Okay one more fun chapter before we get into the more action-y chapter (or 2)! After that, I can finally share the fourth part of the Souls Arc (look at me, calling them arcs, now). I've had it ¾ complete for over a year now; but didn't have a good place to slip it in until now. Starting and finishing chapters is the hardest part sometimes.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy their shenanigans! It's a big chapter!

Part 50: An Adventurous Night

Three days, fourteen attempts, and three more shopping trips had finally yielded a result in the Waffle Escapade. Dib sat staring at a basic waffle that Gir had constructed. Even while Dib had watched Gir create the waffle in front of him, he wasn't convinced that Gir hadn't managed to slip something inside it. He poked it with the fork. Zim was eyeing it equally as warily. Gir was mixing another bowl to cook, batter flying out of the bowl at the speed of his arms. Dib had instructed him how to properly mix so the bowl wasn't flying across the counter every few moments, but the speed was something he'd been failing to convince Gir to lessen.

Dib cut a piece off the waffle. Zim inspected it, humming.

"It looks edible."

"Half the stuff he's made looked edible," Dib grumbled. He took a tentative bite and sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God."

Zim gave a holler. "FINALLY!"

Dib laughed at him, cutting off another piece. It was a bland waffle, but it was better than the messes that Gir had been making previously. If nothing else, Dib could say it was edible. Zim would be adding a mountain of sugar to the mix regardless. He nodded, shrugging off his jacket. Zim caught sight of the tattoo on his arm and ran his finger over it.

"I've been deciding on a design for some time," he admitted. Dib's head shot up expectantly. Zim smirked, his tablet coming out of his PAK. He swiped through it, coming to a series of photos for Dib to review.

He spotted more generic drawings such as nebulas, galaxies, planets floating in an empty space, and a few of Earth from a distance. He stopped at a drawing of Earth's map, complete with islands that usually got excluded. He stared at it, slowly recognizing something in the photo he wasn't picking up on immediately. Dotted around the map were a handful of dots. The map itself was empty space with line art shaping the continents and islands. With circles behind the shapes as decoration. Dib cracked a smile, zooming in on one island near the Equator.

"That's where we sat with the fish," he says. Zim nodded nervously behind him. Dib could tell Zim was holding his breath expectantly. He zoomed out, spotting a few more and pausing. Most were in the US, dotted across the map. "These are all places we've been."

"Yes." Zim says proudly. "This way we can both keep track."

Dib refrained from mentioning doing the same on a paper map. He felt a sense of comfort that Zim would get it tattooed on himself instead. "Sentimental?"

"That is what tattoos are for, yes?" Zim asks. He takes the tablet back, looking at the drawing fondly.

"For a lot of people," Dib says. He rubbed unconsciously at the tattoo he'd gotten himself. For the longest time he didn't think Zim could be sentimental about anything. The last year had taught him that Irkens can be more 'human' than he'd originally thought. Perhaps more than Zim had thought himself. Dib wasn't about to question or discount anything sentimental that Zim was doing if it didn't include destruction of some sort and so instead decided to satiate an interest. "Where are you getting it?"

"I'm not getting it from anyone. I will do it myself," Zim says proudly. He had a grin on his face that matched the ones he had when he'd succeeded at a new invention, or when he used to think Dib had failed at foiling an old plan for domination. Full of confidence and the brash idea that nothing could stop him. Dib blinked at him.

"Wh—yourself? How?" Dib asked, trying not to laugh. Zim confidently pointed to his PAK, ignoring the obvious doubt in Dib's voice, smile still wide.

"This and the labs, of course. No offense to your species, but no one is coming near my skin or body unless it's you. And you don't know how to tattoo." Zim explains. Dib snorted at the notion. Zim started walking, opening the elevator for Dib to follow. "Until you learn; I'm doing it."

"I'm flattered." Dib says, adding a flourish to his words to get a smile out of Zim.

He was finding it easier and easier to get positive reactions from Zim as time went on. He wasn't surprised. Zim had effectively decided Earth was something of a home for him, now. And they enjoyed each other's company. It was easy to get him to smile. An action Dib took as a victory. The elevator stopped and Dib clamored out after Zim. The elevator rose after they'd left, the voice of a screaming and hyper robot already audible—if just barely—from the top of the tube. Zim's disguise was being packed neatly into his PAK as he looked up with a sigh just barely contained. Dib didn't register where they were going until they were almost on top of it. The med bay door sat right ahead. Dib felt his mouth go a little dry, flashes of blood and blinking red lights in a dark lab blocking his eyesight for brief moments until he shook his head out.

"Right now?" he asks, hoping the quiver in his voice would go unnoticed. He saw Zim's antennae twitch at the inconsistency. To his great relief, it seemed Zim at least knew not to mention it.

"We have anything better to do?" Zim asks.

The answer Dib wanted to give was 'yes', yes they did. The answer he could give was 'not unless you want to go monster hunting', or movies. Given they'd watched every movie in the base, he didn't think Zim would agree to re-watching hundreds of hours of video he could watch from his PAK. Probably right in his eyeballs, on top of it. Dib's mouth still formed a line. He rolled his tongue against his cheeks. His hands opened and closed, desperate to grab onto something. He reluctantly shook his head and Zim stared at him.

"Unless you do not want to..?"

"N-no! I want to see it, of course! And I want to see if being made," Dib says hastily. He didn't want to see the disappointment that would inevitably enter Zim's entire being—as subtly wasn't something in Zim's vocabulary when it came to strong emotions—or be the direct cause of that. "It's just—I haven't been here since, well.. you know—the-well, the… the, uh…"

"The operation," Zim provides. Dib clapped his hands, pointing them at Zim.

"YES. That." Dib says gratefully. Zim blinked at him, mulling it over as he looked between Dib and the med bay.

"We do not have to," he offers. His voice was gentle. It was still unnerving on some level to hear it that way. "We can do something else."

"I do want to see it being done, though," Dib whines. He shook himself out, making a weird noise as he did so, and Zim looked at him with concern. Dib huffed, slapping his cheeks. "I can do it."

"…You're sure?"

"I'm sure. If I can't, I'll just leave," Dib says. "I mean, it can't take too long, right?"

"I am not sure," Zim admits. "Irken tattoos take quite a while sometimes. It depends if the ink settles right."

"It doesn't just… fit?" Dib asks.

"Does it for human tattoos?"

"Well…" Dib paused. "Well, not always. That's fair."

Zim smirked, walking into the med bay. Dib followed him, walking slowly and cautiously through the doors. The med bay itself was far from how it was when Dib had entered it before. The lights were on full blast, illuminating portions of the room that had been hidden in darkness the previous visit. The mess had been long cleaned up, and the table sat innocently in the center. Zim walked through it with no issues that Dib could see.

"You don't mind stepping in here?" Dib asks. Zim turned to him briefly, grabbing a few tools with a chord on one of them. Dib noticed it was similar in design to typical tattooing guns. Zim set it on the center table and turned back to the cabinets.

"I was unconscious for most of the experience," Zim reminded him. Dib flushed, coughing into his hand and fiddling with the tools.

"Right."

Zim set the inks on the table and tentatively took the tool from Dib's hand to replace it with one of the ink holders. Zim shrugged, unconsciously moving the shoulder that had been injured just a little more. He tapped his claws on the table, making a pitter-pattering noise not unlike rain on a metal rooftop. Dib set the ink down to pick up another one. Zim took the black, rolling it over and shaking the canister. He did so for a few moments until Dib could hear the ink sloshing in the canister. Zim poured it into the tattoo gun. Dib took his seat, pulling up a spare seat as Zim took his own. Two PAK legs emerged. Zim took one into his hands and unscrewed the tip. Dib blinked, watching him set it on the table.

"I can't believe I didn't know they could be dismantled," Dib blurts out.

Zim smirked, sliding the tip to him. Dib took it excitedly, turning it over as Zim attached the tattooing gun to the leg. It swiveled around, testing itself, before settling. Zim hooked the second device onto the other leg. Dib glanced up, looking at the second tip and sliding across the table to himself. He poked the points. They threatened to puncture his skin without any pressure applied at all. Dib drew his finger back, resisting the urge to gulp, recalling all the times the PAK legs would hover on his skin without breaking it. Dib set the tips down and turned his attention towards Zim. The second tool was pointed at Zim's arm, a hologram of the tattoo design displayed on his skin. Zim held his skin down.

"Is it going to hurt? Mine didn't hurt a lot, but I didn't get it in a very sensitive spot." Dib says. Zim hums, rolling his shoulders.

"We will see."

Dib tried to focus on just watching the tattoo gun work. He could see Zim's teeth clench a few times. The buzz of the tattoo gun wasn't as loud as Dib figured it would be. It was quieter. Smoother. The ink laid down on Zim's skin, with him occasionally wiping the excess away as the machine worked. Dib didn't keep track of the time, content with watching the machine lay out the lines. He watched them appear, the anxiety of the room slipping off his shoulders as he watched. Eventually, Zim switched out the ink to the iconic Irken Red. The machine had a max of five dots to fill, moving smoothly and quickly. Dib hummed as it filled in the last dot. The PAK legs retracted, hovering to the sides as Zim inspected the work. He smiled, the PAK delivering a small package. It set it down between them.

"Open that for me," Zim says, unscrewing one of the tools.

Dib untied the twine, lifting the lid to find a small amount of medical supplies. He pulled out each item, only vaguely recognizing them as items he had used in his own aftercare. He held up a jar of jelly questionably. Zim took a different packet, using his teeth to open it. He set the open packet aside and wiggled his fingers, palm up, at Dib until he relinquished the jelly. Dib unscrewed the lid before handing it over, the smell of antibiotics filling his nostrils. He recoiled a little at the strength of the smell and Zim snickered at him. He rubbed the tattoo down with the gel, laying a bandage from the packet over it. Dib spotted the gauze and took it. Zim held his arm up, letting Dib wrap it up as Zim put the points back onto the PAK legs.

"It looked amazing," Dib says. Zim smiled proudly. "We should celebrate! We both finally have our first tattoos!"

"First?" Zim asks, rubbing at the bandaging. It stung, just a little. Dib was nodding furiously.

"Yes! Of course, I'm getting more, I just need to save up for them. They're not cheap—well, the good ones aren't cheap—and I have a lot of ideas for them…"

Zim was nodding along, already thinking about it. He could probably come up with a few more ideas. He furrowed his brow. "Dib."

Dib stopped mid-sentence, turning to him.

"Why not have my PAK do them for you? It's free, and more precise," Zim says. Dib hummed, thrumming his fingers on the table.

"I'd like that. For some of them. Others I want someone to do. Tattoo artists know what works where, ya know? Simpler ones you can do for me," Dib offers. Zim nodded. He could agree to that.

"Deal. So, this 'celebration' you had in mind… what is it?" Zim asks. Dib looked as if he was starting to vibrate.

"Okay, okay, hear me out." He began. Zim was immediately suspicious. "We go visit this haunted house in town—"

"WHY?"

"Because it's so cool! And I've always wanted to see a ghost! C'mon, it's not a bad one! I hear it's really low-key." Dib begged. Zim grimaced.

He didn't enjoy the idea of ghosts. The concept was one he was both unfamiliar with and was unsettled by when Dib had first explained it to him. That in mind, he had met a demon when Dib was still young enough—and dumb enough—to summon one. As he understood it, ghosts weren't as bad as demons. His only restraint was defense.

"Dib, how do you know you will not be hurt?" Zim asks.

"There are ways to keep ghosts at bay. Most people use crosses, but I heard you need faith for those, so I don't think that'd work for me. Fairly certain faith in science isn't the same as faith in a God," Dib grumbles. "So, I just use warding equipment that The Swollen Eyeball had given me."

"You do not do work for them, anymore."

"No, but they never requested it back. I never formally quit, remember? I just… kinda stopped," Dib says. He shrugged. "I'm not surprised they didn't bother checking in before now."

"Why is that? This 'Brandon' appears to be very interested," Zim says sourly. Dib groaned a little, rubbing at one of his temples.

"He's… he's an outlier. I think. But that aside, we have a haunted house to explore!" Dib proclaimed, jumping up with an energy he hadn't tapped into since he was in middle school.

Zim was sure he had, when he went on his occasional adventure with a paranormal creature to hunt, when he hadn't spent his weekends with an alien. Zim felt a little prideful that he could trump most of Dib's other interests by just offering a weekend in the lab. He followed Dib to the make-shift guest room, knowing full well that with Dib spending so much time at the base already, that offer wasn't going to work. He resigned to ensuring Dib didn't somehow kill himself by falling off a broken banister—or something equally as ridiculous—until he'd had his fill trying to find a ghost. Zim would even carry him back if he exhausted himself.

Dib had his ghost-hunting gear that he'd brought on a previous trip to the house off the table and back in his bag in moments. It took him longer to organize it than it had to shove it all in initially. Dib shoved the bag in Zim's arms, who stumbled at the sudden load, and started to grab his favorite trench coat for just such an occasion. Zim would never understand why he had several for different hunts—but he also wasn't prepared to sit through a potentially several-hour long explanation, either. Zim held the bag as he followed Dib to the elevator. Once inside he threw it back at Dib, knocking him over.

"Hey!"

"Carry your own equipment, I am no pack mule," Zim says.

"You're not bringing anything?"

"What could I possibly need?"

"…Something?" Dib offers meekly. Zim blinked at him slowly, stepping off the elevator once they'd hit the ground floor.

"The only thing I would need is my disguise," Zim says, said disguise coming out of his PAK even as he spoke. Dib stuck his tongue out at him, slinging the bag over his shoulders. He tapped his PAK. "This is already with me."

"Ok, ok, don't brag," Dib teases, almost prancing out the door in his excitement.

"Computer, enter AutoDefense until we return," Zim ordered before shutting the door. Dib had his phone out, GPS already out. Zim narrowed his eyes at it. "Dib, how long have you planned on visiting this house?"

Zim could see the nervous sweat of being caught red-handed on Dib's face. Dib kept his eyes on the phone, occasionally looking up to see where he was going. Zim leaned into his peripheral, suspicious stare evident on his face. Dib tried not to laugh as much as he tried not to look as guilty as he was. Finally, he broke with a snort and a sigh.

"A few weeks… ever since my club mates told me about it." Dib confessed. Zim rubbed at his temples, a smile sneaking through regardless.

"You were waiting for the chance to go," he says. Dib smiled knowingly back.

"Maybe."

Zim stared up at the house with a deep suspicion. It looked like any other house on the street, except that it looked like it could use some maintenance. Zim could see the paint peeling on an inside wall, the shudders were almost falling off, and the roof needed repairs. A window was broken. Zim eyed Dib, who was rummaging through his bag, warily.

"Dib… this place looks like it's falling apart," Zim says. Dib shrugged.

"That's kind of par for the course of haunted places. A lot of them are either abandoned or old," he says. He stood, holding a small recorder and a flashlight. "Okay, I'm ready."

Zim sighed, following him up to the house's front door. Dib tried the lock, the handle jingling but the door remaining shut. Zim took it next, yanking on the handle once. Dib could hear the 'snap' as the inner lock broke and Zim swung the door inside.

"That's one way to do it," Dib says, slipping inside.

Zim pushed the door shut behind them, taking in the room. Dib flipped on his light, swinging it around. Thought Zim's contacts impeded his vision slightly, he could still make out enough to move along into another room's doorway to peer inside. The furniture was all covered in blankets, the dust in layers on top. Zim's skin prickled. He shuffled back to Dib, eyeing the floating dust and grime with a seething hate. He already regretting coming inside.

"Hi," Dib says, holding out his recorder. Zim flicked an antennae at it. "I'm Dib. Can you tell me who is here? Like a name?"

Zim heard nothing, turning his head around at a passing car. He looked at Dib, who didn't seem to be any more disheartened at the silence.

"Did you die in the house or get stuck here after?"

Zim waited, looking back around the room until his antennae picked something up. A very faint whisper, almost inaudible, like a small breeze. He turned his head around to the recorder. It hadn't been static he heard; he was sure of it. Dib asked another question, something about a year, and Zim's antennae twitched as the same whispering voice came again moments later. Zim saw no reaction from Dib. Given he wasn't bouncing off the walls in excitement, he must not have heard anything.

"Dib."

"What?"

"You don't hear it?" Zim asks, eyeing the recorder. Dib turned the flashlight his way.

"No. The recorder picks it up if there's anyone here. Why?"

"No. You don't hear it?" Zim asks again. Dib took a moment before that light came into his eyes and he started to bounce on his heels.

"Can you?!" he asks excitedly, getting right in Zim's space. Zim pushed him back a little, leaning away so Dib didn't topple them over onto the filthy floor.

"Faintly—"

"Can you understand what it says?" Dib asks.

"Not really."

Dib deflated a little before brightening back up again as he looked back at his recorder. "That's okay, this probably picked it up! But this means there is a ghost here! A real one!"

"You say that like it's a good thing—"

"Because it's awesome!" Dib declares, moving into the kitchen. "Are there any others here?"

Zim could hear the voices again and tried to ignore them. It was unsettling. Dib left, moving to the stairs. Zim followed him up, keeping close to him. He could hear the voices getting just slightly louder in the upper floor. Dib paused at the banister on the top, overlooking the living room. He set his bag and recorder down, pulling another device out. He set it on a tripod, aiming it towards the living room below. He flipped it on, the room becoming bathed in a grid of white dots. Zim looked at it a moment and then glanced at the screen. The quality appeared terrible, but he could make out shapes of the furniture in the grey and black screen. A green stick figure popped in and out of the frame and Dib squealed in delight.

"What is that?" Zim asks.

"THAT, my intergalactic friend, is the ghost!" Dib says. He picked the recorder back up, flipping it on. "Can you hear me from up here?"

The figure flicked back into view and then disappeared again, the body moving jerkily across the room. Zim grimaced at it. The movement was like the things he'd seen in Dib's horror films. Unnatural and painful-looking. Dib was shooting off simple questions and Zim would occasionally pick up on the responses. He turned his gaze down the hall towards the bedrooms. He elbowed Dib and nodded in the direction of the hall.

"I hear laughter."

Dib looked down it, straining his ears. A very faint giggle hit his ear and he shivered. He grabbed the infrared camera from his bag, flipping it on. He took up space ahead of Zim, careful not to get him on the camera, and aimed it into each room.

"I don't see anything."

"I can still hear it," Zim insisted. He tugged Dib to the last door on the left. The door creaked open and they stepped inside. Zim strained is antennae, hearing nothing. "It stopped."

Dib looked around at the room. It was plain, covered in dust, the bed the only furniture with a sheet over it. He stepped towards it, checking underneath. There was a mountain of dust and a possibly loose board, but nothing else. He sat up with a huff.

"Do you think—"

The door slammed shut. Zim jumped, a PAK leg piercing the door's wood with a loud cracking as the wood split. Dib had ducked back down in reflex of the slam and stood quickly, brushing himself off of dust and embarrassment. He eyed the door, then Zim. Zim took the PAK leg back sheepishly.

"Do not say it was wind," he says. Dib snorted, covering his mouth and snickering.

"I won't. It was creepy." He says. Zim looked at the window.

"I could get us down through that," he says. Dib shook his head, patting Zim's shoulder.

"Zim, ghosts can't trap us in any illusionary nightmare like in movies. Those are demons," Dib adds with a teasing smile. He saw Zim's face contort into something of disgust and anger and he started laughing again. "I'm kidding! That's just in movies!"

"WHY DOES YOUR SPECIES HAVE TO MAKE EVERYTHING MORE TERRIBLE THAN IT ALREADY IS?!" Zim roars. Dib tried to hide his smile even as Zim started hitting his arm.

"It's fun! Ow! It's just for fun!" Dib says, shoving his hands away. "Don't break my equipment, I can't afford to replace it."

"I could fix it," Zim assures him. Dib didn't doubt it, he just didn't want to do it. He tried the door and pushed. It didn't move, groaning against the frame. He tried again and huffed. He could feel Zim's gaze on the back of his head.

"Okay, it's not an illusion—"

"It's locked."

"It's stuck."

"DIB—"

"We can break it down, it's old!" Dib says. Zim glared at him and then to the door. He gave it one solid kick and drew his foot back with a hiss. Dib stared at it, bewildered. "Did that hurt?"

"Yes, it hurt! That is not a normal door! You said ghosts couldn't do that!" Zim whines, shaking his foot out.

"I said they couldn't cast illusions," Dib corrected, pushing on the door with his shoulder. He gave it a few experimental presses. "Okay. Hey, can you open this?"

"Yes, ask the ghosts trapping us nicely, that will definitely work," Zim grumbles. Dib glowered at him.

"Did they answer?"

"No."

Dib hummed, looking at the window in temptation. He decided against it. He wasn't going out a window if he could help it. He wasn't even sure it opened. Granted, Zim could just break it if they needed to. Zim could probably break a hole through the wall, but Dib wasn't planning on property damage being on his record. He was lucky he had such a mundane record as it was with all the trespassing charges he'd accrued over the years. He swung his flashlight to the closet. Zim followed his gaze to it.

"What?"

Dib opened the closet, seeing it empty save for a box. He dragged it out. "Sometimes they trap people because there's something they want us to see."

"In a box? Shouldn't that be gone already if this house was abandoned?" Zim questioned. Dib held the flashlight in his mouth as he opened it. The dust plume sent Zim backtracking across the room and Dib couldn't help but smirk at him. He took the flashlight back out of his mouth and waved the dust away.

"You didn't notice every other room was empty of a bed, then? This was probably the guest room and they didn't care to bring the furniture. They didn't bring a lot of the furniture with them. OR, it's the room of the person or persons who died and they couldn't bring themselves to pack it up!"

"This is not the time to theorize."

"It is the perfect time to theorize," Dib counters. Zim wanted to bang his head on the wall. He resisted the urge, eyeing up the window instead. Dib rummaged through the box, finding old fabric and a doll. He tilted it this way and that, finding nothing else.

"Or, a ghost just wants to mess with the living from time to time," Zim says with a smirk. Dib pouted, rummaging through the box again.

Zim moved to the window, pushing on the pane until he heard it starting to crack. Dib's head came up and he abandoned the box. He tried the door again, finding it move no more than it had previously. He stepped back, pausing when he heard the door handle jiggle. He turned slowly to it, flashlight hovering over the handle. It jiggled again. Dib leaned down, setting his hand on it. He heard a growl.

Dib launched himself across the room to Zim, pushing on the window's pane.

"Hey! What are you doing?!"

"Leaving! You're right, this is just a ghost messing with us, we should just leave, it'd be easy!" Dib says hastily. The pane popped out with one more heave from Zim. It fell to the grass, shattering. Zim hooked Dib around the waist.

"And what of your equipment on the tripod?" Zim asks. Dib waved him off.

"They can have it."

Zim stared at him disbelievingly. He heard the scratching at the door and turned to it. He turned back, his PAK already carrying himself out of the window with Dib. "I agree."

The PAK's legs released from the window's frame, drawing them back in. Zim landed on the grass, holding Dib up until he could stand and drop him to the ground away from the grass.

"Ow."

"Are we going back inside for the tripod?" Zim asks. Dib looked up at the house with a pout.

"I do and I don't want to…" he says.

"Why?"

"I heard a growl—"

"Is that all?!" Zim asks. He started to stomp to the front door.

"Wait! Zim, wait!"

"A growl? It could have been a cat or a dog for all you know, Dib-stink. That is no reason to abandon your technology in a house as decrepit and filthy as this!" Zim chastised.

He pushed the door open again, breaking it off the top hinge. Dib stopped just inside the doorway, looking around. The house was just as they'd left it. Zim lifted himself up to the tripod, grabbing it from across the railing. He lifted it up, a quick movement catching his peripheral. He was going to kill Dib for running up the stairs after being so eager to leave. He turned his head to do just that, finding the hall empty, but suspiciously dark. He quickly snapped his head around to find Dib peering into the kitchen again. Zim paused, for just a second, his PAK legs backing up over the furniture and lowering him until he was at Dib's back. He shoved the equipment into the bag, throwing Dib off balance.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

"Stay on your feet and get moving," Zim ordered. He dragged Dib back, pulling him through the door. Dib looked up the stairs, catching a pair of glowing dots just past the landing. Dib felt intense anxiety and excitement all at once. Zim slammed the door shut. The hinges creaked and it fell backward into the house. Zim blinked at it. "Hm. How unfortunate."

"Zim—"

A flash of red and blue lights and a police car siren sounded behind them. Dib felt the color leave his face and he turned slowly. The officer was leaning against his car leisurely. Zim stood stock still.

"Evening, Membrane."

"Hi, Officer Gall. H-how's the night going for you?" Dib asked. Gall blinked at him once and opened the back door to the car.

"Thank you, Officer Gall."

Gaz waited until he was halfway down the sidewalk to slam the door. She spun on her heel, crossing her arms and waiting. Zim was stewing on the couch and Dib was banging his head on the wall.

"Say something, shit for brains."

"I WENT SO LONG WITHOUT PROPERTY DAMAGE ON MY RECORD!" Dib screamed. He fell to the ground dramatically. Zim smirked evilly.

"It was that or stay stuck in the guest room." He murmurs. Gaz marched over and kicked him in the shin. Zim held back the shout, clutching his shin instead with a strained groan. "Witch."

"You had one job!" Gaz says.

"He didn't get injured or killed!" Zim shoots back.

"I can defend myself!" Dib shouts.

"Say that when you can leave one haunted house without coming back in a cop car's back seat." Gaz says. Dib floundered to give a response, settling on rolling onto his back with a huff. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I didn't even break the door," Dib mumbles. Gaz fell onto the couch, whipping out her Game Slave.

"And now you're stuck here for the night. Boohoo."

"…Round 126?" Zim offers. Gaz paused. She flipped her console off and reached for the controllers.

"You're on."