A/N: As I write this, I already know that this is going to be late, because today is a Friday and I don't have any Internet access at all. Oh, cruel fate! Right now I'm debating between posting this a day or two late, or just waiting until next Friday. I think I'll wait 'til next Friday. Sooner or later I'm gonna be missing a few weeks, so best to make it "sooner." And now it is Thursday. I declare it "Friday enough" and am updating.

I've gotten at least one review wondering why there isn't more fanart for this fic and/or for ZAPR in general, and several PMs at least. Well, I've got two pics up on my deviantART page (where I'm just ckret, not ckret2) and Alohilani (630kila on dA) has promised Splayd art in the near future, but... other than that, there's nada so far.

So, since I'm probably not gonna be online consistently until late August, how about a fanart contest to help fill the time? (I'm making this ALL up as I go along, woohoo!) The amount of ZAPR stuff on dA is pitiful. Doing a search for "zapr" returns 12 items, only 3 of which seem to be actual Zim/Purple, and one of which is mine. So, if anyone feels like doing fanart for the contest, the subject will be ZAPR and/or anything relating to ISS. Or, heck, just something cool. Gaz with glasses, Red dressed like a hippie, the Resisty doing a Monty Python skit... It's up to you. Do something nifty. Basically, I'm bored and willing to shamelessly wield my minimal authority as writer of a mildly popular fanfic to get more art, especially of my OTP. So, for the people that typically skip author's notes (you know who you are), here's the summary:

ART CONTEST, EVERYONE! OMG CONTEST!!

PAY ATTENTION. CONTEST. OMGWTFBBQ.

Do ZAPR and/or ISS stuff, the contest will close about September 1, and prizes will be awarded randomly and at my discretion. I might decide to do a poll. WE'LL JUST SEE. Awards will vary anywhere between getting to name a smeet (heck, there's certainly enough of them out there...) to art requests, and I promise I can be a better artist than some of the stuff on my dA page would suggest.

If you've got an entry and want to give me the link in a review/PM, then remember to put a space in the ". com" so that FFnet doesn't delete the URL. Only give me the URL in a review if you've got an actual fic review to go along with the contest entry; otherwise, just email or PM me the link. I doubt the FFnet admins will be happy with me if my review page is actually a load of contest entries. Alternately, you can give me the links on dA. I've never used the journal feature on dA before, but if anyone actually submits something to the contest, I'll make a journal entry with a running list of all the entries so you can look at them all.

Anyway, enjoy this (rather late) chapter, and please review! The next chapter might also be out late, but fear not—the fic is STILL far from dead. It's just on vacation in another continent and suffering from jetlag.

xxxxx

In Short Supply

Roller Coasters, pt. II

xxx

An excerpt of a medical report written by the Planet Jackers over 2600 years ago, when they were still at war with Irkens and devising torture strategies to use against them: All the best torture strategies, of course, are twofold: psychological and physical. We'll discuss both parts here.

From a psychological standpoint, the quickest way to scare Irkens is by taking away their snacks. Only for a day or two, with threats to take them away permanently unless they cooperate.

Unfortunately, with snacks, we only have one chance to get it right if we want information. If we offer a bargain of snacks for information too soon, they'll turn it down. If we offer the bargain too late, they'll be past what we call "the point of no return" and they'll no longer care about snacks.

If an Irken reaches that point, its emotional state will most likely deteriorate rapidly, and it will enter a deep depression. Immediate suicide watch for the Irken is necessary, but probably pointless. Irkens are practically unstoppable when they're determined, and when they're determined to die, that's that.

We don't know why they get so depressed so quickly if they don't get their snacks. Our first theory is that they've developed a physiological addiction to some additive in their snacks, perhaps caffeine or sugar, but brain scans of prisoners don't seem to uphold this theory. It's not an addiction, whatever it is.

Psychological torture is tricky, but effective; physical torture is easy, but usually doesn't give as much useful info. But sometimes physical torture does work, and either way, there's nothing more satisfying than watching an Irken squeal in pain, so we'll discuss it anyway.

Irkens are most vulnerable at their antennae, which make them obvious points for torture. However, they're prepared for that, and if an Irken suspects its guard is going to start snapping its antennae as torture, it'll probably take the first opportunity possible to break its own antennae at the base. Without their antennae, they won't be able to hear, smell, or keep their balance, but they'll be harder to torture. The little guys are loyal to their empire to a fault.

However, what most Irkens don't know is that rapidly and repeatedly knocking them off-balance can give them extreme pain throughout their body, because their antennae can't adjust properly to swift altitude and atmospheric changes. If we were to create some sort of open-air vehicle that could jerk up and down very quickly as it moved forward, kinda like a zigzag shape, and maybe have it spin in loops a few times too just to keep them off-balance, we could use a vehicle like that as a perfect torture device. Irkens would have no idea why, but they would get horribly nasty headaches and extreme vertigo from such a vehicle. Along with being in pain, they'd be scared because they wouldn't know why they were in pain.

A torture device like that would be perfect. They'd never see what was coming.

xxx

How long had it been since Zim had gone to the theme park? How long since the day Dib had dared him to ride the roller coaster? How long since the park slave had dared to say he was too short to ride, to short to prove himself worthy of the challenge posed by the humans' pitiful torture contraption?

Well, it didn't matter now. He would once and for all prove that he was more than a match for the roller coaster, and therefore superior to all humans.

But first, he had to get to the front of the line.

"This is merely part of the torture trial of the roller coaster," Zim said. "The psychological aspect of their horrible challenge. Anticipating physical pain is worse than the actual pain itself. So don't worry, Pur."

"I wasn't worried." Purple was sitting on the railing dividing the zigzagging line for the roller coaster, looking utterly bored. Zim suspected that he was just acting bored so that Zim wouldn't see how nervous he was. Because of course the Tallest needed Zim to help comfort him. "So, it's supposed to be torture?"

"For inferior creatures," Zim said dismissively. "Humans use tests like this to help prove their rank in their pitiful social hierarchy. Since we're superior, it obviously won't hurt us." After all, the Dib-beast had survived the roller coaster. (Unfortunately.) If he had, then Zim could—and if Zim could, so could his Tallest.

"And it's some sort of ride?"

"Yeah, a ride." Zim shrugged, as if it would be as painless as drifting in a Voot and the prospect of riding on this coaster didn't intimidate him in the least.

The park wasn't as crowded with filthy Joonier Hi Skool students today, so the line moved a lot faster today than it had the last time Zim had visited. It only took four or five degrees to get near the front of the line. Perhaps the humans in charge had realized their feeble attempts at mental intimidation would be lost on two hardened Irkens Soldiers (former Soldiers, true, and Zim wondered how good Purple's record had been, but still), and had picked up the pace. Purple squinted at a sign beside the park slave letting people on the rides. "What does that say?"

"'Health Hazards'," Zim read. "The human language is tricky because they use two different character sets at the same time. They call them 'capital letters' and 'lowercase letters.' It's hard to read them both at once." Zim paused. "I can read it just fine, though. If you want, I could read it for—"

"Shush," Purple said, leaning over the railing and waving Zim silent. "I'm reading."

"Oh." Zim sighed.

Purple murmured aloud as he read. "'Do not get on this ride if... you have high blood pressure... are recovering from a neck or back injury... are pregnant...' Pregnant? Hey, Zim? I don't think you can get on."

Zim looked up. "Eh? Did you say something?"

"You really are half deaf, aren't you?"

"Um..." He nervously glanced down. "No?"

Purple sighed and pointed at the sign. "'Do not get on this ride if you are pregnant.' That means you, Zim."

"What?!" Zim read the sign. "That's ridiculous! Can't I get on anyway?! I'm almost... eh... not-pregnant. Does that count?"

"It probably doesn't work like that."

"This is stupid!" After all Zim had gone through, miserable surgery and everything, he still couldn't prove his superiority on the coaster? Even though he was tall enough? This was an injustice the likes of which should never be inflicted by some pitiful humans on an Irken. Irkens were supposed to inflict the injustices.

The coaster came back in. Mortified-looking humans stumbled out of their seats, and the park slave shouted, "Next!"

Zim's turn. He tried to jog ahead to claim a seat, but Purple grabbed him by the collar of his undershirt. "You're not getting on," he said firmly.

"But—"

"That's an order. We're not endangering the mission just so you can torture yourself on the coaster-ride."

"Why—"

"Because I said so."

Zim scowled. "That's not fair."

"Of course it is," Purple said, smirking. "I'm a Tallest."

When they reached the park slave, Purple pointed down at Zim and said, "He's not riding." Zim crossed his arms and glared at the dirty concrete floor.

"Okay then." The park slave turned to Zim. "I'll have to ask you to go out that exit over th—"

"I'm staying here until he gets back," Zim said, pointing at Purple.

"Uh..." the park slave shrugged. "Whatever. Suit yourself. I'm only working here another week anyway."

Purple stepped into one of the carts on the torture-ride, awkwardly sat down, and waved at Zim. "I'll let you know how it goes when I get back!" he shouted, before a metal bar snapped forward and hit him in the chest. "Ow! Hey, what's this for?"

"Safety, sir," the park slave said. "We don't want you flying out of your cart. You might sue us."

Purple's eyes widened. "You don't want me what?"

"Er..." The park slave thought hard. "Suing us?"

"No! Not that! Did you say I'm gonna fly out of the cart?!" Before he got an answer, the roller coaster started up and shot down the railing with a rusty roar.

And Zim wasn't on it, even though his Tallest was.

Zim leaned against the wall to wait for Purple's return. Alone, humiliated—and, on top of everything else, his back hurt from the weight of the stupid, stupid eggs.

This, he concluded melodramatically, was the worst thing he'd ever gone through.

xxx

"That," Purple said, "was the WORST thing I've EVER gone through!"

He was trembling on a bench outside the roller coaster's exit—and he wouldn't have gotten even that far if Zim hadn't risked getting on his Pak-legs in public to half-carry his Tallest outside. Purple was wide-eyed, nearly hyperventilating, and Zim suspected he'd be in shock if he weren't so angry.

"I c-cant believe you made me d-do that!" Purple said, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the hyperventilating and shoving his head into Zim's chest. Which was quite an awkward position. Zim tried his best to hold still. "That was a r-really... stupid... stupid..." He shivered. "A stupid. It was. You m-moron."

"Yes, Pur," Zim said wearily. He was standing on the bench beside his Tallest, comforting him as well as he could, and that wasn't very well. He had one arm awkwardly over Purple's shoulder, which seemed to be working a little, since he was now clinging to Zim's overshirt with both hands.

"The stupidest," Purple continued, "moron... est... h-horrible thing. Ever." He shut his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. "How did you t-talk me into that?"

"My apologies," Zim said, mentally sighing for what must have been the hundredth time. "I didn't expect an Earth ride to have such an averse effect on an Irken. Er... you should probably open your eyes, Pur."

Purple made a whimpering sound, but opened his eyes a slit. "Don't call me that. Stupid moron."

"Yes, sir." Sigh.

Zim had never imagined his Tallest would react like this to... well, anything. Weren't the Tallest supposed to be the strongest, smartest Irkens in the empire? Weren't they supposed to be powerful enough to rule the universe with only two fingers?

This was the first time Zim had ever seen such weakness in a Tallest. But perhaps it wasn't so uncommon after all. Sometimes—very rarely, true—Zim himself had moments of weakness, so surely the Tallest must as well. And who knew what fiendish torture the roller coaster had inflicted?

Zim now saw that he had been a fool to lead his Tallest into such danger—all in an attempt to show off his own worth. He knew he was worthy of any challenge the Earthens could throw at him, why did he need to prove it again? Now that he'd seen how vulnerable Purple could be to their tortures, he would never make that mistake again. It seemed that he wasn't quite as strong as Zim.

Clearly, Purple needed to be protected. And as long as Zim was nearby, he would be responsible for doing the protecting. In Zim's mind, along with the myriad of other honors he'd bestowed upon himself—greatest Invader ever, unnaturally gifted Inventor, hero of the empire and savior of Operation Impending Doom I and II—Zim now gave himself a new title: guardian. Guardian of the Almighty Tallest Purple, protector and defender.

From now on, no matter what happened, Zim would hold himself responsible for his Tallest's safety. Obviously, no one less than the greatest Irken ever to live was qualified to protect Purple.

Zim wrapped his other arm around Purple, less comfortingly and more possessively, putting a barrier between him and the passing humans. "We should go back to the base, my Tallest," Zim said. "Before the vampires come out." The sun was low, the sky shot through with blues and oranges and purples and reds and all sorts of other colors a sky shouldn't be at the same time. The park was almost empty now.

Purple made another whining sound. "Nuh-uh. Ground moving. Too much. Idiot."

"I'll help you."

Reluctantly, Purple stumbled to his feet, supported by Zim on his Pak-legs. They'd made it halfway to the park exit when Purple shoved Zim off and shakily continued walking by himself. "That was horrible," he said again. "Why did you make me do that?"

"It was an unfortunate error in judgment, my Tallest," Zim said dully; he was merely saying the things he knew he was supposed to say. "I apologize. It will not happen again." That, however, was a promise Zim planned on ensuring.

"It better not." At the exit to the park, a human dressed as some horrible monster stepped in front of Purple and tried to hug him. He gave the monster a revolted look, then drew a laser from his Pak and shot it. Zim and Purple had pushed past the exit turnstiles (very quickly) and left before security realized anything had happened. "And by the way," Purple added, putting his laser away, "you're still the biggest moron in the empire."

Zim wasn't paying attention; he was busy staring backwards at the costumed victim, appalled. "How could you do that?"

"What? C'mon, it's a human," Purple said. "Don't tell me you don't kill some here and there."

"Not that! I mean you hit its shoulder." Zim said. "That won't kill it. You missed all its vital organs by a million miles!"

"Oh." Purple looked embarrassed. "Well, it's not like I even wanted to have that laser or anything. So that shot doesn't count. I guess."

"You can't shoot a laser?!"

"I can shoot it!" Purple said indignantly. "I just can't... aim it. Much. The only reason I have one anyway is 'cause Red said we both have to—"

"You can't kill something at point blank range?" Zim was incredulous. "And you were a Soldier?"

"Hey, you know what?" Purple said. "Shut up! I mean it's none of your business, is it? Huh? I don't think so! Fine, maybe I can't shoot, but it's not like I wanted to be a Soldier in the first place, was it? And an-y-way, I wasn't the one with the stupid idea to go on the roller coaster! So there!" Purple turned away from Zim and stomped off angrily.

Zim followed without retort; he was too busy absorbing this new knowledge. So, Purple couldn't even defend himself? Then that simply made it all the more important that Zim defend him.

He couldn't imagine what sort of trouble Purple would get in if Zim weren't there to help.

xxx

"Hey, Keef!"

"Huh?" Keef turned at the sound of his name, just off the bottom step of the stairs to the Joonier Hi Skool door. No one ever called his name except teachers and Zim, and this wasn't Zim's voice. "I'm sorry, I promise I'll try harder in your class in the future! Really, I mean it! I've just been sooo busy with my bestest best buddy lately that I couldn't do my homework for—"

"What are you talking about?" Dib walked up to Keef, his hands in pockets. Oh, so it was just him. Keef wondered what he had in his pockets. There was a shape oddly similar to a stress ball in Dib's right pocket—Keef found that stress balls had a very unique shape—but maybe it was just a baseball or something. "Look, Keef, I need to talk to you about Zim."

He brightened up. This was almost as good as actually getting to talk to his best pal. "Sure thing! I love talking about Zim. Hey, did you know he let me walk home with him yesterday, and we talked about love and babies, and he said he thinks—"

"Cut the crap, Keef," Dib said. (He squeezed the oddly stress ball-shaped lump in his pocket.) "Zim wasn't at school today. You're almost as determined about stalking him as I am, so where is he? What's he up to?"

Keef stopped grinning. "Uh... I don't know. I haven't seen him today, either." But that was odd... he and Zim had a class together, and Keef always found Zim before and after school. "Hey, d'you think Zim's sick?" Keef asked, worried.

"I wish," Dib muttered. "C'mon, you've gotta know something! Anything?"

Keef thought. Sure he knew a lot about Zim, but he didn't know what might interest Dib. "I know... his favorite color used to be pink," Keef said. "Neon pink. Like on flashy signs."

The squeezing of the possible stress ball in Dib's pocket got more vigorous. "I don't care what Zim's favorite—wait. Used to be? What's it now?"

"I think his new favorite color is purple," Keef said. "But I have to double check on that."

"Huh." Dib gave him a puzzled look. "He told you that?"

"Not really. You can tell in the way he walks."

"The way... he..." Dib shook his head. "That's just creepy. Look, I'm trying to figure out what Zim's up to, all right? Give me something useful!"

"Okay, okay! Let me think! Uh..." Keef didn't know why he didn't think Zim's favorite color was important. "I know Zim doesn't like girls..."

At that moment, responding to a primitive instinct that drew them towards gossip like a pack of sharks towards fresh blood, all the students still milling in front of the Joonier Hi Skool turned to stare at Keef and Dib. Oh, fun! Keef had never been the center of attention before.

Dib took a very large step away from Keef. "Er, right, then... Well, if that's all you know..." He started to back away.

"Wait! I know he's really interested in watermelons!" Keef said.

"Watermelons?" A thoughtful look crossed Dib's face. "What could Zim want with watermelons...?" Lost in thought, he walked past Keef, muttering, "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" Keef said cheerfully, then headed home, paying no heed to the suspicious looks of the other students. Maybe he'd call Zim and see how he was doing.

Or maybe he'd gift-wrap a watermelon. Zim would love that.

xxx

By Friday morning, Purple had recovered from his encounter with the roller coaster—however, taking his new role of guardian to the Tallest seriously, Zim refused to let Purple out of the base, where the humans might get at him. Of course, Zim didn't say he was protecting his Tallest; he just said they should stay in the base and watch moovys.

They finally got to watch Stair Wars. As ridiculously funny as Zim probably would have found the stupid thing even if he'd watched it by himself ("Luke, use the banister!"), it was even better with Purple there, shouting derisive comments at the humans' pitiful excuses for "alien" costumes. Even an Invader flunky could come up with more convincing disguises than that.

The only thing ruining the mood was Bob, which was why Purple ordered him to go downstairs. Once he was gone, though, the fun continued uninterrupted until late evening.

At which point Zim had to have the eggs, which pretty much ruined the mood.

xxx

When Dib got home, the first thing he did was throw away the mutilated stress ball in his pocket and make a note on the shopping list in the kitchen to go get more. Talking with Keef was always a trial.

The next thing he did was head to his room, pull out all his rough, hand-drawn maps of the inside of Zim's base, and start planning his next infiltration.

The last time Dib had attempted to sneak into Zim's base had been last semester, in late August. Zim's security had improved greatly over the two years he'd been on Earth, as he'd started to learn about what the humans (and Dib in particular) were capable of, and what kind of tricks they usually pulled. It had been a very disappointing day when Dib had come home just over a year ago, gotten on his computer, and learned that Zim had discovered every one of Dib's camera bugs and relocated them. To a whorehouse. With sixty-year-old hookers.

Sometimes, at night, Dib could still see those video feeds. He always woke up screaming. To make it even worse, when Dib had confronted Zim about it the next day at school, the stupid alien had been convinced he'd simply given Dib a useless feed of the inside of a warehouse. He wasn't even sure if Zim knew what a whorehouse was. Someday, he would pay for what he'd put Dib through. He'd pay with his guts in formaldehyde! Hah!

True, Zim's security had improved, but it wasn't flawless. And Dib's array of paranormal equipment had increased, too.

Over Christmas Break, Dib had reverse-engineered some of the technology in Tak's ship to create a fake Pak that gave off an Irken identity signature. Every Irken machine gave off a signal that other Irken machines recognized, which was probably how they kept intruders out of their bases and stuff. So, if Dib reproduced it...

The artificial Pak was a custom-made radio transmitter emitting an Irken signal inside, placed inside a tin semicircle that Dib attached to his back with several strips of duct tape going across his shoulders and chest. Someday, he'd find a better way to attach the fake Pak. Preferably a way that didn't involve actually imbedding it in his spine.

Along with the fake Pak, he took his laptop, two cameras (digital and disposable), a cell phone (with a third camera, video capabilities, and the all-important power to call for help), three water guns, one handgun, and a spare pair of glasses.

It never hurt to be cautious.

By the time Dib got everything ready and was fairly sure his fake Pak would stay in place, it was past ten. Good thing it was a Friday, because he'd never get his homework done at this rate.

Before he left, he ducked into his sister's room. "Hey, Gaz—I'm gonna try to get into Zim's base again. He's up to something with watermelons. If I'm not back in time for breakfast, either call the Eyeball, call Uncle Denny, or come get me yourself. Whatever's easiest for you."

Gaz grunted. She was playing a computer game, her nose less than two inches from the computer screen. Based on her expression, she was having a hard time.

Dib rolled his eyes. "You know, if you sat back, you could see the entire screen."

"Shut up!"

He smirked. "Oh, can you see if you sit back? Well, maybe if you had glasses..."

Anticipating Gaz's retaliation, Dib ducked. Anticipating Dib's anticipation, Gaz chunked her Lord Hogula action figure low and hit Dib's head. "I said shut up. I can see fine!"

Dib stumbled out of Gaz's room, rubbing his head. Well, her aim was fine. "R-right," he said dizzily. "I'll, uh, see you 'morrow."

"Go away."

Dib headed towards the stairs, missed the top step and almost fell over, and grabbed the banister to keep from falling. He shook his head to clear it. Focus. He needed focus for this.

When the throbbing receded and he could see again, he continued down the stairs, backpack full of supplies in one hand, artificial Pak taped to his back.

This time, he wasn't leaving until he found out exactly what Zim was up to.

xxxxx