A/N: In which Zim's mission takes a turn for the worse. An evil author am I. Thank you for all your reviews, please remember to review and let me know what you think so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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In Short Supply

Mission Abortion

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From Dib's notes, Thurs. Nov. 20: Another dance tomorrow, the Turkey Dance. I think it used to be a Holiday Dance but the school district had to move it up a month, since now we've got to spend all December preparing for Santa to attack. (Thanks a lot, Zim. Stupid evil Santa-suit.)

Speaking of Zim, he's reacting about the same to this dance as he did to the Valentine's one. Generally shuddering every time he sees a poster. Today I walked up to him and said I was going (which I'm not), just to see what he would do. He called me a "beasty fetishist" and asked if I was going with a fowl or a deer. The more I talk to Zim, the less I think I really want to learn about his species.

Oh, and Zim's starting to look weird, too. I think he's been gaining weight the last few days. He almost looks like he swallowed a dodgeball. Kinda funny, actually.

If he keeps getting fat, I'll be sure to take more notes. Maybe I can learn something about the anatomy of his species this way.

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From Dib's notes, Mon. Nov. 24: Zim got BIG over the weekend. It's crazy. His torso got... I dunno, maybe two times bigger than normal? It's really freaky.

I've noticed something interesting, too. He doesn't look like he did that time when he stole all those organs. Back then he was kinda blobby. Now, whatever it is making him bigger, it's really, really tight. Like if you poked him he'd be really hard or something, not squishy. Maybe that was because he hadn't digested the organs two years ago, but when his species digests food and turns it into fat, the fat... crystallizes or something? Which is why he looks different now? No, that's stupid. But something strange is going on.

I think I've figured out why he's getting so fat, too. He's started bringing his own lunch. An ALIEN lunch. I realized that up until now I've never seen Zim actually eating much before, but he really gobbles this stuff up. It looks like a bunch of snacks, but they've got alien logos on them, so who knows. Maybe I should find out.

Dib shoved his notebook back into an inner pocket of his trench coat and stood up. Zim was several tables away, eating his fourth bag of who-knew-what. Dib unceremoniously sat down across from Zim, pointed at the bag, and said, "What's that stuff that looks like chips? Huh?"

Zim gave Dib a confused look. "Chips."

"Oh." Dib pointed at another packaged food item. "Then what's that thing shaped like a candy bar?"

"A candy bar." Zim was starting to smirk.

"Oh." Dib looked at all the wrappers and bags strewn in front of Zim. There had to be about twenty. "You mean all this stuff is junk food?"

"It's not junk food, it's snacks," Zim said, as if to him there was a huge difference. "Though I suppose you carnivorous humans with your filthy meat wouldn't like snacks."

"Humans are omnivorous, Zim. Any normal human would know that." Okay, honestly, considering the fact that their school had a giant sign that said Joonier Hi Skool, he doubted all that many people even knew what omnivorous meant.

"Same difference, meat-eating meat-bag. You still can't possibly appreciate snacks."

"Yeah, I can. I like snacks," Dib said testily. Really, did Zim have to turn everything into a fight? "Hey, can I try some?"

Zim gave Dib a suspicious look. "Why should I give you one?"

"To help prove that you aren't going to take over the planet," Dib said. "As a gesture of good will."

Zim sneered at the words, but said, "Fine. You may have one and only one chip." He held out his bag.

Surprised, Dib said, "Thanks," and took one. It wasn't bad, he thought, chewing it. Though it was a little...

Dib's eyes almost popped out of his head. He grabbed at his throat, and started coughing and trying to spit out the chip at the same time. "W-water!" he gasped.

"Of course there's no water in it," Zim said, looking amused. "What good is a snack that burns you?"

Burns? Zim thought WATER burns? Did he have any taste buds?!

Zim chuckled. "Not many species other than Irkens can handle the flavoring," he said innocently. "It slipped my mind that you might not like it."

Dib shot Zim a watery glare before getting up and stumbling back to his seat, still hacking. Zim's laughter followed him all the way to his seat.

From Dib's notes, Mon. Nov. 24, continued: Taste buds burnd of. Canot taste anymore. Note to self: never ever acept any food that Zim offrs. EVER.

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From Dib's notes, Thurs. Nov. 27: No school today for Thanksgiving. I heard that they used to give you most of the week off for Thanksgiving, but that must have been a long time ago because now we just get Thanksgiving's Day off. Gaz and I ordered a turkey pizza for breakfast (I didn't even know they made those), and we crushed up some fries for mashed potatoes, so that was our Thanksgiving dinner. Dad even changed his pre-recorded video message to say happy holidays, which is the first time he's changed it since June. That was kinda cool.

Since we had the day off, I got to follow Zim around. He didn't really do anything. Maybe he really is telling the truth about not trying to take over Earth anymore. He spent about six hours just walking around the city with Gir. (I think he was lost.) The most interesting thing that happened was when he walked into a store with porno vids. He came back out five minutes later laughing so hard he could barely stand. Actually, I can't really blame him for that. Most of those videos are pretty stupid.

Dad, if you ever read this, I DO NOT know that from personal experience! I heard it at school, okay? Okay.

That reminds me: it's been two weeks since that day Zim came to school acting so freakishly happy. Maybe there's some connection between that and his weight-gaining, though I don't know why.

Oh! I just got an idea! It's so cool! Hey, think of this: Maybe its some kind of molt Zim's goig throu? He could be going thru some wierd change and come out of it a realy freaky monster or somthing!! Man that'd be cool! But bad. Really bad. Unless he turns into a good monster.

That doesn't look as smart on paper as it did in my head. Well, it's still possible. I'll keep it in mind. Alien fat equals future molt?

He's still getting bigger, too. It doesn't look comfortable. I think he's having a hard time bending over. I wonder how much longer he's going to get bigger?­

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From Dib's notes, Wed. Dec. 3: Zim hasn't stopped gaining weight yet. Okay, whatever it is he did to get this to happen, he did it wrong. His body's gotta be five times bigger than normal.

He can't talk very long and I don't think I've heard him shout since last week: he probably isn't breathing very well, by the looks of it. His arms and legs aren't any bigger at all so he's got to waddle around. I think he'd probably get around faster if he just rolled himself. Maybe I should just push him and see what happens. Between class periods when he's in a mostly empty hall, he's started using the metal legs from his back-pod to walk. He's even risking his own disguise now. It's that bad.

Zim can't even get in his desk now. I watched him spend the first five minutes of homeroom trying to squeeze between the desk and the chair. Now he's just leaning against his desk and acting like it had been his plan to spend the whole class standing.

Some kid just called him fatty and he denied that he was "in any way allowing my superior body fall prey to your filthy bodily lard-sacks." WHY doesn't anyone believe he's an alien? WHY??

And is it just me, or does Zim look kinda scared?

Why am I asking my notebook, anyway??

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From Dib's notes, Fri. Dec. 5: Zim didn't show up at school today...

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Tallest Purple had said the eggs would take four weeks to grow. That had been three weeks and two days ago. Today, Zim almost died.

For a moment, when he woke up, he couldn't remember who he was. Eyes wide open, he simply stared at the distant blurry lights, wondering who he was, where he was, how he'd gotten there, and why it was so hard to breathe. He couldn't stand up.

Behind him, on his back, a metallic voice said, "Reactivate," and he felt a small surge of electricity pass through him. He mechanically gasped in air, and hissed, "Zim. I am... Zim."

His head was throbbing and dizzy; his heart was beating so fast he could practically hear it, each beat vibrating through his antennae; he still couldn't breathe. At least now he could remember why he wasn't able to stand—his legs were too small to carry his weight. He extended his Pak-legs and shakily lifted himself up. "Computer? What happ..." He had to stop and take a breath. "Happened?"

"You stopped breathing," the computer said, "and then your heart stopped."

Sharp jabs of fear shot through him. "Wh-what?! H..." Gasp. "How did this..." Gasp. "This..."

"Hey, don't knock yourself out again. Just calm down," the computer said. "You passed out while you were heading out to school. You couldn't breathe well because the eggs are crushing your lungs, so when you put your contacts in, you started suffocating."

Zim's eyes widened. He quickly removed his contacts. That let him breathe a little more easily, but not by much.

"Then when you were unconscious, the eggs started putting pressure on your heart, which made it stop," the computer continued cheerfully. "So you were dead for a little bit."

Zim could feel it now, something making his heartbeat erratic. His heart was still throbbing so hard he could almost hear it, and the vibrations he felt through his antennae weren't uniform; they were short, weak, struggling. "How am I... a-alive?"

"Your Pak preserved your brain and kept jolting your heart until it started working again," the computer said.

Zim nodded wearily. "How long... was...?"

"About five hours."

For a moment, his heart and breath stopped again. He had been dead for five hours? It had taken forty-six degrees for his heart to start working again? How many times had his Pak tried to wake him? What if his Pak had been too low on energy to save him?

Considering how much power was probably wasted restarting his heart, and how much he was wasting now just to keep his Pak-legs holding him upright, he was probably dangerously low on energy. Wasting just a bit more, Zim turned on his air filters so he could breath well enough to speak almost normally. "Computer, how much damage have the eggs caused?" There was no way Zim was attempting to go to school, not after he'd missed half the day and NOT in this condition, so he headed to the recharge chamber as the computer spoke.

"The eggs are putting extreme pressure on your lungs, heart, squeedily-spooch, and other, minor organs. They're also starting to interfere with your nerve cord, which could result in permanent paralysis to your legs—or if the eggs get much bigger, permanent paralysis from the neck down. If that were to occur, it would sever the connection between your brain and your Pak. Which would kill you."

"Great," Zim muttered. He seated himself awkwardly on the chair in the recharge chamber and plugged his Pak in. He was lucky he'd passed out in the subterranean levels of the base, he supposed; he probably wouldn't fit in most of the lifts now.

"They've also cracked your exoskeleton in six places. You'll need surgery for that."

Always with the surgery these days. "Can you do it?"

"Yeah." The computer paused. "But it might kill you, too."

Zim shut his eyes wearily, but had to open them again; he needed as much air as possible. "Is there anything you can do that won't kill me?"

"Probably not, until you get rid of the eggs. If they grow anymore, they'll definitely kill you," the computer said. "I know a human way to get rid of them. Buuut, it—"

"Might kill me, too?"

"Pretty much."

Then what was Zim supposed to do?! He was too drained and pained to even work up a real rage, his mind too fogged to feel real terror. "What is this human-thing?"

"An... abortion. Pregnant humans use it when they don't want to have a baby."

Zim had heard of no such thing before, except in a military context—like, a mission abortion. There was certainly no concept like a human-abortion on Irk; there was no need for one, after all. But, perhaps, back when Irkens had produced their own offspring, there had been a similar abortion process?

"Computer," Zim said. "Establish a connection with..." breathe; not even his Pak-filters were enough, "... Vortian prisoner number Seven-Seventy-Seven." Zim dimly recalled that during his time on Vort, 777 (he'd been known as S'vins-vins or something back then) said he'd once done a load of research on Irkens. That was before Vort was conquered and he was thrown into prison.

If Zim was to keep all of this secret from the rest of Irk and couldn't even contact Tallest Purple, then 777 was his only chance.

He didn't even care about his "special" mission now. Nothing was more important to Zim than Zim's life; "the empire before the Irken," sure, but where would the empire be without this Irken?

For the first time he could remember, Zim wanted nothing more than to abort his mission.

"Connecting to Vort..."

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Life as a prisoner was very, very boring. Especially for any Vortians who weren't currently assigned to a military research project, as Vortians get bored really easily. Every once in a while the guards would scramble up a few Rubik's cubes and toss them in the Vortians' cells, or pass around some books on philosophy, but otherwise they were just bored.

And thirsty. Somehow, "Vortians are amphibious" translated into "Vortians only need two cups of water a day." Cruddy Irkens with their cruddy hydrophobia.

Sevince Vensvin—better known as Prisoner No. 777—considered himself luckier than most Vortian prisoners. After all, Zim's infrequent (and highly illegal) calls gave him something interesting to do. Sure, when he'd first been captured, he'd resented Zim's calls; just the conquering villain gloating over the fallen race. But now he didn't care any more. Seven hundred-odd dreary days of incarceration will do that to a Vortian.

The communicator, a tiny screen in the top corner of Sevince Vensvin's cell, said, "Incoming transmission from Earth." He looked up eagerly. He didn't give a crap what Zim asked for; if he asked for the coordinates of the Resisty (and if Sevince Vensvin had any clue where they were) he would gladly give over the information. Anything for some intellectual stimulation. "Greetings, Invader Zim!" he said cheerily. "What can I do for whoa, shit! What happened to you?!"

Sevince Vensvin had seen prisoners try to get past the Vetkin Splodey System, the one that detected their bio signatures, made them bloat, and then blew them up; Zim looked almost like one of the would-be escapees, a moment before they popped. Based on the expression on his face, he felt about as bad.

"You studied Irken anatomy, right?" Zim demanded. His voice was weak, like there was a great pressure on his chest, cutting off his breath.

"Um..." He couldn't stop staring at Zim's torso. "More like physiology and psychology..."

"Whatever!" Zim couldn't scream; it came out like a hiss. "Do you know how to... to do an Irken abortion?"

"A... what?"

"Abortion. Irkens had to have them once." Zim almost sounded desperate. "How do I do it?"

Sevince Vensvin looked at Zim's bloated body with new horror. Then, that's what this was...? He'd had no idea that any Irkens could still reproduce. "You're female?"

"No!" Zim said. "Priso... er, Vincy-Vincy—please."

He couldn't remember the last time Zim had used his name. True, Zim never said it properly, but the fact that he had tried... This was serious. Sevince Vensvin bit his lip. "Okay, abortions..." he thought a moment. "Not many Vortians get abortions, unless it's a medical emergency..."

"This is a med—" Zim coughed, and had to struggle to breath in again, "mergen... cy."

"Yeah, so I see," Sevince Vensvin muttered nervously. How bad was this? What if Zim died? How would Sevince Vensvin keep entertained then? He sighed. "I've never heard about any Irken abortions before. If they ever existed, I don't know anything."

Zim's eyes widened. "What?"

"Maybe if you tell me how it happened?" Sevince Vensvin suggested. "Maybe a weird creature on Earth planted eggs in your stomach? Or some kind of trap?"

Zim shook his head. "It's top secret stuff. It wasn't a tra—" He froze. For a long moment, Sevince Vensvin worried that he'd had a heart attack.

Then, something behind Zim's eyes darkened. Sevince Vensvin recognized that look. He'd written an entire paper around what happens when Irkens get that look. That was the whirlpool look, the drowning-in-dark-water look. That was the borderline suicidal look.

"You know what?" Zim said slowly. "Forget the secret. If this thing kills me, I'll tell you everything. And I'll expect you to tell the rest of the empire." He cut the connection.

Sevince Vensvin stared at the screen. "But how can you tell me the secret if you're dead?" He scowled. "Piss-rocks."

Even being bored was better than dying of curiosity.

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On the outside, Zim was sitting perfectly still, eyes wide open, breathing as deeply as possible, feeling each heartbeat vibrate through him. Inside, he was screaming, raging, ranting, murdering, slaughtering, wreaking his vengeance upon the two who were blind to all he contributed to his empire, the two who never appreciated Zim and all his glorious triumphs on their behalf.

The Almighty Tallest.

Zim was a fool to have trusted Tallest Purple, especially after he'd confessed to lying to Zim once about his mission. Zim had even asked Purple why he should trust him now. What had the answer been?

"Zim, you're going to be making smeets. You can't trick someone into thinking they're growing eggs when they aren't. I mean... it's kinda impossible."

He was right; that was impossible to lie about. And true to Purple's word, Zim was growing eggs.

But he'd never promised that Zim could trust him.

The eggs were going to kill Zim.

Zim understood it all now, oh yes, he knew precisely what they were up to. The Tallest had banished Zim once, and weren't satisfied. They had exiled Zim once, and that hadn't killed him. Now, they had schemed up a new... er, scheme. One even more devious, more treacherous than ever before, one that went so low as to prey upon Zim's loyalty to the empire. They had tricked Zim into killing himself!

"Zim, I thought you wanted to be a hero for the Irken Empire!"

"Shoot me," Zim hissed, with all the venom he could muster—the crudest, filthiest swear on Irk, not only a threat of suicide but also an order for someone else to assist in it. Of course, Zim didn't mean it, but he thought it'd help to say it out loud and imagine the looks on the Tallest's faces.

It didn't.

Zim unplugged his Pak, stood with his Pak-legs, and left the recharge chamber. "Computer, how long do you predict it..." Breathe. "It will be until the eggs are too big?"

"Uhh... Too big for what?"

Zim scowled. "For me."

"Oh! Right. Uh, maybe... Three-ish days?"

He had three days to live. "Fine." Not that he intended to die then, oh no; if he lived past the three days, long enough to lay the eggs, he'd just be able to call Tallest Purple and tell him that he'd survived yet another death-trap and emerged, as always, victorious. And Zim didn't plan on calling Purple in his private quarters, either, the way he'd been ordered to. He could just call him on the bridge of the Massive, and let the entire Irken Empire see just what their Tallest were doing to the empire's finest Invader.

And if it did kill Zim... well. He planned on making that call anyway, in his last moments. If he had to die, he'd die seeing the Tallest's shocked faces, knowing he'd taken them down with him.

Naturally, it never crossed Zim's mind that the Irken Empire were more likely to celebrate than to mourn his death. But it was only fitting that even as he died, he planned on putting Red and Purple through hell one last time.

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