Had some fun with this one. It's mostly Zim, with some mentioned Dib (read: somewhat obsessively mentioned Dib).

Warnings: Mentioned death, GIR being insane (but you should probably expect stuff like that)

POLICE

Sharp blue uniforms and shiny badges, weapons strapped to the hips; the only things that set the strangers apart from other humans in Zim's mind. Uniforms were enough to denote importance – badges doubly so – and weapons...well, that was another ballpark entirely. Unfortunately, the two men who approached him were still human, and so they only registered in the Invader's mind when they blocked his path on the way to class.

He was immediately on the defensive; law enforcement, no matter how inferior, was something he'd learned to be wary of. "Zim hasn't done anything!" he bit out irritably, trying to edge past them, only to have them trail alongside him as he walked.

"We weren't going to suggest that you did," the taller of the two, not old but still with graying hair, informed him. "We just have a couple of questions."

How inconvenient – Zim had much better things to do! For instance, sitting in class and ignoring the rambles of his teacher as he plotted Earth's downfall. Regardless, he stopped walking, shrugging and giving a bored grumble that might have been something like compliant. If only to avoid suspicion, he would humor them and their questions – granted, he wasn't going to guarantee any truthful answers.

The shorter man, heavyset with a thick mustache, asked with the suspicion that Zim was trying to avoid, "Why would you think you're in trouble?"

"Is that one of your two questions?" Zim responded immediately, squinting up at him.

"When I said 'a couple of questions', I didn't mean exactly two," the first man clarified, sounding a bit bemused. "His question still stands, though – are you expecting to be in trouble?"

"I don't know," Zim retorted, all scowls; if they'd been anything other than human, he would have been lying. "The only law enforcement agent I've ever had to talk to had a squid brain in his head!" Never mind why, of course.

Neither of the two really knew quite how to respond to that, the shorter one scratching at his head as the other pulled out a small photo, managing to hide his continuing confusion as he held it out, asking, "Do you know who this is?"

The photograph was barely spared a glance, before Zim replied dully, "Carl McDoogen. Miss Bitters' class, row three, third seat. Left his underwear on for a month once – the smell was unbearable."

"I, uh- ...Thank you?" Uncertainly, the taller man glanced at the photo himself, then back to Zim as he pocketed the picture. "Not sure if I needed to hear that last part, but, uh...anyway. Were you well-acquainted with Carl?"

"Ugh! Absolutely not," the Irken shuddered, sticking his tongue out in distaste.

"You don't try to get to know your classmates?"

The resulting flat look was an answer in and of itself, but it was still accompanied by, "They share a class with Zim, and that's more than enough."

"I see." The two humans shared a quick glance, the shorter and fatter one scribbling something down onto a notebook he'd procured moments earlier. As he wrote, his colleague spoke up again. "When was the last time you saw Carl?"

Zim squinted slightly, flicking back into his PAK's memory files. Then, finding what he was looking for, he recited blandly, "Two days ago, after lunch – one thirty to two in the afternoon." After a brief silence, in which he received inquiring looks from the two annoyances in uniform, he clarified, "Physical education on the tennis courts. He was my opponent, along with the Dib." That one name held more enthusiasm than anything else he'd told them so far, and they seemed to pick up on it eagerly.

"Tough match?" the chubby one questioned casually.

"Ehn." A shrug. "The Dib usually presents a worthwhile challenge for Zim."

"What about Carl?"

The disguised alien blinked, as though just remembering that he'd been approached about that classmate and not his nemesis, then drawled offhandedly, "I'm sure his performance was miserable." The inquiring looks came again, and, a scowl on his face, he huffed, "I wasn't paying attention to him – and why should I, when there was a worthier opponent on the battlefield?"

"Tennis court."

"Same thing." Zim shrugged and kept on scowling; there really wasn't much of a difference to him. Battles, whether of endurance, skill, coordination, and so on, and regardless of where they took place, were still battles. "Now, of what interest is Zim's tennis battle to you?"

"That depends," the fat one replied. "Did you win?"

"Tied," the Irken responded swiftly, looking smug. "I'd never played the sport before, so the Dib thought it would be an easy victory. HA! Easy victory, against me? The incredible Zim?" He scoffed, stating without words that one should perish the thought.

His answer seemed to deflate the mustached man, and so his partner took over. "If you wouldn't mind, could you tell us your exact opinion of Carl?"

A pleased expression settled on Zim's face – why ever would he mind voicing his opinions? His opinions were great! "He is stupid, smelly, and annoying, just like everyone else in this skool. He'll probably end up as a hobo." He paused for a moment to consider something, then added with an air of certainty, "An especially smelly one."

"Unfortunately, that's not going to be possible in Carl's case," the tall man informed him, a little put off at the odd green child's negativity. "The upper half of his torso was found in a ditch last night."

"Oh." That was it. Just 'oh'. Not even a hint of concern or dismay. Zim blinked, squinted, feeling as though he was missing something important. Then, he figured out whatever it was, and – rather than feigning the emotion humanly appropriate to the situation, which was the actual important something – he asked bluntly, "What happened to the lower half?"

"We're still trying to figure that out."

Another unconcerned 'oh', and Zim's already meager interest in the whole ordeal was officially lost. "Well, good luck with that, I guess."

Confused glances were exchanged between the two men. "Uh...thanks?" The tall one scratched his head in much the same baffled manner as his partner had done earlier.

"I've got to get to class," Zim went on to inform them, unenthusiastic at the notion, but still considering the discussion over – or at least not worth spending any more of his time on.

"Hold it - what were you up to the night before yesterday? Say, at around seven?" The mustached man was looking and sounding desperate now, as though he'd had a gut feeling and now that gut feeling was turning out to be horribly wrong but he didn't want it to be wrong, because then the gut feeling might actually just be indigestion or something more serious that probably had everything to do with his honestly rather impressive girth.

Frowning and narrowing his eyes in mild annoyance, the Irken flicked back into his memory files once again before grumbling, "I was at the Dib's house. He was attempting to hack into my computer, so I went over to-" A slight pause, Zim recognizing just in time that it probably wouldn't be wise to let slip his actual intentions in paying his enemy a visit. "-kick him. In the shin." He'd done that, after all. "He'll have a bruise for a week," he informed them with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Err...well, what about yesterday?"

Screwing up his face in aggravation, now seeming to have to try very hard to keep from snapping at the current source of his ire, Zim grated out, "I was at skool, and then I was going to go home when the stinking Dib-pig chased me up a tree with a bucket of ice-water." Glaring up at the man sourly, he added on, as huffy as could be, "I was stuck there for four hours. Four hours, with that stupid giggling poop-meat mocking me – mocking ZIM! Ask him yourself – he'll laugh about it, that horrible worm!"

And then the mustached man's theory – whatever it had been – fell to pieces, his partner patting him on the shoulder as he slumped dejectedly. If it all checked out, the alibi was flawless. "All right then," he conceded. "I think we're done here."

"Good," Zim stated flatly, grumpy disposition not fading in the least.

"Thank you for your cooperation, and if you hear anything that might help us in our investigation, just call this number." A small card was proffered, and the Irken shoved it into a hidden pocket without even looking at it.

"Uh-huh," he responded in the exact same tone as before; truly, he was a shining example of not giving a crap. "Can I go to class now?" He barely gave them the time needed to nod, stalking off and grumbling irritably to himself, hands shoved in his pockets. It brought him to remember the card (he'd already forgotten about it), and it was summarily snatched, crushed, and then chucked into the nearest waste receptacle. And, when he just barely caught a snippet of conversation between the two men as they left, Zim was glad for it.

'It just doesn't make sense – from the markings, it seems like his bottom half was chewed off...'

'But by what?'

Two minutes later, Zim was standing in a stall in the boy's bathroom, body trembling with anger and a communicator clenched tight in his claws. "GIR, have you been eating things you shouldn't again?"

"Aww, but I needed his legs, Master, I needed 'em good!"

"NO! Bad robot! Legs are not for eating!"

"But how else am I s'posed to tap the Tapioca?"

'Tap tap, tap tap, tap the Tapioca - everybody FREEZE!'

Okay, well, according to GIR, apparently you're required to eat legs in order to tap the Tapioca. (If you get the reference, by the way, then congratulations - you win a gold star! ...But not a platinum one - that one's mine.)

Random note: I hate that, once again, for some reason I am not allowed to type question marks and exclamation points directly next to each other for emphasis, as the site's editor insists that I can only use one or the other. If anyone knows how to fix this minor annoyance, I would love you forever. :\