchen. She immediately took off for it, gripping the mace in one hand, the flashlight in the other, turning the flashlight off. She snuck up to the door, taking in a deep breath before kicking the double doors open, flashlight held up, mace at the ready. "This time I'm going to-"

She stopped. The oven was open, her mouth dropping as she gazed in horror at the scene playing out before her eyes. There, inside the oven, skin sizzling and popping with tiny little bubbles, was a body. It's flesh was cooking in the oven, mouth slightly hung open as blood and fat and muscle pooled down below, slicking off its form to sizzle into nothingness on the bottom. Its eyes had long since popped, its face sunken in, its clothing burning into tatters, leaving nothingness behind. An all-too real and harsh smell was assaulting her nostrils, it all seemed too insane to be happening.

But then she saw the hair which was still remaining behind. The hair. It was a dead giveaway. It was Keef. His mouth open in an eternal unending scream.

Gaz reeled back, the door shutting, briefly flicking the image back in front of her as her mouth hung slightly open, as if scarcely able to believe what she'd seen before she shoved the door open again-

Nothing. The oven was still closed, no more hellish fire illuminating the interior. Everything was perfectly normal. She took in a deep breath, moving forward and putting the flashlight on the counter, opening up the oven…

Her pizza slice was ready. She carefully took hold of a nearby oven mitt, picking it out and putting it onto a plate and heading out of the kitchen, making for the dining room. As she sat down in a booth, she looked down at the plate.

A lock of orange hair rested on the slice of pizza.

Gaz immediately chucked the slice across the room and it slid down the wall, coming to a halt with a wet and squishy KER-PLOP on the floor. She wasn't hungry. She rubbed her eyes, moaning softly, and checked the clock on the wall. Her shift wasn't over yet. Only halfway done. Rising up, she made her way to the arcade room again, looking at the Vampire Piggy Hunter Machine.

Wait.

She was sure he'd been looking right at the piggies on the other side of the machine. Now Piggy Hunter was staring right at her.

Ding!

Gaz whipped around, eyes widening. A soft, barely visible white form was holding something in tiny little stumpy hands, black spaces where eyes ought to have been faintly visible, a face that wasn't a face looking up at her.

Help me help me help me help me HELP ME HELP ME HELPMEHELPMEHELPME

And then it was gone, leaving only the bell behind.