Fem Dib

Dib hadn't left her room in weeks. Various devices, blueprints, voodoo dolls, chemicals, and ectoplasm jars are scattered at her desk. She couldn't have looked worse, with greasy hair and a stain of some unknown substance on her trench coat, she probably hasn't bathed in several days.

When dhe sees something moving on one of her millions of monitors Dib takes a seat at his desk, the blue light from the screens illuminating her notes with terrible handwriting. She shuffles through them, absorbed in her most recent experiment, the one in which she could finally prove to the world that Zim was an alien.

"Finally. Everyone will believe..."