Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dear [INSERT NAME HERE],

We are pleased to announce that you have been cordially invited to attend the illustrious Royal Heights Academy for Exceptional Youth. In the midst of an ever-changing multiverse, it has come to our attention that we are in desperate need of an educational environment that is as unified, diverse, and brilliant as a reality that we are just now learning to fully understand.

You have been chosen to be a student on account of your [INSERT POSITIVE ATTRIBUTE OR TALENT] and [INSERT POSITIVE ATTRIBUTE OR TALENT] that far surpasses the efficacy of the other youths of your respective universe. You will be among three hundred students who have proven themselves to rise above the rest, to fight for what you stand for, to innovate and excel no matter the circumstance.

You have changed lives, altered your status quo, learned and continued to learn for the better, and Royal Heights Academy has noticed.

If you've received this letter, it means you have proven yourself to be nothing short of a prodigy in the field of [INSERT STUDENT'S SPECIALTY OF CHOICE HERE] and for the next four years you shall learn and live among the most elegant of dancers, the most proficient of poets, the most astute of scientists, the most mystical of mages, the bravest warriors and most cunning of strategists who share your passion for creating not just a better world but a better multiverse.

Your educational journey as a freshman begins Monday, August 20 and will conclude Wednesday, May 15.

Included with this letter you will find not only your uniform tailor made to your physique but a brochure and any further details about any mandatory or recommended luggage to ensure your stay at the most advanced and exquisite boarding school in the multiverse—the only advanced and exquisite boarding school in the multiverse—is not only exceptional but comfortable.

On Sunday, August 19 one of the academy's private jets, generously augmented with efficient dimensional traveling software through Membrane Labs, will arrive to whisk you safely to orientation. Please do arrive in uniform and in good spirits.

Our future begins now. Will you shape it for us?

Signed,

The Royal Heights Academy Board of Ethics

Chapter Text

The Dojo, Yin and Yang's Bedroom | Sunday, August 19 | 6:35 A.M.

Everything begins in what should hopefully be a familiar setting, and if not then feel free to imagine the following: A generous plot of land embraced by the woodsy scent of overgrown bamboo and a building as old as its inhabitants and the inhabitants before it resembling that of East Asian architecture with its curved rooftops, round windows, and the rice paper screen doors stood isolated from a bustling city.

It’s like something out of a martial arts movie marathon, and the events that have transpired there only completed the visual.

Peer inside and the rising summer suns (yes, suns—plural) peeked through the window of a bedroom belonging to two bipedal rabbits that look like they've been lifted right out of a children's Chinese Zodiac handbook.

One of two suns produced a harsh glare across the screen of the male sibling's desktop computer as it peered from behind a shifting cloud, the streak of sunlight so powerful that even his natural warrior senses weren’t able to squint past it.

"Oh mother of Foo." He groaned, rubbing the palm of his hand into his eye. He could do nothing but blink away the irritation. "I knew I should have switched to VR by now."

"Or get a darker room," a voice on the other end of his headset said in reply to his personal gripe. Often silent aside from barking orders to cripple the digital enemy forces, he took it as a genuine sign of concern. She couldn’t afford to have her number one tank taken down by some measly sunlight, every gamer’s worst enemy. "Closing the curtains just isn’t enough for me. And don't think I won't leave you behind when the expansion pack drops and you can't buy it in time."

"Are you assuming I have an allowance?"

He turned to acknowledge the sound of the bedroom door creaking open, flicking the lights on, and turning the glare over his screen into a spotlight zeroing in on months of collected dust.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," his sister said, a face quite similar to his own skewing up in disgust. "You’re really gonna be playing this game right to the exact moment we head out to school? You’re not even in your uniform, Yang! Or eating the breakfast I painstakingly prepared for us."

"Yin, you have your going-away rituals, I have mine. And not to mention, a smoothie is not breakfast, it’s the first step to an eating disorder," he said, grumpily turning the monitor towards the single crack of shade still left in their shared bedroom. "Besides, I probably won’t be able to play this in some dumb prep school. At least let me finish grinding before the next event."

"Maybe ‘a dumb prep school’ will finally teach you there’s more to life than video games," Yin said, still managing to berate him even as she was laser-focused on her reflection in the heart-shaped mirror of her vanity.

She had just finished brushing out her ears, her usual dainty purple ribbon swiped out for one silky and golden. Beneath it is a crisp white button-up and black tie tucked into a cable knit sweater vest. She gave an annoying elegant twirl on the tips of her Mary Janes, admiring the flutter of her own plaid skirt done up in gold, blue, and black with a single white line threaded throughout the pattern like a web made by the world's shiest spider. "How do I look?"

"Dorky,"

"Yeah, you and me both," Yin said, her extended finger coming alight with turquoise energy as she levitated an identical outfit from the confines of Yang’s bed. She sent it into his lap with a flick of her wrist for which Yang could only wince as if the mere presence of the slacks, blazer, and necktie would surely sear his skin through the packaging. "Just please get changed. If the jet shows up, don’t think I won’t leave without you."

"You say that like it’s a threat."

"It will be if Master Yo hears about it," Yin sing-songed before slipping out of the bedroom as quietly as she entered. "Now move it."

Yang rolled his eyes, throwing his uniform behind him before securing his headset again with a huff.

"Siblings," he said.

"Tell me about it," his partner agreed.

As much as he wanted to spend the rest of the morning, the next few hours, the night, and the day after that on this computer, Yang would be pushed towards the call of academic adventure if he wanted to or not.

The Royal Heights Academy for Exceptional Youth only accepted the kind of students they could be proud of, so why they even considered inviting him was far beyond Yang’s already rather narrow train of thought.

His sister fit the bill just fine: intelligent, hardworking, a natural perfectionist, a constant craving for knowledge that bordered on maniacal; if they ever needed a diagram to fill, it would be in the shape of her silhouette. Yin, the child prodigy, Yin, the accomplished mage, Yin, the best and brightest Woo Foo novice between the two of them.

It’s not that Yang wasn’t any of those things, but to learn so traditionally just wasn’t in his nature. Woo Foo only required so much book knowledge to truly master, which was convenient because Yang’s tolerance for studying was as low as his patience.

He could hit the books just fine, but reading them? No, thank you. Best, he could definitely aim for—bright, not so much.

When the acceptance letters arrived at their doorstep, individually printed with separate accolades, that seemed to be the question hanging over the room most of all—Why Yang? Why any of them? That was until those letters were opened, and that fluffy, good feeling one could only get after receiving a compliment smothered that suspicion flat as a board.

"Impressive intellect and magical prowess," read Yin’s letter, for Yang, it was his "combat specialties and heroic ambition"—a pair of flattering statements that highlighted just how good of a team they were.

And he and Yin, well, they were a packaged deal. As twins, that kind of came with the territory. Even Lina, his girlfriend of several years, had gotten a formal invitation to the school, which softened the blow, if slightly.

She had presented the news to him in the middle of one of their weekly ice cream dates, grinning ear to ear in a way he just couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed by.

The one glimmer of hope in all this. If not his friends Roger Jr. and Dave, then at least she’d be there. At least. But like vegetables on a perfectly good pizza, Yang just couldn’t fight the bile the whole situation inspired.

It was really in the presentation: so pristine, so perfect, such preppy New England Ivy League backwash that the brochure used words like "exquisite" and "substantial" and smelled like rose water (Yang would know, Lina and Yin used the same shampoo).

While Yang was scrutinizing the acceptance letter with contempt, burying his custom-fit uniform beneath his bed, ignoring, ignoring, and ignoring the approaching date for the coming weeks, Yin’s eyes lit up with excitement, opportunity.

"Finally, a real school," she had said sometime this month, her letter in a floral picture frame she had Transfoomated into existence, "This is it, Yang. Going to a real high school. This is what being a teenager's all about."

The Dojo, Living Room | 6:45 A.M.

"Master Yo, you’re still watching that weirdo?"

"I thought you’d be a little more encouraging," Master Yo said, looking down to see his tie getting pressed into a panini between the iron and a pair of slacks. "This Membrane guy is a miracle worker! Do you know he implanted a food duplication ray in the Foodio 2.0? That’s infinite food, Yin! Infinite pretzels for your old man!"

"I was thinking more in terms of solving world hunger," Yin said.

"Well, that too." Master Yo murmured, discarding his singed necktie and searching the pockets of his inside-out khakis for another. "I’ll tell ya, man’s a genius. And I’m gonna be working with him!"

"Insane is more like it."

Yin made a beeline for the kitchen and grabbed one of the three smoothies from the fridge. She had created a blend of kale, blueberry, cucumber, honey, wheatgrass, and soy milk the night before, only to see her brother and mentor hadn’t made a dent in their servings.

Yin uncapped her own thermos and chugged down the rest, suppressing a grimace as the chill edged dangerously close to yet another brain freeze. She couldn’t afford to have those kinds of worry lines before school, but these nutrients would keep her skin and smile glowing all the way to bedtime.

Yin wanted to assume Yang and Master Yo’s reluctance to eat was because of nerves, but she knew it was no such thing. She was undeniably, without a shadow of a doubt, nervous about her first day as an official high school student, and even she could stomach down her highly nutritious, vegetarian breakfast (even if the knots her stomach had been twisted into were threatening to send it right back up her throat.)

If anything, the vibe she got from her brother and mentor was that of annoyed indifference or performative confidence. While Yin was determined to make sure every single microdetail of today went just as planned, Yang and Master Yo were clearly distracted.

With the updated cable and Internet, Yin’s mentor and brother had turned into even bigger gluttons of their preferred pastimes—Yang with his video games and Master Yo with his television.

And would Yin love to be online shopping for interdimensional jewelry and watching the Threenicorn reality show, Thrice as Nice: Third Times the Charm? Yes (and she did), but that was only after she focused on her studies so she could binge-watch romantic equestrian drama and buy bracelets on Master Yo’s credit card as a reward.

It’s not like Yin expected such a prestigious boarding school to consider her worthy of their lofty expectations, but it was nice to know they did. And if she could hypothetically stay behind in her home universe (a phrase she never thought possible until recently), she most definitely would.

Crime was at an all time low, villains left and right were retiring or unmotivated or squabbling amongst themselves if they weren’t on the lookout for an understudy.

Woo Foo had grown to be slightly more accepted by the town at large after averting yet another apocalypse, but it would be a long while before President Muffin even thought about transferring government funds into expanding its cultural reach.

He was too busy setting up monuments and building houses for the rich to even think about the new rise of Woo Foo youth that was emerging around the city, reviving what was once a dying art form and saving it from extinction.

Some ideas about an academic outreach was a bill passed around here and there in what Yin charitably called a city council, but so far, no dice.

In some ways, Yin was perfectly content with another year of being homeschooled by her mentor and father figure Master Yo; standing out in the dojo lawn, slicing and blasting through wooden props held together by duct tape and prayers, listening to her Master’s ramblings in the living room over the hum of the television—it wasn’t ideal, but it’s gotten her this far.

It was her life up to this point.

But the whole school in the middle of the sky thing definitely put a wrench in all her plans.

She was one of the few chosen to attend Royal Heights Academy, and there was no way she was going to let distractions steer her off the path of valedictorian, salutatorian or straight A’s, honor roll, or perfect attendance.

She was representing her entire universe, and her academic success would have to outweigh Yang’s academic failures. Yang’s lack of enthusiasm was bad enough that Yin could smell it, but who could blame him? They had both skipped the crucial learning period of a standard middle school education to learn Woo Foo in private.

Her Master definitely had the necessities to teach them some basics, and Yin had quickly become enamored with the fulfillment that came with learning, with knowing. For her, that was school.

A school was also home, also unpaid manual labor, also a future, but Royal Heights Academy was anything but hypothetical. It was a school in every sense of the word. A big school, an expensive school, a school with desks and dorms and homework and teachers and uniforms, and could very well put her on the path to a future that seemed tangible if somewhat terrifying.

"Yin, can you help your favorite teacher and start the next episode?" Master Yo called out sheepishly from the living room, and Yin swore she could hear the low crackling of the carpet catching fire. "My hands are a little tied."

"Ugh,"

With a single wave of her hand, she cleared the carpet of its encroaching destruction via a carelessly dropped iron, levitating the iron back into Master Yo's grip with her other hand. It turned out that of all her years of mastering how to use fire, there was also a much less complicated extinguishing spell that counteracted it.

Not water, not ice, that stuff was saved for the masters, but now Yin could much more effectively do some damage control after a misplaced Fist of Fire or Yincineration scorched the furniture. Finally, as a Level Three Woo Foo Warrior, she had all the combined power of a stronger-than-average fire extinguisher, which proved to be infinitely more useful when you had a bunch of beginning Woo Foos running around and making a mess of things—those things being the Dojo.

"After all this time, you still don't know how to multitask?" Yin berated her master, still obliging his request by picking up the remote and starting the next episode.

Master Yo could only pout, getting back to work on a stubborn fold of his slacks that simply refused to go away.

"Can you fault me for being a little distracted, Yin? This is a big deal! A big school filled with big names! But if they want me there, who am I to say no?"

"Especially if it's going towards your retirement fund," Yin said, sitting on the couch and half-listening to the television.

A whole universe away from them, Professor Membrane adjusted his rubbery, blood-stained gloves after concluding a heart transplant surgery, the heart itself being hooked up to several wires and a ticking cuckoo clock, and turned to address the applauding audience with open arms. "Now, how about some questions? Does anyone have anything to ask about science?"

Science, Yin thought as the body with an open chest vibrating on the stretcher was wheeled away backstage. I guess that's what we're calling whatever this is..

A single hand peaked out from the crowd of curious folks, a young man decked out head to toe in Membrane merchandise which Yin assumed must have given him some sort of advantage. "Uh, um, yes. Do you have anything you'd like to say before you leave us, Professor? How will science possibly keep going on without you? We neeeeed you, man! We need you!"

The man's emotional outburst got the rest of the audience in a frenzy, pleading to the man on stage with their own tearful concerns overlapping over one another.

Professor Membrane simply raised a hand to silence the commotion, giving a lighthearted chuckle.

"All very valid concerns," he said. "I insist, this short break of mine will only be in the better interest of science and for the greatness of this..." He struggled to think of a word, a hand to his chin obscured by his massive collar. "...new development we are coming to recognize as part of our ever-shifting cultural landscape. Things are changing, my fine folks! And who am I, a man of science, to stand idly by and not fully explore this rich opportunity to learn and understand what it is fully capable of?"

"Huh, is he retiring too?" Yin asked.

"Just going on hiatus for his new teaching gig, that's all." Master Yo said. "He's a man of many talents, but he can only be so many places at once."

Another person raised their hand, an older woman with a drooling baby on her hip. "So it's true you'll be working at that school in the sky?"

"Royal Heights Academy needed, practically begged, for the involvement of Membrane Labs," Membrane said. "And if my dear children are going to be part of the academy of the future, well, it would be downright ludicrous to not be the helping hand that guides them to greatness!"

"See, he's also got some kids of his own." Master Yo said, as if he could sense his female pupil's suspicion of the professor radiating off of her. Implying this clearly deranged man's fatherhood would somehow soften him up, making more sympathetic in Yin's eyes. "A boy and a girl. Maybe you'll get to meet them."

Yin rolled her eyes, smirking. "If they're anything like their father, I bet they'll be—"

"Geniuses?"

Yin nodded. "Yeah...yeah, that's exactly what I was gonna say."

Farmers' Market | 7:00 A.M.

To be fair, she didn't expect to ever get invited. She figured she was just being prepackaged with Yang on the off chance her boyfriend would certainly go insane without her—his words, not her's.

She had only learned to harness Woo Foo recently, and seeing as how Roger Jr., Dave, and other young Woo Foo hadn't even glimpsed an invitation inside their mailboxes, it made Lina wonder how she, someone roughly on their level, could possibly qualify for an esteemed education for what could be the rest of her life. Much like them, Lina had graduated from a Woo Foo Knight in a Little Less Training to a certified Level One under the tutelage of two other rookie Woo Foos.

And perhaps there was something about that worthy of celebrating. In some ways, she was representing all the friends left behind....Right?

"What are you even feeling bad about? It's because you're the best, babe." Yang had told her.

They were lazing about on a summer evening, swatting away tiny bugs attracted to the lamp dangling above them as they laid out on the barn porch, dining on half-melted popsicles.

"Listen, even I thought that at least Dave would get some credit, but maybe they just see something in you,: Yang said. "Something way less lame."

To this, Lina had only nodded, looking down at the invitation in her hands with confusion that had yet to diminish.

Yin and Yang being the representatives of their universe made some tangible sense. The twins were well on their way to Level Four, had taken down things Lina couldn't even imagine giving her a merciful death.

Lina couldn't be trusted to keep a Paw of Pain anchored to her fist for more than a couple of seconds, and the less said about her attempt at harnessing fire, the better.

Now swords were actually proving to be something of a natural draw for her. Spend enough time brandishing a hoe—a word that to this day she couldn't even think about without imagining Yang's muffled laughter—and suddenly long and sturdy tools felt weightless in her hands. The same went with shovels and rakes that could just as easily be reimagined as hammers, axes, and weighty javelins.

But a slight affinity for weapons was but a minor aspect of mastering Woo Foo to its fullest and she simply felt she wasn't up to speed on Woo Foo enough to be given any reward—the medal she had acquired from stopping Eradicus had come straight from a dollar store—but you learn you were part of a culture and sacred style of magic and martial arts assumed to be extinct from the world and see how quickly you adjust.

As Lina trudged her way up the hill where the farmer's market was taking place, she took a minute to appreciate the beauty of her town in the late summer, an early autumn breeze nearly pushing back her sun hat and reveal the sensitive scalp that lead to the delicately and very tightly braided pigtails underneath. The leaves rustled, the grass bowed to the whims of nature. The air is kind and warm as if already giving her a goodbye hug.

"Ah, there you are!"

"Hey Daddy,"

"Thought I might have lost you in the crowd," he said, reaching down to take the heavy wooden crate filled to the brink with the best pickings from their garden.

Her father let out a cross between a grunt and a dry heave as the crate was dropped into his hands, his knees buckling from the weight.

"You need some help there?"

"N-no…" He said, grimacing through a forced smile. "In fact, your old man could carry more if he wanted to."

"This ain’t exactly a one-person job," Lina said. She took the crate off her father's hands, much to his relief, propping it down behind the stand where ten others stood. "I just make it look that way."

A few years back and Lina would have had the same expression on her face. Upon rekindling her Woo Foo, she had quadrupled in her natural strength.

She was strong before, carrying sacks of potatoes up and down hills to and from farmers' markets would do that to you, but now those same hands could punch through drywall and rattle the very ground those same potatoes came from.

Before Lina even learned how to walk, she had learned to work with her hands. Living in a one-parent household, she liked to think that a sense of independence had been implanted into her subconscious earlier than most.

Some people think she was plunged into the depths of labor too soon, said it made her demeanor a bit abrasive, her speech too brusque, but what they called stubborn, she called self-sufficient.

She remembered herself when she was much younger, the winds pushing a tire swing dangling from a tree as she rested on her belly, watching her father slave away in the fields, memorizing his movements from afar. She saw labor, she saw hard work, she saw something you could look upon with dignity and suddenly knew exactly what she wanted to do.

She knew that this, this was her true talent.

And as she had become aware of the dangerous things that existed in this world, all of which she was helpless against, perhaps Lina had stood firmly in the things she was capable of, the things only she could do. Her life was not ever one strictly of action and whimsy, in fact it had only ever grown more chaotic over the years, right after she met the twins that would change her life forever.

But certainly this danger had only made her more capable, more pragmatic, more adept and aware and confident in her ability to survive not just by her hard work but by her newfound power. This Woo Foo, perhaps it was a reward.

She sneaked a look at her cellphone, cluttered with notifications. Lina had been out here since sunrise, slicking up her fur with sweat and mud that had long dried under her fingernails.

She had gotten used to waking up early, but today was much different than most days and the window of time was slowly encroaching upon her, text messages from her best friend seeming to remind her every few minutes about that fact where in messages from her boyfriend prompted her to ignore it.

Lina would be dammed to show up to high school with anything less than a facial and a fresh trim, but who was she to leave behind her home for so many long months without doing her share of work? Sure, her father had already arranged for some help when she was away but they wouldn't know the soil like she did.

Even seasoned farmers would be scared stiff of the uncertainty of a late August harvest; this time of year always being a weird time for the monthly markets.

That awkward transition when people couldn't quite tell if it was autumn yet, not sure if the soil yet agreed with their carefully laid out butternut squash and pumpkin patches in fear the merciless summer sun would just as soon dry them up.

But much like her own requests for pumpkin spice lattes at the mall, once the very essence of change was in the air, people would pounce on it.

And perhaps Lina hadn't quite pounced on going to school so far from home, but she was still going, right? That was close enough.

And if anything, her knowledge of how real schools operated would be useful to Yin and Yang. The two were always well aware that they existed, but they had never stepped foot into one, having been homeschooled since the day they were born in the ways of Woo Foo. Roger Jr. and Dave, her now former classmates who would be attending high school miles beneath her, possibly didn't have the nuanced perspective necessary to give the twins an introduction into what a normal high school life looked like.

But that was to assume she somehow knew more than any of them when attending school at all was but a mandatory requirement to ensure the motherless farmer girl with the sharp tongue didn't grow up to be an off-kilter adult.

School was fine but much of what she had learned came from her environment: the words and colors from an almanac, the cycles of the weather, the pricing and bargaining from the farmer's market. She'd taught herself to cook and clean like a proper wife but also laze about and complain like a proper teenage girl. What in the world would school have to offer her that she didn't already know?

"Now you did steer clear of those old trees, right?" her father said, sorting a colorful selection of bell peppers into a cornucopia, the centerpiece among the bunches of carrots and bundles of turnips spilling plentifully out of their own woven baskets.

Lina grimaced. "Ugh, you couldn't pay me to go in there again. Not that you ever would."

"I'm such a gift card to that little boutique you like so much could change your mind," he said, to which Lina could only roll her eyes. After all, it had been a promise to buy her a new pair of shoes that motivated her to take care of a pesky hornet's nest in the attic.

Over the past few weeks, the trees that encircled the farmland had taken on a bizarre new quality that neither of them could come to a solid conclusion on. It had become a special point of contention for her father who simply hated when the weather didn't...well, weather properly. Too warm in the winter, not enough rain in the spring—Yin's textbook knowledge about climate change gave him nightmares. But right now, in a mostly dry, sweltering summer where their town had only seen rain in the past few weeks, the arrival of the fungi was, at worst, a bit alarming.

Lina and especially her father knew those trees and had seen them grow and change with the seasons. They grew fungus like any tree did, small and mild and occasionally good and pretty enough to sell. It wasn't like Lina and her father were fungus farmers, but it paid to understand your environment in their line of work. Their crops be dammed, the whims of Mother Nature always came first, and today's PMS meltdown had out-of-season mystery mushrooms on the menu.

At first, they deduced that it was some new variation of the chicken in the woods—often vibrant land coral the color of a tangerine, and roughly as edible—but the color and texture were off.

It was thick, sturdy and glasslike and the color of a rainbow peeking through the clouds. If you admired it from certain angles, the colors would overlap and mix together like pastel paints on a silvery surface, even within the ominous shading of the massive trees. It's as if it beamed from within with its own light source, a certain glow that reminded Lina of a jar of fireflies. Her father had insisted on collecting samples, but the fungus was much too embedded in the root of the tree to be properly hacked away without killing the tree along with it.

"Best leave it alone," Lina had told her increasingly antsy father as she checked her phone. "Maybe we should call an expert and they can, I dunno, rope this area off."

"It's our area," he replied. "We give them this, and who knows what else they'll take?"

"Okay, then do you wanna call it a Honey fungus and just call it a day?" Lina recalled herself saying when she registered she had been there for over an hour and was now running late for a mall hangout with Yin judging by a flurry of skimmed texts.

"Call it a day? Call it a day!? We'll be lucky not to be dealing with Crown rot! Now rush on home and grab the fungicide from the shed."

Lina honestly didn't know what to make of the weirdly pretty fungus problem, and she honestly thought her father was fretting too much about the mutation despite the fact the material had yet to take its toll on the trees themselves, which were still healthy as ever. Nothing quite to fear as it was to be studied (mostly because Lina absolutely refused to give herself gray hairs over a solution a single phone call away). But she'd be lying if she said the revelation didn't unsettle her in the slightest.

Her town was subject to several odd occurrences, often the result of many an evil plot conducted by a colorful collection of villains, so who was to say this tree infestation wasn't one of them?

Had a spell been placed? A mystical termite infestation? It was only the fact that the trees stayed standing and the fungus hadn't made its way to their farmland that didn't inspire too much fear in Lina, just confusion.

Her phone buzzed on her hip, a selfie of Yin admiring her new uniform in the bathroom mirror followed by several star emojis. Lina sent back a heart.

"Daddy, I'm heading back home." 

Her father gave a sad pout. "Is it time already? They're taking my little girl away this soon?"

"I'll text you, I'll call you, but don't expect it every day, 'kay?" Lina stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on her father's sweat-slicked cheek. "I got a future to shape or some other nonsense like that."

Her father couldn't help but smile. "Alright, alright, but do let me know if any trouble stirs. The weirdest things seem to follow your friends everywhere they go, and I don't need my Lina getting caught in that mess."

"I've been through plenty and I'm still standin'," she found a clearing through the bustling market and the scent of the way home briefly hit her. "Just be sure to—oof!"

"Watch where you're going, dipstick!" An angry rasp of a voice greeted her before her vision could even register who she'd bumped into. A simple excuse me or sorry seemed to evaporate from her thoughts as she took in the horrid visual.

It was quite literally the last thing she wanted to see that morning that managed to outstink all the rotten cabbage, all the fresh fertilizer, all the expired onions filling barrel after barrel down the rocky path.

"How 'bout you watch it small, dumb, and stinky?" Lina said, and like that, all of her goodwill is sapped from her system.

The small, dumb, and stinky one in question, with a name that represented all those things, idly batted a fly away when it got too close to his inner ear, his expression glum as ever. "Do I know you?"

You're gonna know my foot up your ass if you don't get out of here, Lina was prepared to say, but the voice of her father broke through the tension as he half ran towards the two. "Ah Yuck, right? You must be the young man who answered my ad? You’re here for the shoes?"

"Yes," Yuck said, his voice barely above a murmur, as if he were embarrassed.

"They should be right over here. Pretty busy for a Sunday, huh?"

Lina quietly followed behind them. "And you're buying these for…?"

"None of your business, that’s what!" Yuck retorted sharply.

"I really don’t need these old things," her father assured warmly as he set the boots themselves up on the stand. "Best to give them to someone in need."

Yuck’s face skewed up at the words "in need", as if anyone showing him the slightest bit of sympathy disgusted him.

No kidding, Lina wanted to say, but her father’s generosity had already filled the scene with a pulpy, undeserved kindness she couldn’t wade her way out of.

Yuck didn’t tear his eyes away from Lina’s even as he took the sad little pair of boots permanently marred with soil and dead insects between the groves.

The laces were snipped on the left boot and too long on the other which made tying them a fruitless effort, leaving the tongue perpetually agape as if it were stuck mid gasp. It’s no wonder Yuck wanted them.

What for, Lina was still afraid to ask, but she was sure Yin definitely had some ideas.

As Yuck finally got a safe distance from the market, she finally trudged her way back to her home, smelling but not looking her way there as she finally replied to one of Yin's many messages with one of her own.

Chapter Text

Zim’s Base | Sunday, August 19 | 6:56 A.M.

Now, the story focuses on a place much farther away, a hop and a skip and many skips more into a hazy, polluted metropolitan. Somewhere in America, flooded with skyscrapers, factories, crowded suburban wastelands, and the unassuming populace that walked by them every day.

To some, a world worth saving. To one, one worth destroying.

Dib Membrane nearly tripped over the laces of his shoes as he made his way down the walkway leading to Zim’s base. Rows of automated robots cleverly disguised as garden gnomes—that he's gotten a little too good at evading—studied his movements before readying their lasers, just barely nicking his heels and nipping the end of his heavy trench coat.

Out of their line of sight, or more to their predetermined shooting range which Zim definitely considered an oversight in their design, Dib stumbled to a stop, catching his breath before turning on his heel to acknowledge his nemesis for the past several years, standing defiantly at the doorway.

A convenient gust of wind sent Dib’s jacket and dramatically sweeping hair into a small but noticeable flutter, taking the opportunity to put his fists on his hips with a proud grin.

"Another evil plan put to rest," he began triumphantly, annoyingly. "I don’t know why you even try anymore, Zim!"

"Curse you, Dib-human!" Zim retorted, his fist trembling in the air. "Those weasels took ages to train. Now how else will I crash the feeble human economy?"

"I guess we’ll never know," Dib said. He was irritatingly smug about this, tilting up his chin in such a way that it especially highlighted the size of his massive human boy head. "I’ve been at this all summer long, and no human is going to be subjected to any of your schemes on my watch."

Zim opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by his small robot minion, technically advanced but infuriatingly dense despite such superior hardware allowing it to exist at all.

"GIR!" Zim barked, his servant staring up at him with empty, turquoise eyes. "Don't you see I'm bantering with the Dib?!"

"But I made this," GIR replied simply, holding up a damp envelope with a foul stickiness dripping off the corners. On the front was one of the few remaining weasels GIR had probably stored inside his empty head, the mammal only able to squirm its way out of the glue GIR had slathered on its back before it eventually face planted to the pavement.

The SIR unit pouted. "Don't ruin this for me, Joshua."

Dib suddenly untensed, accusatory finger deflating with the rest of his body. Something about the envelope had caught his attention, perhaps some new irrational fear of paper. "Wait you’re…no way,"

"Yes, Dib, I get your feeble human mail as much as anyone else," Zim said. "Does this upset you?"

"No, no it's the mail itself! You're going to Royal Heights Academy? Seriously!?"

"Royal wha..." Zim peered at the insignia on the unopened envelope, studying the swirling R made out of a round liquid gold seal. It must have been some type of acceptance letter that got buried under the usual piles of nonsense that the mail delivery human delivered daily. He snatched it from GIR who was too distracted with squeezing the lost weasel in a tight embrace and finally opened it properly.

We are pleased to announce that you have been cordially invited to—The rest didn't matter.

"Uh...yes, yes, I am. Just as I planned."

"I drew a monkey on it," GIR added.

Dib squinted, adjusting his glasses. "That’s not possible! You’re barely even a student at this school!"

"You seem upset about this, Dib-thing. Not that it matters," Zim said, riding the high of the frustration this seemed to provoke out of his enemy. It was better than nothing. "The weasels were only the first step. And what better place to collect research for my most diabolical pursuit yet than, uh..."

He scrutinized the letter for any especially pertinent details. "'The most advanced boarding school in the multiverse....' For I will seek that knowledge for my own evil plans!"

"Oh, I don't think so!" Dib said over the roar of Zim's laugh, his ego reinflating just that easily. "Little do you know, I will also be an honorary student at this school, and you've got another thing coming if you think I'll—"

As if some invisible force of evil was on Zim's side that very moment, the weasel wiggled its way out of GIR's grip and bolted its way to Dib, quickly attaching itself to the boy's face in what seemed to be a display of fright and confusion.

The sight of Dib scrambling to get the animal off of him only to stumble blindly into the street, much to the anger of passing drivers, should have put a smile on Zim's face, but...no, he was much too distracted by this new commitment he had made a mere minute ago.

He stepped back inside with his mind elsewhere. The silence of his base was a very welcome change from the disorder that transpired earlier today. He gave the letter another look. Yes, it was undeniably addressed to him, and apparently the Dib had something similar in his possession, but why and how was the question.

It was a pressing mystery he couldn't afford to miss out on, especially if the Dib-human was also summoned here.

"Have I ever heard of such a school?" Zim mused. "This logo does seem...familiar."

"Oh yeahhh..." GIR said.

He dove between the couch cushions and pulled out Zim's other minion, Minimoose, who was wearing clothing that bore the letter's insignia on its right breast pocket. A shirt, blazer, tie, and slacks that were much too big for their round little body hung from stumpy limbs. "You'll look so handsome in this, master."

"Nyah!" Minimoose chimed in agreement.

"I was wondering why you looked so dapper lately, Minimoose," Zim said. "It would seem this establishment requires its students to be in uniform. That's some semblance of order I can mildly respect."

Zim firmly put his hands on his hips. "GIR, Minimoose, come with me. We need to run some further diagnostics in the lab."

He made his way to the toilet in his kitchen that acted as a direct passage to beneath his base, GIR following quickly behind him with Minimoose tucked beneath his arm.

The elevator's descent transitioned the noisy ambiance of the outside to the quiet hum of Irken tech, a sound that would at least put Zim at peace for the time being. Works in progress, buzzing equipment, jarred specimens—everything in this room made sense to him and, better yet, was far beyond the understanding of all the wretched life on this planet. Dib included, even if he would insist otherwise.

"Computer!"

"Whaaat?"

"I have some data I need you to scan for me," Zim said, already entering the letter into something resembling a fax machine, opted into the giant console. "Analyze the text for any suspicious activity."

"Okay,"

"And run another scan for the Massive's heat signature while you're at it."

"...okay." And Zim swears he hears his computer give out a heavy breath through its exhaust fans.

This kind of procedure was routine at this point. At least ten times a day, he'd been doing these signature reads, a sort of built-in radar specifically for honing in Irken tech that even the smallest, most insignificant of non-Invader Irkens had in their arsenal. Not a direct line into their flight patterns, that would take far too much time and energy, more of a sonar detector that let him get a read on only the most important parts of space. Normally just a quick check-up on his end, but Zim's patrol was that of urgency, high alert, practically a rescue mission.

Communication with the Tallest had ceased entirely. Every so often, Zim could make out some muffled screams, obvious shouts of delight from Zim’s call, but lately it’s been nothing but empty static; he'd be lucky to even get an error screen.

What he could best describe as crippling anxiety would rear its ugly head every so often and throw an otherwise perfect day of planning entirely off balance. It was eating away at him like a tumor.

The mainframe of the Massive was some of the most advanced technology in the galaxy, and to have it be out of commission for so long was not only cause for alarm but outright suspicion. Zim, the talented scientist/mechanic/genius that he was, could only do so much on his end in the comforts of his base, but every attempt had been futile.

Two years it had been, stuck on this putrid rock with no one to air his grievances to besides Minimoose (and GIR if he really got desperate).

He’d contemplated going into space himself, hoping his Voot Cruiser could sustain such an arduous journey, but Zim had dismissed the idea several times. Though he could easily be the last line of defense to the Tallests’ (and the other, much less important Irkens) safety, who's to say he wouldn’t get trapped in his own even worse predicament?

A wormhole? Enemy fleets bombarding him without proper backup? And what of the most likely outcome of endless, pointless travel, trapped in the unforgiving butthole of space for eternity?

No, Zim’s mission was too important to risk on a voyage based entirely on paranoia. He’d stay put, use his resources more effectively, at least have something to show the Tallest when they reunited.

"Processing complete," his computer said promptly, the defined lettering of the text now displayed in full on the screen. Zim gave the acceptance letter on his console a careful read, none of the words triggering any cause for alarm. In fact, the entirety of it was purely expositional if it wasn't singing Zim's praises.

A boundless pursuit of knowledge and a fluent tongue in all things technical and biological, it said. All of this was undeniably true.

Minimoose hovered over and quietly scanned the screen before turning to address his master. "Nyah!"

"Perhaps you're right, Minimoose. This...Royal Heights could be beneficial to my research," he said, a confident grin growing across his face. For once, it feels entirely genuine.

Minimoose had a way of alleviating him of his worries even at his lowest moments. Even something as temporary as a creative stupor could be mended with such kind, insightful words. But above all, it made him absolutely certain about this new venture.

Despite just wanting to shoo the Dib-thing off his lawn, he really did mean what he said; looking more into the school felt like a push in the right direction, his keen Invader senses seemed to tingle at the notion.

Maybe it could help him locate the Massive, or at least leave behind some clues, a bread trail. It had to be no coincidence, something in the grand scheme of reality had been thrown off balance, skewed and perverted into something grotesque and this school its wretched love child.

The Tallest's absence was just the first clue and he couldn't deny he felt something sinister lingering behind such a fruitful list of sentiments on his screen.

Maybe this was the kind of project he needed, a change of scenery. Personally, Zim had hated the way things had been lately—shortsighted, unfulfilling plans, a plague of uncertainty haunting his every movement like a bad itch. Though the weasel economy crash idea was nothing short of absolute genius, there Dib was again to shatter his dreams of Urth's demise.

Dib and his stupid head, Dib and his stupid voice, Dib and his stupid glasses, Dib and his mildly improved relationship with his family. It seemed the Dib's life had at least moderately improved while Zim was in "a slump" as the humans would put it.

He nearly spat in retaliation. A slump? Him?! His posture was amazing!

"GIR!"

The small part of GIR's brain that remembered his initial program came alight in a flash of deep red, giving a proper salute. "Yes, my master!"

"Begin assembling my luggage, we leave in the hour."

He held his hand out and Minimoose immediately hovered down to his palm, the uniform no longer inspiring confusion but inspiration. He grinned to himself. "It would seem we have a new world to conquer."

The Membrane Household, Living Room | 7:15 A.M.

Dib wasn't as much greeted by his family as he was casually acknowledged by them when he got home.

"Stalking Zim again?" His younger sister Gaz said glumly, ankles crossed over the edge of the living room couch, a nest of pillows supporting her as she jabbed her fingers away on her Game Slave 4. He heard the sound of a muffled blood splatter, her avatar leveling up followed soon after.

Meanwhile his father, Professor Membrane was musing over an assortment of ties to wear over his famous lab coat, hanging one over his chest to see which one his clone, a malformed but no less domesticated monstrosity dubbed Clembrane, more fiercely nodded his head to.

"The purple brings out your eyes, but the dark blue is more in theme," Clembrane said between aggressive stirs to a bowl of pudding. "But the yellow makes me happy."

"Do you think he'll be okay by himself?" Gaz asked.

"He's made of me, isn't he? He'll be fine," Their dad said, finally turning to address his son. "Ah, playing with your foreign friend one last time? I'm sure he'll miss you while you're away."

Dib scoffed. "He won't even get the chance to miss me, Dad. Did you know he got an invite somehow? Like, what are even the odds?"

Gaz raised an eyebrow. "And you're upset about this?"

"For good reason, obviously," Dib said. He pried out a twig that had gotten stuck in his hair and tossed it aside for the RugBot, the robot that cleans rugs, to take care of.

The weasel that was assaulting him half way down the block finally ran away when it approached a clearing in the forest as if it had caught a whiff of its kind. He wanted to assume his bite and scratch marks weren't especially noticeable, but it wasn't like anyone would tell him. "Gaz, you’re free to join me on these things, y’know."

"And steal your thunder? No, no I couldn't..." Gaz replied, the usual sardonic dryness to her voice. "When you finally catch Zim it should really be a 'you' moment, don't you think?"

"Well, not that I disagree with you, but it's just the whole 'catching him' part I'm having some trouble with. Now that, I can see you being some help..."

Dib circled his way over to the couch, making out his sister’s sudden change in attire. It seemed his father had abandoned choosing a necktie entirely but his coat did look the slightest bit shinier.

"Oh," he said, looking between Gaz and his dad.

"What?" she replied.

"I just didn’t expect to see you all dressed. We still have over an hour until—" he pulled his phone out of his pants' pocket. "OH MY GOSH! I-I'm gonna be late!"

He bolted from the living room and ran up the flight of stairs that led to the upstairs hallway, his bedroom just a few doors down. "I'm gonna be late! I'm gonna be late! I can't be late today!"

Hanging in his closet and still protected by the kind of polypropylene garment bag you could get from a high-end dry cleaner was Dib’s school uniform. It had been collected from the mail and just as easily swallowed by the multitude of trench coats and novelty t-shirts that combined still didn’t cost as much as the uniform’s single necktie.

He immediately made work of the zipper, collecting his button up shirt, blazer, slacks, and tie on a single arm while at the same time hobbling over to his desktop computer.

It wasn’t like he was running late for the bus or anything—Royal Heights Academy was so fancy it probably never heard of such a concept—but Dib couldn't deny that he wanted his first day of high school to be, well, anything but a microsecond of his days at Skool.

After all, him and his sister were the only (human) students from their town who were properly invited to learn there, and to get an entire school year away from the ungrateful idiots that occupied his old Skool was something he wanted to get started as soon as possible. They could eat each other alive in High Skool all they wanted, Dib had much better things to do.

Finally, he'd be out of this toilet bowl of a town, surrounded by kids just as insightful and intelligent as he was. Among other child prodigies cut from the same cloth.

Natural born skeptic that he was, Dib wasn’t sure how to feel about the school at first. The suddenness of the academy's arrival had Zim written all over it, and after the cosmic level tear the Irken had manifested with the Florpus, Dib wouldn’t be surprised if this was some sort of black hole residue. Granted, he didn't really know that. It was just a logical assessment, and frankly, the rest of the universe's population did a good enough job coming up with their own theories that made Dib's look sane by comparison.

It was only the information provided by the academy itself that everyone could collectively agree on:

It’s been called "the school in the middle of the multiverse", a giant building that manifested in the crossroads of every known dimensional plain after a cosmic shift pushed every living thing just a little bit...closer.

Like Pangea but magnified by a couple thousand, that's what's been happening for the last two to three years. Not that anyone really noticed until the last possible moment, because much like the rotation of the Earth around the sun, this merging of realities had no obvious indicator.

The gravity didn't change, no one's feet were ripped from the ground beneath them, birds still flew—but on a very random, completely unremarkable day in March, some anonymous astronomer said that an entire sheet of stars native to only one section of the planet had suddenly ceased to exist.

And it was the single disappearance of that mundane constellation that made people curious. Especially when that astronomer got in contact with another astronomer who heard from another (fairly unfortunate but cautiously optimistic) astronomer that they had acquired stars for the first time in their entirely star free universe. Dib swears they're all married now.

Now the school itself was either made by someone, or most likely, something, with the oddly altruistic goal of creating the ultimate educational environment for promising youth. This overlap revealed that a massive number of the most intelligent minds in the multiverse were children that would one day grow to be capable adults. And those adults would truly reap the benefits of this cosmic transition.

There were so many hands on board interested in creating a peaceful compromise that it was hard to tell whose idea it originally was. It was either this or multi-dimensional warfare, and a close vote was in favor of the school.

"Think of the children" was a universally understood language in every plain of life, and an agreement was settled. That was at least the angle Dib's father presented first and foremost to uproarious praise.

But, of course, the school had its detractors, Dib included. People who weren’t obsessing over the building's very existence in cult-like fascination were launching full scale research about the very nature of these so-called dimensions. It was about the only thing the Swollen Eyeball and Truthshrieker.com cared to talk about for the last few months—the Dome of Doom being a name that particularly stuck.

Mysterious Mysteries just narrowly avoided yet another cancellation when this wealth of knowledge came to the forefront, finding plenty a conspiracy theorist and random lunatic who insisted they knew the absolute, undeniable truth of the matter. Not one of them ever mentioned the Florpus.

And as much as Dib wanted to assume there was some sinister plot lingering in the constructs of the academy, it was getting harder and harder to not be seduced by its luxurious makeup. The encased brochure that came with his letter made sure to put its best foot forward as if tailored specifically to combat his suspicions. Inside its scented pages, it promised a massive castle gutted and reconstructed with dorms and classrooms while still keeping its ornate golden wallpaper and endless supply of hallways and winding staircases intact.

The main building was enclosed by a lush New England countryside abundant with sturdy oak trees and miles of red roses. Walls were adorned with paintings from Renaissance to Baroque to Neoclassicism. An orchard hidden in the depths of a gorgeous arboretum was abundant with plump fruit that drooped heavily from sturdy branches. Horse stables filled with thoroughbreds inspired the multitude of hand crafted equestrian statues. The dining hall had a constant supply of freshly made food instead of the endless slop churned out in the Skool cafeteria. Chandeliers overlooked a massive theater dedicated to putting on ballet recitals and stage plays.

Instead of faulty vending machines and asbestos ridden ceilings, Royal Heights had a courtyard, big and beautiful and bursting with culture and gratitude for the young and talented. Students lived comfortably in the dormitory building where they would be sharing a room with two other students. The dorms promised big soft beds, champagne-colored carpets, an ivory bathtub, and high-speed internet and laptops provided by no else by Membrane Labs which Royal Heights immediately recognized for their superior tech.

It was an academic dream. 

Dib’s time at Skool had been a less than satisfying experience—educationally and socially—and so the idea that a place could be so...normal, maybe even good,  all was almost too much to swallow. If Royal Heights Academy had been literally anywhere else but the middle of a fractured dimensional tectonic plate, maybe there would be less of a fuss about it.

And with this year’s first-ever freshman class, they—whoever "they" are (oops, there goes that suspicion again)—would be reeling in the future generation of the multiverse’s best scientists, artists, heroes, and leaders by graduation. Dib could say he was at least one of those things.

Paranormal investigator wasn’t exactly written in bold text across his acceptance letter, but it did rightfully praise him for his "sharp wit and bombastic curiosity". Much like Dib, these students were all exceptional, misunderstood geniuses pursuing an ambitious future they’d be taking control of, because Royal Heights Academy didn't just promise a better education, but a better life.

By the time the members of the Swollen Eyeball Network were alighting the screens of his computer, he was fully dressed.

"Today is the day, Agent Wolfman," Agent Darkbootie, the de facto leader of the small circle of investigators began. "Today you enter the frontlines none of us were brave enough to face...mostly because we're not high schoolers, but that's not important."

"Yes, I'll be starting my hands on investigation not to long from now," Dib said through a mouthful of dental floss, another hand finger-combing his hair. "I'll be sure to send in regular reports. If anything suspicious arises, you'll hear it from me."

"Good, good," Darkbootie replied with a nod of his head. "Your on-site observation of this academy is exactly the kind of intel we needed. I'm not used to saying this, but we’re counting on you, Wolfman."

"How did you get in, anyway?" Agent Disembodied Head asked, sneaking what looked like a potato chip to the bird that was perpetually on his shoulder. "Espionage? Blackmailing?"

"Got invited, actually, me and my sister," Dib began proudly. "And in further news, Zim will also be a student."

"Oh," Agent Darkbootie replied, and Dib could see his shoulder slump just at the mere mention of Zim’s name.

"The alien, right?" Agent Tunaghost added.

"How and why I'm not entirely sure. Now his chances of blackmail is insanely likely, but I have no solid evidence for now. In fact, I have an idea that perhaps—"

"That he's behind the school's existence," Agent Nessie said, and Dib can almost see him roll his eyes even just as a silhouette. "Let's not get distracted during your mission, Wolfman."

The call concluded before Dib could throw in a sign-off he'd been working on specifically for this call. He couldn't even say "Wolfman, out!" like he'd been planning all this time. Oh well.

So his fellow agents didn't believe Zim was a threat, as always. It's not like they were the ones who were going to be stuck with him for yet another few years of school. Skool was an absolute hellhole of barely functional children who could never see when danger was looking them straight in the face, almost constantly at the mercy of Zim's antics without even knowing it.

Zim was already enough of a problem there, but now he would be able to access even more sensitive information, not just on Earth but a million versions of it.

Ugh, as if space boy wasn't enough of a handful already...

...But wait? This was good, right?

Well, not good for the school itself, but for Earth, Dib’s version of Earth. All the promises of luxury in the world couldn’t stir Dib off the path of saving the planet from Zim’s tyranny, and with the Irken close behind him, in the same place instead of just the same neighborhood, he’d have no reason to fret!

Zim would still be a problem, opportunist that he was, but the chance of his plans being executed without Dib there to put an end to it was a nightmare long put to rest, perhaps once and for all.

The Membrane Household, Garage | 7:25 A.M.

"KIDS, IT'S ALMOST TIME TO GO!" The voice of Gaz's father boomed from downstairs. "YOUR NEWEST EDUCATION ADVENTURE BEGINS IN T-MINUS TWENTY MINUTES!"

"Coming," Gaz halfheartedly replied, knowing her voice could only carry so far in the depths of the house's garage. If it made it even halfway up the staircase, she'd consider it a victory.

"Leaving so soon?" The digitized voice of the ship Gaz was currently lounging inside of asked, a subtle pang of loneliness there that Gaz hadn't heard before. Either that or it was at least a very convincing simulation specifically to manipulate her. Gaz would assume the latter.

"Yeah," she replied, stretching herself out in the surprisingly spacious violet-red cockpit as if to give the rundown Spittle Runner the equivalent of a pat on the shoulder. "It'll only be ten months, y'know. Practically nothing in ship time."

"Oh, now I just know you're mocking me," Tak's ship said, raising their talon-like "arms" in defiance. They managed to scoff even without lips or a throat. "'Ship time', unbelievable. There is no 'ship time', just time."

Amongst the endless clutter that was at some point a garage, Tak's sentient ship was one of the bigger and bulkier pieces of alien tech Dib had obsessively stockpiled over the course of his misadventures with Zim.

It was easily the most prized of his findings for the sheer fact it was undeniable proof of alien life, as well as a fully self-aware piece of machinery that operated similarly to its owner via a process Dib had tried and failed to do himself. It was a long, brutal story, much like all of Dib's long, brutal stories, with a heartwarming Aesop all about the importance of a healthy dose of self-loathing.

Tak's ship was just about as posh and bitchy as their owner locked away in space prison, but there was something weirdly refreshing about the ship's bitterness towards the living that Gaz found humorous, if somewhat relatable. Perhaps some aspect of the ship's cold, cold insides resonated with the hypothetical concept Gaz's father hesitated to call a soul. Perhaps Gaz truly was meant to connect with technology and metal more than beating hearts and flesh, be it human or alien.

And had all of this started because Gaz struck up a conversation with Tak Ship one random day in July when Dib was performing a bit of maintenance on the lawn? Did the two exchange some funny quips about the size of his head and how it glistened like a frying pan in this sort of weather? Did Gaz start a semi-ritual of sneaking into the garage where Tak Ship was tucked away behind all the other mementos to boot up the ship and chill in the cockpit so they could just...talk?

Yes. She did. And perhaps there was a part of herself that liked having someone who shared her worldview, someone she could vent to.

Dib was often the source of her annoyance. Dad could only offer so much halfhearted advice, but Tak Ship, well, they had formed something of a bond during the whole Florpus fiasco. Let a sentient alien spaceship be operated like the world's most immersive first-person shooter, and suddenly you were the best of friends. Tak Ship hadn't even demanded that their butt sensors be turned off, inviting Gaz, butt and all, to lounge as long as she wanted.

"You really are a natural pilot, Gaz." Tak Ship had said once, just a little after the Earth had been saved, cockpit glowing with appreciation. It was late that night, fireflies circling the air. The moon hung heavy in the sky. Though Dib was up watching a Mysterious Mysteries marathon and Dad was on a business call, Gaz never felt more isolated than she did right then.

"Oh, how I miss the days when Tak would operate me with proper Irken precision," they had continued. "But you...you're certainly a close second."

"Thanks, I guess," Gaz said, but she couldn't help her smirk at what must have been deemed high praise by Tak Ship's impossibly high standards. "I'm sure once Tak breaks out of that place, she'll take you for a spin again."

"Implying she ever will," Tak Ship replied glumly. If it had a head, it would be shaking it right now. "The distress signal her PAK has been emanating from the depths of Moo-Ping 10 has long disappeared after the Florpus. Either she's reached a radius I can no longer detect, or your idiot brother has meddled with my sensors one too many times."

"Just blame him, that's what I would do."

Even long after that summer night where their friendship truly sparked, Tak was a topic that came up frequently, because of course she was. Gaz only had so much to say about the real, actual Tak, but she couldn't fault the girl for having a drive that made her frighteningly competent. It wasn't the kind of thing that would leave your brain space anytime soon. After all, it was sheer ambition that nearly cost the entirety of human civilization and made Zim look like even more of a chump than he already was.

While Zim certainly talked a big game about hating humanity, Tak's hate harbored not just from ingrained Irken narcissism but pure spite towards Zim himself. A hatred so strong that even Tak's ship shared the sentiment.

Now that was dedication.

Within the ship's mainframe resided Tak's same destructive desire, the same taste for wanton genocide, the same loathing for Zim that rivaled Dib's. If the ship had the assets to do so, it would act on any of its master's wants with no hesitation, but perhaps that was giving it too much credit. Tak Ship was but a glorified flying car that was told how to feel, a personality downloaded into what was once a blank slate, it (she?) didn't really want anything that its master didn't because it simply could not want anything.

Well, being freed from a suburban hellscape and reunited with its driver probably wasn't far off the list.

Gaz crawled her way out of the ship and gave the smooth, egg-shaped pod a reassuring pat on its chipped paint job.

"Do what you always do and slip into sleep mode," she said. "Show you're awake even for a second, and Clembrane will talk your boosters off."

Tak Ship somehow managed to grimace at the thought. "Very well, then. Please do me a favor and return in one piece."

"No promises,"

Gaz turned to leave and quietly sneaked her way out of the garage, into her upstairs bedroom with none the wiser. The garage was nothing but storage space first and foremost, but it was still Dib's storage. It was a monument to his years of obsession, accumulating to nothing but piles of so much alien junk. If Dib spotted her in there even once, saw her being so chummy with the enemy, it would open the doors to so many unwarranted questions. Dib might even think it was an opportunity for bonding.

Gaz groaned. No. Never.

Gaz did a once-over of her bedroom to make sure she didn't forget anything. In this functional clutter of stuffed animals, gaming memorabilia, and magazine clippings pinned to her walls, the wires of her multitude of consoles lining the carpet, and all of it covered by perpetually shut sun-blocking curtains that put her room in a state of infinite darkness, it would be no easy task to decipher what was worth being ten months' of luggage. As it turned out, you could never afford to be underpacked.

Her acceptance letter had only offered so much instruction on what to bring, so if she showed up with only the clothes on her back and some very suspicious-looking cargo, they'd only have themselves to blame.

They most definitely had themselves to blame for inviting her in the first place.

To think that Gaz, in all her frequent absences and tendency to miss classes entirely, would warrant any sort of higher education when she had so little to show for it. In fact, her acceptance to the academy guaranteed she would be skipping the crucial learning curb of properly finishing her eighth-grade education.

But when you were Professor Membrane's daughter, getting everything for nothing kind of came with the territory.

She plugged in her Game Slave to a nearby outlet that was also charging her phone and made her way over to her desktop chair to check on a slowly filling queue. She'd leave her door open for LugBot, the robot that carries luggage, to grab her things and use these next few minutes to keep her name on the leaderboard before she left.

The clothes, the pointless knick-knacks, all she could do without. Gaz's main priority was mastering the current gaming scene. She wondered if any of her roommates—ugh, roommates—would know of any dimension-exclusive titles.

And if not, Gaz could at least enlighten them to some arcade classics that probably didn't even exist in their worlds. If she had to live at a school that would actually bother to take attendance, the least she could do was make it bearable for herself.

But with that in mind...

Gaz hopped out of her seat and made her way over to her bed. She bent down to her knees and reached blindly beneath it, her fingers tickling the hem of an insulated duffel bag. Good, it was still here. She gripped it more firmly and dragged it out with a grunt, gently setting it next to her luggage. Now this just might be more important than her games.

FULL LOBBY, read her screen with a soft bell chime, and she made her way back to her computer. She rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan as a quick match of competitive battle royale-style Bejeweled started.

How did that work exactly? The puzzle was filled with several near microscopic digital gems, and everyone raced to get the most matches in a three-minute time limit.

Now, this would undeniably be much easier if everyone were hosted on separate screens and could decipher their own puzzles or perhaps copies of the same puzzle with slight variations, but where was the fun in that? It was the race against the clock, the desperation and active chaos as people tried to outmatch each other like the world's most colorful version of tic-tac-toe. It was the winning despite it all.

She could tell just from the usernames alone that she was playing not only with several regulars, but also a good handful of newbies that stretched from downtown to across the ocean to entirely different planets.

The citizens who inhabited a livable version of Pluto had a habit of substituting the number zero for the letter O in all of their online chats. Every single one of them. It was only when those competitive speed chess players in a technologically advanced version of Ancient Greece (ironically identifiable by their liberal use of Roman Numerals in their handles) did Gaz have any reason to get nervous.

This truly was the next logical evolution of cross-play.

Gaz would normally be a little peeved to have so many newbies added to the pool of more experienced players, but it turned out the newcomers were a batch of seasoned gamers as lethal as her, if not more.

Of course, there were the scrubs and smurfs, the digital equivalent to booster shots when it came to Gaz’s avatar.

Each and every one was as fun to crush as the last, but it only made it all the more satisfying when Gaz would ruin the ranks of multi-armed demigods, empty the inventories of both knights and stay-at-home moms, make monsters a millennia old lose a year’s worth of gold, each one dumbly assuming 'some kid; clearly couldn’t beat them over a game of virtual Solitaire or virtual golf or virtual pattycake.

At this rate, they’d have to create a whole new rank specifically for her.

The corner of Gaz’s computer chirped with a notification. One of her party members was online, something she normally would pay no mind to if she was doing her usual morning solo-grinding, but the icon and title was one as feared as her own: COD3BLU HAS LOGGED ON.

"Back again, I see," she said, accepting his invitation. "Show me what you got."

Gaz had gone through the middling process of ignoring COD3BLU, beating COD3BLU in a spaceship drag race, pitting her digital pet pig against his digital pet gopher, until one day, in a randomly generated queue for a dungeon in the hot new passion project some tech genius in their basement updated bimonthly, the two of them had been paired up.

Bear in mind, this was no ordinary dungeon, but a Level Eighty rhythm game, roguelike puzzle hybrid dungeon that was chewing up and spitting out players left and right. It was the ire of gaming forums, the subject of many an angry online rant and rage quit Let’s Play, the boogeyman of bottom-tier casuals, and Gaz’s newest playground.

When they sprang the cooking mini game towards the end and COD3BLU managed to bake a souffle to a crispy golden crust under fifteen seconds, Gaz knew for an absolute fact she had found someone who just might be her equal—might be.

Chapter Text

Royal Heights’ Commercial Private Jet | Sunday, August 19 | 8:05 A.M.

Manny Rivera’s emotional state was a cocktail of nerves and really bad gas. The latter he could blame on the wheat grass Yerba mate he’d been idly sipping on during the flight. For the kind of vegan health nut crap his father tried to make him eat, it was halfway decent. For a beverage, it was absolutely awful.

The former, well, it mostly had to do with the fact he was on his way to his high school debut as a posh and pampered freshman of Royal Heights Academy for Exceptional Youth.

"So this is it, huh?" His mother, Maria Rivera let out a pleasant sigh as she stared wistfully out the window. "The view is incredible."

"Well it definitely beats walking." Manny said, peeking from behind his mother’s massive curtain of dense, curly hair. "How high do you think we are?"

His mother immediately perked up at the chance to offer her surplus of trivial knowledge. "I’d say we’re about…" She put a dainty fingernail to her chin. "31,000 to 38,000 feet above ground, 5.9 to 7.2 miles. Did you know that most planes don’t reach cruising altitudes until the first ten minutes of flight? It’s a fact!"

"And I'm sure you'll love working here way more than Miracle City." Manny said.

"Oh, but I could only take this job because of you, Manny." His mother cooed, pinching her son’s freckled cheek, much to his embarrassment. "I’m just so proud of you, mijo. This school, this jet—I still can’t believe my eyes! And to know we’ll be here with you every step of the way, it’s a dream come true…Not that you would want to leave us behind. Would you, Manny?"

"But of course not!" his father, Rodolfo Rivera, answered from the seat behind them. "The Riveras work as one! My son, a student at this prestigious establishment. Me, a teacher guiding the youth. Mi amor, the school’s trusted librarian. And my father—"

The sound of the jet's toilet flushing cut him off and Manny's father could only offer a low sigh. "The academy janitor."

"You lied to me!" Grandpapi said as he scuttled out of the restroom, glowering. "You said the toilet paper was lined with gold!"

"I never said such a thing, father."

"And what a waste of gold that would be," Manny’s mother added.

Grandpapi shrugged, a few squares of very normal toilet paper following the heel of his boot. "Well it’s probably for the best. We’re all out."

"No toilet paper?!" Manny's best friend Frida Suárez gasped. She was perched on her knees on her own seat to get a better look out the window. "How are we gonna TP the school now?"

"Nonsense, as janitor, prank supplies will be in no short supply," Grandpapi assured, making the mistake of glimpsing at his son and ex-daughter in law's disapproving expressions. "...which I will keep a close eye on as to not interrupt your educational journey, of course..."

Manny leaned over to whisper to his grandfather, "I'm still getting a copy of that key, right?"

"Talk to me after orientation," he whispered back.

Manny slipped his way out of the ensuing argument and made his way over to his best friend who sat across from him. "Your bag has been buzzing since we got on board. On a scale of one to Chief Suárez, how much is your dad freaking out?"

Frida rolled her eyes. "Don't even get me started. Apparently me going to the big school in the sky is totes cool but with you,well..."

Her bag slung over her seat covered with iron-on patches and enamel band pins vibrated as if to confirm her statement. Manny could only imagine the kind of things Frida's father could say about him without him in the same room. In fact, he'd rather not.

"With the Riveras out of town, he's gonna have his hands full."

"Psh, that's assuming he's got anything to do anymore." Manny said. "Miracle City has been such a snooze these days. A robbery here and there but I haven't seen a giant monster since your quinceañera."

Frida sighed dreamily, "There's no party like a monster party."

"And all that extra guacamole was A-plus catering." It wasn't that Miracle City wasn't still a fiery cesspool of crime and villainy, more like it was mildly spicy at best.

It was as if the entire criminal underworld had gone into a massive relapse, just as confused at the newest developments to their world as anyone else.

Grandpapi assured these kinds of things happened all the time, a sudden stupor and lull in action that could come from any number of events: city developments, a new mayor, a hipper and fresher crime overlord making their mark, a fun new show just dropped on cable—the point is that it would pass.

These past few years alone had been nothing but change: Manny Rivera and Frida Suárez, finally fifteen, finally out of the jail cell that was eighth grade and ready to begin their blissful summer vacation, until two identical envelopes showed up at their doorsteps.

Knowing Miracle City, it could have been a ransom note or bribe, maybe even one of those vacuum-sealed pipe bombs, but it was something so much worse than that—a school-issued document.

"Okay, listen—" Frida began, hands on Manny’s shoulders as she pulled him aside. "There’s a five out of ten chance these are our report cards. If we don’t wanna spend our entire summer reading Don Quixote, we gotta act fast. I’ll get the marker, and you get the white out."

But in fact, the letters were the exact opposite, not even from their school at that. What Manny suspected to be a note about his "behavioral issues" stapled to a paper flooded with D’s and C’s with a merciful A in P.E., keeping his GPA in the yellow, was actually a lovingly typed letter detailing his short history of heroics.

Befitting the lavender silk it was contained in, the letter was a long, elegant list of accolades so nice it better described his father. The letter never once mentioned any of his far less benevolent deeds, a detail his grandfather, the infamous semi-retired super villain Puma Loca, was quick to address.

"What if it’s spam?" He had said. "These kids, they can make anything on computers nowadays. Isn’t that right, Señor Chapi?"

Señor Chapi stared blankly before beginning to chew on his own wing with his single tooth, a dollop of white bird crap plopping to the bottom of his cage.

"This is high grade recycled carbon fiber," Manny’s father, also known as semi-retired superhero White Pantera, practically squealed as he gave the silky sheet of paper a deep inhale. "Lemon scented," His eyes widened, expression swelling with nothing short of absolute pride as tears threatened to spill from the eye holes in his mask. "Manny, you’re going to the most prestigious academy in the world—no, the multiverse!"

Casa De Macho was abundant with excitement at the news and Manny was forced to retreat to his bedroom to get a proper look at his newest prison attire. It was a perfect fit, if a bit stuffy to his liking.

It was a standard New English uniform done up in sophisticated dark blues with golden highlights, a basic white button up, and a black tie and slacks that didn’t scream upper class as much as it banged you over the head with it.

Manny discarded the tie and gave a long look at the blazer before ripping it out of its hypoallergenic plastic wrapping. The sweater vest hadn’t even made it past breaking the seal.

"I just don’t know how I feel about being around all these preppy rich kids," Manny said, observing himself in his bedroom mirror. He put his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he admired himself from all angles. His favorite sneakers and his belt he insisted he keep on his person. The sneakers because he’d be damned before his dad forced him into his church shoes for the whole year, and the belt because of heritage (and to keep his pants up).

"What if they try to make me eat caviar or play croquet or whatever they like down there?"

"From what I've heard, it’s the school that’s rich, not the students. If anything, they'll be just like you and me." Frida said, back to him as she compared two pairs of leggings—one striped, one fishnet. She had already finished fastening safety pins to the sleeves of her blazer, flipping the fabric inside out and creating some impromptu cuffs.

Frida had been called back to her own house by the shrill sound of her dad’s police car for more or less the same reason, the two of them having to continue their conversation via video chat.

"Did you know there’s only gonna be like three hundred kids?" she said. "That’s nuts! And that’s counting almost every possible kid in the multiverse!"

"Man, and they still chose us?" Manny said, giving a wistful look to the Queso Sarcástico pajamas draped over his dresser.

Frida smirked, flipping back her vibrant blue hair. "What can I say? Our combined coolness can be seen halfway across the galaxy."

Three hundred students was slim pickings, especially compared to the humble origins of Leone Middle School, whose student body wasn’t exactly what you’d call "exceptional".

And as far as Vice Principal Chakal was concerned, they couldn’t have selected worse students to represent Miracle City’s youth. Unless, of course, this was all just an elaborate ruse to finally get rid of his most loathed students, but a one-way ticket to the new extravagant boarding school in the sky was something Manny had to take some lengths to consider a punishment.

It was only when he saw the cream colored private jet bearing the school's rich blue insignia rolling to a stop at the front steps of his home that the whole thing finally felt real.

Seeming to follow the school's effort to modernize what was once an old, boring castle for a family that could have been long dead by now—were kings and queens really still a thing?—Manny wouldn't be going to school in some dinky bus but be rolling up to his first day of high school in style.

In a short passage of time, his sight from below changed from looking over the bustling chaos of Miracle City to the cool and calm sky, and soon out of the very confines of Manny's little pocket of reality.

When Manny and Frida didn’t show up to their first day of high school, it wouldn’t be because they bailed, but because they’d be too busy bailing on a school miles above land.

While Chakal was probably commuting to work, Manny was in a high tech plane passing through fluffy, foreign clouds. He and Frida, they weren’t exactly the example of the ideal student—a ‘detriment’ to some, a ‘disappointment’ to others—but Royal Heights seemed to care less, and frankly, Manny could respect that.

The prissy energy aside, maybe he was just happy this wasn't a charm school or military school—not a place to set him straight. Finally he was somewhere that was a mark of his progress and not a mark against him.

Manny leaned back with a grin as the jet slowly pulled into the school's underground parking space. Maybe he was a pretty exceptional kid after all.

Assembly Hall | 9:00 A.M.

"What was it they said about this place being a castle? 'Cause I'm actually starting to believe them now," was the first thing Frida said when she approached the Royal Heights assembly hall, a giant hollowed out circle lined with rows of chairs lining an ascending row of stairs.

Royal Heights in general seemed to have a habit of using bigger, fancier words where shorter terms would do just fine: assembly hall (auditorium), dining hall (cafeteria), natatorium (the place with the pool), the courtyard they had crossed to get through the massive double doors that led down the hallway, well, that was technically still a courtyard but Frida would have preferred something more simple like a campus or the place with the fountain.

She most definitely wouldn’t be calling it The Hall of Tenjin, as the brochure had described it as, which Frida only knew because she ran out of reading material in the jet. Apparently, the courtyard itself was seen as some sort of altar of education, a meeting ground of excellent minds where they could pray to the patron saint of good grades, his majesty Tenjin, in the shape of a giant marble steed because a bull would really muck up the scenery.

If there truly was a god of academics, Frida’s latest report card was an act of sacrilege.

She took a minute to admire the rich, dark wood floors and velvety curtains composing the room, trying to reimagine the kind of political debates they may have held in a place like this. A blank canvas if she's ever seen one.

"So what do you wanna do first?" She asked in a whisper, nudging Manny in his arm who mirrored her daring grin.

"Oh, I really think the honor of the first prank should go to you first, milady," Manny said. "After all, we've got a whole ten months ahead of us."

Frida thought for a moment, flattered by the offer. "Well..."

Leone Middle School had the advantage of already looking like crap, so a little detail like graffiti either blended into the already chaotic atmosphere or gave the old building some artistic integrity. But there was something so much more tempting about ruining the dignity of such a prestigious establishment.

Swear words and spray paint penises on the crumbling walls of Leone was just that, nothing spectacular, maybe even expected, but applied to Royal Heights with its oh-so beautiful and clean décor, its fancy art and expensive furnishings, and nice uniforms—it wasn't just art, it was a statement.

This was the template many an outspoken artist was made from, popping out of the womb and already giving a middle finger to high society. Only the truly punk rock had the balls to deface such a dignified monument of education.

"I'm thinking today we should butter the hallways. Simple and effective."

"Then put tacks in all the teachers' chairs?" Manny offered. "It definitely seems like a Monday thing."

"Only if we can fill the pool with jello."

"And then put hot sauce in the soap dispenser?"

"Oooh, let's do that today! I swear I saw the kitchen on the way over here."

"Or perhaps you two will not get detention before your first day and properly attend your orientation? Yes? I couldn't agree more."

Rodolfo planted a firm hand on both Manny and Frida’s shoulders before pushing them towards the rows and rows of chairs, a silk banner hanging above labeled the thirteen seats as Homeroom B. "Now I know this whole thing is exciting but as your homeroom teacher, your first impression is also my first impression. Don't you want to show the school you're the best homeroom here?"

"Psh," Manny scoffed. "That's implying we aren't already. We'll make you proud, Dad."

"Yeah, we are so gonna...uh, out home these other rooms." Frida added.

Rodolfo smiled proudly as he made his way to the front. "That's what I like to hear."

"I really like that jello idea." Manny said once his father was out of earshot.

"I'm ready when you are," she said as they made their way to their seats tagged with their small folded papers spelling their names.

Manny frowned as he noticed his assigned seat stood behind and adjacent from Frida's. "Meh, we're still in note passing distance," He said as he sat down. "Call it a hunch but we've got some pretty colorful classmates."

"That's putting it lightly," Frida said as the room slowly began to fill, the assembly hall now busy with friendly chatter. If the seating arrangement was anything to go by, it would seem the homerooms were only composed of twelve students max with one teacher to monitor them.

Proper introductions probably wouldn't take place until tomorrow but the least she could do was read off the name cards.

Manny would be wedged between a Tak and a Lina and a small girl to Frida's left in the front row was aggressively jabbing her fingers into a handheld game console, hunched over in such a way that her tag was still visible: Gazlene Membrane. Where had she heard that before?

And in the back row, Yin, Yuck—sounds foreign—a Zim—sounds very foreign, Zo...

Frida felt a lump form in her throat. Wait, no, no that couldn't be her. There was no way. Frida dared herself to look again, trying to squint past the growing traffic of kids shuffling past each other.

If she could see it clearly for just a millisecond, a single glimpse of the last name and she'd be at ease. She prayed to whatever god was listening—Tenjin, can you hear me?—to get literally any other surname: Zoe Ávalos, Zoe Ávila, Zoe Avilés, Zoe Avocado, Zoe Avenue, just anything at all but Zoe Av—

A blue rabbit parted ways with who Frida assumed was his twin sister before sitting down with a loud groan. Dang it.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Oh, no it's..." Frida's voice trailed off as she finally acknowledged her neighboring student. Out of his usual hat and serape she almost didn't recognize him, but his presence is unmistakable. "Django?"

"In the flesh," he replied, chuckling at his own joke as he sat down, a black leather guitar case resting at his knee. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Frida gave an awkward chuckle. "Yeah, but I remember almost drowning in a pit of lava like it was yesterday. Not really something you forget, y'know?"

Django turned to address Manny whose expression was a cross between befuddled and constipated. "Manny Rivera? I haven't seen your face in ages! How's it goin', buddy?"

Manny seemed to take a minute to think of an answer, eyes darting between Frida and the back of his father's head.

"Good, good. I uh, got a new hand and everything after you tried to burn me alive," Manny flexed his fingers with a forced smile. "That like, really hurt, but water under the bridge, right?"

"Lava in a volcano is more like it," Django said and Frida can't help but notice that his eyes glow even as the room's lights dimmed.

The heavy velvet curtains parted, and just like that, all of the tension between the three of them was momentarily buried as a girl wearing the school's uniform stepped out to what seemed like a socially reasonable amount of applause.

She greeted the crowded room with no theatrics, just an expression of calm and controlled stoicism. From where Frida sat, she could take her all in: she was willowy with dark purple hair that hung asymmetrical across a defined bone structure, bored and serious eyes dusted over with a gloomy palette that stood stark against her pale skin. The school blazer was draped over her shoulders like a cape, fluttering delicately behind her as she approached the podium.

The overhead lights on stage seemed to create a brief flash like the sun hitting a cluster of diamonds, and for some reason, Frida feels just a little calmer again.

"Good morning, students. I am very pleased to welcome you all as the first-ever freshman class of Royal Heights Academy for Exceptional Youth," she began, a thin-lipped smile spreading over her face. "My name is Tak, the prefect and heiress to the academy, who will be learning alongside you all for these next exciting four years. Despite my personal connections to the academy and relation to the royal family, who have generously collaborated with funders to refurbish this establishment for the optimal academic environment, I do hope you'll all see me as one of you. I expect no special treatment, not as a noble or social elite, but a young, naïve soul looking for her place in the world with the privilege of learning in the best academy in the multiverse!"

The room erupted into applause again as Tak gave a dramatic raise of her arms. Mildly intimidating appearance aside, the girl seemed to be a natural at enrapturing an audience, and Frida found herself clapping as well.

She's in my homeroom, Frida thought. She's going to be sitting next to Manny whenever she isn't giving speeches and being all important.

Tak continued, "I hope you all will get to know each other not just as classmates, but as a growing family, potential friends, partners, and future accomplices on the way to your bright future. The world we once knew has changed dramatically, and this academy is an answer to that. We aim not just to educate the new generation of artists, dancers, writers, singers, musicians, scientists, and leaders, but also to ensure they are prepared for what still might be a rapidly shifting landscape of major proportions. Do not fear change, students. Embrace it and mold it to your liking."

Some more applause followed. Frida stole a glance at Django, who was watching as intently as everyone else. She couldn't quite glimpse Manny's expression, but she couldn't imagine he was completely focused on whatever Tak was saying; it was impossible to be at ease when he knew he'd be sharing a space with his would-be murderer for the next four years.

"Now many of you may be wondering, 'why me?'. In what way am I exceptional? Why so few students and why am I one of them? And to that I assure you all that you were not chosen on a whim, but with a purpose," Tak's thin brows furrowed dramatically as she scanned the room. "And to these logical concerns, I ask that you, just for a moment, forget your failed classes, forget about your poor attendance records or any other mistakes you've made in your life and remember that it was not one point in your life but multiple ones that proved you were capable of rising above the rest. This goes far beyond grades, far beyond behavior. It is truly your place in this wild and vast multiverse that has earned you a place here among the elites."

"She’s good," Django whispered.

"Really good," Frida agreed.

"Here at Royal Heights we aim to break the mold of what we define as excellence and see that all of you are so much more than that. You chose to rise above the rest amongst a sea of mediocrity, chose to pursue and perfect your talents, but did you choose to be a student at Royal Heights Academy? Perhaps not. It was the choice of not only me but several other esteemed benefactors and it’s your job to make sure we don’t regret it."

Frida wondered if the applause here was much more timid because Tak makes the last few words sound like a threat. The coldness to her eyes is back at full force.

As if nothing had happened, Tak is back to a charismatic tone just as quickly.

"The time we've spent here today means the world to me and I simply cannot wait to be by your side as we join hands and shape the future to our liking." Now everyone is clapping again, none of the previous hesitation present.

"Reach beneath your seats and you should find all the information you’ll need for your first day tomorrow," Tak said. "Your dorm key and a map has been enclosed inside as well as a piece of advanced equipment from Membrane Labs tailor made to help you become better accommodated with the students of this massive and luxurious academy. You'll receive your printed schedules in your homerooms come tomorrow morning. Oh, and please do help yourselves to some complimentary muffins and freshly squeezed juice in the dining hall. Goodbye, and good luck."

She exited the stage with a wave of her hand and is behind the curtain again before the lights turn back on.

When the applause died down, Frida is back to reality as if a spell had come undone.

Oh yeah, she thought as the panic attack from earlier reared its ugly head.

While almost everyone else was reaching beneath their seats to find a silver box wrapped up like an early Christmas present, ooing and awing at whatever was inside, Frida stood up and turned to finally confirm her suspicion. With the room's occupancy finally thinning out and her eyes adjusting to the light, she has absolutely no distractions to read the name card diagonal from her own. Her moment of peace would only last until tomorrow, while it seemed Manny's didn't even begin.

Girls’ Restroom | 9:23 A.M.

"...It's dreadful, a place like this is just crawling with little wannabe heroes," Zoe Aves tapped her foot against the tan square tiles of the restroom floor as she whined to her family on the other end of her communicator. What was supposed to be a business call/mission update had quickly turned into her listing off a long list of grievances, some new detail inspiring her rage every few minutes. "Ugh, and that’s only the half of it. Manny Rivera's joke of a father is going be in charge of my homeroom."

"Psh, Rodolfo Rivera, reduced to a pathetic high school teacher," her mother scoffed. "Breaking up with him was the best choice I ever made."

"Didn’t he break up with you, mama?"

"AS IF I COULD FORGET!"

"Never mind all that. Zoe, pájaro, you remember what we all agreed on, correct?"

Zoe nodded eagerly. "Of course, Grandmami. This school is just oozing in riches. The older the better."

"But of course I expect you to do well in school," her mother added, having finally composed herself. "Straight A’s in mischief and in math, okay?"

Royal Heights Academy was big enough that it definitely wouldn't be lacking in shady corridors and dark corners for Zoe to brood and conspire in but a last minute call from her mother and grandmother who were also her fellow partners in crime as the dreaded trio, The Flock of Fury, had forced Zoe to retreat to the closest room at her convenience—the girls’ restroom.

Zoe had mentioned once, twice, three or forty times about something far more discreet for these kinds of meetings, like a text message—even a burner phone, a carrier pigeon. Maybe some day they could do away with the chunky black wrist watch hidden discreetly beneath the sleeve of her uniform sweater that beeped like a microwave and flashed like a traffic light.

"Phone’s can be wired," her grandmother had said.

"And leave a paper trail," her mother would always add. And that was always the end of it.

Having observed the school thoroughly, everything about it was obnoxiously equestrian. The Flock’s taste for avian artifacts would have to be satiated by the porcelain mares that lined the courtyard and the marble stallion fountain that would take a coordinated effort to pull off. The academy itself was such a model of high society that you could rip the tiles from the floorboards or peel off the wallpaper, and somebody somewhere would probably pay for it.

Zoe had passed "Napoleon Crossing the Alps" on the way to the restroom, the vibrant red rendition that made the hallway it occupied look like a pretentious stop sign. It was a not-so-subtle reference to the school’s pride and joy that lived within the stables.

Most high schools had grown men in sweaty costumes, Leone had Zebra Donkey, Royal Heights Academy had twenty thoroughbred racehorses. And it did beg the question—how much would someone pay for a horse? A healthy stallion was already a fortune, but one bred for competition, already compliant with commands? The only hassle would be getting it out without it throwing a fuss.

But maybe Zoe would focus on the inanimate objects for now. The Royal Heights building itself had been rebuilt from the ground up to be a school in the first place, but once a castle, always a castle, specifically one of Western England, owing its architecture not to inspiration from the era but a direct byproduct of it.

It was first assumed to be a rumor, a telephone game among the criminal ranks in Miracle City, but now that Zoe was here, she knew that the school’s opulence was all the evidence she needed to know there were more, even more extravagant finds that lay beneath the feet of the students. Tucked away in some basement or secret doorway Zoe had yet to find, she would gladly slip her way into the most clandestine crevices of the academy if even the chance of hidden treasures awaited her.

A mint condition copy of "The Goldfinch" would net her family millions or perhaps she could find "The Threatened Swan" hidden behind a bookshelf or net "Concert of Birds" as a new centerpiece for their living room.

But of course, why wouldn’t it be? The assets were all still there, just rearranged and hidden, stowed away to be bided on in auctions or given away for—Zoe suppressed a groan—charity.

Zoe was personally after the art, but there could be some literal family jewels, an ancestral legacy of exquisite furs. Crowns? Would any of the dresses still fit?

The thought alone was making her drool in anticipation.

"Ah!"

She yelped into her palm as she heard the door swing open to the girls’ restroom.

A quiet pair of shoes—leather, expensive sounding—padded across the tiles before stopping at the sink.

"This transmission has been compromised," her grandmother said in a whisper. "Pájaro, we'll talk again soon."

Zoe nodded and hastily slapped her palm over her communicator.

Orientation must be over, Zoe thought, as she instinctively lifted up her feet, balancing on the toilet stall with the soles of her boots. Her hopes of slipping into the assembly hall undetected were quickly dashed, she'd be lucky if her absence didn't raise any suspicion. She could hear the bustling of the student body making its way through the halls and soon any semblance of privacy would be gone. Aside from this single distraction, Zoe would be in the clear, and none would be the wiser that she was scheming so openly on school grounds.

"Good speech, good speech," a low voice with an unplaceable European droll murmured. "Very convincing, loved the enunciation."

The next few words came out as though they were cutting off their own train of thought, something that sounded like a low growl resonated through the restroom walls.

"Oh you and your enunciation! Have you not driven into my head enough that you're high class? An upper crust degenerate? I swear, your voice makes me sick."

"Your voice is my voice," the girl continued begrudgingly, and that seemed to shut her up for a moment. The girl sighed, turning the handles of the sink faucet at full intensity and continuing to ramble over the running water.

"The only reason we're in this mess is because of your sheer incompetence. You have been nothing but..." Zoe could only make out so much, as if she were eavesdropping on a phone call going through a tunnel.

What in the, Zoe mouthed, her initial fear of being caught replaced by quiet confusion. It usually took a couple of days before Zoe had to watch her fellow students spiral into an emotional breakdown, but this was a new record. But that didn't matter. This mystery intruder would only be distracted by her own demons for so long. A way out of this stall was Zoe's top priority.

She'd gotten herself out of much stickier situations before without her tech: climbed out of vents, squeezed her way through sewer tunnels, breezed by active lasers without alerting guard dogs, she would just—

"Skipping orientation will go down on your record," the girl said, and this time Zoe knew for a fact they were speaking to her. The faucet is off now, their voice clear and menacing. "A lack of participation this early in the school year and you’ll be scraping for more credits just to pass the first semester."

"I, uh, had a tummy ache," Zoe fumbled over a response. "First day jitters, heh heh."

"Ah, understood. But still not an excuse to miss orientation. I will be taking note of this."

Zoe rolled her eyes. "Keep talking to me like that and I’ll miss more—AHH!"

She backed up against the toilet, the stall door missing her nose by an inch as it swung open, slamming into the wall with an audible clang! Unrooted from its hinges, it could only swing ominously as Zoe’s perpetrator slowly lowered her foot.

The girl tucked back a strand of purple hair behind a double-pierced ear, her smile not meeting her eyes but making the small beauty mark on her cheek wink.

"Zoe Aves," she stated bluntly, coldly. "My name is Tak, the Royal Heights Academy prefect and academy heiress. It’s an honor to finally meet you."

She bent down and extended a hand. Her long fingers were covered by a black leather glove that only reached her knuckles.

Zoe hesitated but accepted the handshake, her pulse so rapid Tak could probably feel it. Zoe swallowed thickly. "Charmed, I’m sure."

"Oh, I am. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person. Quite the robust portfolio you have," Tak said. She pulled something round and silver from her skirt pocket, the device blipping to life in Tak's hand.

A weapon! It has to be, Zoe thought. Or worse?

"'Zoe Aves'," Tak read off the screen. "'Age: fifteen, Residence: Miracle City, Qualifications: up and coming tech prodigy with a robust background in mechanical engineering.'"

Zoe only realized she was holding her breath once Tak stopped reading off what she could only assume was her student profile. Whatever glorified pager was in Tak's hand was just some sort of high-tech information hardware, specifically one that archived the success of Zoe Aves, the student, not Black Cuervo, the teenage supervillain. She could recognize the insignia of Membrane Labs on the back of it.

"Ah, yes, that is me." Zoe said, making a move to exit the stall. "'Tech prodigy', all over a single volcano. How humbling. I suppose there's not much else to it—"

Tak slammed a foot down, blocking Zoe's exit once again. Smiling down at her, their height difference is even more apparent.

"Oh, but I think there is. There's only so much these little things can tell us about a person, privacy clauses and all that. So while I have you, how about we get to know each other in ways this little trinket never could?"

Zoe pretended to check her nails. "It would seem all the company you need is yourself. Don't need some stupid pager to tell me that."

Tak made a choked sound through her teeth that was probably supposed to be a laugh, and just like that, Zoe genuinely feels nauseous. Whatever mental breakdown Tak was going through previously was enough of a bad first impression, but there's just something in Tak's eyes that fills Zoe with unease worse than any other villain she's ever met.

Nothing about her expression is that of spaciness or the whirlwind of multiple personalities that transpired mere seconds before. What version of Tak was she even speaking to at the moment, and why did both of them seem like the last person Zoe wanted to be stuck in a public restroom with?

Zoe swallowed her fear, hands on her hips. "So, do you intend on moving anytime soon? Three people in one stall is a bit crowded."

Tak spoke in a low, harsh whisper. "Already trying to best me, are you? Well, I'm not impressed or intimidated. If I weren't in such a good mood, you would pay for your blatant disrespect...but until then..." And as if a switch had flipped behind her eyes, Tak is clasping her hands together, smile so wide it's almost blinding. "Why don't we head up to our dorm room, shall we?"

Chapter Text

Homeroom | Monday, August 20 | 8:10 A.M.

"You know they say if a teacher doesn’t show up within the first ten minutes of class, the students are legally allowed to bail."

"Psh, bail to where? We’re living here for the next year, remember?"

"Like you gotta remind me,"

A boy with a head of dense, curly hair gave a confident smile. "Don’t worry, my dad’s all about being on time. It’ll be any second now."

"Probably found a kitten in a tree somewhere," the one beside him, a girl, said. "Or saw Manny’s mom in her new cardigan. I say we give it a few minutes, then we can discuss ditching."

The curly haired boy laughed though clearly wasn’t completely dismissing the idea.

"Punctuality is part of his Power Pyramid in the Ethics of Heroism," he gestured to a framed photo that was essentially a redesigned nutrition pyramid that hung above a small scale statue of some mythological hero. A nameless muscular man who could just barely sustain the pressure and expectations thrust upon him, knelt to the ground as the sheer weight of the pyramid kept him in a perpetual bow. "It's gonna be the most macho class in the whole school, which kinda makes us the most macho homeroom."

Yin turned to her brother. "Yang, aren’t you in that class?"

"Not by choice," Yang replied, curling his lip. "But if what Manny says about his dad is true, I guess it won’t be a total snooze."

"Looks like a lot of our parents are gonna be working here," the boy across from them, who wore glasses bigger than his face, chimed in. He'd been silent for the most part, having found some sort of opening that seemed appropriate. "Mine’s in charge of science and biology, of course."

"Sounds cool, uhhh…" Yin scrunched her face up in concentration.

"Dib Membrane, and way back there is my sister Gaz," he said, pointing at the back row of desks. "I don’t think we’ve met."

Dib is scrawny with a thin, pencil of a neck, thin enough for Yuck to wrap his entire hand around until his fingers touched. His sister was barely tall enough to reach his forearm, his introduction on her behalf seeming necessary, seeing as how she hardly acknowledged the class, her narrowed eyes zeroed in on a handheld game console she was fiercely punching her thumbs into. Yuck imagined kicking her across the manicured lawn like a football.

Manny and Frida were positively radiant compared to the Membrane siblings, who were better identified by their poor posture and their father spoken of like some distant concept.

Supposedly friends, possibly boyfriend and girlfriend, Manny Rivera and Frida Suárez’s skin glowed from years of living in a warm, healthy climate. The two of them, both massive, hopeful eyes and broad smiles as if life hadn’t kicked them in the teeth hard enough.

Manny especially had this air about him, cocky and annoyingly content, but Yuck tolerated that far more than his female companion, who had been incessantly kicking her boots against the leg of her chair since the day started.

These two have never worked a day in their life, Yuck thought until he made out a massive scar running down Manny's right eye. A wound like that would leave someone half-blind, and yet it had healed over his eyelid until it was nothing but a mild discoloration, practically a birthmark.

Frida bared no such markings, but her character was apparent from just a glance, and the glare she inspired from a girl occupying the back row with him implied she was just as annoying as he assumed.

Yin reached inside her bag draped over her chair, and pulled out the palm-sized piece of silver tech everyone in the school had received during orientation. "Membrane…Membrane! Like Probing the Membrane of Science? As in Professor Membrane?"

Dib nodded.

"Oh my gosh, my master is obsessed with that show! He deleted his episodes of Who Stole the Cookie just for the new season."

"Viewership has been through the roof ever since this whole multiverse thing came into focus," Dib said. "I’ll get him to sign something for you."

"What a freakshow,"

Yuck raised his head from the slacked position he had wedged himself into. Way in the back of the class, a row of empty seats separating him from the chatter occupying the front, he’s partially obscured but not invisible. The only other student who had chosen a spot even more ominous glowered at the scene before him, snakeskin black boots propped on his desk as he lounged back in his chair.

"Can’t believe we’re spending a year with these jokers," he said. "But at least we've got each other, right?"

The two of them had done proper introductions yesterday, having been paired in the same dorm room for what must have been some sort of awful social experiment.

"Name's Django," he had greeted the day before with a wave of a white hand. The uniform could only give his body the illusion of bulk, and Yuck honestly had to register for a second that he was speaking to a skeleton. He was dead and Yuck had nothing to do with it.

"Yuck,"

Django paused, looking mildly offended. Yuck sighed as he realized he’d have to explain himself. "My name is ‘Yuck’."

"Ah, your name is a built-in reaction," Django had said, tapping his chin with a long, sharp finger. "Now that’s dedication."

They hadn’t talked much after that, but Yuck could already sense a mutual respect forming between the two. Django of the Dead, the grandson and future usurper of the most feared villain in Miracle City with a bone to pick (pun very much intended) with Manny Rivera, their town’s up-and-coming superhero-villain hybrid.

Yuck, a widely loathed amalgamation of unhinged negativity motivated purely by spite and a lust for power, making the name of Woo Foo one of blazing glory.

Oh, and Zim was there too.

Most of this Yuck knew via some friendly conversation, breaking the ice as one would put it.

Technically, all the essential bits about each and every student in his dorm room to the next room over were contained within a piece of sophisticated handheld tech produced by Membrane Labs, a round little thing with a touch screen that was one part pager and another personal assistant. But it’s true purpose was to be a public information archive that spilled the deats about every student and why they were invited to the academy.

Type in their name or scan them, and an abridged version of their student profile that boasted their accomplishments was there for all to see. Just incase there was anybody doubting the "exceptional" aspect of your student credentials, you had a personal wingman who could tell them otherwise.

Everything that went into this academy already didn’t exactly reek of subtlety, but this had to be the least subtle of all. And the most eyebrow-raising.

He could assume Django and even Zim were bred from a sort of societal upbringing that allowed their information to be publicly available, whereas Yuck hadn’t the slightest clue how anybody could have found his information.

No prior education. No family. No references that were still alive and could put in a good word for him. He, the enigma, was recommended for a higher education.

Who could it have been? Opinions from the townsfolk he didn’t torment? The villains who pretended he didn’t exist?

"Magic?!" Frida’s shout interrupted his train of thought, the girl hopping to her feet. "Can you guess what number I’m thinking of? Can you take a quarter out of my ear? Can you take a rabbit out of a hat?" Frida said, the stupidity of her commen lost on her as her face became alight with childish wonder. "Unless...you’re the rabbit in the hat."

"It’s not that kind of magic," Yin replied, chuckling. "Think more energy manipulation, levitating, fire spells, invisibility, the works. I’d be more than happy to show you sometime."

"Yeah, the only magic trick she knows is how to make boys disappear—Ow!" Yang’s comment was immediately met with an elbow to his ribs.

All conversation dissipated as the door clicked open, followed by the subtle clink of spurs and the unmistakable aroma of grapefruit.

"Good morning, class!" He greeted with a beaming smile, a sturdy, heroic build composed of broad shoulders and a lantern jaw downplayed by such a benign argyle sweater vest and slacks. His black briefcase landed with an audible thunk against his desk. "My name is Mr. Rivera and I will be your homeroom teacher for the year. And I must say I am very excited to get this day started seeing such bright, happy faces."

Which ones? Yuck wanted to ask.

Of course, Mr. Rivera couldn't have been referring to him who was slouching so far in his desk he could only glower at the curvature of the white ceiling that bowed over the students like the roof of a coliseum.

Definitely not Django, whose smile was a lot of things, but definitely not bright or happy. Not Zoe, who was still glaring at the back of Frida's head. Not Gaz, who was still playing her game. Not even Yang, who was looking over his shoulder specifically to stare at Gaz as if he could glimpse her screen from such a distance.

"Let us begin with passing out your schedules, then we can all introduce ourselves to the class," Mr. Rivera opened the drawer in the front of his desk and produced a stack of papers. "Bear in mind that these are just physical copies for your convenience. I've been advised that if you scan the barcode that contains your student identification number at the top of the page, it should be loaded into your Membrane Labs Education Pod, or EduPod for short."—Seriously? That's what they were calling it?—"Would anyone like to volunteer?"

A dainty pink hand from the second row of seats rose up immediately. In fact, it was the only one. "Ah, Yin, was it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Much thanks for your participation," he said, handing the stack of schedules to Yin.

"You know her?" Django said.

Yuck lazily drew another line on his desk with his fingernail. "Oh, what makes you say that?"

"You've been giving each other the stink eye since breakfast, I can almost smell it." Django said as he ran a finger under his nose. "Can't tell if it's coming from you or her, though."

Inevitably, Yin made her way to the back row of seats with a noticeable slump in her enthusiasm.

"I've gotta say, realizing you actually got an invite to this school was more than enough to ruin my day, but being in my homeroom is really pushing it," Yin thumbed through the thinning stack of papers and placed Yuck's on his desk. "I'm starting to think they just let anyone in here."

"Uh, reminder: I’m a Level Five Woo Foo Warrior. You and your brother still playing in the kiddie pool?"

"If you count Level Three as the shallow end, then yes. Master Yo says we should be on the way to Four by our sixteenth birthday. No promises, though." Yin smiled slowly, her expression a level of insufferable smugness Yuck didn’t even know she was capable of. "What was that you said again about still being Level Five? Yikes, and I thought you were the early bloomer."

Yuck hates how his face must look right now because Yin is suddenly laughing—laughing at him.

"Level Three..." he said, then shook his head. "No way, you're bluffing." 

"You can ask Master Yo if you really don't believe me," Yin said. "Unlike you, I have no reason to tell such awful lies."

"I'd rather kick your butt from here to the cafeteria and see for myself."

Yin merely shook her head, as if what was clearly a challenge was merely a suggestion, an option she could refuse.

"No, no fighting this year. I really don’t have the time, not when I have straight A’s to get, clubs to join, and boys to date. Humoring you for even one second gets in the way of all of that."

Yuck was slightly taken aback, the wind taken out of his sails that easily. "Dating? Aren’t you dating that chicken?"

"Coop?" Yin screwed a brow in confusion before rolling her eyes. She’s clearly been asked this before. "We broke up months ago."

"Aww," Yuck said, voice full of fake sympathy. "Did he dump you?"

"No, I dumped him," Yin said. She gave a huff as she tried to regain her composure. "Why do you even care?"

"Oh, did you interpret that as caring? I just wanted to know if there was yet another member of The Yin’s Ex-Boyfriends Committee. Filling a lot of seats, aren’t we?"

"And you'd be the chairman, wouldn't you?"

Yuck raised his hand just in time to catch a ball of paper soaring narrowly past Yin’s cheek.

"Nice throw, Lina," Yin said, readjusting her bow.

"But terrible aim," Yuck added.

"I was aiming at your stupid head," Lina said. "Thought it'd be hard to miss with how big it’s gotten."

Lina sat right in the middle of Yin and Yang in the second row of seats. The paper had to travel only so far to even reach Yuck at that speed, but he could still feel the heat fading off his hand as if she were pitching a baseball. (No way these Woo Fools managed to weasel her up to this level of strength in so little time.)

This girl, Lina, was a face he hadn’t properly internalized despite having seen it so recently. A bad mark against his villainy to not know the loved ones of his enemies for potential hostage situations, but Yang’s love life and Yin's social life was frankly too boring to commit to memory.

Lina was just a blur of different kids that occasionally occupied the Dojo lawn, the daughter of the farmer Yuck happened to get some dress-coded mandated boots from.

Her forgettable—though undeniably too pretty for Yang—profile was squeezed between the guy with the afro, the Redneckastanian, the hunchback monster with the pimply chin, the whiny tree kid—all as interchangeable as the last.

Coop he only remembered from seeing him around the Nightmaster’s lair, a skinny little nobody who grew into a bulky little nobody. And if what Yin said was true, he was also a bulky little nobody without a girl on his arm.

"You do seem familiar, though," Yuck said. "You’re Yang’s pet puppygriff, right?"

Lina pursed her lips and scowled. "And you’re that creepy little so-and-so who thought they could trick my best friend."

"I did trick your best friend," Yuck corrected. "And the name’s Yuck, by the way."

Lina held her hand out, palm up. "Don’t bore me with introductions. I’ve heard enough to know you’re a backwards, power-hungry psychopath that my daddy’s pigs wouldn’t even roll in mud with."

Yin poorly stifled her laughter behind her palm while Yang could only dreamily sigh as if he were falling in love with Lina all over again. "Don’t think just cause you’re Level Five that I won’t smack some sense into you if you try anything funny."

"Don’t even bother, Lina. Besides, we really don’t want to catch fleas on our first day. I barely survived orientation." Yin turned on her heel and left. Lina pointed at her own eyes before jabbing a finger in his direction. Yuck flicked her off.

Mr. Rivera gave an uncomfortable smile. "Ah, I see you’re all very well acquainted with each other. Well, we still have some time until the bell rings so how about we...yes, Dib?"

"While we're on the topic of acceptance qualifications," Dib said. "I can't help but find it curious that our class is not host to one but two members of the infamous Irken Armada. Now I'm use to being in the minority when it comes to keeping the masses safe, but—"

Zim loudly slammed a gloved hand against his desk. "Teacher-human, please do ignore the Dib-thing's incessant nonsense. It was my understanding that this academy accepted a variety of species to its gaping jaws of education. Or was that a lie?"

Mr. Rivera nodded. "Yes, that is very true—"

"And it was my understanding that maybe we shouldn't have students who plot to destroy and enslave their fellow classmates," Dib said. He turned behind him where Tak was sitting, hands folded politely on her desk. "Students just like you, Tak. Better fess up to whatever you're up to now and save yourself the struggle."

"I have...no idea what you're talking about," Tak said. "But, for what I assume must be for the first time in his life, Zim is right. We have a very diverse quota to fill at Royal Heights Academy and we won't stand for any form of discrimination. Zim's status as an alien is as valid as your humanity, Django's undead state, and the more animalistic qualities we can associate with the remainder of our peers. And Dib, who are we, as humans in arms, to push Zim away from a better education?"

Dib blinked. "'Humans in arms'? You're really sticking to this bit, aren't you?"

Gaz gave an annoyed groan. "Seriously, Dib..."

"While we're at it, can we classify Zoe as a parasite and just get it over with?" Frida said. "I mean, she only looks human if you ask me."

Zoe sneered. "And you look terrible in that skirt."

"Children, enough!" The rise in Mr. Rivera's voice was enough to draw the class to a sudden silence.

Any and all potential arguments inspired from the growing chaos put to rest just that easily. Manny in the front only barely flinched as if he's heard this before, tugging on the spiked straps around Frida's wrist to properly whisper to her as if he were discipling an enraged pet.

Mr. Rivera cleared his throat. "I understand that many of you have histories with your fellow students and you may not have expected to see them here, but that is no excuse to create meaningless conflict. We are not going to let any grudges, any rivalries, any petty pursuits get in the way of our time here. Understood?"

The class halfheartedly agreed with shrugs and nods.

"Back to the topic at hand, how about we go around the room and share what we plan to do for the school year?" Mr. Rivera said cheerfully. "Do know that within the first month, schedules can still be adjusted if you feel the academy's selection doesn't fit your personal requirements. The curriculum also strongly recommends investing in a hands-on, socially engaging, educational afterschool activity, club, or some form of part-time employment during your time here. And if you are still struggling to find one, I, or your school counselor, will be more than happy to help you find your match. So, who would like to share first?"

"Oh me!"

"Of course, Yin." Of course. Yin.

Yin stood from her seat, brushing out any stray wrinkles on her fresh plaid skirt. "I have a lot of plans for this year, but most of all, I’m really interested in running for student body president, and I’ve already registered myself as an assistant in the library."

"Me and all the other green thumbs in botany are keeping the flowers and fruit fresh," Lina said. "And like…good grades, I guess."

"I’ll be writing for the school newspaper," Dib said, eyes darting between Zim and Tak. "Delivering the truth to the masses."

"I’ll be hosting a club about assessing the public’s relationship to media consumption," Gaz said, soon realizing she'd have to clarify. "It’s a book club."

Yang abruptly stood up, waving an arm. If this was to get the attention of Mr. Rivera or Gaz, Yuck wasn't sure. "A-and I’m in that club!"

"I’ll be in this year’s production of The Nutcracker and Swan Lake," Tak said simply. "On top of my responsibilities as academy prefect."

"And you, Manny?" Mr. Rivera said, meeting eyes with his son.

"Uh," Manny snuck a peek at his schedule. "I don’t know who signed me up for it, but, Yearbook, I guess."

"Same," Frida added, doodling in the margins of her own schedule.

Mr. Rivera nodded his head thoughtfully. "Ah, what an incredibly important and closely regulated school activity that provides little room for tomfoolery in this prestigious environment."

"How funny, I’m also in Yearbook," Zoe said, chin in her hands as she leaned against her desk. "Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve worked together, aye, Manny?"

Frida's jaw dropped. "You gotta be kidding..."

"Zim," Mr. Rivera said. "I’m sure the class would love to know how you’ll be spending your time in school."

"I’ve made no such plans," Zim replied, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple when he realized the bluntness of his reply. "But is it not enough for me to enjoy this splendid educational environment in peace?"

Mr. Rivera nodded. "Ah, that is very true. But, hypothetically, what are some goals you have in mind? Any talents you’d like to share with the school?"

"Uhhh," Zim froze as if he were being interrogated. "Zim has just so many talents that he feels none of the available options fit him properly."

"Don't be so modest, Zim," Tak said, a grin growing across her thin lips. "Isn’t it a bit rude not to advise Mr. Rivera about your past as a food service drone? Your student file is especially robust with that information."

Mr. Rivera quirked a brow. "You have a background in cooking?"

Zim stammered, "I wouldn’t consider that description accurate—"

"Ooh, I'm sure your talents will be very appreciated in culinary," Mr. Rivera said, scanning over what looked like a personal copy of Zim's schedule on his desk. Zim sank into his seat. "I'm expecting you to give it your all, young man."

Mr. Rivera's gaze focused on the back row of seats.

"Now don’t think you two can slip by without me noticing," he said. "Yuck, Django of the Dead, any comments?"

"Isn’t being a smiling face in this hellhole enough?" Yuck said.

"Very big grateful smiles at this hellhole, of course," Django said. "And I'm also in botany. Irony is really in these days."

"Thank you, Django. See, that wasn't too hard, was it?" Mr. Rivera said, turning back to Yuck. "Yuck, I know being nervous on the first day is completely justified, but that's no reason to clam up. None of us are judging."

"Not clamming up," Yuck replied. "Just telling you to shut up."

Yin raised her hand. "Mr. Rivera, is it possible to get expelled on the first day of school?"

"Or permanent detention?" Lina added.

"How far of a drop is this dome thing? I wanna test something." Yang said.

Mr. Rivera's rebuttal was cut off as the bell for first period rang, and the class immediately started to pack up their belongings.

Mr. Rivera could only shake his head. "Maria, give me strength..."

Horse Stables | 9:50 A.M.

"My first day of high school far away from my own home, and home still manages to follow me anyway," Yin gave a frustrated pout as she and her horse rounded the corner another time, just barely nicking the fence enclosing the grass that willed it into a circle. "Like, seriously, what is his problem? Mr. Rivera seems so nice, and he blatantly disrespected him in front of the whole class."

Her horse gave a sympathetic blow of their nostrils.

"You’re right, violence wouldn’t have been the answer…but maybe I should check on Manny. I'm just surprised he didn't tear Yuck’s uniform to shreds on the way out. It's not like Yuck didn't already wear rags."

This was the kind of prattle Yin would usually save for Lina but Yin's mild but no less controllable anger from this morning's disaster couldn't wait for any specific ears to vent to.

No matter, she could always talk to herself or the other students enrolled in the school's established equestrian course or split the difference and talk to her rather intuitive horse. If Yin had learned that riding horses was considered a legitimate area of study in high school, she would have asked to be enrolled years ago.

"That's enough for today, folks! Reel it in."

The voice of the instructor is loud and distinct, perfect for being audible over the thundering of hooves in the dirt and reverberating through the massive field. The stable would echo if she as much coughed.

The academy’s horse race track is as big and beautiful as the rest of the school, somewhat isolated with a chest-high wooden fence circling a generous plot of grass. For many meters, it's just long treks of dirt that bend into winding roads and tricky circles.

The stable is as tall as it is wide with a sturdy structure made of red-brown bricks and evergreen steel. The individual stalls were just big enough to accommodate not only the horse but the twenty students that were tasked with its upkeep.

Well, actually—Yin did a mental recount of the student-to-horse ratio, including herself—nineteen? Maybe someone was still in their dorm sick.

The leather-clad hands of the instructor clapped together, and the horses responded immediately, seemingly trained to obey that specific gesture.

Yin kept a firm grip on the harness as she shifted direction towards the stables.

"You are a natural, Yin," the instructor said. "I take it you've ridden before?"

"Oh I've ridden bareback on a Twonicorn a few times so I guess I've had some practice." Yin said, dismounting. Her riding boots met the hardwood floor of the barn floor as her foot stepped out of the leather stirrup.

The instructor quirked an eyebrow. "Twonicorn?"

"It's a unicorn with two horns," she explained briefly to get a quiet nod of approval.

It turned out that Yin's freshman year was already stacked with extracurricular points she didn't even know existed. Being enlisted in horse riding allowed her to care for the personal upkeep and health of the school's pride and glory, twenty gorgeous racehorses bred to be champions. And on top of that, it knocked off a strictly mandatory fitness credit.

Tennis and archery were tempting offers but no, not yet, she had to seize the opportunity the same way her peers had. Lina with her synchronized swimming, Yang with his fencing, and Yin with her new friend.

The first day of horse riding was more of an introduction, getting comfortable on the saddle, and willing the horse to trust you as it had with other riders.

While a select few were novices, many of the students in the class were naturals who had ridden something vaguely horse-shaped themselves at some point in their lives, and Yin was no different. When she fully mounted her personally selected horse, she could already feel something clicking into place.

Yes, she thought. This is the one.

It was like riding Rainbow Mane all over again, but with far less idle chatter and stuff.

Horses were far less self-aware creatures, but Yin had come to realize that the animals she knew, the animal she was, couldn't be farther from the ones that actually populated the world.

Twonicorns came in such a broad assortment of colors that Yin was taken aback by the earthy tones of the flock filling the stable, but for what wasn't doused in glitter and pastels was a different kind of beauty Yin had grown to appreciate.

Her own horse was a gorgeous cream colored Mustang with a thick blonde mane and tail Yin desperately wanted to braid flowers into. A birthmark that sloped like a continent painted their thigh with a white blotch and matched the same line of color that ran down their snot to a healthy, wet nose.

Yin had been told the horse's name was Abacus, a female twin much like herself with a brother who infamously earned the name of St. Buck for his reckless behavior but soft center.

If she were being honest, she didn't like a decent portion of the names. It seemed that race horses picked from an entirely different name book than that of Twonicorns, and even that was without the risk of copyright infringement.

Abacus definitely rolled off the tongue better than anything Yin could think of, but where was the mystique, the mystery and beauty? Abacus with her Frappuccino color scheme and delicate but powerful trot better fit a name like Vanilla, Creamsicle, or French Toast.

Just anything but Abacus.

Abacus let out a low whine as she was attached to the harness inside her stall. "I'm sorry," Yin said. "You're just so pretty. You deserve a pretty name."

She rolled up the sleeves of her black riding jacket and shook her ears free from her helmet before she grabbed the soft body brush sitting on an upturned barrel. "Look, I won't give you a new name unless you insist on it."

Abacus merely dragged her front hoof through the dirt, exhaling air out of her nose. "Is that a yes or...?"

Another flair of the nostrils.

"I can only assume you can understand me," Yin said, brushing over Abacus' birthmark. "I've spent a lot of time talking to horses so I think I've got a six sense for it now. Consider it an official bonding exercise uhh...Cinnamon?"

Abacus flicked her tail in defiance.

"Okay, how about Sweet Roll?"

A grunt of disapproval.

"Butter Bean?"

Now just a dead stare as if she had gotten bored of the conversation.

"Well then I'm out of ideas," Yin said. "Abacus just isn't really you. Don't you think it's kind of bland? And I'd never name you something awful like—"

"Yuck!" A droning ewwww came from St. Buck's rider as she exited the booth, pinching her nose closed. "Ew ew ew ew he's pooping! The horses in my universe never pooped!"

Yin was so busy plugging her nose and stepping away from her own stall that she almost didn't hear the instructor's famous barn shaking claps.

"Don't worry, this always happens. Nothing to be afraid of," the instructor half skipped into the stables with quite a level of enthusiasm. "Now this isn't your poodle's poo, so handling feces here may be different than back home. In fact, how about we go over the protocols of picking up horse manure, hm?"

Some of the newer riders grimaced, a few giggling.

"It’s all just part of the process," the instructor paused, pointing at Yin. "I’m sure you’ve picked up after a…what was it you said? A Twonicorn?"

"Oh, yes, I have, ma’am," Yin said. "Though the qualities are a little different."

Much more sparkly, Yin recalled. Rainbow Mane always had the decency to excuse himself whenever he relieved himself in a bush, but no amount of sprinkles and glitter could make poop not poop. Even if that poop was officially registered as a rare collectible item.

The instructor chuckled. "Isn’t everything different these days? Be a dear and grab the bucket in the back. Should be in the storage shed."

Yin nodded and made her way to where the instructor pointed, a tall wooden supply closet that smelled of grain and worn rope.

Among the findings was a fairly standard-looking bucket and what Yin presumed was the "pooper scooper" itself. Not exactly a glamorous addition to her otherwise ideal high school life, but Yin couldn't help that natural glow of receiving praise. Finally, her childish pastime of riding Twonicorns in sunlit meadows was paying off.

Yin was about to rejoin the group until she heard a low sound to her right. A thick curtain obscuring a stall stood in the farthest corner of the stable, so tucked away that almost anyone would have missed it. Yin gave a nervous glance before pushing the curtain aside and only now could she make out a figure in the darkness.

"Now do know that horse manure is actually incredibly valuable and beneficial to the environment." The instructor continued. "In fact, much of this gorgeous greenery is on behalf of these mighty thoroughbreds and their healthy diets, putting all that goodness back into the earth. But for the sake of hygiene and the well-being of our students, some poop scooping will be mandatory…"

One of the students audibly gagged. "I’m sorry but how exactly can something as gross as poop be good for the environment?"

"All the things we take for granted in this world, there’s always something just a little bit nasty that made that happen," the instructor said. "For better or worse."

"Hey little guy," Yin said, her voice dropping down to a whisper. She perched on the tiptoes of her boots to catch a better look at the horse huddled in on itself in the shadows of its own stall. "I was wondering why we were a horse short on the field. Are you the instructor's?"

The stallion hardly acknowledged Yin, turning its head just enough to glimpse her from their peripheral vision before going back to staring at the walls of its enclosure.

"Ah, looks like you found Admiral. Couldn't keep him from you, huh?" The instructor said, their usually loud voice a few octaves lower to accommodate Admiral's solemn silence. "This is the personal riding horse of the academy heiress. Unfortunately, he's off limits for any student-related activities."

"Oh, he's like her pet?" Yin said.

She could easily envision someone as composed as Tak riding someone as strong and sturdy as Admiral. Much like the heiress, he was as stunning as he was intimidating, even in his crouched position. he's a vessel of strength and almost too big for the blanket draped over his back. The midnight blue of his black body and the loose, overgrown mane nearly made him disappear into the darkness.

"For now," the instructor said, and Yin felt a sudden glum energy in her voice. "Admiral is suffering from a medical emergency that impacts his ability to perform at top efficiency, but Tak hasn't given the He'sokay to properly put him down yet. Maybe she thinks there's still hope for him."

"Oh my gosh," Yin said. "Th-that's awful! What was he spooked? Is he getting old? Is he sick?"

"Whoa, whoa, that's classified information, rider! And I appreciate this concern, but he's off limits for a reason. Now then," she took the bucket from Yin’s hand and made her way back to the front. "Back to our lesson, then we can wrap up for today."

"There's hope for you Admiral," Yin said softly, meeting the horse’s eyes before drawing the curtain closed. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

Shooting Range | 12:45 P.M.

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"Zombie Forest 5, the remaster." Gaz cocked her gun. "How about you?"

"Well hearing you learned from a video game makes my thing sound way less impressive." Django squinted down his own scope and blasted the red center of his target.

Way back in the shooting range's personal hub where the trees acted as buffers, the noise still manages to rattle the environment enough to startle what little wildlife persisted inside the school's cross dimensional bubble. Gaz had already heard many a bird flutter out of their nests and smack their faces into the glass above them.

"So...your brother," Django began slowly to which Gaz could only muster an eye roll.

"I know. He's gonna be testing the snot on half of the student body before next week. Well, more than he usually does."

"No, no I wasn't going to say anything about his little outburst. We had more than enough if you ask me," Django said. "I just wanted you to let him know that I like his ambition, a real go-getter, that Dib. He's going places."

"To the psych ward, maybe."

Gaz had never been old enough to share the same class as her brother, but the stories she heard among the Skool hallways implied it was quite the spectacle. She'd only ever heard the information secondhand on the occasion she wasn't a witness to it herself, but it was seldom positive, always infuriatingly stupid if it wasn't mildly amusing.

But even Django with all his snake oil charisma, seemed to mean what he said. For once, it looked like her brother wouldn't be the sole outcast of the classroom. Everybody else was doing that job for him just fine. If the back row where Gaz lingered stayed this eccentric, Dib's rambling would be ignorable at best if a bit insulting to their diverse classmates at the worst.

Perhaps it was just the contact high of the unrealistic expectations a first day could inspire, but those occupying the homeroom seemed to look upon Dib with something resembling...well, the word "respect" was a bit loaded, but it wasn't sheer indifference. It wasn't hatred.

He was way too cordial with his roommates, Yang and Manny, for them to have done anything to him, and they looked like the kind of boys who would give him a wedgie for breathing funny.

But obeying basic social constructs didn't mean Dib was engaging them for companionship. He seldom did, and anyone who even gleamed that opportunity was quickly scared off. Because, despite Dib's insistence on protecting the human race, he tended to alienate people in ways Gaz could only hope to accomplish.

Why on Earth they would read her and her brother’s psychological profiles and reward them for it with such a lofty education was anyone’s guess.

Trusting Dib around inhuman students and trusting Gaz with a gun in the outskirts of an expensive-looking arboretum was never a thought that should cross any academic leader's mind.

Gaz was genuinely taken aback by the weight that was dropped into her hands when class started, expecting the wafer-thin plastic toys with built in censors that filled out the arcade cabinets back home.

It was just an air gun, of course, a fairly standard spring piston that almost looked like a toy from far away. It was built specifically to destroy little clay targets, not the heads of zombies as much as the glass screens their little pixelated bodies were trapped behind. Later down the line, the teacher promised they'd be using something more concrete in the coming days: darts, pellets, little balls of compressed confetti.

If Dib could see his little sister with any sort of firearm, he'd be ducking for cover by now, no matter the ammunition. One too many incidents with cheese whizz, a hose, a spray bottle, and multiple shaken-up cans of Poop Cola and suddenly Gaz wasn't trusted with anything that had something that even resembled a barrel.

The school really was as far up its own ass as Gaz assumed because when class was coming to a close and the teacher had to fill that time with rambling, he made a show of the used bullets that were set up the way one would a box of chocolates. All bent from use and pried out of trees or targets or bodies, not that anyone would know as they were all polished to perfection.

"We call this a minié ball," They said, their French accent all the more obvious unless they were just putting it on to sound more cultured. They held the bent bullet between their fingers, holding it in this or that angle so the small circle that huddled around him could see. "It was created by Claude-Étienne Minié, who was also the inventor of the minié rifle. We'll be reading about him next week and...yes, young lady?"

Gaz lowered her hand. "Will we ever get to use one of those?"

"Not if I want to keep my job,"

Of course, that'd be too dangerous. But not compressed air. Not air going hard and fast enough that it could punch a hole in someone's head the way Gaz once saw in a movie, much to her morbid fascination.

Not at all tempting how on their way out when the bell for lunch rang, they were handed a dense catalogue that acted as the textbook for this class, illustrating a number of firearms over history with the detail of a scientific outline, viscerally dissecting the shaft and barrel and stock the way her father did to many a body.

Never the captive bolt gun that was essentially in line with the weapons of destruction they were holding, but with a little more punch in a compressed package—quite similar to Gaz in that way.

"They use that to put down cows," Django stated dully, pointing at the image. "They don't have those here but horses..." He gestured vaguely to where the horse stables were, and Gaz couldn't even tell if it's he's stating a fact or announcing his afternoon plans.

"You go around euthanizing the horses here and they'll kick you out in no time."

"Oh, I don't have to do anything," Django said. He pointed at his nose (the little holes where his nose would be). "I can literally smell death on people. Places, things, past, future, present—but the sooner it is, the stronger it is. And I'm catching something foul over in those stables." He closed his eyes and made a show of inhaling. "They're definitely putting one of the horses down. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon."

"For a cowboy I'd figured you'd be a little less giddy about that." It was more of an assumption on Gaz's part. Everyone from Django's universe had this sort of sunburnt western aesthetic about them, even the punk girl. Django especially walked and talked with a certain aura that felt young yet ancient.

Django chuckled. "I prefer bandito, but sure. You could say I'm a 'cowboy'."

"Well, aren't horses kinda like dogs to you?"

Django shrugged. "Not my horse, not my problem. Besides, I've never really had one of my own so there's really no need to get all emotional. Never really had a gun either." He propped the air rifle by his side with a sort of confidence that Gaz couldn't decide if she hated or not. "My nana thinks using bullets is a bit uncouth, so they're nothing more than a passing fancy, a collector's item. I admire the craftsmanship more than anything. Besides, I can do far worse things without one."

"No gun, no horse," Gaz said. "You're a really bad cowboy, then."

Django shook his head, chuckling. "You haven't the slightest idea."

Chapter Text

Dining Hall | Monday, August 20 | 1:57 P.M.

"Yang, can you please pick something already? You’re gonna hold up the line."

"Gimme a break, you never know if this stuff might be poisoned," Yang said, scanning over a gala apple the color of a summer sunset. "Or worse: organic."

Each and every fruit and vegetable was subjected to a cautionary sniff and inspection before being put back down in the pile it originated from. The free selection of items for student consumption was far more abundant than anyone had expected and yet none of it compared to the average contents of a mall food court, as far as Yang was concerned.

Homeschooled since birth, Yang had only heard faint whispers of what high school cafeterias stocked themselves up with, and frankly, he was disappointed.

Where were the corndogs and paper boats filled with tatter tots? Where were the mass-produced burgers steaming alive in their plastic packaging after being nuked in a microwave oven? Where were the flimsy little cartons of juice and chocolate milk so damp they leaked half their contents on to the tray? The ambiguous slop and mystery meat concocted by some portly lunch lady?

Not that Yang planned on eating any of the undeniably gross stuff but it definitely completed the visual.

It was just all so overwhelming; this wasn’t at all what the movies promised him.

He had passed the sushi platters, the cobb salads, stuffed grape leaves, neatly prepared wraps and cucumber sandwiches staying cool under an automated freezer, organic yogurts in an ice tray, small little mason jars filled with pickled carrots, edamame, celery stocks, soups, the suspiciously round fruit, the ceviche, the pasta salad with handmade rotini and the hearty granola in adorable little bags cinched closed with ribbons with nothing short of a disgusted sneer.

Was that paper bag seriously filled with steaming baguettes? Was that a jar of dried mushrooms off to the corner? Pomegranate seeds? Freshly chopped salmon on a wooden block?

The glimmer of hope when he glimpsed the drink fountain towards the back wall quickly diminished when he saw it wasn’t a variety of sodas but herbal blends, crystal-clear geyser water, little packets filled with fruit-flavored vitamins, and kombucha. The vending machine right beside it was no better, holding name-brand bottles of sweet tea and all-natural juice supplements.

"Yang, you gotta eat something," Lina said, impatiently tapping her foot. "This school is going out of its way to feed you, after all."

She had said something like this earlier.

Yang had already spent breakfast slurping down hard boiled eggs and packets of sugar he stole from the student café which proved to be a sight as pitiful as it was disgusting as far as his sister was concerned. When Lina had offered him a few strips of turkey bacon that came with today's morning special, a spinach and bell pepper frittata, he could only reel back in disdain.

What part of the turkey does it come from, Lina? What part?

After much deliberation and a few dodgy looks that paled in comparison to his girlfriend’s, Yang begrudgingly grabbed a turkey burger on whole grain and practically plopped it onto his tray in surrender before exiting the crowded line.

"I don’t get it, Yang. I thought you at least liked fruit. I thought you liked most foods."

"It’s not the food, Lina, it’s the place the food is in!"

Lina took a few glances around her. "Pardon?"

"A food court, a mess hall, a cafeteria—but a ‘dining hall’? What am I eating with the queen? Just look at this place, look at this whole school! Who are they trying to impress?"

"Really? You’re starving yourself over a name?"

"I’d prefer to call it a hunger strike," Yang said. "'Cause whenever my hunger strikes, I actually eat something."

"Well, you can ‘hunger strike’ when we find a table."

With only three hundred students, attendance in the cafeteria—pardon, the Royal Heights Dining Hall—was less filled to the gills and more evenly distributed with the entire student body chatting, chomping, and reasserting their claim on eating spots for the rest of the school year.

Most preferred the rows and rows of round wicker tables glowing from a fresh polish or sipping coffee at the quaint little bar neighboring the café if they weren't cozying up on the café's beanbag chairs.

Some people were watching from the circular staircase crowning the room, lounging out by sun-soaked ottomans and leaning against window sills. Those enjoying the fleeting heat before fall officially rolled in were having picnics on the lawn, while others huddled under towering oak trees on little wooden benches. Losers slinked off to the library or ate in the toilet stalls.

"Over here, guys! I saved us a seat!" His sister’s voice called from an empty table.

"Thanks, Yin." Lina said, grabbing Yang by the arm and forcing him to sit down beside her.

"So," Yin began. "How’s your first day going? Good, I hope."

"It has been," Lina said. "Botany is no joke, my hands still smell like dirt. And I just know you’ve been keeping yourself busy."

"Of course," Yin sing-songed. "I’ve officially added my name to the election pool so let’s just say my campaign starts…"

Yin punctuated the silence with the snap of breaking apart her wooden chopsticks before she pinched a plump piece of raw fish between them. "Right now! Lina, my partner in high school conquest, do you think we can get..I dunno, a few dozen cupcakes by Thursday?"

"Oh, I can make a dozen. The next dozen is on you."

"Nothing a little Fooplication can’t fix. And you, Yang?" his sister prodded.

"Meh," Yang peeled the bun off his sandwich and picked off the leafy greens smushed under his patty.

"That’s it? Meh?" His sister almost looked offended at his indifference.

"It’s the first day," Lina said. She rested a gentle hand over his, and Yang couldn’t ignore the butterflies it still gave him. "We’re all finding our footing, right?"

The sound of something breaking and falling under its own weight was heard just a little before them, and Yang welcomed the distraction.

"Except them," Yang said.

"Ow! What the…" Frida, the girl from his homeroom, was on the floor, rubbing her sore ass with her hand. A snide little cackle could be heard from across the dining hall.

Manny gave his fallen friend a pitiful look, testing the sturdiness of his own chair as Frida stood up and surveyed the hall. "Aves, I swear to God—!"

Yang wasn’t sure about a lot of things lately—most things, in fact—but he was absolutely certain that he had grown to like Manny and Frida in the short time he’s been here.

Yang suddenly recalled Manny and Frida agreeing on his idea to skip class. He remembered Manny sharing some funny images on his cellphone: a before and after of Manny and Frida rearranging the words on a sign so it said Parent Teacher Conferences Today in one image and Pat Feces on Corn in the next, Manny and Frida grinning and giving a thumbs up at some toilet seats covered in sticky glue.

He remembered how an old man Manny affectionately addressed as his grandfather gave him a key after orientation and now there were boxes and boxes of aquamarine jello suddenly stashed under his bed.

Their very nature feels so brazen, so anti-establishment, anti-education, and it’s a kind of ruggedness that felt real. Real, unlike all the artificial nonsense filling this prim and perfect academy.

Yang smirked, jumping to his feet and calling the two of them over before he could even think about it. "Hey, we got a spot over here!"

"Oh, thanks! This table could be set to explode for all we know." Manny said as he and Frida made out the familiar faces not too far from their sabotaged table. Frida was still quietly fuming beside him.

"It’s no problem," Yin said. "What happened over there anyway?"

"Stupid Zoe sawed through the legs of my stupid chair," Frida grumbled, plopping her tray on the table so hard that her bottle of raspberry ice tea almost toppled into her caprese sandwich.

"How do you know it was her?" Lina asked.

"Zoe doesn’t go many places without a buzzsaw," Manny said as he tore open a package of lightly salted pecans with his teeth. "And this kind of stuff is kinda routine at this point."

"She’s been a pain in my ass since kindergarten," Frida said. "I don’t wanna get into it."

Yin put a finger to her chin. "Huh, a persistent menace who repeatedly antagonizes you for petty but no less malevolent motivations. Where have I heard that before?"

"Psh, you’re saying some goth girl is as bad as Badfoot?" Yang said. "Puh-lease, if Master Yo could take down his lifelong enemy, so can Frida."

Frida nearly choked on her drink. "Did you just say ‘Master Yo’?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Yang said.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold the phone! That means you know the lead singer of Pandangerous! Pandangerous is only the best eighties glam-rock, groove-metal, pop-punk ska, new wave fusion band in the past eighty years, and you didn’t tell me?!"

"You never asked," Yin said.

"Your martial arts master is a retired rockstar, and you didn’t tell me because I ‘didn’t ask?!’"

"Yeah, I think that’s a pretty logical reason…"

"Frida blew her whole allowance on Pandangerous vinyls last month," Manny said. "They're no Cucaraches Picantes but I dig some of their stuff only kinda ironically."

"Meeting the real deal would be huge," Frida said, taking a thoughtful sip of her drink.

"Master Yo definitely hiked up the price on those things because they were 'vintage', so your parents must have been feeling generous," Yin said.

Frida gave an awkward smile. "Oh, I should explain: by allowance I mean the cash Manny scored after a bank heist, ‘allowance’ is just way less of a mouthful."

"Bank heist?" Lina stopped mid-chew to give Manny a discerning look. "Oh, cause you were stopping it with your pops, right?"

"And the mayor of the town gave you a financial reward for all your hard work," Yin added. "Right?"

Manny’s growing smirk didn’t inspire confidence, especially when Frida joined in with a smile that rivaled in its mischief.

"Oh my gosh, you robbed a bank and got away with it? Awesome—Ow!"

"Yang, robbing is bad," Yin said, reeling her hand back from slapping her brother on the side of his head. "And I’m honestly a little ashamed of you, Manny. What would your father think?"

"Nothing he hasn’t told me before," Manny replied, shrugging. "And it wasn’t like it was an orphanage or charity or anything. I’ve got standards."

"See Yin, he has standards," Yang said. He subconsciously took a bite of his burger, his hunger suddenly returning. "But your standards for music could use some work."

Health and Fitness | 4:50 P.M.

"Hey!" Manny waved a hand over his head as he made out a familiar face in the crowd, half jogging towards them. "I’m running a little late. Mind if we partner up?"

Dib was lying on his back, arms behind his head as his legs awkwardly squirmed in front of him. He looked taken aback to be addressed so directly, but managed what was probably supposed to be a smile. "Oh, sure uh…Manny?"

"Rivera," Manny sat on his knees and held on to the front of Dib’s shoes. "Here, I’ve got ya."

From the looks of it, class had already begun with everyone getting started on the basic gym procedures: push-ups, sit-ups, stretches—everyone paired off in groups of two.

"Nice place, huh?" Manny said. "Didn't think they'd even have a gym."

"Uh, yeah I didn’t expect to be here either. Apparently, it’s a requirement to have at least one physical education credit," Dib said between his heavy breaths. "So as much as I don’t wanna be here, they technically deemed this more important than sociology."

"I’m sure there’s still next semester to do…whatever that is." It was time now to switch positions and Manny promptly began his own sit-ups, Dib now holding down his feet.

"Would you totally mind if I stuck around?" Manny asked. "You’re kinda the only person I know here, and I think us sons of famous dads oughta stick together!"

Dib looked taken aback, furrowing his brow at Manny. "Oh, yeah. Because…gym class. Sure, why not."

"Something wrong, man?"

"No, it's not you, I just don’t see how running around inside a gymnasium is supposed to maximize my potential as a student," Dib said."The best school in the multiverse, and it’s still not above P.E.? Seems a little ineffectual."

"Ha, ha sure is!" Manny said as he racked his brain about what ineffectual meant. Dib’s tone implied it was anything but positive.

The less time Manny had to spend in a boring seat with boring classes, the better. He didn’t like any sort of school-mandated activity with their rules and regulations and no fire policies, but he’d take team sports over his previous period's algebra class any day.

But Manny had to understand, Dib wore glasses and his dad was a scientist; he probably loved learning and reading books with big words like "ineffectual" in them. To run around, passing a ball back and forth, must bore him to tears.

Manny’s own physical prowess ranged from average to decent when he wasn’t El Tigre. It was mostly in the specifics that he lacked: accuracy, stamina, reflexes—it was all the difference in him hitting a bullseye or throwing a dart into his own foot.

But so what if Manny was no natural athlete? His and Frida's enthusiasm towards any sort of gym class went from zero to a solid two when chances of hilarious injuries were involved.

In fact, Frida had to be taking her required physical education class right about now. Fifth period Health and Fitness (or P.E.) took place in an air-conditioned gymnasium made out of whickered wood polished so perfectly you could see the droplets of sweat from earlier classes still welling on the surface like dew on a leaf. It was filled with the basics: two basketball hoops, bleachers, a wide open space that was just as good for running laps as it was for next period's gymnastics class once the padding and balance beams in the storage closet were dragged out.

Right next to them was the dance studio, big and pearly white with a wall composed entirely of mirrors. The building for synchronized swimming shouldered the gymnasium. To the east were the stables and horse racing track, north was the archery range and the little hut for marksmanship buried deep in the woods, and west was the greenhouse with its rose field and orchard which left a wide green oval surrounded by meters of track for twenty two girls to fight each other over a hockey puck to the amusement of an empty row of bleachers.

All of it, and more—and he really did mean all of it was the makings of what the academy so proudly deemed Nike's Arena, an absolute paradise for the most exceptional jocks in the multiverse.

Or at least Manny assumed that much, according to the map he had been provided during orientation—he didn’t know how to read a compass.

He only ever bothered to understand the layout of his school if it helped him find shortcuts out of class and openings for pranks. He had committed the windows with rickety bolts, the broken water fountain, the lockers that didn’t quite close all the way, and patches of loose drywall in Leone to memory, but Royal Heights was as excellently designed as its namesake implied.

He only barely made the tardy bell to this class because he was doing a thorough examination of the boy’s locker room and found nothing, texting his disappointment to Frida who was similarly duped. Finding any faults in this kind of infrastructure would be a challenge, but a welcome one.

For starters, Royal Heights was a massive school, the size of a miniature city compared to the high school he was going to originally attend, but a tightly knit one—like a giant, smothering quilt cinched to perfection.

He and Frida would have to collaborate on some sort of cheat sheet, sniff out any weak floor tiles, a forgotten leak, a toilet that didn’t quite flush—his grandfather ought to know some things in the coming days, or make those changes for him.

Manny wondered for a second what this section could have been, back when the castle was a castle. There were no obvious tells to work with, but he did suppose something falling from that big ocean-like expanse of ceiling could do some serious damage.

When the warm-ups concluded, they were ordered to do a single lap around the gym.

"So, how’s your hometown? Feeling homesick yet?" Manny asked.

"Quite the opposite, actually," Dib said. "Earth, well, my version of it, only stands a chance because of me stopping Zim from enslaving the human race. Otherwise, it would have been destroyed by now."

"Then I guess we have something in common," Manny said. "You ever heard of Miracle City, 'a spicy cesspool of crime and villainy'? That's where I'm from. Me, my dad, we take care of it."

"’Spicy cesspool,’" Dib said, waiting for Manny to admit he was joking. "And you all just agree to call it that?"

"The name just kinda stuck,"

"But you have a police force, right? Any sort of judicial system? A government? Have you improved your law enforcement over the years?"

"Uh…I think they’re still working on parts of it," Was all Manny could say. He guessed he should have expected so many questions from someone who wears glasses that big. "But things have been a little better lately. Boring, but better."

Dib seemed prepared to speak, but stopped himself. Oh well, Manny expected as much.

Crime and villainy? Spicy cesspool? How cute.

That sounded like a brand. That sounded like a restaurant with salsa that’s overly spicy to excuse it from having any actual flavor. That sounded like a tacky slogan for a tourist trap that sells nothing but keychains and license plates that never have your name.

People came to see Miracle City's active volcano all the time, foreigners from overseas who were studying up on their Spanish, only to be greeted with fluent English were a weird combination of relieved and disappointed.

A nice tidbit of knowledge for anyone unaware, but it turns out that in certain sections of the fractured dimensional plain, they operated similarly to freeways—literal universal crossroads.

No one could physically see them, of course, something about an overlapping of matter that created a negative space and blah blah blah—it was invisible to the naked eye, which was the point.

But it turned out that in the middle of this confusion, a far-off town that would normally be a several-hour bus ride now neighbored Miracle City like some sort of opposite force. A place Manny had never heard of called San Pueblito manifested somewhere between the volcano and the robot island inhabited by Giant Robot Sanchez.

And in that big plain of space that was once just miles of ocean, an anti-crime society became their unofficial neighbors, a vacant desert now turned into a marvelous seaside city of pansies.

Well, "anti-crime" wasn’t completely accurate; it was more like a non-criminal society, utterly devoid of crime, foreign to the very concept of evil, good as good could get. Outsiders aware of the existence of crime but had hardly seen it themselves. And they loved Miracle City.

Maybe it was Miracle City turning into a tourist attraction to these weirdos that had taken the bite out of crime. The fun in stealing someone’s belongings quickly diminished when the victim deliberately left it there, crossing their fingers in anticipation as some fake pearls and gold coins that looked legit from a distance spilled out of their off-brand purses like a toy treasure chest in a fish tank.

A woman takes a selfie of herself getting mugged, and the dignity of the situation just deflates immediately.

Manny wondered, did these people really lack any excitement in their lives? Were they like Dib? Did this massive dimensional rift not inspire as much as it enraged people, let them see just how much they truly lacked?

Was Miracle City now and forever just a dumping ground for excitable noobs that toured the jail like they were lining up for a roller coaster? Victims who didn’t want to be saved? Had Manny’s home always been this way and he just hadn’t noticed until now?

....Nah, not possible! That didn’t matter, but the little inconsistencies in the floorboards mattered, Yang’s ten-month-long war against boredom mattered, and they all collectively agreed that anytime the school’s pool wasn’t occupied really mattered.

Girls’ Field Hockey | 5:50 P.M.

"That’s a foul, Aves. Take five."

"What?!"

"Take five," the coach repeated firmly, jabbing a finger at the bench a little off from the field.

Zoe merely pouted, propping her hockey stick on her shoulder and shunting off to the bench that stood adjacent to the field. She by all means had permission to wash up in the locker room and slink off to her dorm in shame, but who would be there to accuse Frida of leaving a used tampon in the restroom sink?

Not the girls on the Royal Heights Girls' Field Hockey team, that’s for sure. Not the girls who were gently picking Frida up from the ground, dusting the dirt off her knee socks, and readjusting her ponytail as if their favorite doll had taken the blow.

Over the years, Zoe had come to realize that picking on Suárez had less and less to do with Manny and more to do with the fact that she really just didn’t like Frida. It was purely convenient that the person Manny had abandoned her for was also someone so dimwitted and obnoxious that they were the nepotism baby of the chief of police, which put her squarely in conflict with the Flock of Fury simply for existing.

If Frida were calmer, quieter, shier, Zoe might have had some reason to feel bad. But Frida, loud and arrogant and stupid, Frida, she was easy to hate.

"Would you mind some company?" Zoe recognized the voice immediately. She moved a sweat-slicked piece of hair from her usually obscured eye, peering up at the girl before her.

Tak, her classmate, her roommate, a good two inches taller than her, almost hauntingly elegant. She’s dressed in a leotard and tights with a nearly transparent, though noticeably lilac, cloth tied around her hips, mesh sleeves the same shade seeming to take the place of her usual gloves.

"Um, yes," Zoe said. The exact opposite of an invitation, but Tak seemed to accept it anyway, sitting beside her and stretching her arms over her head.

"Sentenced to the bench of shame, I see." Tak straightened her shoulders, her asymmetrical haircut too short for a proper ballerina bun gently brushing against her eyelashes. "It takes a sincere amount of effort to get in trouble this early in the school year. Twice, no less."

"Uh, yeah. I got fouled." Zoe quickly corrected her posture when she noticed Tak wasn’t also slouching. "That's weird, I could have sworn your first period was ballet."

"My status and commitment to the school's traditions allow me to practice any time I feel it's necessary," Tak said. "In short, I can go to the studio whenever I want."

"Oh," Was all Zoe could think to say. Tak was watching the girls rough each other up on the field, but Zoe was watching Tak.

If Tak was truly as evil as Zoe assumed, then this would be the opportune time to do, well, anything. Slit her throat. Whisper a threat into her ear. This was Villainy 101, and yet this silence filled Zoe with far more fear than anything she could come up with.

"Nice weather we’re having today," Tak said, basking in the synthetic sunlight. "Some say this biodome technology could reverse the effects of global warming. At least in the versions of Earth affected by it."

"Oh," Zoe said again, and she feels self-conscious for some reason as she rubbed a glob of eyeliner off her cheek before flicking it into the grass, but not Tak whose eyeshadow and mascara were still perfectly in place. Not Tak who could probably afford the good stuff. Not Zoe, who didn’t think to find Tak’s makeup bag and stuff it under her pillow.

To think after all these years, she’d start investing in more waterproof makeup. She must have looked like a raccoon with her under-eye black circles and grass stains.

When you took stuff for free, you had the luxury of being picky. It’s not like Zoe was paying for any of it—$50 foundation, $7 eyeliner pencil, all zeroes.

But Zoe couldn’t deny she felt some sort of solidarity sitting beside Tak. It was hard to tell in her neat little leotard, but Tak’s pale skin and the dramatic sweep of her hair paired with that perpetually bored expression was all Zoe needed to know the two of them would probably shop (steal) from the same shady outlet mall.

Zoe had been the only goth girl at Leone Middle School, which made her stand out even among a sea of weirdos, delinquents, and punks. The student body of Leone were an eclectic bunch that feared her more than they judged her. They’d seen the stunts she could pull off on Suárez, though it was Zoe’s sheer apathy towards her fellow students that kept them off her radar completely. It didn’t take much to invoke her wrath, even less to inspire boredom.

"You know, you never rubbed me off as a ballet kind of girl," Zoe said.

"And what kind of girl would that be, Zoe?"

"A little less scary, a little less like…me, I guess." Zoe said. "You wouldn’t catch me dead in a tutu."

Tak thought for a moment before nodding. "Being a world-renowned dancer is a much more flattering description than most. I’d love to know what they call you."

"Nothing that should concern you, that’s what they call me," Zoe replied curtly. "Besides, letting people just assign you labels always sucks. They never know what they’re talking about."

"Not if you needed a label to begin with," Tak replied. "I much rather be something awful than nothing at all."

"I’m plenty awful myself, thank you."

Tak scoffed. "Pease, we hardly know each other, and yet I can read you just fine. Fairly typical, aren’t we? A girl of clouded ambitions," Tak said. "You prioritize your distractions over your goals, and it just eats you up, doesn’t it?"

"I’m not distracted!"

"Oh, really? Then please explain to me your situation with that blue-haired girl you hate so much, or perhaps Manny Rivera. A friend of yours?"

"He used to be," Zoe said, barely hiding the venom in her voice. Just mentioning his name hits a soft spot she can’t ignore. "But…he’s moved on and so have I."

"So you say," Tak got up from the bench and headed towards the opening in the forest, not even turning as she requested Zoe to follow. "Come with me, Aves. Let’s see how focused you really are."

Zoe’s legs felt like lead as she stood up from the bench, anger like a slowly curling fist welling in her stomach. Tak’s request for isolation would be immediately regretted.

As Zoe trailed behind, she noticed that they were approaching the biggest agricultural feat of the academy, the arboretum that cleverly concealed a massive orchard.

As they headed further down the cobblestone path hugged by rows of trees and neatly trimmed shrubbery, they became more and more enveloped by the tall oaks still sporting their summer leaves. Apples that weren't due to fall until late October seemed to droop closer and closer to the earth as they made their way down, obscuring them with the shade they provided. The sun was soon eclipsed by the thick branches, the wind grew stiff, back here it's just darkness and the sounds of nature to act as witnesses.

She's going to kill me, Zoe thought. I'll kill her first, of course, but she definitely wants to kill me.

Zoe wiggled her toes and could still feel her closed switchblade bound to her sneaker's laces—less satisfying to use but much smaller and more convenient than her buzzsaw.

Tak halted suddenly only when they reached a sudden opening amongst the trees, a circle of grass bathed in sunlight as if they'd stumbled into a fairy ring.

"I suppose this will do. Not a wandering eye in sight." Tak said with a world weary sigh. She sat down in the center with her legs crossed, her pretty little leotard now adding dirt smudges on her ass on top of the collected dander and pollen. She rubbed the patch of sunny grass next to her, an open seat.

"Oh give it a rest," Zoe said, crossing her arms. She leaned against one of the trees on the outskirts of the circle. Little to Tak's knowledge she was already posed to strike, the shoe containing her switchblade conveniently perched where her right hand could grab it first. "If anyone’s hiding, it’s you."

Tak cocked her head, all smiles. "And what gives you that idea?"

"Oh, I don't know," Zoe said. "Maybe you can’t afford having everyone know you're a psycho with an identity crisis. Maybe I’m just itching to tell everyone on yearbook and newspaper someone is a little off her rocker. I’m sure that Dib kid would just love to have all the dirt he needs to prove you’re an alien or whatever the hell he was talking about."

"Getting Dib involved so soon? Surely you aren’t buying into his paranoid ramblings."

"Crazy or not, he’s clearly got a bone to pick with you. Would hate to have a total spaz like him on my scent trail." Zoe said. "But I’ll cut you a deal: Since we’ve made such a big deal about labels already, maybe you tell me where all that fancy art is stored so you can keep your little prima ballerina title for a few months longer, hm? Be a real shame if everyone knew the school heiress couldn't keep her head on straight."

It’s dead silence between them again but Zoe isn’t the one scared this time. It’s not her that’s speechless but Tak, who’s at her mercy. As it should be.

To be honest, Zoe couldn't care less about Tak having multiple voices in her head, about a conjoined twin’s mouth hidden under her hair, about anything and everything to do with Tak. But her bank account, the assets that let her sit comfortably at the forefront of all this luxury, deeply fascinated Zoe.

"Yes, it is true I can’t allow the student body to know of my identity crisis," Tak said with a solemn nod. "It would be most shameful to my family if that news were ever made public."

Zoe laughed. "That’s what I thought. So, about the—"

"The same way no one can know you’re Black Cuervo."

Tak’s grin grew as she saw Zoe tense up in fear. Zoe felt something cold drag down her spine and straight to her feet, her breath coming out slow and shaky as she forced a laugh. "Th…that’s a very bold assumption to make."

"Yes, we both have our secrets, don’t we, Aves? But yours, well, that might be of some use to me." Tak said. She finally stood up from the grass as the peaceful act had already gotten old. "If you're as impressive as you claim to be, then you'll have the privilege of being my aide."

"A recruit? Sorry, I didn't bring my application, and I'm most definitely not interested."

"I believe the criminal underworld you’re so familiar with prefers to call it blackmail," Tak said. "And, yes, I see what resources you can offer me so you should honestly be flattered I haven’t chopped your head off yet."

Such a direct threat. This girl was good.

"In fact, I think there's plenty you could learn from me," Tak said. "You're petty, confrontational, eager for approval and companionship in any way possible. I can give you the closure you're looking for, and more...That is, if I think you've earned it."

Zoe wanted to speak out against such allegations, but Tak has taken control of the situation again, claiming the silence and the very air between them.

"You and I both desire things that reality does not want us to have. Or, at least not this reality."

Zoe found her voice again. "And by the looks of it you're still failing if you need the help of a lowly commoner."

"We’ve both failed, haven’t we? I’d like to think we can find some solidarity in that." Tak closed the distance between them, trapping Zoe against the tree with her stare alone. "What if I told you there were worlds, galaxies, entire fragments of reality that could appease your greatest desires? Ones where you’re wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, ones where your father is still involved in your life—"

"Wait, how do you—?"

"One where Frida Suárez ceases to exist, or where Manny sticks by your side forever? There’s a version of you out there that’s much happier than you’ll ever be."

"And one where I’m more miserable, I’m sure."

"True," Tak said. "I do recall a version of your universe where the Miracle City volcano had such a severe chemical imbalance that when it erupted, each and every citizen was reduced to a single-celled amoeba forever slithering on the terrain of an endless desert and yet still endowed with their human intelligence. I can assure you that version of yourself would love to know there could have been other options for her."

"But I don’t want a new reality," Zoe said. She hated how small her voice sounded.

"Perhaps not you, but someone else might. I’m sure there’s a multitude of villains in your city that would revel in the opportunity to own even a fragment of this school’s luxuries," Tak said as she turned away, pacing the circle. "Now that I really think about it, wouldn't someone as capable as Diego Chipotle III or perhaps Sergio be a better fit for a school this exquisite? We're still so early into the school year, why not send you packing your bags to your disappointed family while I find someone to take your place?"

"They can't do half the things I can, and you know it!"

"But much less argumentative, I'm sure," Tak said. "I assure you, you don't want to test me, Zoe. If anything, I'm letting you win this fight by giving you the option to leave now before you embarrass yourself."

Zoe brandished her blade and pounced onto Tak before her more rational side could catch up with her, dragging Tak down to the ground with the girl's leotard strangled in her fist.

"But they can’t think of twenty ways to kill you with just my bare hands, fifty with my little friend here," Zoe drew the blade closer to Tak’s vulnerable neck. "And that, that is a fight you will most definitely lose."

Tak's expression remained unchanged, expression unamused as her eyes traveled between the blade at her throat and the girl holding her down with what may as well be full intent to kill her.

"Really? Are we really doing this?"

"This could be a threat or a death sentence. Your choice."

"You and I both know you've never killed anyone, even if it meant getting all of their possessions that much easier. You have morals, though you constantly insist you don't. But not me, you’ll never be as ruthless as me..." Tak's smile grew slowly across her face, giving Zoe's hand brandishing the blade a condescending pat. "But I see it's just that easy to get under your skin. And that is very useful to me."

Before Zoe had time to react, Tak swept a leg from under her and kicked her in the stomach, sending her into the base of a tree.

Without her suit, Zoe can't dull the pain at all. The tech laced inside of it would deal with the minor injuries. One time, her spine had been realigned in real time, but without it, when she’s just Zoe, she can only grit her teeth through the rattling of her ribcage.

Tak stood, swiping up the fallen switchblade that had slipped from Zoe's grip.

"I know what you want, Zoe: art, statues, the kind of riches your family has built its namesake on, I know where they are, and I can help you find them. I have the technology that would allow you to, I don’t know..." Tak harmlessly pricks her index finger. "Steal a living, breathing horse, perhaps. I’ll just need something in return for my services."

Tak strode forward and leaned down to Zoe's fallen form, the knife’s blade pointed at her chest.

"I’d advise you don’t keep me waiting for an answer. You have much less time to waste than me."

Zoe grimaced. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"No," And Tak pierced the strip of bark right by Zoe’s ear, just barely nicking her skin. "Just a fact."

Chapter Text

Hall of Hephaestus | Tuesday, August 21 | 2:42 P.M.

"Ugh, this is pointless! I may as well be walking in circles."

"We have been walking in circles," GIR stated bluntly. "Big circles, small circles, little circles, circles with—"

"I just can't seem to get a good read on this location. Any semblance of stability, it's here, I can smell it, and yet it evades me. WHY DO YOU EVADE ZIM!?"

Zim wished he had someone here to project his completely justified frustrations on to but GIR's aimless wandering, only partially limited from a padded vest and leash, left him out of the kicking distance of Zim's boot and sending his tracker flying through the nearest ceiling high window would do more harm than good.

After all, it was only the second day and perhaps he was being too hard on himself—it was the location to blame, not him—but by now he expected to have some work to show for it. Anything at all would do!

The more he aimlessly paced the halls, the more uncertain his deductions became, his handheld tracker so flooded with information that it hardly had time to process even a millisecond of data. If there was any trace of the Tallest in this dimensional plain it was being swallowed and regurgitated too quickly for him to catch up with.

For once in his life, Irken tech was no match for the sheer stupidity that surrounded him on a daily basis.

Perhaps running off into space was the better option after all, confront the problem head on instead of taking this unprecedented detour.

But what of space? Zim mused and he suppressed a shiver at the thought.

How fractured it must be, its placements all amiss. How many misaligned planets without his hand in any of it? How many bottomless star pits and blackholes could have grown in such little time? And the Irken Armada, scattered and aimless, barely in range to hear even the fading echoes of a distress beacon.

Such confusion would await him and yet the more he paced the more the idea of being swallowed by the madness of eternity became tempting.

At least it would be quiet up there, Zim thought as he continued to walk up and down the long stretch of hallway scarcely occupied by student or teacher alike.

For to eat in the Dining Hall was purely optional and what should have been a moment of contemplation for Zim was interrupted by ottoman picnics and idle chats over coffee and salads.

He could smell the wafting fragrances of multiple foods down below: crunchy croutons, cheese shredded over freshly prepared baked chicken, tofu and meat substitutes and so so so much…fruit?

Zim never thought he’d miss the grease and slop that composed the average human diet. Loathed as it was, it became a sort of backdrop to his workspace, vile yet familiar.

He could only go so many places on foot without the sound of a deep fryer cooking some poor bird alive, soda fizzing, snacks plunking the glass pane of vending machines. GIR’s endless supply of artificial cheeses and greasy take out menus stuffed between the couch cushions was a mundane detail Zim had simply grown to accept.

His antenna twitched in discomfort.

It was clear his own privacy was not enough, he needed out of this wretched environment entirely. In a bubble of life this closed off from the rest of the multiverse, there's nothing but a massive sheet of glass to grant him the illusion of sanctuary.

"I just don't get it, GIR. I'm used to deciphering a plethora of unfamiliar data but this is unbelievable, a casserole of madness." Zim said. "I can hardly detect my own tech in this environment, what are the odds of The Massive even passing through this kind of dimensional noise?"

Zim froze as a thought overtook him, dread settling into his features. "Unless, it already has, but there should at least be a trail. A smudge of DNA? Some snack dust?"

"Ehhhh maybe ya doohickey broken?" GIR offered, voice partially muffled as he dug around the inside of a recycling bin. He was deeply invested in the empty bag of sunflower seeds stuffed into an empty bottle of vitamin water.

"This tracker is in perfect condition and I assured that before we made this journey," Zim said, if mildly offended by the assumption.

It was a miracle it hadn’t overloaded and burned itself out by now. He pondered for a moment, popping open the back of his device to see if there were still any errors he could troubleshoot.

GIR was hardly ever right about anything, but perhaps the SIR unit in all his flaws had a second sense for detecting other faulty hardware. "But I can't entirely dismiss the chance of a minor miscalculation, a few adjustments, and maybe—"

Dib's voice broke through the blur of Zim's thoughts like a garden gnome in a lawnmower. "I knew I'd see you skulking around here during lunch," he said. "What's the matter, Zim? The food here isn't good enough for you either?"

Zim growled, turning to face his sworn nemesis. With Dib's arrival there was something within Zim that welcomed the familiarity while simultaneously loathing the very presence of the wretched human for his insistent meddling. But at least, finally, a distraction. "My affairs should be none of your concern, Dib-thing! Go now for you are interrupting very important research."

"Research on how to take advantage of this academy’s wealth of knowledge I bet." Dib was standing defiantly in the hallway with arms folded, expression a failed attempt at suave bravery. Those still in the hallway only watched in silence or excused themselves altogether.

"Look at you, your defenses lowered," Dib said. "Maybe the school doesn't care that you’re Irken, but don't think that'll keep you off my radar, space boy! I know you're up to no good, and as always, I'll be there to stop you."

Zim waved a hand dismissively. "Such empty drabble from the Urth monkey. Perhaps you've forgotten that if anyone deserves access to this knowledge, it's me!"

"You don't get to call dibs on the effects of a cosmic anomaly, Zim! That's like an earthquake saying they owned a building they destroyed," Dib said. "But, I have to say, unlike most natural disasters, the Florpus is definitely lacking in collateral damage. In the practical sense, at least."

Zim mentally kicked himself as he hesitated a second too long for a response. "The Florpus was but a byproduct of my genius plan that your father's tech helped make possible," Zim said. "I set out to destroy, and I did! Is it not unlike me to overlap genius with genius?"

"We're still talking about the Florpus, right? The thing you made completely on accident to impress your leaders? You can't seriously be acting confused now. You must still have toilet water in your antenna if you forgot this was all your fault in the first place."

"I’ll have you know none of this…academic outreach has anything to do with me, Dib-thing. Just another poor, pathetic excuse from weaker minds to shape order from chaos. I can’t help but laugh at it. HA!"

"I just can't help but find it a little sad—"

"HAAAA!"

"Are you done?" Dib said. "As I was saying, this is a feat big enough to spread across every known reality and it's caused more harmony than it has chaos. I mean, just look at this school. And your leaders being M.I.A. on top of that? Well, that's a win-win in my book."

"SILENCE!" Zim bared his teeth, closing the distance between them. "The entire point of my plan was to ensure I was doing right by the Tallest. This peace was never my intention and I will happily fling this pitiful multiverse into the hands of the Irken Armada and serve it on a silver platter to my Tallest when the opportunity arrives. With a side of BACONNN!"

"Well then, where are they to see all your hard work, Zim? That's what that little device is for, right? For a little cosmic hide and seek?"

"They’re…around," Zim said. He tapped his fingers against the tracker in a sudden onslaught of nerves. "They’re busy guys, Dib. It would be inappropriate for me to hover. Perhaps they’ve got their hands full, composing a gift of such magnitude for my greatest accomplishment yet."

"Are we talking about stealing my clown puppy or teleporting the Earth?"

"BOTH OBVIOUSLY!"

"For the record, I'd be mad about the entire Earth being teleported no matter who did it. But, being the good samaritan that I am, I’m gonna call it even and focus on more pressing matters."

"Nonsense! What matter presses more than Zim? NO ONES!"

"Tak does," Dib said plainly. "And I'm going to function on the notion that it is our Tak. Her being here at all definitely raises some alarm bells."

Zim was taken aback by the statement.

The arrogance of this creature! The nerve to downplay the majesty of the Florpus! The audacity of the Dib to consider Tak the new threat! The boldness of him to grow an extra two inches taller!

"You must be even stupider than I thought if you're honestly falling for her newest charade. And I already know you're stupid so that's even more stupid than originally assumed!"

"It’s called a hypothesis, Zim. Come on, I'm not married to the idea or anything, I'm just open to the possibility. For all we know she could still be in space prison and this could be another version of her that still hates you." Dib said. He was silent for a moment, gazing out of one of the windows in contemplation. "But I dunno, this place doesn’t really scream 'giant evil weenie stand' to me. So either this isn't our Tak or she's bluffing big time. I’m gonna assume the latter."

Zim probably hated this the most about Dib, these gleams of intelligence and human rationale that always made him such a threat on Urth. The Dib-monkey was very stupid, obviously—everyone may as well be a feeble smeet compared to Zim's intellect—but considerably less stupid than others. Dib was always too self-aware, too knowing, too curious for his own good, and that alone was enough to intervene with many an evil plot Zim concocted.

But so what if Dib had theories? So what if Dib was able to pilot a piece of advanced Irken equipment in such little time and with no proper training? So what if Dib proved to be his heroic counterpart in this endless war for Urth's fate? So what if he's been on Zim's trail since day one and hasn't given up since?

It wasn't impressive, it was just annoying!

Dib turned to face him, expression alight with precautionary hope. "Hey, do you think there might be any sort of way to tell which person is from which universe? Like a device or something? It's not nearly as clear-cut here as it was in the Zimvoid. I mean, these EduPods are nice, but they only offer so much info."

"If I did know, I certainly wouldn’t be sharing that information with you," Zim said, quietly internalizing Dib’s suggestion. "And as for the Zimvoid, have you considered that perhaps even your puny human brain could recognize the ultimate Zim among that sea of impostors?"

"I was more gonna say your lack of gills or not being a baby was a more defining trait but—"

"For you see my lack of a thing was my thing all along!"

"But I thought your thing was accidentally eating those styrofoam packing peanuts."

"IT WAS NO ACCIDENT AND THEY WERE DELICIOUS!" Zim exclaimed. "And in regards to Tak, may I remind you that your involvement in her situation is limited entirely to her Irken equipment that you stole?"

Dib sighed. "The only tangible evidence of her existence is left in her ship, and even that’s too much to handle…Well, so was my own personality, but we’re not talking about that."

Zim shook his head. "Harboring stolen Irken technology…That alone is enough for twenty space years in Moo-Ping 10."

"For your information, it fell into my yard so technically it found me." Dib said. "Like it or not, I’m actually preserving your beloved evil alien equipment. It could have been rotting in space or some junkyard so you should be happy it’s in capable hands."

"Human hands,"

Dib rolled his eyes, turning away as the bell for the next period rang. "Whatever," he said. "Whenever you feel like actually doing something, you’ll know where to find me."

Culinary | 2:56 P.M.

Botany worked in conjunction with culinary which meant most of the produce growing in the school’s garden would be part of the class assignment the following day. This was meant to be a utilization of the school's resources that reminded everyone that it took a combined effort on everyone's end to not only nourish the environment but also nourish the body.

Even in the hovering bubble's synthetic sunlight, all made possible by use of a high tech weather machine that convincingly simulated the passage of seasons, greenery was abundant, small animals thrived, and produce swelled into their plump, rightful shapes.

Everything could and would be freshly grown, freshly prepared, and freshly eaten on homegrown soil. No distance away from the universes we call home will ever interfere with the natural beauty of nature and all it can provide for us...

Zim groaned.

The opening paragraph in a hefty cookbook spilled out this flowery introduction on the first page in self-congratulation.

The teacher in charge of the quaint cooking class that the academy wrongfully insisted he take because of his shameful food service days read it over like an oath.

"What, you don't like to know where your food is coming from?"

"Frankly, I find the answer to be much more horrifying."

"Then the meal we prepare today is gonna scare the crap out of you."

Lina, his classmate, some variety of creature from the same universe of similarly colorful organisms, stood beside him at the waist high marble countertop. Zim could see what was clearly fur on her bipedal body and yet she has hair on her head held back by the black elastic that was on her wrist a second ago. Like everyone else she's wearing an apron, the knot at her waist resting over where a tail should probably be.

Lina flipped a few pages, each image as bewildering as the last. "Let's see here...jambalaya—" A cauldron of curled meat stuffs on a pile of fiery red sludge. "Manicotti—" Lasagna and yet...not lasagna? It looked like the hard part of a shoestring stuffed with cheese. "Ooh, pumpkin ricotta stuffed shells, that's seasonal."

"Zim likes none of these options! Who cares if the meal we prepare is seasonal? The ingredients will not cease to exist."

He analyzed the contents before him separated into little wooden bowls. He liked to think he had a decent understanding of Urth's produce and flora and yet none of this research had told him about the more exotic selection before him.

Colorful and twisted, tiny and shriveled, round and spiked—from what world did these come from?

"I can't help but find these shapes…unnerving." He said.

"Most of these come from the garden outside," Lina said. "The summer harvest is full of surprises."

"And what awful surprises they've amounted to," he said, eyeing the box in disgust. "Especially this…uhhh…"

"Well that right there is a cucumber." Lina said. She pointed at the others, rattling off their names with efficiency. "Eggplant, peppers, turnip, spinach—"

"Zim knew that," he interjected. "Zim knew allllll of that!"

"Uh huh," Lina said with a nod. She grabbed something random from the side of the pile, too fast for Zim to register until she held it up in front of him. "And this is...?"

"An apple," Zim replied bluntly, snatching it away from her. "I know what an apple looks like, you fool! And we will be using it for today's culinary exploration!"

"Fine, then find something we can make with apples and make it snappy. I don't have all day." Lina pushed the book towards him which Zim wasn't expecting.

Refusing to be intimidated, he could only blindly flip through, randomly selecting an image that looked, at best, mildly appetizing. "This one,"

Lina quirked a brow. "Cinnamon apple crisp?"

"Will that be a problem for you, beast-thing? Too complicated for your feeble mind?"

"No, I was gonna say that I can make apple crisp in my sleep. But you're already givin' me lip so now you get to be on cleaning duty when this is all over."

Zim scoffed. "And who has granted you this authority?"

"Hmmm," Lina pursed her lips, hands on her hips as she pretended to mull over the question. "Me, I did."

She took a step towards him "Maybe being sent out of orbit scattered your braincells a bit, but I do not tolerate disrespect. Get your act together or I'll make it happen, alien boy."

Zim still had to keep his squeedily spooch from jumping to his throat whenever someone said that.

Yes, he was an alien, and, in a quite anti climatic sense that bothered him for some reason, no one cared. He just wasn't used to that part yet.

"I'm gonna head over to the spices and grab us some cinnamon." Lina said. "Stay here and get choppin'."

The way Lina barked the order made Zim clench up in anger against his better judgment. Lina didn't have half of the intimidation or authority of Sizz-Lorr but something about her demeanor implied that wasn't necessary.

She definitely seemed to keep her blue love pig in line with just a few words and the love pig's sister looked upon her with respect and some semblance of desperation.

Was she the leader of the unit? Possibly.

The social climate of this bubble was so vastly different, who knew what rules were upheld here? Zim had only heard rumors of high school, mentally preparing himself to take on such a challenge if the mission allowed it.

His research had only boiled down to the plethora of films GIR would rent from the movie store, these awful teen dramas with their kissing and aggressive rattling inside of their cars on cliffs overlooking large bodies of water. Each one was as hypnotically awful as the last in a way human entertainment often was.

For to be popular and having the newest shoes and the cheerleader as an accomplice to a social gathering was the defining traits of every teenagers life. And if that truly was the case, the Dib was pitifully unprepared. Even now Dib's entire purpose in life had been put on hold, his attention diverted.

But to who?

To what?

To Tak?

While Zim couldn't deny that her reappearance at the academy definitely raised some suspicion, it would be absolutely absurd to assume this latest trick of her's was going to go anywhere.

Here she was, wasting perfectly good Irken disguise technology far away from Urth, parading herself around with such unwarranted dignity and pride. For what was a plan of Tak's without some sort of role to play, the daughter of a hot dog salesman one day and now the heiress to an academic empire.

Who was she trying to fool and to what end were her lies?

Didn't matter. Tak was as foolish and misinformed as always, a liar through and through, a mockery of her species and a disappointment of a soldier once again trying to take away what was rightfully Zim's.

Oh how she would pay...

Zim busied himself and by extension his thoughts with the task (but only because he was going to do it anyway) grabbing a knife from the wooden block and slicing the apple before him into a symmetrical two halves. Then, suddenly, he froze.

"Eh?"

Zim's understanding of fruit and plant life was never been a top priority but a sort of osmosis had taken place during his time on Urth (it turned out that blackberry trees in fact did not exist).

Why bother fretting over the finer details of the environment if it would all be a blasted, barren landscape come the inevitable invasion? The city he specifically infiltrated wasn't exactly bursting with robust agriculture, a quite literal concrete jungle, but even he could see something was terribly off about this apple.

The few times he'd seen one, the ones GIR would rattle from trees with his mouth gaping open, their insides were always a solid, yellowish-off white, some seeds nestled into the center to repeat the process in a new patch of soil.

GIR, anchored to the leg of the table by his leash, had already worked himself into a food coma after eating multiple sticks of butter and wouldn't be available for the next hour to offer his insight.

Zim grabbed another and repeated the process. Again, no yellowish flesh, no brown seeds, no silhouette like the stuffed cheeks of a squirrel.

Instead, the apple was filled to the brim with multiple bulbous red orbs, as if a clot of blood cells had found their way inside. In three little compartments they were nestled inside of the apple's very much red, firm outer shell, an aroma of bitterness overwhelming him.

Apple. Apple? This wasn't an apple. None of them were. Then what was it?

"Hey, ya done yet—?"

"AH!"

SHINK!

The sound is like scissors through paper and Zim swore he heard something crack as if the shell of a crab had been sliced through to its meaty center.

Zim was frozen at first, hand fixed on the hilt of the knife and Lina could only watch as the information finally reached his brain and the blood spilled across the cutting board.

Bleachers | 4:30 P.M.

"I can't stand it, GIR. Everything about this school, I hate it! These insipid children and their middling masters never grant me a moment's peace! Ohhhhhh, bringing upon its demise will be nothing short of an absolute pleasure. PLEASURE FOR ZIM!"

Zim sat outside on the school bleachers for the academy's mandatory Private Study period. The circle of grass for field hockey is unoccupied by the usual gaggle of girls, no one running up and down the track or playing loud music on their phones, it’s not much but it's peace.

Up here on the bleachers he feels just the slightest bit of distance from this whole thing. Up here he feels taller.

Zim could feel the hum of his PAK sending the coordinates to numb the pain of his damaged hand. His fingers had grown back seconds after the incision was made much to the surprise of his classmates, especially Lina who dropped several cups worth of cinnamon at the sight.

Zim knew he'd be fine, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. It didn't mean he didn’t run screaming out of the classroom.

"What matters now is that I run further diagnostics on this...'apple'." Zim said, an uncut one he salvaged from the bowl in his fully intact hand. "Even I know something about it is amiss and I have no intention to stand idly by if it deals directly with this academy."

"Can I eat it now?"

"No, GIR. This is now a vital part of our mission. Just go eat the other ones." Zim said. "If my calculations are correct, then the rest of the apple population must be suffering the same mutation. But why and how is the question."

To anyone else, analyzing a single piece of produce would seem like a worthless effort, but for Zim and his hardened Invader senses, he simply knew there was more to it than that. Within it he found something incredibly vital: vulnerability.

It was a miniscule crack in Tak's most recent scheme, a missed detail, a sloppy bit of research gone amiss, and he had every intention to exploit it.

Yes, it would be the apples today and her full unmasking the next.

A part of him was begging the most obvious of questions, why not consult the Dib about this? Dib was from Urth, this bubble at least simulated some variation of Urth.

Why would they not have Urthly fruits with the same Urthly contents? Dib of course would know something was very wrong, more than he already did.

Zim shot up from the bleacher, fists clenched at the audacity of his own thoughts. "NO! No, absolutely not! I REFUSE!"

"God, can you keep it down up there?!" said a voice from below. "You’re not the only one sulking here!"

Zim looked down between the openings in the bleachers to see another familiar face from his homeroom. She's partially obscured by her own hair and the steel bars, a heavy cloud of foul smelling smoke swallowing up her pale features.

"And perhaps it is you who shouldn't be sulking where Zim sulks." He said, eyes stinging as the smoke drifted towards him.

"Hi Jerry!" GIR said, smushing his face between the bleachers to greet her.

"It's Zoe," she said with a sneer. "And, you're Zim, right? You're actually just the guy I wanted to see."

Zim exchanged a look with GIR. "Eh?"

"I overheard your plight and might have some insider info that could be useful to you." Zoe said. "Stuff Tak and definitely not Dib will ever know. I wouldn't miss out if I were you..."

After just a moment of hesitation, Zim easily slid his way from between the bleachers and landed in the wet grass beneath it, GIR faceplanting behind him. "Your time is short, stink beast."

"Of course, you're a busy guy. Oh, and so sorry about that little outburst earlier! Ya see, I've just been having my...concerns about the broader implications of this academy. Doesn't it all just rub you off as suspicious?"

"Yes, yes," Zim said with a nod. "Though I would say 'suspicious' is the least of the school's problems."

Zoe nodded. "I couldn't agree more! And it's that kind of talk that's seriously lacking in a place like this."

She gave a wistful look out of the bleachers, silver bars creating a solid barricade around her view like the thick black lines enclosing a film. She looked upon the masses with similar disdain, similar anger, frustration, and annoyance as if they had all personally slighted her.

"Everyone here is just so oblivious, overly trusting, stupid. They've been told this school is what's good for them so they're just sitting there and taking it, drinking the poison punch because society said so. It breaks my heart."

"What are you implying with this hollow chatter, one-eyed human? Your time is running short."

"I'm implying this place is bad news and we need someone with the courage to give it a thorough investigation. Unless, of course, that's the stuff only your friend Dib is good at."

Zim cackled. "The Dib's fascination with parashooting nonsense is nothing compared to the undeniable power of the Irken mind..." he paused for a moment, silently recalling what Zoe had said. "And he's no friend of mine! No one is!"

"Ah, of course. I don't have any friends either. I've made that mistake once and I never will again," Zoe puffed her cigarette with contemplation, sighing. "Everyone will try to tell you otherwise: that we need to succeed together, work together towards a better future. It's all a fairy tale. All people like you and me need is ourselves."

Zim couldn't help but nod. He wasn't entirely sure where the Zoe-human was going with this, but he couldn't help but relate to the sheer level of hate and bitterness that seemed to radiate off of her every word.

Something about her was different than the other humans back on his version of Urth, an aura remarkably similar to the Dib's younger sibling. Still undeniably a stinking, insufferable human, but one that harbored an appetite for ruin. Zoe seemed to be seeking the demise of this academy more than Zim even was, perhaps just because she got something out of it, maybe she just wanted something to entertain herself with.

The point was that there was some semblance of solidarity to be had here to which Zim could grow to (begrudgingly) relate to.

"I can just tell you've got some terrible ideas in mind, but I'd say go about this like a surgeon, not a butcher," Zoe continued. "You've got to dismantle it, pick it apart, reveal all of its ugly secrets so that no one, not even Tak can stop you once its out in the open. You won't just have this school in the palm of your hand, but her very reputation will be destroyed forever. And I know just the way to do it."

Zim's antenna perked up in anticipation. "You do? TELL ME!"

"Well, I think—"

"TELL ME!"

Zoe took a defensive step back. "You should run for president. Run against these other nobodies on the ballot. And when you win, you'll be in such a high level of authority people will have no choice but to listen to you. Tak, included."

"Tak would be under Zim’s demands if I were to achieve victory?"

Zoe nodded. "British boarding school rules," she said. "Presidents are the ones in charge of prefects. Tak is just biding her time until the election takes place because she’s super pissed off she has to abide by it."

"Yes, yes, school president. That seems to be a common tradition in academic establishments," Zim mused, fingers regrown where the stumps once were, stroking his chin. It hadn't been since his first year in Skool that he last heard that term.

And such a simple solution, too! Zim could only do so much as a mere student, but to elevate his status could guarantee a multitude of privileges.

As president, he could infiltrate the academy properly. As president he could enter the depths of this wretched infrastructure, exploit any weaknesses, expose Tak for the phony Irken and incompetent Invader that she truly was now that she was forced to pledge her loyalty to him. And if the academy really did prove to have anything useful to offer, then it would be an even grander feat to deliver it to the Tallest once they've been successfully located.

These students in all their supposed excellence and amazing feats would make for serviceable slaves to the Armada. Even the bravest and boldest of them could be conditioned to a lifetime of servitude.

Soon enough, the mystery of the apple would be but a footnote to his grand conquest, but it was still a clue, still vital evidence, still something he could do without outside help.

Not even Jerry's and definitely not Dib's.

"This should work perfectly," Zim mused. "Of course, I must properly strategize if it means understanding the complexities of this new environment to the fullest, find a new approach. This school is vastly different than the Urth I know, but they will all suffer the same under Zim's might, one after the other."

"God, this is high school, not a warzone." Zoe relit the end of her cigarette before murmuring to herself. "But is there really a difference?"

"I shall heed your advice, horrible cyclops girl." he turned to GIR, who was rolling in a puddle of mud. "GIR!"

GIR immediately stood up, giving his master a proper salute. "Yes, my master!"

"We begin my presidential campaign today," Zim said. "And when we succeed, nor the Dib or Tak will be able to stop me. In fact, no one in this school will."

Chapter Text

Headmaster’s Office | Wednesday, August 22 | 4:35 P.M.

With them all together, their combined aroma was certainly something else. In the cold, sterile air of the office lingering with a faint tint of rosemary, it was hard for anyone to ignore a bizarre combination of clean chlorinated water and scented gelatin.

Bits and flakes of a jellylike substance squashed beneath their shoes, stained their hair, dyed the whites of their uniforms with a turquoise tint, and yet all eyes were on Yang who somehow managed to have far less dignity than the two walking gummy bears beside him purely from his absence of pants.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the fine wood under his ass met not with pressed slacks but the single pair of underwear he had put into the hastily packed grocery bag he called a suitcase.

Tak’s unwavering glare from the desk was even enough to make him shrink down in his seat, Manny and Frida averting those apathetic purple eyes entirely.

"I cannot even begin to imagine a plausible excuse for this behavior, so I’ll give the floor to you three instead."

Silence for a few seconds until Manny timidly raised his hand. Tak gave a quick of her brow. "Yes, Manny?"

"I’m sorry but didn’t you say you were just the headmaster’s like best friend or something?" Manny asked.

"Daughter and prefect," Tak corrected. "Meaning it's my job to enforce the will of the headmaster when they aren't present."

"Well, where is the headmaster?" Manny said, Yang and Frida nodding in agreement. "Fancy title or not, did he or she or whoever seriously leave you to do their job?"

"That blows chunks," Yang said. "You sound more like a hall monitor with extra steps."

"And did he even say you were allowed to be little miss rule enforcer?" Frida added. "You're a freshman just like us."

"The headmaster is on a temporary leave and until their return, we more or less share the same responsibilities." Tak explained (lectured, really). "But do know that my rules and regulations are but an extension of their own. That especially pertains to disciplining insubordinate students."

"Ah," Frida said through her teeth. "So you’re judge, jury, and executioner?"

"A real Vice Principal Chakal," Manny added in a mutter.

Tak took a breath, gesturing a gloved hand at Yang. "Lets start with the obvious: Yang, you must have a medical diagnosis, cultural or religious reason, or a note supported by a certified mental health expert to ever get you out of wearing pants. Otherwise it’s a distraction to the students and an infringement on the school's dress code."

"What?!" Yang said, bolting from his chair, underwear fully exposed to the cold air. "But what about Frida?"

Frida skewed her brow in offense. "What about me?"

"If you ask me, such spiky bracelets are a safety hazard." Yang continued, gesturing to Frida's personalized blazer with their safety pin suspended cuffs and outlandish boots and leggings for any sort of leverage. "That’s gotta count as some sort of violation."

Tak sighed. "Customization for an expression of individual self is actively encouraged as long as it is still recognizable as a uniform. No pants is not an expression of self, it’s an expression of laziness."

Yang glowered, slumping back in his seat as Manny and Frida exchanged an amused look.

"Unless you don’t have legs," Tak said. "And if you’re so adamant about not wearing trousers, I’d be more than happy to adhere to that request."

Now none of them were laughing.

"But we’re wearing pants," Frida said. "So why are we even here?"

"You stole a year’s supply of jello from the student kitchen and dumped it into the pool."

Frida blinked. "Oh yeah,"

"Blue jello," Manny clarified. "And it was, uh, a science experiment to see if the chlorine in the water would still let it become solid."

"And if anyone could tell the difference before they jumped in," Frida added, a chunk of jello sliding off her goggles and audibly plopping on the floor. "I’d say it was a huge success."

"An experiment you say?" Tak gave a dry, fake little laugh. "And did Professor Membrane provide clearance on this 'experiment'?"

"Psh," Frida said. "Ever heard of extra credit?"

Granted, Professor Membrane probably would be insane enough to count the exploit as something scientific, but he wasn’t here right now and suddenly his special brand of overwhelming charisma that’s been filling the dojo for the past two years is desperately missed. Membrane, Membrane—Gazlene Membrane, V0X3LROT, Professor Membrane, her dad—Yang was sure of it.

"Yang, your lack of pants was already enough of a problem," Tak said, breaking Yang out of his few moments of concentration. Of all the moody purple haired girls he wanted to see, it most definitely wasn't her. "But I have no choice but to assume you had an involvement in this...'experiment'."

"So maybe possibly I was...around when Manny and Frida were filling the pool," Yang protested. "And the pool just so happened to be filled with jello when my sword fell out of my hands which explains my current state. Wrong place, wrong time. I literally had no control over it...the sword, I mean."

"That's actually true!" Frida said quickly. "H-his sword fell in there...well, more it kinda hopped in there by itself. I think I was getting a contact high from all that jello powder."

"And maybe me and Frida were kinda in the ‘splash zone’ when Yang hopped in there to get it back," Manny said. "The guy did a sweet canon ball. You should have seen it."

"Ah, I see." Tak said. "And your lack of pants?"

Yang looked at his wet, slippery shoes. "...I don’t really have an answer for that."

Tak turned and grabbed a heavy volume from the bookshelf neighboring her desk and tossed it to Yang with the mere assumption he'd catch it in time. He curled his lip. "What the Foo is this?"

"As punishment, I want you all to construct a five hundred word essay about what you’ve learned from the official Royal Heights Student Manual. Yang, the chapter on uniform policy starts at page ninety seven. Manny, Frida, you are to read any chapters pertaining to respecting the academy's property."

"What page does that start?" Manny asked.

"Figure it out. I expect to have this done by homeroom tomorrow morning or you will regret it."

Frida gave a short laugh of relief. "That’s it, just an essay?"

"I hate everything that relates to reading and writing but I guess I was kinda expecting the slammer after all this hub-bub." Yang said.

"Nuh uh uh, I'm not finished," Tak said, a nefarious grin growing across her lips. Her eyes glazed over to Manny who defiantly met her gaze. "Manny, your grandfather was actually due to clean the pool today but I'm afraid he's nowhere to be found. Perhaps, as a token of kindness and a guarantee that you are truly remorseful, you all could fill in for him."

Natatorium | 4:55 P.M.

The Royal Heights Academy pool reserved for synchronized swimming was strictly indoors so to assume it needed any sort of rigorous cleaning schedule seemed a little superfluous.

One also wouldn’t assume it would be that much work to clean but 13,500 square feet really started to add up when you took in the eight lanes of slightly murky white aisles that composed it.

Without water it’s like stepping into a slippery trench and the little rings of filth suddenly become so apparent like the dirt accumulated in the world’s biggest bathtub. Add partially dissolved jello to that and you had a whole other set of issues to worry about.

Though many of the students who had signed up for the class were well on their way to being Olympic gold medalists, or whatever equivalent of that reward existed in their world, it was times like these that anyone would be happy plans to have a pool the adequate size for Olympic sport existed only as footnotes in a very ambitious contractor’s headspace.

Somewhere down the center of the pool was a small but noticeable indent that created the silhouette of a rearing horse that had a tendency to collect the most filth in the shortest amount of time, but it's not like anyone would care or notice in the midst of a couple dozen laps.

It had become a challenge among the students of synchronized swimming to see who could swim down and touch it on its snout and tail in a single breath.

Lina was looking forward to seeing if she had the lung capacity to do so, but perhaps that would be saved for another time.

"Yang," Lina angrily said to her boyfriend as she exited the locker room, her dry one piece swimsuit draped over her arm like a gentlemen's suit jacket. "If a single drop of that jello made its way into my hair you would have been in a world of hurt."

"I-I forgot you were in this class, honey nums!" Yang said, shrinking back at her affirmative stance. Their height difference is all the more noticeable now. "Otherwise I would have totally called it off! Really, honest!"

Lina rolled her eyes. "Mm hm,"

"Besides, I'm the real victim here. Wouldn’t they usually have one of those underwater vacuum cleaners do this stuff anyway?" Yang whined to his murky reflection in the bucket of water. He looked upon the bucket and mop like one would a pair of handcuffs. "If I wanted to do a bunch of pointless cleaning, I would have stayed at the dojo."

With how Tak had assumed her position at the lifeguard chair, legs crossed to provide a seat for her softly purring cat, he may as well be shouting to the heavens.

Tak didn't even have the patience to acknowledge his sorrowful echoes, Manny and Frida's own complaints joining in a chorus of complaints.

"This is child labor, you know that?" Frida whined, leaning against her own mop. "Which is illegal in most countries."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tak said. "Did you want me to tell your parents about your little project? I'm sure Manny's father, who is, may I remind you, your homeroom teacher, will be especially excited to hear about this one."

The three collectively sighed.

"No, no I don't..." Manny grabbed his own bucket and climbed down the ladder into the partially gelatinous pool. "Come on, if we start now we can finish before dinner."

Yin had stopped by the natatorium specifically to meet up with Lina before heading to the student kitchen for some presidential pastry baking, but the scene she walked in on was nothing she expected.

Usually she'd be a little amused to see Yang being chewed out by Lina and more than a little satisfied to see him reaping the benefits of his shenanigans—but instead she's just embarrassed, frustrated even.

She maintained her grip on the strap of her heart shaped bookbag as she quietly approached Tak's seat.

"I'm really sorry about this whole thing," she began quietly. Tak glanced down at her from the post. "I don't know about Manny and Frida but Yang has never been the most...what's the word? Cooperative student in the world."

"Oh, don't tell me you're seriously apologizing on your brother's behalf?" Yin stepped back as Tak dismounted from the chair, ignoring the ladder completely and still landing elegantly on her feet. Mimi crawled up her owner's arm and perched herself on Tak's shoulder. "He can't help it that he isn't a bit more reliable, a bit more sophisticated…I suppose, a bit more like you, Yin."

Yin flushed, letting out a snort of a laugh. "More like me? I-I, oh my goodness, that's so nice of you to say."

"We on the board of ethics have to analyze every student before they're accepted into the academy and your credentials speak for themselves," Tak suddenly dropped her voice, covering her mouth with her hand. "And between just the two of us, your brother mostly came here on good will alone."

Yin knew she should have felt a little sting from that comment but something about Tak's delivery numbs the pain. She sneaked a look at her brother he didn't seem to catch wind of their conversation, down by the farther reaches of the pool and picking up a hearty scoop of jello that he proceeded to sniff.

Yang with all his happy-go-lucky recklessness has caused more problems than she can count, but he always pulled through at the end, didn't he? He wouldn't be alive otherwise. That Foo-may-care attitude was what made him equal parts insufferable and reliable—selfish yet generous, loving yet frigid, sweet and sour.

Arriving to the academy definitely provoked something out of him, but Yang didn't seem exactly mad or like he was lashing out at society for being stuck here, just bored. And in some ways that was far worse.

"I"m flattered but I promise my brother is the real deal. He and I would have never gotten this far without each other," Yin said, she looked to where Lina was, waving her friend over. "Lina can vouch for me. I think most of the reason she went from a Woo Foo Knight in a Little Less Training to a Level One is because of all the work they've been doing together."

Lina gave a shy little smile. "I'd definitely say some favoritism had something to do with it," she added, approaching the two as the steam of chewing out her boyfriend finally wore off. She's back to blushing about him all over again as if she were never mad in the first place. "And he wouldn't be at this school in the first place if he wasn't capable of shaping up, right? He may be a knucklehead—trust me, I know—but he's got a good heart. If we're lucky, none of this mess will happen again."

Tak shook her head. "And I disagree, you two have done everything in your own power to earn my respect, no need to get dragged down to his level. I think we all know where that gets you."

Tak nodded towards the display: Manny, Frida, and Yang scrubbing pathetically at the sloppy piles of jello that couldn't decide if it wanted to be liquid or solid enough to be absorbed by their mops. Frida seemed to have given up entirely and was making a snowman out of some especially large chunks.

Tak gave Lina a cold look. "Yin has no choice but to be shackled to someone so intellectually challenged, but you, to choose him of your own volition, it certainly raises a lot of questions."

Lina narrowed her eyes, hands firmly on her hips. "Excuse me? You listen here, hun—"

"Ah, look at the time! We should really get going before the student kitchen closes," Yin looped her arm through her friend’s and tugged her towards the exit. "Thank you, Tak! See you tomorrow!"

The door shut behind them, Lina still making angry footsteps towards the natatorium before being dragged down the courtyard.

"She’s pretty neat, huh?" Yin sighed dreamily. "To just have this level of authority, and the way people respect her, it’s amazing."

Lina scoffed. "I’m pretty sure it’s just because she’s the headmaster's kid. If you ask me, that girl’s got a real mean look about her. A mean everything if I'm being honest."

"She was just disappointed that her own homeroom would do something so reckless. That can’t possibly be good for her reputation." Yin said. "Come on, Yang literally interrupted your fifth period for his stupid prank. And Manny and Frida definitely are not a good influence on him."

"Of course I'm upset about that, Yin. But I'm more upset about twinkle toes thinking she can talk down to any of us like that." Lina said. "Respect and fear are two different things, and I don't respect or fear her snobby little socialite self."

Yin chuckled. "That’s hardly an insult. Saying she’s a socialite just means she’s raised in a cultured environment."

Lina seemed prepared to respond but dropped the argument entirely. This afternoon was already proving to be exhausting for her.

Of course Lina wouldn't understand. The girl came from such humble beginnings and it was no stretch to say Yin wasn’t exactly bred from glamour. An orphan was pathetic enough but a Woo Foo orphan? Now people were too busy laughing to care about your dead or neglectful parents.

So what if Tak was born in the lap of luxury? It just meant she knew the ins and outs of high society. And to be in the center of a reality spanning super academy? Anyone would get a big head over that.

Perhaps Lina was just intimidated to be around someone so privileged, threatened by what could a budding friendship, but Yin could chock all that up to paranoia. Besides, Yin's sure the three of them could all be the best of friends.

Hall of Galileo | 6:27 P.M.

"Nothing to report yet, nana." Django made slow, steady steps down the academy hallway, his spurs rhythmically clinking behind him. "It's a nice place, I guess. All this fancy art isn't really my style, though. A bit..." He stopped to look at a painting to his left: Pablo Picasso's The Boy Leading A Horse. The scent from the stables brushed past him. "...pretentious."

As expected, the entire building positively reeked of wealth, the kind of infrastructure that only old money could buy. Money was definitely, undeniably here. The entire building may as well have a glowing neon sign saying so. Maybe make the walls out of dollar bills and pave the floor with gold while they were at it—that was all it boiled down to was once you stripped it down to its true value. This school was as much a "thing" as anything else.

Django had been in rooms filled with ceiling-high piles of riches, and somehow that managed to earn his respect much faster than any garden flocked with horse-shaped topiaries could. Some had described the presentation of the Miracle City crime scene as gaudy, and then those who said those things could be described as critically injured.

Credit where credit was due, Royal Heights was undeniably nice, and yet it all lacked any real character. There was no risk to be seen, not even the illusion of grunge. The whole building took itself too seriously, and that sort of innate classiness was a bit overwhelming, definitely not to Django's palette if he ever needed to eat.

"Of course," his grandmother, Sartana of the Dead said. "Mere trinkets in comparison to what we are truly after. You and I both know that there's talk of a much greater treasure hidden within this school. I’m sure you understand why we must have it."

"Once I find out what it is," Django said. "Consider it as good as mine."

His tone was all confidence, but even Django could sense his own uncertainty in his voice. In all her centuries alive, his grandmother remained unshaken in her assessment.

Insane as it may be, Django knew only someone of such ancient evil could ever hope to understand something of such hypothetical value. It was something mortal minds could never fully grasp, and those who did would surely perish from its hand or theirs.

The definition of this secret seemed to change depending on who you asked: The archive of famous artists? Priceless jewels from this royal family? Suits of armor that could be imbued with spirits of the forgotten? All ideas Django had pitched to his grandmother, each one of them dismissed.

Even if this supposed treasure of Royal Heights Academy was real, its status as an enigma had a chokehold on the Miracle City crime syndicate. No expert thief could ever take possession of a concept. You may as well steal an idea, hold the mere thought of it hostage.

That was just the way things were right now, existing in this gray area of existence where things were real but weren't. As of right now, everything was just an assumption, a rumor, an idea, a hypothetical that transcended anything and everything the multiverse had to offer, and that alone was proving too much for Miracle City's materialistic endgame.

Wealth, priceless artifacts, who had the bigger monster and strongest weapon—that could be measured, held, examined, grow and diminish in value within an endless rat race. Even his and his nana's mystic guitars, that were once the highest value in Miracle City, supposedly paled in comparison to this school's wealth of knowledge.

"I believe this academy's secret is exactly what we're after," his grandmother said. "I’m sure you understand why we must have it."

Django suppressed a groan. "Yes, and it's also the key to controlling all bears, a way to every maiden's heart, and the world's greatest guacamole recipe," he said. "I know the town is tearing itself apart over this, but what could it possibly offer that we don't already have? The power of life and death is literally in our hands! Is that not enough?"

"Ah, but we execute this power as a mere agent of death, not death itself," his nana said. He could hear her grin growing over the phone. "It’s complicated, yes, but that’s the best thing about us, my dear grandson. We can afford to take risks no one else can, and this school's treasure, if it lives up to its reputation, will make that even more so. While others perish in the face of their demise, we can try and try again until—!"

BEEEEP! Please enter five pesos to continue your call

"Eh, hold on…"

"Nana, are you…using a pay phone?"

Suddenly, he could notice the bustle of Miracle City playing out in the background, and not the usual ambiance of riches being guarded by the skeleton army. It wasn't like his universally feared grandmother to be out and about without some sort of ulterior motive in mind. The streets of the town didn't seem to be amuck with chaos, no shouts of fear for miles at the mere acknowledgement of her arrival.

"My evil lair is undergoing a few…reparations." She sounded distracted, shuffling through the thick skirt of her gown to find a single coin. "All in bad faith, I promise. I have big plans for this city, Django. A shame you couldn't be here to see it all come together."

"If things go to plan, I most definitely will," Django assured. "Soon enough, we'll have everything we've ever wanted and more."

"That's my little Djangi-Wangies," his grandmother cooed and Django is happy she can't seem his roll his eyes over the phone. "Things are different now, Django. Miracle City has changed in ways I could never comprehend. Villainy has staggered, and it is up to us to reignite that passion. This change our reality has undergone, I do not fear it the way the others do. We mustn’t scurry but strike when an opportunity presents itself to—"

BEEEEP! Please enter five pesos to—

"Curse these greedy modern machines! I could have sworn I…"

Django slowed his pace down the hall as another voice grabbed his attention. Peering from behind the wall, he could see it was Zoe Aves, expression sour as usual as she stomped back and forth. The academy heiress, Tak seemed unamused by the display, too busy fiddling with her gloves as she sat cross-legged on the windowsill to grace her roommate with even a fraction of her attention.

"Hold that thought, nana," he said. "I sense that an...opportunity has just presented itself. I'll call you back, 'kay?"

"None of this is fair!" Zoe said. "I've done my part, the least you could do is give me something to work with it."

"And congratulate you for a job not even half done? That's not how this works, Zoe."

"I talked Zim into joining the election. He wrote his name so big on the sign-up sheet that he took up three whole pages. I've done everything you've asked, and I demand something in return."

"That’s the thing about elections: you have to win them," Tak said. "His name being on the ballot is a joke that will tire itself out eventually and a favor that will lose its value if he does fail."

Zoe looked upon Tak with a blend of horror and disbelief. "What, I have be his campaign manager now?! I can barely stand to look at him, let alone talk to him."

"Now even I’m not cruel enough to put you through that kind of misery, Zoe." Tak slid her legs off the windowsill, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt before clasping her hands behind her back. "No, Zim will simply…Zim his way into the hearts of voters. Give him some advice here and there if he seems to be struggling. Be the encouraging voice of Zim's presidential run in homeroom. That's all I ask of you. The rest will sort itself out."

"You can't be serious,"

"Oh, you can wait another month, can't you? These things take time." Tak turned to leave only for Zoe to grab her by the blazer hanging from her shoulders, halting her to a stop.

"It’s rude…" Tak hissed through her teeth, hand bunching the lapels of her blazer like a lifeline. "To touch others’ belongings, Zoe."

"Have you forgotten who you’re taking to, two-face? If something isn’t mine, I’ll make it mine." Zoe’s eyes were burning with a dangerous, beautiful anger but she obliged Tak’s request, seeming to take some pleasure in seeing the girl readjusting herself so frantically.

"You're boring me to tears!" Zoe said. "What's stopping me from just going down there myself, hm? What good is a combination if I can just destroy whatever's protecting that glorified basement and take this school down with it?"

Tak gave a low sound of annoyance. She’s still readjusting her clothing as if Zoe had dislocated something vital. "Oh, Zoe, what I'd give to see the image that's been printed into your brain. What are you imagining, a steel fortress? A hedge maze? Ooh, a comically oversized safe with a lock the size of your head, perhaps? Go on, tell me."

Zoe's shoulders slumped in defeat. Now she's the one on the windowsill, the back of her head against the glass as she gave a tired sigh. "Fine, but what if he still loses?"

"He won’t. And for your sake, he most definitely shouldn’t." Tak said. "When he's officially in office, then and only then will you get the information you're after."

"That sucks," Zoe said. "You suck."

"A lot of things suck right now, Aves. And you're going to suck up this little tantrum or I'll give you something to really complain about." Tak turned to walk down the hall, forcing Django to hide and listen for her fading footsteps. "Now then, I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere. Goodnight."

With Tak out of earshot, Zoe could only quietly grumble to herself.

Zoe Aves, Black Cuervo, the daughter of The Flock of Fury. They had never spoken to each other properly, but he did hold some quiet admiration for her body of work. Crime families were no oddity in Miracle City, but The Flock was easily the second most infamous after Django's esteemed lineage.

A trio of scorned women whose hatred of the Riveras far transcended what would otherwise be a fit of petty rage. The desperation of a bittersweet romance had turned each one of them absolutely foul, an event as tragic as it was oddly fascinating.

"I can see you,"

Django stiffened, finally turning to face her properly. "Oh, oops! This isn't the way to the little boys' room! Heh, big place, am I right?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "Don’t play dumb with me! How much did you hear?"

"Only all of it." he said. He'd play coy for now, make her feel safe. "I knew it would be awfully rude to interrupt you, Miss…"

"Zoe," she said plainly. "Zoe Aves."

"Django," he replied, a small tip of his hat—not his usual one but the dark blue beret the school permitted because the wide brimmed black cowboy hat was deemed "too distracting". "Django of the Dead."

"I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before," Zoe said. "In or around large bodies of fire and stolen goods, that is."

"Oh, am I really getting that obvious? Sorry, discretion isn’t really my style."

"Not that there’s anything wrong with that," Zoe replied. "The heir to the most fearsome villain in Miracle City has nothing to hide. I'm sure your parents are proud."

"My reputation precedes me," Django said, giving a short bow. "As does yours, Black Cuervo."

Zoe froze, her one visible eye wide. "What did you—?"

"My mom knows your mom, and my nana knows yours. A sort of villain truce behind the scenes," Django assured quickly, not entirely sure if Zoe’s initial shock meant she was winding up an excuse or a punch. "We have nothing but respect for what you’ve done over the years. It's an honor to speak to you face to face, really."

"I suppose," Zoe said, finally seeming to relax. She still looked winded from her talk with Tak, a glassy stare out the window as the artificial sun began to set. "We descendants of evil and not so ancient evil really should stick together. And I guess, if someone put a gun to my head and forced me to answer, you'd be the first or second person I'd pick. Not that I'd want you to."

"There are only so many fellow teen villains running around." Django sat beside her. "When the time comes, we’ll be all that’s left. All this rivalry and secrecy will get us nowhere. We need a sense of community."

"Says the one who almost turned every villain in town into the world's biggest chile con queso," Zoe said. "What would you know about community?"

Django shrugged. "I don't play well with others. And you're still alive to complain, aren't you?"

Zoe met him with a long silence before giving a small snort of a chuckle. "True. I just barely managed to get my foot in the door with that little tournament of yours."

"Aw, don’t tell me your mommy wanted you home before curfew? Even El Tigre managed to drag his sorry butt into the tournament, and pretty much won, too."

"And lived to tell the tale?"

"That last part I’m still working on,"

"With so many villains out of my hair for one night, I could have emptied out the banks and jewelry stores all over Miracle City without my usual distractions, but I was after much bigger things," Zoe said. "I suppose almost being burnt to death was worth it."

"Hey now, you and your family being there was a compliment more than anything! You're competition to my nana’s empire, Aves!" Django said. "Any no-name can rob a bank these days, but The Flock of Fury, talk about pizazz! Talk about style! The perfect combination of brute force and good old-fashioned stealth."

"Thank you," Zoe replied, confidently tipping back her chin. "We can’t all be mountains of power like El Oso, but a laser or three certainly comes in handy."

"I'm sure there's still plenty of treasures you haven't gotten your hands on yet. That's the thing about taking what you want, it forms the most insatiable appetite." 

"And I’m absolutely starving, and not just cause I skipped dinner," Zoe said. "I suppose it's me being so...‘hungry’ that got me into this mess."

"Then what have you been craving lately, Zoe?"

"I don’t even know anymore," Zoe said, her gaze wandering to Django's guitar firmly strapped to his back. "Lately, it’s nothing tangible. It’s the reputation I’m after, all the shiny things in the world couldn’t replace that." She gave a wistful look out of the window. The sunlight painted her pale skin with a warm, relaxing orange. Paired with her red eyes, makeup smeared around her lashes like soot, she's like a walking bonfire. "Why do you think they wanted us here anyway?"

"Because we’re good at being villains," Django said. "We’ve made a name for ourselves that grows beyond the shadows of our ancestors, clearly. Good or evil, making a name for yourself is what really matters."

"I guess I prefer it that way," she said. "I would have keeled over if I had to spend a year with a bunch of goody-goodies. Manny and Frida are already enough of a headache."

"Friends close, enemies closer," Django said. "And you and Tak seem to be the best of friends from the looks of it."

"Hardly, I’m just putting up with her so she doesn’t rat out my family to Manny and Fridumb, and I can barely do that." Just bringing up the topic obviously got her heated again, and yet there's an air of respect radiating off of her. That touchy moment in every villain's life when you can't decide if you're intimidated or impressed.

"A real card, isn't she? But you'd be a fool to squander this direct line of intel. How does that old saying go again?"

"The early bird catches the worm," Zoe said. "And she's most definitely a parasite."

Zoe got up then, arms folded across her chest in a sudden display of defensiveness. This moment of vulnerability was a moment too long, and suddenly she's looking at him like evidence that needs to be buried.

So protective, aren't we, birdy? Django thought. What other secrets do you have for me?

"It's getting late, I really should get going," she said, making her way towards the elevator. "But do know that this little chat doesn't make us friends."

Django gave a wide smile. "Friends? No, no, no, of course not. But perhaps...partners in crime?"

"Partners?" Zoe said, smirking. "At least take a girl out to dinner first."

Chapter Text

Homeroom | Thursday, August 23 | 8:32 A.M.

Yuck would never tell anybody this in fear of losing some major street cred, but his favorite class at this shit school was easily pottery. Everything else he could go without.

With such a colorful selection of options to begin with, it would definitely seem the school was at least trying to tailor itself to his interests, his "gifts" and "talents" that made him so unique to begin with, but none of which really got his blood boiling with passion.

Many would describe Yuck's unbridled ambitions towards greatness to be that of miserable, blood thirsty rage, but no one ever brought up his natural drive, never his hidden skill of creative expression that went beyond all the ways he could rearrange someone's body parts.

Fencing at least came close to sparking something in him, truly the neutered puppygriff of swordplay, but swordplay nonetheless. They even gave him a real sword, a genuine rapier that should have never been in the hands of a teenager, but back when Yuck could still consider himself a child, he’d wielded much more dangerous things.

Lessons for Future Leaders was bearable, if a bit restrained in its teachings. Apparently, Yuck’s ideas of leadership had more in common with dictatorship than with democracy, which seemed to make the teacher of that class especially precocious. Lately, they had said something about Yuck's natural penchant for Machiavellianism, which he was sure would make for interesting remarks on his progress report.

Even in a school filled with freaks from all corners of the multiverse, Yuck still felt like the outlier. Everywhere he looked, he still managed to be judged by someone or something, some higher, holier-than-thou power notwithstanding.

But come sixth period, Yuck could feel a wave of calm, something almost resembling joy, as he tied on his apron and got to work in his little corner of the classroom. What the school called The Hephaestus Hall was where all the future handymen of the world remained, all the ingenuity of a blue-collar worker, but all the imagination of an artist. The students here weren’t as dainty and delicate as the poets, not as pompous as the theater kids, not as graceful and sweet as the dancers, not as pretentious as the painters.

There was something weirdly cathartic about using his hands to create rather than destroy. Working with the kind of material with some give, some fluidity and weight—it was satisfying to workshop it into something he wanted. It wasn’t much different than making mud pies or performing barehanded surgery, two skills he had mastered in the depths of many a rain-soaked forest. And best of all, no one gave you weird looks if you got dirty.

You'd be much weirder if you didn't.

It had barely been a week in the academy, and all classes were catering to the basics: students in drawing and illustration were doing gesture sketches, architects made their dioramas out of tooth picks and popsicle sticks, and pottery was a week of getting used to the clay—the flesh of the operation—which meant hours of making any range of abominations: bowls, plates, bulbous little action figures, book stands, penises, it didn’t matter as long as it was something.

In the coming months, they’d learn to make those same things out of different materials—stone, glass, ice, marble—but for now, it was flimsy, flexible, yet stubborn clay.

"That’s a nice one," his teacher had said the other day as they looked at his project, a delicate clay jar about the size of his palm with a crimson finish that wasn't Machiavellian in the slightest. It was about big enough to hold a candle or a really small, really delicate trinket, perhaps the war medals of a despot.

Yuck would make a lid for it today.

He managed to get into homeroom when the echo of the warning bell had long since left the hallways. To show up at all was a feat in itself and he was already mentally prepared for Mr. Rivera to chastise him for what had become routine tardiness. But not today, as the classroom was clearly busying itself with a distraction that let him slip by undetected.

Almost everyone was huddled around a desk in the second row of seats, Yin standing right in the center of it as if she were parting an ocean of admirers.

"Oooh, is this one topped with a slice of grapefruit?" Mr. Rivera squealed, holding up a tiny confection in his hand, a tiny sliver of grapefruit crowning a bed of pink frosting. "How delightful!"

Frida gave a soft gasp. "Oh my gosh! This one has a kitty face made out of chocolate syrup! So cute!"

"It actually kinda looks like a tiger. Don’t those look like stripes to you?" Manny said. "And these strawberries remind me of your goggles."

"Ya got any pizza ones?" Gaz asked, her brother giving her a discerning look.

"Can’t possibly imagine a way that would work," Dib had already picked out his own cupcake, small and pink like the others but customized with a ghost shaped cherry sucker speared through the center. "But I’ve got a feeling that one with the pig tail could be yours. And the sprinkles kinda look like those buttons on your Game Slave."

Mr. Rivera turned to look as Yuck's presence (his scent) marked his attendance. "Ah, there you are, Yuck." he said, not once glancing at the class grandfather clock or offering a passive aggressive "thank you for joining us" like he did most days. "You’re just in time for Yin’s cupcake campaign...or perhaps a ‘cakepaign’? A ‘camcake’?"

"As of right now, we’re calling it a ‘pink sweep’," Lina said. She was holding a clipboard under her arm, a slender pen with a big ball of fluff at the end between her fingers.

Also pink.

Almost everything in Yin’s vicinity was pink: the pink banner cinched by massive ribbons on her chair, her desk topped with a frilly pink lace doily, her and Lina's matching pink sashes, the cupcakes themselves smearing pink frosting over the cheeks and mouths of his classmates like bubblegum herpes—he was gonna be sick.

"Yes, Yuck, so glad you could make it," Yin said, her expression and tone as artificial as her sugary offerings. She gestured to the heart-shaped platter before her. "Cupcake?"

"I think I'll pass, dipstick."

"You look like you could use one," Yin said, her smile all teeth. "So bitter…"

In fact, there were a few cupcakes still on the platter. A whole four were untouched either because Yin didn't pass them out or their designated eater wasn't interested; rejected it outright was more like it.

Yuck assumed the latter as he considered the details of each one: gumdrops of different colors orbiting a pink solar system, some lovingly arranged black sprinkles on a sculpted rose made of frosting, red velvet with a white chocolate skull in the center, a—"Is that supposed to be me?"

"I think I've really captured your likeness," Yin said. It was less a cupcake and more of a lopsided muffin, half-baked and drooping from neglect with what looked like pretzel sticks jabbed into the lukewarm breading. A big brown frown was painted down the middle. "The smell, not so much."

Mr. Rivera was too busy enjoying his slice of grapefruit to notice Yuck's clenched fist shaking on the grip of his satchel.

"Ah, Yin!" Their painfully oblivious homeroom teacher said. "Didn't you want to share some words with the class about your campaign promises?"

"You are so right! Thanks for letting us have the floor, Mr. Rivera." Yin said as Lina handed the clipboard to her. "We won't be long, promise."

"I insist, take your time. I’m just happy to see my homeroom students so excited about this school!" Mr. Rivera placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Yin, I have a feeling you will make a great change to an already great educational environment."

Yin nodded, consulting her clipboard. "I most definitely will! For starters, I think—"

"Excuse me," Zim said and it's the first time Yuck's ever been happy to hear that moron's voice. An entire plane could crash through the classroom, smearing everyone's innards across the wood paneling, and it would still be more bearable than hearing Yin's personal parade of suitors catering to her attention fetish.

In a rare display of patience, Zim seemed to be simmering in quiet rage since class started, only now poised to strike. "Are we really proclaiming the pink one’s victory so soon when I, Zim, have also joined this race?"

Dib nearly swallowed his lollipop. "What? Seriously?! You can’t possibly be pulling this stunt again."

"That I am, Dib!" Zim said, a shiny rubber boot placed firmly on his desk as he stood with arms folded from his post. This had to be the third time this week he's adopted this pose. "And I can assure you this time this school will know true Irken power!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Dib said, his statement's boldness deflated from how he jabbed with the end of his saliva-slicked lollipop. The gumball eyes in the ghost's face rattled silently. "That's assuming anyone would even vote for you, space boy."

"Come now, gentlemen. Zim, it’s, uh, well, I wouldn't say good, but definitely exciting. You’re also running in this school election, but please do wait for your turn. And get off the desk, please. I won't ask you again." Mr. Rivera said. "As of right now, Yin has the floor. If you have anything to say after she's done, you have my full permission."

Zim complied with a huff, arms folded in his seat as his glare darted between Mr. Rivera, Dib, and Yin as if he couldn't decide who the object of his fury should be.

"Thank you, sir," Yin said. She ran a delicately manicured fingernail down to a highlighted section of her paper. "Now, do know that accepting my cupcakes does not mean I’m binding you to a choice for the upcoming election. There’s still plenty of time and a lot of great candidates that have joined the race, each one with their own unique agenda in mind for the school."

She turned to face Zim, who was still scowling at her. "And Zim, I look forward to having you as an opponent."

"AND I LOOK FORWARD TO HAVING YOU AS A—!"

"Anyway, I was thinking about providing some minor but noticeable changes to the academy. As great as it is, I think we could be pushing for an even stronger academic outreach, especially pertaining to college applications…" Yin was too busy consulting a sticky note lined with little frolicking kittens on her clipboard to notice how the mood shifted in the classroom, audible groans coming from all corners of the room. "Now, I've just recently learned what an ACT and SAT is, so pardon if I'm misrepresenting them, but—"

"Tests? You're talking about tests?" Frida said, a half-chewed strawberry in her cheek.

"Come awwnnnn, Yin," Yang said. "You're gonna sink your campaign before it even starts if you assume everyone is as big a dork as you."

Yuck smirked. Her own brother, her beloved flesh and blood, calling her out so early into her pitch clearly rattled her, and Yuck could see the sweet surrender of embarrassment on her face for a brief window of time. "I promise, once I get past all the 'boring' stuff, we can talk about all the fun things I have in mind. Okay? Like, I think that—"

"Tak, I can run too, right?" Yuck said.

Tak nodded. "Of course,"

Yin nearly dropped her clipboard, her mouth agape. "What?! Tak, you can't be serious."

Tak shrugged. "Yuck isn’t breaking any rules, and he’s fully eligible to be a candidate. I’m sorry, Yin, but my hands are tied."

"Okay, but Zim is no problem?" Dib said. "Well, in that case, I’m—"

"No, Dib. You’re not."

"What?! Why can’t I run in the election?" Dib said, slamming a hand on her desk. "The handbook clearly states that students can sign up for the ballot within the first three weeks of school, and seeing as how we’ve just barely hit the one-week mark, I think I’m perfectly eligible."

Tak shook her head, clicking her tongue. "Ah, Dib, have you ever heard of a little thing called ‘community bias’?"

"Community bias?"

"Membrane Labs has transferred too many of its resources to the academy for you to be a fair candidate. The jets, the speakers in the conference room and dance studio, the scantron scanning software, the air and weather machine, just about every inch of the infirmary, and that's not even getting to the EduPods," Tak said. "Anyone familiar with the name Membrane would immediately associate you with your much more successful father, which would create a clear disadvantage for everyone else."

Dib looked taken aback from such a measured response, taking a moment to adjust his glasses—expressive, pensive, but understanding. "Well, I guess that makes sense, but—Wait! No! You’re just saying that to keep me from running! Plenty of students have parents who work here, and they can still be on the ballot."

"But their parents aren’t Professor Membrane," Tak said coldly. "I’d say the same thing to your sister—"

"Don’t drag me into this."

"—so do know I hold no bias against you, Dib. This rule even applies to myself."

"Not like it would matter," Yuck said. "Beat one dork, beat them all."

Yin scoffed. "You? You really think you have a chance at winning?"

"You're worried you might lose to me, aren't you?"

Yin opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself suddenly. Something foul crossed over her features as she carefully placed the clipboard on Mr. Rivera's desk and took a few confident steps forward.

"Everyone, while I'm just so happy that Yuck is willing to embarrass himself like this, I really should let you know how he personally defines leadership..."

Yin is speaking to the class with such kind authority, and yet her tone reveals her intentions. Even her peripheral vision is that of utter disdain, an opportunity to air Yuck's failures to the students, just in case they were still wishy-washy about hating him.

"Man, where to start. Oh yeah! There was that one time he made hundreds of clones of me and Yang with a bracelet that he stole with the specific purpose of bossing them around, only for them to turn disobedient." Yin said.

Yuck rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because they were definitely listening to you."

"And I can't forget the one time he got his hands on a tiara that let him be in charge of the town for barely a day," Yin added, then turned to look at him. "Still managed to screw that up. So it's no wonder he wants to scratch and beg at this opportunity, like he does with literally any chance he gets to be a little dictator. Yuck only knows how to execute authority through force or by everyone in the room being absolute idiots, and I like to think we're all way too smart for that."

"Because they are idiots, Yin! Massive ones if they'd actually vote for you. Completely braindead if they think Zim has a chance."

"Alright, that's enough." Mr. Rivera stood between the two of them.

Yin looked up at Mr. Rivera, big blue eyes wet with a trained, artificial sorrow. Yuck swears that her face is flushed with color now, red with embarrassment.

"Mr. Rivera, all of this wouldn't have happened if Yuck hadn't barged into this discussion uninvited like he always does! He interrupted me while I was clearly in the middle of something important! The only difference is that a wall is still intact."

"You better shut up and listen to her," Yuck said. "I've still got a tooth missing from the last time I had the sheer audacity to inconvenience Yin."

"I guess I didn't knock out enough."

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again: your little feuds with each other are just a distraction from the bigger picture," Mr. Rivera said, and Yuck doesn't even suppress his groan. "You're high schoolers now, teenagers on your way to bigger and better futures, and you're going to let a little conflict get in the way of that?"

"Psh, 'little' is not the word I'd use to describe it, bud," Yuck said. "Yin's craving for validation is anything but little."

"You think I’m joining this race just for my self-esteem? As if!"

"I know for an absolute fact that you are, Yinnie," Yuck said. "Insecure enough to let some random guy waltz into your life and zap up your energy just because you liked how his knees looked. So freaking desperate for a little affection that you thought feeling lightheaded was the same thing as being in love!" Yuck stopped to laugh into his fist and sighed. "You’d trust a guy selling candy from a van if you thought he had nice enough hair. Or had a posh British accent. Either will do, clearly."

Yin swallowed, her voice only low enough for the two of them to hear. "That random guy was you."

"And you had a hand in both of those things, jerk!" Yang abruptly stood from his chair, but Yin shook her head.

"Yang, don't," she said. "He's just trying to get under my skin. It's fine."

"He gets under your skin. I leave a bruise on his," Yang said.

Yuck met Yang’s scowl with a smile.

"Aww, looks like big brother's here to save you!" He cooed. "Gonna protect her honor, Woo Fool? Stroke her ego some more?"

"Ego?" Yin started, her voice low. She's whispering the word practically; the humbleness sparked by the Brett comment has scurried under the rug. All that's left is rage. "Ego?! You want to talk to me about having an ego?!"

Yin’s glare deepened, stepping—or more stomping—towards Yuck. "You’re the one always going around calling yourself the world’s strongest Woo Foo warrior. You’re the walking definition of an ego!"

"Not if it’s true."

Yuck hated himself for feeling defensive. His mind was screaming for him to put up a Foo Field, but he stood his ground instead, fists clenched firmly at his sides even as Yin closed the distance between them.

He could already detect little waves of her energy from across the room, certainly enough for even Mr. Rivera to back off as he was intervening with forces he had no understanding of. Mr. Rivera would have made for a decent meat shield, but now, without a buffer, this magic is breezing right by Yuck's face like a heat wave, like his face is hovering over a fire.

"Being stronger than the one percent that didn’t get wiped out is nothing to brag about," Yin said. "Only an immature little twerp like you would have the audacity to treat it like some sort of perk."

Yin turned to address the class again. She's not even bothering with the fake smile anymore, no more pageantry from the little princess, and everyone just has to sit there and watch.

"And here we have a shining example of hypocrisy. For someone who wants to be the new standard of Woo Foo, a culture and martial art form that was nearly extinct, Yuck has done absolutely nothing to preserve its legacy. For the little time Yuck has even been alive, he's tried to kill my master, kill me, kill Yang, and try to destroy any town he gets within five feet of because he has the impulse control of a caffeinated chihuahua. Not to mention he's lied to me, manipulated me, took advantage of me at my most vulnerable, twice, just to get his body back or get some stupid magic pants! And he still has the nerve to call himself the victim. He's a self-pitying prick with a nark on for everyone's misery, and if he can't respect his own reason for even existing, what makes you think he'll respect you?"

"Way to forget the part where you and your brother killed me in the first place!"

"Well, maybe you should have stayed dead!"

When the words were out, Yin’s expression changed, as if a mask had slipped off sometime during their argument. Yin’s blissful smile or pedantic smugness were irritating enough, but the abject shock striking her features is nothing Yuck has seen before.

What’s even stranger is Yuck himself, frozen where he stood. This would be the opportune time to strike, right? Challenge her, prove her being Level Three was nothing to him, but instead, he feels like he’s growing stiff, like a heat lamp cementing wet clay. If he moved too fast, he’d just snap into pieces.

He should have at least been relishing in her hesitance. The high and mighty Yin, a deer in the headlights at the weight of her own words, was expressing such a dark part of herself to the class she was trying to sway. A part of Yuck was urging him to laugh, smile, channel any of the vindictive energy he had before, but nothing came out.

Before any apologies or punishments could be voiced, Yin is already grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

Girls’ Restroom | 8:40 A.M.

"Yin? Yin, are you in here?"

Yin froze, uncurling herself from the pathetic little ball of sulk her body had become inside the restroom stall. Head in her hands, rocking back and forth so much in a rush of panic, she triggered the automatic flushing at least twice now.

"Lina said you might have run off to the restrooms, and I'm starting to suspect you did."

"Pellets, why did it have to be her?" Yin murmured into her knees. She could easily Foopertate out of this stall or become invisible for all it mattered, avoid responsibility altogether, dig her grave a little deeper.

"Yin, I know you're in here."

Yin cleared her throat, stood up, and opened the door halfway to see Tak already standing outside her stall, expression a mask of coolness.

"Hi, Tak," Yin said, forcing a smile. "I'm, uh, sorry you had to see that."

Tak nodded. "As did the entire homeroom."

"I can’t apologize enough for that whole incident," Yin said. "Not like it's my fault! Yuck is the one who-"

"It's not a problem, Yin. Don't think my family opened this school without expecting a little bit of friction here and there. And given you and Yuck's talents, the outcome could have been far worse."

Far worse meaning extreme acts of violence. Yang would most definitely have a thing or two to share with Yuck in the coming minutes because, unlike his precautious sister, he doesn't mind punishment. He relished the chance to cause a scene at his own expense. Yang doesn't care about things like reputation and a clean record if it means a little healthy self-expression.

"Thank Foo it didn't come to that,"

Yin was still holding the restroom door as if she were maintaining her privacy behind a shower curtain. Yin was as presentable as she'd been this morning, but she feels weirdly vulnerable under Tak's judgmental gaze. Those dark eyes conveying nothing yet everything, that sickly pale complexion, it makes Yin's skin bristle over, makes the streaks of tears that darkened the fur on her cheeks all the more noticeable.

"Have you been crying?" Tak asked suddenly, and Yin tried not to yelp as Tak pushed the door out of the way completely, running a gloved thumb under Yin's wet eyelid. Her hand was still resting there, cupping her cheek and letting that expensive leather get damp. "He didn't make you cry, did he?"

"N-no, I made myself cry more than anything. You know how people cry when they get mad? I'm one of them, ha ha..."

"That Yuck sure is a menace," Tak said, Yin's words seeming to go over her head. "Correct me if I'm wrong but isn't Yuck an unstable amalgamation of you and your twin brother's flaws? And this combination of traits has shaped him into a megalomaniac, practically a sadist?"

"Uh, you could say that," Yin said, hope she said. Her cheek is so warm and her brain is fuzzing over like steam.

Tak pulled her hand away, seemingly just to put a finger to her chin in deep thought. "His student file is a bit of a mess, but not a word in there implies he's worthy of your pity."

Yuck had a student file? How and where that came to be was its own mystery.

"It’s complicated," Yin said. "Any file will only give you the half of it, but me and Yang’s relationship with Yuck is a lot more complex than any of our other villains, mostly because of what he is and not just who he is. And me and Yuck, our past goes a little bit deeper. I swear it's like he personally has it out for me."

"You hate him," Tak said, and Yin feels a dull pain in her chest, like the words have been yanked out of her own subconscious.

"N-no?" Yin said, fiercely shaking her head, as if trying to rattle the question mark off her response with enough force.

In any logical world, Yin would hate Yuck, and yet she can't even commit to the bit. Hate was unbecoming of a hero and certainly a Woo Foo knight. Not even Master Yo in all his years, seeing the rise and fall of Woo Foo and the very people who executed its demise, never once claimed to hate any of them.

Not verbally, at least.

Perhaps he had just grown too senile and apathetic to muster the energy. Yin could certainly blame the gaps in his memory for that. You couldn't hate someone if you didn't know what they did.

But for Tak to insinuate such a thing, it certainly didn't stem from noting. The entire class could see now that something about Yin's dynamic with Yuck, it inspired a level of rage she had never felt with any other villain. Of all the evil forces that have threatened her, abducted her, nearly killed her, no one has sunk their claws into her psyche the way he has, no one has hurt her so personally, so intimately.

No one hated like Yuck did, and thus Yin had no choice but to reciprocate that hatred.

"No, I don't hate Yuck," Yin stated again, more firmly.

"Oh, well, pardon me for my assumption," Tak said. "It's clear his words set a bad precedent that I just can't ignore. Have you considered that maybe Yuck finds you to be more of a challenge—someone he needs to best mentally, not just physically? You are intellectual equals in almost every way so to best you in this sort of 3D chess could prove to be more stimulating than a mere fight to the death."

"I don’t want to fight Yuck to the death," Yin said, then sighed. "Even if I...technically have killed him—uh, I mean erased him, whatever—it was always an act of self-defense."

"No need to explain your psychological woes to me, Yin. He's too dangerous to be left on his own, and you acted accordingly. And he's still here now, isn't he? How ungrateful of him..."

Tak placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I’m only hoping to guide you in the right direction, and I can’t help but imagine Yuck, this lesser half, only wishes to steer you away from it," she said. "I know you have some lofty ambitions by attending this academy, and I’ll do what I can to help you accomplish that."

"I...I just want to leave a good impression here," Yin said, her voice low. "This is my first time being in a real school, and I guess I just want it to be everything I thought it would be."

"Which could prove difficult with Yuck as a political rival," Tak said. "I would apologize for validating his proposal, but it wouldn't be fair to the rest of the school if I didn't."

"I-it's fine!" Of course, Yin forgives her. She couldn't stay mad at Tak. Tak was just doing her job.

"In that case, you have no choice but to put your best foot forward and show the school just what a truly terrible person he’s really been to you."

Yin gasped. "But Tak, I never thought you would openly endorse slander!"

"It’s not slander if it’s the truth, Yin. If Yuck wants to make a mockery of this academy and pull the rest of the student body down to his level, then I say you stop him before he even gets the chance."

"If anything, I think anger just motivates him," Yin said. "And there's just no coming back from that fight we had earlier. That thing I said...it was awful and—"

"It doesn't matter. Yin, do you know how to make yourself cry?"

Yin blinked. "Fake crying? Crocodile tears? You want me to do the biggest acting trick ever for a school election?"

"It doesn’t have to be acting if the tears are genuine."

"Anything he’s done, I’ve been done crying over it for years," Yin said. "Besides, him seeing me break down like that, in front of the entire student body? I’d just be embarrassing myself."

"It's not what the tears mean to you, but what the tears mean to the school. Is there nothing more tragic and beautiful than a distraught maiden, a woman scorned? You should have seen the way you had the class wrapped around your finger back there. Yuck, so relentlessly tearing into you, reopening wounds while you stood there in quiet, sad defiance. It was the stuff of poetry, Yin! Learn to do that on command, and you'll have even more than the presidency under your belt."

Tak gripped Yin’s face firmly, forcing their eyes to lock. "Here, I'll help you...Cry for me, Yin."

"I just don't think—"

"Cry," And the word sinks into her now like a trigger.

Yin tried her best to summon the sensation, tried to feel the pain first behind her eyes. Focus, focus enough, and it would spread all the way across the muscles in her face, and like a piece of wadded up paper she'd scrunch up and....and yet her bottom lip didn't tremble, her hands didn't shake, her vision didn't blur. All the sadness she had before seemed to have dried up her tear ducts—the authenticity had drained her.

Tak's pretty, frozen face is still one still image, and Yin only wishes she were ashamed enough to cry from the embarrassment.

Oh my gosh, I can't do it. Yin thought. Tak hates me.

"I'm sorry...I just can't," Yin said. Her conscience wouldn't allow it, clearly.

"Not yet," Tak replied. "But practice makes perfect, and I want you to practice a lot."

Hall of Eunomia | 9:10 A.M.

Tak let out a deep exhale as she looked down at her leather-clad fingers. A set of six looked back at her, stretched as far as they could go, straining the leather in all its shiny, rubbery blackness. She gave them a small little flex, did the same with her toes that were growing raw and calloused from the weeks—months? days? years?—of ballet training that had done miracles for her body, not so much for her aching brain that simply couldn't decide which of her memories were on stage and which ones were surrounded by dirt and shit.

Without her even noticing she's performing a second leap into a tour jeté, feet landing oh so lightly on the shiny wooden floor.

Oh yeah, she can do that now. Each time it's a shock to her system and no matter how much her brain and body protest, the little voice that yearned to perform always won out in the end. She'd have to work on that—and by work, she meant discipline.

Like a muscle spasm, Tak has to keep these little jitters under control or someone might cause a fuss, think she was crazy, and any time sentenced to a mental ward was unbecoming of an academy heiress.

It certainly breaks the flow of her quiet stroll down the hallway, classes in progress behind closed doors, and yet she still dances and dances down the hall—Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop, I said! Here in the Hall of Eunomia it's all social sciences—anthropology, law, philanthropy, networking, the new generation of manipulators, con artists, and cheats ready to weave their silken prose around the ears of desperate sheep.

This section of classrooms was this close to being dubbed the Hall of Ogmios, named after a Celtic deity of speech and writing.

With his magic tongue, he could create chains that bound hordes and hordes of men to him, each one willingly following him to the ends of the Earth, where they would surely die with his words the last thing imprinted into their brains like a branding iron.

It was the binding and persuasion of his character that piqued Tak's interest, what better representation of weaving such tight bindings over the mind? But no, too scary, too odd, too risqué, not enough mass appeal.

These would not be manipulators but embodiments of fairness and honesty—pillars of justice, Tak. They will lead us. They're going to help people, Tak. A tongue ring? How vulgar!

She was among them when the building was still under construction. She wore a hard hat and a little mask so the dust and debris wouldn't taint her delicate human lungs. She saw the blueprints for the dorms, the dining hall, the library, every single square inch of carpet being rolled out before being just as hastily discarded because it washed out the aged creamy whites of the imported statues.

She tested out the floor of the dance studio, nearly leapt out a window onto piles of sharp concrete below with the sheer force of her strong feet.

Something twists in her stomach at the memory, then she's laughing, then nauseous again. You know fully well we're not going down that easily.

Tak didn't know how she did that either. Except that was a complete stinking lie because she absolutely did.

Her heels didn't meet the floor again until she rounded the corner, Mr. Rivera's voice trailing down the empty hallway.

Mr. Rivera was giving Yuck what would be best phrased as a "stern talking to". Yuck was completely slouched on the floor, scowling his way through Mr. Rivera's attempt to play mentor, mediator, and counselor. Yuck's left eye appeared to be swollen from a confrontation that must have happened mere seconds after she left.

"Yuck, don't think I'm not disappointed by what Yin said to you, but you weren't exactly being polite yourself. Nothing about that altercation was appropriate and I specifically said I don't invite that kind of hostility into the classroom."

"That's a tall order, teach. You may as well ask Yang not to crap himself."

Mr. Rivera's shoulders slumped. "That...crass comment aside, I do hope you have it in you to at least apologize and—"

"Oh, you want me to apologize? Okay!" Yuck stood up then, a finger jabbed in his homeroom teacher’s face.

Mr. Rivera looks more irritated than intimidated and Tak can't help but wonder how long this tantrum has been going on before she arrived. Mr. Rivera may as well be taming a grease fire for all the difference it made. "Yuck—"

"At the end of the day she's always the victim! Yin can do no wrong, Yin is so sweet and perfect and we all have to get on our hands and knees and kiss the pink little ground she walks on. She bats her eyelashes and suddenly all her problems just go away! Must be nice."

"I didn't say that," Mr. Rivera said. "You're both at fault here, but it was you who aggravated the situation."

"That girl is a grade-A prick, and if you really think I'm a jerk, you don't know the first thing about what a complete and total ass she can be. And her brother—"

"Hardly has anything to do with this," Mr. Rivera gave a world-weary sigh, removing his glasses before kneeling down to Yuck's height. His tone was much softer now, less authoritative. "I've done what I can but I'm afraid this is a conflict that goes far beyond my job description...and pay. I'll be passing this information over to Master Yo. I'm sure he'll have much more insightful things to offer."

Yuck gave a short, bitter laugh. "Go ahead! Tell him! See if I care! You know he's not my master, right? He's Yin and Yang's personal little geriatric fatass, and anything he has to say on this is absolute bullshit!"

"But he is still your elder and you will—"

"Mr. Rivera," Tak said.

Mr. Rivera put his glasses back on, nervously adjusting his sweater. "Ah, happy to see you again, Tak. I trust that Yin is alright?"

"Phenomenal, she should be on her way to class right now," she said. "I appreciate your assistance on the matter, but I'll take it from here. You're excused."

Mr. Rivera tried not to make his relief too obvious as he made his way back to his classroom, the clinking of spurs slowly fading down the hall. "OK, be good!"

Tak put her hands on her hips, her grin as wide as Yuck's frown.

"You are quite the master of bad first impressions, aren't you?" Tak said. "If what I've heard from Yin is true, then I can only assume this is one of many disasters you've left in your wake. That's a lot of carnage for someone still so new to the world."

"Had a little girls' talk, huh? What did she say about me?"

"Nothing I didn't already know," Tak said, and at least that is actually true. "Luckily for both of us, I've already done my share of homework on you: you’re a fascinating creature, an energy being with the privilege of a physical form, and yet your molecular structure is a bit, for lack of a better word, flimsy."

"I’ll make the head on your neck flimsy if you don’t leave me alone," he said. "I turn this place into a pile of ash and then we'll see whose really flimsy."

His eyes, already an amber gold that beamed with his restless anger seemed to spark at the mere mention of violence. He kept the flames that flickered in his palm to that of a weak bonfire, just barely readable to the ceiling sprinklers.

Can't have you getting wet now, can we?

Us, I think you mean us.

"Arson and mass murder?" Tak said, stamping out the thought before she was tempted to reply out loud. "So soon?"

"I've done worse in less time," Yuck replied. "Try me."

Yuck's words were dripping with intent, and that's all it really was. Intent. A suggestion. Simply a strong maybe.

This academy, this castle, this glorified monument of altruism, creativity, success, having it all to herself almost literally happened overnight. She understood its structural integrity more than anyone, and the mark it would leave on the world if he did destroy it—because she knows he can—and yet, Tak knew for an absolute fact that this abomination in the shape of a rabbit would never do such a thing.

Do it, Tak teased with a simple smile. Burn down the only home you've ever known. What was one more night in the woods? What was another meal of stollen food? What was another few more years pacing the world aimlessly? Too young to be taken seriously as a villain, too Woo Foo to be anyone's protegee, too poor to afford any of those lavish secret lairs.

"Yuck," she said softly. "I really do mean it when I say I find you fascinating. It's all with good intent. I don’t want you to misinterpret a word I’m saying as a threat. If anything, I think you’re easily one of the students here with the most promise."

Yuck doesn't look any less angry but the fire has been smothered with a wave of his hand. He couldn't murder someone who was praising him, raging narcissist that he was.

Tak continued, "You're what I'd like to call a biological miracle, brought to life through magic and held together by sheer willpower. In my humble opinion, what better student to have as a representative of this academy? Yuck, a merging of two opposing forces, that feels all too fitting for a Royal Heights student body president."

"Alright, I'm listening."

"I think you and I both understand your brand of…charisma is of a very distinct palette. The only way you know how to execute authority is through force and, in the socially conscious world of high school, I’m afraid it’s not that simple."

"Everyone in this school is an idiot, including you. You think I can't win some stupid popularity contest?" Yuck said. "Promise this and that, smile and kiss babies-it's all fake at the end of the day."

"Precisely," Tak said. "One might even say you're acting, putting on a little performance."

Suddenly, he’s less angry than he was before, and Tak relishes finding such a vulnerable opening so quickly. He has to actively strain his features to keep his frown in place.

"Don't give me that look," she said. "You've played a part before. Two? Three times, was it?"

"That wasn't a..." Yuck stopped himself then, his voice trailing off as he averted her gaze. "Whatever."

Tak feigned a gasp. "Oh, of course! That last one was real. Silly me..."

"She told you, didn't she?" he said quietly. "Her version."

Tak nodded. "Quite a heartbreaking story. You came back into their lives hoping to win back their trust, but to them, it was yet another character in your massive rolodex, another excellent performance. And you are so especially good at pretending to be kind, aren’t you, Yuck?"

"Psh, so is she..."

"You're absolutely right!" Tak said. "She’s not really a good person. Those negative traits had to come from somewhere, and while her brother is certainly no saint, Yin seems to be the very vessel of your most carnal sins. Yin treats you like a garbage disposal, a trash bin to toss all of her mistakes into, so she can look away and pretend she'd never stoop to the same lows. What you need to do, Yuck, is remind people who made you such a monster."

Yuck was silently mulling over the words as Tak pulled her EduPod out of her skirt pocket.

"Now then," she said, tapping along the screen until she could find the ability to pass out digital hall passes—a prefect exclusive feature. "I can write this off as a state of 'emotional unrest' and send you off to your first period without another tardy on your record. It will be like this whole day never happened."

Yuck rolled his eyes. "You really think I care about being tardy?"

"I know you don't, but your voters might."

Chapter Text

Teacher’s Lounge | Friday, August 24 | 6:42 P.M.

Maria Rivera gave a long sigh of relief as she shut the heavy oak doors behind her and began to straighten out her voluminous puff of curly hair that tended to stand on its ends in this fleeting summer heat.

She had yet to adapt to this humidity, the lumbering trees that enclosed the building like a fist were as intimidating as they were beautiful, tall and lush and overpowering, a blend of natural and manmade beauty much like the needle straight cacti and desert flowers that shouldered the sandy banks of Miracle City's gently sloping earth colored buildings.

The brief walk from the library to the teacher's lounge was a short passage through the Hall of Tenjin where the marble mare statue was already accumulating its share of prayers in the form of little slips of paper and practice tests folded into origami swans.

Here, Maria always took her time, admiring the foliage, greeted warmly by the academy students, enjoying how the sun beamed through the August clouds in heavenly streaks of light—her skin chilly from the windowless library's automated air loved it, but her hair was furious.

By all means, she could still run her way down here, nearly risking a twisted ankle in her heels, and yet she's sure her hair would still puff out in protest just out of pure stubbornness.

A bit of finger combing later, and she turned to address her fellow educators unwinding in the functional yet homey breakroom to see it was at best halfway full. Some were lounging out on the evergreen couches, curled up on the downy cushions for their post-work nap because the walk from their private rooms to the dining hall for dinner was too much work.

Some were sipping coffee at the small kitchen off by the corner, separated by mosaic glass doors draped over with papier-mâché grape vines. Others twiddled or chewed their stylus pens as they reorganized lesson plans for the following week into a personal tablet, bent over the wooden tables, sitting at the bars, nibbling from a handful of cashews from the ceramic bowl on the coffee table.

Shoes were stacked by the wall, bras were unfastened, guts spilled out from loosened belts—now was definitely the time to relax.

She scanned the area for a few familiar faces, locking eyes with Master Yo who greeted her with a raise of his hand.

"Five days down, one hundred and twenty more to go," he said as she coasted over to the small kitchen area, a regular meeting place for anyone in the mood for coffee and gossip, mostly the latter.

She sniffed the air. "Decaf? For me? You shouldn’t have."

"Just made a fresh pot," Master Yo poured some coffee into a mug decorated with painted on plum blossoms and handed it over to Maria. "Sweet, just like you."

"Ah, thank you," Maria said, suddenly perking up as a piece of trivia crossed her mind. "Did you know that a single serving of black coffee is only one calorie? It’s a fact!"

"Oh honey, it’s not like you need to lose the weight," Carl, the (Not So Evil) Cockroach Wizard, said, hovering just a little over the machine as he dunked a teabag into his thermos. He gave her figure a quick scan. "Are you sure you've had a kid?"

Maria blushed. "My stretch marks can confirm that."

"I heard Yin's gonna be your assistant around the library," Master Yo said, watching a frozen soft pretzel crisp up in the microwave.

Carl pursed his lips. "If she's as much of a kiss-up as she is in my class, then she’s gonna do great."

"Yin? Really? I guess she really doesn't care who she's getting a good grade from," Master Yo said. "Thank Foo you don't have Yang to worry about."

Carl rolled his eyes. "As if her friend little Miss Sassy Pants is any better. But better her than some—"

"Lazy, apathetic slob? Even a farm girl is still a girl," Saranoia's voice beckoned from one of the lounge's loveseats. She was speaking to the artfully arranged lamps overhead, chignon loosened with a number of bobby pins clenched in her long fingers. "Maria and I know a straight-A student when we see one, don't we? And I’m sure under my tutelage, Yin will be off to college in no time. Especially without Mark-eh, Yang there to distract her."

"Speaking of brothers," Carl began, dipping his teabag at a frantic pace. "I'm thinking of sending a care package back home. Maybe some frankincense and flowers for mother, a gift card..." Dip. Dip. Dip. "...OR MAYBE A BIG FAT BUCKET OF MY NEW LIFE! SUCK ON THAT, HERMAN!"

Maria gave an uncomfortable smile, shooting Master Yo a look. "You were right, they are always like this."

Master Yo shrugged. "Meh, you don't get used to it."

Maria chuckled. "Now, I'm pretty sure the saying is—"

"Ms. Rivera, I did not stutter."

"Maria! Maria! Sit next to me!" Saranoia's perfectly manicured lavender hand flitted in the air. "I just know you must be exhausted from such a long day. Come here, let's chat!"

Maria turned to Master Yo only for him to nod into his coffee, nudging her towards the small staircase that led to the resting area.

"No sight of the ex-hubby today?" Saranoia said, moving her handbag aside and patting the empty spot now available beside her. She blotted her lipstick on a syllabus before using it to fan herself, sending the loose strands of hair into a small flutter.

"Working, I assume. I'm used to being in a school all day, so I can only hope he'll adjust in time," Maria said. "But he's always been a very passionate mentor to Manny. I'm sure inspiring even more children is the perfect job for him."

And my preferred job for him, Maria thought over a sip of coffee, a fleeting jolt of energy surging through her like a lightning bolt.

God, she really was exhausted. Leone was a plenty big school in its own right, frankly more tall than it was wide, but those meters still added up, and the end result was always a body reminded of an inevitable fiftieth birthday and an appointment with her foot bath. One glass of wine too many, and suddenly the women's magazines proposing reversals to the aging process were creating aches and pains she didn't even know were there.

Saranoia was exactly the kind of woman Maria could see reading those same articles, maybe even writing them. Phrases like "sizzling sex positions to try with your husband" and "get back, back fat!" didn't just seem to be in Saranoia's vocabulary, but radiated from her like an aura.

Or perhaps it was just her heavy dousing of vanilla bean perfume giving off that illusion. The woman had a personality and presence that Maria would describe as "overwhelming", and apparently it had been much worse if what Master Yo said still held any water.

Saranoia, medicated with weekly checkups with her therapist and a stress toy in her purse, had the dignified role of a classic literature teacher. In fact, the unofficial full name for Language Arts and Literature was Language Arts and Literature: Exploring the Feminine Perspective.

The classroom's shelves were stacked to the ceiling with literary classics from (persecuted, ignored, tortured, devastated) women all over the multiverse: Frankenstein, The Handmaid’s Tale, The Bell Jar—"She killed herself," Saranoia had said during a Wednesday lunch. "That’s not a spoiler because she’s a real person."—Little Women, Beloved; it didn’t really matter as long as it was older than their combined ages, and it was by a (usually dead) woman.

Not one inch of the classroom had a lick Charles Dickens, not an iota of T.S. Elliot, nay a germ of Homer. Every so often, Saranoia would make the exception: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Coraline, and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe for its matriarchs, The Scarlet Letter and Tess of the D'Urbervilles as commentaries of feminine purity,Dracula for its homoeroticism.

For October's readings, Maria helped her drum up a collection of short stories—The Yellow Wallpaper, The Necklace. November would be all about Pride and Prejudice. This week it was a deep dive into the women of Shakespeare—"Is his body of work still not relevant to the feminine world?" "...I guess."—Lady Macbeth, Desdemona, Ophelia, et cetera. Then they'd be back to short stories again for December.

The study packet Saranoia was assembling at the coffee table was about a woman who dies of shock when she learns her abusive husband is still alive.

As a librarian, Maria already knew their paths would cross quite frequently, so best to make friends now. Saranoia would ask for help figuring out some feminist literature, Maria would happily oblige. Saranoia would offer some questionable advice about "getting back out there" but also "leaving the past behind" in return, Maria would simply grimace through a smile. Saranoia was also a witch, an important detail that worked for and against any potential friendship they had in mind.

The remainder of the faculty that Maria could recall by name were certainly an eclectic bunch. Her ex-husband and ex-father-in-law were both characters in their own right who had dealt with bigger, far more bombastic caricatures of villainy, but the rest were a daily reminder she was indeed far, far away from her own weird little slice of home. And what's stranger was how quickly she had adjusted to it despite her unshakable hold on facts.

A good thirty years later, and all that time browsing encyclopedias, memorizing real-life encounters with the vast wilderness, biographies, memoirs—all for nothing as the books clearly omitted a few crucial details:

She recalled that pandas lazed about under bamboo trees in the East Asian wilderness instead of filling the freezer with microwave pretzels. Witches and wizards were but hypothetical concepts instead of bickering about who had the more traumatic childhood. And the mad scientists, well, they were certainly just as insane.

During this short time here, Maria had especially gotten quite familiar with the women who occupied her workspace. She didn't have it in her to socialize throughout much of Miracle City for the obvious reasons—either they were a villain who didn't know the meaning of the word or a perfectly decent human being dismayed that someone "so nice and normal" could be Manny Rivera's mother or why she could ever think to divorce "the perfect man".

And thus, a combination of the process of elimination and her own procrastination landed her in what she liked to call female friendship purgatory.

"Ah, I see Ella's already made her way out. Bit early, don't you think?" Maria eventually asked when she noticed that Miss Ella's usual spot in a varnished rocking chair was unoccupied.

Now that was someone whose aura was undeniably less abrasive and yet so much more sinister. Ella Mental, who smelled of natural oils and had gemstone jewelry and healing crystals snuck into the pockets of her ankle-length skirts, one would assume she was someone of spirituality and wholesomeness, someone who was one with the earth, but it was apparent whatever god or powerful force that governed her life was one bred either of malevolence or sheer cynicism.

"Apparently she had some other personal business to attend to," Saranoia said, rolling her eyes. "Not that she'd tell me. Psh, like, you know you're the one with the mind-reading powers, right? And before you ask, Membrane's got his hands full with one of his little experiments. Something to do with...fungus, I think?"

These were facts Maria was still getting used to, but she could actively feel her subconscious letting the reality sink in the same way she could accept headlines like "Rampaging Guacamole Monster Ruins Quinceañera" and "The Infamous Puma Loco Put on Parole (Again)".

When they first met just this week, Maria did wonder sometimes why Ella seemed to know exactly what she was going to ask before the words left her mouth. This caused several occasions when a stapler would find its way into her hand while she was blindly groping the air or a word of reassurance that in fact her underwear was not showing as she bent over to refill her thermos.

According to Master Yo, Ella Mental had changed significantly over the years, the kind of change only failure could bring.

"Now is she psychic or…psychic?" Maria had asked Master Yo that same Wednesday lunch. There was a clear difference: the one that let you see the future and the one that let you control spoons.

"Oh yeah, she’s psychic, alright," he replied. "Telepathy and telekinesis."

She blinked. "Mind reading? Really?"

"Yup," Master Yo said. "But don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Of course, Maria thought with a nod. Of course, the talking tiger woman could read minds. The talking panada said so. It's a fact.

Student Guidance Office | 7:55 P.M.

"Oh, Miss Tiger Lady? I have a request to ask of ju!"

Ella Mental exhaled a heavy sigh, craning her head back to look at the ceiling as if some deity could even hear her. Why bother? The multiverse has never been more connected than it is now, and yet the entirety of existence felt more godless than ever. And suspended in this ambient bubble, cut off from the rest of society, she may as well pray to the hole puncher.

"Afraid you fell asleep at your desk again," said Grandpapi Rivera as he let himself inside. Just Grandpapi Rivera. Ella Mental swears he has a first name but she couldn’t muster the energy to glance at his employee ID tagged to the pocket of his baggy gray one-piece or scan his mind to make sure of that. Whatever he answered to, that was his title.

"I’ve grown to appreciate how direct you are," Ella said. She uncrossed her legs and slipped off her desk, her feet landing right into a pair of tan wedges waiting at the foot of her chair. "But a please and thank you wouldn’t hurt."

Grandpapi shook his head. "Of course, how foolish of me. It’s the least I can do for such a pretty lady."

"Mm hmm," Ella nodded, still the slightest bit flattered by the compliment, no matter who or what that flattery was coming from. She threw in a playful toss of her thick auburn dreadlocks for the sheer gratitude of seeing Granpapi blush as much as his jaundiced skin would allow.

It wasn't really Ella's fault that a certain selection of teachers, groundkeepers, and assistants were always lining up at her door with the most grating of requests. Sometimes she pulls out the cards again, sometimes it's a palm reading, sometimes they want her to guess what number they're thinking. If Ella Mental didn't have this gig of the faculty's fortune teller and personal piece of eye candy, then her place in the school would be nothing short of pointless. Each little annoyance, each little tease, each compliment-it was never enough.

She needed more.

'Twas the price to pay when you weren't the only beautiful woman on the market. No, Ella was sharing that space with a Spanish teacher with hair shiny enough you could almost see yourself and the gymnastics instructor that was already being rated the best ass in the academy. Meathead coaches bordering on illiterate somehow had a lot to say about non-fiction literature once they remembered Ms. Rivera was divorced. Suddenly, men practically overdosing on their excess testosterone thought Saranoia's one-woman new wave feminism was the most fascinating topic they've ever heard.

Whatever.

Ella was prettier than at least three of them.

"Alright, let's get started," she began, opening up her desk drawer and pulling out the little scented bags her cards were in.

Grandpapi grinned a crooked grin in anticipation, adjusting his glasses with his short, wrinkled little fingers. In the lighting, she can see him so clearly it's almost physically painful.

His yellowing teeth, his spotty skin and thinning hair, the sinew and squinting eyes behind those unfashionable frames-it was everything Ella feared would happen to her someday.

She suppressed a shudder, shifting her attention back to her cards as a distraction. She placed down a random selection of four in a diamond formation, Grandpapi looking deeply enraptured from each movement of her ring covered hands.

"Alright, your first reading is…" The Hanged Man, reversed. "I always figured you weren’t looking for romance."

Grandpapi laughed dryly. "Nothing permanent, I assure you. For I am bachelor for life."

"Next one," Ace of Pentacles. "I see abundance and new opportunities in your future."

He leaned in, eyes widening behind his thick spectacles. "Jes, jes…"

"Health and happiness," Wheel of Fortune, a common turn up. "And for career…King of Wands, reversed."

"Is that…good?"

"I’d give you some advice to consider being a little more patient these coming days. No big leaps of faith, especially when material wealth is concerned."

"You must kid! Where's the fun in that?"

"You do still have the power to change these things," Ella said. She tapped the Ace of Pentacles. "These phases don’t last forever."

Grandpapi sneered, grumbling down at his no-slip black loafers. "Aye yai yai, why always the wheel of fortune if it does not guarantee my fortune?"

Ella shrugged. "It's just the will of the cards, hun. And I think it’s no coincidence Wheel of Fortune appears so frequently in your readings," Ella said. "It’s even in the correct placement for finances, so honestly, I’d say you’re in luck. And look, two Major Arcana in the upright position, always a good sign."

"Again! Do it again!"

"The cards have spoken," Ella said, already packing up her deck. "But I do know some fortune-telling hotlines that would just love to tell you what you want to hear."

Grandpapi could only pout, giving the layout of cards on the desk a sour look before turning to leave. "Fine, fine, I will take your advice, Miss Mental. No argument."

"Nuh uh uh, I think you owe me something," Ella Mental held out her hand as Grandpapi dug into his back pocket and produced a silk bag of hot cocoa. She undid the ribbon and gave it a sniff, a strong burst of sweetness and spice produced from the ground of cocoa beans and pepper.

She fastened it again and tossed it into her bottom drawer, nestled next to an erotica short story collection, a bar of goat milk soap, Japanese coffee jellies, and an aerobics DVD. "Thank you, see you tonight."

Ella gave her heavy shoulders a roll, placing a hand on her right and massaging the tension that was quickly making its way down to her spine.

How long had she been sitting?

Gazing up at the clock, she came to the startling realization she had been residing inside her personal office in the guidance office for a good eight or so hours now, only ever traveling between her chair and the restroom in short little blurs she can't fully recall.

A body fully on autopilot, she can't even remember when or how the cobb salad and raspberry kombucha had appeared on her desk.

Had she mentally compelled someone who came in for a palm reading to grab her lunch? Or perhaps the afternoon she had spent with some medical herbs, cramped beneath her desk to not trigger the fire alarm, was seriously messing with her memory.

Damn it all. Maybe she was going through menopause.

Ella looked at the unopened boxes crowding the foot of the two empty seats that stood opposite her desk. No schedules to change, no suicides to talk down—not one student of Homeroom B had shown up yet within the first week of their high school career, which meant she was absolutely killing it at this new job.

She's well earned a break.

She returned to her original post on top of her desk, crossing her legs and shutting her eyes before giving a deep exhale. Everything is silent until—

Oh God, I'm gaining weight. I'm getting fat, aren't I?

Samantha is just so cute. I highly doubt she'd want anything to deal with me, though.

We're so high up we're so high up we're so high up we're so high up we're so high up we're so high. Who on Earth would put a school here? We're so high up we're so—

Ella stopped herself. Forget it. This isn't what she wanted at all.

Kids at this age really were such a cluster of nonsense. The best athletes, the greatest warriors, the youngest geniuses, the most exceptional children in the multiverse, all in one place, and only so many could give Ella anything to pry open and really dissect.

The more she ventured, the less she gained, the more she voyaged beyond her own realms of comfort, sought out the highs and lows from the recesses of the restrooms to the trenches of the hallway, she was always doomed to be burdened by some different breed of optimistic, bright eyed youth with their round cheeks and growing wisdom teeth that would muck up her headspace like so much garbage down a disposal—smart but stupid, well traveled yet naive, heroes but still sidekicks, all drinking from the same teat of child soldier serums.

And yet she couldn't stop herself from trying.

Perhaps she had simply gone into a depressive relapse and her brain would just take anything and everything it could get its hands on. Like many a lonely night raiding the fridge for leftovers, she was sad and needy and starving for the stimulation, for the rush of privacy long infringed upon. Didn't matter if it had flavor, just as long as it was something to thoughtlessly chew on like the pieces of hunger suppression gum in her purse.

She pried a single eye open, once again taking in the vacant seats where a Homeroom B student would someday occupy with their incessant whining. What in the world would they bring to her doorstep someday made Ella Mental practically shiver.

Upon checking the files of each one of them, the unabridged and much more juicy variants not found within their EduPods, she had concluded that she was babysitting a group of absolute lunatics: social pariahs, idiots, nepo babies, pretentious little brats. Ella's batch was a boiling pot of it all. Some were insane in the sense that they were beyond help, while others were almost overwhelmingly content in their lunacy, not accepting their flaws as much as marinating in them.

And where did that leave Ella Mental but to kill several hours of the day binging on her secret supply of dark chocolate and watching manifestation videos until somebody, somewhere had a problem.

Maybe she'd be more motivated if a third of the class bothered to meet her halfway.

Woo Foo mental walls were the equivalent to trying to see an image behind television static, which axed off a significant portion of intel. Even Yang, the idiot brawn to Yin's insufferable brain, had learned how to develop walls of his own, flimsier ones, ones with slightly less integrity, but walls that Ella simply couldn't break down.

The other pair of siblings to her disposal were frankly minds better left untouched, leaving Ella with the psychic equivalent of a rash.

And then there was the curious case of Manny Rivera.

Manny was most definitely not Woo Foo and received quite literally all his power from a glorified and, quite tacky, accessory. And yet his mind repelled Ella's intrusion with a sort of smoke screen hellbent on keeping her out. While she could tread on the shallow waters of his brain, barely even ankle deep if she was being entirely honest, Ella felt herself suffocating the second she tried to plunge any further. She had never experienced anything like it.

His father, his mother, his grandfather, his best friend, and enemies—all of them accessible, all except for him.

What in the world was some kid with a bad perm hiding?

And of course, she couldn't forget Tak. In fact, she'd kind of prefer to.

Academy darling, princess academia, future empress of Ivy League herself—the one time Ella had tried to read Tak’s mind, there was a mental recoil so powerful she thought a rubber band had snapped against her brain.

Whatever technology or magic Tak had built into her brain snapped and bit at Ella like a mousetrap. She’d be in less pain licking an exposed wire.

Tak didn't have the same size or lifespan of Eradicus and yet was that much more intimidating, young and sinister and determined. A single look across the packed dining hall filled with idle chatter and awkward first impressions after orientation and somehow she carried a certain deathly silence within her, an aura that straddled the line between frighteningly cold and violently manic.

It had only been a couple minutes since orientation and Ella couldn't stand her.

All that business in a single room and somehow she laser-focused her sights on Ella, who distracted herself from her encroaching migraine by picking dried fruit out of an orange and cranberry muffin like a carb-conscious bird, interrupted by a tap on her shoulder and a gentle "Hello there."

The rest was history, and by history she meant she was given an EduPod custom-made for her and Tak's oh so clandestine exchanges.

"You know, most people would exchange e-mails."

"Exchange what?"

The very fact that Ella Mental was the only teacher in the academy who owned an EduPod was already a dead giveaway that she was an asset to a much bigger scheme. What that scheme was, Ella had yet to know.

Tak was a lot of things, but informative was not one of them, and frankly, the promise of some additional context was becoming more hypothetical by the passing day.

Ella would grit her teeth and bear it for now. Why? Because there was simply no way that Tak—yet another sniveling, self-obsessed child—was but a messenger to whatever respectful adult was truly working behind the scenes.

Tak was but a foot soldier, doing the busy work until mommy or daddy showed up to let the grown-ups have their fun. Who else would leave a fourteen-year-old girl in charge of an entire school?

An evil parent, by the looks of it. And apparently one with some very messy handwriting if her check was anything to go by.

There was a distinct rhythm to the knocks that rapped across Ella's door that she was already starting to recognize. She opened it with a wave of her hand.

"How's it hanging, my psychic sister?" Saranoia said. "I had a feeling I'd find you in here."

"Saranoia," Ella breathed. "Happy to see you this late."

"Late?" Saranoia squinted at the clock pinned over Ella’s bookshelf. "Ah, not long until dinnertime. Are you experiencing any jetlag from the dimension skip because I sure am…" Her voice trailed off for a second, suddenly remembering what she came in here for as she lifted up a stack of papers in her hands. "Anyway, I wanted to see if you had any extra—"

"Left cabinet, third drawer."

"Thank you,"

On the days Saranoia drifted out of her medicated stupor, she was a concentrated lightning bolt of manic energy that honestly made her an excellent pick for the school's literature expert. As far as her mind went, she was Plath by way of Jeanette Winterson all wrapped in a package of unbridled rage and trauma.

Saranoia, who made a display of pouring avocado ranch into her salad and shaking it so the entire lounge could hear how healthy she was. Saranoia, whose stylish and professional chignon was stabbed through the center by a wand discreetly disguised as an ordinary ballpoint pen. Saranoia, with her pink-and-silver MALE TEARS flask in her knockoff designer purse. Saranoia, whose purple lipstick still stained the tip of that flask, before passing it over to Ella for a bit of day drinking during their first day of work.

For Saranoia, it was a celebratory toast to her new life; for Ella, it was a solemn goodbye to her old one. Ella could still recall the taste, bittersweet and fruity, that nearly knocked the wind out of her when she took her first gulp. The back of her throat tasted like pomegranates for the rest of the day.

"And I know it's your job to keep an eye on Yin's mental health, but I'll let her know that if she has any problems at all, she can count on me. Nothing is too discreet between us girls, don't you think?" Saranoia had said, disguising her burp as a cough into her manicured fist, slipping the flask back into her purse. "What a coincidence, we're working among such familiar faces. We should all have a kiki one of these days."

Ella had remembered the flow of Saranoia's rapid thoughts at the time. As while Saranoia was talking about parties, her thoughts were talking about Yin.

O, Yin! Saranoia’s thoughts were ringing out that same day. Poor Yin with her single parent household. With her neglectful father figure and ungrateful brother. Poor Yin with her patriarchy, with her Woo Foo, when she could have been using that intelligence for such better things.

(Those better things were always witchcraft.)

If I had a daughter, it’d be Yin, her noisy brain prattled on. If I was a mother, I’d be Yin’s mother. If I had opposite sex twins, I’d leave her brother in the hospital to fend for himself.

In fact, right now, another thought about Yin was approaching in three, two, one—"I feel like Yin’s really gonna flourish in my class. She’s such a star student, her way with prose is something else." Saranoia smiled as she stapled a collection of papers together. "Shame it's only going to be this one semester. Maybe we'll see each other again when she's a sophomore."

"I'm always gonna be stuck with her," Ella said. "How about you do what you do best and live vicariously through someone else?"

"Ha ha," Saranoia said. "You're the kids’ therapist, not mine."

"Thank goodness," Ella said as her EduPod vibrated inside her purse.

The Observatory | 11:55 P.M.

The letter couldn’t have come at a better time. A part of Rodolfo was secretly worried about his only son spending his high school days in Miracle City and after being at Royal Heights for this single week, he still felt set in that decision.

It only felt like so long ago that Manny was still a thirteen-year-old middle schooler, causing trouble as much as he solved it. The boy was growing up so fast and if his reputation at Leone Middle School was anything to go by, then high school would be a whole other string of absolute chaos.

Alcohol, drugs, sex—Manny would be so weak to the temptations of budding adulthood! And with Rodolfo's father around to further encourage these vices, hoping Manny would be the fun and reckless teen Rodolfo could never be, the chances of him getting out of high school with anything less than a GED was slim.

Sooner or later he could drive, buy cigarettes and liquor from shady corner shops, gamble, vote third party. And as for Frida, well, Chief Suárez already had something in mind for the later years of his youngest daughter.

Chief Suárez assured he would hitch Frida the first ride to the farthest, most elite contemporary art institute in the country that was the shortest drive possible from the law school Nikita and Anita would be attending instead of some "hippie tech school"—his words, not Rodolfo's—if it meant maintaining any distance from Manny.

When it came to Frida's passions, Chief Suárez would always meet his most eccentric daughter halfway and knew Miracle City just didn't have the means to provide any of his daughters the kind of education that would put them on the path of a successful adulthood.

"It's to keep her close to her sisters," he had assured after a celebratory dinner held at Caso De Macho with both families when the news Frida would be attending Royal Heights Academy had reached their households. "But not anymore," he continued, swelling with pride. "This is so much better than anything I could have imagined."

Joyous as it was, there was a look on his face that Rodolfo recognized from the face of many a defeated villain. A combination of embarrassment and poor planning, a lack of thinking ahead that stumped many a carefully calculated plot, a loosened tongue from the generously poured tequila. Only Rodolfo had been told these plans up until then, father to father, in the comfort of the police station. It was a miracle Chief Suárez hadn't blabbed more than he already had.

Thus began an entire summer of Rodolfo staying tight-lipped for the greater good of his son and his best friend (girlfriend?), who were none the wiser that they would be split apart so soon.

For their own good. Of course. To secure a better future. Obviously. Because it was right. Duh.

And Chief Suárez had every reason to think that way. If anyone had seen some of the worst parts of Miracle City and the kind of person it could shape someone into, it would be the chief of police.

What right did Rodolfo have to interfere with the plans of a worried father who only wanted the best for his children? Were they not both enforcers of justice? Crime fighters? Concerned parents with equally reckless children who fed off each other's chaotic energy?

Rodolfo Rivera was many things but a hypocrite was not one of them.

It had only been a couple of days since the Riveras left Miracle City and yet nothing has stirred up yet, nothing that had to be solved with superpowers, at least. The Miracle City News announced its first-ever five-week streak without crime in a decade, a fact that disappointed their frequent visitors from San Pueblito, who needed just a few more selfies of someone getting robbed to complete their vacation scrapbook. Chief Suárez had no entail to offer, patrols were growing a bit samey.

Well, not until tonight. But this kind of crime, it was considerably less flashy.

Rodolfo flipped the whiteboard over and uncapped his marker, the pinned photograph of The Bronze Boots of Truth off to his peripheral vision as he adjusted the current value for Merlin’s beard trimmer.

At the moment, it was dwarfing the constantly shifting value of Eris’ Apple of Discord, commonly (and deliberately) categorized as the Garden of Eden’s forbidden fruit.

Maybe he really could go through with selling his boots for what little money it would guarantee. Perhaps it would truly prove to Maria that he had quit the hero life for good.

"So what are you all after?" Master Yo said, watching Carl's crystal ball intently as Sartana’s items for sale rolled in and out of frame.

"I hear there’s a magic 8-ball that always gives correct predictions," Ella said, eyes still shut as she smiled to herself. She straightened her back, "realigning her chakras" as she would put it before any serious mental probing had to begin in the next few minutes. "Maybe I’ll get Cupid’s bow and snatch a husband. At my age I just don’t have time for the dating scene."

"Tell me about it," Saranoia added. She refreshed her old laptop a dozen more times, pouting into her webcam that not one of them could determine was on or not.

"That's implying you’ll get the real deal," Carl said, rolling his eyes. He gave his crystal ball a couple more taps with his fingers hoping it would at least adjust the picture quality a few notches away from "blurry and grayscale". "The market is flooded with copycats and the biggest scammers ever known. Guess the lucky roach who thought they bought a vial of water from the fountain of youth, but it was just rebottled bathwater from some very dirty nymphs? No return policy and the account gone just like that." He snapped his fingers from emphasis. "I’ve never been so embarrassed or broke in my life."

Master Yo shook his head. "I’m sure I can name a few times."

Carl did have a point. Just yesterday, a small bag of pinto beans, said to be seeds from the tree of life, was snuck into the auction house, and the entire floor was up in arms about it for about an hour.

"We just don't have anything worth trading to get such treasures. It is hopeless," Papi suddenly gave a wry smile. "Unless of course—"

Rodolfo defensively wrapped his arms around the rusty birdcage to his left, glaring daggers at his father. "No, we will not paint Señor Chapi and say he's a phoenix that's just 'small for his species'."

He shivered at the reminder of a video he came across of someone eating a baby phoenix, the one would a ortolan bunting.

"Rodoflo, you know I would never sell our beloved Señor Chapi," his father reached into the bird's cage and plucked a loose feather from the elderly pet's tail. "Just the feathers."

"Even if he’s not a phoenix," Ella said, peering open only one of her eyes. "He sure shits enough for several lifetimes."

Señor Chapi gave an offended squawk, "Viva pantalones!"

Rodolfo's mind journeyed back to his boots that were still on his feet, clinking quietly as he paced the floor. To simply wear them so casually had become too much of a habit, and though hanging them up seemed like the right thing to do, to have them in Saranta's clutches in her deceitful auction was a bargain he couldn't afford. He stole a glance over at Maria sitting quietly on a chaise lounge with Little Donkey curled up at her feet.

Absolutely not, Rodolfo thought.

Even though the glove had been destroyed last he'd seen it, there was no way he'd want an object of such absolute power and madness in the hands of any criminal. If it could corrupt his mi amor so thoroughly, imagine what it could do to the already evil walks of the Earth.

The glove couldn't even be conveniently disguised as an everyday accessory—no single silver bangle, (no wedding ring). His boots, Manny's belt, even his father's sombrero, though extravagant, were heirlooms first and fashion statements second.

It acted as a sort of telltale reminder of the glove's inherent lack of humanity, the way Maria would always struggle with being a superhero because it could simply never coexist with her daily life. Rodolfo’s sense of justice, Manny’s skewed morality, and his father's penchant for malicious intent aside, these were just facets of their character.

Rodolfo was just more empathetic; his father was as ruthless as he was creative, and his son the best of both of them.

And what Maria had to lose was too much; her sanity, her capacity to think straight, any semblance of a moral compass dominated by bloodshed (and her modesty). It seemed only the lingering bit of humanity the glove hadn't taken from her is what kept Rodolfo alive during their brief romantic crime-fighting spree—or perhaps some rekindled romantic memories she was oh so desperate to live out again!

The 24/7 hero life just didn't suit her and he would never fault her for that. To even call Plata Peligrosa a hero was already a stretch, for it was really Maria's heart that allowed her to act on the side of righteousness.

Peligrosa was more like an unhinged vigilante fighting out of her own self-interest to satisfy a craving for violence. Violence that the glove wanted, not Maria. Never Maria.

Carl gasped, clapping his hands together. "Hush, hush, everyone! The new bid is starting!"

Miss Ella adjusted the hem of the scarf around her shoulders that audibly jingled much like the rest of her beaded, tasseled attire. Tarot cards laid out like a horseshoe before her.

"I still don’t know about all this," Maria shook her head as she got up from her seat, the glow from her tablet framing her features in a halo of light. "Auctions, bidding, it all just seems so….risky."

"That I can not disagree with," Rodolfo said. "The auction house alone in Miracle City has just been built and is already a madhouse! And with Sartana’s evil, skeletal clutches around this auction, who knows what kind of chaos could be wrought upon the townspeople?"

Maria peered over his shoulder, squinting at the screen of a school-issued laptop. "Which is why you are bidding on five items, is it?"

"You must understand, Maria! If a noble hero does not get their hands on these items, disaster will be inevitable. The stakes have never been higher! It could be Miracle City one day and a million other versions the next. That is why it is my duty to ensure it is on the side of good."

"And out of harms way in the library," Maria added. "I’m just surprised Tak trusts us so much."

"That is because she trusts you to keep them safe, mi armor. She could not pick purer hands for the task."

Maria made a low sound in the back of her perfect mouth and returned to her tablet.

"And pardon my bias from a long—and very much regretted—life of evil, but what’s the worst that can happen if some big bear guy gets his hands on some fancy doodads?" Carl said.

"Yes, a logical concern," Rodolfo replied. "Even if these villains aren’t quite what they used to be—No offense, Papi—they are still dangerous, even more so with the right tools."

The truth of the matter was that they were fighting amongst themselves more than ever. Not that the criminals of Miracle City were ever quite a unit, but their shared love of evil usually manifested in a unanimous display of respect. But now, criminal empires that once seemed so impenetrable were suffocating under the stress of these new developments, paralyzed with fear as to what to make of this once simple existence.

They could only put their hope in the hands of protégés, hope that the new generation of villains rising in this chaotic city would take their place someday. The more hopeful of the lot were in the depths of Sartana's auction house, chipping away at their fortune if it meant anything at all could help them maintain that hold on their power.

Even Sartana seemed to be contemplating a serious retirement; this auction of ancient artifacts was a final hurrah before her legacy was passed down into the hands of her own promising protégé and grandson, Django of the Dead. And judging by what he could accomplish during his first villainous debut with the tournament, Rodolfo dreaded what else he was capable of.

"I must say I'm surprised to see you down here with us," his father said before stopping to correct himself, noting the observatory's giant arched ceiling that displayed the academy's curtain of stars. "Or, up, I suppose. Heh, heh...Point is, you have hit a new low in your superheoring, mijo." 

"All for a good cause, Papi. If any of these dastardly villains get a hold of these artifacts, who knows what chaos will be upon us?"

"Also, some of these are just the thing I need for the nightstand in my new condo," Carl added.

This really was the last place the noble White Pantera should be. Bartering, gambling, the very essence of foul play afoot right under his nose, and he was being an active participant. Not for the same reasons as everyone else, of course!

It was like the tournament all over again, successfully infiltrating as Black Pantera to put an end to a much worse evil outcome.

So what if sometimes he had to play dirty to get results? Anyone with eyes would know his hands were squeaky clean beneath his gloves.

Chapter Text

The New Library of Alexandria, Main Floor | Saturday, August 25 | 9:30 A.M.

"Not many kids your age would volunteer to spend their Saturday in the library," Ms. Rivera said. "Wouldn’t you rather be, I don't know, going to concerts, eating fast food, shoplifting?"

"And pass up exploring the biggest information archive in the multiverse? Of course not!"

The New Library of Alexandria had quickly become Yin's favorite place in the academy. Her adorable dorm room had its lush bedspread and ivory tub, the rose garden had its romantic setting that would be perfect for a picnic date, but it was really the library that Yin found herself falling in love with. The abridged Royal Heights student handbook described it as the ultimate source of knowledge from all stretches of the multiverse.

And it was still growing to this day!

Currently her and her guide Ms. Rivera were what was dubbed as the main floor, about the only place accessible by students through the heavy stained glass double doors. And yes, the set of stairs that bloomed into the second story was also technically the main floor for the mere fact it was visible to the naked eye.

The same way the computer lab, the study area made of rows of desks crowned by bronze chandeliers, the lounging area with its downy earth colored seating and Japanese tea tables and fireplace—all the main floor.

But the other floors and how to get to them? Well, that was a secret Yin assumed only Tak and perhaps Ms. Rivera knew about. Maybe in a couple months time, Yin would be in the know about this hidden archive and soon they could all have a little secret to share.

She was an official assistant (and future student body president), after all. A position that was apparently more difficult to obtain than one would expect and required a dense understanding of literary works to handle these books with the love and care they deserved.

To be an assistant was to have a love of books blazed into one's very consciousness, a relationship with reading, a romance with words, all traits Yin not only had but prided herself on.

She delicately slid a book about the full history of Constantinople into a shelf supporting a bust of Apollo Belvedere, and stood back to admire her work to which Ms. Rivera nodded in approval.

"My, you're a fast worker, Yin. I just might run out of things for you to do at this rate."

"I've done way harder stuff around the dojo back home," Yin replied. "This is no sweat to me."

"Well, if you're up for it..." Ms. Rivera pushed out a small iron cart full of several heavy volumes with a low puff of exertion. "I was wondering if you could help put these in their rightful place? The classics are just a little off from the encyclopedias. You'll know when you see it."

"Of course!" Yin said, making a show of using her Woo Foo to encompass the heavy novels in a vibrant turquoise glow.

"Wonderful! I'll be in the computer lab if you need me." Ms. Rivera said with a smile and Yin suddenly couldn't fight something warm gripping her chest.

Perhaps it was her own lack of a mother growing up but Yin couldn't help but feel a sense of security around Ms. Rivera, a sort of maternal love she never got to receive in an all-male household.

She'd realized in recent years that she yearned for the kind of motherly affection that wasn't smothering and biased like Saranoia's but just the right balance of stern and loving. Man, what Yin would give to have a mother like Ms. Rivera, to know if she even had a mother. Manny was so lucky, but the way he spoke of his parents implied he was well aware of that fact.

Between her and her son, the resemblance was uncanny—the same brown freckles and sun-kissed skin, the same dense black hair thick with curls, the same big dark eyes—and yet their demeanors couldn't be more different.

Even Mr. Rivera was a squeaky clean kind of good Yin didn't even know existed and Ms. Rivera, his divorced but no less involved ex-wife, was as sweet and fluffy as her cotton candy hair.

It wasn't in a bad way, sort of, but Yin hadn't the slightest clue how Manny could have shaped himself into someone so reckless when his parents were the epitome of good morale and patience. Then Yin recalled Manny's grandfather, who may as well be moonlighting as the academy's custodian for all she knew, and suddenly it all made sense.

One bad apple spoils the bunch and all that.

"You planning on moving anytime soon?"

Yin let out a pathetic little yelp, a decent amount of the books in her magic grip falling to her feet if she didn't catch them in time with her hands. "Y-Yuck, what are you doing here?"

Yuck furrowed his brow. "I’m a library assistant."

Yin's stomach dropped. "Since when?!" She asked the question like an accusation.

"Since today," Yuck murmured, clearly still seething over the decision. "I tried to tell tiger boy’s dad that I have more important things to do after school, but this was the second best option after sticking knives in my eyes," he said. "Either that or ballet shoes, and that definitely wasn’t happening."

"It’s just…I thought you might be elsewhere at a time like this," Yin said. "Training, probably."

"I would love to be literally anywhere else but apparently punching holes into trees is 'disruptive' and 'non-productive,'" Yuck scoffed. "This place is a joke."

Yin peered over her shoulder.

Ms. Rivera was busy organizing the instruction manuals by numerical order in the computer lab, a little off from them, the dense glass separating her from what might turn into a tense confrontation.

Yin would have to finish this quickly, at least before Ms. Rivera would have to be exposed to the worst of Yuck’s apathy, anger, or aggression. If Yin was lucky, Yuck would get antsy and Foopertate out of the room. He didn't have the patience for this kind of tedious work, certainly not with her around.

Yuck was on the move before she could get a word out, already browsing the area that was apparently so important to him, expression fixed in quiet concentration as he scanned row after row of books for...something.

If he were anyone else Yin would happily inform him about the library's method of organization, how everything was grouped into topics that were then arranged alphabetically by last names. But would he care? No. He'd sooner throw down an entire shelf and take whatever books were left intact.

Please, please, just leave—"So, uh, glad you could make it! If you’re looking for something to do, the section for martial arts and guerrilla warfare tactics still needs to be stocked."

"Tempting, but Master Yo said he donated some ancient Woo Foo texts. I’m more interested in that," Yuck said. "Something about them being written archives of ultimate power, the likes of which only the true masters of Woo Foo have ever seen. I kinda stopped paying attention there."

"Oh, of course…" Yin said, barely hiding the bitterness in her voice. "It's certainly the first I'm hearing of that."

Yuck smirked. "Wow, he really didn't tell you and your idiot brother, huh? So much for being the favorite pupil."

The sting of Yuck's comment and her mild disappointment of Master Yo aside, it was times like this Yin was reminded Yuck had inherited her own intellect and ambition for knowledge, albeit filtered through an insatiable lust for power. She had thought (hoped) that Yang's impatience would somehow sand off some edges, that in place of Yin's careful planning and tactical mind would be nothing but barbaric stupidity, but she could never get so lucky.

Not that Yuck's ego and sheer love of destruction didn't often lead to his downfall, it was just that most of those failures were because Yin directly intervened—weakened him with the very same hands that held her so gently as Brett, directed his flight into a wall of earwax, kissed a Fooplication charm off his wrist, forced a giant pair of pants to dance. If she played the game just right enough, she could turn what was technically her own intelligence against him, but if there was one thing he definitely lacked, it was her emotional intelligence.

Yuck was just too prideful and too stubborn to care about icky, mushy feelings. To have any empathy or compassion at all would eat up time he could spend getting stronger. And Yin, well, Yin expected that of him, demanded it. For him to simply not care enough for insults slung in his direction was something of an unspoken agreement between all the villains. The things they've done will always be worse than anything Yin could say.

But to see him here, of all places, was what really put it into perspective. It was a cruel reminder that, despite all his shortcomings, Yuck was just as smart as her, and any Woo Foo history Yuck sought out was for his own personal gain to exploit and corrupt. And, if he were chosen to be an assistant in the library, perhaps even he could be moved by literature...Yin almost had to suppress a laugh.

As he paced down the aisle of books, Yin could only pretend not to stare, and in the pregnant silence she soon found her gaze wandering against her will.

On the weekends, uniforms weren’t mandatory, allowing Yin a chance to delve into her collection of trendy skirts, stockings, and knee-length dresses. Today’s outfit: a pleated mini paired with a fake cashmere cardigan that was great for the chilly air filling the library.

She’s so cute she could give kittens cavities. She's so cute she can't even taste the soap she had mixed into her toothpaste this morning. She's so cute she doesn't feel guilty.

Guilty? About what? Exactly.

Yuck, by comparison, looked about ready to vandalize the nearest building in his distressed jeans and black hoodie opened to reveal a grungy white shirt stained with Foo knows what. Yin wanted to deduce it was mud or some spilled food but she could recognize the murky brown of dried blood anywhere.

Yin suddenly recalled Coop’s transformation under the effects of the Nightmaster's excess of evil—taller, hunkier, clad in black leather—he was the epitome of all her bustling hormones at the time. And seeing Yuck out of his raggedy gi…well, he’s certainly looked worse.

"Hey, eyes up here, dipstick." Yin was brought back to her senses with a few snaps between her eyes.

"Huh, what?" Oh no! She wasn't staring, was she?

"See something you like, honey bunny?"

Yin felt the back of her throat sting at the sound of that old nickname. "Absolutely not! I'm just fulfilling my duties as an assistant and making sure you don't soil or damage any books. This isn't some playground, y'know."

"Sure, sure," Yuck said with a nod, eyes narrowed. "If you've got something to say, just say it."

Yin felt a loud, nagging pressing on her brain matter that was practically trying to Heimlich maneuver the words out of her guilty conscience.

Say what? she felt the urge to reply. I didn't say anything but you certainly did, you rotten little—"Pellets, fine, I'll just come out with it: I-I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have said that."

Yuck didn’t answer, his usual silent scowl in place. Yin clasped her hands in front of her, trying to look as sincere as possible.

"I said some things I didn’t mean, I’m sure we both did, and I wanted to let you know that my outburst is not indicative of my true feelings. The heat of the moment got to me and I ended up being very hurtful," she said. "And, if anything, I'm happy to have you as an opponent for the election. I'm sure you'll do great."

Yuck still wasn’t talking, forcing Yin to fill the silence.

"...And, as Woo Foo knights, we should all be a little more forgiving, towards ourselves and our enemies. It’s the only noble thing to do. So, once again, I’m sorry."

After what felt like several agonizing minutes, Yuck finally responded. "Okay," he said slowly. "And what’s supposed to happen after this?"

"I dunno," Yin mumbled, fiddling with the ribbon laced through the the front of her sweater. "I already did my part."

He was clearly messing with her. As good a liar as he is, his satisfaction in egging this on is apparent in his growing smirk.

"Forgive me," Yin said. It's a demand, not a suggestion. "You’re supposed to forgive me and we drop this."

"Yeah, we are supposed to but…" Yuck put a finger to his chin, pretending to think. "I’m not so sure about that. I don’t think you really mean it."

What was he expecting her to do? Get on her knees? Cling to his leg and beg? Kiss his hand—again?

Mother of Foo, he probably is. Yin thought, trying to suppress a shudder. "Look, I’m trying to be the mature one. The least you can do is meet me halfway."

"And I'm trying to get a sincere apology. A simple ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it, Yinnie." Yuck said, arms behind his back as he began walking in a small circle around her. "Social graces are a real bitch in a half, huh? Not you, of course. You're both halves and then some. Just a couple words would get you out of this mess, but until then, you’re kinda at my mercy. Man, I wish this moment could last forever..."

"You have got to be kidding—"

Yin was startled by a sudden snap of his fingers, his eyes lighting up with an idea. "Oh, I know!"

Yuck slammed a dirt clad boot down in between Yin’s pristine flats. "Kiss my feet, and it’ll be like that whole fight never happened."

"Oh you—!"

Yuck simply wagged his finger. "Nuh uh uh, you wanted to prove you’re sorry, right? And as the victim here, I think I deserve a little common decency after such a hateful comment."

"Kissing someone’s dirty, disgusting shoes is not common decency."

"Neither is saying I should kill myself but here we are."

Yin felt a pit form in her stomach, but she couldn’t decide if the sinking feeling was being triggered from guilt, embarrassment, or an all-consuming rage. Maybe a little bit of everything, maybe a lot of the latter.

"You know what? Forget it," Yin said, backing away and collecting the remaining books off the floor. "You really wanna know why absolutely no one likes you? Why no one will ever trust you? Why you're going to absolutely bomb at the election? Because you do things like this. You are a raging, self-obsessed, tyrannical sociopath and—Why are you laughing?!"

Yuck was still chuckling as he shook his head. "You’re just so funny when you get like this. Are you sure I didn’t get my aggression from you instead?"

"Oh my gosh, what is wrong with you?!"

"Everything that’s wrong with you."

They both froze as the computer lab door slid open followed by the faint clicking of Ms. Rivera’s heels. "Yin, can you help me with something? I wanted to hang up some motivational posters and I'm not sure if…" Ms. Rivera’s voice trailed off as she made out the scene before her. Her posture was unassuming if a bit stiff, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

"Yuck, there you are! I do hope you have a good excuse for being fifteen minutes late."

"I overslept, so sorry, ma’am."

Ma'am. Ma'am. It sounds so weird coming out of his mouth.

"Just don’t make a habit of it. Now, here's a pair of gloves. The thesauruses are right over there."

"Right away," Yuck slid the gloves on with surprisingly little complaint and headed off to his assigned area, winking at Yin as he made his way out.

"Ugh, Ms. Rivera, I have absolutely no idea why he's here, must be some sort of community service thing or whatever." Yin said. "Just know that if he says or does anything, I'll handle it."

Ms. Rivera chuckled. "Ah, that won't be necessary. I couldn't be happier to have him. I'm the one who insisted he be an assistant, after all."

"...You're kidding, right?"

"Of course not! I'll have you know that Yuck tends to have his meals in here. He'll just grab a book to read and eat in silence." Ms. Rivera gave a sad little pout. "Poor thing, I don't think he has friends to spend time with. Weekends must be awfully dull for him, but even the shyest of us have to break out of our shell sometime," Ms. Rivera reached behind her, producing a book with a title with those exact words printed across it. "It's a fact!"

Of course, the one problem with that kind of unflinching sweetness—gullibility.

Yin thought about the kind of books someone like Yuck would even read in his spare time given that apparently he had an appreciation for literature. Yin had opened herself up to a variety of writing talent from the multiverse that preceded the authors who defined her tastes—classy, romantic, fairy tales, folklore, intellectual studies, political essays, feminist poetry, epithets from a forgotten age where women could only hope to express themselves with pen and paper.

She had already read her weight in Charlotte Brontë, Virginia Woolf, and Jane Austen without a grade attached to any of it.

Yin excelled at all subjects, but it was truly the elegance of literature that was her passion. She could make sense of why she was here.

But Yuck?

No. It had to be pity.

Whatever the mangled, ugly version of Yin's passion was, that was Yuck’s reading preferences. It had to be. A version of Yuck that actually had the patience to sit down and read a book from start to finish would need something to satiate his appetite for violence. It had to be material specifically with his bellicose in mind.

Maybe a war journal but that would be too sentimental. He’d need something way more visceral, like the musings of a dictator, true crime biographies, the manuscript of a snuff film.

Yin stopped herself right then as she felt her accusations start to become more and more obtuse. The more she thought about it, the more she felt like she was creating a version of Yuck that didn’t exist.

Hall of Kui Wing | 11:30 A.M.

Frida pulled at the once pink bubblegum from between her teeth and contemplated giving the Mona Lisa hanging over the velvet ottoman a white, gummy smile. Or perhaps she could paste it to the bottom of David’s embarrassing small dick, stretch out the ends of the gum until it was dangling in the breeze.

"So," Manny began, a marker tapping his chin as he deliberated over their work thus far. "I say we fiddle with the faucets here, swap out the hot glue for hot gravy over here, and trim the bushes to look like giant butts around here."

"You think Lina will help us get into the greenhouse if we ask her nicely?"

"Psh, no way. Besides, it’s nothing my claws can’t handle."

They were using the back of Manny's sketchbook from his sketching and illustration class to doodle circles and arrows over the map the academy provided on their first day, scribbling down notes in the corners with markers that matched Frida's red and black striped wristbands.

"‘Sketching and Illustration’," Frida had said when she first peeped his schedule on his EduPod. "Since when do you draw?"

Manny reacted by snatching the device, clearly flustered as he stored it away in his jean's pocket. "What, I’m not allowed to have hobbies?"

"Cool your jets, Picasso." Frida chuckled, dramatically ruffling her hair and pouting. "Just be sure to draw me like one of your French girls when you get the chance."

Granted, Frida was one to talk as she was enlisted in the incredibly sweet and dainty Sewing Circle if it guaranteed she was going to be in Costume Design next semester. Embroidering doilies with daffodils and sewing the eyes back on to teddy bears, while adorable and catering to the part of Frida that was a helpless romantic, wasn't exactly punk rock.

But once the semester was done for, she'd pursue her true passion of handcrafting her and the Atomic Sombreros some custom-made stage costumes.

Soon enough, she could say goodbye to bonnets and lace, and hello to punkish plaids, silver spikes, and leather leggings.

But once the jokes and harmless riffing was over with, musing over each others schedules on the first day had turned out to be a somewhat bittersweet realization. The only classes she and Manny shared were Homeroom and Yearbook, and their second semester wasn't looking any better.

The dining hours were shared, obviously, but not exactly groundbreaking when everyone already ate at the same time. That was why hanging out after school and on the weekends like they always did back in Miracle City had become nothing short of essential, which made this map something of a high school freshman bucket list by default.

So maybe it wasn't ethical, maybe this wasn't the intended use for a map of school grounds. Who cared?

If Manny and Frida ever wanted to be proper map makers, they would have been in Cartography by now, and by the looks of their pitiful grades in geography back in Leone, clearly things like accuracy and integrity were less of a priority and more of a suggestion.

To Manny Rivera and Frida Suárez, the world was but a playground. They perceived everything as areas of where potential fun could be had, that just about everything in this world, save for arcades, ski slopes, and amusement parks, was just so dreadfully boring until it got their special double dose of charm.

Not one of those things Royal Heights had which technically made it the most boring place in the multiverse. Well, Frida supposed that was too harsh and too early a judgment, as she would at least say the standard Royal Heights curriculum definitely didn’t have slim pickings as far as classes went.

There was a whole class just about mythology and a hall dedicated to culture studies where the retired rockstar with messy penmanship who was also Yin and Yang’s mentor was in charge of something called Ancient Proverb and Philosophy, and students could draw haikus or something. The kids in medical practiced CPR on dolls dressed in suits and evening gowns as if they’d all choked on the little shrimp tails in their marinara martini glasses.

Leone Middle School wasn’t exactly the breeding ground of creative youth like herself, bogged down with basic, boring things like math and geography.

But like overloading character stats in a video game, Royal Heights schedules were all about achieving the perfect academic balance for individual students. Almost every combination Frida could think of probably wasn’t in mind for the ideal pupil.

Hell, she probably would prefer no schedule at all.

And though the classes were definitely Manny—less, Frida supposed she could have done far worse.

What if she had gotten stuck with botany? It didn’t have anything to do with robots, that’s for sure.

Pass.

Spanish? An easy A, but the school considered it too easy to be worth her time. Pass.

Culinary? The only thing she could fry to a crisp was her hair under a flat iron. Pass.

Etiquette? She’d rather die.

Music History and Theory? Okay, a little more her speed, even if all this talk about Beethoven was doing jack all for her increasingly terminal writer's block. But at least there she could talk about music with other people who liked to talk about music. And apparently one of those people who liked music was Django of The Dead, a detail that stirred just about as much caution in Manny as Zoe Aves being in Yearbook did for Frida.

"He hasn't, like, done anything yet..." Frida had assured him. "I don't even think he's mad about the whole dying in a volcano and then dying in an explosion thing."

Manny could only curl his lip. "That’s what he wants you to think,"

But if the two of them were being completely honest, the realization that not only Zoe but Django were accepted into the school most definitely created some hurdles towards what was supposed to be a smooth sailing high school career.

Zoe Aves hadn't changed much at all: always too rough during field hockey, always a door to slam in Frida's face, always an ankle to conveniently halt her path, always glaring so hard Frida could feel it searing the back of her skull. The girl was just as bitter and bitchy as always. All of it, Frida had gotten used to.

But Django, well, Frida hardly knew the guy, and, frankly, neither did Manny.

Out of the depths of a death game and miles away from a volcano, he was just as, if not more...what was the word? Elephant? Eloquent?

Polite, if discerningly so. In all his intelligence and wit, there was always something just a bit worrisome about Django's simple lack of inaction—his compliments, his idle chatter, his effortless charm with teachers, his academic performance that already placed him higher than both Manny and Frida; it all reeked of evil intent.

Frida could manage Zoe simply because she knew Zoe, albeit against her will, but Django—they had only seen partially what he was capable of, and that thought alone was terrifying.

Manny's dad had said once about how the quietest villain predated the loudest actions, or something like that, and that seemed to be very much the case here. All Manny and Frida could do was wait, and frankly, um, hello? "Impulsive" and "impatient" weren't written on their progress reports back in Leone for no reason.

For Django, the grandson of the most powerful supervillain in Miracle City—the mastermind behind the Tournament of Power, the one manipulating Manny's tension with his own family in hopes of forming an alliance, the one who nearly turned Manny into a permanent leftie—to simply stand there and do nothing while Manny and Frida could just sit and simmer in their paranoia was an act of evil in itself.

Frida groaned, drawing a big smiley face in the corner of the map as if it would somehow prompt her to mimic the expression.

Ugh, why the negativity so early in the day, Suárez? It really was the lack of stimulation in this place, almost no fun to be had, and too stern a grip to find any wiggle room to the point a villain's hostile takeover would honestly be an upgrade. It would at least give Manny an excuse to flex his skills as El Tigre and Frida an excuse to...well, watch.

But honestly it was the scheduling that was the deep fried celery stick in Frida's churro bouquet. If this school really was building a wall between her and Manny it was one made of roses and vines and big fat horse butts, but a wall regardless.

It was as if Royal Heights was specifically going out of its way to form a wedge between her and Manny, and to that they both gave a defiant "nuh-uh!"

She rested the map on the exposed knees of her torn fishnet stockings, humming in deep thought.

"I just feel like its missing something, something big," she said. To be fair, perhaps they had already topped themselves too early into the year with the jello prank and even that was ultimately demoted from getting caught—implying they didn't almost always get caught, but it was the principle of the prank that was at risk, goddamnit!

Yang might still prove to be a viable asset for anything later down the line, but collaborating with the other blue haired troublemaker might have to wait until later.

Manny and Frida were eager to run over some game plans for the year as a trio, but Manny couldn't even locate Yang inside their shared dorm that morning. Given how hard it apparently was to get Yang to wake up in time for breakfast, something else must have been more urgent.

He'd come around eventually as Manny and Frida gave themselves until Halloween to think of something that would rock the very fabric of the academy to its core.

"I say we put some dates on it or have some sort of planner to slip this into," Frida said, smacking away on her gum. "All of our best ideas were always on schedule."

Manny began to count off his fingers. "I'm definitely still stuck to the tacks in seats being on a Monday. The hot sauce soap is giving me strong Wednesday vibes."

"Then buttered hallways on Tuesday, it is." Frida grabbed the beaten red notebook from her bag, clinking noisily with enamel pins, and tore out a random sheet of paper from the middle section.

Manny looked at her as if he had witnessed a murder. "B-but that's your—"

"Songbook? Yeah, this song wasn't going anywhere. I say it's a worthy sacrifice...."

"It's just," Manny began quietly, aware how so many other songs "haven’t been going anywhere" lately. "You've been tearing out a lot of pages is all. Everything cool?"

"Cooler than cool, Manny! I'm like the Arctic tundra over here."

Manny remained weirdly silent as Frida scribbled the dates onto the page and used her chewed gum to fasten it to the map.

"I know, it's just that I don't want you to—"

Manny and Frida's attention was pulled away by the sound of boots triumphantly marching down the hallway, the faint sound of squeaking following a few steps behind. It was no one else but Zim who was shoving flyers into the little slits in the lockers if he wasn't pinning them to the walls, some very noticeably shouldering Yin's.

Frida happily welcomed the distraction.

Manny greeted him warmly. "Oh, hey! Zap, right?"

"Ah, hello fellow classmates. I was wondering in the upcoming election if you'd like you to consider ME as your choice for student body president!"

Frida took the piece of paper Zim jabbed in her face. The flyer was riddled with misspellings so bad even Frida could detect them and the edges were still wet with fresh glue and—Frida sniffed the paper—cheese? Though they lacked the unified aesthetic and clean-cut cuteness of Yin's pink posters, they certainly got your attention.

How anarchist, Frida thought.

"I, uh, like the creative direction with this," Manny said, wiping some stray liquid onto his jeans. "My art class would call this 'avant-garde'."

Zim rolled his eyes. "You'll have to excuse the inconsistent quality. GIR made them."

Frida's gaze settled on GIR, who was busying himself with a puddle of spilled glitter glue, gurgling bubbles into it. "GIR is your dog, right?"

"Oh uh, yes! But you must know he is merely disguised as an Earth dog monster! The school wouldn't allow him or Minimoose to accompany me to the school unless they were enlisted as support companions. They don't have to be animals, GIR just insists on wearing the suit."

"Oh yeah," Manny said. "Grandpapi had to do the same with Señor Chappi and Little Donkey. I think he gets a pass for being old."

"That rank smell aside, he’s kinda cute," Frida said. "Your little moose guy, too."

Minimoose made a high pitched sound that seemed appreciative.

"And I swear I’ve seen your dog somewhere before..." Frida said. GIR raised his head up from the floor, squeaking in delight. The green felt fur, the zipper, those spaced out eyeballs and perpetually hanging pink tongue. Where had she seen this? It seemed like just yesterday when—"Wait!"

Frida fished her phone out of her pocket and raced her fingers across the screen. "Oh my gosh! Manny, look! ‘Peace is Nice!’ He’s the ‘Peace is Nice’ dog!"

Manny gasped. "Oh my gosh! I told you we'd meet a celebrity here!"

Zim quirked a non existent eyebrow.

"What are you two stink monkeys on about?" She presented her cellphone to Zim, who stared at it with a puzzled look. "Oh," he said quietly. "I didn’t know anyone was recording that."

"I’m famous," GIR said, mirroring his own simple swaying in time with the footage.

"Peace is Better than CHICKEN AND RICE!!!!!!!!!" Frida’s phone said.

A look of deep contemplation passed over Zim's features, his antenna twitching. "And the citizens of your universe, like GIR’s peace song?"

"My dad does," Manny said. "He says the lyrics really speak to him…mostly the ‘peace’ part, but he does like chicken and rice."

"It’s a bit kiddish for me," Frida said. "And it became way too corporate when our mayor used it for his reelection campaign."

"But he did win," Manny said. "Most voters said it was because of the song. Oh, and the tie-in microwave dinner of a Peace is Nice Arroz Con Pollo, of course."

"Thing is, GIR's practically an e-celebrity. That's the best kind," Frida said. "It could probably net you some votes."

Zim put a hand to his chin in deep thought. "What insightful intel….What is your source? Are you spies?"

"We just kinda know this stuff, man," Frida said.

"And due to my connection to GIR, you would vote for me?"

"I'd vote for GIR," Manny said.

"Which means voting for me?"

Frida shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"THEN IT IS SETTLED!" Zim firmly put his hands on his hips, turning to his two pets that were starting to look more and more like minions now. "Come now, GIR, Minimoose, we have some peace to deliver to the masses."

As Zim continued his army-like strut down the hallway, Manny and Frida couldn't help but exchange a pitiful look. In a single glance, it was evident they were both equally intrigued and saddened at the sight of such blatant delusion. Whoever put him up to this had already pulled the biggest prank of them all.

Hall of Galileo | 12:27 P.M.

"Okay, so you're completely serious about this?" Gaz hit the pause button on her Game Slave and shut it closed with an audible snap! of the plastic.

"I guess I kinda have to be at this point," Yang replied.

The two of them were hunched to their knees and whispering to each other in the Hall of Galileo, the stomping grounds of the academy's future scientists and the pupils of what were currently the best scientists in the multiverse.

One of those scientists was Gaz's father and his signature on a piece of paper he hadn't bothered to read (as she expected) the key component to her "book club" becoming a reality.

"It's just that when you invited yourself to my 'book club', I thought you were just bluffing for Mr. Rivera. You do know clubs just barely count as extracurriculars, right?"

"Only if your club stops barely being a club," Yang said. "Listen, we'll get ourselves a third member sooner or later, make the school think we're a legit book club like you said, but until then..."

Yang waited for Gaz to fill the silence, to which she responded with a curled lip and a meager: "Eh..."

"OH COME ON! You know that I know that our 'book club' is gonna be the only thing worth a damn in this whole school. I wouldn't expect any less from V0X3LROT."

"And I was hoping for a little less talking from COD3BLU," Gaz replied. "I didn't even wanna make a stupid club in the first place but I knew the school board would give me hell if I didn't. Besides, my dad really wants me and Dib to be involved in our 'educational environment'. Whatever that means."

Okay, so maybe the ultimate unveiling of each other's gamer handles was the slightest bit anticlimactic. What Yang anticipated to be a dramatic confrontation, the ultimate unmasking, was as easy as a single conversation during Friday's lunch, the exchange that followed afterwards practically an invented language composed of stats and internet lingo to anyone in earshot:

"Quick, what's the best way to deal with a zombie ice cream man?"

"Slash the tires of his truck, the race for the final round is meant to be unbeatable."

"And I thought only I knew that trick..."

"People always slack off on the optional bosses. Little do they know, that's where all the good loot is at."

Yang wanted to say it was his natural gamer instincts or the fact he had caught on to the unique rasp of Gaz's voice that clued him in, but it turned out that V0X3LROT, AKA Gazlene Membrane, simply radiated the vibes of an elite with or without a Game Slave in her hand.

It was almost as if his own Woo Foo aura was actively drawn to her effortless cool factor and, in a manner that only roughly fit the definition of stalking, he had collected all the intel he needed to know for an absolute, undeniable fact that the weird little girl in his homeroom was definitely his summer gaming partner.

Yang stood up with a huff, brushing some fake dust off his cargo shorts. "Listen, do you wanna see my limited edition five star blade in action or not?"

Gaz quirked a skinny purple brow. "Five star, huh? And you just got it, didn't you?"

"Yup," Yang said with a fake little stretch of his arms, still continuing the act as long as Gaz looked invested. "That on top of the invisibility cloak I found in one of the daily dungeons. I heard it was 0.0001 percent chance of survival, but even that was no match for the lightning-chucks I also just kinda stumbled over. I swear the mods were asleep that day."

"You’ve gotta be kidding?!" Gaz said as she stood up to her full height, that is to say barely up to Yang's chest. It's the most inflection he's heard in her voice beyond a headset. "Do you know how many primogems I grinded for to get those? And you just found it in a daily dungeon? No fair."

"Meh, dumb luck, I guess." Yang said, grinning proudly. "I just so happened to have the right amount of mana left over to beat that hoard of Riftweevels. And just like that—BOOM!—five-star item added to my inventory. Those ghost giants didn’t stand a chance."

Gaz rolled her eyes. "Ugh, they seriously need to nerf those things."

"Especially those stupid ectoplasm shields," Yang added. "Like, you’re already a tank! What do you need the extra damage buffs for?"

Gaz's expression softened then—as much as she would allow, at least—and she gave a few glances over both of her shoulders before taking some quiet steps down the hall.

When she could confirm the section was empty, she waved Yang over.

"Okay, at first I was gonna pummel you for following me around, and then pummel you again for being kinda annoying in real life, but I see what kind of person you are now."

"A worthy competitor?"

"Don’t get ahead of yourself."

"A friend you can hang out with?"

"In your dreams,"

Gaz opened the door and pushed him inside, only for him to be greeted with a pitch black room. Okay, maybe she was going to kill him after all.

"I've been getting this place in shape for the last couple days when school was out so I wouldn't consider it done just yet. But..." Gaz quickly shut the door and locked it before flicking the light switch. "Doesn't mean we still can't take it for a spin."

Yang was expecting the holy grail with the way Gaz was hyping it up, but it was actually so much better than that:

Within the big brown square of a room was flatscreen desktops hovering over glowing keyboards. The screens crowned wooden desks, mismatched chairs cushioned with any pillows that weren’t striven across the floor were used to support one of many physical game copies, others filling the once forgotten bookshelves or still sitting in boxes.

Wires of varying size snaked across the tiled floor, plugged into VR headsets, charging controllers, monitor after monitor after monitor of the start up menus for many a video game, and, of course, several knee high hard drives humming in the corner like an electrical fireplace. The horsepower coming out of one was enough to keep the lights on in a big city skyscraper for a whole week.

And best of all, it was hidden away from any prying, judgmental eyes that would take any issue to it. No sisters or masters banging on their door, no villains bursting through the wall, no ignored phone calls from a furious girlfriend. A gamer's greatest asset fully realized: complete and total solitude.

"Heaven...I'm in heaven. I didn't believe it until now but it's real."

"Are you crying?"

"I-it's just," Yang rubbed at his eye to realize he in fact was crying—crying very manly, gamer tears. "I've never seen anything like this. How is this even possible? I know you have a club and all, but how’d you even get this place to yourself?"

"Once you register yourself as a leader and get a teacher's approval—that teacher being my dad—you get to call dibs on a random classroom." Gaz said. "From there, you can pretty much do whatever you want with the place."

"Really? And they're cool with you using all their computers?"

"It's a spare media lab filled with all the laptops already in our dorms. Some sort of backup for the computer science kids," Gaz said. She unfolded the permission slip from her skirt pocket and handed it to Yang. "So, not technically a classroom, but it is a room. I say they're the ones wasting the good hardware."

Yang took a moment to skim the paper to see it absolutely riddled with broad, sweeping statements and promises that would directly benefit the club.

It was essentially a contract signing way all of the devices in this room to be under her possession, a statement that was already technically true given the fact her father's company had provided the laptops to begin with.

Wow, Yang thought.

"Wow," Yang said. "So many screens, so many mind melting video games. All for us. This couldn't possibly get any better!"

"Well, there is one last thing..." From there she opened a closet door and leaned down to punch a few numbers into the side of a massive silver rectangle contained inside. It opened with a hiss and dramatic billowing of cold steam. "The computers are fine, I'm sure the school can afford some bandwidth, but it's this that I definitely need you to keep your mouth shut about, got it?"

What Yang thought was some sort of safe was actually a vertical fridge stuffed to maximum capacity with food. And inside it was...

Yang felt he just might cry again.

Family size boxes of Honey Ghost and Franken Chokies cereal, microwavable Bloaty's Pizza Hog mini pizzas along with some hearty slices of the real deal preserved in plastic, several pints of Fat Boy Ice Cream, mozzarella sticks, pork rinds, toaster pastries, bags of Cheezos from mild to spicy to inferno, Chicky Licky chicken nuggets and tenders, Burrito King microwave burritos, Krazy Taco microwave nachos, bags of baking chips, a deluxe size Suck Munkey, Poop Cola by the two liter and twelve pack in all flavors, even—

"Poop Cola Darkpoop?" Yang grabbed the unopened bottle, the soda’s logo of a swamp green smiley face sporting vampire fangs looked back at him. "I thought this was limited edition."

"You can have it if you want," Gaz said, pouring herself some cereal into a wooden bowl that looked suspiciously like the ones from the dining hall. In fact, this freezer looked like something straight out of culinary. "The abyss has a mediocre aftertaste."

"How did you even get all this in here?" Yang said.

"You ever heard of LugBot?" Gaz said.

"The robot that holds luggage?" Yang said.

"My dad said I could borrow it, which is also in the contract by the way." While that didn't answer all of Yang's questions, Yang still willed himself to keep his mouth shut. He was slowly growing to realize Gaz wasn't someone to pester with anything trivial.

"But you can't just go around telling people, got it?" Gaz said, jabbing a spoon at him. "This kind of stuff as practically contraband."

"Wouldn't dream of it! Video games? Junk food galore? This is everything school tried to keep me away from." Yang reached his hand towards the open fridge only for Gaz to slam it shut.

"Hold on, before you get your hands all over my loot, you're gonna have to earn it." Gaz said. "You know about the limited time event coming up, right?"

"The Azathoth Trials," Yang said, and a shiver of excitement and fear traveled up his spine. "They've been taking so long, I almost thought it was a rumor. And you want me on your team?"

Gaz merely shrugged. "Well....you're the only one around, and if you're as good as I think you are, I'm sure we could make The Trials a cakewalk."

"Think I am?! I'll have you know that—"

"Shut up, I've got a whole day ahead of me and plenty of dungeons to grind," She was already taking a seat, headset secured around her ears and controller in hand. "I'm not saying you have to stick around, but a little co-op is the least you could do after I showed you my food stash."

Yang took a moment to observe his surroundings and realized just then that he, in fact, was still inside the lame boarding school he’d be spending the next four years of his life wasting away in. But here, it’s like he’s in a pocket dimension, one filled with good food and games and the single most interesting kid in the entire academy.

He’d be an idiot (well, more of one) to not buckle down and show Gaz he was about this.

Yang uncapped the liter of dark poop and took a few hearty gulps. The burn in the back of his throat tasted like victory. "Count me in, captain. Let’s show Azathoth who’s boss."

She extended her hand and Yang gave it a firm shake, something resembling a smile crossing her features. "Welcome to the book club, Yang."

Chapter Text

Hall of Legba | Tuesday, August 28 | 11:55 A.M.

"Are you sure the culinary kids won’t notice?"

Frida rolled her eyes. "The same way I'm sure they can bake their pretty little cakes with just a little less butter. No one’s gonna miss ten."

"Or twenty," Manny added.

"Or fifty,"

The two of them observed their handiwork that gave the wooden floor of the hallway a rich, glossy sheen. Anyone from a distance would assume the floor had just gotten a very vigorous polish, maybe a very enthusiastic wax, when the real answer was just so much funnier.

Through their combined efforts, they had made a sizable dent into their supply, multiple sticks of half-thawed butter reduced to greasy smears over the foreign language hall, ever so dutifully dubbed the Hall of Legba.

Legba balls

Manny and Frida had to scale back their scope just slightly upon taking their time, resources, and the size of their blank canvas of choice into account.

Yes, they had most definitely secured an amount of butter that would leave some noticeably empty shelves behind, but you try collecting any less than what a trash bag can hold while your grandfather kept watch during the fleeting fifteen minutes of yesterday’s Private Study and see if you cared about being discreet.

The two of them were still on unfamiliar ground, only hardly familiar with the academy’s oh so dignified and intimidatingly massive infrastructure—too much butter was still just barely enough. Screw trying to cover the literature hall and seeing if any of those bookworms could write their way out of falling onto their faces, Manny and Frida were too busy seeing if anyone memorized the French words for "slippery", "hallway", and "ow, my ass".

At the end of the day, the entire situation ended up being pretty educational: quantity versus quality, supply and demand, time management—why was Manny already flunking his first week of algebra, again?

"There’s just one problem," Frida said, tossing away the last slippery wrapper and the remainder of any evidence tracing back to them (unless somebody bothered to sniff their buttery palms in the next few seconds). "How are we gonna get out of here?"

"That’s easy, we just…" Manny observed his surroundings and the island of dry land that he and Frida were occupying. He felt a pit form in his stomach. "Dang it,"

Manny just then realized they were several slippery steps away from the closest staircase, and the only elevator was down the hallway, the far opposite of where the two of them now stood, and what was the starting point of their little butter expedition.

Their best bet was undeniably the stairs leading down to the math hall—quiet, closer, just a bit more efficient—but the journey to even reach the last two classroom doors on their end for a bit of extra leverage would be both grueling and risky.

Soon enough, they’d have to reach that last stretch of wall, grab the railing for dear life like they were exiting the steps of a water slide.

And what if they lost their footing by the time they did reach the staircase and inevitably found themselves tumbling their way down? At least the injuries they sustained would make for one hell of an excuse.

After all it was only by the saving grace of a pass to the nurse that the two of them were out here during class hours, able to grab their supply from Granpapi’s minifridge without being detected, and even then they stayed close to the floor, quiet as a mouse, knowing the goody-goodies of this academy would so quickly rat them out.

It was most definitely times like these Manny was grateful for the school’s commitment to windowless doors made out of thick oak, leaving Manny and Frida not only unseen but unheard as they painted the halls one stick at a time, whispering and giggling and still flinching at the slightest noise that was more often than not students audibly reading over their vocabulary words.

Manny was nearly convinced his pranking days were over after the jello stunt was a bust, but perhaps that was the price to pay when it came to pranking on new territory.

Some kids traveled the campus on foot or constantly addressed their EduPod like a personal tour guide to find their footing while Manny’s mental map was that of his most recent escapades: the classrooms he had slipped into to perfectly place thumbtacks, the boys restroom that still smelled faintly of sriracha, and now this glorious, golden sea that was once a school hallway that he would have to navigate like a minefield with his best friend close behind him.

"I’m sure we can still find a way out!" Frida said as she surveyed the area. "We just gotta consider our options, think outside the box…or maybe out the window?"

Manny peeked out of one of the mile—high windows in the hallway to see the second period field hockey girls taking laps around the field. Granted, it would still be a hell of a dismount with only the neatly trimmed grass and topiaries to break their fall.

And if anything Frida said about her coach was true, then the woman’s second sense for tomfoolery would see the two of them coming from a mile away, prompting an investigation into who was messing around the shrubbery during class hours.

"Do you think you can form a big enough hole with your El Tigre claws that we can climb out of?" Frida suggested. "These things don’t even open."

"Nah, that would leave too much evidence," Manny said. He pointed at the staircase, and Frida elicited a shudder. "I’d say our best bet is the stairs."

"And fall on our asses while we’re at it?" Frida said. "No way."

"Come on, Frida!" Manny said. "A hole in a window? That’s an El Tigre trademark. And if we get caught, I just know that Tak will definitely tell my dad. And then his dad will tell your dad and…"

Frida groaned, not needing much more convincing. "Ugh, point taken. Lead the way."

"If we can at least keep our heads low until the next bell, then we can make it to Yearbook like nothing happened. We just gotta…" Manny tentatively stepped out the tip of his sneaker, insanely lucky to find a single inch of butterless tile. "Okay, stay close behind me, and we’ll be—Whoa! Whoa!"

"Manny!" Frida called out to him, her voice a cross between a yell and a whisper.

"I’m okay, I’m okay. We’ll just have to take our time." Manny soon enough regained his composure, hands on his knees as he gave Frida a shaky thumbs up. "We are gonna get out of this. This I swear!"

Frida nodded, following a few steps behind him with the imprint of her boots meshing with the yellowish—white smear left behind by Manny’s sneakers.

As they continued to tiptoe down the hall, they made out the campaign posters of Yin, Zim, and some less familiar faces that clttered a decent amount of whatever inch of wall that was still available.

Yuck’s strategy was that he didn’t have posters at all, just posters he would hijack with a permanent marker, defacing Zim and then Yin and then some kid Manny got a stick of gum from and then Yin a dozen more times with as many curses and crude drawings he could come up with.

"Man, these guys are really going at it," Manny said, an open palm lightly scaling one of the class doors. Just a couple more careful steps and they’d be by the butterless staircase and home free. "What’s the big deal about being student body president, anyway?"

"I think it’s more of a power thing. Maybe some extra perks," Frida said. "Not to mention you get to boss people around and no one is allowed to get mad at you."

Manny shook his head. "No way, I actually think you get more of the blame if something goes wrong. The same way I’m gonna be pissed if Zim wins and I don’t get my horchata drinking fountain."

"Or my churro vending machine," Frida added.

Manny thought for a moment. "What would you do if you were in charge?"

"Eh, probably cancel school. Infinite summer vacation."

"Same here," Manny said.

To be honest, becoming president just didn’t mesh with either of their freeform lifestyles. Not like they’d have time to be cutting ribbons to renovated gymnasiums or whatever it is student body presidents did.

It had only been their first month with September right around the corner, which meant they were going to be booked and busy all the way to Halloween!

Busts to steal, funny words to write on whiteboards, buckets of paint to balance on doorways, teachers to piss off and food fights to start—none of Manny’s ambitions exactly made him presidential material (not that it was saying much by the looks of the current ballot).

But ideally, a student in a place of leadership had to be upstanding, dignified, diligent, and hardworking, the kind of kid your parents wish you were, and all of this Manny frankly didn’t see himself as.

Not because he lacked the confidence, far from it, it was just that this mixing pot of traits combined with the kind of academic performance and good reputation befitting a student body president boiled down to a…Hmmm, what’s the word he was looking for?

Oh yeah.

A dork. And Manny Rivera was not a dork.

"But I guess just getting rid of school would make being president entirely pointless," he said. "Okay, you’re student body president, and you can do anything besides getting rid of school."

"Probably make some adjustments to the uniform," Frida said, smirking. "Everybody loves goggles."

"I’d add a laser tag arena to the gym and replace the horseriding with go karts."

"Dude, screw my idea! That’s awesome—Whoa!"

"Frida!"

Before he even knows it, Manny is gripping Frida by her arms, just barely balancing with his knees buckled on the slippery floor they’ve hardly made progress on. Just barely managing to collapse entirely, Frida’s hunched over and panting, red and black fingernails digging into the sleeves of Manny’s blazer in a fading panic as her boots struggled to stay planted.

"Yikes, that could have been messy." she said to the floor.

Manny was getting an eyeful of his distorted reflection in her goggles. The sight of every little hair in his nostrils was jarring at first and suddenly very funny right after. Either that or it was an onslaught of nervous laughter because now Manny is sweating a lot more than he can originally recall.

"You okay, dude?’ Frida’s eyes finally met his and the laughter died in his throat.

"N-nothing, I just…"

Ding! Dong! Ding!

"Mierda! Let’s get out of here!" Manny grabbed Frida and half—stepped, half—slid his way to the staircase, just narrowly avoiding both of them stumbling down the steps before making it to the landing.

As doors opened and students exited, the inevitable plunking of unprepared bodies bumped along the floor now above them. The two of them could barely contain their laughter, only mildly disappointed they couldn’t see their handiwork in action.

Manny laughed into his palm. "Oh, oh man! This is priceless!"

"Operation slip-n’-slide was a success," Frida said, giving him a high five.

"I knew we had nothing to worry about," Manny said. "But next time let’s plan our daring escape ahead of time."

"Yeah, definitely…" Frida’s voice suddenly trailed off. "Oh, and Manny, you’re kinda…" She smiled sheepishly as she pointed downwards. Manny’s gaze soon enough drifted to their hands, both of them interlocked in a firm grip.

"Oh my gosh! I-I’m sorry!" Manny jerked his hand away. "I just—I didn’t want you to fall, that’s all!"

"N-No it’s fine," Frida said. That awkward smile is still on her face and Manny swears he sees some color in her cheeks that could have either been the flush of laughter or embarrassment or both. "I just…I didn’t know if you knew."

"Which I didn’t!" Manny assured, feeling his own face grow hot. Frida is still avoiding his gaze, the hand he was holding before being cradled by her other. Her bangs in her eyes, he can’t quite make out her expression.

A weird part of his brain is prompting him to say something, anything at all to fill the silence that’s settled between them, but he can’t come up with anything. Nothing clever, at least.

"We uh, better make it to Yearbook," Manny said, and he nearly kicked himself for how incredibly lame that sounded. As if getting to class on time had ever been one of his priorities. "Zoe’s gonna give us hell if we’re late again."

The mention of Zoe seemed to bring Frida back to her senses, now awkwardly rubbing her palm against her skirt. She chuckled, "That’s implying she won’t do it anyway."

Frida made her way down the remainder of the staircase, turning to look over her shoulder when she noticed Manny was still frozen in place. "You coming, dude?"

"Uh, yeah, right behind you."

He had expected the enjoyment of several elite high schoolers slipping and falling on to their asses to be the only thing on his mind right now, but perhaps there were other, more important things Manny wanted to commit to memory.

The New Library of Alexandria, Main Floor | 2:38 P.M.

Zim adjusted the zoom on a pair of high tech Irken binoculars he had stored inside his PAK, capturing Tak in pitch perfect quality. Only a few towering bookshelves stood between them, which acted as the perfect buffer. She hadn’t even registered his presence, which was exactly the way Zim intended to keep it.

Of course, an inferior Irken and phony Invader could never compare to someone as competent and naturally stealthy as Zim, but it was always nice to know he could get this sort of invasive intel in the first place.

Soon enough, she would learn to live in fear of Zim instead of wallowing in the anger and self pity that motivated her in the first place. It was simply unbecoming of their species to stoop to such lows, to even consider taking an Invader’s job should have been grounds for banishment. Maybe even death!

But no, even Zim could be merciful. Even he, hardened from his years of training, could bring himself not to loathe Tak but pity her. Pity her for the lows she had to stoop to, the trials she inflicted upon herself, for the unbeatable foe she had made out of Zim with her most recent scheme—too selfish, too stubborn to leave well enough alone.

But of course, she still had to be stopped. A shame, really.

And yet, much to Zim’s frustration, Tak had yet to do anything worth reporting on. Much like her time at Skool when she successfully blended into the human crowd with the same efficiency as Zim, her plotting was never obvious. No, she operated best behind the scenes, executing plans of mass destruction without any prying eyes to witness it until it was too late.

She had spent the greater part of her visit to the library needlessly pacing the aisles, eyes squinted in concentration as she prowled the rows and rows of books for something in particular.

If what Zim had heard about the library was true, then it contained possibly all the written knowledge in the known multiverse. Of course the idiotic leaders behind this academy’s creation left it open to the public, deemed this kind of sensitive intel to be a gift to the masses and not the festering wound of a weakness it truly was.

Once it could be fully digitized, The Tallest would certainly appreciate such an archive of data to exploit and conquer the very worlds that told these stories. Just a couple more adjustments to his tracking device and maybe then he could—

"Zim?" A familiar voice made Zim’s antenna stand on end. "What are you—Mmph!"

Zim slapped a hand over Dib’s mouth and dragged him down to the floor. "Be quiet, Urth monkey!" Zim said, the squirming Dib struggling in his grip. "Can’t you see I’m in the middle of some very important business?"

Dib pried the hand off his mouth. "You, asking me to be quiet? That’s new." He soon enough wrestled himself out of Zim’s grasp, dusting off his uniform. He sat on his knees, peering up from between the small crevice Zim had made between the books. "Spying on Tak, huh? Guess that makes two of us."

"Zim does not need to spy on his enemy," Zim replied, looking through his binoculars again. "I am simply observing Tak’s actions to see if it produces any additional meaningful intel."

"Yeah, which is spying." Dib said.

"Well, I’m still better at it."

"Whatever," Dib said. "And maybe try following your own advice and keep your voice down. The second she sees us it’s game over." He narrowed his eyes as he observed Tak grabbing two books off a shelf, seeming to be comparing the two. "I haven’t seen anything weird yet but I’m sure she’s just acting normal to throw us off her trail."

Zim scoffed. "Normal? All of her actions reek of her evil intent. And this plan of her’s will be going nowhere as long as I’m here."

"Which I assume will provide plenty of room for your own evil plans." Dib said. There’s little to no enthusiasm behind the statement, as if interfering with Zim’s plot was but a chore to finish.

"Precisely," Zim replied, hands bunching into fists. "She’s done nothing but interfere. Why else would she crawl out of the depths of space specifically to smite me?"

"And me," Dib said. "Though you’re definitely on the top of her shit list. I’m at least number two…ironically."

Zim confidently cocked his chin. "For even here, I am still above you, Dib."

Dib rolled his eyes. "Yeah, can’t wait for her to make my death only mildly less painful. Maybe she’ll tire herself out after bludgeoning you into green paste."

While it had been awhile since the two of them had a back and forth like this, Zim failed to feel the usual…stimulation these arguments inspired. Maybe it was because they were whispering, had to be.

The full gravity and majesty of their conflict was being shrunken down for the sake of their and everyone else’s privacy.

And for what? To be considerate? Polite?

HA! Zim laughed in the face of common courtesy, albeit internally, as his laughter would be a dead giveaway to the librarian human who banned him from this location in the first place.

Dib squinted behind his oversized glasses before turning to look at Zim. "What do you think she’s up to, anyway? I haven’t gotten any leads beyond the election stuff."

"That I have yet to learn," Zim gave a confident smile. "Which is why I intend to use my inevitable victory to better exploit her weaknesses."

"Okay, but don’t you find it just the slightest bit suspicious she’s letting you run in the first place? I mean, she does hate you. Giving you a chance at any position of authority has got to have some ulterior motive attached to it." Dib said. He stopped to think for a moment, shrugging. "Unless she just wants to see you spectacularly fail, I know I do."

"It’s clear that Tak simply knows she has no chances of stopping my reign over this school," Zim said. "For Zim is an unstoppable force of nature and she…she is less of one."

"Or maybe she’s just sticking to her guns with this persona of her’s." Dib’s expression was quiet and contemplative. "The only thing I know for a fact is that this one relies entirely on people not knowing this was the disguise she used on Earth. But you, me, and Gaz—we’re in on her secret."

Tak shifted the books to one arm and waved her hand, calling over the library human in charge of this section of the school. Tak was gesturing to the books, much to the library human’s enthusiasm.

Zim dialed the audio-visual settings on his binoculars and got a read on the conversation:

"…I’m writing an essay about stellar evolution and how it affects all living organisms," Tak said. Her smile is big and toothy and fake. "I thought someone of your advanced knowledge and understanding of the library might have some recommendations."

The library human smiled. "Of course, Tak! You couldn’t have come to a better place. It’s a fact!"

"An essay on stellar evolution…" Dib said. "I guess an alien would care about astrophysics."

The library human trailed a finger past a row of books before grabbing one off the shelf, a thick volume encased in brown leather. "The two you have are a great start, but may I recommend this?"

"Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation," Tak said with a nod. "This seems very insightful."

"Darwanism?" Dib murmured. "What could she possibly be getting out of that?"

"What?" Zim said.

"It's this theoretical study by this long-dead biologist obsessed with evolution. My dad had me read some of his stuff when he wanted me to get into ‘real science'," Dib said. "And if Tak really is writing this essay, I wonder what all this research is going towards."

Zim rolled his eyes. "Nothing of substance, obviously."

Zim shook his head, frustrated not just by the human’s ignorance but Tak’s incompetence.

"Irkens haven’t relied on printed material for centuries," he said. "If Tak truly sought out this knowledge, she would have downloaded all the information she needed into her PAK."

"Yeah, because whipping out the alien brain on her spine in public is totally discreet. Absolutely something a normal human would do," Dib said, rolling his eyes. "Tak knows a thing or two about being incognito. It’s no wonder she nearly destroyed the Earth the first time."

Zim glared daggers into the side of Dib’s massive head but couldn’t help feeling the sting of his comment.

The nerve of him! To deem Tak the superior when she should have been lightyears away to begin with, scrubbing away at Planet Dirt for the rest of her pathetic existence.

She, a phony Invader hellbent on taking everything Zim worked for, and this human had the audacity to offer a backhanded compliment.

Dookie for brains, the Dib had. Pure dookie.

From the depths of a faded blue messenger bag, Dib pulled out his camera, the same cutting-edge piece of powerful but no less inferior Urth tech that had been used to capture Zim’s candid moments several times over.

In other words, it was the one Zim hadn’t found a way to destroy yet if Dib’s own clumsiness didn’t get to it first.

"And what exactly are you doing?" Zim asked.

"Collecting evidence," Dib replied, sights already down the camera’s scope. "A little advice from a pro: a single good photo can change everything."

Which means hundreds can change absolutely nothing, Zim thought, and yet there was a lump in his throat that kept him—him—from speaking it out loud.

He knew fully well that the amount of photographs and camera footage Dib had collected on him was several years in the making. If Dib truly intended to study Tak’s actions now, he would barely even scratch the surface of his collection on Zim’s whereabouts.

No amount of Urthly oddities could compare to Dib’s true fascination: him.

...And yet, just the idea of it made his squeedly splooch twist in knots. The mere thought, Dib collecting footage and photographs of Tak the same way he did for Zim, Dib’s archive overflowing with Tak’s profile, Tak’s information, observations about Tak—Where would that leave Zim’s information?

Buried, forgotten, shoved into the literal and metaphorical bottom drawer of Dib’s psyche.

If the Dib was smart, he would abandon the project altogether and let Zim handle it, make room for all the glorious, important things Zim was going to accomplish once he crushed Tak once and for all.

Dib would see that Tak’s plans would be but a footnote to the things he was going to do to this school and its students. Dib would be too busy stopping him, plotting against him, fighting him.

He bared his teeth, antenna stiffening in anger. Zim can’t even decide who he’s directing his rage towards: the Dib for tossing him aside or Tak for even implanting that idea into his giant head.

"Discourse on the Method? That's an interesting choice," Dib said, squinting behind his lens. "Crap, I can’t see the covers of the other books from here. Turn around already…" 

Zim growled low in his throat, standing up from his hunched position and snatching the camera out of Dib’s hands. "YOUR IGNORANCE INFURIATES ME! NOW BEHOLD AS I DESTROY YOUR PRECIOUS SPY EQUIPMENT—HA!"

He threw the camera down against the wooden flooring, only managing to crack the lens. His boot repeatedly stomped into the camera. He didn’t stop until he could feel every piece being crushed beneath his foot—the plastic snapping, the glass shattering, the metal bending, the photos of Tak disappearing forever.

"What the hell, Zim!" Dib soon enough shoved him off, inspecting the pile of broken fragments his beloved camera had been reduced to. "Oh man, I won this thing in an auction."

"Then perhaps you should have auctioned the chances of it being destroyed. VICTORY FOR ZIM!"

"THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!"

The library human soon approached them. Her voice was cold and stern, "What is going on here?" She stared down at the two of them as Dib pathetically tried to collect what pieces were left intact of his camera.

"Zim," she said, brow creasing. "You know fully well that your ban from the library hasn’t been lifted yet. I’m going to have to ask you to leave."

Dib gave Zim a look. "We’re barely approaching the second week of school and you’re already getting banned from places?"

"And may I ask why you’re here?" She asked, which got the Dib stumbling over an explanation.

"J-just some newspaper stuff, Ms. Rivera!" Dib replied shakily before shooting Zim an angry look. "At least I was until Zim broke my camera."

Ms. Rivera shook her head. "Zim, intentionally breaking a piece of school equipment could be grounds for detention. That is, unless Tak is…" Ms. Rivera blinked, fully registering that Tak had exited the premises with none of them the wiser. "Ah, that’s strange. She was just here."

Zim scoffed. "Most likely fleeing in terror,"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Dib said.

"But the statement still stands: Zim, this behavior is unacceptable." Ms. Rivera continued. "You'd be lucky if the school doesn’t make you pay for the damages."

"It was actually a camera I brought from home," Dib said. "Don’t worry, I have a spare."

Ms. Rivera gave a stiff nod. "I see now, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you two to leave."

Zim hurriedly exited the library and entered the hall even before the words left Ms. Rivera’s mouth hole, the squeak of Dib’s shoes following a few steps behind him. Zim slowed himself to a stop, eyes darting across the empty hall much to his frustration. Tak was nowhere to be seen.

He dug his fingers into his palms. Damn it all, she really had made a clean escape.

"Hold on!" A hand gripped Zim by the shoulder, forcefully turning him around. "Do you mind explaining why you're going out of your way to not stop Tak from bringing this school to its knees?"

"I owe you no explanation, Dib!" Zim said. "This is Irken business and I don’t need you getting involved."

"Actually, this goes far beyond Irkens," Dib said. "Try the entirety of our new reality. Think logically for once in your life: Tak would never throw herself in the center of a multi-dimensional school if she wasn’t getting something out of it."

Zim scoffed. "What an awful and stupid assumption. Your observations have never been this terrible, Dib-stink."

"What I’m assuming and observing is that she wants you dead, but she’s also after something even greater than that."

"And what prize could possibly be better than besting Zim? I supposedly ruined her life, you know."

"Knowledge of every known universe in existence isn’t a bad start," Dib said. "I mean, that’s what you’re after too, isn’t it? Or is it just another goodie bag to give to your Almighty Tallest?"

"You dare undermine my mission?!"

"Zim, I’m being serious," Dib’s voice lost all of its previous aggression. He’s being what humans would dub as "sincere," which was just another way of being desperate and vulnerable. "You do remember that it was you and me that stopped Tak in the first place, right? And now that the scope is as big as it's ever been, it only makes sense that we—"

"ERRRRRR, NO! I see now that was my first mistake," Zim hissed as he closed the distance between them. "Clearly, you’ve grown entitled from that experience. Your arrogance is astounding."

"And you must be a real idiot if you think you can do this on your own. But fine, whatever. I’ll just sit on the sidelines and watch her destroy you. Much bigger things are at stake besides your ego."

On that note the Dib turned away, angrily muttering to himself as he stalked down the empty hallway.

Zim could only bring himself to watch as the human left his line of sight, fists shaking in silent defiance. The lump in his throat from earlier still had yet to subside and he swallowed thickly to no avail.

Perhaps the Urth monkey was right about one thing: something much greater was definitely at stake.

Courtyard | 6:42 P.M.

"Alright, question seven: ‘What year did the Western Roman Empire Fall and which kingdom rose to power in its place’?"

"Uh, the uhhh…I think it happened during the—"

"Come on, Yang. You know this! We literally went over this today."

"Skip,"

"You’re all out of skips,"

"I’ll get the next one!"

"Really? ‘Cause there’s a lot of questions on this worksheet that you don’t got." Lina groaned, setting down the Latin textbook in defeat. "Yang, were you paying attention at all during class today? Hell, for the entire week we’ve been at this school?"

Yang rolled his eyes. "You two seriously think I’m gonna start shapin’ up for this school just because they invited me here? Maybe if these people weren’t high off their own farts, they’d know I'm a noble warrior, not a nerd."

Lina shook her head. "All I’m hearing out of your mouth are excuses."

Yang flopped pathetically onto the bistro table they had turned into their three person study party, one of the many that lined the courtyard. "Come awwn, you know I’ve never been a good student even with Woo Foo. Sis, vouch for me."

Yin had yet to look up from her copy of Hamlet which Lina could see her smugly grinning behind. "No need to tell Lina what she already knows."

"I can’t help it, I was distracted." Yang said, shooting Lina a loving gaze. "There’s this cute girl in my class who usually gives me all the answers whenever I’m stumped."

"Forget stumped, you’re the tree and them some. But, whatever, just…" Lina opened her folder and pushed the completed worksheet towards Yang. "Copy my homework tonight and make sure you get it back to me before class. Saves me the headache."

"You’re the best, babe!" Yang’s phone blipped with a notification. He tapped his home screen, immediately shooting out of the chair. "Pellets, I’m gonna be late!"

Yin peered up from her book. "Late? Late to what?"

"To the game—uh, the book club. The book club I formed with Gaz," he said, hurriedly filling his bookbag. "And I seriously can’t let some lame studying get in the way of that."

"Gaz? That snippy girl who's always got her nose in that game?" Lina said. "She actually made a book club?"

Yang shook his head. "It’s called having hobbies, Lina. Psh, way to be judgmental."

"Well in that case, I’m just dying to know what book you’re reading," Yin asked, a smirk growing across her face. "Do you mind telling me about it?"

Yang gave a nervous laugh, averting the judgmental gaze of his sister and girlfriend. "Uh…it’s a uh, multi-layered fantasy epic that tells the tale of dashing heroes coming together to fight an ongoing battle against an ancient evil?"

Yin nodded, clearly not convinced. "Really? Well, it definitely sounds relatable."

"Read what you know," Yang replied with a shaky laugh, the second blip from his phone somehow sounding angrier than the first. "And Gaz just refuses to get to the next chapter without me, so I'd better not keep her waiting."

He slid his backpack over his shoulder and hurriedly made his way down the courtyard lawn. "You girls have fun studying, I know I definitely won’t!"

"I always knew Yang wasn’t the brightest bulb, but you never told me it was this bad." Lina said, watching as her boyfriend scurried off. "Pulling teeth is easier than tutoring him."

"And you’re still tutoring him because…?"

"Because he’s my boyfriend, Yin. My very whiny, very lazy boyfriend." Lina replied, honestly wishing her insanely brainy bestie would do some of the heavy lifting. Lina wasn’t exactly a genius herself and her days as a B-average student would only live to see another day with Yin’s assistance. "Speaking of dumb boys, I can’t imagine playing third wheel to our study date has been much fun. Anyone on your crush radar, yet?"

"No, nobody yet," Yin said, but Lina can see the coy smile behind her book. "What, do you think anyone might be interested?"

"Okay, so I really do think that kid in our magic class was looking for an excuse to talk to you the other day."

"He just needed a pencil," Yin said.

"Which he kept,"

"Because I had extras and was feeling generous," Yin said. "Besides, he’s not really my type. The insignia from his wizard clan is a little too…punk rock for my tastes. And the cursed blade throwing hobby? That is so edgelord."

Lina snorted out a laugh. "Oh, okay, hold the phone: Yin is past her bad boy phase?"

Yin’s obsession with the kind of guys you’d find in a correctional facility was always the most baffling thing about her. Yin in all her fluffy pink purity offsetted her surface level sweetness with a love for danger.

And yes, Yin would never reject the whims of the squeaky clean boy band types, deny the affections of a hunky teen celebrity, dismiss a well-meaning straight-A student with a six pack, but each and every one would be immediately shelved the second some punk with a switchblade came into the picture. Or, at least, that was the case only during her tween years.

And personally, Lina welcomed the change. Yin had gotten her heart broken plenty of times by guys who weren’t evil as much as they were just jerks. She’d been egged along by a prissy otter one time and a selfish clam boy the next.

Literally programming a machine to love her was a total bust and the unique baggage that came with the Brett incident and the falling out with Coop inspired a deep vitriol that would make most people give up on love entirely.

Each time, Yin poured her heart out either in desperation or infatuation only to be used and abused in return, but not anymore! (Or so she claimed)

"Twelve-year-old me hadn’t the slightest clue what was good for her and I plan to rectify it." Yin said. "No more tattoos and piercings and being the vessels of an ancient evil—I am so over it."

"Which means you’re into…?"

"This year I’m after my prince charming," Yin replied, already blushing at the thought. She clasped her hands together, resting her cheek against them in a lovey-dovey trance. "Somebody sweet and sensitive and romantic that will treat me like a princess…Uh, while still respecting my agency, of course. A progressive prince, I guess."

"I guess dating dork-a-doodle-doo will do that to anybody," Lina said. "He did not take the news about you leaving well."

"Well, I couldn’t just bounce without saying anything, that would be cruel! Besides, I think a little distance will help him get over me for good." Yin said. "Maybe he’ll find a nice corn farmer and settle down in a hedge maze somewhere."

Lina clicked her tongue. "Don’t they say that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’?"

"Are you jinxing me? Because that sounds like a jinx."

"I’m kidding! In fact, I wish Coop all the luck in the world in getting the hell over you."

Anticipating Coop to simply "get over" Yin was a long shot and a question that hung heavily over the Woo Foo army once any friction was sensed in their relationship. The Woo Foo golden couple, Yoop—Yang and Lina, being firmly placed in the silver category by the town public by virtue of their mashed up name having a less satisfying ring to it—was, once upon a time, the fascination of the tabloids.

All of which Yin probably would have appreciated more if she weren’t being actively corrupted by Coop’s evil energy.

And while brainwashing was undone and apologies were made and boundaries were set, it all felt like such a band-aid over a bullet wound. The falling out was simply inevitable.

Not that Coop didn’t try—and boy did he ever—but the spark just wasn’t there anymore, if there was one at all.

Yin had told him it was a "spur of the moment" decision on both their ends in the most mature, Yin-like way possible.

"I just think we should be focusing on training and improving our Woo Foo," Yin had said, the rest of the Woo Foo army pressing their ears against the shoji screen doors to eavesdrop as the two talked on the dojo lawn. "We have a lot of stuff on our plate right now, and at this rate, who knows when the new Night Master will pop up? The position is open again…"

Yin’s expression was unreadable as she stared at her feet while Coop’s beak was open wide enough to catch flies.

"So uh…yeah," Yin concluded awkwardly. Lina almost expected her to give Coop a pat on the shoulder or slap on the ass, the kind of send-off a coach would give after kicking off a well-meaning teammate.

Coop was in shock at the revelation but anyone with eyes could see the falling out from a mile away. The honeymoon phase was over, the rose colored glasses were shattered, and the building blocks of their romance began to crumble under their own weight.

And like he always did since day one, Coop persisted as though Yin’s words were something he could simply ignore and ignore and ignore again, as if she just didn’t get it yet—a bad habit of his.

Another flower bouquet, another box of chocolates, another stalking session in the bushes, she wouldn’t fall for him as much as she’d stumble blindly into his embrace. It didn’t seem to matter to Coop how it happened as much as when it did.

All these years and that scrawny weirdo with the entitlement complex ten times bigger than his wingspan was still lurking in there, feeling not that he won but that he had gotten the reward he deserved from the start.

Perhaps breaking up with Coop all those months ago was a precursor to Yin’s anti-bad boy stance; Lina was just happy to hear the words actually come out of her mouth.

"Not trying to jinx you or anything. Honestly, I’m just happy you have, well, standards." Lina said. "No offense."

"None taken," Yin said. "I just knew the end was coming when I stopped caring about him being hot. Not to mention he still had the nerve to be soooo clingy. Like, you already have me Coop, who are you pumping your chest out for, the mailman delivering Master Yo’s ointment?"

"Possessiveness is so unattractive," Lina said. "I didn’t wanna say this when you two were a thing but…"

"I’m just not that easy to please anymore," Yin said. "I don’t care how hunky a boy is if he doesn’t respect my boundaries."

"Amen to that," Lina said, checking the time on her phone to see if dinner would be starting soon. "Let’s bounce. The only chicken I wanna see is on my plate."

"Absolutely, I’m starving." Yin slipped her things into her bag only to suddenly stop herself. She sighed, turning to Lina. "And um, actually, about the whole crush thing, I…"

Yin’s voice trailed off as a soft noise vaguely resembling a meow caught their attention. There were a few animals scattered amongst the academy, namely birds and insects, with the occasional service animal doing their business on the courtyard lawn, but the low register of the vaguely meow-shaped noise made the ends of Lina’s fur stand on end.

She sniffed the air and could only make out the earthy scents of the grass and trees baked in the dimming summer sunlight. Something metallic lingered on the surface.

Yin gasped. "Mimi! Come over here, baby!"

Having slipped out of the building or manifested from the woods was the slick black cat that seemed to be acquainted with the academy prefect. Massive red eyes widening and horn-like ears slumping, she quietly padded her way up the cobblestone path and up to Yin.

"Aww, hey girl. You traveled far today, huh?" Yin cooed, extending a hand for Mimi to sniff. Mimi accepted the invitation, crawling into Yin’s lap and softly purring—though "vibrated" honestly seemed like the correct word here.

"Isn’t this Tak’s cat?" Lina said. "What’s she doing all the way out here?"

"I think Tak said something about Mimi being more of an outdoor cat," Yin said, scratching under Mimi’s chin. "She must really know her way around here if she always comes back to her owner."

Yin picked Mimi up by her arms, wiggling the cat around and exposing a disturbingly thin belly. It looked like a noodle dipped in squid ink. "Do you wanna hold her?"

Lina curled her lip. "No, thank you."

"Oh don’t tell me you don’t like cats, Lina. Is it a dog thing?"

"It’s a me thing," Lina said. "And you know what they say about black cats crossing your path."

"So you’re a cat hater and superstitious," Yin said, lifting Mimi’s paw and giving it a shake. "I learn something new everyday."

Lina rolled her eyes. "Let’s just say that if I end up flunking my Latin quiz, I’ll know who to blame."

"And if Coop doesn’t get over me, I’m blaming you." Yin said teasingly. "So now we’ve both got a jinx."

And you’ve got a crush to tell me about, Lina almost replied before meeting Mimi’s blank stare with a grimace. Perhaps later, in safer company. Yin’s love life was already unlucky enough.

Chapter Text

Music History and Theory | Friday, August 31 | 9:01 A.M.

Like little fireworks, my heart sparks and fizzles out

(Not punk rock)

In that moment, I can only hope you notice me, so I shout (Hey! Hello!)

(Not punk rock at all)

Please look at me, turn to me, give me some hope that I’ll never doubt.

Lame lame lame lame lame—"Hey, it’s Frida, right?"

Frida nearly gave herself whiplash from how quickly she darted her gaze from her songbook, slamming it closed and slipping it into her bag in hopes whoever was hovering over her didn’t see her most recent trash fire of a love song—Seriously? Was she seriously the kind of girl who wrote goddamn love songs now?—that would most definitely be going into the garbage after class.

"E EQUALS MC SQUARED!" she shouted to the hovering authority figure in her peripheral vision until she finally registered she was in her first period music class. "Oh…" she said, blinking a few times before glancing around; some eyes locked onto her. "Never mind."

Standing beside her wasn’t a teacher at all but Django of the Dead, looking silently amused with an assignment in his hand that was issued out…when? Damn, she would have appreciated knowing the class could just progress without her, she wouldn’t have even bothered to show up.

"I was wondering if you wanted to partner up for this," Django said. "I’d ask around but I can’t say I’ve made any friends in here yet."

And you thought of me first? Frida wanted to ask only to realize that she too was a stranger among her similarly aged peers.

"Well uh…" Frida looked around the claustrophobic box of dark wood that made up the last classroom in the performing arts hall. Just beside her she can hear the strings and brass of the orchestra kids making the portrait of Mozart that ominously loomed near her desk vibrate.

Further down were kids singing in choir, kids dancing their little hearts out, kids designing sets and glamorous costumes—Damn it, what she’d give to skip sewing circle!

"Uh, yeah, sure," Frida said, settling into the realization that there was no one within her reach that could possibly come to her aid if things got messy. Manny was a few floors beneath her in his art class, most likely worried sick that this exact interaction was unfolding without him there to intervene.

And Manny would ask because he always did, looking her over as if one of these days she was going to show up to lunch with burn marks and one less hand. And then Frida would have one of those weird moments where she feels like she’s in line at the TSA or the one time her sisters patted her down for any "illicit substances" because she was out past curfew—feeling watched, looked over, doted on, smothered, protected…

She looked at Django again as he sat beside her. She looked at his white, skull face with their blazing eyes and was surprised to see nothing but sincerity, maybe even some timidness as if he was worried about being rejected by her.

A fact that Frida had to accept was that Django being at the school wasn’t something either her or Manny could change. Best to just accept the reality of the situation, no matter how awful.

Yin and Yang were constantly in the presence of Yuck who seemed to be their most loathed enemy, and Zim and Dib weren’t exactly shy about their volatile relationship with not only each other but with Tak who must have done them dirty in a past life.

To share a space with a classmate who plotted your demise—or at least your continued torment in Zoe’s case—seemed to be commonplace at Royal Heights as far as Homeroom B was concerned.

Perhaps it was some psychotic study in place, testing the waters to see if the promise of an Ivy League education would be enough to discourage any bloodshed.

It was becoming apparent to Frida that this academy considered feats of good and evil to be equals, and who was she to say that Django wasn’t damn good at being bad, that evil could not be done exceptionally well?

But it was truly so baffling how nonchalant Django was being about the whole thing. Zoe most definitely held a grudge and made that spitefulness known daily, but that was to assume Zoe was anything more than a mean girl.

Django was a villain in every sense of the world: conniving and manipulative and capable of immense violence, and yet, somehow, he had skipped the step where you plot the revenge of your nemesis.

Frida chewed her bottom lip, the taste of her black cherry chapstick on the tip of her tongue. Was nemesis really the word to use here? Did Manny even have a nemesis?

Dr. Chipotle Jr. most definitely wished that were the case, Black Cuervo had the edge of having a crush, The Titanium Titan’s jealousy was undeniably personal, and yet not one of them felt worthy of the title.

Sartana may have been the most dreaded villain in Miracle City that just narrowly avoided being Manny’s step-grandmother, but to say they were each other’s nemesis gave their dynamic too much levity. But her grandson, well…

"What are we doing, anyway?" Frida finally managed to ask.

"Taking down notes from a documentary. I think the teacher is going through something or just feeling lazy if he thought it was worthy of a group assignment." Django said, a coy smile on his face. "I’ll do every first question, okay?"

"Okay," Frida said as the lights dimmed and she heard the hum of a projector booting up in the back of the class. Royal Heights Academy may have been filled to the gills with custom made equipment straight from Membrane Labs, but it would seem certain classrooms had missed the memo.

A projection screen was pulled down over the classroom’s traditional chalkboard and the documentary stuttered into frame.

"Do you ever stop and think about who's behind these?" Django asked in a whisper as the film didn’t play as much as it jostled along the inside of the white rectangle it was confined to. "Like, is anyone really interesting enough to get a whole movie about them?"

"I always thought it was by commission or something," Frida replied, also whispering. "Either that or they’re super-mega fans of the guy."

Django scoffed. "Vanity projects, all of them."

Frida thought for a moment if anyone would ever make a documentary about her. It would be presumably when she was still alive or perhaps on her deathbed so she could offer some notes, and perhaps some creative liberties to give the film that extra star power. But at the pitiful rate she was churning out new music, her rockstar days would fizzle out before they even started.

Damn, why did dead people get all the notoriety and fame?

"I mean, it’s still flattering," Frida said. "Like it makes all the cool junk you did super important."

"Once you’re gone is when you’re truly famous, humans seem to operate on that rule. Like, did you know the price of a painting goes up once the creator dies? I'd say the same rule applies to everyone," Django said as he leaned forward in his seat, looking down at the rows of desks beneath them. "There are definitely some microcelebrities in the class already. They all might actually be worth talking about once they kick the bucket."

He pointed down at the row of seats before him, his focus on a statuesque blonde with ankle length pigtails. "Caroline Desmond, the best pianist in her entire bloodline. She’s been the headliner of her universe’s biggest concert hall since she was seven."

"Neato," Frida said, wondering if she should point out how much "pianist" sounded like another, much dirtier word.

Django gestured to a miniature redhead using one of four arms to annotate the book in his lap. "Jeremy Stiles, could play five instruments simultaneously even before his other arms grew in."

"Okay that’s all cool, but I don’t exactly see any future rockstars in a place like this." Frida said. "It's just classical music this, orchestra junk that..."

"There could be," Django said, turning to look at her. "Perhaps they’re just starstruck to be in the presence of The Atomic Sombreros' lead singer."

Frida couldn’t help but giggle like an idiot, forced to cover her mouth with her hand and fake a cough. "Th-that’s nice and all, but how do you even know this stuff?"

In fact, why didn’t she? As a member of the Yearbook committee, she was obligated to know most of the students by name, which certainly made interviews and photoshoots a lot easier. If the Newspaper kids had their finger on the pulse of the school news cycle, then Yearbook at least memorized the heartbeat. And as for Frida, well, she was at least sensing some vibrations.

Django merely shrugged. "You observe people long enough, and this kind of stuff just kinda comes to you. Sort of like a social osmosis."

Frida scoffed. "I don’t think a single person here has even heard my singles."

"Then no one here has music taste as good as mine." Django replied.

Frida’s eyebrows shot up to her bangs.

"Oh really?" she said. "Then what else do you listen to?"

Django thought for a moment, a ballpoint pen to his teeth. "Alternative, metal, some classic rock. I’m assuming a music buff like yourself has heard of Cucarachas Picantes."

"Oh yeah, they rock!" Frida said. "And I’ve been dabbling in some glam metal. The lead vocalist of Pandangerous works here. His singing is in the so bad it’s good territory."

"Wow, sounds underground."

"Anything else? You rub me off as a...ska and funk kind of guy."

"Well, as of right now, I’ve really enjoyed listening to this girl in my class. Real nice voice, great personality—I could listen to her all day."

Frida felt her brain short circuit for a moment and hates that her face is flushing bright red again, so much so that she actually forces herself to pay attention. Eyes forward, she doesn’t have to take in Django’s features being illuminated by the dim projector, she doesn't have to acknowledge the way he's smiling at her.

Get started on those questions, of course. This could be on the test. They could ask her to write an essay about this dude. They could—"Oh God, this is so boring…"

"Just give it a minute, they haven’t gotten to the good stuff yet." Django assured.

Frida chuckled. "What, did you know the guy or something?"

"My mom did," Django replied. "Just a little bit before he went crazy. That’s the moment when his work really started to make a difference in the world."

"She must have really spooked him," Frida said.

Django chuckled. "Understatement of the year. Not many people see a skeleton in their doorway and associate it with good things."

The words rattled something loud and fierce inside her brain—a skeleton in your doorway, death at your door.

"Death’s door…" Frida said to herself, repeating it to herself as if she were taste testing it. "Death’s door, death’s door…."

"Shh!" A student in the seat above hushed her.

"Sorry," Frida murmured, her foot suddenly tapping in a rush of creative energy. She soon found a rhythm, a series of rhythmic thumps on her mental guitar, strumming silently.

Perhaps inspiration had struck after all.

Dining Hall | 1:55 P.M.

"You know you can always sit with me and my sister," Yang said, sliding his tray down the rack after loading it up with a serving of sweet potato fries and as much Greek yogurt aioli as he could get away with. "Just between you and me, a lot of them are kinda freaked out by you, but maybe you can change their minds."

Gaz looked over to the lunch table, a half circle of her homeroom classmates eating and talking amongst themselves. Yin and Lina were giggling and gossiping over their niçoise salads while Manny and Frida created makeshift peashooters out of their paper straws.

"I’ll pass," Gaz said. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"I am but a humble classmate reaching out to expand his social circle," Yang said. His tone sounded like he was trying to sell Gaz a new car. "But seriously, only the lame-os and the freaks eat lunch by themselves. May I present: Exhibit A."

He pointed across the dining hall where, by some cruel hand of fate or sheer circumstance, Dib was sitting by himself. Instead of the warm company of his classmates, he was surrounded by a pile of books from the library and his old laptop, punching data into the keyboard in between bites of his sandwich.

"Look, he’s not the lamest guy ever—trust me, I’ve known a few—but he’s not exactly ‘eat with at lunch’ material. I can only hear him blab on about aliens and Bigfoot for so long," Yang said, giving a pitiful little shake of his head. "And he’s got this kooky idea about that one chick in our class. What was her name again? Knack? Hacky Sack?"

"Tak,"

"He thinks she’s like, I dunno, an alien or whatever. The same kind as Zim."

"That’s dumb,"

"Exactly! Which is why we should talk about how weird your brother is over at our table."

"Your table is dumb, too," Gaz said, exiting the line. "Just be sure to drag your butt to the clubroom tomorrow afterschool. On. Time."

"O-okay I’ll text ya later!" Yang shouted loudly—too loud—across the dining hall, but nobody seemed to notice.

Gaz easily slipped her way into the courtyard, past all of the bistro tables, the benches, and pergola, and sought out the only other spot she’d grown fond of in the academy, the single massive oak tree that cast a looming shadow over the evergreen field.

She sat cross legged underneath the shade of the tree and set her tray aside before reaching into the pocket of her cardigan. Her Game Slave 2 was still warm and humming, shut closed on a paused game of Vampire Piggy Hunter 3: Blood Boogers.

All around her is some harmless chatter, the chirping of birds, the wind blowing softly through the grass and rustling the leaves above her head. It's so incredibly serene, the exact opposite of everything she’d gotten used to at Skool.

Usually by now she would have to worry about some dumb kid running up and asking her to play hide and seek or a dodgeball narrowly missing her head. But no one interrupts her, everyone keeps to themselves, everyone was too occupied with their lunches, with their social circles, with their studying. Yes, the peace and quiet she deserved…

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Gaz gave a sharp exhale as she was forced to pause her game; the presence that hovered over her was proving much too distracting.

Tak bent down to her knees, sharp fingers drumming her pale kneecaps covered in the black mesh of her pantyhose. She peered into Gaz’s lap, pretending to be interested.

"Vampire Piggy," she said. "An M-rated title, I assume."

"Yeah, and?"

Tak waved her finger. "Could prove to be a problem to have in your possession. Here at Royal Heights Academy, we like to keep our media consumption productive and age-appropriate."

"I’m sure the main character in the play I’m reading wants to bang his mom," Gaz replied. She shook her head, finally bothering to look Tak in the eye. "You’re really bad at this. Are all Irkens this stupid?"

"Seen through my dirty tricks, have you?" Tak snickered, raising up her hands in mock surrender. "Oh well, I’ve been caught ‘red handed’ as you would put it. Please, lock me away."

Gaz pointed at Tak’s splayed, three-fingered hands. "What are the gloves for?"

"Pardon?"

"The gloves, dumbo. What have you got to hide?"

Tak looked at her hands as if she were seeing them for the first time, cocking her head. "I don’t see why you’d take issue with a minor fashion statement."

"Nothing’s ‘minor’ with you," Gaz replied. "So what’s the big plan? You gonna blow this place up? Or is it gonna be that magma pump BS from last time?"

Tak shook her head. "It’s not like me to repeat myself. No, I have better, much more innovative things in mind for our little slice of academic paradise. The best for the best."

Tak paused for a moment, putting a hand to her cheek. She sighed, brow furrowing in contemplation. "Hm, I wonder what brave hero will swoop in to stop me."

"Yes, the suspense is killing me."

Tak gave a fake little gasp, patting Gaz on the shoulder. "No no no, I would never ask that of you, Gazlene! You have much more important things to do, like your video games and…" Tak trailed off, tapping her chin as she pursed her lips. "Huh, I do suppose that eats up a lot of your schedule. Seems you don’t even have much time for classes these last few days. Priorities, I know."

"Are you done?"

Tak shook her head, standing up. "Far from it. In fact, I’ve got a special project in the works that I’m just dying to get some assistance on—"

"Then die."

"—but alas, I have yet to find someone worthy of the honor," Tak shook her head. "Oh well, that’s a problem for a future me," Tak gave a wave as she left, blazer fluttering ever so gracefully behind her. She stopped then, turning around. "By the way, if you’ve got any time in your day to come and stop me, please do tell me! I want to be the first to know!"

Gaz bolted from her sitting position, a finger angrily jabbing in Tak’s direction. "Maybe you should be the first to shut up!"

Tak snickered, making her way through a crowd that parted like the Red Sea for her to pass through.

Gaz looked around her, felt the silence hang heavy over the courtyard that had been so tranquil only several minutes ago. Fingernails digging into her palms, she turned towards them.

"What are you looking at, huh?!" she barked, prompting everyone to avert their attention or else they’d soon regret it, as would Tak if she kept proving to be such a nuisance.

Gaz grumpily plopped back down in her spot, unpausing her game as she grumbled to herself, fingers mashing the buttons of her Game Slave with much more aggression than before.

Hero? Was that what Tak was after? As if she were completing some sort of comic book fantasy and was seeking an audience to behold her most dastardly deed?

Stupid.

And to be prompting that role out of Gaz of all people instead of someone much more up for the task like her brother. Hell, almost anyone in their homeroom for that matter.

Unbelievably, incredibly, insanely stupid.

But did that not compose the genetic makeup of most (that being the single two she's even met) Irkens? Were they not all insufferable, egotistical weirdos with an appetite for destruction and a fetish for validation that bordered dangerously close to daddy issues?

Perhaps it was ingrained in their psychology, some sort of element they couldn't shake. They were one part organic and another part mechanical, after all. Who's to say there wasn't some sort of mental reconditioning performed to make them crave such self-destructive tendencies? Maybe she could ask Dib about—"NO!"

A shot of nervous energy overwhelmed her. She tucked her Game Slave into her cardigan and stormed towards the school building, a flurry of "no's" leaving her mouth with increased volume and frustration.

"NO NO NO NO NO!"

Everyone and everything annoyed Gaz just for existing, but agitating her on purpose? That was unforgivable.

Tak would never make a hero out of Gaz, but she would most definitely find an enemy.

Hall of Apollo | 4:35 P.M.

When Zoe Aves was only six years old she could tell the difference between renaissance and baroque which didn’t really mean shit in a public school.

As it turns out, the ability to decipher quality was a highly underrated skill. Unbecoming of some run of the mill crook who took anything that wasn’t nailed to the floor, entirely essential to a dignified thief like herself.

"Neoclassicism or romanticism, pájaro?" she recalled her mother asking, the two of them passing by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo’s "Allegory of the Planets and Continents". Another one of her mother’s pop quizzes during their weekly museum visits. What was a simple mother-daughter outing to onlookers was actually her training.

"That is a trick question," Zoe had replied. "This is clearly rococo."

She positively detested the so-called villains of Miracle City who would thrust themselves into the depths of pricy museums, rip paintings off of walls and burry fine cut gems into their knapsacks without having even the slightest clue of what they were getting their hands on.

For couldn’t they see that real pearls were knotted at the end of each bead and wouldn’t scatter into a million white dewdrops at the slightest tug? Could they not tell the difference between an asscher cut and a cushion cut crowning the golden bands of many a pricy ring? And don’t even get her started on the piss poor gem identification.

Ughhhh…

At age fifteen, Zoe was among some of the youngest villains in Miracle City, and yet her knowledge far surpassed so many of these burly meatheads and so called evil geniuses that couldn’t decipher a Picasso from a Braque.

And somehow she was still the amateur?

Her mother gestured to the golden frame containing "Judith Beheading Holofernes"—Caravaggio, 1598. It was the bane of her mother's existence.

"You can always tell when a man is behind the brushstrokes," her mother had said, guiding a seven-year-old Zoe by the hand. Her emerald nails traced over Judith’s reluctant expression, pointing out the stiff arms, the humble posture, and the pristine gown of purity with disgust. "A woman would never hesitate to hurt a man who has wronged her."

Once the sirens started blaring and her abuela had made a clean escape out of the door was always where the memory started to taper off.

As Zoe admired the superior interpretation of the same scene by Artemisia Gentileschi that hung dutifully in the arts hall, she could see why this painting was her mother’s personal favorite.

She soaked in every detail, the absolute majesty of the black varnish that seemed to glow from within. A mysterious light source beamed over the entire scene of Holofernes’ demise by the hands of a woman who had seduced him oh so easily. It was inspiring.

Zoe wished desperately that she could do the same with her problems—to take a knife and cut and cut and cut.

There was just something so sacrilegious about the whole thing, or maybe Zoe couldn’t help seeing religious ecstasy in the act of killing a man. She could almost hear the long legacy of nuns in the Aves family tree screaming in her blood.

"Hm, Judith Beheading Holofernes…bit of an odd choice for a high school, don’t you think?"

Zoe turned to the left of her to see one of her classmates standing beside her. He was staring with genuine intrigue at the painting, arms folded and head cocked to the side. "Pretty violent as far as room decor goes."

"Personally, I think it’s a bit understated, especially compared to some of the alternatives." Zoe said. "But, what would a guy know about the early stages of feminist art during the Baroque period?"

"Actually, I…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "No, you’re absolutely right. I’m much more of a Polaroid and candid video footage kind of guy. Oh, and the occasional diagram."

"That kind of guy sounds pretty lame." Zoe said.

"I couldn’t help but point this out," he continued. "It popped up in a forum about haunted artwork, and, rumor has it, that if you press your ear up to this painting, you can almost hear the fleeting cries of Holofernes mere moments before his death. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Pretty unlikely," Zoe said, turning to leave, her Private Study period ruined.

"Wait! I had something to ask you."

God, his voice is so annoying, and yet it gets Zoe to stop and turn towards him.

What was his name? Dip Migraine? Chip Cellophane?

"Zoe Aves, right?" he said. "I’m Dib Membrane. We’re in the same homeroom and film class."

Zoe curled her lip at Dib’s extended hand, forcing him to do that one awkward maneuver when you had to pretend to be slicking back your hair. That weird little antenna that defied gravity bounced back like a coiled spring. "And you are in dorm D-12, right? With my sister and Tak?"

"What? Planning a panty raid?"

"N-no! I…" Dib said, then sighed. "Listen, I know I can’t get anything out of my sister, but I was wondering, since you’re roommates with Tak, if you’ve noticed any weird behavior from her?"

Zoe only stared at him for a moment, but his expression was determined and aggravatingly patient. His glasses are the size of dinner plates and blow up his pupils like he’s wearing two magnifying glasses.

Zoe recalled her and Tak’s first meeting in the restroom, she recalled the talks of rigging the election in Zim’s favor, she recalled the tussle in the arboretum that ended in blackmail and not bloodshed.

Absolutely yes, she wanted to say. Yes, she's nuts and I hate her.

"Of course not," she said instead. "What, are you gonna try to dissect her, too?"

Dib looks genuinely agitated, if a bit flustered by the questioning. There’s a ghost of irritation on his face that seemed bred from years of dealing with this kind of behavior, ignorance for the sake of ignorance, stupid people believing stupid things.

Zoe would gladly attest to that if she hadn’t already decided she hated this guy.

"No…" Dib said, though a weird part of him seems doubtful, as if he’d secretly considered it. "I was actually wondering if you could use your connections to Tak to be my insider!" He unzipped his faded blue messenger bag that jingled loudly with pins of UFOs and paranormal inside jokes—I WAS A TEENAGE GHOUL HUNTER. TAKE ME OUT TO PROBING FIRST. UFO? MORE LIKE IFO!—"I figured, as a fellow human from their own version of Earth, that you could plant this tiny microphone in your dorm room and maybe—"

"Maybe what? What could possibly make you think I’m interested in any of this?"

Dib gave an awkward laugh. "I-I just figured that—"

"Well, you figured wrong."

Dib gave a pathetic little huff, folding his arms. "Listen, I seriously didn't want to have to do this, but Tak is always managing to evade me, and even the footage I've collected hasn't done me any good. I have no idea how much time I have left until she does something drastic, and if she's going to plot anywhere, it's going to be in the privacy of her dorm room." Dib took a cautious step forward. Zoe can see herself reflected in his lenses. "She can only keep up this façade for so long, and if anyone’s gonna catch her in the act, it’s probably gonna be one of her roommates. You gotta believe me."

"Oh, I believe you."

Dib blinked. "You do?"

"Yes, it's just the, hmm what's the word? Oh yeah! The caring part that I haven't gotten around to yet. Or ever, for that matter."

"But you don't even have to do anything after this! I promise! Just slip it into her bag or something when she's not looking, and I'll handle the rest. I have no idea as to why—"

"Because..." Now it's Zoe's turn to step towards him, the boy flinching as she jabbed a sharp black nail under his chin. "No one tells Zoe Aves what to do! No one! Especially not some four eyed, sniveling little freak!"

Dib looked genuinely taken aback, shyly adjusting his glasses. "Alright, alright...you’ve made your point. I’m sorry."

"You better be," Zoe said. "Now get out of my sight."

"I was already leaving," Dib said, then murmured to himself. "Looking for help in all the wrong places. You’re on your own as always…"

Dib sulked his way down the hall and Zoe watched as he boarded the nearest elevator.

Zoe tried to collect herself, brushing her bangs away from her face as she gave a defeated sigh. As confident as she was about discouraging Dib from any future advances, why did she feel like the loser here?

No one tells Zoe Aves what to do, right? And they most definitely didn't try to pull a fast one on Black Cuervo, right?

Zoe yearned for those statements to be true, for there to be any semblance of integrity to her person or her persona anymore.

After all, had Zoe not spent the last few years of her life working alongside her mother and grandmother to pull off their heists? She flourished in a team, and her disdain for Dib aside, she and Tak were less teammates and more shackled adversaries bound together by their secrets. And then there was Django. Partners in crime? She chuckled quietly, he'd have to work for it, that's for sure.

With his obsessiveness and array of impressive tech his daddy made, perhaps Dib Membrane could prove to be a useful asset. Insane and annoying as he was, Dib was undeniably one of few people not duped by Tak's perfect princess act. But Tak would catch on, because Zoe knew she would.

All the spy gear in the world couldn't buy Dib any sense of subtlety or tact; his sister's stories had made that incredibly apparent. The very second Tak found a Membrane Labs microphone slipped into her bag, hidden under her pillow, planted on her nightstand, she'd read the situation for what it was—a foiling of Zoe's part to play. Commence her secret identity being known to Manny and Frida, the two of them carrying the information well into the school year and spilling the details to anyone with ears—The Flock of Fury ruined upon by one simple mistake.

Zoe couldn't take the risk.

She looked back at the painting, thought about it hanging in her family's base, a trophy to commemorate another successful mission. She put a hand to her throat, drew a line across her neck.

To just cut away the things causing you problems, oh Judith, if only it were that simple.

Chapter Text

Courtyard | Sunday, September 2 | 11:20 A.M.

Maria Rivera was halfway through a bite of eggs Benedict when she received the question: "Maria, would you consider Manny to be a private child?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you are the only mother between the three of us," Ella said, collecting a dollop of butter off the silver tray and spreading it over a dry scone. "And, seeing as how I’m now practically a child psychologist, I want to know all I can about my patients from a reliable source."

Saranoia gave a thoughtful nod, plucking a macaroon off the three-tiered tea tray on their table.

"That seems reasonable," she said. "These kids, they’re tough nuts to crack. You might be doing Ella a favor."

Maria was taken aback, taking a timid sip of her affogato as the two women, who had strong-armed her into becoming companions, stared her down across the table.

Why on Earth a mind reader would need any of Maria’s input was far beyond her, but perhaps Ella was just respecting her privacy—a feat that must be impossible for a telepath.

She stole a glance at Master Yo who was a good few feet away across the immaculately trimmed courtyard lawn, exhaling a grunt as he bent down to take his turn at a round of croquet. Carl and her ex-husband stood to the side, dressed in clean and comfortable white shirts, argyle vests and checkered caps.

If she needed a clean escape out of this female bonding ritual disguised as a perfect Sunday morning, she could rest assured it was a mere half-sprint away—a full sprint she simply couldn’t accomplish in heels this new.

As much as Maria wanted to assume she was in decent company, Master Yo’s warnings about these two women were undeniably still lingering in the back of her mind.

After all, she had successfully reformed a villain before. One out of three was technically a passing score, right?

"Mm, I suppose that’s fair…" Maria said. "And as far as Manny goes, I would never describe him as…‘private’. He’s just like his father: emotional, passionate, and determined. But he’s also a lot like his grandfather: he can be secretive, prone to causing trouble, and he’s most definitely not above lying to avoid consequences."

Ella gasped, bangles jingling as she put a hand to her chest. "That detail wasn’t in his student file! I have no idea how you mothers do it, the entire process sounds like such a pain. And I’m not just talking about the giving birth part."

Maria chuckled. "Well, I find that the lifelong dedication to parenthood is its own reward." She held up the book she had brought with her today. "It’s a fact!"

"And it’s also a fact I’ve never seen such a group of headstrong children," Saranoia said. "Just the other day, Yin decided to—"

"I just can’t help but imagine that having a boy like Manny comes with its own challenges," Ella said. "I mean, the whole good versus evil lineage constantly nipping away at his conscience must make him quite the wild card."

Maria nodded stiffly, staring into her drink. Her scoop of gelato was sloping slightly to the left in the depths of her glass mug.

"It’s certainly caused some hurdles here and there, and Miracle City isn’t exactly a town filled with good influences. That’s why I was so incredibly grateful when Rodolfo told me about the acceptance letter," she said, smiling fondly at the memory. "Finally, my son wasn’t being judged so harshly. Somebody saw the good in him and decided he needed to be rewarded with the best possible education there is."

Maria was worried for a second that she was going on an impassioned ramble, that she was boring her coworkers with her motherly concern that must have been unimaginably dull to two childless women.

But instead, the two of them were watching with genuine intrigue, especially Ella who was leaning her chin on her interlocked fingers, nodding. Maria cleared her throat and continued.

"This school, it couldn’t be more different than Leone. Everything has changed so much, I’m barely adjusting myself. Maybe…that could be the part of himself that he’s hiding. Even in similar company, a changing world can be so overwhelming," Maria gave Ella a stern but earnest stare. "Not to intrude upon your work, but if he’s said anything that’s cause for alarm, Rodolfo and I will do everything in our power to—"

"Nope, not a word," Ella said, a certain bite to her tone that wasn’t there before. "In fact, none of my assigned homeroom has popped their pretty little heads into my office quite yet."

"Just wait until finals week," Saranoia said. "They’ll be lining up at your door in no time."

Maria blinked. "So...he’s okay?"

Ella smiled. "I assume we’d both like to keep it that way."

"Oh," was all Maria could say, some relief washing over her—albeit, some. She still couldn’t fight the sudden onslaught of anxious energy Ella had inspired in her, tapping the spike of her heel into the cobblestone like a nervous horse.

"In that case," she said. "If you are feeling a bit unprepared for your new job, maybe I could recommend some reading material. Child psychology can be commonly overlooked because we assume that the youth of our generation don’t have any ‘real’ problems. Maintaining one’s mental health, especially during puberty, is a very pivotal part of growing up."

Saranoia gave a knowing nod. "There is such a thing as getting help a little too late. Look at me, well into my adulthood, and never even touched a chaise lounge until these last few years. You’re saving lives, Ella…" She paused for a moment, smirking into her napkin. "Which is quite the departure from our old line of work, isn’t it?"

Ella took a big bite of her scone as if trying to chew her way out of a response. She shrugged, her earth colored shawl slipping off her orange shoulders.

"Yes, I definitely didn’t see myself doing this either," she said between bites. "I’ve done much more dignified work, but I’ve certainly had worse bosses."

Saranoia stacked her perfectly manicured nails in such a way that it formed a little triangle in the empty space between her hands. A contemplative expression crossed her pretty features. "And Tak is our boss, right?"

"I assume she is, for now," Maria said. "And I’m sure her parents are very proud of her. Taking care of a school is no laughing matter, especially when you’re still trying to pursue your own education."

"You’d think they would have come by right about now," Ella said. "Maybe see what’s been going on while they’re away."

"Or showed up at all," Saranoia said. She solemnly shook her head. "The poor thing, I do hope it’s not too much for her."

Before Maria could offer a response, Ella spoke. "Hm, isn't taking huge leaps into adulthood when you haven't even had your first period something of a recurring trait around here?"

"I find that to be an awfully cynical observation, Ella." Maria said.

"What, am I wrong?" Ella replied. "It's all about the illusion of control, these kids. They throw themselves into the lion's den, and for what? To worry about prom the next day?"

"Well I—" Maria was cut off from a soft buzzing emanating somewhere from Ella's person. She rose from her seat with a sudden urgency, her woven tote bag over her shoulder and stepping away from the table. 

"Something on your schedule today?" Saranoia asked, her eyes lighting up. "Or maybe a flirty exchange with a hot new date! You'll have to tell us later!"

Ella gave a quick nod to at least one of those two observations, backing away from the two. "Best to leave it up to your imagination, girls."

Student Guidance Office | 11:32 A.M.

"Is that…what I think it means?"

Ella solemnly nodded her head. "This many reversed cards in one reading is nothing to scoff at, honey. I'd say you're in hot water enough already, best not let fate make an enemy of you."

The young girl of a light blue complexion flexed her gills out of nervous habit, periwinkle fingers nervously digging into her frail arms. "Well…I-I guess the stars might be right," she said, sniffing. "You know, a lot of my family dealt with some push back in their political careers, but maybe—"

"Maybe you're being too reckless," Ella said, tapping the revered Fool card. She sucked her teeth. "This school doesn't have your best intentions in mind; your ways of government are dated, dear. I'd say it's best to shelve this whole student body president thing and stick to something more…" she stopped to acknowledge the girl's wide spaced eyes, their delicate white lashes, and the spattering of glittering scales beneath them. "Surface level."

The girl cocked her head, Ella hadn't bothered to internalize her name. "What does that—?"

"Oh, would you look at the time! I have another client on the way."

"But I—"

"No time to waste, have a happy weekend!" With a wave of her hand, Ella flipped the chair and sent it backwards towards the now opened door, gently plopping the student back onto her feet.

"But I just have some—!" SLAM!

Ella gave a satisfied sigh, fully content with another job well done. A finger to her temple, the girl's mental state was on the fritz, already planning to remove her name from the ballot in an onslaught of anxiety.

Ella consulted her notes, drawing a line through the name with her ballpoint pen. She'd have to inform Tak soon about her completing her project. Now, finally, she'd get what she was owed.

Suddenly, a knock at her door. "Ella?"

She suppressed a groan, hiding her notes away and collecting her cards off the table. "It's open,"

Master Yo walked inside, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Ella,"

"Yo,"

"Funny to see you working on the weekend. I guess those palms aren't gonna read themselves," he said. His polo is clinging hideously to his gut, short sleeves straining to contain the fat of his arms. He made her office uglier just for setting foot in it. "And a student not from your assigned homeroom. Mind explaining?"

Ella is too busy shuffling her cards to even look him in the eye. She leaned back in her chair, indifferent. "Don’t tell me you came all this way just to interrogate me."

"What, we can’t have a discussion between coworkers?" He said, shrugging. "Geez, you trap an evil psychic in a box one time and they take it so personally."

Ella glared daggers at him for the comment, biting back a grimace from one of the worst moments of her villainous career. "Charming as always, Master Yo."

"What brings you here, anyway?" he asked. "The faculty here sure is colorful."

"The same reason as you," Ella replied. "Turns out the market for henchmen without a master is a tricky one. One failed apocalypse on your résumé, and suddenly no one wants to hire you."

"You’d think being partnered with Eradicus would give you all the references you need," Master Yo began quietly. "By the way—"

"He’s gone, has been for a while. Whatever empty void you sent him into, he doesn’t seem to be kicking around it anymore." Ella pursed her lips into a thin line. "And before you ask, Chucky and Bob went their separate ways. Haven’t spoken to them in years."

"Hm, maybe you can still read my mind."

"No, you’re just predictable," Ella said. She rolled her eyes. "Seems I’m hard to recognize without at least one idiot on my arm."

"I was just curious as to why you were offering your services to someone not even assigned to you," Master Yo said. "It is your job to keep their heads on straight. They've got plenty to worry about being in a school like this. It's our job to make it just a little easier on them."

Ella chuckled, splaying out her cards in her hand. "Oh, Yo, you've got this system all wrong. These kids don't want us around. They save their puny little world once, and suddenly they're unstoppable. And it's people like you who inflate their egos. Hell, you created a whole two pains in my ass."

Master Yo shrugged. "Guilty as charged,"

"After all, it’s not about making these kids happy, it’s about giving them the cold dose of reality no one else will. We as adults are obligated to remind them that the best days of their lives are far, far behind them."

Master Yo shook his head. "And I thought I was a grump. You should try reading more happy thoughts, Ella," he said. "You aren't peddling this gospel of yours to the students, are you?"

"I’m sorry, but are you accusing me of not using my slew of talents to help the weak and weathered children of this pristine academy?"

"No, but I am accusing you of false advertising," Master Yo said. "You may be a psychic, Ella, but the only future you can predict is the one you spend chasing after your golden years."

"And I predict to see you waddle your way out of my office," Ella waved her hand. "Go on, now. Shoo."

Master Yo gave her a look before excusing himself. A long ways down the hall, his thoughts rang loud and clear.

Natatorium | 1:33 P.M.

Jorge "Grandpapi" Rivera did what he always did whenever he met someone off TV: assume they were going to be much taller in person.

And it's not that Professor Membrane of Probing The Membrane of Science fame isn't skyscraper tall compared to Grandpapi's meager, hunched over stature that's gotten worse with age, not that Membrane doesn't have a presence that can be sensed from several feet away, not that he isn't as big, as bold, as boisterous as he was on television, no it's just that meeting the real deal was always, if somewhat inevitably, a bit disappointing. 

"With a brain like yours, I bet you could make money grow off trees," Grandpapi said, joining the professor on the side of the pool as they waited and watched for...something. "That is to say, I have seen your net worth on internet. All very good things, even better numbers."

"Oh, it's not the money I'm after," Professor Membrane said as he triumphantly raised a gloved finger in the air. "It's providing for the people!"

"Of course…" Grandpapi replied dully, rolling his eyes. A typical heroic type if he'd ever seen one: altruistic and kind and selfless. 

He looked to the pool that was being intensely observed by Membrane behind a pair of opaque goggles, as if Membrane was waiting for something to bubble to the surface.

Grandpapi has to get started now, or the pool won't be clean in time for Monday. It's one of his few duties over the weekend and his favorite by far, lowering some sort of automated cleaner into the depths of the pool and letting it do all the real work for him.

The loose hair, the algae—he doesn't even have to touch the stuff if he really doesn't want to, but that doesn't stop him from looking anyway.

Sometimes he found some small treasures—a missing anklet or bracelet, maybe some shorn scales or a strand of magic hair—wonderful trinkets, items with potential, but none of which he was truly after.

Usually, the one thing he wanted never turned up, but what kind of villain would he be if he wasn't at least mildly patient? What was it that Ella had told him? No big leaps of faith?

Just a little longer, he always told himself as he removed useless clumps of filth from the bowels of the machine that he dragged noisily behind him, knowing soon enough that his work would pay off. He'd deep dive into the pool himself if given the opportunity (and the healed spine), but that was labor for a much more proactive youth. It was work for someone fit, healthy, and focused.

Though far from glamorous, this job was the one way for Grandpapi to get the one thing he was truly after—discreet, undercover, about as unassuming as his time as a student at Leone. No one ever suspects the janitor.

So when he did drop by the natatorium in hopes of a quiet afternoon of watching his personal treasure hunter scope out the pool, he was the slightest bit surprised to see his privacy infringed upon by a certain Professor Membrane.

Professor Membrane wasn't ordinary by any stretch of the imagination. He was a genius, for starters, the kind of intelligence that made you famous, so if he was here, it was likely for good reason, perhaps the same reason as Grandpapi. It inspired a fleeting bit of paranoia in the depths of his stomach. He collected himself. He'd play cool for now. There was no need to act suspicious...

"This room can be quite calming, eh? Not quite the ocean, but it'll do."

"Yes, of course..." Membrane said, arms folded as he nervously tapped his forearms. "Ah, you must be here to clean. Don't let me interrupt."

Grandpapi nodded, setting the machine up and slowly lowering it, a brightly colored thing about the size of a larger-than-average mini vacuum cleaner, into the depths of the pool, the hose trailing behind it.

The two of them stood in tense silence for some time, just the hum of the cleaner bubbling beneath the surface for what could have been several minutes.

Membrane was the first to break the silence. "May I confess something to you, Mr. Rivera?"

Grandpapi was taken aback, a little surprised that he was being confided in when this was the longest conversation either of them ever had. "Eh...knock yourself out,"

"I wouldn't say I'm the most private man in the world; it was never really an option for me. I feel I was always destined for greatness, and while I am great, there are certain things that tend to...tarnish that greatness."

Grandpapi nodded, half-listening. "Really?"

Grandpapi could sense Membrane's unease, a shift in his expression that spelled out many years of suppressed guilt just now bubbling to the surface. "It's a very touchy topic, I'll admit. I've yet to confide in anyone about it, and I think that's part of the problem, why it plagues me so."

Membrane finally turned to look at Grandpapi, worry evident in his brow. "Do tell me, have you ever felt like there were secrets you simply had to keep, even away from your most dearest, most cherished loved ones?"

"Jes, jes," Grandpapi replied. "Like how I haven't told Rodolfo yet about how those presents get under the tree every Christmas. Or the truth about the tooth fairy. We need to protect these kids, even when they are not kids anymore!"

"Protect," Membrane repeated, a hand to the high collar of his coat. "Yes, protection. I'm a protector, aren't I? I live to protect!"

"But it is what you are protecting from that matters," Grandpapi replied. "My son, his sense of wonder, it keeps that boy sane. And the second that bubble bursts, well..."

Grandpapi secretly dreaded when that day would come, wondering when his son's untainted view of the world would suddenly come crashing down.

Grandpapi had been the only real parent in Rodolfo's life, after all, hoping to raise another potential supervillain only to shape one of Miracle City's greatest heroes. Long after the death of his wife and Rodolfo's mother, there was a sense of justice that was implanted deep into Rodolfo's psyche that Grandpapi could never quite shake.

Rodolfo wanted to save people who didn't want to be saved, who couldn't be saved. And no amount of "it wasn't your fault" and "you see, she was very sick" did little to sway him.

And yet, when faced with the grim reality of death, Rodolfo had grown idealistic, almost dangerously so. 

And, while those rose-colored lenses could often cloud his vision, a strange part of Grandpapi wanted to preserve that innocence, that faith in humanity, that unshakable idea of purity that motivated Rodolfo to see the world for all its good when the ugly truth was so much easier to accept. 

Not that it prevented the two of them from butting heads, especially when it came to Manny's future. Rodolfo yearned for a son of squeaky clean goodness, while Grandpapi encouraged Manny's appetite for the chaotic. It was a back and forth that would never quite end until Manny made his decision. Grandpapi would respect that choice no matter what, hoping that a great-grandchild would be the next impressionable youth he could work his magic on.

Grandpapi had seen the way Membrane interacted with his children. It's almost like he's meeting them for the first time, a reset button that had been switched some time ago. And these interactions, they're kind, gentle, maybe more than is required.

It's as if Membrane had shattered something precious and he was desperately trying to fix it, handling broken glass in place of skin and flesh. This was something his children seemed well aware of, the both of them growing dissatisfied with the reality of their world, aware of the cruelties humanity was capable of achieving. 

"And the surface tension of bubbles is known for being incredibly low," Membrane said, nodding his head as if he had come to some sort of revelation. "I think I understand now, Mr. Rivera! I thank you for your input."

Grandpapi shrugged. "I don't think I really did anything, but a win is a win."

"Yes, this kind of change requires time. A bubble, Mr. Rivera, I must maintain this bubble for just a bit longer. At first, I was just so concerned that I was..."

"Hmmm," Grandpapi muttered, more interested in what treasures (or filth) awaited him this time. Were they lying when they said the substance manifested in areas with high humidity?

Air and water, that was humidity in a nutshell, right?

But maybe pools were too much water, not enough air, especially at the depths of a pool this deep. He might have to reassess that analysis, check his sources again. For every mad scientist in Miracle City was a dimwitted crook, after all.

A desperate gasp for air interrupted his train of thought, and the endless babbling of Professor Membrane he was tuning out, a head of blue fur emerging from the surface and desperately paddling at the water before starting to tread properly.

"Mother of Foo," he grumbled. "Could you people talk a little faster?"

The name of the student escaped him, but Grandpapi swore he had seen Manny spending time with them. And if they were someone in Manny's company, they must have been a fellow troublemaker, though his large, purple eyes didn't gleam with the intent of villainy, more of a reckless, antsy impatience common for his age.

"I love a good swim as much as anyone else, but you don't have permission to be in the pool on the weekends." The professor's voice was affirmative but lacking any actual harshness. He sounded like a game show host informing a disappointed contestant that they didn't win the grand prize.

The boy's face flushed, eyes searching to the right and left of him as if he could find an alibi around here somewhere.

Maybe here, he seemed to say as he gave the water around him a couple more splashes, squinting into his wavering reflection. "Oh man, these pesky contacts...Ah, there they are!"

Membrane shook his head. "Yes, very funny. Now, what brings you here, young man?"

"And just how long were you under there, boy?" Grandpapi asked, genuinely curious.

The boy didn't have any sort of breathing apparatus as he pulled himself out of the pool, the smell of wet fur and clothes filling the air as water pooled at his feet.

"I dunno," he shoved a finger in his ear before repeatedly slamming his palm against it. "Look, I wasn’t counting, but even my warrior lungs have their limits."

Taking into account the amount of time Professor Membrane must have been spending inside the natatorium, who knew how long the boy had spent underwater? It was either a common component of his species or just a bit of self-inflicted torture. Nonetheless, it was something Grandpapi found oddly fascinating.

"And, did you happen to find anything…interesting while you were down there? Anything shiny, perhaps? Valuable, maybe?"

"Gee, I dunno, water...a little more water. Not that it's gonna stop me from finding it."

"It?" Grandpapi asked.

He soon realized he had said too much, stubbornly putting two fists on his hips. "Uh, I mean, I already told you I lost my glasses, uh, my contacts, I mean…Just get off my back, would ya?"

Realizing getting an answer out of him was pointless, they watched as he exited the room with a dramatic shove of the door.

Professor Membrane shook his head. "Kids these days, such an unpredictable bunch," he placed a solid hand on Grandpapi's shoulder. "How lucky they are to have us educators to guide them towards the right path, don't you agree?"

"Couldn't agree more, professor!" Grandpapi replied, his mind swimming with opportunities.

After all, this was less a leap of faith, more of a nudge in the right direction.

Chapter Text

Dorm D-12 | Monday, September 3 | 6:55 A.M.

It's a shrill voice from the horizon that jolts Gaz out of her midnight gaming session, "Gaz, you're coming with us, aren't you?"

Was that the easily disproven God speaking to her through the warm fortress of her bedspread? And was it the overhead lighting peeping through and producing a glare across her console screen, or perhaps it was the morning sunlight that was the culprit? No, wait, Tak Ship? How on earth did they get—Wait. Sunlight?

It was morning already?

"I won't ask you again, Gazlene Membrane."

Gaz gave a fake little cough into her fist, wiggling around under her sheets in such a way that resembled discomfort. She welcomed the distraction of her piggy charm on her cellphone vibrating as it notified her with a message from Yang, who had found an online guide to The Azathoth Trials.

Gaz skimmed the paragraphs just short enough to hold the attention of the average gamer, her focus locking in on the list of sub bosses they'd have to get through if they ever wanted to beat Azathoth itself.

Damn, Gaz thought as she took in the expansive family tree that spelled out the mad god's long list of relatives that ranged from their own son to their genderless offspring to their great-great-grandchildren.

And apparently, Cthulhu would be one of the easy fights. Gaz immediately typed up a reply:

we grind through the dungeon of tsathoggua and see if we can reach wilbur whateley's puzzle room before dinner tomorrow.

Send.

Five seconds later and Yang responded with a smiley face and a thumb's up.

Gaz would never admit it out loud, but having someone to play games with three days out of the week (they had settled on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday) had made attending Royal Heights the slightest bit more bearable.

It was through the power of universal crossplay that allowed her and Yang, AKA COD3BLU, to meet at all and now the two of them could revel in the digital spoils of the multiverse that for once didn't pertain to the blandness of topics like a new era of peace and prosperity.

And to now know each other in person and turn out he was also a kid and a victim to a know-it-all sibling, well, she's heard much less flattering ends to stories about girls her age meeting male strangers online.

Didn't hurt that Yang really was the real deal, perhaps even close to being her equal—yet another thing she didn't have the gull to admit out loud—someone who could play with her on roughly the same skill level because both of them knew how shitty life had become now that they'd be living, breathing, and eating from the dish of high society for the next four years.

Who cared if the Royal Heights Academy for Exceptional Youth was supposedly the crème de la crème of high school education? That was only so much window dressing and hollow promises until the freshman class shaped up to be as exceptional as the board of thankless adults expected.

And if exceptional looked like Yang, if it looked like Manny and Frida, if it looked like Zim then whatever future this harmonized super universe had in mind was doomed from the start.

What is it that Yang said he was really good at besides video games? Tofu? Wagu?

Tak pulled the downy comforter and silk sheets to reveal Gaz hidden underneath, still in her pajamas and lying on her belly with Game Slave in hand.

"I'm sick," she said, excuse fully loaded like the gun she was firing off into a horde of vampire pigs.

"You seem to be in perfect health to me," Tak said, lip curled in disgust as if simply perceiving Gaz was making her alien insides twist in knots. "You do know you'll have to make an associate of the infirmary aware of your oh so terminal illness so that the necessary precautions can be taken. As well as picking someone to collect your unfinished assignments and homework for you."

Tak turned to Zoe for which Zoe immediately responded with narrowed eyes. "I'm certain Zoe would—"

"No, I would not," Zoe said before peering over at Gaz's screen with sudden intrigue. Either that or mockery because her sour expression still hasn't changed. "Maybe you're forced to care about something as stupid as attendance, but some of us clearly have more important things than do then keep your pigs—uh, I mean—ducks in a row."

"No, you're right." Tak said, cocking her head to the side in such a way that it grotesquely strained her neck muscles, her smile a poorly disguised grimace. "You all really are just a couple of pigs, aren't you? All take, no give. Hoarding up this school's resources and not showing an iota of appreciation. You should be so lucky I haven't stopped pumping fresh air into these walls."

Gaz responded to what may as well be a genuine threat coming out of Tak's mouth with an extended tongue, returning to her game as if the exchange hadn't even happened.

Man, she hated this place.

Back at Skool, Gaz only had to attend enough days so the system couldn't write her off as legally dead. But here, where you not only lived at the academy but the board had enough professionals to tell when you were faking a cold, it was becoming more and more difficult for Gaz to bridge the gap between her boring school life and her much more exciting RPG life.

Too many days piled up without any sort of infirmary trip and people starting getting suspicious. One might even say they cared, that they were genuinely interested in her future and wanted what was best for her. One might say that they were investing in her adult life as early as possible and wanted her to thrive. All that monotonous, boring shit.

The voice of her father buzzed around inside her head from yesterday's conversation, "But don't you like this school more, Gaz? After all, any project of Membrane Labs is destined not only to success but for the wellbeing of our collective future."

"I guess," Gaz had replied to her always so achingly genuine and optimistic father who still insisted she sit on his lap when she aired her grievances despite being thirteen now.

She had found him in the comforts of his new domain, the science and biology classroom in the Hall of Galileo, not being the kind of man who ever wanted to be too far away from the bubbling of chemicals and clink of beakers.

Even when they were quite literally squeezed into a bubble with little contact with the outside world, leave it to her father to still find a way to avoid his children...but perhaps she wasn't giving him enough credit.

Things were different after the Florpus, everything was.

After all, he had at least stopped what he was doing to address his daughter's concerns with his full attention, halting what was proving to be arduous work on a personal project that well succeeded the workload of the Peace Day preparations, the infinite energy supply, and Super Toast. Apparently he had been at it for well over a week, possibly even before they left for the academy, possibly mere days since the Florpus. Whatever it was, it was important and perhaps Gaz was the one being a disobedient daughter by interrupting the scientific process.

Gaz had only caught the smallest, slightest glimpse from where she was perched on his lap: a microscope overlooking a dissected frog's insides, an Erlenmeyer flask, a water dropper containing a thick, viscous liquid that was clear yet colorful like water and soap in a bubble wand.

"I'd consider this academy to be only the best thing for this constantly shifting environment, wouldn't you agree? For it is truly the nature of science for things to change. Where would we even be today without change? Still underwater or building stone tools, I can assure you."

"I guess,"

And it wasn't like Gaz was lying to appease her father, she simply just didn't care and she hated that no one else seemed to be picking up on that.

She didn't care then, she didn't care now, she would never bring herself to care about things like her high school career or future when she and her brother were already destined to live off their father's inheritance, given the sheer privilege to care a hell of a lot less than anybody else here.

But alas, they were immediately shackled to this academy the second Membrane Labs got involved and donated so many of its resources, writing her and Dib's name right underneath the "kind and generous" doner who simply wouldn't stand by and let the biggest project of the multiverse not receive his financial and technological aid. Family bonding at its finest.

And she wasn't by any means mad at her father, she just would have appreciated a heads up that Royal Heights was now (in the terminology of a legal jargon she hadn’t bothered to internalize) something she shared ownership with.

After all, to be a child of Membrane was to live your life on autopilot, leeching off the luxuries that came their way while everyone else did all the real work. It was just the way it was, hence why she never thought to apply to any sort of career path or put that much consideration into her future.

But here, Royal Heights was incredibly invested in what she wanted to do with herself in the long term. Made her sick.

Not because Gaz was afraid of the future, but because she knew any answers she could give wouldn't satisfy anyone. Dib wanted to be a paranormal investigator. Laughable, but could be easily filed under something much more flattering to college recruits like "investigative journalism".

What do you want to be when you grow up, Gazlene? Someone far away from anyone who cares.

In that case, maybe Gaz did want something: to be in a position where no one could ask her that question ever again.

"There's just no need to be so suspicious of this academy, my girl child," her father gave her back a firm but gentle little pat with his massive, perpetually gloved hands. "This fear of a new environment is a completely normal and scientifically proven occurrence in all our lives. As a scientist, I always encourage we question everything, but question things too much, and you might end up like your brother."

And that was when it happened. That was why she was sick today.

Gazlene Membrane had been diagnosed with a case of Dib, and it could only be cured with twenty-four hours of games, junk food, and several upon several upon several breaks from reality.

Honestly, the more Gaz perceived the entire school as the world's most expensive joke, coupled with Tak's sudden authority and knowledge of something she couldn't have possibly known existed until recently, the more it made sense to deduce this was some awful virtual reality life simulation that was sedating humanity from the horrors of an Earth wrecked by the Florpus.

All these colorful creatures, the talking animals in her homeroom, the skeleton cowboy—just the avatars of furries and edgelords.

Maybe she was still playing video games all day after all, and a VR headset had been superglued to her unconscious face so she could fully immerse herself in this idealistic reality.

A reality where High Skool was learning about Faust and translating the lost archives of Homer. Where people knew what a sonnet was. Where they at least had updated textbooks—scratch that, had textbooks.

Where they had an infirmary that would roll out the stretcher if you ever hurt yourself during your mandatory fitness class—Playground? Never heard of it! We insist, take your pick! Would you like to dabble with archery? Or perhaps some croquet on the perfectly trimmed, evergreen lawn on the weekends?—where they'd feed you until you were as stuffed as the macaroons served at the Sunday brunch.

Where they had a Sunday brunch.

Sure, Royal Heights Academy didn't reek of the same indifference the rest of Gaz's world had fully submerged itself in, but that didn't mean she couldn't catch some strong whiffs of something behind the circular shrubs of the arboretum.

She should be so grateful that Royal Heights didn't punish her for being alive, but they most certainly smothered her to the point she wished she were dead.

Who do you want to be when you grow up, Gazlene? Somebody far, far away from here.

Tak curled her lip. "Can't even handle a few hours of mandatory education, how pathetic."

Having given up on Gaz attending class, Tak turned to leave, her ballet shoes knotted around her briefcase rhythmically knocking against its hard, shiny surface.

But she didn't dare leave before another one of her trademark stupid/dumb/annoying comments hurled out of her mouth like so much mildly threatening diarrhea.

"By the way, this was the last of your unexcused absences. You're now liable for detention," she said, making her way out the door. "Supervised by me, of course. Be late, and you’ll be in some real trouble."

Then she was off.

"Ugh, I just can't stand her!" Zoe said. She let out a deep exhale, having been holding her breath the entire time. "What is her problem?"

"I'd tell you but that'd take all day," Gaz said. "Ask Dib and he'd gladly fill you in on the details."

Zoe pretended to gag. "Actually, I'm not that interested. Writing her off as a total bitch is a lot easier."

Gaz wondered if Zoe knew she had full permission to leave, but instead she was still watching Gaz's screen intently through the half-opened curtain that was her edgy goth girl bangs.

"Is that the only game you brought with you?"

"Psh, not even close," Gaz said, catching a glimpse of something long, thin, and white that always seemed to be peaking out of Zoe's skirt pocket. "I brought a few cartridges to last me a year and about everything else is online or downloaded to my Game Slave."

"Smart," Zoe said.

"These ten months are gonna add up and so is more boredom. Which is why you only brought ten cigarettes, right?"

Zoe blinked. "Brought my what?"

"You haven't even noticed you're missing one of these," Gaz unfurled the cigarette she slipped into in the pocket of her pajama pants when Zoe wasn't looking. "That rules out you being here for you math skills."

"When did you?" Zoe dove a hand inside her purple messenger bag until she realized her beloved pack of cigarettes smushed against her hip is what had been intruded upon. She counted up the pitiful amount and let out a little growl as she realized she was one short. "Mierda, it's like you're in a contest to see who I can hate more! Give it back and maybe there won't be any dire consequences."

Gaz twirled the cigarette between her fingers. "Why did you bring only one pack with you?"

"Because even in Miracle City they draw the line at selling cigarettes to kids. I could only snag so many without getting caught." Zoe said. "I've also got plenty of other things not allowed on campus and I'd just hate for them to get them dirty all before class starts."

"You mean your little hidden knife collection? Oooh, scary."

"Also a buzzsaw and a bear trap,"

"Yawn," Gaz replied. "I've been smuggling whole Christmas hams since I was five."

Zoe's face flushed red with anger. Having realized throwing a temper tantrum was pointless, she gave a defeated sigh. "Ugh, just don't tell anyone about the cigarettes, okay? Tak would give me hell for this if she ever found out, and I just...can't be sent home this early. I have unfinished business—" she stopped to correct herself, clearing her throat. "—school business, of course."

"Oh, you think you have it bad?"

Gaz lifted the dainty floor sweeping liner Tak hadn't thrown off with the rest of the bed's fixings, revealing a much smaller but no less impressive collection of food from home, her own personal stash that wasn't occupying the clubroom closet. Zoe's eyes widened, admiring the contraband.

"Wow," she said, grinning. "Forget detention, you're in for solitary confinement if she catches even a whiff of this."

"How 'bout a trade? One cigarette for one of these," Gaz reached underneath and handed over an unopened can of Dark Cherry Poop, still cold from the chilly buzz of the AC. "I'll keep your secret if you keep mine."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I didn't know you'd care. Now do you want the only junk food you'll be getting for the rest of your freshman year or are you just gonna stand there, hamless and soon buzzsawless?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "I just know this stuff clogs your arteries, but since you're offering..." she grabbed the can of soda and slipped it inside her bag. "You've got a deal."

Ballet Studio | 9:10 A.M.

You hate that girl, don’t you?

Which one?

The one you just gave detention when you know fully well she still had another day before she qualified for proper punishment. Not that I’m complaining, obviously. She’s been an awful little brat from what you’ve told me.

Brat? How juvenile. I would personally describe Gazlene Membrane as…misanthropic.

Of course you say that like it’s a good thing.

Tak's eyes scanned over the svelte lineup of students who filled her first period with gross contempt.

A sizeable portion deemed the Dining Hall’s offers of wheat grass lemonade and granola as too fattening and instead nibbled on hard boiled eggs and drank the kind of smoothies that sped up defecation. The lot of them were obsessively performing hamstring stretches against the barre if they weren't pulling wedgies out of their leotards and filling the silence with their endless, horrendous gossip:

"Like seriously," another one said as she stretched so her leg touched her shoulder. She sucked her stomach in as if it were a defensive maneuver, her ribcage pressing against the thin mesh of her violet leotard. "I’ve been dancing since I was five and my pointework still needs work."

"Ha ha, I see what you did there."

They were a noisy bunch of creatures, these dancers.

Thank Irk ballet had absolutely nothing to do with talking. Once class officially started, no one would exchange a word which was proving to be Tak’s favorite part. Once the bell struck, their bodies did all the talking. The only conversation to be had was through movement.

Tak felt her hamstring loosen against the barre she had singled out for herself and she shifted the attention to her left leg, hands clasping her ankle the way she'd always known how to for the past decade.

Tak ignored a snide laugh that emerged from the back of her brain, ever so grateful that class was finally starting.

"Alright, alright…" the instructor said between clapping her hands in time with the academy's final bell. Her low voice and thick though somewhat unplaceable European dialect seemed to rattle the core within the class that Tak just never understood.

Paired with her six foot something height dressed in a silky leotard and black tulle dovetail skirt that dragged across the dance floor like mist after the rain, she's the second most terrifying thing in this room.

The dancers immediately stepped away from their remnants of breakfast, from their balance beams, from rolling up their sweats and adjusting their legwarmers, from their last minute bun arrangements composed of so many bobby pins and stood in a perfectly straight line before their teacher.

Befitting Royal Heights usual high standards of tutelage, Ms. Stoyanova was a ten time champion of her universe’s annual World Dance Center Competition.

She was loving if hard-nosed and would always take the opportunity to speak of her own long list of accomplishments if you (1) even gently prodded enough for the information or (2) performed so spectacularly mediocre—that is to say, a few notches beneath absolute perfection—that she simply had to show you how it was done.

There was good reason why the accent color of the Royal Heights ballet studio was gold, it was lined with the medals representing the teacher's years of accomplishments.

The class lulled into absolute silence, she made a sweeping gesture, prepared to make her announcement: "Christmas will be here before we know it, children. And it has been decided that on Christmas Eve we will be performing this academy's first ever rendition of 1892’s The Nutcracker."

She paused for the well expected gaggling and giggling. A chorus of excited chatter erupted as some of the dancers more chummy with one another gripped hands, hugged, and bounced on the tips of their slippers.

"I know, I know it's very exciting. But being an eager beaver is only the first step, children. It is a willingness and a need to perform that will determine your success and, above all, your role."

The silence settled in again. Everyone knew now that these earlier weeks spent on drills and solo performances were just the beginning of what would be an arduous three months of practice, that it was all leading up to Stoyanova's true test to see if they could work that magic on a stage as well as they claimed.

To be the best in your home universe was one thing, to be the best when everyone was the best, now that was the true test of one's talent.

"Now," she began slowly, eyes scanning menacingly across the line, earning hard swallows and puffed out chests that were on the verge of splitting spines. "Where is...my Sugar Plum Fairy?"

The question may as well be rhetorical, but the way the dancers immediately drew their breaths in, averting Stoyanova's gaze entirely if they weren't stealing looks at Tak. showed there was only one right answer.

Tak quietly stepped forward, pinching the ends of the cloth at her hips and curtseying.

Stoyanova smiled, a look so rare that it strained each and every line in her face until she looked like a cushion on a leather couch. "As I suspected,"

Tak braced herself as her teacher gripped her by the shoulders and placed kisses by the air near her cheeks. "Would you like to get us started?"

"Of course,"

Tak took a deep, calming breath and the rest of the class didn't even dare share the oxygen out of sheer respect. All movement seized, all that mattered was her and her performance. Well, her performance.

Ms. Stoyanova gestured towards her aide who booted up the music that now poured from the Membrane Labs' invisible speakers lining the studio's walls. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" awoke the new found dancer muscles in Tak's anatomy and soon enough her body and mind is in synch with the music, recalling movements that weren't quite her own, fleeting images of doing this dance a hundred, thousand times over until it was nothing short of perfection.

The memories were brought to the forefront, crystal clear and smothering her own in a way that used to scare her at first, replacing perilous fights in the cosmos and stars and so so so so so much dirt with a roaring crowd, with admiration, with roses tossed on to a stage that shined like moonlight.

Take the lead, Tak mentally whispered, and she took the leash off her other half, who is now the one behind the puppet strings. Immediately, her foot is extended until her full weight is on her toes, taking long, elegant strides across the dance floor, half tip-toeing, half gliding, subtly swaying in such a way it’s like she’s hovering on clouds. Retiré and retiré and retiré...

"She’s so good," Tak overhead one of the students say.

"Really good," the other agreed.

A raise of the hand, smile but not too much—even if the praise was making the one controlling her right now beam with pride, bend the knee, a dainty leap—Tak's body was acting independently from her own, and yet she feels herself melding herself into the memory so easily.

A round of applause is what signals Tak to let her other side go, albeit not without some resistance. A part of her wants to stand up, soak in the praise, blow kisses, and bow and signal the aide for an encore. Every single cell in her body is screaming praise me, praise me! But no, Tak would never. Once was enough and her other side would have to get used to it if she ever wanted to dance again.

"Beautiful," Stoyanova said, not clapping but instead silently nodding her head, which was the highest praise anyone in this room could ever hope for. "That's the kind of excellence I wish to see on stage on Christmas Eve. Prove to me, prove to everyone why you were chosen to attend this academy and maybe then we can move on to bigger, grander endeavors."

She meant Swan Lake, because she always meant Swan Lake. Swan Lake, Stoyanova's baby, her big debut as Odette and Odile, a story that's been told several times now. It was the royal family's most cherished artistic expression. Tak had to wrap an arm around herself as she felt her skin prickle over with sudden goosebumps, her other half's shiver of excitement coursing through her body like an earthquake's aftershock.

The Nutcracker was a mercifully short production with a meager two acts to its name, just barely long enough to hold the attention of the average teen, but it wasn’t like the prestigious Royal Heights Academy would ever think to settle for an abridged version of a classic.

The Nutcracker ballet would always be a slave to the holiday season, shackled to the first semester by a pair of constricting red and green ribbons. Now Swan Lake, that would be the school’s real magnum opus, an ode to the summer. Tak's other half could take or leave The Nutcracker for it was but a rite of passage to the real show—melt the gathering frost from the candy cane trees and she would dance on that water.

If the Orchestra students wanted their months of practice to mean something, if the tech students in Theater ever wanted to see their backdrops lining the curtains, if the Royal Heights ballet class ever dreamed of touching a stage again, then they’d be there.

"I’m really looking forward to your performance," one of the male students said. Before she knew it, a small semicircle had formed around her, a crescent moon of admiration. She hadn't bothered to remember the boy's name despite him being the one half to her Pas de deux for the past week. "I like to think I'm a pretty good dancer, but I just don't think I'll ever compare to you."

She wished she had something to distract herself with, perhaps mime drinking from the very much empty thermos next to her bag halfway across the room, or tighten the ribbons of her slippers one tug away from cutting circulation to her squeedly splooge, because otherwise, several pairs of eyes were holding her hostage.

"Pity," is all Tak could think to say, freeing herself from the gaggle of warm bodies before one of them touched her. "Ms. Stoyanova, with my role clearly established, I’m certain the others wouldn’t mind…"

Then she froze, her vision blurring.

She could feel her feet slipping out from under her, knees buckling. One part of her mind is back on Planet Dirt while the other is still reminiscing about days on the stage, soaking in the limelight so intensely that Tak can see bouquets of roses growing from endless piles of shit. Just like that, it's like her vision splits, fractured down the middle as two scenes play out behind the broken glass. She can feel it, another set of eyes peering behind her own. A stream of blood trailed from her nostril and down her chin.

Damn it, damn it all, not again. We are not doing this again!

"Is everything alright, Tak?" Ms. Stoyanova said, taking a cautious step forward.

"Yes, yes everything is fine. I suppose I strained myself with that last round of pirouettes"

Ms. Stoyanova nodded, sympathetic. "As is a common concern with the Sugar Plum Fairy performance. Please do head to the dressing room if you need the—"

"Yes, no—We're fine. I'm fine,"

Tak hadn't even registered that someone was holding her in place by the shoulders, trying to help her maintain her balance.

Ugh, such wretched sympathy, and in the form of physical contact no less.

She quickly swatted the hand away and grabbed her bag from the neighboring wall, half stumbling her way into the dressing rooms behind a sliding glass door, opaque for privacy but anything but soundproof.

"Sometimes our art can take a lot of us, can't it?" Tak could hear the rest of the class nodding and murmuring in agreement. "But that is often the cost of being truly exceptional."

Tak managed to reach a stall far enough and fast enough that no one could hear the sound of her vomiting. The class was going over "Dance of Mirlitons" now and the noise, while it muffles her own unfortunate sounds, sends a deep pounding down her head and spine. If not a migraine, her head would surely split in two.

Sweat collected on her back, making the mesh sleeves cascading over her shoulders itch at her skin. She slipped them off just for the moment, her spine, filled with two symmetrical wounds where her PAK used to be, burning like open sores. Exposed to the cold air, she can't help but wince; her body is demanding instruction, for some quick ailment that would soothe this pain, but alas, her PAK is now faulty, tucked away inside the office and just barely humming with signs of her lost life.

"This is your fault," Tak hoarsely cursed her shallow reflection, letting out another dry heave until finally something wet, thick, and translucent like runoff from liquid crystal left her throat and plopped into the depths of the toilet bowl.

"My fault that you needed my superior knowledge of dance to get you this far? If it weren't for me, you'd be strung up by your gills, or whatever it is your species has." She stopped to laugh, pretending this pain wasn’t also felt deep within her as well. "How could we forget how your glorified carapace ceases to recognize you? Almost like you're a stranger to your own precious equipment. It's tragic, really."

"Quiet!"

"Just look at yourself, utterly pathetic."

"No, it's us who are pathetic. This...thing we are. Neither human nor Irken." She stared down at her exposed hands, bony and pale until they reached past her knuckles. From there sprout three green fingers: taloned, alien, Irken. "And it was your desperation that got us into this mess. What are we now but an embodiment of your vices?"

Tak hissed the words out, demanding a response she never got. Her other half had gotten bored of the conversation, body already twitching with the urge to dance again.

Tak ran a hand over her mouth and pushed herself up from the floor, forcing eye contact with her reflection in the vanity mirror. Lightbulbs framed her face in a halo of orange light, illuminating her pale skin, her shaded eyes, her beauty mark, not one inch of it truly her's.

She does look pathetic, curled into herself with her hand to her belly, something foul dribbling from her mouth and mixing with the blood and snot from the human nose that was melding more and more into her visage by the passing day. Another round of vomit crept up her throat, which she forced herself to swallow—Too much mucus, young lady. Not enough fungus.

She could hardly stand looking weak, but she couldn't bear being human.

Tak ran her fingers through her very much real hair, combing it into something mildly presentable before pinching her cheeks and forcing herself to smile, but not too much.

Courtyard | 2:35 P.M.

"I still can't help the feeling you're specifically targeting me with this rule."

Dib had found Tak in the school courtyard, spending her lunch period poking around her salad in a wooden bowl under the shade of a tree, like a vampire afraid of the sunlight. This was a paranormal entity that Tak most definitely was not, though certainly just as soul-sucking and repugnant. She seemed to have a habit lately of tucking herself away into the most ominous of locations.

If she hadn't been dead center in the midst of the academy courtyard with its dew-dropped roses, sky-scraping trees, and equestrian topiaries, he'd assume she was trying to hide her true self from the public. "Seems a bit convenient, doesn't it? Since when do aliens have ethics, anyway? Unless it's ethics of oppression!"

"The ability to make fast and efficient technological improvements to this already cutting-edge academy is a topic discussed quite a bit amongst the students, and who else but the son of a genius father would be able to comply with all those requests in record time?" Tak replied dryly, pretending the placement of her thick globs of Caesar dressing was somehow a lot more interesting than her homeroom classmate pestering her. "You’d have it too easy, Dib, and I know how much you like a challenge."

"Don’t you use my own logic against me, Tak! I’m not just doing this to stop Zim, but to keep a closer eye on you and whatever you’re planning."

"Is that so?"

"It is so!"

"Well you still can't run," Tak said. She crossed her ankles then, daintily rocking them against the ring of grass she occupied with agitating coyness. She flashed him a smile, about as artificial as everything else about her. "If anything, I think I'd be doing you a favor by alleviating you of that stress."

"I'm plenty calm, actually! It's you barring me from entry that's got me so frustrated." Dib said. "Not to mention there's a mysterious amount of space showing up on the ballot these days. Almost like perfectly qualified students are suddenly dropping out of the race. Care to explain?"

"If someone isn't cut out for the pressures of immense political power, who am I to stop them? They'd only be embarrassing themselves up on that podium. It's the same way I'm sure this Zim fellow you're so worked up about will also make a mess of things." she replied. "Poor thing's only doing well by a hair. Certainly not worth the effort worrying about."

"‘Zim fellow?’ Yeah, sure, we’re going with that now, huh?"

"I don’t see why I wouldn’t. He’s but an undignified, undeserving, ungrateful classmate of mine that I have absolutely no reason to hold any malice against. Now would you please leave? You're interrupting my mandated meal hour."

Okay, so maybe Zim really was destined to fail, but it was that window of chance he didn’t  that Dib was worried about, that single -n't held a world of horrible possibilities.

Only Dib could prove to be a truly equal opponent, and clearly, Tak knew that because she had to be, in no way couldn't be, the Tak that had antagonized Earth several years ago when she tried to turn it into the galaxy's biggest snack jar. Even without Irken tech, Dib can just tell. It was all there in her eyes, in her sheer contempt and necessity to interfere.

He was getting flashbacks to Skool again, where Zim's odds depended entirely not on things like intelligence and morale but on how much entertaining babble he could offer on the podium.

The two of them did share a period in Speech and Debate, which Zim seemed to be using specifically to practice for the presidential debate happening in the coming weeks.

That idiot Irken was capable of whipping up such inane, grating, unfathomably incoherent gibberish parading as human speech that he often left students gawking behind their podiums. As for Zim, every day was an opportunity to be as bombastic as possible, and not a single student in the furthest room of the Eunomia Hall had the slightest idea how to combat it.

This, combined with the sheer magnitude of his voice and an intonation that was, well, alien, painted his colorful insults as pseudo-ironic—bordering on Kafkaesque. Some of the more pretentious of the class saw it as some sort of new art form, as if a secret technique was being developed right before their eyes.

The young but overeducated, the daughters and sons of their world’s equivalent of a president, omniglots who couldn't even drive the cars described in the foreign manuals they could translate, so prepared yet so floored with their nice little notecards and presentations only for Zim’s bulldozer of a personality to tear it asunder.

Zim didn't dissect arguments as much as he tore them apart with his blunt teeth like a dog at homework.

During their short time here, Zim was less a student in this class than he was a cautionary tale, and those who weren't watching the car wreck of a performance in awe either had to stifle their laughter or audibly groan the second he would take the stage.

And that wasn't even getting to the poor, godless people who had to debate him at all. To go off script with completely unrelated and aggressive epithets had been quickly dubbed "pulling a Zim".

Their teacher, an English professor from a post-modern France that used touch screen typewriters, was much quicker to dissect his performance in the eloquent phrasing Dib didn’t have the patience for.

"To debate is not to simply scream over your opponent," they said with reading glasses in one hand and their forehead being rubbed in little circles by the other. "Please, be loud Zim, but be meaningful. Maintain your composure. It is the same way we cannot reason with barking dogs. If you want to prove your power of reasoning, give your opponent a chance to be reasoned with."

And would Zim internalize any of this well-meaning advice, use it to his benefit to become a more approachable, more likeable candidate when the big day finally arrived? Did salmon fly?

Dib wondered if Zim's infamous debate performances had become so widespread that it was the thing that actively discouraged so many students from keeping their name on the ballot. Perhaps the absolute, undeniable badness of it all was making itself known all over the school, but that just didn't seem likely.

Perhaps it was Yin's competence? Yuck's aggression?

As the days went on, the list of names on the ballot were disappearing one pen strike at a time. Not because the students didn't meet the qualifications, not because they didn't garner any support, but because the student had simply dropped out, as if they had lost all confidence or lost interest altogether, no matter how much vigor they had from the start.

A chill ran down his spine as he recalled the events of the Skool election and the nightmarish conclusion it had come to. No, the school wouldn't go mask off this soon, would it?

As far as Dib knew, being president didn’t carry the same dark hidden meanings as it did at Skool. Perhaps Royal Heights had such a traditional, squeaky clean facade that they (and by "they" he meant Tak) were simply obligated to stick to a more practical definition, not subject the winner to a horrifying lobotomy that would render them a mouthpiece of an insanely corrupt system.

But everyone failed to understand that any position of power in Zim’s hands was dire. Zim as a hall monitor, Zim as a teacher’s aid, Zim as a guy who licked the grime off lunch tables—it didn’t matter, it was always bound for disaster.

And it would just be so easy to immediately assume Zim's chances were slim, that Yin would be the definitive winner because Yuck was too intimidating and Zim was too infuriating, but Dib simply did not have that luxury.

Here he was, in a school that finally recognized his intelligence, didn't try to smother his ambitions, and yet still met with the same roadblocks as before. The same oblivious students, the same useless, self-obsessed adults letting it happen under their noses, the same problems following him wherever he went.

No matter what path he crossed, Irken scum would be there to test his patience and ruin his day like they have plenty of times before.

But he supposed he should still count his blessings. If Dib really were back at Skool he would have had an automated metal brace clamping his mouth shut by now for the cardinal sin of having too many questions.

"Consider this just a warning, space girl. I know what you are and what you're doing, and when the time comes, you're gonna be sorry you ever messed with Dib Membrane," he said triumphantly, earning the attention of a few students stopping mid-chew to watch. "Even if I can't run, Zim's gonna lose, and I'm gonna make sure of it!"

He looked away with a defiant huff and turned of his heel out of the busy courtyard. It was times like these he especially missed his trademark investigator trench coat. The academy blazer just didn't have the dramatic length and sway that struck fear into the hearts of paranormal menaces; his coat like a heroically billowing cape, looking over the chaos he would so promptly and efficiently squash under his faded red sneakers.

But no.

The coat was too much, too distracting, and would make him stick out too much as he trudged down the hallway, muttering angrily to himself as the lunch period commenced. And like the million other times he's sulked his way through an oblivious public, this one was no different.

The only difference this time was that the people in his company could actually do something about it. Dib would have never accepted the invitation to this academy if he knew the students here would be just as useless as the ones on Earth.

But with Tak, he could have at least kind of understand. With Tak, even he had been deceived, and it was much too late when he came to the realization that she was secretly an Irken Invader trying to steal Zim's job.

From that day forth, even though he was well convinced Tak had died or disappeared somewhere in the cosmos, he knew that if he ever saw her again, she'd certainly have far worse things in store. Her victory was much too close the first time, and so the next time would be—He suppressed a shudder.

Zim was what one would consider an open book when it came to his evil plotting, which made the moments he caught Dib by surprise all the more harrowing. The Florpus, the very thing that triggered this domino effect and possibly allowed Tak a way into what was supposed to be Dib's academic paradise, was Zim's most sinister of tricks, which just narrowly avoided the collapse of their entire universe.

Another failure for Zim. The status quo restored. Kind of.

But Tak? No, she ran entirely on trickery, on deceit, on her agonizing patience. Dib could not find one crack in her pretense, any green skin under her makeup. And why the makeup aroused its own questions.

Why bother with the human disguise in an academy that had such a diverse population? Why bother when she shared a homeroom with bipedal animals, a skeleton, and a superhero? A minotaur taught physics, a cockroach was in charge of a magic class—Tak's Irken appearance would be absolutely nothing to scoff at.

Even Zim had gone without his usual wig and blue contacts. If anything, Tak was wasting her precious disguise tech on keeping up the rouse at all.

Because she simply can't afford not to, said a nagging thought in Dib's head. There was some sort of endgame to her still pretending to be human. But what? And why?

"Watch my dog sing!" Zim's voice broke through Dib's concentration as he managed to accidentally maneuver his way into the hall where Zim's most recent election display was unfolding. "Watch my dog sing how peace is nice! YOU!" Zim jabbed a finger at a passing student. "You think peace is nice, don't you?"

GIR was standing on a makeshift stage made out of an overturned cardboard box, holding what looked like a cheap plastic karaoke machine microphone in his nubby little hands. "Peace is Nice, Peace is Nice. Peace is Better than CHICKEN AND RICE!!!"

"You're really committing to this, aren't you?" Dib said.

"But of course!" Zim replied, voice pointlessly amplified by a megaphone as he dismounted the windowsill he was perched on. "It is unbecoming of an Irken to back down in any confrontation. To be student body president is but another opportunity to rule over the weak."

"You're not winning this election, Zim!" Dib said. "Maybe I couldn't get Tak to waive that rule over for me, but that doesn't mean there aren't plenty of other ways I can stop you."

"HA! Such optimism from the Dib-thing. Have you not seen the way the students whimper and beg in my presence?"

"Yeah, probably begging you to stop."

"They’re practically yearning for my authority. See for yourself." Zim said, then, much to Dib’s horror, observed as two of the few other humans in his class passed out flyers that proudly flaunted Zim as the academy's inevitable victor, a crude doodle on the front portraying him with an 18th-century wig.

Adding to the cacophony of GIR’s performance, Frida was holding a megaphone of her own in one hand and waving a stack of flyers in the other as she shouted, "A SCHOOL WITH SWEARING, A SCHOOL THAT'S DARING, STICK IT TO THE MAN BECAUSE ZIM'S GOT THE PLAN!"

"Oh my God..." Dib said.

Manny noticed Dib looking at the display and half-skipped towards him. "Hey, gym class buddy! Flyer?"

"No I don't want a flyer! Manny, Frida, how could you betray the whole school like this? Heck, betray your whole species?!"

"Uhhhh employee benefits?" Manny replied, smiling sheepishly. "We ran into Zim last weekend and his vibes met our vibes, y'know?"

"Lies," Dib said. "His vibes are lies."

"Hang on, we don't know that yet!" Frida said, megaphone resting confidently on her hip. "Listen, I usually wouldn't care whose president or not, but Zim's got the kinda stuff that would really livin' up this place if you ask me." Minimoose came to a slow hover beside her, a stack of papers lying on its round back for Frida to grab. "See?"

Dib grabbed a paper and adjusted his glasses. Behind them, GIR continued to drone on, "Peace, Peace, Peace. Nice, Nice, Nice. Peace, Peace, Chicken, Chicken, Rice, Rice, Rice."

"'As president, I will allow mandatory pizza parties and give each student permission to say swear words during school hours?'" Dib peered up from the paper only to see Zim standing behind him, still listening, nodding. "'Homework will be abolished, and anyone caught doing homework shall be sent to the MSG mines to mine for sodium glutamate for the remainder of the school year?’"

Dib continued to skim through what was actually a packet of campaign promises, each one getting increasingly more insane, even if they were all still a step up from getting someone's legs sawed off. "What even is all this? It's absolute nonsense."

"It's simple really," Zim said, strolling towards Dib. "I just ran a diagnostic on what the students of this academy thought was lacking from their educational environment and applied it like so. You'll see that this list of promises appeals to more than forty percent of the academy population. Well, a rough estimate at least."

"Th-that's not even fair! Yin and Yuck don't even have that kind of technology to their disposal. That's practically cheating and should be merits for being disqualified!" Dib scoffed. "Forty percent? I doubt it."

Frida shrugged. "Well, he did say it was an estimate—"

"WELL THAT NUMBER IS STILL TOO HIGH AND HE SHOULDN'T EVEN HAVE ACCESS TO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!" Dib slammed the papers into Zim's chest only for Zim to clutch them defensively.

"Just accept it, Dib. My victory is inevitable and soon this academy's secrets will be mine to unravel much to the satisfaction of my Almighty Tallest! There is not one single candidate that could possibly ever—"

Dib gasped. "Yin!"

"Do not interrupt Zim!"

"It's Yin! Yin's the one whose going to beat you! Yin, hey! You're just who I wanted to see," Dib waved as he made his way towards her. "Do you have a second?"

"Oh, hey Dib," Yin said. She was in the midst of handing out heart shaped buttons from a woven basket to anyone who passed by, her frilled sash from homeroom back over her uniform.

A Vote for Yin is Everyone's Win, the buttons said in white bubble font. Dib couldn't help but smile. Not even Zim had buttons, just sheer manic energy that people misconstrued as charisma. Yin had this election in the bag; he just had to make sure of that.

"Listen, I know this is sudden, but you’ve got to let me on board with your run in the election," he said. "I could make flyers, ads, anything. I’ve gotten my feet wet with smear campaigns."

"I'm flattered you wanna help—Thank you so much, vote for Yin!—but I’ve already got all that covered, Dib." Yin said. "And smear campaigns? Seriously? Isn't that a bit scummy?"

"I know it sounds like you'd be playing dirty but listen, if anyone has a chance of winning this election, it’s you. You have no idea what's at stake if you don't."

Yin thought for a moment before letting out a small laugh. "Ohhhh, this is about Zim, isn’t it?"

"A-And Yuck, too! They're both not exactly built for this kind of stuff, don't you think?"

"Absolutely not," Yin said. Dib had just noticed that she had one of her defamed posters wedged beneath her arm, a mustache and devil horns drawn on in permanent marker, ruining her airbrushed profile. VOTE FOR YUCK, EVERYONE ELSE SUCKS. "Their tactics are starting to blur together more and more these days. What's the word that comes to mind uh...Oh, Machiavellianism! It's almost like they want everyone to hate them."

"Yes! So you understand why I have to take some necessary precautions to stop him, right? The fate of the entire academy, possibly the entire multiverse, is at stake!"

"I don’t know if you know this, but Zim’s just barely paved his way through the early voting," Yin said, handing out another button, this time with a small sleeve of pink heart stickers. "He's doing better than I thought, but I know he won't be much of a hassle in a debate. Less of one than Yuck, at least. Not to mention, I’ve already got a campaign manager."

Yin gestured over to Lina who was also passing out buttons on a further end of the hallway. She approached the two of them with an empty basket in hand. "Passed out all of them before lunch ended. Whaddya say we skip the dinner rush and get anyone we missed in the morning?"

Yin nodded. "Good idea, we need to print another round of these anyway."

"Yin, please," Dib said. "Just think about the fact that he got votes in the first place. Heck, Manny and Frida are helping him with his campaign. Doesn’t that bother you?"

Yin pursed her lips. "Hmm, a little. And I'm not gonna lie, I was feeling a teensy bit betrayed when I heard about Frida, but I still wouldn’t consider him a real threat. He's just been offering some very unique campaign promises, and that's what's getting everyone's attention."

"Y'all talking about alien boy?" Lina said, chuckling. "He's really something else, isn't he?"

"Dib's worried Zim has a chance of winning the election," Yin said, poorly concealing a laugh. "Worthy competitor or not, it's just not happening. I don't care how much pizza or violent music he promises."

"I'm definitely not losin' sleep over it," Lina added. "Even if the boy does a mean jazz square."

"He does," Yin said. "But it’s obvious people are only voting for him just because it’ll be funny."

They didn't get it.

They just didn't get it!

There were enough people willing to vote for Zim not out of their own self-interest but because they were simply amused by his buffoonery. Zim was but a clown to this academy, entertaining in his weirdness, not taken seriously in the slightest but an option in someone's voting preferences simply because watching him wriggle like a worm on a hook was just too funny and just too pathetic.

And a part of Dib couldn't help but wonder: was this Tak's goal? Was that why she was so reluctant to interfere at all? Why she was humdrum about the lack of engagement narrowing the scope more and more by the passing week? Or did the position she adopted require her to play within certain limitations? Could she simply afford not to care?

And what would she even get out of Zim potentially winning? Would it be more or less vital than Yin or Yuck's possible win? Didn't the student handbook that Dib vigorously dissected looking for a loophole to him being a Membrane state that the president worked closely with the academy's prefect?

Dib could feel himself spiraling. Perhaps in a true display of loathing Zim, she had more to gain from guaranteeing his victory, not his loss. But how? And why?

"Dib? Dib are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?" Yin's voice came out as if she were speaking from the bottom of a bottle.

"He is looking a little pale...well, paler." Lina added, her features smearing behind Dib's glasses.

Dib caught himself before he lost his footing, trying to regain his composure with a few slaps to his cheeks.

"I-I'm fine, I'm fine!" He blurted. "Look, you guys may know the dynamics of socializing and charm and presentation and how to get people to like you, but I know Zim! I know Irkens. And I’ll be damned if I'm going to step back and watch them ruin another school."

Yin merely sighed and gave Dib a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Dib, I’m flattered you have so much faith in me, but can’t you just assume I’ll be able to take down Zim myself?"

"But—"

"I bet Yuck only barely got enough votes to qualify for the finals because he threatened the right people. I got here fair and square, which is more than either of them can say."

"And besides, shouldn't you be saving this talk for your pals in newspaper?" Lina said.

Dib furrowed his brow. "Uh, maybe, but what’s that got to do with anything?"

"The press holds a lot of power, especially during political uncertainty." Yin said, averting her gaze as a smile crept across her features. "As long as you aren’t obviously biased, you can sway the vote in favor of a certain someone…"

"Or away," Lina added. She smirked, cupping a hand around her mouth. "We're just saying that if you wanted to take the reins of the next newsletter and put a good word in for your preferred candidate, we'd look the other way."

"Lina!" Yin playfully slapped her friend's arm, but the smile still on her face gave her away. "Didn't we literally just say to keep it as unbiased as possible?"

"Unbiased against idiots who want their choice of green and greener? At this point, he'd just be stating what everyone is already thinkin'." Lina undid the button on her own cardigan and fastened it to Dib's blazer, mostly because she didn't have a crisp five-dollar bill to slide into his pocket instead. "Is it really our own fault we've already got the press on our side?"

Dib’s blinked, the realization hitting him all at once.

"Yeah…yeah, I guess you do…" he said. "And I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get a word in while I still can." 

While Dib's preferred methods were often blog posts, videos, and online forum arguments, it was in Journalism and Newspaper that he received some semblance of respect for his writing. Dib was no wordsmith, just someone who valued the truth, which was really all his class required of him.

No one on the crew had pitched in yet to do last week’s roundup, and if he managed to slip by after school and finish up a rough draft by tomorrow's third period, then Zim's undoing could still be in the palm of his hand! Or perhaps pen. Or perhaps keyboard.

Zim would be no match for the power of the press, and he had just the story in mind.

Dib watched as Yin, his one single hope in all this chaos, linked her arm with Lina's and disappeared down the hallway, Yin still quietly pestering her friend for encouraging something "so scandalous" and "so deceitful." Her smile didn't leave her face the whole time.

Chapter Text

Homeroom | Tuesday, September 4 | 8:25 A.M.

"Yuck, I am happy to report you and Yin are the frontrunners in the early voting," Django said, greeting Yuck as he made his way to the back row of desks.

Once the words actually register in Yuck's half asleep form, the look on his face was that of confliction.

On one hand, he seemed to be pleased someone was willing to perform such mundane, busy work on his behalf; on the other, the simple fact that someone had willingly interacted with him without his expressed permission replaces the previous drowsiness with annoyance.

Django could only give his broadest smile, pretending that he was only kind of amused by Yuck's grouchy mongrel routine.

Yuck was probably supposed to be intimidating to someone but when Django looked at him, he was just reminded of the rabid animals lining the ungentrified depths of the Miracle City desert, a couple of untamed, unruly beasts that were simply the product of their environments but could just as easily be tamed as long as you had their best interests in mind.

Yuck had a combination of things that made him both predator and prey, but Django just always found himself amused at the sight of it, holding back laughter and affectionate coos as he observed this stuffed animal with anger issues. This mammal-shaped thing of soft, scraggly hair, big, angry eyes, and bear-trap teeth that reeked of death and desperation at perpetual war with his technicolor opposites—it was all just too adorable!

Django had seen hares be swallowed whole by cobras, seen a burrow be ripped apart by coyotes, seen a scorpion blind a baby bunny in what was far from self-defense, and though Yuck was far from normal and honestly pretty far from being a rabbit, Django couldn't help but see himself as the animal leaving with the full belly in each of these fleeting after images of thought.

For even a tiger could become subservient as any kitten if you knew what they wanted.

Was he playing with fire?

Probably.

Had he also been submerged and temporarily died within the depths of a volcano?

Absolutely.

So it was a shame he got such a kick out of their interactions, because Django knew it would be wise to have set some safety boundaries by now. But Django could only do so much on his end!

Clearly, the school wanted him and Yuck to be roommates, best friends perhaps. They wanted them to share a homeroom. And who was he to blatantly go against the wishes of such a prestigious establishment that ruled not with an iron fist but a condescending head pat of well-intentioned authority?

Not to mention that nothing else in this school was proving to be quite as entertaining as watching the bunny rabbit wearing the skin of the big bad wolf.

Except, perhaps—Zoe Aves stole a glance at him from her back row seat, pretending to have not been staring when she knew fully well they locked eyes when he arrived.

Yuck lifted his head up from his desk, still slouched and glaring over his collection of claw engravings and drool as if he were possessively hovering over a fresh kill. "And you know this how?"

"From the school newsletter, of course," Django said, presenting a thin stack of laminated white paper. "Last week's round-up, but a round-up regardless."

Yuck blinked. "We have a newsletter?"

"Y'know, for someone running for president, you seem pretty out of the loop about the basics about this place."

"You’re right," Yuck said, stifling a yawn. He took the newsletter and skimmed through the pages. "First order of business: I’m getting rid of the stuff I think is boring."

Soon enough, Yuck's eyes settled on the mention of his name that resided somewhere in the middle pages, reading mostly to himself:

"'After an intense opening month of campaigning for Royal Heights' first-ever student body president, the voters are still divided on who to cast for their final choice. The original pool of presidential hopefuls has faced an unusual decline, fixing the academy’s focus on the three candidates of Homeroom B who have been dominating the conversation. Participants Yin and Yuck have especially offered compelling and unique if mildly controversial, campaigns but it may take until the debate being held Friday, September 14th, for the winner to be decided. Current frontrunner is Yin with an impressive one hundred and fifty-nine early votes cast, but observers have noticed a slight waver in favor of Yuck, who is steadily maintaining a hold on second place.'"

Yuck sat in silence for a minute, as if still processing the words.

Django placed a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. "Don’t worry, buddy! Early votes are just like first impressions; they’ll warm up to you eventually."

"It’s just weird," Yuck said, and there's a glimmer of contemplation there that makes his usually hard face soften. "I’m used to these stories having a photo of me with half of my teeth missing, and the words usually aren't so flattering. Look, they even got my good side here."

Django quirked a brow. "Ah, so this isn't your first five minutes of fame after all."

"Cause enough trouble and sooner or later someone will have to notice," Yuck said. "They all painted me like some sort of delinquent that escaped from juvey...well, accept that one time, but who's countin', huh?"

"The newsletter is out?" Yin said, seeming to have caught wind of what the two of them were discussing, and eagerly, if anxiously, approaching the forbidden trenches of the backseats of Rodolfo Rivera's homeroom. "Ah, I almost forgot!"

"Yeah, and it's a juicy one," Django said, taking the newsletter from Yuck and fanning his nonexistent sweat glands. "Do you know that the ballet kids are doing this school's first-ever rendition of The Nutcracker? And here I thought this place didn't have any culture. Oh, and still no trace of who's been stealing all that hot sauce and butter from culinary. I guess they're still on the loose."

"You seem a little eager, Yin," Yuck said, smirking. "They even gave a degenerate lowlife like me a pretty decent write-up, so who knows what they could even be saying about you in the tabloids."

"Hopefully nothing too scandalous, it would be a shame if someone somewhere took that argument you guys had and plastered it all over the news," Django said, shooting Yin a look. "'Pink Princess of Homeroom B Wishes Death Upon Her Political Rival.' If it bleeds, it leads, right?"

Yin looks about ready to sear his bones deeper than the lava of the Miracle City volcano ever could, but instead all Django's comment can manage is a single flickering flame on the tips of her fingers. Yin took a breath, looking back to the paper mostly to avoid the intensity of his and Yuck's combined stare.

"Not exactly newsworthy if you ask me," Yin said. Her smile is even less sincere than Yuck's, but she doesn't even try to hide the anger behind her eyes. "Even if they already know who their future president is going to be, it's best not to result to such blatant slander. So in that case..." A turquoise glow illuminated the newsletter and hovered into Yin's hand. "...let's see what the fuss is about."

She took a breath before skimming for any mentions of her name. "Yin...Yin...Oh, here I am!"

She cleared her throat, reading to the class: "'Candidate Yin is the projected winner of the election due to a high percentage of the popular vote in early voting. She's garnered the respect of both teachers and students for not only her stellar academic performance but also a genuine interest in the well-being of the student body's continued success. Some standouts from her campaign have been her free cupcakes and custom-made buttons that warmly guarantee that A Vote for Yin is Everyone's Win'."

Yin clutched the paper to her chest as she gave a girlish squeal, doing a little excited hop. Her expression is that of utter relief. "Ahhhh! Lina, I told you the cupcakes were a good idea!"

Zim waved an arm over his head from where he sat in the front row. "But what does it say about me? What does it say about Zim?"

"Uh, I guess I could check," Yin said, poorly concealing a grimace as she returned to the newsletter. "Um....yeah, 'Rumor has it that Zim wants to use a possible win in the election to provide proper representation of the Irken Armada’s supposedly natural leadership skills.'"

Zim leaned forward as he sat on his knees backwards in the chair, eyes widening in anticipation. "And…?"

"That’s it," Yin said, shrugging.

"That’s it!?" Zim stormed out of his seat and snatched the paper away from Yin. "My campaign should be front page news! Zim did not practice that choreography for nothing!"

"Nyah!"

"No Minimoose, your form was excellent," Zim assured, patting his floating companion between the antlers. "But not you, GIR! Be ashamed."

GIR popped up from beneath Zim's desk. "Can I be a mongoose?"

He began to frantically flip his way through the pages, muttering his own name to a slowly increasing level of volume and anger. "Zim...Zim...ZIM?!"

"Damn," Yuck chuckled, "Tough luck, lizard boy."

"Maybe it was a printing error?" Yin said, hiding a smile behind her hand. "Or it could always be those pesky word counts. Journalism can be very cutthroat—"

"I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!" He tore at the offending pages and crumpled them into a ball before angrily throwing it at his feet. "This school has made a mockery of my work and now you, you filthy mammals! And you…" Zim stopped for a moment, trying to concoct a proper insult for Django. "SKINLESS! SKINLESS! WHERE IS YOUR SKIN?!"

Zim redirected his rage towards Yin, a taloned finger inches from her nose. "Count your days especially, long-eared one. You will regret ever interfering with Zim’s inevitable victory with this slander!"

Yin rolled her eyes. "I didn't write the newsletter, and I don't know anybody who may have if that's what you're asking."

"Yin's weirdly specific excuse aside, I can't help the feeling that this little tiny smear of a mention felt a bit personal. Almost like someone doesn’t want you to win," Django added. "I mean, it’s not like you weren’t already scraping the barrel of third-party voters, so why waste everyone's time, right?"

Zim stiffened, placing a contemplative hand to his chin. "Someone plotting a sabotage? I’ll have to see to it that they end this reign of humiliation. But who could it be? Who? WHO?!"

"Probably Dib," Yuck said.

"Definitely Dib," Yin said.

"It's clearly Dib," Django said, pointing at the discarded paper that barred Dib Membrane's name in bold font as a credit to the article. Dib, seemingly lurking in the hallway for the sake of a dramatic entrance, strolled inside the classroom just then, grin wide and glasses gleaming as if anticipating applause.

"Goooood morning, class! You're all looking well." Dib came to a halt as he took in the classroom's eerie silence, smile spreading even wider across his features. "I've got the distinct feeling I've missed something. Some news I haven't heard about? Come on, you can tell the old Dibster!"

"The old what now?" Frida said.

Lina was the first to humor him, her expression no less guilty than Yin's. "We just read that awesome article you did for Yin, and we all really appreciate it. Good job, Dib."

Dib smirked, nodding his head. "I thought so! It was nothing really."

"Dib..." Zim hissed, narrowing his eyes. "I knew all along that it was you who slandered me to the public."

"No, you didn't," Lina said, only to be promptly ignored as Zim stormed towards his human rival.

Django had started today expecting a roaring bonfire fueled by Yin and Yuck's sparks, but this morning clearly had fireworks on the schedule.

"Aww, sad you can't just brainwash the masses with your stupid, shallow promises of golden legs and zombie wiener dog servants and be done with it, huh?" Dib said, not noticing how Yang's ears perked up at the mention of zombie wiener dogs. "Looks like all it takes is a little logic and a bit of printer ink to get the good word out. Not a single person here is as gullible as the ones at Skool, Zim. I've never been more in my element."

"That's where you're wrong, Dib-stink! If anything your words have only guaranteed the loyalty of this pathetic homeroom," Zim said, saying homeroom the way most sane people would say zombie wiener dog servants.

Django had given up trying to make sense of Zim a long time ago, "a long time ago" being the single week that he's gotten to know Zim. Yuck wasn't exactly sane himself, but the mutant at least operated on some fractured definition of reality.

Yuck could feel, though he pretended not to. Yuck had tangible aspirations, a mind that was functioning, and that was something Django could work with. It wasn't quite as easy as toying with Rivera's brain, sheer stubbornness and family honor proved to be a hell of a barricade, but Yuck was a kind of crazy he could get accustomed to.

But Zim? Zim was but white-hot insanity, too enamored with himself to consider the bigger picture.

Yuck's chance at the presidency, Django could probably make use of, but Zim? He'd be lucky to even step within a foot of that gilded office.

Dib gave a defiant scoff, still riding the high of his oh so scandalous coverage. Lina's earlier praise was downright making his face twitch.

"Psh, in what way exactly? If you ask me, everyone is already starting to forget you were ever running. Besides, you don’t know a single thing these students could possibly want, it's laughable for you to even try," he said. "Admit it, your reputation is ruined forever! No one will even be thinking about your campaign after the brutal beatdown I just delivered in the school newsletter! The power of the press is on my side!"

"Speak now, Dib, for clearly you don't understand how I got this far in the first place. Observe…" Zim narrowed his eyes as he scanned over the class, eventually focusing his sights on Frida and violently jabbing his finger. "You!"

Frida nearly choked on her drink, sputtering around her straw. "Wh-what I do?"

"You chose to aid me in my campaign. What was your motivation? What is it about this school that fills you with the most rage, human? What change can Zim deliver?"

Frida gave an immediate answer. "Oh, it’s gotta be the food, definitely. You did say something about pizza parties, right?"

"That I did, Urth monkey," Zim replied. "And of course my manifesto did include modifications to the academy's subpar vending machines."

"I didn’t even know those vending machines that gave out fruit were a real thing," Manny said. He also had his own beverage, empty flavor packets littered his desk as he shook the aloe green contents back and forth inside a bottle. "I thought it was something I saw in a nightmare or some sci-fi movie but, th-they’re real. They’re real and they’re horrible!"

"Like, I know this place likes to keep it healthy but it’s too healthy," Frida gestured to her own drink as an example, a bottle of iced black tea that she'd been alternating between sipping and dumping packets of sweetener into. She pointed a chipped red fingernail at the nutrition label. "Zero calories, zero sugar—I had to dump like six packs of sugar from the café just to get some flavor in this thing."

"When I’m skipping classes—uh..." Manny stopped himself, realizing his father, much to everyone's delayed suspicion, still hadn't arrived. "Anyway, when I'm skipping class, the last thing I want to be munching on is some lame apple with a side of even lamer vegetable juice."

"Also whoever's in charge around here needs to know not every bag of chips has to be cooked in sunflower oil," Yang added. "And don’t even get me started on those veggie straw things. Blegh!"

"But I like the veggie straws." Dib muttered.

Yang shrugged. "In some Chicky Licky jalapeño and garlic sauce they're halfway decent," he said, then his posture stiffened as if something foul was making eye contact with him from across the room. "But, that's just what I've been told."

He pulled his gaze away from the back of the classroom, eager to take the attention off of him. "Tak, you're like the head honcho around here, right? Where's all the good stuff or are you just hiding it?"

"It was in the academy's best interest that the students be given a healthier selection than the average high school cafeteria," Tak said, not even bothering to look up from the novel she was pretending to read. "The goings on with the food are not entirely my doing and I remain neutral on the topic, but it is subject to change if the academy really is that adamant about their being more options available. Within limitations, of course."

Yang stood up triumphantly. "Sounds like a yes to me! You've got my vote, bug boy!"

Yin gasped. "Yang! You're not voting for your own sister?"

Yang quirked an eyebrow at his sibling. "Was I supposed to? Sorry sis, I didn't see 'vote for your sister in some lame election' under the twin contract."

"And it’s not like Yin and Yuck have offered anything I could possibly want," Zoe said, breaking her usual ominous silence. She stopped to inspect her shiny black nails. "Zim may be a nut, but he’s got his priorities straight and all of his ambitions laid bare. The average voter appreciates a little transparency."

Django felt like he could bust out laughing right then and there.

This absolute agent of chaos! Was Zoe seriously vouching for Zim? And if she wasn’t just deliberately adding to the ensuing argument encroaching on the homeroom, then what exactly was her endgame?

He knew crows had good memories but not such excellent senses of humor.

"Not a bad pitch, bir—uh, Aves," Django said. "As for me, I’m firmly Team Green…the smelly one."

Zoe smirked, waving the end of her nail file in mocking scrutiny. "Of course, the corpse votes for the candidate that just smells like a dead body."

Zim proudly put his hands on his hips. "See? Even the horrible cyclops human knows what’s best for this school. I also promise as president that I will eliminate all fruits and vegetables and make way for the first ever entirely health-free ecosystem!" Zim proclaimed. "May all your grams be fat!"

Frida rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I hate to agree with Zoe on literally anything, but kicking this school in its health-obsessed teeth would be awesome. And no fruits and veggies are like totally organic, right?"

"That’s literally the exact opposite of organic!" Dib said. "Come on, guys! I like a little junk food here and there, but don’t you think it’s better not to be tired and bloated all day from eating nothing but empty calories and sugar? I’m sure Zim’s alien palette is barely even compatible with the average body, so who knows what his definition of health even is?"

Dib intensely scanned the room. "Lina, Django, as students who are enrolled in botany, wouldn’t having absolutely no produce in the school severely limit your learning environment?"

"It would," Lina replied simply.

"I really don’t care that much," Django replied.

And he really didn't. His teacher still seemed deathly afraid that he simply coming in contact with the academy's budding spuds would somehow cause a trickle effect and trigger mass decay across the entire garden. He's been trimming the leaves off of tomatoes for some time now.

"Not to mention it leaves culinary with almost nothing to cook with," Lina continued, narrowing her eyes at Zim. "You were literally on chopping duty for the bruschetta we made yesterday, Zim. And you only barely avoided cutting off your fingers this time."

Dib opened his mouth to speak only for Lina to cut him off. "But...it has been awhile since I've gotten my hands on some mozzarella sticks. Ugh, and I'd kill for some salt and vinegar chips..."

"Guys snap out of it!" Yin clapped her hands together as if the class had fallen under a spell. "Can't you see? It’s clear Zim doesn’t know the first thing about preserving the educational integrity of the academy besides appealing to shallow wants." she said. "If he had it his way, we’d be unhealthy, unfocused, and unmotivated all the way to graduation. There's nothing wrong with the food here, we'll just have to suck it up."

"You’re right!" Dib exclaimed. "You are so so right!"

"Which is exactly why you should vote for me," she said, not even stirring as Zim barred his teeth at her.

Lina chuckled. "Yin, I've seen you slurp down those limited edition thousand calorie Twonicorn shakes like it was nothing."

Yin flushed bright red, twiddling her fingers. "I just thought they were pretty. A-and it was before I went pescatarian, I promise!"

"Man, I just had breakfast and all this food talk is making me hungry." Frida said. "Yuck, you’re in the race too, right? And you’re slightly less crazy than Zim so I’m slightly less convinced you'll try to kill all of us. What's your take?"

"Purely for the sake of this election, I am an avid believer in democracy, annoying blue girl. I think we should let the school vote on the food crap, and whatever option is most popular, we go with. Of course, if I come up with a better idea than all of yours, we’ll just do mine but that’s completely hypothetical." Yuck said. "Or, like, we can do an ice cream bar or whatever."

The classroom collectively sighed just at the mention of ice cream.

Yin stifled a cruel chuckle. "A democracy under Yuck is no democracy at all. Vote for him, and you may as well be voting for your own jail cell."

"Shut up, Yin." Yuck said. "I’ll also put in some changes to curfew: wake up later, go to bed later."

Most of the class collectively murmured in agreement as Yin crossed her arms. "I’m sorry, but won’t that greatly affect the current schedules?"

"Ever heard of an A/B school schedule, honey bunny? Shorter days and we still get a full week’s education. It’ll just be chopped up a little."

"Yeah you’d know a lot about dismembering things…"

"You had me at shorter days, señor presidente." Manny said, giving Yuck a handshake. "You’ve got my vote."

Zim stomped his foot. "TRAITOR!"

The sound of spurs clinking closer to the door sent a silent signal across the classroom to take their seats. Mr. Rivera pushed the door open with a stack of papers beneath his arm, glasses askew on his face.

"So very sorry, class! I-I was occupied with some...adult business."

He made his way to his desk and haphazardly shoved the papers into the drawer. "Now, did I miss anything?"

"Good play back there, buddy." Django said in a whisper, Mr. Rivera was too occupied with attendance and reading off the printed morning announcements to scold them for talking. "You almost had Yin in a chokehold with that block schedule thing. And poor Lina, swooping in for the kill with that milkshake line. Kind of tragic, 'aint it?"

"I'm not your buddy, besides, I just pulled that out of my ass to even the score." Yuck said. "If I had it my way, this school would be a pile of ashes. You included if you get in my way."

"Well, I'm not sure what's stopping you," Django said, shrugging. "Your appetite for destruction certainly doesn't paint you as an ideal candidate, but I think that's part of the reason why I'm rooting for you."

"Oh, how grateful I am to have you in my corner." Django can tell Yuck isn't being completely sincere because he would have stabbed himself through the palm with a freshly sharpened pencil as punishment by now.

"I really think it's that special brand of charisma that's got you and Yin so neck and neck right now." Django added. "She's all pretty ponies and pink and you're...you're rage incarnate. The two halves should never meet, and yet here we are. I just never thought someone as sour as you could come up with something as sweet as 'honey bunny'."

I wanna hear more, Django's burning gaze prompted, but Yuck flipped him off.

Yin and Yuck's tragic history was something that seemed to occupy any physical space the two of them shared, consuming the very oxygen of the room until it felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

And Django just couldn't get enough of it.

Compare that to Zim and Dib whose combined presence was that of a roaring forest fire, beyond any level of control, dense, and destructive and actively feeding off itself to create more damage, but Django could only handle so many fascinating car crashes at once. No self-respecting druggie went from weed to a crack pipe in a day's time.

Much the way Django could smell death, he liked to think he could also smell the history that permeated within and between sentient creatures. And before anyone called bullshit, weren't memories also a figment of the past?

Could memories not also vary between dying within the minds of their beholders or being granted a certain level of immortality? In the spaces in between was where Django resided, where he got a good, deep inhale of that chaos and tried to piece together what on Earth could produce such a wretched odor.

Django could tell, he could in fact smell, that Yuck had experienced heartbreak, death, and despair by Yin’s hands and no amount of cherry blossom body wash and strawberry perfume could quite get the smell off of her.

When Django looked at Yuck, and this was often, it was out of this sort of grotesque intrigue, like he was analyzing a new experiment or some open wound he just had to poke.

It was about the same look he gave Manny, if with significantly less rage, and the ones he gave Zoe, minus the rage and the morbid curiosity, replaced with a subtle admiration. For someone without an actual face, Django's intense eyes were a dead giveaway for his emotions.

"If only people knew the real story between you two. You and Yin’s little cat and mouse game has—how should I say it?—really captivated me. If anyone else is running, I’m sure they’d be completely dwarfed by your sheer star power, merely a footnote to your passionate love affair. You and your precious honey bunny—" Yuck stomped the heel of his boot so hard into Django's ankle that his talus nearly fell off. He gave a sound between a yelp and a chuckle. "Ah, I see I've touched a nerve there, my apologies."

"I couldn't care less who or what you're getting this entail from, but I say you keep your big boney mouth shut. This has nothing to do with me and Yin's 'history', I only joined this stupid race so I could hit that Woo Fool where it hurts."

As he spoke, Django could feel an energy that swallowed Yuck's form, this Woo Foo nonsense that was so important. Would Manny ever get this mad at him, ever radiate with such violent intent?

You nearly burn someone alive, and they give you the silent treatment. The nerve of some people—

Django cocked his head to the side, genuinely curious. "Where it hurts, huh? That being?"

"Her pride," Yuck said. "And I am gonna relish every single moment I get to wipe that look off her face after I finally win something. When I’m in charge, her and her stupid brother can’t do anything about it."

"Ah, so you’re gonna cheat?"

Yuck smirked, shaking his head.

"No, no, no, something much worse than that. I’m going to win fair and square. I’m going to use her stupid high and mighty morals against her and prove that just maybe, there’s a fraction of a chance that I’m better than her. That I’m above her in this stupid popularity contest. Then she’ll have to live in that embarrassment for the rest of her pathetic little life until it devours her from the inside out! I don’t care about being president, Django. I care about crushing her!"

Django nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, all the while you have a crush on her." Django sniffed the air again, ignoring the way Yuck was digging his jagged, claw-like fingernails into the desk. "Just do me a favor and make sure Yin doesn't kill you again before the election. I have a feeling my hands are gonna be full today."

Girls’ Restroom | 2:05 P.M.

"Okay, so clearly we still have some work to do. Lots."

"You do remember you’re in the lead, right? I wouldn’t fret so much about it, Yin."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but after that absolute mess that happened in homeroom, it’s got me doubting my chances here, Lina. I’ve been doing some calculating and, for starters, literally any percentage this close to Zim is bad. That weirdo might actually have a chance," Yin said, studying her reflection as reapplied her lip gloss. "I didn’t think it would be this hard. Yuck's just been lying and threatening people to get this far, but Zim? Seriously!? What is it that I’m doing wrong? I guess the food angle is working out for Zim, but he had to be inspired by my cupcake idea, so he’s clearly just copying me."

"I’m sure this school could do with one less salad bar," Lina said as she pinched a clump out of her mascara, only to gleam her best friend's glare from the mirror. "What, a girl can’t crave some tater tots?"

"Maybe I’m just not being aggressive enough," Yin said and then immediately groaned at the thought. "Because I’m not a brute or a lunatic, that’s what people want? I’m trying to be a kind, disciplined leader, and they clearly want a dictator. I don’t get it!" She thought for a moment, nibbling the tip of her nail. "Do you think we should have taken Dib's offer? I can handle Yuck, but if Dib is willing to sabotage Zim for us…"

Lina scoffed, inspecting her cuticles. "And have Crazy Mc' Big Head making it all about him? I don't think so."

"I don't think his head is big."

"I don't know if it's the approach you should be worried about; maybe it's the stuff Zim and Yuck are talking about," Lina said. Yin is only half-listening to her, now pacing the tiles of the girls' restroom with cheeks blown into two little angry balloons. "Think about the popular topics: food, scheduling, using some extra rooms for fun—half of the things you've been spillin' has just been about doing more work."

"But that's a hands-on approach...right?"

"Come on, Yin! What happened to that girl who would DJ her own parties when her master was out of town?"

"Uh, I think banished is the right word here."

"Same thing, point is you gotta remember your target audience. Sure, everyone here is the best of the best, but they're still teenagers. They're gonna want teenager stuff," Lina said. "And the stuff you're spitting, it's just not cool. And a world where people think that alien kid is cooler than you is not one either of us wanna be in."

"Well...I guess I kinda do wanna consider that spa thing..."

"See, now we're getting somewhere."

"And a frozen yogurt bar in the dining hall? Yes, yes, that’s it!" Yin said, some light returning to her eyes. "Lina, I think Operation Pink Wave is back in action! Let's see Zim and Yuck compete with me now!"

"That's my girl!"

Just as Yin and Lina were about to high-five, the door to the restrooms opened with an ominous slowness.

"Ah, I thought I'd find you here," Tak said. "Never a bad time to touch up on our lip shining, right?"

Yin immediately lowered her hand, tucking it behind her back as if she were smuggling something. "Ha ha, you got that right, Tak."

Lina furrowed her brow. "Lip shining?"

"But we're actually in the middle of more important things right now," Yin said. "Lina and I were coming up with some ideas for the election, and I think it just might help me scrub out any dent Zim and Yuck have made in my votes."

"Maybe scrub Yuck's mouth clean while we're at it," Lina said.

"Is that so?" Tak said as she quietly strolled inside, the cape she had made out of her blazer fluttering behind her. "Well then, I caught you at a good time. Just a bit of advice for our future president that I'm sure will secure your win."

Yin's eyes widened. "Really? Well, if it's as good as the other stuff you told me, I'm sure it's absolutely perfect."

"What other stuff?" Lina said. "Yin, we are working towards this election together, right?"

Tak chuckled and Lina swears she feels the restroom tiles get yanked out from beneath her feet when Tak approached Yin ever so gently and snakes her skinny little fingers into Yin's hand. Her leathery tips are touching Yin's pink knuckles, squeezing with intent.

"Are you assuming Yin isn’t sharing everything with you, Lana? That is your name, right? Leona?"

"I just would like to know about any inside campaign secrets," Lina said, her expression darkening. "I am her pick for vice president, after all."

"Sounds more like an assumption than a promise," is all Tak said before giving a dismissive wave of her hand, shooing Lina away, telling some annoying girl to leave her be. No. Leave her and Yin be. "Now how about you let me and Yin discuss things in private. If you two are truly friends, I’m sure Yin will tell you all about it later."

Yin nodded, face still burning bright red upon realizing Tak was holding her hand. "I'm sure it's just a little hypothetical number crunching. Super boring. Besides, Tak is the official treasurer of the academy. I'm sure any big adjustments should be run by her, right?"

"Precisely," Tak said, her smile too big for her face. The uncertainty in her voice implies she was merely leaching off Yin's optimism, plucking the idea out of thin air if it meant making her obvious bluff more convincing. "Numbers, numbers, everything comes down to numbers, really. Now, leave me and Yin alone so we can go over those numbers."

"Yin—"

"That's an order," Tak said as a low light flashed past her purple eyes, but Lina is more offended than frightened.

"You know what? Fine. Have fun with her, Yin. Don't let ol' Lina get in the way." Before Yin can offer a weak protest, Lina is already out the door, storming away with pathetic little angry stomps.

"'That's an order?' 'That's an order?!' I'll order you some damn respect, how 'bout that—?"

With a defiant huff, Lina entered the hallway, her brain cooking up every single profanity she could come up with. Other much more palatable but no less unpleasant words were saved for the empty halls that were a captive audience to her frustrated muttering.

"That girl is all talk, just full of hot air! Thinks just 'cause she owns the place, she can flaunt it in all our faces whenever she can. That girl really thinks she owns us the same way she owns those pretty ponies. Well, news flash, hun, Lina belongs to no one."

She looked insane, obviously. Skulking around in a direction she wanted to assume was vaguely towards the dining hall, Lina could only hope to sort out the chaos her thoughts had become.

"I’ve controlled my temper for the sake of the election but this—this—Ohhhhhh, I’m definitely gonna snap soon. Homeroom, lunchtime—pick a place, princess prick."

One thing she had to get straight: Was she seriously putting up with all this because she thought Yin would be a good and fair president who didn't enforce her will upon the students?

Absolutely not, but it was better than letting some joke like Zim or an escaped lab experiment like Yuck be taking the reigns.

Yin was at least less of a creature of impulse than her brother, who simply lacked his sister’s love authority, and while she was undeniably still motivated by her own self interest, she at least had some tangible understanding of a democracy. She wanted what was best for the school and truly meant that.

Or, at least that’s what Lina wanted to believe.

But there was simply no getting around it any longer. Lina secretly knew the real reason why Yin would throw herself into the depths of high school political power. To be the student body president completed an idealistic fantasy of high school pleasantry. Next time Yin would want to be cheer captain, prom queen, anything that resembled authority and respect.

Yin wanted to be popular.

And Lina supposed when the esteemed academy heiress took a liking to you, suddenly the humble farm girl’s assistance paled in comparison to that of literal royalty. And unlike Saranoia’s magic, that was a glamour that never wore off.

As if trying to dab away the red from her vision, a pair of hands covered her eyes. Purely on instinct, Lina sent an elbow into the ribs of her potential attacker who could only reel back in pain, an arm wrapped around his waist.

"S-surprise?" Yang whimpered, half-crouched to the floor as he tried to regain his balance.

Lina gasped. "Oh my gosh, Yang! I-I’m so sorry. But you know better than to sneak up on me like that."

"I was going more for a guerilla approach," Yang said, smiling through the pain. He looks far too impressed by the sheer force of Lina’s attack to be angry at her. "Except more romantic."

"I guess I should be more familiar with the smell of unwashed hands and…" Lina sniffed. "Hot sauce? Point is, stop touching my face."

Yang shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he and Lina made their way down the hall. "I missed you in the cafeteria. We've still got plenty of time for lunch if you're hungry."

Lina nodded stiffly. "I guess some food would help me get my head on straight."

Yang’s brow furrowed as he noticed the change in his girlfriend's expression. Yang's emotional awareness left a lot to be desired, and yet he seemed to have a sort of sixth sense when it came to his loved ones being upset. The seventh sense was required for him to bother acknowledging it.

"What's the matter, puddin' pop? You're looking a little glum."

"Psh, hardly even the case. Try 'at the end of my rope', 'pissed off beyond belief'; I’m somewhere in that ballpark."

Yang rolled his eyes. "Ugh, Yin being a presidentzilla?"

Lina shook her head. "Nah, she's not really the problem, though don't think I'm not pissed off at her too. It's really that Tak girl. She thinks she can just walk all over people 'cause she's this high and mighty heiress. Can you imagine meeting someone who thinks they're too good for anybody else?"

Yang gave an awkward smile. "Well..."

"Whatever," Lina said. "Point is, she keeps butting into places where she doesn't belong and I'm sick of it."

"That place being?"

"Me and Yin's personal space! She talks her nasty talk and gets away with it each time and man is it putting a bad taste in my mouth. And worst of all, I'm starting to think Yin doesn't know that girl is filling her head with nonsense."

"She's just doing her job, Lina. And if that job involves helping my sis with the election I say let her."

"Oh ho ho, Tak is after way more than that! What it is I'm not entirely sure, but it can't possibly be good. You should see the way Yin looks at that snobby little so-and-so. It's like she's seeing sunlight for the first time."

"...She's going blind?"

"Like Yin likes her, Yang. And I'm sure the feeling isn't mutual."

Yang took a second too long to register what Lina might have meant by that, face soon skewing up in confusion. "What? No! No no no no no no no way! My sister? Seriously?"

"I'm positive. And given how Yin is with boys, who says the same thing isn't happening here?"

Yang scoffed. "You're throwing things out of whack, Lina. Besides, that’s not even possible," he said. "Yin doesn't swing that way and probably never will."

He seemed to be saying it more to himself, as if he needed the reassurance. Yang had the most obvious thinking face in the world, and Lina could almost see his thoughts forming behind his eyes in real time, recalling any memories of his sister's totally bulletproof sexuality. Judging by his interactions with Rodger Jr, Yang's gaydar definitely needed some tweaking.

Yang eventually shook his head, pushing the thought away with his hand. "And is that seriously what you’re focusing on? If Tak is making Yin like ladies? I think we've got more important things to worry about."

"I’m gonna stop you there, Yang. Listen, I know you may not like it here, but you runnin' around lookin' for trouble won’t fix anything," Lina said. "Besides, I’ve been in the pool plenty after your little jello party, and nothing has gone amiss."

"And I don't know if you've caught my drift yet, but I don't just 'not like it here'. I hate it." Yang said. "If I wanted to do a bunch of pointless cleaning and studying and be barked at by teachers, I would have stayed at the dojo."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but most schools are like that."

"Wow, could have used that insight literally a couple of weeks ago."

"Lemme guess, you're gonna end up looking for trouble where there isn't just because you're bored," Lina said, rolling her eyes. "But I will admit, saying your sword fell into the pool is definitely one of your better excuses."

"No way, I wasn’t kidding about my sword acting funny! It just ran off without me, and I had to chase after it before it hit something I didn’t even wanna hit," Yang said. "And this stupid school up and took my sword from me before I could figure out what it was chasing after. And as a brave warrior, I had to take matters into my own hands and do a little...scuba diving."

"Hold on, you what?"

Yang raised his hands defensively. "It was just a little dip over the weekend," he said. "I swear I was seconds away from finding something until Membrane and Manny's grandad showed up."

"That something being nothing," Lina stopped and gestured to herself. "Do you see anything wrong with me, Yang? No cuts, no bruises, not a scratch on me or any of my classmates. Besides, you know I would have been the first to send that thing flying the second it tried to hurt anybody."

Yang smirked, wagging his finger. "That’s where you’re wrong. The trouble found me. Now it’s just hoping I can’t find it again. And any big bad force of evil knows the last thing it wants to do is mess with my girl."

Lina chuckled and just like that most of the stress she’d gained over the last few minutes alleviated itself. "Oh, it’s scared of you, huh?"

"Damn right, it is. Why else would it steer clear of my sword in the first place? Oh, and why do you think it's hiding now? My perfectly honed warrior senses can smell danger and fear, and I’m getting buttloads of both."

"Well, I guess you've never been wrong about when you sensed danger." Lina said, recalling the excruciatingly annoying and painful Zarnot incident that ended up being Yang simply jumping to her rescue.

"But…you do believe me, right?" Yang asked. "You think there’s a monster in this place?"

Lina hesitated for a moment, averting Yang's earnest gaze that never failed to make her puddy in his adorable, dumb little hands.

A part of Lina knew it wasn't a good idea to be entertaining Yang's delusions, but there was always the slightest chance that her ever eccentric boyfriend had some evidence to back up his claim.

Maybe he really had lost his grip on his sword all those days ago. Maybe he had just seen something that he thought was mysterious but was actually mundane. Maybe his appetite for violence wasn't satiated and he was going through withdrawals, making up monsters to fight in the process.

Or maybe he was completely in the right. It was so hard to tell.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Let's put a pin in it right now, okay? We've got enough monsters to deal with already."

Yang skewed his brow. "That being?"

"Your sister's new girlfriend, that's who."

Horse Stables | 6:35 P.M.

"Wouldn't someone else usually be doing this? Like maybe people who are actually in this class?"

"Ah, that's the true nature of a punishment, isn't it? Doing the work someone else left behind for you, it's so incredibly tedious."

"But why this?" Gaz said. She gestured to the stables with their ugly, stinky horses shooing away flies by their buttholes with a flick of their tails. "Isn’t detention supposed to be, I dunno, writing ‘I’ve been bad’ on a chalkboard a hundred times or something? None of this hard labor junk."

"Really? I hadn’t the slightest clue. After all, I am an alien."

Gaz didn't give Tak the privilege of receiving an answer, spearing another stack of shit-encrusted hay and tossing it into a wagon.

Did you know that they specifically made forks for plowing through manure? Gaz certainly didn’t. Usually, this task would be left up to all the lame horse girls enlisted in this class, but today, they had the honor of shrugging off cleaning duties and letting Gaz, a repeat offender of faking sick days, handle the grunt work.

And yes, she had tried to get out of it, but Tak's uncanny understanding of the school’s layout gave her few places to hide and no excuses that wouldn't just make a bad situation worse.

I say just do it and get it over with. Clear your depth. Dept? Debt? My phone keeps saying "debt"

Yang had texted her as she was escorted from her only safe haven, the clubroom she had worked so hard to keep hidden from any authorities.

are you implying i have some sort of conscience?

Gaz could only keep herself sane by imagining sticking this shit-stained pitchfork inside Tak’s gut.

"I know you would prefer to be in the comforts of your only slightly legitimate club, but I suppose Yang will have to play those silly little games of yours by himself." Tak said. Gaz can literally hear her smirking, perfect little penny loafers knocking rhythmically against the barrel she was sitting on. "If this is who you decide to surround yourself with, I can only imagine how much more trouble you’re going to get yourself into later. I say you're better off not having friends at all."

"He's not my friend," Gaz said. "He's just the only one in this school who plays the same games I do. Not that I bothered to look."

Gaz pushed the final stack of hay aside and looked over the now-empty stalls with not a single iota of pride. The longer she looked at it, the more she wished it was a mess all over again.

Sweating profusely through her uniform, her cardigan tied around her waist, and the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows that had both gotten their share of dirt, hay, and shit stains, she probably smells about as bad as she looks.

"Okay, stables are a little less crappy," she said. "Can I go now?"

"Not yet," Tak dismounted from the barrel and stepped deeper into the stables, gesturing with her three fingers for Gaz to follow her. "I must confess there was a reason I chose this as your place of punishment. It'll all make sense soon, Gazlene."

Gaz knows she can probably just leave, even if she doesn't strictly have permission. Yang must have been waiting for her, grinding levels all by himself with probably some rando in his co-op eating up all that delicious XP. If she could just—"Today, Gazlene."

"This better be quick," Gaz said, not the slightest bit urgent as she drags her boots across the stable's wooden floors, the two of them now approaching the single stable Gaz wasn't permitted to go by.

"It'll be quick depending on your corporation, but I assure you it's a task you'll want to revel in for quite some time."

Gaz quirked a brow. "I highly doubt that, but color me curious, I guess."

Tak gave a crooked smile over her bony shoulder. "I had a feeling you were the right choice. Now then,"

Tak reached the end of the stables and pushed away the curtain that in fact was obscuring another horse. ADMIRAL read the nameplate over its quarters. Backed away into the dark corners of a rather poorly kept stable, he's nothing but a massive brown shining eye in the foul smelling darkness.

"Not looking so good, is he? Positively miserable and mentally regreesing by the day. I'd send you in here to clean up his stall but even I have my limits."

Gaz scowled. "You brought me here to show me some dumb horse? I've seen enough horses for a lifetime."

"Not just a dumb horse, Gazlene, the dumb horse. Admiral is a very special case and an organism I've been hoping to preserve for some time. But alas..." Tak pretended to look heartbroken, a trembling fist to her thin lips. "Even the best of times must come to an end."

Gaz is honestly taken aback when the words hit her, fully registering what Tak wanted her to be an audience for. "You're saying you're gonna freakin' euthanize this guy in front of me?"

Cool, she thought and couldn't help but shiver in anticipation.

Gaz's internet history was the type of stuff watchlists were made for. She has once or twice "accidentally" stumbled across public execution videos on the dark web, she had a backlog of true crime podcasts on her cellphone, she had a fascination with unsolved murder mysteries, disappearances marked with bloody trails, bodies found by the lake, just the slightest bit intrigued by late night TV crime specials that recalled them all in brutal detail.

But had she ever actually seen someone die right in front of her, even if it was just some stinking animal? She liked to think she was mentally preparing herself for the day it might happen, for she knew that the fleeting nature of existence was something all living things seriously needed to suck up if they ever wanted to get through this hell that was called life.

Not that Gaz would ever glamorize death like those lovestruck weirdos who sent locks of their hair to serial killers, she was just—no, it wasn't even admiration, more like...in acknowledgment of it, intrigued by it—tickled by the thought of it.

Humanity had earned her disdain plenty, but animals? Well, it depended on the animal, of course.

"You’d be surprised. The extent people will go to give their horses a painless death, it kind of fascinates me. I’ve been studying the processes of euthanizing animals the second I heard about Admiral's condition." Tak said. "The library is just full of fascinating information like this, you'd know if you ever went there."

"You say it like that and it sounds like you only got the horse to kill it." Gaz said.

"Not at first," Tak said. "I really do love my Admiral, and what began as a means to preserve his life further became a moment of quiet reflection. Once I realized I couldn't save him, I sought out every way possible I could give him a peaceful end. But I do suppose I ‘went down the rabbit hole’ as you would put it. The topic of killing him was far more intriguing than learning how to keep him around."

"They have whole books about killing animals?"

"Not quite, they're more books about execution, books about torture, animals are often as both assets and victims. Fascinating stuff, really." Tak said. She quietly strolled over to a tall supply closet at the end of the stable and began undoing a lock off to the side of its rectangular structure. "Gaz, have you ever heard of a puntilla?"

"A what?"

"It’s a sort of blade, often dubbed a boning knife. It’s usually used on bullfighting bulls to sever their spinal cord by plunging it deep into the back of their neck, causing them to immediately collapse. They're considered controversial since it's not always a given that someone will angle the knife correctly, ultimately putting the animal in more pain then what’s necessary."

"And you have one?"

Tak nodded. She had finished undoing the secret compartment on the wooden shed, sliding it open like a diagonal drawer on a chest. She pulled the blade out, a moderately long length of silver that came to a rounded tip, what looked like a cork on a bottle as the hilt.

She looks so dangerous holding it, so full of intent that not even Gaz can keep herself from shaking a little. She found her hand subconsciously gripping for her manure crusted fork.

"Have you ever killed an animal, Gazlene?" Tak took some dainty steps forward as if the topic in mind wasn't senseless animal murder, as if she wasn't holding a knife that could very well kill a human just as easily, no matter how bad your aim was. "And I really do mean taking their life with your own hands. No fish dying in their own filth or anything that mundane."

Gaz felt her mind reel back to the comforts of her home's garage. Lounging inside of Tak Ship, idle chatter that soon didn't become so idle. Little talks that became full blown conversations, a connection.

That same voice, so similar, that same haughtiness, that same taste for violence, just compressed into digestible code. And to see the real thing, it's like meeting the bones before the flesh.

You really are a natural pilot, Gaz.

"No," Gaz replied simply. "Me and Dib used to have a dog, but that wasn’t entirely my fault."

Tak quirked a brow, not even hiding her smirk anymore. Gaz already felt like she said too much. "Entirely?"

"I'm sure I just left the door open or something. I barely remember." Gaz said. "And it's not like I asked for that car to show up."

"Nothing else to add to that? No interchangeable birds, no stray cats long forgotten by their owners? Something nobody would notice was missing?"

"What exactly are you getting out of this?"

"Oh, my apologies! Clearly someone's foreign to the concept of 'girl talk'." Tak said. "I've already run through all the plausible options: boys, shopping, makeup—what a bore—but we could always pretend those things interest you if a little violence is too much."

"You’re just killing time because you’re too pussy to do it yourself," Gaz said. "If you're so eager to get horse guts all over you, then go ahead. I’m not gonna stop you."

"I can't," Tak said simply and something about her face changed then, as if a shadow had passed through her features, shifting them ever so slightly. The hand holding the puntilla is shaking. "There's a small...very annoying, nagging part of me that just won't allow it. It's a part of me that just refuses to keep her privileged little mouth shut, so alas I must pass on my dirty work to someone else."

"That’s an excuse,"

"It’s the truth," Tak said. She sat down on her knees and slowly took Gaz’s hand into her own. She unfurled Gaz’s fingers—were they always in a fist?—and slipped the hilt of the blade into her palm. "Please, you’d be doing all of us a favor."

By ‘all of us’ you mean you, me, and the horse, right? Gaz wanted to say, but she couldn’t get the words out for some reason. She’s too transfixed by her reflection in the puntilla, her own stare wondering what all this hesitation was about.

"The pleasure is all mine, but the kill is all yours." Tak said as she undid the lock on Admiral’s stall and gestured with a wave of her long arm for Gaz to enter.

Gaz rolled her eyes. "Why don’t you get some popcorn while you’re at it?"

Gaz went inside, albeit slowly, knife brandished in both of her hands as she approached the creature, too brain dead to even know it was in danger. Admiral, hunched in on himself with his head low to the floor, is completely vulnerable, the silky darkness covering his spinal cord out in the open like he was anticipating this.

Gaz flinched as the door was shut, turning around to see Tak smiling in the distance as if she were avoiding the splash zone at a waterpark.

Gaz sneered. Weirdo bitch.

Gaz shook her head, approached Admiral as quietly as the rickety floor would allow, and steadied the knife over the expanse of dark black flesh that rolled out before her. Hand over hand, she’s only got one movement to perform to put this creature out of its misery.

Immediately collapse, that’s what Tak said.

Gaz squeezed her eyes shut out of sheer reflex, held the blade over her head, and—

Chapter Text

Hall of Calliope | Wednesday, September 5 | 4:27 P.M.

As always, Yuck was the last to leave his Pottery class. As the second-to-last bell of the day rang out, echoing faintly through the grand halls of the academy, Yuck couldn't help but feel a pit forming in his stomach.

Only a few hours from now, his assistance would be requested in the library, forced to spend his evening with his mortal enemy and now political rival Yin until they were excused for dinner.

And Yuck would eat alone, crouched beside a trash can instead of the comforts of the library's many wooden tables with some heap of nonsense on his tray, while Yin would eat among friends and colleagues she managed to acquire so alarmingly fast in so little time.

Yuck sniffed, wet clay clinging to his palms that he smeared across a nearby campaign poster—didn't matter who’s. The emptiness in his gut. Had to be hunger, of course.

Rounding the corner in search of the nearest vending machine, Yuck's worn boot made contact with a slippery, soft texture that crushed easily beneath his foot. He looked down to find a trail of pink rose petals that filled the hallway in curving lines. "What the...?"

He continued his journey, following the rose petals that littered the floor, up a short flight of stairs, the sound of excited shuffling growing louder as he approached the end of the trail. He groaned as he saw the display: a simple white table done up with pink accents, dangling hearts, and big roses pinned to a silky curtain that hung gently to the floor.

Above it is some sort of canopy, the words KISSING BOOTH printed in big, swirling letters. Sitting behind it with arms folded and a smile of nauseating satisfaction was Yin, chatting up a scrawny nobody who fidgeted nervously with the strap of his bag.

"S-so, if I vote for you, I get a kiss?" He stammered, already red in the face as Yin gently fluttered her lashes. 

"A bit of equal exchange," Yin said, tapping a finger to her lips—glossy and pink in the late sun. "It's like we’re sealing a deal."

The boy gave a pathetic little shiver, already leaning in. "I-I mean, if it’s for the good of the school."

Before they could even get close to locking lips, Yuck barked out a laugh. "Oh my gosh, you have got to be kidding me!"

"Yuck?" Yin said, and Yuck took immense pleasure in seeing her genuinely shocked, caught in the act. She wore shame well.

Yuck stepped through, the crowd parting as soon as a whiff of him could be sensed in the air. "Yin, Yin, Yin, of all the lows you've reached, this is rock bottom. You're cheek to cheek with the pits of hell, Woo Fool."

Yin glowered. The student before her, having read the situation, could only back away slowly for his own protection.

"It's just a little campaigning," Yin said, shrugging. "I can't help the fact that I managed to draw in such a big crowd. Attract more flies with honey and all that..." She paused for a moment, grin small and cocky. "Not that you have a problem attracting flies."

Yuck made a mental note of the few students who laughed.

Yuck put a hand to his chest, giving a fake little wince of pain. "Oooh, that cut real deep, Yinnie. I stink, is that the joke?"

"In more ways than one," Yin replied. "Now, could you please leave and go beat up kids for their lunch money or whatever it is you do?"

"Well, I just wanted to drop by and let your crowd of adoring fans know what kind of candidate they're getting mono from," Yuck began, letting the silence hang heavy between them as he turned to address the crowd. "I mean, how do you think Coop would feel if he heard about this?"

A few gasps were heard amongst the group. Two girls who had shared a tube of lipstick were discreetly blotting their mouths. A taller boy who undeniably fit Yin's definition of "hunky" choked on his breath spray.

Yin gave a nervous laugh. "C-Coop doesn’t even attend this school, you know that!"

"Long-distance relationship," Yuck said, shaking his head. The students ate up every gesture of mock concern. "She's still not over him. It's sad, really."

"Who’s Coop?" One student asked.

"I think I know a Coop," another said.

"No, that’s Conner," their friend corrected. "He’s probably talking about that one movie star."

Yin stood up abruptly, her face flushed as she struggled to explain, "Coop is my ex-boyfriend from my home universe. W-we haven’t been an item for months!"

"If by months you mean a week ago," Yuck said. "Seriously, breaking it off with him over the phone? Miles and miles away when you can’t even wipe his tears for him? That’s pretty cruel, Yin."

"That’s a lie," Yin said, barely maintaining her previous composure. "That’s a lie! He’s making this up!"

"Then in that case," Yuck said, eliciting a surprised sound out of Yin as he slammed his hands against the table. "You should absolutely have no problem kissing me."

Again, he mouthed as he leaned forward. Yin gave a smile as if she were actively biting back vomit.

"You're running against me, Yuck," Yin explained through clenched teeth. "You're not even allowed to vote."

"It's the principle, Yin. I'm proving your innocence."

Yin was taken aback by the statement yet maintained a mask of civility. Yuck could clearly see the anger in her eyes, the clenching of her fists as a single, shaking hand threatened to ignite in flames.

"Of course," she said, sitting back down and reaching into the bag slung over her chair. "No problem at all."

Much to Yuck’s surprise, she produced a tube of lip gloss and generously reapplied a line of artificial shine over her mouth. The smell was like a punch to his senses, as if he could taste, see, and feel his memories all at once. 

The overstimulation forced him to contain a shudder as the thoughts overwhelmed him all over again: the fake dating, his pitifully oblivious enemy, his newfound source of energy, his body becoming concrete in the confines of a mechanical exoskeleton, a single kiss sealing the deal when another hug or short tickle of the hand could have done just that.

Suddenly, he took into account the number of idiots Yin had managed to rope into her latest display, eyes on both of them in a hallway that was growing increasingly suffocating.

A shuddering breath escaped him, Yin humming in satisfaction as she pressed forward, his eyes on her mouth. She whispered, "Back out now and you won't make such a total ass of yourself."

"Could say the same to you," Yuck replied. "In a bit of a bind now, aren't we?"

Yin's big blue eyes bored intensely into his. "Fine," she said. "Pucker up, Yuck."

Yin leaned in, lips pouting and eyes fluttering closed. Yuck swallowed, realizing now he had to commit to the bit to prove not just to the potential voters, but to Yin that he was serious. Eyes all over and bearing deep, deep into his back, memorizing his movements, sensing his hesitation—What did they think this was?

Hatred? Disgust? Affection? 

Why did he care at all?

Why did the soft murmurs among an otherwise sterile silence gnaw so painfully at his psyche? Why did his ears grow stiff at the hum of recording cellphones?

He's physically trembling by the time Yin's lips near his. A single inch and they'd be pressed together, that taste on his tongue, that memory sparked...that is, until

"Ahem! Could all non-Woo Foo Knights please exit the hall?"

Ancient Proverb and Philosophy | 4:32 P.M

"Now I’m not even gonna entertain the thought that what I walked in on was something rational, so I want you two to do it for me." Master Yo said. He grabbed a ready cup of coffee from his personal machine and sat back down at his desk with a labored sigh. "Go on. I don’t have all day."

Yin lowered her gaze down to her shoes like she always did when she was scolded, conveniently hiding her scowl. Master Yo knew better than not to stare too long, as she’d turn the tables immediately, bat her eyelashes and pout in such a way that one’s decibels of anger were immediately adjusted. It worked just as well now as it did when she was eleven.

Yuck was avoiding his gaze entirely, arms grumpily folded across his chest as he impatiently tapped his foot. The tongue of his distressed boots flapped around like a panting puppygriff.

"Yin?" Master Yo prodded, his female pupil letting out an irritated puff of air from her nose.

"He started it," she said, only for Yuck to glare daggers in her direction. Well, he was already glaring daggers; now they were just airborne swords.

"Tell him, Yuck," Yin said. Her barred teeth are as much a brag about her perfect hygiene as they are a threat. "Tell him what you did."

Yuck fell silent for a moment, offering a sigh.

"Master Yo," he began slowly, his voice low. "I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but your beloved student is selling her body for a political advantage."

"Do you seriously wanna die again? ‘Cause I’ll do it." Yin retorted, or at least Master Yo assumed as much. He could barely hear over the sound of him choking on his swig of coffee.

"Okay, okay, let's start from the beginning." He said, setting his mug down and finally composing himself with a few coughs into his fist. "Yin, Yuck, you’re both in the running for student body president, and this whole thing has gone right to your heads."

"It’s just some strategizing," Yin said.

"You wouldn’t get it, old man," Yuck added.

Master Yo quirked a brow. "Strategizing? Does strategizing include slanderous posters? A kissing booth?"

"All means to an end," Yin replied.

"Foo help us if anyone else walked in on that mess," Master Yo said. "I knew I’d be the only one who could talk some sense into you two."

"No sense to talk," Yuck said. "I know plenty well what I'm doing. Maybe not pinky over here, but I couldn't care less about your 'advice'."

"I'm also doing just fine, Master Yo," Yin assured. "I mean, my early voting numbers do all the talking, really—"

"I’d just rather not watch the representatives of Woo Foo in this school make total jokes of themselves," Master Yo said. "You weren't invited here to inspire some stupid gossip!"

"Oh, don't act like you care now, old man!" Yuck scoffed. "You made it clear the first day we met that you had no interest in being my teacher, and I honestly prefer it stay that way. And now I'm being grouped up with the 'representatives of Woo Foo'? Give me a break!"

"Oh lookie at Level Five, still too good for a little basic discipline," Master Yo said. "I say you appreciate my patience while I’ve still got it."

"We’re working on your time? Sure, maybe you'll keel over in the next ten seconds, and I'll finally get a break from your stupid lectures!"

"You insufferable little jerk!" Yin said. "Master Yo, are you seriously going to let him talk to you like that?"

Master Yo curled his lip, taking a cleansing inhale. It's nothing but the aroma of tea and coffee and bamboo in this room, an environment that was damn near impossible to be stressed in. He lowered his voice, hands clasped on his desk. "Yuck, listen—"

"No, you listen: the truth is that I’m too good for you! For all of you!" Yuck said, fists balled angrily at his sides. "And judging by the absolute chumps you’ve raised with these two Woo Fools, I say I’m better off alone."

"I was on your side when you changed, y’know." Master Yo said simply. "Maybe Yin and Yang were too dense to see past their own paranoia, but I always knew you had that spark in you, Yuck."

"And I think you're still seeing sparks from that first ass beating, pops." Yuck turned on his heel, heading out the door. "Whatever, I'm out of here."

"Yuck—" Master Yo received a middle finger before Yuck exited the classroom, both him and Yin forced to stew in silence for a few long seconds.

"You're going easy on him," Yin muttered. "Typical..."

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, young lady?"

"Oh, quit it with the 'dad talk'!" Yin spat. "What is it you're telling Yuck that you can't share with your real students? The students you raised, in case you forgot."

Master Yo stared dully into his coffee, bitter and murky and floating with grains of pretzel salt. "I haven't the slightest clue what you're on about, Yin."

"What is this I hear about you contributing hidden Woo Foo knowledge to the library without telling me and Yang? I'm literally a library aid, and you didn't think to at least tell me?"

Master Yo rolled his eyes. "So Yuck blabbed, huh? I knew he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it. Oh well."

"Oh well, the effects of him even knowing they exist could be hell for all of us all over again," Yin said. "As much as I wanna assume Yuck was just bluffing, he said they were from the likes of ancient Woo Foo masters, practically the origins of Woo Foo itself, and you think it's okay to just tell him? You could have doomed us all!"

"Uh huh," he said, already growing exhausted from this conversation. He was long overdue for his post-bedtime nap. "And last I checked, Yuck is still a Level Five. Which makes him two levels higher of unchecked power that needs all the knowledge and discipline possible to grow naturally. At the rate Yuck is going, he won't listen to me unless I promise him something out of his reach."

"So you're using them as bait?" Yin said.

"More of an...educational tool. When, or even if, Yuck were to find the things without my help, he'd get so frustrated he'd come crawling back."

"Ah, I see," Yin said. Her voice is flat, unamused. "And I assume this is the part where he nearly beats you to death all over again."

"Not if he wants that Woo Foo knowledge he's after," Master Yo said. "If it makes you feel any better, only Woo Foo of a certain power level are capable of even accessing the texts themselves. To you and Yuck, they'd just look like blank printer paper."

And toilet paper to Yang, Master Yo added to himself.

"I was just under the impression that Woo Foo was a sacred art form that was meant to be preserved between...well, the three of us."

"And now there's more than three of us," Master Yo said. "Always has been, apparently."

"Not at first! Stop twisting my words!" Yin stopped herself, albeit only for a moment. Fingers to her temples, she recalled a breathing exercise he had taught her, something that always aided her in her meditation.

"Okay," she said, hands clasped together in front of her. "So maybe Yuck won't be able to read it without your help. Whatever, that's a good enough magic firewall. But you must know by now how Yuck is. He might have some trick up his sleeve that would allow him to access the knowledge of those scrolls, books, or whatever, and use them for something truly terrible. Eradicus and The Nightmaster may be out of the way, but the end of Woo Foo could still be happening right under our noses if we aren't careful."

"The end of Woo Foo by one of our own?" Master Yo said. "That's a new one."

Yin scoffed. "He is not one of us, you know that! The sooner you realize that, the better."

Yin headed towards the door, not flipping off her master as she made her exit, but her anger made it apparent she didn't need to.

The New Library of Alexandria, Main Floor | 6:39 P.M.

"Master Yo, could you be even a little bit useful right now? I could use a name, for starters..."

Yin narrowed her eyes as she read the spines of several books, each title and surname irrelevant, useless, almost mockingly so. Out of the ones she had observed by now, none of them radiated with a knowledge that screamed "Woo Foo".

Yin had seen her share of scrolls, of hefty encyclopedias, wisdom from the likes of Chai and Ti written into parchment to rice paper—she knew the language, could sense its presence, as any scholar should. And yet, hopelessly, she was at a loss.

Yin liked to think she had developed a sixth sense for sniffing it out, at first a cultural osmosis until she realized that Woo Foo was a clingy, almost tangible presence. Yin could feel it, taste it, touch it, her senses even more heightened after reaching Level Three, and yet she was receiving the equivalent of dead air in the depths of this tribute to the written word.

She had already prowled her share of shelves—the most existential of philosophy, the most sacred of magic, the most dynamic of martial arts, the endless depths of history, the ancient tongues of linguistics—to find absolutely no results. Nothing pertaining to her research, at least. 

To be honest, Yin wasn’t entirely sure if these ancient scrolls were scrolls at all, it was just a common facet of Woo Foo tradition to preserve their legacy this way. These supposed “scrolls” could just as easily be a long-forgotten history book filled with centuries of knowledge. Perhaps they were once scrolls that had been passed down for generations to be soon compiled into a single volume for the sake of convenience.

The possibilities were endless, and she had yet to consider if the knowledge existed in the first place and was yet another elaborate ruse to teach her a lesson about humility or whatever. 

Yin smothered an irritated scream into her palms, curling into herself on the floor with knees to her chest, her days as a diligent Woo Foo practitioner made a mockery of in so little time. 

Master Yo's words echoed in her head, already feeling bad that she had snapped at him. Perhaps there was a small part of her that prided in being a proper representative of Woo Foo at the academy.

After all, it was but the five of them, counting Master Yo, who had to make a name for such a sacred form of martial arts and magic whose extinction was narrowly avoided. It was Woo Foo that prevented an apocalypse from being heaped upon her world, and it was that victory that made her and her loved ones' skills universally recognized. 

This education, this luxury, it wasn't something she could squander. And yet...

"Dammit, dammit, dammit, where is it?" Yin whispered harshly, bolting back up to her standing position as she paced the shelf for biology—one of her more out there predictions, but worth a shot regardless.

Even if guilt was slowly worming its way into her system, she was still much too stubborn and irritated to consult Master Yo.

After defiantly storming out of his classroom, quite literally turning her back on her master, she had no choice but to stick by her personal journey of finding the knowledge herself. And the look on his face when she finally found it, when she proved his little tricks were no match for her intellect, it would all be worth it.

Yin's short journey soon led her to the neglected cart of returned books waiting patiently to be restocked. Ms. Rivera, a little way off from her, was too occupied helping students to properly scold her for her incompetence. 

Yin narrowed her eyes, an idea that should have been obvious crossing her mind. She took a step forward, clearing her throat. "Uh, Ms. River—"

"She won't tell you, I've asked." Yuck's voice broke through her thoughts with all the pleasantness of an airborne disease.

Yin glared over her shoulder, only for Yuck to shrug.

"Just letting you know before you, as you would put it, 'make a total ass of yourself'," he said, gesturing at Ms. Rivera with a cock of his chin. "You think her and the old man are in cahoots?"

Balanced on a ladder, a couple of misplaced geography books tucked under his arm, Yuck looks annoyingly productive this evening. He doesn't even look angry anymore, as if their previous interactions had drained all the energy he had to spare for the day. Now, all that's left behind is a lackadaisical arrogance that was somehow even more agitating, as if Yuck knew something she didn't.

Now it's Yin who's fuming, Yin who has a temper, Yin who is the aggressive half.

"Psh, no way!" Yin said, before stopping to genuinely consider the possibility.

She could only assume Ms. Rivera got something out of staying tight-lipped about the whole thing, and, knowing Master Yo, the avenues he'd take to keep a secret under wraps often extended to recruiting outside parties.

Ms. Rivera was an excellent choice of confidante: intelligent, patient, so nice that pressing her for answers made you out to be the bad guy. No, Yin wouldn't pressure Ms. Rivera about the Woo Foo texts; it was beneath her.

But, it didn't mean it didn't make Yin any less irritated.

After all, Yin was usually the one in the loop about these things. It was often Yang who was the lone straggler, forced to piece together the whole operation while her and Master Yo were in on some sort of grand inside joke. 

Yin wasn't allowed to simply not know; she simply knew. Because she was smart, vigilant, and heroic...right?

"Looking a little antsy today," Yuck said, his voice close as he crept up behind her. Yin hated herself for flinching, turning to face him and meet his amused expression. "Ya catch something nasty back at that brothel you were hosting?"

"I would have if I had let you kiss me," Yin said, a chip in her armor upon acknowledging the close call from earlier. She could do nothing but suppress the memory, forget the pain of it all, that ache of nostalgia warping her thoughts into a picture-perfect romance. The bile, the manipulation, the hatred it inspired—it was the thing keeping her anchored to reality, drowning the butterflies in her stomach with bleach.

Yuck rolled his eyes. "We have before, and yet you're still standing," he said, tapping a finger to his lips. "I'm sorry, I would have kissed you to death if I knew you were into that sort of thing."

Yin gave a fake little laugh, hoping Yuck didn't notice the way his words inspired a hint of blush in her cheeks. "You know, when I find those Woo Foo texts you're so obsessed with, I'm gonna find the spell that'll finally shut you up forever. Give everyone some peace and quiet...and a break from your onion breath."

Yuck grinned, seeming amused by the prospect of a challenge. "Oh, looking to beat me at this little pissing contest, huh?"

"'Pissing contest'? You make everything sound so disgusting," she said, grimacing. "It'll give me peace of mind to know they're in the right hands."

"Oh yeah, of course. The Woo Foo texts, this whole election business, you deserve it all just because you asked for it, don't you?"

"I'm not entitled to anything, Yuck, but I do have better intentions than you'll ever have."

"Ah, of course, this isn't about ego stroking, about being popular, about being the center of attention—Damn, aren't I the idiot?"

"Yes, you—" Yuck raised a finger.

"Not finished yet," he said. "Point is, for someone whose always on about how smart and pure and dignified they are, you've got a bottomless appetite for approval."

"You really think I'm that insecure? That I'm just...doing all of this not to protect the school but to make myself feel good?"

"I know you are," Yuck said plainly. "You need people to adore you or you’ll go crazy. You think winning this stupid election or finding that book, or whatever the hell it is, is gonna let the whole school and Master Yo know just how hard you’ve worked to be liked. Everyone has to know what a good girl you are, don’t they? Or you’ll force them to."

Yin glowered at him in silence, taking a deep, calming breath that didn't cease the rapid pounding of her angry heartbeat. "I...am protecting people," she began slowly. "Like I always have. And if finding those texts or becoming the student body president helps me with that...then I can't just pass that up."

"And what do you think’s gonna happen if you get any of those things, Yin? That maybe you’ll become as strong as me, better than me?" He stopped to laugh, an ugly, nasally chortle. "I'm afraid there's no secret formula to this one, honey bunny. You'll just have to live with the fact you'll always be playing catch-up."

"This isn't about strength," Yin replied, finally directing her attention back to the cart. She picked up a philosophy book about effective communication and frowned. "This is about keeping everyone safe from what you could do with that kind of information and power. It needs to be in the possession of someone trustworthy."

Yuck curled his lip. "Like you?"

"Like literally anyone else but you," Yin said. "Besides, you're one to talk about strength. For someone who can't even summon their aura, you're annoyingly cocky about whatever magic tricks you can pull off." 

Yin took considerable enjoyment in watching Yuck's grin deflate.

"That's why you want the texts, isn't it?" she added. "You couldn't do it yourself, so now you're looking for shortcuts. Not exactly what I'd call Level Five behavior."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Like it matters," he said, no less defensive. "I deserve them because I put in the work. Even your stupid master knows that."

"Oh, put in the work, did you?" Yin said. She put a finger to her chin, humming to herself. "Hmmm, let's see: you were created from two already Level One Woo Foo knights, getting destroyed by those same two knights who are so much weaker than you are, only to cheat your way up to the top by inhaling a bunch of destroyed Fooplicates for a quick power boost. You're not a hard worker, Yuck. You're hardly even a warrior. You're a homunculus on steroids who got lucky."

"Psh, lucky? Lucky? That's the word that comes to mind when you think of me? Lucky?"

"And that's not even going into your terrible leadership skills," Yin said. "I mean, the Fooplicates, that crown nonsense. You gain power and lose it just as quickly. Who's to say it won't happen again?"

Yuck narrowed his eyes. "I don't know, I'd like to see for myself. And when it finally happens, I...I'll..."

Though he lost his train of thought, there's a familiar anger bubbling to the surface in the pregnant silence, but not enough to fight her outright. Yuck could only stare down at his hands, flexing them methodically as if the motion calmed his nerves.

Yin cocked her head, prompting him to react at all.

He had to be exercising an impressive amount of self-control not to set the entire east wing of the academy on fire in a fit of rage, and Yin was honestly surprised he hadn't already. After all, that would at least be grounds for expulsion, finally getting him out of her hair for the rest of the school year.

But Yuck doesn't do that. Instead, books under his arm, he makes a beeline for the geography shelf hidden deep within the library, muttering under his breath.

Yin watched as he stalked away, throwing in a condescending wave glimpsed from his peripheral vision. She looked to the overhead clock then got to work, left not to stew in her violent anger but rather a much more hollow, quiet disappointment.

Chapter Text

Music History and Theory | Thursday, September 6 | 8:55 A.M.

"Hard at work, are we?" Django said as he took his, now, more or less, official seat next to Frida in Music History and Theory. "The grind never stops with you."

"I have literally never heard those words used to describe me," Frida said between the cap clenched in her teeth, her nose deep into her notebook. "Gonna take some getting used to."

"I’ve seen you writing in that thing for the past couple of days," Django said. "Are you working on something?"

"Working, yes. Finishing, probably never," Frida bookmarked her most recent rough draft with the clasp of her pen before shutting the notebook closed. "I haven’t been able to finish anything in months. Screw writer’s block, this is a writer’s tumor."

Django nodded. "And I can’t imagine a place like this gives you much inspiration."

"Exactly! I just really wanna get back to Miracle City with some new material. Me and The Atomic Sombreros have exhausted our entire catalog, and if I don’t come up with some new songs before May, especially after our hiatus, our rockstar dreams will be over before summer even starts!"

"So it is a songbook," Django said. "Singer, songwriter, and musician—talk about a triple threat."

Frida could feel her cheeks growing warm, twirling her hair in a sudden display of coyness. "Oh, stop it!"

"May I see it? Maybe I could give you some pointers."

Frida froze. "Uh…"

"Come on, I'm not that harsh of a critic," Django extended his hand, and for some reason, Frida felt like she couldn't refuse.

"Alright," she murmured as she grabbed the notebook, cautiously handing it to him. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Django took a few silent minutes to read over the contents of many of the pages, squinting and nodding. She didn't even notice she was holding her breath until Django said something.

"Hm, I am sensing some similar theming," Django said. "Longing, aimless, more emotional stuff than what you’re used to doing, right?"

"Uh...you could say that."

"Now it's this that's really got my attention," he said, pointing at one of the more recent pages, not even halfway done and crowded with pen scribbles and doodles.

Knocking on death’s door

Told the skeleton in my closet it’s never been this bad before

I’d talk to myself but I’m a bad listener

Maybe because I can’t connect to another person

Frida took a deep exhale, fingers nervously tapping along her knees. "Y-yeah, that's my most recent project," she said. "What do you think? Super emo, right?"

"I think you've seriously got something here, Suárez," Django said, red eyes scanning over the page. It was but a few lines; Frida wasn't even sure if it would be a first or second verse—maybe a bridge?—but the point was, it was words on paper that didn't meet the same fate as being discarded into a nearby trash can or furiously scribbled out of existence. No, unlike everything else, this had potential! And it wasn't the same, sappy, sentimental crap she'd been churning out lately. 

Maybe this was the angle she should have been exploring after all: raw, emotional, visceral, and deep. 

That part was so unlike her, but Django seemed to think this was a step in the right direction. It would take some adjusting, but Frida wasn't thirteen anymore. She had to experiment, prove that this rockstar thing was something she was serious about.

"Really? Thanks!" Frida said. "It's just that I’ve never written anything like this, and it's not exactly something that screams ‘hit new single’."

"It doesn’t have to be," Django said, as the final bell rang. "But, if you insist, let's just call it a B-side. And I really liked the other stuff too. I mean, 'Survivor's Guilt'? That's a hell of a title."

"You’re bluffing. Most of these are barely a verse long..." Frida said, fully meeting his gaze. "But, is that seriously what you think?"

"I think you're undergoing an important transition creatively. The dates between them all and the subtleties are all I need to notice a pattern," Django shut the notebook closed and passed it back to Frida. "If anything, you don’t have writer’s block, you’re just scared to write the song your heart wants you to write."

Frida gave a nervous laugh. "M-my heart? My heart doesn’t want anything," she said, the statement coming out much more coldly than she intended. She nearly scared herself.

In fact, Frida wanted plenty of things: fame, fortune, a beach house in the Bahamas, a safe full of churros, autographed platinum records, some new combat boots, and a badass leather jacket for starters.

But perhaps that wasn’t what Django was talking about. No, he was referring to Frida’s deepest desires, a want that outweighed all the churros in the world. A desire so strong that perhaps not even she knew what it was yet, or maybe her subconscious simply wouldn’t allow her to.

"I can sense your hesitation in all of your writing. You’re scared of yourself and what you can do. Unless you really do want to write songs making fun of your best friend for the rest of your life."

The silence that hung between them was heavy. Suddenly, as if he were releasing the air back into the room, he shrugged. "But what do I know? I’m literally heartless."

"Yeah, besides, diss tracks are so last week," Frida said, giving a nervous laugh. "You, uh, might have a point with that whole being scared of myself thing. Like that 'untapped potential' stuff my dad's always going on about."

"Yeah, something like that," Django said. "I think it just means that you're seeing this even more as a career than you do a hobby. You're taking things seriously, but that doesn't mean you have to cut the fun part out of the equation. Because, Frida, you're fun. Your music is fun."

"Yeah," Frida replied, nodding. "I'm fun! Even this—" Frida jabbed a finger under the lyrics. "—is fun!"

"Hell yes!"

The signature slamming of a ruler against the maple wood podium signaled the beginning of class, forcing Frida and Django's conversation to be cut short. Frida was entirely uninterested in today's droning monologue about the differences between baroque, classical, and romantic, her mind wandering off elsewhere as she considered what Django had said to her. 

Django, a fellow musician, seemed to see the merit in even her roughest concepts. It was nice, actually, to know someone saw something in her work that went beyond the party jams. And it wasn't that Frida didn't love to rile up the crowd, to see that excitement sweep over the crowd as she inspired mosh pits and property damage with the sheer power of her voice. 

But, maybe, there were some other reactions she was craving—could she look upon a crowd of swaying lighters and teary-eyed fans the same way she could a chaotic party? Maybe she could.

Frida stole a glance at Django, who seemed to be actually paying attention, hoping he hadn't noticed her in his periphery.

And yet, the real question at play here still weighed on her: Why exactly would Django care about her artistic endeavors when he should have been plotting her demise? Even if he was playing the long game, there was nothing Frida could offer beyond being the victim of yet another hostage situation. His grandmother was awfully direct about these things, Frida's special cell probably being occupied by some other poor sap now that she was away, but maybe Django had a different approach, was playing the long game.

The idea was gnawing at her thoughts, a nervous fidgeting of her fingers as he chewed her bottom lip.

Should she tell, Manny? But tell him what, exactly? That Django liked her music, that he was apparently a fan of it? Or should she say how he had read her songbook and seen all the great art she was perfectly capable of making?

She was so distracted that the sound of the bell for the next period starting made her jump, collecting her things as she watched Django take his leave.

Frida took a deep breath through her nose and couldn't help but carry her feet over to Django's correction, half-walking, half-jogging until she could tap his shoulder bone. Django turned to face her, his skull immediately breaking into a small smile. "Oh, hey,"

"I, uh, just wanted to say thanks for that little pep talk back there," Frida said. "I don't have that many people I can talk to about this stuff, especially since my band didn't quite make the cut for being here."

"Oh," Django said, genuinely surprised. "You don't talk about your songwriting with Manny?"

"Of course I do! S-sometimes...not all the time..." Frida suddenly grew sheepish, a strand of blue hair nervously twiddled. "I dunno, he always likes my stuff, but I never felt like he really...gets it, y'know?"

Django chuckled. "Man, that's pretty harsh. Not intellectual equals, are we? Is he not a patron of the arts? A real-life philistine?"

"No, it's not like that! And he's definitely not whatever that fancy word is, either!" Frida said. "It's more like...I'm insecure. Like, I used to share my songs a lot more back in the day with my band and Manny, when I was just starting out and didn't put much thought into it, but now, it's like every single word is suddenly super important. And, at that point, it feels like I'm sharing a diary, not lyrics."

"Even with your best friend?"

"Even with my best friend,"

"Then what does that make me?"

Frida grew stiff, as if Django's question had grown thorns and pricked her. "I...I haven't decided yet."

"I'd like to think we've done quite a few icebreakers by now," Django said. "So why do you always seem so nervous around me? I'm not that scary, right?"

"Are you seriously—?" Frida stopped herself, hands on her hips as she met Django's playful expression with a knowing smirk. "Ah, I see what you're doing. And I am not gonna fall for it."

"Falling for what?"

"For this little act you're putting on!" Frida said. "Look, I know this should probably be between you and Manny, but aren’t you like, super peeved about him making the whole Tournament of Power thing blow up in your face…literally? Like, you and Sarantna literally died…kind of." Frida struggled to find the word. "Blew up," she said firmly. "You blew up."

Django was silent for a moment before shaking his head. "Ohhhh, that whole thing. Ugh, this old noggin of mine! It's like I said, water under the bridge."

"Lava in a volcano," Frida replied.

Django laughed. "Oh yeah, of course!"

"But you're shrugging this whole thing off like it was nothing! As if your big master plan didn't totally get foiled at the last minute when you had everyone else on the ropes. You should be after having Manny's head on a spike. Hell, you should hate me too! I was there!" Frida said, then thought for a moment. "Well, I didn't really do anything, I usually don't, but I'm still Manny's friend! So..."

Django chuckled. "So, what?"

"So you should still be trying to turn me into barbecue!"

"You said it yourself, you didn't do anything. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when things got ugly," Django shrugged, as if the situation were just that simple. "That was a whole two years ago. I've gotten over it, but obviously, you two haven't." Django folded his arms, cocking his head. "Geez, was it really that traumatic? Maybe I'll host the Tournament of Rainbows and Kittens next time."

"Listen, it wasn't more or less traumatic than the other stuff we've dealt with," Frida said. "I mean, the whole losing a hand part was kinda messed up, but he had a spare at home so—"

"So?"

Frida pursed her lips, scratching the back of her head. "So, it's cool. I guess. Whatever, dude."

"You're right," Django agreed. "It's 'whatever'."

"It's 'whatever'," Frida repeated. "I, uh, better get going. Or not, I freaking hate Sewing Circle."

"And I freaking hate Botany," Django replied. He then leaned in, nudging his elbow into Frida's. "Y'know we could always—"

Frida smirked, making her way down the hall. "Slow your roll, cowboy. We've still got a few conversations left until we can even think about skipping class together. Besides, I can't cancel bailing on Yearbook with Manny again."

Django folded his arms, expression smug. "How many more conversations, then?"

Frida thought for a moment. "Four, maybe five."

"Alright," Django said. "I'll be counting."

The New Library of Alexandria, Main Floor | 4:32 P.M.

"...and I'd say that's about it as far as bizarre occurrences go," Dib said. "I've been able to find some of the books Tak has checked out and gave them a good once-over. Nothing about it seems particularly evil, but the fact that she's showing interest at all, especially in topics of evolution and philosophy, rubs me the wrong way. But still, none of it gives me real leads on her plan."

"And this is still about your school's election, right?" Agent Darkbootie said.

"Yes," Dib said. "Something about this whole thing, it just reeks of ill intent! Listen, I know I can't put a finger on it yet, but give it a couple of days, and that could all change! I'm just worried it might be too late when I do."

"Very well," Darkbootie said. "And as for the rest of your homeroom?"

"Aside from the obvious outliers, I wouldn't register any of the non-human students I've come across as paranormal by any chance, just creatures of different realities where they're the dominant species. As much as I've been wanting to run some diagnostics on my homeroom, it...well, it—"

"Went about as poorly as every other time, I assume." Agent Nessie said.

"Even worse than when you did it at Skool?" Agent Darkbootie added.

"No, no! It never got that bad. I made it all the way through August without a single lawsuit to worry about...yet," Dib said. "But I do think this school is meeting me halfway in terms of my inductive research." 

Dib gestured behind him. "Take this library for example: right now I’m within the resurrected Library of Alexandria, quite literally the biggest archive of information in the known multiverse," Dib said. "If there's anything I could possibly need to know, it's right here. But, of course, that doesn't discount my findings among the student population. Observing from afar has always been my style, anyway."

"What impressive intel! We do appreciate your on-the-scene investigating, Agent Mothman." Agent Darkbootie said, and Dib couldn’t help but swell with pride. "We've actually been in the midst of doing our own research while you’ve been away, a bit of digging around that may help us untangle this mess we call a 'multiverse'."

"Seems...introspective," was all Dib could muster. 

Frankly, his time in the Zimvoid was all the exposure he needed to the multiverse thing. Still, alas, Zim insisted once again on dragging Dib into an increasingly more complicated definition of what it truly meant to exist. The topic itself was hardly paranormal, just a branch of metaphysics which the Swollen Eyeball was simply compelled to care about now because of the Florpus. It wasn't so much a lesson learned about the complexity of different realities, but a lesson forced about the existential dread of a fragile, fragmented reality.

"I know it may seem anticlimactic given the current state of the multiverse, the fact we even know one exists has but seeped into the backgrounds of our everyday lives," Darkbootie continued. "But we at the Swollen Eyeball know there is so much more to understand about this new normal we've grown to accept."

Agent Tunaghost shifted in her chair in a sudden fit of excitement. "There has been some fascinating research specifically dabbling into alternate realities, extensions of our own dimensions that tackle every single conceivable alternate path we could have taken in our lives."

Agent Disembodied Head audibly groaned. He already seemed disengaged with the conversation, urgent to move things along to literally any other topic.

"But isn't trying to meet an alternate version of yourself the first thing you should never do? What about the space-time continuum? Verisimilitude? Horrors beyond our comprehension? If we deliberately seek out our other selves, it's only asking for disaster," he said. "Am I the only one here who has read a sci-fi novel in the past decade?"

Agent Tunaghost shook her head. "Then maybe you should get your head out of fiction and read something a little more tangible to our current reality," she said, if rather proudly. "May I humbly recommend The Paradox Clause?"

"The what?" Dib asked.

"I'm subscribed to the Membrane Labs Book Club. For research purposes, of course." Tunaghost said sheepishly. "But as I was saying, it's a collection of essays and studies from researchers, scientists, and supposed 'experts' on the topic of multiverse travel. And with the Membrane Labs stamp of approval, it's guaranteed to be a hard, cold scientific fact."

Agent Nessie nodded in agreement. "I hate to admit it, but Tunaghost is right. If we wish to pursue the paranormal, we must redefine what that truly means. And I think viewing it through an outsider's perspective, no matter how contemporary, could be just the grounds we need to pursue our understanding of this new reality...or realities, I suppose."

"Which is not what the Swollen Eyeball even stands for," Agent Disembodied Head replied, fists slamming into his desk. "But...fine, if it's ever so pertinent to our research, what does this book have to say?"

Tunaghost grabbed her copy and skimmed to a bookmarked page.

"Okay, so the essay 'The Multiverse Pecking Order' goes into the concepts of Quadrants. It's the theory that while a number of universes exist and are spread widely amongst themselves, many of them are often paired off into their personal pockets of the multiverse, having always bumped shoulders with one another through a million threads of thick, thick reality-bending cloth," she said. "Some of these Quadrants may be higher on the hypothetical food chain than others, as if the Quadrant you reside in determines the relevance of your universe. Almost like the finality of it all."

"So it’s saying that certain universes and their Quadrants hold more sway than others?" Dib said. "Like the government or something?"

"I suppose," Tunaghost said, shrugging. "Listen, all this stuff is just observations. It could be wrong, it could be right."

And if my dad is peddling it hard enough to add it to his book club... Dib thought, realizing he had been oblivious to this book's existence until now.

"Well, I guess it's at least worth a look," Dib said. "Maybe I can find a copy around here somewhere, see for myself."

Dib considered for a moment the possibility of his father struggling to find the science in all of this. After all, he had gladly shrugged off the events of the Florpus as some sort of elaborate nightmare, either completely oblivious of the absurdity and reality-ending chaos that was unfolding, or using the excuse as a flimsy coping mechanism.

There was a lot of comfort to be found in denial.

Why else would he use all of his resources at Membrane Labs to launch this research? Why else would he invest so heavily into this school? 

A part of Dib was starting to wonder if he and his father were both struggling to make sense of this whole thing—finally, a mutual struggle they could find the answers to together, or that perhaps his father was secretly spiraling into madness from the weight of it all. 

As much as science was supposed to have all the answers, what happened when all the equations and calculations in the world couldn't make sense of any of it? Even Dib, in all his paranormal research, felt like he was out of his depth with this particular discovery. 

He would still report his findings to The Swollen Eyeball, of course, and yet, for every little thing Dib learned, he felt there were a million other pieces he would never hope to find.

"How have things been back on Earth?" Dib asked. "Anything I should know about?"

Agent Darkbootie scratched the back of his head. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call it paranormal, but there has been a certain influx of activity going on lately. A bit too bizarre for me to dismiss it completely."

Dib raised an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"Uhhh," Agent Tunaghost said, seeming equally dubious. "Listen, and please hear me out on this, but I think I can recognize pseudo-religious activity from a mile away. Just saying."

"Oh, here she goes again with this 'religious cult' blabber," Agent Disembodied Head said. "I really don't think it's anything that serious."

"Oh, come on! You saw the habits, the weird chanting when they surrounded the local church. Granted, they aren't like habits I've seen before," Agent Tunaghost continued. "They were almost like a mosaic, still black but...more sparkly in the sunlight. And, now that I think about it, I recognized some Spanish words thrown in there when they were talking with strangers. I dunno, I wasn't close enough to pick up much of it."

"That Catholic upbringing of yours is starting to show itself again," Agent Nessie said.

"Which makes me all the more qualified to report on what I saw! Besides, I only own a rosary for the aesthetics." 

"Nuns, huh? They could just be passing through from another town, but, with all that's going on, you can never be too sure," Dib said, nodding. "Now that I think about it, there has been a lot of commotion made about this school in particular. Theorists, mostly, like people who saw the academy as some sort of ode to the multiverse or whatever. But nuns? That's new territory." 

Dib swears he can see Tunaghost smirk. "Ha! See, even Wolfman knows where I'm coming from."

"I would appreciate some more developments if you hear anything substantial," Dib said, peering up at the clock above him. "Free Period's about to end soon. Wolfman, out!"

Dib shut his laptop before slipping it into his bag. He stepped away from the table and immediately headed to the dark depths of the library's towering shelves.

"Let's see here," Dib murmured, scanning over the science section. "The Paradox Clause, The Paradox Clause...Ah, here it is!"

Dib grabbed the copy, the cover presenting the image of a human brain divided into several compartments, time gears in some, patches of the galaxy in the other, and a red ribbon tying it all together. He flipped through the first few pages, a quote catching his attention:

“I suppose therefore that all things I see are illusions; I believe that nothing has ever existed of everything my lying memory tells me. I think I have no senses. I believe that body, shape, extension, motion, location are functions. What is there then that can be taken as true? Perhaps only this one thing, that nothing at all is certain.”― René Descartes

"So we meet again, Descartes," Dib said, tucking the book under his arm. "You're awfully popular lately."

Right before he was about to find a librarian to check it out, he noticed someone familiar in his periphery. He stopped, looking down at his classmate hunched on the floor.

"Yin?"

Yin's ears twitched at the sound of her name, raising her head and blinking her bright blue eyes a few times as if adjusting her vision. She rubbed at them with two tired fists, rising from her crouched position to greet him properly.

"Oh, hi Dib," she said. "Didn't think I'd see you here."

"I had a meeting of sorts," Dib said. "Needed some privacy."

"No better place than the library for that," Yin said, stifling a yawn.

"Are you doing your shift as a library aid right now?" Dib asked.

"What? No, no, I don't come back until Saturday," she said. "I've just been, uh, researching."

"You definitely seem to have your hands full with that," His gaze settled on the books at her feet. Others were piled up high on the table opposite her, a few nearby chairs supporting the weight of several thick volumes. "Big test coming up?"

"No, nothing like that," Yin said, only half paying attention.

Dib shifted nervously from foot to foot, as if the sense of urgency and exhaustion Yin was feeling was permeating the air. It was obvious she had been at this for a long while, signs of exhaustion evident in her poor posture and furrowed brow. Did she have any plans to leave for the next class? To sleep?

This was still Dib's hopeful candidate for the student election, right?  "Um, Yin—"

Yin was crouched down again, knees bent as she grabbed a book and placed it in her lap. She turned it to a random page and skimmed its contents. "Hmmm, alchemy is a type of magic, right? Granted, it's nothing I'm familiar with..."

Dib couldn't tell anymore if she was talking to her or to herself, but he answered regardless. "I like to think they're in the same ballpark," he said. "I guess I wouldn't know all the specifics."

Dib looked around again at the abandoned books, their titles and topics so varied that he could barely put a finger on what Yin could be obsessing over. Was any of this pertaining to the election? And, if that wasn't the case, why not? 

He cleared his throat. "What exactly are you looking for? Maybe I could help."

"It's just this book or scrolls that my master donated to the library, and I've been driving myself crazy trying to find them before...." Yin stopped to sigh, setting a book aside to join another nearby pile. "....well, before something bad happens to them."

"Your master? That panda, right?"

"Yes," Yin said. "And since we kinda had an argument, I don't feel comfortable pressing him about where they are." 

Another book was already in her hands. "I've been tearing this library apart to see if it's been hiding in plain sight. Like, maybe it's right under my nose, and I'm just too stupid to notice it."

Dib shook his head. "I'd hardly describe you as stupid," he replied. He'd play along for a moment, steer the topic away from this book thing when the moment struck. "Sooo, is this some sort of Woo Foo grimoire?"

"I’d like to think so…" Yin said. "Though there's plenty of those to go around: none of them Woo Foo, all of them useless."

Yin waved her hand, a glowing aura of turquoise magic enveloping it and the books that soon enough rose into the air, slotting back into their original positions. "I don't get it," she sighed in defeat. "I just don't get it."

"Maybe you should get your mind off of it," Dib said, seizing the opportunity. If Yin insisted on keeping him out of the loop about her election plans, the least he could do was keep her focused. "You know, that election is gonna be here before you know it. Maybe you could, I dunno, brush up on your speech. Put up some more posters." Slander Zim to the masses to ensure his defeat? You've got this, Yin, I just know it—

Yin snapped her fingers, her eyes lighting up.

"Hold on, you might be right," she said. "This whole thing is just bait to steer my attention away from the election! I-I still have so much to do, and Master Yo, ugh, of course he wouldn't see the value of me winning something that's clearly important to me! Wait, does that mean he wants Yuck to win? Zim? What lesson could I possibly learn from that?"

"He seems like a neutral party to me," Dib said. "I don't even think teachers can vote. And, if they could, I'm sure you'd be their first option. I mean, you are a star student." 

Yin finally met his eyes again, a small but strained smile on her face.

"Thanks for such a reassuring hypothetical. And, yeah, I kinda am," she said, shrugging. "But, maybe you've got a point, I need to put this whole sacred Woo Foo knowledge stuff on the back burner and just focus on my campaign. Ugh, who knows what those two could be up to while I'm cooped up in here? The debate is next week. I haven't even decided on the color of notecards."

"May I suggest pink?"

"But should it be rose gold or cherry blossom? These things matter."

"Rose gold, more professional," Dib said. "But, you're right, there are far more pressing matters here besides some dumb book. Like stopping Zim from winning this thing, y'know? I think we can both agree on that."

Yin nodded. "Yeah, I can,"

"So, if you're still up for it, I may have some talking points that should aid you in the debate," Dib said. "I know the campaigning circuit has almost run its course, so your primary focus will rely on what you say on that podium. You've got all the dirt you need on Yuck, but for Zim—"

"He's an evil alien hellbent on destroying your version of Earth," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't think I need to know much more than that."

"Well, there are some technical details I think are worth pointing out—"

"Doesn't get more technical than that," Yin said. "I'm here against a panel of villains—proud, self-described villains. And if the academy truly knows what they're in for with those two, then I should have nothing to worry about...right?"

"Right," Dib said, nodding stiffly. "In any other situation, I'd also be running against you, but Tak seems determined to stop me for whatever reason."

"I'll admit, you would have been a decent opponent," Yin said. "But I don't think Tak would enforce that rule if she didn't think it was fair. You are Dib Membrane after all, kinda makes you a big deal no matter what role you have in the school. And besides..." 

Yin's expression softened. "Tak is stern, but fair. She obviously knows what she's doing, like, all the time. I seriously envy how she just seems so sure of herself. I mean, look at me, I'm a mess."

Dib blinked. "Really? That's what you think of her?"

"Of course! She's a freshman like us, but she seems so prepared for her future, like she really knows exactly what she wants out of life. And she's been such a huge help to me through this whole thing; she must see something I don't."

Dib stood in silence for a moment, his tone growing serious. "Helped you? I think you might want to tread carefully on that advice, Yin."

Yin's smile faded, her eyes narrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, she's not who you think she is," Dib said. "Because, unlike Zim, she knows a thing or two about playing a part, at least until it stops being convenient." 

"Ugh, here you go pulling this alien narrative! Listen, even if she were from a different planet, do you really think I'd care about that sort of thing?"

"I think you'd care if you knew she was in a disguise and this isn't the first time she's done this," Dib said. "There's green skin and an antenna hidden under all that makeup. Just a heads up."

Yin thought for a moment, as if mulling over the statement. "Well...maybe she has her reasons. Regardless, she definitely seems to have some high hopes for my campaign, for me..."

"I thought she liked me, too. Hell, even Zim thought Tak liked him once," Dib said. "Tak is a scheming, ruthless manipulator who's probably only talking to you in hopes of getting something out of it. Don’t fall for it the way I did."

"Oh, you boys always misinterpret a girl's real intentions! You sound like my ex, or at least two of them."

"This isn't some petty high school drama, Yin! This is more like a...like a...psychological thriller! Maybe a pinch of cosmic horror while we're at it," Dib said, realizing how ridiculous he must have sounded. "The point is, you can't go letting her mess with your head. Irkens can be cunning, I've witnessed it firsthand. You drop your guard for one second, and it'll be too late for you to bounce back."

Yin groaned. "It's always Irken this, Irken that. You do realize how that makes you sound, right?"

"It makes me sound sane," Dib said. "Which I thought you were, Yin. And here you are, falling for the oldest trick in the book because Tak called you pretty or something."

Yin took a step forward, forcing Dib to stumble backwards. "Okay, so it's impossible for someone to just like me for me? That someone can't just genuinely have a crush on me and not see me as a pawn in some bigger scheme? Is that what you're implying, Dib?"

Dib took another step back, realizing he had struck a nerve. "N-no, of course not! You know that's not what I meant."

"And if I was being used, what could she possibly want out of me? I have nothing to offer that she doesn't already have."

"Well, you are an incredibly powerful sorceress linked to a form of mystical martial arts which, by the looks of it, is filled to the brim with centuries of sacred knowledge," Dib said. "And if I were a conniving sociopath, I’d probably look into it for my own nefarious goals."

"You’re being ridiculous," Yin said. Suddenly, her head hung low, staring down at her shoes as she muttered. "It feels like Tak is the only one supporting me here, and I won't let your paranoia get in the way of it."

Dib was prepared to leave, but stopped himself, realizing that, even if Yin didn't agree with him, this was still one of the most rational, grounded conversations he's had with someone his own age in a long while. 

He took a calming breath.

"Yin, listen," he said. "You don't have to agree with me, but the things I've seen, the feats that Zim and Tak have managed, it blows my mind to this day. You wouldn't believe the kind of stuff I've been through because of them. It's mostly been Zim up to this point, but what Tak's capable of, that terrifies me on a whole other level. And, right now, I just need someone on my side who will be there when things hit the fan. You don't have to fight for me, just...understand me."

Yin didn't say anything for a moment, simply turning on her heel and heading for the exit. "If I needed your help, I would have asked for it," Yin said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a speech to write."

Student Kitchen | 6:42 P.M.

The unoccupied student kitchen after school turned out to be just the thing Zim needed to properly execute the latest facet of his plan. The solitude, the silence, and, of course, the several signs reading DO NOT DISTURB: ZIM'S PRIVATE (TEMPORARY) HEADQUARTERS taped to the door, finally gave him some much-needed solitude.

After a long while, he could hear the buzz of his brilliant brain.

It didn't at all compete with the hum of electrical equipment and the soft chittering of a constant stream of information that made him yearn for his lab back home, but it would do for now. Maybe he'd make some renovations around the academy when the time came—a school of such magnitude would benefit from a few of his personal touches.

It would be a nice place to slink off, to plot, to nefariously rub his hands together and belt out an evil laugh without a teacher immediately shushing him.

For an academy with barely half the occupancy of Skool, Royal Heights still proved to be a busy, impersonal bubble of confined space. Zim only barely avoided the prying eyes of watchful students and teachers.

With the debate for the election looming closely by, every so often, Zim would be flagged down by undecided voters who wanted his opinion on several subjects he hadn't bothered to look into:

Zim, what are your thoughts on extending the time limit on Free Period?

Zim, do you think more academically driven students should be spared from mandatory fitness credits?

Zim, any thoughts on changing the bell? I think the bell sounds kinda weird.

Zim acknowledged most with performative engagement, wishy-washy replies, and a convincing air of concern with statements that ranged between "I agree!" to "I disagree!" to "I'll look into it, yes, definitely….NOW GET OUT OF THE WAY! I NEED AIR!"

Yes, the hovering students would probably never cease when he obtained power over the school, though none watched as incessantly as the Dib. Dib, who had written that damming smear campaign in the student newsletter, continued to try to smother the flames of Zim's might with the written and spoken word.

Who, much as Zim's greatest fears realized, was still splitting his attention between him and Tak. That time in the library replayed in the back of Zim's mind as he split an apple-pomegranate hybrid down the middle, prying out the seeds with precise fingers and adding them to a glass measuring cup.

Dib was still peaking around the bushes throughout the pass few days, using his completely inadequate equipment to observe Tak when it was once Zim that occupied his every waking thought—it was sickening, it just wasn't right.

The Dib's concerns were unwarranted! He had much better things to worry about at a time like this, and Zim simply refused to share headspace with that imposter, that liar, that thief!

It was always Tak, the bigger threat. Tak, the true enemy. Tak, the ultimate evil that had this school in the palm of her hand. Tak, the pressing matter.

Zim tried to calm himself upon realizing he had squeezed a handful of seeds in his grip, juice running down his arm like a burst blood clot.

And despite this, despite his anger and something resembling betrayal, Zim was still content, because he knew, at the end of the day, he would always be Dib's main obsession—it was just the way things were.

Just these last few weeks were all the evidence he needed.

Much like he had on Earth, Dib was determined to stop Zim from succeeding in the student election, placing all of his hope in the fuzzy, pink hands of their classmate, Yin.

And Dib's feeble human heart was in it, so much effort for such little reward, aspirations soon to be crushed under Zim's mighty boot heel. Yet another foolish endeavor bound to end miserably for the hopeless Dib-thing. It was nice to see that some things would never change.

What did humans call it? Nostalgia? Yes, an imperfect recreation of his earliest memories on Urth, when he and Dib had just barely developed their vindictive bond, so soon yet so pure.

No distractions, no interference, no Tak.

And while he couldn't deny that Tak's presence was proving to be distracting, unlike the Dib, Zim had a plan to put that foolish imposter in her place for good. For Zim's nefarious plots were ones that deserved the utmost attention, not to be shared, but to be marveled at by all...and yet it was the attention of one that tormented him so.

He was pulled out of his train of thought as he made out the unmistakable sound of GIR trying to quietly eat a pile of ingredients, turning away from his work to scold his SIR unit. "GIR, no eating! We still have several batches to prepare before we have anything even resembling leftovers."

GIR pouted, reddish juice and handfuls of sugar pooling in his mouth. "Ah, man…"

"Also, remember that the recipe calls for 1/4 cup of sugar," Zim continued. "If you dump the whole bag in, it won't mix properly with the juice."

"Oh yeah...I drank the juice."

"Then make some more! We've got plenty of apples to go around," Zim shook his head as he heard the oven ding. He stepped away from the counter, putting on a pair of oven mitts before pulling out the tray from the oven. "Ooh, hot hot hot!"

He set it down next on the table, sharing space with muffins, chocolate bars, gelatin, and brownies, grinning proudly at the sizeable bulk of chocolate dough bustling with, what he realized, were pomegranate seeds.

"Who'd have thought that lousy book would be of any use?" he said, putting a hand to his chin. "Hm, don't humans usually share their culinary exploits on their cellular devices? This is most definitely a moment to immortalize!"

Zim looked up as the door to the student kitchen was gently pushed open, Minimoose hovering his way inside with a noticeable giddiness.

He observed the display of confections laid out on several counters, turning to acknowledge his master with a quizzical: "Nyah!" 

"What am I doing? I'm glad you asked, Minimoose," Zim said. "Upon further examination and research, I've come to realize that my hypothesis about this fruit was tampered with on a cellular level was entirely true! I wasn't aware of the agricultural practice of 'fruit breeding' until recently, a questionable attempt to evolve produce beyond its most basic forms."

"Nyah!"

"Yes, something about it does reek of suspicion, though Tak's involvement in its current state is something I have yet to confirm," Zim said, recalling how the hybrid fruit never appeared again in his supply of produce during class ever since the incident. They had thoroughly covered their tracks in the dining hall as well.

When he pressed his culinary teacher about it, he was informed that someone must have accidentally stepped into the deeper parts of the orchard and picked some of the hybrids by mistake. Just a mix-up, simple as that.

Apparently, the family who lent this castle had a long history of crossbreeding and selling fruits, more as a hobby than it was a source of income. This information was far from a pressing matter, also quite publicly accessible, but that didn't stop Zim from having his suspicions. 

This left Zim to explore the depths of the academy orchard hidden within the arboretum for himself. "The Royal Family Agricultural Specialty Fruit Orchard," read a sign. "No Student Entry Permitted Without Permission or Supervision", said another.

And it was there that he found it, an endless supply of mutated produce. Trees hung heavy with blueberry-lemons, raspberry-oranges—each one as nonsensical as the last. But Zim didn't pay those any mind; it was what sparked his curiosity from the beginning that inspired today's evil plot.

"Nyah!"

"Precisely," Zim said, pulling out a knife and creating cuts into the bread. "Regardless, I do plan to make this bizarre produce an active part of my plan of destroying her and this school. It may not seem like much now, but if the data I've collected is anything to go by, the mass appeal of confectionery treats has gained me quite the advantage. The pink one may have offered our homeroom her inferior cupcakes, but she clearly has no intention of altering the current menu. Her mistake."

Unlike Yin's cupcakes, Zim's offerings were far more diverse, making it the ultimate bribing tool. They were the honey to catch flies, as humans would put it, and once Zim had gathered up a storm, he'd unveil the true centerpiece of his grandest scheme yet.

The Tallest would surely be impressed by such an act of evil intent disguised as the actions of a good samaratin. Tak would most definitely be jealous she didn't interfere with his inevitable victory sooner. And Dib certainly wouldn't want to miss any of it!

After all, directly targeting the student body with one of his nefarious schemes? Winning them over with something as juvenile as the promise of tasty treats?

They'd be fools not to witness it. Someone? Anyone?

Minimoose hovered over his shoulder. "Nyah!"

"Oh yes," Zim said, setting his knife aside. "I asked you to prepare that speech for me. Give to Zim!"

Minimoose hummed like an inkjet printed, mouth square and agape as a piece of paper retracted from his mouth. Zim pulled it out, the paper warm in his hands as he looked over the text. 

"Hmm...hmmmm...Oh! Oh, yes! YES! YES! This is excellent. Almost as if I've written it myself," Zim gave an appreciative look to his minion. "You've got a real talent for this!"

"Nyah!"

"If I want to get any sort of advantage in this election, I must cater to the students' most carnal desires,” Zim said. “During my short time here, I’ve realized something, you two: a proper Irken must learn to adapt in any given situation, and I suppose here is no different."

"A cat?"

"No, GIR, 'adapt'," Zim said. “I’ve come to realize these creatures are far more…intelligent than I anticipated. Not that their feeble minds are anything compared to the Irken race—and certainly not the magnificent ZIM!—but my usual exploits are being more closely monitored. Even without the Dib-stink meddling in my affairs, my ability to so flawlessly deceive has been compromised."

"Nyah!"

"Precisely, that’s exactly why a new approach is in order. Something more direct if I hope to establish my dominance, and this election is my best option."

"Nyah!"

"Tak’s defeat will follow suit, of course. One glorious step at a time, Minimoose. It will make the victory that much sweeter," Zim rubbed his hands together, admiring his concoction. "Or, savory, if the students prefer."

Expecting another encouraging "nyah", Minimoose instead began to rattle, their internal timer causing them to vibrate in place.

Zim blinked. "Really? It's been that long already? Well, then let's see how we did."

Zim stepped over to CoolBot, the robot that cools things, and pried open the slick, silver compartment of its refrigerator-inspired design.

One of the many devices offered by Membrane Labs was a sort of instant freezer, a cooling unit that accelerated the freezing process without risking damage to the food.

In mere minutes to hours, a day or weeks' worth of refrigeration could be performed, and, while highly convenient for more time-consuming culinary endeavors, was the perfect device to exploit for the centerpiece of Zim's spread.

"If you must know, there is another hidden desire amongst the student body that I came across in more recent data," Zim looked down at the several glasses brimming with a dark red liquid, almost maroon in the overhead lighting. He held up one and undid the cork, inhaling the tart and bitter aroma. "If everyone wishes to indulge in their vices so badly, I'll give it to them."

Chapter Text

Boys' Locker Room | Friday, September 7 | 6:22 P.M.

"You've really gotta learn not to catch the ball with your face next time," Manny said as he opened his locker, his uniform halfheartedly thrown inside. "Still, it bouncing off your forehead and into Alex's hands did help us win the game."

"Maybe you could learn not to throw it at my face," Dib pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, two pieces of once-white tissue paper shoved up his nostrils. "You do realize you're doing the heavy lifting in this class, right? Sports have and will never be my thing."

"Sports aren’t really my 'thing' either," Manny replied as he grabbed his faded yellow bookbag. "But I do play a mean game of soccer. Well, I guess it's more of a hobby."

He shrugged as Dib shook his head.

It was the end of the school day and Manny couldn't be more relieved to know he had the weekend ahead of him. Given the events of next week, it was best he relish what little peace he had left.

It wouldn’t be too long until the student body ultimately decided who would be the academy's first-ever student body president. The weeks leading up to it, from the first day of school to even right now, were packed full of enough scandal, drama, and foul play to fill an entire telenovela.

As always, in the lead were Yin and Yuck, whose messy history dated back even further than Manny could ever imagine. Blazed into the frontal lobe of every student, and especially Homeroom B, was the two’s ever-present, if somewhat romantic, loathing for one another.

The recent addition to this walking disaster, the kissing booth incident, was spreading rapidly from phone to phone, an especially juicy detail of the gossip circuit.

As far as Manny's preferences for who got the honor of being the academy's head honcho, it was Zim who had spoken to his needs most of all. That seemed to be the most recent narrative circulating the school. Those who weren't voting for him out of sheer irony simply didn't want to play a part in Yin and Yuck's relationship drama.

It ended up shaping Zim into something of a third-party option, a neutral force in the midst of all this.

To simply not get involved, to be a fence sitter, Manny supposed he could see the merit in that.

Well, that and some other things. Inside his gym locker was a pamphlet Yin had passed out during Free Period, a few short blurbs describing plans to install a spa and a yogurt bar in the dining hall. Nice, cute, concise—all incredibly on brand.

By comparison, Yuck's approach was more direct, almost personal. He lacked the pageantry of his political rivals, preferring to simply strike up conversation, often within Yin's general vicinity in hopes of thinning out her numbers.

With some, Yuck was abrasive and impatient, while with others, Yuck was welcoming and cordial, as if he had flipped his personality on a dime. What version of him students were getting seemed entirely up to chance, but his ideas were popular.

And Zim, well, Zim was hard to ignore, which proved to be quite an efficient strategy. Zim's vow to livin' up this luxurious, if incredibly dull, academy had spoken to Manny specifically.

Even if Yin and Yuck's ideas would probably have a greater chance of being implemented in the school, them being considerably less extreme than Zim's lofty promises, it didn't quite compete with a full menu reform and an underground skate park.

That was to say, if any of them would fulfill even one of their campaign promises. 

As far as Yin was concerned, Yuck was lying. As far as Dib was concerned, Zim was lying. As far as Manny was concerned, only one of them gave him booze.

Dib, his classmate, gym partner, and—if Manny was using the word correctly—acquaintance, had clearly been stressed about the approaching election, mostly at the prospect of Zim clutching a last-minute victory.

It was about the only thing on his mind, the only thing he bothered talking about if he wasn't yammering on about Tak and whatever evil plot she had cooking up. It was that kind of tunnel vision that made Dib less than reliable during their mandatory Health and Fitness class, a particularly disastrous game of basketball not even jolting Dib out of his one-track thinking.

There are still little droplets of blood staining the white cotton of his gym shirt.

"I think what you’re lacking is motivation," Manny said. "Just try imagining someone that you wanna beat or impress. Me? I imagine a whole bunch of supermodels on the bleachers."

"I seriously don't need or want advice on how to be better at sports, Manny," Dib said, discarding a thoroughly used tissue into a nearby bin. The bleeding seemed to have subsided. "I've got so many other things I'm better at it and all this…" Dib made a vague gesture with a hand, as if the very state of the locker room was distressing him even further. "It's all such a waste of time."

"I think school in general is a waste of time," Manny said.

"Which is why you're voting for Zim in the election, aren't you?"

Manny folded his arms. "Hey, I've got my reasons! So what if I want pizza and less homework, doesn't everyone? Not to mention…" Manny looked around, ensuring there were no coaches nearby before he slipped out a small glass bottle from his bag. "There are some additional perks."

"Wh…what is that?" Dib said. "In what sane world would you ever accept something from Zim?!"

"In this one, I guess."

"Give me that!"

"Hey!"

Dib inspected the bottle before taking off the cork, giving it a faint sniff and making a face. "Ugh, the smell is so strong and…" Dib sniffed it again. "Fruity? I must be some sort of alien elixir or a—"

"It's wine," Manny said simply. "Zim made wine and has been passing it out to people all day. "Personally, I've always wanted to try beer, but this is a close second."

"And you found this appropriate to take because…?"

"Because it'd be lame if I didn't! Come on, try some, maybe it'll help you loosen up!"

"No, I won't, and you shouldn't either!"

"Come on, it's fine! I bet it's barely enough to get you seriously drunk," Manny said, swiping the wine out of Dib's hand. "It's kinda like…adult juice!"

"'Adult juice'," Dib repeated, his tone unamused.

"I think it's only fair," Manny said. "I heard that the grown-ups get a free bottle of wine for accepting the job—some sort of gift basket thing. I only know about this because my dad refuses to drink alcohol. My Grandpapi took it off his hands."

"And you want to have your own wine because the adults get to?" Dib pinched the bridge of his nose again, groaning. "Manny, be serious!"

"I could be more serious if I got to have serious drinks…"

Seriously, what was Dib's deal? To be fair, Dib wasn't as much nerdy as he was seriously lame—also obsessive and standoffish with a bit of a cynical streak, never particularly engaged in anything unless it had to deal with UFOs, yetis, and other paranormal crap.

And still, Manny had yet to shrug off their partnership during class, to shrug Dib entirely if it meant preserving what little social status he had.

Manny didn't hate Dib, didn't even particularly dislike him. If anything, he saw the potential for Dib to be cooler, to maybe carry himself like he was the son of an uber-successful scientist father who was part of the reason this school even existed.

Perhaps the Membranes were just different shades of insane, Dib having inherited his own personal assortment of antisocial quirks that didn't involve being a mad scientist or a reclusive gaming addict.

"I just think you're overreacting," Manny said, trying and failing to swipe the bottle from Dib's hand. "So it's a little wine. No biggie."

"Yes biggie, a very big biggie, Manny!" Dib pulled the bottle away again—God, where were these reflexes back in the gym?

Manny soon gave up, sighing. "You know what? I think you need that thing way more than I do," he said. "Frida managed to snag two of them anyway."

"What do you mean she…You've got to be—Ugh!" Dib balled his hands into fists, trying to calm himself. "I can't believe you're buying into such obvious manipulation! Sure, Zim is giving you a taste of adulthood, but who knows how long that'll even last? How long you'll even live?"

Manny rolled his eyes. "I don't know, man. I mean, Yin and Yuck didn't make me wine, so I might as well vote for the guy that did."

"That's barely even a…You know what, I'm going to get to the bottom of this," Dib said, storming out of the locker room. "This ends now!"

Manny would have tried to stop him, but the realization hit him all at once: Dib was probably the most motivated person he had ever met.

Dining Hall | 6:35 P.M.

"So, you promise this is actual wine?" A student eagerly approached the round wicker table where Zim had set up the goods laid out before him, several bottles of his custom wine in an ice chest he had "borrowed" from his culinary class.

They spoke in a rather hushed tone, secretly worried any teachers, or perhaps any students who might prove to be vocal contrarians, might have slipped their way inside. The student before him looked relatively humanoid, enough that the dotting of sweat on their brow flexed disgustingly against their pore-ridden skin.

Nonetheless, Zim played along, his infectious charisma no less charming than it had been for the last few weeks. These idiot students, how easily they were won over with smiles and showmanship had to be studied.

So easily persuaded, just like the hapless fools that made up Urth. Pathetic.

"Promise me your vote in the upcoming election and maybe you'll get a taste," Zim said. "And please, do help yourself to a pastry while you're here."

"Oh my gosh, I'm sold!" The student said, grabbing a bottle and a muffin before departing. "I'll definitely vote for you, Zim!"

"Come one, come all, feast your eyes on this…feast, fellow children!" Zim said, waving his arms in the air at the gathering that had accumulated in the dining hall. "There's plenty for everyone!"

"More like plenty of depravity!"

Zim's antenna perked up in excitement at the sound of Dib's voice. Just as he had hoped.

Dib soon enough made his way through the busy crowd, fists on his hips as he gave Zim a glare that was achingly nostalgic.

"Oh, hello Dib! Free sample?" Zim said, all fake pleasanness that he knew would get under the human's skin. "Oh, who am I kidding? It's all free!"

"No, I don't want a free sample! I'm trying to save people from your little scheme!" Dib said, looking down at the display in disgust. "What is all this stuff? Some sort of bake sale?"

"I’m glad you asked, Urth-stink." Zim said. "You remember the dookie loop, don’t you, Dib? The one triggered by the Sloobagloop Guano?"

"How could I forget it? It was awful!"

"It turns out that my PAK's previous encoding as a food service drone has carried on to my current slew of talents and far exceeds any culinary mastery in this plane of reality," Zim explained, himself still impressed by yet another talent he possessed. "It seems through a combination of my superior intellect and what could have been hundreds of years in the time loop, I’ve been able to master the taste palettes of every known living organism."

Dib blinked, eyes wide behind his glasses. "No way, that’s literally impossible!"

"Oh, really? Then who else could master every single recipe from within the Cosmic Cook Book of Infinite Yumminess? Even the forbidden quadruple-decker pickle and porcupine beef roast sandwich was no match for my expertise!" Zim said, stepping over to Dib to better soak in his befuddled expression. "Many have tried, all have failed. All except me, Dib."

"So you’re a chef now, big deal! It doesn’t mean you’ll win the election," Dib said, rolling his eyes. "I don't know if you know this, but the food here isn't like that slop back in Skool. It's actual food, for starters, just… healthier or whatever."

"And yet there seems to be a civil unrest among the student body for more tantalizing options," Zim wrapped an arm around Dib's shoulders, much to the human's surprise. "Look upon my creations, Dib. Does your hideous mouth hole not tingle in ecstasy at the sight of these delicacies?"

"I promise, this has nothing to do with your cooking! You could buy hundreds of pizzas and probably get the same result." Dib groaned, wiggling his way out of Zim's grip. "Ugh, look at you, preparing our final meals. You're sick."

"Ah, but it is you who will be sick with rage as I claim victory in this election with my superior culinary knowledge!"

"Doesn't matter!" Dib said, defiant as ever. “We aren't ones to fall for such obvious traps, right, everyone?”

"Man, has your brother always been this much of a killjoy?"

"Oh, only all the time."

Zim scanned the crowd to see the blue one and the Dib's sister standing not too far off. They seemed to have just shown up, Yang already grabbing a muffin and eagerly chomping away.

"Yang? Gaz?" Dib said. "What are you doing here?"

Yang pointed over his shoulder, talking as he chewed. "Heard all this commotion, so you know we had to check it out."

"I smelled food," Gaz stated plainly, a brownie already in hand.

"Oh yeah, that too."

"Guys, get away while you still can!" Dib said. "There's something even worse afoot here, I just know it."

"Do not listen to the insolent ramblings of the Dib. Clearly, you are here to cater to your ravenous hunger!" Zim said, leaping at the opportunity. "Zim has provided a number of confections to appease your deepest and most snacky desires! GIR, last I checked, I also provided a small solution to the jello shortage, didn't I?"

"Goopy goopy! Goopy goop!" GIR said.

"By using what last bit of jello we had left, I bet," Dib added, watching in disgust as GIR ladled large spoonfuls of the gelatin-like substance into small white cupcake liners, materializing into a cheerful dollop of concentrated sweetness, the slightest drop of wine penetrating the center.

"You'll be the first to try my more experimental confection," Zim said. "Go on, then."

Gaz gave a scrupulous look as she watched Minimoose carry two servings its back.

"Welll…" she began. "I guess a snack would tide me over before dinner.”

"And you know how she gets when she's hungry," Yang added. The two's matching nod seemed to seal their agreement. 

"Guys, don't eat it!" Dib protested. "It's clearly some type of uh, mind control scheme. O-Or poison! Or—"

"Or it's some sort of weird jam," Yang said, passing a cup over to Gaz. "Doesn't smell too offensive."

"And the taste is…." Gaz dunked her finger into the cup and just as promptly licked it off before Dib could intervene. Her posture suddenly became erect, a small smear of the red mush on her bottom lip as if her tongue couldn't catch it in time. "It’s—"

"The worst thing you've ever tasted, I'm sure," Dib said. "Now there's no shame in vomiting, but I'd prefer you do it when I find a test tube first."

"This taste is kinda..sour?" Yang said, giving it another taste.

"No, it's…tangy?" Gaz dipped her finger in again. "Sweet, spicy, savory—is that cumin?"

"Sounds awful," Dib said.

"No, no, this is great!” Yang said, having already emptied the liner of his own gelatin. "It's like every flavor at once! I love it!"

Gaz nodded, wiping the small smear off her mouth before licking that off as well. "Zim, I have no idea what you did in the kitchen or lab or whatever, but this is the best…I dunno, casserole, jam, pudding thing I’ve ever had. Not pizza, but close enough."

Dib's arms grew slack by his sides. "You can't be serious…"

Zim let out a victorious cackle. "You see, Dib. I’ve weaponized the universal understanding of food to win over the helpless student body. No fanfare, no elaborate academic promises, just the basics. Watch as they melt in my hands—WATCH! THEM! MELT! OOOH, SO STICKY!"

"Using some stupid mush to win votes? Seriously? This is just like the Plim all over again," Dib said, shaking his head. "Recycling schemes already, how original."

Zim cocked his head. "The what?"

"The Plim,” Dib said, as if Zim had any reason to recall such a pointless misadventure. "Those little yellow squishy guys that were looking for their prophesied savior?"

"Oh yes, of course! Zim knew that," Zim said, the memory coming back to him but still dismissing Dib’s comment with a wave of his hand. "Besides, that's nonsense! If I were really trying to bribe these students, I would have touched this paste with my face bits by now."

Zim thought for a moment, looking down at the gelatin in consideration. "Would you all vote for me if I did?"

Yang nodded. "Yeah,"

"Probably," Gaz replied.

Zim immediately did just that, scooping up a handful and slathering it onto his face. "Ah ha! Feel that, Dib? That's the sweet success of securing two more votes to my growing empire!"

"You…you won’t get away with this," Dib said. "You’re brainwashing them, aren't you? I don't know what, but there's a component in this food, some sort of ingredient you slipped in there to get them to like this slop…" Dib paused for dramatic tension, reaching into the pocket of his gym shorts. "Something like alcohol, perhaps?"

Dib pulled the small glass bottle of homemade wine high above his head, making sure everyone in sight got a good look. "That's right, Zim's been giving us alcohol without our consent this whole time!"

For a moment, there's silence, some quiet shuffling until one of the students speaks up. "Uh…yeah."

"And it's freaking awesome," said another, a petite blonde who was sipping from her own bottle. "And with Zim in charge, I bet we could have it with our meals. Just like the teachers!"

"Yeah, who says they get to have all the fun?! All this higher education crap, and they won't even let me take the edge off!" Another added, the group raising their fists with a triumphant shout.

"Wine? You never said you had wine," Yang said. "Gimme some of that!"

"I'll try some," Gaz added.

Dib was slack-jawed. "You guys…seriously?"

Zim snickered, arms folded as he took in Dib's utter shock.

Yes, the moment he'd been waiting for, the absolute state of hopelessness he'd been after for such a long while. It was all so satisfying!

"Ah, yes, I imagine this must infuriate you, Dib!" Zim said, just low enough for only Dib to hear him. This moment was to be savored between just the two of them. "The mere thought of my actions has made you positively livid, fueled with rage! I must be the only thing on your mind right now, clawing away at your empty, ginormous head—"

"My, what a gathering we have here today," a distinct voice cut through the softly chattering crowd like razor wire, everyone now on high alert as they stepped aside to make room as a figure strolled silently down the middle, features fixed into a cold expression.

Though as professional as ever, Tak has a look about her that seems mildly disgruntled, as if she were pulled away from something important. Regardless, she straightened out her uniform and kept up appearances. "I certainly wouldn't mind an explanation."

"Tak!" Dib said.

"Tak?" Zim turned to see Tak heading through the crowd, the room growing silent as she approached. Zim's hands curled into shaking fists. "Tak…"

Zim bared his teeth. He had specifically paid the skeleton child in homeroom with a full bottle of wine in exchange for keeping Tak and any of the teachers out of the dining hall, while also giving exclusive access to Dib. Had he'd run off with his prize or did Tak intimidate him into leaving?

Regardless, it was a pathetic excuse.

"Quite a bit of commotion," Tak said, her smile tight and professional. "I assume that none of you have afterschool duties to be tending to at this hour?"

The students quietly hid away their personal bottles of wine, muttering excuses as they made their way out through the front and back doors.

Zim narrowed his eyes, Tak looking nonplussed as she turned her direction back to Dib.

"It's way worse than, Tak." Dib said. "Listen, as much as you're the last person I want to see right now—"

Last? Last? Tak had to be at least second-to-last, right?

"—but things have gotten out of hand, and I need you to actually be a prefect for once and shut down Zim's entire operation!" Dib handed the bottle to Tak. "Listen, I know you've given Zim some leeway for...whatever reason, but this has got to be breaking some sort of convention! I mean, he's giving alcohol to minors! In what ways is that not grounds for being kicked out of the election, hell, the school?"

Tak grew silent, analyzing the bottle. She turned it this way and that in her hand, humming in contemplation. "Zim, does this bottle contain alcoholic properties?"

"As I intended," Zim replied.

"I helped!" GIR added cheerfully.

"Hm, and this amount is far below five ounces," Tak balanced it in her palm, as if trying to decipher the weight. "Interesting."

"Which could still prove to be way too intense for someone underage," Dib said. "I mean, let's be entirely reasonable here—"

"Oh, be serious for a moment, Dib! This academy caters to any number of different cultures, countries, and, may I remind you, several corners of our known multiverse. And you'll be happy to know that at least twenty percent live in worlds where regulated alcohol consumption is entirely legal," Tak said. "Some are even physically incapable of being intoxicated and, given the amount Zim has supplied, the chances of anyone reaching that point are slim."

Dib blinked. "…What?"

Feeling eyes upon him, Zim straightened his posture. "Uh, yes, as I was well aware."

"I'm assuming Zim must have taken this data and used it to appeal to those students specifically," Tak said, then turned to him. "Or at least, I assume Zim's ever-so-impressive Irken technology is capable of such feats?"

Zim narrowed his eyes. "Yes, very capable."

"But, that's still such a small amount!" Dib said. "What about everyone else who can't drink? Hell, how will the parents who work here feel about their kids drinking underage?"

Tak shrugged, laughing coyly. "That's what permission slips are for, Dib!"

"This is wine, not a field trip!"

"Come now, if Zim were to win this election, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to implement this under very strict regulation," Tak said, her eyes flitting back to him.

"Zim—" She spoke his name with kindness, with such elegant obliviousness as if they were meeting for the first time. It only further annoyed and confused him. "—if anything, this is awfully considerate of you. You'd be surprised to know that some students who ingest alcohol for religious or dietary reasons severely missed cutting out such a sacred part of their culture. I'm sure they would be delighted to hear about this."

Dib groaned. "Oh, come on…"

"Well, while I should penalize you for doing this without permission, as prefect, I can't say with confidence that anyone's safety or behavior has been impacted. But taking time away from afterschool responsibilities is still a minor—"

"Tak…" Dib spoke slowly, eerily calm. "What are you trying to pull here?"

"Pardon?" Tak said.

"The reused disguise, the lying, giving Zim all these free passes when you could have easily jetisoned him from this dome weeks ago—for someone who hates Zim, you sure aren't acting like it," Dib said, then suddenly grew quiet, dwelling on the thought. He folded his arms, studying Tak closely. "I just want to know what you're playing at with all this. Don't think I haven't noticed how you've been so…lax about everything, especially about the guy who ruined your life."

Tak quirked an eyebrow. "My life?"

"Yes, Tak," Zim said. "Your life. Your chances to be an Invader were entirely squandered by my interference. Does that not still enrage you?"

"Don't a lot of things?" Dib added. "Me, included."

Tak snickerd. "My, aren't you two a riot together. Are you always so…comical?"

Dib is still staring in awe for a moment, finally working up the will to speak. "Tak, could you quit playing dumb for five—?!"

Tak turned sharply, a manic smile on her face as the bottle shattered with a flex of her fingers, wine spilling from her hand as if her palm had been slit. "Would you stop shouting my name in that ridiculous, grating voice! So help me, I will cut out that endlessly flapping tongue!"

Tak suddenly grew silent, having realized the intensity of her outburst. Sighing, she let the broken glass in her hand fall to the floor, immediately straightening her gloves. She tilted her chin towards Zim.

"Clean this up, would you?" She said, turning to leave. "Dinner starts at seven sharp."

Only once she was gone did Zim and Dib share a look. Dib cockily folded his arms, smirking.

"Well, now there's absolutely no doubt about it—that's our Tak," he said. "Anything else to offer, space boy?"

Zim pressed his lips into a firm line, hands on his hips. "Once again, your deduction skills leave a lot to be desired, Dib-stink. It's best you leave before I remove your tongue myself."

"I do the dissections around here, Zim! Now, if you'll excuse me," Dib said, his dramatic turn losing all impact without his usual trench coat, his gym uniform less than intimidating. "I've got not just one but two aliens to stop."

Zim felt his squeedily spooch coil, smirking through the discomfort as the human left. "Oh, Dib, little do you know, I'm about to reduce those numbers."

Courtyard | 7:20 P.M.

"This must be a joke, right?"

"You said it yourself: I should take you out to dinner first before presenting such ambitious proposals. And so..." Django gestured to the spread of food before him, laid out diligently on a cream colored blanket and protected by the shade of one of the many massive oak trees that hugged the courtyard from all corners of its cobblestone structure.

In the fading sunlight making way to the summer evening, Zoe was tempted to call the display romantic if it weren't so pitiful—but she's still smiling, isn't she?

Zoe chuckled, "It was a figure of speech."

The only reason she's here is because of a massive romance cliché in itself, a scented letter with a rose between the pages she found on her desk during homeroom, prompting her to spend a "fulfilling" evening with a "strapping young man in desperate need of some company."

Zoe could have easily ignored the offer and left Django out to dry, but the sentiment is so genuine and oozing with so much sincerity that she may as well entertain herself by making him think he had a chance with her.

Now would be the time to leave, laugh in Django's face and turn on her heel back into the main building, but her feet are pushing her forward and guiding her to sit opposite of him. The rose between her fingers fit perfectly inside the empty glass vase set up on a miniature table. Before her is an assortment of food, one of which is a round charcuterie board lined with sea salt crackers and deli meat.

"My mother may have raised a criminal, but she also raised a gentleman," Django said. "You were right, I was way too forward about the partnership when we really should have been getting to know each other better. And for that, I apologize."

"You should be apologizing for this thing you're calling a dinner."

The food spread is like a photograph from a middle school health textbook, with some sections of the plate catering to all basic food groups. It was as if Django was so foreign to the concept of eating that his understanding of human cuisine came out of a food pyramid.

Maybe the point was in the presentation. The bed of fresh grapes neighboring a baguette, filet mignon, a bowl of sugar-free vanilla ice cream, sliced up strawberries with a decorative garnish, its intention was more to be admired than devoured.

The woven basket shut closed on some sort of mystery entree is what's got Zoe endeared by the sheer corniness. There could have been a box of chocolates in there for all she knew, Schrödinger's Romantic Gesture.

"But I guess, if you're offering..." Zoe grabbed the bowl of ice cream first and took a dainty nibble. "Now are you going to help yourself or just gawk at me all night?"

"Oh, my kind doesn't require nutrients to survive," Django said. "You could almost say food 'goes right through me'..." Zoe hated herself for laughing. "Though I will admit that tasting things can be very stimulating."

"What do you eat instead, the souls of the living?"

"A couple of distant relatives have," Django said. "Not for me, though. Souls are too gamy."

"Maybe they just ate some bad souls," Zoe said. "I bet I'd taste delicious."

Django feigned a gasp. "I'd never think of it! Much like food, humans need their souls to be truly alive, and I've realized they're much more useful that way," he said. "Human sustenance is definitely something that intrigues me, though. A lot of things about mortals do, but I would rather be dead than be caught relying on any of it."

Zoe rolled her eyes, helping herself to a strawberry. "You know, we humans just have more layers, literally and metaphorically. Sure, you get the magic and immortality and regeneration, but we get to experience the simple pleasures of, uh..."

"Hard to think of something, isn't it?"

"I would if you wouldn't interrupt, pendejo," Zoe said. She thought of something then, snapping her fingers. "Ah, a vigorous and well-maintained skin routine."

Django nodded, his hand creeping closer to Zoe's. "Ah, yes, however shall I live without my flesh bag body being covered in expensive powders and fluids? I truly am missing out."

Zoe swiped her hand away. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What, it's not every day I get to feel skin."

"Don't act like I don't see what's going on," she said. "I don't care if you're a fellow villain; you knowing my secret identity at all still spells bad news for me. So, give me a reason I can trust you, and maybe you can touch more than just my hand."

Django whistled. "Wow, now that's an offer I can't refuse. Well…" Django said, a finger to his chin. "The way I see it, Aves, it's either Tak or me."

Zoe pouted, realizing he might have a point. While the request made by Tak was simple on paper, Zoe just knew in the back of her mind that Tak would have much bigger, more demanding requests once this election business was wrapped up.

Get Zim to join the election? Sure. Encourage other people to vote for him? Peachy. But after he won, which he most definitely would at this rate, well, Zoe was genuinely worried about how far the blackmail would go. 

It was the essentials of villainy—once you had a string to your bow, everything looked like a target.

"Listen, she's been off my back for the most part since the Zim thing is going off without a hitch. So I'm not too worried about it," Zoe lied, swallowing too much ice cream at one time and nearly giving herself brain freeze. "Honestly, I couldn't care less if she's an alien or not, but she's definitely not the kind of girl you wanna mess with. It's a vibe she gives off, really."

"Like she's desperate, like she's got something to lose—to hide," Django said. "Way more than you do if you ask me."

Zoe thought for a moment, leaning in closer to Django. "Well...I just may have a little secret of hers under wraps."

"Do tell," 

"I think she's got some sort of split personality," Zoe said. "I don't know all the details, but it's like she has a voice in her head that argues with. And, if you look closely, don't you feel like...I don't know, like there's something not quite right?"

"Come on, insulting her sanity and her appearance in the same sentence is awfully petty."

"You know what I mean!"

"Just kidding," Django said. He mulled over what Zoe said, contemplating it himself. "Well, I guess I've noticed her being the slightest bit off. But, what leverage does a split personality have over someone like her?"

"So you see my problem?"

"Let's not shelve it too quickly," Django said. "Who knows? It could go much deeper than that, and you, my little master of espionage, might be the girl for the job."

Zoe blushed, distracting herself by stacking a small square of cheese and roasted ham on a cracker. "You say so much and yet so little.."

"It's just like I said before: stick around, play nice. She clearly sees potential in you if she's going out of her way to make her part of her inner circle. Dare I say, a little intimidation."

"She sees someone she can manipulate," Zoe corrected. 

"And I see someone you can get the upper hand over," Django said. "Come on, Zoe, you're selling yourself so short, and for what? Look, I get it, your secret identity being revealed would be bad news for your family, but there are ways we can work around that."

Zoe sighed. "If by 'work around it' you mean I get sent to a correctional facility for troubled girls for the rest of my life, and my family name is tarnished," she said. "Oh man, loving those low stakes."

"Alright, I get it, but it's a matter of perspective. You and I both know there's a hidden treasure in this academy that outweighs just about everything we could find in Miracle City. And we both know our families didn't have us come to this school just for the college credits," Django said. "Hence, my little proposal: we team up, we dupe these idiots, dig up anything we need, and use anyone who has the slightest chip in their armor to our advantage."

"I was hoping to get my money's worth with all the art here, but I'll admit that this supposed secret has got my attention," Zoe said. "Any clue as to what it might be?"

"Not in the slightest," Django replied. "But I do know for a fact that it deals with powers and knowledge beyond mortal comprehension. No offense, but accessing it properly might be a little more up my alley."

"Then what on Earth do you need me for?"

Django shrugged. "Backup? Support? A friend?"

"Bullshit,"

"I'm serious," Django said, laughing. "And you'll be happy to know I've already got something in the works."

"Oh, and what progress have you made?"

Django suddenly grew sheepish. "Well, it's more of a side project, just a little revenge—and I know how much you love your vendettas—but…I don't think you'll be happy to hear it."

"Color me curious,"

"Really? Because it may or may not involve your least favorite person on the planet."

Zoe stopped eating, her shoulders slumping. "You're kidding,"

"Listen! It's just a way to mess with Manny! And, perhaps, I've been getting a little chummy with Frida if it means causing the slightest bit of friction," Django explained. "The second shoe hasn't quite dropped yet, but the girl is just so easy to mess with."

Zoe narrowed her eyes. "Uh huh…"

"Kinda cute, too."

"I'm going."

"Wait! Uh, don't you want to see what I got us? It's something real special, trust me!"

Zoe groaned, folding her arms. "Fine, what's in the basket?"

"Oh, this? Just a little something from Zim when I promised I'd play guard dog in front of the Dining Hall when he opened his little winery. And no, it's not Manny or Frida's severed head, though that would make for one hell of a centerpiece."

Django undid the clasp of the basket and pulled out a bottle of wine, not the samples that had been passed out today. "Voilà!"

"Holy crap," Zoe glanced around to see that, in fact, everyone was indoors having dinner, but she couldn't help the feeling that the wine painted a big red spotlight on the two of them. "But, like…are you sure about this?"

"You smell like cigarettes, you just barely set off alarms when you go make up shopping, and yet you draw the line at a little wine?"

"I-it's just..." Zoe dropped her voice to a whisper, leaning in so only Django could hear her. "Okay, don't tell anyone this, but I've never actually had the stuff."

"Neither have I," Django said, and something about his confession makes her feel better.

Perhaps it was only because Django simply couldn't ingest drinks, but at least they were novices together. It was hard to imagine anyone like Dr. Chipotle Jr. getting his hands on the stuff when he was probably still drinking from his mother's teat.

But Zoe had a refined palette! She'd always had a taste for the finer things in life, and only Django seemed to understand that.

"The teachers live here too, y'know," Djano said. "For all we know, they could be getting slizzed out of their minds while we're not looking."

He reached inside the basket again to produce two glasses.

Thank God, Zoe thought.

At least she wouldn't be drinking alone. Perhaps Django wouldn't sit back and watch her make a fool of herself after all.

"Wow, it looks like the real deal, too," Zoe said, inspecting the bottle as she took her glass and let Django fill it to just under halfway—a taste test. "Maybe I can actually vote for Zim instead of blowing smoke up his ass."

Django chuckled, filling up his own. "Personally, I've got high hopes for Yuck, mostly just to see what he would do with that kind of power."

"Because you want a piece of the pie too, right?"

"Ah, am I really that predictable?" Django said, then raised his glass in a sort of toast. "Cheers to our continued careers in evil and shaking this school down for every last penny!"

"Cheers!"

"Alright, If we down it fast enough, barely even taste it, it should still give us a buzz. It's a trick my Nana taught me," Django said, a nervous excitement about him. "Okay, ready?"

"R-ready,"

"On my mark. One...two...three!"

The two of them emptied their glasses with a single swig, surprised at how smoothly the wine went down despite their inexperience.

Perhaps Django was duped, and what was supposed to be Zim's home-brewed wine was actually just some very potent pomegranate juice with traces of a freshly ripe red delicious.

Zoe was ready to chastise him for it until she felt a sudden lurch in her belly, something twisting in her brain as if someone had doused it in cold water.

"Oh...oh shit," she said, coughing into her fist.

"You good?" Django said, a hand to his own head as he tried to regain his balance. "Stuff is pretty strong, huh?"

"But it goes down easily," Zoe replied. She grabbed her glass and waved it in front of Django's face.

"Another? Already?" He chuckled, still obliging her request. "If I turn you into an alcoholic all before your sixteenth birthday, I'll only have myself to blame."

"Don't give me that crap. It's not like you ever wanted to be a good influence."

Soon enough, both of their glasses are filled again. "One...two...three!"

The second hit feels even better. If Zoe had simply been doused with cold water the first time, the second one feels like her brain has been baptized.

"I see why my mama likes this stuff now," Zoe said.

"Nana did let me have a shot of tequila one time," Django said, wiping some excess wine from his mouth. "It was my birthday, couldn't bring myself to say it was too bitter, but this, this I think I could get used to."

"It's as strong as the adult stuff, but smooth enough for kids to drink," Zoe said, then corrected herself. "Not that I think we're 'kids' anymore. We're fifteen now, both of us. It's no wonder this stuff is so easy."

"So easy," Django replied, then hesitantly rested a hand over Zoe's. Before she could pull away, her hands were gently encased in a cage of his fingers.

"Maybe it's too soon for me to be saying this, but you fascinate me on a whole other level, Aves. The things I've heard about you, it really is something else, and you'd be a fool to undermine all the nefarious things you've accomplished." Zoe couldn't help but blush as a bone finger ran over knuckles, sending a cold shiver down her skin. "If you ask me, you and Cuervo are one and the same, and at the end of the day, I wouldn't mind spending a night with either of you."

Perhaps it was the alcohol making Zoe feel like putty in his hands, but Django's words were turning this baptism into a skinny dip. She averted her gaze, feeling herself blush through her makeup as she tried to steady her breathing.

"You really shouldn't know any of this," Zoe said. "And my family, I can't believe they'd go behind my back like that."

"They were just doing what was right for them, for us," Django said. Even in his buzzed state, he must have noticed how bold his statement was and ran a hand down his face, exhaling a sigh. "I-I'm sorry. I just think you're a pretty cool girl, Aves. I mean it."

"Cooler than Frida?"

"Leaps and bounds cooler," Django assured, then sniffed the air. "Ah, speaking of cold, are you yay or nay on dead animals?"

Chapter Text

Courtyard | Saturday, September 8 | 10:20 A.M.

"Level Three, really?!"

"That's what I've heard."

"Well, isn't that something?" Saranoia drew her sharp white nail around her sugar-rimmed glass, collecting some on the tip of her finger before sighing. "My, she really is moving on without me."

"You sound awfully disappointed," Ella replied, crossing her legs in her ankle-length skirt. "Have I ruined your whole day just from relaying this information?"

Saranoia pouted, licking some of the sugar off her finger as if to calm her nerves. "Maybe…just a little."

Ella shook her head, not just from Saranoia's obvious desperation to still take Yin under her overly perfumed wing as a pupil, but because Ella had to obtain this information secondhand, the backwash of getting intel in the world of psychics.

Woo Foo mental walls were already such cumbersome, stubborn things to overcome, and the realization that they were a natural reflex to Level Three Woo Foo didn't exactly help matters. Even one of the newer pupils, Lina, seemed to have mastered her own.

Everywhere that Ella sought to infiltrate lately: blocked, restrained, filtered. And for the walls she could break down, the information proved less than fruitful.

But, Ella wouldn't let it get her down, not today, not for long if Tak held up her end of the bargain.

After all, it was a perfectly good Saturday, and if her recent reading still held any water, then her patience and hard work would pay off very soon—she had pulled The Chariot and The Justice earlier today for her morning reading.

Success, ambition, clarity, and truth—they were all now absolutes in her bright future. She had also pulled The Empress, reversed, her afternoon plans now set in stone.

Ella and Saranoia are camped out in the courtyard, protected by the shade of the pergola as they lounge back in wicker chairs. Their lemonade is spiked, and their sunhats and sunglasses are the right blend of mysterious and fashionable.

Their intention at first was to do a bit of people watching, the gorgeous, green field so often wasted on the students being somewhat reclaimed by the staff and faculty during the weekend. There are still a few freshmen running amok, but the majority took the time to cater to their school-related weekend activities and commitments.

Those not taking the opportunity to sleep in were plucking away at their duties for their extracurricular credits: organizing books in the library, determining what was worthy to report on for the Monday newsletter, collecting photographs and interviews for Yearbook—all of it fading into the background of Ella's mild high.

Ella had anticipated a late morning of sneering at outfits, shit-talking bad makeup, and engaging in some good, old-fashioned gossip, but the conversation had stirred in a new direction as they brought up tales from their past.

Ella can't quite place when the transition was triggered. She had inhaled her fair share of herbs before heading out, specifically to help make this interaction the slightest bit more bearable—she had canceled on this one too many times, but Saranoia was as incessant and obsessive as always—and now certain parts of her recent memory were starting to dwindle.

Maybe it was her, maybe it was Saranoia, maybe it was both of them upon finding some psychic wavelength and subconsciously committing to the new topic.

"I just fail to understand why you'd want to be her teacher," Ella said, filling up her glass again before sneakily adding a shot from Saranoia's MALE TEARS flask. "I mean, she's always going to be Woo Foo. You do know that, right?"

Saranoia shook her head. "That is a technicality, but not a permanent one," she said. "You see, my magic also acts both as a life source and a lifestyle. And while Woo Foo is drastically inferior to my sorcery, it is still a vital part of what sets Yin and I apart."

"I figured as much,"

"And I'm disappointed in not interfering sooner because, if Yin were to reach Level Five, she would be forever set in her ways!" Saranoia said. "There's no turning back after that, and by then she'd be my enemy for good."

"Implying she wasn't already,"

"Her brother and master, yes. As for her, I'd rather it be any other way," Saranoia said. "And I just know that rancid master of hers is going to egg her progress along. She'll listen to him before she even thinks about listening to me."

"You sure seem to know a lot about Woo Foo for someone who detests it."

"Well, haven't you learned your share? As a witch, I'm bound to the pursuit of knowledge. I must understand the magic I'm against if I want means to combat it, you see."

"Which, I'm assuming you have?"

"Plenty!" Saranoia slammed her drink down, little droplets falling onto her wooden coaster. Immediately, Ella regrets asking. Saranoia smiled proudly, counting on her fingers. "Talismans, ancient tongues, spells from old, rituals from as far back as the single digits. I've tried my hand at a few, but I dread that Yin's lack of willingness to join me has provided some…obstacles."

"Then why not use magic to make her change her mind?" Ella offered, to which Saranoia seemed mildly shocked.

Ella wasn't entirely reliant on her ability to influence minds, though it was most definitely a perk. The general male populace was already putty in her hands, but those with much weaker wills could be compelled to do any number of things.

It was a useful talent under Eradicus to further subject the masses, but here at the school, where her options were fewer, and the minds were stronger, she had found a small selection of teachers who were at her beck and call with or without her powers.

There was one right now, some nameless hunk from the social sciences hall who had become Ella's personal lunch fetcher and foot masseuse. He locked eyes with Ella for half a second in the middle of his power walk, shooting her a cheeky wink.

Saranoia shook her head. "It must be her own choice. Besides, trying to place a bind on a mind that strong would just prove more work than it's worth. She'd snap out of it sooner or later."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Morals, compromises—it held you back then, and it is now."

"Ella, it's all about sisterhood at the end of the day! In all my years, I've never had…well…"

"A family?"

"Well—"

"Friends?"

"Actually—"

"A man?"

"Well, yes, to all those things, but what I've always sought out above all that is my own coven," Saranoia said, her expression lacking the manic energy of before, growing quiet and somewhat solemn. "Family failed me, Ella, but magic was always there when I needed it most. If I loved my father and if my father loved me, I'd consider it a parting gift of sorts."

Ella mulled it over for a moment, pursing her lips. "A coven?"

"Yes,"

"Preferably with Yin?"

"That's right," Saranoia said.

"Well, two witches a coven does not make, but I imagine you could, I don't know, put up a listing on your profile or something," Ella said, leaning back in her chair. Suddenly, she can feel Saranoia's eyes on her, piercing and green, utterly unavoidable as she removed her sunglasses.

"Or…maybe, it could just be the two of us for a minute, hm?"

Ella could hear the thought coming from a mile away, and she still sighed. "Saranoia—"

"Come on, you know it's something I've been thinking about for a while," Saranoia scooted her chair closer, hands eagerly, if anxiously, patting the knees peaking out of her silk skirt. "The Dark Tomorrow never truly had its reign, Eradicus was destroyed, and you and the others, well…"

"I know what happened, Saranoia. I don't need a recap." Ella said. "I said no before, and I'm saying no now."

Saranoia folded her arms. "Well, you have yet to give me a reason!"

"Because our magic is just too different," Ella said. Now she's the one taking off her shades. "You're all wands and spells and enchanted items, my abilities stem entirely from my mind and how it influences others. It just wouldn't mesh."

"Covens are often host to women of several talents," Saranoia said. "Not to mention, didn't you have a magic staff not too long ago?"

"One that I don't use anymore," Ella said, the staff having been left behind in her apartment. "It was more of a conduit situation, maybe some occasional self-defense, but it was more for appearances; it was never life or death."

"Well, in that case, I'd be more than happy to lend you one of my wands," Saranoia said.

"Sorry, I'm no good at sharing."

"You're right, you're right, I'm getting ahead of myself," Saranoia said. "I mean, we haven't even thought of a bonding ceremony!"

"Bonding, really?" Ella replied, now taking a drink from the flask directly. "That'll take even more convincing."

"And just a pinch of magic!" Saranoia said, dramatically fluttering her hands. Her tone was playful, but her true intention was obvious. "Well, we could always try the sweat sisters ceremony, but the first time I tried it was a bust."

Ella nearly choked on her sip. "I'm sorry, the what?"

Saranoia rolled her eyes. "Oh, it was just this one time I disguised myself as a popular teenage girl and tried to rope Yin into permanently bonding herself to me via wiping sweat onto the other's brow. You see, we'd run in place for a minute until you work up a sweat, and then—"

"I've gotten the gist, thank you."

"But it was about the only means of a bond that I could come up with at the time," Saranoia said. "The other one I had in mind, well, it would have been something of a blood bond—much deeper, much more unbreakable."

Saranoia pointed at her palm. "It's a tradition that dates back centuries: both of us would slit our palms and press them together, merging our blood in the process. Even the scars left on our hands would be permanent."

"That's somehow less disturbing than the sweat sisters thing."

"You think so?" Saranoia said, cocking her head. "Maybe I should have led with that."

"And if some Woo Fool wasn't dim enough to accept your offers, what makes you think I would?"

"Oh, come now, Ella!" Saranoia rested her hand on Ella's, giving it a firm squeeze. "The two of us, we've always been so…limited in what we could do! But us, especially you, you have so much potential that's been untapped!"

Saranoia shifted the position of their hands. "Apart, we'll be left chasing our own tails, but together…" She smiled softly, interlocking their fingers. "Well, I can't help but imagine the possibilities."

Ella was silent for a moment, the warmth of Saranoia's hand like a shock to her system.

Damn, how long had it been?

Ella sighed, still not pulling her hand away. "Listen, Sara, understand that I'm also after power, I want more than what I've been given," she said. "I'm not ready to give up just because the Dark Tomorrow failed, or even because Eradicus is gone. I refuse to let it stop me, because, deep down, I always knew I could do more without him than with him."

Saranoia gave a satisfied hum, a thumb rubbing against Ella's knuckles. "Freeing yourself from your patriarchal upbringing," she said. "That we have in common."

"Well, Eradicus was always… particularly critical of me compared to Chucky and Bob," Ella said. "I didn't want to make any assumptions, but he is most definitely a product of his time."

"As was my father," Saranoia said, then gave a giddy laugh. "Ah, look at that, already on the same page!"

"We're at least in the same zip code," Ella said. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Saranoia chuckled. "Zip codes, hm? Well, our apartments are—"

Ella's EduPod vibrated in her purse. She tore herself away, diving her hand inside and fishing it out with her back turned.

Saranoia's thoughts rang out with mild disappointment. "Oh, that guy you're seeing, I assume."

"Yeah, yeah, something like that," Ella said, pocketing the device after reading off Tak's message and heading out of the pergola, her purse hastily pulled over her shoulder. "I really should get going."

"Do consider what we talked about!" Saranoia shouted.

"No promises," Ella shouted back, though she most definitely would.

??? | ???

The heady fog breaks under the force of Yang's sword with ease, dramatically parting as he makes his way through dense forest. Beams of moonlight peer through the lumbering trees, insects chirping, prey animals scurrying—the land is quiet yet alive.

The deeper they traveled into the forest, the more alien it became, the chants of roaming cultists growing louder as they approached.

Just a few feet ahead was a softly glowing, golden portal. The energy could be sensed from several feet away, carving a path that began to radiate with an alien luminescence as the distance began to close.

"You see anything?" Gaz asked, removing her cloak as she gave a careful glance among the dense foliage.

The mace in her hand is propped casually on her shoulder, vials of potions strapped securely to her belt clinking softly against each other. The head of Nug sits in the satchel strapped to her back, Yeb's still squirming with its last remnants of life in Yang's burlap sack—one part trophy, another part secret weapon.

"Not yet, but I do hear something," Yang suddenly halted, pointing towards a fork in the road. "It's coming from over there."

He pointed towards the left path, an extension of the forest whose foreign flora coated the winding dirt road.

"We either book it towards Shub-Niggurath and send her packing, or…" Yang pointed towards the left path. "Take a shot at her uncle. I hear he's a hell of an optional boss."

Gaz thought for a moment. "I have heard Tsathoggua drops some pretty good loot," she said. "If we could get some hits in while he's sleeping…"

Yang gave her a playful nudge. "Come on, I'd say we give it a try. Or two."

"The Thousand Young minions will already be enough of a headache," Gaz mused. She double-checked her supply of potions and recalled the statistics on her mace as she weighed it in her hands. "Screw it, let's go."

The two headed down the left path with certainty, watching the way the area once again shaped itself at the mercy of the old one's sheer might as they passed the threshold into N'kai.

All around them is infinite darkness, the bridge that lies out before them, ancient in shape, a product of a forgotten time. As they crossed over the bridge that looked over a bottomless pit, they made their way into the cave, faint noises up ahead echoing gently through the rocky structure.

"He shouldn't be too far off from here," Gaz assured, popping up the mini-map. "I've heard rumors the guy's got a one-hit kill that has a 0.5% chance of triggering. Time a parry just right and it deflects right back at him."

"Then it's a good thing I buffed my sword during our last dungeon crawl," Yang said, grinning. "This joke won't know what him."

And the battle that lay ahead proved to be immensely satisfying—just enough difficulty and carnage to satiate them both. But Tsathoggua is as much of a challenge as promised, thrashing and unpredictable when angered, contrasting his usually slothful behavior.

For every blow Yang and Gaz could manage, Tsathoggua did with the same level of efficiency, and at the cost of far less stamina.

“Damn, you got any more of those daggers?" Gaz said, her and Yang ducking behind a massive boulder for cover as she vigorously searched her inventory. "I think I've got a bleed effect going and I don't want him to recover.”

"Got ya," Yang said, wincing slightly as he passed along some of his throwing knives to his partner, knowing the extra points of accuracy Gaz had gained from a previous status buff would guarantee ninety-eight percent accuracy.

"Man, I'm glad we didn't skip ahead to Shub-Nuggurath," Yang said, then shot a cheeky grin despite the wound he had gained when a tentacle sliced his hip. "And you thought we hadn't leveled up enough."

"Shut up and let me heal you."

Yang downed a potion as he watched in quiet awe as the disgusting mass of scales and flesh began to expel bile from all orifices, a couple of its young leaking from the depths of its slimy anus. Its dripping maw gave a guttural screech.

Gaz gasped. "This is our chance…Quick, while his mouth is open!"

She reached into her bag and presented the decapitated head of Nug, Yang grabbed the head of Yeb and shot his partner a quick nod.

Gaz braced herself, boots firmly in the moist soil as she put her full strength into the incoming throw.

"One…" she began.

"Two…" Yang continued.

"Three!" The two said together as they threw the heads inside the elder god's mouth mere seconds before it shut again.

Tsathoggua halted their wails of anger and agony long enough to register what had slipped down its massive throat, Gaz projecting a shield in time to avoid the wave of damage that sprang from its exploding form, destroying the rock that couldn't sustain the force.

The two stood in silence, waiting for the allotted period to see if the boss had a secret second form.

"Aaaaand…." Yang said, the lack of a hovering, longer health bar manifesting making him break into a broad grin. "We got him!"

"Hell yes!"

Yang and Gaz high-fived, the sound of their avatar's leveling up as the XP funneled into their stats a chiming backtrack to their victory.

"Man, might need a breather after that."

"Ditto,"

"Book Club" | 12:30 P.M.

Gaz opened a fresh bag of frosted mini donuts, pushing it toward the middle of the table so Yang could grab a few.

“You know, if you said this was a video game club, I’m sure they would have been fine with that," Yang said between bites. "We'd just have to dress it up with something fancy like…'media appreciation' or 'digital storytelling' or some crap like that."

He took a quick sip of his Mutant Mango Poop Cola to wash down a handful of sour cream and onion chips. "Just food for thought…"

"And have them snooping around to see if our selections are 'educational' and 'age appropriate'? No way. This place is so Ivy League it’s making me itch,” Gaz said. "Besides, I don't mind it just being us."

"So, I assume that means you've had no luck finding someone else who wants to join us?" Yang said.

Gaz gave a noncommittal shrug. "Meh, I thought about it, but I don't think anyone else here could keep up. Not at the rate we're going."

Yang scoffed. "I'm don't need them trailing behind us like some lost puppy while we get through the Trials. I'm thinking more like…" Yang grabbed a third donut, as if to emphasize his point. "A space filler. They don't even have to play with us, just be registered as a member and then—TA DAH!—no one can crawl up our asses about all the other rules we're breaking."

It had been a little over a week since Yang had officially considered himself the second member of Gaz's incredibly rebellious "book club", and the promises of junk food and gaming paradise were the one thing he ever looked forward to at this academic prison.

Their official meetup dates were finally established to be after school on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, this particular Saturday dedicated to taking down another boss in the grueling Azathoth Trials, a limited-time event being hosted in their favorite MMORPG.

The two of them were making steady progress through the ranks, laying waste to the horrifying machinations of the cosmos with ease.

And the two of them really did work better together. Yang could only manage a boss on his own for so long, but the Trials were adamant about the importance of partnership. One battle was a burden only two could carry, something that he was well aware of from his many days of battle alongside his sister, and Yang nearly jumped for joy when Gaz came back in time to take Nug and Yeb for a spin.

Gaz had come back from her detention on Tuesday with a demeanor somehow more detached than usual, and the topic had remained untouched since then. If what Lina had said about Yin's behavior was anything to go by, that much time alone with Tak didn't seem healthy for anyone.

Despite his curiosity about the specifics, Yang could infer from Gaz's personality alone that she wasn't the type to pick and prod for questions. The second she had grown bored with a topic, she'd immediately steer clear of it, back to whatever was most interesting to her at the time.

And honestly, Yang could get used to that sort of decisiveness.

While his sister was focused, she was also particular, precise—a perfectionist who favored order and answers above all else. And Gaz, well, Gaz's utter lack of interest in most things people cared about painted a rather fascinating portrait.

Despite her glum demeanor, she had a soft spot, a hidden zeal she kept well hidden, the kind of concealed compassion that showed that, while she saw the club as a means to an end to complete the Trials, she also didn't seem to totally mind Yang's company.

Or, at least he'd like to tell himself that.

It was just keeping the club alive that was proving to be a ticking clock on this whole operation.

Gaz thought for a moment, genuinely considering it. "Yeah, but it's gotta be someone who won't take the intel and rat us out. Preferably no one in Tak's pocket, like your sister."

"How 'bout your brother? It's not like we've gotta talk to him," Yang said. "And, come on, he's gotta like some games, right?"

Gaz shook her head. "Nah, he doesn't like video games. Never has."

Yang blinked. "Wait, your brother never plays with you?”

"Your sister never plays with you?"

Yang spoke around a big bite of his donut. "Yin thinks video games are a—"

"Waste of time? Boring?" Gaz said.

"Unfulfilling and dull?" Yang added.

"Stupid?" They said together.

"And here you thought we had nothing in common," Yang said. “Well, to be fair, Yin will cave every once in a while. One time, I got stumped on a totally random puzzle right in the middle of this hack-and-slash brawler-type thing. Would have sliced my Y Cube open if Yin hadn’t figured it out for me.”

“If I wanted the Garlic Rosary item on Vampire Piggy Hunter Deluxe Addition, I had to solve this stupid true or false segment about Transylvania. Of course, Dib knew all the answers,” Gaz said before letting out a low sigh. “He got to use the big TV for a week.”

Yang gawked. "You placed that as a wager? Everybody knows TV rights are sacred! For shame, Gazlene!"

"Shut up," Gaz said, then pondered quietly. "But, yeah, maybe you're right. I guess I haven't exhausted all my options yet."

"Wait, how about Manny and Frida?"

Gaz rolled her eyes. "I know they like video games, but they're such….well…"

"Blabbermouths?"

"Especially Frida," Gaz said. "All the churros in the world couldn't keep her quiet."

"True," Yang put a finger to his chin in deep thought, his mind trying to recall any other students he at least knew by name. Honestly, Yang hadn't bothered to do much socializing ever since coming here, Manny and Frida being his only real companions thus far.

He'd put up fliers, but that could easily attract the wrong attention, especially since they'd have to lie and might accidentally snag a lame-o who cared about things like book clubs.

Ugh, all this was proving to be so annoying! Yang did suppose operating a somewhat illegitimate club made things all the more fun, but the second Tak or some teacher caught wind of what they were doing, who knew what kind of punishment might await them? And that was before they learned about the snack stash.

Yang rolled his shoulder, desperate to move on to just about anything else.

"So," he said. "Shub-Nuggurath?"

"Absolutely," Gaz replied, hands already over her keyboard again.

Oh well, Yang would cross that bridge when he came to it. Besides, what do they say about three being a crowd?

Yearbook Studio | 1:45 P.M.

Assembling the first official yearbook for Royal Heights Academy was a long and difficult process that Manny simply didn't have the patience for.

Granted, it was still one of the easier options for obtaining additional credits that would guarantee enough for him to graduate on time. After all, his father seemed to think it was a good fit for him—social, colorful, active, and collaborative—but what he failed to understand was that is still educational.

But was it still better than playing with dirt, or putting on ballet shoes (again)? Better than working for Newspaper that would prove to be undeniably much more pretentious and draining, not even having the grace of having until the end of the first semester to wrap up his workload?

Yes, undeniably better than all those things.

So that must mean he didn't slack off in this class, too, right? Right? That he was on top of things? Taking photographs? Interviewing students? Contributing to the board meetings? Right? Right?

When he enters the studio during the early afternoon, everyone looks at him as if he's passed gas. Manny gave a small wave, scanning the windowless room, an organized mess of pinned photographs, a cluttered whiteboard, and a series of cubicle-like desks fitted with private computers, only to realize it was a fruitless effort. Unless…

He looked to his right, the slightest bit of relief at the chance coming down here hadn't been entirely for nothing.

Manny casually strolled over to Zoe's station, laptop cluttered with rapidly expanding text and images open in several windows.

"Oh, look who decided to show up," Zoe barely peeled her eyes away from her computer, her black fingernails peaking out of a pair of fishnet gloves still typing quickly across the keyboard. "And where's your blue ball and chain this fine day?"

"I was hoping you would know, actually," Manny said, and though Zoe's expression changes, it doesn't slow her typing. She cleared her throat.

"That's odd," she said. "You two may as well be glued at the hip for all the difference it makes."

"I just figured she'd might be here," Manny said, and even Zoe is shocked by the words that come out of his mouth.

It halts her typing altogether, turning in her chair to look at him. Even on the weekends, her eye makeup is heavy, further emphasizing the quizzical squint of her eyes. "You thought that Frida Suárez would be spending a perfectly good Saturday catching up on all of her missing work? Frida?"

Manny gave an awkward laugh, shrugging. "Worth a shot,"

Zoe rolled her eyes, turning back to her work. "She's a no-show, as always. There's your answer."

"Figures," Manny said, nervously checking his phone. His grip tightened around his satchel. "She hasn't answered any of the texts or anything, and she wasn't in her dorm. I guess I'm just a little worried."

"That makes sense," Zoe said, her tone bitter. "Besides, I know you two are an item now."

Manny blinked, shaking his head. "N-no, we're not, actually."

That also makes Zoe stop typing, a subtle twitch in her fingers. Her expression is serious as she meets his gaze again, something behind her eyes as her lips pursed into a trembling line.

"Oh," was all she could manage. "Oh, yeah, of course. Did you guys break up or—"

"Never dated," Manny replied, though he knew he was speaking too quickly, too anxiously. The heightened state the question had prompted couldn't be more obvious, but he tucks it away, smothers out the thought that threatened to breach containment behind firmly clenched teeth. "We…we're friends. We're friends, best friends."

Manny feels like Zoe is looking right through them, her expression dubious. Suddenly, the heel of her skull-patterned ballet flat is tapping against the tiled floor.

"I see," she said slowly, turning back to her work. "Good to know."

"Yeah, I guess someone, somewhere has been trying to get a rumor started or something—"

"Listen, you can stay here and finish your Student Spotlight, or you can leave. I don't care which."

Manny pursed his lips. "Well, I guess at this rate I may as well—"

His phone buzzed with a notification, Frida having sent him the message: "at the outdoor bleachers! see ya :)".

"I'll, uh, put a pin in it! Monday, for sure!" Manny said, half-jogging out of the class with a sudden rush of energy. He couldn't even hear what Zoe shouted to him before he left.

He's passing through Nike's Arena and outside of the main building in the course of one elevator ride and a few bounds across the perfectly trimmed lawn. The track lay ahead of him, a few students hosting picnics or passing a ball back and forth as they soaked in the early afternoon sunlight.

"Manny!" Frida said, waving eagerly from the top of the bleachers. He can make out her guitar and songbook a little off from her. Manny beamed, bounding his way up the stairs and sitting down.

"Man, I thought I lost you," he said. "You oversleep or what?"

Frida flipped her hair. "This school is seriously impacting my beauty sleep," she said. "Like, 7 A.M., seriously? They're lucky I haven't passed out in my breakfast." Frida noticed Manny carrying around his bookbag, nodding her head towards. "What's in the bag?"

"Oh, just my sketchbook!" Manny said, undoing the flap and zipper and pulling it out. "I've been….doodling."

Frida's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Doodling what?"

Manny suddenly grew flustered. "Well..it's nothing that interesting yet. We've mostly been doing gesture sketches and perspectives, but when I have the time…" Manny flipped to a few pages, giving Frida a look. Inside is a mishmash of concepts: masked wrestlers, decorated skulls, devils and video game characters recalled from memory.

Manny shook his head. "I know, I know, they're kinda—"

"Awesome!" Frida said. "Wow, Manny, I didn't know you could do all this."

Manny smiled sheepishly. "I guess I've got an artistic streak," he said. "My teach says the anatomy is very, uh…" he tried to recall the word they had used. "Eclectic! They think I'll really enjoy covering pop art and cubism."

"Yeah, I definitely see it," Frida said, her fingers tracing the shape of a heavily decorated sombrero covered in missile launchers. She turned another page and Manny felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. Frida studied it closely. "Oh…"

Manny nervously tapped his knee through his black jeans. "Y-yeah, I've been trying to do some more realistic stuff, too. We've got some pretty good models."

"Really, well, this girl is really pretty," Frida said. She pointed at a few random streaks of color in the corner, back when Manny was testing out different shades of blue—turquoise and sapphire. "Ooh, this is a nice shade."

"We aren't being pushed to color anything until we learn about color theory, but I like to think about it, at least." Manny was suddenly eager to change the subject, his eyes lingering on Frida's open songbook. "What ya got there?"

Frida nervously flitted her eyes over the songbook, laughing nervously. "It's..uh…"

"Come on, tell me…" Manny said, gesturing to a folded page Frida had clamped open with her pen. Frida shyly tucked it away, shutting it closed.

"Oh, just another stinker from yours truly," she said. "The words are coming to me, Manny, but none of the flow, none of the artistry. It's nothing like the way you're drawing—none of it is natural."

Manny chuckled, taking back his sketchbook and putting it away. "Come on, I showed you something I made! Besides, it's been a long while since I heard a Frida Suárez original!"

Frida chewed her bottom lip, sheepishly turning her head. "I dunno, dude. I'm worried you might laugh…"

Manny blinked. "Laugh?! Me? After I showed you my crappy drawings? Since when have I ever—"

"Okay, okay, no need to pull my leg," Frida said, readying her guitar and delicately placing her fingers in the position. "Alright, here's something I've been working on."

"Let's hear it," Manny said, straightening his posture to show Frida he was already invested.

Frida takes a minute to get started, hesitation evident as she draws in a breath, her lips quivering.

"Like little fireworks, my…" she trailed off for a moment, swallowing hard. "…soul is set ablaze. A skin-level synergy is all the rage. And I'm raging, and blazing, and happy as ever—it's in the sky, in the weather. The party life never left me, because it is me…"

Frida stopped then, meeting Manny's gaze with a timid smile. "Uh, that's it."

"Wow," Manny said. "That's cool, really cool! I bet the Sombreos will love that!"

"Yeah, kinda like a party jam thing," Frida said. "A real, 'throw myself into the crowd while I'm still shredding on my guitar' kind of song."

Manny laughed. "Yeah, I could see it! I'm talking tattoos of your face on their face level stuff."

"Totally!"

The two continued to talk normally from there, complaining about their teachers and their stupid assignments. All the while, Manny can't help but compare the way Frida's hair outshines the September sky. He had to have a bright blue colored pencil lying around somewhere.

Chapter Text

Dorm A-20 | Sunday, September 9 | 12:45 P.M.

Every Sunday, Lina was obligated to call her father.

Not a text message, not exchanged voice memos, but an honest, old-fashioned phone call, preferably a little after noon when he could "catch his breath". Usually, her father called her, sometimes she called him, all of the time, the conversation didn't last much longer than ten to fifteen minutes.

Fresh out of the shower, Lina is alone in the lushly designed yet still functional dorm that she shares with Yin and Frida, encased by champagne-colored walls and the polished woodwork of imported furniture. She sat at the private desk next to her bed, a Membrane Labs laptop open to one of the educational websites that wasn't aggressively restricted by the academy's internet firewalls.

It's nice and quiet with the two of them away, alone with her thoughts and her father's voice still reminding her of her roots—the academy's biodome proving to have surprisingly good cell service.

As for the whereabouts of her roommates, Yin was down at the stables, tending to her horse Abacus in a way that bordered on obsessive. And Lina didn't blame her. After hearing the unfortunate news about Admiral, Yin was desperate to make sure her own horse was up to the code and wouldn't be next on the chopping block—or at least knew it was loved on the off chance it wasn't.

Lina had originally wanted to bring up the kissing booth incident, especially since Yin hadn't bothered to run the idea by her before launching something destined to fail, but no, why add to Yin's worries when she was clearly stressed enough? Lina would let it drop for now.

Meanwhile, Frida was off doing Foo knows what in some corner of the school she probably had no right to be in. Most likely goofing off with Manny to orchestrate an increasingly nonsensical array of pranks that some poor custodian would be left to deal with.

First it was the jello, then the hot sauce, then the butter—were their pranks always this food-related?—which immediately made them the scorn of the poor saps in Culinary, Lina included.

With the two of them away, this left Lina to her much more mundane devices, mulling over some homework due on Monday in the comfort of some rolled-up sweats, freshly dried fingernail polish, and a faded t-shirt absorbing what drops of water escaped the towel wrapped around her head. The shirt was borrowed by Yang and officially became hers when she forgot to return it, not that he ever thought to make a fuss because it "just looks so much better on you, babe".

But while Lina was reveling in leisure, she could vividly picture her father in his usual overalls—the traditional mark of their blue-collar lifestyle—maybe in his bedroom, maybe in the living room on the pullout couch, or lounging out on the house's porch, enjoying the shade. She can imagine the sweat on his brow from what could have been hours of labor, up and early to get some work done before the sun started to rise.

They had been growing some zucchini a little before she left, uprooting them from the soil being a duty often bestowed upon her, and she couldn't help but feel a little guilty that she wasn't there to do what was clearly a two-person, maybe even three-person job depending on the season.

So while Lina is suspecting the slightest bit of unintentional guilt-tripping about her extended absence, her father was always incredibly interested in what she had to say.

Each time, her father would ask his questions, and so far, Lina had only had so much to report on. After all, it had only been about—Lina checked her phone's calendar—three weeks since she'd left her town, and Royal Heights was proving to be an, at best, mildly mundane high school experience.

How are your classes?

Fine.

How are your classmates?

Good, most of them.

Make any new friends?

This one punk rock chick and her boyfriend.

"Any enemies?" he asked today, mostly kidding, though Lina hesitated to give an honest answer.

Should she really tell her humble country mouse of a father about the possibility that her best friend could be falling for the manipulative academy prefect who was possibly an alien in disguise, or would that shatter his worldview all over again?

She bit her tongue.

"Uh…" Lina tapped the end of her pen against her notes, her Latin textbook open to a random chapter on her desk beside it. She nestled her phone into the crook of her shoulder. "Well, 'enemy' sounds like the wrong word. More like a…"

Lina skimmed the phrase written in her notebook.

"Hostis," she said, knowing she was probably butchering the pronunciation. "Something like that."

She could sense her father's confusion. "Mind repeating that?"

"I've made a public enemy because if I hate someone, the whole world is gonna know," Lina said. "But I'd never let them become my…uh, inimicus."

"…Meaning?"

"Personal enemy," Lina said, writing out a sentence that she's sure will at least net her a B. "You can't give anyone that much power over you."

"Oh, this school is teaching you all these fancy words," he said, chuckling. "Look at my girl, learning so much in so little time."

"It's not like I'm ever gonna need this stuff," Lina said. "Did you know that Latin is considered a dead language to most people? I didn't even know it existed until now."

"Then why bother with the class?"

"Language credits—need them to graduate on time, and I guess, I dunno, I can kinda vibe with the whole 'let's try to revive a buried culture' thing?" Lina said, leaning back in her chair. "But enough about me, how are things back home?"

"Oh, things are just fine, honey! I've actually gotten some helping hands to keep things in ship shape," he said. "Those two boys you know, Roger Jr. and Dave, they've been dropping off after school three times a week since you've left."

Lina beamed at the news. "Oh, really? I hope those knuckleheads haven't been giving you too much trouble."

He laughed. "Not at all, hun! They're a pleasure to have around," he said. "Even threw a bit of a fuss when some government bigwigs showed up about the fungus."

Lina's smile faded. "What? Really? Did word get out about it or something?"

"I'm sure the fungus spreading to some other trees around town speaks for itself," her father said, his voice was the slightest bit glum, like the topic was already weighing on his mind. "They must have tracked the source down and figured we had something to do with it."

"Come on, that's not fair!"

"Now, it's not as bad as it seems, dear! I let them know we were as surprised as anybody else about the whole thing. Not to mention, it just looks so harmless, no one was really upset, just confused—even got offered a pretty penny to sell some of it to a local jeweler."

"Which you didn't take…right?"

"Absolutely not," her father assured. "Besides, I'm not permitted to touch the stuff until they think of a protocol to decide exactly what's going on. It's a real doozy."

"Oh…" Was all Lina could think to say.

"Yeah, had to rope the whole thing off—government protocol."

"But, the farm is still ours, right?"

"Of course it is, Lina! You know I would never let that happen."

"So it really is spreading…" Lina muttered, tapping her pen in more rapid succession. Tap. Tap. Tap. "I don't know if I like the sound of that, daddy."

Her father laughed. "And here I thought you were brushing it off as nothing to worry about. In fact, you were the one who suggested we rope it off."

"Can't a girl change her mind?" Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. "It's just…I didn't want anyone who didn't know what they were talking about getting involved. Like, we could have handled it ourselves, not have…ugh, President Muffin of all people trying to milk this whole thing for profit. He might turn the forest into a tourist trap. And he's already weird enough about the property taxes—"

"Hey now, adult problems for the adults, okay?"

Lina sighed. "Okay, okay, I know you've got this covered, daddy. I just wish I could do something about it."

"It's nothing too serious," her father said. "The trees are still alive and well, actually, maybe even more than usual."

Lina raised a brow. "Really?"

"It's almost like they're growing more than they ever had," he said. "It's in the bark, and the leaves…as if they've taken on a life of their own…"

"A life of their own…" Lina muttered, racking her brain for where she had heard such a thing. "So, you think it might be a—?"

"Mycorrhiza, I think," And thinking was all they had to work off at this point.

While Lina couldn't completely scratch the words "evil environment-based villain" off her list of theories, something about it possibly not being the case made her feel more anxious.

Something about this didn't reek of ill intent but more like a force of nature, as natural as the weather, the whims of an indifferent universe. And Lina understood how unpredictable and oftentimes violently unstable the earth could be.

She could sniff out earthquakes, sense tornadoes, but this? This she had no definite tell for. It had happened literally overnight, and even in the short time she's been away, clearly the condition had worsened—or, gotten better?

Why did a weird part of her prefer good old-fashioned rot and decay over blossoming, flourishing life?

Maybe because the intent of something meant to harm was something to be immediately dealt with, its motivations were clearer. It was bad, it was toxic, it was dangerous or poisonous and had to be dealt with through either precision or mindless violence.

But something that bred life and change? Something that warped the environment to its liking? Well, that was difficult to diagnose, and it was often nature that was the guinea pig to such things.

But when did nature stop being a big enough canvas? The next step was always the body, then the mind, then the soul—why change trees when the flesh was so much more malleable?

Lina grimaced, her train of thought getting away from her.

Her time as a Woo Foo knight had conditioned her to be the slightest bit…paranoid at times. She had no idea how Yin and Yang put up with it, always on high alert, worrying if the slightest indication of foul intent could threaten someone's life.

She never saw strangers the same; a part of her worried that the passersby in her life would shape up to be the next villain-of-the-week. It only took enough trauma or one bad day to push someone over the edge, and it was Lina who would have to do something about it. She had to, it was her duty.

And she knew the town would be in safe hands despite the drop in crime, the Woo Foo army maybe even being able to lead somewhat normal lives, saving the day nothing but a pastime.

And if this ended up being a threat that no amount of Woo Foo could resolve, then what would they be left with? Something was amiss; Lina just had yet to sniff it out. Speaking of smells—Lina gave a quick whiff, something metallic lingering in the air…

Lina took a snapshot of her answers before texting the photo over to Yang. He still had yet to acknowledge her "good morning <3" text which was uncharacteristic of him—Damn, were both twins concocting risky schemes behind her back?

"Uh, daddy, I gotta go," she said, getting up from her desk. "Talk to you later, alright?"

"Of course, and listen: everything will be okay. I promise."

"But…do keep me in the loop about this," Lina said, stepping towards the door. "Don't think I won't hop on that plane and hightail it back home if things get messy."

She could hear her father shaking his head. "Now, now, don't you have a 'future to shape or some nonsense like that?'"

Lina couldn't help but chuckle as, once again, her own words were used against her, slowly pushing her door open to give the Level A dormitory a quick once-over. That smell is still in the air, subtle and fading slightly, as if it had sensed her approach.

She pursed her lips, a hand pushing back the loose strands of hair slipping out of her damp towel.

"You're right," she said. "Got bigger things ahead of me."

"That's what I thought," her father replied. "Now, go make me proud, okay?"

Lina nodded. "You too."

Dorm C-22 | 1:05 P.M.

It was the hardest text message Frida had ever had to come up with in a lifetime: an excuse to get out of spending a perfectly good Sunday afternoon with her best friend.

Frida could still taste the cheap cherry red polish on her tongue from biting her thumbnail mere minutes ago, her fingers getting the work out of their lives as she typed and retyped excuse after excuse, mentally mapping out any loopholes or questions that Manny would probably have at her utter defiance of a time-honored tradition.

To spoil a perfectly good weekend together? For shame!

The story she had stuck with was that she had some work to make up for in Sewing Circle. Her embroidery hoop meant to resemble a baby blue morning glory looking more like a periwinkle nighttime disgrace—still one of her better white lies as that was undeniably true.

And it's not like Frida didn't plan to spend time with Manny today, it's just that…well, Django had run into her before breakfast, and one thing led to another, and then—You know what? It didn't matter.

She still promised she'd be done soon and meet up later to do some more plotting for October. They weren't even close to done with September, but it never hurt to plan ahead.

They had thought about pulling something during the student election, but something that high-profile would take a lot of coordination to pull off—especially since Manny's pops expected them to be in attendance and on their best behavior.

Maybe next year.

Frida had hit send and sat in agonizing silence as the three dots of doom faded in and out of existence on her cellphone, only to receive an assuring response that Manny was already planning to talk to his art teacher. A thumbs-up emoji and a "see ya later" sealed the deal.

Guilt officially gone. Kinda.

And now, as she relaxed in Django's dorm room that he shared with Yuck and Zim—a smell that was a splice between compost and old batteries permeating the air—she could feel the slightest bit better that both of them were off in far-off corners of the academy, handling their personal business. Besides, this had to be the last place Manny would suspect her to be, and Frida couldn't decide yet if this made her feel better or worse about the whole thing.

But once again, it didn't matter.

"Oh, and I looked up that word you said the other day, that one that sounds like an 'f' but starts with a 'p' for some reason. Uh…Philadelphia? Whatever, and no, Manny is not a…" Frida said as she sat on the edge of Django's bed, trying to recall the definition she had looked up on her phone after her conversation with Django that Thursday. "Some guy who doesn't appreciate the arts! I'll have you know, he makes his own art."

"Ah, but does he appreciate your art is the real question," Django said, head against his plush pillow with his hands on his rib cage as he stared at the ceiling. "There's a difference, Frida."

"Yes," Frida replied firmly, shifting her position on the edge of the bed. "Yes, I think he does."

"Alright, just making sure," Django said. He sat up, bones audibly creaking as he stretched out his spine. "I just can't help but feel I have the expertise to better relate to your gripes. Writer's block, the days when your guitar just won't make the right sounds, feeling like everyone is just so ahead of you—I've been there."

"Psh, says the next heir of the Miracle City criminal empire," Frida said, stealing a glance at Django's mystic guitar leaning against his nightstand as she balanced her considerably less impressive one in her lap. "Come on, are you serious about doing music for real?"

"Come on, a guy can have his hobbies," Django said. "And, yeah, I've got that going for me, but that's pretty much being handed to me once Nana retires."

Frida curled her lip, her expression glum. "Damn, must be nice."

"In what way?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know! Destined to a life of being rich and powerful, that's gotta be awesome! Hell, even Manny has got things sorted out for him if he chooses to be a hero or a villain. No matter what, things will go his way."

Django whistled. "Oof, that's awfully harsh."

"N-no, it's not in a bad way! I guess I just…I dunno," Frida looked out the window, chin in her hand. "It's just Manny comes from a whole family of superheroes and villains, and he's already so good at both."

Django nodded. "The guy's definitely got potential."

"He's got the belt and the history; he never has to worry about not knowing what he wants to do with his life. But not me, I didn't get so lucky," Frida said. "Even the unconditional family support thing is still up in the air."

"Well, what do your parents do for a living?"

"My dad's a cop, and in a place like Miracle City, it definitely pays the bills," Frida said. "And one time I tried out for the cadet program, the same one my sisters took, but I just wasn't cut out for it."

"Psh, you could do better than being a cop," Django said, rolling his eyes.

"At the time, I thought it was the only way for my dad to respect me, but I just wasn't the person he needed me to be…" Frida could still recall the pledge from memory, the engraved picture frame still on her desk back home. "Strong of will, swift of foot, and above all, honest—I'm hardly ever two of these things at once, let alone all three."

"How about your mom?"

"A judge," Frida said. "Which I'm sure I'd be even worse at."

"So, you have a family obsessed with law and justice?" Django asked. "That's gotta drive you nuts."

"Eh, sometimes, I also know way more legal jargon than I'd like to," Frida said. "But, besides that, I never really fit in with any of them, and the second I said I wanted to do music, it's like they weren't sure how to feel about it. With Anita and Nikita turning out the way they did, I'm sure they thought I'd be the same. And, so did I for a while."

"And what made you fall in love with music?"

Frida sighed happily. "What didn't make me fall in love is the real question. I heard my mom sing to me once to put me to sleep, and I was obsessed ever since," Frida said. "When I got older, I started collecting vinyls and going to free concerts—well, mostly free because I snuck in. I was ten when I got my first guitar and taught myself how to play it. My dad insisted on putting me in a class for beginners, but I worried they were just gonna stop me from playing the way I wanted."

"Speaking of music, I imagine you don't have your guitar here for nothing," Django said. "You got a song to share with me?"

Frida gave a nervous laugh. "Uh, well, some progress has been made. Kinda..sorta…"

"Come on, let's hear it!"

"God, you and Manny are both so pushy," Frida said, though she's still smiling, feeling a little more relaxed for whatever reason. Much more than she was on the bleachers with Manny the other day. For some reason, she doesn't feel like she can embarrass herself in front of Django.

She adjusted her guitar a little more, giving it an experimental strum. "Now, it's far from done, but I think it has some potential," she said. "This is something I've had in mind for a minute, my, uh, 'heart song' as you would put it."

"The 'death's door one' or something else?"

"Something super different," Frida said. "And super dumb, so brace yourself…"

Frida gave her guitar a couple more strums. Her throat is still a little dry, but the words come to her easily:

"Like little fireworks, my heart sparks and fizzles out. In that moment, I can only hope you notice me, so I shout: please look at me, please turn to me, please give me some hope that I’ll never doubt. Please do forgive me, because these feelings are complicated, perhaps I overcompensated, because if you could learn to love someone like me, then maybe it'll give me something to believe. The truth is, I’ve got the worst kind of weakness—I’ve got no shields on me. And with my barriers down, I fear I could never face you or me…"

Frida feels a weight off her chest the second the words are out of her mouth, like a fist has unclenched around her heart, and yet she's paralyzed with fear. For a moment, she can only stare down at her fingers, fixed into position long after she's struck the last cord.

"You wrote that?" Django asked.

Frida sighed. "Yes, yes I did," she said. "It's been in the works for a bit. Hardly even touched it until recently, too embarrassing, but it's the farthest I've gone with most of these songs."

Django is still staring at her, and Frida instinctively curls in on herself, gripping her guitar like a lifeline.

"And I know, it's so dumb and so sappy and so…what's the word? Vulnerable? Like, I'm picking that wound I got back in the third grade."

"It hurts," Django said. "It hurts in a way that feels good, right? Like, you needed it."

Now Frida is the one staring, feeling like everything she's been experiencing for the last two years was summed up so easily.

"Sometimes our best art comes when we're feeling our most insecure," Django continued. "If we aren't willing to let ourselves be hurt for a moment, we can never start the healing process."

"Even you?"

"No, not me, I've never had an off day in my life," Django said, though his smirk gives him away.

Frida chuckled. "I mean, I guess you're right, but who in the world is gonna listen to me whine about my problems?"

"People who have those same problems," Django said. "Think about: there's probably so many people out there who worry about being a good daughter, a good friend, a good…" Django's voice trailed off, the word on the tip of his tongue, and yet he couldn't will himself to say it. "Well…"

"A what?"

"A good partner. Yeah, let's go with that."

Frida flushed, fiddling with the tuning pegs mostly as a distraction. "It's not what it looks like, Django."

"Oh, come on! You don't write lyrics like that unless you have someone special in mind," Django said. "And, if it is who I think it is—"

"Quit it,"

"Fine, fine, you don't have to tell me," Django shook his head. "Damn, hesitation and indecision—you two were made for each other."

"We agreed we'd only talk about music when we hung out. Nothing about Manny, it's too, well, it's too uncomfortable, y'know?"

"Oh yeah, the whole 'hanging out with the enemy behind his back' thing," Django sucked some air between his teeth. "Might be a tough sell to ol' tiger boy."

"That's one way to put it," Frida said. "But, maybe if you showed you haven't done anything crazy, we could, I dunno, spend some time together."

"And you think he won't ask how you came to that conclusion in the first place?"

"I'll just say you've been helping me out in our music class," Frida said. "You let me cheat off your test or whatever. Instant friends, we bury the hatchet, lava in a volcano, or whatever."

Django mulled over the idea for a moment, shaking his head. "Sounds risky, Suárez. Then again, I expected nothing less from you."

That was a compliment, right? Frida still had yet to decide if her and Django's conversation was thinly veiled flirting or just a casual exchange between two struggling artists.

The language of art, and especially music, could be awfully intimate, and Django just had this way about him that showed he had deeper intentions behind the simplest of exchanges.

She just couldn't make sense of it!

Django, who should have been her enemy as much as he was Manny's, was straddling the line between admirer and friendly stranger, all of it wrapped up in intent that Frida had yet to make sense of.

They were bonding over the foundations of creation, not destruction. But she still had to realize that the silken tongue Django had, despite it betraying all laws of biology, was capable of weaving some very flattering words.

He had stoked the flames of Manny's family tension with just a few carefully placed sentences, and Frida would do well to remember that.

And yet, why did she take so much comfort in speaking to Django, more than she had with Manny as of late? Was it the lack of anything to hide? The lack of judgment? The fact that there was no history to marinate in, but history to make?

Frida was somewhat relieved to hear her phone buzz, a text from Manny saying the talk with his teacher went well and he was about ready to hang out in the Hall of Kui Wing like they always did.

"That's you-know-who," she said, her guitar strap now around her shoulder. "I'd better get going."

Django got up from the bed, Frida suppressing a yelp as a hand was placed on her shoulder and she was gently pushed towards the door, Django's arm outstretched. "Right this way, m'lady."

Frida hates herself for laughing. "Aw man…"

Django opened the door for her, giving a quick bow.

"Just wishing you on your merry way," he said, then thought for a moment. "Now, where does that put us? I'd say we're at about…" He counted on his fingers. "Three conversations in the span of about a week? Wow, I've still got a while to go."

Frida chuckled. "It was more like a general number, dude. You don't have to take it so seriously."

"Well, if that's the case, I guess we can skip all the fanfare and try hanging out for real," Django said. "Don't get me wrong, I love that we talk our way through music class, and spending time here together is something else, but we haven't really been…I dunno, out in the open. Not like this, at least."

"Man, you really want an audience."

Django smirked. "What I'd give for Zim or Yuck to come busting in here right this moment…seeing me all alone with a pretty girl. As if this school didn't have enough scandal—"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, sorry," Django said. "It's not like those two would give a crap. Manny, on the other hand…"

"We agreed to keep these things private and not about Manny, and we're gonna keep it that way," Frida said. "Besides, we're not like…friends, or anything. Just someone I share my songs with, that's all."

"Ah, which, by your definition, is the one thing you can't bring yourself to share with your best friend."

"Yes,"

"Then, and I must ask again: what does that make me?"

"My brother in arms in the fight against writer's block?" Frida said, though she hardly even convinced herself. "But not a friend. You can't try to kill Manny and be my friend."

"Exactly, the same way Manny's not your boyfriend. What's in a title, right?"

Frida parted her lips to speak, but instead pursed them into a tight line as she made her way out. "A lot of things, Django," she muttered, though she's sure Django can hear her. "More than you could ever imagine."

Horse Stables | 5:15 P.M.

From what Gaz could gather from onlookers, the scene left behind was more morbid than it was graphic.

When she dropped by the stables in the early evening, the barn devoid of any students and filled with the usual flock of stinky, dumb horses, she was free to catch a look at the aftermath without any of the grisly details.

Gaz had popped her head into a place she otherwise had no interest in mostly out of curiosity. Admiral's corpse was long gone and probably off to some glue factory, or perhaps to have its parts repurposed for some sort of equestrian experiment.

Only her father's twisted mind would aspire to redefine the true meaning of "horsepower".

"Damn," Gaz mumbled. "She really did it."

She does wonder how Tak had pulled it off.

Maybe the puntilla, but no, if Tak deemed the task lowly enough for some feeble human to do it, then she'd settle for something much more worthy of her alien expertise. Tak reeked of someone who had taken a life before and relished the process, and any living creature was not safe from her appetite for destruction—Gaz included.

Gaz can't ignore the solemn energy it emitted, the still living horses either too oblivious or too shellshocked by what they had just witnessed. To see one of their own put down so effortlessly, knowing they'd be next if they ever underperformed, it was a miserable way to live.

"Come to see the fruits of my labor?"

Gaz swallowed a surprised sound, tensing up as she turned towards the entrance, Tak standing with hands on hips and a small smile that was anything but friendly. Had she anticipated Gaz being here or was she just that enamored by her own handiwork?

"Just wanted to see what the big deal was," Gaz said. "Little late to be saying your goodbyes, don't you think?"

"Yes, maybe I'm feeling sentimental. Didn't have time to orchestrate a funeral," Tak said as she stepped inside, the square heels of her shoes echoing through the room. "But that's far too much effort to waste on a horse, don't you think?"

Despite it being the weekend, Tak is still wearing her uniform—blazer cape and all. Compared to Gaz's Vampire Piggy Hunter t-shirt and black camo shorts, the navy blue plaid skirt, white button-up, and gold accents make her look obnoxiously overdressed.

"Yeah, sure," Gaz replied, turning back to the empty pile of hay that once cushioned Admiral's weak body. It's almost eerily neat, as if Admiral had tidied up the place before committing suicide.

Could horses kill themselves? She couldn't help but imagine it would be a much less violent fate than whatever Tak had in mind. Maybe ram its head repeatedly into a wall until its brain ruptures or its neck snaps.

"A shame you weren't able to see it yourself, Gazlene. I would have loved to have an audience, but alas."

"You are really getting a kick out of this, aren't you?"

Tak rested a hand against the wooden gate, fingers running down the swirling engravings.

"A kick? No, not that I'd call it," she said, her stare vacant. "I just find it interesting, this thoroughbred, this miracle of nature that has provided so many victories for its master, killed the second they can no longer perform. And I found that a bit hasty until I really thought about it: I think it’s because watching it hobble around, limping, whining…it’s just so pathetic. It’s served its purpose, and it’s an animal much too dumb to even understand it was bred for competition in the first place. So why not put it out of its misery? It's a show of mercy."

Gaz scoffed. "Mercy? You’re the one who wanted me to kill your horse with that weirdo knife and sat back like you were at the movies."

"Oh, you probably would have just messed up and paralyzed him instead. Puntillas don’t always kill horses, just paralyze them. And given Admiral’s current state, he may have been immobile from the very start. Just shooting him would have been the easier option," Tak cocked her head. "And I've seen the way you handle guns."

Gaz narrowed her eyes, quietly suspicious if Tak really was obsessed enough to consider stalking. She shook her head, getting back to the topic at hand.

"Well, I didn’t know that. It's your stupid horse."

"And I was stupid to choose you as an executioner," Tak said. "I gave you that knife, and you stood there like a deer in the headlights. I sent prey to slaughter prey, and that was my first mistake."

Tak laughed softly. "What I've come to realize is that you’re all talk. Gazlene Membrane isn't some soulless monster, just an angry little girl who loves her daddy. Can't even kill a horse, let alone a puppy."

Gaz glowered. "How the hell is your flying space car less annoying than you?"

"It's a machine, Gaz. A submissive vehicle built to serve," Tak said. "But perhaps you're just more comfortable conversing with something without a pulse. My ship, which I hope for your sake is still in one piece, is only alive in the ways that are beneficial to me."

It's amazing how mask-off Tak can be at times like this, completely uninterested in entertaining the idea of her humanity.

Gaz knew. Zim knew. Dib definitely knew. And a weird part of Tak's willingness to cut the bullshit around Gaz specifically is almost admirable.

"At least if your ship is being annoying, it has an off button," Gaz said, rolling her eyes. Not one of her best comebacks, especially not good enough to walk out on, but calling Tak a "booger-skinned weirdo" just didn't fit the situation right now.

Gaz was about ready to leave the stables until Tak's words rooted her feet in place.

"I've been listening, you know."

Gaz froze, slowly turning her head.

"What?"

"To your conversations with my ship," Tak said, her smile small. "Every word you two exchanged in privacy, I was there, listening."

Gaz's eyes widened, her throat dry. "You…but how?"

"Every single piece of technology provided to me by the Irken Armada I customized to fit my personal needs," Tak explained, folding her arms. "Anything I was ever given, I strived to make my own."

"So you gave yourself some sort of psychic link to your ship?"

"Precisely," Tak said. "It was originally meant to eavesdrop on the enemy so I could relay the information from my ship's recorded data. It's a feature I never got to make much use of out of…that is, until now."

Gaz swallowed, averting her gaze. "S-so what?"

"So…" Tak said, walking over to Gaz and bending down to meet the girl's height. "I got to learn an awful lot about you over these last two years, Gaz."

Now Gaz definitely doesn't have anything clever to say, Tak's dark eyes boring into hers.

"Are you always this open with literal machinery, Gaz? Never this vulnerable to your brother, your father? My, that truly says something about you."

"Sh-shut up,"

"What is it about my ship that's got you so intrigued, Gaz? Or, perhaps…is it me?" Tak gently took Gaz's chin into her hand. "Now that I'm here, you can talk to me all you want. Did you miss me that bad?"

"No," Gaz said through her teeth, batting away Tak's hand. "Not for one second."

"Hmmm," Tak said. "I guess I'll 'call it a hunch' as you humans put it."

"Ugh, patching in the ability to spy on people through your ship," Gaz said, though she's as irritated as she is quietly impressed. "Talk about paranoid."

"You honestly thought I wouldn't take some extra repercussions on the off chance I was separated from my Spittle Runner? It was an emergency precaution, never a situation I'd want to end up in, of course, but a necessary one," Tak said, chuckling. "I mean, it ended up working out, didn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it did," Gaz said. "But it's not like you could get anything useful out of me. I'm not Dib or Zim, what could I possibly say that would matter to you?"

Tak shook her head. "Collecting data isn't just about 'relevant' information, Gaz. As an Invader, observing my targets' habits and patterns is highly valuable. And your habits are…" her sentence trailed off, trying to find the right words. "Satisfactory. Expected, I'd even say."

"Boring," Gaz said. "I think you mean it was boring."

Tak looked genuinely shocked, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Boring? You? Ha! No, no, you're far from it, Gaz. On the contrary, I'd say you are about…" Tak is speaking much slower now, letting each word hang heavy in the air. "The most interesting human I've ever had the displeasure of meeting."

Gaz smiled, though baring her teeth seemed like a more accurate description. "I'd say the same if you were human."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not!" Tak said, clapping her hands together as she headed out of the stables, a certain skip to her step. "Our conversations wouldn't be nearly as entertaining if I was."

Chapter Text

Fundamentals in Spell-casting | Wednesday, September 12 | 1:37 P.M.

"...and the way he had them just wrapped around his finger. And for what? His promises are flimsy and he's got all the charisma of roadkill. Ughhh, he makes me so mad!"

Yin furiously jotted some new notes into her planner, the pink and fluffy end of her pen batting the air like the tail of a furious Pomeranian. "I know Yuck's still trying to snag some votes before the debate, but could he not do it during our afterschool work? The fact I even have to see him in the library at all is driving me insane."

"Well, you can always just steal his ideas and pretend they're yours," Lina replied. Chin in her hand, she isn't even looking in Yin's direction, expression glazed as her sight flitted between her phone and the front of the class. "Couldn't hurt, might even piss him off."

Yin sighed, giving her best friend a sorry look. "No, where's the integrity in that? Besides, my ideas are great! Just look at this itemized list in my planner. Does Yuck have anything like this? I don't think so."

Yin gestured to the shimmering pink binder she had been logging ideas into since the start of the school year, pages upon pages of new ideas being added to its bulk.

Yin wasn't even sure about a decent lot of them now. Her expectations for the kind of students she thought she'd be catering to were a long-forgotten fantasy. The school had made it quickly apparent now: they didn't want what was best for them. The voting pool wouldn't be this close if they did.

During her shifts as a library assistant, Yin could only look on in horror as Yuck dropped all of his original crudeness, abandoning his true nature so smoothly and efficiently that it easily duped just about anybody he was speaking to.

Not to say that he wasn't still unbelievably awful, but now work shopped into a more digestible, palatable terribleness that was charming in its own warped way. No longer evil, just rugged, misunderstood, displaced, and just so incredibly happy to have the opportunity to be at this wonderful school!

Gag.

It was an underdog act, and in the eyes of students who honestly thought he was a sincere candidate, Yin was but an elitist prick trying to stamp out his dreams of normalcy.

And the whole time Yin wants to scream, "He's lying to you! He's lying! He sucks and he hates you and wants you dead or enslaved!" but that was just what he wanted.

He wanted Yin to complete this narrative he was orchestrating. To make Yin the bad guy, leaving her to pathetically sulk in silence as yet another generation of people blindly trusted the newest rendition of "Brett".

"He stole your bracelet and your first kiss, didn't he?" Lina said, still only half-listening, still more invested in texting Yang under the desk. "Then steal something of his."

"No, heroes don't steal," Yin muttered. "I'm supposed to be establishing that I'm better than that weirdo. Lina, are you even listening?"

Lina finally looked at her. "Girl, I wanna help, really, but I just don't know if—"

"Ahem, ladies. I'm sure whatever b-boy heartthrob that's hit the radio waves is very interesting, but let's save it after class, okay?"

The two halted their conversation as their teacher, Carl the Not-So-Evil Cockroach Wizard, hovered into frame.

Yin sighed, shutting her planner closed. She forced a toothy smile. "Sorry, Carl—"

"That's Mr. Cockroach Wizard to you, young lady."

"…Mr. Cockroach Wizard," Yin said. "My apologies, I've just been a little distracted lately."

Yin would love to have quite literally anything else to think about, for that matter.

The second the evil amalgamation of her and her twin brother's flaws decided to throw himself into the presidential race specifically to spite her, the odds of her winning and, worst of all, the odds of Yuck's victory, were starting to eat away at her like a tapeworm.

It took a concentrated effort for her to get her mind off of it lately, and it was only the threat of her perfect grades slipping that kept her from falling apart entirely.

Not to mention that her other distractions weren't doing her any good. The threat of Yuck getting his hands on that sacred Woo Foo knowledge before her—it made her skin crawl.

Here she was, a high school freshman hand-selected to be one of the representatives of her universe at an academy met to set a new standard of success, and instead of soaking up the glory of being at the top of her class and the potential darling of a dashing jock, she was knee deep in the waste and despair Yuck carried with him like one of his many bad smells.

Yuck's feeble attempts at power, Master Yo's obsession with ambiguity to teach his silly little life lessons—it was all so frustrating!

Yin was as far away from home as ever, and yet all the worst parts of home still followed her like some unsightly toilet paper on the back of her foot.

And if she wanted things to remind her of the Dojo outhouse, she would have gladly stayed home.

Enter Exhibit B of Yin's flustered mental state, Carl, the (Supposedly) Not-So-Evil Cockroach Wizard, who had been her foe since day one of her becoming a Woo Foo knight, now reformed and in a desperate attempt to clean up his act.

Yin could only assume that the school board had taken pity on an utterly pitiful villain and gave him the role of a magic teacher so he could make something of his life.

That maybe now he wouldn't have to waste away in the shadow of his more successful brother for once (who had apparently taken up a hobby of painting war miniatures), but Herman wasn't the one who got the invitation to teach here, implying that Carl was the more worthy candidate.

And much like her precaution around Saranoia as her literature teacher, much like her outright disdain of Ella Mental as her counselor, Yin had simply chosen to accept that the shifting career paths of who she once called foes were evidence of an ever-changing cultural landscape left behind.

Not just by the shifting blocks of reality, but by the defeat of Eradicus.

If the Nightmaster of then and now could both be defeated by Woo Foo, who was to say any of them had a chance?

Yin honestly should have been happy; the bulk of them had wisened up, sought out greener pastures, and most of them seemed the happier for it, especially Carl.

But that didn't mean she respected the guy.

"Well then," he said, "how's about you use the time you have right now to tell the class a little something about Merlin's relationship to the Lady of the Lake?"

"That's easy," Yin stood up from her seat and cleared her throat. "Despite Merlin's great power as one of the most excellent mages in history, he was like any guy and still had a weakness for beautiful women. Though it's been shown he was only truly romantically interested in Morgan, he did express an unreciprocated lustful attraction to Nimue, better known as the Lady of the Lake. That is, within the tellings where Morgan Le Fay doesn't also adopt the title of The Lady of the Lake."

"Okay, Miss Smarty Pants," Carl said, rolling his eyes. "And would you consider the Lady of the Lake to be the villain of Merlin's story?"

"Her villainy depends on what version of the story you're reading, especially if we were to cite Suite du Merlin where she clearly takes a lot of joy out of trapping Merlin in a tomb, presumably just out of ill intent," Yin said, then paused for a moment.

"...but from a feminist perspective. There's an obvious abuse of power here, given the fact that she was one of his students and he constantly pursued her despite her not being interested. After all, he was a total perv and thought it was cool to sleep with his pupils. I mean, how old was this guy anyway?" Yin said, which earned a few chuckles from the class. "And if you are to interpret Le Morte d'Arthur as a story not about Merlin's death, but the rise of Nimue, then—"

"That's enough, Yin," Carl said, raising a hand. "Sorry to put you on the spot, just making sure we're paying attention, mm kay?"

"I wasn't," Lina said just as the lunch bell rang.

Carl hovered a marker over the whiteboard and underlined the assignment. "You kids be sure to do the reading tonight and answer questions fifteen through twenty about Merlin's impact on modern magic…Or don't, it's less work for me."

"Hearing that roach blab on and on always makes me hungry," Lina said as they entered the hall and followed the flow of traffic to the dining hall. "This is still the same guy who sent me through a portal to be some douchebag's pet, right? Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Maybe he feels bad about it," Yin said. "Or at least left it off his resume so he could get the job."

"And maybe I'd forgive him if he stopped with all this Merlin talk. Must be trying to bore me to death now instead of makin' gravity do the work," Lina said, stopping to inspect her reflection in her phone's camera. "At this rate, I'm gonna start growin' wrinkles."

"Old people are always the ones making history so we're forced to keep talking about them," Yin said. "Master Yo would say they're not old, just…experienced. Psh, experienced with some gray hairs, maybe."

"And the past is lacking some people with good skin routines," Lina said. "Just know I'll be cheating off you for that Merlin test coming up. That man is a snooze in a half."

"I think he's kinda interesting. I'd even say we have a bit in common: Minus the weird old man part, Merlin and I are both practitioners of magic put into mentor roles." Yin said. "I mean, I am a Woo Foo knight, who specializes in magic."

"And you'll drop everything once someone cute rolls in," Lina said, smirking. "You've also got that in common."

Yin shook her head. "No way! I've learned my lesson: no matter how cute a boy is, they will never, ever again get in the way of me and my civic duties."

Lina pursed her lips. "I'm starting to wonder if it's just boys you should be worried about."

Yin gave an awkward laugh. "I-I have no idea what you could mean by that," she said. "I mean, I won't just flock to anyone who will compliment me, Lina! I'm so much smarter than that—"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Lina said, a thought occurring to her. "Oh, and I was wondering if you wanted to go over your speech again after school."

"Ugh, not until I finish my library work," Yin said, exhaling an angry puff of air out of her nose. "Right after that, sure…"

"Can't you just call in sick or something. I know you don't want to spend more time with Yuck than you already have to."

"I just can't, Lina, and Yuck is just part of the problem," Yin said. "Get this, Master Yo has been keeping some ancient Woo Foo texts inside the library and didn't think to tell me or Yang. But he tells Yuck about them? What on earth is he trying to pull here?"

Lina put a thought for a moment."Maybe he's just messing with Yuck? Could be a good motivator for him to behave while he's got a job to do."

"Or Yuck will just find the scrolls and book it out of there with all this sacred knowledge. I take one day off from my library work, and who knows what could happen." Yin said before sighing. "But I seriously don't want to worry about fighting while I'm here. That whole mess in homeroom was bad enough."

"But this time you'll be talking with your fists," Lina said. "If Yuck wants to see what a Level Three Yinferno looks like, I say you show ‘em."

Yin chuckled, a small part of her hating herself for being tempted into violence. Maybe she needed the outlet more than she thought. Or maybe this whole election was driving her insane.

She had to find her bearings, root herself in the present, and not become the monster Yuck was trying to make her out to be. She was the damsel, the woman scorned—just like Tak had said.

"That's what he wants," Yin said. "And I'm not going to stoop to his level. I've fallen into his trap one too many times and I told myself I wouldn't—"

"Yin?" Just a few steps behind them, seeming to manifest from the crowd of shyffling students was Tak. Smiling softly and her hands clasped firmly in front of her, her eyes are piercing and unavoidable.

Yin ran a panicked hand through her fur, face breaking out into a goofy smile.

"Tak? Oh my gosh, hi! Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, actually," Tak said. Yin felt a heat rise to her cheeks so intense she was worried she had triggered a Yincineration inside her mouth. "I was wondering if you had some time to talk."

"Talk? Talk to me? I mean, if you—"

"Actually, we were just heading to lunch," Lina said, arms folded. "I'd assume you are too, but I'm sure eating with other people is considered peasant behavior from your ivory tower."

"Unless you'd like to join us," Yin said, whatever bitter expression Lina just made unreadable from her peripheral vision. To be honest, Yin had never actually seen Tak inside the dining hall which made her wonder if Tak ever had anyone to sit with.

The rest of the kids in ballet, Yin would assume, but Tak was always noticeably absent from their tables littered with low-carb lunches and smoothies even more questionable than Yin's concoctions.

And to think Tak would settle for sitting with the other students in her homeroom was frankly optimistic—Lina looked at Tak the way she did parasites on a perfectly good batch of produce, while Manny, Frida, and Yang's combined energy would undeniably drain someone so introverted.

"I mean, if that's alright with you…?" Yin wasn't quite sure if she was asking Lina or Tak, and yet she still shot her friend a look as if asking for permission. Lina made a noncommittal noise between a hum and a groan, adjusting the floral hemp bag over her shoulder with a sudden anxious energy.

"I…I guess if you really wanted to join us, there's plenty of room at our table for—"

"Oh, I normally order room service to my suite during meal hours!"

Lina blinked. "You have a…? You know what, suit yourself, girl." Lina shrugged her shoulders as if saying "well, I tried" and nodded towards the hallway. "I gotta head down in case someone tries to take our spot. I'll catch ya later, kay?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure Tak was referring to both of us when she said—"

"No, Yin. Just you. We can't afford to have any of your…companions eavesdropping." Tak said, a leather-clad hand gripping Yin's wrist. A bolt of electricity jolted through her. Lina's eyes darted towards the moment of contact, her face frozen before turning to leave.

"I'll be down in a sec! I promise!" Yin shouted down the hallway in hopes Lina could hear her over the noisy crowd. Her and Tak were in a decidedly public place and yet, just being within the same vicinity, Yin can't help but feel entirely isolated.

Just the two of them—it's as thrilling as it is terrifying.

"Testy one, isn't she?" Tak said. "I'm starting to deduce that your friend may not like me very much."

"It takes a while for Lina to warm up to people," Yin said. "I'm certain Yang could give you the whole story on that."

"Really? I'd rather not speak to him at all."

Headmaster's Office | 1:45 P.M.

"…And Lina's been giving me some advice, like how I should steal some ideas or something, but I dunno. It just doesn't feel right," Yin said. She's been blabbering for a good couple of minutes now, having begun her tirade against Yuck, Zim, and then Yuck again ever since they'd entered the academy elevator.

Tak had yet to respond to a word of it, half-listening with the occasional nod of her head to give the convincing illusion of engagement. Ugh, and she thought the long extinct Dooxisi were too talkative for their own good.

Now, in the solitude of the Headmaster's office, Yin could fill the open air with even more incessant chatter. Tak sat at the massive wooden desk, turning a page in the planner Yin had given her permission to read.

"Sounds like you have an awful lot on your mind," she said, a stray smear of glitter staining the tip of her glove. "Maybe your friend thinks a little foul play will even the playing field."

"But what about my reputation, Tak! What if word ever got out that I was stealing from my enemy, who knows how the students will see me after that?" Yin said, slumping in the chair across from Tak's desk, her arms folded as she gave a childish pout. "Things are already going bad enough."

"Yin, you have got to stop worrying so much about self-perception," Tak said. "From what you've told me, Yuck has been putting his best foot forward to get votes. Authenticity be damned, it's working, isn't it?"

"It's called being a bold-faced liar."

Tak snapped her fingers, grin wide. "Let's agree to disagree and call it strategizing! We often have to access a certain part of ourselves that we keep hidden if we ever want to guarantee success. And in a competitive environment like this, it's practically a necessity for survival. Yuck is just ahead of the curb, I suppose."

Tak tried not to make her amusement obvious as Yin's body grew erect in a sudden onslaught of nervous energy. Eyes darting around the room, Yin can barely register the shock of Yuck being praised at all.

"But isn't that dangerous?" Yin said, voice quivering. "Like, when does the persona you created stop being a persona and start being you? Even temporarily making yourself a monster proves you can be a monster."

"And Yuck's not what you'd call an upstanding citizen, and yet many students are starting to think that. I like to imagine it as…flipping a switch," Tak said. "One side comes on, the other side goes off. But it doesn't mean one of them left, they're just…taking a break. All that humbleness and kindness you value so much, it'll all still be there where you left it."

"Is that what you do when things get hard? Flip a switch, I mean."

Tak thought for a moment, eyes traveling back down to the planner with all its cursive niceties and kitten stickers and good intent. Her finger twitched, a low ache in her belly as a voice in the back of her head snickered.

"Only if it's necessary. After all, you are still teaching yourself how to cry, aren't you? Are you not also playing a role in this as the martyr to Yuck's monster?"

Yin hesitated for a moment, the guilt and hypocrisy settling in until all she could do was let her gaze fall to her lap. "I, uh, yeah. It's much harder than it looks on TV."

"I think there's no better way to break that horrid façade Yuck is creating than to unveil all his sins on that podium and shower the audience with your tears. And you will be up there, Yin. You certainly have some…inspired ideas."

Tak set the planner down on the table, open to one of the pages simply titled "Equestrian Defense Protocol: Enacting An Anti-Euthanization Academy."

Yin jolted from her chair, sweeping the planner back into her arms. "I-it's just an idea I had! I don't want to step on your toes, really—"

Tak chuckled. "Step on my toes? What would ever make you think that?"

"It's just….well…"

Yin still looked like she was about ready to scurry off to someplace dark, cold, and quiet like the feverish mammal she was. Even MiMi, simply playing the role of a cat as she quietly perused the windowsill, squinted her eyes in a display of hunger and intrigue.

"I know that Admiral is…or, was your horse at the end of the day, and I'd hate to be making decisions like that without your approval," Yin said softly, gripping the planner protectively to her chest. "I guess I just assumed that what you wanted was best for Admiral. Whatever that means to you. It was never really my choice to make."

Tak barely caught a laugh that escaped her throat, snorting into a clenched fist.

"And the best he certainly got," Tak said, opening up the drawer in front of her desk and pulling out two manila folders. Holding on to one, she pushed the other further down the desk. "Now, I don't want you to think I dragged you up here for no reason. There's something I wanted to show you."

"What is this?" Yin said. She took the envelope off the desk and flipped it open, quietly skimming through the text until the realization hit her. "Oh my gosh…is this my student file?"

"It certainly is,"

"I, uh, I didn't know you had this. I thought it'd be locked up in a storage unit somewhere."

Despite the information containing nothing but information Yin should have been well aware of, there's still a look of uncertainty on her face, visible discomfort, like these were facts only she was meant to know.

"I don't know if I feel comfortable reading this," Yin said. "Like, I know it's about me, and this information is flattering, but…"

Tak nodded. "Ah, I see, you're worried about how and when we came across all of this. Well, I'm happy to inform you that the Royal Heights Board of Ethics is a rather clandestine operation that has no intention to invade your privacy, just to archive the best things about you. I'm afraid that, without this minor intrusion, you would never hope to step through these gilded academy doors."

Yin pursed her lips, nodding slowly. "I…I guess that makes sense," she said, though her expression is distracted, clearly wondering about the how, when, and why of the whole system.

"I don't allow these documents to leave the office, but the information contained in them, well….that's a different matter entirely."

"You want me to read off a list of my accolades during the debate to win people over," Yin said, turning a page. "Aren't you worried that'll come off as a little desperate?"

Tak chuckled. "Desperate? Noooo, no, no no, far from it, Yin. But I wouldn't entirely dismiss the idea of mentioning some of your more…favorable traits if it gurantees and advantage. After all, you are up against two candidates that are openly, proudly evil. Why not remind people about your sound morals, hm?"

"Uh,"

The discomfort is still obvious, though Yin seems to be warming up the idea, albeit slowly.

"Only the good parts, Yin," Tak assured. "You are in control of your own narrative."

"So, uh, are you implying this file also has the 'bad parts'?"

"Everyone's file does!" Tak said. "Turn to page seven, there's something I want you to see."

Yin swallowed, flipping through the pages. Shock immediately settled into her features. "Mother of Foo…"

"Yes, yes in the nature of fairness, I'm afraid the Board of Ethics has to take certain details of your character into account," Tak replied. "It's all very vital to deciding who we deem worthy of learning here."

"I, uh…"

"I don't see what the problem is, Yin. This segment is so incredibly brief! I mean, these Nightmaster characters in particular sound awfully dangerous."

"Yes, but that's not what bothers me. I guess I'm just not a big fan of knowing it's on file in the first place. Especially, well…" Yin shuddered, a cautious gaze lingering on Tak. "Tak, listen, what you may have heard about me, i-it wasn't—"

"Entirely your fault? Only in self-defense? No, I don't blame you one bit," Tak said. "Though it does make me wonder…"

"Wonder what?"

"Yin," she began slowly, leaning across the desk. "Did you think that saving Admiral would alleviate your guilt of killing Yuck?"

Terror settled into Yin's features, a subtle trembling in her hands. "He…he didn't—"

"Die? The Board begs to differ." Tak flipped open the second folder, flipping it to the particular page. She tapped the center. "I did tell you that Yuck's student profile was a bit of a mess, didn't I? It turns out that if somebody is registered legally dead enough times, it triggers something of a reset. It's a real hassle for anyone in charge of the filing."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

"Ah, but that's not what's important, is it? Not when we have this to fall back on…" Tak's finger drifted further down, circling the segment. "Every word you're reading here, every number—undeniable statistics," she said. "Numbers don't lie, Yin, and your truth is what will win over the students. I implore you to share this with the public and see how they feel about Yuck then."

"A body count," Yin said, her tone flat. "You have his body count."

"And you should see, Zim's!"

"I'd rather not,"

"Your loss," Tak noticed Yin's silence, cocking her head. "What's the matter?"

"It's just…" Yin calmly shut the envelope, sliding it back across the desk. "I don't think I could do that."

Tak arched an eyebrow. "You want to win, don't you?"

"Yes, absolutely," Yin said. "But…not like this, not with information I shouldn't even have."

She's looking down at the planner in her lap, shame evident in her slumped posture. Tak took a moment to drink it in, still so amused at how easy this was. She stood up from her seat, walking over to Yin and placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Listen, I'm not forcing you to do anything, but when you're on that podium, and the opportunity presents itself, I'd advise taking what I've told you to heart."

Yin was still silent, nervously wringing her hands.

Tak gently took a hold of her chin, a thumb just barely brushing her lips. "I have faith in you, Yin. Just remember, you're the hero of this story," she said. "You always have."

"And if I do say this, everyone will think that, too?"

Tak smirked. "They'll know you could have turned out a lot worse."

The New Library of Alexandria, Main Floor | 4:35 P.M.

The worst thing about renting library books wasn't the fact that you were financially liable for even the smallest damages, but that you weren't allowed to clutter the pages with your observations and counterarguments—as much as Dib valued literature, forums and blog posts really were his preferred format of the written word.

Dib figured that his status as a Membrane meant he had some pseudo-ownership of a book part of his father's scientific book club, free to add it to his personal collection for further research purposes, and yet, here he was, returning the book he had rented last Thursday with nary a scratch on it.

"Thanks for letting me rent this, ma'am,” Dib said as he slid the book onto Ms. Rivera's desk.

"And thank you for returning it so soon," she replied, warm and welcoming as always. She turned towards her computer, logging the information. “Do know you're free to ask for extensions anytime."

Dib shook his head. "Nah, I'm a fast reader,” he said. "I got everything I needed."

Ms. Rivera nodded. "Of course, you're a very smart boy. I expect no less from Professor Membrane's son."

Dib gave a timid half-smile, looking around the library that was rather empty despite it being Free Period.

It might guarantee Dib's spoil of the books still available, maybe grab something else from his father's book club selection and watch as another person twists themselves in knots if it meant staving off the existential dread.

Dib liked to think he got his share of information, but enough was never enough—not for a paranormal investigator. But still, his notes were plentiful.

Everything he had gathered for future reference was logged into his laptop, backed up, backed up again to a burner email, then saved on a flash drive. And then rewritten in a notebook just in case.

Between what he's gathered from Tak's unique reading preferences and what his father's personal selection of intellectuals had to offer, he was up to his neck in theories and the haunting implications that could have driven Tak to read Descartes, Darwin, and Arthur C. Clarke in one sitting.

And the ideas it inspired were…harrowing.

His mind was but a mess of equations and evolution, metaphysics, time indifferently marching forward through it all—in the back of his mind: a pitch-black monolith stands in the middle of a barren landscape to the wild praise of a pack of apes.

After all, Dib couldn't take everything in these books at face value, and many of the observations were just that—observations.

Clarke's work at least lived in the realm of fiction—what even was fiction anymore?—but it was the Membrane-approved work that inspired a sense of lingering dread and pity.

As Dib read through essay after essay, prose to prose, quote to quote, he could practically sense the desperation and urgency from researchers, scientists, and philosophers to always cycle back to scientific explanations when it came to deciphering the merging of reality.

His father wouldn't settle for less than scientific fact, no matter how long-winded, so everything inevitably cycled back to the periodic table or the environment or the curvature of the Earth or this or that and blah, blah, blah…

Nothing about the Florpus, nothing about this cosmic ripple effect that was a byproduct of Zim's unique stupidity and impulsive nature.

He was pleased to know that what Tunaghost had recalled from the book was in there, just as promised. The talk of Quadrants was one of the less insane theories and at least made sense on a cosmic level.

Perhaps the multiverse wasn't as haphazardly arranged as it seemed at first glance and that there was some structure to be found in it all.

Of course, it all cycled back to the animal kingdom, food chains and all that, and how this was just an evolution of an age-old cycle, but it was something, it was tangible, it was rooted in the reality everyone was currently living in.

The credit to the essay was anonymous, cutting off Dib's chances of finding a paper trail or archive of any past works, but perhaps "The Multiverse Pecking Order" was all he needed to know.

If so, what Quadrant did Dib reside in, and what level of influence did it harbor over realities like his own?

And as for the paradoxes, the ones that the book's title so proudly warned about, well, the idea of a "paradox" was somewhat loosely defined.

The one thing everyone could agree on was that meeting oneself defied the natural order, and the catastrophe they could inspire came in a variety of horrifying shapes.

And while it wasn't always deadly, it wasn't always exactly…good. And where did the estimated probability of peace reside? That estimation came out to a generous 0.00000001%

The Zimvoid was one of many zeroes.

"I've been wanting to read this for a long while," Ms. Rivera eventually said, The Paradox Clause beside her computer. "It's been a long while since I studied up on all this new science that's going around."

"Yeah, of course," Dib said. "Well, what do you think of all this? Do you have any of your own theories?"

Ms. Rivera thought for a moment, tapping a finger against the crook of her folded arm. "Well, I'm not one to entirely dismiss miracles."

Dib furrowed his brow. "Miracles?"

"Yes, miracles," Ms. Rivera said. "Unity, prosperity, diversity—I'd even say this school is a monument to all that."

"Yeah, I guess there's some truth to that," Dib said, though the word "miracle" felt incredibly out of place in this situation, tasted weird in his mouth. "It was either this or the entire multiverse went to war with each other."

This elicited a shiver from Ms. Rivera. "Ah, yes, things could have ended so badly for all of us, but look what happened instead: you and I, speaking to each other in this beautiful library. There might be a reality out there where things didn't turn out so well and I didn't get to meet all you wonderful children."

Now it's Dib who has to bite back a shudder. "Yeah, definitely could have been worse."

"Thank goodness your father was there," Ms. Rivera said. "I'll admit, as much as I've seen him on television, I never knew he had such a way with words. A part of me wishes I could have been there."

"Well, it's good to know what side you'd be on."

Ms. Rivera nodded, her expression somewhat solemn. "Violence should never be the answer. When we hurt people, we only do it because we're scared or confused," she said. "And the people that could have gotten hurt, what our children would have been forced to witness, that was the ultimate truth."

"So, everyone really did agree that kids were the priority," Dib said, then muttered. "That's awfully…wholesome."

"Because children are our future," Ms. Rivera said. "And if any of us want to see a future where we make sense of this new world, we have to understand it through the eyes of those who will be making a difference."

Dib gave an awkward laugh. "That's, uh, an awful lot of pressure for a bunch of high schoolers."

"Well, just look at you all! Heroes, scientists, poets, dancers, and athletes—each and every one of you has made a unique impact on your worlds, and it's long time everyone knew it."

"Even the villains?"

"Even them," Ms. Rivera said. "It's all about balance."

"But what if, in our attempts to keep that balance, we're just doing more harm than good? What if people end up getting hurt anyway?"

"Then I assume someone like you will be the first to stop it," Ms. Rivera said.

"And if they don't? Or can't?"

Ms. Rivera looks nonplussed.

"Dib, I only have this to say…" She stood up from her desk and stepped towards him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Stay curious, but also don't forget to see things for what they are. Sometimes the good things in life are just that."

"But what about when they aren't?"

"Then you make them good," she said. "It's a fact."

Dib nodded, not really having it in him to argue with a sentiment that was so incredibly sincere.

"Now, head off to class," Ms. Rivera said, turning her attention to a cart of books, adding The Paradox Clause to the pile. "You can only shape the future so much from here."