Oh God. Oh God. Let this be a dream…

Dib stumbled on, limping and panting by families who still slept. Leftover adrenaline buzzed in his veins; he couldn't stop touching his arm, kneading it, wondering if the nightmare had really happened. At first the probe had left a tumor-like lump but now it was receding to follow the line of his forearm. The only evidence left of it's existence were the flecks of brownish–red caked under his nails from where he had torn at himself and the feeling of pressure in that area, the feeling of violation as the malevolent little egg pushed it's way deeper and deeper inside him, spreading a stinking insidious web of Zim Zim Zim Zim ZIM, his property, his specimen, his test, his pet.

This is the worst thing you've ever done to me, Zim…

It was true. The alien has hurt him before, tortured him, almost killed him, but he had never subverted Dib's body so completely against him. I bet he's laughing over this right now… loving it…

Dib would go through life, through every fight with his rival now, wondering if this was the moment Zim's trap would spring, or if he would wait, prolonging the agony, until the next day at skool while Dib was in the gym showers, or demonstrating a math problem in front of class…

Or maybe even longer, until one day Dib makes a wrong move or causes just a little too much trouble and ends up dead, going out quietly over his English homework one night with only a sigh and a jagged pain behind his eyes to mark his exit.

Or worse, family night, at Bloaty's maybe, when Dib comes back from the restroom and starts to slide into the padded booth where he's sitting next to his sister and just collapses, out of the blue, muscles twanging then going slack, not breathing, paramedics called but no help from them. Dib dies ignobly on dirty red tiles, people crowding like vultures around him, oh so tragic. And with no explanation- the nanobots released from the pulsing, knowing thing in his arm breaking down into trace metals they were born from.

"No…" Dib breathed raggedly. He staggered to lean against a neat picket fence and press a hand against his forehead. His mind spun and crippled itself with desperate terror, agony coalescing to a point inside his skull. I can't let Zim get to me like this. Dib tried to wrestle his panic under control. Every time I lose it, he wins a little more. Control, Dib, CONTROL! The boy gulped air and slid to his knees, pressing both hands against his temples, heart jerking around in his chest as though it were being pulled on a string. Control, Dib. Control it! YOU CAN CONTROL IT! It was his creed, his surviving philosophy. I, Dib can change myself and I, Dib, can change the world. Zim won't beat me with this!

He lurched to his feet, clutching his arm, chafing it until it went white with pressure. Dib's shoulder slammed into the fence and he bent, snarling like a dog. Then he took a step. Muscles in his legs seized and stretched. Nothing struck him down. He paused to fight down the nausea that roiled in him. Took another step, another, again and again, swaying like a broken pendulum. Each step felt like it might be his last. But in commanding himself over Zim, he had won.

The walk home was interminable. The shifting feeling in his arm had stopped, and even as he squeezed harder and harder Dib knew it was lost. Stupid thing's got settled in, he thought bitterly. I have to get it out. There's no other way. I can't walk around with an alien probe- especially not one from Zim!- imbedded in my arm.

He fell through the door to his house, breathed a moment then tensed again. No! I can't let my guard down here. What if that thing forces me to hurt myself? Or Dad or Gaz? He reached up to unclip buckles and slide zippers down. The boy left his stealth suit a rumpled shadow in the entryway and walked to the lab door in his boxers.

"Dib? Why are you walking around in your underwear?"

He froze. Shit. Gaz is already up.

He turned around slowly, like he was expecting the barrel of a gun to brush his nose. Instead his sister was holding her Game Slave at her side. Gaz looked her brother up and down and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Hi, Gaz!" Dib wavered. He turned his body so the implanted arm was facing away from her and clutched at it, knuckles white. "I didn't think you'd be up! Sorry! I was too hot, is all! What are you doing up?! It's Saturday morning!"

"I heard you go out, Dib," Gaz said slowly. "What's wrong with you this time?"

"Nothing!" Her brother squeaked. "Nothing at all! I was just going to see Dad is all, nothing to worry about!" Oh go away go AWAY Gaz..

"I wasn't worrying, idiot!" Gaz snapped back, her face reverting to it's habitual scowl. "Now lemme see your arm."

Dib backed away a little, gulping. "No, don't! There's an alien implant in my arm and I don't know what it'll do if you bother me! I might hurt you!"

Gaz cracked one eye open to shoot him a droll look. The she shoved the Game Slave into a pocket and reached around her brother's torso to drag his arm out.

Dib pulled back a little, a helpless expression on his face, but he stopped quickly enough at a low warning snarl from Gaz. Her hands were impersonal but surprisingly gentle, her fingers leaving cool tracks across his abused flesh. She probed gently where Dib had ground his fingers between the bones, making the pale boy twist his arm this way and that. Then, apparently satisfied, she released him with a soft grunt.

"Okay, fine. Go see Dad." She said flatly.

Dib gave her a stupid, placating grin and groped for the door knob. He backed down the stairs still facing her, still with the big fake grin twitching nervously on his face. "Then put some clothes on!" Gaz yelled as an afterthought.

The Membrane home lab was a beehive of activity, even at nine o'clock Saturday morning with only one man at work. It was a little cooler then the rest of the house too and goosebumps rose up on Dib's skin when he set foot on the sterile floor. "Dad?" he called softly.

"Here, son!" Membrane boomed cheerfully from a corner. Even in his own home the man's bubbly persona was still in place. With Membrane it was hard to tell but his goggles compressed into crescents as though he were smiling. "Now, I'm very busy with the lima bean situation in Peru, but is there something I can do for you in the meantime?"

"I'm very busy.." So what else is new? Dib sighed inwardly. "Yeah. Do you have an x-ray machine I can use? It's really important."

"An x-ray machine? But of course, son!" Membrane scoffed. "It's over on the south wall. What do you need it for?"

Dib licked his lips. "Oh… um… there's an alien implant in my arm and I need to locate where it is precisely so I can remove it!" The paranormalist wasn't surprised when his father didn't even twitch at his answer.

"Alright, son!" Membrane clapped a heavy hand on Dib's shoulder. "Go use it, but be careful not to irradiate yourself!" Dib gave his father a sickly smile and edged away to find the machine. Sure enough, it was wedged between banks of computers and what was probably other medical equipment.

The thing was a rather modest affair, Dib reflected as he pulled the lead shielding over his upper arm and stretched it under the screen. When he flipped a switch the slim bones in his forearm became visible, the living meat surrounding them reduced to a trivial grayish haze. The probe was easily visible on here, nestled snugly between the two bones just below his elbow. Dib felt a little sick as he turned his arm and watched the bones swivel neatly around the metal lump. The probe fit in.

This can't be allowed to happen.

He turned his arm again, eyes hooded, watching the bones turn neatly around each other. Almost admiring the smooth movement. The probe rotated with them, a hateful black eye, nosed sadistically between sheaves of muscle. It had worked. The whole stupid system had worked until this happened.

Over the years Dib's various refuges had been peeled away; secluded little parks where he could watch the leaves cascade down in fall, a little warm nook in the skool boiler room wedged between two machines where he could curl up and nap, away from the hell of classmates and bullies and Zim; a little café where they served hot, greasy, good food and the windows fogged up in winter, his skool desk, which was old and uncomfortable but still his; even his room; everything had been defiled by Zim. If not blasted literally out of existence then sown with so many traps and monitoring devices that Dib avoided them for self-preservation now. And even if they hadn't been bugged they would still have been soiled by the presence of Zim, his judging eye and searing grin.

Himself, the unassailable integrity of his own body, was the last thing Dib depended on. He knew Zim could reach him there too but after the disastrous incident with the nanorobot years before the alien hadn't tried, thinking it too dangerous perhaps. But now Zim had taken the final step and ruined this last sanctuary as well.

I can't let this happen.

Dib flicked off the switch, slid his arm out from under the lead fabric. The boy looked into space, at nothing in particular; then swallowed to moisten his mouth. When he walked past his father the older man darted a quick look after him and sighed, murmuring "My poor insane son…" as he turned back to a chart. Dib didn't waver at the familiar phrase. He was kneading again at his arm, digging his fingers to feel muscle tense over bone.

I can't tell Dad. Even if I SHOW him he won't listen. I have to do this myself.

Dib padded up the stairs and into the kitchen. Gaz perched at the table, locked onto her Game Slave already; she didn't spare her brother a glance, which suited him.

The cutlery drawer tended to stick, and Dib had to joggle and ease it open. There was a rushing in his ears that drowned out all other noises, all other thoughts, that smothered a little voice at the back of his head screaming what are you doing what are you doing this is CRAZY--

No. This isn't crazy… this is just… doing what needs to be done.

Dib pulled out a knife. The edge flashed keen as a hawk's eye in the kitchen lights. His mouth was open a little; Dib could see his reflection in the blade. A tremor ran through the cold steel and he tightened his grip upon the handle.

I can't use the painkillers. They'll blur my head.

He turned around and went for the stairs. At the table Gaz slid one eye wide to look at him. He heard her through the cotton packed around his brain- "What are you doing DIB? I thought I told you to put clothes on. And why do you have a knife? If you're going to kill yourself, save your energy, I'll do it for you." She cocked her head. Both eyes went to slits again. "Why do you have a knife?"

If I can't numb the pain, this is going to take a lot of concentration.

"Don't worry about it, Gaz," he blurted. Then Dib turned around and went upstairs. His sister gazed after him, barely a touch of anxiety on her face. She took one step after him and paused. Then she turned around and walked the other way.

You can do it, Dib. The knife is sharp.

The bathroom. Perfect. Dib walked in, locked the door. Turned on the water in the bath tub. Crouched on the linoleum. Found with his fingers where he knew the probe was lodged. Put the fine point of the knife against his own flesh…

…and stopped.

This was the deepest betrayal. Dib was cutting himself, Dib was going to push cold steel down through his own pulsing tissue, through muscle fiber and straining blood vessels and quivering nerves. Dib was cutting himself. It wasn't even something he could blame Zim for. It was Dib, Dib, Dib, only Dib, unhealthy Dib, Dib with crazy in his brain, Dib cutting himself. It was so… counterproductive.

A Dib from another world, a world that had existed just two hours ago, was screaming at him: Stop! Stop it now! Stop it while you can! THINK about this, you jerk, and STOP it!

I can't. I CAN'T, don't you get it, don't you SEE, I can't LIVE with this!

Dib pushed down on the knife. He had been standing at the precipice, and now he hurled himself off.

Blood welled up around the slice, ran down his forearm, turned brown where it was diluted by water. The blade was so sharp that for an instant he hardly felt its bite. Soft choking noises emerged wetly from his throat.

He pulled the knife out. Blood rose and gushed forth, shockingly fast. Dib whimpered, tears pricking his eyes. He could still hardly feel it. He could still hardly believe that he was doing this at all. He pulled out the knife, turned it to drag another cut out at right angles to the first. Felt through a bank of fog the edge grate on bone.

He had cut through arteries. There was so much blood, staining the water brick red. There was a cut shaped like a plus sign on his arm now, just below his elbow.

Dib put his arm under the clean, cold water jetting down from the faucet. Blood ran away. It wouldn't… stop. Dib could see, or he thought he could, a little point of silver through the heat-wave red beating in front of his eyes and beating under his skin. He could see white too. Dib put the point of the knife between his bones and tried to nudge the tip of it under the snub-nosed probe. Pain hit then, flaying his nerves and dancing laughing to crush stiletto heels into his brain.

Oh GOD

He pulled the knife out, whimpering. It was an involuntary reaction. He still couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't bring himself to hurt himself to save himself. There was no point to any of this. No point.

Dib leaned over, crushed the slippery limb to his chest. The knife dropped with a clack, scoring a deep line down the bathtub's enamel. He was crying, tears and snot dripping down his nose. He was crying from pain and the crushing shame of doing this to himself. He couldn't stop.

He didn't stop when he heard the crack of electricity from outside in the hall, didn't stop when he smelled the tang of hot metal. He was slouching half-conscious, crying, while his sister wrapped gauze tightly around and around his arm to try to staunch the bleeding. He didn't stop when paramedics arrived and lifted him as gently as they could onto a stretcher. He was going into shock when they set up the emergency blood transfusion, and watched the red roses blooming on his bandage with dull incomprehension. He was unconscious when Membrane looked down at him and said, soft and sad, "My poor insane son…"

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter finished August 18, 2004.