Chapter 3
"Mm-mmf mm." said Zim. Dib ignored him.
"Mm Mmm, Mm-mmf mm."
"No Zim," hissed Dib. "Now be quiet until we get home."
The cabbie eyed his fare with the nonchalant disapproval of the seasoned professional. He only wished that the boy with the humungous head and oddly shaped coffee bag on his lap was his weirdest customer of the night. So far he had seen a man with a metal pipe stuck through his head who had insisted on being taken "back to the hardware store" rather than the emergency room, a small and oddly terrifying Chihuahua, and a man dressed as, and seemingly ashamed to be, a giant Taco. None had tipped well. The fact that this boy talked to the squirming sack on his lap only meant that he was crazy, and therefore no threat. It was the sane ones you had to look out for.
Zim writhed again, prompting Dib to give the bag a few good whacks. That shut him up. Dib had, of course, made sure Zim was bound and gagged before the ride home. He had also taken care to duct tape Zim's pak closed, preventing those creepy legs of his from extending. The strain on his back from carrying his new and evil appendage was too much to walk all the way home, so he had resorted to taking a cab as the only way to get back unnoticed.
A distant, small voice in the back of his brain was screaming. A terror, a creeping, nauseating, horrible thought loomed in his mind like an elephant about to sit on his head, suspended only by the need to stay calm, to deal with the crisis at hand. Once home, Dib knew, once safe and away from the prying eyes of the world, he would have to think the unthinkable thought in his brain. What if there was no cure? What would he do if this were permanent, if Zim was fused to his crotch forever? How could he become a paranormal investigator with a malevolent alien dangling between his legs? Not to mention all the potential complications when it came time to date.
But Dib wasn't thinking that. Not yet. These thoughts would have their due time. For now, he had to concentrate on getting back home without causing a scene. Maybe, somewhere in his father's lab, an answer could be found. Once separated, Zim would pay, oh, how he would pay!
The cab pulled up in front of Dib's house. He clutched the sack to his chest, got out, paid the cabbie (who looked at the tip with a professional, seasoned sneer), and walked into the house. Luckily, Gaz wasn't in the living room. Dib carefully walked up the stairs, into his room, shut the door, turned on the light, and allowed the elephant to take a load off.